Inside Llewyn Davis

Posted on December 19, 2013 at 6:00 pm

A-

Lowest Recommended Age:	Mature High Schooler
MPAA Rating:	Rated R for language including some sexual references
Profanity:	Strong language
Alcohol/ Drugs:	Drinking, drug use and drug overdose
Violence/ Scariness:	A few punches, drug overdose
Diversity Issues:	None
Date Released to Theaters:	December 20, 2013
Date Released to DVD:	March 10, 2014
Amazon.com ASIN:	B00DVZ414C

Oscar Isaac gives the best performance of the year as the title character in the most intimate and profound movie yet from the Coen brothers. The story is set in the New York folk music world of 1961 and the Coens insisted on filming the songs live rather than pre-recording, and one of the wonders of this film is the way that Isaac makes each song more than a musical performance — each is a part of his characterization that tells us who Davis is and where he is on a week-long journey we will see in near Sisyphian terms. The breaths and pauses are as much a part of the performance as the notes he plays and sings. When he is not singing, Davis reacts very little, and one of the great pleasures of this film is seeing Isaac convey immense conflict and sensitivity to us in the audience while those around him see only his superficial expressionlessness. In one scene, a doctor offhandedly gives him surprising news about someone else. In that one moment he says almost nothing but conveys a dozen different emotions and questions and losses. This is the story of a man who expresses himself only through his music. But he does not have the gifts to make him successful enough to support himself or achieve any sense of security and acceptance.

The Coens like to put their central characters under a lot of stress, and in this film Davis must deal with disappointment and anger all around him and his own sense of frustration in not being able to honor the songs that are his whole world by making them as important to others as they are to him. Ultimately, it becomes a larger story about the way all of us struggle to find meaning and a place for ourselves. And all of that is to the heavenly music impeccably curated by T. Bone Burnett and performed by a cast that includes Justin Timberlake, Carey Mulligan, and Broadway’s Stark Sands. The Coens also like to create physical environments that reflect the internal pressure (the peeling wallpaper in “Barton Fink” was almost another character). Here, the re-creation of early 60’s Greenwich Village is relatively low-key and naturalistic, but there are still cramped corridors with impossibly acute vectors to amplify Davis’ external manifestation of the grungy world that seems to have no exit.

The film’s title, “Inside Llewyn Davis,” is the also the name of a record album made by the early 1960’s folk singer played by Isaac. We first see him singing in a Greenwich Village club, performing “Hang Me, Oh Hang Me,” a song that “was never new and never gets old.”

The folk singers of the early 60‘s thought of themselves as truly authentic in a world where suburban materialism and conformity were idealized. A movement that presaged and in some ways helped to spark the counterculture and protest of the late 60’s was, of course, inherently inauthentic itself. Folk music is beautiful wherever it is sung, even in the kind of homogenized, commercial versions looked down on by Davis (and gently mocked in “A Mighty Wind”). But what makes it authentic is that it is music sung by folk in their community, not by professional musicians in a New York club. The essence of the struggle any artist — or any person — faces between integrity and selling out is explicit here. Davis criticizes his friend and sometime lover as “careerist” for trying to get ahead in the music business. But he himself makes a trip to an influential producer to see if he can get better bookings. And as authentic as Davis may think he is, he is contemptuous the performances by a soldier and a woman from the country, both of whom arguably have a better claim to “authenticity” than he does.

Like all Coen brothers anti-heroes, Davis is a man under pressure. He has nowhere to live, and sleeps on couches he scrounges from friends. He seems to have no sense of gratitude. He shows some sense of responsibility. He spends the night at the home of a benign Columbia professor who loves his music, stopping to play a cut from the album he made with his former partner (Isaac sings with Marcus Mumford). Then, when he is leaving, the professor’s marmelade cat slips out the apartment door just as it swings shut and locks behind him. Davis scoops up the cat and takes him on the subway, calling the professor’s office to let him know the cat is safe. He then drops the cat off at another apartment he often uses as a place to stay, the home of singing duo Jim (Justin Timberlake) and Jean (Isaac’s “Drive” wife, Carey Mulligan), where he finds out that Jean is (1) pregnant and (2) furious because it might be his. He again responds responsibly, if not graciously. And when Jim (of course not knowing anything about his relationship to Jean) arranges for Davis to get a quick gig as a session musician for a silly but irresistible little novelty ditty called “Please Mr. Kennedy,” he gives it his best.

We follow Davis over the course of a week, one frustrating encounter after another, with Jean, with the head of the tiny record label that produced his last record, a doctor who performs abortions, his silent father in a nursing home, his suburban sister, on a long ride to Chicago with a jazz musician (Coen brothers regular John Goodman) and his near-silent driver (Garrett Hedlund), a nerve-wracking audition with an important producer (F. Murray Abraham). In each of them, Davis is subdued. He has feelings, but he expresses them in his music. There is something in these ancient songs about death, betrayal, and injustice that touches his heart. Singing them is his deepest connection to himself. “Just exist?” he asks his sister, when she suggests he give up folk music. But even when he wants to give up, he can’t.

Davis knows that things seem hopeless for him. He tries to slide his box of remaindered LPs under a table only to find an almost-identical box of another singer’s records there already. He looks out of the car window at a highway exit that he and we know could lead to an important chance at connection and meaning. We see around Davis what he cannot. We see him make a decision as he leaves the recording studio that suits his purposes at the moment but that we know he will be bitter about forever. A young, tousled-hair singer goes on at the club and we know he will transform the world in a way Davis can not. But in a very real and very satisfying way, the Coens and Isaac have reclaimed him for us with their own story that was never new, and never gets old.

Parents should know that this film includes strong language, a fistfight, references to sex, adultery, abortion, and suicide, drinking, smoking, and drug use and overdose.

Family discussion: Why was it so hard for Llewyn to succeed? What do we learn about him from the decision not to go to Akron? From his heckling of another performer?

If you like this, try: “Don’t Look Back” and “A Mighty Wind” — and the Showtime concert featuring the music from the film, “Another Day, Another Time”

Saving Mr. Banks

Posted on December 13, 2013 at 5:17 pm

For most of this story, Walt Disney (Tom Hanks) and P.L. Travers (Emma Thompson) are on opposite sides. He has been trying for twenty years to persuade her to let him make a movie based on her books about the magical nanny, Mary Poppins. She needs money, as her agent reminds her, which is why she has very reluctantly agreed to leave home and fly to Los Angeles to talk to him about it. But she cannot bear the idea of losing control of the characters who mean so much to her and she abhors everything about Disney and California, including sunshine, cheerfulness, twinkling, music, and calling people by their first names.

But there is one moment when, in the midst of some obvious culture clash jokes, there is a quiet moment that shows they are both on the same side. Disney tells Travers that he was in her position when someone wanted to pay him for Mickey Mouse and he simply could not bear the agony of allowing anyone else to make decisions about a character he had created. Travers says that Mary Poppins and the Bankses are her family. But in a very real way, the character these artist created are their own very souls. “We restore order with imagination,” Disney tells her. And, engagingly, throughout the film we see the process, the inspiration, the despair, the triumph, the necessity of creating art, from a father soothing his little girl with a story to songwriters puzzling out a way to show Mary Poppins’ upside down world by having the tune go up as she sings the word “down.”

We all know how it turned out. Disney’s “Mary Poppins,” celebrating its 50th anniversary next year, is one of the beloved and honored family films of all time, with five Oscars (Best Actress, Song, Special Effects, Score, and Editing) and eight more nominations. But anyone who has read the books knows that there are some major departures from the Travers version, and that the fears she expressed — as documented in tape recordings of her sessions with the screenwriter and songwriting team — were more than justified.

Some people have criticized this film as Disney’s burnishing of its own brand, with its founder portrayed as a decent man who is just trying to keep a two-decade old promise to his daughters to make a movie from one of their favorite books. Amy Nicholson writes in LA Weekly that “Saving Mr. Banks” is “a corporate, borderline-sexist spoonful of lies.” She says that Thompson’s “Travers is as unpleasant as a pine needle pillow, and she’s as far away from the actual woman as ‘supercalifragilisticexpialidocious’ is from being a real word” when in fact she was a “a feisty, stereotype-breaking bisexual.” I think this is a misreading of the film’s attitude toward Disney, Travers, “Mary Poppins” (the movie), and what it means to be a creative person in a world that is very imperfect when it comes to assigning monetary value to art (see also: “Inside Llewyn Davis”). To come to Nicholson’s conclusion, one has to assume that the movie wants us to believe that Disney somehow outsmarted Travers by improving her work. On the contrary, the movie makes it clear that the movie Mary Poppins was very different from Travers’ idea of the characters, moving them several decades earlier, for a start, and, crucially, as indicated in the title of this film, transforming an episodic storyline about children’s adventures with a magical nanny into a story about parents discovering the importance of being close to their children. It is Nicholson who underestimates Travers by suggesting she was somehow snookered. She made a decision that it was worth it to her to let that happen to get the money she needed to be as financially independent as she wished. As is shown in the very first scene, she could have made money another way — by writing more books about Mary Poppins, for a start — but she chose to consent to the movie, and then to make absolutely sure that no American would ever touch her characters again.

While the cute culture clashes and Travers’ resistance to Disney’s brand of pixie dust are featured in the movie’s trailers, the film itself devotes a substantial amount of time to Travers’ childhood, clearly taking her very seriously as a woman and an artist. We see her as a child dearly loved by the father she adored (a superb Colin Farrell), a man of great imagination and charm, but, perhaps in part due to those same qualities, not able to manage life as a banker in the far reaches of Australia. As we see him sink from manager at a bank to manager at a smaller bank to teller, fans of the Poppins books will remember her description of what Mr. Banks did at the office (it is not coincidental that he shares a name with his profession). He “made money.” Meaning that, at least in his children’s minds, he sat at his desk cutting out coins each day. Some days he was able to cut out many, and the family was quite comfortable. But other days he was not as productive, and there were fewer coins to go around.

We can see the origins of this idea and many other Mary Poppins book details in Travers’ past, a seemingly bottomless carpet bag, a crisp “spit spot” from an imposingly organized woman who arrives to put the household in order. But the most telling detail from the past is the key to the invention of Travers’ most important character: herself. Her name is not P.L. Travers at all. Nor is she Mrs. Travers, despite her insistence that Mrs. Travers is what she prefers to be called. The Australian girl who would grow up to be the ultra-English P.L. Travers is named Helen Lyndon Goff, called “Ginty” by her dad. His name was Travers Robert Goff. She took his first name as her last name and put a “Mrs.” in front of it to create the character she chose to be. This revelation, and Thompson’s brilliant portrayal of Travers show us a woman whose most important creation was the character she pretended to be — or became.

And of course Disney, too, played a character, the folksy host who was going to entertain you no matter how hard you tried to resist, and very well aware that these qualities were his best assets as a businessman. He insists on taking Travers to Disneyland (beautifully recreated as it was in 1961). Disney is persuasive enough to get Travers onto the carousel and canny enough to tell her the truth — that getting her on a ride won him a $20 bet. And he tells her a story about his childhood, showing that just because he promotes an idealized vision of the world does not mean that he is unfamiliar with its harshness and disappointments.

Thompson gives one of the best performances of the year, showing us the insecurity and humanity and wit of a woman who is far more complex than she wishes to appear. Jason Schwartzman and B.J. Novak as the song-writing Sherman Brothers and Paul Giamatti as the limo driver are all excellent as characters who underscore the theme of art as a path to meaning. The glimpses of the “Mary Poppins” movie are so entrancing (okay, I had to come home and watch it again and am still humming “Step in Time”) that it is easy to be temporarily distracted from the bittersweetness of the story. Hmmm, where have I heard that idea before?

Parents should know that this film includes the very sad death of a parent, substance abuse, a suicide attempt, tense confrontations, and some disturbing images.

Family discussion: What did Walt Disney and P.L.Travers have in common? What do you learn about her from her relationship with the driver? How can you take details around you and make them into a story?

If you like this, try: the Mary Poppins books by P.L. Travers and the Disney musical film and the documentary “The Boys,” about the Sherman Brothers

Out of the Furnace

Posted on December 5, 2013 at 6:00 pm

“Out of the Furnace” gets no credit for its good intentions because it collapses under the combined weight of pretentiousness and condescension. This is Hollywood’s idea of a searing drama about life in recession-era heartland, as phony as a painted backdrop. It is clearly intended to be a sympathetic portrait of two brothers betrayed by America. Russell (Christian Bale) lost his job when the steel mill closed down. His brother Rodney (Casey Affleck) went into the military and came home shattered by what he saw in four tours in Iraq. With no alternatives, their problems get worse. Rodney makes money in bare-knuckle fights, but keeps getting into trouble because he cannot bring himself to take a dive when told to do so by the fight promoter, Petty (Willem Dafoe). As their situations become more desperate, Rodney insists that Petty introduce him to meth dealer DeGroat (Woody Harrelson), so that he can make more money.

Co-writer/director Scott Cooper (“Crazy Heart”) tries to convey a sense of relentless pressure, crumbling infrastructure, and ever-constricting choices that force Russell and Rodney into making decisions with catastrophic consequences. But the film could easily be used to make the opposite points. Over and over, the brothers are told not to do something — like get involved with a murderous meth dealer — and they do it anyway. Russell is losing his job because the economy is bad. But he loses the girl he loves (Zoe Saldana) because he goes to prison. He goes to prison because he goes to a bar, gets drunk, drives, and causes an accident that kills two people. He has a lot of strong feelings and sense of loyalty for his brother and he is very upset about the death of his parents and his girlfriend leaving him for another man. When it comes to the innocent people he killed, he does not seem to have a sense of responsibility. We are supposed to be on his side because he is a decent guy who loves his brother, cares for his dying father, and misses his girlfriend, who married the decent local cop while Russell was in prison. But it is hard to be sympathetic when he — and the film — make no distinction between the limits imposed on him and the bad choices he made. Indeed, the movie ultimately becomes condescending, even contemptuous, in ignoring one of the core principles of narrative, which is respecting just that distinction. We are supposed to be on Rodney’s side because something in him, some core integrity, will not allow him to lose a fight he knows he can win. The metaphor is off-base and heavy-handed.

These are all great actors, and they all work hard to give good performances, but that in itself finally seems distancing. If they understood the essential humanity of the people dealing with these circumstances, the veterans struggling with PTSD, the factory workers whose jobs are gone, they would not distance themselves with such obvious artifice. Harrelson’s over-the-top sociopath seems to be from another movie entirely. Only Dafoe and Forest Whitaker as the sympathetic policeman create characters with any sense of authenticity, with Zoe Saldana relegated to a sad girlfriend role, doubly dreary because it is so tiresomely predictable. The real Russells and Rodneys deserve better, and so does the audience.

Parents should know that this film has very strong and disturbing violence with graphic images, fatal drunk driving accident, murder, brutal fight scenes, guns, description of wartime violence, constant very strong language, substance abuse, and non-explicit sexual situations.

Family discussion: What does the title refer to? Why do the characters constantly ignore advice that will keep them out of trouble? What does this movie want to say about our economy and political system?

If you like this, try: “Killing Them Softly” and “October Country”

Related Tags:

Crime Drama Tragedy

Black Nativity

Posted on November 26, 2013 at 5:00 pm

B+

Lowest Recommended Age:	Middle School
MPAA Rating:	Rated PG for thematic material, language, and a menacing situation
Profanity:	Some strong language
Alcohol/ Drugs:	References to substance abuse
Violence/ Scariness:	Teenager threatens someone with a gun, references to violence
Diversity Issues:	A theme of the movie
Date Released to Theaters:	November 27, 2013

The poet Langston Hughes wrote a play called “Black Nativity,” a joyous African-American retelling of the story of the birth of Jesus with gospel music, and it has become a holiday perennial. Now it has been adapted by writer/director Kasi Lemmons (“Eve’s Bayou”) with a framing present-day story of a prodigal daughter, estranged from her parents for 16 years, brought back home at Christmas as “Black Nativity” is being performed in her father’s church.

Oscar-winner Jennifer Hudson plays Naima, a single mother in Baltimore who has lost her job and is trying everything she can think of to keep her home. But even with two jobs, she and her 15-year-old son Langston (17-year-old Jacob Latimore), named for the poet, are about to be evicted. Niama has no other options left. She puts Langston on a bus to New York to see the grandparents he has never met, knowing nothing about them or the cause of their estrangement.

Langston is hurt, lost, and angry. He is frustrated that he cannot do more to help his mother and determined to find a way to get her the money she needs to keep their home. Things go badly when his bag is taken by a kid as soon as he gets off the bus and he is arrested trying to return a man’s wallet because the police think he is trying to steal it. In jail, he meets Loot (Tyrese Gibson), who jeeringly calls him “Lunch Money” and makes Langston feel powerless and disrespected.

His grandfather, Reverend Cornell Cobbs (Forest Whitaker), is formal and reserved. His grandmother, Aretha (Angela Bassett) is affectionate but clearly in pain over the past and afraid of being hurt again. Langston will do anything to feel that he is taking control of what is happening to him so he can return home.

Impressionistically told, with songs that serve as monologues, the movie becomes more powerful when Cornell’s church stages a gorgeous production of “Black Nativity” and Langston nods off to have a gospel-inspired dream that features Nas and, as an angel with white hair sticking up like a dandelion ready to make a wish, Mary J. Blige. When Langston sneaks out of the service in a desperate attempt to get the money, it leads to a confrontation revealing in ways he could not anticipate. The concluding scenes of redemption and reunion are tender and transcendent.

Parents should know that the storyline concerns foreclosure and eviction, family estrangement, law-breaking, teen pregnancy, and abandonment. A teenager uses a gun.

Family discussion: Why didn’t Langston’s family want to tell him the truth? What did the watch symbolize to Cornell? What did we learn from Langston’s dream?

If you like this, try: the poetry of Langston Hughes

Philomena

Posted on November 24, 2013 at 8:40 pm

B+

Lowest Recommended Age:	High School
MPAA Rating:	Rated PG-13 on appeal for some strong language, thematic elements and sexual references
Profanity:	Very strong, frank, and explicit language for a PG-13
Alcohol/ Drugs:	Drinking
Violence/ Scariness:	Sad deaths and abuse
Diversity Issues:	Diverse characters, issue of anti-gay bigotry is discussed
Date Released to Theaters:	November 22, 2013
Date Released to DVD:	April 14, 2014
Amazon.com ASIN:	B00GSBMNOQ

Dame Judi Dench has played many strong-minded, determined characters, from Queens (Victoria and Elizabeth I) to the even more imperious head of the MI6 who can take on James Bond with an air of crisp authority. As the title character in “Philomena,” she shows us the radiance and inner core of strength in a woman we might otherwise find easy to overlook.

Martin Sixsmith (co-screenwriter Steve Coogan) underestimates her at first, too. Sixsmith is a journalist-turned politician smarting from a public humiliation after he was fired for something he did not do. He gets little sympathy from those around him and it seems clear that being aggrieved has only fed his sense of superiority, isolation, and entitlement. He mutters something about writing a book on Russian history, though he realizes no one is very interested in reading it. When he meets a young Irish woman who offers him her mother’s story of a half-century search for the son she was forced to give up for adoption, his first reaction is a haughty, “I don’t do human interest stories.” The truth is, he is not really interested in humans, in part because they have not done a very good job of being interested in him.

Sixsmith did eventually write some books about Russia. But first he decided to give human interest a try. The result was Philomena: A Mother, Her Son, and a Fifty-Year Search.

When she was a teenager, Philomena (Dench) became pregnant and her parents sent her to the now-notorious Magdalene Sisters workhouse. The girls were forced to work for years to pay (financially and spiritually) for their sins. The abused and underage girls also signed away all of their rights to their babies, including access to information about where they were placed. Philomena (Sophie Kennedy Clark as a young woman) was working in the laundry when her son was taken from her and adopted by an American family. For half a century, as she became a nurse, married, and had more children, she missed him and worried about him. Sixsmith found an editor to pay him to write the story, covering expenses for a trip to America to see if they could track him down. She hopes the story will have some lurid details. “Evil is good — story-wise, I mean….It’s got to be really happy or really sad.”

Coogan knows he is at his best playing slightly high-strung, slightly self-involved guys who are too smart for the room and usually end up outsmarting themselves (see “The Trip”). It is especially satisfying to watch his character go from irritation to respect and then affection. There’s a reason the movie is named for her. Philomena is a surprise. If she has awful taste in books and movies, it is because she has the gift of being able to be pleased. When it comes to the big things, she is refreshingly clear-eyed and open-minded. And she understands what it takes to not let anyone make you a victim.

More improbable than any fictional story would dare to be, the journey taken by Philomena and Sixsmith is bittersweet and ultimately transcendent. Performances by Dench and Coogan of great sensitivity illuminate this story of a quiet heroine and the man who was lucky enough to learn from her.

Parents should know that this movie was initially rated R and then given a PG-13 on appeal. It concerns young teenagers put in a home for out-of-wedlock pregnancies and forced to give up their babies for adoption and there is frank discussion of sex and a childbirth scene, the abuse of the young women by the nuns who ran the home, and the life of a character as a closeted gay man. Characters use very strong and explicit language and there is some drinking.

Family discussion: Why did Martin and Philomena feel differently about forgiveness? Did she find what she was looking for?

If you like this, try: “The Magdalene Sisters” and “The Trip”