127 Hours (USA) Directed by Danny Boyle  Written by Simon Beaufroy; Danny Boyle  Starring James Franco; Kate Mara; Amber Tamblyn; Lizzy Caplan; Treat Williams; Kate Burton; Rebecca Olsen

Having started acting some thirteen years ago, for some time now thirty two year old James Franco has been lying in the wings, hardly out of radar range, but fitting into a variety of supporting and leading roles in a cross-section of studio and independent films. Projects as wide ranging as cult TV show Freaks and Geeks (1999-2000); the mini-series James Dean (2001) the Spider Man trilogy (2001-2007); City by the Sea (2002); The Pineapple Express (2008); Milk (2008) and Howl (2010) have brought him to this point in his career - one which has, for some time, seemed to promise an ascension to movie stardom enjoyed by the likes of Brad Pitt; Matt Damon; Johnny Depp; and George Clooney. After all, Franco has the looks, the toothy, slightly crooked smile, and certainly the chops to be a matinee idol - someone populist audiences and critics alike could agree to accept.

With 127 Hours, Franco has perhaps emerged as a bankable leading man, and it’s a (practically) one-man; tour de force; bravura performance, the kind actors win Oscar’s for - and yet, this Danny Boyle helmed film, based on the memoir of the same name by Aron Ralston, is a not typical of anything, including previous semi-solo offerings like Castaway. Though 127 Hours shares a basic premise with that Tom Hanks movie - a man being trapped in a far off spot away from loved ones and friends, facing various forms of deprivation, Boyle does his level best to infuse the proceedings with lots of colorfully imaginative flashbacks, sun-splashed photography (DPs Anthony Dod Mantle and Enrique Chediak, using the S12K, Canon 7D and 5D HD cams), various editing flourishes, a forceful soundtrack (A.R. Rahman) bolstered with popular music, monologues in the form of a camcorder that Ralston uses to record his experience, and a host of surrealistic images mirroring thoughts, hallucinations, memories, and dreams to take us inside the head of a human being facing an extreme set of circumstances.

The beginning credit sequence, as well as the ending of the film, seem to be very much in Slumdog Millionaire mode, painting a wide scale perspective of the human condition and the eventual triumphant conquering of spirit. While these sections feel at least a tad derivative, the film as a whole miraculously places us smack dab in the shoes of the mountain climbing Ralston, a free spirit who found himself with his arm inextricably squeezed between rock formations in the middle of the vast desert near Moab, Utah. We experience the five-plus days he endures this horrific situation, riding the roller coaster of frustration, terror, panic, and depression that besets him.

Much has been made of the sequence when Ralston cuts off his arm in order to extricate himself. Make no mistake, this is powerfully visceral stuff, excruciating visuals and sound that come as close as is likely possible to getting some small hint of what it must have been like. The act itself, made even more difficult by the fact that Ralston had forgotten his Swiss army knife and was forced to hack his way through his own flesh and bone, deserves nothing less than the graphic detailing it receives, and Boyle refuses to shy away from the impossibly gruesome spectacle. Though it is clearly the most sensational part of the story, the act, as brave and courageous, and, (let’s face it) disgusting as it might be, doesn’t define the film, and this, as much as as anything, is an accomplishment Franco and Boyle should be applauded for.

There seems to be an acute understanding (no less aided by a screenplay Boyle adapted with frequent collaborator Simon Beaufroy) at work regarding the necessity for real finesse in executing the structural balance between Ralston’s present day circumstances and the melding of time and memory, an aspect that would certainly play a prominent role with anyone stranded on their own, deprived of food and water, in severe pain, exposed to sun and rain, and facing almost certain impending death, for any extended period of time.

Franco has been a tremendously prolific actor, particularly given his myriad extra curricular pursuits - namely, going to film school, making documentaries and narratives, producing, painting, writing fiction, and currently his attendance at Yale, where he is pursuing a P.H.D. He has even made time to do a role on the soap opera, General Hospital (which he subsequently turned into an art exhibit). Additionally, he is set to adapt and direct Faulkner’s (yes, that Faulkner’s) As I Lay Dying in the coming year. All of this seems to indicate that Franco might buck the tide and refuse to have his career defined by inane big budget romantic comedies and action flicks. As indicated by his appearances on Funny or Die and his connection to Jud Apatow it also seems that Franco, despite his lofty intellectual and artistic pursuits, and unlike some wonderful contemporary actors like Bale; Penn; and Day Lewis, doesn’t take himself altogether too seriously, a quality that might assist him in the years to come.

The Fighter (USA) Directed by David O. Russell   Written by  Scott Silver; Paul Tamasy; Eric Johnson    Starring Mark Wahlberg; Christian Bale; Melissa Leo; Amy Adams; Jack McGee; Mickey O’Keefe

In an era fraught with scandal and controversy within the sport, Junior Welterweight “Irish” Micky Ward rose out of relative obscurity to become a national symbol of what was right with boxing, demonstrating the kind of blood and guts determination and fortitude that movies are made of. Wallah, we get the story of Lowell, Massachusetts native Micky and his half brother, Dicky Eklund (Christian Bale), a once promising fighter himself whose life became dominated by crack addiction, multiple arrests, and repeated periods of incarceration.

In real life Ward’s career record was only 38-13, but he won a championship belt, and fought three epic battles (winning one) with nemesis (and later, good friend), the late Arturo Gatti, a warrior who was Ward’s equal in the never-quit-no-matter-what department. Both braved serious cuts, injuries, and multiple losses throughout their career, but continued on to eventually see their individual stars rise in their thirties. Their fights with one another in 2002 and 2003, which brought out the best in both men, were shown on HBO. These were particularly brutal contests, marked by a plethora of blood and closed eyes and the kind of brutal beauty and awe inspiring courage that defines the very best example of the controversial sport.

The film doesn’t touch the Gatti period, choosing to concentrate on the events leading up to Ward’s rise to prominence. Events too are heavily fictionalized, including the compression of Ward’s long life in boxing, and what was actually an eight year prison sentence for Eklund (in the film it feels like about one). Included though is the well known incident where Ward’s right hand was smashed by a Lowell police officer, though it actually happened much earlier in his life, and became a defining aspect of the latter part of his boxing career. Because his hand was so badly damaged and would repeatedly break, he was forced to rely on his left, the same hand he would use to dig into the body of his opponents, a devastating shot that became Ward’s trademark. The film barely touches on this very key detail, and its overall approach seems to be one long favored in Hollywood, where truth is less important than the aim of telling a good story. Here, director Russell blends genres and mixes tones to create a straight-forward, but simultaneously odd composite.

Producer/lead Wahlberg spent years trying to bring the story to the screen. Originally, other actors (Brad Pitt; Matt Damon) and directors (most notably, pre-The Wrestler Darren Aronofsky) were attached. There were several scripts and several near starts. The journey was also made more rocky by a controversy surrounding the fact that, at one point, Eklund sold the rights to his brother’s story.

The famously volatile Russell, who previously cast Wahlberg in Three Kings and I Heart Huckabees, was eventually brought on board, and he clearly saw the film as one primarily about family as opposed to an action based boxing story. While care is taken to recreate fight footage, and (with all the starts and stops) Wahlberg spent multiple years training to look like a fighter, the lack of budget (11 million for production) and shortened shoot shows in a definite lack of scope in the fight scenes. Wahlberg is, at best, adequate in these sequences, moving and throwing punches reasonably, but many of the scenes are too obviously choreographed, and Wahlberg seems to be in slow motion in some of the workout sessions (one can practically hear the counts dictating the next punch, duck, or block).

Russell has lots of fun at the expense of the family, making a mockery out of the seven Ward/Eklund sisters (who are less characters than caricature) and Mom/manager Alice (Melissa Leo - a wonderful actress, who struggles mightily with the vaunted accent). The Oedipal implications are obvious, with favored elder son Dicky, the once “Pride of Lowell”, receiving the lion’s share of the attention and accolades. The delivery of the information regarding Dicky’s familiar and community status is hardly subtle, however, as we are repeatedly told about his fight with Sugar Ray Leonard where he either did or didn’t knock Ray down.

Bale is nothing short of sensational as Eklund, stealing the film with a performance that walks a precarious line between trick- filled imitation and brilliant methody inhabiting, replete with another distressing weight loss (not Machinist distressing, but still…). Though he slips at times, Bale also nails the accent in places (”You’re Micky Ward”), and overall it’s close enough not to take away from his manic, humorous, and soulful take on Eklund, a fighter/trainer/neighborhood character/thief/crack addict. Eklund was something of a physical marvel, supremely athletically gifted, possessing a wealth of boxing insight and knowledge, but compelled by deep seated demons driving him to alcohol and drug abuse, undermining and eventually cutting short a once promising career.

Wahlberg, for his part, doesn’t try to do too much, and this is a good thing. Though at times his go to breathless exhortations resemble Casey Affleck’s solid, but less than hard guy portrayal of Patrick Kenzie in brother Ben’s Gone Baby Gone, but the stillness in his performance manages to close in on Ward’s quiet, humble manner, and his comfort with the accent and surroundings (having grown up in a big family in a similarly blue collar Boston neighborhood) pays dividends in his ability to settle into the role. While Bale’s turn is obviously the standout here, Wahlberg grounds the film with a solid baseline, and without him The Fighter  would’ve failed to achieve the alchemy that, despite some serious flaws, eventually adds up to success.

While Russell’s film takes some time to get going, the eventual accumulation of a well grounded sense of place and well cast minor characters and extras (many local non-pros, including a number of Eklund/Wards appear) begins to take over. The fact that there is no soft peddling of crack addiction, and a well-timed inclusion of the film within a film device, depicting the production of the real life HBO documentary, 1995s High on Crack Street, featuring Eklund, his friend Boo Boo (played by Paul Campbell here), and a third female addict, gives us a reckoning within the family and community, demonstrating how far off their insular world was from reality.

The miscalculation that stands out is simply one of degrees. While the idea of multiple homely, low rent sisters with bad hair who move and speak in unison is amusing on the surface (and does provide some cheap laughs), Russell goes to the well one too many times, and the cumulative affect results in condescension - the kind of skewering of simple-folk that would make a director like Sam Mendes proud. While there is a current of realism that aids the film’s strongest sections, this slip cuts into the overall tone of the piece in its entirety, one that would have done better staying farther away from broad comedy and allowing earned humor to arise naturally. The writers and filmmaker evidently didn’t trust that simple lines delivered with panache were funny enough, and determined the audience needed broad characterizations, over-the-top blow ups (like the porch scene with the sisters confronting Mickey’s new girlfriend Charlene (Amy Adams), and a kind of running “in-joke” worthy of a cookie cutter TV sit-com to “get it”.

Still, like all good sports biopics, what eventually wins an audience over are elements like the very real emotion on display, and an underdog lead character who dreams of doing better, being more. Here, a major component is family challenges/dysfunction; and, while often depicted in a ridiculous manner, the Ward/Eklund’s problems aren’t far removed from the kind of issues faced by families the world over. And while the “joke” involving the sisters certainly reduces them to something far, far less than fully realized individuals, Ward’s relationship with new girlfriend Charlene; father, George Ward (Jack McGee ); Mother,  Alice, and Lowell police office/trainer, Mickey O’Keefe (playing himself), smacks of the real thing. And regardless of the repeated fun poked at the family, it’s obvious that there is simultaneously an intent to honor their tight bonds, eventually unveiling the kind of unconditional love and support that knows no bounds.

In the end, it is the moments of realism, the generally strong sense of place, lead Wahlberg’s comfort with the world, and one knockout performance from Bale, that push The Fighter beyond the average, helping it offset the rather unfortunate representation of living and breathing working class people who deserve to be seen as something more than cartoon constructs.

The Social Network(USA) Directed by David Fincher   Written by Aaron Sorkin  Starring Jesse Eisenberg; Justin Timberlake; Rooney Mara; Andrew Garfield; Max Minghella; Armie Hammer; Joseph Mozzello

Hollywood has every resource its disposal - the money to buy the best technology and technicians; the ability to cast most any actor; access to locations across the world; the best post production personnel, procedures, and equipment; the best composers; millions to throw at advertising and promotion. The reasons why then so little quality winds up emerging are likely too numerous to try to delineate here, and of course the end goal is money as opposed to artistic merit, but suffice to say there is simply not a plethora of well constructed, reasonably thoughtful, entertaining films made by major Hollywood studios. 

The Social Network is an example of a quality concept that somehow got a studio to throw $50 million dollars at it, which in today’s insane Hollywood financing landscape is actually below the estimated average budget for a studio film. Perhaps the lack of a comparatively extravagant budget is one of the reasons why the film manages to retain some feeling of authorship amongst a sea of products that too often feel like the result of filmmaking by committee.

That is not to say that the result might necessarily be identified as a “David Fincher Film”. Though there are socially relevant themes contained (and cinema in general has a tremendous ability - too often squandered - to relate the important stories of our time) in this tale covering the rise of Facebook, the most successful social networking site in the history of the Internet, it is far from the dark, foreboding piece one might readily associate with the director of Fight Club; Seven; and Zodiac.

This is, however, the same filmmaker who made Benjamin Button, and (though that film was heralded for its work with reverse aging Brad Pitt), The Social Network too is hardly marked by cutting edge themes or hard edged violence and sex. The technique is solid, and the pace swift, but this is the kind of relatively straight-forward bio-pic/recent historical drama in the same general realm as that of a crowd/critic pleaser like the $30 million Up In the Air.

Based on the 2009 non-fiction bestseller by Ben Mezrich (and an excellent script from West Wing guy Aaron Sorkin), the story is a fascinating one, and the nebbishy Jesse Eisenberg seems a perfect fit for founder and CEO Mark Zuckerberg, currently the youngest billionaire in the world. Though the distillation of his story into a metaphor involving his pursuit of, and resentment toward, women seems (whether true or not) more than a little simplistic, the ideas supporting the development of a site that represents a huge shift in the way human beings across the world communicate and interact are effectively and satisfyingly portrayed.  Zuckerberg’s story (or at least the one put forth on screen) speaks to the psychological nature of why and how we use the Internet and the way it both reflects human nature and simultaneously affects it.

The story begins in 2003, Harvard University, Cambridge Massachusetts, where Zuckerberg, an undergrad from New York, writes computer programs, getting in trouble with the school for crashing the university network with his invention of Facemash, which involved the judgment of female students based on their looks. His partners in crime included Eduardo Saverin (Andrew Garfield), who would become Facebook’s CFO, and Zuckerberg’s programmer roommates, Dustin Moskovitz (Joseph Moszzello) and Chris Hughes (Patrick Mapel), who would also assist him in launching what was then titled The Facebook.

The film starts with Zuckerberg being broken up with by his pretty girlfriend, Erica Albright (Rooney Mara) at a college bar. During the conversation, he reveals himself to be a selfish, insecure, petty, and nakedly ambitious young man, utterly unaware of the snobbery and arrogance that Erica clearly abhored. Ironically, fueled by his own social awkwardness and lack of acceptance from elite college social groups, Zuckerberg is hell bent on shaking up the ingrained, elitist power bases that, from his perspective, conspire to keep him on the outs.

The crux of the long since settled legal controversy over the origins of Facebook revolve around the claims by Tyler Winklevoss, his identical twin, Cameron (both played by Armie Hammer) and Divya Narendra (Max Minghella), Harvard students who attempted to hire Zuckerberg to write code for a site they were developing called The Harvard Connection. There seems little doubt (as evidenced by the settlement that would later occur) that Zuckerberg “borrowed” some of their ideas, and also engaged in deception by stall and delay tactics that aided him in getting there first, launching his own amalgamated version of their idea (one he, by the way, was probably already circling around). There also seems to be little question that Zuckerberg is and was an extremely intelligent innovator who likely would have made his mark in some computer related venture regardless.

The nuanced, chicken or the egg aspect adds to the suspense, but this is a film where the journey is ultimately much more important than the end result. Intellectual property law is a complicated arena, and sussing out some definitive truth from a subject like this might be nearly impossible. In the end, Zuckerberg moved on (some might say ruthlessly) from some of the people who helped make the site what it eventually became. Whether this is an organic element in the development of any multi-billion dollar company, or speaks to major flaws in the character and morality of its founder is open to question. Further, there are real questions over how accurate the details of the story are in the first place (Zuckerberg reportedly did not cooperate with the book or film), and just how many fictionalized elements have been added to the mix in a set of events that have already become the stuff of lore.  What’s undeniable is the influence Facebook has had on modern communication across the world, the amount of money the company has generated, and the vast potential for Facebook to continue to impact the future of the most important technological invention of our time.

An effective score by Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross; exceptional editing (Kirk Baxter; Angus Wall); and a solid supporting performance by Justin Timberlake as Napster founder Sean Parker further assist in making The Social Network undoubtedly one of the top films of the year.

Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps (USA) Directed by Oliver Stone  Written by Allen Loeb; Stephen Schiff   Starring Michael Douglas; Shia Labeouf; Carey Mulligan; Josh Brolin; Susan Sarandon; Eli Wallach; Frank Langella; Austin Pendleton; Jason Clarke; Vanessa Ferlito       

Sixty four year old Oliver Stone is like a power hitting specialist in baseball - each and every time up at bat he’s swinging for the fences. Many of his efforts over the last fifteen years have fallen short of the wall - pop ups to the outfield; some drives to the warning track, but he keeps whacking away, satisfied only with the possibility of creating big films that tackle the political, economic, and social questions of our day.

Stone’s films are, on the whole, loud and brash, his scripts unapologetically riddled with characters  speechifying about philosophical life questions. There is a theatricality to them that often reaches the grand scale of opera, and the recent historic nature of much of his output provides problems with recounting these real life events in a naturalistic way, keeping up the entertainment quotient while delving into the big questions that compelled him in the first place.    

When Stone gets the balance right, a kind of epic feel is often achieved that is not easily manufactured in cinema. To his credit, whether the subject matter is war; the executive office of the president; terrorism; or finance, his films are almost always about something, which is not at all a given when discussing the majority of entries emerging from the Hollywood machine. For better or worse Stone has a horse in the race most times out of the gate - he’s a student of politics, and history, posessing a seemingly insatiable intellectual curiosity, an artist who wants desperately to reach mass audiences to communicate to them his stridently held ideas about our collective state of existence within American society, and the larger world where we reside.  

Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps is, of course, not the work of a modest filmmaker. Stone is after creating something that speaks of and for our times: no small task that. Here, he tackles our recent economic woes,  concentrating, of course, on the Wall Street collapse and the scandal related to credit default swaps, hedge funds, and the failings of sub-prime mortgages and the real estate market, while  touching upon ideas about the melding of green energy and commerce. 

While the film is not a piece with multiple story lines akin to something like Babel, in its own way it bites off just as much. And by treating Gordon Gekko’s return to public life (he’s written a book) following a five year court battle, an eight year prison stay, and an additional seven years of imposed exile from the financial industry with the kind of utmost seriousness and sense of importance one would expect from Stone, he sets up the plot as a kind of archetypal morality play that is as every bit in love with its own sweep as the original. Thankfully, however, Stone is one of the few filmmakers with the ego, aplomb, cajones, and overall chops to pull off something of this size and scope. Big, wide reaching dramas are ultimately far more unwieldy than the expensive, technically complicated comic book superhero entrees, actioners, and sci-fi/fantasy sagas that make up so much of what we see in American theaters, mainly because they must combine high production value with a logical, coherent story containing emotionally true scenes that rise to the high stakes of the film without going over the top.

Sequels, with a few notable exceptions (Godfather II; Before Sunset), almost always suffer from being severely anti-climactic - attempts to recapture what made (in some cases) the first one so good often  leading to an obvious lack of originality and the feeling of being served a warmed over meal. Stone manages to make real recent history work in his favor, allowing the story (a solid script by Allen Loeb and Stephen Schiff) to arise out of its shadow. A sequel to a tale as big as the original needed something major and compelling at its center/backdrop/core and Stone was smart and savvy enough to realize that the world economic crisis was a set of circumstances that could support a second film.

Stone does well with a cast led by the ageless (though currently sick) Michael Douglas (reprising the reptilian Gordon Gekko role), and two good young actors in Carey Mulligan (as daughter Winnie Gekko) and Shia Labeouf (as boyfriend/fiancee Jake Moore). This is the young/young looking Labeouf’s best role to date, and the gifted Mulligan keeps the momentum rolling from her exceptional Oscar nominated work in An Education (she also appears in Never Let Me Go, currently in theaters). The supporting players include Susan Sarandon, who has an underwritten role as Jake’s Jewish, Long Island Mom; Josh Brolin as bad guy/hot shot billionaire Bretton James; ninety four year old Eli Wallach as Jules Steinhardt; and seventy two year old Frank Langella, in a nice turn, as Jake’s mentor Louis Zabel.

Shot by the supremely talented Diego Prieto, Stone makes great use of the New York skyline, employing an abundance of aerial shots and views through the windows of hi-rise apartments to give us a taste of the city, though there are times when the visuals are perhaps a little too busy. Stone includes any number of mesmerizing graphics and charts to (over) explain the already distilled scientific and economic concepts put forth, using dissolves and other transitional devices to continue fluidly driving the momentum. And still, while, for instance, the motorcycle race that takes place between Jake and Bretton is telegraphed and more than a little cliche, it is also crisply filmed with an intensity befitting the speed and danger of the action on display.

This film is not on par with the original, and Laboeuf ultimately proves less compelling and believable than his 1987 counterpart, young Charlie Sheen (who returns in a off-puttingly glib cameo as Bud Fox), but as far as sequels go this one is still among the best ever made.

I’m Still Here (USA) Directed by Casey Affleck

I’m Still Here arises out of a tradition that includes Spinal Tap; Sasha Baron Cohen’s Borat; and Bruno; the films of Christopher Guest; and the work of Andy Kaufman, performance art played out in a mockumentary format. The best of this type of work exists on multiple levels, revealing truths about cultural/societal morays that only the best satirical material can accomplish.

While, like the recent Paper Heart, I’m Still Here melds fact with fiction, what really makes this film different than its predecessors is the prolonged set up, starting with Joaquin Phoenix’s announcement in October 2008 that he was retiring from acting to pursue a career in rap, as well as the A list nature of his celebrity. Word soon got out that he and brother-in-law Casey Affleck (who’s married to Joaquin’s younger sister Summer) were at work on a project that would document Phoenix’s career change. It seemed obvious to this writer that all of this was a stunt for the sake of the documentary, but speculation continued about the validity of the Academy Award nominated actor’s pursuits, subsiding only in the past few days when Affleck revealed that the entire thing was, in fact, a hoax.

The film shows us the infamous and hilarious February 2009 Letterman interview that garnered world wide publicity. It also gives us several of Phoenix’s live rap performances, including the Las Vegas LIV nightclub where he dove into the crowd in order to attack a (planted) heckling audience member. We see numerous excerpts from entertainment shows, You Tube clips, and comedians and talk show hosts commenting on and  mocking his behavior, as well as shots of the paparazzi trailing him at various events.

Behind the scenes we see Phoenix interacting with Affleck, who for most of the film is, presumably, behind the camera, and the other members of his small entourage, including assistant Anton (former Spacehog guitarist Anthony Langdon), a recovering addict and Phoenix’s whipping boy, and put upon manager Larry, exasperated and befuddled throughout as he tries to appease his star client. Celebrities who appear in amusing cameos, include Edward James Olmos; Mos Def; Ben Stiller (who notably mocked Phoenix’s bearded look at The Academy Awards); and Sean “Diddy” Combs.

Phoenix, who refers to himself as J.P., a tag connected to his new found persona, is like Brian Wilson without the talent. His insanely wild, unkempt beard (Letterman compared him to The Unabomber); scraggly, untethered head of hair; and generally disheveled look, combine with his barely coherent mumblings and incessant cursing to frame an absurdly self-involved, off-kilter character. J.P., who has clearly let himself go physically (Phoenix appears shirtless; and several shots focus on his enlarged belly), smokes pot, sniffs cocaine, and with disturbingly manaical laughter orders up hookers by phone. When he’s not recording music at his home studio, he’s waxing poetic about art and purity, while consistently demonstrating his pettiness and jealousy, verbally abusing and berating those in his employ, and spouting deluded ramblings in a neverending stream of consciousness. While the project itself could be considered self-indulgent, it is actually about that very subject; J.P. is, for the most part, a despicable person, his every whim indulged by sycophantic glad-handers who fawn over this rich and famous person.

There are plenty of laugh out loud moments here, including JP’s dealings with Combs, whom he essentially stalks in order to meet. Phoenix is wonderful at playing awkward and uncomfortable, and uses silent pauses, nervous tics, and twitches to great affect, his immersion in this persona so deep that he makes us believe (or at least go with it) in spite of our better judgment. The excruciating rap bits are priceless, with audience members using their cellphones to take photos of the celebrity on parade, excited by his presence, yet slowly coming to the realization that he’s terrible. The confusion over the validity of the enterprise adds additional strangeness as no one is quite sure whether to laugh or get angry.

What’s most compelling about I’m Still Here though is the degree of vulnerability and rawness that Phoenix is somehow able to infuse into the hapless JP, a character we should clearly loathe. There is something about his talk of dreams (he reads from a children’s book on the subject at one point), and his willingness to put himself out there against all logic, that beckons to the child in all of us. He compares acting to being a puppet, and explains that he wants to do something creative to be heard, and one can’t help but wonder how much of his truth is sprinkled amongst the nonsense.   

What’s undeniable is the fact that Phoenix intentionally (or at least consciously) took a torch to his career for the past few years, and one wonders how this enters into how he will be received (by audiences and film insiders) in the future. One wonders what James Gray, director of Phoenix’s last film (the woefully underrated Two Lovers), felt about his publicity stunt as they promoted that film. And to go to this extent, wouldn’t there have had to have been something personal about the ideas being explored here? Could it be that Phoenix was really burned out and looked at this project as a way to escape some of the madness (although seemingly contradictorily opening himself up to an entirely different brand of public scrutiny)? And what of the two recently settled real life (?) sexual harrassment lawsuits filed by female producers connected to the film against director/producer Affleck, and how this factors in to this extended prank of a film.

It is perhaps in the opening created footage evoking the Phoenix (or Bottom) family when they were young, playing in a outdoor lagoon and waterfall in Panama (Phoenix was born in Puerto Rico), and then later, when Affleck and Phoenix (or at least, JP) return to the same spot, that we fully realize this is something more than the usual mockumentary. Though it is never brought up, it is impossible not to recall the tragic death of brother River, and the sense of sadness and loss that seems to underlie the proceedings.  

While Spinal Tap set the bar, and stands as perhaps the richest, most fully developed film of its kind, I’m Still Here melds humor; outrageous over-the-top sophmoric moments; pathos and a poignant depiction of personal fragility; with satirical commentary on fame, wealth, and publicity. The result proves subversive on multiple fronts, not the least of which being the fact that several genuinely moving moments sneak up and bite us, regardless of how seemingly ironic and ridiculous the whole affair might be.

The Town (USA) Directed by Ben Affleck  Written by Ben Affleck; Aaron Stockard; Peter Craig   Starring Ben Affleck; Jeremy Renner; Rebecca Hall; Jon Hamm; Peter Postelwaite; Blake Lively; Slaine; Owen Burke; Titus Welliver

In director years Ben Affleck, at age 38, is a kid, still honing his craft, working out the kinks. And yet, with just two films under his belt, he’s already proven that he has command over his hometown milieu, and that he knows his way around a crime thriller. Like his debut, Gone Baby Gone, The Town is based on a novel (Prince of Thieves by Chuck Hogan ), and like Affleck’s previous film, this one has some structural issues. While Gone Baby Gone suffered from an abundance of characters, over-plotting, and as many rises and falls as the old wooden roller coaster at Paragon Park, The Town is saddled with some implausabilities, and a rather obvious path that fails to surprise or transcend the genre.

Make no mistake, however, this is, for the most part, well done stuff. Though the shootout/heist scenes are certainly overblown (and there’s at least one too many of them) what we see is spectacularly handled. Low tech (in terms of action movie standards), high intensity, testosterone fueled gun battles that feel as viscerally realistic as anything we experience in Saving Private Ryan; The Hurt Locker; or Michael Mann’s Heat. Affleck has an excellent feel for modulating these scenes - hyped up reality to be sure, but sequences that never tipple into the absurd.

And boy, let it be said again - the guy know his milieu. Affleck gets the city right - or at least to the extent that he understands the tribal rituals and cramped architecture of its ethnic neighborhoods. The script is dotted with spot on colloquialisms, and Affleck himself (as our hero/bank robber Doug Macray) delivers a number of amusing lines, clearly relishing the intonations and inflections of the accent. The cast too is beefed up with non-pro locals in small parts, meaning that the only “outsider” actors who have to contend with the vaunted accent are Chris Cooper (in a small role as Doug’s father, Stephen); Jeremy Renner (as Doug’s friend/crime partner James “Jim”/”Jem” Coughlin); Blake Lively as Jem’s sister, Krista Coughlin, and Titus Welliver (as cop Dino Ciampa), an actor who was also cast in Affleck’s previous flick. Accent-wise, the first three struggle mightily, but the performances are generally good nonetheless, with Lively at least getting the vocal rhythms (if not always the pronunciation of individual words) of a local, drug addicted single Mom. One wonders though if Affleck will ever be able to break from the demands of financiers and make a Boston based film where all of the accents are on point (which would, by the way, essentially mean that he would have to cast all locals since non-natives seem unable to approach getting it right).

It should be noted that Affleck the actor is good here. Gone are some of the affectations that had him gliding through roles playing fast talking semi-sleazy guys with loads of charm. Life (in the form of critics) has beat him up some, and maybe it’s for the good, because there is truth in the performance, and he enjoys nearly as many good moments here as he accrued in all of his films post Good Will Hunting. The beautiful Rebecca Hall is at least his equal as yuppie/bank manager Clare Keesy. Despite the massive cliches and a gaping improbability the size of the Quincy Quarries hampering the believability of their coming together, the two actors at least manage to carve out something emotionally real out of what might have been excruciatingly cloying scenes together. Jon Hamm as FBI agent Frawley too makes the most of a decently written role that has him standing somewhere in the middle of good guy and bad.

There are missteps with some small though relevant details. A scene with Macray’s bunch hanging out at a BBQ listening to rap music (a plug for actor/rapper Slaine (as robber Gloansy)) seems, even in this day and age, like a bit of a stretch in a neighborhood where racial tension has been a key element since the 1970s. Talk of father Stephen (Chris Cooper) being violated in prison seem far fetched at best. On the whole, they aren’t the kind of guys who make a habit of getting raped as it simply wouldn’t be tolerated from a group whose ranks include numerous professional crooks and cold blooded killers as ruthless as any Aryan Brotherhood clique. Finally, in retrospect, Peter Postelwaite’s florist/ bookie character Fergie seems almost entirely unnecessary,  present only to drive tension, and later, heighten the drama by making him a true nemesis.

These types of apparent small miscalculations stand out all the more because Affleck does so many things well. His eye for detail is exceptional, the look of both his films superb, and though on this count some large degree of credit must obviously be given to his choices in cinematographers (John Toll with Gone Baby Gone; consummate pro Robert Elswit here), as well as some nice work on the production and sound design, at the end of the day there is one man responsible for the mis en scene, and The Town smells like the real thing. Yes, there is a little too much information tossed at us about Doug’s background, and an eventual series of revelations revolving around Fergie’s role in his family’s past seems like so much overkill, but by and large this is solid genre film-making.

Affleck has now made two strong, though far from perfect films set in neighborhood Boston having to do with crime. Though the cry will go out for him to change it up and bring something new to the table, here’s hoping the director continues to explore his muse, improving his storytelling capabilities as he moves slowly away (both literally and figuratively) from the place where he obviously feels so comfortable. There are lots of wonderful stories to tell about any place in the world. In that way the location is simultaneously  an essential element and an irrelevant detail of Affleck’s bright future as a filmmaker.

Animal Kingdom (USA) Directed by David Michod  Written by David Michod  Starring Ben Mendelsohn; Joel Edgerton; Guy Pearce; Luke Ford; Sullivan Stapleton; James Frecheville; Dan Wyllie; Jacki Weaver; Laura Wheelwright

In recent years, there has, seemingly, been a dearth of meaningful cinema arising out of Australia. One has to hearken back to the 70s and 80s and the films of Paul Cox (a Dutch native), Peter Weir’s Picnic at Hanging Rock (1975) and Gallipoli (1981); and well respected offerings such as Walkabout (1971); The Chant for Jimmie Blacksmith (1976); and Breaker Morant (1980) for a time when Australia was consistently producing relevant films. Though the last decade has brought us The Proposition (2005); Cate Shortland’s Somersault (2004); and Rabbitt Proof Fence (2002), there has been an overall lack of critically lauded films enjoying a life on the US stage.

Australia has continued to turn out excellent actors, of course - their ranks including the late Heath Ledger, Nicole Kidman, Russell Crowe, Guy Pearce, Eric Bana, Toni Collette, Naomi Watts, Cate Blanchett, Geoffrey Rush, and newcomers like Sam Worthington and Abbie Cornish. Interestingly, the Aussies have also managed a relatively consistent stream of gritty dramas focusing on crime and drug abuse, with Chopper (2000); Candy (2006); Little Fish (2005); and Gettin Square (2008) some of the more recent examples of the kind.

Continuing in the tradition of his native land’s genre crime output, Animal Kingdom also represents the feature debut from writer/director David Michod, who employs a cast that includes several of the country’s most respected actors. Michod utilizes a background encompassing several documentary shorts to good ends, working from his own minimalist script to tell the story of the bank robbing Cody family.

The protagonist here is young Joshua “J” Cody (age undefined, but seeming to be around 18/19), who, in the opening, loses his mother to a heroin overdose. His blase reaction to watching his expiring/expired mother on the living room sofa gives evidence to the troubled life he has likely led. He naturally calls his closest relative, maternal grandmother Janine, who has been estranged from J and her daughter for a number of years, but is quick to take him in.

Michod doesn’t feel compelled to give us much back story, providing, for example, no information about J’s father, though we do hear the young man’s thoughts in an unnecessary intro voiceover as he speaks with the perspective of having gone through the events that will eventually unfold before us. This is a violent, unsentimental story that relishes the realism and naturalistic acting on display, employing plenty of hand held camera to mirror non-fiction filming.

In actual life, J is barely conversant, delivering mostly monosyllabic responses to the questions posed to him, barely able to confide even the smallest of secrets to doting girlfriend Nicky (Laura Wheelwright).  Separated from the tribe though he may have been, he is also well aware of and attuned to the capabilities and unpredictability of his dangerous uncles Barry (Joel Edgerton); Pope (Ben Mendelsohn); Craig (Sullivan Stapleton); and Darren (Luke Ford). Mendelsohn’s eldest brother Pope is particularly psychopathic, with his eerie offers to listen to his relatives problems melded with his ongoing psychological menacing of all involved.

There are Shakespearean themas at work here, including the Oedipal relationship between omnipresent Janine (or “Smurf” as she is called) and her devoted offspring (replete with lingering kisses on the lips). A sickness is present among these people that is never fully explained, but all of the brothers seem in their own way to be suffering from some form of mental illness - at one point, Janine even suggests that Pope should get back on his medication. Barry too is seen taking pills, and the amount of self-medicating going on further elucidates the fact that something is seriously amiss in the blood of this clan.  

Guy Pearce, the actor most well known to American audiences, plays a detective here, going about his job methodically, intent on crumbling the family from the base, while members of the bank robbery task force have a decidely more direct approach to eradicating their suspects. Michod refuses too to pad Pearce’s character with additional motivation, showing us only glimpses of his family (underlined by the ominous though not overly aggressive score) and several glances that indicate a hint at a morality which most of the others on both sides appear to lack.

Animal Kingdom represents a well-constructed first effort from a director who clearly aimed to create a quality genre entry, while endeavoring to subvert many of the conventions of the type. At 112 minutes, the film has some pacing issues and may have benefited from some well placed trimming to achieve additional needed fluidity. Though the idea was clearly to avoid standard crime thriller build up and pay-off, the lack of focused narrative drive leaves the piece meandering in the late second and third acts, at the exact point when we as audience get increasingly anxious for unveiling.

A bit too in love with its own aesthetic perhaps, Animal Kingdom nonetheless represents a valiant stab at the kind of spare and tightly controlled crime drama so exquisitely achieved in Jacques Audiard’s A Prophet. One hopes the effort marks the beginnings of what might be an interesting career from a newer director, and perhaps even representative of a new cinematic era arising out of the country from which it was birthed.

Life During Wartime (USA) Directed by Todd Solondz  Written by Todd Solondz  Starring Allison Janney; Shirley Henderson; Paul Reubens; Michael K. Williams; Ciaran Hinds; Dylan Riley Snyder; Ally Sheedy ; Chris Marquette; Charlotte Rampling; Michael Lerner; Emma Hindz; Gaby Hoffman; Renee Taylor; Rich Pecci

Todd Solondz, maker of stylized, misanthropic dramas about Jewish families based in New Jersey, relocates to Florida (though filmed in Puerto Rico), taking many of his characters from Happiness (1998), and even a few whom he originated in 1995s Welcome to the Dollhouse (Mark Wiener makes his third appearance),  for another offbeat ensemble piece touching upon pedophilia, self-involvement, guilt, and screwed up adults passing on their own messiness to their offspring.

Some have contended that Solondz’ work represents a deep form of humanism because he delves into aspects of our condition and psyche that many artists shy away from. Life During Wartime might even represent Solondz-lite, or at least presents a slight shift in attitude regarding ideas of forgiveness and redemption, as well as a more open and/or generous view of the possibilities of the power of healing. But to say that Solondz’ overall take on human nature has progressed, grown, eased up, or undergone some sort of metamorphosis might be something of a stretch. At most, his newest work represents a variation on well traversed territory, a continuation of the same general dialectic running throughout his career.

Following his practiced formula, Solondz parades another gruesome lineup of hard-to-like grotesques before our eyes. The central plot focuses on the three sisters from Happiness, now middle-aged and all played by different actors: simpering, vulnerable social worker Joy (Shirley Henderson); high strung, opinionated, newly in love Trish (Allison Janney); and pompous, self-involved (and now rich) screenwriter Helen (Ally Sheedy).

Trish is still ensconced in rebuilding mode following her husband Bill’s (Ciaran Hinds) incarceration years before for raping several neighborhood children. Her son Billy (Chris Marquette), now college-aged, is away at school, but younger son Timmy (Dylan Riley Snyder) represents a favorite Solondz type, the slightly effeminate, pre-pubescent adolescent racked with existential angst and a heap of questions about the world. Trish has fallen in love with an older, divorced Jewish man, Harvey (Michael Lerner), whom she describes as unattractive and not particularly well-off, but is nevertheless overjoyed by the fact that he is “normal” and not “pervy”.

Solondz excuses us from some of the more intensely excruciating moments that have marked his past films, including the younger Billy (Rufus Read) asking his creepy Dad (Dylan Baker) if he would ever rape him, though he still manages to induce some cringing (Trish relating to Timmy about getting wet when her new love interest touched her shoulder). And yet, though he hardly deviates from the thematic totems of his entire oeuvre, there is still a vaguely sanitized feel at work, or perhaps it’s merely that we have become inured against some the shocking bluntness related to Solondz’ confrontation of various taboo social topics.

There are other stylistic differences here as well, including a one scene interlude (that seems flown in from another film) involving newly released Bill’s hook-up with a self-described “monster” Jacqueline (Charlotte Rampling); and the inclusion of an abusive dream ghost, Andy (Paul Reubens), Joy’s ex who committed suicide when she broke up with him years before. These devices deviate from Solondz’s usual base of flatly rendered domestic suburban scenes populated by disaffected oddballs who exhibit various forms of arrogance, superciliousness, self-delusion, and self-destructive, nihilistic behaviors impacting those around them.

As demonstrated by his use of eight very different actors to play his female lead in the abortion-themed Palindromes, Solondz enjoys toying with the very idea of casting - perhaps, at least in part (and as obvious as it may be), a meta commentary on the dual nature of the human make-up. Here, though he peppers his cast with some renowned European actors (Hinds; Rampling; Henderson), some of the choices are indeed odd ones (e.g. African American Michael K. Williams playing a role originally inhabited by Phillip Seymour Hoffman).

Fifty one year old Todd Solondz began making fiercely independent, low budget films in the 1980s for a somewhat specialized audience. In the twenty years since his feature debut he has hardly been deterred from his initial course, continuing to explore the themes and motifs arising from the depths of his obsessions. Though his work is nothing if not an acquired taste, and the individual offerings have wavered some in terms of the precision of their execution, he remains an unapologetic outsider in a landscape increasingly dominated by those aspiring toward the mediocrity of the middle.

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

Lisa Cholodenko 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 episodic television) has only  produced three features (and one of those was a Showtime original) 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, cool guy 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, to some extent, 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 people in general, 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 book 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) Inception has 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 targetsn 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.