Greta Gerwig, a celebrated, dedicated and ascending storyteller of note, seems to have used her not inconsiderable clout to assemble what can only be described as A Dream Cast*1, and then used that pooled talent to craft the kind of twee, perfunctory, relentlessly-soundtracked costume drama which could have been knocked out by any TV director. So well done, I guess.
Now admittedly I am not in the target demographic for this, I haven't read Little Women or seen any of the fifteen previous screen adaptations, but I don't feel particularly enlightened for having been introduced to the story now. I can see what Gerwig has added structurally in her rendition, and while that's an interesting play I just couldn't find anything within the story itself to engage me. I don't believe in 'girl films' and 'boy films', just stories worth telling and worth telling well. This is characters shrieking over one another for two-and-a-quarter hours while I play Hunt The Redeeming Feature.
Is this a test?
Because if so, I'll be happy to wear a badge saying 'I Failed'.
Oh, I don't know. Costume drama things, I suppose.
I mean I can see that it's a bit more than that, but it's definitely still similar to them.
Well if you're not bothered about the Skywalker family this December, the choice is between this, Cats and Playing With Fire. So good luck.
*1 Two things here, though. 1) Saorise Ronan, Florence Pugh, Emma Watson and Eliza Scanlen are all fantastic but do not, repeat not, look like sisters - am I to assume this is in some way intentional? 2) Despite him being 'a name' in 2019, I have only seen Timothée Chalamet in one thing, he was very good in it but I am now so fucking done with his shit it's not true, moping around the set with his pouting, winsome, simpering mannerisms like a haunted flannel soaked in Lambrini and regret. There, I said it.
[ BACK ]
DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.
The end of March sees me happy to have my doubt quashed, once again*1. It was all the way back in the emotional vacuum of January that I sat, stone-faced, through the trailer for Isle of Dogs, wondering why I wasn't sharing the excitement of everybody else. Obviously, my reaction wasn't at the same level of distaste I reserve for the likes of F*fty Sh*des, so when the opportunity arose for a preview screening of Wes Anderson's animated latest, the least I could do was give it a go.
And y'know what? They're right.
Isle Of Dogs is the most meticulously beautiful film you'll see this year.
Following a young boy in Japan who goes to rescue his guardian best friend Spots from a quarantined island, this is a near-future, metaphorical folk-tale presented as stop-motion puppetry, and voiced by more seasoned performers than you can throw an Equity-card at*2.
Although the film is dialogue-heavy in its execution, the occasional stretch in untranslated (and unsubtitled) Japanese means that this is primarily visual storytelling all round. Even in its heavily stylised form, the narrative is never unclear to the audience*3, and it's the visual element where the director's strength lies. Animated with such passion, precision and the unerring cinematography of Tristan Oliver, Isle of Dogs is almost hypnotic to watch. The formal structured storytelling, complete with chapter-cards, intercutting prop-labels, and a terse, sporadic narration makes this feel like Kill Bill-era Tarantino, particularly with its Japanese ties.
Although for all this, I feel the same (presumably deliberate) emotional disconnect that I did with The Grand Budapest Hotel, where Anderson seems to make the telling of the story more important than the story itself. And as great as the actors and expressive as the modelling are, I still think that the voice-cast don't feel like the dogs they're portraying*4.
What shines through most of all though, is that Wes Anderson makes animated movies in the same way he approaches live-action - with absolute, unremitting theatricality...
For the committed cinephile, this will be a buy-er.
Best, no - highlight, yes.
Unlikely, unless you really detest it.
There isn't.
Level 2: This film has the voice of F. Murray Abraham in it, and he was in that Inside Llewyn Davis along with Oscar 'Dameron' Isaac and Adam 'Ren' Driver.
*1 Which is nice because as I write this, I have yet to see Pacific Rim: Uprising, a movie which has caused me to take out a second mortgage to book enough storage-space for the reservations I have about it... [ BACK ]
*2 And yet, not a single level-1 Star Wars connection. Ridiculous, I know. [ BACK ]
*3 And bear in mind that certain other movies at the moment feature a cast who constantly explain everything, while the plot details still remain disconcertingly vague. [ BACK ]
*4 With the exception of Gondo, brought to life by Harvey Keitel, whose canine avatar looks as tired and fleabitten as the actor's vocal cords sound... [ BACK ]
DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.
To That London now, and the slightly sniffy suburb of Kensington to watch Greta Gerwig's directorial debut, Lady Bird.
Beginning in Sacramento, California in 2002, the film follows high-schooler Christine (Saoirse Ronan), who is in the process of reinventing herself as 'Lady Bird', while trying to get accepted in a college far away from the city she feels she's outgrown, but also trying desperately to find her place while she's still there. It's a wonderful story of how everything is a right old fucking drama when you're a teenager, around half of it justifiably so. Scenes ensue.
Taking place over the course of about a year, Gerwig's screenplay is more a threaded series of vignettes than an outright coming-of-age tale. The focus here is on character and performance rather than narrative, and while this is a dedicated, affectionate work, my enjoyment was more limited to technical appreciation, smiles and laughs than forming any real, emotional connection. Then again, this is my stumbling block, not the film's, as it's clearly a very personal piece for its writer/director.
Preparing to leave a staunch Catholic school, Christine is at the point where stealing a jar of communion wafers to idly eat as snacks with her best friend isn't intended as an act of rebellion, just restless boredom; frustration at the imminent realisation that the thing actually holding Lady Bird back is probably going to be herself. Ronan is fantastic of course, although she's rarely anything but*1. Laurie Metcalf delivers a brittle, complex performance as Christine's embattled mum, and of all the relationships we see with the youngster's contemporaries, Lucas Hedges' Danny was the one I wanted more screen-development of. But in that regard, the movie is uncannily lifelike - lots of emotive noise threatening to drown out the things we should really be focusing on.
I enjoyed Lady Bird, I just didn't love it. Then again, this is a cultural snapshot of things I have no real frame of reference for, so that's not entirely surprising. But at the same time, I'd watch Saoirse Ronan reading the Yellow Pages for two hours, so…
Probably a buy-er, but maybe not on the day of release if that makes sense.
With the best will in the world, I don't think so.
Unlikely.
There isn't.
Level 2: This film's got Saoirse Ronan in it, who was in Atonement along with Keira 'Sabé' Knightley, Harriet 'Kalonia' Walter and Daniel 'Tivik' Mays.
*1 ...I won't mention the Ed She*ran video if you don't, okay? [ BACK ]
DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.
Jackie Cert: 15 / 100 mins / Dir. Pablo Larrain / Trailer
We're at that point again where I'm longing for something light to watch in the cinema. Not necessarily dumb, just something to lift my spirits rather than make me stroke my chin or massage my temples. In a clear move of marketing tar-brushing, the trailers before today's movie about a newly-widowed woman from the 1960s were for Loving, Patriots Day, Hidden Figures, The Founder and Denial. All fact, no fiction. Y'know, as if the news isn't awful enough these days, and I'd want to escape that by going to the cinema to see that life's always been shit for some poor bastard*1. Well thanks, Ian Hollywood. Thanks a bunch.
But still despite its setting, Pablo Larrain's Jackie manages to - somehow - be at the less-harrowing end of the scale. Using an interview with Life magazine's Theodore White as an intercut framing device, it's the story of Jackie Kennedy's reactions and coping mechanisms in the aftermath of the assassination of her husband. And I say story advisedly; I love that in film's opening scene, we're unequivocally told that what follows won't be a documentary to be scrutinised by the audience, but the considered and edited opinion of its protagonist and 'author'. From the initial setup, a week after JFK's assassination, but even back into the re-created archival footage of Jackie Kennedy, Natalie Portman completely embodies this huge sadness in her portrayal. Not so much a sense of loss, but of being lost; and of the vacuum that exists before someone allows themselves to grieve.
The hype is justified, with an incredibly strong showing from Portman, often overshadowing the rest of the film. Because the story is presented as a curated and often jumbled series of moments, the narrative isn't continuous, so we often cut straight into a scene where Natalie's going full-belt down the dramatic highway. The rest of the cast support ably but it's really not their film, so their performances are almost played down by the combined work of editor Sebastián Sepúlveda and cinematographer Stéphane Fontaine. I could envision a stage-adaptation of this being performed well by a lone actress.
And it's perhaps this disconnect between the eponymous lead and everything else which leaves me liking Larrain's movie rather than loving it*2. Having not lived through those days personally, I found that I wasn't particularly moved by anything I saw, just deeply fascinated.
All in all, definitely worth a watch, but I'm not sure if I'd get anything out of another pass…
*1 It's debatable how emotionally harrowing The Founder is going to be of course, since it's basically the story of how McDonald's got franchised out. Although if you've ever worked in McDonald's, I imagine the point still stands.
*2 Most disconcerting moment: "PRESIDENT JOHNSON!" bellowed one in-audience commentary provider at the moment when JFK's VP was sworn into office. Thankfully, the same panto-regular waited until the film's closing credits until booming "SHE MARRIED… THE GREEK!" to everyone and no-one. This was, coincidentally I'm sure, the very same cinema where a screening of Eli Roth's Knock Knock apparently had its own audience-participation section. Although the accent of this heckler tells me it was a different punter, at least.
DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.
I wasn't originally going to give this film a whirl (it's been on general release for around six weeks at the time of writing) largely because I was uninspired by the trailer, but positive rumblings from those who know, an opening in my #FilmDay schedule and the chance to visit the rather fantastic Prince Charles Cinema in London meant it was on the day's to-view list. Long story short: I'm very glad I did, because Mistress America is rather enjoyable. Damning with faint praise I know, but I'd braced myself for the worst, so…
Written by director Noah Baumbach and co-lead Greta Gerwig, the film follows college freshman and aspiring writer Tracy (Lola Kirke) as she adapts to life in New York and gets to know her imminent step-sister, Brooke (Gerwig), a hyper, flitzy personification of the 21st century, trying (and sporadically succeeding) to find her way in the Big Apple. Each cynical in their differing ways, Tracy and Brooke quickly discover each other's strengths and weaknesses as Real Life proceeds to disregard their plans equally.
The good? Mistress America is smart, funny and far more charming than it could have been. The film begins on a firm thrust, with Lola Kirke being quietly magnificent from the outset; full of the self-doubt and despondency which transcends both age and gender. The subtle yet intricate character-building in the first act is phenomenal, with ostensibly throwaway details (Tracy's heavily cracked phone-screen indicating both her financial status and inherent clumsiness, for example) taking the place of the lines of exposition that other films would lay down instead. The dialogue reminds me of Clerks-era Kevin Smith, especially the way much of it is delivered. Kirke has the most to do here (visually, anyway) and although her performance is the most endearing, it's often overshadowed by her co-stars' louder roles, although that's not to disparage them, either.
The bad? The writing and performances here are fantastic, but they only meet in the middle half of the time. Luckily, I was able to enjoy them both separately (yet at the same time, ironically). The film often feels like a read-through or rehearsal, with the lines performed by actors that know who the characters should be, but aren't quite comfortable with them yet. Greta Gerwig's Brooke is a particular anomaly; so (intentionally/necessarily) annoying*1 that she goes full loop and becomes quite endearing again, even before her character-arc is complete.
The ugly? The film isn't rushed but at 84 minutes long you'll hardly have time to warm your seat. Another half an hour of this would have been delightful.
Full of things which are very, very good, Mistress America never quite becomes more than a collection of them. It's still pretty great, though.
Best line:"I'm pretty sure college is meant to be more fun than I'm having. I'm fairly attractive…"
Well, I'm not sure if I'd go quite that far…
Buy it when it drops to about a fiver; there's enough charm there for infrequent re-watching.
It's not really for me to say, but I enjoyed everyone's performances.
I think so.
I won't.
There isn't.
Greta Gerwig starred in 2012's Frances Ha, alongside Adam 'Kylo Ren' Driver.
*1 Unlike in Eden, where she was so annoying she became annoying…
DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.
