&mdash; Movies Are Great

by Bruce E. Parry

This is one of those films that ask what reality is. It is about using hypnosis to recover memories, but the memories, it turns out, run several levels deep. And as the film progresses, what’s reality and what is a hypnotic trance becomes more and more cloudy. And, of course, what has actually happened, who’s actually doing what to whom and why, becomes less and less clear.

On my first viewing, the lines between what was supposed to be real and what was supposed to be taking place in a trance become nearly indistinguishable, and I was left with the need to see the film again to sort it out. I’m glad I did. On second viewing, it turns out you can actually distinguish between the two, and the twists and turns of the film make more sense.

The short version is that Simon (James McAvoy) works as an auctioneer. During a robbery, he is to take the most valuable item—a painting by Goya that’s just sold for £27 million—and put it in the safe. But a robber beats him to it. He tases the robber (Frank, played by Vincent Cassel), who responds by hitting him in the head with the butt of a shotgun. He’s declared a hero, but has to undergo brain surgery to save him. Upon release, we discover Simon’s in on the robbery, but has deceived the rest of the robbers by secreting the picture somewhere. But … he can’t remember where. The solution: hypnosis. He randomly picks a hypnotist, Elizabeth Lamb (Rosario Dawson) who then pretty promptly joins the team of robbers on the basis of using hypnosis to find the painting. But it’s not so easy and, as I said, there are multiple levels and sundry difficulties to be traversed in finding the lost art.

It was directed by Danny Boyle, but it reminds me of a David Lynch film in that you are never sure what you are seeing. But, like a David Lynch film, there is a real story unfolding and it is knowable. At least Mulholland Drive (2001)—which is one of my favorite Lynch films and one the Movie Group watched—was understandable. Some of the others (Blue Velvet (1986) and Eraserhead (1977)) may be more debatable. Other movies, like Primer (2004), which I blogged about multiple times and was also seen by my Movie Group, was not—in my opinion—completely understandable, even with study. But Trance is, and I like that.

Part of the brilliance of Trance is the use of glass. Both Frank (the robber) and Elizabeth (the hypnotist) live in glass houses and the use of transparency, translucency, mirrors and reflections is brilliant. It’s disorienting, and part and parcel of confusing the reality of the film with the trances. The shots are wonderful and I was never completely sure—particularly the first time through—of exactly what I was seeing and what the relationships were that were being portrayed.

The twists and turns at the end of the film are great, if somewhat anticipated. I won’t go into detail because it will spoil the end of the film. There is at least one scene, however, which baffles me. It’s not clear why it’s in there except to add time and (questionably) another facet to the plot. It’s the scene where one of the robbers, Nate (Danny Sapani), is hypnotized in order to “make him vulnerable” and allow Simon to “trust” Nate won’t kill him after they find the painting. It was a specious scene, not believable, and unnecessary to the film.

The film is also quite erotic. The affair Elizabeth has with Simon is quite graphic and lustful. It turns on his particular sexual desires, which are shown visually and played out fully. Those aren’t the only sex scenes; Elizabeth gets it on with another character as well. As with other sequences, what’s real and what’s in the hypnotic trance are confounded.

I really liked the film. It was particularly good the second time through, because I got a lot of my questions answered. And that’s the kind of film I like: one that calls to me to see it again. There was no deep message here, the film was almost completely pure entertainment. But it was listed as a psychological thriller and it was on of the most entertaining films I’ve seen in that genre.

Amour (2012)

February 11, 2014

by Bruce E. Parry

What a film! It’s about what it is like to get old and die, in this case, of a stroke. Anne (Emmanuelle Riva) and Georges (Jean-Louis Trintignant) are having breakfast, when Anne suddenly zones out for several minutes. Georges has no idea what’s going on. Anne comes back to consciousness, and remembers nothing of the incident. We soon learn that she’s had a stroke and the procedure to correct it fails. Another stroke leaves her paralyzed on the right side and, of course, Georges has to take care of her. We then watch as she deteriorates. We see Georges hang in and take care of her, with some nursing help, to the final stages. We see family and a former student of hers come to visit during her decline. We see her become more and more helpless, trapped within a body that no longer works and increasingly unable to communicate. It is a devastating portrait.

There is little to alleviate the drama of the decline. There are intervals of the visits, help from the landlord and his wife, but these are not reassuring. The end is inevitable. Georges makes a critical decision.

I’m not sure I understand the whole thing. The ending is enigmatic. We’ve seen the very end in the opening seen, but the film isn’t really a flashback, it’s just the very end is told before the entire story is unfolded. It is so sad and unrelenting that I had the feeling that if I really let myself get into this film, I’d be an emotional wreck by the end of it. I therefore held myself back, watching Georges have to deal with the situation. Inevitably, I tried to put myself into both the position of Georges and in the position of Anne and wondered on the one hand, how I’d handle it, and on the other, what she’s actually experiencing.

The writing, directing, cinematography and makeup are incredible. The film unfolds in snippets of key points in the story, not a continuous story. It skips from point to point. I don’t want to say high point, because many of them are low points, but it hits the key points. Many are interrupted by night scenes, where the screen appears black, but you realize one or both of he characters are in bed in the dark. Then something happens. The result is disorienting and confusing: exactly what the characters must be experiencing in each case. The acting is superb, and the directing tight. Georges is fully in character and dealing with an absolutely devastating situation in a mature, intelligent manner. That, of course, is questioned—if not challenged—by his daughter. But Georges defends himself in a firm, but loving way. The character is consistent and boldly portrayed.

Anne is amazing. Her transformation throughout the film seems to be the absolutely real thing and the acting is absolutely amazing, as is the make up. She looks the part she is playing. And that has to be really difficult in a situation where you are portraying a person dying in small, discrete stages, each of which is portrayed. Riva is up to every part. I makes me wonder if she didn’t do a real-life study of a hospice situation to present such a portrayal. That in itself would be a devastating experience!

The camera work is unsparing. It makes us look at every aspect of the story from every angle. As I said, it had me putting myself in both Anne’s and Georges’ place. The use of closeups, the long shots down the hall of their apartment, the pristine quality of the film showing every detail, are hallmarks of this film.

It is notable that the film does not try to do any psychological analysis of the characters and what they are going through. It presents the actual series of events: the stroke, the response of the husband, the decision of the doctors, the failure of the operation, etc. The detail is profound, and we are left with only two choices. We can do what the daughter does and try to second guess Georges. Or we can accept that he is acting with all the love and caring anyone could possibly have. I found myself questioning whether I could ever carry on as completely and competently as he does.

This is a great film. It won the Oscar for Best Foreign Film for 2012. It is not a film you like. It is just a film you can appreciate. And that appreciation is mostly in the sadness and difficulty of life’s end.

Last Tango in Paris (1972)

by Bruce E. Parry

I re-watched Last Tango in Paris. I had not seen it since it came out. I remember seeing it with my sister back then and was embarrassed by the explicitly sexual nature of the film. That is what I remembered about the film.

Of course, it’s Brando (who plays Paul) and Maria Schneider (Jeanne) who meet by chance at a Paris apartment and fall into an opportunistic sexual relationship confined to the apartment. He refuses to let her tell him her name (and vise versa), who she is, what’s she’s about or anything. It’s very “70s.” There is even a scene about climaxing without touching, which was a big goal back then, as I recall. The whole idea of the “purity” of a relationship without ties to the baggage (history) of past life lived or current contacts and commitments, was de rigeur, at least in my age group. (I was 25 when the film came out. I’m a bit older now.)

Today I look at the purpose of relationships as intimacy, and this film is about the opposite of intimacy. It’s about not knowing the other person “except in a pure sense.” She is engaged to another man, but can’t resist the temptation of seeing Paul (though she doesn’t know his name) in the apartment. He has just gone through his wife’s suicide and is reeling as a result. None of this is known to the other. One day, she comes to the apartment and he’s just gone: disappeared.

They bump into each other on the street. He professes his deep love for her and starts telling her about himself. They wind up in a Tango Bar and there is a tango contest going on. They interrupt with their own dance, disrupting the occasion. But, for her, the magic is gone, the magic of not knowing, the “purity” of the relationship. He follows her to her apartment, where she shoots him and the film closes, as he dies, with her saying she doesn’t know him, she doesn’t know his name, he’s crazy.

The dance sequence, which lends the film its name, is an obvious reference to having highly choreographed lives, played out in unison, step by practiced step. Their dance on the other hand, is wild, free, unrestricted, unpracticed. It is a rejection of perfection and an assertion of difference and freedom.

The ending is particularly interesting. For me it raises the whole question of whether the film was supposed to be depicting reality, a story of what happened, or whether it was a fantasy, a dream, in particular, Paul’s male dream. If it is seen as a fantasy Paul has when first meeting Jeanne in the apartment, I think it allows the viewer to re-evaluate the film entirely. Later, Paul follows Jeanne home, where she literally doesn’t know him and thinks he’s this crazy guy saying he loves her and forcing his way into her apartment. That actually makes more sense to me than a more literal interpretation of the film, which leaves me, as I said, with the 70s-jeebies.

I don’t want to be judgmental about the 70s and what I thought and felt back then, but I’m a really different person now, with different values and a different take on the film. I think that on the surface it portrays a relatively superficial idea of relationships. In exposing that superficiality—if it was a dream or fantasy—gives it more substance for me.

Cairo Station (1958)

by Bruce E. Parry

This is a strange, very taut, film set in Cairo, Egypt and in Arabic with subtitles. It was made on a shoestring budget, but has become a cult classic because of its writing, editing, photography and direction.

What’s strange about it is its story line. A Cairo station news vender picks up a lame young man (Qinawi) out of sympathy for his plight. Qinawi, it turns out, is obsessed with soft porn, hanging pictures in his hut, cutting them out, always looking, always searching for more. Ultimately, he falls in love with beautiful Hannuma, who, of course, is out of reach; she’s engaged to Abu Siri. Abu Siri is a big heroic guy, who is working to organize a union at the train station. Hannuma makes fun of Qinawi’s vision of their life together and he goes mad. He buys a knife and kills Hannuma, he thinks, but actually he has stabbed her friend by mistake. The friend is shipped out by train in a box delivered by Abu Siri. (It turns out she isn’t dead.) When Hannuma shows up, Qinawi finds her, gets her on a train, and is preparing to kill her when he is caught, put in a straight jacket, and bundled off.

There’s much more to the film: life of the workers at the station, the struggle for (and against) the union, the trains and passengers, the living accommodations of the poorest and more. The women sell bottles of soda to passengers on the trains. The men are all baggage and cargo handlers. Their situations are handled with sympathy and insight. The photography is stunning. It gets everything, and without a studio. Unless I’m mistaken, the entire film was shot at Cairo station. Again, the shots are crisp and original, giving a real feel for the the characters and the life they lead.

It was directed by Youssef Chahine, who also played the role of Qinawi. The cinematographer was Alevise Orfanelli, who is credited with getting Chahine (originally an actor) into directing.

Actually, I’d like to engage in a broader discussion of this film and have proposed it to my Movie Group. It has nuance and underlying issues that may well be worth exploring. I may review this again after that discussion.

Solaris (1972)

by Bruce E. Parry

I watched Solaris the other night. It is a Soviet film made in 1972, in Russian with subtitles. It is often billed as the greatest science fiction film ever made, which is why I watched it. The story line is that a psychologist (Kris) is being sent to the space station circling the planet Solaris to evaluate whether to continue the research into the planet or cancel it altogether. Before he goes, he is shown a video report by Berton, a space pilot, who has reported incredible phenomena—a viscous fog, a giant baby and more—but cannot prove it and is discredited. Kris goes to Solaris, finds only two people on the station (Doctors Snaut and Sartorius). A third—his friend Dr. Gribarian has committed suicide. Kris soon encounters his wife (Hari)—who had also died from suicide ten years ago. The film unlocks the mystery of the planet below, which is a living, sentient entity that can read their minds and memories (the vast, swirling ocean below is the brain) and create real replicas from them. The replicas know who they are, but have incomplete memories of their past, are made of neutrinos (not atoms and molecules like the rest of us), and are only superficially similar: zippers, internal organs and other details are missing.

What unfolds is a look at life, love, inter-communication, ethics, science and reality that is both complex and subtle. Ultimately Kris falls in love with Hari, despite the fact that she is a replica and not the “real thing.” In the meantime, Snaut and Sartorius study the replicas and want to shoot deadly radiation into the ocean. In the conflicts among the characters, the film examines aspects of life and reality. I particularly find the idea of communication with another species to be fascinating. Most science fiction has inter-species communication taking place. In this film, the entire planet is the sentient being and they cannot figure out how to communicate with it. The closest they come is to broadcast Kris’ brainwaves to it. It responds. How do you communicate with a planet? And how can we communicate with other extra terrestrials when we can’t communicate with any other species on the earth we occupy?

The film purposely (I assume) has a very slow pace and is almost 3 hours long. The photography is stunningly beautiful when we’re not looking at the interior of the deteriorated space station. The opening scene, of wavy underwater grass in a stream bed (it is also the closing scene) is symbolic and very stunning. We pause over many events in the film and it gives us time to ponder. This does not make for an exciting film, however. It is a slow, psychological and intellectual film that explores questions in large part through dialogue.

I’m glad I’ve seen the film, but I’m not going to run out and see it again. It is very interesting, but not engrossing. I see why many people like it, but I prefer films that are more entertaining.

Cat People (1942)

by Bruce E. Parry

The Movie Group watched Cat People last night. It’s a 1942 B thriller with Simone Simon in the lead role and is only about 73 minutes long. We discussed it for about 4 hours! I think we were all surprised at how much controversy and discussion the film generated.

Spoiler alert: the review reveals the ending.

Basically, the story is about a woman, Irene (Simone Simon), who meets and falls in love with and marries an All-American guy, Oliver (Kent Smith). But she won’t consummate the marriage because she’s afraid of the legend that says that if she kisses her husband, she will turn into a panther and kill him. This legend dates from King John of Serbia who killed many cat people in her village. But..the smartest and most wicked got away! She believes it, but none of the other characters do. They send her to a psychiatrist, Dr. Judd (Tom Conway), who is a real wolf (pun intended) and comes on to her. In the meantime, Oliver has struck up a friendship and then an affair with a co-worker, Alice (Jane Randolph). Driven by jealousy, Irene starts following Alice and “losing time.” Oliver, Alice and Judd try to commit her as insane, but her true nature is revealed in the climax of the film.

One of the chief themes of our discussion was the underlying theme of suppressed sexuality that drove the legend and the action in the film. Irene refuses to kiss or be kissed, let alone make love. The film is quite explicit about this, which we thought was very daring for the 1940s. Oliver even puts up with the fact that she never consummates the marriage, hoping she’ll come around. When she is finally kissed—by Dr. Judd—she strikes back, turning into a panther and killing him. That’s rebelling against your sexuality!

The association of women with cats in the film is another aspect of repressed sexuality. And cats are ubiquitous. I don’t think there is a scene in the film where cats aren’t present: drawings, pictures, animations, statues, panthers at the zoo, shadows of cats, and live cats and kittens. There is even a cat woman at the restaurant and the flowers in the florist shop are tiger lilies. Cats are everywhere and always there to remind us of the legend and of Irene’s fate. As far as I remember, there is only one reference to a male cat: John Paul Jones in the office. There is a reference in the pet store, but that is to an alley cat, not a tom cat.

Cats are associated with evil as well. In the legend, they are associated with witches and worship of Satan. The brief background we get on Irene is that her father died in the woods under peculiar circumstances, and she was teased by kids branding her mother as a cat woman and a witch. This lends another level to the question of whether or not she’s a cat person. Dr. Judd raises another theme that runs through the film: that some people want to unleash evil on the world. Irene flirts with the idea of releasing the zoo’s panther (played by Dynamite) and finally does it. She also dreams about releasing evil in an animated sequence.

Irene’s nature is fixed by fate. It’s almost Shakespearian. As the movie progresses, the reality of the legend is revealed in steps. At first, she’s afraid, but not sure. Then, she’s greeted by the cat woman in the restaurant. Then she follows Alice (twice) and starts losing time. Finally, she becomes a cat and kills Judd, culminating in her own death, where she is revealed to be a cat person. Throughout the film, no one has believed her, and they have accused her of lying about losing time, about not knowing, about these transformations. But the final line is delivered by Oliver to Alice as they leave the dead Irene, transformed into a panther: “She never lied to us.”

We definitely had some questions about the writing. There were some scenes that just didn’t work as written, and a line or two change could have clarified them. One is the scene where the shrink—Dr. Judd—tells her he can’t help her. She then goes home and tells Oliver—too late (he’s with Alice now)—that she’s not afraid anymore and implies she’ll kiss and love him. One doesn’t follow from the other. If Judd couldn’t help her, how does she overcome her fear? Another quirk is the treatment of time. There are any number of techniques that could give the audience a sense of time passage. At the beginning of the film, this is so poorly done, we’re left with the impression that Irene and Oliver are professing love on the second day they’ve known each other. It seems that the film wants us to think some time has passed, but there is no indication of that.

The cinematography, on the other hand, is excellent. It’s one of those black and white films where the images and range of blacks, whites and grays are crisp and beautiful. And that’s really important here because so much of the film takes place at night and in the shadows. Every time we paused the film, the scene was framed just right and the picture was beautiful. There was a lot of creative framing as well. In the pet store, for example, a café curtain is used to frame Irene, who chooses to stay outside. Later in the scene, we see her framed in the reflection off the glass of the door. At the florist, she is framed, in reflection, by the window until she actually walks into the scene. The effect is electric.

Also of note is that until the very end of the film, you only see indirect indications of the cat people. You never really get to see Irene’s transformation. I haven’t seen it, but I understand the remake in 1982 really emphasized the special effects used in the transformations. The subtleties of the 1942 version were quite remarkable, however, and stand out as both a style of the film and a technique later copied. Modern films often lack that subtlety and are the lesser for it. When Irene’s after Alice the first time, you only think you hear a growl and you see a tree move as if a cat had jumped into it or from it. Is it a cat person or her imagination? A bus comes at just the right moment and you’re left unsure of what happened.

I liked the film. I think it stands the test of time pretty well. It certainly was more scary to an audience in the 1940s than it is today: we’re jaded when it comes to horror and thrillers. I understand that audiences screamed at the swimming pool scene where again Irene is after Alice. The shadow of the panther is seen, but never the cat itself. I thought that perpetuation of doubt, that ambiguity—held onto to the very end of the movie—made the film.

American Hustle (2013)

January 16, 2014

by Bruce E. Parry

A very interesting movie. It seems to be to be a cross between Goodfellas (1990) and The Sting (1973). I liked it. I did not love it, and that might be on me. I never know whether my impressions of a movie are tainted by my mood, who I’m with and what the conditions of the theater are. At any rate, a number of people have already picked this as an Oscar nominee for Best Picture. I wouldn’t.

But I did like it. In fact, sting operations are just about my favorite genre of film when they’re done with a good old tongue-in-cheek attitude that lets you laugh at the con that’s being pulled. That’s why The Sting is one of my favorite movies. The entire thing is done with a wink of the eye and a nod of the head and a ragtime background that lets you know that the good guys are being conned, the bad guys are being conned and we, the audience, are being conned. I love it!

Then there’s Goodfellas. That’s a movie where Joe Pesci alone was enough to scare the hell out of me. I really don’t like psychopaths. That’s why I stopped watching The Soprano’s. I don’t like to hang around with people like that, so I don’t watch movies about them either, because that’s like hanging around with them. All right, I admit I watch cop shows and CSI and the like and they’re full of psychopaths and sociopaths, but my tolerance is limited.

And that’s what is going on in American Hustle. On the one hand, we have a bunch of professional con artists who are having fun doing what they do best. That’s fun. Then the FBI makes them do it for them, but they tell them what to do and the FBI guy, Richie DiMaso (played by Bradley Cooper) doesn’t know what he’s doing. By that time, I like the protagonist, Irving (played by Christian Bale) and his partner Sydney (played by Amy Adams). Richie’s going to get everyone killed.

I didn’t find the humorous aspect of that in the film. I felt rather, the fear I associate with gangster movies. I didn’t fell any tongue-in-cheek. I felt gangsters and the protagonists were going to get blown away. Of course they don’t. They pull their final, best con. Its beautiful and it works. It’s the kind of thing I love again.

So the director and producer will tell me, “We wanted to mess with your emotions like that! That’s the point of the movie!” I don’t buy it. The entire gangster section of the movie does not come across the same way the con does. It wasn’t as credible to me, although the whole thing is “loosely based” on the AbScam sting of the 1970s and ‘80s. Loosely based is right. I didn’t believe for a minute what was happening in the movie during that section. I believed the gangsters. I didn’t believe the FBI.

The ending isn’t redemptive and that’s the problem. The end doesn’t make up for the shortcomings of the rest of the film.

We also didn’t get to see the kind of beauty that goes into a scam of real genius until the very end. That’s the beauty of The Sting, you get to see it and be in on it (you think) as it goes on. That wasn’t the case here.

I did think the acting was good. Christian Bale, of course, was over the top. He put on weight and took on the part like he was Irving Rosenfeld. Amy Adams was great as Sydney and Jeremy Renner is good as Carmine, the Mayor of Camden, NJ. I thought Jennifer Lawrence (Irving’s wife, Rosalyn) was all right, but not great (although I think she’s one of the best actors working), and most of the other cast was about that level (good but not great)., DeNiro (who plays the gangster Victor Tellegio) was excellent in this relatively minor and uncredited role.

So that’s my impression of the latest rave movie. I liked it, but it wasn’t over the top. I’ll probably have to eat my words at Oscar time. (Yes, I know they are not the real arbiters of quality in films.) It’s been 40 years since they made The Sting. I look forward to another film of that complexity and character.

A Single Man (2009)

January 14, 2014

by Bruce E. Parry

Another Spoiler alert: Once again, I talk about how the movie ends because it seems crucial to me in understanding and reacting to the film.

This was another movie viewed by my Movie Group, but I have waited so long after we met, that I am afraid I’ve “lost my edge” on it. Anyway, here goes.

The movie is about a gay California English professor, George, played by Colin Firth, who, in 1962 learns that his partner of 16 years, Jim, has been killed in an automobile accident in Michigan. The family has a “family only” funeral and isn’t even going to inform him of his partner’s death, but a relative calls and breaks the silence. Needless to say, George is devastated and the rest of the film unfolds how he is going to deal with his loss, the back story between him and his partner, the story and back story of him and his now platonic relationship with Charley, a woman friend played by Julianne Moore, and, finally, his redemption through his interaction (I won’t call it a relationship yet) with his student, Kenny, played by Nicholas Hoult. Eight months have passed since Jim died. The entire film takes place in one day, although that wasn’t entirely clear to me on first screening.

In short, George is suicidal. Part of the day is taken up with his planning and beginning to execute his plans to kill himself. He’s OCD and the layout of his clothes, the instructions, and his overall thoroughness are humorous. Nevertheless, I strongly identified with what he was going through, having gone through a suicidal period myself. It gave me a strong identification with the character and the actions that he was taking. (And I’m a bit OCD myself).

The telling of the story of him and Jim is done through flashbacks that are beautiful. We see them meet and get together and to carry on a gay relationship at a time and in a place and setting where it was not acceptable.

We also get to see the very close, even intimate (but not sexual) relationship that George has with Charley, his female friend. It turns out that they had been sexual years before in London, but they’re just good friends in the many years they’ve now spent in California. (George, at least had been in California since 1939 and the movie takes place in 1962). Surprisingly, she does not “get” that the relationship between George and Jim was “real.” She sees it as a substitute for a real relationship, one she fantasizes about having with George. Of course, George sets her straight on that note, but the scene is shocking to me, perhaps because I am bringing more modern sensibility to a 1962 situation, but also because the closeness of George and Charley’s relationship to that point implies she understands more than she does.

As the film unfolds, George strikes up a relationship with a student, Kenny. Or, more precisely, Kenny strikes up a relationship with his professor, George. It is clear—and has been made clear in the film before this—that George is attracted by younger men—in this case much younger. Is he going to exploit the relationship? Is it going to become a relationship? Ken is startlingly frank with George, even talking with him about drugs, including both marijuana and mescaline. This was really distracting in the film.

We had a discussion as to whether such a discussion and the broad drug use it implied was really appropriate to 1962. Most of us felt it was not. However, David had read the book, written in 1964, and the drug use described in the film was also in the book (although many other points had been changed). That surprised us, but led us to believe that the discussion was more period-appropriate than we thought.

At any rate, the long and the short of it is that George does not kill himself and does not engage in an exploitive relationship with the boy. But, it turns out, George dies of a heart attack immediately afterward. This was totally shocking to me the first time through and was completely unexpected. As I re-watched the movie, and saw it with the Movie Group, however, it became clear that the death was foreshadowed throughout the film. I have reservations about the ending. I originally felt it was a cheap way out of the film. After all, for many of us who do not commit suicide, life goes on. It was humbling to see that for many—and for the story being told—life does not go on!

We talked about the role of Kenny in the Movie Group. It appears that Kenny is a sort of angel: a character who appears to get George (in this case) through the ordeal he faces and to get him the clarity he has experienced only one or two times previously in his life. I buy that because that’s the only explanation that makes this relationship work in my opinion. By itself, their interaction seems contrived and it’s a real stretch to suspend disbelief.

A comment about the acting. Colin Firth did a superb job as was nominated for an Oscar for the role. I thought Julianne Moore also did a superb job. I equally felt that Nicholas Hoult, who played Kenny, couldn’t act and lent a lot of stiffness and mechanical acting to the roll. It was part of the reason that I didn’t think their interaction worked well.

The camera work was interesting, using framing and closeups throughout the film to focus the them. We also had a discussion about color in the film. Many parts were washed out, while others were in vivid contrast. Both, of course, lent to the mood of the film and helped make the film what it was.

And what it was was a very serious, deep, important film about relationships, life, death (ultimately), and what keeps us going. George never kills himself. In a great scene, he undertakes to shoot himself in a way that won’t be hard to clean up: in the shower, in bed, sitting up, lying down, ultimately in a sleeping bag. He can’t do it, and in the final analysis, puts it off because he’ll be late for his dinner engagement with Charley. And that’s the way I was as well. I identified. What I couldn’t identify with was that once he decided not to kill himself and not to engage in a meaningless tryst with Kenny on the rebound, that the story—and his life—were over. Life goes on and the film could have found a way to portray that if it had wanted to. I guess it didn’t want to.

All Is Lost (2013)

January 14, 2014