Elvis

Director: Baz Luhrmann
Starring: Austin Butler, Tom Hanks, Olivia DeJonge, Helen Thomson, Richard Roxburgh, Kelvin Harrison Jr., David Wenham, Kodi Smit-McPhee, Luke Bracey, Dacre Montgomery
Running Time:159 min.
Rating: PG-13

★★★ ½ (out of ★★★★) 

Baz Luhrmann's Elvis definitely doesn't linger in one spot for very long, moving at a breakneck pace with frenetic editing and over-the-top theatricality as it charges through the milestones of Presley's life and career. With a dizzying, dazzling visual style and thrilling recreations of the King's stage performances (and the public's reaction to them) it's compulsively watchable and hard to look away from. That it's garnered such polarizing reactions is kind of a shock considering just how much it gets right, following the necessary beats, but doing so in an imaginative, flashy style that fits the one-of-a-kind performer it covers. 

Allegedly problematic elements, like a potentially awkward framing device and the criticisms of Elvis' appropriation of black music and culture, are not only seamlessly woven into the narrative, but addressed head-on. Presley's love of entertaining drives the action, with Luhrmann approximating for us the experience of watching him onstage and off. So while there are many bells and whistles, they add rather than detract from Austin Butler's electrifying lead performance in the title role. Radiating the King's innate charisma and magnetism, he gets even better as it goes on, with this eye-popping spectacle only enhancing the mythic presence Butler's called upon to convey. 

It's 1997 and Elvis Presley's (Butler) former manager, the now destitute Colonel Tom Parker (Tom Hanks) lies on his deathbed reminiscing about when first discovered the King of Rock n' Roll. Labeling himself the "snowman," Parker was a carnival huckster and opportunist, perpetually on the hunt for his own "Greatest Show on Earth" that puts him in the company of P.T. Barnum. He first meets Elvis while managing country singer Hank Snow (David Wenham), immediately recognizing the young man's crossover potential as a white artist who "sounds black." 

We flash back to Elvis' Mississippi childhood, having grown up poor with a mother, Gladys (Helen Thomson), who doted over him, and a father, Vernon (Richard Roxburgh), who did some time in jail. Finding refuge as a kid in comic books and his obsession with Memphis' African-American music scene, he later strikes a deal with Sun Records, but it's his memorable "Louisiana Hayride" TV performance that puts him on Parker's radar. 

With Parker guiding his career, Elvis becomes an overnight sensation in the face of politicians' complaints about his suggestive stage antics, further stoking racial hostilities and getting him into legal trouble. Upon returning from the Army to embark on a movie career, his new musical direction is eventually shaped by the social and cultural unrest of the '60's. Soon after marrying Priscilla Beaulieu (an excellent Olivia DeJonge), the possessive Col Parker's grip over Elvis tightens, turning him into a prisoner of his own fame. Despite a thriving comeback that pushes him far past his limits, prescription drug addiction threatens to derail it, all while Parker's true colors are revealed.

Having Col. Parker narrate his interpretation of events creates a perspective shift that greatly differentiates this from most biographical depictions of the King. But it does get off oddly, with a barely recognizable Hanks in a fat suit, buried under pounds of makeup and prosthetics speaking in a sometimes unintelligible Dutch accent most are probably unaware Parker even had. While all of this hardly seem necessary for one of our greatest actors and the image of a dying, hospital gown-wearing Parker dragging his IV pole across a hotel casino floor is quite a sight, Hanks' portrayal is far from the debacle it's been toted as. 

Once the immediate shock of that attention-grabbing dream sequence wears off, Hanks does bring kind of a devious charm to Parker, both as Elvis' father figure and eventual gate keeper. Physical appearance aside, Hanks does provide access to the man inside the suit, and at the risk of damning with faint praise, you do warm up to him as an antagonist. Plus, Luhrmann keeps the action moving at a fast enough clip that there really isn't time to complain about it, with Butler's exhilarating recreations of Elvis' iconic, show-stopping performances stealing most of the film.

Despite four credited writers, the script's far from unfocused, following a tight chronological order that never feels stifling or too paint-by-numbers because it's such a visual and auditory feast. The cinematography and production design has a predictably over-the-top sheen, but looks and feels period authentic, which is a must considering how many different eras it needs to span for a complete account.

Even those only vaguely familiar with Elvis' trajectory will notice that the story's structure revolves around maybe three or four key events. Most notable is the hysteria surrounding that first Hayride show with girls screaming, fainting and ripping off his clothes, effectively signifying that nothing will be the same for Presley again. As Elvis' hip swiveling and gyrating dance moves court controversy, Parker's attempt to clean up his client's image and go mainstream is the first sign of a developing rift between the two. It's also an early indication Elvis isn't someone who's ready to compromise his musical integrity to appeal to a larger audience, or appease an old school, brand conscious manager.       

Rocked by personal tragedy but newly married, Elvis is awakened to a world that's seemingly passed him by. It's here where Butler's performance kicks into overdrive and the film really finds its voice, connecting Elvis' upbringing to the tumult of the 60's embodied by the assassinations of Martin Luther King and Robert F. Kennedy. His rebellious spirit was established early so it makes sense he'd be able to carve out a new niche for himself in the hippie era, while also re-embracing the style of music he initially loved. It's also when things really start to go downhill with the controlling Parker, who's a step or two behind the times, but still taking credit for Elvis' best ideas. 

The Elvis Christmas television special intended by Parker to appease sponsors instead escalates tensions, signaling what should have been the end of their toxic, parasitic partnership. Instead it leads to a bitter feud which exposes Parker's true intentions. It's to Luhrmann and Hanks' credit that they do make the character somewhat more complicated than expected, even as Parker blackmails Elvis into the exhaustive, seemingly endless Las Vegas International Hotel residency that leads to his downfall. We know what's coming, but the film doesn't tastelessly dwell on it, with the focus remaining on Presley's adoration for the music, which Butler captures the essence of.

Finding an ideal outlet and subject for the unrestrained craziness some have found irritating in his previous work, this may be the best version of Luhrmann's style we've ever gotten. His polarizing, sensationalized approach feels completely organic to the story, lifting what should be an ordinary biopic about an extraordinary entertainer to even greater heights. In equal parts a human tragedy and the fulfillment of an American dream, it's a testament to the film's authenticity and power that the actual footage shown at the end becomes indistinguishable from what we've just watched. Exciting enough to reaffirm the devotion of lifelong fans while still converting the uninitiated, Elvis delivers on all counts, putting other pretenders in the genre to shame.           

The Power of the Dog

Director: Jane Campion
Starring: Benedict Cumberbatch, Kirsten Dunst, Jesse Plemons, Kodi Smit-McPhee, Thomasin McKenzie, Genevieve Lemon, Keith Carradine, Frances Conroy, Peter Carroll, Alison Bruce, Alice Englert
Running Time: 126 min.
Rating: R

★★★ ½ (out of ★★★★)

For much of Jane Campion's The Power of the Dog, you're wondering where it's all going. There's this uneasy feeling that never subsides throughout, even as it remains too easy to categorize the absorbing Western as merely a set-up awaiting the big payoff. While the narrative's broken into five parts and centers on four characters, the story's really focused on one. He's the antagonist, instigator and individual keeping us in constant tension as we dread his next move. From this antagonist's first appearance, we speculate what his deal really is, and that curiosity never lets up as he tightens his stranglehold on the other characters forced to reckon with his sociopathic behavior, albeit in very different ways. Spending an entire film waiting for someone to snap and anticipating the catalyst could be draining, but Campion milks that for everything it's worth. When the explosion does come, it definitely doesn't arrive how we expect, as do very few developments in this deeply layered script adapted from Thomas Savage's 1967 novel. 

Set against the backdrop of a cold, unforgiving world that suffers no fools (and an equally icy Jonny Greenwood score) the film's about monstrous behavior in search of an explanation where none could ever suffice. It's when an answer starts presenting itself that the story gets even stronger, with Campion showing incredible restraint by presenting this development as almost entirely subtext, letting viewers draw their own conclusions about this man and what shaped him. Similar to There Will Be Blood, it's about an egotistical madman running roughshod, dominating the proceedings and devouring everyone around him. And like that film, we root for his comeuppance, unaware of what those consequences could entail. 

It's 1925 Montana and wealthy, ranch owning brothers Phil (Cumberbatch) and George Burbank (Jesse Plemons) stop by the inn of widow Rose Gordon (Kirsten Dunst), whose son Peter's (Kodi Smit-McPhee) effeminate demeanor and appearance is mocked by the cruel Phil. Considerably kinder brother George consoles Rose over the incident, leading the two to become romantically involved and eventually engaged, with her moving in with him at the Burbank ranch, further angering Phil. As Rose whittles under the pressure of having to impress George's parents and Governor Edward (Keith Carradine), loose cannon Phil becomes even more of an unwelcome, threatening presence in their lives. With Peter coming back from school to stay at the ranch and George walking a difficult line in attempting to control his brother, Rose continues to mentally and physically deteriorate. But unfortunately for her, Phil seems to have found a new friend, further fragmenting an already tenuous family dynamic at the brink of implosion.

Upon first meeting the Burbank brothers, a couple of details are clear right away. Phil's an angry, bitter, damaged man who never misses an opportunity to belittle or insult anyone he comes in contact with. He shows his only shred of humanity when reminiscing and telling stories about late friend and mentor, "Bronco" Henry, who has to rank among the most important unseen characters in recent film, assuming he even exists. Residing somewhere between reality, myth, and legend, it's obvious this mystery man molded and shaped Phil into what he eventually became. Not showing him is smart, as even a brief flashback would shatter the mystique of a character audiences have already built up in their minds as being more impactful than whoever we'd see on screen.

Hints are dropped that Phil used to be somewhat of a respectable member of society with an impressive educational background. He's also touted by his brother as an engaging conversationalist, to the point that his presence is actually highly anticipated by the governor at George's disaster of a dinner party. It becomes even more of one when Phil makes a unfashionably late entrance after being insulted by his brother's suggestion that he clean up and bathe. It's one of the few times George stands up to his brother in any way and he's noticeably weak and uncommitted, walking back the suggestion almost immediately, even going so far as to apologize later for bringing it up.

Brother George definitely has a system in place for dealing with Phil. He simply doesn't, finding ways to work around his deplorable behavior, just taking it on the chin when he calls him "chubby" and even occasionally building Phil up in ways that may not even be true, further encouraging his brother's narcissism and selfishness. And yet George remains the only guardrail and protector from himself Phil has, as ineffective as he often is at the job. With his down home demeanor and outwardly pleasant disposition, Jesse Plemons is perfect in this and likely won't get the credit due to him for carrying much of the picture's fist half. With him providing such a stark contrast as the calm, steady responsible sibling, Cumberbatch's bone-chilling portrayal of Phil jumps out even more. 

Dunst's arc might be the most shocking in just how far Rose falls from how she's initially perceived. Some of this can be attributed to Phil, but red flags hint that it wouldn't have taken much to send her spiraling down a hole of alcoholism and depression. What's impressive about Dunst is how it seems as if she's playing two parts before completely letting go of one, stripping away the functional facade Rose attempted to project upon marrying George. She wrongly sees herself as a fraud and a series of challenges bring out her instability, with only son Peter seemingly in tune with its severity, even while remaining too withdrawn to act. Kodi Smit-McPhee plays Peter's cards close enough to the vest that he becomes just as intriguing a mystery as Phil. In the last act, his performance takes over in ways entirely unexpected, especially considering how unassuming his introduction was.  

Phil Burbank remains the story's big question mark until the very end. And what a finish Campion gives us, as George and Rose kind of fade into the background while Phil's motivations and history become the focus. Even as he continues his abusive, performative displays of toxic masculinity, Cumberbatch still gives Phil these fleeting self-reflective moments of vulnerability where we know there's a lot more to this guy than the show he's putting on. And the scariest part of this is that there's another character who might be just as maladjusted and complicated as he is.         

When karma does finally catch up it's a cruel irony we're too conflicted to know how to feel because Cumberbatch's performance has taken us on such a ride, adding new wrinkles and questions to Phil with each surprising plot development. An emotionally diseased man who doesn't see himself as anyone else does, the entire film undergoes a shift in perspective by revealing how he truly views himself, taking the story to another level and lifting everything around it. And then there's that final twist, so carefully and patiently executed that you may need a rewatch to truly appreciate how all the seeds were subtly planted to get there. The Power of the Dog is a slow, deliberate burn, but for good reason, keeping you on edge waiting to see how a seemingly impossible situation can be resolved when no one seems capable of taking the initiative to stop it. 

Let Me In

 

Director: Matt Reeves
Starring: Kodi Smit-McPhee, Chloe Grace Moretz, Elias Koteas, Richard Jenkins, Cara Buono, Sasha Barrese, Dylan Minnette
Running Time: 116 min.
Rating: R

★★★ ½ (out of ★★★★) 

Let Me In, director Matt Reeves' American remake of the acclaimed 2008 Swedish horror film Let The Right One In is not a movie about vampires. That detail is wisely a backdrop to what's a coming-of-age period film and mood piece featuring a character who happens to be a vampire. It's a means to an end, important in identifying why the film succeeds and how it escapes the pitfalls always accompanying this genre. Having still not seen the original I can't compare, but can still somewhat appreciate the uphill battle Reeves faced in justifying such a project's existence. One group will hate it because they reject the idea of their favorite horror film being remade or just assume any foreign property will have to be dumbed down to appeal to mainstream audiences. Everyone else won't care at all because they've never heard of it. Reeves manages to overcome both those obstacles with an unusually smart, suspenseful film that's beautifully photographed, lushly scored and fully absorbing from start to finish. And that statement comes from someone who usually can't stand anything having to do with vampires and considers it a lazy, overused film topic. If only the final product could turn out like this more often. The few scenes depicting that are handled surprisingly well, but the real horror is found in the emotional pain of growing up.

It's 1983 in Los Alamos, New Mexico and an apparent suicide of a disfigured patient at the local hospital panics the local police detective (Elias Koteas), who finds only a note by his bedside reading: "I'm sory Abby." We flashback two weeks earlier to meet 12-year-old Owen (Kodi Smit McPhee), lonely, depressed boy going through some serious issues with his parents' impending divorce and brutal harassment from bullies at school. With no one to turn to and too afraid to retaliate, he internalizes everything and creates imaginary scenarios of revenge with his pocket knife and a tree. If ever a child were destined for a future filled with trips to the school psychologist's office, it's him. Relief comes in the arrival of Abby (Chloe Grace Moretz), a girl who claims to be his age who moves in next door with a solemn looking middle-aged man (Richard Jenkins) who appears to be her father. After some reluctance on her part to befriend him they start to grow closer and it becomes clear she isn't a twelve year-old girl and that isn't her father. But let's not call her a "vampire," because doing that would be a betrayal of how intelligently the narrative unfolds and the restraint with which her situation is presented. She simply needs to blood to survive. This becomes a problem as she forges a closer relationship with Owen, who inches closer to the truth about her as she teaches him to stand up to his tormentors.

Vampirism always seems to fare best in films when it's treated as an affliction or almost a disease of sorts, as it is here. Abby's condition isn't glamorized in any way, she doesn't think it would be cool to live thousands of years, dress in gothic clothes, sleep all day or hang out with werewolves. Instead, this is a curse ruining her life and preventing her from ever forging a meaningful bond with anyone. That you could probably replace being a vampire with any other physical or psychological affliction and still emerge with a story just as strong proves how much more is going on beneath the surface. It's really about two lonely, troubled kids brought together with their friendship tested by this huge obstacle put in front of them. The question becomes whether Owen can still accept her and whether Abby can withstand the temptation to use him as she does everyone else, including her "father." There are times that this budding childhood romance is handled with such special care that if not for the dark, somber undercurrent, the storyline would recall My Girl before it would a horror film.  What scares there are come not from the few, well-placed and suspenseful vampire attacks from Abby but instead the bullying Owen endures at school by Kenny (an effectively menacing Dylan Minette) and his gang, which is more terrifying than any of the the graphic blood-drenched events that unfold during the picture.

As smart as Reeves' script (based on the novel by John Ajvide Lindqvist in addition to the Swedish film) is in putting the emphasis in the right place and cloaking the vampire elements in a coming-of-age tale, casting was crucial. Thankfully, the young performers are amazing. Kodi Smit-McPhee is subtly devastating as the fearful, lonely Owen so disconnected from everyone else that even his mother (played by Cara Buono) is barely shown on screen at all, her face covered or out of view throughout.  After going two for two in 2010 with this and Kick-Ass, Chloe Moretz is emerging as an actress whose career bares watching in much the same way Natalie Portman's did in its early stages. This is a complex role requiring her to be doomed killing machine in addition to conveying the emotional pain of a lovestruck young girl sentenced to spend her entire life in childhood. This dark, heavy material but these kids get it and rise to the challenge. Just as strong in a small but pivotal role is Richard Jenkins as Abby's guardian, with his sad eyes and morose expression revealing more than any line of dialogue possibly could. And during one memorable stretch of the film, he still somehow does it with a bag over his head. As a character added for this adaptation, Elias Koteas is the eyes and ears for the audience as a nameless local cop, but he gets us to care what happens to him, even if against better judgment we find ourselves in the uncomfortable position of rooting for a vampire to escape.

The early 80's setting present in both the novel and original film was retained and is maximized to great effect through the perfect placement of certain classic rock songs of the era and period details that leave no doubt this takes place in the 80's without ever hammering us over the head with it. The time and setting feel like an natural extension of the plot, like a dream or memory that if updated to modern day could somehow ring false regardless of one's familiarity with the source material.  Only the best period pieces understand it's not so much about the clothes, hairstyles or music (though it's a factor), but capturing a certain mood or spirit of the time that takes you back. The somber tone of the film is spot-on and never waivers, reinforced by Michael Giacchino's creepy, melancholy score and cinematography from Greig Fraser that's soaked in washed-out browns and a yellowish amber tint that creates a visually unsettling atmosphere. That such a methodical, introspective film came from the director of 2008's shaky-cam monster movie Cloverfield is kind of a shock. This is about as far from that as can be while still vaguely straddling a similar genre.

When Stephen King named Let Me In his favorite movie of 2010, calling it the "best American horror film in the last 20 years" I was skeptical knowing his history of overpraising mainstream fluff.  If the statement is a bit of an exaggeration (and as much a testament to all the inferior horror films we've suffered through), it isn't much of one. Nothing about this movie feels mainstream and it's too intelligent to ever be mistaken for the latest Hollywood cash-in slasher remake. If nothing else, it teaches the lesson that the best movies are rarely about what they're actually about and horror can't truly unsettle unless you care about the characters and their situation. Let Me In gets this right, proving all remakes don't have to be pointless and aren't necessarily destined to fail.