The Housemaid

Director: Paul Feig
Starring: Sydney Sweeney, Amanda Seyfried, Brandon Sklenar, Michele Morrone, Elizabeth Perkins, Indiana Elle, Amanda Joy Erickson, Megan Ferguson, Ellen Tamaki
Running Time: 131 min.
Rating: R

★★★ (out of ★★★★)  

Paul Feig's The Housemaid is the kind of stylishly silly throwback thriller they don't make enough of anymore, or at least not this well. Just when you think it's winding down is when it really gets going as a relatively straightforward premise flies off the rails in the best possible way. And while feelings may vary on how effectively the film reconciles its two distinct sections, it remains committed enough to its trashiness that you can't help but be on board. Everyone involved knew exactly what they're making and it shows, especially as the situation grows nuttier by the minute.  

Rather than questioning why a character didn't do this or that or nitpicking about the details, you'll spend  more time awkwardly rooting for an extra-marital affair you know is coming. But even as its campy scenario descends into "MeToo" era melodrama with a side plate of torture porn, this never wavers in tone, earning a leeway so many entertainingly bad movies in its genre don't. And for that and more, it's definitely Feig's most audacious directorial effort yet, if not his craziest. 

On parole and living out of her car, Millie Calloway (Sweeney) is hired by Nina Winchester (Amanda Seyfried) as a live-in housekeeper, arriving at the Great Neck, Long Island mansion she shares with wealthy tech mogul husband Andrew (Brandon Sklenar) and daughter Cece (Indiana Elle). And after impressing a seemingly pleasant and accommodating Nina in her interview, Millie's hired and given the attic guestroom and a new phone. Soon, she's cleaning, running errands and picking up Cece from dance class, only to find Nina's treatment of her starts becoming wildly unpredictable and downright abusive. 

Whether Nina's screaming at Millie for some imagined indiscretion or threatening to fire her for no good reason at all, she quickly realizes this woman's psychotic, a theory confirmed by Nina's chatty, backstabbing housewife clique. Desperate to keep this job as a condition of her parole, Millie finds support from the kind, laid-back Andrew, who's equally repulsed by his wife's behavior, which he attributes to a traumatic childhood event. But as Millie and Andrew grow closer, a jealous Nina becomes increasingly unhinged, setting off a dangerous series of events that causes everyone's secrets to spill.

When Millie first arrives at the Winchester house hidden behind a pair of mousey glasses, we immediately suspect she's hiding something, most likely related to her stint in prison for this unknown crime. Those unfamiliar with Freida McFadden's 2022 novel on which the film's based may assume she's running some sort of scam to fleece the family of their fortune. But while the theory's credible, it's also shelved right away, even as Millie's mysterious past remains an important detail that's touched upon throughout. 

As the story's self conscious narrator, Millie reveals flashes of her personality in scenes with her understanding parole officer or when quietly expressing concern over the obsessively detailed Nina somehow missing her criminal record in a background search. But in the meantime she contends with the boss from hell as Nina's initially warm, welcoming disposition quickly deteriorates, alternating between phony tradwife and irrational monster. All this as empathetic husband Andrew displays the patience of a saint, managing Nina's mental illness like a pro while also handling his snobby, perfectionist mother (an icy Elizabeth Perkins). 

Seyfried is extraordinary, cutting loose and chewing scenery like nobody's business in the type of  hysterically over-the-top turn only a great actress could get away with. You're on pins and needles anxiously awaiting what will set Nina off next, especially when Andrew offers the shell-shocked Millie a shoulder to cry on. And while he's no stranger to playing brooding, charismatic good guys in recent films like It Ends With Us and Drop, Skenlar does more here when Rebecca Sonnenshine's script pivots, giving him the chance to further stretch his acting muscles, with compelling results. 

That Sweeney's biggest box office success thus far comes in a sleazy psychosexual guilty pleasure rather than the supposedly more serious roles she's been taking on would feel ironic if she wasn't so excellent, skirting the line between vulnerable naiveté and opportunism. She leaves us guessing as we both cheer and dread Millie's inevitable connection with Andrew, buckling up for what's sure to be a bumpy ride. And without giving too much away, it isn't exactly a coincidence she was hired since every detail matters, whether it's related her own history, a nosy groundskeeper or water bottles left in the guest room fridge. 

What feels like the movie's peak becomes mere prologue once its big twist arrives, and regardless of whether you saw it coming, watching what unfolds is no less of a blast. The Housemaid probably isn't intended to withstand multiple viewings, but each of these actors impress with how deftly they change course once their characters' true intentions are revealed. When the turn arrives, this doesn't become a different film so much as an insanely amped up, addictive extension of what we were already watching. And in this case, that's not a bad thing at all.                                    

The Dropout

Creator: Elizabeth Meriwether
Starring: Amanda Seyfried, Naveen Andrews, Utkarsh Ambudkar, Michel Gill, Bill Irwin, William H. Macy, Elizabeth Marvel, Laurie Metcalf, Mary Lynn Rajskub, Kate Burton, Stephen Fry, Michael Ironside, Dylan Minnette, Alan Ruck, James Hiroyuki Liao, Camryn Mi-Young Kim, Sam Waterston, Kurtwood Smith, Anne Archer, LisaGay Hamilton, Michaela Watkins, Ebon Moss-Bachrach, Rich Sommer
Release Date: 2022

★★★ ½ (out of ★★★★) 

As a child, Elizabeth Holmes drew up a design for a time machine. This is mentioned in the very first episode of Hulu's The Dropout by her father, who still has it proudly framed as evidence of his daughter's propensity to dream big. It's emblematic of an upbringing that stressed no idea was too crazy or obstacle insurmountable if you just kept your head down and moved forward, without a care what anyone thinks. Whether awkwardly running track in high school, determined to finish no matter how far behind she was, or dancing in her room to Alabama's "I'm in a Hurry," with goofy moves that would make Elaine Benes blush, Holmes was always going places. Stopping only to seek approval from the Steve Jobs poster hanging on her wall, she'd tell herself that someday this would be her.   

Elizabeth Meriwether's gripping miniseries that just might be the most fascinating dissection of a modern public tech figure since Mark Zuckerberg was picked apart in The Social Network, and it's only after watching all 8 episodes that you can fully appreciate the opening ones, knowing what's coming. This is the ultimate supervillain origin story because it starts so innocuously, as the socially awkward, relatable Holmes comes off very likable at first, but with just enough quirks and personality deficiencies to do a double take, as we slowly become aware of the seeds being planted for trouble down the road. 

Holmes would undoubtedly appreciate that there's probably an alternate timeline somewhere in which she's as successful as her hero Jobs, an iconic, groundbreaking innovator who made products that transformed how we live. And therein lies the kicker. Her idea was good enough to have changed the world, if only it worked and she possessed lacked the knowledge, leadership and personality to do this. Meriwether doesn't let the believers and enablers off the hook either, knowing the true victims aren't  executives taken in by her charms and looking to bolster their bottom lines, but sick patients unknowingly endangered by lies and faulty technology. It would be a Shakesperean tragedy if only she had the self-actualization to realize what went wrong. Instead, the fallout destroys everyone and everything else, arriving at the Theranos founder's doorstep last. 

A mind blowing Amanda Seyfried not only delivers an endlessly layered, Emmy-worthy biographical portrayal, but somehow convinces us this ambitious, determined and somewhat flaky girl would later morph into a total enigma, all while strangely remaining entirely recognizable. The emotional and physical transformation she undergoes is both frightening and empathetic, painting a portrait of this lifelong overachiever with sociopathic tendencies who doesn't know when to say when, barely registering an inkling of the destruction she's caused. Elizabeth's only as aware as she wants to be, stuffing all the pain away to push through at any cost.

Meriwether covers a period from when Holmes was a pre-teen to her 2001 high school graduation and subsequent dropping out of Stanford University, all the way through the 2003 founding and 2018 dissolution of her medical technology company, Theranos. She'd eventually face charges from the Securities and Exchange Commission for defrauding investors and an eventual indictment, but it didn't start that way. Built on the development and distribution a groundbreaking device that could complete an entire battery of medical tests with only a single drop of blood, then 19 year-old Elizabeth Holmes took her revolutionary idea to the street, shoring up financial support from wealthy donors and venture capitalists. The only problem: it never worked.

Despite help from experienced engineers like Ian Gibbons (Stephen Fry), the technology just wasn't there for this to get off the ground. When pharmaceutical companies don't bite, Elizabeth makes the cagey decision to target retail, and when Walgreens shows interest in putting these Edison blood testing machines in their stores, her lies grow exponentially bigger. Upon bringing on her controlling, short-tempered boyfriend, Ramesh "Sunny" Balwani (Naveen Andrews) on as COO to appease an unhappy board, she buries her head further in the sand, working to cover-up the machine's dangerous irregularities while legally threatening anyone capable of exposing it. 

Holmes meets her match in family neighbor Richard Fuisz (William H. Macy), who not only attempts to sue her over a patent but starts feeding information to Wall Street Journal reporter John Carreyrou (Ebon Moss-Bachrach), who stumbles into the story of a lifetime. His whistleblowers come in the form of idealistic Theranos employees Erika Cheung (Camryn Mi-Young Kim) and Tyler Shultz (Dylan Minnette), grandson of stubborn board member and former Secretary of State George Shultz (Sam Waterston). They know something's very wrong, morally and scientifically. But as Holmes' grip tightens and she emerges as a media darling trumpeted by the likes of Bill Clinton, Joe Biden and Rupert Murdoch, Theranos begins drowning in empty promises and lies, all of which will soon be uncovered, along with its fraud of a CEO. 

While the ABC News podcast of the same title this is based upon functioned as a compelling, if slightly repetitive information dump, this adaptation is anything but. Exciting, tragic and even darkly hilarious, Meriwether (with directors Michael Showalter, Francesca Gregorini and Erica Watson) condense all these key events and facts into an easily digestible number of episodes, cutting out the fat to focus on what really matters: The psychological motivations of Holmes, who both does and doesn't fit the typical profile of what the public's perception of a criminal CEO is.

Standing out for its complexity, the script posits that it wasn't just one or two things that created Holmes or led to this giant lie, but rather a multitude of life events that shaped her narcissism and delusion. Some of its timeliest observations concern those who chose to believe her because it felt special to get in on the ground level and appear ahead of the curve. Though the potential dollar signs didn't hurt. Young, smart and pretty, her overall presentation and story was enough for these smitten investors to view the technology as almost an afterthought.

It must work. She told us so. Why would someone pour all this time and effort into nothing? Of course, few would intentionally set out to build a medical device that doesn't function, but Holmes' earliest  declarations that she wanted to become a billionaire was probably the first sign of putting the cart before the horse. Motivations aside, most of the problems started when her idea simply didn't work and she committed to soldiering on anyway with smoke and mirrors, ignoring the potential consequences. 

Whether running tests on a competitor's machines, falsifying data, misleading and defrauding investors or flat-out lying to the board or manipulating Walgreens into putting her Edison devices in their stores, no bridge proved too far for Elizabeth. Rarely asking the most basic of questions or making any concrete demands, the prospect of these executives actually seeing the lab becomes a long-running joke, as Holmes bends over backwards to ensure it never happens. That it doesn't, and for so long, might be the most shocking revelation to come out of all this, with them misdirected to such an extent that they're running in circles to keep up.

Most of the supporting players can almost be categorized into two groups: marks and doubters. For every supporter like Walgreens' Jay Rosan (a great Alan Ruck), who's ready to put the machine in stores right now, there's a Kevin Hunter (Rich Sommer), seeing this for the sham it is. Unfortunately, those sane voices keep getting drowned out by greedier, more powerful ones who have already been taken in. The biggest sucker is board member George Shultz, who'd sooner disown his grandson, Tyler, before acknowledging the blatant evidence of this scam. His excuse later about the lengths a decent person will go  when they believe they're right isn't as applicable to him as he wishes. He's a fundamentally indecent, self-entitled windbag who turns on his own family, but Waterston doesn't play him that way, evoking emotions in the viewer that evoke more pity than frustration. 

Tyler and Erika might be the only two characters who are morally beyond reproach, questioning the right things for correct reasons. Young and with seemingly less to lose, they become Elizabeth's biggest threat, and even as Erika has considerably less cover than the well connected Tyler, he still suffers quite a lot for his honesty. Desperately wanting to believe in Holmes' vision and what it means for their generation's future, no one's more disappointed than them, which proves to be the catalyst for their willingness to bring her down. 

In one of the series' best and most disturbing scenes, Tyler uncomfortably serenades the Theranos founder with a self-penned song at her party, complete with lyrics about the innovators she always dreamed of being mentioned with. Dylan Minnette nails it as a terrified Tyler, with his voice trembling and head down, he looks like a deer in headlights, struggling to get through this, only to have her make him sing it again. By this point, she's guzzling her own Kool-Aid, as if a roomful of guests unironically wearing Elizabeth Holmes masks wasn't already creepy enough. 

With full force, Holmes targets detractors and potential whistleblowers within the company, as Sunny Balwani transitions from her secret, much older boyfriend to company COO and designated hatchet man. The trajectory of this relationship is such that their personal and professional lives become inseparable, eventually creating a legal entanglement where one almost has to turn on the other. It's a far, pathetic cry from how we see their friendship begin when she's just 19, even if there is an odd co-dependent, parasitic element that's present from the start. 

Elizabeth and Sunny are both too hard headed and damaged to really make this work, each of their inferiority complexes in constant battle to retain the upper hand. In what's easily Naveen Andrews' best work since Lost, he depicts a man who appears at first as a zen-like mentoring figure, only to eventually succumb to the power and control he thinks he has in Theranos and over Elizabeth. But he doesn't stand a chance, as she always stays a few steps ahead in the blame game. Her sometimes frightening lack of emotion and empathy serves as both a defensive mechanism and weapon to tear down whomever stands in her path, whether it be Sunny or long suffering, well-intentioned engineer Ian Gibbons, who experiences the worst betrayal of all. 

That Elizabeth never learned how to be herself becomes a recurring thread, as we're given a glimpse into a traumatic event she experienced at Stanford that informed her future behavior to an extent we'll never completely understand. The series wisely doesn't dwell on it because neither did she. And that's exactly the point. It wasn't processed so much as put away in a drawer and buried, informing so many of her actions since. Of course, none of this is presented as any kind of excuse, just one of many components that contributed to the crimes she would perpetrate against those who wanted to believe in her, or at least in the idea of her. 

"Do or do not. There is no try." Those are the words Holmes lived by and took to the extreme, and even if we can acknowledge the obvious adorkability in Yoda being her most worthwhile teacher, it's also kind of sad since so few candidates were better qualified for the position. Certainly not her parents or cantankerous neighbor Richard Fuisz, who spends most of his time loudly whining, complaining and suing over not being asked for advice.  

While the end result of Fuisz's actions can be praised in causing Holmes to finally be held legally accountable, his underlying motivations shouldn't be. An angry, bitter man primarily driven by various shades of jealousy and sexism, he sure is hard to root for. Played with entertaining abrasiveness (and a comically gigantic prosthetic forehead) by an unrecognizable William H. Macy, it's hard to ignore how he patronizingly lectures a young, disinterested Elizabeth in front of her family. 

Even in addressing a self-assured teen who thinks she knows everything, Fuisz couldn't come off any worse, to the point that you can't help but wonder if these kinds of interactions aided in creating the monster Elizabeth became. In hindsight, him tipping off of the Wall Street Journal could be looked at through a less altruistic lens, like a make good for being a part of the problem rather than any kind of helpful solution. In other words, he owed us. 

A more practical, though no less direct approach is taken by Stanford professor Phyllis Gardner (a no-nonsense Laurie Metcalf), who forecasts that Holmes just doesn't have the cognitive or scientific know-how to attempt this. While she does underestimate this girl's determination (and kind of views her as an airhead), you almost have to admire just how accurate she is. We get the impression this probably isn't the first student to come to her with their great idea and won't be the last. It's also likely she's never met a student who made it as far on so little as Elizabeth. Gardner sees what everyone else can't, and much earlier.

Elizabeth's fully aware how much harder this will be for her as a young woman, but rather than double down on work and preparation, all of her energy is poured into the deception. Partially stemming from self-doubt but only encouraged by Sunny's warnings of being liked rather than respected, the previously free-spirited, quirky girl-next-door adopts an entirely new facade. A sort of Steve Jobs cosplay, complete with that trademark black turtleneck. 

Many wondered how Seyfried could possibly replicate Holmes' fabricated deep baritone voice, her most desperately obvious attempt at being taken seriously as a CEO. But knowing better than to attempt any sort of imitation, Seyfried instead captures the tone and incantation, while letting her tense smile and super-sized saucer eyes do the rest. And by avoiding any kind of mimicry at all, she ends up coming closer to what our perceptions of the real person is, regardless of whether or not that's true. 

Seyfried's performance operates on multiple levels, saying one thing while her facial expressions frequently betray that, as the character works hard to convince herself the warped words she speaks are grounded in truth. Living entirely in her own reality, Elizabeth may be complicated, but every facet of what Seyfried brings to this role completely reflects that, as does the soundtrack. 

Leaving little doubt exactly where and when we are, she rocks out to '00 keepers like the Yeah Yeah Yeah's "Y control," Len's "Steal My Sunshine" and Wolf Parade's "I'll Believe in Anything." And that's just the first episode. While these selections probably earn Holmes more indie cred than she actually deserves, it's fun to imagine they pulled her playlist while also providing the story with perfect, period-accurate window dressing. 

The Dropout finishes almost exactly how it began, with Elizabeth running. It hints that through all the mental and emotional gymnastics she went through to suppress the enormity of her crimes, she knows. And with a single primal scream comes that acknowledgment, at least until it's time to shut that all down, put on a smile, and start the whole thing over again. Being at the forefront of what was purported to be a revolution for women in technology, Elizabeth Holmes unfortunately guaranteed a far rougher road ahead for every aspiring female entrepreneur who follows, especially the good ones. The biggest question we're left with is whether she ever cared at all.

Mank

Director: David Fincher
Starring: Gary Oldman, Amanda Seyfried, Lily Collins, Arliss Howard, Tom Pelphrey, Sam Troughton, Ferdinand Kingsley, Tuppence Middleton, Tom Burke, Joseph Cross, Jamie McShane, Toby Leonard Monika Gossmann, Charles Dance, Bill Nye
Running Time: 131 min.
Rating: R 

★★★ ½ (out of ★★★★)

During David Fincher's Mank, drunk, bedridden screenwriter Herman J. Mankiewicz is told by a producer that the assigned screenplay he's writing for young, hotshot director Orson Welles is "too complicated," confusingly jumping back and forth through time and careening out of control as he approaches an impossible deadline. If the script was just a structural mess maybe that could be fixed, but the bigger complaint is its inaccessibility, sure to drive away mainstream audiences. That working draft, titled "American," would eventually evolve into Citizen Kane, and everything turned out pretty well. Or did they?  Definitely for the film, but not so much for those directly involved. Listening to the criticisms of Mankiewicz's script, you can't help but think that without careful planning it could also apply to the movie that's just been made about it. But we also know this is a director who's nothing if not deliberate.

In adapting his late father Jack Fincher's script to the screen, David Fincher makes a noticeable effort to go beyond taking us on a time travel trip through Hollywood's golden age to deliver an experience that looks and feels as if it could have been released during that era. It attempts to appeal to both diehards who will triple-check its accuracy and more casual viewers unaware of the difference, but respectful of the craftsmanship. And there's plenty to admire in that department, with Fincher expertly channeling this period of filmmaking through dialogue, editing, sound and cinematography that invoke some of Kane's more famous moments.  

The deeper we're submerged into this monochromatic world of shattered dreams, lit cigarettes and broken wine bottles, the clearer it becomes that more bubbles under the surface of Mank as it masquerades as a straight biopic of an immensely successful failure. Movies about movies not only need drama that's worth our attention, but also a unique hook that grabs hold. The creative and personal bloodshed over Citizen Kane should be enough, but in the hands of a master like Fincher, it ends up instead being a thorough psychological dissection of the man who wrote it.  

It's 1940 when Herman J. "Mank" Mankiewicz (Gary Oldman) gets a phone call from Orson Welles (Tom Burke) while recuperating in Victorville, California from a broken leg sustained in a recent car accident. Given complete creative freedom from RKO Pictures for his next project, the upstart Welles recruits an injured Mank to write the screenplay, centering around a wealthy, but morally bankrupt main character who shares more than just passing similarities with newspaper publishing magnate William Randolph Hearst (Charles Dance). 

With Mank dictating the script from bed, his secretary Rita Alexander (Lily Collins) notices this, as well as other parallels to studio executives and people he knew while he and his younger brother, Joseph (Tom Pelphrey) worked at MGM in the 1930's under Louis B. Mayer (Arliss Howard). Flashing back, we see how Mank's friendship with Hearst's lover and beneficiary, actress Marion Davies (Amanda Seyfried) grows, as the writer ingratiates himself and reserved wife Sara (Tuppence Middleton) into the Hollywood elite, entertaining fellow party goers at Hearst's San Simeon estate with his rambunctious personality and outspoken political views. We also see how his alcoholism derailed a successful career, with Welles arriving just in time to offer Mank shot at redemption and a big pay day, if he's still up for it. And doesn't mind forfeiting the credit. 

Those entering this expecting the cold calculation usually associated with Fincher may be surprised to find out that the film's somewhat dark, but not really depressing, moving at a spry, energetic pace that cuts back-and-forth between Mank's latest undertaking and key events in his studio career, most of which are littered with memorable characters and deadpan humor. The familiar device of utilizing screenplay-formatted title cards to indicate the year and location should seem almost too on-the-nose , but it fits exceptionally well here in framing a story about the writer of the most famous non-linear film ever made. 

Considering the feud between Welles and Mankiewicz over credit was historically bitter by even Hollywood standards, this instead mostly focuses on the people and experiences that plant the seeds in Mank to eventually start his greatest creation. In most of his brief appearances, Welles is presented as this deep-voiced, shadowy figure on the other end of the phone, channeling his concerns and demands about the project  through actor-producer John Houseman (Sam Troughton). Because we've had more than enough takes on this side of the Kane fallout before (see 1999's RKO 281 with Liev Schreiber as Welles), this isn't a flaw so much as a choice, and Burke's portrayal of him is sufficient enough given the limited screen time.

The backbone of the film lays in its flashbacks, transporting us into a wild, sepia-tinged world of wealthy, eccentric wheelers and dealers like MGM chief Mayer, who's delightfully played by Arliss Howard as the king of carnival barking studio con-men. He and producer Irving Thalberg (Ferdinand Kingley) tolerate and even like Mank to an extent, until it becomes apparent his best days have passed, and his drunken outbursts threaten the studio's cozy arrangement with Hearst. His eventual script will threaten it more. 

As Hearst, British actor Charles Dance gives the enigmatic publisher the treatment most probably expected would be expected for Welles, conveying a towering but curious presence that in only a few scenes me ets the complicated expectations that drew Mankiewicz and the young, meglomaniacal director to his story, however true or slanderous it ended up being. Mank was 42 when he wrote Kane, and while Oldman is noticeably older, it hardly matters since nearly everyone in this era looked a good fifteen to twenty years past their actual age anyway. Compound that with the fact that Mank was already drowning in the bottle for decades and you could argue the 62 year-old might actually seem too young for the role, especially considering the script's emphasis on him being so far past his prime. 

Anyone who loves that great sub-genre of movies about writers will find a lot to appreciate in Oldman's performance, which severely deviates from the usual trope of introverted writers getting lost inside their own heads. That very well may have been the case if Mank wasn't a self-destructive trainwreck, but he's undeniably the life of the party. And knows it. Two such highfalutin Hearst parties are at the centerpiece of the picture, with the the first memorably deteriorating into a political debate about author and socialist gubernatorial candidate Upton Sinclair (briefly played by Bill Nye the Science Guy). Mank also drunkenly crashes a second one a few years later, leading to an embarrassing display where he basically pitches the Kane story to Hearst's face. 

Self-deprecating enough to be extremely likable, though not entirely oblivious to the damage he leaves in his path, it's hard not to respect the nuance Oldman bring to a real-life figure many know little about aside from his famous writing credit. And some may not even be aware of that since Welles, as director, will always be most closely associated with Kane's success. Keeping Mank in check is his secretary, Lily Collins' Rita, a young woman undeterred by her boss' bluster, or crankiness, steering him on course whether he wants to be or not. Collins leaves a sizable mark, holding together the portion of the film that most centers on his actual writing of the script in between beverages.  

Movie star and Hearst companion Marion Davies is played by an enchanting Amanda Seyfried, who's unquestionably the best thing in this, stealing every scene, nearly all of which are opposite Oldman.  From the moment she appears, Seyfried subverts all expectations of how we'd expect this well known and unfairly maligned celebrity figure to be portrayed. Witty and observant right out of the gate, she plays Davies as a force of nature justifiably tired of being overlooked and underestimated by an "old boys club" that will only ever see her as a ditzy blonde actress. 

Almost instantly on the same wavelength, what's so special and engaging about Mank and Marion's friendship is that it seems real and not put on, breaking that tired cinematic rule that there always has to be romantic strings attached. There are none here and the movie's better for it, regardless of what did or didn't happen in reality. With her expressive eyes and unmistakable facial features Seyfried really looks and talks this part of a classic old Hollywood starlet, nailing a certain rapid-fire style of speech and mannerism that seems pulled out right out of the 30's or 40's. She also gets off one of the film's best lines when trying to convince Mank not to go ahead with a project so obviously taking jabs at her relationship with Hearst. The reasoning behind the objection isn't what you'd think, but perfectly in line with the fair, pragmatic outlook this character demonstrates throughout. 

While it wouldn't exactly be fair to classify this as geared entirely at a niche audience, an argument can be made that Mank isn't the kind of picture that would be considered a huge thrill ride by most, even as some of the best efforts often aren't. But despite the irony of its protagonist having actually won an Academy Award, it definitely isn't calculated enough to be criticized as Oscar bait, mainly because Fincher's incapable of pandering to anyone. For fans of this period and setting there's a lot to revel in with the story of this man's professional and emotional downfall racing by at a almost a breakneck pace, before he's afforded a kind of redemption that ultimately comes too late for him.  

Mankiewicz's standing as a forgotten figure of cinematic history has only increased since this project was first supposed to go in front of the camera for Fincher in the late '90's so its release now feels especially fortuitous. And while any film set in Hollywood during this time would have to address the political backdrop, it holds more relevance now than it otherwise would, made all the more potent by discovering how little has changed beyond the nastiness of the discourse. 

Perceptions have also evolved about the contemporary utilization of black and white photography, as it's been justifiably re-embraced since skepticism surrounded silent throwback The Artist's Best Picture win a decade ago. Those suspecting potential gimmickry should know this looks great and represents one of the better uses of this format, reserved for a story where it feels more like a requirement than a creative choice on Fincher's part. So not only could the timing not be any better for Mank, the movie world seems to have caught up, proving it to be more than worth the wait. 

Les Misérables

Director: Tom Hooper
Starring: Hugh Jackman, Russell Crowe, Anne Hathaway, Amanda Seyfried, Eddie Redmayne, Samantha Barks, Aaron Tveit, Isabelle Allen, Helena Bonham Carter, Sacha Baron Cohen
Running Time: 158 min.
Rating: PG-13

★★★ (out of ★★★★)

As someone who's usually not a fan of musicals and was completely unfamiliar with Victor Hugo's Les Misérables on stage or screen, here presents that rare opportunity for me to go into a movie cold. Knowing so little about it, preconceived notions tend to disappear, or at least fade as far into the background as possible. But it still turned out to be a more fulfilling and entertaining experience than my few expectations had prepared me for. It's also a bizarre one, as certain creative and technical decisions are made by Academy Award winning director Tom Hooper that will likely raise the eyebrows of even those who care little about these sorts of things. Arguments could go on all day as to whether they enhance or detract from the material, but at the end it may not even matter. Since all fans will remember is whether it remains true to the source, Hooper's preaching to the choir here. Everyone else will likely be more divided, but it's pretty cut and dry what works and what doesn't, as one section of the story clearly surpasses the other. At the top of the list of successes is the inspired casting, followed closely by a sensational opening hour that sets in motion a chain events that spans nearly twenty years and claims more than a few victims. As the running time wears on and the characters start dropping like flies, it's almost too easy to revert to the joke that this should have been titled Les MISERABLE. Few will debate the film starts losing steam after the opening sixty minutes, but there's still a lot to recommend in a story so expansive that there's genuine doubt all the characters could die of old age before the final credits roll.

Opening in 1815, Les Misérables really tells two tales that eventually converge as one giant, sweeping one. The first involves convict Jean Valjean (Hugh Jackman), who's released on parole by prison guard Javert (Russell Crowe), but manages to escape and start a new life for himself, eight years later becoming a factory owner and mayor of Montreuil-sur-Mer in France. When one of his workers, Fantine (Anne Hathaway), is fired and forced to sell her hair and turn to prostitution to support her illegitimate daughter, Cosette (Isabelle Allen) Valjean steps in to become the girl's guardian. Now, years later and set against the backdrop of the French Revolution, Valjean is still being trailed by police inspector Javert while an adult Cosette (Amanda Seyfried) becomes the object of Marius Pontmercy's (Eddie Redmayne) affections, much to the dismay of his good friend, Éponine (Samantha Barks), who harbors a secret crush on him. As Javert draws closer to apprehending Valjean, the political turmoil escalates, putting all their lives in danger as a country's future hangs in the balance.          

The first hour of this film is so strong on every level possible that it was almost inevitable that the remainder of it wouldn't be able to keep pace. And Anne Hathaway's Oscar winning supporting performance as the dying Fantine is the major reason why. She has only maybe a little more than 10 minutes of screen time, but makes the most of each grueling moment, effectively selling her character's rapid descent into hopelessness.  Losing her hair and over twenty pounds, her gut-wrenching rendition of "I Dreamed a Dream" is without question the defining scene of the movie and it's a magic that isn't quite recaptured once Hathaway makes her exit. Was the role predestined, if not calculated, to win her the Oscar? Maybe, but who cares when she's this good.

It's also the best work Jackman's done in a while as a man on the run, shamed by his secret past as a criminal and racked by his own guilt. The decade plus cat-and-mouse game that unfolds between him and Javert is the film's greatest narrative asset, even when being overshadowed by other goings on in the third act. Russell Crowe himself would probably readily admit his singing isn't exactly the most polished in the cast, at times coming across as a strange hybrid of William Shatner's spoken word albums from the '60's and Pierce Brosnan in Mamma Mia! Crowe's not a singer, but because he's such a formidable actor he's able to pull off absolute lunacy with confidence and conviction. Whether it was for the right reasons or not, I looked forward to every appearance he made. As the swindling, manipulative Thénardiers, Sacha Baron Cohen and Helena Bonham Carter feel as if they've just stepped off Tim Burton's set, embodying comedic goth creepiness as the innkeepers mistreating young Cosette and extorting her mother. Cohen is fantastic in the role, making "Master of the House," in which he sings about cheating the inn's patrons, the most raucous and purely enjoyable number in the film. If nothing else, the characters deserve credit for their surprising staying power, as few would guess these seemingly one-dimensional villains figure into the action as much and as long as they do.

Unfortunately, everything comes to a grinding halt once we get to the love triangle, which never seems to take off despite spirited efforts from all involved. Because the time jump is so sudden and jarring, it's difficult to immediately adjust to Amanda Seyfried and Samantha Barks as older versions of the child characters we got to know earlier. But they do well nonetheless. Seyfried, besides being a dead ringer to child counterpart Isabelle Allen in looks, is definitely the best singer in the cast, while Barks, who actually played Éponine on stage, sings and acts her heart out in a role that might not be quite as large as you expected. That her part almost went to Taylor Swift would be shocking if not for the fact that the content of this romantic sub-plot isn't entirely dissimilar to that of her hit songs. As for Redmayne, this marks the second time after My Week with Marilyn that he appears to be a spectator in his own movie as the young lovesick revolutionary. In some ways, Aaron Tveit, who plays his friend and charismatic leader of the movement, Enjolras, makes more of an impression. What saves this section is the music and the fact Hooper gets his act together in time for a strong, emotional finale focusing on the characters we want to see, even if most of them are dead by that point.

This isn't one of those movie musicals that directs itself or is in any way shot like a stage play directly transposed to the screen. Hooper's style is umistakenly "in your face" with weird dutch angles and extreme close-ups that could feel like an invasion of personal space for certain viewers. This is especially true of the Hathaway sequence, where the camera doesn't leave her face the entire time. At times it is too much and it's easy to see why many may not be on board with the approach or feel it's just a filmmaker showing off at the expense of the material. But for me, any bells and whistles were necessary since this was just never going to in my wheelhouse no matter what. The best that could be hoped for was to be sufficiently entertained and Les Mis did deliver that in spades It's never boring or uninteresting. Strangely, it sometimes suffers from the opposite problem, moving a mile a minute with hardly a moment to breathe and take it all in. But as far as problems go, that's a pretty good one to have.          

In Time

Director: Andrew Niccol
Starring: Justin Timberlake, Amanda Seyfried, Cillian Murphy, Olivia Wilde, Alex Pettyfr, Vincent Kartheiser, Johnny Galecki
Running Time: 109 min.
Rating: PG-13

★★★ (out of ★★★★)

In Time hooked me at the first scene. Justin Timberlake's character gets up, goes into the kitchen and greets Olivia Wilde with a "Good morning, Mom." We're not hearing things. He calls her "mom" about three or four times before wishing her a happy 50th birthday and loans her an hour of "time" before heading out to work. That's great screenwriting. Within a minute we're already immersed in this world, as well as surprised, intrigued and not at all confused. No set-up necessary. We're already there. For its first hour, Andrew Niccol's In Time is in the zone. Not The Twilight Zone (though comparisons could be made), but that zone where nothing is going wrong. It's brimming with ideas and atmosphere, visually stimulating and at least for a while seems to have something deep to say. When movies deserving of a wide audience like this flop and the critics dismiss it there's an excited film geek in me that dies a little bit. Or least it did until the second hour came. It's still effective, but far less so if only because action movie commercialism intrudes into a story that doesn't need it. Those ideas that were flawlessly implied become a bit too literalized, resulting in a high-octane mash-up of Logan's Run and Bonnie and Clyde and a messy final act. It's reach definitely exceeds its grasp. I wish all mainstream sci-fi movies could have that problem.

In a dystopian future where people stop aging at 25 and must accumulate more time (displayed by a green counter on their arms) in order to remain alive, ghetto factory worker Will Salas (Timberlake) is on the run after being gifted 100 years by the wealthy Henry Hamilton (Matt Bomer), whom he saved in an attempted time robbery bar assault. Suddenly blessed (cursed?) with all this time, Will discovers the playing field between the "haves" and the "have nots" is more uneven than he imagined, with costs rising unreasonably as time accumulates, making the wealthy richer as the poor continue seeing their precious few minutes run out. Now a suspected murderer and time thief, Will's trailed by determined "Timekeeper" Raymond Leon (Cillian Murphy) as he enters the posh "time zone" of New Greenwich, where he kidnaps Sylvia (Amanda Seyfried), the beautiful daughter of millionaire businessman Phillipe Weis (Vincent Kartheiser). Having taken a more willing hostage than expected, Will must evade the Timekeeper as well as the mob of Minutemen led by elderly British crime boss Fortis (Alex Pettyfr), both of whom are after his time for very different reasons.

There are some sensational scenes dealing with the transfer of time and time running out throughout the entire film, which no one deny exploits its premise to a hilt. In a pulse-pounding one early on, a character's seconds are counting down in a literal race against time, their life depending on meeting someone fast enough to reload. In a smart, non-gory PG-13 manner, we can almost literally see life escaping the person's body as they flail helplessly to the ground after "timing out."  And take the introduction scene between Will and Sylvia, where it's cleverly pointed out that he can't be sure whether she's actually Philipe's daughter, sister or maybe even wife due to the strange situation of this world. Niccol's confident command over this world initially brings to mind something out of Blade Runner, A Brave New World, Dark City, or 1984. Unsurprisingly, Niccol wrote and directed 1997's terrific dystopian nightmare Gattaca and this looks and feels a lot like that. It's really a technical sight with stunning lens work from the great Roger Deakins and cool, futuristic production design from Alex McDowell. Craig Armstrong's score is unforgettably haunting, arguably of far greater quality than you'd usually expect attached to a film of this nature.

Being that you'd pretty much have to be under 25 to get cast in movies these days anyway, it seems to work perfectly that this film actually has a built-in, plot-related reason for stacking its cast with young actors. Justin Timberlake once again proves there's nothing he can't do by adding "action star" to his resume while Amanda Seyfried (resembling a short-haired porcelain doll) ends her recent string of fluffy flops with one of her most interesting turns yet, reminding us how she first became a star by giving an quiet, expressive performance in which see seems to only act with her saucer-sized eyes. With only a few crucial scenes White Collar's Matt Bomer makes a good case for why he was originally one of the top contenders to play the new Superman with a performance that could easily double as a Clark Kent audition reel. Based on those few minutes, I'd have hired him. Mad Men fans will be happy to know that Vincent Kartheiser gives what's probably the best big screen performance by a member of that cast so far. It's surprising how large the role is, how well he plays it, but also how natural a fit it seems for him. Primarily known for playing scary creeps, Cillian Murphy plays a character on the other side of the law this time, nobly committed to to a cause for a society with practices that are anything but noble. He's still playing a scary creep, but with some actual humanity  that he makes sure subtly seeps through.

There was some controversy this screenplay was plagiarized from legendary sci-fi author Harlan Ellison's short story, "Repent, Harlequin! Said the Ticktockman." Having read it years ago, I can't say that occurred to me once while watching this and apparently Ellison agreed since he dropped his intended lawsuit after seeing it. The entire picture is very much a tale of two movies, a victor and victim of its own brilliant premise, eventually undercut by a somewhat clumsy conclusion. The final ten minutes are particularly head scratching. If ever there's a time for a tragic ending, it's in a speculative story exactly like this. Any other direction feels like a cop-out. On the bright side, the tone remains consistent and it doesn't become a completely different movie that's untrue to its original conceit (like The Adjustment Bureau embarrassingly did), but it does point out the importance of being able to stick the landing. That In Time still comes off as an underrated achievement despite all this is a testament to the talent both behind and in front of the camera. It could have really been something special, and for a while there, it at least came very close.

Dear John

Director: Lasse Hallstrom
Starring: Channing Tatum, Amanda Seyfried, Richard Jenkins, Henry Thomas, Scott Porter
Running Time: 108 min.
Rating: PG-13

★★ (out of ★★★★)

When Dear John was released this past February and broke Avatar's seven week stranglehold on the box office, I rolled my eyes, pitying guys across the country who were undoubtedly dragged to the chick flick tearjerker by their girlfriends in exchange for having to sit through the Super Bowl. It seemed like a fair enough trade, until you consider that the possibly more painful Valentine's Day was set to be released the following week. Now that's officially crossing the line. So much so that it could take as many as three Jason Statham movies and whatever Megan Fox has in pre-production for us to eventually even the score.

As someone who never minded "taking one for the team" for the sake of an enlightening review and find these kinds of films unintentionally hilarious, I'm happy to report that Dear John could have actually been a lot worse. At times, parts of it come close to working. It's just unfortunate that from the early going the script has trouble conveying this supposed life-transforming romance in a realistic way. Pivotal early scenes fail to connect like they need to and when the movie does eventually start to find its bearings, it drags on and on, wondering what to do and ending about five times (excluding the unused alternate one) before just fading away. When even the film isn't sure whether it wants the two main characters to be together, how can it expect us to be? But it does earn points for trying. Autism, 9/11, cancer, disabled veterans, Habitat for Humanity and obsessive coin collecting fight for screen time at various points in a screenplay overstuffed with enough drama and hardship to make Precious jealous.

While on leave in Charleston, S.C., Special Forces soldier John Tyree (Channing Tatum) meets angelic college student Savannah Curtis (Amanda Seyfried) after retrieving her purse off the side of a pier. In just a matter of days they fall in love and Savannah introduces her to her family, as well as her friend and neighbor, Tim (Henry Thomas--Elliott from E.T.!) whose autistic son, Alan (Braeden Reed) thinks the world of her. Much more hesitant is John to bring her home to meet his reclusive father (Richard Jenkins), an avid coin collector who may also be "mildly" autistic. This is according to an unqualified (but likely accurate) diagnosis from Savannah. The whole presentation of this sub-plot is strange, intending to create a false crisis in the relationship early on. But the real crisis arrives when John re-enlists following 9/11 and their feelings are tested long-distance through the mail in the "Dear John" letters of the film's title.

The first quarter of the picture spends more time talking about autism than it does exploring the actual relationship between these two which isn't exactly presented in the most mature way possible, especially when you consider it mostly revolves around games of hide and seek and frolicking in rain storms. That it feels more like a case of pre-teen puppy love than two young adults in a meaningful relationship is a nagging flaw that taints most of the film. Had the early scenes contained more substance and the writing been stronger, the separation that comes later would mean more. Instead, the characterizations of Savannah and John are lazily phoned in to meet the functional needs of the script. She's the saint and he's the bad boy with a quick temper. That's the full extent of it.

Tatum's been accused of being too wooden, but his approach is appropriate for this kind of role and I appreciate him not playing it as a lovelorn wimp. His character was at least strong and no-nonsense and now in his third starring role as a soldier (following Stop-Loss and G.I. Joe), he's believable in the war scenes, which are surprisingly well-handled. He'll never be accused of being the most charismatic actor around and while the chief motivation behind his casting was to attract female moviegoers, what he does in this works as well as it can given the limitations imposed on him by the writing. That statement holds doubly true for Richard Jenkins work as Mr. Tyree. Autism may be used as a cheap emotional ploy in the screenplay but he does everything possible to avoid us noticing that with a subtle, believable portrayal of someone who could be suffering from the disease. The sub-plot involving his history with John and the coin collecting was more compelling than anything having to do with the romance. Some may question what an accomplished Academy Award nominated actor is doing in a movie like this I commend him for taking a thankless role and trying to make something of it. Like everyone else though, his best efforts are undercut by dumb screenwriting decisions.

Seyfried once again rises above mediocre material and is at least given a little more support from Tatum than she was from Megan Fox in the lifeless Jennifer's Body. Possessing a natural charisma and luminous likability that commands the screen, she almost sells the ridiculous, out of left field decisions Savannah makes in the final third of the film. When an actress has headlines two big hits the size of this and Mamma Mia! and even comes out of bad movies gaining more respect for being the best thing in them, you could possibly consider it a coincidence. But I don't get that impression with her. She's obviously worked hard to transcend her TV roots and bring substance to flimsy parts like this that are often undeserving of her efforts.

The story oddly gains some traction when the two are separated but then proceeds to squander that brief flash of potential as it enters its bizarre third act, employing a "YEARS LATER" flash forward gimmick that yields silly results. A key twist involving how Savannah has moved on since his deployment is especially ridiculous and will have many scratching their heads in disbelief. I know I was. This was right around the same time I lost patience with all the false endings that deny viewers exactly what they came to see. Even when the script finally decides what direction to take, it's too late. If you're going to commit to making a sappy chick flick at least know to finish it right and send audiences home happy.

It's a shame the picture feels like it was manufactured on an assembly line because it looks good and the performers were trying. But when a movie is supposed to be a romance and the central relationship doesn't work, that's a major fail. Having obviously not read the Nicholas Sparks' novel on which this is based, I don't know how far the movie's many start-and-stop endings in the last twenty minutes veer from the source material. The final onscreen product indicates something decided on by a bickering studio committee that couldn't get on the same page for a conclusion. It really misses the mark in attaining the same guilty pleasure cheesiness of other Sparks adaptations like The Notebook and A Walk to Remember. Instead, it only serves to remind us that Amanda Seyfried is a talented actress who can now look forward to starring in movies substantially better than Dear John.

Jennifer's Body

Director: Karyn Kusama
Starring: Megan Fox, Amanda Seyfried, Adam Brody, Johnny Simmons
Running Time: 107 min.
Rating: Unrated

★★ (out of ★★★★)

The teen horror/comedy Jennifer's Body does little in answering the big question percolating in everyone's minds: Can Megan Fox act? What it does instead is somehow make that question even less relevant than it already was before. Whether or not she has any talent has never been more beside the point than it is this mess of a film that no actress of any ability level could have salvaged, despite one trying her very best. It's written by that infamous Oscar-winning screenwriter of Juno, Diablo Cody, but we may as well just credit her as the director as well since everyone is probably going to place the blame primarily on her for this debacle anyway. Except this time they should.

An exercise in self-indulgence at its worst, all the problems that plague the film can be traced to the brain dead screenplay. I only call this a "teen horror comedy" out of a lack to come up with any other description for it. But as a horror movie it isn't scary and if it's a comedy then there's hardly a laugh to be had. As a satire of high school and teenage life it also fails, if that's even what it's aspiring to. Worst of all, the film seems genuinely in love with its own sense of perceived hipness and its central concept, which is seriously flawed. It's as if someone just decided on a whim to sit down and pen a script paying tribute to '80's teen touchstones like Heathers and The Lost Boys, without thinking through how to do it. The idea is that we're supposed to see great irony in Megan Fox playing a sexy cheerleader possessed by demons and devouring teen boys. Or something like that.

Nerdy, insecure doormat Anita "Needy" Lesnicki (Amanda Seyfried) and hot cheerleader Jennifer Check (Fox) have been an unlikely pair of BFF's since childhood, with Anita worshiping the ground Jennifer walks on like most every guy at school. One night Jennifer drags Needy away from her boyfriend, Chip (Johnny Simmons) for a night at a hole-in-the-wall club to see the EMO-style band Low Shoulder, whose lead singer (The O.C.'s Adam Brody in a surprisingly fun turn) she's infatuated with. When a huge fire erupts in the middle of the show that claims the lives of many of their peers, Needy escapes with Jennifer who disappears into the back of a van with the band. Thinking she's a virgin (the only laugh in the entire picture) the group offers her up as some kind of sacrifice, but things quickly go very wrong. She returns as a possessed demon who feeds on teenage boys to maintain her beauty. When she hasn't eaten she starts to get cranky and look tired and ugly, or at least as Needy puts it, "ugly... for her." It's now up to her to try to put an end to her former best friend's killing spree.

The only thing scary and funny about this movie is that you'd be able to tell that Diablo Cody wrote it without even glancing at the credits. It was kind of a give away when the main character referred to the make of vehicle as an "89 Rapist." Despite its award notices, Juno received a lot of hate when it was released two years ago and though much of it stemmed from the unreasonable amount of critical praise heaped on it, an equal share stemmed from Cody's dialogue, which I didn't have a huge problem with at the time. At least I believed the characters in that world would talk like that and the underlying story and direction had enough substance to make up for it. That's far from the case here.

The two central characters are thinly drawn sketches and the world they inhabit never once feels like an authentic high school of any kind, with the script straining to make any kind of satirical point, which is surprising and disappointing considering Cody has stated in many interviews her love for this genre. But it seems like she deliberately tried to write a cult classic as a result of that appreciation rather than craft a clever genre film first and work from there. You half expect, given the talent involved, for this to go in the smart direction of Mean Girls, in which both actresses appeared. You wouldn't anticipate a Megan Fox starring vehicle to provide a deep commentary on female empowerment and high school life, but if it's not going to be that, shouldn't it still at least be exciting?

This was released theatrically with an "R" rating (this version I'm reviewing is unrated) but with the exception of the well publicized Fox/Seyfried lesbian kiss it could easily pass as a soft PG-13 slasher when gratuitous "torture porn" is clearly called for given the B-level plot. Not to say that would have salvaged this but the approach would have at least been consistent with the material. When casting Fox as a demon dining on male flesh you're practically obligated to go all the way or not even attempt it at all. It felt like I was watching a Twilight movie, which is especially insulting considering I've never even seen any of them. This moved me an unwanted step closer.

Seyfried is saddled with the seemingly herculean task of carrying Fox through this, which may not be as difficult as it seems since Megan looks like she went on a hunger strike and lost about 30 pounds in preparation for the role. She plays Jennifer as completely wooden and vacant and it's tough to determine whether that's attributable to just poor writing and direction or Fox's performance, or rather a lack of one. Seyfried is genuinely affecting as Needy in a movie that has no idea what to do with her and fares better than anyone has any right to expect given what she had to work with. Whatever comes close to clicking in this film (and it isn't much) is due to her and the scenes she shares with her boyfriend hint at a smarter movie hidden underneath somewhere in a script written by someone else. She's also believable playing a nerdy, ugly duckling when we all know she's anything but.

As already well proven with her TV work and an impressive lead turn in last year's unintentionally hilarious Mamma Mia! Seyfried clearly has a natural charisma that Fox has yet to reveal and is the real star of the picture, whatever the advertising tells you. Fox's deficiencies as an actress were nicely covered up (when the rest of her wasn't) in the Transformers movies, but in this she's asked to play something other than eye candy opposite a far more talented co-star, which does her no favors. In a way, it's an interesting test for Fox but even she deserves better material than this to work with. And even though it's a prerequisite that high school kids be played by performers in their mid to late twenties, both these actresses seem way too mature for these roles and should definitely be moving on by now.

The director of this disaster is Karyn Kusama, who previously made an acclaimed little movie called Girlfight that I've never seen. This doesn't have me rushing to add it to the queue. But it almost doesn't matter who directed this because the script is so unfocused and its ideas phoned in from such a long distance that it likely couldn't have been have salvaged by anyone. It's a bad idea executed poorly, but its biggest sin is it just isn't any fun. The only good news is that no long term damage will result from Jennifer's Body since it was probably good for Cody to fail just to get it out of her system... and ours. Seyfried will go on to do huge things. And Megan Fox can just continue being Megan Fox, which is all she seems to be interested in being anyway. Everyone wins.... except those unfortunate enough to have watched it.

Mama Mia!

Director: Phyllida Lloyd
Starring: Meryl Streep, Amanda Seyfried, Pierce Brosnan, Colin Firth, Stellan Skarsgard, Dominic Cooper, Julie Walters, Christine Baranski
Running Time: 108 min.
Rating: PG-13

*** (out of ****)

What’s wrong with me? How could I like this? Incompetently directed, broadly acted and almost unbearably cheesy it would almost be too easy for me to slam Mama Mia! I don't even like musicals. The movie is an atrocity and a cinematic train wreck of grand proportions yet I still caught myself jumping up and down in my seat with giddy excitement. There are more laughs in this than all the year’s comedies in the past year combined. The only question: Does it still count if many of them are unintentional? When it concluded I joked with people that it’s nearly impossible to assign this a star rating. It almost doesn’t qualify as a movie, but rather a camera coincidentally capturing insanity in action. It’s so crazy and incoherent that it could be categorized as the Mulholland Drive of musicals.

Criticizing the film for being campy and over the top will get you no where since that’s the sole reason for its existence. No one could possibly argue that its in any way unfaithful to ABBA’s music and claiming their song catalogue deserves better than the treatment it gets here would be an especially ridiculous statement. Shamefully though, long after the final credits rolled I found I just couldn’t get those catchy songs out of my head. And against my will, amidst all the nonsense that unfolded onscreen, I did actually like many of the characters and cared what happened to them, a miracle considering various plots and sub-plots appear and disappear seemingly at will. Plus, I love it when big name actors star in something really silly and you can tell that they know it. Just seeing Meryl Streep’s floating head in an insanely staged psychedelic dream sequence is well worth the admission or rental price, but I want to find director Phyllida Lloyd and give her a giant hug for not only casting Pierce Brosnan, but making him do his own singing. And they say filmmakers never have the audience in mind.
What there is of a plot involves Sophie’s (Amanda Seyfried) upcoming marriage to Sky (Dominic Cooper) on the remote Greek island she’s been raised on her entire life by her single mother Donna (Streep). After reading her mother’s Diary she discovers that there are three possible men who could be her father: businessman Sam (Brosnan), banker Harry (Colin Firth) and adventurer Bill (Stellan Skarsgard). The goofy two-second flashbacks showing us what they looked like back in the day, while completely predictable, are nonetheless hilarious.

To her mom's surprise, Sophie invites all three men to her wedding in a covert attempt find her real father in time for him to give her away at the wedding. Their presence triggers a trip down memory lane for Donna, who reminisces in song about her romantic foibles and leans on her two best friends and former band mates, Rosie (Julie Walters) and Tanya (Christine Baranski) for emotional support. In details hysterical in their randomness, Rosie is a bestselling cookbook author while Tanya is a presented as some kind of “cougar” on the prowl for younger men, the latter of which results in one of the film’s funnier musical numbers (“Does Your Mother Know”). Both actresses ham it up appropriately in their roles, especially Walters. Of course, Donna is awful slow in figuring out her daughter’s agenda and a quickie paternity test would have probably been far easier, it wouldn’t have nearly been as much fun as the horrendously choreographed song and dance numbers we’re treated to, as well as the bizarre sub-plots.

A minute didn’t pass during this film where I wasn’t laughing, but the biggest laughs came when Brosnan sang, or at least attempted to. Fresh off the early rounds of American Idol and looking as physically uncomfortable as possible, the sounds he makes less resemble singing than the torture of a live animal. But you know what? He doesn’t care and is clearly enjoying himself. You’ve got to respect that. And it is kind of fresh and different having an actor who sings about as bad as we (or at least I) would in a musical. I have to admit though the second he opened his mouth I hit the floor. It takes some getting used to but the good news is you’ll have some time because the amount of singing Brosnan has to do at the end of the film is insane. This would be a heavy load for someone who COULD SING and Lloyd (who must be a sadist) burdens him with long, difficult solo (“When All Is Said and Done”) Christina Aguilera probably would have struggled through. Skarsgard and especially Firth fare much better in the singing department, though neither is particularly impressive. It hardly matters since both have passable voices and believably convey the necessary emotions.

There are two performances of real, genuine value here and thankfully they come from the actresses playing the two most important characters. Streep (a self-professed fan of the musical) clearly knows what she’s gotten herself into and responds the only way an actress of her talent level should in a thankless situation like this: By just letting loose and overplaying everything. She also has a much better singing voice than you’d expect. But the real star of this is Seyfried, who has a VERY bright future ahead of her if this role is any indication. They couldn’t have found a better fit for Sophie as she lights up every scene she’s in with her smile and infectious, playful energy. You’d understand why this guy would want to marry her and each of her mom’s former lovers would want to stake their claim as her father. As far as singing, she’s easily the best of the lot. It’s a star making performance at the highest level.

The entire cast is game but I’m not sure first-timer Lloyd (who helmed the stage play) was ready for this. Her philosophy just seems to be “point and shoot” as she basically just stages a play on film with rapid, distracting cuts and garish cinematography, never really exploiting any visual possibilities (though that it does make Greece look like a desirable vacation spot). Some stage directors make the transition to film with ease but it doesn’t seem as if she bothered to make one at all. This movie has no ambition other than to entertain, which it happens to do very well.

It’s a good thing this film was as successful as it was because if it wasn’t we’d never see Lloyd directing a full-length feature film again. Actually, we may still not. I’m afraid to know what it says about the musical as a genre that it can be this cluelessly directed and turn out well. If a better, more experienced filmmaker were behind the lens the results would probably be far less satisfying. What Lloyd lacks technically she makes up for in actually understanding what the tone should be. In that sense having the same director as the stage version helped considerably.

While most songs in musicals exist to advance the plot here the plot is treated as an afterthought and an excuse to pack in ABBA’s greatest hits But thankfully the movie makes no apologies for that, nor does it hide its agenda. And of course we get the classics that even non-fans will recognize immediately such as the title track, “Dancing Queen” and “Take a Chance on Me.” In the third act the plot is given up on almost entirely as if everyone in the cast and crew threw their hands up in the air and said, “Screw it! Let’s just do whatever the hell we want.” And it was the right call. I thought Brosnan’s “singing” was hilarious, but that was before I saw him don ABBA’s trademark sequined jumpsuit during the closing credits. Would Tom Cruise do THAT? Brosnan has balls of steel for taking this role and whatever he was paid isn’t nearly enough for the humiliation he gleefully endures. What a pro.

My faith is now restored that movie executives still have brains when in a brilliant and ridiculously brave counter programming strategy they decided to open this against The Dark Knight, the reasoning being that it was the only movie that could compete against it because the target audience was so drastically different. The result was the highest grossing musical of all-time here and the highest grossing MOTION PICTURE OF ALL-TIME in the U.K. (beating Titanic!) Go in with that in mind and you’re destined for disappointment. Approach this knowing it's supposed to be stupid and you're fine. Yet strangely, I can see how it’s done so well financially because it’s just pure 100% fun and is one of the few movies released this year that knows what it wants to do and actually does it.

Making a really good bad film is a lost art that takes a lot of talent, or rather a special kind of lack of it. Someone could make a case for this being on either their best or worst list of the year and be easily able to present a strong argument for both. I’m almost tempted to give this a higher rating but just can’t, at least not publicly. It’s too embarrassing. Mama Mia! definitely ranks among the guiltiest of guilty pleasures.