Greenberg(USA) Directed by Noah Baumbach  Written by Noah Baumbach  Starring Ben Stiller; Great Gerwig; Rhys Ifans; Jennifer Jason Leigh; Chris Messina; Mark Duplass; Susan Traylor

The film world is awash with debate over the current state of distribution. In recent years, a movement called Mumblecore has been defined by films made with ultra low budgets, shot on video (or 16mm film), using improvisational techniques, and starring mostly non-professional twenty-somethings. The name is derived from the fact that many of these characters speak in a halting, tentative way, uncomfortably relating to the opposite sex, forever “mumbling” their half articulated thoughts in an embarrassed, self-effacing manner.

While Mumblecore films are produced on paltry micro-budgets, forty year old writer/director Noah Baumbach has had his own trouble getting his indie offerings financed and to the screen. Despite the critical accolades much of his work has received, the audience for the personal projects he seems intent on creating is perceived to be of the relatively limited variety. Baumbach has a personal friendship with director Wes Anderson, and has collaborated on his screenplays for The Life Aquatic and Fantastic Mr. Fox (supplanting Owen Wilson as Anderson’s writing partner). His appeal is thought to be less wide than Anderson’s, however, and perhaps only his ability to cast stars has allowed him to continue to make theatrically released films at all.

Starting with Kicking and Screaming (1995), Baumbach has turned out a series of dialogue driven character pieces focusing on educated intellectuals who are sometimes witty, but most often not altogether likable. Baumbach has had his heartbreaks, including Highball (1997), a film in which he removed his name due to a dispute with producers. Low budgeter The Squid and the Whale (2005) brought him rave reviews, festival/ critics awards, and an academy nomination for best screenplay, but Mr. Jealousy (1997) and Margot at the Wedding (2007) easily elicited as much intense criticism as they did praise.

The son of two writers/film critics and husband of indie darling/actress Jennifer Jason Leigh (who is given producer/story/acting credit here), Baumbach has spent a lifetime immersed in books and film. His characters are often writers, and subjects like infidelity, depression, and artistic relevance recur throughout his work. He is clearly influenced by European art cinema, and like his friend Anderson, seems to have an affinity for British rock, retro styles from the 70s, and literature. Apparently, Baumbach has also recently become enamored with the Mumblecore movement, befriending the acting/directing Duplass Brothers (Mark appears here in supporting role) and employing director/actress/resident siren Greta Gerwig as his female lead.

Brooklyn native and resident Baumbach sets this film in Los Angeles. An ex musician who enjoyed a brief run of success in his early twenties, the titular Roger Greenberg is now a carpenter who has relocated to L.A. (an L.A. native, he has been in New York for twenty years) following his release from a mental hospital. Medicated, still reeling from his nervous breakdown, he takes up residence in the home of his rich and successful brother Phillip (Chris Messina), who has travelled to Vietnam with his wife and kids. It’s while crashing at his siblings expansive abode that Roger meets twenty-something Florence (Gerwig), a slightly awkward, naive, and wounded young woman who works as a babysitter and personal assistant for the family.

Roger is anti-social, neurotic, paranoid, and fairly seething with hostility. While beginning an odd romantic relationship with Florence, he also attempts to reconnect with his ex-band-mates, including old best friend Ivan (Rhys Ifans), and ex-girlfriend Beth (Jennifer Jason Leigh). He soon finds that the fixed ideas he maintains about the past are not even remotely shared by those he was closest with, calling into question his memory of that time, and thus the assumptions upon which he has constructed his rather desperate existence. The humor is biting, and though tightly scripted Baumbach’s writing was clearly influenced by Mumblecore depictions of fumbling conversations. The very speech patterns, as well as the weirdly cold sex scenes, smack of the work of Andrew Bujalski, Joe Swanberg, and the aforementioned Brothers Duplass. 

Stiller, wild-haired and skinny, is as good as he has ever been, and Gerwig benefits from better production values, an actual script, and a director who knows actors. Her trademark naturalism is then thankfully enhanced as opposed to stilted, demonstrating that Baumbach knew what he was getting with her pretty, open face, blonde hair, and large boned, imperfect body, and had no intention of making her conform to a more stylized product or disrupting her easy, unaffected style. Her character is a kind of antidotal Annie Hall to Stiller’s nebbishy, though exponentially more hateful Alvy Singer, a marooned human being who can’t imagine why on earth this young woman might possibly be interested in him, let alone want to share in his decidedly uncertain future. At one point he even chastises her for not being “a divorced thirty-something with kids and low expectations”.

Shot by Harry Savides (Milk; Zodiac; American Gangster; Elephant),Gus Van Sant’s regular cinematographer, the film captures the wide open, sunny look of LA, which is contrasted by the New York City (of our imagination) that Roger (and Baumbach himself) is accustomed to. This fish out of water aspect of the film informs a series of running gags, and is also a metaphor (or perhaps an outgrowth?) of Roger’s inner life. Aging, alone, pathologically self-involved, and slightly off-kilter, Greenberg is fairly bursting with regrets from his past failures. Perhaps, in light of this fact, he also harbors a strange resentment for the younger generation. An avowed Luddite of sorts, who doesn’t drive, writes angry protest letters to corporations, among other things, Roger is opposed to change, the speed of modern life, and resents anyone who would expect anything of him.

Part of what is fascinating about Baumbach is his ability to secure name actors like Eric Stoltz, Jeff Daniels, Laura Linney, Nicole Kidman, and Ben Stiller to embody fiercely unlikable lead characters. Some of the vitriolic response to Baumbach’s work seems to arise out of a reaction to these arrogant, semi-abhorrent intellectual types, though this very fact separates Baumbach from his peers, differentiating his work from other modern American directors of cinema. The wrongheaded and misguided criticism levied at this talented auteur for failing to signpost and tailor his films to fit into mainstream conventional constructs  illustrates the pervading influence the Hollywood product has on this country’s audiences and critics alike. Baumbach should be treasured in the same way we look upon The Coen Brothers, Wes & PT Anderson, and Van Sant - directors who are among the best we have to offer.

The Runaways(USA) Directed by Floria Sigismondi  Wriiten by Floria Sigismondi  Starring Dakota Fanning; Kristen Stewart; Michael Shannon; Stella Maeve; Alia Shawkat; Tatum O’Neal; Brett Cullen; Scout Taylor Compton; Keir O’Donnell; Brendan Sexton

In her first feature, Italian writer/director Floria Sigismondi, a photographer and video artist, chose to adapt lead singer Cherie Currie’s autobiography, Neon Angel: A Memoir of a Runaway, to tell the story of the all teenage girl band The Runaways. Despite the inclusion of some of the requisite drugs and sex, as well as the presence of an outrageous, meglomaniacal puppetmaster (Michael Shannon as Kim Fowler), something here feels vaguely sanitized. It’s as if the film is messy, but not messy enough.

Troubling too is the overly narrow focus, which would have us believe that lead singer Currie (Dakota Fanning) and guitarist/singer Joan Jett (Kristen Stewart), one of the film’s executive producers, were the only group members sufficiently worthy of exploration. Forget the fact that Lita Ford (Scout Taylor Compton) went on to become a famous solo performer, or that drummer Sandy West (Stella Maeve) wound up leading a life denoted by serious drug abuse, lesbianism, and prison, the two female stars dominate the allotted screen time, thus reducing the potentially fascinatingly and complicated dynamics to a more simplistic and straightforward tale of two individual (albeit intersecting) characters and story-lines.

In fact, due to a legal issue, a composite character, Robin (a woefully underutilized Allie Shawkat), was created to represent real life original bass player Jackie Fox. Interesting actors in supporting roles such as Tatum O’Neal (as Cherie’s Mom); Keir O’Donell; and Brendan Sexton are there and gone before we get a chance to figure out who their characters are. The relationship between Cherie and her sister Marie (Riley Keogh), the twin who got left behind, is potentially compelling, but also winds up under-developed.

Sigisimondi employs her photographic talents to create an authentic period feel, replete with visuals that are muddied just enough that we can practically smell the band’s cigarette smoke breath and the performance sweat emanating off their capes and leather pants. Cinematographer, Belgian Benoit Debie (Irreversible; Day Night Day Night; Innocence) is controversial French director Gasper Noe’s frequent collaborator, and the attention paid to the look is evident. One wishes that the script from both a dialogue and structural standpoint came anywhere near being as innovative or interesting.

The acting is generally solid with Stewart particularly strong as Jett. Given more to do, the performance would likely have shown to be fuller and deeper as Stewart is clearly an actor focused on the internal. Many of the subtleties of her representation are unfortunately lost, however, in a series of banal scenes that fail to dig down deep to the abhorrent underbelly of exploiting young teenage women in the pursuit of a dollar. While the film, to its credit, avoids the preachiness that might have pushed this toward movie of the week territory, one can’t ignore a kind of soft serve handling that seems to shy away from testing the limits of a topic open to true cinematic commentary.

Whether fears about ratings and marketing, and/or Jett’s inclusion as executive producer (her view of Fowler’s exploitation differs greatly from other band members) contributed to a more homogenized  perspective or not is open to debate, but all former members agree that drug and alcohol abuse, sex, and manipulation of various kinds were a part of the ride, and one is naturally faced with a host of questions regarding the band members ability at the time to make their own decisions, as well as the complicity of all adults (including parents; Fowler; record company execs; handlers; roadies) who were present during the experience.  

Sigismondi clearly understands the sexual politics here, and it is not as if she ignores Fowler’s mistreatment of the band members, or the questions of period female empowerment in the music industry/society as whole, and while the band’s short-lived run (only 3 1/2 years) contributes to a successful fight against the kind of episodic torpor often besetting biopics, there is a certain sense of immediacy missing from the package that should be very much a part of this kind of verite attempt.

Ultimately, former bassist Vicky Tischler Blue’s (known as Vicki Blue) 2005 documentary Edgeplay: A story About the Runawaysprobably stands as a better representation of the phenomenon of a band that, in its original form, made only three (The Runaways (1976); Queens of Noise (1977); Live in Japan (1977) albums (and several with other members), and had only one real hit (Cherry Bomb), but are still remembered for the major cultural impression they stamped upon various parts of the world.

Precious(2009) Directed by Lee Daniels  Written by Geoffrey Fletcher  Starring Gabourney Sidibe; Mo’Nique; Mariah Carey; Paula Patton; Lenny Kravitz;

Whether the sheer volume of occurence and/or the graphic extent of the vividly depicted ugliness on display separates Precious from any number of well-done Lifetime movies is open to debate. The acting is excellent though, and the script is mostly devoid of the painful exposition that often besets TV movies. However,  the unrelenting accumulation of melodramatic moments does place a severe strain on this story about a sixteen year old African American woman from Harlem whose life is seemingly composed of a series of tragic events and ongoing daily abuse.

Newcomer Gabby Sidibe, in her first role, was plucked from obscurity to embody the titular character Clareece ‘Precious’ Jones, and though the mostly deadened affect and monosyllabic nature of the battered, inarticulate, illiterate and physically obese teen allows her to avoid both major chunks of dialogue and, for the most part, scenes of major emotional nuance, the performance is a good one. Fifty year old second time director Lee Daniels elicits a number of other solid turns as well, most noticably the Academy Award winning one by Mo’Nique (who was in Daniels first film, Shadowboxer), as the vile, despicable Mommie Dearest, Mary.

Included among the main supporting players are some creative casting choices - namely, musician Lenny Kravitz as Nurse John, and singer Mariah Carey (sans make-up, but with some upper-lip hair) as Ms. Weiss. New York native Carey is surprisingly naturalistic, a fact that might come as a shock to those who may have been subjected to her work in Glitter. Paula Patton (also doing the no make-up thing to hide her beauty) is also reasonably effective as Ms. Blu Rain, a lesbian teacher in the alternative program Precious winds up attending. Singer Corrinne Bailey Rae even shows up as Ms. Rain’s girlfriend. Can one note a theme here?

Several questions automatically arise in the viewing, not the least of which being is this mere exploitation dressed up as cinema? Certainly, if nothing else, all involved might be accused of more than a bit of piling on. While there can be little doubt that there is something to be said for the bravery involved in basing a film on an overweight, nearly silent African American female character; and while it is probably true that in the process tribute is being paid to those who suffer at the hands of their abusers by forcing the audience  to endure some semblance of discomfort viewing human beings sadistically torturing another, it might also have been prudent to have toned down the myriad tragedies that befall our lead, if only for the sake of the limited time alotted to a mainstream, theatrically released feature film. The bludgeoning that occurs within a relatively narrow window leads an audience member feeling they’ve undergone their own personal beating.

The fantasy sequences perhaps do well evoking the inner life of a young person who naturally refuses to accept her own unspeakably horrific reality, though they also concurrently work to interrupt the thread of dramatic tension and momentum which otherwise builds through the heart of the baseline scenes. On the whole, the film might have done better leaving Precious’ dream-life on the cutting room floor, along with some of the other devices employed by Daniels to further the ends of consistently upping the melodramatic ante.

The classroom scenes smack of the same kind of stuff we have seen too many times before, a far cry from the realism demonstrated in a recent offering like the French film The Class. The students here feel very much like stock creations, and the teacher character, Ms. Rain, is perhaps a little too good to be true. There are undoubtedly some powerful moments and one rousing performance (by Mo’Nique), though Preciousis at its best when it sticks to the simple, day to day moments in the life of this unfortunate young soul. It is a memorable story, but one that may have dobe better with a less adorned, overstuffed final product.

A Prophet (Un Prophete)(FR) Directed by Jacques Audiard  Written by Jacques Audiard; Thomas Bidgeain; Abdel Raouf Dafri; Nicolas Peufaillit  Starring Tahar Rahim; Niels Arestrup; Adel Bencherif; Hichem Yacoubi; Reda Kaleb; Jean-Phillipe Ricci; Leila Behkti; Slimane Dazi

Avatar(USA) Directed by James Cameron  Written by James Cameron  Starring Sam Worthington; Zoe Saldana; Sigourney Weaver; Michelle Rodriguez; Giovanni Ribisi; Stephen Lang; Joel Moore; Laz Alonso; Wes Studi; CC Pounder

From a visual standpoint, Avatar is everything it’s cracked up to be. The 3-D, particularly in an IMAX theater, outdoes ones average trip to the local multiplex by a longshot, with the ability to turn even certain small moments fascinating - particularly in the live action scenes, where it adds pristine detail, imbuing the film with an aesthetic that seems to push the visceral experience closer to some kind of magical live stage spectacular. No doubt, the epic scope of the entire world of this $275 million film is impressive, and writer/ director James Cameron’s obsessive approach to advancing technology has led to steady improvements in 3-D/CGI, re-imagining what is possible for the form.

Fans of big adventure escapism like The Lord of The Rings and the Harry Potter series will likely have little issue with the myth-making going on here, but others may balk at the rather basic plotting, lack of character development (or, for that matter, credible character), and simplistic, speech laden dialogue filled with lines that too often come off like those uttered in an overwrought War of The Worlds-esque radio play.  Further, as visually stimulating as the film might be, it’s still too long by at least a half hour.

The attractive leads - Aussie Sam Worthington as Jake Sully, a paraplegic ex-marine, and Zoe Saldana (okay, so we don’t actually see in her human form, but we know what she looks like, right?) as Na’vi princess Neytiri are fine (if a bit bland), and admittedly it’s kind of fun to see the embodiment of Cameron’s Alienlead Ellen Ripley (Sigourney Weaver) playing scientist Dr. Grace Augustine. Villains Parker Sefridge (Giovanni Ribisi) and (especially) Colonel Mills (Stephen Lang), however, are absurdly over the top, comic book creations without the slightest nuance offered to balance the scales. Cameron’s anti-war/pro-environmental message, as right-minded as it might be, is ham-handedly delivered through the mouths of these stock evil-doer constructs, and they spew a steady stream of jingoistic inanities as they express their desire to conquer, rape, and pillage the imaginary forest land (Pandora) of the giant, blue, indigenous tree people.  At least the bad guys are Americans, though, and so the disparaged party is not some vaguely identified third world country as is the normal course in big budget action/war flicks.  

As gloriously constructed as some of the action sequences may be, there is more than a little repetition as the film proceeds. The 3-D is fun, and Pandora is interesting to look at for a spell, but at its heart this is not much more than your average animated fantasy epic, a little too in love with the cleverness of its invention, and nowhere near groundbreaking when it comes to story. Jim Cameron has been quoted saying that what we see represents the future of film, and that we will henceforth need to reconsider how we view acting performances. His overall point involves the premise that this technical process is somehow beneficial to actors because it utilizes their movements and facial expressions to help create the animated images. It seems like a convoluted perspective at best, one unimstakedly emanating from a filmmaker who considers actors mere window dressing, present mostly to serve the cinematography, the CGI, and the many gadgets and post production tricks available in this very rich man’s arsenal. The obvious implication in what he is really saying, of course, is that they’re lucky we’re using them at all since we can do it all ourselves if we choose to.

Avatar is worthy of some of the hype, at least in regards to the magnificence of the technology, but take away the glam and glitter and there remains a semi-hollow, paint-by-numbers kids fable that ultimately adds up to little more than an overextended allegory. Of course, the same might be said of Star Wars, or the previously mentioned epics of recent years, and all of these franchises certainly put a lot of rear ends in the seats and move a lot of DVD units and ancillary merchandise, and that, of course, is the whole idea. While Avatar  is undoubtedly a relatively fun couple of hours, one wonders if Cameron’s latest love child is closer to an amusement park ride or video game than a work of cinema, and the implications of what it all means for the art form are potentially fairly dire, the director’s hubris notwithstanding.

Crazy Heart(USA) Directed by Scott Cooper  Written by Scott Cooper  Starring Jeff Bridges; Maggie Gyllenhaal; Robert Duvall; Colin Farrell; Jack Nation; Paul Herman; James Keane

Sixty year old Jeff Bridges, the architect of memorable characters like Jeff “The Dude” Lebowski from The Big Lebowski; Jack Baker from The Fabulous Baker Boys; President Jack Evans from The Contender ; and Duane Jackson from The Last Picture Show , sometimes gets overlooked when discussions of our finest actors take place, perhaps because his work is so naturalistic that there may be a tendency to forget he is acting.

Son of Lloyd; brother of Beau, Bridges has been plying his trade since the age of two, working steadily and consistently - first on TV, then in film.  The California native has been married for thirty years to the same woman, fathered three children, and is something of a renaissance man with a penchant for photography, illustration, and music (he even recorded an album, Be Here Soon, in 2000).

Here, he stars as Houston based Otis “Bad” Blake, a hard drinking/smoking/womanizing country singer/ songwriter in the mode of Townes Van Zandt (whose music is on the soundtrack) or Kris Kristofferson, with a little Hank Williams; Johnny Cash; and/or Waylon Jennings thrown in for good measure. Riddled with poor health; married multiple times; estranged from a son he never took care of or saw, Bad is enmeshed in the down-slope of a once successful career, playing in dive bars for those who want to re-live his hits from long ago. Bridges is truly potent as Bad, his wild hair, beefy frame, booze-soaked skin, and bloodshot eyes merely the most visible signs of a messy life lived on the edge.

Maggie Gyllenhaal plays Jean Craddock, a single mother and music reporter from Santa Fe New Mexico, who is decades younger then the fifty seven year old song man, but has endured her share of heartache. The two, along with Jean’s four year old son, Buddy (Jack Nation), enter into a relationship that serves as the core of the film. Robert Duvall (who helped produce; and who himself played a country crooner with a sordid personal past, Mac Sledge, in 1983s Tender Mercies) is Bad’s older friend/employer, bar owner Wayne, and Colin Farrell takes a small role as a famous singer Tommy Sweet, who got his start in Bad’s band. Though Tommy is the source of Bad’s jealousy and resentment, he too provides the grizzled bad boy an opportunity at artistic relevance and perhaps even some form of personal redemption.

Partnering with Stephen Bruton, the music was done by T-Bone Burnett (O Brother Where Art Thou), and the soundtrack includes contributions from George Jones; Buck Owens; the aforementioned Van Zandt and Jennings; and relative newcomer, Texan Ryan Bingham, who wrote the theme song The Weary Kind. Bridges had previously worked with Burnett and Bruton on Heaven’s Gate  (1980), Michael Cimino’s classic commercial flop. In that film, long time friends and collaborators Bruton and Burnett were part of the on screen band, while Bridges was one of the lead actors. Bruton, who was dying of cancer at the time of Crazy Heart’s filming (and died some time after its completion), became something of a model for Bridges, who used some of Bruton’s experiences and characteristics in shaping Bad.

The plot is hardly innovative, and there is some lack of delving into the source(s) of Bad’s pain that ultimately keeps the film out of the realm of cinema classic. First time director, actor Scott Cooper (who also adapted the Thomas Cobb novel), doesn’t stray far from other films with similar subject matter like Nashville; Payday; (the previously mentioned) Tender Mercies; Songwriter; Forty Shades of Blue, and various other country music biopics that have mined similar territory, but the music is solid, and Bridges’ performance is good enough to help distinguish this one as among the best of a solid bunch.

An Education(BRIT) Directed by Lone Scherfig  Written by Nick Hornby  Starring Carey Mulligan; Peter Skarskaard; Alfred Molina; Cara Seymour; Olivia Willimas; Emma Thompson; Dominic Cooper; Rosemund Pike

Movies - or, at least those intended for a mass commercial market, have historically depended on casting actors who are well known to the paying public. Often the very films themselves are based around the on screen persona these leading men and women have established throughout their careers, with producers and studios depending on this symbiotic relationship between stars and their audiences. It’s nice then to view a bigger film headed by an actor who was previously unknown to most ticket buyers - even better when the actor highlighted is one who seems so obviously destined for a long and successful career

The actor in question, and centerpiece of An Education, is one Carey Mulligan, a fresh faced twenty four year old Brit who has done most of her previous work on the English stage and in television.  Playing  precocious  sixteen/seventeen year old high school student Jenny, Mulligan looks appropriately young, and is fittingly brimming with dewy-eyed eagerness, underpinned emotion, and energy. One is struck by the notion of an actor being perfectly cast. 

Directed by fifty year old female Dane Lone Scherfig (Italian for Beginners), An Educationis based on  journalist Lynn Bolber’s slim memoir, which detailed her romantic relationship with an older man. Set in 1961, still the beginning of the famed mod period in London, the screenplay is by novelist Nick Hornby (High Fidelity; About a Boy), who took the basics of the source material  (which was originally published in the literary journal Granta) and ran with it.

While Mulligan’s presence dominates the film, the rest of the cast is also excellent: Peter Skarsgaard (as Jew David Goldman) does a British variation on his usual semi-creepy guy; Alfred Molina is Jenny’s working class father Jack; Cara Seymour, Mom Marjorie; Emma Thompson, the Headmistress of her all girls school; Olivia Williams, her English teacher, Miss Stubbs; Dominic Cooper, David’s rich, art-collecting/playboy friend Danny; and Rosamund Pike, his vacuous, beautiful blond girlfriend Helen.

Though the coming of age aspect of the story may be far from novel, Jenny’s internal life is nicely and subtly evoked. Cello playing, Francophile Jenny longs to attend Oxford to read English, but she is aware that regardless of what lies in the offing there is little available for her professionally besides the promise of teaching at an all girls school like the one she attends. A neophyte aesthete with a youthful pretentious streak, Jenny loves art, literature, music, and film, but desires experiences that, at her age and station, are well beyond the reach of modest suburban London Twickendam.

Thankfully, the film avoids pandering to us or to Jenny’s character by delivering a reasonably rounded portrait of a young woman in the process of trying to grow in a conservative, repressive era when women were afforded little in the way of life choices, and her journey reflects the kinds of mistakes that are an inherent part of this maturation process. If she is exploited (and there is most definitely an uncomfortable sexual component to the story due to her age), then she at least partially complicit, so desperate is she to discover all that life has in store, regardless of (and perhaps even because of) the narrow path she has been told is her destiny.

Up in the AirDirected by Jason Reitman  Written by Jason Reitman; Sheldon Turner  Starring George Clooney; Vera Famiga; Anna Kendrick; Jason Bateman; Danny McBride; Melanie Lynskey; Amy Morton; Sam Elliott; JK Simmons; Zach Galifinakis

As Hollywood continues to churn out its ceaseless parade of banal, vapid pablum there is, seemingly, a steadily increasing dearth of films made for adults with a functioning brain. This is not to contend that Up in the Air is a particularly trenchant, innovative, or intellectually challenging experience, but compared to what passes for mainstream, mass marketed quality nowadays, this one is something of an anomaly. It’s an example of what one might imagine modern Hollywood films could be - big stories with movie stars to appeal to wider audiences, but containing enough discernible intelligence and humanity to make the characters and events recognizable as something vaguely real-life-like.

Following Juno and Thank You For Smoking, Jason Reitman, Up in the Air’s talented 32 year old director,  has now made three engaging films in a row (his first three, by the way) - something that cannot be said for many directors working within the system. The Los Angeles native, and offspring of long time comedy director/producer Ivan Reitman (who also produces here), is quickly establishing himself as a unique voice with an eye for quality material.

George Clooney plays Clooney here - officially Ryan Bingham, a corporate axe man working for a Nebraska based company who finds himself facing professional extinction (or at least reorganization). As one of our most well-known bachelors, Clooney might be channeling aspects of his own personal life, inhabiting a character who defiantly rails again the merits of permanent personal attachment. Ryan spends most of his year on the road, commuting state to state by way of a series of rental cars, low grade luxury hotels, airports, lounges and bars, and planes; taking pleasure in the benefits his frequent flyer business status affords him.  On the side, he accepts paid motivational speaking gigs, preaching the beauty of a life unencumbered  to corporate conference audiences.

Ryan’s age is never specified, though (given Clooney’s real life numbers) we would have to assume that he is at least 45, making him a middle-aged man on the downslope.  Though evidently oblivious to the emptiness and shallowness that define his personal life (he appears virtually unfazed when an ongoing sexual relationship with his younger, attractive next door neighboor ends), as well as the shaky morality of what he does for a living, it seems inevitable that at some point in the future he will be in for a realization that he is, in fact, alone.  This is the crux of the film, so of course we are privy to the set of circumstances that will lead him to confront his existence.

Enter into the mix four women who will have a profound (though not individually predictable) impact on the way Ryan views his lifestyle and future. Vera Famiga is Alex, a slightly younger version of Ryan himself, a well coiffed businesswoman equally game for a romantic relationship devoid of obligations, commitment, or ties. Anna Kendrick plays Natalie, an Ivy educated, uptight whiz kid neophyte out to change the way the company does business. Finally, Melanie Lynskey and Amy Morton are Ryan’s neglected younger sisters, people he has all but cut out of his solitary life. Traveling back to Wisconsin for one of their weddings, however, he is forced to again deal with them, as well as his self-imposed exile from his home and extended family.

Up in the Airis based on the 2001 novel (Reitman and Sheldon Turner wrote the script) by Walter Kirn, who previously penned Thumbsucker(1999), which too was subsequently made into a quality film. Shot by Eric Steelberg (Juno; 500 Days of Summer), the visuals are excellent, and there is (like in Juno) a creative opening credit sequence. There are also several effective segments featuring real life fired workers from Detroit and St. Louis who were told they were being interviewed for a documentary, a facet that imbues the film with a resonance it might have otherwise lacked. These portions were added in response to the recent economic downturn, a decision that ties the film to the many Americans who have recently faced layoffs and firings themselves.   

Danny McBride has an amusing turn as Ryan’s soon to be brother in law. Cameos by JK Simmons; Sam Elliott; and Zack Galifanakis add flavor. Downsizing and the ongoing technologization of the workplace are relevant and timely themes, and there are ideas about family/commitment/love as it relates to personal freedom and professional success. The theme of human connectivity runs throughout the film as well, as Ryan begins  confronting his life as others see it, with the cold anonymity of traveling on the road juxtaposed with the warmth of Ryan’s hometown roots. A quality, well paced story with a bevy of humor, snappy dialogue, and engaging performances from an impressive cast.

Invictus(USA) Directed by Clint Eastwood  Written by Anthony Peckham  Starring Morgan Freeman; Matt Damon; Tony Kgorogue; Marguerite Wheatly; Patrick Mofoheng; Patrick Lyster; Julian Lewis Jones; Leliti Khumalo

The prolific Clint Eastwood gives us this adaptation (by screenwriter Anthony Peckham) of the book Playing the Enemy by John Carlin. The story focuses on the newly elected South African President Nelson Mandela (Morgan Freeman) and his attempts to rally the country around the national rugby team, The Springboks, a squad that served as a longstanding symbol of white separatism, and allegiance to a government that treated blacks as something less than human.  

This is not the Mandela bio-pic one might have expected. The sweeping scope fits director Eastwood’s strengths, but Mandela’s entire personal and professional past, incarceration, eventual release and political ascension, world wide human rights activism, and national and international political life as president are not examined in any detail. Instead, the film focuses on a specific place in time, concentrating on one aspect of Mandela’s early leadership. This approach allows Eastwood to dodge the kind of episodic torpor that often afflicts films about the lives of famous people, but, perhaps naturally, much is lost in the tradeoff.  

Mandela, an attorney who spent twenty seven years in prison due to Apartheid, was elected in 1994 at age seventy five, largely by blacks who were newly allowed to vote. Facing monumental challenges in uniting a violently divided country, he chose to retain the old national anthem, as well as the rugby team (both important symbols of the old South Africa), but attempted to co-opt both by altering what they stood for. The struggling team became a vehicle toward which he could channel common and collective energy, and eventually the team would, improbably, meet the heavily favored juggernaut All Blacks from New Zealand in the World Cup final.

Invictus is Latin for unconquered, a term taken from a William Ernest Henley poem that inspired Mandela while locked up on Robben Island (where ironically he also routed against the Springboks). A bit of a paint by numbers affair, at two hours and fourteen minutes the film also feels a bit long. Freeman looks the part, and though the accent is far from pristine he has the necessary gravitas to play a man known and revered the world over, something that couldn’t be said for many actors, famous or not. While the lack of consistent accent is a tad distracting, and his performance strays far from impression, he seems to capture the spirit of the man, and this hard to define aspect of his portrayal redeems the representation, making it an ultimately successful one.   

Though significantly physically smaller than the real life man, Matt Damon is nonetheless fine as team captain Francois Pienaar. Damon clearly bulked/toned up for the role, and seems believable in the hard hitting sports action sequences, though American audiences may be kinder in their assessment in this area than those located in places where the sport is a national obsession. The film attempts to bridge this gap for non-fans by having the players explain the rules to a group of children at one point, although it probably  doesn’t matter. Like The Longest Yard , Hoosiers , Victory, and others of the type, Invictus rests in our buying in just enough to root for the underdog team as we’re supposed to, and in this regard the rules and regulations are probably somewhat irrelevant.    

Too many platitudes are woven into the dialogue, making the film preachy and didactic in places, something that distances an audience from buying the characters as actual people as opposed to stock types. Also, the pervading atmosphere feels more than a bit sanitized, with nary a racial epithetuttered - perhaps all but impossible in a country of extreme systemic racial intolerance, especially during this tumultuous period when tensions were at a fevered pitch.  Further, though the main supporting players are excellent, there are some clunky moments from a few of the bit actors, a fact that rehearsals, more takes, and/or directorial massaging (practices esbychewed by director Eastwood) might have helped to solve.  These combined factors weaken a film with excellent visuals, solid sports action, and an emotion inducing ending.

Invictus is not, by any means, a great film, and by nature of its structure it gives short shrift to one of the most heroic figures in modern times. As a sports film, however, it does its job.

The Road(USA) Directed by John Hillcoat  Written by Joe Penhall  Starring Viggo Mortensen; Charlize Theron; Kody Smit-McPhee; Robert Duvall; Guy Pearce; Molly Parker; Michael K. Williams; Garret Dillahunt

Much speculation surrounded the release of Australian director John Hillcoat’s The Road, including reports that last years’ cut of the film had to be re-edited to counteract the bleakness quotient as execs feared audiences would be turned off by a view of a post-apocalyptic America virtually devoid of recognizable humanity. As is, the film remains fairly dire, filled with monochromatic images of a gray, sparsely populated, and largely plant and animal-less landscape as barren as the stomachs and souls of those still inhabiting the earth.

Based on the 2006 award winning novel by Cormac McCarthy (No Country For Old Men; Blood Meridian), Hillcoat and screenwriter (British playwright) Joe Penhall don’t stray far from the source. Though there are invented details added to the mix, the film respects the book’s minimalistic base and narrow scope and includes most of the major plot points. And while it might be said that Hillcoat, directing his fourth feature, never manages to cinematically transcend the book in the way one imagines most successful  literary adaptations ultimately accomplishing, there is also something to be said for the concept of fidelity, especially when it comes to re-imagining well-loved/respected work, and if nothing else The Road artfully manages not to besmirch McCarthy’s violent, spare telling. 

Whether Hillcoat captures the spirit of the novel is open to debate, but he does well evoking a washed out, burned out, and de-populated America still experiencing traumatic earthquakes and fires years after the undefined and unexplained cataclysmic event. For those who haven’t experienced the novel, the film is largely a two-hander with the ever youthful middle-aged Viggo Mortensen as The Man and young Kodi Smit-McPhee as The Boy. The story is a simple one - the father and son making their way on foot to the warmer coast climate where they hope to connect with other “good people” to start a better life.

Thankfully, Mortensen and newcomer Smith are both excellent and believable together, which is a good thing because the film all but entirely rests on their performances. Charlize Theron has a smaller role as mother and wife, seen in a series of flashbacks, including several color splashed ones highlighting the actresses still stunning beauty, as The Man repeatedly dreams of images and moments of a life that was. Hillcoat also effectively employs name actors like Guy Pearce (fellow Aussie and lead in his previous film, The Proposition); Molly Parker; Michael K Williams (Omar from The Wire); and Robert Duvall in supporting roles that essentially amount to cameos.

To Hillcoat’s and Penhall’s credit, they obviously decided against creating additional facts that might’ve been woven into the dialogue or voiceover (Mortensen) in order to better explain the current world situation, illuminate the specific cause and nature of the catastrophic event, or detail what exactly The Man hopes to find as he and the boy move south toward the ocean. The build is slow and meandering and even the more sensational of the sections have a muted quality to them that do not work either individually or joined together in the way that traditional thrillers, horror, or action flicks usually do. Rather, they serve merely as divergences along a narrative path that trudges forward in the same manner that The Man and The Boy do as they struggle mightily to haul their meager possessions in an old shopping cart, traversing woods, mud, and hills toward a fuzzy future neither can predict.

One of the major themes of the book and the film is the idea of forging ahead despite the negative that so often surrounds us. The concept of suicide as an opt out of the pain, and specifically as a final expedient solution for the boy if the father is killed, is one that is present throughout. Their world is filled with darkness, hunger, and predatory scavengers. The boy stands as a beacon of innocence in a dark and dismal universe, as well as being The Man’s one reason to live. For the boy, his “Papa” is the prism through which he sees the world, his protector and sole source of information about the present and the past. Always looming, however, is the threat of the many rapists, thieves, murderers, and cannibals who roam the terrain in an attempt to prey on whomever and whatever comes in their wake. In an existence fraught with a constant series of very real threats, far removed from any and all modern convenience or comfort, pleasure must be drawn from the simple - finding a rare can of Coke, playing with a small toy, the protection of some new found temporary shelter. 

The subject matter, of course, is far from novel, and the film calls to mind others of the type - Time of the Wolf; Mad Max; Waterworld; Stalker; The Stand; Le Dernier Combat; Boy and His Dog; The Quiet Earth- in its painting of a scorched post-apocalyptic world, but the book and films restraint in refusing to overtly tackle broader political or moral questions means that with the exception of several platitude infused moments we as audience avoid the kind of grand pronouncements usually afflicting films of the type. And while several scenes have the kind of scary, frenzied quality of some recent well-known zombie films, the narrative remains in the realm of the real with only the boy’s recitation of his father’s lessons as screed (based on his age, lack of education/ contact with others, and having never experienced the old world) smacking of the mythologizing so prevalent in apocalyptic and dystopic fiction.

While there is a definite flatness here, some of that might be understandably attributable to the depression and sensory deprivation of the beaten down, unwashed, and ill-fed characters, as well as the structure of the very film itself, containing as it does a plot constituted mostly of scenes with The Man and The Boy withstanding multiple life and death challenges as they attempt to survive their journey. The accumulated effect of their harrowing experience on an audience is equivalent to that of a boxer taking one too many jabs in the face, although it should be stressed that there is genuine and deeply felt emotion in the tender father/son connection, the one overriding tactile element of warmth in a desolate, depraved environment populated by the desperate and the deprived - individuals barely clinging to the memory of what made them human in the first place