Review - The Artist

Grade: A+

Yang: Outstanding performances by Dujardin and Bejo highlight a wonderfully charming and funny film that recalls the best of Hollywood’s silent and Golden Eras. Superb turns by supporting cast, especially James Cromwell and Uggie the Dog

Yin: Weaker in any scene where Dujardin and Bejo are off-screen; could prove baffling for audiences unfamiliar with the elements of silent film.

In-Between: Hopefully, the screening audience understands the value of “show don’t tell”. If not, prepare for more dialogue in the seats than on the screen.

Movie marketers are always in search of a film they can sell as a “feel good” experience. Outside of Pixar films and the occasional poignant indie, there are few films that truly qualify as “feel good”, and even fewer actually make audiences feel anything

The Artist is not one of those films.

A charming, moving, and inspiring recreation of the magic of old Hollywood, writer-director Michel Hazanavicius’ The Artist is one of the very few cinematic experiences in recent years to legitimately make an audience feel good.

Filmed in the manner of silent films from the Hollywood’s Silent Era (1894-1929)—complete with title cards for occasional bits of important dialogue—The Artist tells the tale of Clark Gable-esque silent film star George Valentin (Jean Dujardin), a charismatic triple threat performer on top of the world—with the exception of a clearly loveless marriage to Penelope Ann Miller’s Doris—thanks to his dashing good looks, charm, quick feet, and faithful sidekick, a scrappy Jack Russell terrier. At the premiere of George’s latest, he bumps into gorgeous, spunky aspiring starlet, Peppy Miller (Bérénice Bejo), as she is caught among the throngs grasping for George’s autograph. George and Peppy’s meet-cute is rare in that it is actually funny and cute, especially when Peppy quickly turns on the spunk and reveals herself to have the ever-elusive ‘it’ factor. From there, Hollywood’s newest “it girl” lands a role as a dancing extra on George’s next film. The two share a brief scene and—for lack of a better cliché—figurative sparks fly. Everything’s coming up rosy for George until studio head Al Zimmer (John Goodman) introduces him to the next big thing in film: talkies. George laughs off the idea, believing that no audience would want to hear his voice. Meanwhile, Peppy is climbing her way through the ranks, from extra to supporting actress to star. While Peppy’s star rises astronomically, George sees his fall after Zimmer’s studio closes shop on the production of silent films. A proud man, George decides to produce, write and direct a silent film that will outdo any talkie Zimmer and his studio can produce. George quickly finds himself running out of money and headlong into a divorce and the 1929 stock market crash. Facing obscurity and destitution, George will find that the love and support of his “replacement” may be enough to help him shine again.

Hazanavicius did a simply amazing job constructing this heartfelt homage to the filmmakers and actors of Hollywood’s silent and golden eras. As much as The Artist is a film in love with films and filmmaking, it is one that equally cherishes actors and character. Dujardin’s George and Bejo’s Peppy are two of the most genuinely charming and likeable characters to grace a silver screen since the end of the Golden Era. Their burgeoning romance is palpable because neither character engages in the selfishness and deceit common to contemporary romantic leads. It is clear from their first meeting that these two artists have compatible personalities and, shockingly, actually like each other. With the exception of one scene that dips its toe in the pond of modern romantic comedy contrivance, neither character tries to actively outwit or harm the other in the name of love. Additionally, neither character falls into a paralyzing depression because of lost love, though George has a pretty rough time—to say the least—dealing with his diminishing relevance. The reason these characters work is as much the work of Hazanavicius writing and directing as it is the work of Dujardin and Bejo’s performances. In truth, these are Oscar-level performances, and it is hard to see how an academy that champions anything that honors Hollywood could avoid bestowing at least one of these fine actors with a nomination—and this is from someone who truly believes award shows are irrelevant. Dujardin, in particular, anchors the film with a winning performance as George, a dignified, proud, but eminently likeable star who seems to represent the best of what movie stars could be. Bejo is an equally luminous presence, radiating a beauty and liveliness that could outshine the sun. I don’t think there are many actresses today—maybe Anne Hathaway—who emulate the pure star power and personality that Bejo displays as Peppy, and that is a dreadful shame.

Bejo and Dujardin may carry the film, but they are not alone, as they are supported by superb cast. John Goodman does an able job delivering laughs as the beleaguered studio head, who, despite his best efforts, is frequently at the mercy of his stars. James Cromwell also makes an indelible mark as George’s loyal driver, Clifton. Cromwell’s Clifton is the Alfred to George’s Batman, and the, here’s that word again, dignity Cromwell brings to the role goes a long way to helping audiences understand why the two are so loyal to each other. Penelope Ann Miller is unfortunately submerged in the thankless role as the one mildly detestable character in the film, but her time on screen is fairly limited and does little to interfere with the proceedings. The only supporting star to outshine these other wonderful performers is Uggie, the animal performer who plays George’s Jack Russell terrier. Yeah, it’s kind of corny that this grown man’s sidekick is a dog, but it is another example of the loyal friendships George has fostered. Early in the film, George comes home to a cold wife who barely greets him, but his dog eagerly jumps into his open arms. The way is Uggie hits the perfect play dead or shame posture beats is wonderfully funny and will never fail to get a laugh from anyone with a warm heart.

The Artist is able to showcase this string of great performances thanks in large part to Hazanavicius central conceit of using silent film techniques throughout, with only two notable and necessary exceptions. The silence enables this film to do something few modern mainstream films do well, particularly in terms of developing character: show instead of tell. Spoken dialogue would only diminish the emotion of this film, as The Artist is the rare film that truly earns every laugh and near tear from the audience simply due to the clarity of character’s motivation and action. Additionally, Hazanavicius has faithfully recreated the dream of Hollywood in a manner almost completely devoid of cynicism. This is a film about decent people doing their best to adhere to their principles while being decent to each other. In a way, it reminds of this summer’s Captain America. Sure, life wasn’t a peachy in the early days of the twentieth century as both films would like their audiences to believe, but, for two hours, it’s nice to think it was, and that is the feeling that sticks with audiences. Very few contemporary films can create such a feeling, earn the emotions they aim for, and remain in the audience’s hearts and minds. The Artist is one of the few films this year that has easily accomplished all three feats.

Review - The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (2011)

Grade: B-

Yin: Languid pacing and extensive length could put some folks to sleep. Material is far less shocking than advertised. A true late-90s vibe from music to visuals to narrative.

Yang: Great atmosphere. Strong performance by Rooney Mara as Goth hacker Lisbeth Salander. A true late-90s vibe from music to visuals.

In-Between: Pipes aren’t meant to fit into certain crevasses.

I often ask the women in my family, “What’s the appeal of Law & Order: SVU?” or “What’s the appeal of those Lifetime movies where the women are brutally assaulted and raped?” I rarely get a definitive answer outside a noncommittal, “It’s interesting,” but I continue to ask because I can’t wrap my head around the appeal of watching women be viciously abused and subsequently receive only a modicum of retribution.

I assume I could ask the same of fans of the film adaptation of the first book in Steig Larsson’s Millennium Trilogy, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, and receive roughly the same answer. The difference between Law & Order and a Lifetime movie and Dragon Tattoo is simple: you can watch L&O or a Lifetime movie and be bored and appalled at the same time for free; Dragon Tattoo will cost you at least $11 and three hours of your time.

Is it worth it? For die-hard fans of moody Goth hacker Lisbeth Salander, Sweden, and the 21st century equivalent of a dime store mystery, definitely. For anybody who has seen the original Swedish version or prefers to see gruesome, misogynist mysteries wrapped up in an hour, for free, maybe.

From the post-teaser opening—filled with discordant, abstract images of naked bodies drenched in oil or black paint that look like escapees from a Madonna or, shockingly, a Nine Inch Nails video from 1997—to the names on the credits—especially a score by the once ubiquitous alt-Goth rock king Trent Reznor—it is clear that director David Fincher’s remake of the 2009 Swedish adaptation of Dragon Tattoo is a product of a bygone era. Dragon Tattoo is almost a note for note remake of the 2009 version, with the exception of an extended epilogue that rivals the conclusion of the Return of the King in terms of length. Fincher’s Dragon Tattoo follows disgraced Swedish financial journalist Mikael Blomkvist (Daniel Craig), publisher of fictional Swedish expose rag, Millennium, after his falling from grace when he libels a powerful industrialist, Hans-Erik Wennerström. Having lost his life savings and forced to relinquish his title as publisher, Mikael is inches away from losing everything he holds dear—including his relationship with paramour and Millennium editor Erika Berger (Robin Wright) and his religious teenage daughter—when he receives a call from the reclusive, mysterious, and affable Henrik Vanger (Christopher Plummer), the former CEO of Swedish conglomerate Vanger Industries. Vanger needs Mikael’s keen investigative instinct to solve the case of Henrik’s great-niece, Harriet, who disappeared 40 years prior. In return, Vanger will provide Mikael with a substantial payment and enough information to bury Wennerström. The only impediments to Mikael’s investigation are the isolation of the Vanger’s hometown, an insular island community known as Hedestad, and Vanger’s duplicitous and reclusive relatives, including the accommodating Martin Freeman (Stellan Skarsgrard), current CEO of Vanger Industries.

Mid-way through his investigation, Mikael finds himself lacking options and access to information and enlists the aid of the “investigator” who helped discredit him in the Wennerström case, Lisbeth Salander (Rooney Mara). As with the original Swedish version, Lisbeth receives a significant amount of buildup and back story before she and Mikael ever cross paths. A freelance super-hacker with a preference for Macs, Lisbeth is a striking if rather conventional character. She dresses like a Numetal Goth from the early 00s, complete with stacked spike boots, leather jacket, and enough asymmetrical hairstyles that she could give Derek J and the Hair Battle Spectacular judges pause. She is cold, pragmatic, and frank about her flexible sexual interests. She uses this rigid exterior to mask a soul that has been deeply wounded by abusive men. Before hooking up with Mikael, Lisbeth found herself under the thumb of a cartoonishly sadistic guardian who forced her to perform “favors” for her weekly allowance. When said guardian forces himself on her, Lisbeth delivers an appropriately cruel amount of justice that will allow her to act freely and continue monitoring Mikael, who she believes is a good man despite the libel case. Soon after being freed from her guardian’s control, Lisbeth is hired by Mikael, and they begin their quest to find Harriet, which involves a string of montages where each stares pensively a computer screens and dusty tomes to uncover the Vanger family’s dark secrets.

Dragon Tattoo is a well-crafted, but generally unnecessary work that doesn’t offer any profound visual or textual twist on the original material, which isn’t as shocking as the hype would like audiences to think. Fincher does an able job recreating the cold and quiet atmosphere of Hedestad, but brings nothing new beyond the his personal style and the style of the original film, which mesh together so well that it almost works against Fincher’s version. As with the original Swedish version, Fincher’s Dragon Tattoo is sprawling and languid. Its slow pace and meticulousness will likely deter audiences with short attention spans, but, ironically, it is a fairly simple, if grim and cynical, narrative with a mystery at its core that seasoned cinephiles and television fans will likely be able to uncover by the midway point. The grimness of the proceedings is nothing particularly unique or revealing, especially for those familiar with Fincher’s Se7en, but it is masterfully rendered through Fincher’s steady vision and some decent performances.

As Mikael, Daniel Craig tones down the intensity that has marked his turn as James Bond in the recent 007 features, opting for a more Clark Kent-like mild mannered journalist persona. Craig’s Mikael is a bit of a cipher. The audience knows why he’s investigating Harriet’s disappearance, but the lack of shading and detail prevents the audience from achieving a strong connection to the character. This is less of a concern for Rooney Mara’s Lisbeth, who is fully developed and receives a full character arc despite having no direct connection to the main mystery until halfway through the film. Mara gives Lisbeth even more vulnerability than Noomi Rapace—whose role as a knife-wielding gypsy in this year’s Sherlock Holmes sequel coincidentally preceded the Dragon Tattoo remake by four days—did in the 2009 version. Lisbeth’s sadness is far more palpable in Fincher’s version whereas her aggression was the highlight of the Swedish version. That palpable melancholy lays the foundation for the extended epilogue, which, despite its length, provides even more insight into the pain that lies within Lisbeth. In presenting this vulnerability without sacrificing some of Lisbeth’s more idiosyncratic tendencies, Mara deserves a more than fair measure of acclaim. Stellan Skarsgard fares less favorably than Mara and Craig, emitting a smarmy eagerness in the early goings that telegraphs far too much. Plummer and Wright perform with dignity in their supporting roles, with Plummer offering some necessary heart to counter Dragon Tattoo's bleakness, but have little opportunity to truly make a mark.

While not every performance or visual decision is revelatory, Dragon Tattoo is a well-made film that qualifies as a true “love it or hate it” experience. Dragon Tattoo will not appeal to everyone, and fans of the original book and movie are surely to get a bigger kick out of this than those who are unfamiliar with the material. The length could also turn off some audiences—which it shouldn’t in light of gargantuan epics like Transformers—and it is very possible that despite the craft invested in this film, some folks will fall asleep. But, for those who hang in there, they will find a film that, while not as shocking as advertised, does a fair job remaking a film that didn’t need to be remade.

SPOILER ALERT: Review - Dark Knight Rises Prologue

Tell someone they’re smart enough for long enough and sooner or later they start to believe it.

Contrary to popular, and surely his personal belief, Christopher Nolan isn’t as smart as everyone thinks he is, himself included.

This is not to say Nolan isn’t an intelligent auteur with the rare gift of vision in an era where mainstream cinema is bewilderingly bereft of directors with a unique voice. It does, however, mean that his approach to storytelling can be rather sterile—which isn’t news to the mildly observant—and less dynamic than the throngs of Nolanites might suggest.

SPOILER ALERT

Two nights ago, I had the fortune of catching the 6-minute prologue to next summer’s The Dark Knight Rises. The clip, and make no mistake that’s all it is, opens with Gary Oldman’s Commissioner Gordon delivering a eulogy at Harvey Dent’s funeral. It is a quick scene punctuated by Gordon’s dignified remark, “I remember Harvey Dent.” From there, the clip jumps to what appears to be South America (a subtitle might help, just for the sake of geography and those who don’t know that big bad Bane is from the Caribbean).

On a desolate airstrip, Mayor Carcetti (Aiden Gillen, genre film and TV’s fastest rising go-to slimeball) is double dipping as a smarmy—shocking—CIA agent who is awaiting the delivery of three poor unfortunate souls (read: hooded prisoners) who are clearly on their way to the Nolanverse version of Abu Grahib. The requisite heavily armed paramilitary pseudo-spies flank Carcetti and exchange tales of the man called "Bane". “Why does he wear the mask?” they ask. Isn’t it obvious or do that not realize that eight years prior some damaged rich boy in a Kevlar gimp outfit “escalated” the war on crime to a point where a jacked mercenary from the South American Alcatraz has decided the best way to intimidate innocents is to wear a third of Darth Vader’s mask and talk through a vocoder?

The three prisoners are soon delivered along with a Dr. Exotic Name (Pavel, actually, and thanks to IMDB for that info because the sound was for crap.). Apparently, Dr. Pavel has some kind of MacGuffin, but since cryptic is the order of the day, it is not really clear if it’s a formula like the well-known Venom that turned comic book Bane into a supersized luchador or something more sinister. Carcetti is surprised to see the three prisoners, having only expected two, and begrudgingly brings them on the plane in hopes of learning about "Bane".

Once on the plane, Carcetti tries to pull some of that bull-in-a-china-shop shit that never flew in Baltimore and threatens to shoot the prisoners or throw them off the plane. Of course, no one talks after the first two threats. After the third threat, one of the prisoners speaks. In a voice that is virtually indistinguishable from a cashier speaking through a drive-thru microphone, the hooded prisoner says something. Whatever he says forces Carcetti to rip off the hood and….dun dun dun…reveal Bane, complete with a Darth Vader muzzle that covers his mouth with what look like metal teeth. From here, Bane (Tom Hardy, still sporting the muscles he earned on the MMA Rocky movie, Warrior) rambles some completely incomprehensible rhetoric that is enough to rattle Carcetti and spur Carcetti’s bodyguards to train their guns on Bane’s head.

While Carcetti and his crew are distracted, another plane, a longer black plane, flies above Carcetti’s plane. A squad of paratroopers drops from the rear of the black plane and attaches to Carcetti’s plane with suction cups. Through a ridiculously complicated process, the squad strings up the wings and tail of Carcetti’s plane, attaching it to the black plane, then shoots out the windows of Carcetti’s plane. The black plane pulls up just enough to rip the wings and tail of the plane off, turn the plane vertical, and throw it into freefall. Bane, Carcetti, the bodyguards, Dr. Exotic Name and the other prisoners flop around the plane like Joseph Gordon Levitt and Dream Soldier #695 did in level 2 of Fischer’s dream in Inception. With the tail nothing more than a gaping hole, the paratroopers drop in and, through another complicated series of actions, place harnesses on the doctor and Bane, while lowering a fresh corpse into the cabin. Bane administer a funky blood transfusion between the doctor and the fresh corpse in what appears to be a poorly planned attempt to convince the world that the doctor will die in the impending crash. As Bane, the doctor and the paratroopers prepare to be ejected from the falling plane, in a manner much like Batman and his ‘skyhook’ escape from Hong Kong in Dark Knight, one of the formerly masked prisoners asks Bane for a harness. Bane grumbles indecipherably again and the prisoner nods and slides into the seat that will carry him to his grave. The black plane then releases Carcetti’s plane, which nosedives into oblivion and a disgusting wreckage that will likely kill at least five unsuspecting innocent people, all while Bane and doctor are safely lifted into the black plane.

The scene cuts and a far more fascinating sizzle reel plays, showing in quick succession: Bane arriving in Gotham with a boss chinchilla down coat, an collision between two tumblers, Batman arriving in Batman-style, a collision between the tumbler and a dump truck, Anne Hathaway dressed up as a cat and sneaking around, Bane punching Batman, Batman punching Bane, the 99% finally fighting the 1%, Anne Hathaway frowning (because that’s what Catwoman would do), Bane dropping Batman’s broken mask, and—the coup de grace—a Tumbler-fied Batwing flying over a camo tumbler!

Without question, the sizzle reel was far more engaging than the prologue. Finally, Nolan and crew are showing something more than stills and, so far, it seems as impressive and morose as expected.

There’s no sense of the overarching theme, but, knowing Nolan, it will be stated early and often. The prologue itself truly pales compared to the Joker prologue from a few years ago. It’s not news that the Joker is a hard act to follow, and this prologue proves it. Bane is an average villain at best, despite being nudged into two Bat-films, and this prologue didn’t go a long way to making him any more memorable than KGBeast. The heist itself is needlessly convoluted, as movie heists often are, and lacks the slight innovation and personality of Joker’s heist. Also, the widely reported problems with understanding Bane prevent the audience getting any sense of his personality or purpose beyond being a plane-jacker with a muzzle.

Bane can be an interesting villain—think reverse Captain America. He was born in a South American Prison that is compared to hell and subjected to a super steroid treatment. He demonstrates gray morality yet orchestrated a plan that lead to Batman taking a year off to recover. He could be something. The fact that he was born in a prison, alone, presents an opportunity for a great short origin. In fact, I’d like to offer this idea as a better prologue:

Bane, wearing a simple black balaclava and a prison jumper, is restrained and being prepared to receive his treatment. For months, he has heard his doctors discuss “The Batman” from Gotham city. For months, someone has been planning Bane’s escape. Before receiving his first shot, Bane finds his restraints are looser than normal. He gets his first shot. His muscles bulge. He breaks the restraint. The doctors notice much too late. He advances on them. They sound the alarm. Five guards rush in. Bane lays waste to them in a manner reminiscent of the beatdowns from the Arkham game series, complete with swift counters, reversals and punishing finishing blows. He escapes the treatment room and makes his way from the bottom of the jail to the top, using his memory to beat the locks and his physical prowess to punish wave after wave of guards. He reaches the outside. He breathes in the fresh air for a moment then looks to the sky. A black plane flies above. He ponders for a moment then runs about five yards from the prison gate and starts digging. He retrieves a harness, a grappling gun, and a newspaper clipping that reads “Batman: Scourge or Savior?” He pockets the clipping, steps into the harness, and points the grapple gun to the sky. The black plane circles while opening its hatch. It closes in on Bane. Bane fires the grapple, shooting off a skyhook like Batman’s, and is lifted by the plane. He is reeled into the hatch as the plane changes trajectory, flying north towards Gotham city.

That’s for free, Nolan.

I'm Back

After a few quiet months, the reviews and insight are back!

I apologize for the disappearing act--it was for a good reason I promise--but I hope to bring you more valuable reviews in the coming weeks.

For starters, check out my review of the Dark Knight Rises Prologue. It's something...