The Kids Are All Right(USA) Directed by Lisa Cholodenko Written by Lisa Choldolenko; Stuart Blumberg   Starring Julianne Moore; Annette Bening; Mark Ruffalo; Mia Wasikowska; Josh Hutcherson; Yaya DaCosta; Kunal Sharma; Eddie Hassell; Rebecca Lawrence

Lisa Chlodolenko has made a career focusing on triangulated relationships of various kinds. One of the few gay American women making widely released films, Cholodenko (who has also worked in television) has only produced three features since her critically acclaimed 1998 debut, High Art. Here, working from a script she co-wrote (with Stuart Blumberg), she tells the story of a lesbian couple Jules (Julianne Moore) and Nic (Annette Bening), their two children, Joni (Mia Wasilowska) and Laser (Josh Hutcherson), and the introduction of the kids biological father/sperm donor Paul (Mark Ruffalo) into their lives.

The story is pleasingly narrow in nature, which allows an audience the feeling of living with the characters, though there is some small degree of torpor owing in part to the number of scenes taking place inside Jule’s and Nic’s home. Still, Cholodenko and Blumberg infuse the script with richly drawn characters, fun but realistic dialogue, and a number of humorously awkward moments that help propel us forward. Said characters are also given a breadth of complicated and sometimes conflicting traits that helps deflect some of the stiltedness of the limited locations and obviousness of some of the plotting.

Moore, Ruffalo, and Wasilowska (In Treatment; Alice in Wonderland) are the standouts here, with Moore  giving the kind of relaxed, understated performance we don’t see often enough from her. With the facility to readily access a wide range of emotions, Moore is often fitted into roles that have her doing plenty of showy emoting, but here she plays an insecure woman who goes through a plethora of shaded feelings, while staying within reach of solid baseline.

Though the major plot twist is, debatably, a movie cliche, Cholodenko allows the characters their own individual arcs, making the set up more palatable. Ruffalo’s Peter Pan-like Paul stumbles upon this ready made family and becomes enchanted with the idea of being a part of their lives. Wasilowska is exceptional as a recently graduated high school senior butting up against her own perfectionism and prudishness, and both her character Joni, and half brother Laser, feel very much like real adolescents - intelligent, impressionable, reactive, frustrated, and indignant. Bening’s uptight Nic is a bit too reminiscent of her iconic role in American Beauty, though she is also effective and believable as a domineering Mom and doctor, filling the traditionally male role in the marriage.

Ruffalo too demonstrates the kind of laid back charm we saw in You Can Count on Me, reminding us why he is one of the more likable actors out there. The performance, and his character, are both deceptively simple. Restaurant owner/organic farmer Paul is a man with an affable, laid back facade, who has been unable to commit to anyone in his life. Though that fact is highlighted by his casual relationship with the beautiful, younger Tanya (Yaya DeCosta), it isn’t harped upon further, and, as is the case with most of these characters, his behavior is not explained by relating detailed past personal history.

Despite the obvious sexual politics at work here, for most of the film we are left to decide for ourselves what we think of these people and their lives. The denouement, however, takes a sharp (albeit perhaps inevitable) turn, and one is left with some level of confusion about the intent. It’s difficult to pinpoint whether the end is an indictment of certain individuals, an affirmation of gay people having successful long term relationships and families, or a commentary on the frailty and humanness of said family members, but there is a level of cruelty demonstrated that seems somewhat incongruent with the rest of the film, with only a subtle, though vitally important gesture included to offset it. In the end, regardless of the message being sent, it is nice to see the portrayal of characters who behave in real ways, with both the pettiness, jealously, and selfishness, but also the generosity, kindness, and loyalty that implies.

Inception(USA) Directed by Christopher Nolan  Written by Christopher Nolan  Starring Leonardo Di Caprio; Ellen Page; Marion Cotilliard; David Gordon Leavitt; Tom Hardy; Michael Caine; Cillian Murphy: Tom Berenger; Ken Watanabe; Peter Postelwaite; Dileep Rao; Lukas Haas

It is probably not the best sign when a film spends a goodly portion of its run time explaining the cryptic plot through the mouths of its characters. Brit Christopher Nolan has taken a foundation built on lower budget indies (Following; Memento); a medium budget remake of a foreign film (Insomnia); a bigger budget period mystery (The Prestige); and two mega budget comic franchise entries, (Batman Begins; The Dark Knight), and created an intricately plotted psychological thriller/Sci-Fi actioner of monumentous proportion.

While enormous budgets are helpful, and perhaps even essential, in pulling off these modern day filmic  extravanzas, there is such a thing as too much, and as much as any film (possibly ever) Inceptionhas too much everything. There is no denying the brilliance of the set design (Guy Hendrix Dias), cinematography (regular Nolan collaborator, DP Wally Pfister), or the skills of a fairly awesome cast, but the film is elongated by at least an 1/2 hour to 45 minutes, and the repetitiveness of the dialogue and myriad action sequences make what should be nothing if not a thrill-a-minute visual hyper-fest lag in too many places.

Nolan is a filmmaker who goes full out, and his sincere commitment to the world he is painting is obvious. Down to the dramatic, overbearing Hans Zimmer score there is no room for irony in this house. The conceptualization of the logistics of what is laid out before us seems likely based on what is known about dreams, the imaginative paths drawn up as we navigate this sinuous roller coaster likely bolstered by a foundation of real, or at least plausible, science. Still, whether the mounting implausibilities that manage to amass on screen are the result of some intentionally less than fully explained real science, an inability by this particular viewer to comprehend all of the details, sloppily thought out and/or delivered plotting from those too deeply immersed in the project to see the light, or a case of a labyrinthian plot run amok (or some combination thereof) is tough to discern. It seems likely, however, that Nolan either wants to compel us to see his work multiple times in order to figure it out, or he’s hoping the events are so convoluted that we’ll all forget about trying and simply enjoy all the vividly compelling images without asking too many questions.

Inception seems like the kind of film that would benefit from a huge budget, and it does, to an extent. The scope is a wide one - principal photography on this 160 million dollar monster (with another 100 mill spent in marketing) took six months in Los Angeles, Calgary, Tangiers, and London. Some of the set pieces and super slow mo scenes are, no doubt, “cool”. But, as was the case with his overpraised Batman films, Nolan’s fascination with his own talent, and seemingly unlimited access to the best technology money can buy, leads to an excess of drawn out action scenes filled with an unyielding supply of inept bad guys who repeatedly prove unable to kill their targets regardless of how many wide open high powered rifle shots or close quarter grappling chances they are presented with.

No matter how enthralling the crisply shot visuals (in 35 and 65mm) might be, many of the full throttle  battles and car chases on display are still simply too long, and one particular interminable sequence on snow filled mountains feels more than a little derivative (perhaps the intent is homage?) of so many actioners of the past (think several Bond films, which Nolan is reportedly a fan of). There are undeniable moments of beauty here, especially when Nolan plays with time and camera speed (a van falling; glass shattering), and some of the CGI is excellent as well (cities changing form; buildings imploding), but though Arthur’s (Joseph Gordon Leavitt) no gravity hallway fight might be something to see, its power diminishes greatly as it continues to play out, intercut with other sequences, and stretched to the point of tedium. And despite the claims of innovation, Inception (unlike, say Avatar) doesn’t feel all that different from the The Matrix or Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, or some other big budgeters that were on the technological cutting edge upon release.

The bewildering plot, which involves individuals who enter other people’s dreams in order to steal business secrets (and eventually plant information), has been explored in various ways before (Dreamscape (1984);The Matrix (1999), existenZ (1999), etc.), though definitely not with this kind of intricacy. There are times when the cast seems as perplexed as some of the audience though, fighting to get the words of explanation out to narrate what is happening as they go. DiCaprio, as expert dream thief and fugitive Dominic “Dom” Cobb, certainly gives it his actorly all, and Marion Cotilliard as his deceased wife Mallorie “Mal” Cobb, is excellent in places, but for most of the film she is left as stranded as she was in Michael Mann’s Public Enemies. Ellen Page too is fine as architectural student/dream designer Ariadne, though one can, in certain moments, imagine her thinking, “Am I really saying this stuff?” as she spits out some of the cliche-ridden dialogue.

Ultimately, one’s opinion of Inception comes down to an an expectation of what film is supposed to be. For those unabashed Avatar devotees desiring a theater experience involving a high speed jolt with intense,  mind bending visuals, who are less concerned with all the dots of the story connecting, this is the latest and greatest in filmmaking. For those in search of a logical tale about relatable human beings, you have come to the wrong place, my friend.

Cyrus(USA) Directed by Mark Duplass; Jay Duplass  Written by Mark Duplass; Jay Duplass  Starring John C. Reilly; Marisa Tomei; Jonah Hill; Catherine Keener; Matt Walsh

The Duplass Brothers made their bones creating low budget, low tech films (The Puffy Chair; Baghead)  characterized by their examinations of socially awkward situations and an improvised-feeling, relatively plot-less, free flowing vibe. As two of the leading members of the Mumblecore movement, they have been the recipients of both the increased attention and exposure brought on by the publicity surrounding the discovery of a “new thing,” and also the backlash of pointed criticism emanating from those who feel these films to be generally unworthy of all the hype.

Regardless of what one’s feelings are about the Mumblecore aesthetic and its place in cinema, some degree of respect has to be given to these brothers, who have spent years making low budget cinema. Though they surely benefited from being part of a wave of DIY films that captured the imagination of the festival circuit, they have still managed to turn the opportunities presented to them into the reality of a bigger budget feature backed by Ridley and Tony Scott, who executive produce through their company, Scott Free productions. Here, they get to employ some exceptional, experienced actors, making good use of the benefits more money provides.

The promos would have one believe that Cyrus is something of a wacky revenge comedy along the lines of another John C. Reilly vehicle, Step Brothers, but this film is decidedly more dark and dramatic than your typical straight comedy. Though not uproarious, Cyrusis funny, and while requisitely uncomfortable (it is, after all, a Duplass brothers film) it isn’t overly or manipulatively so, and certainly the brothers have in mind a piece with an intricate emotional layering that extends beyond most big budget comic romps.

Despite the increase in said budget, the brothers remain true to their established methodology and style, shooting in sequential order, refraining from table reads, rehearsals, or extensive blocking, and though referring to a script, using healthy doses of improvisation and a kind of on-the-fly spontaneous style that allows them to continually shift gears and present scene and dialogue alterations to the actors as they shoot. Using multiple cameras, they also retain a mostly hand held look, which is perhaps the one technical area that may have benefited from some toning down. In an effort to reproduce the feel of their low budget offerings, they incorporate a plethora of re-framing, re-focusing, and zooms to mirror a verite, documentary-like feel, but though effective in places, there are times when the visuals feel somewhat forced, the devices unnecessary. There is no doubt that their look has improved some with more experience and the exponential increase in funds, but hopefully will benefit from further refinement as their careers continue.

Like all of their previous work, the story is a tightly compact one, encompassing only a handful of characters and rarely leaving the narrow focus on the three individuals who comprise the non-traditional love triangle at the center of the plot. We begin with John (John S. Reilly), a depressed, lonely, divorced forty-something freelance editor who meets single Mom, Molly (Marisa Tomei), at a party he has reluctantly agreed to attend. Things begin swimmingly, if oddly (John compares himself to Shrek in the forest at one point),  until John meets Molly’s twenty two year old live-in son, Cyrus (Jonah Hill), a portly, outwardly polite, neatly dressed nutjob who proceeds to surreptitiously engage the new suitor in a battle of wills for the prize of Molly’s attention.

The brothers do well giving us a fairly cliche set up, but refusing to walk a straight line down the expected path. Part of the films’ strength is its meandering quality, with a plot that strays from a typical structural framework. The skill of leads Tomei and Reilly is evident throughout as both actors obviously remained open enough to adapt to this way of working. Both of them continually surprise and enchant with interesting and naturalistic line readings and reactions. There very much exists the feeling of real people behaving in real ways, no small accomplishment given that this is, at heart, a comedy. Catherine Keener as John’s ex wife Jamie too gives another in a long line of excellent performances.  Only Hill, a less studied dramatic performer, is a bit one note; though, as an experienced improviser and comedic actor, he brings great timing to the table, and is, in part, responsible for some of the film’s funniest moments.

It is no accident that Cyrusfeels somewhat different than anything we’ve seen before, perhaps because there is a kind of meld going on between the Mumblecore sensibility and style and the comedic elements of the Apatow-like comedies of recent years. It is impossible to say who or what is influencing who or what here exactly, but artists are constantly inspired and effected by the world around them, as well as their peers  working in a variety of mediums. In the same way that Noah Baumbach’s recent film, Greenberg,  clearly owed a tip of the hat to Andrew Bujalski, Joe Swanberg, and the Duplass brothers themselves (who have become friends with Mr. Baumbach), what we get here is an example of filmmakers maturing and hitting their stride, utilizing their talents to create on a bigger stage.

Next for Jay and Mark Duplass is Jeff Who Lives at Home, starring Susan Sarandon and Jason Segel, and produced by Jason Reitman. It will be interesting to see if the brothers continue to retain a substantive portion of what made them special in the first place, or if they will eventually be absorbed by the Hollywood monster. So far so good.

Burma VJ (DAN) Directed by Anders Ostergaard

There are rare documentaries (Sorrow and the Pity; Harlan County USA; The Tittcut Follies; Shoah, et al) that contain subject matter so compelling and universalthat their importance as a teaching mechanism virtually eclipses any would-be conversation about structure, or for that matter any other technical detail one might normally critique when examining non-fiction work. Burma VJ (Video Journalist) is one such film.

Documentary film, like the best of written, photo, and tele journalism, has the power to advocate for politicaland social change. Burma VJ  endeavors to provide a context for the grouping of footage shot during the protests in Burma that occurred mostly in September 2007. The unrest was originally brought on by a hike of some 500% in oil/gas prices in August that immediately caused massive hardship for the poorest of the country’s people.

Burma, or officially, Myanamar, has long been the subject of worldwide controversy due to a fascist military leadership responsible for countless human rights violations throughout the history of the regime. It had been almost twenty years since the country experienced any significant organized protest, a period replete with countless state sanctioned arrests, imprisonment, beatings, kidnappings, torture, and murders. This time also included the house arrest (for fourteen of these years) of opposition leader Aung Sun Suu Kyi, who has become a martyr of sorts for the Burmese people. In a country that spends less on public health care than any other in the world, there are 488,000 troops in Burma, and the Junta essentially maintain a constant police state that strictly outlaws all unsanctioned speech in any form.    

The film centers on “Joshua,” one of the leaders of the DVB (Democratic Voice of Burma), a group dedicated to exposing the government’s many abuses by employing camcorders, the Internet, and satellite TV to shoot and smuggle the video out of the country. During the 2007 protests they were directly responsible for providing the BBC, CNN and multiple media outlets across the world with up to date evidence of the historical events unfolding on the streets of Rangoon. 

With his face obscured, Joshua is filmed mostly in a single room where he speaks with various VJs and others by cell phone and email about the events as that are unfolding, mostly in realtime. Obviously, there was some creative license that went into the shaping of Joshua’s communication, which is clearly dramatized for the purposes of the film, but these kinds of details are fairly inconsequentialal when one considers the gravity of what is at work here.

The VJs are literally risking their lives as they film, and the danger escalates as they further expose themselves over repeated days. In fact, some will wind up facing life in prison for their “crimes”. The imagery they manage to obtain, though often shaky in quality, is compelling, with scenes of government sanctioned beatings and shootings occurring on the main streets of the city. There is a feeling of being there with the camera person as often they narrate what they are filming, including some harrowing moments when they themselves are in imminent danger of being exposed.

Perhaps the most compelling visuals though are those of the protesting Buddhist monks, who also risk their lives to take a stand against an unjust government. The sight of hundreds of maroon robed monks marching and chanting protest slogans, some holding overturned alms bowls over their heads, is one that is difficult to erase from the memory bank. With 400,000 in their ranks, the monks knew that they were the only ones with enough leverage to attempt to stand up to the oppressors.

The bravery displayed by the monks, students, and average citizen alike is an incredible thing. Given that 3,000 were reportedly killed in 1988, the last time the Burmese people took to the streets, there is no doubt in any of the protesters minds that they might be shot or thrown in prison at any moment.  They march to speak for those who have previously died for the cause, for their children, for future generations, for their country.

This Academy Award nominated film, which is now available on DVD, is as important as anything one is likely to see this year or any other.

The Killer Inside Me(USA) Directed by Michael Winterbottom   Written by John Curran  Starring Casey Affleck; Kate Hudson; Jessica Alba; Elias Koteas; Ned Beatty; Simon Baker; Bill Pullman; Tom Bower; Jay R. Ferguson

Michael Winterbottom is one of modern cinema’s most interesting directors, though defining his perspective as a filmmaker proves no easy task. One reason for this is that he keeps floating from one seemingly disparate project to another, the eclectic list of films on his growing resume characterized by little more than a decided lack of discernible linkage. Here he takes on Jim Thompson’s first person novel, a book that has been adapted before (a little seen 1976 version directed by Burt Kennedy and starring Stacey Keach).

Casey Affleck does not spring to mind as an obvious choice for the lead, small town deputy sheriff Lou Ford, but stranger still are the casting of Kate Hudson as girfriend Amy, and Jessica Alba as prostitute Joyce, with neither actress exactly known for art house drama roles. Alba looks beautiful and manages to get through her scenes, while Hudson reminds us that once upon a time (see Almost Famous)she actually acted. Affleck is fittingly disaffected as Ford, doing a version of a character who is nothing if not polite and amiable on the surface, but with the exception of the sly, slightly deranged smile that occasionally slips across his lips, shows us his dark nature only in the spankings he enjoys administering in bed, and later in bursts of violence that arise from the depths of his soul, from what he terms in the novel as “the sickness”. Speaking of which,  Affleck’s Lou Ford is little like the one of the novel, a man perceived by the local citizenry as so dimwitted as to be nearly above suspicion.

Lou Ford is a reader who listens to classical music. With a history of childhood abuse (as victim and victimizer), we are shown glimpses of the source of his sexual depravity through flashbacks that are interposed with a developing sadomasochistic relationship with the gorgeous Joyce, and his ongoing one with local good girl Amy Z, which is also tinged with Ford’s predilection toward rough sex. Affleck’s Ford is a weasley sort, and despite the bits of narration, we simply cannot connect to him in the way it is possible to as reader. Thompson’s Ford sucks us in with his warped logic and unreliable depiction of events, making his acts, as abhorrent as they may be, seem somehow vaguely plausible. Winterbottom’s/Affleck’s Ford is almost entirely unlikeable, his boyish looks, reedy voice, and overall countenance translating as just as whiny and sneaky as Affleck’s other Ford character, Robert, in The Assasination of the Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford. Somehow, the matter-of-fact nature of the sociopathic protagonist’s actions that set the tone in the printed version gets lost, or at least altered, in this film account.

Set in West Texas in the late fifties (the book was published in 1952), though filmed in Oklahoma and New Mexico, the soundtrack is composed mostly of upbeat period country tunes, juxtaposed, often too closely, with the action on screen. Regardless of whether the music is intended as ironic, or even offered as some sort of inside joke/meta commentary, it fails to add much to the aforementioned tone, which plays as flat as Lou Ford’s demeanor, punctuated only by the extreme moments of sex and graphic violence, with one beating scene in particular standing out for it’s brutal, unflinching refusal to look away.

Winterbottom and screenwriter Curran have managed to remain faithful to Thompson’s source novel, though this is perhaps one of the main issues here. The versatile British director has made a career out of mixing elements of documentary and fiction, but has never established a specific point of view as an artist, and similarly there is perhaps a failure to express a commanding one here. Though one can appreciate fidelity to original material, especially an iconic piece of pulp such as this (though opinions of its literary merit vary), it is possible to stay true when adapting another’s work and still miss out on the essence of what made the piece special in the first place. 

Though appealingly shot, the film fails to hit the shadowy notes of black and white period noirs, or even of a brilliantly rendered neo-noir like The Coen Brothers Blood Simple, which had a wicked sense of humor related to the genre it was mirroring. Here, the noir is played straight, losing some of Thompson’s  playfulness, the standout feature being the graphic violence and rough sex on display. This modern handling plays in direct opposition to the period setting and otherwise straightforward telling, though in and of itself fails to make much of a statement and/or elevate the material.

In a piece that would seem rife for some tasty character turns, none of the minor players manage to stand out, with the possible exception of Bill Pullman’s Billy Boy Walker, who shows up a little late to have much of an effect. In fact, Simon Baker’s Howard Hendricks and (an over the top) Elias Koteas’ Joe Rothman, present to question and prod Ford about his dastardly deeds, prove as annoying (or worse, dull) to the audience as they presumably are to the man they are intent on provoking. One can recall M. Emmett Walsh as the detective in Blood Simple as an example of an actor relishing the playing of a sleazy misanthrope.

The end is something of a departure, and similar touches throughout the rest of the film might have dually set the groundwork for such a denouement, while assisting in formulating a cinematic interpretation that ascended beyond a mere well-handled visual representation of the source.

Get Him to the Greek  (USA) Directed by Nicolas Stoller  Written by Nicolas Stoller  Starring Jonah Hill; Russell Brand; Rose Byrne; Colm Meaney; Sean P. Diddy Combs; Elisabeth Moss; Aziz Ansari

Director Nicolas stoller’s Forgetting Sarah Marshallwas one of the best comedies of 2008. With Jud Apatow again producing and writer/director Stoller reprising the offbeat duo of Russell Brand (as Sarah Marshall  rock star Aldous Snow) and Jonah Hill (here playing Aaron Green, a different character), there was every reason to believe we might be in for another entertaining romp. Not so fast.

Get Him to the Greek is based on the kind of boys on a road trip behaving badly scenario constituting the plot of The Hangover. Perhaps it’s not coincedental either that, like The Hangover, much of this film takes place in Las Vegas. Like many of the offerings that comprise the recent Apatow produced and directed spate, Get Him to the Greekrelies on the premise of a lead nerd boy character who, though in a long term, committed relationship with a domineering woman, has never understood how to relate to members of the opposite sex and thusly harbors some degree of regret over the sexscapades he imagines missing out on.

The beginning of the film is a kind of prologue consisting of a series of faux interviews and clips from celebrity/entertainment shows, using some of the actual reporters from the real programs themselves to aid the authencity factor. These are combined with similarly constructed Aldous Snow music videos and concert footage. There are a couple of laughs sprinkled into the mix, and all of these re-creations are well designed and shot, but though the music too is skillfully created, none of it is that funny. As far as parody goes, the content of the songs aren’t satirical enough to make anything but the most cursory of social commentary, and while vaguely absurd, they’re not (unfortunately) that far away from actual pop songs.

Mario Lopez; Lars Ulrich; Christina Aguilera; Billy Bush; Kurt Loder; Tom Felton; Rick Schroder; Pharrell Williams; Meredith Viera; and Paul Krugman are some of those who show up playing themselves, though none of them stand out as being particularly funny or surprising. Snow’s latest single African Child  is purposefully offensive, though even this abomination feels somehow watered down, and we as audience are perhaps far less outraged than we should be.

There are plausibilitiy issues in Get Him to the Greek, starting with the notion that a multi-millionaire tycoon who owns a record company and twenty two Koo Koo Roos would allow his underling to escort a huge rock star with serious drug issues on a commercial flight when he had big money riding on said star’s impending appearance. Moguls own private jets, or at least have access to them, and these kinds of gaps in logic tear away at the walls of believability necessary even in the most absurd of comedies. The eventual abrupt shift in character made by Aaron’s uptight girlfriend Daphne also feels unrealistic, or at least like an adolescent’s plot-line solution, although admittedly the utter lack of sexiness helps to undercut this fact some. Still, the film’s young, clueless nerd perspective again feels at worse misogynistic, and at best severely arrested. Whatever “learning” takes place at the end comes across as a flimsily concealed attempt at actual drama - infused, like the rest of the more serious aspects throughout, to make us buy these broadly drawn characters as human beings.

To his credit, Sean P. Diddy Combs as boss man record exec Sergio Roma, allows his image to be subverted, and his playing against type fuels several of the films best bits. Supporting players Elisabeth Moss (as Aaron’s girlfriend ,Daphne); Colm Meany (as Aldous’s father, Jonathan); and Rose Byrne (as Aldous’s ex wife and fellow pop star, Jackie Q.), are all fine, though their characters are one dimensional and the few dramatic moments they participate in mostly fall flat. The film is at its best in small exchanges between the two leads and also during stretches when the pace is amped up, ala the hotel set piece, which careens from one ludicrous moment to the next. However, even during the best of these sections, one can’t help but recall similar set ups in a host of recent comedies, and much of the plot feels both telegraphed and warmed over.

Apatow is something of a master of the type, but he isn ‘t the director here, and the alchemy of these films is of an acutely precarious nature, with a mix of elements that require precise tonal massaging. The film has enough laughs to keep it out of flop territory, but ultimately fails to hold together as anything more than a lightweight diversion.

Looking for Eric(BRIT) Directed by Ken Loach  Written by Paul Laverty  Starring Steve Evets; Eric Cantona; Gerard Kearns; Stephanie Bishop; John Henshaw; Greg Cook; Smug Roberts; Stefan Gumbs; Lucy-Jo Hudson

Seventy three year old Ken Loach is one of modern cinema’s masters of social realist drama, the majority of his oeuvre consisting of stories about citizen workers on the lower rung of the economic ladder. Though Loach has a fondness for casting British comedians in supporting roles, and interlacing moments of humor into the mix, essentially his plots are of a more serious nature, and he is not shy about allowing his staunchly held political convictions to play out in his narratives. The director has therefore come under some degree of criticism over the years for his steadfast commitment to socialist ideals, which can, at times, manifest as verging on the didactic.

The past decade though has shown a more versatile Loach than at any time in his career, and his output has included a romantic comedy of sorts (Ae Fond Kiss) and an historical drama (The Wind That Shakes the Barley). Long forced to fight to get his films made, he has struggled through several dry periods, but has benefited from major festival awards and positive critical response, and during this, the latter part of his career, has been quite prolific - Looking for Eric being his fourteenth feature in the last twenty years.

Teaming with regular collaborators screenwriter Paul Laverty, producer Rebecca O’Brien, and cinematographer Barry Ackroyd, this time out Loach gives us a comedy, and for good measure he even includes some surrealistic touches, clearly breaking from his long established comfort zone. The story focuses on depressed middle-aged postman Eric, who lives with his two stepsons Ryan (Gerard Kearns) and Jess (Stefan Gumbs), the children of his unseen second wife, who left them seven years previous. Eric is a nice guy, who enjoys a pint at the pub with his work mates, but he’s also a pathologically passive sort who gets walked on by his two rather unruly wards.

Early on we learn that the famed Manchester United footballer Eric Cantona is Eric’s hero. The Frenchman (played by Cantona himself) even begins appearing to him as kind of advice giving sage (think of Bogie in Woody Allen’s Play it Again Samor Elvis in Tarantino’s True Romance ). The forty four year old Cantona is actually a legitmate actor, having appeared in a number of French films since his retirement from soccer in 1997. He does a solid job, though the accent is thick and subtitles might have been appropriate.

As the story unfolds, we learn about Eric’s past, which includes the fact that he abandoned his first wife and love of his life, Lily (Stephanie Bishop) and daughter Sam (Lucy-jo Hudson). He maintains a relationship with the adult Sam, however, and his assisting her efforts to balance school exams and a new daughter, Daisy, leads him to a meeting with Lily, whom he hasn’t seen in many years. The regrets and sadness Eric has lived with coalesce when he is forced to confront his past actions. Loach uses flashback to good effect, recalling beautifully photographed glimpses of the young couple’s time together. 

A subplot having to do with Ryan’s trouble with a local hard case is less effective. Though it infuses the story with tension and danger it also takes valuable time away from the relationships that are the heart and soul of the film. It’s as if Laverty/Loach are afraid to explore the deeper emotional ramifications of complicated human interaction, and resort to a conclusion that, while amusing, falls a little flat.  

Per usual, Loach elicits naturalistic performances from a mix of experienced and non-experienced actors. Evets and Bishop are particularly good as older people who have endured all that life has thrown at them.

Le Donk and Scor-zay-zee (BRIT) Directed by Shane Meadows  Written by Shane Meadows  Starring Paddy Considine; Dean Palinczuk; Shane Meadows; Richard Graham; Olivia Colman

Shane Meadows is one of the UKs best young directors. At thirty eight, this ultra low budget mockumentary is his seventh feature. Though he has made a number of bigger films, which gained theatrical releases in the U.S. , he and producer Mark Herbert (who, along with other producers, appears as himself) have come up with a concept for their Warp Films, which involves shooting features in only five days. Le Donk and Scor-zay-zee represents their first release using those guidelines.  

Meadows and his frequent collaborator and longtime friend, actor Paddy Considine, came up with the Le Donk character when the two were teenagers and have used him in several shorts before this. The nickname is never explained (short for ‘The Donkey’ might be an apt guess), but Le Donk (played by Considine) is a half-witted roadie/wannabe music producer/manager whose life is in shambles. Separated from his very pregnant girlfriend, Olivia (Olivia Colman), his dreams rest with a young overweight rapper, Scor-Zay-zee (played by real life Nottingham rapper, Dean Palinczuk), who rents a room in his house.

The conceit is that Meadows (playing himself) is making a documentary about Le Donk (at one point he references UK doc Southpaw ) and a small crew, with Meadows shooting, follows him from his home to his three day roadie gig for The Artic Monkeys (who appear as well). In the vein of Spinal Tap, Le Donk is exposed as an egotistical, self-involved, misogynistic jackass who argues with Meadows, constantly asks him for relationship advice, and whose true motivation seems to be getting famous himself, despite his claims to want to promote the career of his protege.

The film rests on the awkwardness induced by Le Donk’s stupidity and general lack of awareness as to the folly of his own life. Meadows, Colman, and Palinczuk do well as straight men, and the humor is nicely controlled by the director, who keeps things from degenerating into the absurd. It is evident though that more takes might have refined the humor and allowed for additional improvisation (Considine is clearly enjoying himself), which might have exponentially increased the laugh quotient. One can feel certain scenes left less than fully explored, and in several that include Olivia’s new boyfriend (played by Richard Graham, who edits), the actor (as opposed to the character he’s playing) seems on the verge of laughter in instances where it doesn’t fit.   

The idea is a good one, though, and just right for the squeezed schedule, but perhaps owing to the shooting time it is still paper thin, and at 71 minutes barely makes it as an actual feature. The same was true of Meadows’ previous feature, Somers Town (2008), which (at the same 71 minutes) went into shooting as a short and got extended by the director, a process which may have led him into this kind of further experimentation. The difference was that while Somers Towndidn’t have much of a plot, it benefited from solid characters and a heartfelt, nostalgic tone.

Le Donk and Scor-zay-zeeis amusing and the talented Considine is, of course, solid, but ultimately the film suffers from a lack of depth/complexity. Meadows is known for hard hitting dramas set in the Midlands and no one can blame him for having fun and trying something new, but more time and money might have led to something a bit more palatable to actual paying, theater going audiences.

Please Give(USA) Directed by Nicole Holofcener  Written by Nicole Holfcener  Starring Catherine Keener; Oliver Platt; Rebecca Hall; Amanda Peet; Sarah Steele; Ann Morgan Guilbert; Thomas Ian Nicholas; Josh Pais; Kevin Corrigan; Sarah Vowell; Rebecca Budig

Please Giveis only Nicole Holofcener’s fourth feature, a surprising fact given this auteur’s unique voice and talent.  Starting with her 1996 Sundance darling Walking and Talking(1996), she has continued making small, character driven films based on aspects of her current life (or at least recent personal past). Beyond her obvious talents, what makes Holofcener unique is the simple fact that she is an American woman writing and directing her own films, albeit those on the lower end of the Hollywood budget spectrum.

Holofcener favors ensemble pieces populated by female characters, but her alter ego of choice is indie fave Catherine Keener, who had a career making turn in the director’s debut. Keener has shown up in each of Holofcener’s subsequent films, which include Lovely and Amazing (2001) and Friends with Money(2006). Keener seems to inspire loyalty in her directors as several others of note have used her more than once, including Steven Soderbergh (Out of Sight; Full Frontal) Spike Jones/Charlie Kaufman (Being John Malkovich; Into the Wild; Synecdoche New York); and Tom Dicillo (Johnny Suede; Living in Oblivion; Box of Moonlight; The Real Blonde).

Keener’s Kate is a guilt-ridden forty something Manhattanite who co-owns a downtown furniture store specializing in retro chic, mid-20th century design. Married to her business partner Alex (Oliver Platt), one of the main targets of Kate’s obsessiveness is the method by which they replenish their stock - namely, visiting the often clueless grown children of the recently deceased and acquiring their bequeathed furnishings at a low price.

Compounding Kate’s angst is the fact that she and her husband chose, in similar fasion, to purchase elderly next door neighbor Audra’s (Ann Morgan Guilbert - Millie Helper from the old Dick Van Dykeshow) apartment with the idea of knocking down the walls and expanding their living space - a sale that goes into effect upon the woman’s death. The cantankerous Audra is cared for by her grandchildren, sad and lonely radiology technician Rebecca (a purposefully washed out Rebecca Hall) and emotionally frosty, vacuous spa worker Mary (Amanda Peet), and there is a degree of unease between the two families based on the somewhat morbid nature of the deal.

Kate has no problem peeling off bills to the various homeless adults who live in her neighborhood, though she refuses the request of insecure teen daughter Abby (Spanglish’s Sarah Steele) to purchase $200 designer jeans. Kate alternates between making cruel jokes about Audra’s impending death, and sobbing uncontrollably when visiting a local charitable group. The underlining questions regarding Kate’s obvious personal issues (and outward projection) are never fully addressed, but Holofcener is always more focused on the journey than in tying things up in a neat little bow.

Holofcener is also clearly fascinated with questions surrounding wealth and the kind of guilt associated with certain privileged lefties. Her characters enjoy the luxury posessions and status that accompany their financial prosperity, but also constantly muse about their own lives in this regard, regularly making minor social gestures in a shallow attempt to assuage their discomfort.

Female body image is another of Holofcener’s prominent topics, and here we get women struggling with bad skin, a tanning addiction, and even a character (the new girlfriend of the jealous Mary’s ex) called “Big Back”. There is talk of women’s looks in relation to age and weight. At one point Peet’s Mary asks Platt’s Alex how his wife stays so skinny. “She worries a lot,” he says, dryly.

While there is nothing overtly special about Please Give, the acting from the stocked cast is superb, and themes like loneliness, personal duty, and the spirit of charity are visited upon but never confronted directly. Holofcener is satisfied with lightly stepping through the ideas that compel her, allowing her well-drawn characters to speak for themselves.

Bad Lietenant: Port of call New Orleans  Directed by Werner Herzog  Written by William Finkelstein  Starring Nicolas Cage; Eva Mendes; Val Kilmer; Vondie Curtis Hall; Shawn Hatosy; Denzel Whitaker; Xzibit; Jennifer Coolidge; Fairuza Balk

Director Werner Herzog claimed not to have been aware of Abel Ferrara or his famously NC-17 rated The Bad Lietenant(1992), when making his latest, which seems virtually impossible, even taking into consideration Herzog himself, who sometimes appears to exist in his own universe. Regardless, his film is a re-make, transplanting Ferrara’s story from the streets of New York City to post Katrina Louisiana.

While low budget indie vet Ferrara used some religious iconography worthy of early Scorcese, the overall approach of his lurid tale of a corrupt drug/alcohol/gambling addicted cop going off the rails was mostly grounded in a kind of verite realism. The German Herzog, however, is less bound by the need to replicate a realistic American street feel and employs repeated surrealistic touches to illustrate various shades of his protagonist’s inebriation and overall psychosis.

Though the narrative journey is similar for the leads in each film, Harvey Keitel’s singular performance was a muscularly unforgettable turn, rivaling the best of his long and successful career. How can one forget his naked bedroom dance? Whether hitting the crack pipe, masturbating in front of a pulled over motorist, or frantically betting Mets games on a street pay phone, his character was probably as poorly behaved as any police officer depicted on screen in the history of cinema, a precursor for Denzel Washington’s magnificient miscreant, Alonzo, in Anton Fuqua’s Training Day.

With his stooped posture, comb over, bugged eyes, and pasty skin, Nicolas Cage, as Officer Terence McDonagh, the 44 magnum toting wild man, moves through the film like a Zombie in desperate search of a final resting place. His hang dog face and strangely inconsistent accent only add to the odd characterization. McDonagh, in agony from a past spinal injury (incurred during the flooding), shuffles through the streets of this tortured, beleagured city, numbing his physical pain with a concoction of drugs and alcohol that would kill the proverbial horse. His relationship with prostitute, Frankie (Eva Mendes), is treated matter-of-factly (of course, a guy like him would date a hooker, right?), and he rolls from one immoral act to another with a kind of grim determination, as if each has been predetermined and he was given little say in the matter.

Herzog’s version is the inferior of the two films, and (despite the directors protestations of ignorance) it’s impossible to view without seeing it through the prism of the first. Ferrara’s film remains woefully underecognized and underrated, perhaps because of its sheer raw, unapologetic brashness. While Ferrara is entirely New York, Herzog is an outsider to this country, and obviously New Orleans, and his film reads like someones version of a waking dream. In Cage, he has found his perfect leading man (well, leaving out Klaus Kinski) - an actor who has spent most of his career working in big budget schlock, but can still be oddly (with an emphasis on the word) captivating given the right part. The film is a kind of playground for the two, though how much synchronicity their individual solo toilings ultimately achieve is certainly open to debate. 

No doubt there are moments of black humor in Herzog’s film that equal those in Ferrara’s, though perhaps the concluding scenes devolve into something we’ve seen too many times before. Overall, both films are on the sloppy side, and ultimately amount to stages for their leading men to let it all hang out. Herzog frankly seems more interested in the iguanas that appear on screen than in developing any kind of taut narrative, and while his film is more of a procedural than the original, both criminal cases run secondary to the utter disintegration of the respective main characters. While Ferrara is taken with Catholic guilt and redemption, Herzog is disinterested in that path, and perhaps even disdainful of it.

Though the supporting cast is a good one, there is little room for anyone else to shine. Fairuza Balk does her level best in a small role, though Val Kilmer is wasted as a fellow cop.