Monday at the Movies - June 24, 2013

Welcome to another edition of “Monday at the Movies” – this week, we massage the title of this feature by profiling two HBO biopics from the past year.

Behind the Candelabra (2013) – “Too much of a good thing is wonderful,” the late Liberace was fond of saying, but the trouble with Behind the Candelabra is that there’s not enough of a good thing to be wonderful in the first place.  Ostensibly Steven Soderbergh’s last film, this biopic stars Michael Douglas as the flamboyant pianist who woos Scott Thorson (Matt Damon) in a complicated and torrid relationship not unlike the stuff of Lifetime movies.  Therein lies the problem; the story as we have it isn’t substantive enough to sustain a full two hours without feeling thin or repetitive.  As is often the case in biopics like this, Michael Douglas is note-perfect as Liberace, capturing the extravagance of the performer while layering in just enough of the creepy menace the film suggests was key to understanding Liberace (then again, when is Douglas not exceptional?).  Doing less exceptional work by virtue of being in the shadow of a great performance, Damon’s Scott Thorson is also less compelling, largely due to Damon’s failure to transcend his own ethos in the way Douglas does; moreover, Damon as Scott is petulant and largely static, equal parts the fault of the slim script and the muscled actor.  Kudos, though, to the makeup department for creating a lifelike Liberace and an uncanny doppelganger after Scott undergoes plastic surgery to look more like his lover.  Keep your eyes peeled for a gaggle of cameos – Dan Aykroyd, Rob Lowe, Paul Reiser, and an unforgettable Debbie Reynolds as Liberace’s mum – though ultimately the film is a great deal like Liberace himself:  talented, but more style than substance.

Phil Spector (2013) – Pacino, Mirren, Mamet.  Throw these three into a crazy (semi-) true story, and I’m there.  Oddly, the film begins with a disclaimer absolving itself of facticity, a bizarre technique which distances the audience until the true game reveals itself.  What David Mamet’s really after is a character study unfettered by pragmatic (and legal) concerns, profiling defense attorney Linda Kenney Baden (Helen Mirren) as she’s drawn into the entirely strange orbit of famed music producer Phil Spector (Al Pacino) when he’s accused of murder.  The film wisely avoids finger-pointing (indeed, the film leans toward but never fully endorses Spector’s innocence), and it’s to Pacino’s credit that he reins in his stereotypical “big voice” for a more subdued portrait.  The real star – and the vehicle which communicates the degree to which Spector seems wholly unhinged – is Mamet’s dialogue, as snappy as it’s ever been.  In many ways more a stage play than a fully cinematic film, Mamet’s script includes long dialogues, compelling conversation pieces where the restrained delivery allows us to appreciate the subtext; it’s especially worth rewatching the conversations between Spector and Baden, as the former reveals his madness while the latter, astoundingly, becomes convinced of his legal innocence.  Pacino pulls back, as I’ve noted, but Mirren really lets loose the full range of her craft; Baden is suffering from pneumonia during the trial and – like Cosmo Kramer’s gonorrhea – you feel it all the way in the back row.  It may not be the all-out crazy train that the actual trial was, but Mamet’s script is riveting in a slow-burn kind of way.

That does it for this week’s edition of “Monday at the Movies.” We’ll see you here next week!