Mark Salisbury has returned to his native Britain from a sojourn at the Venice Film Festival. I must say, I do like a European's idea of Labor Day weekend. Here he is on six Venice films:
In the Valley of Elah
Like Glenn, I was no fan of Paul Haggis’ Oscar-winning directorial debut Crash, but his second feature, In the Valley of Elah, is a more honest, more heartfelt picture and was well received here in Venice. As much a murder-mystery/police procedural as an Iraq-themed picture, it stars Tommy Lee Jones as Hank Deerfield, a patriotic ex-military detective looking into the disappearance of his son, Mike, who’s just returned Stateside from a tour of duty in Iraq but has since gone AWOL. Turning up at Mike’s base in Tennessee, Hank’s keen investigative skills soon come into play when Mike’s brutally stabbed, mutilated and partially burned body is found, and, with the help of Charlize Theron’s local detective, a single mother battling the chauvinism of her male colleagues, he begins his own exploration into Mike’s death, slowly assembling the puzzle pieces despite the military’s indifference. With the title referring to the setting for David’s fight with Goliath, and inspired by real life incidents, the film tackles head on the big issue of what happens to young men when they’re sent to war, and what happens when they return, psychologically damaged. Despite the US setting, Iraq is a constant presence, although we only ever really see it via grainy videophone footage shot by Mike. It’s a thought-provoking film with a powerful message and some very fine performances—not just from the always dependable Jones and Theron, but newcomer Jake McLaughlin, himself an Iraq veteran, who plays one of Mike’s platoon buddies. (Susan Sarandon, however, is given little to do as Hank’s wife but grieve in a handful of scenes.) There is, however, one fatal flaw in the logic of the movie, revolving around the murder itself, that’s nagged at me since I’ve seen it. (Haggis claims he followed the facts and that’s what happened.) Nevertheless, this is a solid, emotive and moving film, with Haggis using the tropes of the thriller to smuggle across political points with laudable subtly and skill.
Michael Clayton
An intelligent, well-crafted piece of adult entertainment from Bourne screenwriter Tony Gilroy, making his directorial debut, with another serious, sober turn from George Clooney as the eponymous fixer for a New York law firm called in to clean up when one of their top lawyers, litigator Arthur Edens (Tom Wilkinson) goes doolalee — he’s a manic-depressive who stops taking his medicine — six years into defending an agrochemical firm in a class-action lawsuit. Clayton, too, is on an increasingly downward spiral, facing his own moral, spiritual and financial crises. As debts from his wayward brother’s failed restaurant pull at his monetary resources, the years of cleaning up others peoples’ messes are finally taking a toll. Divorced, emotionally threadbare, he may be his firm’s go-to guy, their “miracle worker”, but he’s in dire need of someone to fix him. Deliberately paced, with a strong supporting cast (Wilkinson, Sydney Pollack, Tilda Swinton) and a smart script that harks back to corporate thrillers of the 1970s — Clooney compared it to Three Days of the Condor — this, despite a few minor plot contrivances, expertly captures the shadowy side of corporate America.
The Darjeeling Limited
Wes Anderson has being playing the same sandpit for a while now, making the kind of quirky, kooky pictures that you either love or hate. Less funny and more maudlin than his previous work, The Darjeeling Limited doesn’t have either the big emotional hook of Rushmore or the abundant zany humour of The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou. Not that it’s in any way a bad film, rather a tad insubstantial. And yet, it reveals Anderson’s increasingly accomplished technique as well as his love for Satyajit Ray. The Whitman brothers — controlling Francis (Owen Wilson), short story writer Jack (Jason Schwartzman, co-scripter with Anderson and Roman Coppola) and soon-to-be father Peter (Adrien Brody) — ride a train across India, a literal trip that Francis hopes will offer a spiritual journey too, and a chance to bond again following their father’s death a year before. He has another motive: to visit their estranged mother, now a nun in a Himalayan mountaintop convent — a nod, presumably, to Black Narcissus — played by Anjelica Huston. (Fellow Anderson regular Bill Murray also pops up in two scenes.) Soon, the siblings fall into their customary, bickering ways: Francis has his onboard assistant provide them with daily, laminated itineraries; Peter claims he was their father’s favorite; Jack checks his ex-girlfriend’s answer machine and enjoys a fling with the stewardness. It’s only after the death of a young Indian child that the siblings finally find some connection, with each other and the land they’re travelling in. The performances are spot-on (Brody slips into this world effortlessly); the colors rich and lush; the soundtrack again cool and eclectic; the cinematic language deliberate and formal, despite Anderson filming on a moving train. If you’re a fan (and I am) there’s much to enjoy, although, in retrospect, you’ll maybe find yourself willing yourself to like it more than you do. (There are, alas, some uncomfortable similarities between Wilson’s recent off-screen problems and those of his character. At one point, Francis avers: “I have some healing to do.”) The film was preceded here by Hotel Chevalier, a 13-minute Anderson-directed starring Schwartzman (again as Jack Whitman) and (a naked) Natalie Portman as his ex-girlfriend, set entirely in a Paris hotel room. It proved to be a tasty appetiser to the main feature and was, in some ways, more satisfying. Made in 2005 and referred to onscreen as “Part 1 of The Darjeeling Limited”, the short won’t play with the film on its theatrical release, but, according to Anderson, will be available online, at festivals and on DVD.
Cassandra's Dream
Oh dear. The third of Woody Allen’s London-set films following Match Point and Scoop (which didn’t even warrant an official release in the UK), this sees the bespectacled one again operating in serious mode, but results are another dramatic misfire. It’s sad to see the downturn Allen’s fortunes have taken over the last decade, and while this is certainly better than the nadir that was Hollywood Ending, one wonders if Allen would be best to have a break for a while (he’s already filmed another since this one, set in Barcelona) and take stock of his career. Working-class brothers, Ian (Ewan McGregor) and Terry Blaine (Colin Farrell) are in need of some quick cash: the former to invest in a Californian hotel venture, the latter to pay off a £90,000 gambling debt. Salvation appears in the form of their wealthy, LA-based, plastic surgeon uncle, Howard (Tom Wilkinson), back in the UK for their mum’s birthday. But Howard’s in a bind too, and proposes a piece of quid pro quo: they commit a murder for him in return for the money. The plot machinations thereafter are too intricate to recount beyond Terry finding himself unable to live with the guilt and Ian, with his new actress girlfriend (Hayley Atwell) to impress, deciding he can’t have his brother going to the police and confessing. Some of the early, domestic scenes feel like Woody Allen channelling Mike Leigh, but overall the film is listless and pessimistic. Allen’s hands-off direction leaves McGregor and Farrell floundering in a morass of embarrassing tics and unconvincing accents, with not even the normally dependable Wilkinson emerging unscathed. (Only Sally Hawkins as Terry’s girlfriend gives a credible performance.) It’s a shock, too, to see the great Vimos Zsigmond credited as DP, so dull is the look. Allen might still have some cred in Europe — the Venice audience gave his name a rousing reception during the press screening — but this is lazy, unimaginative filmmaking. And as a morality play, it’s never persuasive.
Searchers 2.0
Shot in just 15 days on digital video, the latest from British filmmaker Alex Cox, director of Repo Man and Sid & Nancy, follows out of work actors Mel (Ed Pansuello) and Fred (Del Zamora), together with Mel’s daughter Delliah (Jaclyn Jonet), on a road trip from Venice, California to Monument Valley, Arizona. There the two men plan on attending a screening of Buffalo Bill Vs Doc Holliday, followed by a Q&A with the film’s legendary screenwriter Fritz Frobisher (Sy Richardson) intent on making Frobisher pay for mistreating them as kids on set. The performances are okay, the ending bonkers, but Cox crams in enough humour, warmth, Western references, and pointed comment into his script that both film and cast get by on geeky, goofy charm. The landscape is mighty impressive, too.
The Assassination Of Jesse James By The Coward Robert Ford
In an earlier post I claimed this was, along with Zodiac, the greatest American film of the year. I’m not the only one who thinks so (Variety’s review was a lovefest), but, judging by the mixed reaction here in Venice, I also know that I’m perhaps in the minority. Certainly it’s not going to be everyone’s taste. People are talking about it as Mallick-esque like that’s a bad thing. Not in my mind. For me, this is a masterpiece, plain and simple. At over two and a half hours, it’s long, slow, lyrical, elegiac, poetic, meandering; even its director, Andrew Dominik, says it has a story but no real plot. But the cinematography by Roger Deakins is exquisite, the direction is confident and assured, and there’s a truly mesmerising performance from Casey Affleck as Robert Ford that deserves an Oscar. The use of narration, too, is some of the best you’ll ever hear in a movie. It’s not all perfect. I found musician Nick Cave’s cameo so distracting it took me, momentarily, out of the movie. But that small detail aside, I found it a wonderful, wonderful film. Brave, moving, expansive, magnificent, artful, challenging, epic. Dominik should be congratulated for making it. Pitt should be applauded for not only his fine performance but for being his director’s 800-pound gorilla, and for making sure this got made the way Dominik (who was born in New Zealand, but grew up in Australia) wanted it. Ten word title and all.
Thanks for the heads-up on the Valley of Elah and Michael Clayton movies. Since I have come to despise the rather crude efforts of the Hollywood elite to pass off leftist political and cultural propaganda as entertainment, I appreciate it when film critics, even unknowingly such as in your case, provide the necessary clues to the potential film-goer before a ticket is purchased by mistake. I'll certainly skip them.
I wish the film critic community would view it as one of their responsibilities to be explicit about this issue. Since almost all film reviewers are leftist - anti-capitalist, anti-military, anti-religious and anti-West - it's usually easier to identify the movies I'll probably enjoy, since the criticism will be explicitly negative if these values are not demonstrated, than the reverse. Yes, there are non-leftists who enjoy going to the movies, assuming they are entertaining.
Posted by: JohnSal | September 05, 2007 at 08:06 PM
Yes we're all a bunch of eastern thinking, peace-nik, godless communists. That's why we love John Ford movies so much.
Posted by: Marshall | September 06, 2007 at 03:12 AM