MOVIES, MUSIC

Love & Mercy

Bill Pohlad / 2015

Mental illness, creation, and redemption are at the center of this admirable, surprisingly light-footed biopic. The film flashes between the Beach Boys’ Brian Wilson of the mid-‘60s (Paul Dano)—who is caught in a psychological, drug-exacerbated downward spiral that’s entwined with his artistic self-realization—and Brian Wilson of the ‘80s (played by John Cusack)—sweet, incoherent, and heavily, heavily medicated by his personal physician (Paul Giamatti—yes, you know where that’s going).

It sounds like another hackneyed, blandly aggrandizing story about an intoxicated waif who happens to have a cleverness that can be readily swallowed by the pop culture marketplace. But it isn’t. Wilson’s struggles are captured with restraint and nuance. He’s haunted, fragile, and clearly very ill; and he’s taking drugs— in part because he’s a 23-year-old California musician in the 1960s, but mostly to escape his increasingly fractured psyche.

Love & Mercy also deftly captures Wilson’s artistry. Wilson’s struggles and exile from the rest of the band led to the making of the seminal Pet Sounds. Most impressively, director Bill Pohlad and Dano involve the viewer in Wilson’s musical experimentation and discovery with wonder and ingenuity.

When we meet up with Cusack’s Wilson, he is found in a car in a Cadillac showroom by Melinda (Elizabeth Banks). Their relationship develops improbably but agreeably until the manipulative, abusive Dr. Landy interferes. I would go so far as to say that this is the quintessential Giamatti role—shouting, sweating, and supremely unlikable.
Luckily for Brian, Melinda is no pushover. Unluckily for Banks, Melinda doesn’t have much to do but smile and show occasional signs of flint. At any rate, it’s all compelling enough to keep this smartly heartfelt movie sailing along.

P.S. After viewing this movie, I listened to Pet Sounds for the first time in many years. It’s so lush, beautiful, clever, and just transcendentally lovely.

People Places Things

James C. Strouse / 2015

Will (Jemaine Clement of Flight of the Conchords) is living an agreeably comfortable and creatively satisfying life as a husband, father, and revered comic book artist/instructor at a fancy-pants art school. His fortunes are quickly reversed when his wife, Charlie, (Stephanie Allynne) leaves him for an unprepossessing monologist, of all indignities. Will is swiftly booted from his fatherly perch in a well-appointed Brooklyn brownstone to a sad, tiny hovel in Queens, which is made even smaller when Charlie drops off their young twin daughters suddenly and indefinitely.

Will's newfound desperation reeks in the classroom, and one student, Kat (Jessica Williams), fixes him up with her mother in an effort to console him. This logical leap somehow makes sense coming from Kat, whom Williams grants a command that is reassuring and unpredictable. Her mother, Diane, played by the ever-versatile Regina King, is smart, sturdy, and gracious--and she and Will have chemistry that is both woozy and distant. The proceedings are made much more authentic by the presence of Will's daughters, who are realistically spirited yet confused by the series of events their parents keep hurling their way.

Overall, it's a movie of unusual emotional intelligence. Its characters are a realistically mottled mix of need, want, and regret. There are moments of bold articulation, but more instances of panic and kindness. Also: it's funny. See it!

Force Majeure

Ruben Östlund / 2014

Tomas (Johannes Kuhnke) and Ebba (Lisa Loven Kingsli) are a telegenic, assured Swedish couple vacationing in the French Alps with their two tech-obsessed children. The family enjoys pristine ski conditions amid stunning natural wonders, lounges in coordinated long johns, and otherwise embraces the trappings of their good fortune. While taking lunch outdoors, they’re threatened by an avalanche that has somehow escaped the abundant, blithely militant machinery of the resort. As Ebba and the children huddle together, Tomas grabs his iPhone and dashes away—or does whatever one does when trying to run in ski boots.

Though the family withstands the avalanche without physical injury, Ebba is understandably vexed by her husband’s reaction. She confronts him; he denies the charge. She then recounts the story in numerous social situations, which leads to visceral discomfort and various digressions into the nature of self-preservation, individual moral compasses, and other things that make for awkward conversation.

Though it may not be clear from this review, Force Majeure is a black comedy—and a very adept one at that. The humor comes as sleek arrows of indictment, with characters scrambling to retain their sense of security and dignity. The astute characterizations, fine acting, and Ruben Östlund’s polished direction work together seamlessly to deliver a gleefully tart meditation on human behavior.

Ida

Pawel Pawlikowski / 2013

An orphan raised by the Catholic Church, Anna (Agata Trzebuchowska) is on the eve of taking her vows as a nun in 1962 Poland when she receives word that a relative wants to meet with her. Upon introductions, her aunt Wanda (Agata Kulesza) tells Anna that her parents were killed in the Holocaust, she is Jewish, and her name is Ida Lebenstein. The two then begin their quest to find out how their kin was murdered.

The pair explores the inexorable pull of family, guilt, survival, and music. Wanda, a belligerent cynic who previously prosecuted dissenters of the Stalinist state, picks and prods at Ida’s beliefs and lack of worldly experience. Ida soaks up the family stories and novelty of her environs outside of the convent—nearly silently coming to her own conclusions and means of navigation.

Both leads are exceptionally assured and magnetic. Kulesza, a veteran of Polish film and television, potently embodies her character’s gravity, rage, and stubborn vivacity. This is Trzebuchowska first, and most likely last, movie. Spotted by a friend of Pawel Pawlikowski in a Warsaw café who was helping him with a last-minute casting hunt, she was eventually persuaded to take the role due to her admiration for My Summer of Love, Pawlikowski’s lush, subversive film about an intoxicating friendship. She has no interest in continuing to act, which is truly a shame as she luminously embodies Ida’s highly attuned sensitivity and transformation.

The Poles have a long history of artistry in cinematography, and Ida is absolutely stunning. Two directors of photography—veteran Pawlikowski collaborator Ryszard Lenczewski and relative newcomer Lukasz Zal—have created a haunted, wintry delicacy. Truly, every frame stands alone as a beautifully realized photograph.

In Ida and My Summer of Love, two very different women grapple with their identities—sometimes gracefully, sometimes violently. Pawlikowski’s innate understanding of internal and external fragilities infuse his movies with bloody, transcendent heart. I heartily recommend both.

Boyhood

Richard Linklater / 2014

Boyhood is an ambitious yet thin ode to the human experience. Olivia (Patricia Arquette) and Mason Sr. (Ethan Hawke) married young and had two squawky children—Samantha and Mason Jr. They divorce, and their disjointed family unit soldiers through multiple moves across Texas, differing ideas of responsibility, and various other upheavals. These events supply the background for Mason Jr. (Ellar Coltrane) and his titular coming of age.

This film has been rapturously received, due in part to its novel concept and the eleven-year commitment of its cast and crew. But people seem to be equally taken by its nostalgic elements, both for their own childhoods (and boyhoods in particular) and for a time when ordinary people saw their lives reflected onscreen. Boyhood shows an American family struggling not just with their ambitions and limitations, but also economically. There’s a spotty employment record for Mason Sr., and Olivia’s protracted commitment to her education and its attendant sacrifices are the only way out of dead-end jobs. Hell, the kids are even forced to share a room at one point.

Casting two actors associated with a free-floating ‘90s bohemianism as parents was an astute move. Arquette is always a welcome presence, and she turns in another strong performance as the stalwart, sensitive matriarch—though it must be said that she should have been given additional material. Hawke is excellent as a man long on charm and good intentions, but whose immaturity causes pain and turbulence for his children and himself. He’s irreverent, loose, and heartfelt, and his connection to the character and skill as an artist deepen throughout the film, which was quite wonderful to witness.

It must be said that the other aspects of the movie underwhelmed. Its incessant direct lighting and glaring primary-color palette recall bad sitcoms. The screenplay doesn’t offer much nuance—expect two drunken, abusive stepfathers, the least believable blended family since The Brady Bunch, macho bullies who seem to have found their way from a mercifully buried John Hughes script, and an onslaught of sloppily selected period songs. Though Coltrane really develops as an actor as the film progresses, too much time is spent on his moony squinting. Once Mason Jr. becomes an interesting, artistic teen, Linklater predictably couples this with his booze/weed leitmotif. Though Linklater's good-natured hedonism can create atmosphere and provide a shortcut to individuation, this movie needed a stern taskmaster to tighten the slack and lose the fat.

Still, Boyhood is an achievement that should be seen and celebrated as a generous exposition of life. I hope it inspires other people to tell their extraordinary, ordinary stories.

Gone Girl

David Fincher / 2014

David Fincher’s latest is a well oiled cinematic machine. It’s assured, seamless, and enveloped in his signature monochromatic matte. Ben Affleck makes the most of his cocksure self-consciousness and remarkably cleft chin as wife killer and/or ordinary putz Nick Dunne. Kim Dickens’s portrayal of Detective Boney brings a solid core to the hysterical events that systematically unfold.

Gillian Flynn adapted the screenplay from her novel, and though the movie is rather true to the book, there are a few key differences. For starters, the house—described as the book as a soul-killingly generic McMansion—is lushly bespoke. I'm hoping for a Gone Girl bedding collection, for example. More puzzlingly, this Amy does not have much of a personality arc. She is a rather campy alto purr that turns into a thrashing nag. Though the film does give you a snippet of the Cool Girl and its ultimate undoing of their relationship, the movie version of Amy doesn’t deign to be anything but calculating and arch, aside from borrowing a patina of warmth to snooker the dopey neighbor for a few frames. Most damningly, this woman pronounces crêpe as “craype”, something the fastidious Amy would never, ever, ever do—unless she was making fun of someone.

Two flashy cameo-plus roles from unexpected sources lend some energy and mischief to the proceedings. Tyler Perry is effortlessly sharp as attorney Tanner Bolt, and Sela Ward is all lupine cunning as a queenly television journalist. Question: why has this dangerously charismatic woman been simpering through weepy melodramas when she could have been absolutely devouring the scenery like this? Let’s hope her next act capitalizes on her presence and power.

This movie was essentially competent, but it also left me wondering about David Fincher’s trajectory. This is his follow-up to The Social Network, a silly smash about a bunch of annoying boys—and it takes us even further away from the compellingly woozy anarchy of Fight Club and Zodiac. I'm dying for Fincher to be more ambitious and visceral, and to stop relying upon the good taste of cinematographer Jeff Croneweth for pedigree and Trent Reznor's incessant Nietzschean throngs for depth.

There have been misgivings about his shallow take on female characters since Fight Club, and I’m inclined to agree that he doesn’t seem very interested in crafting fully-fledged women—especially given the source material he ignored here. I’d love to see an inappropriately timed remake…helmed by Sofia Coppola, Lisa Cholodenko, or Patty Jenkins.

Megan Mall