By Santa Monica Reporter Dan Cohen
I wasn’t motivated to make a ten best list for 2011. After looking over a survey of world critics in “Sight And Sound,” (the journal of the British Film Institute,) I was even less inclined. The overwhelming majority chose “Tree of Life” as their best or second best. And then the much appreciated “A Separation,” which wasn’t playing in this country at the time. As much as I admired Terence Malik’s idiosyncratic memory piece it struck me as having more in common with art installations than narrative filmmaking.
Just to avoid a certain type of argument regarding what does or does not qualify as a feature film, I’m going to sidestep the relevant issues regarding “Tree of Life,” and get back to the problem I had making up a ten best list for 2011.
It was a year with a fair number of good films, distributed pretty much over the entire year. Even though the distributors would like you to think the best and most important came out in the last quarter, it was not the case in 2011. “The Help,” “Midnight in Paris,” and the underappreciated crime drama, “The Guard” were released mid-year. The Sundance Film Festival debuted “Win Win,” “Beginners,” and “Martha, Marcy, May, Marlene,” back in January; their releases were peppered throughout the year. And let us not overlook the hilarious low jinks of “Bridesmaids,” which dropped late spring.
So here we are, facing the Academy Awards with the Golden Globes in the rear view mirror. Where does that place the major contenders, most of which saw wide release mid winter? Here are a few comments on the handful I liked, but for one reason or other, couldn’t quite love.
“The Descendants”
We owe a debt to writer/director Alexander Payne for “Election,” “Sideways,” “Citizen Ruth,” and maybe even “About Schmidt.” But his latest, a good enough comic drama with the endlessly likable George Clooney, doesn’t breathe the same rarefied air. It’s notable for its modulated ensemble and consistent tone, but it lacks the rude energy that takes his best work to a higher level. Shailene Woodley, who, as I understand it, cut her teeth on TV shows (“The Secret Life of An American Teenager,”) is nothing less than outstanding as Clooney’s daughter. And Clooney, who exercises admirable restraint, delivers his lines with sympathy and insight. Still, the material never cuts loose; it’s almost obsessively good natured and even tempered, to its detriment.
Writer/director Payne, who noted in interviews that he hadn’t directed a feature since the 2004 award winner, “Sideways,” said that he was scrambling to find material when he took up “The Descendants.” Hmmmm. In any case, I wanted to like it more, but kept comparing it to his better work.
“The Artist”
You no longer have to wonder how a “silent movie” would play in an era when the sound of Dolby and THX routinely blast you out of your seat. If awards were given for most charming writing, directing and performing, “The Artist” would take them all, dialogue or no.
Director Michel Hazanavicius, up to now virtually unknown in this country, goes where only Mel Brooks’ “Silent Movie,” and Chaplin’s “Modern Times” have gone before, completely foregoing dialogue at a time when dialogue either makes or breaks most movies. The Globes” rewarded his daring with a best picture award in the “Comedy or Musical” category, which is interesting because the film is neither. A quick look at the other nominees in that category, “Bridesmaids,” “My Week with Marilyn,” and “Midnight in Paris,” shows that when Hollywood falls in love it forgets its own rules. In this case, it seems that the Hollywood Foreign Press, an organization of less than a hundred, was reluctant to put “The Artist” up against another of its faves, “The Descendants,” which they awarded best picture in their drama category. They probably should have reversed their placement which leads you to wonder what they were thinking. Here’s a hint: that’s why they’re called the Hollywood “foreign” press.
Chaplin released his “Modern Times,” as a non-talking feature in 1940. No producer in his right mind would have faced such a headwind at the same time “Gone With the Wind,” was playing to mobs, but Chaplin did, and found an audience. Mel Brooks, fresh off successful parodies of westerns, (“Blazing Saddles,”) and horror movies, (“Young Frankenstein,”) took a different approach, setting his anarchic sensibility loose on the form of the silents, with the aim of savaging their mannerisms. He was only partially successful.
“The Artist,” is nothing like Chaplins’ brilliant commentary on technology or Brooks’ raucous slapstick. It’s a light drama that affectionately mimics the conventions of the period with a touch of schizophrenia. It isn’t really a silent movie, it’s more like the shadow of a silent movie, informed by history and hindsight. “The Artist” has been called an “homage” to silent film, and in the sense that it couldn’t have existed without them, it is.
Hazanaviscious, a Paris born director who saw success with two Bond style thrillers in France, steers clear of parody. He shoehorns as many conventions of silent cinema as can be comfortably fit into one screenplay then shoots like its seventy years ago. “The Artist” works, but isn’t quite as affecting as the films it’s about. Which is ok, I suppose, because very few of us live with those films anymore. Having said that, I do wonder what the Gloria Swanson of “Sunset Boulevard” would have thought of it. My guess is, not much.
The Iron Lady
Regardless of what you think about Margaret Thatcher’s politics, you can’t help but love Meryl Streep playing her. No matter what your expectations are, you’ll be confounded by her performing wizardry. And while there’s no arguing the film sidesteps the controversy over Thatcher’s conservatism, it never sets itself up to make the case for or against it in the first place.
The script, which moves swiftly over fifty years, focuses more on Thatcher’s coming of age than her conservative roots, although they’re referenced throughout. The movie is more interested in how Thatcher developed the strength to become the UK’s first female prime minister. The philosophy that guided her takes a back seat.
It begins with Thatcher in retirement, struggling to control the ravages of dementia. Haunted by the presence of her long dead husband, she refuses to back away from day to day challenges that would diminish her status as the elder statesman. Deeply committed to the iron that sustained her career, she goes to great lengths to keep face.
There’s a great scene where she engages in a bit of cat and mouse to keep an intrusive doctor from seeing the depths of her illness. The script is remarkable for showing how Thatcher calls on long held reserves of strength to keep the man at arms’ length. It’s poignant but not the least bit sentimental, like the woman herself.
The brilliance of Streeps’ performance is that she’s able to indicate her inner turmoil with the most subtle alterations of physical make up. Her voice is a big part of it, but there’s a lot in the eyes and the body language. She gets able support from Jim Broadbent as the husband who continues to spar with her, even in death.
Finally, since the story is so intimately bound up with the period and the tumultuous changes Thatcher brought to the country, the last thirty minutes or so feel threadbare. The treatment of the Falklands war is so sketchy it leaves a bitter after taste. All in all, though, it moves gracefully through her remarkable life, with little apology or sentiment.
A further note; “Iron Lady” recently opened in the UK, to strong business. The reviews, however, were scalding. By and large they criticized the movie for failing to address Thatcher’s politics. One writer, hardly a fan of the former PM, called it “rubbish.” They willfully failed to acknowledge that as an impressionistic work it couldn’t possibly uphold standards better applied to book or documentary. Or maybe they were just haters.
“The Help”
I didn’t get interested in this movie until Melissa Hart Perry, a commentator on CNBC, delivered a lengthy rant about it on the Rachel Maddow show. I realize that was back in early summer, and seems like a million years ago, but I can feel her anger like it was yesterday. Up to that time the trailer had me convinced “The Help” was another tepid memory piece from the Disney factory. But Perry made me think that there might be more to it, for better or worse.
I was surprised at how complicated and enjoyable it was, and how effectively the large, ensemble brought their parts to life. “The Help” is a movie about another era, but it’s more like a movie made in another era. It recalls the better work of directors like Martin Ritt or Norman Jewison, or Stanley Kramer, who worked within the studio system making films that addressed the social issues of their time. On balance I think Ritt was the most interesting. His best films include “Hud,” “Norma Rae,” and “Hombre.” At its best moments Tate Taylor’s direction recalls the strengths of the esteemed Ritt, and I’m eager to see what he comes up with next.
“The Help” aggravated commentators like Perry because it’s view of racial inequality during the early sixties is seen through the eyes of a young, privileged white woman, played by the spirited Emma Stone Among other things the film has been criticized for devoting more time to the issues of its white protagonist than the murder of Medgar Evers. It’s a good point but the movie is only tangentially about the latent civil rights movement, and more about the relationships between a group of middle class southerners and their black help.
The expectation that movies will conform to any particular standard of truth telling is bound to be disappointed. The narrative medium is impressionistic; It’s unreliable and untrustworthy even when it appears to represent reality. Let one good example suffice; the portrayal of war versus the real thing.
Dramas generally reach us by evoking emotion, and by explicating human foibles through action. They work by showing, not telling. Their relationship to books, articles, and even documentary is tangential at best.
“The Help” is a good natured, sprawling entertainment, elevated by the stellar performances from Viola Davis, Octavia Spencer, and Jessica Chastain. Their heartfelt work is supported by a host of others in the cast; Stone, Allison Janney and Bryce Dallas Howard. I enjoyed every minute of my time with them.
Next time: 2011 movies I really liked.
