Lincoln

Lincoln, directed by Steven Spielberg, with screenplay by Tony Kushner, depicts "honest Abe" (brilliantly portrayed by Daniel Day Lewis) during the push to ratify the 13th Amendment in 1865.  Delivered in a gorgeously somber and subdued palette with sepia emphasis, Lincoln toggles between elated hagiography and serious historical detail.  And although Spielberg interferes in his usual manner by telling us how to feel (with John Williams as his annoying musical sidekick), the combination of an intelligent, witty and heartfelt script, superb casting, and Daniel Day Lewis' deep, warm and wise portrayal makes for a very compelling and intriguing film.

Daniel Day Lewis is lit in nearly the same manner in every scene, so that both his halo and his humanity are easily and consistently perceived. ( Janusz Kaminski is, once again, Spielberg's highly skilled DP)  Domestic interactions with Mary Todd Lincoln (a very touching Sally Field) are lit more brightly or kept in near darkness.  Daniel Day Lewis towers and shrinks, murmurs and pounds, cajoles, convinces, jokes and soothes.  Could a President really have been this kind and wise?  I think we all hope so, and if not, it is a myth worth imitating.

A subplot of Lincoln's relationship with his son Robert is an unfortunate distraction that adds nothing to our comprehension of either Lincoln or his times.  And, as is typical with Spielberg, the film is about 20 minutes longer than it needs to be, with an ending that appears tacked on and merely gilds the lily.  Still, this is an impressive portrait of a President who, embattled from within and without, managed to hew to a course that changed the future of our nation, and offers perspective for our continuing conversations of race, rights, balance of power and humanity.

The Hobbit

If there is a Dwarf Anti-Defamation League, they are likely girding their legal loins sons of Gloins for The Hobbit, in which dwarves are depicted as greedy grudge-holding guys with bulbous noses and extravagantly bad hair.  Their leader, Thorin Oakenshield (Richard Armitage, the film's obvious choice of heart throb), breaks the aesthetic mold by sporting a normally sized schnozz, and hair that responds to grime as though dirt is a styling product.  The bulbous bad hair bunch, meanwhile, resist individual identification, and would benefit from names like Grumpy, Stumpy and Dumpy.  Middle Earth could do with some shampoo and a few name tags.

So here we have a wee, small book (The Hobbit) swollen and bloated with back story, future story, swirling aerial time filling camera work, and stirring music that does not substance make.  In other words, the studios have plumped  for a blockbuster.  Be gone nuance and comprehensible narrative!  Get ready for thrills and spills and Indiana Jones in Middle Earth.  For goodness sake, I read the entire book at age 12 in a day.  The film requires 3/4 of an hour before Bilbo even leaves Bag End!

Yes, there are some memorable sequences. The three trolls/stooges with culinary aspirations and cannibal preferences offer humorous relief, although the scene is muddied beyond the source material's relative simplicity.  The Gollum and Bilbo meeting has more nuance than any scene in the film, and more pathos.  It is a shame that the 48 frames per second film technique distracts with unnecessary detail from this crucial conversation.  I would far rather attend to Bilbo and Gollum than admire the textures of every damn pebble in the cave.  And, it is fun to be back in Rivendale for some time, given that Elves are less melodrama driven than the dwarves.  What Galadriel is doing in this scene is a question I will leave to the story bloating experts.  My guess is all the faves from LOTR will show up in the Hobbit trilogy by hook or by crook.

Wargs chasing Radagast in a cart pulled by wily wabbits just begs for Looney Tunes music.  Well, Warner Brothers is one of the studios for The Hobbit, and I guess that if caves of goblins begin to pale, a cartoon reference might entice.

Mostly, Peter Jackson has drifted into the Spielberg method of melodrama:  heart stopping escapes that, after many repetitions, dull the pleasure of production quality.  The Lord of the Rings had a basic moral underpinning, without the complication of much character development.  The Hobbit mixes greed for gold with righteousness and glory.  Not a combination of motivations I personally want to endorse, and seemingly reflective of the studio's interest in, well, piles of gold.

At least there is a glimpse of that greedy great gold lover Smaug, surely a teaser for two more plot-padded films to come.

Beasts of the Southern Wild

Beasts of the Southern Wild is narrated by a fully realized person who happens to be 6 years old.  Her name is Hush Puppy (an extraordinary Quvenzhane Wallis, who gives a performance as complex as the spelling of her name).  She listens to everything; animals, leaves, crabs, her father's heart.  She is not precocious or saccharine or a victim.  No one in this richly surprising film is a victim, despite many travails, least of all Hush Puppy, who is also known as both 'boss lady" and "the man".

Her voice is the film's voice, and also its vision.  She is in nearly every frame, and so utterly believable that her perception becomes unquestionable.  Not since Linda Manz in Days of Heaven has there been such a strong and unique young narrative voice.

Refreshingly, Beasts has no real bad guys, no cruelty except unavoidable mortality.  Hush Puppy sees and tells all, and links local personal shifts to planetary changes in her open eyed and wild haired fashion.  There are some minor issues: moments that strain too long, intermittent dialogue audibility, great music that sometimes intrudes too suddenly. Who cares, these are small quirks in a rapturous, informative plunge into something indescribable.  This is magical realism not social commentary, much more Marquez than Steinbeck.  Beasts flows between dreams, myths, quiet, moon-tinged lunatic life and inescapable death, all from Hush Puppy's steady, fierce self-aware gaze.

Moonrise Kingdom

To say that Wes Anderson is both detailed and blissfully random understates his skillfully unique storytelling mode.  Anderson has, over his many films, indicated areas of obsessive interest in family and the finely nuanced conveyance of  both detail and surprise as means of narrative.

In Moonrise Kingdom, his attentive obsessions reach a new peak of delight, dark humor, and poignancy.  Bob Balaban is our gnome narrator.  The camera tracks sideways to reveal interiors of homes, scout tents and local views.  Our alternative narrator is a guided recording of the musical families of an orchestra, which becomes both commentary and counter-point to the eccentric families that we meet: the Bishops, Frances McDormand and Bill Murray (both quietly hilarious), and the Khaki Scouts, headed by a wonderful Edward Norton. Bruce Willis is understated as Chief of Police.  He is an action figure dappling in inaction until action becomes necessary and compelling.  Tilda Swindon as Social Services takes a great turn in Salvation Army blue uniform, and is clearly having fun.

The warmly yellow light, varying scales of lighthouses, specific scout badges and the tender depiction of romance between two very serious 12 year olds (excellent Jared Gillman and Kara Hayward) add up to an immensely enjoyable romp through family systems, enduring friendships, and wilderness skills (with a record player, many books and a lovely hot dog picnic).  Tents are zipped from inside and outside, plaid is everywhere, including the interior of tents and one cross, many pajamas and robes and pairs of pants.  Plaid is a complex intersection of color and pattern, detailed and rich, just like this lovely and very fun film.

A Separation

The brilliant Iranian film, A Separation, opens with a couple requesting divorce from an unseen judge behind the camera's view. And thus, the viewer is immediately immersed in a narrative delivered by indirection, layers, covering and uncoverings (often literal coverings as this is Iran, where women's heads wear head scarves at the very least). Revelations and retractions inform every interaction.

The camera remains interior in focus, in that every scene is within an apartment, a car or a judicial chamber. The palette is subdued, even when dialogue becomes heated. There is an intimacy that respects the hidden aspects of lives and characters, a separation between the public and the private.

Rifts between classes, religious dedications, genders and means of communication are conveyed with subtle power. The layers of lies, half-truths and secrets, as well as mistaken intentions, add up to a beautiful vertigo that never confuses. The swirls reveal rather than obscure.

All the performances, especially those of the children, are quietly riveting. Nuance and suggestion hold a delicate balance. There are no "bad guys", just the complexities of human interaction, with all the potential separations of individuals seeking justice on large and small scales.

The final moments devastate and resonate long after this excellent film concludes.

Pina, again..

There are very few films I want to see more than once on the big screen. Pina haunted and informed me to a degree of required re-viewing. It is like a dream you await to replay in the night, a fractured, lovely lyric you recall upon waking, vague fears that leaden then oddly lighten your limbs, and universally human gestures played out to the rhythms of mortality. Pina demands and deserves attentive viewing as well as repeat viewing.

"You just have to get crazier" Pina Bausch

Pina 3-D

If you have even a vague interest in dance or theatre or life, you must race out now and see Pina. This film will devastate you, change you, cause you to question your essence, and potentially bring you to the tides of joy.

Pina Bausch challenged the limits of expression via dance. She utilized elements and emotion, space and expression, like no one else. Wim Wenders' film, sadly begun shortly after Pina's untimely death, celebrates her intensity and integrity with textural and spacious locations, widely diverse music as narrative, historical and current footage, great wardrobe choices, and clear, non-intrusive camera work. Descriptions fall short; experience is necessary.

Or, as Pina said: "dance, dance, otherwise we are lost".