Seven Psychopaths

Guns, Dogs, and White Rabbits

I am curious what Martin McDonagh's fascination with white bunnies is. I've seen three of his films; his fantastic Oscar-nominated In Bruges, his Oscar-winning short Six Shooter, and now Seven Psychopaths. Two of them contain white rabbits in a more than arbitrary way, and both depict the rabbits in scenes of occurring or impending violence. Anyway, I digress and simply note it as a curious visual.

In Bruges was a hilarious blend of shocking violence and dark humor; the performances, particularly those from Brenden Gleeson and Colin Farrell (who won a Golden Globe for his work) were simply splendid. Farrell returns here, as probably what I would characterize as the main character, if I had to pick one. Seven Psychopaths demonstrates the same violent black comedy as its predecessor, along with an impeccable ability on behalf of McDonagh to write plots and subplots that weave, intertwine, and hurtle toward a climax we never know how it'll resolve, and yet once it does, we realize there was no other way. Of any working filmmaker, McDonagh has one of the most gifted, innate abilities to tell a story that involves a myriad of unique, diverse characters, all of whom are related, and end the story with an unpredictable, but inexorable logic that both abides and transcends conventional three-act story-telling.

The plot. Seven Psychopaths unsurprisingly tells the story of seven psychopaths, although that may not be as clear cut as it seems. Let's just say that the trailer and title don't exactly tell the truth. I'll leave it to you to watch the movie and decipher what that means. Among these psychopaths, all with extraordinarily different personalities, are Marty (Colin Farrell), an alcoholic screenwriter; Billy (Sam Rockwell), a dog kidnapper; Hans (Christopher Walken), Billy's partner in dog-napping; and Charlie (Woody Harrelson), a man who has his dog stolen by Billy. Billy is best friends with Marty, and desperately wants to help him write his next film, titled "Seven Psychopaths." He comes up with stories and characters, which may not be entirely fictitious, in an effort to help Marty. His partner-in-crime is Hans, a pacifist, who returns the dogs to their owners after Billy has dog-napped them; often receiving the hefty reward from the owner that beloved Beverly Hills dogs are worth, which he splits with Billy.

One day, however, Billy steals the wrong dog, a Shih Tzu belonging to Hans. Hans - a hilariously emotional but still viciously violent man who will stop at nothing to get his cherished Shih Tzu back. That is all the further the trailers describe the plot and all the further I shall describe it.

McDonagh has a knack for creating fascinating characters involved in a labyrinthian plot full of twists and turns, full of character motivations, many hidden that eventually reveal themselves to drive the plot in a different direction toward an explosive and logical climax, much like the third act of In Bruges. Where In Bruges had about five truly dynamic and unique characters to play with, here McDonagh must understand and evoke the motivations of at least ten different characters. And boy, does he play with them to fascinating, often highly unpredictable, levels. Therein lay the greatest joy of this film; it is so wildly funny, darkly violent, and its characters exhibit such complexity in their motives, yet it resolves with such determined practicality and gumption.

The performances, like his former film, are immensely entertaining. Sam Rockwell, as perhaps the most complex and fascinating character in the film, steals every scene he's in, which is many. The way he drives the plot toward its beautiful climax, even with its meta-reference near the mid-point, is still unforeseeable and yet intriguingly watchable. Walken, as likely the next most complex character, is calm, confident, and comical, moving with the wisdom of Gandhi yet still speaking with the hilarity Walken has become so adept at conjuring. Harrelson, who has always been a fine actor, but in recent years has turned in some spectacular performances (The Messenger, Rampart), is both equally dangerous and vulnerable; hilarious and deadly serious; trustworthy and unbelievable. And Farrell, as the lead, carries the film in fine form, surrounded by a brilliant cast. He projects the same malaise and anxiety he did in In Bruges, while still being a convincing alcoholic on the brink of falling apart.

Seven Psychopaths is one of the best films of 2012. Had the Oscar nominations been left to me, this would have received three: Picture, Original Screenplay, and Supporting Actor (Rockwell). In Bruges was somewhat of a pleasantly unexpected surprise when it received a Best Original Screenplay nomination in its year. McDonagh clearly has favor in the Academy; having one once for his short and receiving a nomination for his freshman feature. Unfortunately, I think his films are too divisive with their brutality and dark humor to gain mainstream appeal. Nonetheless, this is a perfect example of a sophomore success. I eagerly await McDonagh's next film.

****/****

Zero Dark Thirty

A Hunch That Paid Off

Kathryn Bigelow has risen in recent years to the status of master-filmmaker, particularly after her Oscar-winning masterpiece The Hurt Locker. She's been in the film game for much longer, but recently she's gained the sort of notoriety typically only reserved for A-list directors, where we eagerly await their next project with great anticipation. Rightfully so. The Hurt Locker was a perfect film in every way, shape, and form; from the life-filled, shaky camera work, to the brilliant editing, to the pitch-perfect and humanistic performances shrouded in danger and stress, to the writing and directing that builds tension to near-unbearable levels before letting go.

That was a film about a man on a mission; a man with a clear, straight-forward, undeterred goal. With Zero Dark Thirty, Bigelow re-teams with Hurt Locker writer Mark Boal to deliver another war picture centering around a protagonist that is similar in her determination; she wants something, and no one will  stop her from going after it. Even when her superiors doubt her determination, she is undeterred. Unlike most of Bigelow's films, which center around male action figures, Zero Dark Thirty takes on a procedural story with a female protagonist who enters the story as an outsider, both in experience and gender, and slowly builds her grit, determination, and attracts the admiration of her fellow co-workers.

Two critically acclaimed films this year have taken on the telling of a story with a massive disadvantage; Zero Dark Thirty and Lincoln. The disadvantage being that we know the result of their primary plot. In Lincoln, we know that the Thirteenth Amendment will be passed. In this film, we know that Osama bin Laden will be found and killed. In most films, it is the uncertainty of the journey's success that keeps us on the edge of our seats. In these films, it is the elements of procedure that enthrall us; and even with the dramatic irony of Zero Dark Thirty, wherein we know the end result that the characters don't, the final half-hour, involving the raid of bin Laden's complex, is as exciting and edge-of-your-seat as any piece of cinema this year. It is realistic in its execution and technical qualities (the complex is naturally almost completely dark, we see most of the action through night vision), visceral in its intensity and danger, and suspenseful in its race against time.

The acting here is restrained and effective. Chastain, as our protagonist, is a woman who has never done anything else for the CIA other than searching for bin Laden. She was recruited out of high school, and this has been her life ever sense. She is as smart and confident as anybody in the film; at one point, a Marine says he believes in their mission because of her confidence. She is may be dismayed by false leads or hiccups, but she never lets them destroy her. She remains willful, and eventually it pays off.

The climax is as satisfying as any other this year. One of the greatest successes is that when Chastain, standing over the body of bin Laden, realizes that her decade-long work has paid off in success, the audience, like Chastain, feel not joy, or excitement, or pleasure, but simply relief. How could she feel anything else? That much work, leading to such a payoff, wouldn't end with a dance of rejoice. It would end with a gratitude of relief. To make the audience feel the same is one of the film's greatest successes, and not a minor one.

This is certainly a fine film. A better than "good" film. It is not, however, superior or even on-par with Bigelow's The Hurt Locker, and for two primary reasons. The Hurt Locker embellishes (to great success) in scene after scene of gut-wrenching tension. There are moments of that at here at work, and when they come they explode with excellence, but they are much fewer and further between. More importantly, however, is that Zero Dark Thirty doesn't take as much time to regard its characters. Aside from Chastain, most of the other characters are hollow in comparison; some of them come and go without much adieu, as if their presence was arbitrary. Even Chastain lacks the character development and three-dimensional traits of The Hurt Locker's Renner; not to mention the other supporting characters in that film, who greatly outweigh the supporting team of Zero in their complexities.

All in all, this is a superbly directed, amazingly and subtlety acted film that brings to life the realities of the decade-long hunt for bin Laden. The craftsmanship is stellar. And the finale is one of the best moments for cinema of 2012. It is, however, weakened in comparison to Bigelow's prior film. But on its own terms, it is still an amazing piece of procedural drama with brief moments of explosive action.

3.5/4

The Impossible

A Force of Nature inside a Force of Cinema

Clint Eastwood's 2010 Hereafter opened with a scene depicting the devastating 2004 tsunami that struck Asia, killing hundreds of thousands of people throughout over a dozen countries. Juan Bayona's The Impossible recreates that same event, with much better special effects, but rather than using it as a segway into another story, focuses only on that event, as well as (primarily) the aftermath. Rather than taking on the truly impossible task of telling the story of the many survivors, The Impossible hones in on a single family, using them as a microcosm of the entire event. Can we imagine that their struggles resemble that of so many of the others? Most certainly. Except some people weren't as lucky to have survived.

I cannot imagine anything more terrifying than watching a wall of water, moving with unstoppable force, bear down upon you, destroying everything in its path and sweeping you up in a mire of chaos, debris, and of course, lots of water. Most of the first act of The Impossible depicts this, in a completely believable portrait. Based, however loosely, on the true story of a western family vacationing in Thailand, the film shows their struggles as these two parents and three children are swept away from their beach-side hotel by the ocean. They are separated; the mother and eldest son carried to one location, the father and remaining two sons in another. The father is Henry (Ewan McGregor). The mother is Marie (Naomi Watts). The eldest son is Lucas (Tom Holland, who quickly earns his place among the great breakout performances of 2012). After the tsunami strikes, we see Marie and Lucas being carried away by the water. They desperately try to cling to each other as they move swiftly through the water, along with cars, trees, and pretty much anything else that was in the path of this storm.

Marie is injured badly in the tsunami, but she bravely clings to life as she and Lucas make their way to drier land among other survivors. Eventually, they find themselves in a hospital, as Marie desperately needs medical attention. It is here where the 12 year-old Lucas shows his strength of character. When they hear a young boy yelling for help, Marie wants to find him. Lucas urges her that they get up into a nearby tree before another wave strikes; they can't help everyone. Ultimately, they do help the little boy, which later results in one of the film's more touching scenes.

The scenes after the tsunami depict the harrowing truth of disastrous acts of God, both the good and the bad. Hundreds of thousands are dead, even more are injured. Part of the beauty of this film is the way in which (most) everybody comes together to help each other. Not many people have cell phones, and if they do, they want to preserve their battery. When Henry, who is searching for his wife and son, sits with a group of survivors, one of them offers him his phone to call back home. This man, who has lost hope in finding his own family, accompanies Henry as he searches hospitals and groups of survivors for the rest of his family. When Lucas and Marie are in the hospital, Lucas sets out to help survivors reconnect with their separated loved ones. It seems a futile effort in all this chaos, but Lucas is undeterred; brave and strong-willed, he shows a resourcefulness and strength that few adults possess. He also exhibits a sense of reality that Marie buries under denial; it is true that they cannot help everyone, but she cares not - "what if that boy was you?" she asks him. "What if it was Thomas?" Lucas immediately and directly tells her that Thomas, Simon, and his father are dead. His mind isn't plagued by that idea; his attention is on getting his mother and himself to safety, he can mourn their deaths later. It almost seems as though Lucas was born for a situation such as this. Of course, however, his father and brothers are not dead, but it is an honest reality to assume that they are.

The acting on display is phenomenal. Ewan McGregor as the determined father shows a vulnerability that we haven't often seen from him. Naomi Watts once again proves why she is one of the finest working actresses in the business. And Tom Holland turns in, alongside Quevenzhane Wallis (Beasts of the Southern Wild), one of the greatest child performances of the year. Like Wallis in that film, he is strong-willed and immovable in character.

Director Juan Bayona and screenwriter Sergio Sanchez, who previously collaborated on the wonderful The Orphanage, flex their story-telling muscles with great success once again. What could have been a droll, manipulative melodrama becomes something much greater in their hands; it successfully realizes its vision by not undermining the lives of the thousands of unseen victims in pursuit of a touching story about love, life, and hope. Not for a second do we forget that so many families had it much worse than this one. The film's most touching moments are never overplayed; they never embellish in emotion, but simply allow it to exist. The result is one of the most heartfelt films of 2012.

****/****

The Paperboy

Hard Evidence

Lee Daniels' The Paperboy is cinematic trash of the lowest order; a film so horrible and unrepentant in its search and subjection of suffering that here, over 24 hours after seeing it, I am still trying to get the taste out of my mouth. Beyond that, this film is hard evidence that Precious may well have been an incredible fluke. No filmmaker working in the confines of proper taste and art could create and release a film such as this. It is a baffling exercise in exploitation trash, and off the top of my head, the worst film I have ever seen to have competed for the Palme d'Or at Cannes. More baffling still is the 16-minute standing ovation it received at its premiere; had I been among that audience, not only would I have been sitting, but I would have been wondering who these people are around me that will applaud this film for any amount of time, no less sixteen minutes.

I was and am still defensive of the quality of 2009's superbly written and acted Precious, for which Lee Daniels received an Oscar nomination for Best Director. With Precious, Daniels was working from a screenplay by Geoffrey Fletcher; perhaps therein lay one of the overarching issues with The Paperboy - Daniels wrote this script. I can only call this poorly directed because I cannot imagine a good director entertaining the idea of releasing this upon the world. Nonetheless, its direction does have some cinematic polish that hearkens back to films of the late 60s, particularly in its cinematography (the story itself is set in 1969).

The story, narrated by a black maid (Macy Gray), recalls the events surrounding the murder of a small-town Sheriff in the summer of 69, and the man charged with his murder now sitting on death row, Hillary van Wetter (John Cusack). The main character, though I can hardly call him interesting or even very active, is Jack Jansen (Zac Efron) who spends most of his time in his underwear. If he isn't already in his underwear at the beginning of the scene, there will probably be a reason for him to exit the scene with less clothing.

One day, Jack's older brother, a reporter, Ward (Matthew McConaughey) comes to town with his friend, also a reporter (the film is defiantly inexact as to who works with or for whom, and what their respective stations are), Yardley (David Oyelowo). Yardley is a black man who has now entered the regressive backwoods of Florida in the late 60s, where racism is still surely afoot. Ward and Yardley are intent on proving Hillary's innocence, though it is entirely unclear why they buy into that idea in the first place. Along for the ride, I suppose with the intent to be some sort of help to the two reporters, is Charlotte (Nicole Kidman), one of those oh-so-common women who fall in love with prisoners. She has been corresponding with Hillary, and is convinced of his innocence; I won't say why, but damn does she have a good reason (#sarcasm). Charlotte draws the attention of Jack, partially because she is beautiful, partially because she's older and his mother is gone, blah blah blah.

The story carries on, never quite as we expect, which normally I would applaud, but not when it decides to turn left and we know the only reasonable choice was to go right. There are two scenes, earlier on in the film, that have received much attention; one, a meeting between Charlotte and Hillary where neither can touch each other yet still manage to achieve orgasm, and two, a scene of such epically narrative bewilderment in which Charlotte urinates on Jack after he's stung by a jellyfish. I won't even repeat the dialogue in that scene, which is acted with comedic zeal but portrayed as dramatic sincerity.

If there exists one saving grace for this film, it is a commonplace adjective applicable to most any Lee Daniels film: it is well-acted. However, unlike Precious, these performances have no backbone; they are treading water in a sea of misguided themes and a beguiling story. Matthew McConaughey can add this to his resume of impeccable performances in 2012, but I won't blame him if he doesn't want to. Perhaps the most fascinating turn is with Nicole Kidman, who sheds her decades-long glamour type-cast to embody a character as melodramatic, trashy, and sexily charged as the film itself. So far she has earned SAG and Golden Globe nominations for her work; I can't say it is undeserved. But I do wonder why any of these actors read this script and signed on. Roger Ebert once said that, generally as a rule, John Cusack doesn't appear in bad films. At the time, I honestly couldn't think of a horrible film I had seen him in.

I certainly can now.

0.5/4

Les Miserables

A Love Story Wrapped in an Epic

Tom Hooper is a highly talented director, though I have only seen The King's Speech and now Les Miserables. Before than, it seems like, aside from The Damned United, that he mainly did television work. I thought The King's Speech to be a very well-written, impeccably acted and directed film, though it was not one of my favorites of the year, and I thought its Best Picture and Director Oscar wins over The Social Network were two of the greatest Academy Award injustices since Titanic. In The King's Speech, I immediately recognized a fresh and distinct directorial style, particularly as far as the cinematography is concerned. Often, characters are placed to the left or the right of the frame, rather than typically balanced in the center; he had an intriguing use of negative space in the frame; and many shots were distorted through a variety of techniques, such as varying the focal length of the lens. Some of that is on display in Les Miserables, particularly some shots in the film's third act, which definitely had a "Tom Hooper" stamp on them.

Hooper is also masterful at bringing time periods to life; he fills his frames with set and costume designs that are unmistakable to their era. In The King's Speech, it was 1940s Britain. In Les Miserables, it's 1800s France. The technical craftsmanship on display in both films is impeccable. Gorgeous cinematography, phenomenal sound mixing and editing, impeccable make-up, costume, and set design, and in the case of Les Miserables, quality visual effects.

I knew next to nothing about the story of Les Miserables. I'd never seen a performance of it; never read it; never knew anything about its plot. So all of this is new to me. I don't tend to like musicals on film... unless they're critically lauded, or hold some sort of intrinsic value to me, I don't generally see them. I much prefer the spectacle of a stage musical; they always astonish me with their choreography and professionalism. On the stage, you know you're watching maybe an hour of unbroken action. There are no "takes." Or rather, there is only one. Mistakes can't be made and erased like they can with film. There are no cuts. The action exists, and is never less or more than what you see. On the other hand, film obviously carries a weight of capabilities that doesn't extend to the possibilities of the stage, precisely because you can cut, or do multiple takes, or special effects, or... the list goes on and on. And with Hooper's Les Miserables, there is much here that could not have been done on the stage, making a good case for its non-superfluous existence. For example, as much as I love von Trier's Dogville, I wish it had been done on the stage, as its nothing more than a filmed stageplay.

Les Miserables begins with a scene of intense scope; hundreds of men are pulling a gigantic ship into dock. Not only does this establish the epic nature of the story, it reminds us of the hard-times and back breaking labor of older times. I began to think of the Egyptians moving those gigantic pieces of stone to build their pyramids. It is a scene that immediately sparks a contrast of time relation. Anyway, one of these men is Jean Valjean (Hugh Jackman), ragged, thin, and unkempt. He's been serving a nineteen year sentence and at the end of this scene he is released on parole by Javert (Russell Crowe), who becomes one of the film's primary antagonists throughout its decades-long story. Through a series of happenings, Jean meets Fantine (Anne Hathaway), who is fired from her job at Jean's factory; a job she desperately needs to send money to the caretakers of her daughter. That is all the more I will say, as the plot is one of its primary pleasures, though admittedly I found the acting and technical craftsmanship to be far more interesting than the story.

Of the acting. Hugh Jackman as the protagonist and most prominent character is quite good. It may well be his best performance to date. If he earns an Oscar nomination for his work, I won't complain, though I can think of five better performances off the top of my head. Russell Crowe, whom I heard was the film's worst element, isn't nearly as good as he's been by any stretch of the imagination (The Insider, Gladiator, A Beautiful Mind, come on!), but he isn't horrible. And his character is one of the most fascinating in the film. The true highlight of performances, however, goes to Anne Hathaway, who turns in the best performance from a supporting actress I've seen of 2012. In what is probably the film's greatest moment, Hathaway sings "I Dreamed a Dream" in a long unbroken medium close-up that is both heartbreaking and beautiful at the same time, and one of the most perfect moments of acting all year. After Rachel Getting Married, I believed Hathaway was an actress of exceptional talent; now I am undeterred in that sentiment.

The next best moment of the film involves a small child, revolutionaries, a barricade, soldiers, and "The Second Attack" which is at once devastatingly sad and invigoratingly inspirational. Along with Hathaway's Oscar moment, these were the two best scenes of the entire film.

All of this sounds resoundingly positive, and it is. Les Miserables is an exceptionally well-made, acted and directed film. Why is it not one of my favorites of the year? First, I don't think the material is as fitting to my tastes as some other films. As with anyone, there are subject matters that are inherently interesting to me, and if executed properly, result in a more substantially resonant experience than others. Les Mis is not that type of film, similar to The King's Speech. Thus, part of it comes down to mere personal taste. Beyond that, I felt this could've been about thirty minutes shorter; some scenes condescended and more economical. As it is, there were times when I (fairly sarcastically) thought that the title - which as I understand it, translates to "The Miserable" - might be referring to me, rather than the characters. That's sarcastic overstatement, however; I was never miserable. Just bored, at times. Compare it to Django Unchained, a film ten minutes lengthier: I never wanted that film to end. With Les Mis, I was welcomely anticipating its closure.

All in all, this is a good film. A terrifically acted, gorgeously shot, brilliantly directed piece of musical cinema. The script could have used some trimming to bring this down to a less tedious running time. If the topic appeals to you, or you already have knowledge of the story and like it, or you like musical films in general, you'll probably like this much more than me, and I liked it. I saw it almost 24 hours ago, and it has grown on me since. All good films do.

3.5/4