CAPTAIN PHILLIPS

What makes us want to see a film? The story or the star? Ideally, it's a combination of both. In this case, at least for me, it was to see Tom Hanks. He strikes me as a man of action, compassion and human decency. Someone who stands tall in the pantheon of great Hollywood actors. 

CAPTAIN PHILLIPS is allegedly based on the true story of a Captain of a freighter bound for Mombasa which must pass through Somalian waters infected with pirates. Phillips and his crew is held under the threat of death unless the ship's owners pay millions of dollars in ransom. Tense? You bet!

Unfortunately Hanks would be better cast as Captain of a cruise ship sailing calm Caribbean waters. 

A predictable drama unfolds about oppressed hostages featuring Captain Phillips as the centerpiece of the opposition. To enhance our compassion for Hanks, director Paul Greengrass shoots overly long close-ups to inspire audience sympathy as Hanks cries out in pain as he suffers a life threatening wound. The shot is milked. 

This throws the film off center and suddenly seems like a grab for an Oscar worthy performance. Alas it doesn't work. 

ENOUGH SAID

Please God, if the clunky fat man and trim vulnerable younger women strip naked and make love on camera my mind will short out trying to figure out how they do it.

Am I being shallow or judgmental? Perhaps. But considering that there is no genuine chemistry between a television sitcom actress and an iconic mobster/killer dramatic actor, the reader may forgive my concern.

This film seems based upon a script-driven rom-com sabotaged by misguided casting. 

Julia Louis-Dreyfus's sitcom acting style doesn't click with James Galdolfini's engaging mastery of insightful film comedy.

We all miss the abrupt passing of Gadolfini, particularly as we discover his depth and effortless approach to creating laughter. If only this film offered a more intuitively skilled female partner it would be a memorable send-off for a great actor. 

ALL IS LOST

A film without words. A sea without mercy. A man alone. His survival at stake. 

Our Man (Redford) writes a note of regret and love, stuffs it in a bottle and surrenders it to the ocean.

We wait. He hopes. Busies himself with tasks aboard his single-masted 39-foot yacht. With him we wait as well. The sea becomes restless. Its punishing force overwhelming, Our Man, alone. Will hope override despair and life-threatening danger?

Director/Writer J.C. Chandor creates a metaphor for survival at sea channeling Melville and Hemingway with a gripping story told without words. We are left to fill in the verbal void with our own monologue. Will or won't Our Man live?

At story's end we are given the option to provide our own conclusion. The result gives us a new way to participate. Our eyes and heart figure into our perceptions.

It is a film going experience not easily forgotten.

I AM LOVE

I AM LOVE (Io sono l’amore) caught me off guard.  It is truly a masterful film.  Tilda Swinton is breathtaking as Emma, an upper class Italian wife and mother who we initially meet as she floats through her easy, sensuous life of running a large country household.

Asumptuous Christmas Eve feast unfolds with family and close friends.  We watch as she attempts to nurture her chilly, industrialist husband Tancredi (Pippo Delbono) and encourage her handsome son Edoardo Jr. (Flavio Parenti) and his young Muslim business partner and chef, Antonio (Edoardo Gabriellini) as they plan the opening of a rugged, provincial restaurant. 

Suddenly, an unexpected compromise occurs between her and her son's partner.   Staggering passion erupts between them that forever alter their lives.  The son’s discovery of his mother infidelity and the tragic implications that arise affect the entire family.  John Adams’s musical score offers a perfect counterpoint to the twisted passion of the story.

The covert theme of subconscious incestuous desire of a mother toward her son’s business partner is unsettling.  However, we are lulled into acquiescence by the lush cinematography, editing, acting and color palate that infuses the story.   

The ending is shattering.  Go out of your way to see this extraordinary film.

NEXT FALL

Theatrical buzz surrounded NEXT FALL, partly because of Elton John and partner David Furnish's producing involvement.  It also seemed an intriguing  opportunity to discover how a gay fundamental Christian and a gay atheist (relatively) might manage a 'meaningful' relationship in urban NYC.

Unfortunately, the first act felt more like a WILL & GRACE episode than a well written Broadway drama that could  stand up to the brilliantly crafted words and conflicts of Broadway's RED.

We are presented with an age difference between 2 lovers, Luke (Patrick Heusinger)  and Adam  (Patrick Breen).  In addition, each are religious  opposites.  Were there any sexual chemistry between the two actors we might at least be rooting for this relationship to survive beyond the witty repartee sprinkled among the players.  Hip jokes do not a play make. 

Add to the mix a fundamental Christian dad, a fag hag and a former lover of Adam's.  One  longed for a fresh turn that might have offered us compelling insights as to why  two disparate characters really belonged to one another. 

 The  play is told in flashback.  Luke is fighting for his life in an Intensive Care Unit after a shattering taxi accident.  The playwright, Geoffrey Nauffts,  attempts to draw us into the basic ache that true love must survive.  Ultimately, this theatregoer felt manipulated and disappointed by the flat direction of Sheryl Kaller and the professional ensemble of actors who lacked an ounce of chemistry with one another.   The audience gave the company a single curtain call  and called it a night.

STEPHEN PETRONIO COMPANY PERFORMANCE

I'm not into ballet but lean toward contemporary and out-of-the-box work.  I was blown away by Steven Petronio's company of 10 athletic dancers.  Just 2 pieces were shown as a preview to his 25th season at the Joyce in April.  Stunning punches, jabs, fantastic parings of lyrical and angular combinations were presented that I've simply never seen before.   

All wore boldly black and white stripped tops, tights or shorts that created, during some of the spinning and tumbling movement, optical blurs and were almost hallucinogenic.  

The music consisted of excerpts from Radio Head and others - amplified plucked bass, violins, sax and myriad percussion that absolutely got under my skin.

BRIGHT STAR

   

I must confess that this is one of the most exquisite films I've seen in ages.  Jane Campion directs a story set in 1818 about an aching romance between poet John Keats and his beautiful neighbor that echo contemporary relationships in remarkable ways.  Every element of the film is, to me, simply flawless.  And I can rarely say that. 

The casting, the transparency and non-verbal aspects of these two people, the setting and seasons in the English countryside, the extraordinary handmade wardrobe for each character that the lighting captures breathlessly -- all these elements will transport you in ways few films can manage.  The poetry alone will linger with you for days.

INGLORIOUS BASTERDS

      

-->    I really try hard to approach a film with an open mind and ignore industry gossip or buzz.  I offer this preamble because I know that a Quentin Tarantino film will feature grisly violence that often seems more sensational than dramatically necessary.  So I worked hard to go into neutral because the director’s work is often quite interesting.  Usually. 

     World War II and evil Nazis hooked me right away.  A renegade band of men who sought out the perpetrators of ‘crimes against humanity’, killed and then scalped them, sounded ripe for the Tarantino spin.  And spin he did.  Not only did he set out to rewrite world history he sexes it up with arch melodrama and corn ball dialogue that wouldn’t pass in an intro screen writing class.  He even has Brad Pitt, usually terrific, set his jaw a-la-brando in the ‘Godfather’ and speaks in the most hopeless hillbilly accent that contributed to the unraveling of the sudsy ending.  Hey, I really hope to surrender to this film but Tarantino’s self-conscious manipulation of the story kept pulling me out the movie. 

    The one saving grace was the performance of Christoph Waltz.  He savored his Jew-hunting mission with a salivating gusto that brought new meaning to the word psychopath.  He stole the film but not my heart.