For all of its flamboyance, its sequins, silk, and ruffles, its candy-store color palette and many shots of decadent French desserts set to a harpsichord and ‘80s pop-rock soundtrack, “Marie Antoinette” is superficiality made startlingly human. Director Sophia Coppola does not look back at Marie Antoinette’s reign through the veil of historical documentation. She tells her story through the eyes of Marie Antoinette herself. It is not the story of a queen who turned her back when the country needed her the most. It is the story of a young girl, used as a pawn in the sticky workings of monarchy. It’s the story of a naïve teenager who is forced into the lap of luxury and who behaves like, well, a teenager.
Coppola’s rendition of the now familiar tale of Marie Antoinette’s premature betrothal and grisly finale is not what you’d expect in a period piece. Rather than time-porting us back into the 18th century, she pulls the notorious queen up a few years. Her lavish wardrobe would make Lady Gaga blush with envy, the courtiers’ discourse is anything but antiquated, and guests at a Parisian masquerade dance the Viennese waltz to the tunes of Siouxsie & the Banshees. The ambience is so overblown that “Marie Antoinette” can and has been accused of being merely a novelty. But, like the queen herself, there is something more lurking beneath that towering, powdered wig.
Historical biopics tend to take their own grandeur too seriously. Wanting to do justice to the time period, the historical details, and most importantly the characters themselves, they attempt to recreate the mood of a bygone era for a contemporary audience. In doing so, they inevitably date themselves. When historical figures are so esteemed that we should make a movie of them, filmmakers will try to emanate that opulence by placing them on a pedestal so high that the modern public can only stare up.
In “Marie Antoinette,” we have a young lady full of elegance and beauty, forced to do what is the downfall of all teenagers- grow up too quickly. She winds up wallowing in a pool of champagne, bonbons, drugs, taffeta, and scandal. Kirsten Dunst is perfectly balanced in the role of the stately-yet-ignorant, poised-yet-naughty queen who unknowingly finds herself in a dreadful state of unbalance.
Though she lived a life that the average moviegoer could only dream of (or fear), Marie Antoinette was still simply a human. The Queen of France was a kid in a candy store; the King correlating to today’s male who finds recluse in his hobbies, much to the chagrin of his overlooked wife. They were raised overprotected and reigned the country clueless of the world outside Versailles. Lavishing in her posh lifestyle, you can’t help guessing that Marie Antoinette wants something that her extravagant exterior won’t permit in. She questions her position but is too sheltered to find an answer before it’s too late. Perhaps if Antoinette had been elected, things would have turned out differently.
Monday, September 20, 2010
Friday, September 17, 2010
And We're Still Trying To Catch Our Breath
A director in the time when directors were revolutionaries, a filmmaker when films were being reinvented, Jean-Luc Godard was as influential and renegade as the movement he was involved in- the Nouvelle Vogue or French New Wave.
Paris in the 1950s was a film lover’s haven. The younger generation, seeking freedom and refuge from the conservative ideals of their elders turned to cinema. It was in the smoky and jazzy early years of the 1950s that visiting cine-clubs became a staple activity for young Parisians. Cine-clubs would screen movies, new and old, regardless of genre, for audiences of adoring and often cynical young movie buffs.
It wasn’t long before Godard, a wide-eyed movie-watcher, got the urge to pick up a camera for himself. In 1960, after making several shorter experimental films, he released his first feature film, A Bout de Souffle (Breathless). A definitive film of the New Wave and of modern cinema in general, Breathless pioneered filmmaking methods that were unheard of at the time but have now become cliché. During the final editing process, upon realizing the film was half an hour too long, Godard began hacking frames out right and left rather than eliminating entire scenes. The outcome was the now commonly used film technique, the jump cut.
Godard’s choppy editing technique resulted in an equally jittery pace, combined with the New Wave’s signature long takes gave Breathless the offhandedly breathless feeling that is has become known for. The directors of the New Wave were risk-taking movers and shakers. Fed up with predictability and conventionality in movies, they decided to take things into their own hands. Breathless is one of the defining films of the New Wave movement because of its impulsiveness and narcissistic cinematography. Characters and plot was purely subjective, a canvas on which to paint with technique, philosophy, and tributes to favorite filmmakers and styles.
Godard’s main character, Michael (Jean-Paul Belmondo) is obsessed with Humphrey Bogart, or rather, Bogart’s screen persona. Michael tries to dress like him, imitate his movements, his facial expressions. He steals a car. He shoots a cop. He doesn’t seem to be too affected by his actions though. Perhaps Godard is saying that when one models one’s self after a perceived image of something, one’s very existence becomes superficial. His characters behave as if they are in a B-rated crime flick. They are nonchalant, emotionless, as if they know they are in a movie and their actions do not have an impact.
And they don’t have an impact. Godard’s personal existentialist reasoning does not extend to the characters themselves, because they do not exist, they are merely puppets. He wanted the film to speak for its self, to break new waves. Like a Fauvist, he reveled in the essence of his medium, pulling in tradition, rejecting frivolity, and making his movies the way he wanted thought movies should be made. The members of the New Wave were not looking to entertain or profit, they wanted the viewing of a movie to be as much of an art as the movie its self. Breathless is considered Godard’s greatest work. But being his first film, he resented this notoriety; to him it was a form of paralysis, an inability to progress aesthetically. This subjected him to perpetually reproducing his own methods in his many films to come. For Godard, Breathless was a beginning and an end. But in the pages and frames of cinematic history, it represented the dawn of a new generation of movie.
Paris in the 1950s was a film lover’s haven. The younger generation, seeking freedom and refuge from the conservative ideals of their elders turned to cinema. It was in the smoky and jazzy early years of the 1950s that visiting cine-clubs became a staple activity for young Parisians. Cine-clubs would screen movies, new and old, regardless of genre, for audiences of adoring and often cynical young movie buffs.
It wasn’t long before Godard, a wide-eyed movie-watcher, got the urge to pick up a camera for himself. In 1960, after making several shorter experimental films, he released his first feature film, A Bout de Souffle (Breathless). A definitive film of the New Wave and of modern cinema in general, Breathless pioneered filmmaking methods that were unheard of at the time but have now become cliché. During the final editing process, upon realizing the film was half an hour too long, Godard began hacking frames out right and left rather than eliminating entire scenes. The outcome was the now commonly used film technique, the jump cut.
Godard’s choppy editing technique resulted in an equally jittery pace, combined with the New Wave’s signature long takes gave Breathless the offhandedly breathless feeling that is has become known for. The directors of the New Wave were risk-taking movers and shakers. Fed up with predictability and conventionality in movies, they decided to take things into their own hands. Breathless is one of the defining films of the New Wave movement because of its impulsiveness and narcissistic cinematography. Characters and plot was purely subjective, a canvas on which to paint with technique, philosophy, and tributes to favorite filmmakers and styles.
Godard’s main character, Michael (Jean-Paul Belmondo) is obsessed with Humphrey Bogart, or rather, Bogart’s screen persona. Michael tries to dress like him, imitate his movements, his facial expressions. He steals a car. He shoots a cop. He doesn’t seem to be too affected by his actions though. Perhaps Godard is saying that when one models one’s self after a perceived image of something, one’s very existence becomes superficial. His characters behave as if they are in a B-rated crime flick. They are nonchalant, emotionless, as if they know they are in a movie and their actions do not have an impact.
And they don’t have an impact. Godard’s personal existentialist reasoning does not extend to the characters themselves, because they do not exist, they are merely puppets. He wanted the film to speak for its self, to break new waves. Like a Fauvist, he reveled in the essence of his medium, pulling in tradition, rejecting frivolity, and making his movies the way he wanted thought movies should be made. The members of the New Wave were not looking to entertain or profit, they wanted the viewing of a movie to be as much of an art as the movie its self. Breathless is considered Godard’s greatest work. But being his first film, he resented this notoriety; to him it was a form of paralysis, an inability to progress aesthetically. This subjected him to perpetually reproducing his own methods in his many films to come. For Godard, Breathless was a beginning and an end. But in the pages and frames of cinematic history, it represented the dawn of a new generation of movie.
Friday, September 10, 2010
Ladies In Action Pt. 3: Nikita C'est Ne Pas Une Femme... Or Is She?
Action heroines and heroes alike tend to become subjective in the face of fatal weapons, bloodshed, and techno music. With complex, over-the-top story lines and soundtracks to match, action flicks are all about what will pack the biggest punch; tenderness, such as characters we can sympathize with and relate to, is often considered secondary.
The French film, “La Femme Nikita” is an action film with director Luc Besson’s personal touch. As his story evolves, so too does his protagonist. When we first meet Nikita (Anne Parillaud), she is a drug-addled gang member. When she is busted for ransacking a drugstore, she holds a gun to the chin of a cop and giggles before pulling the trigger. She is sentenced to life in prison, sedated, and wakes up in a cell like room where she is told that her suicide has been faked and if she doesn’t agree to become a government assassin, she will be put under…for real.
Nikita is carnal. Her pale blue eyes are coldly listless and ferocious, staring out from beneath a forest of bushy brown hair. She is frail, and only finds strength when she is striking out at other people. But there is something buried deep inside of her that wants normalcy, and if she chooses to live, there would be no hope of bringing that forth. Still, she surrenders to her new life and must undergo training not only to kill like a professional, but to behave like a human being- and a woman at that.
After years of training, she is released into the real world as a sleeper agent. She gets an apartment and, in a comically romantic scene, a boyfriend who later becomes her fiancé. Of course, just as things are starting to go well for Nikita, duty calls. The tension in the movie comes not from her trying to keep her dual identity a secret, but from her inner struggle between being a killer and being killed, being alive and being able to live. For Nikita to find freedom, she must run away from not just her demons, but also her loves.
Luc Besson is a master of the action film. He uses subjectivity as a tool to create over-the top characters, then gradually peels away their layers while simultaneously crafting slick, well-timed, explosive action sequences. His characters are Pinocchios. They are people you would only find in a movie, placed in direly fictional situations, but dearly longing for human connections and emotions.
“La Femme Nikita” is an exquisitely well-paced movie, flowing seamlessly between scenes of violence, emotion, tenderness, suspense and quiet. The French have a great eye for cinematic detail which utterly envelops us in Nikita’s world of confusion and her search for safety. Nikita’s journey takes her from being a dingy street criminal to a professional killer of the highest order. It also takes her from being a movie character to being a woman.
The French film, “La Femme Nikita” is an action film with director Luc Besson’s personal touch. As his story evolves, so too does his protagonist. When we first meet Nikita (Anne Parillaud), she is a drug-addled gang member. When she is busted for ransacking a drugstore, she holds a gun to the chin of a cop and giggles before pulling the trigger. She is sentenced to life in prison, sedated, and wakes up in a cell like room where she is told that her suicide has been faked and if she doesn’t agree to become a government assassin, she will be put under…for real.
Nikita is carnal. Her pale blue eyes are coldly listless and ferocious, staring out from beneath a forest of bushy brown hair. She is frail, and only finds strength when she is striking out at other people. But there is something buried deep inside of her that wants normalcy, and if she chooses to live, there would be no hope of bringing that forth. Still, she surrenders to her new life and must undergo training not only to kill like a professional, but to behave like a human being- and a woman at that.
After years of training, she is released into the real world as a sleeper agent. She gets an apartment and, in a comically romantic scene, a boyfriend who later becomes her fiancé. Of course, just as things are starting to go well for Nikita, duty calls. The tension in the movie comes not from her trying to keep her dual identity a secret, but from her inner struggle between being a killer and being killed, being alive and being able to live. For Nikita to find freedom, she must run away from not just her demons, but also her loves.
Luc Besson is a master of the action film. He uses subjectivity as a tool to create over-the top characters, then gradually peels away their layers while simultaneously crafting slick, well-timed, explosive action sequences. His characters are Pinocchios. They are people you would only find in a movie, placed in direly fictional situations, but dearly longing for human connections and emotions.
“La Femme Nikita” is an exquisitely well-paced movie, flowing seamlessly between scenes of violence, emotion, tenderness, suspense and quiet. The French have a great eye for cinematic detail which utterly envelops us in Nikita’s world of confusion and her search for safety. Nikita’s journey takes her from being a dingy street criminal to a professional killer of the highest order. It also takes her from being a movie character to being a woman.
Monday, September 6, 2010
Ladies In Action Pt. 2: The Bride Doesn't Play Well With Others
Quentin Tarantino is the kind of director that Hollywood needs more of. He is the nightmare party guest who dominates the conversation with his “movie talk.” He eats, sleeps, and breathes movies. He has an eye for style, an ear for dialogue, and a passionate hunger for all things cinema that he uses to create his own brand of movie. His film “Pulp Fiction” is not only a fusion of cinematic genres and styles, but has become an American movie staple, skyrocketing to greatness because of a director who is fanatically, obsessively, dillusionally, crazy about movies.
In films like “Pulp Fiction” and “Reservoir Dogs,” Tarantino strikes upon the right combination of his three signature components: dialogue, cinematography, and blood. However, his tribute to the Japanese Samurai film genre, “Kill Bill” lacks in character development, dialogue, plot, and narrative what it makes up for in blood and well-framed scenes.
He fuses traditional Japanese film technique with an ultra-hip comic book-ness and his hero is a Caucasian woman. This trendy pseudo-Asian inspired bloodbath is probably exactly the kind of movie Tarantino was aiming for. Unfortunately, like so many great directors, he loses his natural talent for developing a great movie in pursuit of technique.
It’s no secret that Tarantino made “Kill Bill” as an excuse to work with actress Uma Thurman who he refers to as his “muse.” But judging from the work she inspires, I would suggest he begin looking for a replacement. “Kill Bill” is practically a visual study on Thurman. It opens with a blood-spattered closeup of her face and throughout the course of the movie, examines her from every possible angle: feet, eyes, profile, bird’s eye, etc. In fact, Tarantino is so fixated on his mass-murdering starlet that he keeps her at arm’s (or sward’s) length from any of his supporting characters. A fatal mistake for any movie.
True, the fight scenes are done with a master’s touch. You can tell Tarantino knows exactly what makes a great fight scene- choreography, grace, respect, anger, poetry. You know this because he demonstrates his facility almost unceasingly throughout the course of the movie. It was as if he had a million ideas for how to shoot a martial arts scene, and decided to execute them all in one single movie. No pun intended.
We have the improvised Kung-Fu sequence in a suburban house, ending with blood and fruit loops all over the kitchen floor; the kinky young assassin in a schoolgirl uniform, armed with a ball and chain and a sweetly wicked grin; and the elegant battle scene with sword blades and blood accented against lightly falling snow. Any one of these would have been enough to memorably enunciate an action movie. As they are, I was left with that curious nausea that comes from eating too much candy.
Tarantino is a great director because he creates characters that are bigger than his movies. Nobody can forget Jules Winnfield from “Pulp Fiction” or The Jew Hunter from “Inglourious Basterds.” But it is precisely because of their interactions with the supporting cast that made them unforgettable. A single interesting character is a complete waste of time if she is not given a number of other individuals to work with. It would appear Tarantino is best off letting his characters inspire the movie, rather than the actors who play them.
In films like “Pulp Fiction” and “Reservoir Dogs,” Tarantino strikes upon the right combination of his three signature components: dialogue, cinematography, and blood. However, his tribute to the Japanese Samurai film genre, “Kill Bill” lacks in character development, dialogue, plot, and narrative what it makes up for in blood and well-framed scenes.
He fuses traditional Japanese film technique with an ultra-hip comic book-ness and his hero is a Caucasian woman. This trendy pseudo-Asian inspired bloodbath is probably exactly the kind of movie Tarantino was aiming for. Unfortunately, like so many great directors, he loses his natural talent for developing a great movie in pursuit of technique.
It’s no secret that Tarantino made “Kill Bill” as an excuse to work with actress Uma Thurman who he refers to as his “muse.” But judging from the work she inspires, I would suggest he begin looking for a replacement. “Kill Bill” is practically a visual study on Thurman. It opens with a blood-spattered closeup of her face and throughout the course of the movie, examines her from every possible angle: feet, eyes, profile, bird’s eye, etc. In fact, Tarantino is so fixated on his mass-murdering starlet that he keeps her at arm’s (or sward’s) length from any of his supporting characters. A fatal mistake for any movie.
True, the fight scenes are done with a master’s touch. You can tell Tarantino knows exactly what makes a great fight scene- choreography, grace, respect, anger, poetry. You know this because he demonstrates his facility almost unceasingly throughout the course of the movie. It was as if he had a million ideas for how to shoot a martial arts scene, and decided to execute them all in one single movie. No pun intended.
We have the improvised Kung-Fu sequence in a suburban house, ending with blood and fruit loops all over the kitchen floor; the kinky young assassin in a schoolgirl uniform, armed with a ball and chain and a sweetly wicked grin; and the elegant battle scene with sword blades and blood accented against lightly falling snow. Any one of these would have been enough to memorably enunciate an action movie. As they are, I was left with that curious nausea that comes from eating too much candy.
Tarantino is a great director because he creates characters that are bigger than his movies. Nobody can forget Jules Winnfield from “Pulp Fiction” or The Jew Hunter from “Inglourious Basterds.” But it is precisely because of their interactions with the supporting cast that made them unforgettable. A single interesting character is a complete waste of time if she is not given a number of other individuals to work with. It would appear Tarantino is best off letting his characters inspire the movie, rather than the actors who play them.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
A Movie As Self-Indulgent As A Narcissistic Hot Fudge Sundae
The purpose of a chick flick is to become inspired (or at least entertained) by the lives of women we can all relate to. Elizabeth Gilbert (Julia Roberts) is the everywoman’s worst enemy.
If she isn’t laughing it up at high-end dinner parties with her fellow ritzy wine-sipping friends, she is being hit on by charming, laid-back actors (played by James Franco, of course) or wandering through her brand-new luxury home at night, wondering why she isn’t happy. That’s a good question.
She makes up her mind to divorce a husband that practically leaped out of every American woman’s fantasy land and spend a year living a life of pleasure, adventure, and self- discovery. First stop: Italy where she finds herself in a crumbling but dreamily romantic Italian apartment and learning to speak the language from none other than the cover-boy for every paperback romance ever printed. She maintains a steady diet of pizza, pasta, and gelato and makes it quite clear that she could care less about her rapidly expanding waistline. But she is still not happy with her life.
So she goes to India and then to Bali and along the way discovers her inner balance through deep meditation, long rides on her bicycle and just a dash of steamy romance with another soul-seeking divorcee. She learns to forgive herself while sitting on the rooftop of an Indian temple, the sun warming her flawless skin and making her stunning brown eyes glow. And she ultimately finds perfect happiness, love, and, of course, balance while speeding through dazzling blue waters on a wooden boat, in the arms of Javier Bardem, as the sound of billowing, spirit-raising music engulfs her like chocolate around a truffle.
This is not the kind of movie that lets its self linger for too long on the unappetizing bits of life, though that is what is truly at the heart of Elizabeth’s journey. Her lowest moments are romantically steeped in close-ups of her eyes leaking out perfect tears without so much as flawing her mascara. Of course there is the “I don’t need to love you in order to love me!” explosion/revelation with her boyfriend near the end, at which point she leaves him gazing wistfully out to sea, probably crying because that’s the kind of guy he is.
Julia Roberts is perhaps the only person who could play this role. She is the kind of woman who audiences always want to see come out on top. She has a smile that lights up the screen, and an exuberance that lends its self wonderfully to the breezy spontaneity of her character. It is the only thing that lets us feel happy for her while simultaneously succumbing to venom-spitting envy.
Elizabeth Gilbert lived every woman’s fantasy. One day she realized that she wasn’t content with her life, and decided to pack her bags and go on a whirlwind world tour. But because of its lurid optimism, the movie never captures her discontentment to begin with. And so we have a character doing something that we all wish we could do because she is mildly irritated with her “conventionality”…whatever that is. Even though the odds of her winding up in the Italian gutter, an empty bottle of 1997 Biondi Santi in one hand and an empty wallet in the other were not in her favor, we only breeze over any consideration of practicality and go skipping along to the next spaghetti montage.
If she isn’t laughing it up at high-end dinner parties with her fellow ritzy wine-sipping friends, she is being hit on by charming, laid-back actors (played by James Franco, of course) or wandering through her brand-new luxury home at night, wondering why she isn’t happy. That’s a good question.
She makes up her mind to divorce a husband that practically leaped out of every American woman’s fantasy land and spend a year living a life of pleasure, adventure, and self- discovery. First stop: Italy where she finds herself in a crumbling but dreamily romantic Italian apartment and learning to speak the language from none other than the cover-boy for every paperback romance ever printed. She maintains a steady diet of pizza, pasta, and gelato and makes it quite clear that she could care less about her rapidly expanding waistline. But she is still not happy with her life.
So she goes to India and then to Bali and along the way discovers her inner balance through deep meditation, long rides on her bicycle and just a dash of steamy romance with another soul-seeking divorcee. She learns to forgive herself while sitting on the rooftop of an Indian temple, the sun warming her flawless skin and making her stunning brown eyes glow. And she ultimately finds perfect happiness, love, and, of course, balance while speeding through dazzling blue waters on a wooden boat, in the arms of Javier Bardem, as the sound of billowing, spirit-raising music engulfs her like chocolate around a truffle.
This is not the kind of movie that lets its self linger for too long on the unappetizing bits of life, though that is what is truly at the heart of Elizabeth’s journey. Her lowest moments are romantically steeped in close-ups of her eyes leaking out perfect tears without so much as flawing her mascara. Of course there is the “I don’t need to love you in order to love me!” explosion/revelation with her boyfriend near the end, at which point she leaves him gazing wistfully out to sea, probably crying because that’s the kind of guy he is.
Julia Roberts is perhaps the only person who could play this role. She is the kind of woman who audiences always want to see come out on top. She has a smile that lights up the screen, and an exuberance that lends its self wonderfully to the breezy spontaneity of her character. It is the only thing that lets us feel happy for her while simultaneously succumbing to venom-spitting envy.
Elizabeth Gilbert lived every woman’s fantasy. One day she realized that she wasn’t content with her life, and decided to pack her bags and go on a whirlwind world tour. But because of its lurid optimism, the movie never captures her discontentment to begin with. And so we have a character doing something that we all wish we could do because she is mildly irritated with her “conventionality”…whatever that is. Even though the odds of her winding up in the Italian gutter, an empty bottle of 1997 Biondi Santi in one hand and an empty wallet in the other were not in her favor, we only breeze over any consideration of practicality and go skipping along to the next spaghetti montage.
Monday, August 30, 2010
Ladies In Action Pt. 1: "Salt"
Move over Stephen Segal, Hollywood is undergoing an invasion of serious butt-kicking females. More and more, the heroes of pulse-pounding action thrillers are turning into heroines. Their mission: to shoot, kick, punch, run, and explode their way through two hours of film and give the audience a cardio workout in the process. Are we experiencing a cinematic wave of feminism, or is Hollywood catering to Americans who can’t get enough of bombshells playing with bombshells?
One thing’s for sure, these gals mean business. The latest woman to put the fatale back in femme fatale is Angelina Jolie in her new film, “Salt.” Jolie plays Evelyn Salt, a renegade Russian spy in a plot that is so cliché and so well executed it nearly defines a genre.
All the usual suspects are here: Conspiring Russians, plots to assassinate government officials, friends who turn out to be enemies, bad guys who turn out good, and a heroine who always thinks on her toes and knows perhaps a little too much about the versatility of a fire extinguisher. The plot twists and turns in ways that only a really good action movie could get away with. And the chase scenes (which there are plenty of) will have you leaving the theater minus your fingernails.
Jolie’s beauty is not a matter of opinion anymore, so much as a fact. But like many other facts of the real world, “Salt” ignores it. You get the feeling that this is a woman who doesn’t mind a broken nail. Throughout the course of the film, Jolie gets beaten up, shot down, dressed as a man, covered in blood, sweat, and dirt, and generally put through hell, but she handles it like a pro, managing to give her adversaries a taste of their own medicine.
But like all hard-as-nails protagonists, it’s the troubles of the past that hardened Salt’s exterior. The wrongs done to her and her loved ones are what keep her and the film going full steam ahead. Though the story is a stretch, it latches onto a real emotional connection that even the most closed-minded audience members can relate to.
Pulling off unbelievable feats and making them believable is what makes action movies good. Pulling off unbelievable feats and making them entertaining is what makes action movies great. “Salt” does not underestimate its audience; it understands how we watch movies and utilizes that knowledge to institute perfect timing. It knows when it can get away with an implausible plot twist while upping our heart rates. Its aim is not to make the audience analyze, but to excite.
After watching “Salt” it seems like Angelina Jolie was born to play an action movie heroine. She has a catlike intensity that its self has enough to keep the energy up in a movie. Her movements overpower her good looks and keep us intent on what she will do next. In fact, if it came down to a combat between her and Stephen Segal, my money’s on Jolie.
One thing’s for sure, these gals mean business. The latest woman to put the fatale back in femme fatale is Angelina Jolie in her new film, “Salt.” Jolie plays Evelyn Salt, a renegade Russian spy in a plot that is so cliché and so well executed it nearly defines a genre.
All the usual suspects are here: Conspiring Russians, plots to assassinate government officials, friends who turn out to be enemies, bad guys who turn out good, and a heroine who always thinks on her toes and knows perhaps a little too much about the versatility of a fire extinguisher. The plot twists and turns in ways that only a really good action movie could get away with. And the chase scenes (which there are plenty of) will have you leaving the theater minus your fingernails.
Jolie’s beauty is not a matter of opinion anymore, so much as a fact. But like many other facts of the real world, “Salt” ignores it. You get the feeling that this is a woman who doesn’t mind a broken nail. Throughout the course of the film, Jolie gets beaten up, shot down, dressed as a man, covered in blood, sweat, and dirt, and generally put through hell, but she handles it like a pro, managing to give her adversaries a taste of their own medicine.
But like all hard-as-nails protagonists, it’s the troubles of the past that hardened Salt’s exterior. The wrongs done to her and her loved ones are what keep her and the film going full steam ahead. Though the story is a stretch, it latches onto a real emotional connection that even the most closed-minded audience members can relate to.
Pulling off unbelievable feats and making them believable is what makes action movies good. Pulling off unbelievable feats and making them entertaining is what makes action movies great. “Salt” does not underestimate its audience; it understands how we watch movies and utilizes that knowledge to institute perfect timing. It knows when it can get away with an implausible plot twist while upping our heart rates. Its aim is not to make the audience analyze, but to excite.
After watching “Salt” it seems like Angelina Jolie was born to play an action movie heroine. She has a catlike intensity that its self has enough to keep the energy up in a movie. Her movements overpower her good looks and keep us intent on what she will do next. In fact, if it came down to a combat between her and Stephen Segal, my money’s on Jolie.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Inception- A Maze Of Deception
Trying to follow the plot of Inception is about as easy as trying to follow a flea on a pogo stick through a forest of pine trees. It is also just about as brilliant as getting a flea to use a pogo stick in the first place.
My mind is not flexible enough, nor my column long enough to give a clear cut plot description. The story is a multi-layered psychological labyrinth of dreams inside of dreams, worlds paralleling each other, and a man whose job it is to navigate through it all. His name is Dominic Cobb (Leonardo DiCaprio) and his mission is to plunge into people’s minds to steal their ideas. This time though, he is on a different sort of mission. He must use dreams to implant an idea into the mind of a young heir, Robert Fischer (Cillian Murphy) to destroy his dying father’s empire.
Writer-Director, Christopher Nolan has created something that is so perfectly and infinitely logical that wraps its self around your brain before you can wrap your brain around it. Pulse-pounding action sequences keep us entertained while the intricate architecture of the film becomes more and more convoluted. Its saving grace is an emotional backbone that keeps the characters more accessible than the plot.
At one point in the film, Cobb explains to his young assistant, Ariadne (Ellen Paige) that we can never remember the beginning of our dreams, that when we first begin to dream, we always start somewhere in the middle. This is an accurate description of how the film begins, as well as a hint at how it will end. We are dropped into the middle of a maze and we trust that the film will lead us through. It does because it knows where it’s going, even if the audience gets lost along the way.
Nolan spent ten years writing the screenplay- and it shows. It appears nearly flawless; or at least tricks the audience into believing it is flawless. It deposits the audience at the end, confused and amazed, but willing to believe that it all worked out. With so many dreams, who’s to notice a little impossibility?
The driving force that guides the plot through its many twists and turns is Cobb’s obsession with his deceased wife, Mal (Marion Cotillard) who he believes is still alive in his world of dreams. Mal committed suicide because she was convinced that the world she was living in was an illusion and the only way back to the real world was to die. Cotillard is perfect in the role of the dreamy idyllic wife, tortured in the real world by an idea rooted in her mind.
Cobb’s relationship with Mal and Fischer’s relationship with his father are what make Inception work. The characters are less disillusioned by their surroundings than the audience is, but human connections are what keep them, and the movie at least somewhat grounded.
Inception is a doubtlessly brilliant piece of work. It weaves a story that is truly unique and impossibly challenging. It places before us a handful of talented actors playing relatable, intelligent characters. It maneuvers its way through a profound complex system of worlds without a glaring loophole. But it is baffling. It requires a second viewing or even a third or fourth to get a firm grasp on what is going on. It’s a good thing it’s worth it.
My mind is not flexible enough, nor my column long enough to give a clear cut plot description. The story is a multi-layered psychological labyrinth of dreams inside of dreams, worlds paralleling each other, and a man whose job it is to navigate through it all. His name is Dominic Cobb (Leonardo DiCaprio) and his mission is to plunge into people’s minds to steal their ideas. This time though, he is on a different sort of mission. He must use dreams to implant an idea into the mind of a young heir, Robert Fischer (Cillian Murphy) to destroy his dying father’s empire.
Writer-Director, Christopher Nolan has created something that is so perfectly and infinitely logical that wraps its self around your brain before you can wrap your brain around it. Pulse-pounding action sequences keep us entertained while the intricate architecture of the film becomes more and more convoluted. Its saving grace is an emotional backbone that keeps the characters more accessible than the plot.
At one point in the film, Cobb explains to his young assistant, Ariadne (Ellen Paige) that we can never remember the beginning of our dreams, that when we first begin to dream, we always start somewhere in the middle. This is an accurate description of how the film begins, as well as a hint at how it will end. We are dropped into the middle of a maze and we trust that the film will lead us through. It does because it knows where it’s going, even if the audience gets lost along the way.
Nolan spent ten years writing the screenplay- and it shows. It appears nearly flawless; or at least tricks the audience into believing it is flawless. It deposits the audience at the end, confused and amazed, but willing to believe that it all worked out. With so many dreams, who’s to notice a little impossibility?
The driving force that guides the plot through its many twists and turns is Cobb’s obsession with his deceased wife, Mal (Marion Cotillard) who he believes is still alive in his world of dreams. Mal committed suicide because she was convinced that the world she was living in was an illusion and the only way back to the real world was to die. Cotillard is perfect in the role of the dreamy idyllic wife, tortured in the real world by an idea rooted in her mind.
Cobb’s relationship with Mal and Fischer’s relationship with his father are what make Inception work. The characters are less disillusioned by their surroundings than the audience is, but human connections are what keep them, and the movie at least somewhat grounded.
Inception is a doubtlessly brilliant piece of work. It weaves a story that is truly unique and impossibly challenging. It places before us a handful of talented actors playing relatable, intelligent characters. It maneuvers its way through a profound complex system of worlds without a glaring loophole. But it is baffling. It requires a second viewing or even a third or fourth to get a firm grasp on what is going on. It’s a good thing it’s worth it.
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