THE
FRENCH DISPATCH (2021)
Wes Anderson, with a great painter’s eye
for details, has crafted a striking piece of original filmmaking, filled with
so many finely constructed shots and dryly hilarious performances that multiple
viewings seem required. I haven’t seen a movie as rich or accomplished as this
in years.
Using techniques he’s flirted with in
previous films, Anderson offers a visual homage, clearly enjoying the irony, to
great magazine writing of last century, as exemplified in the New Yorker. He
lets the quirky writers narrate their stories that range from a profile of a
prison painter to a legendary police cook.
“The French Dispatch,” the name of this eccentric magazine that began as a Sunday insert to a Kansas newspaper before relocating to Ennui, France (on the river Blasé, of course), opens it pages as a kind of cinematic Power Point, with four stories presented as a sample of the wonderous journalism the New Yorker and other magazines of the era were known for.
After a quick introduction to the publication’s
dour, exacting editor, Arthur Howitzer Jr., son of the original Kansas
publisher (a role tailor-made for Bill Murray), Herbsaint Sazerac (Owen Wilson)
leads us on a tour of quaint Ennui, a lighthearted warmup for a more
substantial piece on Moses Rosenthaler (Benicio Del Toro).
Convicted of double murder, he occupies
his life sentence by painting impressionistic abstracts of the block’s prison
guard (Léa Seydoux), who regularly poses nude for Moses. The writer/narrator
J.K.L. Berensen (Tilda Swinton, hilariously eloquent) lectures on this
art-world sensation to what seems to be gathering of museum members. Anderson
manages to skewer both the art world and those who write about it, while
composing the kind of offbeat story emblematic of what great writer/reporters
regularly dig up.
The weakest section of the film chronicles
a student protest—the leader is played by Timothée Chalamet—as reported by
Lucinda Krementz (Frances McDormand; you knew there’d be a part for her), who,
like many of the famed New Journalism practitioners—Tom Wolfe, Hunter S.
Thompson—becomes personally involved.
The final piece is narrated by Roebuck
Wright (Jeffrey Wright), while being interviewed on a television show. He
recites by memory his story of a famed cook (Stephen Park) who becomes involved
in the kidnapping of the precocious son of a police commissioner (Matheiu
Amalric).
Beyond the literary touches of the
stories, the magic Anderson brings to these extended profiles, as he moves from
movie studio realism to animation, using freeze frame, horizonal camera
movement and alternating between black-and-white and color, is what makes the
film so memorable.
In addition to the wryly executed major
roles there are a dozen memorable performances in small roles, including Adrien
Brody and Lois Smith as art experts, Christoph Waltz as an unexpected suitor,
Willem Dafoe as a convict, Edward Norton as a chauffeur, Saoirse Ronan as his
girlfriend and Anjelica Huston as the film’s overall narrator. (In some odd
twist of casting, three members of this cast have prominent roles in “A Time to
Die”: Waltz, Wright and Seydoux.)
Anderson receives sole screenplay credit,
but “story by” credits are given to Roman Coppola, Hugo Guinness and Jason
Schwartzman (who also plays a member of the magazine’s staff). I dare say that
they might have combined for a comedy masterpiece.
DUNE
(2021)
In the sci-fi cinematic world we live in,
dominated by Avengers, zombies and DC heroes, “Dune” represents a more deliberate,
uncluttered, solemn universe.
The plot of this much-anticipated epic is
less complex than a typical 1950s Western and, unlike most important sci-fi
literature, offers little critical insight on contemporary society (either of
2021 or 1965, when the Frank Herbert novel was published) in this adaptation.
While well directed by Denis Villeneuve
(“Arrival” and “Blade Runner 2049”) and lushly photographed by Greig Fraser, the
movie lacks a compelling story and, with the exception of its young lead,
interesting characters. As this is only Part I maybe I’m judging too early, but
the same could be said of any of the “Star War” trilogies or the “Avenger”
finale; a two-and-a-half-hour film should stand on its own. At this point, the
tale didn’t hold my interest.
Part of the problem is that the people of
this world, set centuries in the future, seem to live dull, joyless lives
dominated by tribal traditions and mythology. Even the ruling class seems bored
(they don’t even have cellphones!); at least those subjugated have a purpose, gaining
their freedom, but we don’t see much of them.
At the center of the story is the planet
Arrakis, which supplies this universe with an element called spice that is essential
for the universe’s technology. Yet the natives of the planet have been forced
into hiding as outsiders rule and mine the desert.
The newest landlords, led by Duke Leto
Atreides (Oscar Isaac) and his military leaders (Josh Brolin and Jason Momoa),
arrive on Arrakis with the hope of making peace with the natives, led by a
stoic Stilgar (Javier Bardem). But the universe’s slimy Emperor (an
unrecognizable Stellan Skarsgard) has other plans for the future of the planet
(I never understood why) and that sets the action in motion.
Behind this basic setup lies the mythical
aspects of the story in the form of the Duke’s young son Paul (star of the
moment Timothée Chalamet), who has inherited supernatural skills from his dour
mother (Rebecca Ferguson, best known as part of the “Mission: Impossible”
troupe), and is rumored to be some version of the chosen one. His slight frame
belies his impressive warrior skills, but he remains a work in progress. It’s
his story that will carry the second part of “Dune,” expected in 2023.
I’ve not been particularly impressed with
Chalamet’s acting (he was nominated for “Call Me by Your Name”) in past roles,
but here he’s well cast; his Paul slowly evolves from an enthusiastic teen to a
thoughtful leader of his clan. I hope that bodes well for Part II.
I have only vague memories of David
Lynch’s 1984 version but considering its poor reputation and the advancement of
special effects in the past 35 years, I’m sure this new film better reflects
Herbert’s themes. But, thus far, it’s much more sand than vision.
A
TIME TO DIE (2021)
Who would have guessed? Sean Connery spent
10 years (not counting the unofficial 1983 “Never Say Never Again”) as James
Bond; Daniel Craig, who retires from the role with this new film, held the 007
portfolio for 15 years.
While Craig wasn’t the stereotypical
Bond, more brutish, less cautious, clearly coming from less refined upbringing
than past incarnations and bringing a quiet sentimentality, he has managed to
make the Bond tux and cool demeaner his own. I think few would dispute his
ranking as the second-best Bond.
I don’t think “A Time to Die” will be
remembered as top-flight Bond, but it serves well as Craig’s farewell and an
unflagging entertainment.
With the help of the new 007 (seems
Bond’s legendary posting is quickly filled) Nomi (an under-utilized Lashana
Lynch), Bond follows the trail to the man behind this sinister plot, Lyutsifer
Safin (where do they get these names?) played by Oscar-winner and over-acting
extraordinaire Rami Malek.
Maybe the most intriguing encounter in
the film takes place in a federal lockup where James interrogates his old
nemesis Blofeld (the always sly Christoph Waltz), kept enclosed in a glass
cage. It’s Bond’s Hannibal-Clarice moment.
Other familiar faces fill out the cast,
including Ralph Fiennes as M, Naomi Harris as Moneypenny, Jeffrey Wright as
American spy Felix Leiter and Ben Whishaw as Q.
As with most Bonds, the climactic scene
goes on forever, adding psychological layers and tying up loose ends, to the
explosive ending. But director Cary Joji Fukunaga (TV’s “True Detective”)
offers a poignant, heartfelt farewell to Craig’s Bond and the formula that has
endured 60 years.
CRY
MACHO (2021)
While movie fans should applaud Clint
Eastwood for being able to direct and act at age 91, there’s something just as
honorable about knowing when it’s time to retire.
Admittedly, just seven years ago he
directed the first rate “American Sniper,” which earned a 2014 best picture
nomination, but age catches up to all of us
very
quickly. In “Cry Macho,” he clearly struggles to walk and even deliver his
lines (Eastwood is not a “young” 91). And, as the man in charge, he seems to
have lost his ear for dialogue and what passes for reality on the screen.
There are so many ludicrous scenes in this
film starting with the basic storyline, that it’s hard to take a moment of the
picture seriously.
Clint plays Mike Milo, a broken-down rodeo
rider and horse trainer—must have been 40 years earlier—who is asked by his
former boss (Dwight Yoakam) to kidnap the man’s son who lives with his mother
in Mexico City. That’s who I would send on such a mission—a man who can barely
walk across the room.
It’s Clint, so we are expected to ignore his
age—he’s still a can-do kind of cowboy.
I’m not going to linger over the inane
story, but just to give you an idea, he drives right up to the mother’s
luxurious hacienda, walks in and announces that he’s there to take her son. In
a very short time, this attractive, very rich woman is inviting this elderly
stranger into her bed.
It was historical that Eastwood made three
great films as a septuagenarian—“Mystic River” (2003), “Million Dollar Baby”
(2004) and “Letters from Iwo Jima” (2006)—and then continued to take on major
projects like “J. Edgar” (2011), “Jersey Boys” (2014), “Sully” (2016) and
“Richard Jewell” (2019) while in his 80s.
Now’s the time to go gentle into that
good night and be remembered for his unprecedented accomplishments of being one
of Hollywood’s most popular movie stars and among its finest directors.
THE
PIT AND THE PENDULUM (1961) and
CREATURE
FROM THE HAUNTED SEA (1961)
Another icon of the movie industry who
hasn’t let age slow him down is Roger Corman. Since he turned 90 in 2016, he’s
produced five films, and has another planned. Since 1954, Corman has had producing
credit on over 500 films, according to IMDb (and that’s just the ones he was
willing to put him name on.)
He claims to have never lost money on a
film and stories of his economical shooting schedules are legendary (“The
Little Shop of Horrors,” which spawned a popular Broadway musical years later,
was shot in three days.)
At the start of his career, Corman was also
a director, highlighted by his series of Edgar Allan Poe adaptations along with
“The Wild Angels,” “The Trip’ and “The St. Valentine’s Day Massacre.”
I recently revisited two 1961 pictures
Corman directed: one a first-rate horror flick and the other a schlocky,
tongue-in-check monster movie.
The
script for “The Pit and the Pendulum” by Richard Matheson, one of the finest
science fiction novelists and a prolific writer of television scripts, bears
little resemblance to the Poe story. Other
than the title torture chamber and the connection to the Spanish inquisition,
the Baltimore bard wouldn’t recognize his work. But the spirit of Poe is in
every frame of Corman’s film.
John Kerr (“Tea and Sympathy,” “South Pacific”) plays Francis Barnard, an English nobleman who has travelled to Spain to discover why his young sister (Barbara Steele)
Eventually, spurred by bizarre occurrences
in the clearly haunted castle, Barnard and the audience learn that Nicholas’
father was a torturer during the inquisition (the film is set in the 1500s) and
murdered his wife by entombing her alive. You might say this left young
Nicholas a psychological mess.
Corman makes great use of the castle’s labyrinth
of stairs, hallways and passages, which all seems to lead the characters toward
their darkest fears. His flashback scenes are particularly effective, shot in a
hazy blue tint that looks like lost footage from a German silent.
Price mugs his way through the role—he’s
always on the verge of throwing himself on the floor in a fit---but Kerr’s and
Carbone’s straightforward readings make for a nice contrast to the macabre
setting.
Anders, who plays Price’s sister, was a
longtime friend of Jack Nicholson and Robert Towne (both Corman protégés),
later showing up in small roles in “The Last Detail,” “Shampoo,” “The Missouri
Breaks,” “Personal Best” and “The Two Jakes,” among many others.
Then there’s “Creature from the Haunted
Sea,” which looks like it was made on a shoestring budget and clearly for a
laugh. Charles B. Griffith, who also wrote “Little Shop of Horrors,” fills the
script with oddball lines and sarcasm in a haphazard story about a mobster who
plans to steal a cache of gold from Cuban exiles. Carbone is the star this
time, playing a Bogart-like tough guy who assembles a motley crew (including a
young man who only speaks by imitating animal sounds) to divert the gold to a
small island near Puerto Rico.
Getting most of the comic lines is Edward
Wain as Sparks Moran, an American spy amongst the crew who foolishly falls for
the femme fatale (Betsy Jones-Moreland). Turns out Wain is actually Robert
Towne, future acclaimed writer-director, who, I suspect, had a hand in the
script.
Best of all is the sea monster of the
title, which looks like the neglected cousin of one of the Banana Splits; its
bulging rubber eyeballs are the highlight of the film.
Once those who haven’t been eaten by the
monster make it to the island, the film gets nuttier, as two of the crew and
Moran fall for native women. It makes an episode of “Gilligan’s Island” play
like Chekhov.
Thankfully, “Creature from the Haunted Sea”
is just an hour, the perfect opening bill for a night at the drive-in, Corman
style.
THE
MANY SAINTS OF NEWARK (2021)
I’m not sure how to categorize this
“origin” story of Tony Soprano, which presents a glimpse of the world he grew
up in and, apparently, made him the man he was in the celebrated HBO series
“The Sopranos.”
I’ll admit that I’ve only seen a half dozen
episodes of the series, so I really only know what I’ve read about it (which
was a bunch considering that during the 2000s it seemed to be the only cable
show anyone wrote about). Yet, I am not the target audience for this film, but
as a fan of mob films I expected to find something worth my time. I didn’t.
This prequel, which probably should have
been a directed-to-DVD extra on an anniversary package of the series, moves at
a snail’s pace as it jumps between one character and another with little
exposition to guide unschooled viewers.
At the center of the film isn’t young
Anthony (it mostly covers his teen years when he’s played by Michael
Gandolfini, son of James), but his favorite uncle, Dickie (Alessandro Nivola).
The exposition is so lacking that it was 20 minutes into the film before I
realized he wasn’t Anthony’s father.
Dickie comes off as a reluctant mobster
who seems more likely to manage a shoe store or work as the unwitting mob
accountant. Nivola has been a serviceable supporting player for years, but
proves to be a poor choice to carry this film.
Along with all the Italian family squabbles,
the film tries to show the connection between the mob and African American drug
dealers. But the storyline feels tacked on; creator David Chase’s attempt to be
inclusive. For a much better look at the Mafia’s rife relationship with Blacks,
see EPIX TV’s excellent “Godfather of Harlem,” with Forest Whitaker as
notorious 1960s crime lord Bumpy Johnson.
In “The Many Saints,” the most compelling
moments are provided by a snarling Ray Liotta playing Dickie’s father, and then
later, as the man’s brother who is serving a life sentence in the pen. While it
was a bit heavy-handed to have Liotta play both parts, his performances were
all that offered a flicker of energy.
For “Soprano” fans, it will probably be
cool to see younger versions of Junior Soprano (Corey Stoll), Silvio Dante
(John Magaro) and Tony’s mother Livia (Vera Famiga), but they left little
impression on this unschooled viewer.
THE
EYES OF TAMMY FAYE (2021)
Anyone who lived through the 1980s and 90s
could not avoid hearing about Tammy Faye Bakker, the flamboyant wife of televangelist
Jim Bakker. You didn’t need to be a
disciple of the Bakkers (of which, sadly, there were many) to see the needy desperation
that radiated from Tammy Faye in every public appearance.
These sentiments, along with her child-like
enthusiasm, dominate Jessica Chastain’s none-to-subtle portrayal in this overly
straightforward bio-pic. Andrew Garfield plays Bakker as a weaselly conman just
waiting to be uncovered.
Directed by Michael Showalter based on the
2000 documentary of the same name, “Eyes” chronicles their rise from newlyweds
tossed out of seminary school to ambitious members of an evangelist troupe led
by Jerry Falwell (a surly Vincent D’Onofrio), the godfather of television
preaching/moneymaking.
Tammy’s main contribution at the start of
their career was as a puppeteer and neglected wife, but her personality clearly
helps the pair rise in the world of Christian TV. Soon they are living the
high-life in an extravagant mansion.
I was
expecting (always a bad idea) the film to approach this story with comic
sarcasm, baring the irony of these amoral criminals making millions by selling
the teachings of Jesus. But Showalter, who previously directed the very funny
“The Big Sick,” apparently believed that the details of the Bakkers’ rise and
fall was interesting enough to carry the film. It isn’t. Without an exceptional
actress like Chastain at the center this film would be a bad made-for-TV
docudrama.
Photos:
Bill
Murray and Jeffrey Wright in “The French Dispatch” (Searchlight Pictures)
Daniel Craig and Ana de Armas in “No Time to Die” (MGM)
Vincent Price in “The Pit and the Pendulum” (American International)
