Other People’s Money

Other People's Money on the surface seems like another throwaway early 90's comedy (it even has a musical score that is eerily reminiscent of comedies like Trading Places and films of that ilk); however, here is a film with two performances that standout as highlights in pretty established careers, and a satire that seems spot-on for the economic situation we find ourselves in today. The film is a mix of ideals: it's part Oliver Stone's Wall Street and part Frank Capra film. Both sides getting their say and both philosophies – thanks to the acting – sounding reasonable. Here's a film that surprised me mostly because I totally forgot about it. It's a film that has gone forgotten by most, but deserves a new audience in this decade of Capitalism run amok.



The film centers around Larry "The Liquidator" Garfield (brilliantly played by Danny DeVito) who makes a living buying and selling businesses with little regard. He's the typical heartless Capitalist depicted in films like this; however, DeVito plays him with a kind of sadistic charm. That's the key to this film because Larry is interested in buying up a family owned steel and wire company owned by Andrew "Jorgie" Jorgenson. He's the kind of owner who takes pride in his companies humble beginning, and he's also the type of owner who works in the mill and knows each of his employees names (established in a wonderful opening scene that juxtaposes the introduction of Freddy, who is by himself in his office addressing the camera, and "Jorgy" who is with his community of workers hobnobbin' with them before they take a staff Christmas picture). And who else could play a character like this but Gregory Peck. Of course we immediately associate Peck with his most fatherly role, Atticus Finch, and here he exudes that same kind of paternal comfort and ethos that exudes old time Americana.

Jorgy is concerned about the interest Freddy is taking in his company, and in order to deter Freddy he brings in his step-daughter Kate (the always likeable Penelope Ann Miller) to help combat Freddy's buyout plan. This is where things get sticky, though, as Kate and Freddy have a not-so-overt interest in each other. He likes the way she talks to him and she is charmed by him because that's what he does best: speaks plainly and charms people. What the film does so well is set up the dichotomy of these differieng views on the Free Market and then place the more middle-grounded Kate in between them. This gives the characters degrees besides the obvious one is good because he's Gregory peck and the other is bad because he's Danny DeVito.

Larry is one of DeVito's greatest characters. He's smarter than he comes off as – which is usually boorish, an Ugly American – as we can sense something beneath the Capitalistic exterior that is constantly guzzling donuts and coffee; he even utters a truism about donuts that acts as an all-too-true metaphor for Capitalism when he says: "why do you have to be hungry to want a donut?" This is an interesting Capitalistic ideal that rang true when the film came out in 1992 and still rings true today.

There's also an interesting moment when Kate and Larry are negotiating – business and pleasure – over dinner at a Japanese restaurant. Larry all at once acts so aloof, again putting up the façade of the Ugly American, by asking for a knife and fork for his sushi, and some bread to eat. He then goes on to give a great speech about how we bombed the Japanese in the war and they learned to start over, go back to school and learn how to "take over the world", and how American's got fat and lazy by starting to enjoy the good life. He continues his rant by saying that now the Japanese are the leaders of the business world, and America is full of dropouts…and that's why he has his whole office learning Japanese. It's one of the few moments where we get to go inside Larry's head and see what he believes him…he's not a good businessman just because he's ruthless. After he and Kate finish their deal she leaves the dinner and Larry picks up the chopsticks and begins using them and speaking in Japanese to the waitress. He is a master of deception and an extremely smart man…this is why he is so good making money.

Things have changed for Jorgy, and the world – both personal and business – that he was once so sure of seems alien to him. The film is brilliant in showing the two sides of how to look at running a business. It's as if the film was made by both Frank Capra and Gordon Gecko. It's why the ending moment with the speeches to the stock holders is so wonderful: both sides get their say. In most movies the filmmakers would have been happy ending with Peck's Capraesque speech, but then Larry gets up and makes his speech, and for how ruthless he is and how intent he is on making people faceless when he acquires the company, his plan – within the system – makes sense too. It's why the casting of DeVito is so brilliant. He's the only person who could play Larry. He plays the smarmy, fast-talking Larry perfectly (there's also something more genuine inside in regards to his courting Kate) and is perfectly juxtaposed with the tall, deep-voiced and grandpa-like Peck. Both actors have a distinct presence on the screen, and the casting here is just dead-on, especially in those final moments when both give their speeches. It's probably one of the most criminally forgotten (or unseen) moments for each actor, and it's a shame because they've rarely been better than they are in this scene.

The film seems like just another insignificant early 90's comedy that – on the surface – feels like a holdover from the slew of 80's comedies like Trading Places; however, appearances can be deceiving, and Other People's Money is a film with insights on Capitalism that still ring true today. The film runs like a well-oiled machine with its direction from old pro Norman Jewison and photography from master cinematographer Haskell Wexler, and sometimes that can make a film forgettable when it flows with such ease.

Other People's Money has a moment at the very end that is too conventional and keeps it from being a forgotten masterpiece, but the previous 90 minutes of the film is something that deserves to be discovered – especially considering our current economic situation – and contains two lead performances that are so good it's a shame that they have been swept under the rug of obscurity and late night premium cable (I caught this on Starz at 2am). It contains one of Devito's best performances I can think of, and the curiosity of its final scene aside (I like what Roger Ebert said when he questioned why the producers had to "put a smiley face" on the ending), it's a satire that is pointed and seems timely today. It's a movie that is just begging to be rediscovered.

Three Films by Woody Allen (and Ingmar Bergman)

My HD Starz and MGM channels offered up numerous Woody Allen choices a few months back. I just got to them on the DVR, and of the three films I decided to record – Interiors, Husbands and Wives, and Deconstructing Harry – Interiors was the only one I had seen. I was excited to fill in some gaps of my list of Allen films I have yet to see (there's still probably 10-15 on the list), and even though I didn't love all of the films, I was certainly glad that I experienced them. Coincidentally I recorded three films that share one thing in common: they're three examples of Allen paying homage to his master Ingmar Bergman (I swear I didn't plan this). One of these films is a brilliant tribute, the other a mediocre homage, and the third an uneven misfire that hangs loosely by a thread connecting it to Bergman.

Interiors

Interiors is Woody Allen's first attempt at doing Bergman, and it's a lot more successful than his attempt at homaging other foreign auteurs that influenced him. And out of the lot of experiments that Allen released in the late 70's/early 80's Interiors is easily his most impressive (in both aesthetics and narrative) and intriguing (although I do think Zelig is vastly underrated).

The film is overtly Bergmanesque but it's not mere apery, it's a labor of love, something you can sense was necessary for Allen to make and his passion for his master is palpable. The film – a story about three sisters having to "deal with" their ailing, mentally unstable mother – has the same static, stark power found in something like Cries and Whispers and Scenes from a Marriage. The three sisters obviously have buried secrets and jealousies, and there is also some buried animosity towards their perfectionist mother (Geraldine Page in the best performance of the movie), who after being told in a matter-of-fact way by her husband (E.G. Marshall) at a family dinner that he is leaving her, is one step away from complete insanity. The three daughters also worry about their father's decision to so quickly re-marry, but that concern is interrupted one night by the almost vulgar and jarring introduction of Marshall's new wife played by Maureen Stapleton, who comes in with her bright colors (specifically her lipstick and red dresses and scarves), belief in "pedestrian" things like fortune telling (which is quite different for this pretentious family), and comments on the sterile, drabness of the house their mother decorated.

This is all brought to the forefront in one of the film's best scenes when Stapleton discusses a play that the family has seen. As the characters played wonderfully by Diane Keaton and Richard Jordan, Mary Beth Hurt and Sam Waterston, and E.G. Marshall all discuss the themes and intellectual subtexts of a play about the ambiguities of war crimes (at least that's what I gathered the play was about) Stapleton interrupts with her rather blunt and pedestrian assessment of what they saw. For her there is no ambiguity…she asks "you cared about the rat?" And Jordan replies with a smirk…"it's not that simple." She replies…"I don't know, I guess you're either a rat or you're not." This lack of metacognitive thinking baffles the family and they give her a pity smile and move on with the evening. She is seen as not just a simpleton but as a "Vulgarian", a woman they think is beneath their father's status…obviously the daughters do not approve of this new woman in their fathers life. For Stapleton's character the interpretation of the play is much simpler, and it's a refreshingly blunt insight for a family that goes on and on with their pretensions, for a family that needs new life breathed into it. Allen even takes the metaphor further when he has Stapleton breathe life into Hurt's character as she almost drowns in the ocean. It's the intermixing of the vulgar with the aesthete, and as we see Stapleton's red scarf wavering against the drab beach weather it's the moment that signifies her initiation into the family. As one mother passes (the drab, sterile mother), a new one enters by literally breathing new life into her step-daughter.

The most interesting aspect of the film is that there's nothing really thrown in for effect here. I like what Roger Ebert said in his original review for the film stating that the film has the starkness and simplicity of a "J.D. Salinger short story." Interiors does indeed work to a great effect because of that simplicity: the nuances and the moments of silence allow for the audience to contemplate what the hidden truths and buried hurts of this family might be. Yes, the silence is reminiscent of Bergman…and yes the film is "serious", but it's never boring or plodding. The film is Allen doing Bergman, but it's still Allen's film with his keen perception on things, only this time instead of Allen's attention focusing on the awkwardness or failings of conventional relationships Allen turns his lens upon a tortured family. I think it's one of Allen's best and most interesting films, and deserves to be considered one of the master's canonical films alongside Annie Hall and Manhattan and Crimes and Misdemeanors.

Husbands and Wives

With Husbands and Wives Allen is trying to do the avant garde thing employing interviews, zooms, shaky-cam, and jump cuts. I understand what he's doing and why he's doing it, but I think ultimately it's an experiment gone wrong, or more specifically an experiment that goes on too long. Had the film been even ten minutes shorter (preferably 20 minutes) I think it would have been more than something that comes off as merely tolerable, lesser Woody.

The dialogue, more often than not, feels like lesser Allen and so I think I was disinterested in a lot of the scenes and therefore noticing the camera work of Carlo Di Palma (Allen veteran and DP of Blowup)…which isn't a good thing with this particular film. The shaky-cam is only effective (like in a Dardenne film for example) when the material is wholly engrossing, and in this case this is some of Allen's least interesting material. The shaky, single shot that opens the film is interesting and jarring, succeeding in that verite style (the film is essentially a mix of fly-on-the-wall moments and confessional interviews by an unseen director) I think Allen is going for (channeling a little bit of Cassavetes as well as Bergman…which is to be expected when Allen ventures into the dramatic). But what makes it interesting is what the characters are saying, thus not drawing too much attention to the (lack of) style of Di Palma's camera. The film opens with Jack (Sydney Pollack who is the best part of this film…which is usually the case when Pollack shows up in a movie) and Sally (the always wonderfully neurotic Judy Davis who utters the film's most truthful and shattering line about long-term relationships when she calls it "a buffer zone against loneliness.") meeting Gabe (Allen) and Judy (Mia Farrow) for dinner when before they leave for their evening out on the town Jack and Sally drop the bomb that they are separating. This shatters the "safe" universe of Judy who can't wrap her head around the idea of their longtime friends – a longtime couple – deciding to go their separate ways. This moment acts as the catalyst for a lot of typical Allen goings-on, only this time seen through a more subdued and "serious" lens. The film follows the four main characters as they embark on different journeys in hopes to find happiness; whether that happiness is wit someone else – someone younger – or whether that happiness is working on your vocation, or whether that happiness is realizing that the person you're with is the right person for you because you realize it's not all about "excitement" – sexual or otherwise.

When Allen's film focuses its attention on this specific quandary – the idea of long-married couples seeking "something else", and how that "something else" is often not what we think it is – that is when the film is its most interesting. However, I think the film kind of meanders a bit, and I didn't find this rendition of Allen doing Bergman as interesting as his 1978 film Interiors. Husbands and Wives isn't as overt an homage as Interiors was (Allen's doing Scenes from a Marriage here, and in one scene he does an eerily similar scene that comes from Bergman's film when Judy and Gabe argue about a reluctance to share poetry, only the genders are flipped in Allen's film), but the major difference between the two films is the style: Interiors allows for contemplation through silence and a subdued aesthetic, Husbands and Wives is appropriately more talky; however, I just didn't care for a lot of the interview segments. I felt like they kept stunting and interrupting the real Allen movie that was trying to come out from under the weight of the verite style that almost sinks this film. That style is one of the main reasons I didn't find myself as interested in the psyches of Jack and Sally or Gabe and Judy as I did with the three sisters and their unstable mother in Interiors. Also, where Allen's playfulness with the medium and his use of asides works in something light and breezy like his use of the Greek chorus in Mighty Aphrodite, it just doesn't feel like it meshes here with the material he's presenting. I would have much rather just followed these characters around New York and seen how their lives unfolded instead of watching them being interviewed. Sometimes these things work in Allen's film (like the footage of the philosophy professor in Crimes and Misdemeanors) and sometimes they don't…what I always appreciate about Allen is that he's willing to try.

The film has some wonderful insights and quips about relationships that we come to expect from the Woodman, but on the whole I felt the film wasn't the "underrated masterpiece" I was kind of expecting (especially based on some reviews I read when I saw the movie was going to be an HD option for me this month); however, it's a fine addition to the second tier of Allen films like Another Woman or Radio Days that don't get the attention that Allen's heavyweight films(Manhattan, Crimes and Misdemeanors, or the obvious Annie Hall)or more commercial pieces (his recent Match Point and Vickie Christina Barcelona). Husbands and Wives has its moments (I especially like when the older, aloof professor Gabe is totally oblivious about a potential relationship with a 21 year-old student and the relationship between Pollack and Davis) and the acting – especially by Pollack and Davis – is top notch, but it left me a little cold…not the kind of consistently keen observational or darkly contemplative stuff found in other "serious" Allen films like the aforementioned Crimes and Misdemeanors or Interiors. Regardless, if you're a fan of Allen and you're like me and haven't seen this addition to the master's oeuvre then you should at least check it out as it has moments of the typical perceptive Allen dialogue mixed with an interesting – if wholly uneven – verite aesthetic.

I understand the self-reflective reading one can take with this film, but I figured since it's 2010 that would be the most uninteresting thing to talk about in regards to Allen's film.

Deconstructing Harry

This self-loathing, interpolated tale about writer Harry Block journeying to his alma mater to receive an honorary award – remembering his accomplishments and his family and friends along the way – is loosely based on Bergman's Wild Strawberries and Through the Glass Darkly (the film is also reminiscent of 8 ½ with Allen's Block conjuring up all of the characters of his life as he struggles to work through his creative stagnation) albeit with an Allen twist: the school that's honoring him is also the school that kicked him out for not being serious about academics. That's probably the funniest thing about the movie. Unlike a lot of Allen's labors of love to his masters this one ultimately falls flat. Not only is this the weakest tribute of his to Bergman, but it's also essentially a rehash of his 1980 homage to Fellini's 8 ½,
Stardust Memories. This is probably the deepest and most public cut Allen has ever made – writhing and flogging himself for our amusement in a way he hasn't before – and the vulgarity begins to wear thin after awhile.

Block is having trouble thinking of ideas for a new novel (hence his name), and as the day of his honoring approaches he interacts with the real and imagined people of his life – fictional or not they're all characters. A lot of the detours didn't work (the film opens with a vulgar Judy Davis in hysterics, a horrible role for an always reliable actress; also the moment with Demi Moore and Stanley Tucci or Tobey Maguire getting a visit from Death) for me (although most are too short to be truly awful) and oddly enough the comedy felt too broad – too revue-style or Mel Brooksian for my liking – for an Allen film. Allen returns to his looser, more innovative style of comedy here that reminds one of his earlier, more anarchistic works like Annie Hall or Sleeper where the detours felt fresh, and even though they drew attention themselves at least they were worth paying attention to. In Deconstructing Harry Allen seems to get lost in all the meandering and interpolation, causing the film to feel like a series of shorts rather than a coherent film.

Deconstructing Harry feels oddly out of place considering it followed some of Allen's "tamer" films of the 90's, Manhattan Murder Mystery, Everyone Says I love You (one of my favorite Allen films), and Mighty Aphrodite. That doesn't mean it was doomed from the start just because Allen wanted to get vitriolic and depraved – hell, he deserves it after the public beatings he took in during the 90's – but this just isn't the kind of Allen I like, and the problems I had with his other 90's Bergman homage, Husbands and Wives, dissipate when I begin to think about this film as a whole…I just didn't like Harry and I didn't care to stick around with him for 90 minutes.

I guess the point is that I'm not supposed to like Block, but if Block is supposed to be Allen then I just can't buy it because I have a hard time not liking Allen when he plays the lovable loser he so often portrays. Block doesn't seem like a charming or witty guy – at least not compared to other Allen characters – and perhaps that's why the film just didn't work as a whole for me. But there are some great moments. I liked when Harry reminisces about his meeting Elisabeth Shue in an elevator in the film's sweetest scene, and a moment that is eerily reminiscent to a moment from one of his books (and sometimes we're not sure what it is we're seeing as the lines between reality, fiction, and memories are often blurred). I also quite liked the moment where one of the characters from his book (Robin Williams) is feeling like he's losing his focus on life, so when the character – an actor – is on set and ready to shoot he appears in soft focus to everyone. He goes home and his wife (Julie Kavner) wonders what's wrong with him (his children taunt him that he's "out of focus"), and by the next morning it has gotten worse and realizes that he needs to see a doctor. Later in the film Block becomes "out of focus" and "soft". Moments like these, and the film's charming and recognizable cast, liven up this dour and self-deprecating film (Shue is really a beacon of light throughout) that never rises above "okay." The last moment of the film – where Harry realizes that his art is perhaps a necessary evil – contains the best and most appropriate self-reflexive line when Harry's narration informs us that "writing saved his life."

I can appreciate Allen's vision here, and I guess I understand why he's doing what he's doing, but I felt like the film was good in theory – a cathartic process via an appropriate Bergman template – but just couldn't rise to the level of Allen's other famous homages to European autuers Bergman and Fellini. Interiors is the best because it feels like a labor of love; Husbands and Wives felt like a necessary self-reflexive exercise with some really good moments that contain genuine humor and insights; Deconstructing Harry feels the most flaccid and paltry and overt out of the three with humor that feels too broad for Allen, who misfires with this one. I actually liked his Celebrity, which came out the next year, a lot more.

DVD Review: Not Quite Hollywood

As an unabashed fan of exploitation cinema I have to say I feel pretty ashamed to admit that I had no idea there was an Australian subgenre out there that is like my favorite subgenre Italian horror. The documentary Not Quite Hollywood paints an interesting portrait of "ozploitation", and for fans of this particularly polarizing subgenre this documentary is a treat: a plethora of rental ideas of forgotten (or maybe never discovered) grindhouse cinema from down under. Quentin Tarantino is interviewed the most throughout the doc and his (usual) unbridled enthusiasm is infectious as he talks about how certain film like Patrick crossed over into pop culture (the Italians ripped it off, of course, and made one of their unofficial sequels to the film) and also influenced his films like Kill Bill. Various filmmakers from the Australian New Wave movement are interviewed (most prominently is Brian Trenchard-Smith of The Man from Hong Kong and Dead-End Drive-In "fame") and discuss the ways they made films that people wanted to see, influenced their respective genres with new, innovative ways to film the scenes, and began to affect a whole Australian subculture and industry where the only kinds of films being made were art films like Picnic at Hanging Rock. I found the history of Australian filmmaking to be fascinating, not to mention the various clips from from films that look surprisingly good (and innovative) for the budgets they had. Of course this should surprise no one if you're a fan of exploitation cinema as these types of films were sometimes the breeding ground for young filmmakers with ideas. 

One of the best moments of the doc comes when Quentin Tarantino is describing a scene from one of the films discussed when he says something to the extent of: (paraphrased) "the best thing about exploitation cinema is that initial reaction as your watching something and you're thinking, 'is this really happening…wait…it is…oh my God! How did they do that? What were they thinking? Why would the actors agree to that?' That uncertainty is what makes exploitation cinema so great." Because it's a pretty good bet that the clips from the movies profiled in this doc are the best parts of those movies (for as "fun" as these types of movies are...they're really boring if you aren't watching them with friends) this is a must see doc for fans of exploitation cinema. 

A question for exploitation fans after the jump...

Does anyone have reviews of the following films? I would love to read more about the following movies:

Razorback

Patrick

Long Weekend

Thirst

The Survivor

Harlequin

Roadgame

The Howling III

Next of Kin

Mad Dog Morgan (in the documentary they show a lot of on-set footage from this film…it's worth the price
of rental, or ownership, for those moments of Dennis Hopper all coked-out) 

The Man from Hong Kong (another film that is discussed at length…there are some great stories to this one, too)

Turkey Shoot

Nightmares

Stone

Stunt Rock (my brother and I have watched parts of this one...) 
Wolf Creek (or any other modern Australian horror films)


Leave the links to your reviews in the comments section. Thanks.

Revisiting “John from Cincinnati”, Part One: His Visit Day One and Two

David Milch's enigmatic and philosophically/theologically elusive (not to mention extremely mind-bending and short lived) follow-up to "Deadwood" remains one of the most misunderstood television experiences of the last ten years. "John from Cincinnati" is a show full of ideas, and in typical Milch form the fact that those ideas are never quite fully fleshed out or explored are beside the point…this is a show that is meant to be experienced, contemplated, and pondered for days after watching it. Sure the religious allegories and deep, twisting metaphors for the soul and life may seem like the least inviting way to spend an evening in front of the television; however, it never seems that Milch – who is a brilliant man almost to a fault – is interested in whether or not we "get" what we're watching (or more to a point that we're "entertained" by it), but is more concerned with our cognitive experience while watching it. Milch is interested in stretching our brains with a show that seems like the most basic of premises, but beneath its salt water surface are deeply profound themes about what we believe, how we came to believe it, and who told us to believe it.  To some that may seem extremely frustrating, but for me it's liberating. Here's a show that allows you to soak up the symbolism and questions, allowing them to marinate in your mind for days, like its surfers soak up the rays and waves.


I'll spare you the episode-by-episode synopsis. If you're interested in that just check this out. What I want to explore are some of the shows deep themes, what Milch may be asking us, and why it amazes me that a show like this made it past episode one. Here's a quick and dirty rundown of main characters, the actors that portray them, and general idea of what the show is about (for the uninitiated):

The show takes place in Imperial Beach – a coastal town tucked in the corner of the western states and a stone's throw away from Tijuana – a surfing community where our main characters, the Yost family, own a surf shop. Mitch and Cissy (Bruce Greenwood and Rebecca DeMornay) have a son "Butchie" (Brian Van Holt) who was once a great surfer before he became a victim of drug abuse. Mitch was also a renown surfer in the 70's before a career ending knee injury made him an afterthought. Butchie has a son named Shaun (Greyson Fletcher) who is raised by Cissy and Mitch…Shaun is a surfing and askating prodigy and is highly sought after by a promoter/agent named Link Stark (Luke Perry). Link has a connection with the Yost family as it was his vision and promotion that caused Butchie to become an addict. Mitch is opposed to Shaun "selling out" out of fear that he'll end up like his father; however, Sissy is more than interested in letting Shaun do what he wants to do, which is competitively surf.

A stranger enters the community named John (Austin Nichols), and Butchie immediately takes a liking to him as he initially mistakes him for a drug runner who owes him money, but as Butchie and everyone else living in Imperial Beach realize…there's something strange about this John character, and it isn't long before weird things begin to occur as John becomes a part of these people's lives. Other important characters include Bill (Ed O'Neil), a retired and obsessive police officer who helped raise Shaun after he busted Butchie for drugs; Kai (Keala Kennelly), an employee of Cissy and Mitch's surf shop who knows Shaun and was once friends with Butchie; Freddie (Dayton Callie), a Hawaiian drug lord who has connections with Butchie; Barry buys up the dilapidated motel where Butchie stays, he knew Butchie in grade school and has recently won the lottery…a blow to the head as a young man causes him to have epileptic seizures and have visions of ghosts at the motel; Meyer Dickstein (Willie Garson) plays a lawyer in charge of the sale of the motel, he's also a huge surf fan and admired Butchie before he become an addict; Dr. Michael Smith (Garret Dillahunt) plays the neurologist who treated Shaun after a surfing accident and who begins to question everything he knew after witnessing a miracle; Cass (Emily Rose) a filmmaker formerly employed by Linc Stark who was initially assigned to seduce Mitch and break up Mitch and Cissy's.

Whew. Okay, so there's your principal characters (there will be more that I'll introduce later), but let's get to what's more interesting about this show: even though it is as entertaining an hour your likely to spend watching a show about surfers, "John from Cincinnati" really just uses its rather generic plot and setting as a vessel for Milch's fantastical philosophies.

The first disc covers John's first two days in Imperial Beach. In these two days Mitch levitates, Butchie no longer feels "dope sick", Shaun breaks his neck and is presumed dead…only to regain consciousness after Bill's parakeet kisses him, Mitch levitates some more, John gives Kai an orgasmic and telepathic vision where she sees what all of her friends are doing at that very moment, and Bill's aforementioned parakeet is brought back to life after Shaun touches it. Yeah, it's that kind of show. Some may be rolling their eyes and others may be intrigued; and others may be thinking: 'well it's the guy that did "Deadwood"…it can't be that silly or that bad'. If you haven't seen the show yet my hope is that the themes that I'll be discussing here and (hopefully) in the comments will compel you to pick it up for cheap on Amazon (it's only $9.99) or off of Netflix.

Here are some of the main themes that are introduced within the first three episodes. My thoughts follow and I hope we'll continue this discussion in further posts and comments. I'm going to just do the following outline and thoughts on the theme in lieu of a "traditional" review. Like I said…if you want a more traditional television recap you check out the link above or click here for the consummate pro of television recapping and his take on the show. Onto the themes:


Arbitrary remembrance:

"I try to cast as many people who are as identifiable from a single role as a way of mobilizing the viewer's sense of impossible arbitrariness of how we remember things. Oh, you know 'that's Rebecca DeMornay, she gave Tom Cruise a handjob…or whatever it was'…the difficulty that we have individuating our experience in the present moment as opposed to interpreting it through…in terms of arbitrary associations with the past."

The above quote is from the commentary track by Milch on the first episode. Two minutes in and Milch has already blew my brain into a million pieces. He talks about the arbitrariness of casting specific actors; for example when people see Luke Perry they don't think about Link, the character he plays, they think about the fact that he's the guy from "Beverly Hills, 901210"; when people see Rebecca DeMornay they think "oh, there's the girl who gave Tom Cruise a handjob." All of this speaks to the bigger theme of "John from Cincinnati", this arbitrariness of symbols and such. It's something that is compounded upon with each subsequent episode, and it's one of the most fascinating things that seems to swimming around Milch's head. Now…I don't know if I even caught a whiff of that that upon second viewing, but I feel okay in my stupidity here because here's a show that Milch himself admitted we weren't necessarily supposed to "get".

Edges and Borders/Fringe Characters and Outsiders in the Community:

The characters are often filmed close up, to the left of the frame; or there are usually characters crowding the frame to suggest that there's always a lot being seen, but never anything being said. Milch "pushes" thing to the edge – even his setting here, Imperial Beach, is literally on the edge of the coast – to suggest that these characters are not normal, not people we would encounter in normal communities. Like "Deadwood" Milch creates a community of characters that seem otherworldly in the sense that these are people who can only function within their very specific community. One man can easily convince them to do whatever they want to because this is a community that doesn't ask questions, but just accepts things for the way they are (again, the parallels to "Deadwood" seem clear enough). This also ties in with biblical metaphor of the show: Jesus (John) and his disciples were radicals, seen as outsiders who threatened the very traditions that the Pharisees tried to hold over everyone else as Law in the Jewish community. Also edges and borders suggest fringe characters, outsiders…or a rather apt symbol would be an alien. John, at times, seems more like Starman than Jesus, a character clearly from another place (perhaps world) that is called a "shapeshifter" by Freddie. John apes everything the characters do, and rarely does he have something to say that he hasn't heard another character say.

Religious Allusions:

Ah...the biggest and most obvious one.  The signs are clearly there (and rather overt) for a religious interpretation of Milch's show. In fact I would bet he insists on it.  His characters surf (which often bears the appearance of walking on water); Mitch levitates after meeting the mysterious John; John is from Cincinnati so the initials match up (or as I like to say, in Milch speak his initials add up to J.F.C., or "Jesus Fucking Christ"), not to mention John's last name is Monad (Monism anyone?); John seems to have the power to heal and "resurrect" characters; John is constantly being led by the hand, or he if he isn't be led by the hand he's offering his hand...a strong Christian symbol; characters "see God" which momentarily gives them psychic powers; and finally you could make a case that there are 12 main characters and John is at the center of all of them, (re)connecting (this point becomes pretty in obvious in the series' shining moment which happens later in the series) them and in some cases mending broken souls.

You could also look at it through a different lens if you don't want to think of John as a Jesus figure since one of his first lines of the show is, "the end is near", you could interpret his character as a herald...a John the Baptist type prophesier.  His characters are also privy to a bevy of miracles in the first three episodes: Shaun resurrects Bill's parakeet, the parakeet resurrects Shaun, John's "magic pockets", Butchie doesn't feel dope sick, and Kai's out-of-body experience.  However, all of these characters seem to be initially surprised, but ultimately dismissive (except for Bill) of these miracles.  Again once can make a connection to the parallels in the bible and the miracle stories found in the Gospels, and how they were perceived by those in the Jewish community (both with awe and disbelief...and sometimes with an aloofness).  The (lack of) response to these miracles -- ranging from small (John's pockets) to large (Shaun's resurrection) -- is one of the more overt and interesting unifying themes of the first three episodes.

Central to the theme, too (and this is true of any Milch endeavor), is the idea that these character are constantly asking themselves how to live. These characters are also as stupid as it gets. In a lecture he gave to a USC classroom Milch states that his idea was to dump someone like John into the world in order to change it…so where did he need to place him to affect the most change: "with the stupidest fucking people in America…the surfers!" This is relevant here because Jesus was sent to affect change, too, and the people he came in contact with (the disciples mostly) were somewhat bumbling in the way they tried to understand what was happening. On the night before his capture Jesus asks a few of his disciples to stay awake with him and pray, and twice they fall asleep unable to stay up with their master. In the gospels you have a group of people who rarely ask the right questions, and when they aren't asking questions they simply just accept the way things are. This isn't just Milch giving Christianity the business…it's all religion, whether that religion is God or television…we've become a society of surfers in Milch's mind. Now the religion metaphor also evolves into a much richer and murkier one as the show progresses. We'll get into that later, but it's definitely there, and there's a quote from the aforementioned lecture that I'll post on here for the final disc review where Milch tries to explain what the show was all about (and what I hint at in the opening paragraph).

Classic storytelling tropes:

On a different, stylistic note Milch's tendency to rely on classical storytelling tropes is also in need of mention. Milch is a genius, I don't think there's denying that, and as is the case with most people who think and create on a whole different level than the rest of us there is almost always certainly some eccentricity sprinkled in with brilliance. Never has Milch's eccentric ways been more apparent than with "John from Cincinnati". Here's a show that essentially has a Greek chorus (Barry, Dickstein, and Ramon – played by the always great Luis Guzman – often stand outside the motel and narrate the action, filling in the contextual blanks for the audience…proving that Milch isn't interested in banal expository practices.). The characters can also be frequently seen speaking in soliloquy. Bill often fills in the blanks about the Yost family while he stands in his house and talks to his parakeet. This gives the show that odd charm that Milch was no doubt going for, but it also helps in making the necessary background information somewhat interesting as well as clarifying information for the audience about the community of Imperial Beach that we haven't been privy to. In "Deadwood" he did the same thing with Swearengen talking to himself – in a sense explaining the action by thinking out loud – from his balcony, and here he not only uses Bill's character, but Freddie (the drug dealer from Hawaii) too as he is constantly talking to himself, and in one scene (episode 3) – while sitting in his car outside of the hospital listening to the Phantom of the Opera on CD, visibly upset that it's not the "right" version, in a hilarious moment of juxtaposition – he is describing the crucial action at the hospital and the interaction of certain characters...again he's acting as a Greek chorus because we can't hear what he characters are saying, but we have Freddie there to speculate with us.

The show kind of wanders from character to character in the first few episodes. Milch is clearly interested in leaving us in the dark, and I think the effect he is going for here is to try and get us to think of the show in different terms than something we would normally watch. We've been trained to watch a show and understand all of the characters and their back story and how they relate to each other within the first handful of episodes. Even if a show doesn't explicitly lay it all out there for us at least the seeds have been sown. Not so with "John from Cincinnati". This is a show that isn't interested in any of the standard storytelling devices. Milch, it seems, almost has no regard for basic character development; rather, we're thrown into this grungy world to fend for ourselves…in fact I'd say it's safe to say that the only character we're supposed to understand is John…because we're just as much as an alien in regards to trying to figure out what this show is all about.

Meandering and eccentricities aside, the show is fascinating in its opening episodes as it's clear that Milch wants to focus more of his time on odd goings-on and deeper questions that haven't quite been fleshed out yet in the first three episodes. One thing is for sure: I'm really looking forward to re-watching the rest of this series. It's one of the deepest and most peculiar seasons of television I've ever seen. Somehow it seems appropriate that such an esoteric and ambiguous show, with its odd mixing of the sacred and the profane, didn't last past 10 episodes, because any attempt to answer these deep questions Milch broaches would have fallen flat; they would have made the show seem too…ordinary.

DVD Review: Birth

There's a great scene in Birth where Nicole Kidman's character Anna is sitting at a symphony and director Jonathan Glazer (Sexy Beast) just keeps the camera on her, letting the audience watch Anna's eyes as she tries to process the ridiculous notion that a 10 year-old boy is the reincarnation of her dead husband. It's a powerful moment in a film that contains layers upon layers of odd metaphysical goings-on. It's just one example of where Glazer and his screenwriter Jean-Claude Carrière succeed in evoking the emotional slow burn that Kubrick did so brilliantly. Another aspect I liked about the film is that it didn't feel the need to talk these complicated themes to death. Instead Glazer's film is more an adult fairy tale about endless love with a heartbreakingly ironic coda. The use of a French screen writer and a French composer, Alexandre Desplat, proves that Glazer wanted to make an adult, French-like film – with its long takes of beneath-the-surface action and talky scenes – that teeters on the sexually absurd. The musical score is one of the highlights as the action always moves effortlessly (thanks to the fine editing) with the music. The film looks amazing, too, as DP Harris Savides (Zodiac) paints the film in drab, muted colors and sometimes appropriately drenches his characters in shadows.

Is the film as bad as the reception it received in Venice in 2004 (where it was booed out of the building)? Not at all. Is the film one of the most underrated and misunderstood films of the decade as "The Guardian" claims it is? I guess. It's an underrated film, that's for sure, but I'm not sure underrated is synonymous with brilliant. Given the polarizing reaction towards the film when it was released I would say that I feel a little weird for being so indifferent towards it. The above mentioned successes of the film don't necessarily erase the film's flaws, most glaringly the casting of Cameron Bright as the 10 year-old Sean. His performance is almost as annoying as Haley Joel Osmet's from The Sixth Sense as he mumbles and mopes his way through his lines and struggles to make them not laughable. It's the only part of Glazer's "fairy tale" that I didn't buy. I understand why the director had him deliver his lines that way, as it's appropriate that he sound like he's in a trance of some kind, but I grew tired of it after about 30 minutes. It's something that ruined a lot of the film for me because Sean was such a central part of the story.

Kidman and Danny Houston are perfect in their roles, especially Kidman, who I admit I don't always like. The way she internalizes Anna's emotions is a remarkable piece of acting…especially in the symphony scene, but more so in the scenes where she has to look the 10 year-old in the eyes and pretend she's looking at her dead husband. I thought I was watching a really bad skit at times, but Kidman sold it, and made it worthwhile investing in her character.

Birth is certainly a lot better than the previews made it seem back in 2004 (mostly because they tried to sell it as some kind of weird ghost story), but I don't think it's as good as a lot of people who constructed their end-of-the-decade lists made it out to be. Underrated, sure, but again that doesn't mean it's a masterpiece. There is some impressive filmmaking going on here, and Glazer successfully elicits the kind of Kubrickian mood that he's going for, but I just couldn't buy into the some of the scenes in the middle of the movie. Birth has impressive and powerful bookends – especially the staggeringly great finale on the beach – but its bogged-down middle is something that nearly sinks the film with the poor acting of Bright. That being it was more than worth the 90 minutes (especially thanks to that musical score) and I'm glad I watched the film and took the advice of Tony Dayoub, who listed it on his best of 2004 list, because aesthetically it's about as well executed as a film can be…I just wish I could have bought that story.

 

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

 

DVD Review: Two Lovers

James Gray's Two Lovers may be the closest thing American movies have to a Dardenne Brothers film. Well, Kelly Reichardt may have something to say about that, but my point is this: finally we have an American film that is willing to be a melodrama and be serious all while being based in reality. It's rare for a film that portrays love in the same way a soap opera might to have the ability to pull me in and believe in the characters. Of course the acting has a lot to do with it, but Gray films his movie in a way that allows that feeling to seep under your skin; it's a slow process, and like a Dardenne film the first 20 minutes are used for the viewer to get their bearings, but once that happens you realize you're watching a film that has deep and heavy themes, but delivered in a stark and truthful way. I was completely enamored with this film. It's one of my favorite movies of 2009.

Gray's film is the antithesis of hipster New York filmmaking. These characters aren't self-aware and they don't seem like they're constantly pining over how they look or how they sound. They wear their emotions on their sleeve like a badge of honor. At first it took me a while to understand why Leonard (Joaquin Phoenix) mumbled all the time (a failed suicide attempt that opens the film notwithstanding), his head sunken and swaying from left to right. We learn that Leonard has moved back in with his parents, and those four months prior his fiancée left him and, according to Leonard, he doesn't know where she is. The reason for the break up is all told from Leonard's perspective, and because we see that he's taking pills and obviously seems a tad unstable, we're reluctant to wholly believe his side of the story.

Leonard – as protected by his parents (especially his mother played by Isabella Rossellini) as the clothes in the cellophane bags that Leonard delivers for his family dry cleaning business are – tries to make sense about the world he know finds himself in. This isn't easy, but with the help of some bipolar drugs he makes a go of it, attempting to appease his mother and father by courting the daughter of the family that is buying their dry clean business.

However one day he meets Michelle (Gwyneth Paltrow) in the hall of his apartment building and strikes up a conversation with here. This begins a friendship between the two that is obvious from the onset means more to Leonard than it does to Michelle. She's dealing with being in a relationship with a married man, and he's busy courting Sandra (Vanessa Shaw), and in a nice touch by Gray he uses a cell phone ring tone that represents Michelle being "with" Leonard while he's with Sandra.

Some detractors of the film, and of Gray, say that film is too melodramatic and that Phoenix mumbles and stumbles his way throughout the film. I tend to think those people either don't understand melodrama, or they just have seen so many bad ones they don't recognize when a good melodrama is made. The rest of the film is Leonard trying to juggle things in his not-so-busy life, all while trying to cope with feeling happy for the first time in months. However, thanks to the film's musical score; the subtle and innovative way Gray's cinematographer, Joaquin Baca-Asay, frames the shots; and the attention to detail in the art direction make the film's heavier themes a lighter load.

The interiors of the apartment (dingy), the iciness of the exteriors, and the overall grunginess of the Brooklyn location perfectly evokes the inner feelings and psyche of the film's characters, again, making me think of the Dardenne's: these characters are not only representations of their geography, they're products of it. Unlike a previous melodrama I reviewed (Breaking and Entering) James Gray's Two Lovers perfectly understands how to use mise-en-scene as metaphor. The actors don't have to explain to us that their surroundings symbolize the emotional and mental battles they're facing, nor does Gray's aesthetic (a superbly subtle and cerebral one) call too much attention to the off-kilter world these characters inhabit.

Much like Scorsese's working relationship with a city and a particular actor, James Gray – who has been quietly doing the same thing – evokes the same feeling; however, instead of a manic and young DeNiro perfectly encapsulating the hyperkinetic New York Scorsese wrote about, Gray's New York is appropriately represented by the morose and melancholy Phoenix, but the effect of the latter isn't any less affective than the former. If this really is Phoenix's last film (and I doubt that it is) then he's left us with one of his best performances. I've never been a huge fan of his, and quite honestly I've never understood what the big ado was about some of his earlier performances (Okay, I get it he's a method actor…but still…), but here he creates a character in Leonard that is all at once annoying and pathetic; he earns our pity but also our impatience with how he handled the relational situations that arise in his life.

Paltrow has never been better, either, and it's a shame that she won't be more recognized for her work here. Here's a performance of a character archetype we think we know (thirtysomething, lawyer assistant by day, party girl by night, unsure and unlucky in love), a woman who sleeps with a married man from her office, a man who has a family but still pays for Michelle's apartment, conveniently located near his mothers house (the perfect alibi). But watch the way Paltrow plays Michelle. This isn't someone who is just interested in having things paid for her, she seems to sincerely love this man, and when a big decision arises in the film her decision doesn't seem based solely on monetary reasons, but there's a hint of something in her performance where she understands the implications her choice may have on her job and her future. Love equating to happiness (and subsequently that being all you need to survive) is an antiquated notion, and even though Michelle entertains the notion with Leonard, reality brings the reverie to a thud, and the ramifications are poignant and heartbreaking in a scene that Paltrow just absolutely hits out of the park. No grandstanding, no playing for big emotions; just honest, truthful acting, and that's one of the rarest things you'll find in a melodrama.

Gray has finally made the movie I think I've always seen in him. He's tried his hand at different types of gangster films, The Yards and We Own the Night (both starring Phoenix), but they just never felt like complete films. With Two Lovers he creates a sad, contemplative, realistic film that evokes a mood that stays with you for days. It's a film that I saw in the theater, and misinterpreted its foreboding themes as plodding, sorta-good ideas. However, recently viewing it on DVD has completely changed my mind.

Gray's film ends with a scene of sadness followed by a scene of happiness. Whether that happiness is genuine and longstanding Gray leaves up to the viewer, but what's so right about the end of the film is the way it makes you feel as if you were looking at a snapshot of the moment (appropriate since Leonard is an amateur photographer). And in that moment there is happiness, whether or not it's sustained is irrelevant; however, it's safe to say based on what we've seen from Leonard that this snapshot of happiness won't last long. But that's what I loved about the final moments of the film, the fact that Gray had the guts to end his film truthfully, and that's all I ask for in a movie.

DVD Review: Breaking and Entering

Breaking and Entering is a very broad premise about how messing up makes you a better person. Philosophically it could have worked, as the late writer/director Anthony Minghella made one of my favorite films The Talented Mr. Ripley. But where that film was masterful at letting editing speak for the characters intentions, Breaking and Entering insists on spelling everything out with its absurd amount of heavy-handed dialogue.

The film is an obvious metaphor for class warfare in modern day London. Jude Law plays Will, the head of a development firm who is looking to revitalize a slummed area by building a giant, eco-friendly community in its place. When multiple break-ins occur Will is forced to stake out his own building to try and catch the thieves that have made off with his companies computers, not to mention his own personal laptop.

This laptop is the main catalyst that brings a bunch of the characters together. Miro, the boy who stole the computer, looks at the pictures on Will's desktop of Will and his longtime girlfriend Liv (Robin Wright Penn) and dreams of happier times when he and his family were together in Bosnia. He lives with his mom Amira (the always good Juliette Binoche) who is a tailor. When Will espies Miro trying to break into his business a third time he follows him to his house and comes up with a plan to inquire about his missing stuff. However, what happens is Will is smitten with Amira and of course everything dominoes from there in typical melodramatic fashion.

The film is interesting for about the first hour or so, only because I had no idea where Minghella was taking me with his story. However, that's where the interests dies as Manghella – working from his own script for the first time since his debut film Truly, Madly, Deeply – paints with too broad of a brush. There are countless metaphors that could have worked if it weren't for the characters constantly drawing attention to them. A few examples include a fox that wanders outside of Will and Liv's apartment representing the wild side that Will is trying to seek in his affair with Amira. When the fox shows up dead in his car – a car that was stolen by a prostitute he befriended while staking out his business – the message is loud and clear as it comes after he has slept with Amira. Another example: Liv has a daughter who may be autistic and who loves gymnastics. Liv was once an award winning documentary filmmaer, but now all she does is film footage of Bea (her daughter).  The unknown symptoms that plague her daughter take their toll on Will and Liv as they walk a tightrope throughout the film of staying together for the kid, or just severing ties and ending the charade. Bea spends most of her scenes trying to balance herself, either in her room or on a balance beam. Ugh. Minghella also isn't subtle with his film techniques as he is constantly blurring images, masking the screen, or using insane amounts of synecdoche.

Will even mentions at the end how much he loves metaphors, and proceeds to explain to the audience – as if we're dolts (but then again I guess we are for having just sat through this film) – some of the metaphors that were in the film, specifically how he views his life like a "circle" (community of family), but he sees it more as a "cage" (the imprisonment men feel in a relationship).  Puh-lease.  It's all moot anyway by the end as Will, the one trying to get out of the relationship by having an affair, threatens an angry Liv with marriage.  They argue...and then they embrace.  I didn't get it, either..oh wait...that's right, we have to mess up in order to find what we really want.  Again, it wouldn't have been such a bad premise (and that first hour really sets you up to believe that this film is going to have ideas) if there was any inkling that the filmmakers understood the value in underplaying their hand. 

Breaking and Entering is just way too melodramatic, and the ending comes off as being too much like a soap opera where everyone apologizes with little regard for the wrong they've done, for the film to be an effective dramatic experience. It's no surprise that Sydney Pollack produced the film (as he did other Minghella films), and not only does this feel like a Sydney Pollack film (read: deliberate pacing), it's also very British, and the only reason I think this movie was allowed to be made was because of the clout of its writer/director and producer.

It's sad that I have to say this about the final film Minghella left us with, because I'm sure he had another great movie in him. I was excited about watching this, the only Minghella film I had yet to see, and in no way should this film or my review of it tarnish his other films. I've already made my feelings known about The Talented Mr. Ripley, but consider too how he does melodrama successfully with The English Patient and Cold Mountain, two films that were over praised upon their initial theatrical run, but reveal themselves today as good examples of well executed melodrama, not just Oscar fodder. Unfortunately the best thing about Breaking and Entering may have been the use of Sigur Rós' "Sé lest" at the end of the film.

DVD Review: Adventureland

What a breath of fresh air this movie is. Finally we have a movie about young people in their 20's who aren't obsessed with getting high, drinking, and having sex; these are things that just happen. Writer/Director Greg Mottola has created a love song to those summer nights where everything seems easier and more romanticized than the other three seasons. This is a rare film about young people who are more concerned about getting a summer job so they can save up for Graduate school than about saving money for a big party while their parents are out of town. Similar to last years surprising Nick and Nora's Infinite Playlist this is a film that is more about younger people who are more interested in what's inside someone's mind instead of someone's pants.

James Brennan (the awkward Jesse Eisenberg) has finished college and heads home to Pittsburgh for the summer. His plan for graduation was to tour Europe with his friend, but his father has been demoted at work and can't afford to send James to Europe. This doesn't seem so bad to James until he realizes that his parents will not be able to help him with an apartment and tuition for Columbia University. Seemingly for the first time James must financially fend for himself and get a summer job so he can afford Grad school. This plot development could have set up a horribly executed comedy about James trying to find a job in all kinds wacky places that are beneath him.

Instead James goes to the local amusement park Adventureland and tries to get a job running the rides, but his boss Bobby (the always wonderful Bill Hader) puts him at games instead. Mottola immediately shows James as a kind of snob who would rather work on rides (the cooler of the jobs), but is forced to work on games (where the nerds work) because Bobby has "already pulled out the application for games." This is where Adventureland could have gone all wrong. I was half expecting a slobs vs. snobs type film where the "games" people snicker and sneer at the well-to-do "rides" people, all the while the better-off James would have to betray his own "kind" and side with the slobs. But thank God Mottola is too smart for that. What we get instead is a beautiful elegy to the summer nights that Mottola must have experienced growing up in Pittsburgh.

James meets some interesting people that he connects to because they're just as intellectual as him. Joel (Martin Starr from Knocked Up) shows him the ropes off the job and is an intellectual (as intellectual as a 20-something can be) who recounts Gogol and smokes a pipe, Em (Kristen Stewart) is a cool Emo girl (when Emo was just taking root) who James is immediately drawn to, and Mike (Ryan Reynolds in a great role) is the repair man that all the guys and girls gravitate towards because of his sage like aura and dubious history as a musician who once played with Lou Reed.

It's no surprise to any film buff that Em and James will try to hook up, but what is surprising is how Mottola handles it. Em is more complicated than she lets on, and there may be something between her and the married Mike. Much like a lot of the tropes used in a film of this ilk (young people smoking weed/drinking/trying to hook up) Mottola handles them as if they're old hat to these people.  These are just things they do, and Mottola doesn't draw a lot of attention to it as a lot of other filmmakers might. He understands that the joke is not about the weed, or the awkward attempts to get drunk or get laid (after all these characters are all college graduates or finishing up their undergrad, so it's safe to assume they've gotten all that awkwardness of trying new things out of the way), but the joke is in human behavior.  There's a surprising amount of nuance in this film.

Back to the story: James hates his job at first, but learns to love it because of Em and the friends he makes there. But what's most interesting about the film is how Mottola shows James as a character who is essentially "doing time" for the summer in order to leave his hometown to start his real life in a real city, New York. This is a coming of age story that deals with love and the ambiguous questions that abound once you've finished college, and that's why I loved this film so much because it's willing to deal with questions that are usually ignored in films like this for raunchy jokes that fall flat. Mottola did the same thing in the surprising Superbad, which was obviously raunchy, but in that film buried beneath the gratuitous language and fascination with dicks were some bigger questions about how we handle post-High School life and leaving friends we've had since Jr. High School. Mottola does the same thing here in Adventureland, he takes what could have been a one-note story about a preppy kid who has to work at a job that's "beneath" him, but instead he offers up a film experience that is actually quite poignant and elegiac.

The summer feeling Mottola's film evokes I'm sure is palpable for almost anyone. I didn't have a seasonal amusement park to hang out as young 20-something, but the summer-nights feel that Mottola elicits is universal, and I definitely felt a pang of nostalgia throughout the entire viewing experience. By the end of the film James is hit with some news that alters his plans, and he must make a decision to leave home or continue to waste his time in Pittsburgh. Adventureland is a bildungsroman in that regard: James has to make an important life decision by the end of the film, and through that decision he's learned a little bit more about his hometown.

One of the storylines I haven't talked much about is the relationship between James and Em. What's refreshing about this rather ordinary plot strand is that Mottola handles it beautifully by pairing up two characters that are intellectually sexy. Eisenberg is like an Ivy League version of Michael Cera, both employ the kind of awkward second guessing that can grate on me, but somehow Mottola gets this to work for Eisenberg. So too does he get Stewart's dreadful "woe is me" persona to work in this context, and she's actually tolerable in this film. I mentioned last years Nick and Nora's Infinite Playlist earlier, and I think that is a perfect example of how successfully a romantic storyline between young people can be handled, and Mottola succeeds at this. When the inevitable rift occurs between Em and James there aren't woeful scenes of emoting and teenage angst, instead the characters vocalize their frustrations just enough to make it sound realistic. Mottola also uses music to great effect throughout the movie, especially throughout the relational arc of Em and James' courtship.

The other acting is great, too. The aforementioned Bill Hader never fails to make me laugh. He and Kristin Wiig who play the husband and wife that run Adventureland have some great moments that seamlessly flow with the rest of the film. When I first saw the two of them pop up on screen I was afraid that they would feel like they were in a totally different movie; however, I thought that Mottola used them just enough, and with great results. Ryan Reynolds also has a nice supporting role that has more depth to it than we're accustomed to with characters like his. He has an aura about him that draws James towards him, but there's also something else about him that calls his character into question, and that's one of the surprising things about the film, everything is handled with more care and depth than I was anticipating.

I was stunned by Adventureland and how deep it was for the type of film I was expecting. Here's a film that perfectly evokes that summertime nostalgia we've all experienced growing up. Mottola's film is universal in that sense; his experiences were from the 80's and involved a seasonal amusement park, my experiences were from the early 2000's and would involve much different music than what is used on Mottola's soundtrack, but that's what's so wonderful about the film: everyone can bring their own experiences to it. I love when movies surprise me like this and take me to a very specific time and place that is obviously important to the filmmaker. 

I also appreciated how Mottola, like he did in Superbad, ends his film on a somewhat ambiguous note with the two characters looking at each other and not knowing what the future holds, but they know that the decision they've made is the right one for the moment (another aspect of Mottola's films I love so much, he understands that making movies about teenagers and 20-somethings you have to deal with the logic of living in the moment, because that's how most people that age live, moment by moment). That's not something you often get in these kinds of comedies, and I think it's safe to say that Mottola is operating on a whole different level than his contemporaries like Judd Apatow and Jodie Hill.  The authenticity of the film is evident throughout, and because of the authenticity and care Mottola puts into Adventureland you have a very personal film that still manages to tap into the universal nostalgia of summertime during your young twenties. Adventureland is a surprisingly warm and charming film.

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