For Your Consideration: The King's Speech

I am usually hesitant to watch period pieces that dramatize Important Historical Moments. These films typically become exercises in historical reenactment, soapboxing, or a combination of the two, stifling story and human drama. Furthermore, the desire to wink and nod at the audience fights against the desire to engross the viewer.

The King’s Speech manages to sidestep these problems and focus on a very personal story, even when set against a vivid historical backdrop.

The titular king begins the film as a prince, namely Prince Albert, the Duke of York, played by the regal Colin Firth. The second son of the lionly George V (Michael Gambon, better known as Dumbledore in the recent Harry Potter films), Albert is expected to lead an ordinary life, as far as the monarchy goes. He’s second in succession to his older brother, the galavanting playboy Prince Edward (Guy Pearce), and is expected to tend to minor matters while Edward waits to become king.

This includes giving the occasional speech, a task that Albert is terribly unable to do: he is afflicted with a crippling stutter. The film’s inciting incident is a speech that is so embarrassing that Albert decides, with the help of his wife Elizabeth (Helena Bonham Carter in an atypical, subdued role), to finally conquer his stammer.

Throughout the film, shots are set up to accentuate the symbolic weight that royalty and his handicap place on Albert. Microphones loom large in the foreground, as do crowds and audiences, dwarfing the protagonist. The trappings of royalty are shown in disorienting scale. These shots frame Albert as he sees himself: a small, helpless man in the face of history. During an early consultation with a physician who utilizes Classical methods (without any success), the frame is tight and claustrophobic as Albert is tortured with a mouth full of marbles.

Elizabeth looks for alternatives and finds Lionel Logue (Geoffrey Rush), a peculiar man in an unknown, underground world. When Lionel meets Albert (or Bertie, as he will insist on calling him), the results are predictable. The prince alternates between regal pretension and outbursts of pure rage, while Logue keeps him off-balanced, yet on equal footing. Albert refuses to open up in the way that Logue would prefer, making his task an uneviable one. Logue must loosen the most uptight of patients - a stuffy, angry British royal - and cure a problem while only treating the symptoms. The film manages to dramatize the combination of speech and physical therapy that are part of Logue’s unorthodox methods.

While the cause of his stammer is unknown to Albert, it is readily apparent to the audience. His father the king is overbearing, deliberate, and blessed with a rich, ready baritone. His method for getting Albert to speak clearly is to bellow commands (“Relax!”). The king eventually slips into ill health and passes, ending the spectre over the prince. Only then does he open up to Logue about the extent of his psychic damage. He unloads a litany that is staggering: parented through fear, forced to change from left to right-handedness (as was typical far into the 20th century), fitted with metal splints to correct his legs, and abused by nannies. Still, a diagnosis is not the same as a cure.

As Albert works with Logue, the stakes are raised by circumstances beyond his control. Between his father’s death and Edwards petulant desire to marry an American divorcee, the government and monarchy face a crisis of legitimacy. Logue counsels him, but oversteps the tenuous balance of respect and friendship they have built when he verbalizes what Albert knows: Albert would make a better king, if not for his fatal flaw. Logue is cast aside, just as Edward abdicates, but with the coronation speech in sight, he’s brought back into the fold.

For the final act, the film fast-forwards to 1939, with Britain on the verge of war with Germany. The coronation speech proves to be a walk in the park compared to the three pages the king must read on-air, at this crucial moment. The contrast with the film’s opening speech, the disaster at Wembley, is great: the king falters at points, but perseveres. With Logue behind him, he steps out to greet his subjects, and finally comes into his own as monarch.

The King’s Speech owes much to the performances of Firth and Rush, who are strong candidates for Best Actor and Best Supporting Actor Oscars, respectively. It is an inspiring film that draws its strength from its characters rather than the monumental times it captures, which like public speaking, is not such an easy feat.

For Your Consideration: The Fighter

Sports films, as a genre, flow from a few templates. Films about boxing are no exception: the rags-to-riches rise, the inevitable decline, the montage of fights leading to a title shot, and the boxer who needs to inflict and receive pain (both in and out of the ring) are calling cards of all boxing films.

The Fighter tells the true story of boxer Micky Ward (Mark Walhberg, in his third David O. Russell feature) and his older half-brother Dickie Eklund (Christian Bale). Micky and Dickie are from Lowell, Massachusetts. Lowell is just thirty minutes outside of Boston, but it might as well be part of Southie, a setting that has just about reached its saturation point on film (I blame Ben Affleck. See: Good Will Hunting, Gone Baby Gone, The Town). Still, the ethic neighborhoods with their gray skies, cheap paneling, and poor-white-trash denizens feel authentic here, even if the jock jam soundtrack and whiskey-fueled bar brawls push towards parody.

The film opens with an interview of Dickie, who is being filmed (allegedly) for a documentary chronicling his comeback. Breaking down their different fight styles, Dickie says Micky “takes the punishment; I don’t know why he does it.” Unsurprisingly, Dickie is also describing Micky’s personal life.

The boxing theme is but a setting: while The Fighter spends a lot of time in gyms and the ring, it’s really about Micky and his family dynamic. Dickie is an ex-boxer, and the worst kind at that: a con-man and drug addict, fixated on regaining his former glory (Christian Bale regains his gaunt Machinist frame, with shifty, hollow eyes and a wickahd accent). He’s also Micky’s trainer (shades of Raging Bull), where his personal failings affect Micky both personally and professionally. The boys share a mother, Alice, played by Melissa Leo, who disappears into the role of bottle-blond ball-breaker. Rounding out the family are seven sisters, serving as a Greek chorus of skanks. Obviously, the family is toxic. They are a collection of parasites, feeding off Micky, projecting their dreams and insecurities on the only semi-decent one of the bunch, all the while proclaiming that family is above all.


The Raging Bull connection doesn’t stop at the brotherly subplot. Fights with Sugar Ray Leonard loom large for both Dickie and the Raging Bull himself, Jake LaMotta. Dickie constant harping (“I knocked Ray down!”) recalls the famous scene of LaMotta, bloodied and beaten: “Never got me down, Ray.”

Micky is coming off a string of loses that have left his career at a teetering point. Meanwhile, Dickie’s “comeback” is a pipe dream, literally. The documentary isn’t about his comeback, it’s about crack addition. Despite his condition, everyone (Micky included) thinks Dickie in his corner is what Micky needs to break through.

Enter Charlene (Amy Adams), the barmaid who wins Micky’s heart. Charlene is no shrieking violet: she’s the only one headstrong enough to face-off against his family and keep his life on track. Adams’ no-bullshit performance is reminiscent of that of another Amy - Amy Ryan’s surprising turn in Gone Baby Gone.


Micky’s central conflict is choosing between family and external players, whether its Charlene or someone like Mike Toma, a promoter who wants Micky to train in Vegas with his guys. When faced with these outside forces, Dickie’s reaction is a half-brained pyramid scheme. When that fails, he pimps out his girlfriend and shakes down the johns. Finally, Dickie hits rock bottom: he assaults a couple police officers, gets Micky’s hand brutally broken and ends up in jail.

Dickie detoxes (in a paint-by-numbers scene meant to stand in ‘Facing Ones Demons’) and becomes a bit of a prison celebrity. Meanwhile, Micky struggles to put the pieces of his life back together. When “Crack in America” debuts, it’s a very public airing of the family’s dirty laundry that finally convinces Micky to cut the ties that bind. No one takes this harder than Alice, who tries to take out her frustration on Charlene.

In the end, the answer isn’t either-or. He needs Alice, Dickie and Charlene (and even his trashy sisters), and until they finally decide to co-exist for Micky’s sake, they all hold him back in their own ways. When they realize this, everything starts to click for Micky, and the last act plays out predictably. Surprisingly, the film ends with his title bout against Shea Neary, a 2000 fight that preceded Ward’s famed trilogy of fights against Arturo Gatti.

When it comes to actual boxing, Russell doesn’t try to romanticize the action. The fighting isn’t poetic, it’s visceral and dehumanizing. In his first fight back against an out-sized opponent, he takes an almost unrealistic number of hits to the head. As is his style, he’s always taking a beating. He can’t win off points - he always needs a knockout. Once again, boxing stands in for life.

The Fighter tells the familiar story of a boxer’s redemption through our most savage sport. It’s a character study that takes its cues from Raging Bull and Rocky. So while it doesn’t cover much new ground, Russell allows his four leads to really shine: the pride of Lowell, the roses from the concrete.

For Your Consideration: Black Swan

Darren Aronofsky is an unparalleled director, whose five feature films are engrossing and epic, whether personal (The Wrestler), universal (The Fountain), or a masterful combination of the two (Requiem for a Dream). His latest effort, Black Swan, is no different.

The film follows a production of the "Swan Lake" ballet, while retelling the ballet’s own plot as a psychological thriller. Nina Sayers (Natalie Portman) is the prima ballerina in Swan Lake, taking the dual role of the White Swan and Black Swan. Nina is the infantilized daughter of an overbearing, obsessive former dancer (Barbara Hersey, who nails the Mommie Dearest role of Erica Sayers). Vincent Cassel plays Thomas Leroy, the manipulative, twisted and all-powerful director of Swan Lake in a role that seems written expressly for him. Mila Kunis is Lily, the dancer that is everything Nina isn’t: free-spirited, sexual and seductive.

Early on, images of mirrors and reflections redflag the major themes of the film: sense of self and dualities of identity. The imagery isn’t subtle; in the first five minutes of the film, I started the countdown until a mirror was broken (which, indeed, occurs at a pivotal moment in the final act). The same goes for the white swan / black swan symbolism, with Lily as Nina’s doppleganger.

Nina, poised and pure, is perfect for the White Swan. Predictably, she struggles with both the demands of the role of the Black Swan, and with the side of her personality that allows her to embody the role. She lives under the thumb of her mother, and her mental and emotional development is arrested. Her sense of self is tied up in being the perfect dancer, having total control of her movement. Similarly, her apparent anorexia has more to do with control than body image (true of many real life sufferers of the disorder). But as Thomas attempts to teach her, “perfection is not just about control. It’s also about letting go.”

It’s the letting go, and the embrace of her dark side, that is at the heart of the film. Nina sees herself in Lily, and as her paranoia and delusions grow, she projects onto Lily those things she cannot do or be by herself. Coming to terms with her sexuality, there are two scenes of masturbation, one literal and one figurative. The first begins as a suggestion by Thomas, and at the start it feels exploitative and not at all sexual, as if we’re watching this girl discover her body for the first time. But midway through, Nina’s dark side takes over and the tone changes to raunchy (even if the jarring end of the scene is a bit predictable). Later on in the film, the much-hyped lesbian scene is nothing more than sex with self - Lily is only there as fantasy, as Nina acting out.

This is no more true than in the film’s final sequence, when Nina, spiralling out of control and further away from reality, imagines a physical confrontation with Lily. At last, I got my broken mirror, as Nina’s fragile sense of self finally (and literally) shatters. She stabs herself/Lily, taking her own life in a twisted act of control over her demons. If Nina dies, there are no more tears, no more broken toes, no more flaws: in a word, perfection.

Throughout the film, Nina has visions of literally becoming the black swan, and these scenes are mixed in their effectiveness. The manifestations are more chilling at the start, as a rash or a foreign fragment under the skin. But by the time we get to legs breaking backwards, funhouse mirror tattoos, and feathers covering her entire body, it’s a bit extreme to take seriously. After watching the (very real) bodily trauma of Nina’s physical therapy, these horrific elements are too absurd to resonate.

Still, Aronofsky crafts a psychological thriller on par with and reminiscent of Pi. Both are stories of protagonists who cannot bear the weight of their gifts and curses, and choose drastic means to alleviate their anguish. Along with Pi, Black Swan reminds me of classics like de Palma’s Sisters and Bergmann’s Persona for its meditation on dualities of self. This ground is so well-tilled because of how fertile it is, which excuses some of the heavy-handed symbolism that Aronofsky uses to tell a familiar story.

Inception: Deciphering Christopher Nolan’s masterpiece

Inception is an unequivocal masterpiece. Written and directed by Christopher Nolan, the film is 150 minutes of non-stop action and intrigue, with an undercurrent of unflinching human drama throughout. The experience is akin to your first viewing of The Matrix, Mission: Impossible, and The Fountain - combined.

Nolan’s $200 million canvas allows him to meditate on the the duality of reality and fantasy, a theme throughout his work. In Memento, Leonard fights to separate truth from lies; in The Prestige, the protagonists toy with illusion; in Inception, the crux is dream versus reality. Furthermore, Nolan continues to twist the narrative structure to reflect themes and meaning. Instead of the non-linear time of Memento, Nolan goes to an even deeper level - a fifth dimension, dream space, where the fabric of space and time folds back on itself in unimaginable ways.

On an emotional level, Inception - like Memento, The Prestige, and the Batfilms before it - is about how we cope with loss: loss of memory, loss of control or loss of loved ones. Some reviewers alluded to an emotional coldness in Inception, a claim I find entirely off the mark. Even in scenes that are constructed by the characters, deep in the subconscious, the emotional resonance is striking. Nolan’s passion project took 8 years to finish, due in part to repeatedly rewriting, strengthening the human element of what is essentially a sci-fi, heist thriller.

But what will make this film linger in the collective consciousness is not just its impressive scope but its ambiguous ending, a cut to black that calls what we thought we knew about entire film into question. As in the finale of The Sopranos - the clues to deciphering the ending are in the text, yet open to discussion and debate. But even when deciphering the ending, it’s important to note that solving the mystery doesn’t end the story. There is value to interpretation beyond a simple, definitive answer. With that said, I’ll give my two cents on the mystery.

Working backwards from the ending, the first key is the finale. The denouement of the action: Dom returns home, victorious, to be re-united with his children. He spins his totem, but we don’t see it fall (perhaps it wobbles?). However - the children that Dom sees are exactly the same as the avatars that have appeared throughout his subconscious. On its face, it would seem that this “too good to be true” ending must be just that.

The film’s antagonist is Mal, the projection of Dom’s deceased wife that haunts his life and dreams alike. As Dom finally confronts her (in the deepest level, limbo), she continues to cast doubt on the nature of Dom’s reality. Dramatic, Bondesque chase sequences? Persecution by a mysterious company (whose name, Cobalt, is suspiciously close to Dom’s last name, Cobb)? Are these the elements of real life, or of fantasy?

The final key is a scene that occurs relatively early in the film. Yusef the Chemist proves the strength of his sedatives by bringing Dom and crew to a drug den of dreamers, reminiscent of the opium houses in Once Upon a Time in America. “They come here to sleep?” asks Dom. “No,” answers the keeper of the dream addicts, “They come here to wake-up. Who am I to tell you which is dream and which is reality?” This philosophical approach to the film’s underlying theme is instructive. Like the sleepers - and like DeNiro’s Noodles in Once Upon a Time... - is Dom’s narrative a drug-induced dream by someone unable to cope with the loss of a loved one?

Whether or not you attempt to “solve” it, the film is still an epic undertaking that takes time to wrap your head around. Nolan is an undeniable master of suspense: with each successive dreamscape - the urban chase, the zero-gravity hotel, the arctic stronghold, the dystopian limbo - he raises the stakes. Yet he also knows when to drop in a well-placed joke, to ease some of the tension. Combine that with Hans Zimmer's chilling score and cutting-edge visual effects and you have a piece of film art. What makes it a masterpiece, however, is on a deeper level. Inception achieves what its protagonists attempt to do, creating a thought in the viewer’s mind, leaving us with a half-remembered dream - a haunting, virus of an idea: what is reality?

Film Review: The Runaways

As a film genre, the biopic is a well-worn standard. There’s the meteoric, rags-to-riches story, followed by the inevitable fall and hard-earned redemption. If Joseph Campbell was alive today and lived in Hollywood, he’d write biopics.

In particular, biopics about musicians suffer even worse fates, always relying on the same tropes: abusive or absent families, drug and alcohol abuse, and failed personal relationships. These form the building blocks for what we know about the rock and roll lifestyle, after the band leaves the stage.

With this in mind, I wasn’t expecting much from The Runaways, a film that chronicles the ephemeral career of the groundbreaking band of the same name. But unlike recent classics like Ray and Walk the Line, The Runaways fails to rise above the limitations of genre to craft a captivating film.

For Your Consideration: Big Fan

The word "fan" is short for "fanatic," a casual abbreviation that doesn't imply the extreme, uncritical zeal of a fanatic. Most people are fans of a musician, TV show, or sports team, but a rare few would cop to being fanatics.

Big Fan, the directorial debut of The Wrestler scribe Robert Siegel, is a character study of a fanatic. The titular character is Paul Aufiero (Patton Oswald), a NY Giants devotee who works as a parking garage attendant and lives in Staten Island with his mother. Siegel (who also wrote the film) painstakingly illustrates the sad life Paul has crafted for himself, from the shrine to his favorite player to the moisturizer on the nightstand. The minutiae and the cinema vérité style give us a well-formed character in a very specific place. The same can be said of Paul's friend (singular, Kevin Corrigan perfectly cast as Sal) and family, from his bus bench defense lawyer brother to his orange-tanned, fake-titted sister-in-law. Siegel's grip on Staten Island is as tight as it was on Elizabeth, NJ in The Wrestler, with a wintery, jaundiced palette.

Paul's life revolves around the Giants. Paul and Sal are too broke for tickets, so they tailgate and experience the game from the parking lot. The highlight of his day is calling sports talk radio and spitting out his rehearsed diatribes, even if his mother interrupts his late night calls, without fail.

A chance encounter with Quantrell Bishop, Giants linebacker and Paul's idol, should be the highlight of his pathetic life. Following Bishop's crew from Staten ("Maybe he's here to see the Wu-Tang," Paul ponders unironically) to a NYC strip club, Paul and Sal embark on a homoerotic Hardy Boys adventure. They try to get Bishop's attention, and when buying him a drink doesn't do the trick, Paul improvises. However, when the ruse of this chance encounter is revealed, Bishop flies off the handle and viciously beats Paul.

The beatdown doesn't affect his fanaticism. On waking from a three day coma, Paul's first questions are Giants related. Much to his dismay, Bishop has been suspended indefinitely. Without their playmaker, the foundering G-men can't keep it together - and neither can Paul. A case study in battered woman syndrome, Paul still wears his attacker's jersey, and even blames himself for the assault. He lies to the cops to protect Bishop, and refuses to sue, which is the first instinct of his scumbag brother, who instigates a lawsuit anyway. Things are spiraling out of control. The after-effects of the hematoma are not pretty; Siegel utilizes a disorienting, feedback-heavy soundtrack to great effect here.

Whats left of Paul's life is ruined when his on-air nemesis, "Philadelphia Phil," outs "Paul from Staten" as the victim of the attack. Paul finally takes things into his own hands, going undercover in an Eagles bar, armed and ready to confront Philadelphia Phil (Michael Rapaport in another bit of choice casting: as a loud-mouthed d-bag). What does Paul have left to lose, as the clocks ticks and the "Giants suck" chants crescendo? Suffice to say, the film takes a bit of a film-school turn during the finale, but stays true to its characters.

Big Fan isn't Misery or The Fan; Paul isn't a psychopath, he's a man-child, very happy with a life others find unfulfilling. Maybe watching the film in a post-Jersey Shore world tainted the experience. I've definitely had my fill of douchebags from NY/NJ. But still, it probably says more about the quality of the "real" people of Jersey Shore than the caricatures that Siegel has crafted. As a character study, it presents a modern, less exploitative look into fanaticism. As a film, however, it displays some of the paint-by-numbers filmmaking expected from a first time director - the only thing that kept me from enjoying it more.

Three and a half out of five footballs.

For Your Consideration: Up in the Air

In returning to my roots and blogging about film, I've decided to start a "For Your Consideration" series about the best films (based on the consensus of critics, audiences, and clever marketers) of 2009, in advance of the Oscars. I really slacked on seeing films in the theater in '09, so I'm making do with the help of the Internet. Forget winter, it is (bootleg) screener season! Without further ado...

Up in the Air

Up in the Air is the first true film of the 2009 recession, a happy accident thanks to writer-director Jason Reitman's early successes. Rather than making this film in 2002 as originally intended, the director's work on Thank You For Smoking (2005) and Juno (2007) pushed this film to the backburner, causing the recession to dominate the tone of the film in a way that the economy wouldn't have during better times. With double digit unemployment, only the ever-charming George Clooney could make corporate downsizer / motivational speaker Ryan Bingham a sympathetic character.

Ryan is a creature of habit, constantly flying around the country and doing the work that managers and executives are too afraid to do. The precision of his routine is captured by Reitman's smooth cuts and repetitive sequences as Ryan packs, moves through security, and jets to the next destination. Even his predictably Spartan apartment is basically a hotel room. His obsession with brand loyalty and the elite perks of corporate dedication is an easy target for satire, as Ryan and fellow frequent-flyer Alex Goran (Vera Farmiga) trade cards in a scene that recalls the business card exchange in American Psycho. Alex is a perfect foil, as she tells Ryan to think of her as himself "with a vagina." Farmiga is as cool and cocky as Clooney, and their no-strings-attached relationship gives new meaning to the term lay-over.

Ryan's world is thrown into chaos as his firm decides to go digital, bringing in Natalie Keener (Anna Kendrick, of the Twilight series) to make their business "glocal," corporate-speak combining global and local. They take the show on the road, as Ryan teaches Natalie how to lay-off someone face-to-face before the new system goes live. The majority of the film follows a familiar pattern, as old and young learn from each other; Ryan's romantic notions of his job versus the cold calculations of this twentysomething with a Myspace page. When Natalie's boyfriend breaks up with her via text, the irony isn't lost on Ryan. But Natalie also lands her punches, eviscerating his "cocoon of self-banishment" and total dedication to not connecting to possessions, people, or places.

Except for notable sequences with Zach Galifianakis and J.K. Simmons (among others crucial to the plot), the appearances of the newly-unemployed are of real people who had been laid off. The veracity is heart-breaking, with reactions that run the emotional gamut. When Natalie tests her system (with the target in the adjacent room), the real reaction is hers, not the grown man crying next door. Will she be able to cut it in this world, or is Ryan's cocoon a necessary evil?

As Ryan heads home to attend his sister's wedding, he brings along Alex, as the life lessons and questions about the future start to pile up. The wedding sequence moves from objective to subjective and feels more like a home video than a corporate instructional one, a tonal shift reflected in Ryan's character. The last act of the film finds Ryan finally making decisions, with a turning point at a seminar called GoalQuest (the name is too cute by half). Unfortunately, the twists are a little too by-the-numbers for me, which lessens the emotional punch as the film ends.

George Clooney is the only actor of our time who comes close to mirroring the range and talent of Cary Grant: confident and cool, but multi-dimensional. His casting, along with Vera Farmiga as Alex and Jason Bateman as middle-manager Craig Gregory (is he getting type-cast, or what?), works well, although I couldn't help but see someone like Kristen Bell in the Natalie role. Reitman continues to develop his directorial style, although the script's satire isn't as sharp as that of Thank You For Smoking. Still, this is a very entertaining film with cleverly crafted characters and, with the context of the recession, real resonance.

Four out of five frequent flyer miles.

Review: IN BRUGES

This won't be a long review, because I can't imagine speaking at length about this godawful waste of celluloid. While I hadn't expected much, it received a respectable 77% on Rotten Tomatoes and looked better than any of our other options. Obviously, dumping season has begun.

The movie fails in many, many ways. It is not sharp enough to match the verbal ratatat and dark situational irony of a Quentin Tarantino or Guy Ritchie flick, which it tries desperately to be. It never establishes how dreadful the titular city is, instead substituting fat Americans in Yankee caps and bitchy Canadians for real satire. And it can't decide what kind of film it wants to be: the dialogue isn't funny enough for straight comedy, the action isn't any good for a crime caper, and the dark moments are played for drama instead of black comedy. Also, the screenwriter thinks midgets, racism, and senseless gore are comedy gold.

Colin Farrell and Brendan Gleeson are wasted as a pair of hapless hitmen, as is Ralph Fiennes as their dreadful boss. They all play on the criminal stereotypes that have been done to death in every ironic crime movie since Pulp Fiction.

If you've already seen every Tarantino or Ritchie film and you want some of the style but none of the substance, see Smokin' Aces or Layer Cake. But stay the hell away from In Bruges.

My Rating: 0 out of 5 midgets

Review: THERE WILL BE BLOOD

Yesterday, I re-watched There Will Be Blood at the E Street; my initial vantage point of somewhere under the screen didn't really do the film justice, necessitating another viewing.

There Will Be Blood is Paul Thomas Anderson's oilman epic starring Daniel Day-Lewis, who simply dominates the film as Daniel Plainview. Much like he did with Bill the Butcher in Scorsese's Gangs of New York, Day-Lewis creates an unrelenting, monomaniacal man obsessed with advancing himself and his ideals. Ironically, it takes a British actor to capture these two monuments to the American character.

The film is a character study set against the desolate background of the turn-of-the-century West. The barren land, dotted with derricks, ranches, and near ghost towns lets the film focus on Plainview and those with whom he interacts, removing all but what Anderson wants the viewer to see. When all that was known about the film was the people involved and that it was based on an Upton Sinclair novel Oil!, I expected a more complex film involving the Teapot Dome Scandal and the politics of the oil fields: something resembling Boogie Nights or Magnolia in the sense that it would weave together a diverse group of characters and their story lines. Instead, the film is more in line with Punch-drunk Love, decidedly smaller and more personal. As PDL was my favorite Anderson film until this one, I was surprised but pleased by the similarities.

While the easiest comparison to Plainview is Bill the Butcher, I also saw in him shades of Patrick Bateman, but drawn without irony for a satire. Here is a man who only sees others as impediments to his success; business, and his life, are zero-sum games in which only he can prosper. For this reason, he thrives on his hatred for people. The only person he loves is his adopted son HW, whom he immediately casts aside when he no longer fills a convenient niche. And when a grown HW attempts to stake out on his own, entering Daniel's sphere of business, Daniel renounces him, re-imagining his parentage as a business maneuver of great foresight.

The central conflict of the film is between Daniel and evangelist Eli Sunday (Paul Dano). Daniel views Eli and his faith with great contempt, especially as his control of the town through the church rivals Daniel's control through the oil. Daniel spurns Eli at every point - refusing to pay him a promised amount, beating him up, and even undercutting him by blessing the well himself. Dano is definitely skilled and keeps up with Day-Lewis as well as he can, and Eli is a challenging character. However, he cannot outlast the fierceness of his rival, and is ultimately consumed by the worldly pursuit of wealth that leaves Plainview a tragic, drunken waste.

Watching There Will Be Blood you cannot help but feel that you're watching something important, and not just another pretentious independent film that strives for past greatness by making vague, symbolic gestures. Not to overstate this film's importance or significance, but I couldn't help but think of Citizen Kane at many points, especially as we see how far Daniel has fallen in his Xanadu-esque mansion. Anderson's script is sharp (and gets a few nervous laughs) and his directing is masterful, the performances are deep and expressive, and Jonny Greenwood's score is vibrant, exciting, and new. The contrast between the expansive setting and the narrow focus of the film lets every piece of work together, drilling home some cinematic Oil.

My Rating: 5 out of 5 Milkshakes (I drink it up!)

Review: JUNO

Last Saturday, I saw Juno from the second row of a sold-out E street auditorium.

The retro look of the cell-shaded credit sequence reminded me of that of You can't Do That on Television, the first of many 80s references. The tone is immediately set with a scene between Juno (Ellen Page) and a convenience store counter jockey (Rainn Wilson): with lines like "this is one doodle that can't be undid, homeskillet," it's clear that the dialogue will be stylized hipster-ese. Luckily, I think the script balances the hypercool jargon with enough realism, preventing it from falling over the cliff of self-parody like Napoleon Dynamite.

The tight script is held together by great performances from nearly everyone involved, which is definitely a testament to the casting. Ellen Page is a developing star with range, as evidenced by the contrast between this role and her breakout one in Hard Candy. Arrested Development alumni Jason Bateman and Michael Cera (who are never on-screen together, unfortunately) both play guys affected by pregnancy who have difficulty adapting to the circumstances. Bateman, as the castrated former rocker, is too nice to root against, even if the character is less than admirable. If anything, Cera is underutilized, leading the love story element of the film to be a bit unfulfilling. Allison Janney and JK Simmons are the Best Parents Ever, quickly getting beyond the hangups of teen pregnancy and looking out for their daughter. Even newcomer Olivia Thirlby contributes, going beyond the typical best friend role.

The lone exception to the skilled casting and acting, and the film's glaring weakness, is Jennifer Garner as mother-to-be Vanessa. Her bad acting distracts, especially against everyone else, and it unnecessarily complicates matters. Whether or not she actually has an unquenched maternal drive, or if she justs feels compelled by the pressures of suburban adulthood, is unclear due to a particularly flat performance (its probably the former). I would have loved to see Amanda Peet in this role, or anyone able to both emote and deadpan.

Jason Reitman turns in another solid satire, albeit one with a less biting script than Thank You For Smoking. While I don't recall any specifics about his directorial style, I attribute the balanced structure of the picture to him. Keeping it grounded in character and story gives the film a lot of heart.

The press coverage of Juno has focused on the hype ("it's the next Little Miss Sunshine!"), reading into it pro-choice/pro-life arguments, and comparing it to Knocked Up (from the girl's perspective). However, I think that all misses the point: at it's core, Juno is a simple, sweet story about less-than-perfect circumstances with an irreverence that is endearing and not mean-spirited. I'll definitely be looking forward to the next efforts from everyone involved.

My Rating: 4 out of a possible 5 Fetuses

My Golden Globes Picks

I wanted My First Post to be about something important. Unfortunately, I've opted instead for breadth over depth.

The ongoing WGA strike leaves the Golden Globes reduced to a press conference on Jan. 13. I think most people can agree that the Globes are a pretty superfluous awards show, allowing studios and networks to squeeze a little more free advertising ("press") out of their prestige pieces. I don't remember ever watching the awards ceremony on purpose, and I can't recall specific winners. With that in mind, a press conference is a bit disrespectful for the winners who actually deserve awards for their craft. But I'm sure true artists don't need the validation of the Hollywood Foreign Press Association (yes, I did look that up). And anything that keeps Bruce Vilanch out of work is good in my book.

So, here are my picks for most of the categories, omitting those for which I can't make a well-informed choice; apparently I didn't see many leading women films last year. These are personal favorites, and not my guesses at the winners. I'm curious how much overlap there will be in 3 days.

MOTION PICTURES

• Best Motion Picture - Drama : There Will Be Blood, American Gangster, Atonement, Eastern Promises, The Great Debaters, Michael Clayton, No Country for Old Men.
• I actually saw 6 of 7 in this category, and while they were all very well done, none had the gravitas of the epic PT Anderson flick (expect a review after a second viewing). I'd be happy with any of these winning, except for Atonement and The Great Debaters.
• Best Motion Picture - Musical or Comedy : Sweeney Todd / Juno, Across the Universe, Charlie Wilson's War, Hairspray.
• And it only takes 2 awards before I'm equivocating. I'm reserving judgment until I see Juno, because of my anticipation and the buzz. I did enjoy Sweeney Todd, but I think Juno will be more up my alley. Only in the GG does an Aaron Sorkin picture end up with this company. It's moot - CWW was disappointing on all fronts.
• Best Actor - Drama : Daniel Day-Lewis, George Clooney, James McAvoy, Viggo Mortensen, Denzel Washington.
• Once again, Daniel Day-Lewis dwarfs the competition in a role more intense, determined, and sadistic than Bill the Butcher.
  
• Best Actor - Motion Picture - Musical or Comedy : Johnny Depp, Ryan Gosling, Tom Hanks, Phillip Seymour Hoffman, John C. Reilly.
• Johnny Depp nailed the title role, but this ridiculous category doesn't put up much of a fight.
• Best Actress - Motion Picture - Musical or Comedy : Ellen Page, Amy Adams, Nikki Blonsky, Helena Bonham Carter, Marion Cotillard.
• Placeholder vote - I need to see Juno!
  
• Best Supporting Actor : Tom Wilkinson, Casey Affleck, Javier Bardem, PSH, John Travolta
  
• This is a toss-up between him and Bardem, and while Bardem hulked and killed his way through No Country, Wilkinson's role actually surprised me and punctuated a rather methodical film.
• Best Supporting Actress : Amy Ryan, Cate Blanchett, Julia Roberts, Saoirse Ronan, Tilda Swinton.
• Helene McCready is the "white trash Southie broad" for the ages - compare that to the sedate Beadie Russell and you can't even tell it's the same actress. By the way, does Horse Teeth get everytime she wanders on screen?
• Best Director : The Coen Brothers, Tim Burton, Julian Schnabel, Ridley Scott, Joe Wright.
• Where is PT Anderson? Not very often does a film get mentioned in the same breath as Citizen Kane and The Treasure of the Sierra Madre, even if only for scope and subject matter, not significance. The Coens get it by default for putting sweltering West Texas on film and ending up with molasses and whiskey.
• Best Screenplay : Aaron Sorkin, Diablo Cody, The Coen Brothers, Christopher Hampton, Ronald Harwood.
• This is a homer pick, straight-up. The dialog was sharp enough but the film fell flat for whatever reason. This might end up being Diablo Cody if I actually like Juno as much as I anticipate.

TELEVISION

• Best Drama : Big Love, Damages, Grey's Anatomy, House MD, Mad Men, The Tudors.
• I'm abstaining here but thought it was worth mentioning. I've heard good things about Mad Men, but can't pick it by process of elimination. No Dexter, Sopranos, Shield, Rescue Me, The Riches, or Brotherhood is just unacceptable. TV drama is in a new Golden Age and this is the best they can do? Good job guys!
• Best Musical or Comedy : 30 Rock, Californication, Entourage, Extras, Pushing Daisies.
• This is definitely more acceptable. Pushing Daisies is charming, as if Tim Burton decided to do a crime procedural, and it's a close second. But 30 Rock is the funniest thing since Arrested Development, and it might actually have network support.
• Best Actor - Musical or Comedy : Alec Baldwin, Steve Carell, David Duchovny, Ricky Gervais, Lee Pace.
• Alec Baldwin takes his role in Glengary Glen Ross and turns it into a deadpanning straight man. Jack is one of the best roles on television while illuminating its worst aspects. The fact that your typical Hollywood Liberal plays a market-testing, soulless corporate shill like Jack is just another layer on the meta cake that is 30 Rock.
• Best Actress - Musical or Comedy : Tina Fey, Christina Applegate, America Ferrera, Anna Friel, Mary-Louise Parker.
• And it's 30 Rock for the trifecta. Weeds has fallen into a funk and Mary-Louise suffers for it. For a comedic role, Liz Lemon is just sad, but she is best leading lady in a comedy since Mary Tyler Moore (That's an example of a reference that I pull directly out of my ass, because it sounds right).
  
• Best Actor - Drama : Michael C. Hall, Jon Hamm, Hugh Laurie, Bill Paxton, Jonathan Rhys Meyers.
• Dexter is the role of a lifetime, and Hall brings the cynical detachment of David Fisher. Instead of being a homophobic gay man, he's a charming serial killer - with a heart of gold. Sadly, I don't know which one most Americans find scarier.
  
• Best Actress - Drama : Minnie Driver, Patricia Arquette, Glenn Close, Edie Falco, Sally Field, Holly Hunter, Kyra Sedgwick.
• File this with Amy Ryan. Seeing an actress capture a character that we don't often see on screen, yet making it feel vivid and real is always award worthy. Plus, its The Riches only nod.
  
• Best Supporting Actor : Kevin Dillon, Ted Danson, Jeremy Piven, Andy Serkis, William Shatner, Donald Sutherland.
• This is a surprisingly weak category, and while Johnny Drama will probably split votes with Ari, only one of the characters is still entertaining. They should end Entourage and spin-off a show for Johnny Drama, but instead he'll have to carry a show from a supporting role.

For the most part, the voters did pretty well. There are only a few glaring omissions from the entire list (Zodiac?), and clear winners in each category. Ironically, I've now contemplated the Golden Globes more than ever, and the presentation is a mere formality. Hopefully, I'll be able to see Juno soon and vindicate picking it three times on spec.