Silver
I’m no movie snob. I don’t pretend to constrain myself to watching “cinema”. Rather, I will tend to watch most anything, and more often than not, will glean some satisfaction from among even the worst. This is as much a function of the fact that I’m usually only to be able to watch movies available at the video chains as it is of my high tolerance for bad moviemaking.
Still, I tire of the generally poor quality of popular U.S. theatrical releases. Again, I’m not above watching a bit appealing to the lowest common denominator—I get lightheaded for things blowing up. On occasion, though, I’m in the mood for meatier fare, and I don’t want to indulge this feeling as if I’m doing so seated in a high chair.
In recent months, I’ve seen several movies, including (but not limited to):
- Resident Evil: Apocalypse
- Dawn of the Dead (2004)
- House of Flying Daggers
- Mystic River
- 8 Mile
- La Mala Educación
- Finding Neverland
- The Triplets of Belleville
- The Day After Tomorrow
I expected different things from these flicks, and received a varying return on my investment of time and patience. From among this group those two films for which I had highest expectations might have been Finding Neverland and Mystic River.
Finding Neverland, for its part, is not so much about James Barrie, author of Peter Pan, as it was about the wonderment of James Barrie and some of its limited intersection with the factual reality of his life. To this end, the movie shines; and Johnny Depp may have a singular apprehension of the Irish accent among popular American actors. I would like to have seen the movie fall less cleanly into the “misunderstood genius” genre, possibly including some of what made Barry human, “warts and all”. Overall, though not quite “meaty”, Finding Neverland is a fine romp through the beginnings of a fantasy.
Mystic River, on the other hand, is relatively horrible. The pedigree of its main cast and what little I knew of the story whetted my appetite for something powerful; but, alas, it’s pretty quickly obvious that the movie doesn’t approach this expectation. The characters are drawn crudely; the acting is uninspired; and the plot teeters on the precipice of farce. In the same way that some science fiction authors belabor the science at the expense of the fiction, screenwriter Brian Helgeland and director Clint Eastwood conspire to abuse the notion that the primary characters are from “the old neighborhood”: roughly 15 minutes into the movie, there is a span of maybe five minutes during which Sean Devine (Kevin Bacon) makes this reference three times. It’s a stretch for credibility, a vehicle to grasp at and deliver to the characters, and to the setting of the movie as a whole, a contrived urban, gritty substance.
This only managed to alienate me from the characters, and thereafter I couldn’t take them seriously. Sean Penn won an Oscar for his “acting”, driving another nail into the coffin of what little respect I had for that achievement (after being positively abhorred that A Beautiful Mind, with its over-produced saccharine treatment of John Nash’s life, should have been nominated for, let alone to have won, the Oscar for Best Picture). It was thereafter trivial to understand where the plot was headed, and, though I won’t give anything away, I will say that only the morbidly obtuse will be surprised.
Quite surprising among that bunch of movies is The Triplets of Belleville. I had no hand in its selection, and, in retrospect, am surprised it would’ve been available at Hollywood. To say that it is a “gem”, as others have, is to condescend to what is a mature, thoughtful, engaging work. Sylvain Chomet, of whom I had never heard, wrote and directed something of a much higher protein content than anything Hollywood has had to offer in years. Ironically, I suppose, this was up for an Oscar, but lost to Finding Nemo which, while strong, is the lesser if I had to choose.
Triplets, in a nutshell, is an animated account of the kidnapping of a Tour de France cyclist and his grandmother’s search for him. As nutshells go, that’s woefully incomplete. The caricatures are vividly developed; the animation blends exquisite classic styles with unobtrusive digital techniques; and the viewer is forced to diligently parse the language of bodies and environments, as there is no spoken dialog. If you want to know more, it’s available at Hollywood Video and Blockbuster. It should be obvious how highly I recommend you go grab it.
What of note have you seen recently?
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