Monday at the Movies - November 5, 2018

Welcome to another installment of “Monday at the Movies.” This week, two magnetic idiosyncratic performances.

My Dinner with Hervé (2018) – This HBO biopic has been something of a passion project for Peter Dinklage, so I’m glad to see him cash in that Game of Thrones check and do something that fascinates him. Dinklage is indisputably commanding as Hervé Villechaize, best known for his work in The Man with the Golden Gun and Fantasy Island. Jamie Dornan co-stars as journalist Danny Tate, assigned to a puff piece on Hervé before it turns into an all-night confessional bender. The cast is rounded out by some heavy hitters: Andy Garcia as a pretty unflattering Ricardo Montalbán, David Straithairn as Hervé’s long suffering agent, and Oona Chaplin as Tate’s ex, lost to him before his days of sobriety. As biopics go, this one is fairly by-the-numbers, leavened with the added pathos of Villechaize’s increasingly debilitating dwarfism. The central attraction for My Dinner is Dinklage’s masterful performance; though he does not quite physically resemble the distinctive Hervé Villechaize, he has his voice down pat, capturing the curious nasal way that Villechaize’s French accent crept into his performances. Moreover, Dinklage has an earnest sympathy for Villechaize, which overrides the issue of physical resemblance and gives his performance something of the weight of Tyrion Lannister’s confession speech from Game of Thrones. It is enough as an acting showcase and should earn Dinklage his fair share of awards on his gift of impersonation alone, but it is not, I think, a gamechanger in the genre nor a film that needs much revisiting unless one, suffering aphasia, forgets what a talent Dinklage is.

Phantom Thread (2017) – Here, on the other hand, is a film that I know I need to see again. The latest collaboration between director Paul Thomas Anderson and star Daniel Day-Lewis follows the life of cranky fashion designer Reynolds Woodcock (Day-Lewis), caught in a bizarre triangle between his unwed sister Cyril (Lesley Manville, simmering), guardian of the fashion house, and muse Alma Elson (Vicky Krieps), who begins to upset the established order in the House of Woodcock. That’s all I’ll say by way of summary, because the marketing only prepared me for a film about an uptight fashion designer whose life changes when he falls in love, and I can safely say that that description barely scratches the icebergian surface of what Anderson is up to in this film. In the way that There Will Be Blood was “about” an oil man but only barely, and The Master was “about” Scientology and huffing Lysol, Phantom Thread is more about the idiosyncrasies that power Woodcock and his petulant reactions as those habits are challenged. But it’s also about Alma, and Cyril, in ways I did not expect. I suppose I had anticipated a more demure outing from Anderson and Day-Lewis, in his ostensible swan song, but that was a fool’s bargain; both are in rare form, collaborating on a puzzle of a script and setting loose its peculiar questions on an unsuspecting audience. As ever, Anderson is invested in process, lovingly photographing the intricacies of sewing and the careful preparation of mushrooms, suggesting that perhaps he too is as demanding of his art as Woodcock is of his own life. I think the best of Anderson’s work takes so many turns that demand a second viewing just to sort it all out, but I’m equally looking forward to reveling in the quiet menace of a Day-Lewis stare, the withering retorts clipped by Manville, and the quiet ferocity of Krieps in the kitchen.

That does it for this week’s edition of “Monday at the Movies.” If it sounds like Phantom Thread might be a candidate for a “Take Two Tuesday,” you may not be far off the mark. Indeed, “Take Two” returns tomorrow, but for a 2015 film. We’ll see you then!

Monday at the Movies - September 8, 2014

Welcome to another edition of “Monday at the Movies.”  Tomorrow is Michelle Williams’s birthday, so we’re going to pretend that this next review isn’t a complete coincidence and act like we timed this perfectly.

The Station Agent (2003) – For those who weren’t already aware of Peter Dinklage’s star-making performance in Thomas McCarthy’s directorial debut, the rising star of Dinklage thanks to his household status in Game of Thrones will be inviting newcomers to what is a truly compelling feature, imperfect in the way that most debuts are but worth experiencing the remarkably brief runtime.  Dinklage delivers a phenomenally moving performance as Fin, the eponymous man who lives in an abandoned train depot, and it’s a remarkable role since the film never patronizes to the audience by demanding sympathy for a protagonist with dwarfism; instead, Dinklage’s quiet solemnity and the occasional condescension from a passer-by make the case eloquently for basic human dignity.  Patricia Clarkson and Bobby Cannavale costar as Fin’s friends, who break through the insulation he’s erected around himself, and the film is highly enjoyable in developing the relationship between this unlikely trio.  Fortunately, the film also treats its audience with respect by not forcing the clichéd “damaged people” love affair between Dinklage and Clarkson; that plotline goes to a young Michelle Williams, who’s less a broken soul and more charming librarian who bonds with Fin over his need for a library card.  Unfortunately, the film stumbles a bit when it gives equal time to Clarkson’s plotline about her separation from her husband; under the weight of two despondent protagonists, the film buckles, and there are a few beats where the depressing quality almost overwhelms.  I applaud the film for its anti-Hollywood ending, in which love doesn’t quite conquer all, for it makes a more affirming statement about friendship, and as the characters smile at the end, it’s a gift to the audience that we too feel that we’ve found a new batch of misfits with whom we can spend time.

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

X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014)

Are we still in the first Golden Age of comic book films?  Or, post-Avengers, are we seeing a renaissance of comic book movies that wrestle with heavy thematic material in the way that previously only Christopher Nolan’s “Dark Knight Trilogy” had?  I suspect the latter, though the X-Men franchise has always used the mutant metaphor to wrestle with issues of tolerance and persecution.  With Days of Future Past, the seventh (seventh!) film in the series, though, X-Men kicks it up a few notches for one of the better outings in the series.

While former enemies Professor X (Patrick Stewart) and Magneto (Ian McKellan) have united against the threat of mutant-exterminating Sentinel robots, they send Wolverine (Hugh Jackman) into the past to 1973 to unite their younger selves (James McAvoy and Michael Fassbender) against the path to dystopia:  if Mystique (Jennifer Lawrence) kills the Sentinels’ creator Bolivar Trask (an inspired casting choice in the form of Peter Dinklage), the future is doomed.

Days of Future Past is equal parts sequel (to The Wolverine’s post-credits sequence and to First Class), prequel, and timey-wimey reboot, and with two principal casts working the same plot in two timelines, the film very easily could have spiraled out of control – both in terms of runtime and narrative.  But to returning director Bryan Singer’s credit, the film is tighter than that alleyway in Inception’s Mombasa chase scene.  Singer is obviously a fan at heart, and his passion for the project grants him a gifted hand at the wheel.

There is, throughout the film, a very present and nagging sense that much of the time travel in the film is designed to pull two profitable timelines together and, in the process, clean up some of the less popular missteps from films like X-Men Origins: Wolverine and X-Men: The Last Stand.  Fanboys and casual filmgoers alike will not complain there, so long as the film is anchored by a compelling central narrative that feels more like storytelling than like sweeping up.  This is actually a time-honored tradition in comic books, with the richer comics giving us more than just continuity clean-up.  By giving us characters and stakes to care about, Days of Future Past justifies its own existence beyond a simple “pretend those other films never happened” attitude.

Aside from a beat just before the third act begins, Days of Future Past never meanders, never bogs itself down in excess exposition or backstory.  Some of it doesn’t even jive with the past films, but thank heavens the movie doesn’t tie itself to its own inheritance; we know enough to jump into the world without having our hands held, and the filmmakers know it.  (Note to Zack Snyder when it comes to including Batman in Batman v. Superman: Dawn of Justice – we know the origin already.)  Instead, Singer and company cut loose and have fun with the source material.

At times, that fun is a little too juvenile for me, as in the case of the speedster Quicksilver (Evan Peters).  When the casting was announced, it seemed a bit of one-upmanship with Joss Whedon’s Avengers 2, where Peters’s Kick-Ass costar Aaron Taylor-Johnson will be playing the hero.  Peters’s interpretation of Quicksilver is actually quite entertaining, and the special effects used to present his abilities are stunning.  That said, as cool as it is to see a man move quickly enough to reposition a bullet in midair, the beat when he pauses to give an assailant a wedgie is more Ratner than Singer.  It’s an incredibly nitpicky nit to pick, but it’s a poke in the eye during an otherwise winning eyeball kick of a set piece.

As in First Class, the scene stealer is Fassbender’s Magneto, who’s less “early days” McKellan and more of an original stamp on the character as derived from his Holocaust origins.  Lawrence gets a few solid scenes in as the revenge-embittered Mystique – not too far from Magneto, in that respect.  While those two play extensions of their First Class iterations, McAvoy has the harder task by carrying the emotional arc of the film, rebuilding himself out of despair and toward the Patrick Stewart we know he’ll become.

The inevitable sequel X-Men: Apocalype (teased in a nifty stinger) will focus on the First Class cast, which is fine, obviously, plus we’ll probably have Hugh Jackman along for the ride as Wolverine – again, fine.  The part is essentially his by now, and he’s more than earned it.  I hope, though, that we haven’t seen the last of the “classic” cast; seeing Stewart and McKellan and a few other familiar faces reminds us just how spot-on those casting calls were.  In this respect, Days of Future Past is a lot like checking in with old friends while meeting some new ones, and it’s my hope that we don’t walk away from the former as we gain the latter.

X-Men: Days of Future Past doesn’t reinvent the superhero wheel, and it doesn’t transcend the genre into something utterly inspired like Captain America: The Winter Soldier, but it does its job more than capably well.  It’s vastly entertaining and engaging, well-acted and well-crafted.  It doesn’t have the metaphorical depth of past outings like X2, but that depth is supplanted by an emotional one that hooks the audience without preaching to it.

X-Men: Days of Future Past is rated PG-13 for “sequences of intense sci-fi violence and action, some suggestive material, nudity and language.”  There’s plenty of slicing and dicing and exploding and the usual whizz-bang stuff; male rear nudity is seen once, and we get a reference to the F-bomb heard round the world from First Class.

Find Me Guilty (2006)

I never thought I'd say these words, but here goes: I enjoyed a Vin Diesel movie.

Sidney Lumet's 2006 courtroom drama/comedy (my third Lumet film this summer... noticing a pattern yet?) Find Me Guilty suffers from what I like to call "Brad Pitt in Twelve Monkeys" syndrome. This condition of cinema (which will probably soon be retitled "Heath Ledger in The Dark Knight") is not something that speaks ill of the film. Instead, it's high praise for a performance that steps so far outside of the otherwise humdrum career of a lackluster actor and allows the person in question to actually ACT.

The actor in question here is Vin Diesel, who plays Jackie DiNorscio, a New York mobster who elects to defend himself in what becomes the longest trial in federal court history. Though he has no legal experience - save for his self-profession that he's "spent half of my life in jail" - "Jackie Dee" actually does a serviceable job defending himself against an elaborate case built by professional prosecutors.

Chalk it up to Lumet, who I'm sure is responsible for getting this knockdown bang-up performance out of Diesel. After all, this is a guy whose credits include The Pacifier and three Fast and Furious movies. So I wasn't expecting a stellar performance, but Diesel surprises here, virtually unrecognizable as he steps into the shoes of DiNorscio. Other performances here of note include Peter Dinklage as another defense lawyer, who seems miscast because he seems underused; Alex "Moe Greene" Rocco as the surly mob boss at the top of the trial; and Annabella Sciorra, who boils up the screen in her one scene as Jackie's wife.

The screenplay is electrifyingly humorous, with much of the courtroom dialogue allegedly taken from actual court transcripts. If the percent of actual dialogue is as high as a title card leads me to believe, this must have been a real circus to see! Of course, too, Lumet's direction is all right, but nothing calls attention to the direction as in some of his other projects.

One down note on the film is that the momentum it builds in the courtroom scenes - which is considerable and hysterical - is lost in some of the other scenes, so the movie feels like it drags its heels in a few spots. It's also a disappointment to read that, in real life, the jury in the case had been bribed.

The movie on its own, though, as a whole, is perhaps not Sidney Lumet's best work, but it's unquestionably Diesel's best work to date.

Death at a Funeral (2007)

He's more than just the voice and wizard behind Yoda. Frank Oz is also a director, and after seeing Death at a Funeral, I'm going to have to look at more of his canon beyond Muppet-like projects of his.

Death at a Funeral is a testament to Murphy's Law in 35 mm. Anything that can go wrong does - in typically British fashion. I'll say this for British comedy: they're willing to push the envelope much farther than Americans. Though Americans are well-renowned for their crudeness in comedy, there's something classically British in the approach to poking fun at homosexuality, mescaline overdoses, and the bowel practices of Uncle Alfie. Heck, the funniest line of the film takes a jab at the very delicate subject of dwarfism: when told that no one will notice that Peter, a dwarf who has a nasty secret about dear departed Dad, isn't at the funeral any more, one funeralgoer exclaims angrily, "Didn't notice him? He's four f--king feet tall!"

Yes, that's Matthew Macfadyen, Mr. Darcy himself, as Daniel, the bereaved son who's balancing the loss of his father with a supremely dysfunctional family. Eat your heart out, Bluths. His brother is a famous writer, his mother is determined to be miserable, his cousin Martha has brought her accidentally-drugged fiance Simon, and Justin thinks he still has a shot with Martha. And that's all in the first ten minutes. From the moment Daniel opens the coffin and realizes the funeral home has given him the wrong body to the closing of the film, I laughed until I cried.

A lot is to be said for the directing and editing of the comedy, but the acting is what holds it together. Maybe it's just something about British accents that make even the dumbest jokes funnier. (Monty Python, anyone?) The fact is, each of these figures are delightfully over the top but remain believable within the realm of the movie. Who's to say whether Simon's drug-induced antics are scientifically plausible? The characters in the film all buy it; so do we.

Clocking in at 90 minutes, I have to say this is the funniest film I've seen in 2008 thus far. Sorry, Dan in Real Life, but the punchlines in Death at a Funeral killed. (ba-dum-chh)