The Book of Henry

Director: Colin Trevorrow
Starring: Naomi Watts, Jaeden Lieberher, Jacon Tremblay, Sarah Silverman, Lee Pace, Madddie Ziegler, Dean Norris, Bobby Moynihan
Running Time: 105 min.
Rating: PG-13

★★ ½ (out of ★★★★)

      **The Following Review Contains Major Plot Spoilers. Read At Your Own Risk**

We frequently complain movies are too predictable. That they don't take enough risks. Be careful what you wish for?  In Colin Trevorrow's The Book of Henry, what starts as a Spielbergian 80's throwback centered around a precocious youngster set in a Norman Rockwell-esque town, jarringly transforms into an assassination thriller. The premise is so preposterous and insane, it's tone shifting so dramatically, that there's a real temptation to praise it on sheer guts alone. For just daring to give us something completely different and unexpected, especially for family entertainment. Then common sense kicks in and you realize a film should generally know what it is, despite Trevorrow doing as good a job as possible at attempting to manage a tonal tidal wave and the performances being generally excellent.

This is hard to detest, if only for the audacity and spectacle of the whole thing. Where it goes awfully wrong is in taking serious, heavy issues like child abuse and murder and incorporating them into a wholesome family feature, wanting to both have its cake and eat it too. Obviously, it can't, and results in the narrative flying off the rails at the midway point, creating a viewing experience that's equal parts fascinating and horrifying. It's truly a wreck you can't look away from, but also an eye-opening wake-up call that most bad movies would be a a lot more fun if they failed as ambitiously as this. For that at least, Trevorrow deserves a ton of credit, salvaging what he can from what's clearly a misguided mess, while still falling short of the complete disaster critics have labeled it as.

11-year-old boy genius Henry Carpenter (Jaeden Lieberher) and his younger brother, Peter (Jacob Tremblay) are being raised by their single mother, Susan (Naomi Watts), who waitresses while working on her yet-unpublished children's books. Frequently doubting her own ability to parent,  Henry handles all the bills and finances and uses his abnormal intelligence to successfully invest in the stock market, earning them a considerable degree of monetary comfort. In a somewhat disturbing role reversal, it's Susan who swears, plays video games and gets drunk with best friend and co-worker Sheila (Sarah Silverman), as Henry serves as the family's protector and provider.

When not saving Peter from school bullies and building complicated Rube Goldberg-like machines with a steampunk slant in their tree house, Henry starts to see disturbing signs that his next door neighbor and class crush, Christina (Maddie Ziegler) is being abused by her stepfather, and local police commissioner, Glenn Sickleman (Dean Norris). An "upstanding member of the community," the allegations will be tough to prove, but Henry comes up with a dangerous, last resort plan that could save Christina if successful. But it's Susan who must decide whether to follow through with it, pitting the trust she has in her genius son and the welfare of a young girl against the dire risks of its potential failure. 

Taking place in a universe where kids create and innovate, it seems to be fall all year-round and people look after each another, Spielberg's classic "Amblin" entertainment logo wouldn't look the slightest bit out of place preceding the film. While certain elements seem odd or out of place early on for a family crowd-pleaser (most notably every scene involving Sarah Silverman's boozy, chest tattooed waitress), you're still prepared to follow this wherever it goes since the script establishes itself early on as as having this kind of retro quality that's both sweetly endearing and inoffensively weird. The kids are quirky, but likable, and there's this fleeting sense that the filmmakers get it and your intelligence won't be insulted. And then the craziness begins.

Read no further if you don't want the rest of the film spoiled....

Almost completely out of nowhere, and rather abruptly, Henry dies from an incurable brain tumor, leaving behind a book of detailed instructions for his mother. Instructions for how to kill Mr. Sickelman. Filled with enough post-death planning to make Jigsaw jealous, this book is a step-by-step murder guide featuring sketches and illustrations from an 11 year-old on how to take out the corrupt, abusive police commissioner. And if this isn't enough, he also recorded an audio tape to walk her through it.

The problem with this entire scenario (besides the glaringly obvious) is that in keeping with the family friendly vibe thus far, Sickleman hasn't really been established as being guilty, much less that bad of a guy. And certainly not enough of one to warrant this. Maybe to these characters, but not to us, since Gregg Hurwitz's script is too afraid to show us the evidence and repercussions of said abuse. And while I'm certainly not advocating some kind of graphic depiction of child abuse for consistency's sake, we needed more than scenes of a sullen, depressed Christina in class and close-up shots of a shocked Henry looking into their window at night.

Making matters worse, Dean Norris has only about two scenes prior to all this, one of which involves his character innocuously asking Susan if she could keep her leaves off his lawn. This combined with the fact that Norris is riding a lifelong wave of audience goodwill from Breaking Bad presents an uphill battle for the film, creating an illusion that this child prodigy's dying wish was for his mom to kill an innocent man. Of course, this isn't true, and as much as I respect the film for not flaunting the naturally intimidating Norris as an over-the-top, mustache-twirling villain, when something as serious as child abuse is introduced as a story device, it needs to be treated with gravity and significance. There's no hedging your bets or it risks coming off extremely tasteless at best and offensive at worst. In other words, they had to definitively show this evil guy has it coming, family friendly or not.

Tonally, there are even stranger creative decisions, like an uncomfortably creepy scene involving Sarah Silverman's alcoholic waitress and a dying Henry that will have you questioning who the town's real child abuser is. Lee Pace appears as neurosurgeon Dr. David Daniels and while he's completely believable in the smallish role, his character takes this active interest in Susan and the family that comes off as weird and unprofessional because the script's so fuzzy about his intentions in order to preserve its wholesome aura. Had the script simply acknowledged all these eccentricities bubbling under the surface instead of pretending to be what it isn't, it could have added depth to the story instead of a series of head-scratching moments.

There are two scenes that are unequivocally great, even if the latter could have some feeling guilty for how suspenseful they find it. The first involves Dr. Daniels explaining the fatal diagnosis to Henry in terms a child could understand, not realizing layman's terms aren't necessary for an 11-year-old as extraordinarily gifted as this. That Henry's already a step or two ahead in figuring out his fate makes their conversation even tougher to watch than it already is. Then there's the pivotal sequence during which a school talent show is intercut with Susan's assassination attempt on Mr. Sickleman.

The idea that this murder mission is supposed to be some kind of inspirational assertion of Susan's parental independence is absurd, but boy does Watts ever sell it.  Most actresses wouldn't have been able to pull off nearly half the insanity she does in the third act with a straight face, but she's downright committed all the way through, drumming up a surprising amount of tension for an admittedly ridiculous situation. You're almost mad at yourself for being on the edge of your seat because it's so silly, but somehow this whole section works almost in spite of itself. And given how scared the movie is to go near the child abuse issue, Trevorrow was at least smart enough to rely on Maddie Ziegler's dancing skills and body language to convey the shame and sadness surrounding Christina's situation that was glaringly absent from the screenplay.

Undoubtedly drawing comparisons to the somewhat similar part he played in 2016's Midnight Special, Jaeden Lieberher takes what could have been some of the more cliched elements of the familiar "gifted child" trope and imbues Henry with a warmth and humor that often overcomes the occasionally frustrating story. Jacob Tremblay isn't given the kind of dramatic showcase here he received a couple of years ago with Room, but brings that same precociousness and intelligence to little brother Peter, who adoringly follows his genius sibling's lead in everything.

You have to wonder if this would have gotten as much hate from critics if it wasn't made by the filmmaker selected to direct Star Wars: Episode IX. Or at least he WAS. While it may make for exciting headlines speculating that this film's failure directly caused Trevorrow's departure or removal from that project, the real story is likely a lot more complicated and less sensational than that. It's a misfire for sure, but one that could have actually been a whole lot worse in the hands of a less talented director. 

Dusting off a frequently rejected script that's been sitting on the shelf since 1998 probably wasn't anyone's idea of a good start, and after seeing it, it becomes even easier to understand why. The Book of Henry deserves credit for legitimately attempting something we've haven't seen before, while also serving as a harsh reminder that certain established movie rules exist for a reason. They work, even if the most fascinating way to fail is by attempting to break them.   

Birdman

Director: Alejandro González Iñárritu
Starring: Michael Keaton, Zach Galifianakis, Edward Norton, Andrea Riseborough, Naomi Watts, Amy Ryan, Emma Stone
Running Time: 119 min.
Rating: R

★★★★ (out of ★★★★)

There's an early scene in Birdman or (The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance) where washed-up Hollywood actor Riggan Thomson (Michael Keaton) runs down a list of potential names to replace an injured cast member in his ambitious Broadway mounting of Raymond Carver's "What We Talk About When We Talk About Love." And they're all actual big name stars whose commitments to their blockbuster superhero franchises make them unavailable, even if the underlying feeling is that they'd never do it anyway. Twenty years ago Riggan was one of them, riding high on the success of his iconic Birdman role in a franchise he milked for three movies before the word "franchise" even entered the cinematic lexicon. But Michael Keaton is no Riggan Thomson. Well, at least not in reality. He is in the sense that he completely inhabits the headspace of this strange, self-obsessed character in the throes of a mental breakdown. Keaton was the only choice for this role not because he once played a superhero, but because he managed to escape just in time. One or two more Batman movies and this could have easily been a different conversation.

By all accounts of the man, the performance Keaton gives here is actually a massive stretch, as he never seemed at all vain, hung up on public opinion, or insecurely protective of his legacy. And he certainly doesn't appear to be a nervous wreck. But boy has he been missed. It almost seems unfair to affix the "comeback" label onto a performer who has been working consistently, if under the radar, for years, but we're selfish like that. In a good way. It isn't wrong to see our favorite performers being given the best material that will bring them the most respect and adulation. One of the big takeaways to come from the this film's release over the past few weeks is seeing everyone come to the realization that there are few actors more deserving of it than Keaton. It's something we've always known, but never really publicly acknowledged until now. Besides being a fascinating and funny meta commentary on the entertainment business, Birdman works as a satirical tragicomedy about a man who not only craves that validation, but desperately needs it for his life to mean anything.

On the surface, Riggan writing, directing and starring in a Raymond Carver adaptation appears to be a case of a faded movie star pathetically using Broadway to establish himself as a serious artist and gain credibility with the masses. Beneath the surface, that's also exactly what it is. And that deep, distinctive voice he keeps hearing in his head isn't afraid to tell him so. It's the voice of Birdman, telling him what a loser he is, and based on the evidence we have, he might not be far off. We find out he's already wrecked his marriage and career and now he's wrecking his play, produced by best friend and lawyer, Jake (Zach Galifianakis). His spunky, sarcastic daughter Sam (Emma Stone), fresh out of rehab, serves as his assistant while he's joined on stage by girlfriend Laura (Andrea Riseborough), first-time Broadway actress Lesley (Naomi Watts) and her boyfriend Mike Shiner (Edward Norton), called in as a last minute replacement.

With Mike, Riggan meets his match in a performer who proves to be even more self-absorbed than he is, and about ten times more difficult and obnoxious, hijacking the entire production to basically go into business for himself. But critics and audiences love him, which proves to be important as they struggle through previews and wait for the inevitable axe to fall from influential New York Times theater critic Tabitha Dickinson (Lindsay Duncan). It's make or break time for Riggan, who must also contend with the arrival of his ex-wife, Sylvia (Amy Ryan) and Birdman, who proves to not only be a voice in his head, but an actual superhero alter-ego with powers of telekinesis and levitation.

Form rarely informs function as it does here, with a technical approach that should generate as much discussion as the story or performances. Iñárritu's whole movie appears to have been filmed in one unbroken take, as scenes don't exactly end but rather bleed into each other as the camera follows the actors, swooping in (like a bird?) from one area of the theater to another, or even out onto the street when necessary. It'll be bizarre and sometimes off-putting for some, but there's no question it injects the action with this breakneck pace and makes us feel as if we're in the theater, backstage spectators to a train wreck we shouldn't be seeing. With most films there's at least a moment or two when you're taken out of it, made fully aware you're just engaging with a piece of entertainment. This shooting style makes such a moment of pause or reflection on the audience's part impossible. You're just completely lost in it, submerged too far down the rabbit hole to even contemplate the implications until the credits roll.

Hilariously sabotaging rehearsals and previews, without giving a second thought to that what's left of Riggan's career rests on a vanity project, Norton's Mike is a terror. If anything, he thinks he's doing him a solid by royally screwing with it. And it's sadder still that he could actually be right. We see many scenes from the play and even certain ones multiple times, but it's because of Norton that each one is more hilarious and energetic than the last. Whether Iñárritu's trying to play with the media's perception of Norton being "difficult" in the same way his script toys with Keaton's image, the actor far transcends that in-joke to deliver a performance that somehow, someway makes this unlikable jerk a relatable and complicated person. We anticipate every bit of mischief he causes since the movie feels most alive when he's sharing scenes with Keaton, who unlike his bizarro onscreen counterpart, has no problem ceding the spotlight to his co-star. Norton plays such a strong antagonist that the movie briefly suffers when he disappears and the third act kind of fly off the rails, if such a description can even apply to a project like this. Let's just say it doesn't fly off the rails the way you expect it to.

If the production's really all about Riggan, than the movie's all about Keaton, with the actor reminding us how equally adept he is at tackling anything thrown at him, whether it be comedic or dramatic. Here he gets the chance to do both, and a whole lot more, all at once. He's always been tough to categorize and even cast because of that flexibility, so this ends up being the perfect outlet for a performer whose onscreen persona always seemed a bit too crazy and dangerous to fit into the box of a conventional leading man. With this role, he finally doesn't have to be pigeonholed like that, given the opportunity to play a difficult, often unlikable protagonist wrestling with crippling fears and insecurities.

There are those trademark Keaton moments where he flies off the handle and gets that manic look in his eyes, but his best scenes are the quieter, brutally honest ones Riggan shares with his ex-wife and daughter, the latter played by Emma Stone as you've never seen her before. Noticeably thinner an paler with her giant eyes eating up every corner of the frame, it's about as far a departure for the actress as it gets, abandoning her "good girl" persona to embody the angry and bitingly sarcastic Sam, whose real job is mostly to keep her father's raging id in check. And that she does, even when he doesn't want to hear it, facing off with Keaton and Norton and more than holding her own in an edgy performance few probably thought she had in her. In less showier roles, Watts and Riseborough are destined to be underappreciated, especially Riseborough, who's a feisty wonder in her scenes opposite Keaton. And who thought Zalifiankis would ever play the most reasonable character in a comedy? 

This is a film that makes no bones about calling attention to itself at every turn and is completely in love with its strangeness, rarely hesitating to remind you of it in every scene. Tolerance for that unsubtle approach will vary, causing a debate as to whether all these techniques truly inform the story or Iñárritu's showing off. It's probably a little bit of both, but there's no denying those creative choices make for a far more intriguing experience than if it were presented as a relatively straightforward dramedy about an actor coming to terms with his past and ego. A performance showcase above all else, it can't be a coincidence that three stars of huge superhero movie franchises were cast in it, and as someone completely burnt out by the genre, it was thrilling to see it skewered, while still being dealt a compelling character study in the midst of the craziness. Birdman almost defies categorization, as it takes a while to really wrap your head around, assuming you're even intended to. And that's always a great thing.

The Impossible

Director: J.A. Bayona
Starring: Naomi Watts, Ewan McGregor, Tom Holland, Samuel Joshlin, Oakley Pendercast
Running Time: 113 min.
Rating: R

★★★ (out of ★★★★) 

If you could concoct the perfect formula for a harrowing survival film, the results still probably wouldn't come close to matching what you see in The Impossible, which is based on one family's true story of fighting to survive the 2004 Indian Ocean Tsunami. That I use the word "formula" to describe what's actually a dramatization of real events may seem odd, but it's also entirely accurate. It's both the film's biggest strength and weakness because as we're sucked into the human emotion of the story and its unrelenting depiction of a natural disaster, it's hard not to think our strings are being pulled just a little bit. As a result, it at times feels most like an ultimately uplifting disaster movie elevated by a pair of great performances and a frighteningly realistic depiction of a true event. And while adapting from real-life is often tricky, it's especially challenging in this case since knowing how it all turns out does strip the film of a certain degree of suspense. So Spanish director J.A. Bayona piles on the emotion. And it works. Still, I can't help but think the three things everyone will be talking about when it's over are the tsunami scene itself, the graphic injuries and two jaw-dropping performances, one of which was rightfully nominated. But that turns out to be enough.  

Other than a brief argument on the plane about whether the alarm at home was left on at home, not much time is spent getting to know English physician Maria Bennett (Naomi Watts), her husband, Henry (Ewan McGregor) and their sons, 12 year-old Lucas (Tom Holland), 7 year-old Tomas (Samuel Joslin) and 5 year-old Simon (Oakley Pendergast). But we know enough. They're a seemingly normal, well adjusted family spending their 2004 Christmas vacation in Khao Lak, Thailand. That it could be anyone is exactly the point, and exactly the truth. Maria and Lucas are swept away and separated from the others when the tsunami hits, first struggling to make it to higher ground before searching for medical assistance for a severely injured Maria. Still back at what's left of the hotel, Henry and the little boys must stick together, until he decides to search for his missing wife and son. With Maria fighting for her life and Lucas quickly losing hope, the prospect of a family reunion gets bleaker with each passing day.

The most engaging section of the film is surprisingly not the first forty minutes to an hour when the tsunami hits, but everything that follows it, where we get to see the aftermath of the devastation and everyone scrambling to survive and locate their loved ones. Aside from the unforgettable opening of Clint Eastwood's 2010 film Hereafter, there's never really been a cinematic dramatization chronicling the true events surrounding the Indian Ocean Tsunami, so what we see is revelatory, especially in terms of the type of medical care available and how the locals handle such a crisis. There's a shot of the landscape, or what's left of it, after the storm that's absolutely surreal, calling to mind the wreckage and casualties attached to more recent disasters like Hurricane Sandy. This is that, but times ten.

The biggest surprise is how anyone survives something like this, but Watts is heartbreakingly believable in showing us it's possible in what more closely resembles a physically and emotionally exhausting ordeal than an actual acting performance. Maria has just about one of the most gruesome, graphic injuries you can have while remaining alive, and while I never doubted the character would make it, Bayona has to be commended for not shying away from the gore and showing us everything, as difficult as it is to sometimes watch.  That the character's a doctor herself has much less relevance than you'd imagine, as all the victims seem to be at the mercy of little else but circumstance. And the circumstances are dire. The best scenes occur in the makeshift medical facility where survivors try to locate family members amidst the chaos and a frantic, but strong-willed Lucas attempts to help. As good as powerful as Watts is, young Tom Holland is essentially the beating heart of the movie, holding the majority of screen time while Maria is confined to a hospital bed.

That the story isn't as strong or emotionally involving when shifting focus to the dad and the rest of the boys isn't so much a fault as it is a natural progression of events. As the panicked father and husband, McGregor's solid (great even), but his scenes just don't have the visceral pull of Maria and Lucas'. It's at this point that the movie's last act becomes a foregone conclusion and I started looking at my watch, waiting for the inevitable reunion. If you're a screenwriter, what do you do if the true story you're adapting for a Hollywood feature happens to have a Hollywood ending anyway? I guess in this case, if you're screenwriter Sergio Sanchez, you just wouldn't change it because audiences have to go home happy, but there's still this unavoidable feeling of predictability that hangs over the proceedings and hampers the emotional release felt at the end. Still, it's really well done and if I hadn't been told it was a true story going in, there's probably little chance I'd believe it

The biggest controversy might stem from the casting of white movie stars Watts and McGregor as the "Bennetts," and while it's clearly yet another factually inaccurate Hollywood "whitewashing," the practice is sadly nothing new. As far as allegations that the local Asian's experiences were marginalized into supporting roles, if not flat-out ignored, I don't know what to say other than that's mostly true. But this particular story  being told about this family on screen works, even if it may not be the one everyone wants, or is nearly as universal as the advertising would lead you to believe. Fortunately, films aren't (and shouldn't) be judged on those criteria so it's a moot point from where I sit, hardly hampering my appreciation of the work. The Impossible is ultimately a film about the triumph of the human spirit under the worst possible circumstances, and while feel-good elements and predictability wobbly co-exist alongside a horrifying natural disaster, everything eventually adds up to a well-crafted and frequently inspiring viewing experience.                          

Funny Games

Director: Michael Haneke
Starring: Naomi Watts, Tim Roth, Michael Pitt, Brady Corbet, Devon Gearhart
Running Time: 112 min.
Rating: R

***1/2 (out of ****)

No, I have not seen Michael Haneke’s 1997 Austrian film Funny Games, from which this shot-by-shot remake is based. It’s an important point to make because whenever a film is a remade or adapted the temptation is always to draw comparisons to the material from which it was derived. That I don’t have that cloud hanging over my head is a relief considering this version alone is tough enough to think about and analyze on its own terms. Going in all I knew was that this was one of those suburban American nightmare movies (my favorite genre of film) and I figured that if it was a quarter as good as its teaser poster suggested I was interested.

The obvious point of comparison, other than the original film, is Gus Van Sant’s ill-fated 1998 remake of Psycho, but one could reasonably argue Haneke’s idea of adapting his own film is actually worse in conceit. At least Van Sant was tackling material that was fresh…to him. But its clear Haneke isn’t doing this for himself, but rather to expose the film to an American audience for whom he claims it was originally intended. Intended to punish. To reprimand us for our enjoyment of “torture porn” films by rubbing our noses in it and mocking the very conventions we’ve come to expect from them. There’s no point to it all, or more accurately, the point of it all is precisely that there is no point.

When most movies are over I usually have a pretty good idea of what worked and what didn’t and might offer suggestions as to what could have been improved upon. Funny Games is a different story. It isn’t a film. It’s an experience, and a grueling, unpleasant one at that. Actually, it’s more of an ordeal. It forces the viewer to look at their reactions to it and at times implicates them in the action, although that description makes the movie sound much deeper than it is.

It isn’t as timely or thematically important as Haneke thinks (and at times is way too artsy and pretentious for its own good) but as an experiment that gets you thinking it’s perfect. Some of that thinking may consist of wondering how anyone could make this piece of trash. And Haneke’s response would be to ask what piece of trash would enjoy watching it, even though he thinks he knows the answer-- “YOU!” And I can actually picture him screaming that in a scolding, arrogant tone while waving his finger incessantly. But he gets away with it because the experiment is often terrifying, well-acted and cleverly directed.

He’s definitely not changing the face of how we view movies with this but he has offered up one of the more polarizing, ambitious efforts of late and one that’s sure to have everyone split right down the middle. In other words, the only thing I enjoy more than reviewing movies like this is sitting back and watching people’s reactions to them. Does that make me as bad as Haneke? Probably not, since I can’t claim I enjoyed watching it nor would I have a strong desire to see it again. No one could. As a film I still don’t know what to make of it, but as a cinematic case study it’s fascinating.

Right from the bright red opening title sequence introducing us to George Farber (Tim Roth), his wife Ann (Naomi Watts) and their 10-year-old son Georgie (Devon Gearhart) Haneke lets us know who’s in charge here. Interrupting the sedate classical music they have playing through the car stereo is the loud thrashing of heavy metal, as they head to their Long Island vacation home for the weekend. While there Ann gets some unexpected company from two polite young men in white polo shirts and gloves who refer to themselves as Peter (Brady Corbet) and Paul (Michael Pitt). They also refer to themselves as “Beavis” and “Butt-Head” and “Tom” and “Jerry” at various points but that’s neither here nor there. It doesn’t matter who they are, but rather, what they’re going to do.

Peter wants to borrow some eggs and has an awkward (at times flat-out creepy) interaction with Ann before “accidentally” dropping them. There’s something really off about this kid and Haneke cleverly but subtly lets us know that Ann’s on to him right away. This brings in Paul, who’s even creepier and the uncomfortable situation escalates into unbearable suspense by the time they shatter George’s leg with a golf club. He wasn’t as clued in as Ann, but now he is. They take the family hostage and place a bet: That none of them will be alive at 9:00 tomorrow morning. The games begin. Both games. The game these sadists are playing with the Farber family and the one Haneke is playing with us. Sometimes it’s hard to separate the two and often they overlap.

Well-spoken and polite the intruders seem almost offended that this family would question what they’re doing or why they’re doing it. Truthfully, there is no why, as is so often the case in random acts of violence. George, as the man of the house reacts to the situation as best he can but he’s still wrong. Anything he does is wrong because these guys aren’t playing by any rules and neither is Haneke. The couple is smart and resourceful but that’s just not enough. The victims exist only to be mocked and laughed at by the perpetrators, one of which (Paul) is fully aware he’s in a film being put on for our “entertainment” and breaks the fourth wall to talk to us. There’s been a lot of hoopla over Haneke implementing this device but everyone has gotten worked up over nothing. Its inclusion doesn’t do damage to the film, nor does it really help it tremendously. It slides right in without distraction and is strategically placed to get the point across. More importantly, though, it isn’t overused. If I had to pick I’d say the controversial method helps.

Are we REALLY rooting for Ann, George and their son or do we just want them to stay around so we can see them suffer more? That’s the question Paul is asking us the audience. Haneke wants us to root for the victims so when we do he can quickly remind us these two psychopaths hold all the cards and there’s nothing we can do about it. We have certain expectations about what a “torture porn” movie like this is supposed to do and what should happen, but Haneke subverts them all. He’s more interested in how we’re viewing it. There’s a scene where Ann disrobes and Haneke refuses to show us anything. He instead wants us to feel guilty for thinking about seeing Naomi Watts topless in a situation like this and punish us for it. I’m not sure he succeeded there since the thought of Watts naked isn’t likely to have me paralyzed with guilt or running to confession anytime soon.

Haneke wants to have his cake and eat it too. It’s awful that we’re watching such filth…but it’s perfectly fine for him to film it? The movie’s centerpiece, an uninterrupted nearly 10-minute long shot of Watts in her underwear struggling to find the fortitude to survive, will have you wondering if Haneke is guilty of the voyeurism he’s trying to condemn. And he probably wants you to wonder. In his defense no matter how he approached this material he would have faced those accusations so it’s almost beside the point. He drags the shot on forever in a blatant attempt to make us feel as uncomfortable as possible, almost daring us to look away. I couldn’t. With all these long, visually meditative takes everything plays almost like a 70’s era film, Kubrick’s A Clockwork Orange being the obvious inspiration.

Haneke also accomplishes, maybe as a side effect of his actual goal, what today’s modern horror entries can’t in creating terror without actually showing anything. His goal is to deprive the viewer of exactly what they came to see and he goes out of his way to do it. When a horrible act of violence is committed it happens off-screen as we’re instead forced to watch a character prepare a sandwich in the kitchen.

The victims may be smart and resourceful, but they’re also ignorant and have their heads in the clouds, prisoners of their own false sense of security. They’re oblivious that any chance they have for survival is minimal in a game like this and they fight an uphill battle. George is portrayed as a wimp who, beyond being unable to defend his own family, can’t even bring himself to punch Paul. The most he can muster is an open hand slap.

More uneasiness comes into play with another never-ending scene involving a cell-phone. All possible methods of escape are not only avoided, they’re mocked cruelly, as if Haneke’s thumbing his nose at all those dumb horror movies where we know exactly what will happen next. There comes a point in the story where we expect the tide to turn in a certain direction because it does all the time in films of this genre. Instead, we’re reminded who’s really pulling the strings here with another bold cinematic device. It’s brazen arrogance on the part of Haneke but doing anything else would almost seem like a betrayal of the story. The outcome was predestined and the only thing we could have done to avoid it was to stop watching, but he knew we’d never do that. He may have inadvertently sent horror movie fans running and crying back into the welcoming arms of Eli Roth, who dishes out safe, comfortable mainstream torture porn compared to this.

I always thought it might be interesting to see A-List actors act in a torture porn film. I wondered what it would be like to maybe see Reese Witherspoon or Tom Hanks fighting for their lives in Saw V as they try to escape Jigsaw’s deadly traps. The closest we’re going to get to that is with Roth and Watts here and now I know why not too many do it: It’s an ordeal. I’m not sure why Naomi would agree to be put through the wringer like this but that she has a producing credit on the film indicates this was a project she was passionate about for whatever reason. Roth plays against type as a passive wimp, conceding the spotlight to his co-star who has the more emotionally draining role. And I worry if young Devon Gearhart will be traumatized for life after acting in this film.

While the film may fall way short of A Clockwork Orange one area where it comes close is in Michael Pitt’s brilliant, terrifying embodiment of Paul that would attract awards consideration is this material wasn’t so problematic and the film wasn’t dumped into limited release in March. Brady Corbet has the quieter, less showy role as the shy, socially inept Peter but we’re never sure how much of that is a put-on. Both actors skirt the line between preppy annoyance and cold-blooded sadism like skilled pros.

Right now anyone reading this knows something I don’t: What my star rating for this film is. Usually I have a good idea what it is before I type a review, but sometimes I don’t until it’s completed. This is one of those times. But whatever it is it can’t be interpreted as a “recommendation” or any kind of admission that I “enjoyed it.” This isn’t a film you can enjoy or recommend.

I’m convinced a zero star review of this film would read exactly the same as one that’s a four-stars. 2 people could take the same things out of this movie with one loving it and the other hating it and they’d both be completely right. It’s just that kind of film. Maybe I’m just happy these days when anything gets me to think or argue. In trying to make a serious statement about the world we live in and turn the camera on us, Haneke has unintentionally turned it on himself. As a deep examination of violence in the media Funny Games may be a joke, but as an experience, it’s impossible to shake.

From The Vault: I Heart Huckabees

Director: David O. Russell
Starring: Jason Schwartzman, Mark Wahlberg, Naomi Watts, Jude Law, Dustin Hoffman, Lily Tomlin, Isabelle Huppert
Running Time: 106 min.
Rating: R
Release Date: 2004

*** (out of ****)

"It was as if somebody forgot to give the actors a script and said, 'For the next two hours, just go out there and do something'" -2008 Presidential candidate Mike Huckabee

"Pretentious" is a word that seems to have picked up a lot of steam in the past few years, especially in regards to film. Upon its release in 2004, this word was used often in describing the polarizing existential comedy I Heart Huckabees. As shocking as it may seem, between late 2002 and late 2005 I hardly watched any movies at all and I'm still slowly trying to recover and catch up on a lot of them. This one was always at the top of my list. People kept telling me I had to see it because, even though most of them despised it themselves, they thought it would be "my kind of movie."

For the most part, they were right…I think. It's a film perhaps best known for a couple of volatile on-set confrontations between director David O. Russell and star Lily Tomlin that were captured on video and posted on YouTube last year. I'd be lying if I told you that my primary interest in seeing the film didn't stem mainly from watching that. The good news is there is more to the movie than just that off-screen drama, even if there isn't nearly as much to the movie as Russell probably thinks there is, or wanted there to be.

It's a real "love it" or "hate it" affair yet somehow I found myself squarely in the middle on it. Part of me wanted to despise the film, while the other part really wanted to love and embrace it. In the end, neither side won. It tries to touch on deep philosophical issues that most mainstream films won't go near, yet doesn't really touch on any them at all. It's billed as a "comedy" yet after listening to the humorless commentary track from Russell on the DVD I started to wonder if he knew it was one.

Really, above all, I Heart Huckabees is a self-indulgent mess, but that's not necessarily a criticism. What it has going for it is that it's often hysterical and gives us a chance to see some big-name actors show off a humorous side of themselves we never knew they had. One actor, especially, who proves to have a surprising gift for comedy and gives one of the best performances of his career. I'd recommend this just for his work in it, but aside from that there's still more than enough here to tickle the funny bone.

After a series of coincidences and chance encounters with a Sudanese doorman, Alex Markovski (Jason Schwartzman) employs the services of a Bernard and Vivian Jaffe (Dustin Hoffman and Lily Tomlin), a husband and wife team of "existential detectives" to get to the bottom of it. They believe every event and every person in the world is connected in some way. In other words, everything occurs for a reason and has "meaning." Ironically, the closer the detectives get to unraveling the mystery the more Alex tries to sabotage their investigation out of fear of what they may uncover. He sets ridiculous ground rules for them, forbidding they go anywhere near his job, where he's having a major "situation." As the head of the environmental group, "Open Spaces Coalition" he's battling Brad Stand (Jude Law) a slick, smooth-talking executive from Huckabees, a Wal-Mart like department store chain, whose charm has enabled him to infiltrate and take control of Alex's group. He's made a sport out of telling people what they want to hear and being loved for it.

His beautiful girlfriend, Dawn Campbell is the spokesmodel for the company and is starting to have an existential crisis of her own, coming to the realization she's just a commodity valued only for her looks. As Alex's frustration with the Jaffe's investigation grows he meets another one of their clients even more frustrated than he is, obsessive anti-petroleum firefighter Tommy Corn (Mark Wahlberg). He's secretly hired the detectives' arch nemesis Caterine Vaubin (Isabelle Huppert), who supports a contradicting Nihilistic theory that life is completely random, meaningless and cruel and you just have to accept it for what it is. Tommy's liberal rantings reach a hilarious peak in the film's best scene, when he and Alex join the Sudanese doorman's adoptive family for dinner. Some of the stuff he says and how he says it will have you either in hysterics, just scratching your head, or both.

I'd love to say all these deep philosophical ideas come together in a big way at the end of the film but they don't exactly. I don't know if they're supposed to or if Russell even wants us to attempt to connect all the dots. The real joys in the film come from these memorable characters and all the actors' energetic performances as them. The character of Brad, especially, takes an interesting turn in the final act as he's set up as almost the antithesis of Alex. If Jude Law suddenly gave up drama it would be of no loss because he could have a future in comedy judging from what he pulls off here. His reaction to an important question posed by his girlfriend late in the film is priceless. He finds a way to make Brad completely slimy, yet still very likeable.

Even better is Watts, whose given the film's most memorable line. It's a joke that's almost too easy and we see it coming from miles away, but her delivery of it is so perfect. Watching her try to ugly herself up (as if that's possible) and run around in meltdown mode through the last third of the film is a huge guilty pleasure for those used to her usual work. She dives into this nonsense head first.

Tomlin and Hoffman have great chemistry together as do Wahlberg and Schwartzman, who's never been better as the super-sensitive, worrisome protagonist. Before I saw this even those who hate the film told me how much they loved Wahlberg's performance as this delusional firefighter. He steals every scene he's in and basically the entire film. Of all the actors here Wahlberg seems to know best that the character demands to be played with total straight-faced conviction. He's known as quietly intense actor so it's a thrill to see him channel that intensity outward in comedy. Who knew he could be this funny? Despite the film's mixed reception, I'm very surprised he didn't earn a Best Supporting Actor nomination for this. There are also some "before they were stars" cameos from Jonah Hill and Isla Fisher while Shania Twain proves to be a good sport by appearing as herself despite being mocked throughout the movie in a funny sub-plot.

It's a shame the Tomlin/Russell controversy has overshadowed the film because you'd figure a movie like this would actually be fun to make. I guess it's just a harsh reminder that no matter how fun and breezy things look onscreen, or how perfect the cast synergy may appear, it takes a lot of blood, sweat and tears to deliver the finished product…and often involves many clashing egos. Judging from the two "incidents" available online I'm just impressed Russell was able to restrain himself from strangling Tomlin the way she was acting. I wasn't sure whose side I'd be on but after seeing the second clip where Tomlin inexplicably curses out my girl Naomi she officially lost me and I was on Team Russell. Ironically, after all that the scene never even made the final cut.

The movie made some more headlines this year when Republican Presidential candidate Mike Huckabee adopted the film's title as his campaign slogan. The quote above, reflecting his hatred of the film, may seem true at times during the movie, but in actuality it takes a lot of planning to craft something this absurd and meaningless. Just ask Tomlin. In any event, this film was far more successful than Huckabee's ill-fated Presidential run.

David O. Russell already had two critically acclaimed films behind him before he directed this: Flirting With Disaster and Three Kings. The latter featured another storied on-set confrontation (this time physical) with star George Clooney. If this had happened once Russell probably could have recovered but because he had two huge incidents with major stars he was labeled as "difficult" and his career has yet to recover. To be fair, it's worth noting that Wahlberg has worked with him twice and both he and Schwartzman were able to stand him long enough to record a commentary track for the DVD without any issues.

Even though I'm giving the film three stars because it is really a mixed bag it's one of the more affectionate three-star ratings I can recall giving out and I can envision the movie growing on me. It probably plays much better on repeated viewings and I can understand how it's quirkiness has earned it somewhat of a cult following. The performances, its memorable visual aesthetic and Jon Brion's enchanting, offbeat score only enhance the overall experience. It is original that's for sure and the rare case where a movie's behind the scenes turmoil may have actually helped its cause, or at the very least, drawn more attention to the finished product. I Heart Huckabees may not work all the time, but I had a smile on my face the whole way through.

Eastern Promises

Director: David Cronenberg
Starring: Viggo Mortensen, Naomi Watts, Vincent Cassel, Armin Mueller-Stahl, Jerzy Skolimowski
Running Time: 100 min.
Rating: R

*** (out of ****)

It's something we've known for a while but Eastern Promises just further confirms it: Viggo Mortensen is one hell of an actor. He's actually such a strong, intimidating actor that his performance comes close to overshadowing and overpowering this film, making it difficult to care about the other characters half as much. This movie is all about Viggo…and the violence. It's something director David Cronenberg is quick to remind us of in every single frame of this film, sometimes in more excruciating detail than we feel comfortable watching. As thrilling as it is sometimes, there may be some confusion as to what audience this film is for. The excessive male nudity is likely to turn off (straight) male audiences, while the brutal violence and gore would cause the female audience to hit the stop button on the remote. As is, it's a very good, absorbing crime film that benefits greatly by having Cronenberg at the helm.

Previously a cult horror director, Cronenberg has lately taken baby steps toward the mainstream, or at least as close to the mainstream as someone like him can get. Reuniting with Mortensen, whom he directed in one of 2005's best films, A History of Violence, he has has this gift for depicting violence in the harshest, most realistic way possible. It was present in even his earliest work. That's definitely on grand display here, even if the film is somewhat clichéd and gives us a take on the mob genre we've seen before.

I can't help but laugh just a little when I see it on many year-end top ten lists because it really is just a one-trick pony, as entertaining and over-the-top as it may be. But at least it's a film of substance and can't be categorized as "Hollywood fluff," a term I've been using a lot these past couple of months to describe the unusually high level of lightweight studio offerings. No one could ever call Cronenberg's films "lightweight." Plus, it earns bonus points for containing what's easily the most exciting (and uncomfortably homoerotic) fight scene of the year. You'll never want to enter a men's locker room again.

Anna Kitrova (Naomi Watts) is a midwife at a London hospital who successfully delivers the baby girl of a hemorrhaging teenager who ends up dying on the table. She leaves behind no identification other than a diary, which contains a business card, that leads her to a restaurant fronting for the Russian Mob. The owner, Semyon (played with subtle menace by the great Armin Mueller-Stahl) offers to translate the diary, which is written in Russian. He obviously isn't doing this out of the kindness of his heart and is hiding something I probably shouldn't reveal in this review.

Unwise, emotional decision-making puts Anna in over her head and she finds herself face-to-face with Nikolai Luzhin (Mortensen), the chauffer of Semyon's insane, drunk son Kirill (Vincent Cassel). What's so amazing about this partnership (you couldn't call it a friendship) between Nikolai and Kirill is how Nikolai not only puts up with this guy, but knows exactly how to handle him, showing more patience than anyone else would in that situation. Even when our patience for his behavior starts to run out, Nikolai becomes even calmer and more tolerant, defending his unstable actions to Semyon. There are weird, creepy homosexual undertones to their relationship that the film teases but mercifully doesn't fully explore, even when we increasingly fear it will.

This Kirill guy is definitely off his rocker and many times during the film you're not sure whether to laugh at his actions or cringe in fear. Casell (who's done strong supporting work in films like Derailed) chews into this role like it's a three-course meal and more than holds his own scene-for-scene with Mortensen. No small achievement. Aside from a twist late in the film which is a surprise but hardly a shock, the script mostly follows the predictable pattern for these types of films and doesn't contain a lot of twists and turns. But it's worth mentioning that the person I was watching this with and I were taking bets as to which characters would survive until the end of the film. Both of us were way off.

It's tough to believe the Viggo Mortensen we see here is the same man who played Tom Stall in A History of Violence two years ago. This film isn't anywhere close to being as psychologically deep or complex as that near-masterpiece, but Mortensen's performance is just as subtly powerful, in a far different way. As I was watching the brutal, bloody shower fight scene I was wondering to myself why he was having such a tough time finishing these guys off. Then it occurred to me that this guy isn't the invincible fighting machine that Tom Stall was.

It was tough for me to let go of that notion, just as its tough to shake any character Mortensen has played throughout his career. I'm sure I'll have the same problem with this one. It seems in the past couple of years he's really turned that corner and shot to the top of the list of our best actors, mastering the ability to believably slide into any role. Cronenberg gives him center stage again here and he owns the film with his trademark quite intensity. He radiates a calmness that's scary because you're always aware of the possibility that he could explode. He deserves a Best Actor nomination for this.

Naomi Watts, on the other hand, doesn't fare as well but that's only because Steve Knight's screenplay requires Anna (as well as her hotheaded Russian-born uncle, played by Jerzy Skolimowski) to make head-scratchingly stupid decisions in order to service the drama of the story. I didn't believe they were unrealistic decisions that someone in her similar situation wouldn't make, but it did make it more difficult to root for the character. Caring more about the villain than the heroine didn't help. The movie doesn't force the issue of some kind of a deep relationship between the two lead characters, which was probably a wise move. Watching this though it occurred to me that Watts just might be one of my favorite actresses because even when the material isn't up to her talent level she's always compelling to watch. There are a lot of beautiful movie stars but I could only count on one hand how many are also great actresses. She is.

With its heavy gore (even the opening scene is brutal) and male nudity this film would have been pure B-level camp if anyone but Cronenberg was behind the lens. With all the crazy stuff that goes down here this really should pass as a comedy (at least on paper), but he finds a way to not only make it dramatic, but at times terrifying. Cronenberg's career has gone in an interesting direction because, unlike a Sam Raimi, as he's edged closer to the mainstream he's found a way to appeal to more audiences without sacrificing any of the elements that brought him there. This time he just didn't have a strong enough screenplay to support him but it should be very interesting to see where he decides to go next. You can say what you want about Cronenberg, but he's no sell-out. Eastern Promises could stand as a shining example of standard material being elevated by a great director and terrific performances to appear more important than it actually is. The film is far from perfect but you won't be able to look away, as much as you'll want to.