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The Wolf of Wall Street (2013)
An overindulgent portrayal of a shameless swindler
I indulged in the guilty pleasure of watching The Wolf of Wall Street - not for the first time - the other night, and when it was over, I felt the same way that I had after previous viewings: icky. It was a sort of movie-watching equivalent of what one might feel after smoking a joint and eating an entire pizza, followed by a box of cookies. Did I enjoy the three hours of get-rich-quick hijinks, taboo-smashing jokes, naked girls, copious drug use, and general bad behavior depicted by a stacked cast and set to a thumping blues-heavy soundtrack? Yes, I admit that I did. Was it good for me? Probably not.
It's been said (by Leonardo DiCaprio, among others) that Martin Scorsese is a director who isn't afraid to show his characters without judging them, and I have no issue with that. But The Wolf of Wall Street spends almost the entirety of its three hours showing how much fun it is to pursue and achieve wealth with utter disregard for how that pursuit harms other people, and almost no time showing the negative consequences of this behavior. We never see any of the "suckers" that Jordan Belfort and his band of merry thieves get rich swindling (at best, we hear one over the phone) and the suffering inflicted on Belfort's family and friends (his loyal, supportive first wife, for example) is only shown briefly before we're back to another shot of some wild activity involving heaps of cash, drugs, call girls, or all of the above at the same time. Even when Belfort's chickens come home to roost, the consequences are either mostly funny (with regard to his drug use) or not that bad (SPOILER - when he's finally sent to prison, it's the "white-collar, minimum-security resort" variety, not the "federal pound-me-in-the-ass" one). It seems difficult to believe that a decent-sized chunk of the Wolf of Wall Street viewing public - especially young men - don't come away with the feeling that putting aside ethical concerns in order to get rich quick in the world of finance looks like a lot of fun.
I find it somewhat surprising that a director who has seemed to be particularly interested in morality in other films - from Mean Streets at the beginning of his career to Killers of the Flower Moon most recently - displays such an apparent lack of concern for it here. Perhaps the source material is to blame? (Reading Belfort's memoir seems like more trouble than confirming the theory is worth.) Or Terence Winter's script? I don't want to suggest that I expect films to give me black and white depictions of clear-cut good guys and bad guys, or that I'd like them to hit me over the head with some sort of social message. But a film that shows this much selfish behavior and makes it look like this much fun while spending so little time on its negative consequences, feels... unbalanced, to say the least. Maybe even deceptive. So even though much of The Wolf of Wall Street is quite well done, and full of funny scenes and memorable characters brought to life by great actors (Jonah Hill and Matthew McConaughey do especially fine work, in my opinion), the sum ends up being less than its parts.
La estrella azul (2023)
A poignant look at the ups and downs of a Spanish rock musician
La estrella azul shines a spotlight on key periods in the life of the Spanish rock n' roll musician Mauricio Aznar - not that you need to know anything about Aznar or his music in order to appreciate the film. His story, about making the effort to pull yourself out of a rut, the undertaking of a journey in search of meaning, the unexpected discovery of a place that feels like home far from where you're from, and the struggle to hold on to a good feeling in the face of familiar pressures, has a universal appeal.
When La estrella azul opens, Mauricio, the leader of a popular band in the northeastern Spanish city of Zaragoza, is in bad shape, overwhelmed by feelings of anxiety and depression, addicted to heroin, and fighting with his fed-up girlfriend. In order to shake himself out of the funk, he decides to go to Argentina to get in touch with the traditional "folklore" music he has loved since he was a child. After a rough start to the trip, his searching takes him to the home of Don Carlos, a musician who has written a number of the genre's more popular songs but lives with his family in humble conditions, ignored by the country's premier folklore festival. There, Mauricio apprentices himself, learning to play the local style of music (chacarera) at the feet of the master, but also immersing himself in a simple and generous lifestyle that is far different from what he knew back home in Zaragoza. As Mauricio becomes enchanted by the people and music of the remote region of Santiago del Estero, so too do we.
As moving as Mauricio's journey to Argentina is, the film's last quarter, which I'll avoid giving any detail about here, turns the poignancy up to 11. The way the film resolves Mauricio's story is both original and moving, weaving together the dramatization of his life with scenes involving real people who knew him that could have appeared in a documentary. I'd have a hard time citing an ending to a biographical film more deeply affecting than this one.
La estrella azul's director, Javier Macipe, deserves credit for telling Mauricio's story in an original and natural manner. The film uses a number of clever visual innovations - keep an eye out for the ingenious way in which Mauricio's drug addiction is depicted - that serve a purpose within the plot, without straying into the use of flashy visual tricks for their own sake. I'm not always a fan of films breaking the fourth wall, but I found that the way it was done here was justified and particularly effective in delivering the film's emotionally-charged conclusion.
The film's actors do a fine job, as well. Pepe Lorente, whose deep voice transmits no shortage of gravitas, gives a charismatic performance as Mauricio. And the use of non-professional actors, including actual members of the Carabajal family and even a few people who lived some of the film's events, give the scenes in Santiago del Estero an especially authentic feel.
Finally, La estrella azul is a movie about musicians, and a big part of enjoying the film is listening to its music. Mauricio's voyage to Argentina is almost defined by its omnipresent folklore music - he describes it as "like the force in Star Wars" - a potent combination of guitar, violin, and drums that draws you into the life of Santiago del Estero, and will likely get your foot tapping as well. Another happy discovery was the music of Mauricio Aznar himself, including the jangly, heart-on-your-sleeve rockabilly of his band Más Birras. The introduction to this music, probably not as widely known as it deserves to be, is another asset of a film that has no shortage of them.
But even if you have no particular interest in the music, this is a well-crafted and affecting film that deserves an uninterrupted viewing in a darkened room. Mauricio Aznar's story touches upon the universal, and La estrella azul tells it eloquently.
Past Lives (2023)
Interesting film with an implausible finish
Past Lives is a film that had me impressed halfway through but disappointed when the credits rolled. I appreciated its tactful examination of what feel like real people with real problems - Nora, a young woman who emigrates from South Korea to Canada on the brink of adolescence; Hae Sung, the boy she leaves behind who later tracks her down on the internet; and Arthur, the American she later meets at a writer's retreat in Montauk and eventually marries (perhaps in part because it facilitated acquisition of a green card). Their problems are likely familiar to many young people in an increasingly globalized 21st century world: leaving people behind in one country when emigrating to another, the toll a Skype relationship can take on someone over time, finding yourself caught between cultures, etc. The characters felt realistic and sympathetic, and the script and direction generally showed a light touch, portraying their conflicts in a credible and affecting manner.
SPOILER
However, the film lost me with what felt like an unrealistic series of interactions between Nora and Arthur in the film's final third. In a poignant bedtime conversation, Arthur reveals the feelings of uncertainty and vulnerability brought on by the fact that his wife is spending a significant amount of time with a former romantic interest who has traveled halfway around the world to see her. She reassures him in a not entirely convincing manner, telling him that she loves him, but conspicuously neglecting to say that he has nothing to worry about or even show much physical affection.
The following night, Nora, Arthur, and Hae Sung wind up in a bar in the early hours of the morning. Arthur's Korean and Hae Sung's English are both pretty rudimentary, so Nora winds up in the role of translator. She progressively translates less and less of what Hae Sung is saying for Arthur, then proceeds to abandon translation entirely to have a conversation in Korean with Hae Sung about their connection and the fate of their relationship, while almost entirely ignoring Arthur, who is sitting next to her looking uncomfortable.
After the three of them return to Nora and Arthur's apartment, Nora goes alone to accompany Hae Sung to his taxi and say an emotional goodbye. She then returns to the apartment building where Arthur is waiting, bursts into tears, and Arthur... comforts her. Forgive me, but I just don't buy it. The expected (and justifiable) reaction of any romantic partner in such a situation would be to demand an explanation and deliver a reproach. Is Arthur just some kind of supportive fantasy husband who shows his vulnerable side without expecting to be supported in return, and tamely looks on while his wife indulges in an exploration of what might've been with a former flame? Do people like this actually exist in real life? I don't need to like a movie's characters, but I prefer that they act in a believable manner in the world they inhabit. Arthur's implausible behavior rendered the whole denouement unbelievable for me. So while I applaud the film for taking on real subjects in a serious manner, its implausible finish ultimately left me disappointed.
Tár (2022)
An astute, well-acted film for modern times
Tár portrays a gifted conductor and composer at the summit of her career who soon finds herself at the center of a media scandal. Its protagonist, Lydia Tár, is brilliantly portrayed by Cate Blanchett, who deftly communicates Tár's fierce intelligence and credibly conveys her emotions as she slips ever deeper into a downward spiral. When she talks about music, she really does seem to know what she's talking about (at least to someone who is not a trained classical musician). And when she goes over the edge it is explosive.
The film builds towards this explosion slowly and steadily, gradually creating an atmosphere of growing unease through a succession of seemingly minor incidents, striking images, and disquieting music. When the tension finally crests and breaks in Tár's climax, it feels natural and inevitable. The film's taught two-and-a-half-hours-plus are well-used.
The scandal, or rather the combination of scandals, that take Tár down will feel familiar to anyone who has followed current events in the #MeToo era. I found the film's depiction of these events to be intelligent and believable. It did not oversimplify the issues addressed in order to score easy points among partisans of one point of view or another, a welcome change from many recent films that have often felt like they were pounding home their political message with a sledgehammer.
Tár's intelligence, production, and great acting show that there are still smart films being made in the 2020s. It received plenty of accolades, but probably deserved more awards.
Secaderos (2022)
Vivid portrayal of life in rural Granada
Secaderos vividly portrays life in the tobacco country of Granada, Spain, focusing on the experience and emotions of women of different ages: a young girl who experiences it as a summer idyll, a teenager who longs to break free of the farm's responsibilities and limitations, and several adults facing the potential loss of land they have poured their lives into due to inadequate precipitation, uninterested children, and economic pressures. The film's fly-on-the-wall style observes its characters' everyday activities and interactions naturalistically, giving the viewer a feeling for what life was or is probably really like in this part of Granada. And the conflicts inherent in the situation are depicted poignantly and with empathy for each character and their sometimes contrasting desires.
The land itself is anthropomorphized as a leafy "monster" that sort of looks like something out of The Neverending Story and interacts with several characters (especially the girl visiting from Madrid) which worked alright, although I'm not sure the story needed it. The creature's presence is most effective at showing the growing attachment to the farm of the girl visiting from Madrid.
While the portrayal of life on the tobacco farms feels authentic and moving, I found the film's resolution (or lack thereof) to be less than satisfying. There is certainly something realistic in its somewhat ambiguous ending, but the lack of a clear position or message keeps Secaderos from making as strong of an impression as it otherwise might have. In any case, the film is a promising debut for its director, Rocio Mesa, and it will be interesting to see what she does in the future.
Lost Horizon (1937)
A Hollywood Classic
Lost Horizon's chief attraction, in my opinion, is its concept. In a cruel and chaotic world, who doesn't dream of finding sanctuary? - the hand-turned pages of a book ask the audience as the film begins. That sanctuary is the mythical Shangri-La, which seems to have made such an impression on people that it became a synonym for "paradise" or "utopia." It's the sort of captivating idea that feels scarce among Hollywood's recent output.
The characters' voyage to Shangri-La has many of the trademark features of cinema's golden age - exotic locations, adventure, wise elders, mysticism, spectacular scenes with tons of extras, and great lines. The film also has that infectious idealism that tends to characterize Frank Capra's films, which fits the concept like a glove. And Ronald Colman deserves credit for convincingly conveying the world-weary sadness and longing for something better of the protagonist, the British diplomat Robert Conway. Despite a few clichés and a less-than-stellar ending, Lost Horizon is a Hollywood classic.
Sans toit ni loi (1985)
Intriguing premise, dull execution
Sans toit ni loi ("Without roof or law") opens with the discovery of the lifeless body of Mona, a young French woman who had been drifting across the French countryside in winter. The film then backtracks to follow her during an unspecified amount of time leading up to her death, interspersing postmortem interviews of the people she met with scenes of her interactions with them. I was intrigued by the premise, but found its execution dull.
The film's chief difficulty is the character of Mona herself. She inspires little sympathy by being rude to almost everyone that she meets and taking advantage of those kind enough to help her, offering only a few vague comments about her dislike of her past existence as a secretary as an explanation for her vagabond existence and antisocial behavior. I haven't quite been able to figure out why Sandrine Bonnaire won the César for best actress and rave reviews for a performance that left me feeling totally indifferent to the character and her fate.
The sharpest critique of Mona is offered by a philosopher turned shepherd who describes her by saying, "She passed like a gust of wind... No plans, no goals, no desires, no will... We tried to offer her things... Nothing... no desire to do anything. It's not wandering, it's an error... She's useless, and by proving she's useless, she plays into the hands of a system she rejects" ("Elle est passée comme un coup de vent... Pas de projets, pas de but, pas de désirs, pas d'envie... On a essayé de lui proposer des choses... Rien... rien envie de faire. C'est pas de l'errance, c'est l'erreur... Elle est inutile, et en prouvant qu'elle est inutile, elle fait le jeu d'un système qu'elle refuse. C'est l'erreur, c'est pas l'errance"). Come to think of it, the film probably actually functions best as a sort of cautionary tale that warns, "Contribute nothing to society, expect nothing in return," although, based on what I've read here and elsewhere, I doubt that it has generally been interpreted that way.
Copie conforme (2010)
Incomprehensible and uncompelling
The most I can say for this film is that it looked good: there were a number of arresting shots, including the one of Juliette Binoche applying lipstick from the perspective of the mirror, but for me they were rendered meaningless by the incomprehensibility of the script.
In Copie conforme, a French antiques dealer (Binoche) spends a day in Tuscany with the British author (opera singer William Shimell) of a book she either loved or hated - as with everything in this film, it's hard to tell - arguing that a well-done copy of a piece of art is just as valuable as the original. Initially, they seem to be strangers. Then, they enter a coffee shop, where the woman who serves them coffee believes that Shimell is Binoche's husband. From then on, they for some reason take on the role of husband and wife. While the film never really explains why, the most convincing explanation I've read for this change in behavior is that they were actually once lovers who conceived a child, parted ways, and have now crossed paths again. Whatever the explanation is - whether they are in fact strangers, estranged spouses, or former lovers - I did not find their behavior and dialogue to credibly reflect any of those situations. In truth, I did not find the behavior and dialogue of any character in the film to credibly reflect that of a human being on planet Earth.
And on the subject of the dialogue: the film consists almost entirely of a long, meandering conversation between its two protagonists. I very much enjoy films based on dialogue... provided that the dialogue is clever, or moving, or funny, or simply well-written. That is not the case in Copie conforme. Non sequiturs are so common that the dialogue does not flow naturally or compellingly. There is a conspicuous absence of wit or humor. English, French, and Italian are all spoken in the film, and the conversation mostly alternates between English and French, but there is no apparent reason for the language changes, and it ends up feeling like a gimmick.
I get the feeling that Kiarostami must have been trying to communicate some message with this film, but whatever it was, it didn't make it to this viewer. What I take away from Copie conforme is the regret of having expended a considerable amount of effort to not fall asleep in the hope of a payoff that never came.
Into the Wild (2007)
Even better than the book?
When film adaptations stray from their source material, even slightly, it usually irks me. That was not the case with Into the Wild, however. The film takes certain liberties with the facts and characters reported on by Jon Krakauer in the book of the same name, but the result seems to align so perfectly with the spirit of the book, and Emile Hirsch embodies Chris McCandless so vividly, that I find myself asking whether the film may even be better than the piece of nonfiction that inspired it. As deeply reported as Krakauer's book is, the film brings McCandless and his journey to life in a way that the printed word could not.
The acting, and not just by Hirsch, is excellent. People who encountered McCandless during his travels and were later interviewed by Krakauer are fleshed out with verve by the ensemble cast. We know from the book that McCandless and Wayne Westerberg (Vince Vaughn), who hires him to be a part of a combine harvester crew, got along well, but their complicity comes alive in a bar scene that is both funny and utterly believable.
The film also looks gorgeous, as might be expected of a depiction of life on the road in the American West, and the soundtrack fits perfectly, mixing songs by Eddie Vedder that sound as if they could have been written by McCandless himself and classic Americana that never feels forced or kitschy.
I must admit that I found it impossible to maintain critical distance from Into the Wild while watching it. I suspect that how one experiences this movie will depend on the degree to which one sympathizes with McCandless and his rejection of modern society (more than thirty years ago!). If you do not, then you may find yourself in the sizable camp of those who find McCandless to have been irrational, selfish, and immature, and Krakauer and director Sean Penn to be irresponsible for glorifying his misguided quest. If, however, you identify with McCandless and the way he felt, then he becomes a sort of patron saint of self-determination, a heroic example of someone who had the courage to go beyond the usual complaining and attempt to live out their ideals, in spite of the risks of doing so. I confess that I belong to the second group, and that the film moved me, remaining in my thoughts for days after I watched it and giving the vague feeling that a better life might be possible, if only one had the courage to seek it.
Une histoire d'amour et de désir (2021)
Discovering love while caught between cultures
Une histoire d'amour et de désir is a French-language film by the Tunisian director and screenwriter Leyla Bouzid. The film follows Ahmed, a Frenchman born to Algerian immigrants in Paris' working-class suburbs, to the Sorbonne, where he is beginning his studies of literature on a scholarship. There he meets Farah, a young Tunisian woman who is in several classes with him, including one on Arabic erotic literature.
A mutual attraction quickly develops between Ahmed and Farah, but the blossoming relationship runs into the obstacle of their differing personalities and cultural values. Ahmed is shy and traditional, sufficiently scandalized by the erotic literature whose existence he was hitherto unaware of to look into changing classes. Farah is outgoing and fun-loving, easily mixing with the other students at the Sorbonne while Ahmed struggles to fit in. She directly pursues her interest in Ahmed, but he hesitates, held back by his timidity, lack of experience, and reluctance to violate the rules around romance maintained by the relatively traditional Muslim community that he grew up in.
Leyla Bouzid does an especially effective job of capturing Ahmed's nervous discomfort around the less-inhibited Farah, who openly discusses men and sex with a girlfriend and indulges the French boys who chat her up in cafés or on street corners. Bouzid's direction is confident and skillful, featuring lots of striking shots and sequences along with a soundtrack that fits the film perfectly, and Zbeida Belhajamor's performance as Farah captivates in a way that makes it easy to understand Ahmed's attraction to her.
The film deftly examines Ahmed's struggle to deal with the conflict between the traditional values he grew up with and the cosmopolitan and liberal university environment he has entered, as well as the fraught experience of overcoming one's inhibitions to find love. (And as a bonus, the romantic scenes take on an extra charge difficult to find in other modern films thanks to their transgression of the traditional norms that have thus far governed Ahmed's life.) Une histoire d'amour et de désir is an intelligent and touching film that takes on complex subjects with nuance and empathy.
Palm Springs (2020)
Little substance underneath funny time loop bits
Palm Springs seemed promising to start off, but ultimately wound up kind of a let down. Part of that effect may have been caused by the rave reviews it received (at present, the film holds a 94% rating on Rotten Tomatoes), but I can't quite figure out what all the fuss was about.
Things start off well enough. There are plenty of funny bits, including a brilliant sight gag in which Samberg's Nyles (boyfriend to a bridesmaid) threads his way across the dance floor to first approach Milioti's Sarah (the maid of honor), but where Palm Springs falls short is in the substance category.
The two protagonists aren't particularly fleshed out - we never really learn if Nyles became disaffected before winding up in "one of those infinite time loop situations you might have heard of" or because of it - nevermind the rest of the characters, almost none of which I can remember with the clarity I can picture, say, Ned Ryerson from Groundhog Day. Samberg succeeds at making Nyles's go-with-the-flow nihilism charming; Milioti makes you feel Sarah's emotional baggage but also spends a lot of time just looking incredulous or overacting.
The film falls short in the humanity department, which makes its saccharine ending feel particularly vacuous. Since nothing is taken seriously, the narrative just ends up feeling like an obligatory frame for the admittedly funny time loop gags.
'71 (2014)
Superficial thriller that fails to substantially engage with its setting
Based on the almost universally-favorable reviews of '71, I was looking forward to a film being sold as an intelligent thriller that takes place in a complicated setting, the streets of Belfast, riven by sectarian violence, in 1971. Having seen it, I'm still trying to figure out what inspired such praise.
The best that '71 has to offer is British army private Gary Hook, played ably by Jack O'Connell, struggling desperately to survive when his unit leaves him behind in a Catholic neighborhood where her majesty's soldiers get little love. '71's pacing keeps the viewer on the edge of their seat, as Hook stumbles from frying pan to fire and back again, and its 100 or so minutes pass quickly. That works in the films favor, because it doesn't give the viewer too much time to think about what's happening on screen.
Temporary suspension of disbelief may be a prerequisite for viewing any action film, but '71 crossed the boundary of plausibility so often that it takes away from the tension. I was not in Belfast in 1971, but I have spent time in an infantry unit, and the sequence of events that leads to Hook getting left behind is beyond preposterous.
Another factor that makes the action mostly unbelievable is that, besides the protagonist and an ex-army medic who summarizes military life in the film's best line, none of the supporting characters seem real. They are two-dimensional characters of heartless terrorists, corrupt cops, jaded children, and green soldiers.
Obviously, the Troubles is a touchy subject that is difficult to treat even-handedly; '71 simplifies the problem by just making almost everybody bad. If you're looking for a chase film, it's not hard to find one more believable than this, and if you want a movie about the Troubles, there are plenty that treat the subject with more intelligence and nuance.
The Crying Game (1992)
A film about breaking down barriers that's still good 30 years on
"The Crying Game" is a film about understanding. Over the course of two hours and across two countries, characters that come from ostensibly opposite social groups learn to understand each other, in spite of the efforts of those from their own tribe to discourage that from happening.
First there is Fergus and Jody. Fergus is a white volunteer for the I.R.A., Jody a black soldier for the British crown. Fergus is charged with guarding Jody after he is captured, and his sympathy for his prisoner allows them to connect, despite their conflicting roles in the Troubles. Later, Fergus meets Dil. They are, in a number of categorical ways, very different, but they form a bond as well. It isn't easy, and doesn't happen immediately, but their mutual good will makes it possible.
If you thought "The Crying Game" was a film about the Troubles, you'll likely be surprised. It isn't, and it is, though not in the way you might expect. Surprise may be the film's defining characteristic, especially the way the plot turns from act to act. I won't give away any more than I already have; suffice it to say that the script is excellent. Not just in the twists and turns, but also the dialogue, which is brought to life with stellar acting, especially by Stephen Rea, Forest Whitaker, Jaye Davidson, and Jim Broadbent in a bit part. Everything is done well, including the soundtrack - its feature song, performed with moxie by Davidson before a rapt barroom crowd, gives the film its title.
Well-written, acted, and directed, "The Crying Game" remains a relevant and gripping watch almost three decades after it was made.
The Matrix (1999)
Still great after all these years
It's always a little bit sad when you watch a movie that you loved when you were young and discover that you no longer love it, or love it less. That happened to me recently with Fight Club. The social rebellion that inspired me at 17, while still somewhat attractive, now seemed reckless, selfish, and irresponsible. So when I decided to watch The Matrix for the first time in, probably 15 years, I was prepared for a similar experience.
It was a happy surprise then that The Matrix seemed just as excellent post-graduate school as it did pre-high school. The possibility that what is perceived as reality is actually a false construct seemed perhaps even more likely, and the call to abandon that construct equally enticing.
Visually, the film is still striking. The use of vertical streams of eerie green digits to depict the virtual reality that constitutes the Matrix is still effective, and Morpheus, in his black leather trench coat and pince-nez sunglasses, still looks cool. The aesthetic of dilapidated, poorly-lit buildings fits the dystopian setting perfectly, and each space, be it the Oracle's apartment or the interior of the Nebuchadnezzar, makes the world of The Matrix seem that much more diverse and vivid.
By the end of the film, temporary suspension of disbelief has become increasingly necessary - say, when Trinity's whispered declaration of love in accordance with the Oracle's prophecy brings Neo back from the dead - but my disbelief was, by that time, completely suspended. The Matrix had drawn me all the way in. I had swallowed the red pill.
My next fear is that the following chapters will let me down -- I remember them being good enough, but not on the same level as the trilogy's first entry. And I should probably stop here, satisfied that the movie I loved as a teenager did not disappoint me as an adult. But it's too late for me now. I'm hooked on the world of The Matrix once again, and I want to spend as much time there as I can.