Unfulfilled Prophecy

Latter Days

I really wanted to like Latter Days, the first film directed by Jay Cox, the writer of Sweet Home Alabama. But while the fluffy script of that movie was somewhat redeemed by high production values and a star cast, he goes overboard with his dialogue here and doesn't have either the actors or the money to distract attention from some cringe-worthy chatter.

That's not to say that there's nothing to like about this Mormon-boy-realizes-he's-gay-and-improves-gay-party-boy-in-the-process tale. The story is certainly touching even as the formulaic nature of it hits you over the head. And sometimes the syrupy lines Cox puts into his characters' mouths sound right, as when our Mormon missionary hero consoles a woman whose friend has died with a metaphor about the dots of ink that make up the Sunday comics, sounding utterly sincere. But when the party boy goes on a long storytelling tangent about being rescued from a cave after his father abandoned him in a snowstorm, it's a bit too much to swallow. And the coincidences that bring about the story's resolution are contrived even by formula movie standards.

Again, this is more than a trashy gay movie; it has a heart and substance and a message. Its portrayal of the two lead characters is sympathetic, if a bit unrealistic, and it allows at least one of the other Mormon missionaries, (played with snarky grit by Joseph Gordon Levitt of 3rd Rock From the Sun) to show depth and dimension through his otherwise constant stream of homophobic invective.

Four stars of five for effort, three for execution. And if you're squeamish about seeing male flesh, watch at your own risk. Of course, if that's what you're looking for, you can ignore the review above and rest assured this movie has a lot of what you want.

Amalgam

Love Actually

If you enjoy romantic comedies, it's hard to imagine that you won't enjoy this one. If you're an Anglophile, it's even harder: Hugh Grant, Emma Thompson, Alan Rickman, Colin Firth, and Liam Neeson take turns on screen throughout the movie. So if you're just looking for a pick-me-up, or a romantic movie night, search no more. Here it is.

With that said, Richard Curtis goes a bit overboard here--and the DVD extras reveal that he wanted to go even further. The movie juggles at least eight subplots; is it any wonder Curtis had a hard time cutting it down to two hours and 15 minutes? A few subplots are clearly meant as comic relief of a sort; I particularly liked the couple that met while working as body doubles for a movie, an occupation that required them to spend long periods of time simulating all manner of sex acts with one another; when they finally fall for one another (this gives away nothing in this movie, by the way--the plots are pretty much telegraphed to the audience in the first ten minutes) they experience awkwardness just kissing. It's a sly commentary on culture and a funny moment at the same time.

Other subplots are sadder; Liam Neeson's wife dies at the start of the film, and he deals with his own grief and that of his stepson mostly on his own. And while it's clear that Alan Rickman will eventually succumb to the temptation of his secretary--even Emma Thompson, who plays his wife, warns him about her--it isn't clear until the end that he'll do so in a way that raises and then devastates his wife.

Which brings us to the primary fault with the film: the ending. There are a great many happy moments, including the wrap of the Colin Firth subplot (another one that starts out sadly), but there are also many loose ends left untied. After witnessing the devastation of Emma Thompson, we get a 15-second outro from her subplot that tells us nothing about how she and Alan Rickman dealt with his infidelity. A subplot involving Keira Knightley wraps clumsily, with Curtis asking us to accept that one kiss from a married woman can quell an obsession and make everything right. The whole thing races to close within the allotted time, as if Curtis is fearful his audience will have to leave for the bathroom if he lingers any longer.

This should have been a high-profile mini-series. Really. There's nothing about it that demands the movie theatre screen, and Curtis clearly had enough plot to fill six or seven hours if he tried. The footage he left out and shows on the DVD would have made for a better movie, and the loose ends he leaves could have been wrapped up more effectively given more time.

Alas, that's not what happened. Don't get me wrong: you'll enjoy this movie. The airport scenes at the start and end of the movie, showing ordinary people embracing their loved ones as they arrive at the gate, will make you smile at the beginning and probably prolong your happy tears at the end. But when you stop to think about it afterward, you'll wish you could have stayed with these characters longer and known more about them. Curtis could have given you that, too.

Surreal

Elephant (2003)

Not many people saw this movie in theatres, which is probably a shame; I think the mood of the film would be enhanced by being trapped in your seat the entire time. Gus Van Sant takes advantage of the fact that you already know what his movie is about: a high school shooting. He uses your knowledge to his advantage by playing on the tension you inevitably feel as you wonder, "Will it happen now? Now? Now?" Framing his shots to limit your view, he lets you wonder, all through the movie, what is going on just outside the frame--and eventually forces you to think about how, if many of the kids you're watching would do the same and think about things outside of their own small worlds, the tragic end of the movie might never arrive. But the movie doesn't offer solutions nearly as neat and tidy as that; it simply allows a day to unfold before your eyes, lets you see the world as it's experienced by both the killers and their victims, and shows both how hard it is to see the signs that someone is capable of such a massacre and how easy it might be if people would only pay attention.

And then there's the kiss, which has caused Van Sant no small amount of frustration. Without ruining the tension for those of you who choose to give 80 minutes to this movie, I can tell you that at one point the two killers, about to head for school to act out their plan, get in the shower together--or does one ambush the other? I'm really not sure if the first occupant of the shower knows the second will join him; I don't think we're meant to think that this has happened before. But he walks in, joins his only friend, and says, "Today's the day we're going to die...I never even kissed anyone, did you?" Then the two friends, alienated by the rest of the world, are kissing; the shot lingers long enough to make it clear this is more than a quick kiss goodbye--more like an extended, naked make-out session in the shower.

And then it's over, and the rest of the movie unfolds, including one event, which I'd love to discuss with anyone who sees it, that made me reinterpret the whole friendship between the two killers and their individual reactions to what happens in the shower.

I've made this movie sound like it's filled with action, which isn't fair to those who might consider watching it; much of the 80-minute length of the film is ordinary stuff, like walking down long hallways and playing football and developing film and playing the piano, and much of this plays out without dialogue. I was proud of myself at the end for not speeding up the movie to get down those hallways or get that film developed and clipped; the slight boredom I felt gave my dread an opportunity to build. In the end, this is not an easy film; it won't tell you what you should think about it, and you may not be able to decide on your own what to think, either. I know I haven't. But I'm thinking about it, and that's got to count for something.

Timely After All

Review Board Names 'Mystic River' Top Film

The Board that kicked off last season by naming The Hours the top film started this season by honoring Mystic River . Check out the whole list of their top ten and marvel at this: no Return of the King ! I still think it's the odds-on Best Picture favorite...

The Hours

This isn't the timeliest movie to review, in spite of its title. But it took a second watching of this film on DVD to fully appreciate how profound it is.

(And yes, that opening sentence contained the words "time," "second," and "watch" before I realized what an unfunny pun I was working with.)

Rare is the film in which you've heard of almost everyone in it. Like Gosford Park --similarly robbed with a single Oscar in 2001's competition--this film assembles the talent needed to bring a difficult script to life.

Weaving three stories together is a deft feat, accomplished here by connecting the stories with the ties that bind them. These include the party each of the three main characters plans to host on the day in which the film takes place, the same-sex kiss each shares before the day is out, and Mrs. Dalloway , the Virginia Woolf novel that one character is writing, one is reading, and one is living. Also instrumental in keeping the flow of the movie going is a superb score by minimalist Philip Glass.

It's the acting that really shines, though. Nicole Kidman, Julianne Moore, and Meryl Streep earn our empathy in every scene, radiating their feelings above and beyond the carefully crafted script. Kidman's scowling Woolf, battling husband Stephen Dillane for the right to control her own troubled existence, is as believable a tortured genius as can be imagined, outshining even Russell Crowe's portrayal of John Nash. Moore's '50s housewife hides the pain of her discontent from her husband--an excellent John C. Reilly--but not from us. Streep's face telegraphs her joy at buying the flowers for her party and her guilty dismay when Ed Harris scolds her for living to throw it.

Still, why should you watch a movie about three women in the throes of crisis? Because the film conveys at least two messages of profound importance. The first is that happiness is not to be taken for granted. As Streep lies on her bed, talking to daughter Claire Danes, she recalls the day, long ago, when she awoke at dawn from a night spent with Harris, before both embarked on lives with same-sex partners. She felt such possibility, such joy--the beginning, she thought, of happiness. But that was happiness, she now knows. She should have known it then. She should have understood it sooner. She's been trapped in that moment ever since, looking down a road never taken, rueing the brambles that have long since overgrown it. She should have been living the life she's got.

The second message is that things are getting better. The three stories carry across four generations. In the first, Virginia Woolf kisses her sister in desperation at her situation. Miranda Richardson's reaction is a fit of hysterics, and she flees to London. In the second, Moore's housewife kisses neighbor Toni Collette to comfort her about an impending medical procedure that threatens her womanhood. Collette partakes, then pretends it didn't happen. In the third, Streep kisses lover-of-ten-years Allison Janney passionately, seeming to acknowledge in a moment Janney's years of living in the shadows of a memory and renewing a relationship that seemed troubled as the film opened. Danes gives a hug filled with forgiveness whose significance, in my opinion, outweighs all three kisses, showing that the next iteration of the story can contain not only a modicum of happiness but also forgiveness for those who suffered through the stories of the past and couldn't quite cope.

The Hours begins and ends with a suicide, with another in the middle for good measure. Yet it affirms the value of life, of moving on, of progress, of the notion that tomorrow will be better. It is a movie of depth and ideas. If you haven't seen it yet, you're missing out on one of the decade's most profound cinematic achievements.

Rundown

Since I've been lax in reviewing movies, here's a quick rundown of the last week and a half:
Matrix Revolutions
All visuals, no story--and yet, I was compelled to know what happened at the end. Seeing it in IMAX was probably the reason I was able to bear the cheap, seventh-grade level "depth" purveyed by this piece of claptrap. The flying scenes with Smith and Neo, the crashing into walls and drilling into the pavement, the piloting skills of Niobe, all of these were sights to see amid a screenplay almost bereft of any memorable lines (unless you remember lines for how they made you laugh at their awfulness). Fortunately, the theatre had the sound cranked in all its 12,000 watt fury, so most of the dialogue quickly drowned from memory amid a crash of artificial sonics. Of course you should see this, if you've seen the first two, just to be done with it--but don't pay any more than you absolutely must, unless IMAX is an option.

The Emperor's Club
Finally, someone makes a movie like Dead Poet's Society ! Well, no, not exactly. I'm a sucker for Kevin Kline, and it's hard to argue with his performance--or Emile Hirsch's--in this film. But the script again screws the actors. This isn't a terrible movie--it's a pleasant enough way to pass a few hours--but the promise of the obvious comparisons to the Robin Williams hit makes it a disappointment. And just wait for the whammy that hits ten minutes from the end--a total repeat of the plot from the first half of the movie. The lesson, apparently, is that some folks never learn from their mistakes. Including Hollywood folk who tag good actors with a bad script...

The Two Towers--Extended Edition
There's little to quibble with in this trilogy. Sure, it would be nice if Elijah Wood had more facial expressions than close-to-tears and grateful-to-Sam, but that's a minor distraction in a fantasy franchise that threatens to replace the original Star Wars films as the greatest trilogy of all time provided there are no Ewoks in Return of the King .

But I'll quibble anyhow. The extended edition of Fellowship of the Ring --which also added about 40 minutes of material to the theatrical version of the film--didn't feel any slower or longer than the original. This film suffers a bit under the weight of the new scenes. It's still a phenomenal movie, and I have every confidence that Peter Jackson is just helping us understand the story that he'll conclude in ROTK . Still...the Ents are as close to Ewoks as Jackson has come, and he treads dangerous territory here by spending so much time with them--particularly as the sound mix muffles John Rhys-Davies' voice to the point that much of Treebeard's new dialogue is beyond comprehension. (It doesn't appear to be intentional--he's telling an important story.) In Jackson's defense, added scenes that enlarge the role of Aragorn in the coming war are vital to the coming resolution, as are flashbacks to Boromir that make Faramir's choice at the end of the movie--and Sam's response--more poignant than in the original. Three and a half hours is a lot to ask--especially for the middle third of a trilogy. But you've got to believe it'll be worth it come December 17th.

Avoid Like the Plague

I'll let you know what I thought of Matrix Revolutions soon--the headline above might be apt--but in the meantime I want to warn you away from a movie that will waste two hours of your life more surely than any I've seen in a while.

Alex and Emma was shown on the United flight I took home from San Francisco last week. As if sitting in a middle seat between two sleepers on a four-hour flight weren't bad enough...I was trapped watching Luke Wilson and Kate Hudson--both of whom star, independent of one another, in two movies I love, Almost Famous and The Royal Tenenbaums --as they tried to breathe life into a truly terrible script.

What was Rob Reiner thinking? The director of such splendid fare as A Few Good Men , The American President , When Harry Met Sally , The Princess Bride , and This is Spinal Tap appears to have lost his touch--he hasn't made a good film since 1995.

But I blame Jeremy Leven, best known for the dud The Legend of Bagger Vance , for writing this movie in the first place. Who could have possibly thought that a movie about writing a book under threat of death due to gambling debts--and falling in love with your mouthy stenographer--would make for an entertaining movie? (OK, maybe the premise doesn't sound that bad. The execution is.)

Lines are delivered without any conviction. The mildly humorous convention of changing the appearance of the book's characters to reflect how Wilson is rewriting it works once, maybe twice, but begins to grate by the third try. The denouement is silly--in a very unfunny way--and the ending is both hokey and overblown through one of the most cringe-inducing closing scenes in recent memory.

Please, follow the advice in the headline and avoid this film like the plague. Rent the delightful and charming Finding Nemo , or the thoughtful and artfully filmed Far From Heaven , both of which I enjoyed more over the course of last weekend, instead.

The Season is Upon Us

Mystic River

In one sense, a movie like Mystic River is simply a surefire indicator that entertainment magazines will soon be swamped with Oscar talk. Any movie with six above-the-title actors and a big-name director isn't merely sniffing around for a bit of box office glory.

Unlike many recent heralds of the season, however, Clint Eastwood's latest dalliance with the camera (and the composing pen--he wrote the original score) lives up to its hype. While Marcia Gay Harden seems to overact in places, and Sean Penn is a bit much in any role, the ensemble holds up its end of the bargain. What makes the movie work, though, is a clever screenplay that forces the viewer to again and again reconsider the motives of the characters.

This is the story of a murder, that of Sean Penn's daughter. It is the story of secrets between friends, and of how one terrible event can haunt the lives of everyone involved, whether participant or bystander. And, while there are holes, and a few red herrings (particularly one involving Bacon's estrangement from his wife, whose face isn't fully shown through most of the movie), it is a story that resonates.

Robbins is outstanding; the initial off-putting nature of his character is part of the remarkability of his performance. And Linney works magic in her limited screen time; her final scenes drive an icy dagger through the heart of the film and, more than anything else, give the ending its murky character. Bacon and Fishburne make a strong team, particularly in a scene with Robbins that offers a brief bit of comic relief to the deadly serious proceedings.

Whether surpassed in the Oscar race by Christmastime or not, Mystic River is a film worth seeing.