New Year’s Eve

Posted on December 8, 2011 at 6:41 pm

Something seemed familiar to me as I watched Garry Marshall’s New York-based follow-up to his multi-star, multi-story LA-set romantic comedy, Valentine’s Day. It was something that went beyond the predictability of its sitcom-ish formulas and check-list of romantic comedy conventions, and it finally hit me when the wonderful Sofía Vergara appeared on screen. Part of what makes “Modern Family” so delightful is the way its characters address, tweak, and transcend the usual comedic stereotypes. But it became sadly clear that all Marshall and screenwriter Katherine Fugate can think of to do with this beautiful and talented actress is make her into a caricatured Latina hot mama. And that was when I figured it out. She was Charo and we were on a big budget version of The Love Boat. Like the television series that ran from the late 1970’s to the mid 1980’s, “New Year’s Eve” is an assortment of stories about love featuring a lot of big stars and with depth and imagination and sincerity that can only be measured with micrometers.

But that doesn’t mean that it is not entertaining, first for the fun of seeing so many stars cross the screen and second because so much is going on that the weakest parts are over before you realize how weak they are. It would be quicker to list the stars who are not in this movie than those who are. Oscar-winners Robert De Niro (as a terminally ill patient in the hospital), Halle Berry (as his nurse), and Hillary Swank (as the person in charge of the ball-dropping, Ryan Seacrest-led festivities in Times Square) are joined by Tony-winner Cherry Jones as owner of a music company, plus television luminaries Seth Meyers of “SNL” as an expectant father, Sarah Jessica Parker (as a wardrober who works with the Rockettes), and “Glee’s” Lea Michelle. Then there’s “Little Miss Sunshine’s” Abigail Breslin in way too much mascara as a young teen who rebels when her mother says she cannot go to Times Square, rom-com princess Katherine Heigel as a caterer at a fancy party, rocker-turned-actor John Bon Jovi as a rock star, rapper-turned actor Common, and “High School Musical’s” Zac Efron as a delivery guy who delivers more than the mousy secretary played by Michelle Pfeiffer expects. Returning “Valentine’s Day” stars (playing new characters) Ashton Kutcher is a guy who hates New Year’s Eve and gets stuck in an elevator and Jessica Biel is a woman who wants to have the first baby born in 2012 so she can win some money. And Josh Duhamel is the guy who is trying to get back to Manhattan to find the mystery woman he kissed at midnight a year ago. And we also get Hector Elizondo, of course, who is for Marshall what John Ratzenberger is to Pixar, a lucky charm who appears in every film and is always welcome.

It benefits from dropping some of the cruder elements that marred “Valentine’s Day” but even as a fairy tale it goes over the top with not one but two characters called on for impromptu televised appearances that has a tired, crowded, over-excited and tipsy New York audience aww-ing and applauding like parents at a kindergarten Christmas pageant. All these people and situations leave no room for stories or characters, just snippets that barely have time to make an impression and the casting itself becomes a distraction with meaningless “wait, wasn’t that…?” appearances in the briefest of roles. That’s just as well, as the stalled elevator and race to give birth at 12:01 do not have much to offer and the dialog has some syrupy lines about forgiveness and second chances that got unintended laughs from the audience. Even at just a few moments, Duhamel’s efforts to get back into the city drag on too long with a pointless segment about an RV ride with a preacher’s family. But by the time he makes it to his mystery date, though, we are on his side. (Am I the only one who thought it was not a great match, though?) As in the last film, there is poignant scene involving military fighting overseas. Pfeiffer, Berry, and De Niro manage to create some genuinely touching moments out of sheer star power. The outtakes over the credit sequence at the end are the best part, though they remind us how much more these stars are capable of. A better title might be “Groundhog Day” because it sure feels like we’ve seen it all before.

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My Week with Marilyn

Posted on December 1, 2011 at 6:00 pm

“Her skin does not reject the light.”

That was impressionist painter Pierre Auguste Renoir’s answer when asked why he used one favorite model so many times. And it describes the luminous beauty of Marilyn Monroe, who almost half a century since her death still stands as the ultimate screen goddess. “I have an Aunt Minnie back in Vienna who would show up on time and know her lines, but who would pay to see my Aunt Minnie?” That was what director Billy Wilder said to Monroe’s frustrated co-stars in “Some Like It Hot,” when he told them that they had to be perfect in every take because he was going to use whichever one happened to capture her getting it right. That was Marilyn Monroe, born Norma Jean Mortenson, the daughter of a mentally unstable woman, raised in foster homes, married for the first time at age 16, later an international superstar, married to the biggest athlete in the country (baseball hero Joe DiMaggio) and then to one of the most distinguished literary figures in the world (playwright Arthur Miller), and dead by an overdose of pills at age 36.

Shortly after she married Miller, Monroe went to England to make a film called “The Prince and the Showgirl” with Sir Laurence Olivier, who also directed. She was not only the movie’s star; in an effort to demonstrate her ability and depth she had formed her own production company and was studying method acting with Lee Strasberg. Colin Clark, who was third assistant director (a gofer) on the film, wrote not one but two memoirs of his experience, including The Prince, the Showgirl, and Me: Six Months on the Set With Marilyn and Olivier, which inspired this film, with Michelle Williams as Monroe and Kenneth Branagh as Olivier.

Even the radiant Williams will never be able to match Monroe as a screen presence. But her performance is thoughtful, nuanced, complex, and magnetically compelling, like Monroe herself. While it is the slightest of stories — an inexperienced and insecure young man is dazzled by Monroe who briefly makes him think he can rescue her — it is an improvement over the typical biopic. Williams captures Monroe’s mercurial, even prismatic nature, her strength and her vulnerability, and especially her understanding of her own appeal. “Should I be her?” she asks almost mischievously, with a sense of fun in being able to demonstrate how Norma Jean can turn herself into Marilyn and back again. But her reasons for letting a young gofer “accidentally” see her naked are more complicated. She is under enormous pressure and desperate for the kind of respect no one is willing to give her. Her third marriage is falling apart. She has a pattern of asking men to save her and then testing them beyond their ability. Like Rita Hayworth, who famously said that men went to bed with Gilda (her sultriest role) and woke up with her, Monroe is the victim of a kind of Catch-22. She wants to be loved for herself but has spent too many years being “her” and is not willing to risk being less effective. When she says (while skinny-dipping with Clark) that men in Hollywood are so old, it conveys a great deal about the price she paid for her absent father and need for fame.

Monroe had more than met the eye. This movie has less, but what it does have is highly watchable for Williams’ performance and a juicy turn by Dame Judi Dench as Dame Sybil Thorndike and for, I hope, inspiring watchers to return to the original, Monroe herself.

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Footloose

Posted on October 13, 2011 at 11:11 pm

Director Craig Brewer doesn’t so much remake 1984’s Footloose as tweak it. At times, it feels almost identical, with small changes that are as likely to be commentary as updates. But the most important thing this version has in common with the original is that the talking parts are too long and the dancing parts are too short. Like the first one, it is not a good movie but it is a lot of fun.

Kenny Wormald, a back-up dancer for Justin Timberlake, takes over the Kevin Bacon role as Ren, a boy from the city (Boston) who moves to a small town in Georgia to live with his aunt and uncle (in this version, the single mother is dispensed with). “Dance With the Stars” favorite Julianne Hough plays the Lori Singer role as Ariel, the daughter of the local preacher (Dennis Quaid) who led the town to impose a curfew and prohibit dancing for teenagers after a car accident that killed five teens on their way home from a party. His son, Ariel’s other brother, was the driver. Five years later, grief and guilt still hang over the town, and the high school students who walk by the memorial display for the kids who were killed every day feel that the restrictions are pointless. The most disturbing change from the original is the decision to begin the film by showing us a group of teens dancing and letting us realize to our horror that these are not the kids we will be watching for the rest of the movie; these are the ones who are about to die. It is intended to give some weight to the otherwise dubious premise but it does not. It just starts things off like another episode of “Final Destination.”

Once that is over with, we get on to the themes of the movie. Ariel has to learn that her risky behavior is not just rebellious; it is self-destructive. And Ren and his new friends have to find a way to make a difference.

But let’s be honest. It’s really just a lot of opportunities to dance. Wormald is not the actor Bacon is, not even close, but he is a sensational dancer with an electrifyingly athletic style (in both versions, part of Ren’s backstory is his experience as a gymnast). Hough is a beautifully supple dancer who makes her joy in movement a part of every step, and she has dazzling aqua eyes that are very expressive. They are better suited physically than the compact Bacon and lanky Singer and generate some real sizzle. Brewer unfortunately does not make the best use of the camera in the dance sequences (compare them to Rob Marshall’s highly kinetic work in “Chicago,” where the camera moved like another dancer). At times he awkwardly cuts off the feet or shoulders just when we most want to see them. But he does show us the explosive energy of kids dancing together because it is just too exciting to be young and have music inside you to do anything else.

While some of the accents are wobbly, Memphis native Brewer (“Hustle and Flow”) understands the Southern rhythms of talk, especially its humor, and it is good to hear something that does not sound like a Californian’s idea of the way Southerners talk. The always-reliable Ray McKinnon is clearly very happy to play a nice guy for once. Miles Teller (“Rabbit Hole”) plays Ren’s cheerfully redneck friend Willard, and, like the late Chris Penn in the original, his scenes are a delight. Brewer, working with the original screenwriter Dean Pitchford, pays respects to the first version with touches like the red cowboy boots and the yellow VW bug, and with witty updates like the Blake Shelton cover of the title song and the effects in the final dance number. I won’t spoil the surprise of the twist he gives to Deniece Williams’ “Let’s Hear it for the Boy.” I liked the expansion of dance styles to include country line-dancing and crunk and loved the Big & Rich song, “Fake ID.” And whenever the talking stopped and the dancing began, I had a wonderful time.

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One Day

Posted on August 18, 2011 at 6:32 pm

A gimmick that sort of worked in a novel becomes an obstacle that trips up this love story based on best-seller by David Nicholls. It is better at telling us to care about the two characters than it is at making us feel anything for the couple who stumble their way toward each other for almost 20 years.

The gimmick is that we check in on Emma (Anne Hathaway) and Dex (Jim Sturgess) every year on the same day, July 15, known in England as St. Swithin’s Day, less a holiday than a Groundhog Day-style harbinger of the weather. So instead of following them on days when especially significant or illuminating events happen, we see whatever happens to be going on each July 15. Sometimes it is an important moment but most often it is more indicative than revealing. In the book we had their internal perspective on what was going on. Dex’s dead-on assessment of Emma’s room in the first chapter was as revealing about himself as it was about her. It was so astute that it made up for his cluelessness about himself and frequent boorishness for many years to come. On screen, even Hathaway’s radiance and Sturgess’ charm cannot persuade us that these two people would have stayed in touch, much less been dear friends, over decades.

The gifted director Lone Sherfig (“An Education“) resists the temptation to throw in a lot of signifiers of time passing, but inevitably we get distracted by the shifting hairstyles and conversion from typewriters to laptops and phone booths to cell phones. Covering 20 days over two decades means that there is very little time for each update, and without the interior monologues that gave the novel’s characters more substance, it feels more like a perfume commercial than a story. There is more wit in the interplay of the digits of the passing years with the action of the scene than in most of the interactions between Emma and Dex. Nicholls, who adapted his book for the screen, is too attached to details that do not work in a movie. It would have been much better to jettison as many as half of the days to give us a chance to catch our breath and see how the friendship actually works. There is too much of Dex’s “VH1 Behind the Music”-style descent into alcohol, drugs, and one-night stands (even in the book, he seemed hardly worthy of the loyal and principled Emma) and too little of the characters around them who are supposed to have been an influence. And there is much too little of actual events. It is Emma’s experiences as a teacher that lead her to find her voice as a writer. How do I know that? From reading the book. It all feels rushed and abrupt and unsupported, and the ending feels like a maudlin cheat.

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Crazy, Stupid, Love

Posted on July 29, 2011 at 9:55 am

This painful comedy about the agonies of love has some deftly observed moments and strong performances but its essential tawdriness overwhelms its efforts to be cuddly and life-affirming.

Everyone is miserably in love with the wrong person. Steve Carell plays Cal, married for almost 25 years to his teenage sweetheart, Emily (Julianne Moore), who tells him in the opening scene that she wants a divorce. Their 13-year-old son, Robbie (Jonah Bobo) is in love with their 17-year-old babysitter, Jessica (the heart-twistingly vulnerable Analeigh Tipton). Jessica has a crush on Cal. Emily slept with her co-worker, David (Kevin Bacon). Cal goes to a bar to drown his sorrows and meets someone who is not miserable and not in love: Jacob (Ryan Gosling), who takes a different beautiful woman home from the bar every night. Jacob tells Cal that he lost Emily because he lost his sense of what it means to be a man. For Jacob, being a man means pitching the New Balance shoes and ill-fitting suits and manipulating women to have sex by pretending to listen to them. Cal is soon channeling his inner playa, first seducing a teacher named Kate (Marisa Tomei in a thankless role) and then a series of montaged lovelies. Meanwhile, Robbie is texting romantic pleas to Jessica and Jessica is following the advice of a classmate and taking nude photos of herself to give to Cal and Emily is dating David, whose role seems to be nice guy whose unfitness for love is demonstrated by everyone’s intended-to-be-funny-but-not-funny-at-all inability to pronounce his last name correctly.

Got that? Then, just as Jacob’s method begins to work for Cal, it stops working for Jacob. The one woman who turned him down is Hannah (Emma Stone), a recent law graduate studying for the bar exam. Circumstances lead her to return to the bar to proposition Jacob and back at his sleek bachelor pad something unprecedented happens — a night of real intimacy, talking and laughing. Now Jacob needs advice on his uncharted territory: how to be a part of a relationship that lasts more than 24 hours.

There’s an inexpressibly lovely moment as Emily calls Cal, not realizing he is right outside their house because he sneaks over at night to maintain the garden (metaphor alert). She tells him she is in the basement trying to restart the pilot light but he can see she is upstairs and just needed an excuse to call. And Stone continues to be one of the most endearingly honest, intelligent, and expressive performers on screen. She shows us how the flurry of mixed emotions she feels that first night with Jacob flicker across her face as she tries to manage her feelings of confidence and fear, longing and logic.

But that is not enough to make up for the smarminess of the story’s assumptions and the characters’ behavior. There’s an excruciating climactic scene in which two of the characters made humiliating public declarations that are intended to be gallant but come off as self-indulgent and completely inappropriate. And other than Hannah, the characters are just not very nice. Jessica keeps telling us she loves Cal because he is such a kind man and great father. Not from what we see. He shows little concern for what his children are going through with their parents’ separation or anything else they are going through. He does not know who his son’s teacher is. And he is awful to the women he sleeps with, which the movie seems to think is fine. When one of them becomes angry at him because he never called her, she is portrayed as shrewish and unreasonable. Jacob, whose only evidence of responsibility or being aware of anyone else’s needs or feelings is his decision to help Cal become a lady-killer, provides very little reason other than hotness for deserving Hannah’s love or making any effort to earn it. The film is as callous toward the one-night-stands who get tossed aside as Jacob and Cal are. There is no suggestion that someone should give them pointers on how to respect themselves enough not to fall for manipulative cads. Even worse is the treatment of the Jessica/Robbie relationship. She is, we are repeatedly told, 17. Taking nude pictures of herself to give to a man is not just seriously bad judgment and a terrible signal to a prospective romantic partner but probably a crime. Giving those pictures to a 13-year-old is portrayed in the film as an act of compassionate generosity when it is not just seriously bad judgment and a terrible mixed message but definitely a crime. The movie is going for a wistful romanticism. For me it was more like a pervy sociopathy.

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