The Screengrab : ethan hawke

DVD Digest for April 28, 2009

Paul Clark — Tue, 28 Apr 2009 14:00:00 GMT

This week, Hollywood January-doldrums releases start finding their way to DVD, while the studios continue to flood the market with tie-ins to their upcoming summer blockbusters.

Hey, remember three months ago when Bride Wars (Fox, also Blu-Ray), Hotel for Dogs (Disney, also Blu-Ray), and The Uninvited (Paramount, also Blu-Ray) all got released in theatres? If not, they’ll all be hitting DVD today to remind you of their existence. Other recent releases hitting stores this week: Mark Ruffalo and Ethan Hawke in What Doesn’t Kill You (Sony, also Blu-Ray); Van Damme goes arthouse in JCVD (Peace Arch); Rod Lurie’s Valerie Plame-inspired drama Nothing But the Truth (Sony); and the documentary Stranded: I’ve come from a plane that crashed in the mountains (Zeitgeist), about the same plane crash that inspired the book and movie Alive.

This week’s biggest classics release is a pair of films from the great, controversial Japanese director Nagisa Oshima, In the Realm of the Senses (Criterion, also Blu-Ray) and Empire of Passion (Criterion). Both films, originally released during Oshima’s fertile mid-1970s period, will be released with plenty of extras, including documentaries, interviews, and even cut (sorry) scenes on the Realm disc. Also today, Criterion will be releasing a new edition of Stephen Frears’ British gangster drama The Hit, and Jim McBride’s semi-forgotten cult classic Glen and Randa (VCI) will hit stores as well.

New TV on DVD releases hitting stores today include: Seth McFarlane’s American Dad vol. 4 (Fox), and the animated series Marvel X-Men vol. 1 and vol. 2 (both Disney).

And just in time for their new big-screen counterparts to arrive in theatres, Star Trek: The Original Series vol. 1 (Paramount) and The Da Vinci Code (Sony) will arrive today in Blu-Ray only releases.

Finally, with this week’s Plot Synopsis of the Week, I’ve decided to spotlight something other than a Japanimation title this time. There are plenty of movies like Fox’s new direct-to-DVD feature Legally Blondes dumped into the market every week, but this one caught my attention mostly because it hits all the expected marks for a movie of this kind. It almost sounds like a parody. Don’t believe me? Check it out:

Elle Woods may have moved upward and onward through law school, but her pink and frilly spirit lives on in her young, adorable cousins Annabelle and Isabelle (Camilla and Rebecca Rosso). Fresh from England, the blond twosome assume their fashion savviness will help them make friends at their new California prep academy in no time flat. One can imagine their frizz-inducing horror, then, when they discover that their new place of learning is run by uniform-loving, junior-capitalist snobs! After the most influential students at school frame Anna and Izzy for a crime they didn’t commit, it’s up to the girls to prove not only their innocence but their capabilities. Reese Witherspoon presents this spin-off of the beloved franchise that helped make her a superstar. LEGALLY BLONDES is helmed by Savage Steve Holland, the quirky director of BETTER OFF DEAD and ONE CRAZY SUMMER.

Translation: Reese Witherspoon got sick of playing Elle Woods after installment #2, but she was still contracted for one more movie. So instead of shelling out to make her happy, we’ll have her “present” a cheapo version to polish off the trilogy, thereby allowing us to plaster her name in big letters above the title in order to fool those who don’t look too hard at the DVD boxes. No mention of siblings in the original films, but we can always do the “cousin” connection, since it worked for the American Pie spinoffs, right? The twist this time is that there are two of them- twins, even! No name twins, but what can you do? From there, the plot practically writes itself. Fish-out-of-water comedy, snobbish baddies, little dogs, and blonde jokes out the derriere! How could it miss? Oh, and why not get a comedy director from the eighties who needs the work?

See what I mean?

Taxing Time: A Screengrab Salute To Beat The Clock Cinema (Part Five)

Andrew Osborne — Thu, 09 Apr 2009 22:00:00 GMT

BEFORE SUNSET (2004)

He only has 90 minutes before he has to catch that plane, and boom!, the love of his life shows up. Last time they met, they had only one night together. Now that they're older, time is even more precious, and they are even more uncertain how to proceed. The last time, the story could look away, passing time through ellipses, but this time, everything has to unfold in real time. Because love doesn't care about your schedule, and it comes and goes as it pleases. In 1995, when Before Sunrise came out, I was 23 and I didn't know how to appreciate the tender little moments life has to offer. I didn't know how hard it is to make a connection with someone, and I let friends and potential loves slip out of my grasp. In short, I understood the characters in Before Sunrise. I could see a little of myself in Jesse, and let this be the only time I admit kinship with Ethan Hawke. I never gave up anything as precious as Jesse and Celine (and, Julie Delpy, how many people my age are in love with you?) in Before Sunrise, but I could easily see how something like that could happen. When its sequel came out in 2004, I was 32, happily married, and I had learned a little more about how the world worked. And Before Sunset just tore my heart out, heedless. How do you deal with the person who makes you remember the person you were, let alone the torrent of old emotions and regrets? The structure of the movie insists that neither has time to dwell on regrets and anger, but they have to address it. Their connection isn't the superficial kind. Richard Linklater has had his ups and downs as a filmmaker, but he's never been finer than he was with this movie. Some people may like their car chases, but the pursuit of the most dangerous game draws more blood and quickens the breath like nothing else. (HC)

BACK TO THE FUTURE (1985)

Back to the Future (yes, that's part one, you fools, what kind of philistine do you take me for?) has plenty of scenes that still make me cringe and/or hold my breath like they did when I first saw them back when I was a wee one. In that department, the Johnny B. Goode scene is rivaled only by the end scene, which is literally a race against time. Young Marty McFly needs to be sent back to the future using 1950s technology and natural sources of electricity. The kid's literally starting to disappear, for crying out loud — that with almost seducing his own mother, and other murky psychological goop. Sure, the 1950s may have looked good to your average Reagan-voting suburbanite, but it was not just fun and games. There was segregation, and more importantly, no rock 'n' roll for white people. Imagine getting stuck back there forever. The horror! So back in 1954, Doc does his best to remedy the disorder he set about thirty years later, dangling from the town hall clock while Marty does his best in the DeLorean. Now if the franchise had only ended there. (SCS)

THE GRADUATE (1967)

Maybe I'm just partial to The Graduate. Could be. But there is something delicious about the penultimate part of the movie, where Dustin Hoffman's Ben is skidding around dusty California roads in his little red Alfa Romeo, desperately trying to find the chapel where Elaine is going to be wed to her hunky purebred husband. Part of what makes this so great is that it breaks two (or perhaps three) of the cardinal rules of cinematic races against time: first, there is a feeling of horrible slowness to Ben's car ride and search for the chapel. This is less fast and furious and more like one of those dreams where you need to run and run fast, but somehow it's all in slow motion no matter how much you power on. Second, Ben loses his race against time; he gets to the church too late...second-and-a-half being too late doesn't matter. (SCS)

THE TESTAMENT OF DR. MABUSE (1933)

Fritz Lang's masterpiece of German Expressionism is part horror film, part crime syndicate saga, part procedural, and all about the force of obsession. The last third is given over to a race against the clock, as veil upon veil slips away to reveal Mabuse's ambitious plan, the unlimited reign of crime. The trailer above is in German, but it conveys just how stunningly creepy and exciting the movie is: the superimposition of images, the whispering voice, the car chase, the real sense of danger pervading every scene. Joseph Goebbels, no fool, saw it as a condemnation of Nazism and banned it from Germany under the Third Reich. It's up for debate whether Lang was intentionally condemning Nazis, but even if Lang wasn't sure what his message was, one cannot doubt his skill as a filmmaker. The visual power of the film, the unsettling use of sound, the wheels-within-wheels of the plot: all reach across the gap of time and still hold sway over modern viewers. Even as one easily discounts the psychology of the film, its coherent view of a world spiralling out of control cannot be denied. (HC)

Click Here Immediately For Part One, Two, Three, Four & Six

Contributors: Hayden Childs, Sarah Clyne Sundberg

Screengrab Q&A: Mark Webber, director of Explicit Ills

Peter Smith — Mon, 02 Mar 2009 20:30:00 GMT

At twenty-eight, actor Mark Webber is already a recognizable veteran of the indie film-festival circuit. Using several years of valuable experience Webber took on a different role as the writer, director and producer of his first feature Explicit Ills. The semi-autobiographical film follows four interconnected stories within inner-city Philadelphia and focuses on some very relevant and timely social issues. It's been a big year for Webber. Aside from the release of his debut feature, he has been cast alongside Michael Cera in Edgar Wright's upcoming Scott Pilgrim vs. The World and also saw the birth of his first child. He spoke with us about the trials and tribulations of getting a movie from notebook to big screen as well as his muted optimism about America's current political landscape. — Bryan Whitefield

Obviously you've worked on a number of films as an actor and even a few as a producer, but how difficult was it to get your own film done from start to finish?
You know what? It's really hard [laughs]. I mean the turnaround from when I wrote the script to when we got it cast, then got financing, to up and shooting, actually happened in a matter of months. And even with editing and post it all came together within a year — which is really fast. But at the same time it's taken me almost twelve years to make this happen, in a way, because it's taken me working as an actor and meeting directors and learning from them as well as throughout that process establishing relationships with other talented, creative people. And because of that I was able to call Paul [Dano] and Rosario [Dawson] and [Jim] Jarmusch directly and get them to read my script, which for a lot of people starting out is the uphill battle that takes up a lot of your time and energy. So I was very fortunate in that way. Then the actual making of the film was just a series of constant highs and lows. We were working with a really small budget and not a lot of time and some really ambitious set-ups shooting-wise. Not to mention we were shooting on film and working with young kids in some not-so-great neighborhoods. But fortunately for me, the majority of the films that I've worked on have been shot in a similar way, so I was able to lean on some of that experience as a filmmaker myself.

Which directors do you feel like you learned the most about directing from? You already mentioned Jim Jarmusch, who was the executive producer on your film.
Jim is a big influence. His career as a filmmaker to me is awesome because he's just made the films he wanted to make the way he's wanted to make them. Ideally, that's how I feel all films should be crafted. Unfortunately, I've seen friends of mine essentially have films taken away from them and re-edited for the sake of making something that was more "commercial" — which is a really odd term to me, but one that permeates a lot of the talk outside of filmmaking. So Jim is really inspiring to me, and the fact that he was willing to be the Godfather to my first film was extremely helpful and beneficial.

I've done two films with Ethan Hawke now, and he's just a great person and an incredible actor, and has this really infectious spirit on set as a director that keeps everyone happy and willing to explore.

I also got to work with Todd Solondz on Storytelling and I was just blown away by the guy. In a way it was similar to when I worked with Thomas Vinterberg and Lars von Trier, where you're working with someone who you know is incredibly talented and you think they might have some trick up their sleeve, as if you're part of some experiment, but you want to be there. That's really cool to me.

One thing that really impressed me was the film's strong visual language. I know that you worked with Patrice Lucent Cochet, the cinematographer from the film you did with Steve Berra, The Good Life.
Thanks, and it was really cool that Patrice got that recognition at SXSW (Best Cinematography) for his work on the film. But having worked with him before, even just as an actor, went a really long way. I think it would have been difficult to have to develop a relationship with someone that important to the outcome of the film because there were so many other aspects that I was trying to manage.

On a side note, how disappointing is it when you make a quality film like The Good Life that for whatever reason never ends up getting into theaters? And on the flip side how satisfying is it when you do get to see a project through and get it out there?
It hurts. With The Good Life in particular, I was really proud of that film and the people who were fortunate enough to see it at Sundance that year seemed to really love the film. It got a DVD release, but it was made for theaters. So yeah, that one stung. But then to write and direct and produce a film and have it play at the Angelika? That's really a dream come true. It's just a crazy climate for independent film right now and you're really fortunate if your film gets seen at all, which is why film festivals are so crucial for a lot of these smaller movies. But I'm ecstatic that we're opening at the Angelika because I've seen a lot of incredible films there throughout the years, so it's a proud moment for me.

When did you decide to get an actor to essentially play the "Mark Webber" part?
[Laughs] Yeah, I had thought at one point that I would be in it, but I really wanted to feel what it was like to be a director on this film Then I saw Thumbsucker, and I had been hearing about Lou Pucci for awhile, partly because he was the young guy vying for some of the roles I might have been up for. And then I got a chance to meet him and talk about the project and we really got along. Part of it too was that Explicit was already so personal that I felt like I needed a little distance so I could retain perspective on it.

The film addresses some serious social issues. Do you feel more optimistic now with President Obama in office?
I feel like the very PC answer to that question is yes, but unfortunately I don't entirely feel that way. I think Obama is the first person in office in a really long time that actually feels like a real person and he has a good heart and he means well, but I'm still a believer in people coming together to change this world. I just don't think that it's possible for one man in a very corrupt system to be able to create real change. At the same time, I think President Obama is an eloquent speaker for change and an important catalyst for it even just in inspiring people and making them feel like they've elected someone who represents them. I just don't want people to lose the perspective and the faith in their own ability to create change and remain committed to actively trying to make this world a better place and not think it stops with electing someone. I am very happy that he got elected, but I'm also a little worried that it might take the wind out of people's sails. I don't want the empowerment that people felt in coming together and electing him to go away because he won. I want them to use that energy to help make their own lives better.

I know you already have some films lined up to act in, but will you write or direct again?
Definitely. That idea was cooking while I was shooting Explicit and then it just reached a fever pitch during post-production, because I always feel as soon you're done with something, all of a sudden you really know how to do it. Part of it is just accepting that idea and as an artist trying to learn from it for the next time. Making Explicit Ills was phenomenal for me because I love storytelling and filmmaking and the collective effort of making a movie, and now I feel like I could do it better. I've got some ideas that are just chicken scratch in a notebook right now, but I'm excited about starting this whole crazy process all over again.

Sundance Roundup: Day Three

Scott Von Doviak — Sun, 18 Jan 2009 19:15:00 GMT

Spike Lee makes his first trip to Sundance this year with Passing Strange, his filmed record of the Broadway hit. But we don't care about that. Today it's all about the hat. This tragic, tragic hat. Where to start? The white-on-white Yankees logo? The ring of white fur that doesn't appear to have any actual warming value? Come on, Spike, even A-Rod wouldn't be caught dead in that thing. "“I’m not taking a poll,” he told the New York Times. “I’m just trying to stay warm.” Try harder.

The first major deal of the festival has been sealed. "Antoine Fuqua’s Brooklyn’s Finest closed a deal on Saturday night at the Sundance Film Festival, with North American rights going to Senator Distribution, Inc," Indiewire reports. "Buzz began building around the film after Friday night’s world premiere at the Eccles Theater in Park City. The story of 'cops and crooks' (ala Training Day), Finest stars Richard Gere, Don Cheadle, Ethan Hawke, Wesley Snipes and Ellen Barkin." Movie City News expresses some surprise at the deal, " given the reportedly hostile reception it received at the film’s premiere, especially to an ending that shocked and angered many." Not to worry, though! The distributor assures us the ending will be cut.

Last week I picked Spread, the Ashton Kutcher gigolo movie, as one of five movies to skip, but if Salon's Andrew O'Hehir is to be believed, I am no Nostradamus. "This guilty pleasure premiered to a packed house on Saturday night and was pretty much a smash...Kutcher turns out to have terrific acting chops well beyond the doofus self-mockery of his TV-host and pitchman personas." Well, I'll say this for Kutcher: I don't think even he would be caught dead in Spike Lee's hat.

Screengrab Presents: The Best Stage-To-Screen Adaptations Of All Time (Part Two)

Andrew Osborne — Thu, 11 Dec 2008 21:00:00 GMT

THE GOOD FAIRY (1935)

Ferenc Molnar's prolific output (around 40 plays) was plundered (often in radically altered and/or watered-down form) by everyone: Rogers & Hammerstein got Carousel out of his Liliom, and Billy Wilder's fleetest farce, One, Two, Three updated (apparently unrecognizably) another play. Often forgotten is 1935's The Good Fairy, a triumph of clever dialogue and expert performances over William Wyler's typically ponderous, absurdly slow direction. In keeping with the good "production values" Wyler stolidly brought along for his whole career, things move way too slow. For no good reason, Preston Sturges' adaptation retains cumbersome faux-Hungarian street-name signs, presumably in the name of reminding audiences what cultivated terrain they've stumbled upon whenever an actor gets slowed down by a word. But Sturges keeps throwing away funny lines and faux-ponderous diction in every direction, and the movie's a blast despite all that. "Unhand me, varlet, lest I cleave thee to the brisket!" yells a drunk aristocrat. "I will scale yonder precipice alone!" And he's never heard from again.

HOBSON'S CHOICE (1954)

Harold Brighouse's 1916 comedy was a staple of Northern English comedy, which made everyone nervous when David Lean — "in every fibre a Southerner," notes Kevin Brownlow's biography — took it on. Fortunately, his cast — scenery-chewing Charles Laughton, John Mills (saving his career from impending disaster) and bitchy Brenda de Banzie — carry things nicely. Lean was never much good at comedy, but Hobson's Choice isn't much of a knee-slapper in the first place, so — unlike his awful, rhythmless Blithe Spirit, a mean-spirited, clunky travesty of Noel Coward's play (who responded "You've just fucked up the best thing I ever wrote") — it works. Lean's main contribution comes between dialogue, as in the clip above — continually grounding the mild, leisurely jokes in Manchester's real industrial sprawl. Co-writer Norman Spencer recalls Brighouse never really cared: "He was an old man who was a bit deaf and rather stunned by the whole thing. He said, 'I hope it'll be a nice film,' lost interest and went back up North again."

WILL SUCCESS SPOIL ROCK HUNTER? (1957)

It's nearly impossible to imagine Rock Hunter as a play — Frank Tashlin's movie is so aggressively cinematic, and its satirical points on celebrity's corrosive effects and so on kind of uninteresting. But it pops with Looney Tunes energy, mostly courtesy of Tony Randall: he's occasionally overrun with unexplained evil spirits that take over his body, lower his voice, and make him act as rudely as possible, an effect closer to the cartoons Tashlin started out in than any play. In the clip above (0:53 in), Randall interrupts the movie's action to address the audience directly while the screen loses its Cinemascope boundaries for all manner of TV-simulation; it's the cinematic equivalent of Todd Rundgren's sarcastic diatribe of in-house problems, "Sounds From The Studio," which showcased clipping, weird pitch-shifting and every other '70s analog problem in great detail. Here we get static, snow, and V-hold problems. It's the film's most exhilarating moment, and utterly irrelevant to theater.

THE HOMECOMING (1973)

"Didn't you hear what I said, dad?" sneers Ian Holm in the clip above. Pinter's clipped menace has translated to the screen better and more often than most, but The Homecoming is probably the best attempt to translate a play to screen with as little flash or changing as possible (including, at a mere 111 minutes, an intermission). Aside from one memorable handheld POV shot for the first act's climax — a nervous charge attempted by both character and camera — Peter Hall finds angles that sometimes find visual equivalents for what's being said, but mostly do the one thing that can't be accomplished in theater: have everything happen in a realistically crappy suburban house, without otherwise changing the tempo or performances one bit.

HAMLET ('96 Branagh/'00 Almereyda)

Five years apart, Kenneth Branagh and Michael Almereyda offered near-definitive, completely opposed takes on Hamlet. Branagh has the whole text uncut; to get through everything in a relatively speedy four hours, whole monologues are delivered in breathless rushes. Out of either necessity or bravado (or both), Branagh overplays wildly at times, rendering his every intonation explicitly theatrical; it's a big help for the novice viewer though: arguably the most instantly comprehensible on-screen Hamlet, making everything clear. Updated to the 19th century, it seems, purely to enable lusher visual overkill, Hamlet is both intelligent Shakesperean interpretation and grand Hollywood entertainment. That Branagh stocks all the main parts with theatrically trained actors with basically no marquee value and all the minor parts with way out-of-their-depth Hollywood players (Billy Crystal! Jack Lemmon!) creates an inadvertant but fascinating form of tension and comic relief. Almereyda's version, on the other hand, goes fin de siecle, slashes the text remorselessly and spends a lot of time amusing itself with its updates (the ghost first appears in front of a vending machine on a security camera) and punnish ways to change things by implication without changing the words (Denmark is no longer a country but a corporation avoiding takeover). Within all the jokes, Ethan Hawke's slacker prince is convincingly callow, moody and self-absorbed, but Almereyda knows the text is strong enough to make even this young idiot's plight finally empathetically comprehensible.

Click Here For Part One, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven & Eight

Contributor: Vadim Rizov

When Good Directors Go Bad?: Great Expectations (1998, Alfonso Cuaron)

Paul Clark — Tue, 04 Nov 2008 20:00:00 GMT

Since making his feature debut with 1991’s Solo con tu pareja, Alfonso Cuaron has become one of the world’s most acclaimed and distinctive filmmakers. That he has managed to do this is a credit not only to his talent but also his versatility. With a scant six features under his belt, he has managed to makes films both large and small, both light and dark, and in both English and Spanish. His breakthrough film A Little Princess is a lovely and underseen family film, and his instinctive feel for family-friendly entertainment helped him immeasurably on Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, seen by many as the best big-screen Potter adventure to date. In between, he’s also managed to transcend the teenage sex film into transcendent cinema in Y Tu Mama Tambien, and crafted one of the most unique dystopian visions of the cinema in Children of Men.

But in the evaluation of Cuaron’s career to date, one film has gotten lost in the shuffle- 1998’s Great Expectations. A loose, lushly-mounted update of Charles Dickens’ classic novel, the film was released in 1998 in the dog days of February, in the wake of the Titanic juggernaut. Reviews were middling, and audience response was unenthusiastic. In the eyes of many Hollywood insiders, the project that should have been a stepping stone to Cuaron’s future as a big-name Hollywood filmmaker became a stumbling block that sent him tumbling back to Mexico to make his subsequent film. But while there’s no denying that the perception of Great Expectations didn’t help Cuaron’s career, the real question is here more simple- is the movie any good?

Having watched the film recently, I would maintain that it is, and certainly better than its reputation would suggest. That said, it’s hardly perfect. A number of critics took the film to task for being insufficiently faithful to Dickens, and certainly, Great Expectations didn’t benefit from being one of a rash of loose “re-imaginings” of classic novels that were in vogue during the mid- to late-nineties. But I found that the contemporary trappings suited the original story pretty well. More distracting was the way the screenplay, written by Mitch Glazer, pared down Dickens’ story to focus almost entirely on the relationship between Pip (now named Finn and played by Ethan Hawke) and Estella (Gwyneth Paltrow). In doing so, Glazer sketches over much of what makes the book really interesting, that story of a man who is carried along by destiny from one fascinating situation to another guided by two benefactors, one known to him (Miss Havisham), the other unseen. As a result, Great Expectations lacks much of the narrative interest that the novel had.

But if Cuaron’s film largely fails as Dickens, there’s plenty of other aspects to the film to enjoy. The majority of Dickens adaptations for film and television have emphasized the squalor and hardscrabble lifestyle of the period in which he wrote, but Cuaron’s style infuses the story with liberal amounts of magic realism, and the two are a surprisingly good fit. It helps that the film is set in two locations in the U.S. that are best suited for magic realism- the Gulf Coast of Florida (with its swamps and vegetation and distinctly Hispanic influence) and New York City. Look at the decaying manse of the film’s Miss Havisham character, here called Ms. Dinsmoor and played by Anne Bancroft. The home itself is based on the Alhambra in Spain, but everything is falling apart and overgrown, and the wedding party, still set out after three decades, is made all the more eerie by the Spanish moss that’s hanging from the trees. And the film’s version of New York is a city full of mysterious settings and endless possibilities, and Cuaron and regular cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezki make good use of the weather to reflect the tone of the film, with the sun shining warmly when Finn is content, and rain pouring or leaves falling when his emotional state has become tumultuous.

Likewise, the film is ideally cast to suit Cuaron’s style. At first glance, Ethan Hawke seems too lightweight to work in the lead role, and certainly to intone the wholly gratuitous narration. But consider that Dickens’ main characters usually tended to be observers through whom the reader could experience the adventures of the story, so in this way the casting makes perfect sense. Gwyneth Paltrow makes a perfectly fine Estella, pulling off both the coldness that results from her upbringing by Ms. Dinsmoor and the sadness that she’s ill-equipped to love Finn because of this. Anne Bancroft, always a marvelous ham, digs into the role of Ms. Dinsmoor with plenty of relish, and no small amount of wit (listen to her response when young Finn asks about her cat). Chris Cooper is affecting as Finn’s Uncle Joe, who for the boy only to be cast aside when Finn became a famous artist. And Robert DeNiro gives perhaps his last great performance in the small role of the prisoner Joe (Magwitch in the book), successfully playing the frightening prisoner early on, only to turn up again years later as a shadowy, eccentric figure in the hero’s life.

On balance, Great Expectations is fairly flawed but ultimately a worthwhile film. As narrative, it’s sometimes less than compelling, and it certainly isn’t successful as an adaptation. But it’s so visually enchanting and full of vivid supporting characters that it hardly matters. The film’s failings are those of the script and of the studio who tried to make the film more palatable to mainstream sensibilities (which explains the narration), while the stuff that works is almost entirely Cuaron’s. Despite its reputation, Great Expectations is an interesting entry on Cuaron’s filmography, and one that bears a second look in light of his more recent work. I suspect time will be kind to it.

Take Five: Bad Cops

Leonard Pierce — Fri, 19 Sep 2008 20:15:00 GMT

Neil LaBute's new movie, Lakeview Terrace, opens this Friday. Critical opinion is still split, but critical opinion will have its say soon enough about whether the director is returning to the promising form he showed in In the Company of Men and Your Friends and Neighbors, or whether he's just cranking out a cheap thriller because he wants to buy a new boat. Lakeview Terrace finds Samuel L. Jackson, Hollywood's default angry black man, in the role of a mean-tempered, menacing L.A. cop who takes offense to an interracial couple (played by Patrick Wilson and Kerry Washington) who move in next door to him. The idea of crooked cops has always been an appealing one to people who write thrillers; the idea of the very people charged with protecting the innocent being the ones who might hurt them has powerful appeal, and plenty of filmmakers -- Alfred Hitchcock comes immediately to mind -- have put their ambivalent feelings about the police front and center in their movies. By the same token, however, due to the strict content restrictions of post-Code Hollywood, it was a taboo subject for decades; with very few exceptions, a crooked or evil cop was one of the very few things it was absolutely verboten to show on screen. When the code era passed, almost as if to make up for lost time, dozens of scriptwriters and directors began to explore the idea of the cop who betrayed the ideals he was sworn to uphold, and the bad cop genre was born. Here's five of the best.

THE ASPHALT JUNGLE (1950)

John Huston's masterful ensemble picture about a daring, carefully calculated jewel theft gone awry is one of the greatest noir films ever made, with an incredible cast (headed by Sterling Hayden as the iron-willed thug Dix Handley and Sam Jaffe as the brilliant crook Doc Riedenschneider) and a taut, fatalistic atmosphere that keeps you glued to the screen. But it's also a fine example of how movies had to creep around the concept of the bad cop at the height of the Hays Code: although it's made clear that Barry Kelley's Lt. Ditrich is on the make, and that his accepting bribes from hoods helps crime flourish, the idea of a crooked policeman being so plainly presented ran afoul of the Code. So a scene was filmed in which his incorruptible chief set him on the straight an narrow, and the end coda assures the viewer that such crooked cops are an aberration that will always be found out and punished, rather than the norm.

THE GODFATHER (1972)

The Hays Code had been more or less dead in the water for a dozen years by the time Francis Ford Copolla started filming his epic American gangster movie, and those dozen years had seen a lot of wearing away of the notion of the policemen as a friendly, helpful, vigilant and unimpeachable protector of the innocent. But a few taboos still remained on screen, and The Godfather did its not insubstantial bit to overcome them. In the course of the Corleone family's conflict with the slimy drug dealer Virgil Solozzo, Tom Hagen warns that "The Turk" cannot be gotten to because he enjoys the protection of New York police captain McCluskey (played by Sterling Hayden, acting the flip side of his Asphalt Jungle character) -- and that it is simply not done to kill a cop. When young Michael Corleone, who had previously been the victim of McCluskey's bullying, argues "Where does it say you can't kill a cop?", and points out that Hayden is a dirty cop on the make with his fingers in the drug racket, he's not just talking to the family -- he's talking to the audience.

MANIAC COP (1988)

William Lustig's bizarre little thriller, combining traditional police thriller elements with a sadistic slice of slasher-era horror, was the last movie you'd expect to start a franchise. But so it did, and in the the process launched the career of the hulking, iron-jawed Robert Z'dar. The sequels are generally not worth watching, but the original Maniac Cop -- in which a serial killer dressed as an NYPD patrol officer starts preying on innocent victims -- it a remarkably tight and rather exciting (if extremely lurid) piece of cinema that more than justifies its cult reputation. As a director, Lustig doesn't waste time or film, and the movie carries on at a deadly, involving clip; it's abetted by tons of fine performances from respectable character actors like Sheree North, Bruce Campbell, and original That Guy!/friend of the Screengrab Tom Atkins.

BAD LIEUTENANT (1992)

Abel Ferrara's Bad Lieutenant was, at the time of its release, what it still is today: an atom bomb of bad-cop movies. Harvey Keitel, at the peak of his "I must appear naked in every movie I make" phase, plays a nameless New York police detective who is far and away the worst portrayal of a policeman in cinematic history: a brutal, violent drunk, a drug addict, a crook, a thief, a gambling addict, and a whoremonger. But this isn't just shock cinema: Keitel's Lieutenant is not just the worst big-screen cop imaginable, he's also, in many ways, the most complex. Ferrara throws Keitel into a deep, dark hole because he wants to show him the way out of it. Bad Lieutenant is a terrific film, which is why the as-yet-unconfirmed rumors that Werner Herzog is going to remake it with Nicolas Cage in the title role are so bewildering.

TRAINING DAY (2001)

Antoine Fuqua's nasty 2001 Los Angeles gang story hasn't held up spectacularly well in the years since it was made. Co-star Ethan Hawke seems out of place; the plot doesn't hold up particularly strongly, the tone wanders all over the place, and though it's quite well made, it's never spectacular. What does hold up, however, is Denzel Washington's electrifying performance as Alonzo, a narcotics officer so deep on the take that he barely recognizes -- or cares -- what side he's on. In the annals of crooked cop movies, it stands alongside Harvey Keitel's Bad Lieutenant, and skillfully illustrates the way that a bad man can justify his evil by thinking that he's doing good. The role earned Washington his second acting Oscar and his first Best Actor; though he'd deserved it for Malcolm X, this was no mere compensatory gesture, but a well-earned recognition of a stunning performance.

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Phil Nugent — Fri, 15 Feb 2008 15:00:00 GMT

JACKIE BROWN (1997)

Max Cherry (Robert Forster) knows damn well he's not going to get the girl. He's not one of those idiots you meet in film noirs who feel some flicker of lust and start thinking that they can pull off some big score and get away and have it all; Max knows that whatever happens, he's going to end up back where he started, riding the deak at his bail bonds office, but in the meantime, he's prepared to do whatever he can to help Jackie (Pam Grier), because he figures he owes it to her, just for the way she made him feel the first time he laid eyes on her. He knows that she's out of his league, and he's okay with that; knowing that he could still feel that way is more than he expected to get out of one more trip to the jailhouse. What's amazing is that none of the other characters seem to see what Max sees when they look at Jackie: to them, she's just a middle-aged black woman, someone to be used and screwed over and forgotten. That's why they deserve the worst that can happen to them, and why Max deserves more than it would ever occur to him to ask for.

THE MORE THE MERRIER (1943)

Supernaturally avuncular matchmaker Benjamin Dingle (Charles Coburn, naturally) finally sees his plans come to fruition in this classic scene from George Stevens' comedy, More the Merrier. By trapping her dreary fiancé, Charles J. Pendergast, in a pointlessly prolonged meeting, genially uptight Constance Milligan (Jean Arthur) is forced to rely upon her inadvertent roommate and true love, hunky propeller designer Joe Stevens (Joel McCrea), to escort her back to her apartment on a warm summer night. As they make their way down the dark street, feeling the steam rising from other couples canoodling in the shadows, their conversation is all banal pleasantries on the surface, but McCrae's hands are in constant motion, laying Arthur's tiny jacket over her bare shoulders, kneading her hand in his (watch how gently he holds onto one of her fingers before letting her hand drop), guiding her forward with his hand pressed against the small of her back. Finally he dips her gently onto her front steps, draws her in close, kisses her hand, and, as she prattles on helplessly about the evaporating qualities of her former chosen one, he closes in for a deep, fatal neck nuzzle. She lifts her head, begins to stammer and is lost.

THEREMIN: AN ELECTRONIC ODYSSEY (1993)

This documentary tells the story of the Russian interventer Leon Theremin and his creation, in 1919, of the electronic musical instrument that bears his name. Although the theremin is best known in popular culture as the maker of spooky sounds in sci-fi movies (The Thing from Another World, The Day the Earth Stood Still) and freaky ones in pop songs such as the Beach Boys' "Good Vibrations", Theremin intended it to revolutionize classical music, and he worked closely with Clara Rockmore (seen here playing "Romance"), the acknowledged supreme master of the instrument, to tinker and perfect his device according to her suggestions and specifications. In 1938, Theremin was scooped up by the KGB and disappeared from the public eye. For most of the movie, the viewer who doesn't know better is likely to assume that he was dead. But it turns out that Theremin was alive and kept busy by the Soviet government until the end of the Cold War — working, he says, on "different kinds of bad things" — and the filmmakers brought him to the States and arranged a reunion between the maestro and his favorite pupil, when both of them were in their nineties. For a minute, they just stand framed in the doorway, smiling at each other. Then Rockmore ushers him inside, and as she prepares to shut the door, she says to the camera crew, "You go now." Yes ma'am!

LAW OF DESIRE (1987)

In this ripe specimen of early Pedro Almodovar, twenty-six-year-old Antonio Banderas plays a fellow called, for convenience's sake, Antonio, who is attracted to the film and stage director Pablo (Eusebio Poncela), but isn't sure that he can have sex with another man. Pablo offers to take him home so they can figure it out together. Things go swimmingly, but the next morning, Antonio is totally, obsessively in love, but Pablo considers him a one-night stand. So, to get Pablo's attention, Antonio tracks down the guy that Pablo is in love with, throws him off a cliff, then finds Pablo's sister Tina, who used to be Pablo's brother, and Tina's niece (who was actually fathered, or mothered, or something, by her transexual ex-lover) and takes them hostage, yelling to the police who are soon surrounding the house that he'll give himself up if Pablo will consent to one more hour between the sheets. Pablo does consent, and after their hour together is up, Antonio, have known the touch of his love object once more, can walk into the police bullets feeling that his life has been fulfilled. In real life, this would be an unhappy situation for everybody involved and would require the combined services of Dr. Phil and S.W.A.T. In a movie, it is the Technicolor apotheosis of everyone's fantasy of doing whatever the hell it takes to convince the reluctant prospective partner that the two of you have to be together, and ultimately succeeding. In Almodovar's world, it probably counts as a slow news day.

BEFORE SUNSET (2004)

It's a safe bet that few people who watched backpacking Gen X-ers Jesse (Ethan Hawke) and Celine (Julie Delpy) spend a memorable night together in Vienna in 1995's Before Sunrise ever expected to see a sequel, much less wait nine years for one. When that follow-up finally did arrive in 2004, it could hardly have been confused with a traditional movie romance. As befitting a Richard Linklater film, their belated reunion in Paris is all talk — talk about missed connections, the impermanence of youth and the mysteries of love. Jesse has a flight to catch, so we're always aware of the ticking clock — that is, until the sublime final moments, when the urgency melts away to the appropriate tones of Nina Simone singing "Just in Time." Delpy does a shuffling little dance. Hawke sinks into the couch with a silly grin on his face. And we all learn that the most romantic words of all are not "I love you" — they're "Baby, you are gonna miss that plane."

— Phil Nugent, Robert Gomez, Scott Von Doviak

Click here for Part 1.

Whitefield at NYFF: Before The Devil Knows You’re Dead

Peter Smith — Wed, 10 Oct 2007 19:00:00 GMT

Let it not be said that I don’t respect Sidney Lumet. I read his book Making Movies and found it both practical and enlightening. I loved Dog Day Afternoon (who doesn’t?) and Running on Empty. But let’s face facts. Lumet is eighty-three. He made 12 Angry Men in 1957 — fifty years ago! When you receive a lifetime achievement award at the Oscars, you can probably read that as Hollywood’s polite way of saying, "It’s a wrap." Apparently Mr. Lumet is hard of hearing.

Though not nearly as bad as his last film, Find Me Guilty, Before The Devil Knows You're Dead turns out to be twice as frustrating, as it squanders an outstanding cast and a knockout script. Lumet chose to go the Tarantino/Babel route and skew the story’s narrative timeline, but by doing so he takes all the suspense out of what could have been huge dramatic windfalls by giving you three major (and I mean major) plot twists within the first fifteen minutes. As if that wasn’t crime enough, each time sequence change is signaled by the two frames locking into one another as opposing triangles in a square that click and spin into the next scene. This and the poor film quality make Before The Devil Knows You're Dead look like a made-for-tv movie circa 1991.

A dream cast of Philip Seymour Hoffman, Ethan Hawke, Albert Finney and a remarkably sexy Marisa Tomei do an admirable job of trying to prop this dog up on four legs, but in the end it’s just too much to ask. The film’s story spirals from tragic family drama of epic proportions into the realm of the absurd, with plot points that are increasingly unbelievable and distracting. The person I feel the worst for is first-time screenwriter Kelly Masterson, who probably thought her dream had come true when she heard Lumet would bring her script to life, only to find herself the victim of an outdated director. I can only imagine the kind of film someone like Rian Johnson (Brick) or Christopher Nolan would have made given the exact same elements. — Bryan Whitefield