Let's Get Lost

Warning: watching the early moments of this movie is like having a whole art school shoved up your ass, or at least down your throat. Director Bruce Weber’s fondness for a roving camera over a photo montage does little to make Chet Baker’s story particularly more transparent or compelling—and that’s not a minor detail, because Baker, it turns out, was a really difficult character to get a handle on. The film does gradually but forcefully make the case that Baker was to the mid-twentieth century jazz scene something like what Brian Wilson was to the rock-n-roll revolution: a gifted, brilliant talent who was also remarkably complicated and destructive, both to himself and to others around him. If you are of a certain musical inclination—in terms of what sort of music you prefer—you may (like me) have not ever even heard much about Baker, but the various voices in the bio express such reverence for him—not to mention a range of other reactions, from mild irritation up to genuine venom—that one has to acknowledge that he was in fact one of the central cultural figures of the postwar era. Certainly, Baker represents both the gift of talent, as well as the curse of talent. So too does he stand as an example of the gift and curse of beauty; surely he would never have gotten away with using people to the extent that he apparently did if he had not been so charismatic and handsome. Baker’s life also strongly testifies to nature over nurture; anecdotes from the movie’s interviews report the effortlessness of his ability to make music that enthralled many who heard him. And then, as with Wilson, drugs took their toll (though apparently without the same level of abuse The Beach Boy suffered to set up his downfall). Bundle it all together and you arrive at a portrait of an artist who is very difficult to get a grip on. Ultimately, one supposes, it is the art itself that must have the final say and testify to the fullness of his work, so that the listener can come to a verdict. In service to that fact, the doc does contain a treasury of Baker’s music, both vocal work and trumpet instrumentals, so that the listener and viewer can render an informed decision. Getting lost may be a good thing once in a while, but preventing art from being lost is an even better thing, and this film, though somewhat flawed, does at least give posterity the chance to know Chet and his music. Now that’s hitting the right note.

Song Sung Blue

There’s a reason why jukebox musicals are so popular on Broadway lately. You take a roster of songs that are proven popular and build a narrative around them and you have a show that will please a crowd. The value of such a production, beyond the nuts and bolts of the music’s appeal, thus boils down to what the story has to say. In this case, the message here that comes through loud and clear is that, while there may be an overclass of famous people who receive the lion’s share of the attention and affection in this world, there are all sorts of other people—obscure and unknown and often overlooked—for whom we should be rooting just as hard. Maybe even more so. The characters of Mike and Claire are so authentic and worthy of compassion that it’s hard to imagine anyone not feeling a desperate desire to see them succeed. That’s why the story’s ups and downs have such a profound impact, almost to the point that they nearly overwhelm the viewer’s power to endure them (even if the events depicted run right up to the brink of believability). Ultimately, though, the tale achieves a balance that is more redemptive than discouraging. And, if nothing else, you get to hear some amazing music. I’m a believer, at least enough to recommend this one. 

The Sound of Music

An ode to beauty, both musical and visual. From the very first shots this movie is gorgeous to look at, and impressive visuals fill the screen throughout, while the music and songs present a lovely tableau that provides delight and warmth throughout. Julie Andrews and Christopher Plummer are splendid in their roles, as are the children, even if their transformations play a little too quick and easy (especially so with the Captain, who goes from hardass to softie in a relative blink). But that’s a quibble. Mostly, this story hits all the right notes, up to and including a touch of drama and derring-do at the climax. Even though it runs almost three hours this movie never drags; you stay engaged and entertained all the way to the end. No wonder this is perennially popular. You can do a lot worse than to include this one among your favorite things.

The Bikeriders

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Dumb Money

There is a strange aspect to this movie, a measure of confusion that pervades the story. Based on the movie’s marketing and general vibe, you go in and watch with the impression that this story of lower class Davids sticking it to investor class Goliaths is on the side of the poor people. Yet many of the film’s trappings seem to indicate that the term “dumb money”—the rich assholes’ sneering characterization of two-bit retail investors—may not be so far off the mark. For one, the presentation is awash in rap “music”—and not exactly clever rap, either, but more like some of the ugliest sounding, meanest sounding, and, yes, stupidest sounding noise the producers could have found. The aural choices seem to imply that the cohort of paycheck-class types are exactly as churlish and ignorant as the title insult insists they are. Those same characters themselves, throughout the story, persistently make the case against the “short squeeze” they are engaging in, and the outcome many of them foresee does, in fact, eventually come to pass, in real life if not in reel life. (GameStop stock, when I watched this flick, was trading at around $20 a share—hardly the several hundred dollars per the price achieved in the midst of the mania.) Finally, the end notes before the credits relate that the hedge fund types, in the wake of all this, are now more careful about shorting stocks—all well and good, I suppose, but hardly the revolutionary outcome the squeeze participants were hoping to achieve, by their own presented testimony. So is this movie actually making an admiring case for the poor people? Or is this an exercise in declaring that those on the bottom really can’t win? Given the big picture, my guess is this film is firmly on the side of the little people, but presents that viewpoint somewhat incompetently. Thus, an interesting story and some good performances, in a story that holds interest for anyone with a thirst for economic fairness, get wasted by filmmakers who simply don’t quite make the case in favor of their heroes. A “should have been” movie that just isn’t quite. (Note: the library DVD I used to watch this movie had some playback issues, especially late in the running time. I undoubtedly missed a few crucial scenes, which might have changed my opinion on the piece overall. Watching comes with risk.)

Young Woman and the Sea

Let me spoil the drama for you: she makes it, eventually. That’s not really much of a spoiler, since Gertrude Ederle accomplished her famous swimming feat a hundred years ago; only the most historically ignorant will go in not knowing the outcome. So any suspense in this film must come from the journey to the moment of triumph. Really, though, there are no surprises here—it’s all very standard sports biopic stuff. There’s humble beginnings, family conflict, obstacles and doubts, allies and enemies, and ultimate success—all the beats you expect from this kind of movie. So why, then, does this seemingly run of the mill flick merit its positive purr? Two reasons: one, the extraordinary nature of Ederle‘s achievement (and its echoing legacy throughout the years and right up to this day in women’s sports); and two, the uplifting presence of daisy Ridley, who seems positioned to corner the market on the “heroic young woman” genre. She captures the essence of her character’s spirit, of the determination that helped her overcome long odds, cruel nature and social rigidity. It all makes for a great story. Dive in on this movie—your viewing experience will indeed go swimmingly.

Oppenheimer

Normally, the movie industry wants to shy away from bombs. But this story ain’t normal. Perhaps that explains the way director Christopher Nolan presents this tale—in a most unconventional way, particularly for a biopic. The storytelling here is eccentric, impressionistic, and idiosyncratic, with an almost staccato rhythm and pacing in the way it weaves its the tale. And 'weaving' is the correct term, as this story is nearly a co-biography of the title physicist and businessman and government official Lewis Strauss, with the parallel paths that the two men follow in the later years of their public careers displayed in intertwining narratives. Cillian Murphy is fine in the title role—he carries a heavy load here, being in almost every frame of the film—though Robert Downey Jr. almost steals the show (and will be a strong contender for a supporting actor award come next spring) as the antagonistic Strauss. The movie does have some flaws: some character introductions and scenes feel obligatory, the sorts of cinematic elements one often sees in a biopic; even with this work's nonstandard DNA, it can’t avoid some of the genre's cliches. Also, Nolan’s penchant for representational visual interjections—which lends a lot of that aforementioned staccato pacing—grows annoying after a while. Really, the whole style of the film is the greatest challenge the average viewer will face in watching this one. If you’re open to a non-conventional approach and allow the story to do its work, you will find this film to be rewarding, intriguing, in stretches even engrossing. But I also suspect that many viewers will be put off by the way Nolan’s direction asks a lot of the audience. That may be why, of the summer's two most anticipated releases, this one appears to have been left somewhat in the dust. Perhaps this should have been an Oscar-season release after all, and should not tried to swim against the summer blockbuster tide. Such a decision might have aligned expectations better for this film. Nevertheless, this movie is ultimately a success on its own terms, and one more interesting entry in the catalog of one of today’s most successful and intriguing directors. No bomb here; this project produced its intended product, be it a blockbuster or not.

Elvis

"Colonel" Tom Parker may be the ultimate unreliable narrator. Thus, it’s an odd choice by Baz Luhrmann to hand the story in this biopic over to him. The viewer really starts to wonder, long before it is made explicit that the man was full of shit, about everything we see, both from that point in the narrative and retrospectively as well. Then again, this story seems to gloss over large portions of Presley’s rise and career, so unreliability may be baked into the whole cake. As it stands, with the movie and story we do get, there some transcendently great moments here, interspersed among what are otherwise standard biopic scenes. What this film does do most effectively is make the argument that Elvis had a certain musical genius--built heavily on borrowings, to be sure, but synthesized into a form, a presence, and an oeuvre that, perhaps, only he could have made into such a unique and wildly successful body of creative work. There was, and still isn’t, anyone like the King--and reminding us of that is this movie’s ultimate success.

Belfast

The strength of this film lies in the way director Kenneth Branagh is able to utilize the performance of young Jude Hill--portraying the proto version of himself--to convey all the wonder, fear, confusion and delight that his 10-year-old self felt in his last days in his hometown. The recreation of that milieu is meticulous, with the setting of this story--really, an almost docudrama style witnessing of a clearly defined period in a life--almost serving itself as a character in the tale, a presence that brings the thoughts, feelings, conflicts, and dilemmas of simple, day to day existence in a difficult time and place vividly to life. The cast embodies the director’s family, friends, neighbors and enemies extraordinarily well, delivering performances that bring the dilemma surrounding the fundamental question--stay or go?--right into the forefront of the viewer's mind. One shrewd choice must also be acknowledged: using Van Morrison songs throughout the film, which not only provides a fittingly soulful vibe to the proceedings but also delivers a certain amount of borrowed artistry to the work; you get the sense that Branagh hedged with the music, so that if the audience liked nothing else about the movie, the songs would carry them through. He needn’t have worried; there is more than enough charm, drama, and thoughtful reflection included in this work to resonate with audiences in a most deeply personal way. Undoubtedly, most of us can relate to the life and times depicted here, to some lesser or greater extent, and that connective tissue makes this not just a story of one man's childhood, but a memory that many of us share ourselves, in some small way. Perhaps we all can go home again.

Weird: The Al Yankovic Story

It turns out bullshit really can be entertaining bullshit—up to a point. So it is here with this nearly totally made up biopic of the legendary parody songster. There are a handful of laugh out loud moments in this flick, especially for a Dr. Demento listener from way back in the day, though most of the funniest stuff comes from Al’s old songs, not from the movie’s original jokes. It’s apparent from the very start that this work gets stuck between going too far and not far enough. And then the whole thing really loses its track in a long, overdone, and not especially inspired joke about Madonna. And then, further, the movie is not helped by being shown by and on Roku, thanks to the numerous commercial breaks, which kill a lot of the momentum; ironically, the very company that brought the work to life is its own worst enemy. (The movie may be a better viewed on disc for a more enjoyable experience.) Ultimately, the total package here is one that is mostly entertaining, but could have been much much more than it is.

Jerry & Marge Go Large

A gentle tale that, because of that very nature, stands out like a sore thumb in today’s entertainment landscape. In this instance, that’s a good thing. In the hands of lesser talents, this flick would come across as a Hallmark Channel movie, with all the blandness and insipid character that implies, but thanks to note-perfect performances by leads Cranston and Bening, the tale rises above potential mundanity and achieves a simple, elegant and entertaining expression of honest people catching a break—by making one for themselves, no less. I don’t know if that idea has much veracity in today’s world—or at any other point in history, for that matter—but in this film it works, and you can just relax and enjoy the ride. Go ahead and play the odds—it’s a safe bet you’ll like this payout.

Dog Day Afternoon

An interesting look back at the way things were…and how they’re not necessarily so different from now after all. Sure, there are major differences between now and the mid '70s, as we see in this film—but there are some similarities, too, stuff that would be somewhat hidden in a time capsule like this one if you don’t specifically look for them. For instance, as shown in this slice-of-the-criminal-life in disco-era New York City, the people and the cops have not always the best of friends, just as they have been experiencing some tension these days. This is all the more true as relates to certain cultural subgroups; ethnic and sexual cohorts come into play here, in a tableau that vaguely mirrors what you see today. Beyond all that, what this film is really all about is the raging talent that Al Pacino was back in the day (and can still be, occasionally, when he calls up the energy). This is truly his show, and his performance is a tour-de-force in commanding the stage (so to speak) and standing front and center all the way through. He's so dominant that the viewer could possibly even miss out on noting the scattering of later-famous faces that populate the supporting cast (abetted considerably by the fact that, in a few cases, they’re barely recognizable to later eyes). On top of it all, the film presents a story that is packed with both humor and tension; it veers between the absurd and the deadly serious in a most entertaining way, and the entire work demands the audience's attention all the way through. I don't know that a movie like this could be made today--which is why it is all the more important that it be relished as both a message from the past and a terrific piece of cinema.

J. Edgar

An oddly sympathetic portrait of a personage who had, by the time this film was made, largely become a punchline to various jokes and a symbol of some of the problems of his period of American history. The factuality of this account is destined to remain outside of true knowledge; this is mostly about looking through a prism, and what you see is more about who you are rather than any quantity of legitimate truth. What is undeniable is Leonardo DiCaprio's chameleon-like ability to fill whatever role he pleases, and to do so with such a natural-seeming ease that he remains, perhaps, under appreciated for his talent, even with a career full of plaudits behind him. This is his show, and his almost peerless ability as an actor makes this film worth the viewer's time.

Downfall

The biggest question here: does this film humanize Hitler and his most maniacal followers too much? Perhaps 'humanize' is not the right word; I suppose the question really comes down to sympathy, and the possibility that there's too much of it here. The answer to that question probably depends upon who you are and how you feel about such things. What you undeniably get here is an exhaustively detailed account of the last days of the Nazi regime. One might even say too detailed, as it goes on hammering home its message long after that point is made. From a cinematic angle, the performances are excellent all around, the recreation of time and place is meticulous, and the movie's ultimate statement--what starts in madness ends in madness--comes through clearly. One note worth mentioning: this flick was made for an audience that is assumed to have a fairly good knowledge going in of who is whom here; explication is minimal, which could trip up modern viewers.

The Disaster Artist

The astounding achievement here is not the meticulous reproduction of scenes--or mis-scenes, if you will--from Tommy Wiseau's disasterpiece The Room; it's the level of sympathy and understanding that the Franco brothers are able to produce for the unyieldingly idiosyncratic auteur. They clearly admire something in the determination--or, perhaps, chutzpah--of the severely untalented would-be movie star; maybe they recognize some piece of themselves in Wiseau, a sense of "there but for the grace of God..." Indeed, by making a comedy about the making of the unintentional comedy, the brothers, one could argue, have actually been derivative of a work that would otherwise be a target of sheer mockery. As for this movie, it is funny, though not non-stop laughs; occasionally, the recreation is cringeworthy, sort of like watching scenes from the UK version of The Office (Wiseau and David Brent have a lot in common). All in all, the whole package is entertaining enough to make this film a good watch, especially if you stick around for the ending--when clips from both films are played side-by-side for comparison--and the post-credits scene, where the doppelgangers meet. Hopefully, everyone who is this hopeless can have his or her moment of triumph--and perhaps this flick can light that way.

Judas and the Black Messiah

This one gets a soft PURR. That's to be expected; the Bad Cat is, after all, a black cat. The strength of this work lies in the performances of the two principal actors and their portrayals of the two main characters. LaKeith Stanfield does a solid job as informant Bill O'Neal, deftly walking the line of his role's ambivalence, while Daniel Kaluuya presents a powerful image as lead Chicago Panther Fred Hampton. Don't be surprised to see Kaluuya get an Oscar nod come this time next year. The only weakness of this film lies in its story, such as it is; what writer-director Shaka King presents is more a record of loosely connected events rather than a fully fleshed-out storyline. That approach leads the viewer to sometimes wonder where things are headed, rather than paying full attention to what is happening in the present scene. Nevertheless, many of those scenes are riveting in and of themselves, delivering a strong focus on the personal that informs the political. And King shows them with enough visual panache to make much of the tableaux interesting all the way to the film's gut-punch conclusion. As always with "based on" movies, it's hard to know how much of what we see here is factual and how much is interpretation; however, much of what is presented in the film's coda backs up what the whole work shows. (And the Chicago setting certainly gives portrayal a lot of credibility.). All in all, an interesting critique of yesterday, and today, and definitely worth a look.

Gonzo: The Life and Work of Dr. Hunter S. Thompson

The most notable thing about this doc: its ham-handed use of music. The story of Hunter S. Thompson's life and work should certainly be more memorable than that, and that's hardly the full assessment here. Alex Gibney retells The Doctor's tale comprehensively, to be sure. Much of what has already been told, and will be familiar to any fan who has read most of Thompson's oeuvre, and in particular any of the works of biography that came out before this work (release date 2008), but it's always nice to go through a refresher once in a while, particularly for a writer as important as the subject here. The most essential takeaway from this examination comes, perhaps, from Thompson's ex-wife Sandy, who notes that Thompson's eventual departure prevented who knows what further impact he might have made. Certainly, Thompson in his prime could have made a difference, both against W. Bush and especially in today's America. One can only imagine what he would have made of, and done to, Donald Trump. Alas, we'll never know, because by the end the Dr. was just plain burned out on being Hunter S. Thompson, both the man and the myth. At least we have this work, and his writings, to keep that flame burning.

Bombshell (2019)

I can't resist the hot blonde chicks. Apparently, that was Roger Ailes' premise, too. He and Rupert Murdoch built a media juggernaut--and quite literally changed the world--using mostly the power of the flaxen-haired. This work would have you believe that Ailes was a tremendous creep, and that his media machinations happened at a tremendous cost to the well-formed mannequins employed by FOX News. The former premise seems plausible--though, as this movie itself makes clear, it's easy to cast a guy who was substantially less easy on the eyes than Megyn Kelly as a monster (I'm familiar with that reality myself). The latter premise is questionable, or at least this flick does not do a fully successful job of making that case. For certain, it does not raise the point of the Faustian bargain that these women made. It's hard to imagine that any gal grows up looking that attractive (Kelly and Gretchen Carlson are undeniably good-looking, regardless of their work as political spokesmodels) and doesn't know by the time she's 17 years old that doors open for her that would otherwise be closed to others less endowed by nature with looks (to say nothing of more or less talent). None of these women would have been there--and reaped years of benefits--without their looks, and what those looks meant to others (read: males) who employed or watched them. It also doesn't help that the movie's liberal viewpoint is bluntly apparent throughout (and voiced by Theron's Kelly, which comes across as somewhat false), and thereby distracts from what would otherwise be a more effective (dare one say, fair and balanced) indictment of Ailes and the whole operation. Oh, well--at least most of the scenes feature visuals that are nice to look at.

Bonnie and Clyde

If you ever harbored deep suspicions that the captain of the football team and the prettiest cheerleader were capable of capital crimes, this is the flick for you. The impossible handsomeness of Beatty and Dunaway profoundly informs this story; you can't help but speculate on whether the titular real-lifes were similarly formed, and what role that played in their short lives of crime. It certainly gets you wondering just what made these two people go on such a spree. Speaking of looks, a lot of this film is a feast for the eyes beyond its perfectly pretty stars; the era is meticulously recreated, the '30s expressed in the '60s with a gorgeous veracity. The cars alone are sights to behold. And, of course, the violence--high-ranking even by today's standards--is its own weird selling point. You also get to enjoy what may be the ur-source of the now standard banjo-chase scene music, plus a touch of social commentary that suggests that our heroic sociopaths may not have been all that bad in the eyes of certain peoples. No doubting that it's a rich tapestry. Overall, though, I'm not sure this outing is quite the all-time great it is reputed to be--but it's entertaining enough to be worth a look. 

Richard Jewell

The premise of this film, at its core, is that a couple of pretty people conspired to destroy a fat, ugly guy. Sounds about right. Perhaps I take that lesson away for personal reasons; but for my lack of a Georgia accent, I could be this guy’s cousin, and I watched this flick keenly aware that, had I ever been in the wrong place at the wrong time, I could easily have gone through what the late Mr. Jewell did. Paul Walter Hauser does good work as the title character, but it’s really Sam Rockwell and Kathy Bates who deliver the tour-de-force performances here. His outrage and her emotional depth drive home the personal dimension to a story that has a much larger scope: every time the government abuses its power, there is at least one individual who suffers terribly for that. It’s well worth taking the time to watch this movie and take that reminder to heart.