KILLERS
OF THE FLOWER MOON (2023)
For most of our history, at least until
the late 1960s and in many cases much longer, most of white America lived in
blissful ignorance of the mistreatment and injustice faced daily by millions
across the country. And even if they knew, they didn’t care—the inequities
faced by African Americans, Latinos, Asians, anyone who dared to admit to being
gay or lesbian, non-Christians and, first among those who needed to be pushed
aside, Native Americans, weren’t worth worrying about.
In the last 30 years, journalism—through
newspapers, magazines, books and television—along with the entertainment
industry started taking notice of on-going and historic injustices, helping to
shake more Americans out of their child-like blindness. Based on David Grann’s
riveting chronicle of the inhuman treatment of the Osage Indians after oil production
began on the Oklahoma tribe’s land in the early part of the century, Martin
Scorsese’s epic movie, set in the 1920s, packs an emotional punch in every
scene, every conversation, every closeup as very bad people assimilate into the
community to enrich themselves.
As white men flood into the area to “find”
their fortune, the town’s boss, William Hale (a commanding Robert De Niro)
pushes the young men to woo the unmarried Native women. Once married, the women
unexplainably take ill and die, leaving the riches in the hands of their white
husbands. This happens over and over again, yet law enforcement, under Hale’s
thumb, does nothing. (The Osage can’t even spend their own money without
getting a white man’s approval.)
At the center of the picture is Mollie
(Lily Gladstone in a soft-spoken but startling powerful performance), one of
the richest of the Osage who seems to have resisted the advances of white men
until the inarticulate war veteran Ernest (a miscast Leonardo DiCaprio) arrives
in town. He’s the nephew of Hale, but seems to be a sincere, if naïve (and way
too old), suitor of Mollie.
Later, the death of her sister spurs Mollie
to seek an outside investigation, but Hale manages to hijack those efforts.
Frustratingly, the Native people seem blind to the fact that the beloved Hale
is working against them. Not until the FBI takes an interest (Jesse Plemons
plays the lead investigator) does there seem to be much hope that justice will
be served.
At three and a half hours, the film is
unavoidably episodic, and sometimes feels choppy and repetitive—the picture
reminded me of Scorsese’s “Casino” and “The Irishman,” long, rather labyrinth
chronicles that, despite numerous brilliant sequences, don’t always hold
together as narratives. But it’s not just the length: I’ve seen plenty of 90- minute films that
felt much longer.
While Gladstone and De Niro have clearly
defined roles, and give performances worthy of Oscar nominations, DiCaprio
seems a bit misguided in trying to capture the difficult character of Ernest.
As he descends from a rather innocent pawn of his uncle and truly in love with
Mollie to an active participant in the evil conspiracy against the Natives, he
seems unchanged. Not to mention that it makes no sense that a 49-year-old actor
is playing the role.
He clenches his jaw too many times rather
than provide some insight into what is going on inside his head. That’s
probably a fault of the script and direction, but the result creates a crucial
weakness at the center of the film.
Gladstone, whose ethnic background is
Blackfoot, is so good that she almost makes you forget the flaws of DiCaprio’s
performance. Her previous best-known roles were in Kelly Reichardt films,
“Certain Women” and “First Cow.” “Killers of the Flower Moon” should make her a
star.
With a director of Scorsese’s
stature—certainly one of the 10 greatest in American film history—there is
always the question of how a new film stacks up with his other works. Despite
what many reviewers are proclaiming, this isn’t a great film (a great message,
a great story, but not a great motion picture), not ranking with the director’s
greatest works, which are among the best American films ever made. Pending a
second viewing, I would place it among “The Departed,” “The Age of Innocence”
and “The Irishman.”
THE
HOLDOVERS (2023)
Alexander Payne, who has directed some of
the best films of the past 30 years, had me at the opening credits of his new
film, recreating the look of a 1970s release, down to the style of the frame
showing the picture’s rating.
The 70s theme continues as director of
photography Eigil Bryld (“In Bruges”) recreates the soft, low-lit
cinematography of the era, appropriate for this story set in a New England
boys’ prep school in the winter of 1970.
Paul Giamatti plays the school’s disliked
ancient history teacher who gets stuck babysitting a group of students who remain
on campus over the Christmas holidays.
After a few days with the rather cliché
group of students, a creaky plot turn leaves just Mr. Hunham, the school
kitchen manager Mary (a touching performance by Da’Vine Joy Randolph) and one
of the smart-aleck high schoolers, Angus (Dominic Sessa), whose parents decided
to vacation on their own.
These three bring their personal quirks
and tragedies to the table that eventually brings them together in the kind of
unique family unit that was a product of the era’s crumbling traditional
values.
Payne, like many contemporary filmmakers,
has made few films since his feature debut “Citizen Ruth” in 1996, directing
only seven features over the next 25 years. (That may speak to the current
state of film funding.) But those films have been impressive, including
“Election” (1999), “About Schmidt” (2002), “Sideways” (2004), “The Descendants”
(2011) and “Nebraska” (2013).
Randolph, who deserved an Oscar
nomination for her performance as an over-the-top nightclub performer in
“Dolemite Is My Name” (2019), serves as the truth-teller of the group as she
deals with the first holiday after the death of her son, who had been a student
at the school before going to Vietnam.
Giamatti gives his finest film performance,
subtly unfolding what begins as a cliched pompous teacher, giving way to a man
burdened with his insecurities and unhappy past. The role and the film serve as
a reminder that the virtues of 1970s films, so rich in believable characters
and with scripts anchored to lived lives, are just as relevant today.
NAPOLEON
(2023)
Director Ridley Scott has made a career
recreating past and future worlds. From “Gladiator” and “The Kingdom of Heaven”
to “Alien” and “Blade Runner,” the filmmaker shines in immersing the audience
in the atmosphere of these unfamiliar environs.
His new film, spanning the adult life of
the legendary general, while in many ways playing out like a 1930s MGM
spectacular, offers a series of immaculately designed set pieces—from the
candle-lit intimacy of Josephine’s boudoir to spectacular reenactments of the
dictator’s victories and final loss. Much credit must go to Scott’s regular collaborators,
production designer Arthur Max and cinematographer Dariusz Wolski.
Josephine, played with a very modern smirk
by Vanessa Kirby, holds such a strong power over Napoleon—sexually and
psychologically—that you could almost assume that their breakup contributed to
Waterloo. Kirby, so memorable as Princess Margaret in “The Crown,” the mother
in “Pieces of a Woman” and the White Widow in the recent “Mission: Impossible”
films, again dominates every scene she’s in. Scott clearly wanted his Josephine
to rule over Napoleon and he found the perfect actress.
As far as the rest of the cast, they’ve
been turned into the scenery—no one stands out.
Like so many bio-pics and historical
drama, the film, written by David Scarpa, too often feels like clips from a
longer, more interesting picture. It’s only when Scott takes the film outside
to the battle field that the story takes flight. Few combat scenes are equal to
this film’s recreation of the Battle of Austerlitz, during which the French
lured tens of thousands of Russian troops onto a field of ice.
While I hate to even mention the phrase
“directors-cut” when writing of Scott (how many versions of “Blade Runner” did
we endure?), apparently, he plans to release a four-hour version (the
theatrical cut runs 2 hours and 38 minutes) in December on Apple TV+. I suspect
the longer film may smooth out the flaws of this version; we shall see.
STOP
MAKING SENSE (1984)
It has become accepted judgment that this
concert film of a Talking Heads’ performance at Hollywood’s Pantages Theater
ranks as the greatest of the genre. Maybe if you are a huge Talking Heads fan
it is, but for my taste, I’d lean toward “The Last Waltz” or “Concert for
Bangladesh.”
Not that director Jonathan Demme (“Silence
of the Lambs” and numerous music videos and films) doesn’t do a superb job in
capturing the energy and quirkiness of the post-punk, New Wave rock band and,
most particularly, its off-center lead singer, David Byrne. They emerged as
radio favorites in the late 70s and were done by the mid-80s.
Most distinctively, Demme starts the show
with a bare stage—Byrne comes out for a solo sound check—and then slowly fills
the space with the instrument set-ups, all as the band bangs out its greatest
hits. The film peaks with the incendiary social commentary song “Life During
Wartime,” Byrne signature single.
Re-released to theaters recently (though
apparently with no additional footage), it holds up well 39 years later, though
the songs, all compelling on their own, sound very similar when performed
back-to-back-to-back. The band even turns Al Green’s R&B classic “Take Me
to the River” into a Talking Heads song.
Byrne, who dons his famous oversized suit
for a couple of numbers near the end of the show, is more performance artist
than rock singer—a combination of David Bowe, Elvis Costello and Laurie
Anderson—backed by the funky bass line of Tina Weymouth.
I enjoyed seeing and hearing the band rip
through “Psycho Killer,” “Burning Down the House,” Once in a Lifetime” and its
other hits on the big screen (I’d only seen it on VHS previously), but the
“greatest”?
PRISCILLA
(2023) and THE KILLER (2023)
I can withstand bad acting, bad
screenwriting, even incompetent directing, but not the most egregious cinematic
sin: being boring. These two movies share nothing except that the characters in
both seem to sleepwalk through the performances and the plots are equally
dreary.
Sofia Coppola’s “Priscilla” positions
itself as a kind of rebuttal to Baz Luhrmann’s “Elvis” (2022), in which the
wife of rock ‘n’ roll’s king spends most of the film in the background. The new
movie, based on Priscilla Presley’s 1985 memoir, doesn’t shy away from the
clearly inappropriate early relationship between the pair. When they meet,
she’s a very-sheltered 9th grader from Texas whose father is stationed in
Germany, at the same base where Elvis is doing his required military service
(living in luxury few G.I. ever enjoyed).
Once Presley returns to Memphis,
Priscilla visits and, too soon, is living there, all approved by her parents.
Yes, it’s 60 years ago, but, even then, this young teen living among the adults
at Graceland was a bit strange. Though the film goes to great lengths to show
Elvis refusing the girl’s overtures for sex, even as they share a bed, I didn’t
believe it for a Memphis second.
While Elvis never stops telling her how
much he loves her, the soft-spoken Priscilla barely casts a shadow on the
Graceland walls, as Presley hangs out with his “Memphis mafia” buddies when not
away from home shooting movies and having affairs with his co-stars. (At one
point, newspaper stories report that he’s engaged to Ann-Margret.)
While every viewer knows from the first
frame that this relationship is destined for disaster, I imagined that there
must be something interesting about it to make it worthy of a two-hour film. I
was wrong.
Coppola has made a career directing films
in which not very much goes on—it’s almost her signature. This one takes the
cake: a good portion of the picture depicts Elvis and Priscilla engaging in
childish games (remember, no sex) in their bed. It’s all embarrassingly dull.
As Priscilla, Cailee Spaeny, in her first
major role, doesn’t so much give a performance as model for the camera, looking
like a lost deer. The script, by Coppola, gives her virtually no personality
and nothing of interest to say.
For some reason, Colonel Parker isn’t in
the film at all. Odd, considering that most accounts have him making every
important decision in Presley’s life. He might have livened up this film (where
is Sofia’s old friend Bill Murray?); someone needed to light a fire under this
story.
While I wasn’t surprised at the somnolent
manner of Coppola’s picture, I never expected David Fincher to turn “The
Killer,” a tale of a failed assassination attempt, into such a slog.
Michael Fassbinder is the professional
hitman who missed and then goes on a vengeance-fueled killing spree knowing
that his mistake will likely cost him his life.
The film seems to be influence by “Point
Blank,” but never generates the intensity or outrage that Lee Marvin brought to
the violent 1967 classic. It’s just one senseless killing after another,
including innocents.
Without giving away one of the few
lighthearted quirks of this mostly repetitive script, the highlights of the
film are the names the assassin uses when checking into hotels. Sadly, that
minor note is the only memorable aspect of this strangely subdued picture.
I would have preferred to see a film
about the killer’s storage locker, where he keeps an astonishing collection of
guns and accoutrements to hide his identity. I can’t imagine how long it took
him to accumulate all of this. He even jokes about what the bidders on “Storage
Wars” would make of his collection.
Late in this slickly directed, but
hollow film, the assassin encounters a very rich woman played by Tilda Swinton,
which I suspect was the entire reason to make the film. It would have been a
very fine 10-minute short.
NYAD (2023)
In the 1970s, Diana Nyad emerged as one
of the most famous female athletes after a string of long-distance swims that
set records around the globe.
After a career with ABC Sports (when it was
a major player) and other outlets, Nyad decided, at age 64, to again attempt
her dream swim: Cuba to Key West, about 100 miles infested with sharks and
other dangerous sea critters.
Annette Bening, looking much like the real
Nyad, plays this self-centered, sharp-tongued woman as she trains and then
swims the Caribbean Sea.
Two-time Oscar winner Jodie Foster plays
Bonnie, her coach and best friend—both are lesbians but not lovers—showing
great patience with the demanding Nyad, who refuses to accept the general
opinion that she’s too old to attempt this seemingly impossible feat.
It’s a great story and these two fine
actresses are convincing as they recreate this often-fraught relationship. What
left me cold—the film is streaming on Netflix—was the mixing of video of the
real Nyad with the performances by the actors. The film, directed by Elizabeth
Chai Vasarhelyi and Jimmy Chin, the husband-and-wife team who made the 2018
Oscar-winning documentary “Free Solo,” starts with five minutes worth of clips
from Nyad’s early career (including an appearance on the “Tonight Show with Johnny
Carson”) which I could forgive if the filmmakers didn’t keep coming back to
clips through the picture.
They can’t seem to decide if they are
making a feature or a documentary.
The movie touches lightly on the
inappropriate actions of Nyad’s youth swim coach but that’s not a major concern
as the filmmakers clearly are looking to paint a story of heroism.
For me, the unpleasant manner of Nyad,
which Bening and screenwriter Julia Cox (working from Nyad’s memoir), don’t shy
away from, made it hard to root for the woman. But Bening, as usual, is
outstanding. She’s recently done well playing real people, including Sen.
Dianne Feinstein in “The Report” and actress Gloria Grahame (with whom she
bears a strong resemblance) in “Film Stars Don’t Die in Liverpool,” and also
delivered memorable work in “The Kids Are All Right” (2010) and “20th
Century Women” (2016). Her post-50 career has defied Hollywood’s agism toward
women.
Also giving a memorable performance is
Rhys Ifans (“Notting Hill”), as a boat owner who becomes a crucial member of
Team Nyad. The late-night phone conversation between him and Nyad is the film’s
most touching moment.
APPOINTMENT
WITH A SHADOW (1957)
One of the most difficult roles to play
convincingly is that of a drunk. There’s no right way as every alcoholic acts
differently, yet rarely do actors manage to bring drunken authenticity to the
screen, instead overacting as if they have seen “Arthur” too many times. Most
famously, Ray Milland in “The Lost Weekend” (1945) and Jack Lemmon in “The Days
of Wine and Roses” (1962) earned acclaim, if not total success, as heavy
drinkers.
That’s why I was impressed with
little-know actor George Nader in this low-budget, 72-minute crime picture.
Nader, who spent his entire career in Bs, was most famous for taking the sword
to protect Rock Hudson; the magazine Confidential outed him and passed on
exposing the bigger star.
The film opens with Nader’s Paul Baxter
passed out at O’Connell’s Bar, his favorite dive. We soon learn that he’s an
unemployed reporter whose drinking cost him his job. Meanwhile, his girlfriend
(Joanna Moore, who had a long career in serial TV) and her brother (Brian
Keith), who is also a police detective, have cooked up a plan to get him back
on his feet.
The detective gives Baxter exclusive
access to a police arrest of a notorious mobster. The reporter manages to stay
sober and shows up at the scene, witnessing the police shooting a man as he
leaves a restaurant. But he also spots the actual criminal watching the scene
along with him.
Of course, no one believes this unreliable
drunkard’s story that the cops shot the wrong man, but he pursues the real guy
while uncovering the plot that left an imposter dead.
With a star in the role, this might have
been a successful A picture; the script by Alec Coppel and Norman Jolley from a
story by Hugh Pentecost (and directed by actor Richard Carlson) has some
poignant soliloquies and sharp observations about human fragility.
I found the film by chance on YouTube when
I was searching for the highly regarded noir “Appointment with Danger” (it’s
not available). Not sure how good the other “appointment” is, but Nader’s
performance made this one memorable.
PHOTOS:
Leonardo DiCaprio and Lily Gladstone in "Killers of the Flower Moon." (Apple TV+)
Joaquin Phoenix as "Napoleon." (Apple TV+)
Cailee Spaeny and Jacob Elordi on the long-awaited wedding day in "Priscilla." (A24)
George Nader plays a drunk in "Appointment with a Shadow." (Universal Pictures)
No comments:
Post a Comment