Another Movie Guy?: "The Class," etc.

Welcome to “Another Movie Guy?”! I review recent new releases, and then mention similar movies worth checking out. If all goes according to plan, you’ll have some new additions to your Netflix queue. Or someone with whom you can angrily disagree.

My high school French teacher, Madame Kogut, is probably senile. She is an old Parisian, for one thing – she actually remembers the German occupation. And her methods for dealing with a rowdy classroom were peculiar. A student kept opening and closing his three ring binder, so she threw the binder out the window. As I was watching The Class, the French nominee for Best Foreign Film, I was reminded of Madame Kogut. Sure, she was entertaining, but I didn’t learn much from her. If my class were more like the one taught by Monsieur Marin, the movie’s protagonist, perhaps I might retain more of the language.

The best way to begin is to describe the movie’s unusual approach. François Bégaudeau wrote a semi-autobiographical novel about his experiences as a teacher. With director Laurent Cantet and a cast of real students, Bégaudeau recreates his book for the screen. Bégaudeau essentially plays himself, and mostly improvises with his fellow cast members. The school is in a lower-middle class section of Paris, and Marin’s students, aged 12 to 14, are mostly immigrants. Many of the early scenes show how Marin struggles with his class. Yes, the kids learn, but they only make incremental progress, and many rebel against Marin’s authority. One student is particularly problematic, so when an incident happens in the classroom, the administration begins a disciplinary hearing. There are compelling reasons to excuse and punish the student’s behavior, yet the conclusion seems foregone.

The movie’s verisimilitude is its strongest asset. This isn’t one of those Dead Poets Society classrooms in which an inspirational teacher transforms the lives of his students. We learn about the characters, but are given no back story. The camera wisely never strays from the school, and rarely from the classroom. Marin is a passionate professional, and does not expect miracles. His classroom dynamics are complex. Marin succeeds by improvising his way through lessons, and correctly guessing how students will react to provocation. The students are sullen and rebellious, and probably do not realize they are learning. After watching lessons succeed and fail in equal measure, it becomes clear that Marin walks a tightrope. It is so easy for the class to fall into disarray, yet Marin retains his passion. His fellow teachers (mostly) share his enthusiasm, and have polite debate over classroom ethics and policy. One gets the impression that this is how most schools actually function.

With The Class, the director successfully uses a documentary-like approach as a means of portraying a school accurately. In doing so, he demonstrates great empathy for his subject. It seems that for every step Marin takes, he takes two steps back. Many factors hinder his likelihood for success. Some students have complicated home lives, some simply lack the willingness to learn, and others are probably too dim for the material. It goes without saying that the movie lacks a feel-good ending. That would miss the point. In its own understated way, the movie argues that teachers like Marin will never perform miracles, and will earn a modicum success only through boundless dedication. Because The Class never panders or exploits, it tells an endlessly fascinating story that’ll easily capture your attention. Don’t miss it.

Here are other movies in which dedicated teachers attempt to inspire their students (with varying degrees of success):

Lean on Me. I first watched this movie in sociology class during my senior year of high school, and it left quite an impression. Please don’t think it’s because I think the movie is any good – at best, it’s mediocre. Lean on Me lingers in my memory because Joe Clark, played by Morgan Freeman, is incredibly abrasive and strange. As principle of East Side High, it is Clark’s job to whip the fledgling school into shape. He does seem to genuinely care for the students, but his methods are dubious. He’s cruel to teachers, has a short temper, and at one point, has a flagrant disregard for the fire code. Teachers are already dedicated and have little respect for the man. Freeman makes the character so larger than life that he often provokes laughter (favorite line: “They used to call me Crazy Joe. Well now they can call me Batman!”). Gradually the school and students improve. We know that the movie is based on a true story, so what conclusions can be drawn? That a tyrannical approach is the only way to save our schools? The movie argues that most credit goes to Clark, a completely unrealistic conclusion that undermines its potential to inspire the audience. Still, it’s fun to watch Morgan Freeman yell at fat kids.

Hamlet 2. Last year had several blockbuster comedies, and this one fell under the radar. It’s a shame, really – Steve Coogan is an underrated actor who deserves more recognition than he receives. Here he plays Dana Marschz, a buffoonish drama teacher who adapts bad movies for the stage. It dawns on him the real ticket for success is an original play, one that will capture the imagination of his harshest critics. So begins his production of Hamlet 2, complete with Jesus and a time machine. The play’s centerpiece, a catchy number called “Rock Me Sexy Jesus,” is a real show-stopper, one that actually gets less offensive the more you think about it. The movie successfully satirizes inspirational teacher movies and the banality of suburbia. Coogan is an inspired choice – he sells his character, and (almost) plays him straight. Even when cursing at his cat, Marschz is believable in an oddly pathetic way. There are other pleasantly surprising casting choices that I won’t spoil. Hamlet 2 is worth a rental – the satire is too scattershot for the movie to be completely successful, yet there are some amazing moments of throwaway comedy.

The History Boys. Alan Bennett wrote this adaptation of his successful play. Set in the mid 1980s (and with a killer soundtrack), the story focuses on brilliant middle-class English boys who long for admission into Britain’s top universities. Three teachers do their best to help, and have radically different approaches. Hector argues that thrilling the admissions board with the students’ breadth of knowledge is the best method. The young Irwin pragmatically argues that controversy is the only way to stand out. I apologize if I make the movie sound like a dry intellectual exercise – the actors all have boundless energy. They speak so quickly and eloquently that the dialog dazzles the viewer. Like the writing of Aaron Sorkin, it’s unrealistic but entertaining. At one point, the boys act out a scene in a French brothel that no one, no matter how brilliant, could possibly pull off. The History Boys functions best a fantasy – the kind where brilliant students fulfill their potential, and (mostly) have their lust reciprocated. As I was watching, I got the feeling that the movie would work better as play. Can anyone confirm my suspicion?

That’s it for this week’s “Another Movie Guy?”! Tune in next week when I get sullen in Turkey.

Liveblogging with Another Movie Guy: Why do I watch the Oscars every year?

Welcome to “Another Movie Guy?”! Normally I review recent new releases, but tonight is special. It’s the night when Hollywood’s best and brightest strut their stuff, and celebrate how awesome they are. It’s the night when some sound editor wastes everyone’s time by thanking every person he knows. It’s the night when we watch montage after montage, and the background music gets exponentially more melodramatic. That’s right, it’s Oscar night!

I’ve decided to liveblog the ceremony. With any luck, this exercise will serve as a permanent reminder of why I should never do this again. I only have bourbon and Milano cookies to help maintain my sanity. Some ground rules:

• I will only write, “This is fucking bullshit” once.
• During commercials, I plan to flip to AMC, which will be screening Patton.
• I will drink only when I am outraged.
• If WALL*E does not win Best Animated Feature, I’m turning off the TV and walking to the nearest bar.

I may seriously regret this.

p.s. full list of winners here

 

Another Movie Guy?: "The International," etc.

Welcome to “Another Movie Guy?”! I review recent new releases, and then mention similar movies worth checking out. If all goes according to plan, you’ll have some new additions to your Netflix queue. Or someone with whom you can angrily disagree.

There will always be a special place in my heart for shoot-outs. As a teenager, a good shoot-out would satiate my blood lust better than any video game. Sometime my response is so visceral that I start giggling – I appreciate when things get so intense, and I no longer remember that I’m watching a movie. The International, the new Clive Owen movie, has one of the better shoot-outs in recent memory. Yes, it made me giggle, but even when the bullets weren’t flying, the movie maintained a high level of suspense.

Louis Salinger (Owen), an INTERPOL agent, has been following the world’s biggest bank for years. Every time he gets close to flipping someone on the inside, that person mysteriously ends up dead or disappears. With the help of a New York District Attorney (Naomi Watts), he gets close to an Italian investor with political aspirations. The investor, no doubt a substitute for Berlusconi, informs Salinger that the bank finances international warfare as a means of collecting debt. Of course, shortly after this conversation, the politician is assassinated. This is when the movie kicks into high gear, and becomes an international police procedural. Salinger follows leads around the world, and becomes increasingly convinced that an institution so big cannot be fought by conventional means. He realizes that he must go out of the system.

Like most thrillers, there’s nothing particularly original here. The bank executives are banally evil. Salinger and the other pursuers are angry and driven. The details are what make a movie like this one work. Tom Tykwer, director of movies like Run Lola Run and Perfume, has a canny visual style. On one level, the movie functions as architecture porn, and Tkywer makes the austere beauty of modern buildings a metaphor for the coldly efficient bank. There are no flourishes, but the machinations of the plot unfold logically. The complex plot never panders to the viewer. While the screenplay has several poorly developed characters (Watts’ character in particular), there are some who speak with world-weary eloquence. At one point, a consultant for the bank casually observes that, “The only difference between truth and fiction is that fiction has to make sense.” And of course, Clive Owen can do no wrong. He makes Salinger into an intense brooding man, one who learns the hard way that cynicism is his only guiding force. He’s no action hero, and even when wielding automatic weapons, Owen makes him believable.

The International is not the most memorable movie. It has low ambitions, and accomplishes them well. Those who expect similarity to The Bourne Identity will be disappointed. This a movie that requires attention, and while there are thrilling moments, it is not filled with wall-to-wall action. But man, what a killer shoot-out. It takes place in the Guggenheim museum, and if you’re familiar with its architecture, you’ll wonder why it took so long for an action sequence to take place there. The way it unfolds makes a certain sense, and the unlikely alliances formed are satisfying. Not since Children of Men, an earlier Clive Owen movie, has an action sequences been so creative. Immediately after Academy Awards season, Hollywood tends to offer only poor choices. Here’s a pleasantly entertaining alternative.

Here are three other reasons why my mancrush on Clive Owen is absolutely justified:

Croupier. For many, the movie served as an introduction to Owen, whose brooding eyes and careful language mesmerize the viewer. And long before Dexter, this Mike Hodges movie introduced me to the concept of the self-deluding narrator. Owen plays Jack Manfred, a writer who is offered a job as a blackjack dealer. He watches the punters with a careful eye, and his narration confirms that he knows the complex interactions of the blackjack table. Because he handles cards with uncommon dexterity and goes through great pains to note he doesn’t gamble, his character is all the more intriguing. Soon he finds himself wrapped up in a plot to rob the casino, and discovers that others have been manipulating him all along. The movie functions better as a character study than as a thriller. Jack is an erudite misanthrope – it’s a delight to hear him describe his contempt for those who surround him. Like Scorsese’s Casino, the movie functions almost as a documentary of how gamblers systematically lose their money.

I’ll Sleep When I’m Dead. Also directed by Hodges, this noir requires an attentive eye. Owen plays Will Graham, a former criminal who lives a quiet life as a laborer. When news arrives that his brother was murdered, Graham springs into action, scouring the streets of London for the killer. There’s a brief, electric scene when in an unkempt Owen transforms into the clean-shaven, well-groomed man we’ve come to love. As with other cockney gangster movies, the mere return of Graham strikes fear in those who know him well. Those who doubt Graham’s ability, like Boad (Malcolm McDowell), pay a steep price. Characters talk in short-hand, as if they know each other too well, and do not telegraph plot developments. Without the proper mindset, the movie will be too impenetrable for most viewers. If you’re patient and accept that Hodges knows what he’s doing, you’ll be rewarded with a gritty story about hardened man. Hell, even if you’re confused, there’s one unmistakably badass scene in which Owen shows us precisely who Graham is.

Closer. I had the pleasure of seeing this fantastic movie with an unsuspecting audience. Those who expected a romantic comedy (“Oh, don’t you just love Julia Roberts?”) responded with hisses and jeers. There are funny moments, but Closer is anything but a comedy. It tells the story of two men and two women, varying in age, who use sex as a weapon. No character is particularly likable. I found Dan (Jude Law) especially awful – he engages in nasty behavior, and responds like a wimpy child when his comeuppance finally arrives. In spite of his cruel behavior and brutal dialog, I found a certain sympathy for Owen’s character, Larry the Doctor*. He arguably says the harshest things, the kind of things that no one can take back, yet he always stays true to himself. He doesn’t kid himself – he knows he’s in the middle of a nasty game, and appreciates the emotional honesty of brutal insult. Moreover, Larry cannot hide how hurt he feels. I’ve heard Closer described as an anti-date movie. I couldn’t disagree more – if you’re in a happy relationship, you’ll surely have a greater appreciation of how dissimilar you are from the characters in this movie. In lieu of a mere picture, I’ve posted the entirety of Owen’s break-up scene with Roberts. Enjoy!

* During the stage production of Closer, Owen played Jude Law’s character.

That’s it for this week’s “Another Movie Guy?”! Tune in next week when I teach French brats.

Another Movie Guy?: "Coraline," etc.

Welcome to “Another Movie Guy?”! I review recent new releases, and then mention similar movies worth checking out. If all goes according to plan, you’ll have some new additions to your Netflix queue. Or someone with whom you can angrily disagree.

I have no children, yet I am extremely concerned about the content of children’s movies. Watching WALL*E, for example, I remember thinking “Jesus, even I am shaken by the plight of this robot. I wonder what a five-year-old thinks.” Fiction for children has a long history of disturbing content. Coraline, the new animated Neil Gaiman adaptation, is the latest addition to that fine tradition. Visually stunning and with fine voice acting, the movie has some creepy moments, yet the parts do not add to a greater whole.

Coraline Jones (voiced by Dakota Fanning) has moved from Michigan to Oregon. Her mother (Teri Hatcher) and father (John Hodgman) are preoccupied with their blossoming garden business. The new situation leaves the young Coraline unhappy, and she is not afraid to voice her dissatisfaction. With oodles of times on her hands, she stumbles upon a portal not unlike the one in Being John Malkovich. On the other side of the portal, she finds a delightfully bizarre copy of her home. The key difference is that her Other Mother (also Hatcher), who has buttons for eyes, replaces her old one. The Other Mother seems warmer, and dotes upon Coraline, offering gifts and delicious food. Soon Coraline spends more of her time in the Other world. Naturally things are not exactly what they seem. Warnings from a Cat (Keith David) and a young boy make Coraline wary of Other Mother. To make matters worse, Coraline opens a gift only to discover two buttons and a needle. Sure, she’s attached to her eyes (in more ways than one), but Other Mother demands them.

Coraline is the first 3D movie I’ve seen since I went to Epcot Center 15 years ago. Director Henry Selick wisely uses the added dimension in an understated way – only once does a sharp object seem uncomfortably close. It is a nice touch when Coraline looks longingly through a rainy window, and you could see the space between her and the raindrops. The animation is lush and off-kilter in that Edward Gorey sort of way. Characters have exaggerated features, and occasionally veer towards the grotesque.  The movie’s strongest asset is its writing. Coraline is not the plucky kid one often finds in children’s movies, one for whom it is easy to cheer. She’s a sourpuss and not easily likeable, a fact which makes her feel more authentic than many of her flesh-and-blood counterparts. She does not have bad parents, just distracted ones, the kind of realistic adults who would infuriate a curious kid with no patience. Dakota Fanning deserves some of the credit, too. All the voicework is top-notch – it’s refreshing to see a director choose quality voice actors instead of movie stars. Ian McShane is particularly amusing as a Russian acrobat, and I think we can all agree that Keith David should be everyone’s first choice for a cat.

I said earlier that the sums do not add to a greater whole. Where does the movie make its missteps? I think that Selick plays it a little safe – the movie will frighten only the youngest children. If memory serves, The Nightmare Before Christmas has more genuinely frightening moments. But then again, Selick’s earlier work was scarier because I saw it as a child. There’s the explanation! Coraline works, but moreso for children than adults. Anyone who appreciates innovative animation should see the movie, but not necessarily expect an engrossing experience. I think that Pixar has set my expectations too high.

Here are other bizarre animated movies that bright (precocious) young things (kids) should watch:

Renaissance. Directors like Peter Jackson and Robert Zemeckis have been lauded for their use of motion-capture animation. Me? I’m a little bored of fantasy creatures like a naked, gold-plated Angelina Jolie. It’s refreshing, therefore, to see a movie like Renaissance, which uses motion-capture to create a one-of-a-kind world. Paris 2054 – a totalitarian regime ensures that everyone is constantly spied upon. A scientist for the Avalon corporation is kidnapped, and it’s up to Karas (voiced by Daniel Craig) to find her. The movie drips with noiry atmosphere, so it be no surprise that Karas uncovers a massive conspiracy, and is betrayed by his confidantes. As you can see above, the movie is filmed with stark blacks and whites. Unlike old b&w movies, the whites are glaring, sometimes even harsh on the eyes. The look is well-suited to the plot – a perfect juxtaposition of noir and sci-fi. Director Christian Volckman spent six fucking years working on this movie, and it’s clear that the majority of his time was spent on motion-capture. The story will drain from your memory, yet you’ll remember the stunning visuals for years to come.

The Triplets of Belleville. Part of WALL*E’s appeal was that for its first third, the movie had little dialog. It relied upon an expressive hero, and succeeded so admirably that it was disappointing when characters began to speak. The Triplets of Belleville offers no such disappointment – there is barely any dialog. In fact, I first watched this French movie with no subtitles, and barely missed a beat. It tells the story of a driven cyclist who gets kidnapped by the mob, and how the cyclist’s douty mother comes to the rescue. The whole movie looks like a pleasant nightmare – as with Coraline, every setting and character has greatly exaggerated features. My favorites arevthe thugs who look like giant boxes, and the maître d’ who has a rubbery spine. The mother, with her club foot and large glasses, somewhat resembles WALL*E, and even comes close to being as sympathetic a character. As for the triplets themselves, they’re initially bizarre in a “smelly old granny” kind of way, but once they began their unique musical act, they win you right over. Honestly, I can’t think of many cartoons bursting with as much imagination as this one.

The Work of Don Hertzfeldt. This is cheating, maybe. Don Hertzfeldt has never made a feature-length movie, and there is little of his work that’s readily available on Netflix (unless you count The Animation Show compilation). Still, he is widely regarded as an excellent animator. His work must be painstaking –his cartoons are hand-drawn, and is known to do all the work himself. They feature simple stick figures that most any grade-schooler could draw, yet Hertzfeldt is innovative in the way he breaks the fourth wall of his paper. He perhaps best known for Rejected, a nine minute cartoon that contains dark, amazing, batshit insane humor. I first saw the cartoon as a college freshman, and can hardly remember an occasion where I’ve laughed as hard. There’s this odd compulsion in me to show Rejected to unsuspecting friends. They usually have the same reaction – confusion, laughter, anger, revulsion, confusion, and finally sadness. You’ll have to watch to see what I mean. Other cartoons, like the cerebral The Meaning of Life, have been described as, “The closest thing on film yet to Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey.” As far as I’m concerned, anyone who makes ass jokes and can be validly compared to Kubrick is worth your time. Above you can watch Billy’s Balloon – a cute, diverting cartoon that’ll give you an idea of what’s in store.

That’s it for this week’s “Another Movie Guy?”! Tune in next week when I take on a global financial conspiracy.

Another Movie Guy?: "Wendy and Lucy," etc.

Welcome to “Another Movie Guy?”! I review recent new releases, and then mention similar movies worth checking out. If all goes according to plan, you’ll have some new additions to your Netflix queue. Or someone with whom you can angrily disagree.

I have friends who absolutely will not watch a movie if there is a scene where someone treats a dog cruelty. With their soulful eyes, dogs in particular are often the centerpiece of the most emotionally wrenching scenes. I think this is because it’s so easy to project emotion on something that can’t speak for itself. Kellly Reichardt, the writer/director of Wendy and Lucy, knows this. Her subject is a young man and her canine companion, but don’t think that this is a cloying, indie equivalent of Marley and Me. No scene strains for affect, and the quietly observant direction gives you time to appreciate the relationship between these two.

Wendy (Michelle Williams) is “just passing through” a small town in the Pacific Northwest. She has only $525 to her name, and is struggling to reach Alaska. There is no more dog food, so Wendy walks to the local market, and ties her mutt Lucy to a bike rack. Of course, with only so much money left, Wendy steals the dog food, not realizing that a store employee is spying on her the entire time. She’s caught red-handed, and sent to jail. Lucy is not at the bike rack when she returns, so Wendy spends the next day trying to find her friend.

The simplicity of the storytelling is the movie’s strongest asset.  Wendy has no context except for the few days we spend with her. There are tidbits that we learn – she is from Indiana, for example, and she frustrates her sister back home. Even with a lack of information, the audience learns plenty about Wendy, due in no small part to Michelle Williams’ fine performance. She consistently hits the right notes, and her moments of despair are never over the top. Wendy is simply determined. She understands that to dwell would cause her to lose hope, something which helps her establish a rapport with the audience. During her search, she encounters strangers who, in a way, are systemic of our crumbling economy. They act as if they’ve been forgotten. Some take pity on Wendy, some abuse what little power they have, and they all lead a meager existence, wandering through a small town as life passes by. The director films these characters with restraint and dignitty. With her cinematographer, Reichardt also gets some gorgeous shots of the Cascade mountains.

Wendy and Lucy is like a good short story. I guess this should come as no surprise, as Reichardt adapted the screenplay from Jonathon Raymond’s fiction. On one level, it really is just about a girl and her dog. What elevates the movie is the empathy of the observant camera, and Williams’ understated performance. Every scene feels plausible, giving the movie a deep emotional impact. Even the bittersweet final scene, which could have been handled poorly, hits all the right notes. I have seen plenty of movies about people and their pets, but I don’t remember the last time one has moved me so deeply.

Here are other deliberately paced movies reqiure some degree of patience:

Old Joy. Before Wendy Lucy, Kelly Reichardt made Old Joy, another movie adapted from Raymond. Mark lives a quite life with his wife and is expecting a baby. His friend Kurt unexpectedly arrives, and suggests that they go on overnight hike to nearby hot springs. Mark reluctantly accepts, and hints that there is a reason he hasn’t seen his friend in years. The two go on a trip, take in the scenery, talk for a while, and go home. Really that’s all that happens, which is why a movie like this is difficult to summarize. Kurt and Mark both seem wistful and a little sad, feelings that Reichardt consciously invokes. You get the sense that they both yearn for something from their past. Kurt doesn’t have a family, so he seems far less together than his friend. He uses the kind of hippiespeak that infuriates an east-coast city slicker like myself. He’s aloof and annoying, and I’m not sure whether it’s intentional. Yet for a movie with subtle character development and virtually no story, it is still engaging. If you liked Wendy and Lucy, be surre to check this one out. And don’t worry, at a mere 76 minutes, Old Joy does not overstay its welcome.

Shotgun Stories. For a title that promises violence, Shotgun Stories is surprisingly subdued. It focuses on two unhappy families who share the same father. Brothers Son, Boy, and Kid (yes those are their names) remember their father as an abusive SOB. So when the old man dies, Son feels the only appropriate reaction is to deliver a bitter eulogy and spit on the casket. The old man’s new family, who fondly remember the deceased, don’t take kindly to Son’s behavior. Thus begins a bitter blood feud. Don’t be fooled – the movie’s violence is not stylized, and little bloodletting happens on screen. More often than not, we see the consequences of the violence; namely, how bitter, lonely men with few prospects question their actions and deal with bloody repercussions. Writer/director Jeff Nichols has more in common with Terrence Malick than he does Quentin Tarantino. Terse dialog is the only thing that punctuates the long silences of this movie.  Shotgun Stories is not thrilling, but does an uncanny job of presenting a specific mood, and how violence might escalate with believable small-town characters.

Werckmeister Harmonies. Ok, I’ve talked about a lot of slow movies in this column, but this one takes the cake. It’s two and a half hours long, it’s black and white, it’s in Hungarian, it has a threadbare plot, and the average shot is four minutes long. You still with me? Good. Béla Tarr directed this creepy movie about a sideshow invading a small town. Before the visitors arrive, there is an amazing eleven minute take in which Janos, the closest thing the movie has to a protagonist, forces drunks to enact his vision of the apocalypse. Clearly this is a group who are in serious need of entertainment. With its mysterious leader known only as “The Prince,” the sideshow finally arrives. The show’s centerpiece is a giant whale, a creature whose presence inspires awe in the townsfolk. We wisely never see a shot of the whale in its entirety, which helps the viewer get a sense of how others regard the creature. There seems to be a supernatural force at work here. Everyone begins to revolt, and town devolves into a state of chaos. The movie has an amazing style – Tarr, like Kubrick, has the patience to orchestrate long, gliding takes that all but hypnotize the viewer. If you allow youself get rapt up in such an unusual movie, I promise you won’t be disappointed.

That’s it for this week’s “Another Movie Guy?”! Tune in next week when I have buttons for eyeballs.