Patriots Day

Director: Peter Berg
Starring: Mark Wahlberg, Kevin Bacon, John Goodman, J.K. Simmons, Michelle Monaghan, Alex Wolff, Themo Melikidze, Michael Beach, James Colby, Jimmy O. Yang, Rachel Brosnahan, Christopher O' Shea, Melissa Benoist, Khandi Alexander
Running Time: 133 min.
Rating: R

★★★ (out of ★★★★)

Depending on your opinion of very recent real life tragedies being brought to the big screen, Peter Berg's Patriots Day will either be a heavily anticipated or nervously dreaded experience. That the end result is positive can mainly be attributed to the realism and tension he brings to the sensitive material, which recreates an attack and subsequent manhunt sure to have many on pins and needles despite everyone's full knowledge of the outcome.  There are about two or three sequences in the film that are not only eye-opening in terms of the little nuggets of information provided, but in their depiction of both the disappointment and eventual triumph of the human spirit all within the span of a couple of days.

The usually inconsistent, over-the-top Berg shows surprising restraint, with star Mark Wahlberg taking on a semi-fictional role that's not only right in his wheelhouse, but firmly rooted in his own hometown, reminding us the gravitas he brings when properly cast in a part to suit his strengths. The entire picture is essentially broken down into sections, with character sketches sprinkled throughout. The attack, the shootout, the hostage situation, the manhunt, and most controversially, the interrogation.

While the tragedy occurred only four years ago, it's startling to consider just how much has already been forgotten about that day and in the hours leading up to 2013's doomed Boston Marathon. It's an excellently made, respectful encapsulation destined to be unfairly picked apart and unpacked due to the director's politics. But in this case, skeptics are reading into something that just isn't there. As the unnecessary mini-documentary that closes the film shows, Berg's film definitely conveys a point of view, but it's far from political and one you'd hope everyone shares.

When something like this happens, the immediate reaction should be anger and outrage, with any compassion reserved for the victims and their families. In fact, it's so obvious that you'd have to heavily question the need for the non-fictional epilogue closing the film, restating with real life accounts what was already conveyed in the preceding two hours. Whether it was a preemptive defense against unfair critics ready to slam the right-skewing filmmaker for even taking the project, there's no need for anyone to feel guilty for making or watching this. It's worthwhile, both for history and opinion, thankfully done well enough to leave little room for heated debate over its merits.

It's April 15, 2013 and injured Police Sergeant Tommy Saunders (Wahlberg) is returning to work the Boston Marathon after a recent suspension, looking to prove he's put his issues behind him, taking marching orders from Commissioner Ed Davis (John Goodman). But when two bombs are detonated near the finish line of the race by Tamerlan Tsarnaev (Themo Melikidze) and his younger brother Dzhokhar (Alex Wolff), chaos and bloodshed erupt with the surviving victims being taken to local hospitals. Couples such as spectators Jessica Kensky (Rachel Brosnahan) and husband Patrick Downes (Chistopher O'Shea) are separated and unaware for hours whether their spouse is even still alive. With FBI Special Agent Richard DesLauriers (Kevin Bacon) taking over the investigation and working in conjunction with Boston Police, they begin to close in on their suspects. But the brothers won't go quietly, inflicting more damage until eventually being brought down by the law enforcement and citizens of a tough city who band together under the worst circumstances imaginable.

Berg does an admirable job setting the table for what's to come, introducing characters who we know, or maybe even specifically remember, play roles in the tragedy. Some are given more screen time than others, but a clear emphasis is put on law enforcement and Wahlberg's Sgt. Saunders, a composite of various real-life officers on duty that day. Told directly in a chronologically coherent way, title cards count down to the start of the race and the direct aftermath in the following hours are laid out as a compelling police procedural. It's hard to think of a box that goes unchecked, or a moment where are memory isn't jogged as to certain details that made the headlines, but without the specificity we get here.

The information we're privy to is especially insightful when concerning the actions of the bombers both leading up to and directly following the attack. It's also kind of frightening, as the perpetrators take center stage in a manner that could easily turn off those already made uncomfortable by the very idea of this film existing. We see their preparations, sloppy game plan for escape and the surprisingly tough fight they put up against Boston's finest. And of this is viewed through a likely accurate prism that shows them hanging out and arguing like brothers separated in age usually would. Tamerlan's clearly the mastermind and aggressor, taking his younger brother along for the ride, poisoning his mind a little more, a detail supporting the narrative running through the news at the the time.

From the recreation of the crime scene to painstaking video recognition techniques, a step-by-step process is shown to explain how the authorities went from literally no information to putting an entire city on lockdown until eventually descending upon the single surviving terrorist hiding in a neighbor's yard. If there's any issues with the film, they'd stem from it being so caught up in in the intriguing nuts and bolts of the event and its aftermath that it can sometimes come across as too rote or mechanical. It's a strange complaint considering Berg's the director, but this still works better as an action thriller than a historical drama. While the revolving door of major and minor characters makes it harder to be invested in any of them for lengthy periods, Wahlberg, Bacon and a couple of others get to shine through in their roles, with the likes of Goodman, Michelle Monaghan and an effective J.K. Simmons (as nearby Watertown Police Sergeant Jeffrey Pugliese) trying to leave an imprint in lesser ones, the former unfortunately saddled as a stereotypical worried wife to Wahlberg's hero.

Ironically, it's two sequences centering around forgotten supporting players ignored by the media that land the biggest emotional blow. The first involves the bravery of carjacking hostage Dun Meng (Jimmy O. Yang), who summons a strength from inside that few could likely access during such an ordeal. On the other end of the spectrum is the jaw-dropping interrogation of Tamerlan Tsarnaev's loyally subservient, radicalized wife, Katherine Russell (Melissa Benoist) at the hands of Khandi Alexander's nameless "The Interrogator." That's who she's actually listed as in the film's credits and after you view the controversial scene (the best acted of the entire picture), you'll know why any other name or description couldn't possibly do her justice.

Since Berg lays everything out so logically it becomes an even bigger question mark as to why he chose to tag on a mini-documentary at the end of a faithful adaptation of events that hardly needs it. Where a quick glimpse at the real people posing with their onscreen counterparts, or even a simple graphic or title card onscreen updating us on those involved would more than suffice, we instead get something you'd more likely find as DVD extra, assuming that medium were still thriving or relevant. While it's unfair to entirely dismiss it or his intentions, the answer as to why Berg would make such a creatively questionable choice proves he has no agenda other than to pay tribute to the survivors and law enforcement. And as far as agendas go, that's a pretty good one to have.
  

Danny Collins

Director: Dan Fogelman
Starring: Al Pacino, Annette Bening, Jennifer Garner, Bobby Cannavale, Christopher Plummer, Katarina Čas, Giselle Eisenberg, Melissa Benoist, Josh Peck, Eric Michael Roy, Nick Offerman
Running Time: 106 min.
Rating: R

★★★ (out of ★★★★) 

About a decade ago, Neil Diamond released a Rick Rubin-produced album that was complete departure from anything he'd previously done, trading his usual, over-the-top bombast for an acoustic guitar and stripped down sound. The result was his biggest commercial and critical hit in years. I couldn't help but think of it while watching the immensely enjoyable Danny Collins, wondering if Diamond had a crisis similar to the title character to cause that change in course. Probably not, even if the aging rocker Al Pacino plays seems much closer in style to Diamond than the actual inspiration, folk singer Steve Tilston.

Just as his music was taking off in 1971, Tilston was written a letter of encouragement from John Lennon and Yoko Ono that he didn't receive until 34 years later, sparking a dramatic change in his life. As a concept, it's an ingenious starting point, made all the more satisfying screenwriter Dan Fogelman's (making his directorial debut) immediate acknowledgment that he'll be taking liberties with it. And they're mostly clever ones. But what's more amazing might be his ability to secure the rights to Lennon's music for the film, as some of his biggest solo hits punctuate key scenes. While I'm not sure it dramatically increases the overall experience and he goes a bit overboard with it, if ever a screenplay screamed out for Lennon's songs, it's this one.    

While Pacino's clearly channeling Diamond, he's also channeling Pacino, as it's impossible not to consider the actor's legendary career while watching and rooting for this character. It's not only a reminder of how long he's been at this, but perhaps some of the choices he's made along the way. Some good, others less so. This is one of those better choices and, as usual, he looks like he's having the time of his life.

Pacino plays Danny Collins, a show-stopping rocker whose fan base now primarily consists of older women singing along with his early 1970's pop hit, "Hey, Baby Doll." Filling up arenas by coasting on the success of that "Sweet Caroline"-like smash, he hasn't written any new material in 30 years and refuses to give up his costly, hard partying rock star lifestyle, which includes a girlfriend (Katarina Čas) half his age. But when his best friend and manager, Frank (Christopher Plummer) gives him a framed, 40-year-old undelivered letter written to him by John Lennon as a birthday gift, he's forced to reexamine his choices and consider how differently his life could have turned out had he gotten it.

Danny's suddenly determined to locate his estranged son, Tom (Bobby Cannavale), who's built a normal life with wife Samantha (Jennifer Garner) and daughter, Hope (Giselle Eisenberg) that emphatically excludes the celebrity father who abandoned him. But an indefinite stay at the local Hilton turns his attention to the hotel's no nonsense manager, Mary (Annette Bening), who he keeps trying to hit on. She keeps his ego in check as he reluctantly begins to write new material and attempts to find redemption with his family.

From the opening flashback scene, it's obvious this is going to be a good time. It shows a twenty-something Danny (Eric Michael Roy, a dead ringer for young Pacino) being interviewed by a music journalist (an unrecognizable Nick Offerman doing his best Lester Bangs) looking like a deer caught in headlights of fame. Scared to death by celebrity harming the artistic purity of his work, a letter from his idol could have provided him with some guidance and encouragement at just the right time. Instead, he became this larger than life showman, who never stopped to consider himself a sell-out until reading Lennon's letter delivers an unexpected jolt.

Danny's far from a failure, but it wouldn't be a stretch to call him somewhat a joke. At this point, he's famous for just being famous, having contributed nothing meaningful in years, yet still riding high with an enjoyable but tired act. Without naming names, we see it all the time, so it's easy to understand why he'd be afraid to step out of his comfort zone to try something artistically different. And it helps that Pacino plays him as this charming, wonderful, one-of-kind guy who just storms into this hotel like a force of nature and wins over everyone in sight, complimenting the staff and even trying to set the desk clerk (Whiplash's Melissa Benoist) up with the parking valet (Josh Peck). Only the seemingly humorless manager, Mary, remains unimpressed, which of course makes her his ideal equal.

Danny even eventually wears Mary down in the film's most successful sequence, with Pacino and Bening at their respective bests playing off each other in a hotel bar as their characters discover they have much more in common than they thought. They share such a natural chemistry (or "patter" as Danny calls it) that would feel entirely contrived with two other actors in the roles. Here, you're just lost in two real people just enjoying each others company. Their interplay is so seamless it's often tough to tell where Al and Annette end and Danny and Mary begin.

A development occurs almost midway through that's best not to talk about other than saying it comes out of the "Screenwriting 101" handbook and would likely get you kicked out of class. It's a credit to Fogelman's expertise, Pacino's convincing work and Bobby Cannavale's realistic, matter-of-fact performance as a working class father justifiably offended by Danny's arrival, that they pull it off. And as questionable as it looks on paper, that I'd have problems coming up with any reasonable alternatives must speak to its success on some level. Without it, we also wouldn't have gotten the unusually observant final scene, which puts a nice bow on the story while not depriving us of the (admittedly remote) possibility that maybe things don't work out.

In hindsight, the direction this goes does kind of make sense in that his son Tom's problems (more severe than expected) would get in the way of Danny's "happy ending" and redemption. After all, as likable a guy as he is, he's also an egomaniac who thinks the world revolves around him. Pacino plays these two sides of him so well that it's a blast seeing him bounce off everyone else.

Aside from Bening, who invests Mary with more depth than anticipated, Christopher Plummer smoothly and sarcastically conveys the experience of a music industry vet who simply tells it like it is. Jennifer Garner also gets some solid scenes opposite Pacino as the spouse more receptive to having Danny in their lives, despite the emotional risks to her husband and daughter. And as Hope, Giselle Eisenberg (no relation) accomplishes the rare child actor feat of being the precocious center of attention without becoming overbearing.

There's an alternate moviegoing universe in which Danny Collins tops the box office and becomes a giant hit for Pacino, possibly even earning him a nomination. That universe is the 1990's, when crowd-pleasing, star-driven adult dramas were still filling multiplexes. Consider the fact that this was released at all, and turned out this well, a victory in itself. And those justifiably lamenting that studios aren't making intelligent mainstream movies about older people anymore will find a lot to appreciate here. It's formulaic in every sense, but proof that in the right hands, the formula still works.

Whiplash

Director: Damien Chazelle
Starring: Miles Teller, J.K. Simmons, Paul Reiser, Melissa Benoist, Austin Stowell, Nate Lang, Chris Mulkey, Jayson Blair
Running Time: 106 min.
Rating: R

★★★★ (out of ★★★★)

        ***SPOILER WARNING: THIS REVIEW DISCUSSES MAJOR PLOT POINTS IN WHIPLASH, INCLUDING THE ENDING***

"There are no two words in the English language more harmful than good job."

Whiplash audiences will undoubtedly be split into two groups: Those who find its shocking final minutes uplifting and inspirational, cementing the film as a motivational story of being pushed to become the very best in the face of insurmountable pressure. And others who will view it as a tragedy that warns of the dangers of walking too close to the edge of greatness, and the personal cost and sacrifice that often comes with it. Neither interpretation is necessarily incorrect since second-time director Damien Chazelle drops it all on our laps, our reactions revealing just as much about the viewer as it does the actual film.

After the credits roll it takes a couple of minutes to take a breath and process what's happened, until realizing you've been had. Not tricked or manipulated, but taken on the same exhilarating ride as the protagonist, down an organic, inevitable path we were as complicit in following as he the entire time. The thrilling crescendo is a brave, jaw-dropping sequence that pulls the rug right out from under us, presenting the harsh reality of what this film's really about while posing important questions audiences can ponder indefinitely. Everyone will have a different answers.

The ideas Chazelle presents here aren't ones I can ever recall being addressed in a movie, or at least never like this. The contemplation of whether emotionally traumatic experiences make us stronger or weaker is fertile ground and the mentor-student relationship is rarely explored at levels this complicated or confrontational. Executed within the claustrophobic confines of a psychologically tense thriller and a moving coming-of-age story, it turns the viewer into an active participant, on edge and anxiety-ridden over the developing situation. And at its center are two incredible performances backed by a powerful, jazz-infused soundtrack. Despite concerns it strikes such a nerve that it could be too draining or uncomfortable to even experience again, it's too well performed, written and directed for anyone to deprive themselves of multiple viewings.

Andrew Neiman (Miles Teller) is a 19-year-old jazz drummer accepted into the top-ranked Shaffer Conservatory in Manhattan where he's starting his fall semester. He spends most of his free time practicing, aspiring to become one of the drumming greats like Buddy Rich, to whom he frequently listens for inspiration. Andrew's dedication and skill catch the eye of renowned Shaffer conductor Terence Fletcher (J.K. Simmons), who holds a surprise audition that results in him joining his exclusive studio band. But it's clear early that Fletcher's instructional methods seem more in line with Full Metal Jacket's Gunnery Sergeant Hartman than a teacher at a prestigious music school. Screaming, cursing, throwing chairs and sometimes even physically assaulting his students, we're never quite sure if he's really this nuts or this is his plan, attempting to draw their best by motivating through fear and abuse.

Fletcher's favorite target is Andrew and we're not sure whether it's that he actually senses potential greatness in him or just smells weakness and needs to pounce. It's the potential promise of the former that keeps Andrew coming back, even as Fletcher uses that drive and desire to manipulate him, dangling a carrot of approval he'll never give and pushing him past his breaking point. It's approval he also doesn't get from his own family and a satisfaction he still can't even feel from being with his new girlfriend. He has to be the best. But what's the cost?

Hearts pound and pulses race when the clock hits 9 AM and the bald-headed, intimidating Fletcher, clad in all black, marches through the door and immediately starts in with the verbal abuse, terrorizing his students. He has huge outbursts, but the tenser and more quotable moments are found in the small, subtle jabs that make that make them feel three feet tall. There's this impending sense of doom and dread in every scene as the band plays, unsure when he's going to cut in and what he's going to say or do when that happens. With its emphasis on perfection and precision, music is the perfect outlet for a authoritarian personality like his, allowing him to pick apart every mistake, no matter how small. And still green as a freshman, Andrew makes many.

While it's frightening and deliriously entertaining to watch Simmons so thoroughly disappear into the skin of someone like this, what's most impressive is how he finds the shading to play him as a complicated person instead of the one-dimensional monster he could have so easily come across as. In the non-classroom scenes, he plays him as almost a regular (at times even empathetic) guy who hugs a friend, jokes around with a kid, strikes up meaningful personal conversations with Andrew and at one point mourns the passing of a former student. We're left wondering whether these are crocodile tears, but I'm speculating they're not. Fletcher does probably care, but for entirely different reasons and not in the same way most people would. He mourns only the loss of talent. What Simmons' work and Chazelle's script bring to Fletcher is this entire persona he puts on when he enters the classroom, almost as if it's his stage.

Those fleeting moments outside the classroom are what offer real psychological insight into Fletcher's philosophy, to the point where we can almost even understand where he's coming from.  One such conversation with Andrew results in that controversial quote above, cutting to the crux of the film and going a long way toward explaining his character's motivations. While the obvious comparison point to Simmons' turn is R. Lee Ermey's aforementioned drill instructor in Full Metal Jacket or maybe even John Houseman's law professor in The Paper Chase, even those performances don't carry the complexity and nuance his does here. Rarely has the Best Supporting Actor Oscar been this locked up, to the point that even announcing the winner feels like a formality.

Given Andrew's people pleasing personality and hang-ups, it's easy to see why he'd continue coming back to Fletcher for more, despite all the abuse. Miles Teller, who's often compared to a young John Cusack, usually lends an effortlessly easygoing and likable presence to his characters that's part goofy and confident, while also conveying an underdog quality of someone not yet comfortable in their own skin. Watching his journey is legitimately being put in the shoes of someone to which most can relate, with Simmons' performance becoming only that much stronger because of who's on the other end of it, and vice versa.

At first Andrew's a victim, but eventually his tolerance of it makes him an accessory, the obsession with being the best clouding his judgment of how much he can withstand. His dad Jim (Paul Reiser) is a failed novelist turned teacher who obviously cares deeply for his son, but this kind encouragement isn't going to push him to where he wants to be. A family dinner in which the other Neiman boys' accomplishments are thrown in his face only reinforces that. Besides feeling in need of a strong male role model, he's also at the crucial stage of his life where as much as he fears Fletcher, the idea of "failure" (as society defines it) scares him more.

Andrew could have gotten out of this at any time but doesn't. He keeps coming back for more, in search of approval he'll never get as he inches closer to the deep end. After finally gaining the confidence to ask out a pretty girl who works at the movie theater he frequents with his dad, he's again torn between who he is and eventually wants to be. Glee actress Melissa Benoist has only a few brief scenes as Andrew's girlfriend Nicole, but it's the unforgettable break-up that leaves the largest impression, revealing her as the true collateral damage of his obsession with greatness. Recalling the infamous bar scene that opened The Social Network, Andrew just talks and talks, unaware of the pain he's inflicting with each word. As a devastating mixture of sadness, anger and disbelief wash over her eyes, he keeps saying all the wrong things, pushing her away and moving even further from the Andrew we knew at the beginning of the film. Now fully consumed with becoming the best jazz drummer in the world, everyone else is just dead weight.  Even if he manages to mend his fractured family relationships, there won't be another Nicole.

Is there a line? Can you go too far?  In Fletcher's world you can never push someone hard enough if they want to be the best, which is a philosophy that fails to acknowledge that different talents respond differently. But according to him, those who can't cut it  weren't talented enough to begin with. Andrew gets to a place many have been, regardless of situation or circumstance, traveling so deep down the rabbit hole that he can't step back and assess how far this whole thing has gone. He may yet turn into a legendary drummer, but the envelope keeps getting pushed in terms of how much physical stress he can take (you'll be shocked how far the film goes in this regard) and how long Fletcher can get away with this without professional repercussions. For a little while there, we think Andrew has this epiphany, until Chazelle sets us up for the ultimate knockout blow.

It's in the final ten minutes that Andrew literally sheds his blood, sweat and tears pounding on the skins like never before to enter a performance zone neither he or Fletcher had anticipated was possible. Well, maybe Fletcher did. He delivers a chilling reveal at the beginning of the scene that jump starts the film's ride into masterpiece territory and all we can do is just nervously hang on, anticipating the outcome. He eventually gets what he wanted out of Andrew, confirming his methods pushed the student further than his perceived capabilities, into the realm of greatness. Was he right the entire time? Was this whole thing his plan? They both "win," seemingly extracting exactly what they wanted from each other, but the true long-term effects are yet to be measured.

Chazelle isn't condoning or condemning Fletcher's tactics since that's for us to decide. And this isn't a message movie. But it does speak volumes that at Andrew's lowest, most humiliating point he runs from the arms of his caring father right back to his tormentor, as the film transforms into a kind of educational Stockholm syndrome. And the look of awe on Paul Reiser's face conveys the many differing interpretations of this finale, as his son, if only momentarily, seems to earn the respect and approval of his abusive mentor. When Andrew hits that last drumbeat as we simultaneously cut to black, the film brilliantly withholds the key to solving its puzzle: His future. It's the ultimate twist because it literally redefines the idea of one, deflecting all the responsibility onto audiences attempting to decipher it.

Adapted from his own short film and as tight and carefully constructed as the jazz compositions you'll now likely be hearing in your nightmares, Chazelle accomplishes through kinetic editing and breakneck direction, an achievement that transcends its modest indie roots to become something truly great and universal. He creates a world in which it doesn't matter whether the events taking place could actually happen, because within the confines of this environment, they do. All the ideas and human complications Whiplash touches on are real, with its 106 minutes flashing by in what seems like an instant. It's not just a great film and the finest in a very strong year, but a twisted personality test that leaves you emotionally exhausted and physically spent.