The typically inscrutable Coen brothers give us this shaggy dog tale in which the cat wags the tail, little is revealed, and Homer via the Old Testament reigns supreme. Cue the Coen views of heavy deities and wry dry humor.
The content and composition of this story are at curiously wry odds. Although the title suggests we will comprehend the inner workings of said Llewyn Davis, provided insights are peripheral and momentary. It's like Groundhog Day with Homer in charge, many deities behind desks, and portents of gloom.
Sepia tones and winter light inform the journeys depicted over several days in pre-feminist, pre-AIDS, pre Vietnam conflict protests in 1961 NYC. Our hero is quite short of heroic, and nears Job in his troubles, mostly self inflicted. Poor choices by our protaganist abound.
Production design and cinematography are as usual superb. T.Bone Burnett oversees the music with reliable skill.
There are quietly humorous moments: John Goodman as an obese jazz musician with extra chins and a deplorable hair piece gives a deliciously distracting rant. Llewyn's manager and his manager's short elderly secretary have an amusing interchange worthy of Woody Allen. F.Murray Abraham plays folk music impressario Bud Grossman with grave still seriousness. We wait for Dylan to appear on the scene, and he does, briefly, in background visuals and sound. The future obviously does not include Llewyn Davis.
Whatever the pointlessness points to eludes me. Although I left the film dissatisfied, various details and scenes continued to unfurl in my brain.
The cat was very well played.
Saturday, December 28, 2013
Friday, September 13, 2013
Blue Jasmine
Blue Jasmine, Woody Allen's homage to and update of Tennesse Williams' " A Streetcar Named Desire", is his finest, most well written and constructed film in many years. Cate Blanchett as Jasmine deserves not only an Oscar but every possible prize for a complex and deeply credible depiction of a woman de-laminating into personal chaos. She manages, with a terrific script, to evoke sympathy, horror, dismay, disgust and sadness, often all in a single scene. Her mad soliloquies set a new standard for depiction of complete meltdowns in a world gone wrong.
The script deftly examines the complexity of human relationships without flinching from areas of class conflicts, self concepts gone awry, and the current economic divides. Woody Allen has taken a classic piece of American theater into present day with moments of wry humor and an intelligent sense of tragedy.
Sally Hawkins as Ginger, Jasmine's sister in tragedy from another viewpoint, plays her character with nuance and subtle expression. Ginger has strength as a struggling single mother that Jasmine, a fallen Park Avenue matron, both mocks and seeks. The scenes between the two of them resonate deeply.
All supporting cast members are wonderful: Peter Saarsgard, Alec Baldwin, Andrew Dice Clay and Bobby Cannavale.
Not a wrong note is sounded. Set design, costume choices, music, camera movement are all in tune for a story that hits all the beats with near perfection.
Woody Allen produces a film annually to maintain his own tenuous sanity. I would happily endure his less than fine efforts of recent years for a film of this depth and skill every decade.
The script deftly examines the complexity of human relationships without flinching from areas of class conflicts, self concepts gone awry, and the current economic divides. Woody Allen has taken a classic piece of American theater into present day with moments of wry humor and an intelligent sense of tragedy.
Sally Hawkins as Ginger, Jasmine's sister in tragedy from another viewpoint, plays her character with nuance and subtle expression. Ginger has strength as a struggling single mother that Jasmine, a fallen Park Avenue matron, both mocks and seeks. The scenes between the two of them resonate deeply.
All supporting cast members are wonderful: Peter Saarsgard, Alec Baldwin, Andrew Dice Clay and Bobby Cannavale.
Not a wrong note is sounded. Set design, costume choices, music, camera movement are all in tune for a story that hits all the beats with near perfection.
Woody Allen produces a film annually to maintain his own tenuous sanity. I would happily endure his less than fine efforts of recent years for a film of this depth and skill every decade.
Sunday, September 1, 2013
The Grandmaster
I have been eager to see The Grandmaster. I enjoy director Wong Kar Wai's stylized moodiness, Tony Leung's handsome and inscrutable half smile, and film version kung fu fighting. Kung fu looks like ballet with impact to me, and with lots of potential chaos to boot.
Despite all the feet featured, including a fighter with bound feet, the film falls short of finding reliable footing. Nonetheless, the visuals are gorgeous, with all the noir detail and painterly composition. Other than a single beautiful scene on a snowy spring day, the conditions are always dark and rainy. The puddles provide plenty of reflective surfaces, lamp light makes faces glow, and the slow motion splashes become music video cinematic.
The fight scenes are exquisitely choreographed by the kung fu film master Woo Ping Yuen. One fight adjacent to a still train that begins moving with increasing speed behind the action seems to bring the very concept of time under question. Alterations in film speed for the fight scenes demand focus and suspension of disbelief. When "real time" resumes, our perceptions are changed.
The music is, suitably, often operatic. The percussion of fists and feet become their own tonal soundtrack. Language alternates between 2 dialects: Mandarin for the northern kung fu groups, Cantonese for the southern. The dialect variation adds texture to character depiction; listen for the shifts.
Tony Leung and ZiYi Zhang are lovely to watch as they linger in stillness then erupt into action. Of course, this is Wong Kar Wai writing and directing, so love is bittersweet, defeats multiply like raindrops, and even the dead are beautiful.
The thematic footing of The Grandmaster seem a bit operatically bound even when the visuals soar. Time is disjointed, seasons jump sequence, actions begin with a glance, and then we have the rise and fall of historical events. It's a leap to keep up and make sense of much of this. Perhaps that is his intention, to keep us moving while we wonder.
Despite all the feet featured, including a fighter with bound feet, the film falls short of finding reliable footing. Nonetheless, the visuals are gorgeous, with all the noir detail and painterly composition. Other than a single beautiful scene on a snowy spring day, the conditions are always dark and rainy. The puddles provide plenty of reflective surfaces, lamp light makes faces glow, and the slow motion splashes become music video cinematic.
The fight scenes are exquisitely choreographed by the kung fu film master Woo Ping Yuen. One fight adjacent to a still train that begins moving with increasing speed behind the action seems to bring the very concept of time under question. Alterations in film speed for the fight scenes demand focus and suspension of disbelief. When "real time" resumes, our perceptions are changed.
The music is, suitably, often operatic. The percussion of fists and feet become their own tonal soundtrack. Language alternates between 2 dialects: Mandarin for the northern kung fu groups, Cantonese for the southern. The dialect variation adds texture to character depiction; listen for the shifts.
Tony Leung and ZiYi Zhang are lovely to watch as they linger in stillness then erupt into action. Of course, this is Wong Kar Wai writing and directing, so love is bittersweet, defeats multiply like raindrops, and even the dead are beautiful.
The thematic footing of The Grandmaster seem a bit operatically bound even when the visuals soar. Time is disjointed, seasons jump sequence, actions begin with a glance, and then we have the rise and fall of historical events. It's a leap to keep up and make sense of much of this. Perhaps that is his intention, to keep us moving while we wonder.
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