The Mandalorian and Grogu

Me and Grogu,
Halloween 2022

We've come a long way from those uncertain times for Lucasfilm circa 2019. The Mandalorian, the first live-action Star Wars television show, debuted on Disney+ around the same time that the final film in the nine-part, multi-decade Skywalker sage titled The Rise of Skywalker underperformed among critics and fans. It helped recalibrate the studio and try something different. From that first moment that the enigmatic warrior with Beskar armor walked into the cavern to collect his bounty to the final moment of the pilot in which he sets forth on the path to fatherhood by taking in the adorable creature the internet nicknamed "Baby Yoda," viewers knew that they were in for a treat. 

A lot has changed since then. The first season was followed by a second that was almost as good, though it suffered from a pinch of fan service, no doubt thanks to Dave Filoni, the co-creator of The Mandalorian and other Star Wars projects like Rebels and Ahsoka, who just can't seem to help himself. The series concluded its story arch after just two seasons, which is fine, but then the story of "Mando" and Grogu, as we later learned he was called, inexplicably carried on muddily into the spinoff series The Book of Boba Fett, which then led to a third, considerably weaker and goofier season in which nothing particularly interesting happens (although Jack Black and Lizzo are married in it). 

The opening of the newest tale of this unique duo is The Mandalorian and Grogu, directed and co-written by the other creator of the show, Jon Favreau. The opening of it largely mirrors the trajectory of the show, starting crisply as Mando (or Din Djarin as he's officially known) creeps his way around the base of an ex-Imperial officer now ruling as a warlord in the era of the New Republic before the film's vibe devolves into Filoni-esque fan service. (It's seriously concerning that this is the guy they're handing over the keys of Lucasfilm to.) After seven years of those three seasons and now this dud, it's fair to say that Mandalorian and Grogu have jumped the colo claw fish. 

When the film starts, Mando (Pedro Pascal, along with on-set doubles Brendan Wayne and Lateef Crowder) is now working for the New Republic, mainly under the supervision of Ward, a colonel played by Sigourney Weaver, who assigns him bounty-hunting tasks (like bringing in ex-Imperial warlords). He is still accompanied by his pal (or son?), the infant Grogu (who's still mostly an adorable puppet). For his next task, it's a bit convoluted: Djarin is instructed to work with the twin cousins of Jabba the Hutt (the worm-like crime lord strangled to death by Princess Leia in Return of the Jedi). Jabba's son, Rotta (voiced by Jeremy Allen White), has been taken prisoner. The Hutts will provide information on the whereabouts of a warlord if Djarin can successfully bring back Rotta to them. Before I go any further, let me say that Rotta, whom we first meet as a gladiator Hutt with a six pack, is not an interesting character in the slightest, and further proof that Filoni should cool it with the lore—the character first appeared as a baby in the dreadful Clone Wars film from 2008, directed by none other than Dave Filoni. 

Anyway, for fans hoping for any sort of character development, allegory, or even just good old-fashioned sci-fi fun, they are unlikely to find it here. No new fascinating characters make their entrance, either. Star Wars is usually only good if its villain is. This is, after all, a franchise that features an eclectic group of antagonists that includes Darth Vader, Emperor Palpatine, Boba Fett, Jabba the Hutt, Kylo Ren, Dedra Meero, Grand Moff Tarkin, Orson Krennic, and Darth Maul yet seems to have run out; if the best the film can do after three years is two heavily computer-generated Hutts and a few war lords, then that is surely disappointing. (The film's over reliance on fake-looking CGI makes it look more like the prequel trilogy and not the sequel trilogy—and I don't mean that in a good way. It is one more element that makes it inferior to the first two seasons of the show.) And whatever evolution we may have witnessed of our hero's journey from mercenary to paladin is totally devoid here. Instead, it's a lot of pew-pew. 

Ultimately, the only intriguing thing in The Mandalorian and Grogu is Martin Scorsese of all people briefly appearing as an Ardennian, the same species Favreau portrayed in Solo, who reluctantly provides Mando with some information during his search for Rotta. Scorsese famously complained that Marvel films (an enterprise largely started by Favreau) were nothing but roller coasters. The Mandalorian and Grogu doesn't feel so much like a theme park, per se, but it does feel like it was only made as if to tailor itself to a video game adaptation; indeed, each big scene feels like one level leading to the next, with one fight or struggle to overcome, particularly in the form of a boss (which here can find itself in the form of giant snake monsters or AT-AT walkers). That undoubtedly sounds like an entertaining (albeit uninspiring) video game, but it also feels like what Alissa Wilkinson once described as the franchise giving up. 

Since the Skywalker saga ended, this franchise has been its best when it has tried new things, like having Japanese animators create non-canonical shorts in Visions or letting Tony Gilroy elevate Rogue One characters into the realm of HBO-style gravitas and maturity (picking up a Peabody and a few Emmys along the way) with Andor. That same novelty could be said of those first two seasons of The Mandalorian, which helped the franchise seemed fresh yet again. Now, however, The Mandalorian and Grogu is a victim of the franchise's own success, particularly after those stupendous two seasons of Andor. One really feels for the people at Lucasfilm, for they will simply never be able to top that, no matter how hard they try. But try here, it seems they did not. The Mandalorian is stale, Grogu's cuteness can only go so far, the villains are so dull that they feel absent, and one wonders where the studio goes from here. If I ever have children, I'll tell them the show ended after the Mandalorian hands Baby Yoda over to Luke Skywalker and hope they never discover season three, The Book of Boba Fett, or The Mandalorian and Grogu. 

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Taxi Driver

1975 was a difficult year for New York City. In a year the mayor called "the toughest time in the city's history," the metropolis couldn't pay its debts, so it was taken over by state-appointed agencies to manage its finances. The strike of ten thousand sanitation workers resulted in urban decay; the loss of thousands of jobs since 1969 resulted in a population dip to 1930s levels. Fear City pamphlets offered tourists nine guidelines for "survival" in the city many thought President Gerald Ford had told to "drop dead." Some of the guidelines are what one might expect (e.g., "stay off the streets after 6 P.M."), while others are a bit more interesting, like the warning to remain in Manhattan. My favorite is the second one: do not walk. "If you must leave your hotel after 6 P.M.," it says, "try not to go out alone. Summon a radio taxi by telephone, or ask the hotel doorman to call a taxi while you remain in the hotel lobby." The following year, the nation's bicentennial, couldn't have been any worse, could it?

If you're a believer in the idea that something like a city can be a major character in a work of fiction like Taxi Driver, then you have evidence in this film, one of cinema's highest-regarded works and one that celebrates its fiftieth anniversary this year. It's a permanent part of Americana for obvious reasons (namely that immortal line—"You talkin' to me?"), but it works because of something more fundamental: it's a collection of masters of their craft. Composer Bernard Herrmann's iconic score (often reminiscent of his earlier work in Citizen Kane), makeup artist Dick Smith's mohawk, writer Paul Schrader's metaphor of a taxi cab as loneliness, director Martin Scorsese's vision among this "bombed out" West Side, and the performances of his actors are all effective reminders that these are artists at their finest, and the results of their collaboration can be stupendous. 

Younger viewers may think the film's depiction of New York City is hyperbole; they may not recognize the NYC of old, but they will surely recognize the violence, particularly from a white man with untreated mental health issues and a chip on his shoulder. In this film, Travis Bickle (Robert De Niro) is a Vietnam War veteran struggling with insomnia and willing to drive anytime, anywhere. In diary entries, he describes himself as "God's lonely man" who has been followed by loneliness his whole life, and grievously complains of the difficult parts of his job (like cleaning semen off the seats) or his belief that a rain needs to wash all the "scum" off the streets. "All the animals come out at night," he mutters. His bitterness has frequent targets—he's anti-queer, anti-sex worker, and racist—and they all need to be washed away.

Travis is one of two deeply disturbed and disturbing protagonists suffering from delusions of grandeur and a bit of gullibility in the first half of Scorsese's career, with the other Rupert Pupkin in The King of Comedy (who is also played by De Niro). Both are confident in the worst ways. It's not as if Travis is not trying—there are several uncomfortable scenes of him trying and failing to flirt with women and ending up being creepy and toxic. With Betsy, a campaign worker played by Cybill Shepherd for a presidential hopeful, Travis certainly shoots his shot, and she seems to entertain the idea of a date with him, even if he comes on quite strong. "I don't believe I've ever met anyone quite like you," she calmly explains to him at a diner on their first date as he rambles on and on. An awkward date that is nevertheless a date is undoubtedly a win for a man like Travis, and yet it becomes increasingly difficult to sympathize with him. Their relationship is doomed once Travis makes the fatal mistake of taking Betsy to a pornographic film in what is likely their second date. Travis's desperate attempts to repair what limited relationship he had with Betsy are so painful and awkward that Scorsese felt he had no choice but to pan the camera to the right so the audience wouldn't fully experience the pain of having to watch such a scene.

There is not one bad performance in this film, and it's not simply the big heavy hitters (De Niro, Shepherd, et al), but the smaller ones, like Peter Boyle as Wizard, the seasoned expert who may or may not be able to give a troubled soul like Travis some helpful advice; Leonard Harris as Senator Charles Palatine (Star Wars buffs should be able to note the connection); and Albert Brooks in his debut film role as Tom, the campaign aide who (despite initial impressions) does have a spine. Other short yet memorable performances are provided by actors like Joe Spinell, whom you may recognize from films like Rocky, The Godfather, and The Godfather Part II. If you had to pinpoint an actor who is trying too hard, it ironically is Scorsese, who has two cameo appearances. The one that is not a blink-and-you'll-miss-it is when he plays a deranged, potentially violent passenger who claims he will kill his wife. It's an interesting yet disturbing scene, but basically the only one that features distracting acting.

After being dumped and continuing to struggle with insomnia and being angry at the city, Travis descends into madness. Moving on from Betsy, he meets a child prostitute named Iris, played by twelve-year-old Jodie Foster. Travis's new mission is to save Iris from this hellish life. To save a child from prostitution is righteous—to do so in the manner Travis does it is not. That climactic scene, however, is so iconic yet controversial. The controversy over the blood color, in fact, in which the ratings board was to deny the film a release based on how graphic the scene was, supposedly provoked Scorsese to threaten to violently destroy the film, according to the new documentary about his life this year. 

Taxi Driver was immediately a success and a lightning rod. It made nearly thirty times its budget at the box office, won the Palme d'Or at the Cannes Film Festival, and was nominated for four Academy Awards—Director, Actor, Supporting Actress (Foster), and Original Score. In a year of other pessimistic films like All the President's Men and Network, they all lost to a more upbeat film in line with the hopeful optimism of the nation's bicentennial, Rocky. The film helped cement Scorsese's status as an important American filmmaker, yet it also was a film that resulted in death threats and inspiration for John Hinckley, the deranged man who tried to assassinate President Ronald Reagan apparently in an attempt to impress Foster. 

Beyond the controversy, Taxi Driver is a remarkable movie quite unlike just about any before or since. A lot of what makes it work is what has already been mentioned—its direction by Scorsese, its story and script by Schrader, its mesmerizing score by Bernard Herrmann, and its performances (namely De Niro; Foster; Shepherd; Brooks; and Harvey Keitel as Sport, the pimp). Yet it could be argued that the fundamental aspect of this film that is so engrossing is its central character, Travis Bickle. One of those odd American Film Institute televised lists about twenty years ago was about heroes and villains. It ranked Travis the thirtieth greatest villain, dumbing the character down to an uncomplicated world which wouldn't recognize someone like Travis Bickle. The villainy is allowing a city and its inhabitants in the richest country in the world succumb to the mental health anguishes, gun violence, and child prostitution, making what should have been a shining city on a hill turn hellish. What more could you expect if those in power shrug off those troubles and suggest they drop dead?

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Joker

I guess I can't say I'm right all the time anymore. Back in April, I wrote that few would like Joker, the newest DC film that takes a radical step away in tone and style from other DC films. In the strictest sense, I was wrong: During its roller-coaster ride that has seen it win the top prize at the Venice Film Festival but also be the subject of multiple controversies, Joker has maintained a nearly seventy-percent rating on Rotten Tomatoes, with an audience score of ninety percent. Clearly, many like the film, with some hailing it a masterpiece. That being said, the fundamental problems I predicted would be present are indeed there, namely that it provides too much of a good thing (in this case, an iconic figure in American pop culture) while at the same time sympathizing with a mass murderer in an era where that could have dangerous repercussions. As if that wasn't enough, this Joker is suffering from mental health issues, likely further convincing some people that violence of this sort is usually caused by people with mental health problems.

With all that stacked against it, Joker does (as predicted) feature a stellar performance from its lead. Joaquin Phoenix is the Joker here, filling large shoes of those before him, among them Caesar Romero, Jack Nicholson, Mark Hamill, and Heath Ledger. Is his the best or one of the best? More on that later. At any rate, most of the time we do not see him as Batman's arch nemesis. Instead, we see him in the form of Arthur Fleck, a struggling clown-for-hire who is off in many ways, chief among them his poxy attempts at stand-up comedy (which is one of the few things the film adapts from previous comic book material). He lives with his ailing mother, played by Frances Conroy, whom he devotedly cares for. This is 1981, the era before a dozen late-night hosts, and so they almost religiously watch the late-night comedy of Murray Franklin, played by Robert De Niro. Arthur literally dreams of being on Murray's show.

A plot such as this does not lend itself to much alien fighting or saving the world in implausible fashion. A lot of the word of mouth about Joker has been that it's not really a comic book movie. Batman is not in this film (though there are several too-cute-to-spoil Batman Easter Eggs sprinkled throughout), and instead of being an action-packed CGI fest like Man of Steel or Suicide Squad, Joker channels notable influences from gritty Martin Scorsese-directed films from the 1970s and 1980s; Gotham feels like the New York City of Taxi Driver, and it's only when we get a few verbal reminders that it's Gotham that we remember we're viewing a comic book film. Other elements from the Batman universe here include Arkham Hospital and the character of Thomas Wayne, Bruce's father, played here in one of the film's best performances by Thomas Cullen. He's still a billionaire in this film, but also an insufferable plutocrat, smugly describing those struggling to get by in Gotham as clowns. Joker is surprisingly interested in classism and literal class warfare, and depending on your perspective, you will likely come away with different conclusions.

This is all fine, but it comes at a cost. A little bit of the Joker goes a long way (see all the other portrayals of him, particularly Heath Ledger in The Dark Knight). But having him in literally every scene is borderline taxing. Defenders of Joker might note that for most of the film, he's not the Joker, but Arthur Fleck. But it doesn't matter, for Fleck isn't all that interesting. Call my taste stale if you must, but I was so much more invested in watching Phoenix as the Joker than I was watching him as Arthur. It's hard to compare Phoenix to the other Jokers because to me he basically wasn't the Joker. When he is, it seems like it's over in a flash. One can tell the amount of thought and tribulations that went into his performance of Arthur; as the Joker, some of his choices are more perplexing. There was so much more potential there, and yet it seems like they ran out of time. But it's still the most interesting part of the movie; I think they were the only scenes when I wasn't looking at my watch.

The movie itself really wants to shout that it has little to do with comic books, but its best parts embrace it. Director Todd Phillips put it this way: "We're gonna take $55 million from Warner Bros. and do whatever the hell we want." Who could blame him for taking that attitude? This movie craves Oscar attention, and truth be told, Phoenix and cinematographer Lawrence Sher likely will (and should) be nominated during the awards season. But comic book movies rarely are rewarded with trophies, especially when articles gush about Leonardo DiCaprio being a global movie star without appearing in a superhero movie and iconic directors decry comic book movies as "not cinema". Joker wants to be "cinema", not "not cinema". You therefore have to put up with a lot of exigent Arthur stuff just to get to the Joker (even though the Joker is the reason why most audience members are actually going to see the movie), and then, like me, you might like those latter moments while still being befuddled by them.

Perhaps I was disappointed in Joker because I thought the film (especially the first half) engages in far too much bully porn. Arthur is attacked by a group of cruel kids who beat him mercilessly; not long after, practically the same thing happens to him by a trio of Wall Street jerks. The other for-hire clowns find him creepy. At one point, he's even hit by a car. Another reason why I believe this movie is not so great is that, as I predicted in April, the sympathy granted to such a maliciously evil character is unpalatable. There's a fine line between producing a portrait of a bullied, lonely man and producing a portrait that comes across as sympathizing with a mass murderer. The concern, written about ad nauseam by now, is that there are some young white men out there who feel like this story really speaks to them, and that is an alarming thing. We've all been reminded that the Aurora, Colorado shooter was dressed as the Joker and murdered audience members watching The Dark Knight Rises. (Joker has not been screened in Aurora.) And so, as is often the case with policy towards violence in the United States, we've all just been holding our breaths and keeping our fingers crossed.

Besides Taxi Driver, Joker is heavily inspired by The King of Comedy, the dark comedy directed by Scorsese from 1982 starring Robert De Niro as a terribly unfunny comedian-wannabe who kidnaps a late-night host played by Jerry Lewis. Having De Niro here as Murray Franklin, a Johnny Carson-esque late-night host similar to Lewis' character, adds extra weight. Arthur idolizes Murray, up until Arthur's stand-up makes him a comedic punching bag on Murray's show. It's rather surreal watching Arthur awkwardly on the Murray show, given that one of the most notable moments in Phoenix's career is the famous prank (if that's the right word) interview he did with David Letterman in 2010, which is still one of the most incredible interviews you can see.

One bright spot in this morbid film is Phoenix, who's fantastic. It's a showy performance, to be sure. He cries, he screams, he dances (and boy, can he dance). But the metamorphosis he went through for Joker is almost unparalleled. Even without the severe weight decrease and that unforgettable laugh, the minute details of his performance will stay with you, whether you know it or not, like the way his mouth shifts ever so slightly when he asks "what?", with just a hint of a slightly emphasized occlusive. Should he win an Oscar for his performance (an award long overdue), it would be only the second time two actors have won for playing the same character, with the other two being De Niro and Marlon Brando, who both played Vito Corleone in The Godfather films. I hope he wins, even if he's in an unremarkable movie that really wants you to believe is something more profound than it actually is.

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Prediction: Few Will Like Joker

Heath Ledger's verison of Bob Kane's famous Batman villain the Joker took some large leaps away from the days of Caesar Romero, Jack Nicholson, and Mark Hamill, in which the character had been compared to a crazy uncle with a knack for pranks. Ledger's Joker was a genuine terrorist, totally devoid of empathy and thus a very un-sympathetic man. It was a performance that won him an Oscar.

In Joker, the standalone comic book origin story centering on the famous antagonist and directed by Todd Phillips, Joaquin Phoenix takes over the role. Phoenix, one of the most admired actors around, will most likely be more appreciated than Jared Leto's divisive performance in Suicide Squad. Phoenix, from what we can tell from the recent trailer, seems to divert from the Ledger take in that it appears we are to sympathize with him and understand his transformation from God's lonely man to Batman villain. That might have worked twenty years ago, but these days, audiences will likely have problems with it. We live in an era of constant mass shootings, most of which are committed by white men. The Joker, or Arthur (as he's initially called in this film), is a white man who, certainly from the looks of the trailer and the canon, does terrible things (often with a gun). After gun shootings happen, the media, politicians, and the public are encouraged to avoid spreading the killer's name to prevent any glorification they might have been seeking. I'm worried this movie about a loser whom society hates will inspire others to commit mass shootings; recall that the Aurora, Colorado mass shooter was dressed as the Joker.

Joker's storytelling angle might have worked a few decades ago. Robert De Niro will appear in Joker as a late-night TV show host, and the implications are that Arthur, a struggling comedian, admires this host and might even try to forcibly take his show from him. Sound familiar? It should, because it's very reminiscent of The King of Comedy, the 1982 dark comedy directed by Martin Scorsese about an unfunny comedian (played by De Niro) who sabotages the life of his idol, a late-night comedian played by Jerry Lewis. There are also hints in the trailer of homages to Taxi Driver, the 1976 collaboration between De Niro and Scorsese. The delusions of grandeur of The King of Comedy and the loneliness and violence of Taxi Driver seem to heavily influence Joker. Indeed, Scorsese was at one point an executive producer on the film before departing due to a busy schedule. But the 1970s and 80s are over, and audiences are more skeptical of films that want viewers to feel pity for violent (often white) men.

Even with audiences who are willing to overlook the fact that we're told to watch the making of a terrorist, the movie is taking a big risk in showing the genesis of an iconic character that most don't want. Other than Alan Moore's influential The Killing Joke, origin storytelling of the Joker has made fans groan. The most famous example is in the 1989 blockbuster directed by Tim Burton, in which Nicholson's Joker was depicted as the murderer of Bruce Wayne's parents. (A young Bruce Wayne will appear in Joker, and I think he's the kid who Arthur is creepily forcing to smile at the 1:47 mark in the trailer.) In The Dark Knight, Ledger's Joker often asks his victims if they want to know how he got those terrible scars on his face. The first time, the explanation involves his drunk father and victim mother. Some audience members rolled their eyes. But later, he asks the same question, but this time there's a different story. It was further evidence of the character's embrace of chaos and unpredictability, and it worked. It worked because there was no origin. In Joker, it seems that's all we'll get.

Despite audience's complaints of the film, Phoenix will likely be universally praised. He's got the laugh down, and the way he uses his face and voice is unlike virtually any other actor these days. There are many actors who have never won an Oscar, and one thinks how this could be possible. Phoenix is one of the best examples of this. Other than Marlon Brando and De Niro, who both won Oscars for playing the character Vito Corleone, no other two actors have won for playing the same character. Perhaps Phoenix will help change this.

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Life Itself

I've made no secret of my admiration of Roger Ebert over the years. But allow me to keep on showing my adoration for the finest film critic we ever had: If there ever was an American treasure in film criticism, it was Ebert. The winner of the Pulitzer Prize and a recipient of a Hollywood Walk of Fame Star (the first in both categories for a film critic), and a prolific writer on a variety of subjects, he was the film critic. But I assure you--you don't have to know who Ebert was to enjoy this movie. Whether you know who he is or not, you really should see "Life Itself," the new documentary about his life and career. It's one of the year's best.

The country first came to know Roger Ebert through his incredibly influential partnership with Gene Siskel of the Chicago Tribune. They were Siskel and Ebert. But as we all know, it was a complicated relationship. An example of just how much they could truly hate each other is told by Marlene Iglitzen, wife of Gene Siskel. Siskel and Ebert were on a plane out of Chicago, and Siskel grew tired of Ebert (who is described as a raconteur by several individuals in the documentary) telling a story to another passenger. Siskel, annoyed as ever, gave a note to the flight attendant and asked if she would give it to Ebert. She did. The note said something along the lines of: "Mr. Ebert, we in the cockpit almost always agree with you over your reviewing partner. We would be delighted if you would join us in the cockpit." Ebert was ecstatic, sprang from his seat, and marched toward the cockpit (and keep in mind that because of his weight, it was rather awkward for him to move about the cabin). The flight attendants were shocked as he was about to knock on the door, before Siskel shouted up toward him and revealed himself as the true author of the note, much to Ebert's profound irritation and humiliation.

Ebert was an exceptional storyteller. If you don't believe me, listen to his story he told on Letterman's show involving Siskel and a Korean film about a lady and her dog. According to Ebert, the two of them were viewing the film with other Chicago film critics and were quite bored by it. Siskel decided to leave the cinema to make a phone call. In the time that he was gone, the movie (which featured nothing of any significance) suddenly took a bizarre turn by having the main protagonist have sex with her dog. Siskel returned, and the other critics broke out into laughter. Siskel demanded an explanation, Ebert told him, and Siskel refused to believe it. Trust me, it's much funnier listening to Ebert explain the situation.

The narrative over the years, especially after Siskel died in 1998 from brain cancer, has been that even though Siskel and Ebert seemed to frequently shout at each other, they really did like each other. But the documentary makes great use of the awesome--yet frightening--YouTube clip of repeated outtakes from their show. "Sound a little excited, Gene," Ebert lectures. "Sound less excited," is the terse response. Ebert continues to correct him--"It's called 'And the Moves,' not 'At the Movies,'" is the next interruption. Siskel keeps it together, then finishes: "That's this week on 'Siskel...and Ebert...and the Movies...and the asshole, and that's Roger!"

Don't worry: They really were a great partnership and seemed to do other outtakes simply roasting each other. "Do you know that for Gene, speech is a second language?" Ebert keeps winning, poking fun of Siskel's inability to not trip over his words. Then for another outtake, they team up, poking fun at Protestants, which, according to Ebert is a group of people who sort of want a religion. What a team. I mean, these two guys couldn't have been further apart in personality. One was tall and thin, the other was small and large. One studied Philosophy at Yale, the other journalism at Urbana. One wrote for the bourgeois Chicago Tribune, the other for the more working class Chicago Sun-Times. But they were quite the team. They came full-circle in the aftermath of Siskel's death. Consider Chris Jones' exceptional 2010 article, where Ebert describes how he and Gene were born to be Siskel and Ebert. In the following paragraph, we see just how much Ebert protected Siskel after his death:

Ebert keeps scrolling down. Below his journal he had embedded video of his first show alone, the balcony seat empty across the isle. It was a tribute, in three parts. He wants to watch them now, because he wants to remember, but at the bottom of the page are only three black squares. In the middle of the squares, white type reads: "Content deleted. This video is no longer available because it has been deleted." Ebert leans to the screen, trying to figure out what's happened. He looks across at Chaz. The top half of his face turns red, and his eyes well up again, but this time, it's not sadness surfacing. He's shaking. It's anger. 

But the heart of the movie--the team the film most wants to focus on--is Roger and Chaz. Those two additionally seemed different, the most obvious difference being their skin color. But the love they clearly had for each other, especially as Chaz cared for him during his battles and pushed him to keep going, makes this one of the great love stories of any documentary. She herself also has a talent for storytelling, but many of the stories involve pain. She tells us how at one point, the pain became so bad that he slipped her a note saying "kill me." She angrily refused--"That is not an option," she insisted. Ebert is terribly in pain throughout the filming. An obvious hole exists where his jaw used to. We see him struggle deeply as a nurse inserts a suction tube into his throat, and as a physical therapist coaches him to produce even a few steps at the hospital after he's broken his hip. Nobody deserves such suffering, especially Ebert. But he endured, as long as he could.

Ebert is described by a friend as being "nice--but not that nice." Indeed, his not-niceness shows, whether it's in heated conversations with Siskel or arrogant reminders of his Pulitzer Prize--he doesn't always come across in the best light. But as a champion of motion pictures, he was extraordinary. Errol Morris tells us of how a strike during the premiere of his documentary "Pet Cemetery" meant that it wouldn't be reviewed in New York, which essentially equated to doom for his film. But Siskel and Ebert, based in Chicago, were to review it, and they reviewed it not once but three times during the course of the show. Ava DuVernay describes her meeting with Ebert at the Oscars and his inspiring her. (He wrote about the encounter on his blog.) Ramin Bahrani explains how Ebert promised to attend a showing of his film "Man Push Cart" at the Sundance Film Festival. For the first two showings, Ebert was a no-show, but the third and final showing (at eight in the morning during the final day), Ebert was happily at the front of the line. Ebert would later give Bahraini a gift that had been given to him by Laura Dern, who was given it by Alfred Hitchcock. It was Bahraini's responsibility, Ebert told him, to give it to someone else. Martin Scorsese, who Ebert predicted in 1967 would be one of America's most important film directors, tells us how at one point in his career, his marriage had fallen apart and he became addicted to cocaine. He truly was at a low point, and begins to break down as he describes what kept him going: he was told that Siskel and Ebert were to pay tribute to him at a film event. When they gave a bad review to his "The Color of Money," Scorsese mentions that it felt more like a paternalistic warning, not a malicious bucket of venom.

Film critics are meant to be the unsung heroes of movie-watching. That is, we not only are long passed the days of Pauline Kael and Siskel and Ebert but we are also passed the point where people take film critics' opinions seriously. But if Ebert could have had some kind of totally objective viewing of such a documentary, I believe he would adore this movie. He would certainly be proud of director Steve James, one of Ebert's favorite directors. Ebert famously said that no good movie is too long but no bad movie is short enough. I've never found that particularly accurate, but it surely is here. I didn't want the film to end. But all good things must end; such is life itself.

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A Personal Journey with Martin Scorsese's Personal Journey

Produced by the British Film Institute, "A Personal Journey with Martin Scorsese" from 1995 is not only personal, it's educational. Scorsese is one of the great raconteurs of our time, and yet he is also an educator--Scorsese also used to teach film at New York University. One of his students, Oliver Stone, described his first impression of Scorsese as being a "New York nutcase." "A Personal Journey" allows Scorsese to teach students of all stripes.

If one truly loves movies, then one has an obligation to study them--all (or at least most) of them. Many of these films I had never heard of; most I had never seen. My "personal journey" through his "personal journey" has been an interesting one, and shall commence again with a part two, but for now, here's my take on some of the films he discusses in his introduction to the documentary:

The Bad and the Beautiful
Seen throughout numerous moments in the opening of his documentary, it's easy to understand why Scorsese admires a film like Vincente Minelli's "The Bad and the Beautiful." For one, he directed Minelli's daughter, Liza, in "New York, New York." Additionally, it's a movie about movies, and there is no other lover of film quite like Scorsese. As "The Bad and the Beautiful" opens his discussion, Scorsese quotes Frank Capra describing movies as an addiction; like heroine, Scorsese says, the only antidote is more movies. The scene Scorsese then shows features Douglas as Jonathan Shields barking orders to his independent director (Ivan Triesault) and humbled in the process.

At times, "The Bad and the Beautiful" seems like "The Kid Stays in the Picture" told in the style of "Citizen Kane." Film buffs might recognize Douglas and Barry Sullivan's solution for scaring audiences and equate it to how Steven Spielberg solved his dilemma of scaring audiences for "Jaws" without actually having a shark. But a more obvious connection is to "Cat People," practically identical to "Doom of the Cat Men."

"The Bad and the Beautiful" is melodramatic, sure, but at least mostly unpredictable. Douglas gives one of his best performances and is supported by a pretty good cast.

Duel in the Sun
Or "Lust in the Dust," as the Church dismissively called it, Scorsese says that this was a film his mother (using her son as an excuse to see such a scandalous movie, he tells us) took him to see as a very young child. He says that he was "mesmerized," and so virtually anyone who was ever a child and mesmerized by a movie at the cinema can relate. But I can't image what a young, four-year-old boy was thinking while watching the "overt sexuality."

Initially, it's difficult to see what the fuss was about. It's undoubtedly a pro-Christian (or at least pro-morality) picture, with its talk of a simplified "good versus evil" viewpoint of the world. But within moments, that is shattered. It's one of those old Hollywood movies that you wonder how they got away with such imagery during the Hayes period.

Scorsese uses the scenes of a director dueling with a producer in "The Bad and the Beautiful" to discuss the behind-the-scenes of "Duel in the Sun." Despite King Vidor directing it, it was producer David O. Selznick's baby, and their clashes led to Vidor quitting the film. (Like Selznick's other child, "Gone With the Wind," "Duel in the Sun" had several directors throughout its production.)

Scorsese still holds "Duel in the Sun" in high regard, but the film hasn't aged as well as "The Bad and the Beautiful." It's terribly racist and essentially sexist, and its star, Jennifer Jones (who won an Oscar several years before), presents an iconic film image but a fairly dull performance. Gregory Peck, however, is magnificent as one of the great villains of the Westerns. (Lillian Gish and Lionel Barrymore are also great.)

Incidentally, Scorsese mentions that it's a flawed film.

The Crowd
But "Duel in the Sun" is nowhere near as flawed as Vidor's film from 18 years earlier called "The Crowd." This is a comedy (I think), but its dramatic moments in particular are, well, overly dramatic. And while silent film acting is mostly seen through the prism of modern times as hyperbolic, to say the least, Vidor's lead actor James Murray gives a particularly dreadful performance. (Murray died only eight years after the film after falling--though it wasn't ruled if he fell or jumped--into the Hudson River and drowning. Vidor wrote an unrealized script about Murray's life called "The Actor.") While the zoom-in of the enormous building and the blissful affair at Niagara Falls should serve as a reminder that Vidor had talent for visuals, his talent for storytelling could be questioned.

The Girl Can't Help It
Getting just a quick namedrop from Scorsese as he explains the post-zenith era of Hollywood, it's not difficult to see why Scorsese likes "The Girl Can't Help It" so much. "The Girl Can't Help It," which is practically a musical version of "Born Yesterday," is not simply a musical, but a proud embrace of rock 'n' roll. Its influence on music is obvious; look at how Wikipedia summarizes it: "['The Girl Can't Help It'] fascinated a 16-year-old John Lennon by showing him, for the first time, his 'worshiped' American rock 'n' roll stars as living human beings and thus further inspiring him to pursue his own rock 'n' roll dream." Read on and you will see how "The Girl Can't Help It" connected Lennon and Paul McCartney. So given Scorsese's encyclopedic knowledge of the subject, my guess is that this movie practically speaks to him.

That being said, this is a weak, increasingly clunky movie. Despite its great musical numbers--some of them (including the title song) sung by Little Richard and other rock greats--it is ultimately a forgettable film. The lame 1950s jokes have not aged well, especially young Barry Gordon's annoying line, "If that's a girl, I don't know what my sister is." Edmund O'Brien is way over the top, screaming and shouting and barking through the cigar smoke. Fortunately, however, Jayne Mansfield is here. Of all the gorgeous people to have graced the screen, arguably no one was as beautiful as Mansfield. Her performance is commendable, but almost nothing else in "The Girl Can't Help It" is.

Sullivan's Travels
A slapstick comedy with bullet-speed dialogue, Preston Sturges' 1941 film is unfortunately also a terribly lame film. I will concede several things about the film, however: First, Joel McCrea and Veronica Lake make a charismatic couple; just as Mansfield is a saving grace of "The Girl Can't Help It," Lake has the same effect here. As a film of social themes, it's not bad, though a little overly melodramatic. Fans of the Coen Brothers' "O Brother, Where Art Thou?" might notice the connection--it's the name of the film the title character (McCrea) wants to make. Other than that, it's quite overrated.

The Naked Kiss
We have another miss here from Mr. Scorsese. "The Naked Kiss" is admittedly a brave story. Constance Towers plays a prostitute who longs to retire, so to speak, and work with children who have disabilities. She is more or less harassed by the town's police chief, who also was her final customer. While the movie does have some favorable aspects to it, such as the eeriness of it all, the acting is fairly atrocious.

Bigger Than Life
I will end on a better note.

While the corny title might be slightly less corny had it retained the title of the magazine article that inspired the film ("Ten Feet Tall"), "Bigger Than Life" might be the best film in this first part of Scorsese's documentary. It's the story of an ordinary school teacher, played by James Mason, who suffers from terrible pain due to an inflammation of his arteries. He's given an experimental (at the time) drug called cortisone, but when he takes it for too long (and increases his doses without notifying his doctors), he begins to develop psychological issues. A parent-teachers conference turns into a diatribe against children whose intellectual levels are, he says, at the level of those of apes; at home, he becomes increasingly impatient, critical and dangerous towards his family.

You may recognize the director, Nicholas Ray. He also directed "Rebel Without a Cause," which was released the previous year. Both films feature powerful stories of protagonists going through some form of internal battle. But "Bigger Than Life" is more unforgettable. Along with "The Bad and the Beautiful," it is the finest on this short list. It's a particularly powerful film for anyone who has had to struggle through the torment that is chronic pain.


I'm grateful for having been introduced to these two films. I feel a bit more educated with regards to having seeing them as well as "Duel in the Sun." Nevertheless, I feel that films like "The Girl Can't Help It," "The Crowd," "Sullivan's Travels" and "The Naked Kiss" are frankly films that deserve to be forgotten.

Stay tuned for further reviews of films that Scorsese discusses, like Westerns, musicals, and gangster flicks.

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The Best Films of the (Previous) Year

Hey there, cats and kittens. The Oscars are upon us, and while most critics (especially the ones who actually get paid to write reviews--and who live in countries where cinema isn't illegal) already released their top ten lists of the best films of 2013, as you can see, I'm a bit late. Regardless, here are the best films of the (previous) year.

10. The Past (Le Passe)
Not unlike his Oscar-winner from 2011, the Iranian film "A Separation," Asghar Farhadi's French film is a tale of quiet characters, all loudly angry at one another. Berencie Bejo (whom American audiences might recognize from "A Knight's Tale" and "The Artist"), Tahar Rahim (from "A Prophet") and Ali Mosaffa are all fantastic, as is young actress Pauline Burlet. (Have you ever had to tell your mother that you did something awful and feared the reaction and punishment? That should give you just a slight hint of a critical scene between her and Bejo.) Just like in "A Separation," Farhadi has shown us that he is (and I mean this sincerely) the new master of suspense. The suspense featured in his previous film is even more pronounced and prevalent here. Watch the final scene, where not a single note of music exists, and tell me you weren't (forgive me for using such a hackneyed expression) on the edge of your seat.

9. Nebraska
There are many things I think of when I think about Alexander Payne's "Nebraska." I think of how, while it is not as good as his masterpiece from 2002 ("About Schmidt"), it is even more entertaining than his films in between the two ("Sideways" and "The Descendants"). I think of, in particular, the idiosyncrasies of the American Midwest; those who know them will adore this film even more. Payne somehow perfectly captures the realistic surrealism of it all, and how better to do it than in black and white? It gives it a certain timelessness to it, what several critics have called a new take on American Gothic imagery, much like Peter Bagdonovich's "The Last Picture Show." Bruce Dern is fantastic here, practically helpless, yet often cruel when pressed by his son, played by Will Forte, who only several years ago was a "Saturday Night Live" cast member and who now appears to have successfully shifted to dramas. I think of Bob Odenkirk, who will soon be the star of his own show, "Better Call Saul," a spin-off of "Breaking Bad." I think of June Squibb, the actress who is practically a new hit star despite being 84 years old. I think of what Quentin Tarantino described as "Dernsies," "a reason for an excuse to film the shot in the first place." There are many Dernsies in this fine film.

8. 12 Years a Slave
As I wrote in January, "12 Years a Slave" is a movie that features a "total deficit of empathy and compassion." Like many of the films on this list, it is a critical movie, one that challenges its audience members to reconsider how they might have been (implicitly) told to think of race relations during the Antebellum period. Katie Van Syckle of Rolling Stone magazine wrote it better: There have been a handful of movies about slavery, but "a movie that makes movie-goers look, and look again, and then a little more, at the gruesome realities of plantation life--the alcohol-soaked sweat of lecherous masters, the raw skin of seeping lash wounds, the oppressive, inescapable terror of nameless captivity--feels like a first." She quotes Brad Pitt, a producer and supporting actor in the film, as arguing that "it took a Brit" to ask painful questions that Americans were avoiding.

That Brit is Steve McQueen. He has only directed three full-length films. One of them ("Hunger") was a decent and fairly impressive debut, another ("Shame") was overrated. The third is exceptional. All three starred Michael Fassbender in incredible performances. So far, there has been no bad or even subpar acting from this immensely talented individual. I look forward to seeing more of his work, along with the work of the other newer and/or younger performers in the film, like Paul Dano (who was also quite good in "Prisoners"), Benedict Cumberbatch (who was also in "Star Trek Into Darkness," "The Hobbit" and "August: Osage County") and Lupita Nyong'o, who deserves the Oscar for her performance. But I really look forward to seeing the future projects of McQueen and Fassbender, who are perhaps a modern day Scorsese/De Niro team.

7. American Hustle
"American Hustle" features the best cast of the year and compared to a disturbing "12 Years A Slave" and an intense "Gravity," this is the most fun of the Best Picture nominations. This isn't to say that there aren't any problems with this film.  Indeed, there are almost too many. The film's ending is a bit lame, and one scene (I won't say which) is practically ruined with a quick solution that still has left me puzzled. But Russell is one of those rare directors who is able to get perfection from his actors.  This is two-in-a-row from Bradley Cooper, Jennifer Lawrence and Robert De Niro; Amy Adams and Jeremy Renner have never been better. Russell's story-telling style and techniques are clearly borrowed from Scorsese and Quentin Tarantino, but he still creates a story that is uniquely his own, with an Oscar-nominated screenplay along with Eric Warren Singer.

6. This Is the End
"This Is the End" is by far the funniest film of 2013 (with Scorsese--of all people--giving us the second funniest with "The Wolf of Wall Street"). I think I laughed from start to finish. (With all due respect to our cousins across the Atlantic, see this one instead of the disappointing "The World's End.") The actors, among them Seth Rogen, James Franco, and Jonah Hill, and others theorize about the mayhem and apocalypse outside their wealthy home but are interrupted over arguments over who gets the last chocolate bar. The exorcism scene is certainly one of the funniest in recent memory.

   

5. The Hunt (Jagten)
You may recall Mads Mikkelsen's awesome performances in "Casino Royale" and NBC's "Hannibal." Here, he returns to his native Denmark in Thomas Vinterberg's "The Hunt" and he's just as good, or perhaps even better, than in the American and British productions. He has been handsomely rewarded, winning the 2012 Cannes Film Award for Best Actor. "The Hunt" is also Denmark's nominee for Best Foreign Film (and for some bizarre reason will likely lose to the Felliniesque-wannabe film "The Great Beauty" from Italy). In "The Hunt," we are witness to a witch hunt started by children--think of the banality of evil but personified by a young girl. Mikkelsen is Lucas, a respected member of a small community and a worker at a local kindergarten. When he is accused of something terrible, the entire town turns against him. The story relies on Lucas trying to prove he's innocent, but what's really unforgettable about the film is Mikkelsen's performance, particularly the scenes near the conclusion, where he's essentially ungeziefer in this Kafkaesque story. You owe it to yourself to see it simply for the performances.     

4. Lee Daniels' The Butler
Consider this: If "Lee Daniels' The Butler" had been released in November or December, would it be totally ignored by the Oscars?  Hell. No.  But the Oscars have a terribly short memory, and they should be scolded for that. Forest Whitaker and Oprah Winfrey were robbed of nominations, to say the least. This is a movie that, along with "12 Years a Slave" and many others on this list, recognizes the important place of criticality in film. It does so softly, walking a fine line between appreciating the civil rights efforts of American presidents but also openly attacking the segregationist and apartheid policies that many of them supported or at least tolerated. But it's not simply a story about presidential and civil rights history. It's about a hardworking man who struggles to relate to his son. It's an incredible movie that deserves more recognition.

3. Fruitvale Station
I'd be willing to bet that this isn't the first review that observed an obvious similarity between Michael B. Jordan and Denzel Washington. Jordan, as Oscar Grant, gives a terrific performance. In one moment, Jordan effortlessly switches between a focused intensity and a persona that begs for sympathy. Grant's story is a true one, adapted for the screen by director Ryan Coogler in his feature-length film debut. It would usually be appropriate to write here a "spoiler alert," but not this time. For one, the film's opening moments show us what happened to Oscar, caught on cellphone camera. Second, the controversy remains today, as the officer convicted in the case received a punishment of less than a year in jail.  The point is not what happens at the end, but the journey there.

The journey shows us Oscar Grant the human being. He is a father, son, husband, a man struggling to find employment and take care of his problems. It is virtually impossible not to see the similarities between this story and the George Zimmerman trial, especially considering that the verdict was announced the week of the film's premiere. In this film, Grant is not perfect. The character is a womanizer and has been in prison before and sells drugs. But this reminded me not only of the Trayvon Martin story but Spike Lee's defense of his brilliant 1989 "Do the Right Thing." In response to criticism about the so-called racism of the movie, Lee noted that white audiences usually focus on the destruction of the white character's property, ignoring the fact that in the film's climax, a black character has been shot and killed. I would not be surprised if many audience members of "Fruitvale Station" also focus on the flaws of Oscar Grant and his situation, ignoring the fact that he was murdered. It's a film you owe yourself to see and discuss.

2. Side Effects
First of all, I recognize that I'm certainly in the minority here. Steven Sodenbergh's "Side Effects" was released early in the year and barely got any notice; instead, much of the attention went to Sodenbergh's "Behind the Candelabra," the Liberace biographical film starring Michael Douglas and Matt Damon. Out of about 150 top ten lists, "Side Effects" is only on three. But "Side Effects" is a smart, brave, almost mesmerizing thriller. It's a movie that takes aim at the "doctor-as-god" complex of modern medicine but refuses to be its cheerleader. Sodenbergh knows the audience is too smart to simply accept this as a message movie. It's more. It's a Hitchcockian thriller, scary and fun. More importantly, it is thought-provoking, particularly to those who have suffered from chronic illness and pain.


And the best film of the year is...................



1. Wadjda
(Before I begin, let me first make a point that the Academy should be deeply ashamed of itself for not nominating such an incredible movie.)

"Wadjda," from the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia of all places, is one of those films that left me excited, even weeks after seeing it. The kind of movie that I want to tell all my family members and friends that they need to see. I truly believe that this movie will be viewed as part of the vehicle that brought change to Saudi Arabia. Having lived here for the past three years, I can tell you that, yes, there is change happening here. It may be painfully slow, and it may be change that happened in Western countries a hundred or more years ago (!), but it is happening. Part of what is most interesting is that part of the change is actually evidenced by the common people, especially women. Consider Manal al-Sherif's forceful call to "rein in the Saudi religious police":

"Last October, a woman in Qassim, considered Saudi Arabia's most conservative region, lashed out at a member of the religious police who demanded that she cover her entire face (she was wearing a veil that left her eyes exposed). "Don't provoke me!" the woman retorted. "Do you think we don't know our own religion? We know our religion, and covered up before you even existed. The veil is not forced upon a woman!" A 42-second video of her response blew up on Saudi social media. Using the hashtag #DontProvoke, people tweeted messages of support, criticizing the officer for berating a modestly dressed woman, and for doing so in front of her children. The public outpouring was a rarity in a country where, when it comes to confrontations between a men and women, it is generally accepted that women are to blame."   

Both the director and star of the film are Saudi women (Haifaa al-Mansour and Waad Mohammed respectfully). Mohammed's performance as Wadjda, a young girl who wants to ride a bike in a country that frowns upon it, to say the least, might remind some of the famous Italian neo-realism film "The Bicycle Thieves." But another comparison is to Keisha Castle-Hughes' performance in "Whale Rider" from 2002. Both feature excellent performances from young woman playing characters willing to push the envelope. I loved every bit of it.

Honorable Mentions: August: Osage County, Saving Mr. Banks, Europa Report, The Hunger Games: Catching Fire, The Wolf of Wall Street, The Angel's Share, Blood Brother, Mud

And now, the Oscars...

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The Wolf of Wall Street

Greed is good. That was the unforgettable line of Oliver Stone's 1987 "Wall Street." Here, a quarter of a century later, Martin Scorsese's tweak of that infamous attitude is that greed is not just good, but really fuckin' good...and it always will be. "The Wolf of Wall Street" features arguably Leonard DiCaprio's best performance yet (and I thought the same thing of DiCaprio in "Django Unchained" the year before). He is one of those rare actors who tries to outdo himself with every performance. His portrayal of Jordan Belfort, along with the other acts of barbarism and absurdity, help make DiCaprio and Scorsese's first collaboration, "Gangs of New York," look tame.

This movie is not for the faint of heart. Remember that rumor that Jack Nicholson would snort cocaine off the rear end of a young woman in Scorsese's "The Departed" but it was left on the cutting room floor? Well, something like that exists in the opening moments of "The Wolf of Wall Street." The viewer will either think this is a small component of a larger picture of arbitrary debauchery, or be so disgusted and turn the film off. But the scenes serve a purpose--if you didn't hate Wall Street already, you will really hate it now.

The film starts with Black Monday in 1987, the year I was born. (I entered this world with the worst stock market crash since 1929, and I graduated in 2009 among the worst stock market crash since 1929.) Belfort, humbled by his experience, has to start back at the bottom. He finds a job pushing penny stocks to schmucks (the postmen, we're told; always the postmen), and they're selling garbage to garbage men. It's at this time that he meets Donnie Azoff. Azoff is played by Jonah Hill, who is quickly emerging as one of the most enjoyable actors to watch. Here, he has never been better; possibly the only performance of the year funnier was the one he gave in "This Is the End." But there is also a terrifying sense of malice to him. His monologue--explaining what he would do to the hypothetical child with disabilities he would hypothetically produce with his wife (who also happens to be his cousin)--is, believe it or not, similar to Joe Pesci's famous "funny how?" diatribe in "Goodfellas." In both cases, the intention of the dialogue is to invoke fear. These are funny wiseguys, but they're also terrifying.

The humor is actually one of the things that's so surprising about "The Wolf of Wall Street." When folks heard that DiCaprio and Scorsese were teaming up for the fifth time, we all thought this would be a gritty drama. Instead, we're treated to a very funny movie, one of the funniest of the year. Here, DiCaprio's performance is that of a risk-loving lunatic with a golden toilet. The funniest scene undoubtedly is the one where both Belfort and Azoff take expired methaqualone (commonly referred to throughout the movie as "ludes"), and the drugs only kick in just as the best laid plans of Wall Street rats go terribly, terribly awry. The plan is to have all their money transported to Swiss bank accounts. Azoff screws up awfully and their pickup man ends up in jail. Belfort rushes to a pay phone to get the news (which includes an unfortunate fact that the FBI has been bugging their phones). Belfort has to drive (while essentially in a catatonic state) back to his mansion to prevent Azoff from using the phones. The trouble is that Azoff has definitely been using the phones; he calls the French banker (Jean Dujardin) to tell him that money will be late, but he's barely able to produce any of those required syllables or syntax. The result is confusion and hysteria. "You ate ze money? What do you mean you ate ze money?"

So to say that DiCaprio and Hill are worthy of Oscar nominations is an understatement. Audiences have seen DiCaprio do humorous scenes before, but they've never seen him this funny, and it's widely known that comedy more often than not is much more challenging than drama. Terrence Winter, who worked with Scorsese on "Boardwalk Empire," certainly deserves to be nominated for his exceptional screenplay. Also providing great performances are Margot Robbie as Belfort's second wife and Rob Reiner as Belfort's father, who may have just as foul a mouth as his son but at least is wiser, more cautious, and more long-term thinking. It is surely hoped that they are rewarded with nominations tomorrow.

"How can it be that it is not a news item when an elderly homeless person dies of exposure, but it is news when the stock market loses two points?"
-Pope Francis, "Evangelii Gaudium"

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The Place Beyond the Pines

"It is the business of the malevolent man to seek to promote what is beneficial to the world and to eliminate what is harmful, and to provide a model for the world.  What benefits he will carry out; what does not benefit men he will leave alone."
-Mozi

Over the pine planes, in Schenectady, New York, is where this story takes place. Avery Cross (Bradley Cooper) is a beat cop and the son of an influential judge. He pursues a criminal, acts in a way that deems him heroic, and, accordingly, should be rewarded with a good outcome. The problem is that his heroic deed is questionable. It leaves him conflicted, and Cooper pulls this off through wordless emotions, not dialogue. Throughout the rest of the film, Cross's outcomes are not necessarily hopeful ones. Director Derek Cianfrance has thought a lot about his "The Place Beyond the Pines," which he claims is inspired by the birth of his son and Jack London's stories.

Even without these thoughts, the film doesn't have to try too hard to capture our attention in its first act. From the first moments we are witness to motorcycle chases and long shots. The first act focuses entirely on Ryan Gosling's side of the story. Gosling is Luke Glanton, a star motorcyclist in need of money to support his family. Unable to find more steady income, he finds that robbing banks suits his unique talents. Pairing up with a local mechanic (Ben Mendelsohn), their plot involves Luke charging into local banks, cursing up a storm, and demanding that the money be stored in his bag.  From there, he darts off on his bike and evades the police. It's a remarkable first act.

The second act is not as sustainable as its predecessor. From here, we see Bradley Cooper as Cross, a young cop with ambition, rising through the ranks and seemingly playing all the right moves. Cooper is very good in this role, and is doing a fine job of continuing his streak after being nominated for a Best Actor Oscar for last year's "Silver Linings Playbook." But the second act is not as sustainable because the story touches on police corruption, something that is not new to cinema goers, most of whom have probably seen "Serpico," "Cop Land," etc. It's true that this is not the main focus of this segment's plot, but it is distracting nonetheless. But then the final forty-five minutes or so of "The Place Beyond the Pines" is when this movie enters its silly season. The story shifts away to the offspring of these two characters, where the idea of consequences is really obvious, but it never makes us want to care. Too often, a movie is really intriguing and entertaining, only to lose its footing as it heads into the final stretch. This is certainly the case with "The Place Beyond the Pines." How I wish we could have had more of Luke and Avery's stories instead of those of the teenagers. If it were not for that final segment, I think this movie had the potential to be one of the year's best.

Ray Liotta's performance as a dirty cop named Deluca has a few genuinely frightening moments that reminded me of his intensity as a performer. There's a Hollywood story alleging that Liotta, in an attempt to convince Martin Scorsese to cast him in "Goodfellas," approached Scorsese one evening. Those around Scorsese thought Liotta was approaching Scorsese to attack him, and that is what sparked Scorsese's interest in him. In one scene, Deluca attempts to lead his crew of corrupted cops into the house of a suspect. She refuses, insisting on the need for a warrant. "You assume I have a warrant," he tells her, "and I'll assume your mother has papers." But the more obvious similarities exist with Ryan Gosling. He's not at the level yet, but his acting here has the image and tenacity of Marlon Brando and James Dean in the 1950s.

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Shutter Island

Martin Scorsese's "The Departed" began with the usual notes: the Rolling Stone's cool "Gimme Shelter," a favorite of Scorsese's, for it has also appeared in his "Goodfellas" and "Casino." The lyrics, about a coming storm, could certainly be seen as allegorical, but they would be more fitting here, in his "Shutter Island," because much of the film takes place during violent rain. How, though, could the Rolling Stones' music fit in this period piece set in the 1950s, a psychological thriller and mystery.

Instead, the opening notes are Ingram Marshall's "Fog Tropes." The notes are complicated but quiet, and fit not only with the ship approaching the island but also with the melancholic, dark and gloomy atmosphere of this movie. Wisely, Scorsese has opted for a soundtrack that lacks an original score but instead is one of modern classical music. Move over George Harrison, Eric Clapton and the Ronettes--here come Max Richter, John Cage, and Krzysztof Penderecki.

Scrosese's films have famously dealt with everything from gangsters, rock 'n' roll, and Jesus Christ. Here, his theme and mood is more closely aligned with "The Aviator" than it is with "The Departed" (save for the paranoia aspect). Both were made for visceral experiences in psychology, and both are spectacular. With the "Aviator," there are so many aspects of Hughes's story--his love life with many woman (and possibly men), his brief role in politics, and his giant empire. Instead, Scorsese started with Hughes as a filmmaker, and the film evolved into a story about Hughes as a psychological subject. In "Shutter Island," a similar route is chosen: it starts as a rather conventional thriller and mystery, then goes through a metamorphosis into psychological study. Psychology is an under-appreciated component of many films and never seems to get its fair share of discussion (such as the groupthink aspect of "12 Angry Men").

Leonardo DiCaprio (Howard Hughes in Scorsese's "The Aviator" and also the lead in his "Gangs of New York" and "The Departed" and probably many more to come) is Teddy Daniels, a U.S. Marshall sent to Shutter Island off the coast of Boston to investigate the recent escape of a patient. He is there with his partner Chuck Aule (Mark Ruffalo), and becomes aware that everything is not as it seems. The island hosts a hospital for the criminally insane, and one of their patients, or as Teddy repeatedly calls, "prisoners," has escaped, "as if she completely vanished." The man in charge, a sympathetic and progressive psychologist (Ben Kingsley), is not providing much help, and things are not getting better, especially as a tempest of a storm is coming in. Teddy himself seems to have recovered, but not completely, from the death of his wife, and his temper is easily sparked.

The primary flaw of the film is its conclusion, which is fairly simple to guess almost immediately and not clever or original. Indeed, it even seems to hurt the film slightly above being just a simple annoyance. But it is the details that matter and which are so attractive, with a crescendo of intensity and a perfectionist's direction. There is a hint of Cold War paranoia, possible Nazi allegories and the ethics of lobotomies. There is rain--constant rain--fire, rats, disfigured faces, loud music reminiscent of the old Hollywood era, with whispers and shouts in the dark. The intensity level is so high and there are hardly any moments of rest. When it is not raining, it is snowing, but surely nothing is more peaceful than it was before. There are obvious influences here, such as Hitchcock's "Psycho" and "Vertigo," Kubrick's "The Shining," and to a lesser extent Demme's "The Silence of the Lambs" and Michael Powell's "Peeping Tom." (Perhaps it would be an annoying reminder to point out that the late Powell's wife is Thelma Schoonmaker, Scorsese's frequent editor.) This level of Scorsese being influenced is quite striking, simply because it is usually Scorsese who does the influencing (like on the works of Paul Thomas Anderson and Quentin Tarantino), not the one who is influenced. Regardless, being influenced is hardly ever a bad thing, and the influences are appreciated.

And unlike some directors who have recently had their actors play make-believe in front of green screens, Scorsese always brings out the best in his performers, particularly DiCaprio, who has been better and better in each Scorsese film. His other actors--Ruffalo, Kingsley, Michelle Williams, Max von Sydow, Emily Mortimer, Patricia Clarkson, Jackie Earle Haley, Elias Koteas, Ted Levine and John Carroll Lynch--are all fantastic, as well.

This is a film in which the ending--that sometimes make or break moment--was not so satisfying to me, but Scorsese's craftsmanship is so perfect as it always is that I seldom thought of the ending. Instead, I remembered everything I liked about it--its thrills, its noir approach and its effect. With a director as terrific as Scorsese, who really cares about the endings? There is no buyer's remorse here.

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