Inside Llewyn Davis, Philomena, Out Of The Furnace And More

Dec 09, 2013 18:33



-“Inside Llewyn Davis” feels like a movie that, for some people, you shouldn’t share with your family or loved ones. In spite of movies like “No Country For Old Men” or “True Grit,” saying something is a “Coen Brothers Films,” or being straightforward and saying, “Coen Brothers Masterpiece” doesn’t move the needle for a lot of people. So one of those about a moment as specific as the early sixties folk rock scene in New York City starring a not-very-famous leading man like Oscar Isaac playing a self-sabotaging jerk is going to reach even less people, which might be a good thing. This is a film about a young artist who has pissed away his goodwill and entered the “failure” stage because of an absolute reluctance to please others, a refusal to compromise in the face of the pressures of the real world. If you’ve ever borrowed too much money, broke someone’s heart, gone from couch to couch or absorbed a beating because you suspected it was deserved, this movie will resonate with you. Keep it away from a loved one who might just realize how stubborn, selfish, petty and ultimately human you really are. And, please oh please, see it. A Coen Brothers film is like a seed, one that grows into a beanstalk on second viewing, and this is one of their tallest heights. I wrote a bit about it here, and among our pool of nominees at the NYFCO awards, it was the film that earned my vote for Best Picture, losing out by one vote to “12 Years A Slave.”

-“Out Of The Furnace” begins with Woody Harrelson as a redneck asshole on a cheap drive-in date who proceeds to beat and humiliate his date and an onlooker simply because he has a short, primitive fuse. It’s a moment that occurs before the title, and God help me, I had no idea why it was there. It’s an ugly and unpleasant start to a film that’s immediately predictable ten minutes in, and I wondered if there was any value to knowing that this garden-variety dipshit not only smacks around women, but likes also-ran horror films like the drive-in’s selection that night, “Midnight Meat Train.” The rest of the film is a well-acted two-hander where Christian Bale works the factories while war vet brother Casey Affleck participates in bare-knuckled underground boxing. The cast, which also includes Willem Dafoe, Zoe Saldana and Forest Whitaker, is ridiculously overqualified for a dumber, more upscale version of this year’s “A Single Shot,” another film about down-home idiots with guns settling petty scores. Nonetheless, it’s a film to be admired for its bullheaded, singular vision, even if it feels like it has nothing to say. Catch my review here.



-Idris Elba is a sexy-ass revolutionary in “Mandela: Long Walk To Freedom,” the latest biopic Oscar bait to hit the circuit, this one fairly unfortunately timed. This is mostly the story of a younger Mandela, a barrel-chested shit-kicker who accepted the indignity of being branded an enemy of the state, then released from prison to help manage the state when it finally seemed like race wars would tear South Africa apart. There’s good stuff between Elba and Naomie Harris as wife Winnie, particularly the various lines politically-involved people draw when they wish to be more or less radicalized. Otherwise, this is mostly connect-the-dots storytelling, and while Elba is great, it’s fairly generic stuff. My review was meant to be up by now, but obviously real-life postponed the publishing date. Look for it soon at denofgeek.us.

-I’m not enough of a grandma to be tickled by “Philomena,” which tries to gussy up a fairly affecting true story with lightly comedic exploits. Dame Judi Dench, all obnoxious geezer tics, is the country bumpkin Brit who learns that the child she was forced to surrender as an unmarried teen has been hidden by the Catholic Church. Opportunities to meet him have been stymied by a group of hissable nun villains, until insufferable twat journalist Steve Coogan (typecast) comes aboard to help her learn the truth. Interestingly, Stephen Frears’ gentle film doesn’t treat the mystery like a mystery, allowing actual journalism and a little canny legwork reveal the truth behind Philomena’s grown child. But the picture bogs itself down in scenes of Coogan’s atheist and Dench’s believer having stupid tit-for-tat conversations that secretly build a respectful friendship that we couldn’t care less about. A legit film about this topic would be rousing and intriguing. A lightweight road movie with a doddering old bag and her vain associate just doesn’t properly compensate.



-I’m curious to see how sports fans react to “Lenny Cooke,” which captures the life of a prospect who fell victim to one key terrible and precise moment in basketball history. Cooke, at one time the top prospect in the nation, is seen at the beginning of the film watching scads of high school kids being taken in the NBA Draft. A year later, these young prep stars are already being branded failures (perhaps premature at the time, though time would prove those labels accurate) and suddenly the league is tightening its belt, with high school blue chip prospects no longer worthy investments. This would change, at least right before the league instituted an age restriction on players entering the draft, but that one moment in a nutshell coincided with a period of domestic, professional and academic upheaval for young Mr. Cooke; in any other year, it would have turned him into what the industry would call a “high upside gamble.” But by the time Cooke was ready for the league, they had temporarily shut the doors. Great athletes would have reacted by buckling down, ignoring any distractions, and trying to get in anyway. Cooke, who didn’t have the support system those athletes had, instead acted very much like the average 18 year old. What happened next was raw, heartbreaking, and ultimately disquieting. Read my review here.

-I’m very put-off by the suggestions of journalists and critics discussing “S#x Acts,” some in positive terms. Because what the film attempts to do, in analyzing the six sexual acts that young, attractive Gili (Sivan Levy) participates in, is put a face to the nonverbal non-consent that fuels most unwanted sexual encounters between young people, particularly younger girls who succumb to pressures and expectations. Instead, the labeling has led to people discussing whether what happens in the film is rape or not rape. The point is simple: it’s violation, and it occurs because Gili has no reliable presences in her life, not only to allow her self-esteem to flower (a conversation with a group of other girls feels like someone dipping their toe in a shark tank) but also to assure her that there’s nothing wrong, per se. Each of these acts of the title are worse and more degrading than the first, though the smaller moments, like Gili pretending to enter a rich person’s home so boys don’t see she actually lives in the ratty tenement next door, speak greatly to the ugliness of teens dealing with social pressures. Catch my review here.



-I laughed when a fellow critic labeled “Night Train To Lisbon” as “europudding.” It’s exactly right, of course, but I’m the kind of sucker that likes that sort of thing. Jeremy Irons, looking as handsome and debonair as usual, plays a writer in Europe who stops a young girl from jumping off a bridge. When she departs, he’s left with a book in her jacket, one written by a young writer-revolutionary, leading Irons to investigate who the girl was, and who the mysterious firebrand depicted in these books really was. It mostly involves Irons pursuing a collection of character actors (including a still-spry Christopher Lee) to hear about tales told in flashback, with Jack Huston and Melanie Laurent as a couple awash in political upheaval. Irons casually flirts with the lovely Martina Gedick, and no one really seems concerned with the passage of time, allowing everyone to monologue in front of gorgeous bridges, windows and European architecture. There are worse ways to spend your time.

-Chen Kaige cashes in his arthouse chips with the mainstream-y “Caught In The Web,” a kind-of-dumb comedy-drama about a newly-diagnosed cancer sufferer who uses a moment of weakness to be cruel to an elderly man on a public bus. What is really a minor transgression is picked up by the Chinese media and turned into a scandal, and soon the woman is branded as an adulterer as well, leading an entire country to turn their back on her as she silently suffers. There are some decent stabs at the media, including the demonization of cheating women versus the acceptance of cheating men, and a filmed apology that is quickly tossed on the junk heap. But eventually Kaige’s picture chooses to focus on a rivalry between two reporters disagreeing over the weight of the story as well as its authorship, one of many plot strands that confuse whatever the film’s purpose really is. Check out my review here.
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