Nine

Rating: ***

I was very much looking forward to Nine, the movie musical based on the Broadway variety inspired by the life of Italian filmmaker Federico Fellini as written in a book by Arthur Kopit based on Fellini’s own semi-autobiographical film called 8 ½. Now I’m not typically a fan of musicals or having to follow a labyrinthine chronology to understand where the origins of a movie come from. Additionally, though I’m pained to admit it, not even the fact that director Rob Marshall stacked his deck with a handful of beautiful actresses in 60s glamour was entirely persuasive. But there was a quality to Nine certainly, a style, a romance, a rawness, an energy that just drew you in when watching the previews. Which is why it’s painful to say that style is about all that Nine has in its favour.

Of course, it would be inappropriate for a movie about Italian film in the 1960s to look like a Communist-era state-sponsored black and white educational film, but the great con of Nine is that lavishness trumps subtlety, and that production supplants story. I can’t say that I know enough about Fellini to understand where “based on” ends and dramatic license begins, but much like the lead character, filmmaker Guido Contini, it seems that the people behind Nine were working without a script. Guido, played with surprising musical aptitude by Daniel Day Lewis, faces writer’s block as the start date for his latest opus, Italia, approaches in just a week’s time. Hoping to escape the rigors of work, he escapes to a spa only to have the production follow him there in full force. Can a guy not smoke, drink and womanize in peace, Guido laments.

But the women in question are Marion Cotillard as Guido’s wife Luisa, Penélope Cruz as his mistress Carla and Nicole Kidman as his muse and lead actress Claudia. But if that’s not enough female trouble for you there’s Judi Dench as Guido’s tough talking costume designer Lilli, Kate Hudson as a provocative American Vogue reporter in Go-go boots and appearing in flashback and as ghostly apparition is Sophie Loren as the Guido’s mother. It’s a cast that epitomizes the term “all star,” so why do they feel so under-used? It seems that each of the actresses is in the film just long enough to do their musical number and take a bow; Kidman isn’t really seen till the end, Cruz is remembered mostly for her (lack of) costume and Cotillard feels cheated with the typical spurned wife role.

This leaves much of the emotional heavy lifting in the film up to Lewis, who happily seems as energetic and invested in singing and dancing as he was berating Paul Dano about “drinking his milkshake” in There Will Be Blood. His chemistry with the leading ladies sometimes seemed a bit lacking, but Lewis’ timing with some of the physical comedy and dance numbers was right on. He was also good sparring with Dench as Lilli’s tart though truthful advice about the movie business clashes with Guido’s creative meltdown. It would have been nice if there had been more of Lewis and Dench’s comedy routine in the film because it was certainly as lively as the brilliantly choreographed and orchestrated musical numbers.

Which is why despite some of my creative misgivings about Nine, I still give the film a positive recommendation because if anything else you will leave the theatre humming the very catchy music. As a dramatic work though, the movie leans too heavily on its ability to doll itself up with bright lights, amazing scenery and fancy costumes. And as great as the songs were, there’s still a kind of detachment from the drama because the action always cuts away to the music rather than having the characters burst into song. I never thought I’d miss that in a musical, but it does give the action on screen more emotional heft when characters are singing to each other, and not just thinking about it. So in other words, to use film parlance, you’ve got energy kid, but you don’t quite have what it takes. Keep trying though, you’ll get there.

A Single Man

Rating: ****

Earlier this year we had A Serious Man, which despite its rather solemn sounding title was actually rather droll. Now with A Single Man, which under different circumstances might sound like a silly romantic comedy, we get one of the most finely acted dramas of the year. What’s more is that this is the directorial and screenwriting debut of Tom Ford, the fashion designer that turned Gucci into a billion dollar company. Well I don’t know much about fashion, but it’s certainly pleasant to see a man step far outside his artistic comfort zone and succeed with astounding skill. A Single Man, the adaptation of the 1964 novel by Christopher Isherwood, is an involving and well-acted bit of drama thanks to Ford’s eye and the tremendous skill of lead Colin Firth.

The film follows George (played by Firth), a college professor living in 1960s Southern California. The story takes place during the height of the Cuban Missile Crisis, as George continues to cope with the accidental death of his long-term partner Jim (Matthew Goode) several months earlier. George is practically a ghost in his own life, but in a rare moment of zeal he gives an exuberant lecture on the nature of fear to one of his classes, sparking the interest of student Kenny (Nicholas Hoult) in more ways than one. As George diligently makes plans to dine with his old friend Charley (Julianne Moore), he also looks to putting his affairs in order. But will this be one of those nights that changes George’s point of view, or will it push him further to give up on the life he doesn’t believe in anymore?

Staged with the precision and thoughtfulness of live theatre, A Single Man captures and arrests you with provocative performances, and its deliberate but seemingly natural pace. Firth as the gravitational centre is engrossing, one of the most genuine and visceral portrayals of a grief-stricken man that I’ve ever seen on screen. Firth plays up a bit of mystery as well since you’re never quite sure for the first half of the film how exactly it’s all going to play out. Like a beautifully drawn picture book, every turn of the page offers more detail, while allowing you the time to appreciate all that detail. It’s Firth performance that keeps things personal and almost intimate. A true leading performance, he’s in every scene and almost always shoulders the emotional weight in every exchange.

But it would nonsense to say that Firth is alone on screen in his dedication to the film. Probably second for screen time (and marquee name value) is Moore, who’s Charley could have been the usual pathetic, two-dimensional drunk divorcee archetype, but with Moore’s talent one can appreciate something deeper underneath. Newcomer Hoult, who’s perhaps best known for his work on the British drama Skins, also shows a lot of depth as Kenny’s youth and optimism plays well against George’s resignation and pessimism. And though he plays but an apparition, Goode is quite excellent as George’s lost lover Jim. The loss George feels, as conveyed by Firth, is palpable, and the two actors easily make you feel as if they’ve been together the better part of 15 years. That’s not a high-five for two straight actors playing gay men, just that they have the chemistry between the two of them to really make it believable.

This emphasis on acting makes the film, but that’s not to discount the technical merits. The aesthetic of the production design and the soft lighting of the cinematography create a feeling of a film not just set in the 60s, but one that almost feels like it was shot in the 60s. Ford is to be commend for his attention to detail and for immediately setting himself out as an “actor’s director.” I honestly can’t remember a director’s debut that’s been this impressive, or at least a first-time director that seems this together. This was not an easy film to make, I think. From the emotion of the characters to recreating the early 60s setting to the unconventional direction of story, Ford should be commend for tacking this material, and more than that, tackling it beyond expectations. Firth and Ford make A Single Man a must see. A great and greatly acted film.

An Education

Rating: ***1/2

There’s something sketchy about the new film An Education. It’s certainly not the acting, which led by a cast of British thespians including Alfred Molina, Olivia Williams, and Emma Thompson, is impeccable. Everything, from the cinematography, the 60s looking production design and the art direction, are all top-notch. The plot follows a smart and talented young woman with a promising future that starts to date an older man who seduces her with… Oh. There we go. But it’s okay because the older man is really quite charming and handsome and played by Peter Sarsgaard, right? And no Virginia, this is not a post-modern spin on Lolita.

The girl is 16-year-old Jenny(Carey Mulligan) who studies hard in school, plays the cello, and dreams of journeying to Paris one day only to be interrupted in her daydream by the nerdy boy that crushes on her. A chance meeting one day with Mr David Goldman (Sarsgaard) opens up a new world of possibilities for Jenny, ones that have nothing to do with her prudish and overbearing father (Molina), and her stuffy teachers (Williams, Thompson). The debonair David shows Jenny a world of hot jazz, cool beat poetry and the laissez-faire lifestyle of professional rip-off artists. As Jenny gets more deeply involved with David, her schooling becomes less and less important as she’d rather be tripping the light fantastic with her older beau.

But David Golman carries a secret, and it’s a secret so obvious that the only way that you won’t be able to see it coming is if you’re an infatuated teenage girl living in 1960s Britain. But sarcasm aside, An Education is a rather astute satire with decent chuckles and a couple of moments both heartbreaking and heart-warming. The difficulty for me in watching this movie was trying to comprehend the message. Was there a message? Teenagers can be silly? Sure, you may hate your responsibilities, all the hard work, testing and such, but those successes are far more substantive than following a stranger with candy. Really, director Lone Scherfig, tell me another one.

Granted there’s not a lot of depth here, but maybe I’m looking for things that aren’t supposed to be there in the first place. One can’t fault the fact that An Education is rather entertaining. A diverting piece of 60s glam cinema with an engaging cast anchored ably by a young star with a lot of talent and charisma. Alfred Molina is appropriately stuffy and befuddled as the dad, but he also gets to show some dimension and some vulnerability too as he realizes he’s played no small part in his daughter’s future trashing machinations. Molina’s probably my favourite actor in this film, but it’s a tight horse race.

But some of the credit for An Education’s appeal goes to young Carey Mulligan, who manages to convey the spiralling depths of naivety and the post screw-up weariness to be convincing as Jenny from beginning to end. This film is hers and its no small feat for a young actress to play convincing on all sides. I’m still sure about the creepy overtones, but maybe that’s the difference between eras and the bias there in. Watching An Education I could help but think of Chris Hansen and ask, “Haven’t you seen To Catch A Predator?” To which Jenny would probably say “I beg your pardon.” Where’s Hansen when you need him?

A Serious Man

Rating: ****

I’m not sure how seriously to take A Serious Man. This semi-comedy, semi-drama, semi-autobiographical film from the Coen Brothers treads dangerously close to farce at times, but there’s something so bizarrely real to it that it can be taken either as blistering self-examination or exaggerated family melodrama. What I do know is that this is another one of those satisfying Coen comedies where we have a character being driven mad by the insanity around them as they try desperately to keep some semblance of control. It’s been a recurrent theme in the Brothers’ work lately, whether it’s Sheriff Ed Tom Bell cleaning up after the carnage of a drug deal gone bad in No Country For Old Men, or the frazzled CIA analyst Osbourne Cox and his missing memoirs in Burn After Reading.

Taking place in the obvious 60s, we meet physics professor Larry Gopnick (Michael Stuhlbarg), and the course of Larry’s life does not run smooth. Racked with anticipation as to whether or not he’ll receive tenure, Larry encounters a disgruntled student that wants to bribe him for a better grade.

At home, Larry’s wife Judith (Sari Lennick) drops a bombshell saying that she wants to leave him for widower Sy Ableman (Fred Melamed) and she wants him to grant her a divorce. Larry’s son Danny (Aaron Wolff) is taking money from his sister for pot and listens to a portable radio as he’s supposed to be learning Hebrew for his upcoming bar mitzvah, but Larry’s not privy to that particular piece of information. Then there’s Uncle Arthur (Richard Kind) with his constant use of the bathroom and his crazy mathematical scheme to cheat at cards.

This world is madness for Larry Gopnick, and if anyone’s deserving of a Falling Down moment it’s definitely this guy. Sure, you might be living at the Jolly Roger because your wife wants you out and refuses to move in with her new boyfriend to “keep up appearances,” but at least your kid can still phone you and pester you about fixing the aerial to get better reception on F-Troop. Your boss comes into your office and drops subtle hints that perhaps you won’t be getting the promotion you’ve been hedging your bets on, but then casts away all doubts telling you not to worry. Divorce lawyer fees are killing you financially, your wife insists you pay for her lover’s funeral, and there’s a strong possibility that Uncle Arthur’s a sexual deviant, but if you dole out any punishment on this life, chances are you inflict it upon yourself.

This is where Stuhlbarg shines. He may be one of those “I know that guy” actors that has appeared in various TV shows and movies, but he owns every minute of screen time he fills in A Serious Man. There’s subtlety, there’s deep-seeded emotion, there’s a tricky balance of serious drama and comedic straightman to consider, but Stuhlbarg weaves and bobs his way through the script beautifully. I seriously hope he gets some decent awards consideration for this role.

But as much as Stuhlbarg must be the grounded centre of the film, the other actors reach for the fences with some of their portrayals, but strangely things still feel real. Melamed does wickedly feigning sympathy for his romantic nemesis and perfectly sews an elder, Jewish Eddie Haskell character that you just love to hate. In smaller roles, Alan Mandell, George Wyner and Simon Helberg playing three rabbis Larry consults for spiritual guidance are drop dead hilarious. But I’m not sure if the Coens are making a comment on the effectiveness of Judaism as a comfort or whether they’re taking the meandering rabbi stereotype for a spin.

Regardless, at the centre of all things in this film is the question: Am I watching a straight-faced comedy, or a subversive family melodrama? I honestly don’t know and I frankly don’t care. This isn’t as pointedly gut-wrenching as some of the Brothers other dramatic work, but it’s also not as zany as their previous comedic outings either. This is a unique Coen concoction that I think takes the filmmakers in strange new directions. It’s a subtle little movie that says a lot without you noticing, and it dresses up the bizarre nature of our everyday reality with a deft and light comedic touch. A Serious Man is seriously too good to miss and easily (probably) one of the year’s best.