by Dan Cohen
The Motion Picture Academy has spoken, and every critic, executive, and psychic in Hollywood is working overtime to woo voters or second guess them. To mark the occasion, a few comments on the films I have yet to discuss, that will probably be making return appearances to local screens.
Doubt
At the top of the heap, for a host of virtues, “Doubt” is solid and graceful. Yes, its source is a play, and yes the author wrote the screenplay (and directed too,) but the result is a thoroughly compelling movie that for reasons unknown to me, has been sideswiped by much of the high end media. It seems almost aside from the point to praise the marvelous performances, because they’re simply of a piece with the entire film.
The story is simple; a charismatic priest, (Phillip Seymour Hoffman,) is accused of an impropriety with a young boy from his convent’s religious school. An imperious nun, (Meryl Streep) initiates an investigation, based largely on her gut reaction. What follows is a simple narrative mined for maximum complexity.
Beyond the top rank cast and adroit flow of John Patrick Shanley’s script, what I admired most about “Doubt” is the subtle period recreation, a function of Roger Deakins restrained camerawork and David Gropman’s production design. There’s almost as much wit in the physical details as there is in the dialogue. You never for a moment question place and time, Brooklyn in 1964, which adds to the dramas urgency.
Slumdog Millionaire
This is the one to beat for the most coveted awards. In fact “Slumdog” is the underdog most likely to be named Best Picture.
It begins as a hyper real depiction of the depths of poverty, and concludes as a breathless fairy tale. Danny Boyle directs in the deliriously, overheated style that is his hallmark, this time on a canvas that allows him to take his usually dazzling storytelling skills to a whole new level. He’s proved his visual chops in “Millions”, “Sunshine” and “28 Days Later.” But this time he seems to have set his sights on half of India, from top to bottom.
The device by which the story unfolds, an Indian version of “Who Wants to Be a Millionaire,” serves as a clever launching pad for a long series of flashbacks. But the device becomes less credible in the later stretches as Boyle increasingly relies on it to justify every dramatic turn. Still, the camera work is so alive that it bulldozes the itching suspicion that there’s more emphasis on contrivance than emotion. And how can you complain about a movie that starts with the most cringe inducing depiction of child abuse and concludes with these same kids , 20 years later, dancing their way through a spirited musical number in a train station? For sheer nerve “Slumdog” earns the waves of audience love it’s receiving across the country.
Three ensembles of inspired actors play impoverished, Muslim inhabitants of a huge Mumbai slum at various stages of their young lives. They’re all strong, especially the group just entering adolescence.
For me, one episode stood out from the rest; after toppling into a huge vat of sewage, a little boy, literally covered in shit, insinuates himself on a huge crowd gathered to meet a pop star. Unwilling to be denied he parts the startled crowd and gets the star’s autograph, without a trace of self consciousness. Audaciously shot, the sequence is at once hilarious, shocking and moving.
The Reader
Certainly more involving than Kate Winslet’s other showy role this year (in “Revolutionary Road,”The Reader” still disappoints. Stephen Daldry’s studious direction is finally overcome by a murky, inarticulate second half. Once again, a complicated novel is diffused by a translation that hasn’t found a visual equivalent for the written word.
The narrative, older woman seduces teenager in post war Germany, starts in an intriguing fashion. The movie looks like it means business. But when the issues become more weighty it becomes unclear how the characters feel and why.
What are we to make of Ralph Fiennes doddering response upon discovering that the object of his adoration enthusiastically sent so many Jews to be exterminated? And why does he hold back when he knows there may be mitigating circumstances? Thescript hedges. On reflection, we wonder what compelled Kate Winslet’s character to bed an awkward teenager, who she contemptuously refers to as “kid,” long after she knows his name. It’s not like she’s a recluse; we see her in contact with other people right from the start.
Lena Olin appears near the end, speaking a few incisive lines about death camps, but it doesn’t shed much light on the issues that have gone before. In fact, the strength of her single scene underscores the weakness of the rest.
The Wrestler
“The Wrestler,” plays mostly like a B movie, but done in the impromptu, cinema verite style, which well suits director Darren Aronofskys unflinching depiction of the grimy world of pro wrestling. But the acting, to quote the words of another great warrior, “floats like a butterfly and stings like a bee.” (Do you remember who?)
This genre conventions are familiar; they lean toward either “Rocky,” or “Requiem for a Heavyweight,” (a Rod Serling classic I highly recommend.) At any given point in “The Wrestler” you can probably guess what happens next. But it doesn’t take away from the movies pleasures; the performances are so fresh, and the direction so unfussy, the movie wins you over.
Mickey Rourke and Marisa Tomei give it all they’ve got, which for the most part means taking the parts so well we can’t see their craft at work. Evan Rachel Wood offers able support in a small role that’s well focused. And the non pros, actual wrestlers, are seamlessly integrated. But at the end of the day aren’t all these guys actors?
This is a good a crop of Academy contenders as we’ve seen in years. Do bad times bring on better movies? We’ll continue the discussion as the bad times continue.
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