Wolfs

Director: Jon Watts
Starring: George Clooney, Brad Pitt, Amy Ryan, Austin Abrams, Poorna Jagannathan, Zlatko Burić, Richard Kind, Frances McDormand
Running Time: 108 min.
Rating: R

★★★ (out of ★★★★)     

Its title may be a grammatical nightmare, but writer/director Jon Watts' Wolfs finds two of the world's biggest movie stars reunited in roles that only further confirm their value. An action comedy throwback to when that genre routinely packed theaters, a project like this almost feels like a complete outlier now. But tight direction and a pair of immensely enjoyable lead performances end up being enough to temporarily breathe life into what could have been a paint-by-numbers effort. 

Built around a straightforward premise, George Clooney plays a cold, emotionally detached "fixer" not unlike his avenging protagonist in 2007's Oscar nominated Michael Clayton. Only this time, he's more likely to break the law than uphold it, remaining meticulously obsessive until an unexpected visitor forces him to face the possibility his skill set isn't as unique as he thought. 

That this interloper is played by Brad Pitt enables the actors to take dry, sarcastic jabs at each other, successfully calling back to the chemistry the duo shared in the Oceans films. While both are capable of turning an eye roll or sideways glance into pure hilarity with their understated expressions, what develops is an effective action bromance with bickering characters who can't stand just how alike they really are. 

Panicked Manhattan District Attorney Margaret (Amy Ryan) calls the number of an anonymous professional fixer (Clooney) when a young man she took back to her hotel room ends up dead. After arriving and calmly taking stock of the scenario, the fixer asks Margaret some questions before starting the clean-up process, assuring her everything will be fine if she does exactly what he says. Unfortunately, they're interrupted by a second unnamed fixer (Pitt) who was given instructions by the hotel's owner Pam (Frances McDormand) to sweep this situation under the rug. 

While neither "lone wolf" trusts the other, Pam orders the two men work together for the sake of protecting the hotel's reputation. But while debating how to best solve this issue and dispose of the body, one of them makes a discovery that reveals something more dangerously complicated. So if the feuding fixers want to avoid getting killed, they'll need to stop arguing long enough to rectify what's suddenly become a gigantic mess.

From the initial tone and execution, it's easy to understand how audiences could be roped into thinking this will be a deadly serious crime drama. And even when Pitt first appears, lingering doubts still surround that assumption, as Watts smoothly lulls us into a situation that's about to spin way out of control. 

With few expressions and even fewer words, Clooney's character retains complete control, at least until Pitt's fixer arrives and things go sideways. Neither takes kindly to a competitor invading their territory, but one of the better aspects of Watts' script is how it suggests an imaginary underground of criminal fixers who think only they can do this dirty work.

As their dilemma grows more complex, levels are revealed that go well beyond a prominent D.A's hotel indiscretion. And much of it involves protecting an unnamed asset referred to as the Kid (Austin Abrams), who's carrying something valuable enough to cause huge concern. Abrams' manic, livewire performance is the film's highlight, providing the perfect foil to Clooney and Pitt's exasperated fixers, who just can't agree on how to handle him. 

An excitingly chaotic and hilarious chase through New York City streets is Watts' pivotal set piece and it doesn't disappoint, nor do encounters with a no-nonsense medic (Poorna Jagannathan) and a Croatian mobster (Zlatko Burić) whose daughter's wedding they accidentally crash. And the great Richard Kind briefly pops up in an amusingly memorable scene as the Kid's Frank Sinatra-obsessed dad. 

For supposed experts in this narrow field, these fixers are pretty sloppy, though there's nothing normal about either the job at hand or this reluctant partnership.  How similar they are is a detail everyone notices but them, creating a humorous dynamic where their oversized egos prevent them from realizing they're stronger together than alone.

Forced to begrudgingly get on the same page in the final act, it's to make a moral choice that requires them abandoning the rule book to embrace their consciences instead. Without time for debate or wiggle room, it becomes glaringly apparent that being a lone wolf carries baggage neither considered. Ending on a cliffhanger of sorts, Wolfs is the kind of film you wouldn't mind getting a sequel to, if only so Clooney and Pitt can have a rematch.                                      

Babylon

Director: Damien Chazelle
Starring: Brad Pitt, Margot Robbie, Diego Calva, Jean Smart, Jovan Adepo, Li Jun Li, P.J. Byrne, Lukas Haas, Olivia Hamilton, Max Minghella, Rory Scovel, Katherine Waterston, Tobey Maguire, Flea, Jeff Garlin, Eric Roberts
Running Time: 189 min.
Rating: R

**The Following Review Contains Major Plot Spoilers For 'Babylon'**

★★★★ (out of ★★★★)

Say what you will about Damien Chazelle's hyper ambitious Hollywood epic Babylon, but it'll be remembered. A sprawling spectacle that takes huge, ambitious swings, it's the very definition of an experience, even if its mileage will vary for some. Speculation as to why a film from an Oscar-winning director about cinema's golden age didn't wrack up truckloads of awards and critical praise is immediately put to rest in the opening section. Amidst the debauchery, Chazelle makes it clear right away he's more interested in telling a darkly humorous, ironically tragic tale of excess and failure that's more The Day of The Locust than La La Land. And you just can't take your eyes off it, as its filled to the brim with uproarious scenes and characters. Sorting out how much of this is entirely fabricated, loosely based on real anecdotes or actual people probably requires a separate documentary. But that would spoil the fun of not knowing. 

Watching, it's easy to envision Paramount assuming Margot Robbie was their slam dunk for Best Actress, nailing a role that seemingly falls right into the Academy's wheelhouse. And even taking into account its disappointing box office, you can still see why they'd think that, and be shocked at the lack of a nomination. It's an exhilarating, tour de force performance that constantly hovers between disturbing victimization, brilliant physical comedy and insecure exhibitionism. It's no wonder everyone hates it, especially older viewers understandably intrigued at the prospect of Robbie playing a silent film star, though underestimating her willingness to go to ugly, uncomfortable places with the character few other actresses would willingly sign up for.

This also contains one of the more intriguing Brad Pitt turns, likely to draw comparisons to his aging stuntman Cliff Booth in Tarantino's Once Upon A Time in Hollywood. But while both were once famously successful performers now struggling to stay relevant in an industry done with them, the same could apply to everyone in this film, some more tragically than others. The story zigs and zags, tracking different characters and situations as it approaches the polarizing finale. Many have jumped to declare it "messy," but there's a through line that cleverly intersects, with Chazelle rarely losing sight of the destination. He knows what he's doing, with the three hours moving at a breakneck pace, with even its harshest critics forced to admit it's never dry or dull. Ripe for a major reassessment down the line, it'll be fun seeing how this ages while continuing to peel back its many layers.

It's 1926 Los Angeles when Manuel "Manny" Torres (Diego Calva) transports an elephant to a wild, drug and alcohol fueled party at the Kinoscope Studios mansion. While there, he meets brash and outgoing New Jersey native Nellie LaRoy (Robbie), who not only hopes to be discovered, but already considers herself a movie star in waiting. Joined at the party by the likes of matinee idol Jack Conrad (Pitt), lesbian cabaret singer Lady Fay Zhu (Li Jun Li) and African American jazz trumpeter Sidney Palmer (Jovan Adepo), Manny and Nellie bond over their shared desire to do "something bigger."

Manny and Nellie's big breaks come when Jack secures him work with Kinoscope while she lands a studio picture role, upstaging its aggravated lead. With Manny ascending the studio ladder and Nellie emerging as a world famous screen star, Hollywood undergoes a massive change when films transition from silent to talkies in the late '20's. And with it comes a seismic industry shift that ensures nothing in their lives will ever be the same again.

After a disgustingly hilarious start that previews of the insanity to come, we're introduced to three major characters a this party who are tracked for nearly the film's entire running length. The introductory sequence is a full-on feast for the senses, beautifully shot by cinematographer Linus Sandgren with a propulsive, catchy score from Justin Hurwitz that enhances the whole energy and vibe of the proceedings. As the camera sweeps through the mansion and following this explicit mayhem, the stage is set for all the insanity that follows. 

Structurally, the film could almost be viewed as a series of interconnected vignettes focusing on these events effecting various players. Among them are a dangerously chaotic Jack Conrad movie shoot that Manny saves and a delirious montage of Nellie's big screen debut for director Ruth Adler (Olivia Hamilton), who's shocked by the ingenue's seemingly effortless ability to cry on demand. Throughout, Nellie's established as suffering from an imposter syndrome, exacerbated by a traumatic family life defined by her mentally ill mother and sleazy, dim-witted business manager father played by Eric Roberts. Her attempted revenge on him results in one of the film's craziest scenes involving a snake challenge that goes spectacularly wrong.

Some handle the arrival of sound in motion pictures better than others, but that it's basically a death knell for them all speaks to humans' inability to change or evolve. Manny fares the best, but it comes at a steep price, by the end no longer resembling the wide-eyed errand boy who dreamed of making it big. What does set him apart is his willingness and skill to work within the boundaries of a new system that's already putting stars like Nellie and Jack out to pasture. 

As Manny, Diego Calva gives one of the best recent lead performances from an unknown on a project of this size and scope. Resembling a younger Javier Bardem, he conveys this nervous desperation and eagerness, and whether Manny's trying to work his way onto a movie set or pining after Nellie, Calva retains a certain likability as the character's Tinseltown career takes off.  And yet his fall is the most precipitous, having essentially erased his entire identity to ingratiate himself into this capitalistic Hollywood system. 

By the time Manny urges African American trumpeter Sidney to don blackface for lighting purposes,  even he can't believe what he's asking. Adepo's performance as Sidney meets the moment, steeped in humiliating contemplation that lasts what feels like an eternity before he acquiesces. After that, he's had enough. But so has Manny, even if he doesn't know it yet. Ironically, it's Nellie's recklessness that causes his undoing, exposing him to the seediest, most dangerous element of Hollywood's underbelly in gangster James McKay, creepily by played by Tobey Maguire in a brief, effective excursion into Lynchian territory.

Spiraling deep into drugs and gambling, Nellie's career flatlines as quickly as the silent pictures in which she starred, her voice likened to the squealing of a dying animal by studio executives. While real life parallels can be drawn from most of these fictional characters, her upbringing and reputation is an obvious nod to silent screen legend and anointed "It Girl," Clara Bow, but with Robbie fleshing her out as far more than just an homage.

We see how much of a struggle it is for Nellie to adapt in two of the film's funniest scenes, the first showcasing the difficulty of filming with sound, and another when she attends a high society party with Manny that ends in disaster for William Randolph Hearst (Pat Kipper) and Marion Davies (Chloe Fineman). Recalling the best moments and scenes, it's hardly a coincidence Robbie's at the center of all of them, her comic timing consistently wringing laughs from the most outrageous and tragic situations. 

In a film filled with characters denying their own mortality, Pitt's Jack best reflects the fickle nature of fame and success. Gossip columnist Elinor St. John (Jean Smart) gets that, holding court to deliver a brilliantly conceived speech about how everyone's irrelevance within this twisted ecosystem serves a higher purpose than themselves. It's sad but weirdly reassuring, the power of her painfully honest assessment resonating throughout the film's final minutes when we realize just how right she was. In light of his many divorces and hard drinking, Jack's a vain, but decent guy who's also unfailingly loyal. We see it with Manny, his troubled longtime manager George (Lukas Haas) and just about anyone else he comes into contact with. But he's also the biggest silent film star of this period, making him the one with the most to lose.

Jack doesn't poorly adjust so much as the change pushes up his expiration date, expediting an inevitable decline. And for someone who's having the time of his life, anonymity and failure are too much to bare. While it's odd to say any Pitt performance would go overlooked, this has, which may have to do with the usual eye-rolling that accompanies movie stars playing movie stars. Pitt's portrayal differs by how unflattering it is, with all his character's insecurities laid bare. In both epitomizing and sending up the public's perception of Pitt as an actor, it feels like a defining role, substantially deeper and more challenging than expected.

By incorporating some of the experiences of icons like Louis Armstrong and Anna May Wong to create Sidney and Fay, Chazelle expertly crafts a fictional story that's history adjacent. The actors take care of the rest, their characters initially hovering on the periphery before breaking through. Jovan Adepo and a seductively scene stealing Li Jun Li are consistently compelling, playing performers who know the necessity of striking while the iron's hot, despite never really getting proper respect due to their minority status. An eclectic parade of names including Olivia Wilde, Jeff Garlin, Flea, Max Minghella (as legendary producer Irving Thalberg), Samara Weaving, Spike Jonze, Patrick Fugit and Albert Hammond Jr. show up in smaller roles. Some play real figures, but all are seamlessly incorporated, disappearing behind Mary Zophres' unforgettable period costuming  

Chazelle's film commences with a euphoric, bittersweet payoff worthy of all that's preceded it. Returning years later to the town that crushed him, Manny's hopelessness is palpable as he sits in the cinema watching Singin' in the Rain, before things take a sudden turn. In a trippy, euphoric, montage through film history that visually invokes 2001: A Space Odyssey's closing stargate sequence, he's overwhelmed with emotion. Now grasping what Elinor St. John talked about and Jack and Nellie couldn't comprehend, he fully recognizes his role in helping to shape something far bigger than himself, or any of us. 

Much like all of it, the wild finale needs time and distance to process, as it leaps forward while triggering a strange nostalgia for people and events we saw only two hours earlier. Either way, it isn't hard to notice the irony of this film being chewed up and spit out in much the same way its characters are, seeking adoration from an industry always moving on, looking for the next big thing. For all the talk about Hollywood loving movies about itself, Babylon could be the rare exception, cutting too close to the bone, even for them.

Burning Questions from the 2020 Oscars

Do you cringe in fear each year wondering how they'll open the show?

Did this not disappoint?

When Janel Monae walked onto the Mr. Rogers set, did you think ABC was staging another one of their live primetime reenactments?

Did she just really dress up as the May Queen from Midsommar?

Did Midsommar really just get a musical tribute at the Oscars?

Is this actually happening?

Can you pinch me now, please?

Should I take everything back I ever said about the Oscars?

Did most of the audience at home probably have no clue what the hell was happening?

Why aren't they showing Florence Pugh's reaction?! 

Shouldn't Midsommar have been nominated for...everything?

Or at the very least, costume and production design?

Is this the next best thing?

Can you believe I didn't review it?

Shouldn't we rectify that?

Or at least the best thing since Michael J. Fox showed up with Seth Rogen in a DeLorean?

Weren't those also costumes from Dolemite, Queen and Slim and Us?

Noticing a pattern?

Could the Academy possibly be apologizing for something?

Shouldn't Chris Rock be announced as the star of the upcoming Saw spinoff?

Did you remember Regina King won last year?

And for what?

Wasn't Brad's speech kind of a downer?

Impeachment hearings...really?

Were you thinking, "wait until Joaquin takes the stage?"

Did you know this was Pitt's second Oscar?

And that the other was for producing Moonlight?

Will an animated feature ever be nominated for Best Picture again?

First of many Kobe mentions?

Are Star Wars fans still whining about Kelly Marie Tran?

After delivering that line about reloading Keanu's Matrix, should we blame them?

Shouldn't he have been introduced as the star of the upcoming Bill and Ted Face the Music?

Did we just hear Keanu read the Parasite script?

And wasn't that awesome?

Does any movie have more heat behind it right now than Parasite?

Are you glad they chose the Joker stair scene as its screenplay clip?

Is Taika Waititi the first director playing Hitler in his own movie to win a screenplay Oscar?

Shouldn't Shia LeBouf been nominated for Best Supporting Actor for Honey Boy?

Isn't it The Neighbor's WINDOW?

Do you think the winners even care?

The Conners is still on?

Wasn't rewarding Once upon a Time in Hollywood's incredible production design the absolute right call?

Weren't Maya Rudolph and Kristin Wiig kind of insufferable?

Didn't it look like Billie Eilish agreed? 

Well, at least Greta Gerwig kind of won something...right?

Is Chrissy Metz delivering an Adelegram?

Tony Hawk?!

Is Florence Pugh the new Jennifer Lawrence?

Anyone surprised by Laura Dern's win?

Did you think "this is probably gonna be good" when she took the stage?

And wasn't it?

What if I told you five years ago you'd hear, "I'd like to thank Netflix" during an Oscar acceptance speech? 

After pitching a perfect 11 for 11 Oscar game so far, was I instructing no one to speak to me in the dugout?

Isn't it surprising they haven't done a movie song montage before?

Not a question but...La Bamba!

Didn't you just know I'd mention Huey Lewis and the News' brilliant "The Power of Love" from Back to the Future?

Is Eminem really on stage right now performing "Lose Yourself?"

Isn't it one of the best choices ever for Original Song?

Isn't that Mekhi Phifer line great?

Isn't it a shame they bleeped out three quarters of the song?

Didn't Scorsese look confused?

Wasn't it interesting to discover who in the audience were Eminem fans?

Am I looking at YOU, Brie Larson and Gal Gadot?

Isn't it fitting one of those damned sound categories ruined my streak?

Has anyone's scorecard ever survived those categories?

Am I kind of relieved I missed one?

Can I breathe now?

Doesn't Randy Newman have just the right voice for the types of songs he performs?

Does that make him the Bob Dylan of movie soundtracks?

Shouldn't Julia Louis Dreyfuss and Will Ferrell host (if we still had hosts)?

Are they rushing through the categories so quickly that it's becoming difficult to tell which they are?

It took this long to open an Academy museum?

Haven't they been talking about it for the past twenty telecasts?

Not a question but...Zazie Beetz!!

Doesn't "making good time" seem to be a top priority on this year's telecast?

Are you hoping that doesn't tastelessly apply to the In Memoriam segment?

Shouldn't we have known Rebel Wilson and James Corden would come out dressed as Cats?

Did those costumes look better than the CGI in the movie?

Did Sandra Oh just take a dig at Netflix?

Wait, did those makeup artists really just win an Oscar for "transforming" Charlize Theron, Margot Robbie and Nicole Kidman into beautiful blonde Fox News anchors?

Did that International Feature Film award just insure that Bong Joon Ho won't be returning to the podium later?

Why should the best foreign and animated films be jettisoned off into their own categories?

Can you believe that song was Rocketman's sole nomination?

Remember when Taron Egerton was being talked about as a serious Best Actor contender?

Does anyone under the age of 55 still watch American Idol?

Is it strange that I haven't heard of Taika Waititi until this year?

After that whole intro, didn't you just know who'd be winning Best Original Score?

Has there ever been two more intrinsically linked creative collaborators than Elton John and Bernie Taupin?

When Bong Joon Ho was somewhat shockingly announced as Best Director, did you become a little less sure Parasite wasn't winning the big one?

Wasn't it cool of him give shout-outs to Scorsese and Tarantino?

Doesn't seem like we just saw Billie Eilish on an awards show, like last weekend?

Wasn't that a haunting "Yesterday" cover?

Um, Luke Perry? 

Has this show moved at a fast clip or what?

Are we getting used to this no host thing?

Remember when Olivia Colman beat Glenn Close for Best Actress last year?

Did Colman's likability just remind us why?

Were you wondering which Joaquin Phoenix we'd get tonight?

Did you soon realize we'd be getting shy, nervous, babbling Joaquin?

As far as cause speeches go, wasn't it at least a little less painful than you expected?

How many Oscars would River Phoenix have by now?

Who ever thought we'd see Renee Zellweger on that stage again...accepting an Oscar?

Do you remember her talking with that much of a twang?

Am I the only one who still thinks Anne Hathaway could crush it as Judy Garland?

Who's that woman they introduced as Jane Fonda?

How many years in a row can I miss Best Picture?

Does this win mean that everyone can hate on Parasite now?

Are 1917 tribute sites popping up online as we speak?

Does this prove Parasite was so good that even the Academy couldn't deny it?

Were they really going to close the curtain on them?

Did you see Tom Hanks and Charlize Theron's reactions to it?

At this hour, who even cares how long they go?

Haven't they done a decent job condensing the telecast and moving it along these past two years?

Was anyone watching to notice?

Isn't it great to have a Best Picture winner that everyone actually seems to love?

Who thought the the Oscars could ever end before midnight?

Once Upon a Time In Hollywood

 

Director: Quentin Tarantino
Starring: Leonardo DiCaprio, Brad Pitt, Margot Robbie, Emile Hirsch, Margaret Qualley, Timothy Olyphant, Austin Butler, Dakota Fanning, Bruce Dern, Al Pacino, Kurt Russell, Julia Butters, Mike Moh, Damon Herriman
Running Time: 161 min.
Rating: R

★★★★ (out of ★★★★)

Very rarely has a single question swirled around a movie as prominently as the one hanging over Quentin Tarantino's ninth film, Once Upon a Time In Hollywood. Will he go through with it? The "it" is of course the August, 1969 Manson murders that the director has sworn his picture wouldn't be about. And he's right. It's not. And yet, while not being about that at all, it still simultaneously manages to be completely all about it in ways that are sad, funny and unpredictable. There was great interest in whether he'd take us to one of the last taboo places left in mainstream American movies, and with good reason. The logic is that if anyone would do it, it's Tarantino, who's made a career out of over-the-top revenge fantasies. If there was ever an event ripe for his button-pushing brand of cinematic controversy and primed to offend, it's this. But the reality is that the director has always been at his worst when trying to do that, or rather when he repeatedly continues to, more often than not encouraging inferior imitations from others lacking his vision.

Of all Tarantino's films, this seems like the biggest outlier, almost as if it was made by someone else (maybe older), while carrying enough recognizable trademarks to still unmistakably be his. Yes, there are long dialogue stretches, but this time the material relies much more heavily on mood, atmosphere and performances to tell its story than the writing, which kind of rides in the backseat for a change. Part fairy tale, part bromance, he transports us to this year through the music, production design, and the tiny details you suspect only he would care enough to get right. You know it's accurate simply because it "feels" like it, regardless of its historical truth.

We already know Tarantino's cares about facts only so far as it reflects the period's authenticity, and as far as eras or settings go, this one ranks pretty high on the list of the coolest to hang in for over two and a half hours.While it's one thing to drop fictional characters into actual events, it's another entirely to place them squarely in the center, the axis around which this pivotal year revolves. You leave considering that even their situations were only small part of a much larger picture, the scope and breadth of which Tarantino captures like no one else could have.

It's Los Angeles, 1969, and actor Rick Dalton (Leonardo DiCaprio), former star of the 1950's TV series, Bounty Law, is complaining to his best friend and former stunt double, Cliff Booth (Brad Pitt), that he's now a washed-up has been relgated to guest starring villain roles. After an ugly personal incident left him blackballed from the industry, Booth spends his days working as Rick's driver and assistant, taking him to and from set while running any errands that need to be done. Having just landed another villainous role in the successful TV series, Lancer, Rick's may have to start seriously considering his agent Marvin Schwarz's (Al Pacino) advice to go make Spaghetti Westerns in Italy.

A glimmer of hope appears for Rick with the arrival of his new neighbor on Cielo Drive, acclaimed  director Roman Polanski, and his new wife, actress Sharon Tate (Margot Robbie), who's riding high on the postive notices she's receiving for her recent big screen comedic turn in The Wrecking Crew opposite Dean Martin. Meanwhile, an aspiring musician named Charles Manson (Damon Herriman) is making waves of his own, establishing a hippie commune of sorts at the now semi-deserted Spahn Ranch, where Rick used to shoot Bounty Law. But when some of his female followers start bleeding over into town, hitchhiking and roaming the L.A. streets, one of them, named Pussycat, (Margaret Qualley) attracts the attention of a curious Cliff. Soon, all of their lives will intersect in ways both surprising and tragic.

The film works as a series of character sketches, alternating between the stories of Rick and Cliff, the Manson girls and Sharon Tate. Sandwiched in between and embedded in those are smaller moments with a wide variety of recognizable celebrity faces of the era portrayed by a myriad of different actors, some more recognizable than others. Most of the fun comes from being a fly on the wall and trying to spot everything and everyone, a game sure to be more rewarding with each new viewing, but holding enough curiosity for the uninitiated wanting to learn more about the real context behind these people. Whether it's dropping in to a party at the Playboy Mansion with Steve McQueen (Damien Lewis), Michelle Phillips (Rebecca Rittenhouse) and Mama Cass (Rachel Redleaf), taking in Sunset Boulevard or getting a look inside the infamous El Coyote Mexican cafe where Tate, Jay Sebring (Emile Hirsch), Abigail Folger (Samantha Robinson) and Wojciech Frykowski (Costa Ronin) dined the night of August 8th.

All of 60's L.A. is vividly and painstakingly recreated by Tarantino and cinematographer Robert Richardson and set to a seemingly non-stop soundtrack of deep, sometimes obscure or overlooked songs unearthed by the director. Music is such an important component in these characters' lives that there's rarely a minute where there isn't a song playing or the sounds of KHJ radio ads blasting in one of the many driving scenes that further establish the characters in moments with minimal to no dialogue. It also marks a period in our culture where everyone was consuming the same output of music and movies simultaneously, lulling the public into a communal sense of security, however true or false that may have been. It's rare we're shown any part of the past in film we've never been fully exposed to before, and while all of those details would make a compelling enough picture on its own, it mostly serves as the compelling backdrop to Tarantino's actual entry point into the story: Rick Dalton and Cliff Booth.

With Dalton, we finally see what happens when Tarantino builds an entire character around one of those cult, veteran actors whose careers he's long specialized in resuscitating. But the catch is that this time in DiCaprio he's cast one of the world's biggest (and last?) contemporary movie stars as a performer whose big break already passed him by. Pigeonholed as a villainous heavy and still living off his one success eight years earlier, a creatively stifled and frustrated Dalton is afforded what could be his last chance at respectibility opposite a James Garner-like TV star in James Stacy (Timothy Olyphant). Of course, Rick doesn't see the potential in this, or really anything else in his life and career. By now, his life is his career and this has become just another job.

The irony is that by any standard other than a notoriously fickle industry, Dalton would be considered a giant success for his run on Bounty Law, and we're frequently told of its devoted following. But the fact he doesn't even feel comfortable talking to his new, substantially more famous neighbors isn't just a reflection of Hollywood's unspoken pecking order, but a testament to his deepening insecurity. The gate in front of the Polanski residence may as well be metaphorical for Rick, who deep down believes he should be the one behind it.

Rick's emotional and physical collapse on the set of Lancer comprises maybe the largest of the two or three extended chapters that comprise the story. Here, Tarantino stops just short of recreating an entire episode of the TV Western, with Rick struggling to keep himself together, forgetting his lines, drinking and basically self-sabatoging every scene in which he appears. But it's Rick's encounter with precocious child actor Trudi Fraser (Julia Butters) that snaps him into a different reality, forcing him to come face-to-face with his own faults as he's inspired by a new generation of actor. At first, we're not sure what to make of this wise beyond her years 8-year-old, until the cameras start to roll and we realize their long off screen conversation has carried on screen, where they've both made the other substantially better.

While Trudi and the pilot's director, Sam Wanamaker (Nicholas Hammond) gush over Rick's breakthrough, it's actually DiCaprio who gives one of his most movingly authentic performances as this semi-forgotten TV actor discovering he still has more in the tank. In Tarantino's world, no one's "washed up" and great work can pop up anywhere, even in a guest spot on a seemingly cheesy, forgotten 60's Western series. DiCaprio does so many little, nearly invisible things with the role and his role within the role that it's easy to overlook just how difficult it is. Take the stuttering. He slides this stuttering impediment into Rick's speech whenever he's worked up over something, subtly clueing us in that it's something he's needed to overcome to get to where he is. And it not only shows how much harder he's had to work, but the sacrifices we can envision he made to get there. And it's in Rick's tearful description to Trudi about that book he's reading about a brokedown broncobuster, that the emotional enormity of all those sacrifices and failures finally catch up to him.

If Rick biggest fear is becoming a "has been," then his stunt double and best friend Cliff has always operated on the fringes, partially due to his own sordid history involving an alleged murder and the fact he can't help but run his mouth off at the worst possible times. Relegated to driving Rick to and from sets, he looking for a way back in and one of the best things about Pitt's cooler than cool depiction of Cliff is that he isn't afraid to show just how badly he's screwed things up for himself, or how little he seems to care. Cliff is who he is. So it's somewhat jarring to see him return home to a run down trailer on the outskirts of Hollywood and spend the night watching TV on the couch and preparing a meal for his beloved pit bull, Brandy. Tarantino spends a lot of time on this, as transfixed by this daily ritual as we are. It may be where Cliff's most comfortable, and watching him alone gives us what might be the largest possible window into his personality.

This guy shouldn't be likable with all the baggage he brings, but with Brad Pitt playing him, Cliff can't help but come off as the coolest guy in the room, no matter what he's doing. And a few sequences really push the boundaries on this, providing laughs while also hinting at the World War II vet's capacity for violence simmering just below the surface, ready to emerge when necessary. The most tension-filled comes when he drops hitchhiker Pussycat back home at the Spahn Ranch movie set, where he's primed for a confrontation with the Manson Family. And that doesn't seem to bother him one bit. He's there to see George Spahn (Bruce Dern, taking over for the late Burt Reynolds), the ranch's owner and former Bounty Law co-worker, whom he suspects the brainwashed hippies are taking advantage of. We're not sure what will happen, and the moments leading up to, in front of, and inside the old man's shack are excrutiatingly suspenseful as he comes face-to-face with a scary "Squeaky" Fromme (an unrecognizable Dakota Fanning) and the rest of the infamous Mansonites. Forget about our uncertainty of whether he'll make it out alive, we're not entirely sure they will.

Conspicuous by his absence is Manson himself, who other than a brief, fleeting appearance in the film reeanacting a moment often referenced but rarely seen, hovers around the periphery like a spectre. He's played by Damon Herriman, who pulled double duty as Manson on Netflix's Mindhunter, where he was brilliant. But that was actually about him. This isn't, and if that character showed up here he would take over the proceedings, and the film would be all about Charlie Manson and nothing else. And trading everything else we do get to again put the power back in his hands would only further encourage his celebrity idolization, even in death. It's odd that for all the restraint we've seen in film and TV in terms of showing the actual killings, the myth of Manson (as well as the pull he had over his followers) still seems strangely overexposed and disgustingly glorified. Tarantino shows great instincts in attempting to correct that here, hardly giving him the time of day. And in this particular instance, it's completely called for, as he tightly clings to his vision of the story.

Bruce Lee's inclusion in this said "vision" has drawn controversy, as he's shown in a capacity that's very far removed from the reverential treatment everyone expected. If ever there seemed to be a safe bet for a heroic portrayal, it was him, as Tarantino's worship of the legendary martial artist and Green Hornet star is widely known. While expertly played by Mike Moh in capturing the late actors voice, body language and mannerisms, Tarantino turns his attitude up to eleven, offering an unflattering depiction that would sooner compete with Mohammad Ali in terms of arrogance and bravado than in an actual fight. Yes, it's bad, but the point most seem to be missing is that it's heavily implied to have only happened in Cliff's mind. And as much as we like the guy, he's a blowhard, and the very definition of an unreliable narrator, especially when it comes to details of his own life, which he isn't quick to dwell on. Why Tarantino chose to commit this image of Lee to film, even within a glorified fantasy sequence, we may never know, but the end result says more about the character of Cliff and his troubles than the already secured legacy of a pop culture hero.

For a truly bad cameo, witness Damien Lewis' brief, altogether pointless appearance as Steve McQueen, exposition machine, as "The King of Cool" gets reimagined as the tinsletown gossip, relaying the sordid details of the Polanski-Tate-Sebring triangle at the Playboy Mansion. Poorly conceived as the scene is, it's also a rough few minutes for Lewis, who seems all wrong for the role in every possible way. It's kind of shocking that Tarantino didn't cast Andre Brooks, who inhabited the icon inside and out in last year's underrated indie, Chasing Bullitt. Of all the things we thought we'd witness in this film, among the last had to be McQueen sulking about striking out with women.

Sharon Tate's legacy has been as a murder victim, her name synonamous with Manson's and the horror that unfolded on Cielo Drive. If we got even the tiniest glimpse of who she was as a person outside of that, it would more than what's been forced on us for the past fifty years. Despite somewhat ridiculous complaints that she isn't given enough dialogue, Margot Robbie and Tarantino's script spend the running length chipping away at the victim narrative that at this point has already been ingrained into our culture. That they succeed in getting us to think about her existing in any other way before that night in August is an accomplishment in itself, but that she provides such a stark contrast to the Old Hollywood of Rick and Cliff is what makes the character so intriguing. If there's a true hippie in the movie, it's her. Unlike them, she hasn't been around long enough to become jaded or cynical but, like Trudi on Lancer, she represents a changing of the guard, with a new kind of star is coming in to shake things up and eventually push the older generation aside.

Tate doesn't have much dialogue mainly because it just isn't necessary. Tarantino opts instead to show us who she is through her actions, whether she's befriending a hitchhiker while driving to Westwood Village as Buffy Sainte-Marie's "The Circle Game" plays over the soundtrack, or kicking her feet up in a theater to watch herself in The Wrecking Crew after sheepishly explaining to the staff who she is. In less capable hands, that latter scene could have gone wrong in so many ways, making Tate look like a vain, self-absorbed airhead. But Robbie plays it with total sincerity and wide-eyed amazement, leaving little doubt she's appreciative of the good fortune that's come her way, and basking in a moment she respects as being larger than most could hope to earn or deserve.

We can read all of this on Robbie's face by just watching her watch herself on screen. Only it isn't Robbie on screen playing the actress but, in a touching moment, actual footage of the real Tate in the movie, where she's really quite good. Anyone going into this thinking the actress or person may be shortchanged are in for the exact opposite, as Tarantino wisely doesn't put words in her mouth to explain who she is, letting Robbie fill in all the blanks and breathe life into someone only ever known for being at the wrong place at the wrong time. So even as the murder still hover uncomfortably over all these scenes, Tarantino is careful enough to know it, and insure it doesn't define her.

Much has been made about the dream team of DiCaprio and Pitt, and while their first on screen pairing exceeds every possible expectation, the biggest surprise is in how. Most of their scenes together could easily double for the kind of great comic interplay Crowe and Gosling shared in The Nice Guys, but Tarantino goes even further, having them tap into their characters' insecurities as aging, not entirely likable movie stars that couldn't be further removed from the images of the two big name actors playing them. And even as good as they are together, moist of their best work comes separately in those two huge aforementioned set pieces where each is given the space to really display what makes their characters tick.

It's easy to forget there's voice-over narration in the film (provided by Kurt Russell, who also appears briefly as a stunt coordinator), mainly because it's barely present early before returning in the third act. When it returns and why is important, preparing us for what we fully expect will be the absolute worst. Reaching a title card that reads "SIX MONTHS LATER," induces the sinking feeling that, yes, Tarantino's really doing this, and all the fun and games people rightly or wrongly perceived the 60's were are coming to an end. We know Tex Watson (Austin Butler), Susan Atkins (Mikey Madison), Linda Kasabian (Maya Hawke) and Patricia Krenwinkel's (Madison Beaty) arrival on Cielo Drive will be brutal in some form or another, regardless of the outcome. This is Tarantino after all. And it's a good bet Dalton and Booth will somehow find themselves in the middle of it.

It's easy to start thinking that maybe this wasn't such a great idea after all. Manson's victims were murdered once the night of the crime, another when their personal lives were dragged through the media during the trial, and now a third time for a big screen dramatization?  But we also realize the possibility that Tarantino could have something else up his sleeve, perhaps planning to play historical disturber and rewrite history as he did in the interchangeable Inglourious Basterds and Django Unchained. Deciding on what happens couldn't have been an easy decision, but does he ever commit to it once it's made. And in doing so adjusts our perceptions of how this period and its coinciding events have framed in our culture, both for better and worse. But there's even more going on here than that, all of which becomes clear in a tremendous final scene that in hindsight seems completely right, landing us exactly where it feels like we've been heading all long. It's suprisingly perfect, as if the literal culmination of its fairy tale title, providing the lost chapter we didn't know we needed until now.

The Counselor

Director: Ridley Scott
Starring: Michael Fassbender, Penelope Cruz, Cameron Diaz, Javier Bardem, Brad Pitt, Rosie Perez, Natalie Dormer, Edgar Ramirez, Ruben Blades, Goran Visnjic
Running Time: 117 min.
Rating: R

★★ ½ (out of ★★★★) 

It would give me great satisfaction than to say that Ridley's Scott's The Counselor isn't nearly as bad as you've heard. But that would only be half the truth. Viewers' tolerance for just how "bad" it qualifies as will vary. But sandwiched within the mess are flashes of brilliance resulting in the type of spectacular near-miss that could only be made by a talented filmmaker. Scott definitely earns an "A" for ambition, as its easily his most intriguing effort in a while, despite wildly mixed results. If you're going to fail this is at least the most respectable way to do it, taking risks and swinging for the fences. Unsure if its a pulpy crime thriller or pitch-black comedy, the only thing audiences can be certain of is that they'll be baffled and repulsed, and maybe even a little shocked to discover the story comes from the Pulitzer Prize winning author of No Country For Old Men and the director of Gladiator. And that's assuming they can even make it through to the end. Just don't say you weren't warned.

Michael Fassbender is the unnamed "counselor" of the title, a respected attorney who finds himself in the middle of a dirty drug deal with the Mexican cartel thanks after taking some bad advice from his eccentric friend Reiner (Javier Bardem), whose cheetah-obsessed girlfriend Malkina (Cameron Diaz) has some nasty intentions of her own. Despite being warned off the deal by business associate Westray (Brad Pitt), the counselor seems to sink deeper and deeper, not only jeopardizing his own life, but that of his girlfriend Laura (Penelope Cruz). Their relationship is perhaps the only traditional element in a story that's told unconventionally, often forsaking plot and narrative drive in favor of dishing out long, symbolic soliloquies that ruminate on the nature of man and the presence of evil.

There are a couple of scenes that merit mention if only because it's unlikely you've seen anything else like them in a movie before, for better worse. One is obviously the now infamous Diaz scene, in which she pleasures herself on the windshield of a yellow ferrari as Javier Bardem's wide-eyed, crazy haired Reiner looks on in utter shock and disbelief. But what you haven't heard about this flashback is how little it has to do with anything and how it's dropped in the middle of the story without any real rhyme or reason. That's less a criticism than an observation, but also that could also reasonably apply to just about every other crazy scene in the movie, of which there are plenty. It's just that this one takes the cake as its most sensational and tittilating, its existence intended to incite that very debate. There's also a big moment in the last act involving Brad Pitt's Westray that can't really be described, not so much at the risk of spoiling anything, but because  a mere description can't do it justice.

The only predictable element in a project this bizarre is that the performances would also have to be, with the exception of Fassbender's character who is essentially the put-upon straight man amidst the insanity, with Cruz gamely taken along for the ride. Since we're so used to seeing the actor playing edgier roles that exploit his intensity it's a neat reversal to see him as an essentially weak, helpless character, dialing down the charisma he's known for. The rest of the characters at times seem to function primarily as mouthpieces for Cormac McCarthy's philosophizing, spouting thematic observations about greed and selfishness. Given her most delicious role in years, Diaz again proves (as she did in Vanilla Sky) that she's born to play a heel, making you wonder why she isn't given villainous opportunities more often. Complete with spotted tattoos, her Malkina channels a predatory cheetah in both physicality and attitude, making her by far the most eccentric and intriguing character. She flat-out steals the movie, and for reasons entirely unrelated to her showcase scene.

On paper, The Counselor seems like something that deserves praise for at least being unique and stepping outside the box, transforming what could have been a pedestrian crime thriller into an entirely different animal. But it's just such a mess, marred by the nagging feeling that there's a much better movie trapped inside, struggling to get out. It looks great but is often such a slog that it's tough to get a handle on what's happening and who's double-crossing who. McCarthy's script undoubtedly contains ideas, but they're dispensed in such an undigestable manner that the film's events seem almost beside the point.

This is all about style and flash, two words that more frequently leap to mind when considering the late Tony Scott's filmography than his brother's. In fact, if I didn't know better I would have really thought it was his last film because in many ways, it kind of plays as a bizarre tribute. For Ridley, it's major departure, and one that probably needs more than a single viewing to fully absorb as it contains considerably more passion than many of his superior films. There's an extended director's cut out there and I'd be curious to discover if any of the issues are resolved since this reeks of a project that came apart during the editing and post-production stages. But even in its current state, it's hard to claim anyone involved is phoning it in. Most successful movies aren't nearly as compelling as this failed one.
       

Killing Them Softly

Director: Andrew Dominick
Starring: Brad Pitt, Scoot McNairy, Ben Mendelsohn, Richard Jenkins, James Gandolfini, Ray Liotta, Sam Shepard, Vincent Curatola
Running Time: 97 min.
Rating: R

★★ ½ (out of ★★★★)

Then-Presidential candidate Barack Obama and former President George W. Bush are seen or heard so many times in the 2008-set gangster drama Killing Them Softly that they could reasonably share top billing with Brad Pitt and no one would think anything of it. Hardly a scene goes by where they're not either on the radio delivering a speech or stumping for themselves on TV. It's obvious what director Andrew Dominik was going for with his repeated attempts to connect the U.S. economic crisis of six years ago to the state of organized crime, even going so far as to update the setting of George V. Higgins' 1974 novel, Cogan's Trade, to do it. Too obvious. That it seems to be the only thing worth talking about speaks volumes about how distractingly prominent it is, which is a shame because the film isn't without its virtues and actually starts off really well. At best, it's an interesting experiment that again proves Brad Pitt isn't afraid to take chances, but it just runs out of narrative steam after a while, hardly amounting to much by the time the closing credits arrive.

It's the fall of 2008 and a whiny, "in over his head" Frankie (Scoot McNairy) and drug addict Russell (Ben Mendolsohn) are recruited by Mafia boss Johnny "Squirrel" Amato to hold up and rob Markie Trattman's (Ray Liotta) poker room. Since Markie robbed his own game to earn insurance money before with no repercussions, Squirrel figures he'd just be suspected again without getting off as easy this time around. Everything seems to go off without a hitch until hitman Jackie Cogan (Pitt) is tipped off by a mob informant (Richard Jenkins) about what went down and he makes it it his mission to whack the party responsible, which isn't good news for Squirrel, Frankie, Russell, or even the falsely implicated Markie. He enlists the help of hitman Mickey Fallon (James Gandolfini) to get the job done, but things get a little more complicated than expected.  

When director Andrew Dominik focuses solely on the task at hand in developing this story and its characters, the results are surprisingly successful, especially in the film's engaging opening hour. When he turns his attention to overt symbolism and attempts to draw broad parallels between the country's financial collapse due to a lack of oversight and the political hiearachy within organized crime, the film fails miserably. Besides the comparison itself being somewhat of a stretch (at least in the context it's presented), Dominick just won't give the idea a rest, even when the heavy-handed allegorical flashiness is clearly detrimental, if not completely at odds, with the inherent grittiness of the material. The filmmakers probably would have been better off just setting this in 1974 and calling it Cogan's Trade since it does seem like that's what they really wanted to do the whole time, with the script basically shouting for it at points. If it's any relief, Roberta Flack's 70's hit does not at any point make a soundtrack appearance but the film's title is referenced through a memorable dialogue exchange that at least offers somewhat of a clue as to its meaning. I was satisfied, if completely unsurprised, by the explanation. But least that has more to do with an emotional crisis than a financial one.     

A lot of interesting things occur within the opening hour, too many of them under-cut with reminders that IT'S 2008 AND THERE'S A PRESIDENTIAL ELECTION COMING UP. In case you haven't heard. And hear you will. During the big hold-up. In the mobster's car radios. Everywhere. Do mobsters listen to talk radio? No matter. In this film they do it non-stop just so we get the message. The sad part is that most everything else works until the half-way point. President Bush's TV cameo aside, the big hold-up scene crackles with intensity and Scoot McNairy (who's the real lead here) is as impressive in this as we was in Argo last year, and just as unrecognizable as the bumbling, child-like Frankie. You almost feel sorry for a guy so clearly playing out of his league, while his partner in crime Russell is well played by a scary Mendelsohn as an  unpredictably dangerous wildcard.

Pitt's role is much smaller than ads let on but also a lot cooler and more calculated, dressed in all black and making his intro to Johnny Cash's "The Man Comes Around." He makes a co-starring part seem larger and more important than it should on the strength of his charisma, used to menacing effect as Cogan. This also marks one of the final supporting performances in what was the increasingly prolific big screen career of the late James Gandolfini. And I'm glad there's still a few films of his still coming down the pike because he's much better than what he's saddled with here. As an aging, hot-headed hitman addicted to drugs and hookers he goes toe-to-toe with Pitt and more than holds his own, even if I'm completely uncertain as to the character's purpose in the story. It's right around this point that the film starts spinning its wheels and eventually limps over the finish line without much to show for it.  

Less a crime drama than a thematic bludgeoning, the character-centric moments of Killing Them Softly are subtle, and at times even masterful.  It's just a shame most of that is masked under a heavy load of pretension and overt symbolism. Being someone who's generally no big fan of mob movies in general, I was surprised how well the crime component played for me and how much potential it had, despite a myriad of issues that seemed fixable with a re-write or two. It was also impossible to market this as a "guy movie" since there's very little action to speak of and hardly a woman to be found. Even with a trimmed running time, calling this a tough sell is an understatement. Cited as a rare flop for Pitt, it isn't as worthless as you've heard, and at least undeserving of the "F" cinemascore rating thrust upon it by dejected audiences expecting an action thriller from the star. This is about as far from that as it gets, its meditative tone and style more closely resembling a crime film released in 1974 than 2008 or 2012. That's its biggest strength. Its weaknesses are scattered almost everywhere else, with its admittedly silly title actually representing the least of its problems. 

Dennis Has a Podcast: Jeremy The Critic (2012 Oscar Preview)

My good friend Dennis of Dennis Has a Podcast was kind enough to invite me on as his guest to preview the 2012 Oscars airing this Sunday. This marked my first podcast guest appearance in over three years and it was a blast. We talked predictions, snubs, potential surprises and even found time for Kevin Costner.

Listen here (50:33)

....And be sure to check out Dennis' blog where you can catch up on fantastic previous episodes covering everything from sports and comedy to politics. You can also follow him on Twitter (@dmoneymania) and Tumblr (dennishasapodcast.tumblr.com)

Moneyball

Director: Bennett Miller
Starring: Brad Pitt, Jonah Hill, Philip Seymour Hoffman, Chris Pratt, Robin Wright, Kerris Dorsey
Running Time: 133 min.
Rating: PG-13 

★★★ ½ (out of ★★★★)

What struck me most while watching Moneyball was how little I knew about the events that occurred, and whatever I did know, I had problems remembering.  That's sure to be the reaction of anyone watching who's only a casual baseball fan and that's exactly the point. History is written by the winners and the Oakland Athletics didn't win the 2002 World Series despite setting a new Major League record with their 20 game winning streak. In fact, they didn't even make it there. Those aren't spoilers, just statistics in a film that's all about statistics. At one point A's GM Billy Beane (Brad Pitt) says that people only ever remember your last game and he'd be proven right since what happened that year feels like fresh news to anyone who didn't follow the sport closely or read Michael Lewis' 2003 book that provides the film's basis.

Strapped for cash and unable to compete with other teams, Beane improvised and challenged the way those inside baseball thought about and evaluated the sport, even if many didn't feel like admitting it. Interesting and analytical rather than emotional, it's an incredibly welcome change in a genre prone to sentimental grandstanding where it all comes down to the "big game." There's none of that here. Crisply told and featuring two outstanding  performances, this is rousing entertainment at its best. While it'll probably still play best for fans of the sport, it's everybody else who needs to see it and experience the joy of a story told well enough to convert them.

After having star players Johnny Damon and Jason Giambi snatched from the deep pocketed Red Sox and Yankees, Beane is faced with the daunting task of assembling a competitive team despite being the poorest in the league. In a clubhouse full of old school scouts, he's told the answer's what it's always been: Evaluate talent based on their strengths and weaknesses, while factoring in some other intangibles like "look"and "marketability" to obtain the best talent within their price range. It isn't until a trip to Cleveland and an encounter with Yale economics grad Peter Brand (Jonah Hill) that Beane's introduced to a sabermetric method of scouting created by former factory worker Bill James that relies on objective statistics and data rather than a subjective evaluation of a player's perceived strengths and weaknesses. Objectively, only numbers matter. After hiring Brand away from the Indians as his new assistant GM, Beane devises a plan to recruit players based on their on-base percentage and the radical idea causes an uproar amongst his seasoned scouts and enrages manager Art Howe (Philip Seymour Hoffman). Creating an "island of misfit toys" with players no one wants or would take a chance on, Beane and Brand must overcome a rough start and harsh criticism to turn the Athletics into a winning team again.

The film was co-written by Oscar winning Social Network screenwriter Aaron Sorkin and you can tell. He seems to be on a role lately with adapting non-fiction material and making it crackle on screen, injecting excitement and suspense into conversations about baseball strategy and statistics just as he did for computer programming and courtroom depositions. He does this by not only letting us know the people having the conversations, but conveys what's at stake for them. Billy Beane's own disappointing Major League playing career informs the story through flashbacks since the scouting system he's pushing almost seems to be a bittersweet retaliation at the one that failed him. Pegged as a can't miss prospect he missed big when the Mets drafted him in 1980 management looking at perceived intangibles instead of numbers.

The idea that Beane's ultimate destiny was never to be a player but do this informs every scene, particularly his interaction with the players. There's one involving his attempts to get through to a 37-year-old David Justice (played memorably by Stephen Bishop) that epitomizes the uphill battle he has and the honesty with which he approaches the challenge. Who knows if the conversation even took place but the magic in their exchange is in wondering how great it would be if it went down just like that. Art Howe comes across as the fool of the picture to the point that even calling him the team's manager is a stretch since all he cares about is a contract renewal as Beane handles much of the coaching. You can't watch without wondering how pissed the real Howe must be about this portrayal. On one hand you sympathize with him being undermined at every turn, yet there's no denying it's hilarious, more so with an angry, deadpan Hoffman playing him. The media attributing the A's remarkable turnaround to his brilliant managerial mind provides the biggest laugh of the movie.

This is Brad Pitt's show, and at the risk of sounding like a broken record, he gives one of his best performances and is pretty much a lock for a Best actor nomination. While his role earlier in the year in The Tree of Life may have technically been more challenging from a craft perspective, this is the kind of big movie star turn Academy members will be foaming at the mouth to nominate and there's even a good chance he'll win. Charismatic, likable, sympathetic, funny and carrying the entire film with seemingly effortless charm, the full scope of Brad Pitt has never been as prominently displayed as it is here, and in a big studio picture to boot. The level of difficulty hardly matters since it's a virtual highlight reel of all the talents that make him a star, much like Clooney in Michael Clayton, Cruise in Jerry Maguire or Redford in anything during the '70's. The role seems tailor made for him and and watching how everything turned out it's clear he deserves a lot of credit for trusting his instincts and sticking with a project lingering in development hell for years that many didn't think would see the light of day.

While you can use a permanent marker to write in Pitt for a nomination, it wouldn't surprise me if Jonah Hill goes along for the ride in the supporting category as Paul Brand (who's based on real life A's assistant GM Paul DePodesta). After only testing the dramatic waters a little in smaller films, this is Hill's first full plunge into a serious role and it's a pleasant surprise how excellent he is in it and what an oddly effective pair he and Pitt make. Entering a lion's den of locker room traditionalists, Hill plays Brand as extremely knowledgeable, yet overwhelmed and intimidated by the experience. What's neat is how it does contain some of the comic moments you'd expect from him, but restrained in a completely different context. It's easily the best work he's ever done and the true definition of a supporting performance, anchoring the film and Pitt the whole way through as his right-hand man..

In the far smaller but still fairly important role of A's 1st baseman Scott Hatteberg, Parks and Recreation's Chris Pratt is perfectly cast as the shocked and scared premiere pick of Beane and Brand's who has to step up and become the on-field poster boy of their statistical experiment. The little time spent on Beane's personal life is there to advance the sports story that's unfolding and get to know him, which is how it should be. There's just the right amount of emphasis on that and his ex-wife (Robin Wright) and daughter (Kerris Dorsey) that it doesn't feel like an intrusion meant to soften the character or show how his life is in shambles as a lesser script might.

Director Bennett Millers' handling of the material is tremendous in how he visually simplifies what could have been a dense watch for non-sports fans, with the playing scenes only bolstered by Mychael Danna's anthemic score. At 2 hours and 13 minutes the film arguably could have used a snip or a trim, but it's difficult to feel that way watching it. If anything, it's so level-headed and straightforward it's biggest problem may be that it's the type of film easier to respect than love, but time will tell.  When Beane says "it's easy to be romantic about baseball" we expect nothing less than an easy, inspirational conclusion. Instead we get one that leaves you to consider what constitutes "winning" and wondering whether Beane could have been toppled by the very approach he helped popularize. When the title card appeared on screen revealing what became of him since that '02 season, I heard audible gasps of shock from the audience, perhaps a testament to how few still know what he accomplished in a sport primarily concerned with who won the last game.

The Tree of Life

Director: Terrence Malick
Starring: Brad Pitt, Sean Penn, Jessica Chastain, Hunter McCracken, Laramie Eppler, Tye Sheridan, Joanna Going
Running Time: 138 min.
Rating: PG-13

★★★★ (out of ★★★★)

Certain films warrant endless discussion and analysis only minutes after the final credits roll. Those who write about movies know them well since they go running to the keyboard to spill their thoughts and others quickly talk about with friends to see if they're on the same page. Terrence Malick's The Tree of Life meets all the qualifications of a film that should be deeply analyzed and picked apart (and it is already by many), yet when it ended the last thing I wanted to do was write about it or talk to anyone. I just wanted to sit there and let it sink in. Then I wanted to be alone to reflect on it. Less a film than a symphony, interpretation and analysis is fun, but futile considering each individual will bring however much or little of themselves they want to it.  What it all means could be summed up as "everything," but that still doesn't even really touch it. We're born into this world, make connections with different people that can be fleeting or not, and then we leave it, never pausing to consider whether there's a universal scheme in place hurling us toward our inevitable destination. We've seen movies try to tackle the topic but this is the first to make sure it's felt completely.

Similar to a collage of dreams or memories, everything is presented in a non-linear format rather than in a traditional narrative structure. Scenes flow freely to form emotions rather than necessarily tell a story, which is sort of a first. Almost embarrassingly messy and over-ambitious, time will have to judge it's worth as a true masterpiece, but this does feel like something monumentally important that should be talked about for a while to come. No matter which side of the fence you fall on in terms of its quality, there's no denying it's unlike anything we've seen recently, and deserves respect even from those who can't bring themselves to admire it.  It's a game-changer that pushes the medium in a new direction and demands all its layers be peeled away an image at a time. Whether it's as altering an experience as the reclusive Malick intended it to be for will be argued over multiple viewings and succeeding years but this does feel like the movie he's slowly been building toward his entire career, if not his whole life.

The fragmented, stream-of-consciousness narrative centers around different, but intrinsically linked timelines. It opens with a series of dreamlike images, flashbacks and whispery voice overs before shifting to the arrival of a telegram informing Mrs. O'Brien (Jessica Chastain) of the death of her 19 year-old son, presumably overseas at war (Vietnam?) but we can't be sure since Malick leaves it to us to fill in all the details. She notifies her husband, Mr. O'Brien (Brad Pitt) of the news via telephone, but it's not until much later when we've learned enough to properly put in context their differing reactions. Then we shift to present-day with their other son, a middle-aged Jack O' Brien (Sean Penn) depressed and emotionally absent as he goes through the motions of his daily life as an architect, haunted by the anniversary of his brother's death and memories of their childhood together.

Before flashing back to their days growing up in Waco, Texas in the 1950's (a stretch that accounts for the majority of the film's running time) there's an extended 18 minute-sequence depicting the creation of the universe that very heavily recalls the "stargate" sequence at the end of 2001: A Space Odyssey in that it doesn't use computer generated imagery and looks and feels real (incidentally, the same special effects supervisor, Douglas Trumbull, worked on both). And that film is really the only point of reference and entryway we have into to this one which otherwise resembles little that's come before and seems to make-up a visual language of its own as it hypnotically unfolds.

The sequence culminates with scenes involving dinosaurs that at first glance seem only present for historical reasons, but in hindsight their actions (like the apes in 2001) take on a very concrete significance in relation to human events that occur later.  You may as well hear Kubrick clapping from beyond the grave since the entire project seems to represent exactly the kind of ambitious vision he'd undoubtedly support, or attempt to film himself, if he were still living. For better or worse, his version would likely be emotionally colder, steering clear of the looser, more impressionistic moments Malick loses himself in and surrenders to. 

Taking up most of the film's second half is the childhood sequence in 1950's Waco, which contains some of the most remarkably accurate and evocative representations of childhood that could be put on a screen. Emmanuel Lubezki's photography, Jack Fisk's production design and Alexandre Desplat's score all converge to create a perfect storm of atmosphere so palpable that you may as well be there with the characters. For about an hour straight it feels as if you're in the hands of a master magician rather than a filmmaker as we witness the lives of the O'Brien family through a series of memories and images not all necessarily presented in order but feeling like a full-blown time travel trip through the defining moments of a life.

We follow young Jack (Hunter McCracken) from birth into adolescence and tracks his relationship with his two brothers, especially the younger, favored brother R.L. (Laramie Eppler). The three boys both fear and respect their father Mr. O' Brien (demanding to be called "father," not "dad"), a strict, disciplinarian who's own failure at becoming a musician has resulted in behavior that borders on abusiveness, and often crosses the line into it. The  more empathetic, almost ethereal Mrs. O' Brien is childlike in her demeanor, and while not naive to her husband's faults, protects and comforts children without ever daring to cross him. So terrifying is his behavior that an impromptu business trip creates one of the more memorable scenes when the children celebrate his absence, and Jack's pent-up id runs wild in surprising ways, confirming he may actually need more of his father's rules and discipline than he thinks. How Jack internalizes this rocky relationship with his father not only comprises the meat of the childhood chapter, but also figures into the controversial Sean Penn section, even if explaining exactly how would probably require the length of a novel and numerous spoilers, at least as far as it's possible to "spoil" a plot this abstract.

The Waco chapter of the film is so flawless that it's hard to reconcile where everything else fits in terms of quality. The knee jerk reaction is to assume Malick sets the bar so high for himself that he can't top it with what's left, but I'm not sure I buy into that. For me the most emotionally gut-wrenching scene of the film is when the family leave their home after Mr. O'Brien is transferred from his job and Jack gets one last glance through the car's window. It feels like a death of sorts and in many ways it is since his brother will eventually die and his childhood is preserved in this period of his life, and that moment. We all have those snapshots stored in our minds which is why this family's story resonates so strongly and there's an inescapable temptation for us to reflect on own memories as we watch it, substituting ourselves in for the characters.

This is easily the best work Brad Pitt's ever done and it's a testament to just how much else is going on here that the underrated performance is flying under the radar of most. It's because of Pitt that Mr. O'Brien doesn't come off as an evil, abusive tyrant as he very well could have, but a demanding parent whose anger comes from wanting a better life for his boys than he had for himself.  You can almost understand why he does the things he does without necessarily agreeing with any of those decisions or condoning his treatment of the boys.

Carrying much of the film in what's far from a supporting role, Pitt has never been one to ever phone it in for a paycheck and this is the latest, possibly greatest, example of him using his clout to star in a difficult, challenging work that pushes him further as an actor, often at the expense of leaving money on the table angering fans who came to see this only because of his star power. You'd figure audiences would have learned their lesson last year after Clooney burned them with The American or at least realized from the commercials that this wasn't going to be the Pitt/Penn dinosaur hunter movie they expected. But as strong as Pitt is, relative unknowns Hunter McCracken and Jessica Chastain manage to stay right there with him, the former with a quiet intensity in his face that speaks volumes even in complete silence.

While at first it's hard to make heads or tails of the Sean Penn section of the film and the eventual ending, it's accurate to say anyone who hated the finale of Lost, will despise it. What's interesting about the presumably "present day" scenes involving adult Jack is how open to interpretation they are. In one sense it seems as if Jack is imprisoned in this cold, modern world with soulless skyscrapers surrounding him, an unfulfilling job, a house so sterile it doesn't even appear lived in, and a distant, possibly non-existent, relationship with his wife. Yet it could also be looked at as if Jack isn't trapped in this existence as much as he's a prisoner of his own memories and therefore unable to appreciate the modern beauty around him, at least until he comes to terms with his past.

It can't be merely a coincidence that these are are the first present-day scenes the reclusive Malick has ever filmed when you consider most of his movies (and this is only his fifth in four decades) seem to have a reverence for the past that implies no matter how good or bad things were then, they'll always inevitably be better than now. That could help explain why this challenging, indulgent portion of the film exists and why most viewers would have problems with it. Any disappointment felt watching the ending moments of the film in relation to the incredible childhood chapter that came earlier can be explained away by the fact that the protagonist is supposed to feel it more, and clearly he does.

This obviously isn't a film for casual moviegoers, but I can't help but laugh at the irony of that statement since I've always considered myself one. But after seeing this with an audience yelling at the screen with impatience and confusion while the rest walked out at various points demanding a refund (for a free screening!), I'm starting to second guess that. Apparently, my experience wasn't an isolated incident so those who can enjoy, or even just appreciate the film for what it is (and isn't) will have to accept that critics and audiences vehemently disagree. That's not necessarily a negative considering it's a rare gift a film this discussion-ready is dropped in the middle of summer, usually a dead zone for anything of substantial quality. But the most exciting thing about The Tree of Life just might be that a filmmaker aimed this high and didn't let the judgment of public opinion or studio pressure get in the way of him creating a work of art that feels this vast and epic, yet so personal at the same time. Regardless of its outcome, Malick should be credited for realizing his vision since it's doubtful any other filmmaker would have had the guts or skill to go this far with it.

Inglourious Basterds

Director: Quentin Tarantino
Starring: Brad Pitt, Melanie Laurent, Christoph Waltz, Michael Fassbender, Eli Roth, Diane Kruger, Daniel Bruhl
Running Time: 152 min.
Rating: R

★★★★ (out of ★★★★)

There's usually a section in any bookstore where you can find those speculative fiction novels dealing with various alternate history scenarios. The victory of the South in the Civil War. The survival of the Byzantine Empire. Nazi Germany's victory in World War II. Quentin Tarantino uses the pages of those books as toilet paper in Inglourious Basterds, the alternate history to end all alternate histories, and easily his best film since Pulp Fiction. What everyone expected to be another one of his fun  B-movie tributes (this time to Spaghetti Westerns) over-performs considerably to become something far more, representing a giant leap forward for a director who was written off as peaking a while ago. It stands as his least indulgent, most assured effort, playing on all the strengths that were evident in his best work and finding a way to incorporate his cinematic influences and fanboy instincts into a film that's uniquely his. A substantial, focused work from a filmmaker who for the past decade has mostly been prone to taking crazy detours and marching to the beat of his own drum.

It wasn't until it ended that I realized most of the picture is in subtitles, not as if it matters because I was too enraptured in the story to even notice, hanging on every word in each tension filled scene. Tarantino milks every moment for all its worth but as impressive as it is, it's his ability for discovering and fostering underseen talent that reaches unthinkable heights. There's a brilliantly understated performance in this that even eclipses the film containing it, which is saying a lot considering the film itself is a near-masterpiece. This is the rare motion picture that will likely invite many repeated viewings to fully grasp all its crazy complexities and its ending, backdropped against an unforgettable final image, is as controversially cathartic a release as you hope a movie could deliver.

The film opens in German occupied France in 1941 with a visit to a dairy farm from "The Jew Hunter," Nazi Colonel Hans Landa (Christoph Waltz). He suspects the farmer (Denis Menochet) is hiding Jews and after initiating a bizarre conversation about squirrels and rats, he kills the Dreyfus family, found hiding under the floorboards. All except one. Daughter Shosanna (Melanie Laurent) escapes and we catch up with her four years later when under an alias she now operates a small Paris cinema. All is fine until she encounters war hero Frederick Zoller (Daniel Bruhl), who's interested in her theater (and actually a lot more than that) for the premiere of the new Nazi propaganda picture, Nation's Pride, in which he stars and will be attended by Hitler and Joseph Goebbels. She agrees, plotting the ultimate revenge against the Nazis who murdered her family, provided her cover isn't blown first. Revenge is also on the minds of "The Basterds," a gang of Jews who kill and scalp Nazis. Led by Lieutenant Aldo Raine (Brad Pitt), they have a dangerous plan of their own for the premiere involving infiltration from undercover former film critic Archie Hicox (Michael Fassbender) and a famous German film actress turned Allied double agent named Bridget von Hammersmark (Diane Kruger).

What's always been the long-running joke with Tarantino as a filmmaker, even amongst his most loyal supporters, is that he's a far better writer than director and that the guy just loves movies. That former criticism is called into question for the first time with this film while the latter isn't so much a criticism as it is the God's honest truth. But they've manifested themselves as criticisms mainly because he's spent the years following the enormous success of Pulp Fiction applying them to exciting diversions and genre tributes. That's not to say his day at the playground with a Jackie Brown, a Kill Bill or a Death Proof wouldn't be the equivalent of any other director's career best, but this one is more than that. Here he's really channeled and harnessed his self-indulgent tendencies and cinema obsession in the best possible way, applying them for more than just a good time (although this certainly delivers that in spades).

The love for movies does not only factor into the screenplay, for the first time it seems fully ingrained into the entire picture. Like Pulp Fiction, this is divided into chapters (five of them) but what's so curious about that is how each of them is so tightly constructed as to feel like five huge scenes. There are two or three huge ones while the rest wrap around it perfectly. Christoph Waltz is in most of them and his Landa is a Nazi unlike any we've seen depicted on film before. Rather than project him as pure evil personified, Waltz plays him as charming, intelligent and slick. His chief motivation really is simply doing his job and doing it well and it's that approach that makes the character so much more chillingly terrifying than it could possibly be otherwise. What Waltz does in the opening interrogation scene to get to the point he needs to with this character and jump start the story has to be seen (and heard) to be believed. Had he only appeared in those first ten minutes and nothing else he'd still have the Supporting Actor Oscar in the bag.

All the praise and awards attention for Waltz is justified but on equal ground, if not higher, is the work of newcomer Melanie Laurent as Shosanna. Part of why I'm so partial to it is that there are just so few strong starring roles available for women and it's something Tarantino has always excelled at writing, but takes to a new level here. Laurent doesn't have a lot of lines. Most of them are in foreign tongue. Yet she expresses all she needs to without words and just her eyes. A scene where Shosanna sits and eats with Landa, the man who murdered her family. As he questions her about the movie premiere the tension and suspense becomes unbearable. Just watch Laurent's face the entire time and when the scene ends witness her let it all out. She also expertly sells the most difficult part of the story--Shosanna's complicated, seemingly one-sided relationship with war hero Zoller, which we're not quite sure what to make of even right up until its tragic end.

At risk of overstating the case, Laurent gives the kind of iconic performance you can see being looked back on years from now as a landmark. The final image we get of her is so memorable it could very well be burned (literally) into our psyches. Considering this is an ensemble film I'm not sure which Oscar acting category she'd fit into but here's hoping they figure it out soon. And that's no knock on Diane Kruger as a separate review could be written exploring how Tarantino somehow managed to get such a thrilling performance out of an unproven actress barely memorable in the National Treasure movies. She's a surprise but Laurent's the heart and soul, so much so that movie actually suffers a little when she or Waltz aren't onscreen.

The Basterds are entertaining as hell, which is all they need to be and Brad Pitt (in a less pivotal role than you might expect) delivers a turn as broadly comic as his work in Burn After Reading. Of course, the most controversial casting decision is non-actor Eli Roth in the role of Staff Sergeant Donnie Donowitz (aka "The Bear Jew"), who takes a baseball bat to Nazis' heads. Roth really isn't asked to do a whole lot and this isn't a challenging part but he's adequate enough in it. The irony isn't lost that the "torture porn" director of Hostel brutally hands out the most controversial killing at the end of the film. There's a message in that somewhere. Make of it what you will.

The biggest accomplishment is that Tarantino takes the most sensitive, shameful subject imaginable and makes it fun. Barrels of fun. It's almost horrible to say, but true. And by having the Jews mimic the atrocities that were done to them by the Nazis and reversing the balance, he also forces to look at history in a way that goes beyond the normal black and white textbook depiction found in so many dry war epics, as uncomfortable as that may make us feel. It's a fascinating experiment because they become real people rather than labels or footnotes in history. As a result, this movie feels alive with an energy and importance. It's really a complete subversion of all genres and though its title may be inspired from Enzo Castellari's little seen 1978 war film The Inglorious Bastards, there's no mistaking this as a wholly original work. It's all Tarantino, who's back with a vengeance, and now has us wondering again if all the massive hype surrounding him was true.

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button

Director: David Fincher
Starring: Brad Pitt, Cate Blanchett, Taraji P. Henson, Julia Ormond, Tilda Swinton, Jared Harris, Jason Flemyng, Elias Koteas
Running Time: 165 min.
Rating: PG-13

**** (out of ****)

Whenever I see a list of the year’s upcoming releases and a David Fincher film is on the slate I’m always prepared to clear a very high spot on my year-end top 10 just in case. Those who know me best think I’m incapable of objectively assessing his films. They're right. Had Fincher not directed a thriller called The Game in 1997 I wouldn’t be typing this review right now. Or any review. And I definitely wouldn’t be watching as many movies as I do now or come anywhere close to appreciating the work that goes into them. Everyone has the one film that started everything for them. That was mine.

12 years later we wait on the eve of the Oscars to find out just how many of its 13 nominations Fincher’s The Curious Case of Benjamin Button can cash in on. A lot has been written and spoken about the film, nearly all of it false. The most popular (and ridiculous) accusation hurled its way is that it's a rip-off of Forrest Gump. While the two films share certain surface similarities and a screenwriter (Eric Roth), thematically the comparison doesn’t hold any water. This is a story about DEATH. Of your days passing you by before you have a chance to blink. Of missed opportunities and loneliness. Of feeling like you just don’t belong. Of watching everyone you love just fade away as you aimlessly move from one moment to the next.

For whatever reason, watching Fincher’s films have always been a deeply personal experience for me but this one really spoke to me. While it may seem odd to relate to a character that ages backwards I sometimes see myself in a state of regression, failing to keep pace with the outside world and too often a spectator in my own life. Who doesn't? So yes this film does feature a passive protagonist and that’s the point. There’s something wrong with him. He doesn’t fit. It's less Zemeckis, more Kubrick.

Mentioning Kubrick is apt not only because this is reminiscent of that legend’s best work but because both filmmakers have faced criticism that their approaches are cold and detached. Watching Fincher tackle big sweeping emotional material usually reserved for a more mainstream director is not unlike what happened in 2001 when Steven Spielberg carried out the late Kubrick’s long gestating dream project, A.I. The result was a bizarre, flawed but ultimately unforgettable a mix of both filmmaker’s sensibilities with Spielberg’s sentimentality (for better or worse) getting the final word. Say what you want about the film but it did push Spielberg to a place he hadn’t been before. Something similar happens here for Fincher's take on Roth's story, except this time the darkness wins out and the results are nearly flawless.

Argue all you want where it ranks with his greatest but it’s definitely the BIGGEST, both in scope and resonance and a technical achievement that won’t be matched anytime soon. It’s the only one of the five nominees for Best Picture that really feels like it could be a nominee in any year, not just a weak one. At nearly three hours long I wanted the film to go on even longer, dreading the moment the story and my time with this fascinating title character would end. And in a way it never really did. It engulfed me like a dream, which toward its final act resembled more of a nightmare. I clearly saw a film far different from everyone else and I can't wrap my head around why critics and audiences have reacted so unenthusiastically to it. Thankfully, the Academy completely ignored them.

Its August 2005 and as Hurricane Katrina is about to make landfall in New Orleans 80-year-old Daisy (Cate Blanchett) lies on her deathbed with daughter Caroline (Julia Ormond) by her side. Daisy has her read the diary of a man from her past named Benjamin Button. He was born in 1918 with the physical appearance of an old man, afflicted with a rare condition that causes him to age in reverse, growing younger with each passing year. His mother died during childbirth but his father, Thomas Button (Jason Flemyng) abandons the baby of the steps of a nursing home, where he’s discovered and warmly taken in by Queenie (Taraji P. Henson). She views his arrival as a blessing and unable to conceive, raises the child as if he were her own.

It’s in his teenage years when he first meets young Daisy who he connects with in a special way but won’t see again until he’s left home and experienced life. That includes working on a tugboat off the docks of New Orleans with Captain Mike (insert requisite Lieutenant Dan joke here) played by Jared Harris,’ being enlisted by the Navy during World War II and falling in love with Elizabeth Abbott, a middle-aged British woman (Tilda Swinton) he encounters at a hotel. Through it all, whether together or not, there’s always one constant for Benjamin: Daisy. Their paths veer off in completely different directions as she starts a new life for herself in New York, yet they always seem to intertwine again, even if the timing isn’t always right. It’s when they finally “meet in the middle” that the film soars to its greatest heights and becomes a devastating meditation on love and mortality.

One moment could never sum up what a film means or measure its power but when this ended a montage stuck in my mind.. An accident befalls a character and Fincher flashes back, showing us all the little, seemingly meaningless events that had to fall perfectly into place for that event to occur. Had one of those tiny circumstances not happened, there's no accident and the paths of those involved would have been considerably altered. Life is a series of windows, opening and closing at very specific times, which can be a source of both joy and unbearable sadness. We have control over it…and we don’t. That’s life, and this film is rich with every little detail of it.

I underestimated just how affecting this premise would be having only a passing familiarity with F. Scott Fitzgerald’s 1921 short story from which it’s based. But you could tell a lot of hard work went into expanding and deepening the source material to bring it to the screen. I’ve rallied long and hard against the overuse of CGI in movies but this is how visual effects should be incorporated into films….TO ACTUALLY HELP TELL THE STORY. If the reverse aging is a “gimmick” then it’s a damn good one because I could think of few things that fascinated me more recently in a movie than analyzing where this protagonist was in his life, where he was going, and what age he was at in relation to those around him.

Benjamin’s situation not only informs his interactions with everyone, but in what has to be the most criminally overlooked aspect of the entire film, the condition itself seems real. I bet a lot of people would leave this film thinking that this fictitious disease, or at least something very similar to it, could exist, and not just in the pages of a science fiction magazine. That’s what Fincher brings to the table that no one else can and that’s what makes the film’s final hour so sad and scary. We’ve all seen plenty of characters die in movies before but has one ever left us like THAT? Pitt’s performance is reactive, which is something a lot of people seem to have a problem with but that’s what’s called for. His face and body may at times be buried under make-up and special effects but he never lets us lose touch with the humanity of Benjamin. One of the film’s most accomplished visual feats, beyond believably turning Pitt into an old man is having him appear toward the end of the film exactly as he did when he made his screen debut in Thelma and Louise.

While admiring Blanchett’s performance it occurred to me despite all the awards and accolades she constantly receives and how times she’s referenced the “best actress of her generation” we’ve never seen her in a role like Daisy. She’s really never been afforded the opportunity to play the unrequited, unattainable love interest for a protagonist in a film this size. Despite her obvious talent I doubt she’d jump out in most audience’s minds as their first choice to play opposite Pitt. Now it’s tough to imagine anyone else even trying it since the movie feels most alive when she shares the screen with him. Similarly buried under prosthetic make-up she's equally impressive in her deathbed scenes opposite Ormond as that present day aspect of the film just seems to increase in poignancy and power as Benjamin's story unravels.

Don’t count me among those who believe David Fincher specializes in making cold, sterile films devoid of any emotion. There's a lot of emotion in The Game, Fight Club and even Zodiac. So much more than they're given credit for. To some degree all his work has had an underlying theme of mortality but here the window dressing is a little different. It would have been another Forrest Gump under just about any other director but he turns it into something else entirely. Something more meaningful and lasting.

I also don't subscribe to the theory that the Academy is rewarding an accomplished filmmaker for one of his lesser efforts. Far from it. So much has to be absorbed and processed in The Curious Case of Benjamin Button that it's nearly impossible to do it in a single viewing and that it's being met with indifference now is strangely appropriate. Like its protagonist, maybe the timing just wasn't right. Years from now it will be.