Category Archives: Film

A Fugue of Sex and Love Addiction: Shame

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I waited, as I read some of the reviews of Shame. I watched all of the major reviewers sort of dance around trying to figure out if they got what was going on, what this movie was really about. Watched for the two words: Sex addiction.

Sadly, I saw them nowhere.

MAJOR SPOILERS AHEAD READ THIS REVIEW ONLY AFTER YOU’VE SEEN SHAME. MAJOR SPOILERS AHEAD READ THIS REVIEW ONLY AFTER YOU’VE SEEN SHAME. MAJOR SPOILERS AHEAD READ THIS REVIEW ONLY AFTER YOU’VE SEEN SHAME. MAJOR SPOILERS AHEAD READ THIS REVIEW ONLY AFTER YOU’VE SEEN SHAME. MAJOR SPOILERS AHEAD READ THIS REVIEW ONLY AFTER YOU’VE SEEN SHAME. MAJOR SPOILERS AHEAD READ THIS REVIEW ONLY AFTER YOU’VE SEEN SHAME. MAJOR SPOILERS AHEAD READ THIS REVIEW ONLY AFTER YOU’VE SEEN SHAME.

But this movie is to Sex Addiction what Days of Wine and Roses is to alcoholism. Ever wanted to know the sordid details behind a sex addict’s mind? Here you go. The lies, the hidden pornography, the near-constant masturbation. The near destruction of one’s own life, while being in complete denial about it. All here.

What (also) isn’t talked about is how his (Michael Fassbender, as our protagonist) sister (Carey Mulligan) suffers from a concurrent love addiction. She bounds into his life from who knows where, and opens up a door on his behavior. Make no mistake, they are cut from the same cloth.

They are both from New Jersey. Brother dear now lives in NY. When sister arrives, she has somehow booked a singing gig at a club. She does a gut-wrenching version of “New York, New York” that also makes her otherwise unfeeling brother tear up.

It’s also interesting to me that the first time you see both of them completely naked, it’s not in a sexual way. He, because he’s taking a piss. She, because she’s in the shower.

Also, to director Steve McQueen’s immense credit (which also other reviewers seem to have missed), it’s incredibly hard to show all the sordidness of a sex addict’s life, and not make it seem sexy. He does this partly through the script, and partly through excellent camera work and editing.

Sex addiction, for those not savvy to it, makes every person a potential sex object. The sex addict is skilled, like a sexual viper, always able to conquer their prey. But it’s a nameless faceless game. Know as little about someone as possible. Give away as little of yourself as possible.

So when the phone starts ringing early on, I was puzzled. Not like a sex addict to give out their phone number. Of course, it turns out to be his sister.

Later, he meets someone and goes on an actual date. She asks him how long his longest relationship was, “Four months,” he says.

Being present is also a very difficult thing for any addict, but especially a sex addict. So when he asks his date what time period, past or future, she’d like to live in, she responds: “Right now.” He’s completely perplexed. But she is, indeed, very connected, very present, very in touch with her emotions.

You see this in another way. You’ve seen his addictive sex in many ways. But when he beds this gorgeous emotionally connected black woman, she touches his face, lovingly. He can’t go on. He knows nothing of this kind of sex.

But, his sex addiction fuse having been lit, it has to be finished. You see him, moments later, with someone that he picked up from somewhere. Doesn’t matter. It’s another drug, and he’s scored.

The purging that he does after that experience is equivalent to what anyone has to do when they get sober. Alcoholics pour their drink down the sink, drug addicts destroy their paraphernalia, sex addicts throw away all the morass of their secret stashes. Yes, even their computers.

He has his emotions opened up now. He has a big blowout fight with his sister. It’s quite compellingly shot from behind as they sit on a couch. Sex addict vs. love addict, mano a mano. It’s brutal, and painful.

He caps his words with a night of sex bingeing that gets quite ugly.

And, in the morning, he is sobbing on the beach. Someone on Twitter said, “Oh big deal, so he cries on the beach.” They missed the whole point. It IS a big deal that he was sobbing on the beach. The way for a sex addict to heal (or any addict) is to actually feel their feelings. And yes, that usually does initially involve a lot of crying.

I was hoping that it would all end with Brandon getting into recovery. But that’s probably too pat and predictable an ending.

The way it actually ended was with one of his sex toys on the train, a married woman who constantly flirts with him. Once he ran out of the train, following her and lost her. This time, she starts flirting, and he remains seated, not taking the bait.

I looked behind his head. In the shot, is a poster for a place called “The River NYC.” Not exactly a recovery place, but its website said this: “Our goal is to create a warm and welcoming space where we can develop a genuine spirituality.” Yep. Sounds like recovery to me. All you have to do is look around, and find it.

A much better ending.

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ADDENDUM: Roger Ebert mentions it in his review.

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Moneyball: Way too on the money

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Do you love a good baseball movie? Does thinking about Field of Dreams or Bull Durham just get you all wistful? Or The National? Yeah, me too. Moneyball is none of those.

Or were you stunned and amazed by Russell Crowe’s mathematical brilliance in Beautiful Mind? Well, me, not so much.

But this movie is kind of a combination of those two. If you’re going for a rousing baseball movie, you’d best stay home. Ditto if the sight of math (especially math on a screen) starts putting you into heaves.

I just don’t know what to make of this movie. There are so many reasons I wanted to like it.

For instance, I attended with my friend who (GASP!) had never even HEARD of Aaron Sorkin, much less cottoned to his patented “walk and talks.” Sorkin, though, is the second credited writer on this. After Steven Zaillian. Now, if one has a discussion of the top ten living screenwriters today, it’s pretty assured that both of those names would be on the list.

Still, the script pretty much left me cold.

Part of it was the script (or lack of it), part of it was the ham-fisted direction by Bennett Miller. You can just read the page in your mind: “and he tears up, hearing his little girl’s voice. He decides to stay.” CUT TO: Tears in his eyes.

No joke. The final (supposed to be poignant shot, I guess) was a close-up of tears in Brad Pitt’s eyes. I wanted to barf.

And you would think that with eight (and counting) little brats of his own, that he’d be able to convey this fatherliness that warrants the end tear-up. I musta missed it.

Also, while his team is out there, struggling it out, Brad Pitt’s character is anywhere but on the field or watching. He’s working out, he’s in his office, he’s driving, far away. Why? Well, if you rustle your popcorn at the wrong time you’ll miss it, but his little tyke at one point says, “You’re not gonna jinx it, go back.”

From this, I guess, that you are supposed to glean that he’s afraid of jinxing his own team. That’s why he stays away. And, to hammer that point home, he returns when they have an 11-point lead. The other teams starts scoring. It ends up tied.

Do we cut to the drama on the field? No, been there, done that. Instead, we get Pitt, agonizing in the locker room about whether or not he’s jinxing them. Yikes.

Maudlin crap like that.

So, the direction was dreadful. But let’s get back to the story.

Now, if it’s a good baseball movie, it should be understandable by anyone who watches it, whatever their level of baseball knowledge.

And I love baseball. I wouldn’t claim to be intimate with all its arcana, though.

The premise here is that MLB had gotten too full of its britches, offering million-dollar contracts to people who really didn’t deserve them. And that some Yale dude had figured out a mathematical way to know who deserved to be hired and who didn’t. Based on how often they got on base. Mathematically.

Jonah Hill does the best with this that he can. Coach Phillip Seymour Hoffman, who still wants to coach baseball his way, adds some fire to a nothing role.

But to me, in the end, baseball is really about those guys out there on the bases. Not the money men counting out their worth in back rooms. This movie dealt far too much with those guys. Did this new way of “counting” change baseball? Apparently so.

Do we care? No matter how many close-uped tears you shoot, the answer is still no.

Young Adult Is Infinitely Missable

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The central problem for why “Young Adult” is so terrible is that its protagonist is loathesome.

I dunno. Maybe it’s just me, but I no longer find someone drinking too much, acting out when drunk, or acting out when seriously love-addicted, to be a funny thing. I cannot root for this person, other than to root that they seriously find rehab soon.

Our lead, Mavis Gary, is hell-bent on her own destruction, chasing down her “true love,” who is happily married and just had a child. She plans to steal him away. This never goes well, nor is it a viable plot premise anymore, I would argue.

(I found Julia Roberts similarly reprehensible in “My Best Friend’s Wedding,” though her guy was not quite married yet in that one. No matter, same conniving horribleness at hand.)

So, beautiful statuesque Charlize Theron (who does give this part the old college try) drinks way too much. In real life, if someone drank as much as she did, she would not be in any semblance of shape, certainly would not have the flawless skin that she has (no matter how many facials she received; the movie shows us no less than three times that she gets manis and pedis and spends a lot of time with her hair and face). No, in fact a woman who drinks like this would be already developing that bulbous red nose thing that many full-blown alcoholics get.

But then, this is a romantic comedy right, with the guy who’s not the guy she’s chasing whom she’s supposed to fall in love with. And SPOILER they don’t. She spends most of her time bending his ear about her totally-in denial love addiction plan. He tells her she’s crazy and needs therapy (true!). After making a complete fool of herself later, she consents to sloppy last-stand sex with him, and leaves him and his sister (“Take me with you!” she demands; Mavis doesn’t, with the cold line, “No, you’re good here.” Here being their vapid small town.)

Just a loathesome person from start to finish, who learns nothing along the way.

Other actors: Patrick Wilson as the “true love” is wonderful. Elizabeth Reaser (what is with her as “the other woman”? Between this and “The Good Wife,” sheesh), but she’s also wonderful as the man’s wife.

Even Patton Oswalt, getting more and more juicy roles in cinema, is quite the charmer.

I loved “Juno.” Normally, I like Diablo Cody. Didn’t like this. Normally, I like Jason Reitman, the director. Didn’t like this.

(Although the nihilistic end of the world Kendra-Kardashian double bill on her TV screens was a wonderful touch.)

This movie is really best avoided. Unlike you like loud mouthy desperate out of control love-addicted alcoholics. Then, you might find this a laugh riot. Me, I like to like my protagonists.

Or, you might wanna really punish yourself. Go see this on a double feature with that sex addiction movie, Shame. Fun times!

Who should be the new Oscar host?

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So, who should we have hosting the Oscars this year? Hurry, people, time’s a wasting…
Eddie Murphy’s out (*sob*). Totally joking. I can’t stand Eddie Murphy, and he would’ve made a terrible host. In fact, all ego-maniacs need not apply, so sit down Will Smith.

It really and truly should be a comedian of some flavor, because it needs to be someone who will keep on with the funny when people are staring at him/her blankly.

It should be someone who knows Hollywood and isn’t too fanlike about it (Rosie O’Donnell can sit down). But someone who is also sufficiently deferential to it. (David Letterman can sit WAY down and take both Uma and Oprah with him.)

It should be someone who can sing and dance, so the old standbys come to mind: Hugh Jackman (busy with that Les Miz movie), Neil Patrick Harris (busy with his TV show). Billy Crystal has just done it too much. He also needs to sit down.

Someone who thinks quickly on their feet, preferably someone comfortable with improve or standup, cause stuff happens at the Oscars that you just have to be prepared for, and willing to go off script for. (Steve Martin can sit WAY down.)

While we’re at it, forget the youngsters (especially after the “talking too freely” that got Brett Ratner bounced, we have to have some older dude or dudette who isn’t going to let the wrong thing slip. Who knows the meaning of politically correct, yet is savvy enough to know who to take jabs at (and who NOT TO). Please sit Ricky Gervais down and shut him the hell up. And while you’re at it, take that drink out of his hand.

So, in short, someone who’s polite, savvy about Hollywood, works hard enough to step in to this madness quickly, someone who can sing and dance or at least tell a good joke.
My own personal short list would be this: Craig Ferguson or Jimmy Fallon (though, this being ABC, probably not likely), Dan Finnerman (from “the Dan Band”)—he would rock it!, Marc Maron, Chris Hardwick, Jay Mohr.

Women? There aren’t too many choices there. Kathy Griffin comes to mind, but she has the sassy mouth that got Ratner bounced. You know who would be a fantastic female Oscar host? Loni Love! She would rock that Kodak. And you know she looks great in some gowns.

Or maybe Ricki Lake, after she wins Dancing with the Stars, to promote her new talk show? Nah. Loni Love would be better.

Those would be my final choices: either Dan Finnerman or Loni Love.

Boy, would those be some fun Oscars. Enough with the overpriced, full of themselves celebs and young people who haven’t got a clue. These two have been around the block a time or two.

Another wacky, but perfect choice? Ross Matthews. You know he respects the Oscars enough. It may even compensate for his youth and inexperience. He’d be a great choice.

What say you?
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Somewhere Drives Angst in Circles

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As a filmmaker, I have been entranced by Sofia Coppola. “Lost in Translation” was one of my favorite movies, not only for the way it captured the beauty of Tokyo, but also for the many ways it indicated people having a hard time communicating with each other. I was even one of the few who enjoyed the decadence of “Marie Antoinette.” It seemed to say a lot of things about the French queen and indie music at the same time. Plus, it was also visually stunning.

I should have been forewarned about “Somewhere.” The opening shot is someone (unclear who) driving a fancy expensive car, basically in circles. Very fast. For like ten minutes. I should have walked out at that moment. Cause that pretty much is the movie, right there.

The rest of it is this: Handsome superstar action hero actor bunks up at Hollywood’s Chateau Marmont, and you see his decadent life. How naked women parade in and out of his life, through the hallways sometimes. They appear to amuse him, dancing nakedly, while he mostly falls asleep. They appear to have sexual trysts with him. Then disappear. It’s an endless parade.

All of this is well and good, until suddenly his daughter appears to stay with him. Puts a bit of a crimp in his plans. So now he plays Wii and hangs by the pool and orders pizza. And wow. Isn’t this fun?

Then, they take a jaunt to Venice for a movie premiere where luscious Italian beauties also thrust themselves at him. They hang out at an Italian pool.

He comes back. Some friends come over. They leave.

This is basically the movie.

Oh poor overpaid baby. Have to suffer with Chateau Marmont’s room service. His daughter gets industrious and actually makes food in his kitchen. (I did enjoy Elle Fanning as his daughter.) Stephen Dorff is the actor.

Maybe I’m jaded because I see too many people living variations of this in Hollywood, or aspiring to variations of this. Maybe I’m bored with a movie about nothing. We get it. Everyone is alienated from each other, and boo hoo, celebrities most of all.

The big revelation of the movie, yes, I’m going to SPOIL it for you now, such as it is: at the end of the movie, he decides to move out of the Chateau Marmont. He drives his car. Somewhere. And leaves it. And starts walking.

I guess supposed to symbolize this man actually taking a stand and doing something with his life. In reality, like the rest of the movie, it just emphasizes how bored and stupid and superfluous his actions are.

Sorry, Sofia, this one bored me to tears.

Barney is So Self-Indulgent

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For the first half hour of “Barney’s Version,” I wanted to walk out. I found it extremely unfunny, irritating, obnoxious and a waste of my time. Part of the problem for this is that the descriptions of this movie fall in the nebulous category, where publicists don’t know what the heck to write about it. “Barney’s cranky, and this is his life,” is about as far as they’d get.

And indeed, there’s Paul Giamatti, irrascible, puffing cigars and drinking booze from the first frame. Making crank calls to his ex-wife at 3 am. Fun stuff. Why the HELL do I want to get involved in this schmuck’s life, one asks?

Here’s why. To me, it’s the story of TRUE LOVE. How true love hits someone and doesn’t let go. And how, even when you have true love, you might just mess it up. That’s what makes it worth seeing.

Barney’s first marriage happens when his bride becomes pregnant. He does the honorable thing, and marries her. Then finds out it wasn’t even his kid. That one doesn’t end so well.

His dad (Dustin Hoffman) sets him up with his next lovely lady. And Minnie Driver is indeed lovely. And rich. What’s not to like? Well, the incessant talking, perhaps…

So, there he is, at his second wedding, surrounded by many of her relatives, everyone getting smashingly drunk. Barney most of all, pounding back the shots. When suddenly through his drunken stupor, he looks across the room and sees her. Not his freshly-minted wife. His true love. And it hits him like an oncoming train.

He ventures closer and starts talking to her. She sees he is drunk. But they do hit it off. He abruptly leaves his own wedding to chase her to the train heading back to New York. And so it begins.

So there was the reason that made me sit in my seat for the rest of the movie, and be rewarded. How can this schlub of a man find true love with such a beautiful woman? But there it is, clear as day.

The film is based on the writings of Mordecai Richler. The film is dedicated to him.

It is packed with a cast of many stunning acting talents. Scott Speedman, for example, looks like sunshine made real as the charming playboy in Italy.

But the revelation, not surprisingly, since she’s been the revelation of several movies of late (Made in Dagenham notably this season, and An Education last) is Rosamund Pike. She is gorgeous, refined, wonderful as a counterpoint to Barney.

It’s sad and kind of tragic that Barney chose to live his life the way he wanted to: drinking, smoking big cigars and watching hockey games with the boys at the local bar. The love of his life chose to grow and evolve. But it’s very interesting to see how all these pieces fall into place.

So trust me. The beginning may be annoying, but all in all, Barney’s Version is a good ride through someone’s life. I really do wanna see “Miriam’s Version” next, though.

Love and Other Drugs Goes Cold Turkey

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Amid the crush of holiday releases and Oscar hopefuls, there are many many great pictures out right now. “Love and Other Drugs” is not one of them. The more I think about it, the more it bugs me.

Jake Gyllenhaal plays a brash handsome manipulator who beds women, uses them, spits them out (the usual). Anne Hathaway plays someone who’s seen it all. She’s been on the receiving end of such men, and as such, she’s hardened, crass, cynical, guarded.

Both of these characters, for reasons described, are annoying and not fun to watch. He’s thinking of ways to use people (easier, better, faster). She’s thinking of witty comebacks to cut them down to size. Did I mention that this is not fun? This, despite the fact that both of them get naked a lot. Really. It’s boring.

Who can he bed to sell his products? How can she avoid commitment? Wackiness ensues. No, not really. Boredom ensues.

SPOILER SPOILER SPOILER SPOILER SPOILER SPOILER SPOILER SPOILER SPOILER SPOILER SPOILER SPOILER SPOILER SPOILER

The supposed serious part of this is the increase in pharmacological assistance through depression drugs like Zoloft and Prozac, the salesmen who hawk them, and it all comes complete with a splashy song and dance number. And when Gyllenhaal’s company (Pfizer) comes out with Viagara… well, you can imagine what that does to Lothario’s drug sales.

The wrench in all this is that Hathaway has Parkinson’s disease (note shaky hand a couple of times). This is why she knows all the drug salesmen. And comes the speech: “You’re not gonna love me cause I have a disease!” (*pouts* *stomps feet*) She’s way too self-deprecating in this movie. Mean to herself and others.

He has received a horror story of the progression of the disease from someone at a conference, so suddenly it’s “Nope, I’m shallow. I don’t love you. Bye.”

Blech. At this point, who cares? She’s shrill, pouty and annoying. He’s still glib, uses sex to get his way. Who cares?

The fact that anyone anywhere mentions this dreadful movie in the context of Oscars is sad. No one in this movie (though I do love director Edward Zwick and actor Oliver Platt, but seriously…) deserves anything that has the word Oscar attached to it.

Really hated it. Don’t waste your time. Many other great movies out there instead.

Creative fever dream Swans into Best Picture

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Reviewers who write about movies for a living, who have to slog through every paint-by-numbers adaptation, seem to have difficulty with two things: spirituality in movies, and the creative process in movies. Mind you, there aren’t that many movies about either of those two things because they are also ephemeral streaks of lightning to capture in the film bottle.

What I had read about “Black Swan” prior to seeing it fluctuated on the spectrum from horror flick to Grand Guignol theatre to thriller to scary movie. In short, I really didn’t know what to expect. Perhaps it will be one or some of those things to you, too.

How I perceived “Black Swan” was more like a dream. The dream, the central focus for this ballerina, is to be perfect. And she studies and she plies and she does everything she thinks she’s supposed to do.

But when the company leader decides to do “Swan Lake,” he presents her with this challenge: “You’d be great as the White Swan.” But, essentially, she doesn’t have enough of a dark side to do the Black Swan justice. (This lead character in the ballet performs both sides of a complex persona.)

“Black Swan,” then, is about this striving-for-perfection ballerina figuring out what it takes to reach her own “dark side.” What she discovers is that passion and the thrill of life often lie in its imperfections. As we travel with her on her journey, we also discover what is at the heart of the creative process, how far someone can push themselves for their art.

It is a stunning bravura performance. Prior to seeing the film, I posited on my podcast that Natalie Portman was going to take every award in sight this Oscar season. I think so even moreso after seeing the film. Like Christoph Waltz and Mo’Nique last year, every other Best Actress contender this year can just sit down. It’s Natalie Portman’s year. Her work in this movie is stunning. In fact, I can’t remember the last time an actress was so stunning and superb and affecting. Brilliant work.

Her supporting cast is also affecting and may glean some supporting nominations: Vincent Cassel as the ballet company director, Barbara Hershey as her mom, Mila Kunis as a fellow dancer. Winona Ryder takes an especially inspired turn, making a droll commentary on her own life, that elicited laughs in our industry screening.

People have also made reference to an “All About Eve” subtext. That is only there in as much as fearing other people taking roles you covet is part of the creative process. It’s really and truly not about that.

In fact, I think where reviewers get into trouble with this role, and even the screening I saw this at, the questioner had the same problem–is dissecting it too much. Think of it as a dream. Roll around with the images, go with the flights of fancy. True creativity isn’t that far from the dream state, and true creativity borders on that part of the brain near psychosis too. But don’t let that analysis hinder you.

As Nina had to learn, with sex, with dreaming, with life, sometimes you just have to let it flow over you and become part of you. So, too, with “Black Swan.”