Cinema Hype

A little background on Project 501: last year, I started watching and writing about all of the Academy Award Best Picture winners in chronological order and writing about them in this blog. After a prolonged break, I’ve resumed, making good time through the 1930s, and I’m well-intentioned towards (read: rewarding myself with) the 1940s. Anyone’s welcome to watch along—company on the road to theoretical good filmmaking is always appreciated.

Anyway.

In 1935, Mutiny on the Bounty must have been a blockbuster: an adventure on the high seas, packed with rough water, an even rougher villain (in theory), and Clark Gable steering the ship. The footage of the big ships rocking and rolling in the stormy seas is impressive, and it can only have cost a fortune. One might toss the word “epic” around.

For better or for worse, none of this can change the giggle factor. Historical correctness aside, Mutiny on the Bounty comes across as a dramedy at best, which might be insulting to the filmmakers, but it does make the movie go down smoother: the promise of upcoming hilarity makes the prospect of two hours of keel-hauling and swabbing the deck more palatable. Half of the actors, including Gable, flounce around in their Royal Navy uniforms sounding like they’re fresh out of Des Moines. Gable (who must have been self-conscious of his hippy figure, otherwise why did he always wear such enormous pants?) plays his usual charming good-guy self, except when he tries to play Master and Commander and gets all shouty and breathy. And don’t even get me started on the Tahiti love-interest sequences—cringe-worthy, and maybe the most entertaining parts of the movie. Who doesn’t love that soft-focus filter?

If there’s a take-away from Mutiny on the Bounty (besides “don’t enslave your crew”), it’s probably the transformation in villains over the last seventy years. Today, Bligh would be a mustache-stroker, and probably chewing on the scenery; as it is, he’s kind of a dope. A mean dope, certainly, but Charles Laughton’s big eyes and lips and his knobby nose make him look more bewildered than dangerous. His performance is fine, but by today’s standards it’s remarkably understated. Might the movie have aged better with a more ramped-up villain? Maybe, though overacting isn’t really what this cast needs.

Next up: The Great Ziegfeld and The Life of Emile Zola. Oh, you’re so jealous. Don’t lie.

Project 501, Oscar winners, Mutiny on the Bounty, Clark Gable, Charles Laughton, sailing, mutiny

When making an exciting but long-overdue comeback, is it best to sneak in the side door or to march up the front steps, flaunting one’s own late but eminent worth? We at CH are all for the latter—being occasionally late ourselves, not that we’d ever admit it—and so we say: Project 501 is back! It’s been a long vacation, but the chronological Oscar train is running once again, and so we’re starting up with the 1934 Best Picture winner, It Happened One Night. Like, now.

Feeling as I do about the current state of romantic comedies, my curmudgeonly little heart watched It Happened One Night and wondered why they don’t make ‘em like that anymore. In fact, I’ve decided that they do make ‘em like that anymore—or, in any case, they try. In fact, I’m testing the theory that all modern romantic comedies are the inheritance, or maybe imitators, of this one movie.

There are plenty of things in It Happened One Night that aren’t so common to the modern romantic comedy. Long, chatty scenes, for one thing. Claudette Colbert and Clark Gable spend a lot of time together, talking the whole time, and we’re there to see it all. No quick cuts here; just talk, talk, talk. These two are what the average therapist might call “verbal processors.” Indeed. There are also twin beds (how Pushing Daisies!), showing some leg to speed up the hitchhiking process, and—spoiler ahead—a total lack of kissing at the end, which generally doesn’t fly today.

But there are also lots of things that we see over and over again in romantic comedies generally, and maybe it’s a case of doing those things better rather than a case of doing them first—i.e. I’m not claiming these were new story elements, even in 1934—but it’s a little uncanny seeing a million other well-known and well-worn tropes played out in this one story. There’s the falling-asleep-on-the-other-person’s-shoulder bit, the pretend-marriage-to-distract-skeezy-stranger thing, and most importantly, the race to prevent a tragic misunderstanding and therefore save the relationship (Notting Hill, anyone?). Gable and Colbert are perfectly adorable—who knew pre-Rhett Butler misogyny Gable was so cute?—and they play all of these iconic scenes in such a way that imitation is inevitable. This may be the token romantic comedy, the Juno of its day, but it’s aged well and made its mark. Nicely done.

Next up: Mutiny on the Bounty! More Clark Gable!

It Happened One Night, Clark Gable, Claudette Colbert, Notting Hill, Juno, Oscar winner, Best Picture, 1934, Project 501

I wish Eagle vs. Shark had come along a few years ago. It just doesn’t seem fair: make a movie about love among the socially awkward and you’re always going to be trailing along behind Napoleon Dynamite, regardless of what you were aiming at in the first place.

In lots of ways, Eagle vs. Shark is a better movie than Napoleon Dynamite. Or maybe it’s just made of slightly stronger stuff: it’s heavier, sadder, funnier in parts, and it has a clearer plot arc. The leading man, Jarrod Jemaine Clement, now of Flight of the Conchords), is like Napoleon with trust issues and a post-high school blood vendetta, and his long-suffering love interest, Lily (Loren Horsley), is therefore required to be even more redemptive by the power of her love and devotion. So maybe it’s like Napoleon Dynamite for grown-ups.

So that’s the bad news: we’ve seen some of this before, and even when it’s funny, the recycled-air feeling doesn’t quite go away. The good news is that the parts we haven’t seen are really pretty good. Writer/director Taika Cohen does an impressive job of letting Jarrod be utterly off-putting and then using Lily’s lovability to make up for it: seen through her forgiving eyes, he becomes understandable, at least, even if he’s still being a complete twit. And he is a complete twit much of the time. But there’s something refreshing about a movie that doesn’t feel the need to prove that its characters are cool, or that they’ve somehow become cool over the course of the two hours you’ve spent with them, and Eagle vs. Shark doesn’t put itself out trying to convince us. Maybe that’s the point: these people were awkward when they met, and they’re still awkward, and yet here they are, trying to work things out. And trust me: if they can, anybody can.

Eagle vs. Shark, Flight of the Conchords, Jemaine Clement, Loren Horsley, Taika Cohen, DVD review

I had to know, going into Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day, that it couldn’t possibly live up to the way I’d hyped it. All the ingredients were there—Amy Adams, silly period dialogue, and Lee Pace in a tux—but one can’t just go around proclaiming the rise of American cinema (which, okay, isn’t doing so badly in the first place) with one smallish-budget movie. And, you know? I was right. But I wasn’t (too) disappointed.

Miss Pettigrew is not the grand revival of American screwball comedy that I’d been hoping for; the structure is right, but the script is too loose and draping to capture the rhythm and preciseness of true screwballity—especially toward the beginning, there’s a strange sense that the audience is charging ahead and then waiting for the next joke. Whether rapid-fire laughs were the intent of the writers isn’t clear, but either way, they don’t quite get there.

What emerges instead is a film full of sweet moments and strong emotional values—gently funny and occasionally silly, with surprisingly deep emotional roots. The characters themselves are certainly earnest. Miss Pettigrew herself (Frances McDormand) is quick-thinking and consistent, with a distaste for frivolity; love interest Michael (Pace) only wishes everyone (his lady love especially) would take love as seriously as he does. Even flighty Delysia LaFosse (Adams), who juggles three men and the attendant chaos with a wink and a smile, is decidedly unsophisticated. In a way, Miss Pettigrew is a propaganda film in support of the very earnest and the very poor: nearly without exception, to be poor is to be noble and to rise above the petty games and deceptions of the upper class.

Part of what lifts Miss Pettigrew above the mild ungainliness of its script is its cast, which (unsurprisingly) doesn’t falter. McDormand has left us (”us” being “the movie-going public”) for far too long, and she is wonderfully subtle as Miss Pettigrew. If it’s possible, Adams threatens to overdo her wide-eyed ingenue act (though the contrast makes McDormand look even better), but tones herself down into a state of her standard loveability by the end of Act I, so that’s a relief. Ciaran Hinds is endearingly honest—there’s that word again!—as lingerie designer Joe, and Pace, it must be said, outdoes himself in the area of desperate, scruffy, musically-inclined suitors (he sings!, and I’ll leave it at that).

So maybe this movie isn’t going to be on the docket for Oscar 2009. Maybe the razor wit isn’t quite as hairsplitting as one might hope. Maybe another comedy this spring (ahem, Leatherheads) will give me what I’m looking for, or maybe we’ve simply moved away from comedies that drop and spin. But Miss Pettigrew can hang out with me whenever she wants.

(Extra fun fact, courtesy of IMDB: I’d completely forgotten that Frances McDormand used to narrate the show State of Grace, with Alia Shawkat and Mae Whitman—Maeby Funke and Ann Veal, respectively, on Arrested Development. Now there are two different, but excellent, shows. Heh.)

Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day, Miss Pettigrew, Frances McDormand, Amy Adams, Lee Pace, Ciaran Hinds, comedy, screwball comedy, movie review, State of Grace, Alia Shawkat, Mae Whitman, Arrested Development

I can hear it now: “If you see one black-and-white hand-animated film about Iran in the 1980s this year, make it Persepolis!”

What? Too on the nose?

Frankly, there are more than a few elements—key elements—to Persepolis that threaten to make it unpopular with the Friday-night blockbuster crowd. Animated, but made for adults? Check. War in the Middle East? Check. In French, with subtitles? Cheque. Based on a popular graphic novel? Check, check, check, check (one for each volume). It went up against Pixar’s Ratatouille at the Oscars—its opposite in every way, though also a good movie—and lost. So. Are you convinced yet?

The thing is, the mass of complications here doesn’t add up to an obscure or exclusive movie at all. Don’t speak French? If you can read English, you’re fine. Haven’t heard of the Islamic Revolution? You’re in luck; neither has the ten-year-old heroine! Think you’re over animated features? Enjoy the distinctive look of Marjane Satrapi’s art, and go from there. What we have here is a coming-of-age story, something that transcends culture: a girl who covers her hair because she has to, but sneaks downtown to buy Michael Jackson records, a girl who flees her home country because it’s necessary, but finds that political freedom only leaves her lonely. It’s interesting as a historical piece, but mostly it’s funny and sad, artistically fanciful and thematically realistic. It’s sweet and quirky, but never cutesy. In short, it’s a really, really good movie.

Don’t be nervous. Try it! You’ll like it!

I said recently that Atonement is a movie that works whether you’ve read the novel or not. The same, frankly, can’t really be said for The Golden Compass. Philip Pullman’s story is a weird one, full of the kinds of elements that earn mountains of bad reviews from those going into it cold (”Hey! Let’s have people’s souls take animal form and walk beside them! We’ll call them ‘daemons’! Good idea! Wanna go get a beer?”). It’s the hardest kind of story to adapt, full of tough-to-explain concepts and followed by legions of passionate (and picky) fans. So the studio did what must have made sense at the time: they did the best they could, watered down what didn’t translate easily, and marketed it to people who like The Lord of the Rings. The result is mixed, as they must have known it would be: too outlandish for mainstream critics, too diluted for fans of the book, but strangely entertaining nonetheless.

First off, is it weird to confess that the best character in this movie is a talking polar bear? I am confident that the armored bears featured in the trailers attracted plenty of people to the theaters; I’ve read the book, and I didn’t escape the “Ooh, BEARS!” impulse entirely. Thankfully, Iorek Byrnison, the featured bear (magnificently voiced by Ian McKellen) isn’t just a badass CGI sideshow; he’s actually the best-developed character in the film–a complete story of redemption hidden behind animated fur and some armor. Runner-up in the “Characters to love” category is Sam Elliott as incongruous cowboy/airship captain Lee Scoresby, who isn’t as well-developed but makes up for it with screen presence and a cool jackrabbit daemon. It’s strangely comforting to know that Scoresby will continue to have a major role in the next movie (The Subtle Knife, slated for 2009). Even newcomer Dakota Blue Richards does a good job as heroine Lyra Belacqua; she may eventually enroll in the Emma Watson School of Indignant, Fearless Stares, but for now she’s reasonably natural onscreen and makes a pretty good ruffian.

Less exciting is the use of the big-name cast members: Nicole Kidman is the obvious choice for the coolly villainous Mrs. Coulter, but her performance is surprisingly bland (or-can we be shallow for a moment?–maybe I was just distracted by whatever it is she’s done to her face). Daniel Craig is heavily billed in the trailers, but is mostly a set-up man for the next film–he’s fine, but he’s barely present so far, which kills any chance of building interesting relationships. This is the biggest problem with the movie as a whole, actually: even when the main points are right, there’s a lack of attention to character and relationship that’s troubling. Perhaps that’s what’s missing in Kidman’s performance–she doesn’t have the time to be complex. Similarly, the relationship between Lyra and Iorek goes from “hired gun” (hired paw?) to “lifelong friends” without much in between. The movie’s not that long; an extra two well-used minutes per character could have made all the difference.

That said, it’s an entertaining movie, with plenty of chasing, rescuing, and battling, and it does capture the main points and some of the spirit of the novel. I’ve already mentioned the bears and the cowboy airship captain, not to mention the gypsies (”Gyptians” in the parlance of the movie), the witches, the parallel universes, and the possible debate about the role of free will in government and religion. In that sense, it works–there’s lots to see, and the action moves quickly, which gives the clipped screenplay an extra measure of grace. It’s fun. And it’s just the beginning, as the ending makes abundantly clear. Stay tuned.

The Golden Compass, Golden Compass, Nicole Kidman, Daniel Craig, Dakota Blue Richards, Sam Elliott, Iorek Byrnison, Lyra Belacqua, Phillip Pullman

*

Regular readers of this blog will know that I’ve been waiting patiently for the movie of one of my favorite novels, Ian McEwan’s Atonement. I really have been impressively calm about the whole thing, don’t you all think? But. It came out in limited release on Friday, and I immediately risked hell and high water (and coming frighteningly close to missing the last BART train home) to go see Keira Knightley, James McAvoy, and director Joe Wright pull out their A games for Oscar season. A girl can only wait so long, you know?

It worked. The wonderful thing about this movie is that it will work for people who love the book and for people who don’t even know there’s a book. Screenwriter Christopher Hampton (for whom this is only one in a long list of successful book adaptations, and who sets his sights next on Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell) nails the details–things you didn’t even know you remembered until they appear onscreen–and it’s satisfying in that sense, but it also means that even without the influence of the novel, everything is perfectly detailed. It’s a rich movie in every way.

Also contributing to the feeling of lushness is director Wright, coming straight off of the 2005 version of Pride and Prejudice. Wright is a director for the senses: he loves to please the eye and the ear, and would probably be all over taste, smell, and touch components to his films if they were available. Here he plays with light and dark, with color and the lack of color, and with sound–the integration of foley-type sound into the score is ingenious–and silence, and the combined effect is almost overwhelming even as it is beautiful. Any novel should hope to be adapted with this kind of aesthetic sense.

Scriptwise, Atonement divides neatly into three sections; all are excellent, but the first is the most spectacular. Act I takes place over the course of one afternoon and evening among a gathering of family and friends, and everyone–McEwan, Wright, and the cast–seem to like it best. It has the most going on: the most interesting structure, the best set-up for the rest of the story, and the most potential for shots that are luxurious but not epic (i.e. beautiful without running the risk of cheesy wartime effects, ruined forever by Pearl Harbor and the like; thanks, guys!). Act I also shows off Saoirse Ronan, who gives a surprisingly complex performance as 13-year-old Briony Tallis, and who, frankly, steals much of the movie out from under Knightley and McAvoy, and also from the two other actors who share the role (Romola Garai and Vanessa Redgrave as Older Briony and Oldest Briony, respectively). After the first act, the rest of the story plays out in a more or less linear-ish fashion; it’s beautiful and heartbreaking and Wright pulls out some of his best stops to keep everything moving. Disappointment creeps in only at the very end–I won’t specify, except to say that the final plot reveal lacks a bit of the weight it deserves. Still, it’s lovingly rendered and any changes might have ended up in a much bigger travesty.

Atonement is one of those movies that’s able to walk the fence: it’s Oscar bait, for sure, but not the kind of Oscar bait nobody actually wants to see. Go for the beauty and the entertainment (wartime love story!); stay for the commentary on the state of fiction. Either way, it’s worth it.

* Yes, this photo’s been done. But really, have we gotten over the awesomeness of that dress? We have not. No apologies here.

Atonement, Keira Knightley, James McAvoy, Joe Wright, Saoirse Ronan, Ian McEwan, Atonement movie

Look, nobody at CHHQ is trying to say that Amy Adams is anything but a legitimately talented actress. The woman was nominated for an Oscar (for Junebug, for those of you who are asking, and we know you are), for goodness’ sake! She was on The Office AND she was in Drop Dead Gorgeous, both of which indicate that she is a serious human being. All we’re trying to say is that maybe Adams was actually brought into this world for the purpose of playing a live-action Disney princess. After seeing Enchanted, it certainly seems that way.

The best thing and the worst thing about Enchanted is that it’s exactly the movie it claims to be: a little bit funny, cuter than cute, and a send-up of Disney films while actually being a Disney film (sneaky!). The hidden depths are about as “hidden” and “deep” as the far end of a swimming pool, but nobody claimed much more than that. And most of the funny parts are included in the trailer, which is disappointing, but that’s not to say there’s nothing left to enjoy.

Mostly, there’s Adams. She is–how you say?–as cute as a button. She’s also totally committed to being as cute as a button; her aura of total sincerity and naivete doesn’t flag for a moment, and she somehow makes it work so that she’s unbelievable to the adults onscreen but not annoying to the adults in the audience. She also does all of her own singing, holding her own perfectly among a vocally intimidating cast (including co-star James Marsden, Singing Hottie Extraordinaire; Idina Menzel, from the original casts of Rent and Wicked; and a whole host of past Disney-princess vocalists hidden in the animated supporting cast), totally works a purple ball gown, and learns to think instead of sing. We approve.

The rest of the movie is pretty standard, the kind of thing all little girls and a surprising number of big girls will like. It is, after all, a fairy tale, where the male leads are good-looking, the dresses are floaty, and everybody except the witch with the cleavage and the platform shoes has a happy ending. Pleasingly (and wisely for the Disney folks; we smart girls can be pretty noisy when provoked), brains and pragmatism are given their fair share of the limelight; Adams’s character Pollyannas her way around Manhattan but also learns a little about the world outside herself, and even the smart, practical Other Woman (Menzel) wraps things up happily. But most people won’t be packing showings of Enchanted in search of social commentary, and that’s fine. If you go, just sit back and enjoy, and believe that everyone lives happily ever after. That’s kind of the point.

Enchanted, Amy Adams, Idina Menzel, Patrick Dempsey, James Marsden, Disney

The more I think about Lars and the Real Girl, the better I like it. By now, the quirky small-town romantic dramedy co-starring Patricia Clarkson isn’t such an anomaly. We’re used to it. But how many of those quirky small-town romantic dramedies also feature an “adult companion doll” embraced by that small town, volunteering at the hospital and getting elected to the school board?

I didn’t think so.

The point of Lars, of course, isn’t Bianca the doll, but Lars (Ryan Gosling), the pathologically shy young man who orders her and begins to treat her as his girlfriend. Unsurprisingly, Lars is going through a few things. Even more the point, perhaps, are the people who come with Lars whether he wants them to or not: his brother and sister-in-law, his coworkers, and the residents of his rural northern town. This is a story of concentric rings–not just an individual, but a family; not just a family, but an entire community. As such, it’s not so much strange as it is slow and sweet and a little bit funny but a little bit sad, and surprisingly unpretentious.

It’s hard to identify Lars as a comedy or a drama, mostly because it tends to be both at the same time, or at least it can be. Much of the humor comes from a clash of two schemes of logic: there’s the internal logic of the movie, where Bianca is a treasured member of the community and a vital part of Lars’s life, and there’s the logic of the audience, where Bianca is a sex doll ordered off the internet and carried around a rural town for a few months. The visuals of this external logic superimposed over the goings-on in the script mean that practically any moment can be funny–just look at what’s happening on the screen and think about it rationally for a minute. Even better, check out the sexy, faux-interested smirk on Bianca’s face, and then check out what’s going on around her. See? Instant humor!

One look at the ads for Lars show that it’s a bit of a weirdness minefield, one of those films that threatens to bury itself in too many layers of quirky characters and dialogue. So it’s surprising, afterwards, to look at the movie and realize that writer Nancy Oliver has neatly sidestepped most of the obnoxious traits of the genre–nothing stands out as a wrong note or an embarrassing moment. This is a victory for indie filmmakers everywhere, as well as indie-film audiences, who just can’t take much more. The cast is also pleasingly indie-friendly without taking it overboard: there’s the aforementioned Clarkson spotting, Gosling disappears flawlessly into Lars and his social issues and his truly unfortunate mustache, and it’s always nice to run into Paul Schneider. Emily Mortimer is pretty unconvincing as a pregnant non-Brit (she weighs twelve pounds, baby belly included, and kind of looks like she’s recently comes traipsing off the moors, no matter what she does), but she pulls through where it counts: she’s utterly believable and totally sympathetic as a woman who cares deeply for her brother-in-law. The cast is rounded out by a whole passel of familiar-looking folks playing Lars’s loved ones, or rather, those by whom Lars is loved. It all fits together nicely, quietly, with a minimum of fanfare but just enough zip to keep things interesting. Well done.

Lars and the Real Girl, movie review, Ryan Gosling, Emily Mortimer, Patricia Clarkson, Indie film, Nancy Oliver

Real Women Have Curves is not a surprising movie. Ana, a high school senior in East Los Angeles, feels pulled towards a life outside of her family and her neighborhood, but lacks the resources and support to actually get there. In the end, she works in her sister’s sweatshop for the rest of her life, gains zero respect for the women in her family, never falls in love, and remains trapped below an educational and economic glass ceiling based on the inherent drawbacks of the capitalist economy. The end.

Kidding.

The first part is true, of course, and we at CH bet you can guess a thing or two about how everything plays out. But a fairly obvious ending doesn’t make the journey any less pleasant, and anyway, the revelation of America Ferrera’s first movie is no small thing. We’ve been fans of Ferrera’s since she sobbed at Bradley Whitford (who shouldn’t be anybody’s father, because he’s Josh Lyman and that’s that) over the phone in The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants–no offense to the rest of the sisterhood, but she routinely acts circles around them, even Amber Tamblyn, of whom we are also fond–but she carries this movie, dramatic substance and all, without even breaking a sweat. It seems risky, in retrospect, for a film to rest on the shoulders of an “and introducing…”-type actor, but she’s so graceful and so uninhibited onscreen that, in practice, we can’t imagine things going any other way. We’ve never been surprised at Ferrera’s awards-show dominance in the last year, and from now on we’ll only be surprised when she doesn’t end up on the dais.

Now can she come over for a sleepover? We’ll make popcorn!

Real Women Have Curves, Netflix, America Ferrerra

The opening of David Gordon Green’s 2003 indie film All the Real Girls is breathtaking: a young man and an even younger woman stand on a sidewalk at night, or maybe it’s in an alley, and share their first kiss–on the palm of the hand. It’s the beginning of a love story, but it feels like it might actually be the middle, or maybe getting towards the end. It feels real. Everything’s getting off to a sweet, kooky, and beautifully filmed start.

And then the rest of the movie happens. Turns out the man, Paul (Paul Schneider), is a notorious womanizer in a small North Carolina town; she, Noel (Zooey Deschanel), is an eighteen-year-old virgin home from boarding school. They fall in love. If that were the end of it, things would be fine–flawed characters trying to figure out true love makes for a compelling story, surely enough to fill the entire hour and forty-eight minutes. It’s all the little extra tacked-on things, the obvious indie-film quirkier-than-thou elements, that are problematic. Along with Paul and Noel, we get their families and friends, small-town rivalries and moments with the local kids. It’s supposed to be realistic, weird in the way that the world is weird, but instead it comes across as studied and, in the worst cases, a little embarrassing. As the story unfolds and becomes more and more dramatic, things get worse and worse. Patricia Clarkson’s even there, doing what she does best as the sad, wasted mother. This is definitely her kind of movie.

The frustrating thing here is that so much of what’s wrong isn’t really wrong. It’s not that Green doesn’t know a good thing; it’s more that he doesn’t know where to stop: the supporting characters are too quirky, the dialogue is too lyrical. It feels indulgent, like Green couldn’t bear to cut out the bits he liked best (though we hear that an entire first act about Paul’s philandering past was cut during editing), so that everything’s just a little bit precious. On the other hand, when he leaves well enough alone, some truly lovely moments shine through.

And there are some things to love in All the Real Girls. Zooey Deschanel (next up as Janis Joplin!) and Paul Schneider are both excellent, natural on camera and transparent in a way that probably gives the script an extra measure of grace. It’s a beautiful film, all lit with gold and interspersed with images of North Carolina in the fall. The score is simple, guitar-y, evocative of autumn and mountains and smoke. There’s that first scene, and some other simple, sad moments sprinkled throughout. In some ways, it’s exactly what it should be. And in some ways, it’s way too much.

All the Real Girls, DVD reviews, Zooey Deschanel, Paul Schneider, David Gordon Green

Who knew that a movie about the defeat of the Spanish Armada would make it to the big screen? Like, with famous actors and a big budget, and everything? Elizabeth: The Golden Age picks up some time after the first Blanchett Elizabeth I movie; Elizabeth has assumed her persona as the Virgin Queen, and although she’s dealing with the ultimate work/life balance issue, the real villains in this movie comes from those radical religious activists/terrorists, the Catholics–Holy War on the Continent, domestic unrest about the role of Catholicism, and a conniving Mary Stuart up north threaten to eat up not only Elizabeth herself, but all of England.

This movie could have turned out badly, or worse, boring. The script isn’t a disaster, but it’s nothing spectacular, either–think “big-budget political/military drama” instead of “character study and psychological vignette.” Director Shekhar Kapur comes up with some striking shots–including a beautiful, backlit underwater sequence during the battle climax–but is obsessed with obliqueness and barriers; everything is off-center, through a screen of some kind, or both. The elaborateness is tiring after awhile.

Thankfully, Elizabeth: The Golden Age (which, by the way, is an appallingly awkward title) made it past the page and the storyboard–it leaps to life and ends up being pretty engaging, thanks to a cast that pulls its weight dramatically and lends the all-important air of personality to the goings-on onscreen. Cate Blanchett couldn’t be more wonderful; she’s so consistent anyway, but she really does have the knack of both Elizabeth The Ruler and Elizabeth The Woman, in equal measure. In an emergency, her voice alone could have shown up and played the role and we might have been happy–she does, after all, get to give the requisite Rousing Battle Speech, which is refreshing in a female role–but the whole Blanchett is even better. Clive Owen, another reliable source of good performances, plays Elizabeth’s buddy/would-be lover Sir Walter Raleigh, whom we’ve all read about in high school history and promptly forgotten (Or was that just me?). He’s essentially a pirate, though a nice pirate, and it’s a great role for him–a chance to be something a little friendlier and a little more personal than the roles he often plays. Plus, he’s just so amazingly good-looking up on that big screen. It’s a little disarming.

Aside from good performances by Blanchett, Owen, and their supporting cast–Geoffrey Rush and Samantha Morton, among others–the reason to see this movie is the costuming and production design. Blanchett wears a series of enormous, elaborate, period-appropriate gowns and hair pieces that are themselves practically a character (not unlike how she often dresses in real life?), remarkable both in their presence and in several scenes where they’re absent. If you like clothes, weird, beautiful, or otherwise, the gawk factor is pretty high here, and in a historical drama, that’s a good thing.

Elizabeth: The Golden Age probably isn’t the Oscar fodder it was hoping to be–except in the costuming and art categories–but it’s a pretty, entertaining, and well-made movie. Anybody who likes history, England, or Clive Owen being a friendly pirate should leave the theater happy, and who can’t get behind at least one of those things?

Elizabeth, Elizabeth: The Golden Age, Cate Blanchett, Clive Owen, Geoffrey Rush

I never know what to do when I’ve seen an old-ish movie in the theater. After the first weekend, reviewing isn’t much good to anyone, but it seems like a waste to just enjoy a movie without having to know what I thought about it and then articulate it clearly. Or something.

Nevertheless, I trekked down the street to my friendly neighborhood movie theater last night for a cheap, early show of Stardust. It was sweet, funny, snarky, and just generally charming, and it made me want to read the source material, or at least some other novel by Neil Gaiman. It’s good to see a fairy tale that’s really a fairy tale, made in the tradition of fairy tales, as opposed to the constant attempt to mold old stories to contemporary settings. Stardust’s script is funny–silly, even–and although some of the dialogue feels modern, modernity isn’t the point.

In other news, that young Charlie Cox is a cutie. I may need to rethink my (previously ambivalent) position on Claire Danes, since I’ve liked so many of her recent movies. And Robert DeNiro is having entirely too much fun with his post-tough-guy period. (If you don’t know what I’m talking about, see the movie. His role could have gone so badly, but he’s so excellent that it totally works for him. Apparently he’s, like, a good actor or something?) This movie has the kind of cast where you can’t spit without hitting somebody ridiculously famous–it’s one of those “Oh, he’s in this?!” kind of things–but mostly it all feels like a bunch of people having a good time. I wouldn’t be surprised to hear that it’s a cast full of Gaiman fans.

And anyway, how many movies feature death by ferret?

If that last one intrigues you, go see it. You’ll like it. If not, I can’t help you.

Stardust, Neil Gaiman, Claire Danes, Robert DeNiro, Charlie Cox, fairy tales, fantasy movies

Question: What is funnier than a self-serious pre-Arthurian almost-epic starring Ben Kingsley in a wig?

Answer: There is no answer. Nothing is funnier than a self-serious pre-Arthurian almost-epic starring Ben Kingsley in a wig. Which is a good thing for The Last Legion, which would be absolutely abysmal if it weren’t so hilarious in its badness.

The Last Legion, the story of a boy Caesar and his personal security detail, is the kind of movie that inspires nervous laughter: there aren’t many jokes, per se, but something about the swelling of the music, the deliberate posing of the obligatory hot Indian spy/warrior chick, and the use of the worlds “old man” to describe Ben Kingsley (shortly before he demonstrates his cat-like reflexes to indicate, subtly, that He Is Not Just Your Everyday Old Man) lead to snickering during the silent moments. It’s inevitable, much like Colin Firth’s Mel Gibson impression during the “let’s fight the good fight and maybe we’ll die! Woot!” speech. There’s just not much to be done.

The weird thing is that much of the acting in The Last Legion is pretty good. Colin Firth, who’s rapidly outgrowing his long “reedy and awkward, but sexy nonetheless” (aka Mr. Darcy in all his forms) stage, manages to be serious and even touching, even when the gravitas of the script and cinematography are basically falling down around him. He even makes the Braveheart motivational speech–potentially the comic climax of the movie–come across without a hitch or a giggle, which is no small feat, considering. Ben Kingsley is disappointing, but the movie’s child star (red alert!), Thomas Sangster, who’s just on the cusp of the long, dark night of the soul known as “adolescence,” is surprisingly good. (Note: You’ve probably seen him before, as he’s one of the two actors currently sharing the role of The Male Dakota Fanning. He shares that post with Freddie Highmore, the kid from Finding Neverland and Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Sangster is the one from Love Actually. Creepily enough, IMDB reveals that Highmore is 15 and Sangster 17, which can’t possibly be right.) Nearly all of the performers keep their chins up despite any hilarity unfolding around them. It’s impressive.

Worth seeing, especially if you’re planning an Excalibur viewing. I smell a box set!

The Last Legion, Colin Firth, Thomas Sangster, Roman empire, Ben Kingsley

A lot of people seem squeamish about a remake of Hairspray. It’s something about the air around the movie–the cutesiness of the posters, or the perkiness of the music, or maybe Grease 2 struck a little bit of fear into them. It’s understandable, really. But it turns out that the new Hairspray is a musical about the 60s for people who don’t like musicals about the 60s–the crinolines are puffy and the dance numbers swing, but the disingenuousness of the culture is part of the humor of the movie, which is actually pretty thorny at times. Musical lovers and people who like to throw popcorn at musical lovers should be able to find a happy meeting ground here.

Musicals on film always seem like a gamble, like we’ve somehow lost our touch since the Rogers & Hammerstein era. Make a musical and you might get Chicago, or you might get Everyone Says I Love You. Who can tell? The major difference seems to be the cast: spending the money on a cast with genuine singing and dancing ability is key, and fudging in the talent area is a bad idea all around. Things are even better if the singers and dancers are A-listers, since Americans seem to love discovering their favorite actors’ hidden talents. This rendition of Hairspray did it right: the cast is packed with famous people singing and dancing their hearts out, and every single one of them sells it flawlessly. We already knew about Queen Latifah and Michelle Pfeiffer, but who wouldn’t love watching Christopher Walken (The Most Inherently Creepy Man in America) break into song? Turns out, he has a very nice voice and plays Sweet and Charming rather well. The only no-namer in the bunch is the star, newcomer Nikki Blonsky, who proves that open casting calls aren’t a total wash. She’s perfect: she’s got the voice, but she’s natural, energetic, and pretty much adorable onscreen. Well played, casting director.

There is the little matter of John Travolta as Edna Turnblad, Tracy’s mother. It’s baffling…unless you know the history of the role. Edna is traditionally played by a man in drag–Divine in the 1988 film and Harvey Fierstein on Broadway (which is kind of hilarious, if you think about his voice). With that in mind, The Man Who Was Zuko isn’t such a bad choice. The voice and the accent are a little distracting, but that’s kind of the point, isn’t it? Also, the man’s got moves, even underneath all that padding. We’ll let it slide.

Aside from the casting and the general spectacle of it all, Hairspray is, at heart, a solid movie. The original script by John Waters (speaking of the creepiest men in America) is snappy, there’s purpose to the story, and nothing drags. The realization–with the opening number, “Good Morning, Baltimore”–that we’re doing something snarky, something self-aware, with the musical genre is a welcome one; essentially, Hairspray works because it’s good as a satire of musicals and as a genuine musical. The music and dance (and the fantastic costumes) just elevate it and create something light and smart out of what could be just an object lesson on social progress and civil rights, even if it’s a sarcastic object lesson on social progress and civil rights.

In all, things in Hairspray work out very, very well. If you like 60s musicals, or if you don’t like 60s musicals, this one’s for you.

Hairspray, John Waters, Nikki Blonsky, Christopher Walken, musicals, musical films