Maestro

Director: Bradley Cooper
Starring: Carey Mulligan, Bradley Cooper, Matt Bomer, Vincenzo Amato, Greg Hildreth, Michael Urie, Brian Klugman, Nick Blaemire, Mallory Portnoy, Sarah Silverman, Zachary Booth, Maya Hawke, Gideon Glick, Josh Hamilton
Running Time: 129 min.
Rating: R

**The Following Review Contains Major Plot Details For 'Maestro' **

★★★ ½ (out of ★★★★)

Mocked by some for being calculated Oscar bait, actor/director Bradley Cooper's long gestating dream project covering the life of legendary composer Leonard Bernstein does share certain similarities with traditionally familiar biopics. But in condensing the essence of this towering, troubled figure into barely over two hours, Maestro also takes some big swings that will probably rattle purists only interested in Bernstein's process as an artist. This focuses more on the moments, as Cooper and co-writer Josh Singer cleverly forego the nuts and bolts of the man's career to focus entirely on his rocky marriage.

Spanning decades, Cooper's selective in what's covered, displaying an incredible grasp of time and place when exploring the challenges of being caught in the orbit of a conflicted, complicated talent who never feels satisfied. After a deliberate start, it only gets better, building momentum before landing a devastatingly painful and realistic final blow. There's a Kane-like quality to how this all unfolds that extends past its monochrome opening, as Cooper makes adventurous creative choices both in front of and behind the camera. Held up by Matthew Libatique's astounding cinematography, the makeup, costuming and production design, the film's a marvel to look at, and for all the jokes about Cooper's self serious intentions, it's the results onscreen that speak loudest.

It's 1943 when 25-year-old assistant conductor of the New York Philharmonic Leonard Bernstein (Cooper) fills in for an ill Bruno Walter, with the performance earning strong enough accolades to launch the young talent to considerable fame. While still in a casual relationship with clarinetist David Oppenheim (Matt Bomer), he soon meets aspiring actress Felicia Montealagre (Mulligan) at a party, eventually leaving him to date and marry her. 

Together the couple have three children, with Leonard composing several successful Broadway musicals as Felicia's stage career flourishes. With the 60's wearing on, his affairs with men and dependency on drugs and alcohol become impossible for her to ignore, taking a toll on their marriage and tearing the family apart. But after finally rediscovering his love for Felicia and his work, unimaginable tragedy strikes, altering the remainder of Leonard's life.  

The story kicks off in black and white with an energetic opening sequence that sees Leonard jumping out of bed and sprinting to Carnegie Hall as the strains of his On the Waterfront score blast over the soundtrack. It grabs you right away, moving a mile a minute before settling into a slightly more predictable rhythm when he first meets Felicia. The first of the film's visually spectacular sequences comes with a rehearsal for On the Town where he all but announces his bisexuality to Felicia, even as it's clear she's fallen too hard to take the hint. Headstrong as Felicia is, her naivete lies in believing her future husband's vices won't matter if she can just keep him in line. 

Cooper plants the seeds early that Lenny's a man constantly craving the presence of others, to the point he can't even be in a bathroom without the door open. For him, the solitary nature of composing is a struggle compared to the satisfaction he gets conducting, which comfortably places him at the center of attention. Part egomaniac and insecure basket case, Cooper conveys these contradictions while also physically capturing Bernstein in eerily accurate ways, such as his nasally vocal inflection. As for the prosthetic nose, it's a lot of fuss about something that would hardly get a second look if not for all the manufactured controversy. 

Kazu Hiro and his makeup team deserve credit for flawlessly aging Cooper into the 70-year-old Bernstein who appears in the bookending scenes. And true to the period, get ready to see enough cigarette smoking for the film to justify its own Surgeon General's warning, which is almost comical considering how the notoriously safe and family friendly Steven Spielberg co-produced. 

The shift from black-and-white to 60's and 70's Technicolor accompanies the dramatic momentum when Lenny and Felicia's marriage crashes amidst his addictions and infidelity. Mulligan's sensational in this section, portraying the pain of a woman unable to continue standing on the sidelines as he flaunts his escapades in her face. When they eventually have it out in a Thanksgiving screaming match at their New York City Dakota apartment, their argument ends with a brilliantly surreal cameo from a cartoon icon that speaks to Cooper's directorial talents and his understanding of the absurdity found in everyday life. 

That showdown and Lenny lying straight to college-aged daughter Jamie's (Maya Hawke) face about his infidelities hit in powerfully different ways, but his conducting of Mahler's second symphony at England's Ely Cathedral is the picture's pinnacle. It's a euphoric and moving six-minute sequence that sees Cooper enthrallingly recreate the maestro's sweaty 1973 performance with tireless physicality, hypnotizing us as the sensation of pure cinema courses through our veins.

If it's hard to buy the claim this is Felicia's story when she's rarely given a scene without him, Carey Mulligan still makes a great case for her being his equal, adding depth and dimension to a thoughtfully written part. That it comes in support of someone else is fine since Lenny's supposed to suck up all the air in the room as she laments his inability to change, or rather a refusal to. The script doesn't evade Lenny's moral shortcomings, but gives him the redemption of being there when needed most, as Mulligan owns the last act with her heartbreaking portrayal. The grim cancer diagnosis is unflinchingly difficult to watch, with the actress continuing to display the character's same grit and stubbornness, even as she fades away in her family's arms. 

There's no mistaking this is a showcase for Cooper, but it's also his career best, touching on more than a few elements that run parallel to the star's own career. Directing this as if he really has something to prove, it's an intriguing quasi-prequel to 2022's Tár, which centered around another embattled conductor, albeit a fictional one. And now her idolization of Bernstein strangely makes even more sense after this. If that film had the market cornered on provoking debate, Maestro is all about feelings and vibes, giving viewers a peek into the tormented genius whose life seemed to flash before everyone's eyes.                                                                               

Battle of the Sexes

Directors: Jonathan Dayton and Valerie Faris
Starring: Emma Stone, Steve Carell, Andrea Riseborough, Sarah Silverman, Bill Pullman, Alan Cumming, Elisabeth Shue, Austin Stowell, Natalie Morales, Eric Christian Olsen, Jessica McNamee, Fred Armisen, Chris Parnell, John C. McGinley
Running Time: 121 min.
Rating: PG-13

★★ ½ (out of ★★★★)

The best moment in Battle of the Sexes comes when Billie Jean King confronts Lawn Tennis Association head Jack Kramer about his plans to be in the commentary booth for her upcoming match against challenger and professional hustler Bobby Riggs. Having already been kicked off the tour for demanding women players receive equal prize money, she argues that while Riggs is entertaining the masses and raising his profile by playing an over-the-top character, the damage Kramer's inflicting with his sexist attitude is actually "real."

That meta observation isn't just true, but also conveys a certain self-awareness about the match and Riggs' place in it that the rest of the film often lacks. And that's the tough part about retroactively heaping such cultural significance on a sports event that largely revolved around laughs and entertainment. On one hand taking itself entirely seriously, while still trying to be a big joke at the same time, Battle of the Sexes is frequently a tale of two conflicting stories.

The stakes for Billie Jean were high and real as we're tirelessly reminded, but what Riggs was doing came closer to the tennis version of Andy Kaufman wrestling women. Far from a sexist pig, he was a performance artist and opportunist who happened to be really skilled at playing the role required of him. He was also a family man struggling with vices and addictions who in reality respected his top ranked female opponent. And not just as a player, but as a person. Unfortunately, the movie isn't about him. It's about King's fight for female equality, a notion the script underlines and highlights in the most heavy-handed way possible, spending nearly every scene drilling into our minds just how important it is. The problem is that no one involved knew that at the time, making the film's voice too often sound as if it's coming from 2017 instead of 1973.

Getting many important details right in its painstaking recreation of the era through costuming, production design and the casting of even the smallest roles, you want to scream in frustration that the script supporting it isn't better. This even looks like it was shot in the early seventies, containing believable tennis scenes and a lead actress who provides one of the worthier depictions of a professional player we've seen yet on screen, topped only by her better cast co-star. Of course, that's not saying much considering the sport's shoddy cinematic treatment in the past, but this was never going to be easy biographical material to adapt, as the end result shows.

It's 1972 when top-ranked women's tennis player Billie Jean King (Academy Award winner Emma Stone) and her brash manager Gladys Helman (Sarah Silverman) complain to Jack Kramer (Bill Pullman) that the women's tournament prize money is an eighth of the men's despite equal television ratings. Citing his belief that women players are physically inferior as a defense, he remains unwilling to budge on the terms, causing the women to form their own tour sponsored by Virginia Slims. Billie Jean's also going through some personal issues, coming to grips with her own homosexuality as she embarks on an an affair with hairdresser Marilyn Barnett (Andrea Riseborough) that's soon jeopardizing her marriage to husband, Larry King (Austin Stowell).

Meanwhile, 55-year-old retired champion Bobby Riggs (Academy Award nominee Steve Carell) is struggling to keep his marriage to wealthy wife Priscilla (Elisabeth Shue) afloat due to a gambling addiction when he suddenly gets an idea. He'll challenge the top women's player to a match, which is sure to net him tons of money and publicity, while also affirming male dominance in the sport. After initially declining, Billie Jean accepts when Riggs handily disposes of her biggest competition, the legendary Margaret Court (Jessica McNamee). Both Billie Jean and Bobby begin to train, with their upcoming three out of five set match at the Houston Astrodome taking on a level of pressure and anticipation neither anticipated. And most of that pressure is on King.

One of the big surprises to be found is in the humanity both actors bring to their roles, arguably making their real-life counterparts more complicated and nuanced than they probably were. For those unsure Stone would be up to the rigors of accurately depicting one of the greatest tennis players of all-time of any gender, she clearly got into the shape necessary for the part and looks and carries herself like a top athlete would. And whatever photographic tricks they may have used in the playing scenes worked since there's rarely an awkward moment when she has a racquet in her hand, which is kind of a shock.

It's almost beside the point how well Stone actually captures Billie Jean King the person, since this is about as close as it gets to an uncastable role. No one really looks like her, whoever they get will be accused of being too "pretty," and they'll have somehow work around the chosen actress' lack of experience in the sport. Emma certainly has all those things working against her, but somewhat overcomes them by zeroing in on King's determined spunk and spirit, which are qualities the actress never had problems conveying. In fact, if you had told me going in that Stone would be more believable as a top tennis player than a semi-closeted lesbian, there's no chance I'd believe it. But that's exactly how it comes across, no thanks to some writing that makes her and Riseborough's job considerably more difficult.

Simon Beoufoy's script paints Billie Jean's relationship with Marilyn in the broadest strokes possible, as most of their scenes together feature dialogue exchanges that are downright cringeworthy in their obviousness. While King's sexual preference was tennis' biggest open secret and undoubtedly needs inclusion in any accurate depiction of her life, Dayton and Faris seem to be going out of their way to prove they're not afraid to tackle it. We're reminded almost as frequently that she's living a "shameful" double life as we are that women are viewed as socially and genetically inferior to men. No one's doubting this all happened, but being "reminded" in this film most definitely means being told over and over again, rather than necessarily shown.

What the movie does handle well is Billie Jean's husband Larry's defeated but begrudgingly supportive reaction to all this, as he loyally stands by his wife as she carries on an affair with another woman, knowing that any public confirmation of it will crush her image and career. The sight of Larry, slinking down the hotel hallway back to his own room in what looks like a familiar walk of shame says it all. He's always known.        

Everything involving Bobby Riggs is fantastic, mainly due to Carell's deceptively complex comedic performance, which sees him cleverly sidestepping the easy temptation of playing him as a buffoonish clown. The former doubles champ was no dummy and saw the dollar signs in challenging King and what that eventual showdown would mean for him and the sport. As an entertainer, he just "gets it", knowing he had to further amplify his larger-than-life persona to make this character work, regardless of the controversy it would spark. He provided the necessary contrast to Billie Jean, who took herself so seriously that she'd be easy for him to rattle, and for fans to rally behind.  He was also the Pete Rose of tennis in how his gambling addiction nearly overshadowed anything he did on the court. Well, except this.

In one of the film's funniest scenes, Riggs enters a "Gambler's Anonymous" meeting, loudly announcing that their real problem isn't that they gamble, but that they're simply no good at it. Scenes like these are juxtaposed with quieter ones of real regret as he laments that he can't be a better husband. Carell's so good at conveying that none of Riggs' many promises are empty, just simply impossible for him to keep because of who he is. His eventually estranged wife, well played by Elisabeth Shue, does accept that while he'll never be a dependable spouse, he's still a good father to their young son, Bobby Jr. (scene-stealing Cooper Friedman) despite his obvious character flaws.

If Billie Jean's story too often unironically plays as a public service announcement for women's rights, Riggs' carries no such agenda or baggage, and feels more real as a result. A dead ringer for the role physically, Carell goes so far as to capture Bobby's tiniest and strangest idiosyncrasies, in many ways making for a better Bobby Riggs than the man himself.

The primary concern going into this was just how much creative license it would take to believably pull off the big match and have it not look completely ridiculous. For those cringing at the thought of these two actors having to at least minimally recreate a top level tennis match, there's some good news in that it's match from over thirty years ago from which there's plenty of archival footage to draw.

The slower pace, a retro-looking TV feed and what would now be considered archaic equipment help in making what we see on screen appear no better or worse than what likely occurred. At points, it even looks like they slide in clips from the actual match, which is pretty clever. A dripping wet Riggs' refusal to take off his "Sugar Daddy" sponsored warm-up jacket despite looking ready to collapse of heat exhaustion is almost too perfect a metaphor. Except for the fact that it really happened. He does eventually take it off, before losing a little later.

Whether or not Riggs actually "lost" is an issue I hoped the script would explore as rumors have persisted for years that he threw the match, which would be just like him and the ultimate joke on everyone holding this up as a watershed cultural moment. It would also be kind of sad on a number levels, chief among them that the top-ranked women's player really couldn't defeat a retired gambling addict in his mid-fifties. Rest assured the filmmakers wouldn't dare touch the possibility of a fix with a ten-foot pole, making their intentions for this to be an inspirational story abundantly clear throughout.

A powerful moment comes at the end of the picture when both King and Riggs are sitting alone in their respective locker rooms after the match. In a strange way, history has proven that they both won that night. For what seems like a minute straight we see an emotionally and physically exhausted Billie Jean as she just breaks down, sobbing and crying uncontrollably. Watching this, it occurred to me just how hard that is for an actress to believably pull off, becoming more convinced than ever that Stone's undeniably a great one. Whether she was the right choice for the part will likely be debated, but it's tough coming up with viable alternatives that would have brought more.

That aforementioned scene is real and raw, so much more effectively communicating what the movie was attempting to hammer into our heads with all the subtly of a sledgehammer. Of course, it's ruined shortly thereafter when a completely extraneous character played by Alan Cumming delivers a "this is the point of our movie" line that has to rank among the most embarrassing penned by an Oscar-winning screenwriter, if just on timing alone.

Movies that track the hard work and dedication that go into training for a sport, celebrate the spirit of competition, show an underdog overcoming the odds, or bask in the thrill of victory and agony of defeat, have become a rare breed. Think Rocky, Rudy, The Karate Kid, Breaking Away or even something like The Rookie or Miracle. While Battle of the Sexes was never going to be that kind of sports movie, it does make you question whether that genre still even exists, and why the bar wasn't set quite as high for this. We need to care about the person as a competitor before a message carrier in order for the social implications to carry weight. Instead, we find out what happens when everything that should be subtext becomes text, causing the professional athlete to be overshadowed by a reductive version of their own story.

The Book of Henry

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

★★ ½ (out of ★★★★)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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