Me and Orson Welles, Abel and Ishquiya
The Munich Film Festival is still ongoing: this post brings an (US)American, a Mexican and an Indian film, and also yours truly showing off via quotes.
I already reviewed the book and talked about my big problem with one key premise the film Me and Orson Welles is based on, so I'm happy to report that I did all my internal "but...." grumbling in advance and thus could enjoy the film on its own merits. It's basically a theatrical-triumph-against-the-odds story coupled with a coming-of-age story, done in a charming, spirited way; not terribly original, but hugely enjoyable. It gives a great impression of what a Mercury production was like, and Christian McKay's performance as Orson Welles is as impressive as advertised (and, perhaps because of the change in media, works better for me than the book version), mercurial mood shifts, talent, temper and all. He looks about twenty years too old - Welles was only 22 when directing Caesar - , which isn't his fault but changes the dynamic with Zac Efron's fictional main character somewhat. (A man in his late 30s/early 40s calling a 17 years old "Junior" or "Kid" is dong the usual thing; a twenty-two years old doing the same with a boy only five years younger than himself is needling and/or being ironic.) Also the way the ensemble relates to him, because allowing yourself to be bossed around, cajoled, argued with or wood (depending on the situation) by a man around 40 comes across differently than if the same man looks as if he is barely past adolescence and is, in fact, younger than almost everyone else who none the less submits to his authority. (Quoth the stage manager, Harold Teichman, in Simon Callow's biography "When he felt like rehearsing, we rehearsed. When he felt like rehearsing from 11.00 at night to 6.00 in the morning, damm stage-hands overtime, full speed ahead. And when he was tired, he would say, 'All right, children.' Now mind you, he was younger than most of the people but we were his children.") So that aspect is lost, and with it one twist in this particular theatrical tale, making it look more conventional, but McKay is excellent, so were I Richard Linklater, I wouldn't have swapped him for a younger actor, either.
(My favourite screen Orsons not Orson remain Liev Schreiber and Vincent D'Onofrio, though. Boo, hiss on Angus McFayden.)
The film wisely doesn't go for a Wellesian visual style and confines himself to just one or two allusions to later film work, both via Joseph Cotten who gets a Third Man style lightning in one scene and characterisation wise is based not on the actual Cotten (who was firmly in I ♥ Orson mood through his life and hasn't been caught with one negative quote either in print or verbally through the decades) but on his disillusioned friend persona from Citizen Kane and The Third Man, mentoring our youthful hero a bit. The way the production of Julius Caesar is brought to life is amazing, especially if you're familiar with the descriptions in everyone's memoirs and with the photos of the set. That's really the most appealing aspect of the film; the way it captures the vibrancy of theatre production. There is just one nitpick I have, and that's the crucial Cinna-the-poet scene not coming quite across as intense and scary as Norman Llyod, who played Cinna, describes it. ("Orson would argue with you as he ate, and you got angrier. I thought we'd reached an impasse. But no - he went my way. And when he went your way! - I played the first part of the scene fro pantomimic comedy. Gut a lot of laughs. Just becoming aware of this crowd and thinking they had recognised me as a celebrity. Stuffed my pockets with these poems. He seized that right away. They moved in to kill - I was playing it as the poet laureate. He moved these guys in one by one - and the lighting was fantastic - blood red - the set was red too. The way he moved me - there were laughs, and then the laughs got chilly. Taking out these poems. Orson's direction: the last thing I scream is THE POET. Rush down the ramp - I just disappeared - just this hand, bathed in red light.")
Zac Efron basically has little more to do than being young and charming, which he is, Claire Dane (the other actor whose character is invented) is determined and ambitious without being vilified for it, and the various other ensemble members give good impressions of actors legendary in various degrees; my personal favourite was Ben Chaplin as George Colouris. In conclusion, an enjoyable film that gives a great sense of the New York theatre scene in the 30s and the most exciting company there in (and also, in a priceless segment, of the radio work, which is how Welles actually earned most of his income in those days, dashing to the studio between theatre rehearsals). Just don't take it as gospel truth regarding the personalities.
Speaking of actor-directors, Diego Luna, whom I last saw as Harvey Milk's suicidal lover in Milk, gives his directorial debut in Abel, a story a Mexican family, especially the boy of the title who when the film starts is nine and hasn't spoken for two years, ever since his father left; his mother Cecilia raises him with two siblings, an older sister and a younger brother. Abel does start to talk again, but not as himself; he thinks he's the father/head of the family, and the results are both comic and tragic, especially once the absentee father Anselmo does return. Diego Luna gets a great performance out of Christopher Ruíz-Esparza, who plays Abel, and manages to make all the family members three-dimensional and interesting. (With Anselmo as the least likeable, but he's no moustache-twirling villain, either.) The way Abel plays at being an adult (questioning his older sister Selene's boyfriend about his intentions, for example) are derived from that he sees on tv, but the feeling behind it is quite real, and touching (when he sees Selene crying after said boyfriend broke up with her, he does the not adult thing of stealing her mobile phone and texting the boyfriend to achieve a reconciliation). Because the ending is the logical and not the against-the-odds one, it's a film that leaves you sad, but I can recommend it.
Ishquiya was another directorial debut, this time by a scriptwriter, Abhishek Chaubey, who was also available for a Q&A afterwards. It's an Indian ganster movie, a twist on the heist/con genre; Khalujan (Naseeruddin Shah) and Babban (Arshad Warsi) are two criminals on the run from their boss whom they stole millions from, teaming up with another gangster bosses' widow, Krishna (Vidya Balan). There are double and triple crosses; Khalujan and Babban aren't actually very good at their chosen field, and none too bright, though they are good at escapes. Krishna is far smarter than both and playing them for her own reasons, and at one point I was afraid this would be another repeat of that particular noir trope, the femme fatale punished and vilified for her intelligence and ruthlessness (and for coming between men), but then the next twist had me happy and cheering.
A bit like Quentin Tarantino movies, this film contains geeking out about films, only not between male characters (as Tarantino is wont to do it) but between the woman and one of the guys; Krishna and Khalujan are both fans of old Bollywood composers and compete at recognising the tunes on the radio. It also rewards paying attention to not-referred to visual clues (Krishna has burn marks on her body, which neither of the men ever comments on, but which are crucial to her motivation and the eventual resolution of the film), and no character is wasted (including the boy Nandu who works for Krishna, befriends Babban, and doesn't mention the caste wars going on the region for nothing). One to watch if you enjoy the genre and are up for an Indian version of it, especially if you like morally ambiguous female characters who don't end up dead or in prison by the end of the story.
I already reviewed the book and talked about my big problem with one key premise the film Me and Orson Welles is based on, so I'm happy to report that I did all my internal "but...." grumbling in advance and thus could enjoy the film on its own merits. It's basically a theatrical-triumph-against-the-odds story coupled with a coming-of-age story, done in a charming, spirited way; not terribly original, but hugely enjoyable. It gives a great impression of what a Mercury production was like, and Christian McKay's performance as Orson Welles is as impressive as advertised (and, perhaps because of the change in media, works better for me than the book version), mercurial mood shifts, talent, temper and all. He looks about twenty years too old - Welles was only 22 when directing Caesar - , which isn't his fault but changes the dynamic with Zac Efron's fictional main character somewhat. (A man in his late 30s/early 40s calling a 17 years old "Junior" or "Kid" is dong the usual thing; a twenty-two years old doing the same with a boy only five years younger than himself is needling and/or being ironic.) Also the way the ensemble relates to him, because allowing yourself to be bossed around, cajoled, argued with or wood (depending on the situation) by a man around 40 comes across differently than if the same man looks as if he is barely past adolescence and is, in fact, younger than almost everyone else who none the less submits to his authority. (Quoth the stage manager, Harold Teichman, in Simon Callow's biography "When he felt like rehearsing, we rehearsed. When he felt like rehearsing from 11.00 at night to 6.00 in the morning, damm stage-hands overtime, full speed ahead. And when he was tired, he would say, 'All right, children.' Now mind you, he was younger than most of the people but we were his children.") So that aspect is lost, and with it one twist in this particular theatrical tale, making it look more conventional, but McKay is excellent, so were I Richard Linklater, I wouldn't have swapped him for a younger actor, either.
(My favourite screen Orsons not Orson remain Liev Schreiber and Vincent D'Onofrio, though. Boo, hiss on Angus McFayden.)
The film wisely doesn't go for a Wellesian visual style and confines himself to just one or two allusions to later film work, both via Joseph Cotten who gets a Third Man style lightning in one scene and characterisation wise is based not on the actual Cotten (who was firmly in I ♥ Orson mood through his life and hasn't been caught with one negative quote either in print or verbally through the decades) but on his disillusioned friend persona from Citizen Kane and The Third Man, mentoring our youthful hero a bit. The way the production of Julius Caesar is brought to life is amazing, especially if you're familiar with the descriptions in everyone's memoirs and with the photos of the set. That's really the most appealing aspect of the film; the way it captures the vibrancy of theatre production. There is just one nitpick I have, and that's the crucial Cinna-the-poet scene not coming quite across as intense and scary as Norman Llyod, who played Cinna, describes it. ("Orson would argue with you as he ate, and you got angrier. I thought we'd reached an impasse. But no - he went my way. And when he went your way! - I played the first part of the scene fro pantomimic comedy. Gut a lot of laughs. Just becoming aware of this crowd and thinking they had recognised me as a celebrity. Stuffed my pockets with these poems. He seized that right away. They moved in to kill - I was playing it as the poet laureate. He moved these guys in one by one - and the lighting was fantastic - blood red - the set was red too. The way he moved me - there were laughs, and then the laughs got chilly. Taking out these poems. Orson's direction: the last thing I scream is THE POET. Rush down the ramp - I just disappeared - just this hand, bathed in red light.")
Zac Efron basically has little more to do than being young and charming, which he is, Claire Dane (the other actor whose character is invented) is determined and ambitious without being vilified for it, and the various other ensemble members give good impressions of actors legendary in various degrees; my personal favourite was Ben Chaplin as George Colouris. In conclusion, an enjoyable film that gives a great sense of the New York theatre scene in the 30s and the most exciting company there in (and also, in a priceless segment, of the radio work, which is how Welles actually earned most of his income in those days, dashing to the studio between theatre rehearsals). Just don't take it as gospel truth regarding the personalities.
Speaking of actor-directors, Diego Luna, whom I last saw as Harvey Milk's suicidal lover in Milk, gives his directorial debut in Abel, a story a Mexican family, especially the boy of the title who when the film starts is nine and hasn't spoken for two years, ever since his father left; his mother Cecilia raises him with two siblings, an older sister and a younger brother. Abel does start to talk again, but not as himself; he thinks he's the father/head of the family, and the results are both comic and tragic, especially once the absentee father Anselmo does return. Diego Luna gets a great performance out of Christopher Ruíz-Esparza, who plays Abel, and manages to make all the family members three-dimensional and interesting. (With Anselmo as the least likeable, but he's no moustache-twirling villain, either.) The way Abel plays at being an adult (questioning his older sister Selene's boyfriend about his intentions, for example) are derived from that he sees on tv, but the feeling behind it is quite real, and touching (when he sees Selene crying after said boyfriend broke up with her, he does the not adult thing of stealing her mobile phone and texting the boyfriend to achieve a reconciliation). Because the ending is the logical and not the against-the-odds one, it's a film that leaves you sad, but I can recommend it.
Ishquiya was another directorial debut, this time by a scriptwriter, Abhishek Chaubey, who was also available for a Q&A afterwards. It's an Indian ganster movie, a twist on the heist/con genre; Khalujan (Naseeruddin Shah) and Babban (Arshad Warsi) are two criminals on the run from their boss whom they stole millions from, teaming up with another gangster bosses' widow, Krishna (Vidya Balan). There are double and triple crosses; Khalujan and Babban aren't actually very good at their chosen field, and none too bright, though they are good at escapes. Krishna is far smarter than both and playing them for her own reasons, and at one point I was afraid this would be another repeat of that particular noir trope, the femme fatale punished and vilified for her intelligence and ruthlessness (and for coming between men), but then the next twist had me happy and cheering.
A bit like Quentin Tarantino movies, this film contains geeking out about films, only not between male characters (as Tarantino is wont to do it) but between the woman and one of the guys; Krishna and Khalujan are both fans of old Bollywood composers and compete at recognising the tunes on the radio. It also rewards paying attention to not-referred to visual clues (Krishna has burn marks on her body, which neither of the men ever comments on, but which are crucial to her motivation and the eventual resolution of the film), and no character is wasted (including the boy Nandu who works for Krishna, befriends Babban, and doesn't mention the caste wars going on the region for nothing). One to watch if you enjoy the genre and are up for an Indian version of it, especially if you like morally ambiguous female characters who don't end up dead or in prison by the end of the story.