LOOPER........"have we met before?"

      When I heard that Looper was a sci-fi film about time-travel, I was slightly turned off, despite the director’s terrific debut, Brick (2005), where he sunk his teeth into the world of film noir. Surprisingly, I was very impressed at director Rian Johnson’s subtle vision of the future. Sure, technological progress has enabled some vehicles to hover above ground, but the streets are ultimately decaying in poverty. The filmmaker’s vision of the future is grim, desolate and murky, exuding a perfect setting for a neo-noir. The pivotal moments in the film take place in dreary back-alleys, hole-in-the-wall warehouses and a farm house. With that said, the director’s intention is to serve the story and characters, not our senses. Looper is less concerned with extravagant visual detail (keeping the budget low) and more concerned with developing an effective story, along with an underlying, philosophical message—how would a person react to their future self, and what sacrifices would they make to repair the future? 
      The narrative begins in Kansas, year 2044. A specialized assassin, known as a “looper,” played with sheer bravado by Joseph Gordon Levitt, is hired to dispose of humans that are sent from thirty years into the future. The director applies a repetitive montage of the killings, which expresses Joe’s dull work. Joe stands in the field, checks his pocket-watch, a jump-cut of a body appears in front of him, and BANG—one shot from a shotgun and his silver bars are waiting for him on the guy he just killed. The repetitive nature of Joe’s work deemphasizes any romantic vision of being a stone-cold assassin for the mob. The film is more concerned with motivation and atmosphere, rather than stylized, slam-bam action set-pieces.
      When we think of “assassin,” we think of super-cool movie villains, who pullout fancy sniper rifles, silencers attached, shooting from an open window. Director Johnson goes against the grain, avoiding action-movie prototypes. Levitt’s character is the quintessential lone-wolf. His narrative voice-over in the beginning evokes film noir conventions from the 40s. Furthermore, Looper is a unique hodgepodge of noir, sci-fi, action and a touch of horror. When the film introduces the concept of telekinesis, it suggest a sci-fi element, but towards the end, the idea develops into something bloody-horrific—a special nod to Brian Depalma’s Carrie (1976).
      When Joe’s future self, played by Bruce Willis, is sent back in time to be killed by Joe in the present, he hesitates, and Willis gets away. There’s a point where the unfolding of the story stops, and we see snippets of Joe’s growth into the future. Then, the story resumes, looping back to where we left off, but this time around, the audience has a sense of what Willis’s character is like.  Levitt and Willis have a symmetrical relationship, yet their motivations for surviving are different.  At first, Bruce Willis’s character seems like the hero in the situation, but as the film progresses, we realize that his mission is just as bleak and evil as the terminator’s hunt for Sarah Connor in The Terminator(1984).
      Levitt, constantly fighting off the mob and his future self, seeks shelter in a farm house, where Sara, played by Emily Blunt, resides in isolation with her son. Levitt’s character develops a relationship with Blunt; the momentum slows down. The style, both in editing and pace, becomes more relaxed. It’s like a break from the chaos, so the audience can sit and really get to know the main characters. The scenes at the farm might seem a little too convenient for the plot, but the romance between Sara and Joe brings backbone to the story.
      Looper had me worried that I was going to chase the time-travel plot, like a dog and his tail, but the screenplay’s dynamite resolution brought harmony to every paradoxical idea that was floating in my head.  Looper is a remarkable head-trip of a film. 

 ***1/2 (out of four stars)

P.T. Andersons shows mastery in filmmaking, but THE MASTER is no masterpiece

      Freddie Quells, brilliantly portrayed by Joaquin Phoenix, is a wounded soul, drowning his sorrows and frustrations in an abundance of home-made moonshine. He’s a naval officer returned from a tour of duty in WWII. Freddie’s post-war life consists of the drink, uncontrollable fits of anger and immediate, juvenile sexual gratification. The awkwardness of Freddie’s behavior includes simulating sex with a sand dune that is shaped into a naked woman, masturbating out in the open sea shore, grabbing the closest igniting products – paint thinner, lighter fluid and gasoline – to mash up his lethal cocktails.
     When a peasant farmer comes across his special moonshine and dies, he runs. Freddie runs and drinks and runs until he falls into the bewildering, cult-like society known vaguely as “The Cause,” lead by Lancaster Dodd (Phillip Seymour Hoffman).  “The Cause” holds some resemblance to the infamous organization of Scientology, but there isn’t a clear allegory at play. Hoffman’s hypnotic, religious group provides a forum for controversy, but most importantly, a society where troubled souls like Freddie Quells can form an identity within a family-like structure.
     Surrogate families and substitute parenting are recurrent themes in Paul Thomas Anderson’s films. The perceptive portrayal of a surrogate relationship is best conveyed in his earlier work, such as Boogie Nights (a family of pornographers) and Hard Eight (the father/son bond between two strangers). After Boogie Nights came out, it was clear that there was a new, fresh and invigorating filmmaker in town. When Magnolia followed in 1999, critics, audiences and filmmakers alike were mesmerized by how a 29 year-old youngster depicted such a rich mosaic of interlocking stories and characters.
     Paul Thomas Anderson has written and directed six original films, but his latest, The Master, gets lost in a cinematic abyss. The 70mm film print enriches the visual landscape, the dialogue and performances sizzle with various emotions, but the concept is vague. Yes, Anderson wants the audience to make cerebral inferences concerning the “Cause,” and the turbulent relationship between Freddie Quells and Lancaster Dodd. But does Anderson know himself? Perhaps a second viewing will opt for a different response. I liked the film, I think his craft is in top form, but there were times that I get the feeling that P.T. Anderson, similar to Lancaster Dodd’s therapeutic and religious endeavors, makes it up as he goes along. Unclear of what Anderson is reaching for, I know there’s something profound rummaging in his manic brain, but this time around, I wanted a solid understanding behind his bold ideas. On the upside, I was glued to the filmmaker’s signature foul-mouthed dialogue, sudden outbursts of rage, and characters that are more looked down upon than admired, but written with a keen sensitivity.
     Musician Johnny Greenwood reunites, for a second time, with P.T. Anderson, creating a score that brilliantly underscores the film, more so than in There Will Be Blood. Greenwood, known as famed guitarist of Radiohead, orchestrates a wild, yet meticulously crafted broken-circus of woodwinds, strings and percussions, which sublimely melts out of the emotional pores of the images. Johnny Greenwood was ignored by the Academy in 2007 with There Will Be Blood, but hopefully, his tantalizing musical score will be acknowledged this year.  
     Two of the finest performances of the year are evident in The Master. Phillip Seymour Hoffman and Joaquin Phoenix bring depth to the characters and the dialogue. Sometimes, in a P.T. Anderson film, it’s not what the characters say, but how they say it that speaks volumes. Humor, as usual, blends seamlessly into this epic-like creation. Watching this film, I could tell that P.T. Anderson had the only hand in the script, but this time around, the enigma hovers slightly over the craft. I think Anderson is striving for that masterful American classic. Honestly, he doesn’t have to travel that far from the grime of the San Fernando Valley (his birthplace) to create a great American classic.

*** (out of four stars)

WOLF is bound to spark controversy (part of Dallas International Film Festival)

     
     In the film’s opening image, the central character roams aimlessly through the lush green forest; the boldness of his red shirt highlights his appearance. The visual contrast of his red shirt—the color of blood, life, lust and guilt—stands out in the natural background. Subtle echoes of a wolf, combined with an ominous, yet low-key score, cleverly alludes to the victimized prey in "little red riding hood."
     Wolf is essentially about the mental and emotional damage to an adolescent teen who was sexually abused, repeatedly, by the pastor of his church. The film was shot on a tight budget, constrained to a swift fifteen day shoot. Although the production cost was low, the writer-and-director, Ya’ke Smith, artfully captures the haunting and symbolic imagery, utilizing HD technology. The cinematography, alone, evoked a lingering aesthetic; the contrast in colors and dramatic composition of some of the dream sequences enriched the texture of the images. The Texas-native filmmaker probes the psychological depths behind the nature of a pedophile, offering empathetic insight.
     The subtext of the taunting narrative explores the ways we both blame and defend the Church-related aspect of the crime. As we dissect the controversy, should the viewer separate the religious connotation, or should we see the pastor’s sexual assaults as a representation of the hypocrisies of organized religion? Corruption in the church is quite evident, but more in depth, the filmmakers portray the humanistic cause-and-effects of sexual molestation.
     The eerie dream sequences reveal the untapped, emotional turmoil of both the pastor and his victim, Carl (Jordon Cooper). Consequently, Carl feels ambivalent about his feelings towards his predator. The pastor’s role as a substitute father and his authority in the Church lured Carl into his trap. Wolf avoids any melodramatic handling of the provocative material. The director blurs the line between good and evil. According to the film’s subtext, the pastor wasn’t born with a sexual inclination towards young boys, but more complex, a damaged product of a dysfunctional environment. Likewise, we observe and empathize with Carl’s rage and sadness; he slowly evolves into a predator himself.
     Newcomer actor Jordan Cooper paints a moving portrait of a boy’s sexual frustration and confusion. He’s unable to process his feelings, let alone, understand them. Cooper is a terrific young talent—the tears flowing down his cheeks feel real and justified. His character grows up to loath himself, and in effect, loathes others around him. Wolf won the Texas Competition Grand Jury Prize and deservedly so. I was absolutely taken in by the humanistic approach to such a disturbing subject.


***1/2 (out of four stars)

               

Dallas Cowboys owner Jerry Jones has destroyed AMERICA'S PARKING LOT (part of Dallas International Film Festival)

     I’m not going to lie; the director of America’s Parking Lot, Johnny Mars, was a tacky host. After the screening, he walks in front of the audience, chugs down a bottle of beer, and spills the unwanted foam onto the ground. He seemed like the epitome of your average drinking-Dallas Cowboy fan. Furthermore, he refused to answer, in detail, majority of the audiences’ questions, antsy to get to the bar next door. I don’t know about you, but if I had a little documentary out in a film festival, I would put forth all of my energy to promote the film. After-parties are fun, but your appearance is not going to guarantee distribution of your film. However, my job is not to critique the filmmaker, but the film itself.

     When I learned that America’s Parking Lot was about the tailgate party-crew of the hard-core Cowboys fans, I was immediately turned off. Surprisingly, I found the documentary to be mildly funny, engaging and insightful. The documentary follows, without a judgmental attitude, several working-class Texans, whose most cherished pastime is to enrich the fan club of the Cowboy-parking lot scene.

     When Cowboys-owner, Jerry Jones, planned the destruction of the Texas Stadium for a much grander arena in Arlington, TX, the ticket prices divided the social construct of his customers. When the new stadium was built, Cowboys fans had to pay a hefty fee of $15,000-$150,000 for a season PSL (Permanent Seat License) ticket. To make matters worse, the PSL fee didn’t even guarantee you a seat at the games. 

     The Cowboys play in the most expensive, privately owned stadium in the nation. When about 1.2 billion dollars goes into the stadium, naturally, the ticket prices, parking, food and accessories are going to sky-rocket. The documentary explores the lively culture of a specific sector of the tailgate party, and how the cost to see the Cowboys play will only be convenient for the upper-class. Unfortunately, most of the die-hard fans are blue-collar citizens and can’t afford to be the avid fan they were before the new stadium.

     The filmmaker highlights the money issue by interweaving interview footage with reporters from various news publications. If you’re from Dallas, and are a devoted “fan,” I think it’s easier to relate how crucial the old stadium was to our sport culture. Football brings every race, nationality and social class together. The filmmakers have something to say about the small sector of the tailgate party, but if you’re already well-informed about the cost of these ridiculous PSL tickets, than it’s difficult to develop an interest in the film’s subjects.

     America’s Parking Lot has its moments of humor and interest, but I don’t watch much football, and I don’t necessarily go to the movies to learn about the high cost of being a Cowboys fan in the new stadium. In my opinion, I think the film works better as a TV special on a sports show.

** ½ (out of four stars)

FATHER'S CHAIR is a tender journey (part of Dallas International Film Festival)

Father’s Chair begins with a domestic scuffle and then gradually progresses into a delicate and engrossing road film. The premise is simple—Theo (Wagner Moura) is recently separated from his wife, Branca (Mariana Lima), and goes on a journey in search of his runaway son. The film is about every parent’s worst nightmare; their child vanishes without a word. The only details we get about the son, Pedro (Bras Antunes), is that he’s an artist, curious about his relationship with his grandfather, and holds a bitter resentment towards his father’s erratic behavior.

     When Pedro disappears, Theo tries to track him down, aggressively following every tip and clue. He finds out that his 15-year old son adopted a black horse and eventually crossed a province of Brazil. Believe me, I was just as baffled as Theo, but the revelation is truly an eye-opener.

     There are scenes that tread on the urgency of the thriller genre, however, the most potent themes deal with the unrealized bond between parent and child. I love how the filmmakers only delve in small details of Pedro’s character. He’s rarely in the film, but the audience gets a sense of his character, seen through his father’s perspective. 

     The particulars of Pedro’s disappearance are like putting together a jigsaw puzzle in which the audience has no preconceived visual of the outcome. The narrative steadily grows into a spellbinding, character-driven road film about discovery—discovery of one’s son and one’s self. The shattered chair in the beginning scene symbolizes the broken relationship between Pedro and Theo, and it’s up to Theo to repair the damaged family tie. 

     Along with the film’s poignant and thought-provoking characters, the visual style is both striking and controlled. The filmmakers’ balances the shaky, energetic-octane of a missing-person thriller with the tender sensibility of a road film.

In accordance with the cinematography, I noticed how the heavy sunlight bleeds through the grayish-hue of the domestic, interior shots. These images convey a need for the characters to venture out into the exterior world, which is evident in the dichotomy between the mother isolating in the house, and the father exploring the unlimited exteriors, which go beyond his secure, comfort zone. My favorite image comes near the end—Theo is slowly traveling on a little motorcycle behind his son on a horse. The visual contrast, not only expresses a theme between the mechanical and the natural, but the similarities of the father and the son’s journey into self-discovery. 

Father’s Chair is the best film I’ve seen so far at the Dallas International Film Festival. The film defied every expectation I had from the first twenty minutes. A truly remarkable journey.

*** ½ (out of four stars)

PUNCH is a feel-good, knockout of a film (part of Dallas International Film Festival)

      Punch is an uplifting drama-comedy that delivers a promise to its audience; these characters are so likable, you’ll crave more. The film is about a lonely and somewhat bitter teenager, Wan-deuk (Ah In Yoo), who comes to terms with his quirky family, and finds an outlet for his anger issues with kickboxing. His father and uncle are penniless street performers, trying to support his son with his proud cabaret act. His pushy high school sociology teacher and neighbor, Dong-joo, is equally as rebellious, and takes an interest in Wan-deuks trials and tribulations. He suggests that he take up kickboxing, and he provides him with an opportunity to reunite him with his estranged mother.     

      Wan-deuk’s narrative voice-over expresses his out-of-place feelings in society—his father is a hunchback, his mother is Filipino, and he comes from poverty. Wisely, the film isn’t about kickboxing, but more humanistic, how a teenager has to accept the family he has. If this was an American blockbuster, filmmakers would ineptly glorify the “kickboxing” element, but Korean director, Han Lee, stresses the touching and funny interactions in Wan-deuk’s neighborhood. I felt as though I walked into the colorful social environment of director Scorsese’s portrait of Little Italy; the domestic drama and lively attitude of an old neighborhood.
      Wan-deuk’s neighbors bicker and start mayhem with one another, but the filmmakers give you a feeling that these characters know one another very well. The quarrels bring a sense of unity to their living environment. As the narrative progresses, Wan-deuk gradually accepts both the mother who abandoned him and the awkward reality of his poor, yet one-hundred percent loving family. The audience roots for the troubled teen, not to excel in contact sports, but to build pride within his social unit. Punch has a mainstream-like happy ending, but it can’t hurt to raise your spirits.

*** (out of four)

SAVE THE DATE is an uproarious romantic comedy (Part of Dallas International Film Festival)

        Save the Date is a laugh-out-loud, sexy, indie-comedy about the romantic quarrels of 20-something couples. Sisters Sarah (Lizzy Caplan) and Beth (Alison Brie) have a close relationship, and also date two men who are friends and perform in the same band. Actor Geoffrey Arend, who claimed his super-cool geek status in the cult comedy, Super Troopers(2001), balances both humor and volatile behaviors as Kevin, Sarah's love interest. While performing in a drunken stupor, Kevin proposes to Sarah in front of everyone at the concert. Kevin is rejected by Sarah and the two separate. While Kevin drowns his sorrow with pot and alcohol, Sarah moves on with her life, forming a new relationship with Jonathan (Mark Webber). By sheer accident, Sarah gets pregnant, and is expecting the baby the same time her sister is getting married. Is she going to have the baby?
      The film places less emphasis on the plot development, and more emphasis on Sarah's own development; the daunting tasks of being completely open with someone else. Besides the deft perception of these skeptical, yet smartly written characters, the qualitative filmmaking enhanced my overall reaction to the film. For examples, the transition into some of the morning scenes begins with an overhead shot of Sarah's cat lying on the bed, bathed in the warm sunlight. I’ve always thought that a feline on a bed or couch exudes a pleasant, calendar-like image. More cleverly, the cat, which first exists in the background, becomes involved in the plot.
      Other scenes I admired were of Kevin's band performing on stage. The camera begins on a tight shot of the microphone and then smoothly tracks back until the band members’ step into the center of the frame. The precise composition of the camera movement, mixed with the bright-neon club-lights creates a cool, rock-concert vibe, which stands out from the rest of the more hand-held visual style. I was quite fond of the frequent use of the zoom-lens. Directors are hesitant of zooming, afraid that the quick compression of the shot will distract from the story. It’s a technique that mainstream directors connote as dogmatic or sloppy, but honestly, I think it’s the greatest voyeuristic tool.
      The main reason why I thoroughly enjoyed this comedy is that all of the characters click so well—the sarcastic dialogue bounces back and forth like a swift game of ping pong. When they converse, their innate goofiness and emotional confidence bubble to the surface.
      The film ends mid-sentence—a sharp cut to black, leaving the plot hanging with assumptions. Some audiences might get a little frustrated with the abrupt ending, but it correlates perfectly with Sarah's character development. It’s not about whether Sarah intends to keep her child, but her conscious willingness to open-up and mature within a relationship. Since the film doesn’t have any A-list stars, distribution is at a stand-still. I surely hope the big leagues of the industry enjoy it as much as I did, and give this uproarious romantic comedy a proper theatrical release.

*** (out of four stars)

Josh Radnor flunks out in LIBERAL ARTS

       Josh Radnor, fresh off his previous, indie-acclaim film, Happythankyoumoreplease (2010), is back as writer-director-star of another dialogue-driven comedy, Liberal Arts. The cast is very attractive, the tone is light and cute, but regrettably, the conversations and character interrelationships are lackluster.

       Josh Radnor portrays Jesse, a lonely, thirty-something bachelor who gets a call from his old college professor, played by Richard Jenkins, who invites him to come down to the university for his farewell retirement dinner. Jesse leaves the hustle-and-bustle of New York City and enters the lush greens of a quaint college campus.

       During his visit, Radnor becomes smitten by Elizabeth Olsen’s character, Zibby, a 19 year-old sophomore. At this juncture, the script falls flat at creating a deft connection between two people who like one another, but are not sure if their age difference will cause friction. Jesse has difficulty expressing his emotions. He has to let Zibby control and dictate the direction that their relationship is moving in. They walk and talk, sit and talk, and walk and talk some more. Their conversations take place at various locations—a coffee shop, outside on campus, inside her dorm room and a cathedral. When you have to change-up the locations for a getting-to-know-you conversation, it’s a sign that the dialogue doesn’t resonate any deeper than the various backdrops.

       Throughout the film, Jesse meets and interacts with an assortment of supporting characters on campus. There’s the hippie-freeloader (Zach Efron), the depressed lone-wolf (John Magaro),and then the mean-spirited lady professor, played with a superb, dryly comic sarcasm by Allison Janney. When you make a film where the lead actor engages in separate conversations with the supporting cast, it’s almost like a clichéd rule in screenwriting that the main actor has to follow through with all of those minor interactions. Not necessarily true. The great thing about independent filmmaking is that you don’t have to tie in every loose end, or at least, try to. It’s okay to leave the supporting characters behind in order to develop more meaning for the protagonist.

       As much as I smiled at the goofball- hippie-stereotype that Zach Efron portrayed, his character seemed to have little-to-nil impact on Josh Radnor. Screen time is precious, and when you feel like a character doesn’t have much of an effect on the film overall, then that’s where you say….can we cut it?

       With that said, Liberal Arts is awfully predictable. I know the structure isn’t the focal point; it’s the characters and humor, but for the opening night screening, I wanted to venture into the “unknown.” Every piece on the chess board moved precisely where I predicted.

       Conversely, I do give kudos to Radnor for writing, directing, and starring in his own film. I liked the premise, the charismatic performances and the laidback tone, but I wasn’t sold on the relationship between Olsen and Radnor; it felt forced and untrue. When it comes to witty and humanistic observations of couples, filmmakers always strive for the intellectual depth of Woody Allen, but we all can’t be like Woody.

** (out of four stars)

 

The Dallas International Film Festival Kicks Off at the Majestic Theater

       There’s a plethora of press and a limited amount of space by the red carpet. How the hell can you get an interview? The incessant wind is blowing throughout the downtown area. Every woman wearing a skirt is giving their best Marilyn Monroe impression from the Seven Year Itch (1955) At 6:00 o’clock, the talent made their way through the red carpet. In order to snag a one-on-one interview, you have to be aggressive. Reporters, photographers and cameramen are literally stepping over one another. I felt more cramped than riding the NYC subway on a Monday morning. I enjoyed hearing the filmmakers and actors comments, but honestly, I really wanted to get into The Majestic Theater, which is an iconic venue in Dallas.



Claude Dal Farra - Producer of Liberal Arts

  Before the film began, the President and CEO of the Dallas Film Society welcomed the dignitaries of the festival. The first guest speaker was the Mayor of Dallas, Mike Rawlings. The Mayor gave your typical—I’m a supporter of the arts—speech, but for a politician, I was surprised to hear about his knowledge of European, auteur directors, such as Antonioni, Fellini and Godard. The next honoree was the Chairman of Board of Cinemark theaters, Lee Roy and Tandy Mitchell. There was a mini documentary on the start and growth of the ever-present stadium seating chain, which Cinemark practically revolutionized.      

       Afterwards, one of the producers of Liberal Arts (opening gala screening), Claude Dal Farra, gave a speech, articulating his role in the filmmaking process with his all-too-charming French accent. However, the spotlight of Opening Night was James Faust, the artistic director of the festival. The audience cheered as he made his way to the podium. Faust’s hard work and dedication in the film society has made the Dallas International Film Festival a more glamorous and receptive venue.

THE KID WITH A BIKE strives for realism

                Cyril is a troubled adolescent in search of emotional support. He’s rebellious and angry—fighting, biting and causing self-inflicted wounds. His father abandoned him and he’s forced to live in foster care. The only emotional attachment is a bike, which he recovered after his father sold it for money.
         The Kid with a Bike follows the uncomplicated, yet poignant journey of a lost boy in need. Similar to Truffaut’s groundbreaking new-wave film, The 400 Blows (1959) and borrowing minimalistic elements from Italian Neo-realism, The Kid with a Bike prospers in keen observation, rather than a self-indulgent style. The camera is appropriately hand-held and utilizes a more natural cinematography, and lacks a musical score. 
         The primary focus is the turbulent, implosive anguish of Cyril, and the audience empathizes with his pain. The filmmakers don’t waste any time establishing the central conflict. In the opening scene at the foster home, Cyril is on the phone, trying to track down his absentee father. He uses every resource he has to try and fill his void. The film is also about the heartbreaking realization that Cyril can never get his needs met. The bike is a symbol of the love he’ll never receive—an extension of the past he yearns for.
                 The plot advances when the town hairdresser, Samantha, agrees to extend a helping hand, and take care of Cyril on the weekends. In his attempt to salvage a vanished relationship with his father, Cyril is blinded by the newfound love he has right next to him, which is Samantha. When angry boys can’t find love from within their family, they go searching for it in dangerous places—acceptance can mean a lot, even if it’s from bad influences. The boy is lured by a conniving teenager, who uses him for criminal activity.  There’s a scene where the teenager takes him home to his house and lets him play a videogame in his room. Since there isn’t any dramatic music or extraneous close-ups, it’s hard to tell how the situation will develop. The minimal style truly increases the suspense and intrigue.                 
         Towards the end of the film, the writers-and-directors imply a change in the boy’s erratic behavior. In the scene where Samantha and Cyril are riding together, Cyril suggests to try riding Samantha’s mountain bike. The scene conveys Cyril’s willingness to let go of the past and try something new—accepting the reality of his situation. The filmmakers express this message by visual action, rather than explain it in dialogue or voice-over. The Kid with a Bike ends on a sad, yet thoughtful note. The very last scene surmises everything that Cyril’s missing; the protective bond between father and son.


*** ½ (out of four stars)

DETACHMENT will have you running for charter schools

Detachment is a dark and dreary film about a substitute teacher who lands himself a position teaching English at a hardcore, inner-city public school, hoping to inspire our troubled youth. Oscar-winning actor, Adrian Brody, delivers an edgy performance as the protagonist, Henry Barthes. Barthes drifts from school to school, avoiding any sentimental attachments to both faculty and students. In the course of the all-too-familiar narrative—the out-of-place teacher trying to make a difference—Barthes consoles his most promising, artistic student and offers shelter to a teenage prostitute, Erica, played to near perfection by newcomer Sami Gayle.

       The grim affect of the film’s blatantly melodramatic handling divided my reaction. I was quite impressed with director Tony Kaye's gritty visual grammar, but the bleak tone and calculated turn of events left an all-around icky taste in my mouth. The writer hammers the audience with the obvious, dark literary references of Edgar Allen Poe’s “The Fall of the House of Usher,” mixed with footage of the protagonist rambling on about his existential role in a doomed society. Don’t get me wrong; I hold a special place for the dark and disturbed, but the cynical material is too stuffy and over-dramatic for its own good.

       If you want to watch a film about the cold existence of a main character, checkout Michael Fassbinder as a sex addict in the raw and powerful Shame (2011). Although I agree with the filmmakers’ social and political outcry, regarding the public education system—elite, bureaucratic, and more concerned with the income bracket of their students, than the students themselves—I wanted to see a glimmer of light. Unfortunately, darkness prevails in Detachment. There’s always a spot of hope for our slacker generation; someone or something can be saved, but the writer refuses to see the opposite side of the spectrum. Sure, teenage prostitution, bullying, rape, drug use, and let’s not forget, bad teachers can gravely affect our youth, but when we see that there’s no other way except downhill, it’s hard to care about the characters, no matter how great the performances are.

      Detachment is a little film, made on a tight budget, utilizing a wandering, hand-held camera. Conversely, the material, script and director attracted an A-list cast, including Marcia Gay Harden, James Caan, Tim Blake Nelson, Lucy Liu and Blythe Danner. This is Tony Kaye’s second big directorial effort since the classic, neo-Nazi morality tale, American History X (1998). The director employs various old-school film techniques, such as hand-cranked fast motion, over-exposure, assorted film stocks, black-and-white and 16 mm footage, and elementary stop-motion animation. It’s refreshing to see a modern film utilize practical in-camera effects to help unfold the narrative. To some extent, this back-to-basic technique emphasizes the richness of film itself, rather than indulging in the digital revolution.

     Detachment delves in the protagonist traumatic back-story, exhibiting snippets of 16 mm footage of the teacher as a boy. These images explain why he chooses to both extend and retract his hand to those in need, but sometimes, it’s more stimulating to hide the reasoning, and let the audience use their intelligence and imagination. The high school melodrama, seen through the eyes of the dysfunctional faculty, grabbed my attention, but with a top-notch cast and sharp director, I expected more from the script’s final draft.

** ½ (out of four stars)

New on DVD......THE DESCENDANTS

     The Descendants is a deeply moving story about a father trying to keep his family together in the midst of a crisis. George Clooney is the film's protagonist, Matt King, and it's one of the smartest and humanistic roles he's ever tackled. He's stuck in various dilemmas, which makes it harder for him to hold his sanity together, but he does. Matt King's wife is in a life-threatening coma, his teenage daughter is acting out, and to complicate matters, he's responsible for resolving a gigantic real estate deal, which Hawaiian locals are following.

     The male protagonist in most of Alexander Payne's films are successful from the outside, but a closer look, reveals a yearning for something greater than what they already have. His characters are forced to deal with unfamiliar emotions. In Election (1999), Matthew Broderick, a high school teacher, holds a trifling resentment over one his over-achieving students. In About Schmidt (2002), Jack Nicholson retires from a steady career, only to rediscover his identity. In Sideways (2004), Paul Giamatti struggles to become a serious novelist, rather than teach English for the rest of his life. The male complex in each of these film are diverse, but studied together, we see the unbearable frailty in confident men.

     George Clooney is superb. He balances a confident, stern father figure with confusion and vulnerability. I love how Matt King's opening voice-over presents him as a smart, productive and resourceful man, but the moment he realizes his wife's past infidelities, a child-like desperation overwhelms him. One of my favorite scenes in the film is when he's trying to play the calm and concerned parent, having a heart-to-heart with his wild daughter, and by the next scene, he's running down the street as if the cops are after him. Watching Clooney run barefoot is a comic delight. It's a small action, but again, we see how the director brings out the hurt little boy in the leading male.

     Besides Clooney, the entire supporting cast soars, including Beau Bridges, Robert Forrester, Mathew Lillard, and newcomer Shailene Woodley, who plays as the troubled teenage daughter, Alexandra King. Woodley's spark, attitude and underlying sadness is up-to-par with Clooney's performance. She's new to the big screen, but this film will boost her career to new heights.

     I think it's safe to say that the family crisis involving the mother is sad and tragic. Sure, the audience laughs when Clooney vents his anger on his comatose wife, but the reality of the situation is no laughing matter. Yet, leave it up to a thoughtful script to find humor and pathos in tragedy.

     The Descendants is Payne's most structured film. There really aren't scenes that veer off from the emotional core of the story, which is probably why I favor Sideways more. For example, in Sideways, the quartet split screen segment moves us away from the characters and the filmmakers playfully depict the spirit and landscape of the Californian wine country. Similar to Sideways, Payne integrates the Hawaiian backdrop in his latest film. The camera artfully captures the beauty of Hawaii, avoiding the typical post-card-touristy images that audiences are so familiar with. The Descendants is truly a bittersweet occasion; pain, humor and poignancy connect in spontaneous harmony, creating a unique tone. Don't miss this award-winning film.

*** ½ (out of four stars)

WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT KEVIN......before it's too late

     When I learned that We Need to Talk About Kevin was about a high school massacre, several films flashed through my mind, including Elephant (2003)—a stylistic expression of the everyday doldrums of teenage society, and Beautiful Boy (2010)—the destruction of a marriage whose son shot-up the local school.  The controversy of a school shooting leaves plenty of room for discussion. Are these teenagers evil? Are they the real enemy, or does the fault lie on outside influences, such as the parents and the mass media? We Need to Talk About Kevin delves into the emotional torment of a mother, whose son locked his school from the outside and performed an unfathomable school massacre. The filmmaker's narrative focus is the mother, Eva (Tilda Swinton), and her turbulent kinship with her son, Kevin, who's portrayed by three actors in different stages of his life.

     We Need to Talk About Kevin offers a powerhouse story, which is hard to shake off. The content and performances are up-to-par with the crafty unfolding of the narrative.  The audience isn't aware of the specifics of Kevin's violent actions until the end. The film seamlessly inter-cuts between the past—Kevin's upbringing, and the present—Eva, left in solitary, coping with the dreadful aftermath.

     Tilda Swinton's Oscar-nominated performance is extraordinary. Undercurrents of tension seep from her every gesture and facial expression.The first key scene behind Eva's psychological dimension is when she walks outside her front porch and observes her house and car vandalized with red paint. The core of the narration is built around the refurbishing of her new home, alone. The images of Eva trying to wash away the red paint is a clever metaphor for how difficult it is to hide her guilt and shame. No matter how hard she scrubs, she will always feel the blood on her hands.

     The film explores Kevin's childhood, which includes his relationship with his little sister, Celia (Ashley Gerasimovich), and father (John C. Riley). Riley, along with Swinton, delivered nuanced performances. Kevin always preferred his father over his mother. The father may seem oblivious, but I think the point is that Kevin was born with a cunning, deceptive bone in his body, which overpowers the control of his parents. He comes from a well-to-do family, but clearly, the pleasant social environment cannot tame the boy's inherent anger, which fuels his role as a sociopath. And why is he angry? Is it solely his mother's fault? In my opinion, the filmmaker's perception doesn't point a finger at anyone specific. I feel as though there wasn't anything that the parents could have done differently.

     As we learn more about the past and comprehend Kevin's hatred, we see that Eva could not foresee something this traumatic. The film builds to a bone-chilling conclusion, and the one image that will last in my mind is Kevin's room, which Eva furnished to match it before the tragic incident. He's never coming back, but the mother kept every detail from the past. A gesture, which speaks for itself.

*** (out of four stars) 

Life is hard, but BEING FLYNN is harder

Being Flynn is an engaging memoir about Nick Flynn, a young aspiring writer who reunites with his homeless, alcoholic father, who abandoned Nick and his mother 18 years prior. The indie comic-drama probes the flimsy tie that binds between parent and child. The film tells the true story of a young man, Nick (Paul Dano), who begins to work in a homeless shelter, which his father, Jonathan Flynn (Robert De Niro), is a frequent guest. De Niro's character unwittingly evolves into an insane, homeless derelict, but also aspires to become a classic writer. Filmmaker Paul Weitz reveals a perceptive portrayal of two struggling writers, estranged to each other, yet they both draw inspiration from their dysfunctional lives.
  Actor Paul Dano, who first proved his dramatic acting-chops in L.I.E. (2001), playing a latch-key child who confides with an elderly pedophile, rises to the occasion in Being Flynn. Dano maintains a wonderful balance with De Niro's offensive, comic-serious depravity. Although I was mildly disappointed with the shiftiness of both comedic and dramatic elements, which was painstakingly brilliant in Alexander Payne's The Descendants, the performances of both Dano and De Niro easily stood their ground.  
  Instead of falling into radical stereotypes of the homeless culture – abrasive and Bible-thumping streetwalkers – the writer steadily peels away Jonathan Flynn's dignity, until he develops a rugged look that requires him to take his free cup of coffee outside, rather than dine in at his favorite cafe. Watching De Niro rebel in a childish rage is an absolute joy to watch. Every detail in his physique—the chip tooth and wear-and-tear of his costume—is a reminder that no matter how many “Little Focker” sequels he signs up for, he's still one of the greatest method actors of our time, willing to go through any transformation that the script requires. A remarkable acting feat; even somewhat reminiscent of his classic portrayal in Taxi Driver (1976). 
One of the film's strengths is the dual voice-overs of both Jonathan and Nick. The subjective narrations of both Dano and De Niro displays a connection between two writers. The film digs into Nick's past childhood, to where he finds his mother, played by the talented Julianne Moore, dead in their home. These flashback scenes sets-up his character's descent into progressive drug and alcohol addiction. In the opening scene, his girlfriend discovers his dark poetry, which foreshadows both his substance abuse and inherent writing gifts. 
  Being Flynn ends on a rather odd note. I haven't read the memoir, "Another Bullshit Night in Suck City," which the film is based upon, but I assume there's more to the story the screenwriter could've developed. I loved Paul Dano's turbulent portrayal as Nick. I wanted a stronger focus on his relationship with his love interest, rather than his father. I can relate to Nick's anguish and struggle to define himself as an artist. Being Flynn entertained me more than disappointed. Since I've seen the film, none of my friends have heard about it. Even the name Robert De Niro doesn't attract the large majority. I think this is a good example how indie films get the low end of the marketing stick. I would be surprised how well it would've done with a wider distribution. 


*** (out of four stars)