Mitt

On October 3, 2012, the day of Governor Mitt Romney's triumphant defeat of President Barack Obama in the first presidential debate before the election, I wrote a forceful (to the say the least) article on why I thought Obama should be re-elected over Romney. It was mostly an editorial on reasons I thought Obama was more or less effective as our leader--healthcare, economic stimulus, taking out Bin Laden, LGBT issues, etc. were all covered. The article practically skipped any mention of his opponent, save for the final paragraph. Calling him a "weak opponent," I issued the usual charges: Romney is a flip-flopper. Romney is "severely conservative," as he put it. Romney is bad for the country. "It's not his far-right conservatism, his omnipresence of position changes, or the dire state of our economy and standing in the world should he become president that frighten me," I wrote. "It's his character."

Romney, at that time, disgusted me. His 47 percent comment, addressed here in Gregory Whiteley's new documentary about Romney's campaigns for president, was one of the most blood-boiling comments I had heard from a presidential nominee. I regret questioning Romney's character, and one part of the article I also regret is in reference to Romney's car elevators. The revelation, first revealed in a Politico article from May 12, 2012, opened with this: "At Mitt Romney's proposed beach house, the cars will have their own separate elevator." In the documentary "Mitt," we see a behind-the-scenes moment with Romney and his family, who complain about then-Senator (and now Secretary of State) John Kerry criticizing the Romney family's car garages. "That was because of my wife's MS," one of his sons tells Mitt to say, "you A-hole."

A simple Google search did not show results suggesting Mitt Romney had in fact installed the garages for his wife, Ann, due to her multiple sclerosis. But there's no reason not to believe the defense. The point is that if the defense is true, then criticizing assistance for those with disabilities is further evidence that we're living in hyperpartisan times and that we ought to be ashamed of ourselves. And so Whiteley's documentary does not aspire to be combative, like Michael Moore's "Fahrenheit 9/11," or thoroughly thought provoking, like Errol Morris' "The Fog of War." The aim of this movie is simply to show you the behind-the-scenes of both of Romney's campaign, and perhaps for you even to like one of the most unlikable candidates for president in recent memory. In regards to the second goal, it's actually effective.

How lucky Whiteley was when the Romney family approved of the making of a documentary about his first campaign for president back in 2006; surely he could not have imagined that this would in fact be a six year journey, an intimate portrait unlike that of any other candidate in 2008 or 2012. We are reminded of the fascinating race that was 2008; the Democrats, with their history-making candidates, and the Republicans, awkwardly trying to show the country they weren't George W. Bush. At the time, you will recall, the nomination seemed to be Rudy Giuliani's for the taking (Rudy Giuliani?), and John McCain, who initially started as Giuliani's main opponent, kept sinking and sinking and sinking. Romney stood as sort of the most credible conservative alternative, yet conservatives were very suspicious (and rightfully so) of Romney due to his frequent flip-flops. Romney, aware of this perception, tells his advisers and family members that he is the "flipping Mormon." Watch McCain's sucker punch, seen in the documentary, to Romney, mockingly calling him "the candidate of change."

But also consider Romney's response. He tells McCain that the "I know more about foreign policy than you do" argument is flawed. Romney was right. The first presidential debate between McCain and Obama focused on foreign policy, and yet not only did Obama actually beat McCain, but McCain lost the election, largely because of the Iraq War and the economy. The point I'm trying to make is that Romney is seen frequently in this documentary as a very astute candidate. He humbly calls himself a flawed one, one who doesn't really fit the Republican mold, and yet time after time in this film he is right. 

One time he was wrong however, is the actual election night, which is where our film opens. He doesn't have the president's number. Why would he need it? To concede, of course, and yet he hasn't even written a concession speech. Think of previous failed candidates--Mondale, Dukakis, Dole--they all knew, as everyone did, that they were going to lose. Romney, on the other hand, apparently really thought he was going to win, and who can blame him? After all, he probably was listing to the wrong pundits. (Next time he should read the greatest book on presidential elections, "The Keys to the White House.") One particular scene that I enjoyed was the very final one. I won't reveal it, only to say that it answered a question I'm sure many have had about losing presidential nominees: where do they go when they lose? In this scene, Mitt and Ann Romney seem content, about as content as someone can be who lost two consecutive presidential elections. But they're alive, as are the beautiful members of their family. Life goes on. The long day closes. 

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The Best Things Said About the Late, Great Philip Seymour Hoffman

On Sunday, we lost one of our finest actors, Philip Seymour Hoffman. There is no doubt there has been an outpouring of thought on the web about his terrific work and how sad it is that there will no be more of it (other than the completed or almost completed works of his to be released in the future). I could devote an article to my thoughts on his tremendous career, but it would be better instead to include the writings of those who are far better writers than me. Here are some of them:

David Thomson, the New Republic
Philip Seymour Hoffman did not look like an actor. That was the most alarming and promising thing about him, and now that he is dead, aged 46, in his apartment in New York, of an apparent drug overdose, so many things about him fall into place--if it is a story, instead of a helpless tragedy. He was overweight; he was unkempt; he was blond--which is really not common in actors; he had the quality of seeming blurred sometimes, as if there was such turmoil inside him that he had been unable to settle on a fixed appearance, or a simple presentation of self. It's one thing to say that he was a very good actor, or a brilliant, or a genius; it's probably far more important to realize how contemptuous he was of those labels and how thoroughly he lived with their inadequacy. Actors are meant to take care of themselves. That is part of the code of being good-looking, an identifiable type or brand, endlessly castable and bankable. Hoffman had never given the least indication of following that code. For several years, it was a matter of wonder what he might do as he grew older after the astonishing luck or rightness of "Capote," "Syndecdoche, New York," "The Ides of March," or whatever you might think of.

Derek Thompson, the Atlantic
Daniel Day-Lewis, the most decorated male actor of his time, has astonished as America's most famous president and most ruthless fictional oil titan. But he excels at playing  superlatives--at commanding the aristocratic awe of characters who are bigger than life. Day-Lewis playing a game of pick-up basketball in a romantic comedy isn't a movie scene. It's a discarded SNL skit. It's a bad joke. He would never do it, and nobody would ever want to see it. Hoffman was different. He could put himself up and play larger than life, but his specialty was to find the quiet dignity in life-sized characters--losers, outcasts, and human marginalia.

Wael Khairy, robertebert.com
I remember the first film that made me recognize the great actor in Philip Seymour Hoffman. It was his magnificent turn in "25th Hour"; from then on, his career spiraled into that of a legend. In fact, when you look back at his career, you can tell he was bound to reach legendary status. With "Punch Drunk Love", "25th Hour", "Empire Falls", "The Savages", "Capote", "Before the Devil Knows You're Dead", "Charlie Wilson's War", "Doubt", "Synecdoche, New York", and "The Master" all released within a decade, I think it's safe to say he was to the noughties what De Niro, Pacino, and Dustin Hoffman were to the '70s.

Forrest Wickman, Slate
"Twister" was little more than a feature-length excuse for animating CGI tornadoes, and Philip Seymour Hoffman was cast in the relatively thankless role of the radio man. And yet he managed to turn this small supporting role into a character memorable enough that fans have cut highlight reels of just his performance.

Total Film
It might be called "Charlie Wilson's War," but this is Philip Seymour Hoffman's film. He steals it from under the feet of the titular Tom Hanks, with his foul-mouthed CIA agent being the most memorable element of the film. He was Oscar-nominated for it, and rightly so.

His director, Mike Nichols, said of Hoffman, "Last year, he did three films--'The Savages', 'Charlie Wilson's War' and 'Before the Devil Knows You're Dead'--and in each one he was a distinct and entirely different human. It's that humanity that is so striking--when you watch Phil work, his entire constitution seems to change. He may look like Phil, but there's something different in his eyes. And that means he's reconstituted himself from within, willfully rearranging his molecules to become another human being."

A.O. Scott, the New York Times
Lancaster Dodd sacrifices his intelligence on the altar of his ego. Truman Capote risks his integrity and betrays his friends in pursuit of his literary ambitions, his motives a volatile mixture of compassion and morbid curiosity. The schoolteacher in "25th Hour" and the lonely predator in "Happiness" are both indelibly creepy. The frustrated academic of "The Savages" is merely (if also splendidly) misanthropic, and the grumpy theater artist of "Synecdoche, New York" may be merely (if also baroquely) frustrated. The priest of "Doubt" and the would-be criminal of "Before the Devil Knows You're Dead" are potentially much worse.

These are not antiheroes in the cable television, charismatic bad-boy sense of the term. They are, in many cases (and there are more, going all the way back to "The Talented Mr. Ripley" and even the 1992 "Scent of a Woman"), thoroughly awful people: pathetic, repellent, undeserving of sympathy. Mr. Hoffman rescued them from contempt precisely by refusing any easy route to redemption. He did not care if we liked any of these sad specimens. The point was to make us believe them and to recognize in them--in him--a truth about ourselves that we might otherwise have preferred to avoid. He had a rare ability to illuminate the varieties of human ugliness. No one ever did it so beautifully.

Andrew O'Hehir, Salon
For want of a better word, Phil Hoffman was incandescent. Once you'd seen him, even in a small role in a movie destined for oblivion, you never forgot him. In another era he might have been a classic Hollywood character actor, playing villains and sidekicks and cuckolded husbands by the dozen. Scratch that--he might just as well have been a star. If he didn't have the bland, perfect good looks or impressive musculature required of today's romantic leading men, you could say the same about Edward G. Robinson, Humphrey Bogart or Jack Nicholson. It's too early to say these things, of course, but he may well be remembered as long as they are.



Rest in peace...

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Her

"There is no formula for generating love. It cannot be copied."
-Alan Watts

I must first admit that I put that quote there after reading Joel Stein's terrific article in Time about Spike Jonze and his new film "Her." The article--which incidentally tells us that the people whose opinions Jonze values include Woody Allen, Louis CK, and Bob Dylan (and Kanye West and George W. Bush)--describes the Watts connection like this: "[Jonze and I] talk about the philosopher Alan Watts, whose notion that a false belief in permanence--say, trying to be the same person you were the day before--causes pain is a key tenet of the film. It is, of course, an incredibly lonely notion, that we don't even have a yesterday self to relate to." The main character of "Her" is Theodore, played by Joaquin Phoenix, a lonely man going through a painful divorce. He works as a letter writer for people who have difficulty expressing their feelings; he's quite good at it. Theodore is not social but he is incredibly likable, deserving, his dear friend Amy (Amy Adams) says, of great happiness. But happiness he has not. He cannot be the person he was yesterday, happy and in love.

His loneliness cannot be understated. He commands his ipod (or whatever the equivalent is in the future) to play a melancholy song and decides he'd rather not hear it. "Play a different melancholy song," he says. To help him escape such misery, he purchase an operating system, one which comes equipped with a personality, sweet voice, incredible intelligence, and organizing skills. She can go through his hundreds of emails in a second and recommend deleting unnecessary ones; how I wish I had something like this. The OS is named Samantha and is voiced by Scarlett Johansson in one of the year's most least appreciated performances. Too little praise has been sent her way for fulfilling such a difficult role so wonderfully. In the film, she has to demonstrate a character going through doubt, jealousy, lust and love, and do so while not being able to demonstrate it physically. Additionally, as a friend told me, she does not even have some kind of animated character to embody her voice. She has nothing to assist her. Even Hal 9000 had the easy task of providing just a flat, emotionless speech; Johansson as Samantha, not so. Oddly enough, this might be Johansson's best performance. (She was also terrific in this past year's "Don Jon.") Along with "American Hustle" and "Blue Jasmine," this movie features one of the finest group of performances in a movie from 2013. The roles are perfectly cast. Phoenix is exceptional as always. Considering that he has given us an incredibly diverse plate of performances in films like "Gladiator," "Quills," "Signs," "Walk the Line," and "I'm Still Here," I'm sure he didn't hesitate for a second to be in a movie where he reluctantly performs erotic phone sex involving an imaginary dead cat. Compare his performance in "Her" to his performance in "The Master" the year before and no explanation is needed.        

Most viewers will likely relate to the film in one way or another. Loneliness and melancholy are cultural universals, I assume. Phoenix's Theodore is the perfect vessel to embody those emotions. Theodore and Samantha become flirtatious and romantically involved. Not to give too much away (and if you're sensitive to even the slightest hint of a spoiler, then I recommend looking away), but remember that scene in "Taxi Driver," where the camera pans away as Travis is being painfully rejected over a payphone? A slightly similar event happens here, only it involves a bit of romance between Samantha and Theodore. Painful? Not really. Awkward? Probably. Watching on the screen two people making love can be awkward; so, too, is watching a person make love to an inanimate object. The movie is also fairly satirical. There are obvious allegories to the modern-day obsession with technology, and it pokes fun at various things in our society, from foul-mouthed video games to postmodern documentaries (and both appear to be getting far worse in the future).    

I think most viewers' longest lasting memories of "Her" will be its acting, but there are other features that need to be discussed positively. It features the most interesting use of colors in a movie probably since "Dick Tracy." In terms of originality, this is the most creative film of the year. It is also a most thought-provoking one. One cannot help but think about what the point is of an operating system of this kind--to help us humans practice the handling of emotions, or perhaps to keep us company? Can someone really fall in love with something not real, and vice versa? Does Theodore's relationship with Samantha make him one of the lonely people? It's complicated. But thought, visuals, and performances can only take you so far. Unfortunately, half way in, the film starts to lose steam.  The previous films by Jonze--"Being John Malkovich," "Adaptation," "Where the Wild Things Are"--demonstrate that the trajectory of his movies appears to be downward.  The movie, nevertheless, is intriguing and at many times delightful. You ought to see it.  

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