Cap'n Howdy's Best of 2014: Birdman, Or (The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance)

 I'm not sure that I had a favorite movie of 2014, but if I absolutely had to pick one, it would be Alejandro González Iñárritu's Birdman, Or (The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance). I told this story to most of my friends, but after hearing people rave about it for weeks after it came out, I finally decided to go see it on Saturday. Beforehand, I watched The Empire Strikes Back, because I hadn't seen it in a while and it's still the best Star Wars movie, no contest. By the time the credits finished rolling on Birdman, I had completely forgotten that I watched The Empire Strikes Back that day. All I wanted to do was find somebody who had seen Birdman so I could talk about it. It's the sort of movie that you want to talk to someone about, something I've seen in practice as friends have slowly gravitated towards Birdman.

 There are many films which inspired Birdman - Opening Night is an obvious example - but I can't think of any that are like Birdman. It's not the fluid camera, designed to appear as a series of single "takes," or the way that Iñárritu toys with what's really happening and what isn't - you can look at Rope or any film with an unreliable narrator for that. It's not the "washed up actor trying to reinvent himself" that sets it apart. Again, nothing about what happens in Birdman is really that novel, but something about the way that Iñárritu constructs the story, the way that the propulsive, seemingly improvised drumming goes from non-diegetic to diegetic and back again, the way that Birdman seems to exist in our world but simultaneously in its own universe. Something ephemeral about the film, that makes it so unlike its obvious cinematic precedents. It's hard to describe, but when you're watching it, you can tell. The sensation is clear: this is not like everything else.

 As plots go, Birdman, Or (The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance) is pretty basic: Riggan Thomsen (Michael Keaton) is an actor who walked away from a lucrative career in superhero movies, and has toiled in obscurity ever since. He's trying to jumpstart his career by adapting a Raymond Carver novella What We Talk About When We Talk About Love into a Broadway production, which he's also directing and starring in. The play is approaching its preview nights, and Riggan isn't happy with his male co-star, so he may or may not have used his telekinetic powers to cause an accident requiring a recasting. Oh, did I mention that Riggan might have telekinetic powers? Or that he's constantly being critiqued by Birdman, the character he walked away from? None of these things ever happen when other people are around, mind you, but the light did fall that guy's head for no reason...

 His producer, Jake (Zach Galifianakis) is already at his wit's end when Riggan blithely informs him they'll be recasting, but fortunately Lesley (Naomi Watts), one of the female leads, is dating Broadway bad-boy Mike Shiner (Edward Norton), who just happens to be available. He learns fast, has strong opinions about the material, and Riggan likes the challenge, so he joins the cast. He immediately hits it off with Sam (Emma Stone), Riggan's daughter, who's working as his assistant in order to be around her father. This does not appear to be her idea, but it's a place where she can stay sober and under his supervision. Mike and Lesley are having issues, Riggan is dealing with self-doubt about being treated as a "serious" actor, and Sam couldn't care less. On with the show.

 In addition to Opening Night, you could point to Noises Off!, State and Main, or any "theatrical / Inside Hollywood" based narratives, and there are other, stranger references, like the carpet from The Shining figuring prominently into the background, or the similarity of the opening credits to Pierrot le Fou, or Iñárritu's persistent references to Hollywood blockbusters. The elephant in the room is Michael Keaton playing an actor who walked away from a comic book movie franchise, but what's more interesting to me is that all four of the film's "name" stars have been in films based on comic books: Edward Norton in The Incredible Hulk, Emma Stone in The Amazing Spider-Man (she was filming 2 while Birdman was in production), and the one nobody remembers is one of Naomi Watts' first roles was in Tank Girl. That might explain the otherwise out of left field moment between Lesley and Laura (Andrea Risenbourgh), which is very reminiscent of a film Watts is better known for, Mulholland Dr.

 While I'm not entirely sold that it's the case with Watts and Stone, Norton and Keaton are almost certainly playing the versions of their "personas" that audiences assume to be accurate. I've heard that the fallout between Norton and Marvel didn't have anything to do with him being a trouble-making, egomaniacal tinkerer, but that's certainly the perception. Keaton has been working steadily since Batman Returns, but I guess most moviegoers haven't paid close attention to that, so there's a large contingent that believe Riggan Thomsen and Mike Shiner are slightly fictionalized versions of the actors playing them. I do feel like this is an intentional movie by Iñárritu, considering that many of the other actors he name-drops before Mike steps in are current stars of major franchises, but I'm not convinced it's some grand statement about art vs. commerce in Hollywood. At least, no more than it is about the divide between theater and film, and celebrity in general. Yes, it's hard to ignore the literal presence of people dressed like Spider-Man and Bumblebee of the Transformers near the end, but Riggan's conversation with Tabitha (Lindsay Duncan) seems to point at a broader argument than "blockbusters are bad."

 Tabitha is the big time theater critic in New York, and she's not shy about telling Riggan she's already torn What We Talk About When We Talk About Love a new one, sight unseen. He's a tourist to the stage, a pretender, leveraging his celebrity against the "serious" world of acting, and he'll be punished for it. He'll be mocked for it. Riggan retorts by tearing into criticism with the same fervor, using arguments that have existed for as long as there has been art and someone reacting to it. I'm not saying either of them is more right or wrong than the other, just that Iñárritu is more interested in exploring the various position within the world of acting and directing and criticism than he is in making declarative statements with Birdman. There's a lot to chew on in the movie, if you choose to, and I disagree with the sentiment that the film is trying to be "clever" and falls short. There have been reviews from people whose opinions I respect that hate the third act or don't feel that Birdman reaches its supposed "goals," but that's fine. People are talking about it, which is good. It's a movie to talk about.

 I have slowly been running out of superlatives over the course of this recap to convey how impressed I am with performances, which makes it difficult to describe just how revelatory Michael Keaton is as Riggan Thomsen. I don't think he's playing himself, and he's onscreen for almost the entire movie, in long takes, propelling Birdman forward. It's really a tour-de-force performance from him, and even if nothing else in Birdman worked, I could watch it just for him. I like how, despite the fact that Iñárritu keeps it ambiguous about Riggan's "powers," Keaton invests completely in Thomsen believing he has telekinesis. Even when he's clearly walking away from a taxi after "flying," he behaves like he soared back to the theatre (this is the part you've almost certainly seen in the trailer). The rest of the cast give what could be argued career high performances as well. Only Naomi Watts isn't given much time to register, but Norton, Risenbourgh, Stone, and Galifianakis are better than I've seen them. Amy Ryan has a small, mostly thankless role as Sylvia, Riggan's ex-wife, but uses her little time onscreen to be anything but the stereotype that part could be. Lindsay Duncan similarly owns what amounts to a cameo as the critic, withering and cynical that she may be.

 There were only a handful of films I saw more than once in 2014: John Wick, Guardians of the Galaxy, Snowpiercer, and Captain America: The Winter Soldier. I bought Birdman, Or (The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance) when it came out last week, and am looking forward to experiencing the film again. And talking to more people about it. If there has to be a favorite, I'm comfortable calling Birdman it. It was a better year for movies than I was expecting, and this one exceeded even that. If 2015 has anything nearly this invigorating, then I look forward to it...

Blogorium Review: The Grand Budapest Hotel

 Almost ten years ago, the Cap'n and Professor Murder (now Dr. Murder) went to see The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou, the first Wes Anderson film in two years, and the director's fourth film to date. While you could argue that with Rushmore and The Royal Tenenbaums, it was pretty clear what kind of design and filmmaking aesthetic Anderson gravitated towards, the concept of "Wes Anderson"-y movies had not yet really settled into the consciousness of his fans. Bottle Rocket wasn't quite clear - the result of a filmmaker with a distinct voice working on a relatively low budget - but Rushmore and Tenenbaums gave some indication of Anderson's meticulous approach to set design, camera movement, blocking, and hinted that he was putting together an acting "company" of sorts.

 The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou was, from my perspective, the moment that Wes Anderson as an auteur crystallized, for better or for worse. Professor Murder didn't especially like the film, and after he begrudgingly agreed to see it a second time with another mutual friend, I could tell that realizing what a "Wes Anderson Film" was going to be from here on out wasn't thrilling to him. It's not even actually the most divisive film among Anderson fans - that seems to be split evenly between The Darjeeling Limited and Fantastic Mr. Fox - but it was the indicator that one shouldn't expect much of an "objective" reality in his universe from here on out. That, you could argue, was not the case for his first three films. From here on out, we would increasingly be taken to worlds uniquely of Anderson's creation, and you either were on board or you weren't.

 Skip forward (nearly) ten years, and Anderson is two years removed from Moonrise Kingdom and returning with The Grand Budapest Hotel, which may be the most "Wes Anderson"-y of his films yet. Already it's become something of a bellwether for casual to regular Anderson fans. While I am convinced that Anderson took advantage of some actual locations, the level of artifice on display is truly impressive, and Anderson's degree of control over every element now extends to the aspect ratio(s) of the film: one for each time period covered (1932, 1968, and 1985*).

 Inspired by the work of Austrian novelist Stefan Zweig, The Grand Budapest Hotel opens at the grave of an Author, tombstone covered in keys. A young woman sits down with her copy of The Grand Budapest Hotel, and our journey begins. The framing shifts (slightly) as we meet the Author (Tom Wilkinson) in 1985, dictating (or reading) the introduction to the book, and then flashes back to 1968, when a younger Author (Jude Law) is staying at the titular hotel, now largely abandoned and soon to close. By chance, he happens to be in the lobby chatting with concierge M. Jean (Jason Schwartzmann) and sees the reclusive owner of the Grand Budapest, Zero Moustafa (F. Murray Abraham). While chatting, Moustafa agrees to tell the Author the story of how he came into possession of the hotel. In the short span of ten minutes, we've already moved from 1.85:1 to 2.35:1, but the bulk of the film (spent in Zero's flashbacks) will be in the "Academy" ratio of 1.33:1.

 The Grand Budapest Hotel breathlessly moves from one event to another, all centered around young Zero (newcomer Tony Revolori)'s burgeoning career as the Grand Budapest's Lobby Boy, under the tutelage of M. Gustave H. (Ralph Fiennes). M. Gustave is the impeccably mannered, well dressed, and overly perfumed renaissance man about the Grand Budapest, able to deliver on any promise made to his clientele, and perhaps a few more for older women. One, in particular, Madame D. (Tilda Swinton) - and get used to it, Anderson operates mostly on first names with last initials, or none at all - who has a premonition of her death. M. Gustave thinks nothing of it until she actually does die, and at the outset of a possible world war, he and Zero travel to her home and encounter her unsavory children, who accuse him of murder. A murder mystery is underway, and one that Gustave must prove himself innocent of if he hopes to ever see his inheritance, the painting "Boy with Apple" - a late addendum to Madame D.'s Will.

 To say much more would ruin the fun of what is, in essence, a Wes Anderson version of a screwball comedy. There are arguably more characters in The Grand Budapest Hotel than Moonrise Kingdom, introduced at a rapid pace, and some dispatched just as quickly by Jopling (Willem Dafoe) the henchman of Dmitri (Adrien Brody), Madame D.'s greedy son. Dafoe is playing the human version of his character in Fantastic Mr. Fox, but one prone to more bursts of extreme violence. This may, in fact, be the most violent of Anderson's films, not merely limited to what we do and don't see but to the suddenness of it. If dog lovers were shocked at Moonrise Kingdom, cat lovers may well be surprised by a (pun fully intended) throwaway joke involving Jopling and a Persian in the office of Deputy Kovacs (Jeff Goldblum), the assigned Executor of Madame D.'s estate. It leads to something arguably more shocking involving a door, and a bit of misdirection about the fate of Zero's girlfriend, Agatha (Saoirse Ronan).

 It might be fair to say that the violence, like everything else, is exaggerated in The Grand Budapest Hotel. Anderson's use of miniatures, a fixture in one degree or the other since The Life Aquatic, is more apparent this time, in particular during transitional scenes. In some instances, like the rail car to and from hotel, it isn't quite as noticeable, but for an extended period in the film (from the observatory to the end of the ski chase sequence), it's almost distractingly obvious. By the same token, this is the world Anderson is creating, one slight more heightened and appropriate for a screwball comedy. That said, it's inherent artificiality might be off-putting to fans of Anderson who prefer some degree of reality to balance the picture. This may be at the heart of why The Darjeeling Limited is so divisive: Anderson brings his fastidious shot construction to real locations and finds the delicate balance, one not readily available to him in the manufactured interiors of The Royal Tenenbaums. Moonrise Kingdom and Rushmore, for me at least, find the best balance, but it really does depend on what you gravitate towards Wes Anderson films for.

 The shot composition is, as always, impeccable, and Anderson's ability to adjust the shifting aspect ratios without compromising his attention to detail is admirable. The Grand Budapest Hotel is a marvelous film to look at, even as the gimmickry draws attention to itself. For the most part, the film is set in 1932, so it's not terribly distracting, but it's hard to argue that the ratios are there for anything other than their own sake. The 1985 and 2014(?) sections are so brief that they barely merit their own, separate ratios. None of this would really be noticeable if it were in service to the story, or that the story were enough to speak for itself, but Anderson and Hugo Guinness (the voice of Bunce in Fantastic Mr. Fox and Eli Cash's surrogate painter) constructed a story of interesting characters, if not a particularly compelling narrative.

 Not to do a disservice to the excellent cast (and I'll get to them in a moment), but the "mystery" of The Grand Budapest Hotel is never really a mystery, as we know almost immediately what happened to Madame D., who did it, and why. The only thing we don't know is why exactly old Zero is so reticent to talk about Agatha, and the resolution to that is almost a throwaway line of narration near the end. It is a fine film to watch, and great fun to see in the execution of its structure, but The Grand Budapest Hotel lacks a certain something, an intangible quality to the story that resonates. I'll certainly watch the film again, and the characters are more accessible than those in Darjeeling (or even The Life Aquatic), but Moonrise Kingdom and, in particular, Rushmore had a more lasting impact after the first viewing.

 Having been slightly deflated by the window dressing surrounding a mostly empty room, I cannot in good conscience tell you that is in any way due to the cast. To a person, The Grand Budapest Hotel's dramatis personae brings everything they have to even the smallest roles. This includes Bill Murray, who is barely in the film but makes an impression beyond his handlebar moustache as one of the members of the "Crossed Key Society," who to say anything more about would do a disservice to the second half of the film. The Society includes a few other Anderson alumni, as well as a newcomer to the Anderson Players, but a familiar face and welcome addition. If you're looking for Anderson regulars, you'll find almost all of them (no sign of Luke Wilson, but Owen pops up), including new additions from Moonrise Kingdom: Edward Norton, Harvey Keitel, and the aforementioned Tilda Swinton all play important roles in the story.

 Swinton, as I understand it, came in to replace Angela Lansbury when scheduling conflicts prevented the latter from playing Madame D., and she isn't in the film much but makes quite an impression with some very good old age makeup (seriously, if there's such a thing as the opposite of Guy Pearce's Prometheus makeup, this is it). I was a bit surprised to hear that the initial casting of Johnny Depp was for M. Gustave, as I honestly can't imagine him in the role. He's more suited for Dmitri, and not just because Adrien Brody's physical appearance in the film resembles Depp's, but M. Gustave H. is such a tightly wound character that it wouldn't make sense. That brings us to the final - and perfect - choice for M. Gustave (as odd as it might seem): Ralph Fiennes.

 Conceptually, I suppose it sounds odd that Ralph Fiennes is in a Wes Anderson film, particularly one as silly as The Grand Budapest Hotel is, but in execution he's a marvel. Fiennes brings a level of distinction that is sharply at odds with M. Gustave's profane outbursts later in the film. His performance is hilarious not merely because you wouldn't expect it from him, but that he commits to the character so deeply that you never doubt he IS M. Gustave. Paired for most of the picture with Tony Revolori - himself an excellent discovery - Fiennes inhabits the screwball spirit of Grand Budapest and is easily the high point of the film. Even if you're lukewarm on Wes Anderson, I would easily recommend The Grand Budapest Hotel just for Fiennes and Revolori.

 I will openly admit to a giddy sensation during the beginning of The Grand Budapest Hotel, as I often have when seeing a Wes Anderson film for the first time. As the film went on, I alternated between admiration for the technical aspects of the Auteur and realizing that I was more impressed with the story than I actually enjoyed it. Don't get me wrong, this is not a film that's a chore to watch, nor does it ever drag, but The Grand Budapest Hotel didn't grab me in the same way that some of Anderson's films do. I would be hard pressed to call this a "lesser" film in his catalog, but I can see why it might end up being another dividing line, as The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou was. I concede that, for the moment, The Grand Budapest Hotel is a (very entertaining) exercise in form over function. Is it possible that changes the next time I see it (and I will)? Quite possibly. The Cap'n is predisposed to follow Wes Anderson down the rabbit hole - less so his imitators - but it's hard to argue that this is not his most "Wes Anderson"-y film to date, for better or for worse.



 * The film opens and closes with a book-end section about a girl visiting the Author's grave, which one might safely assume takes place in the present, but it seems to have the same aspect ratio as the 1985 scenes.

Blogorium Review: Moonrise Kingdom

 There's a moment in the first half of Moonrise Kingdom that elicited an audible gasp from most of the audience. It's the kind of scene that should, for all intents and purposes, ruin the movie for a lot of viewers, and it's impressive that Wes Anderson is able to pull everyone back in with a wry response. When Sam Shakusky (Jared Gilman) answers Suzy Bishop (Kara Hayward) question with a typically Andersonian response, "who's to say?" the tension broke and Moonrise Kingdom continued along its course. A lesser filmmaker wouldn't be able to save the moment, and yes, I'm deliberately staying vague because it isn't an essential plot point but it does break an unspoken cardinal rule of filmmaking.

 A quote famously attributed to W.C. Fields* goes thusly "never work with dogs, or children" when making movies. Wes Anderson breaks both of those rules to great success, although the adults in Moonrise Kingdom are no slouches either. At its core, the film is about Sam and Suzy conspiring to run away from unhappy situations: Sam is an orphan with a history of acting out and Suzy is a "troubled" child in the eyes of her parents, Laura (Frances McDormand) and Walt (Billy Murray). Through correspondence, Sam and Suzy decide to escape and follow the old Chicktaw Nature Trail to find a private hideaway. Unfortunately, the Bishop family, along with Khaki Scout Master Ward (Edward Norton) and police Captain Sharp (Bruce Willis) are on their trail, along with the rest of the Khaki Scouts and their dog Snoopy.

 This was roughly what I knew about Moonrise Kingdom going in (minus Sam and Suzy's reasons for running away) along with what appeared to be the most Andersonian opportunity the auteur had to indulge in his fetishistic set design. Wes Anderson has always demonstrated an affinity for the mid-1960s, in music, art direction, and color palette, so setting Moonrise Kingdom on an isolated island in New England just before a hurricane hits. Oh, and it's 1965. If it was possible to go beyond Fantastic Mr. Fox, where Anderson literally had control over every element of production, Moonrise Kingdom would be that film.

 I don't suppose I need to warn people who don't like Wes Anderson films that Moonrise Kingdom isn't going to change your mind, but it's a good enough opening for the fourth paragraph of a review as any. Anderson fans have a tendency to fixate on Rushmore and The Royal Tenenbaums as "high water marks" (with good reason), but tend to disagree about The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou and The Darjeeling Limited. Anderson, working with Roman Coppola again on the screenplay, finds a tone similar to Rushmore and Tenenbaums, but from a different perspective. Sam and Suzy are 12, even younger than Max Fischer (Jason Schwartzman does have a small role as "Cousin Ben"), and rather than behaving like adults, the two bond over their feelings of alienation from everybody else. Sam leaves Scout Master Ward a letter of resignation from the Khaki Scouts but relies heavily on the hiking and camping skills he picked up at Camp Ivanhoe. Suzy leaves a note to her brother explaining that she will return his record player "in ten days" with new batteries. Their plan is naive, they just barely know each other, but the kindred spirits are determined to be together.

 Scout Master Ward and Chief Sharp find themselves in a situation they honestly aren't sure how to deal with, one that grows increasingly more complicated when Sam's foster family refuses him and Social Services (Tilda Swinton) gets involved. The Bishops are both lawyers who reject the notion that their daughter is culpable in Sam's plan, or that she would attack one of the Khaki scouts in order to escape a showdown (I will say nothing more than it involves a pair of left-handed scissors). Part of the fun of Moonrise Kingdom are its twists and turns; beyond what you learn in the trailer, there's a lot going on between the adults, between the other children (particularly the scouts), and how the Narrator (Bob Balaban) figures into the narrative. Also, a mostly unmentioned cameo from Harvey Keitel Khaki Commander Pierce, who runs Camp Lebanon on an island across the way.

 If you felt detached from the characters in The Darjeeling Limited or had trouble connecting to Team Zissou or Mr. Fox, you'll have no such trouble with Moonrise Kingdom. First timers Gilman and Hayward are excellent as Sam and Suzy, two prepubescent kids who don't quite know how to be grown up but want something better. Willis, Murray, McDormand, Norton, and Swinton all make impressions as they try to make sense of the situation, and while Murray is typically in high form working with Anderon, the others fit like a glove in his "universe," particularly Norton as a sweet-natured math teacher who wants to do right by his scouts.

 There's something about setting Moonrise Kingdom in 1965 that might lead you to expect Anderson is indulging in all of his favorite stylistic moments, but the soundtrack leans heavily on Hank Williams and the film feels loose and unencumbered in its mid-section. Once we move past the impeccably organized Bishop home and move outdoors, Anderson's camera is liberated along with Sam and Suzy, and Moonrise Kingdom benefits from this relaxed approach. Later in the film, he returns to stop motion animation (watch the bridge crossing late in the film) and some clever special effects (the lightning field sequence), but overall Moonrise Kingdom feels more attached to its characters, however flawed, and it's a fine experience at the end. (Oh, make sure to stay through the credits to hear a musical bridge to the opening credits. It's worth it.)


 * I could find no evidence that it isn't a Fields quote but at the same time couldn't pinpoint exactly when he said it.

Blogorium Reviews Assemble!: Iron Man and The Incredible Hulk

Luckily for all of you, The Cap'n did actually have a couple of stored up reviews just in case such a day came where I was a) no longer angry about the news or b) irritated by something in the film department. In a rare show of "double featuring", I watched Iron Man and The Incredible Hulk, roughly back to back not long ago.

Of the two, I'm definitely landing on the Iron Man side of things. It's hard to not want to compare Iron Man to The Dark Knight, the other "big" summer comic book movie, but I'm going to try. They're very different types of films, anchored in very different ways (which actually comes in handy when we turn to The Incredible Hulk, which tries to be darker).

I'm a casual Iron Man reader, so forgive me for not knowing the series as well or catching all of the in jokes, but I did dig the hell out of this movie. While I'd be tempted to say that it could still work with someone else in the suit, Robert Downey Jr is pitch perfect as Tony Stark and kicks the movie from "very good" into "a damn entertaining movie".

And that's what Iron Man is: entertaining. As an origin story, it covers all of the necessary ground quickly and integrates it into the narrative in such a way that things feel organic. In most "origin stories" (think Spider-Man or Batman Begins), there's a dividing line between "hero hones his skill" and "first major test from any villain". Iron Man has three pretty serious tests to the suit, punctuating the film in such a way that the "learning" process scenes in between feel necessary and not, well, "necessary".

The difference is that you're on the ride with Stark as he changes from indifferent playboy to man with a cause, and his adjustments to the suit and his technique don't feel perfunctory because "an origin story needs x, y, and z". Credit for that goes to Jon Favreau, who I felt made a surprisingly good kids film with Zathura a few years ago and is really establishing himself as a great director of summer entertainment.

The cast all seems to be having a great time, with Downey in the lead, but that shouldn't leave out Jeff Bridges, Terrence Howard, Gwyneth Paltrow, and Favreau himself who plays Stark's chauffer. What Iron Man has that few comic book movies do is the sense of enjoyment with the material, and a wonder at what unfolds onscreen. In that respect it's a lot like Superman: The Movie.

And yes, there's the Nick Fury scene at the end, setting up the whole "Avengers Initiative", a thread that continues in The Incredible Hulk. Most of the weaponry used by General Ross (William Hurt) against Bruce Banner / The Hulk (Edward Norton) comes from Stark Industries, and Robert Downey Jr makes an appearance in the film as Tony Stark. This is notable because two different studios made Iron Man and The Incredible Hulk, but Marvel is asserting its universe whoever finances the film.

Like I mentioned above, The Incredible Hulk is "darker" than Iron Man, by which I should say "angstier". Like Superman Returns, the film is almost slavishly devoted to the Incredible Hulk tv series, borrowing music, iconography, and even some cast members (look for Bill Bixby on a tv show and Lou Ferrigno halfway through the film). Ferrigno is also the "voice" of Norton's Hulk, and yes, that does mean he talks, not just growls.

To separate itself from Ang Lee's Hulk, the reboot has a Spider-Man 2-like opening which quickly recaps the Hulk origin story in flashes. The movie goes ahead and assumes you've either a) seen Lee's version or b) watched the tv show, so there's not a lot of time spent recapping stuff. There is a lot of staring, running, Edward Norton and William Hurt looking angsty, and Liv Tyler being menaced.

In fact, only Tim Roth seems to be having any fun with the movie, until he too is reduced to the cgi Abomination for the big brawl at the end. I'll give it to The Incredible Hulk for upping the "destruction" quotient in this second go-around, but overall the movie is narratively fractured, edited sloppily, and mostly uninterested in doing more than moping and smashing. I'm not in any hurry to watch it again, or see the "alternate opening" and deleted scenes, which Edward Norton claims are a fraction of what was cut from the film (oh boy, a longer, angstier version of The Hulk awaits...)

They do continue to set up Captain America, particularly since Roth's Emil Blonsky takes the Super Soldier serum to equal Hulk in power, and the aforementioned Iron Man / Avengers connection. I look forward to Iron Man 2, even if the "Terrence Howard / Don Cheadle" situation confuses me a bit. If Kenneth Branagh is still involved with Thor, I'm quite curious, and the announcement of Joe Johnston on Captain America doesn't feel like a detriment. We'll see what Marvel has in store for us.

 Bonus: Four Reasons Why Iron Man is Not for Children!

To preface this edition of Four Reasons, allow me to explain what seems like a fairly obvious argument. I made the mistake of telling someone - based on having seen Iron Man once a year and a half ago - that it might be the kind of movie they could show an eight year old. The way I remembered Iron Man, which is admittedly a PG-13 movie, hinged upon the scenes where Tony Stark (Robert Downey Jr.) put together the Mark II and was flying around like a goofball (i.e., Tony hovering in the garage, flying too high and freezing, and the airplane chase).

What I'd forgotten about was the rest of the movie, which is not at all kid-friendly. In fact, I'd say that Iron Man is on the "hard" end of a PG-13. Of course, I had to find this out while watching the movie with said parent, who seemed alarmed I would even suggest this film was appropriate for a kid who liked Iron Man as a character.

But let's make with the specificity, shall we? Then you - like I - can remember exact points of reference and never made the mistake the Cap'n did.


1. Depiction of Women - You could argue that there are, essentially, two women in the story: Pepper Potts (Gwyneth Paltrow) and Christine Everhart (Leslie Bibb). Pepper is Stark's loyal assistant, who willingly puts her life aside to serve Tony at whatever whim he indulges in. In exchange, she occasionally gets to make a snarky quip at his expense, which is what passes for comeuppance considering that he twice puts her life at risk and sees her as a "love interest" in the most passing and incidental of ways.

I'd forgive you if you forgot who Christine Everhart was, since she only appears once during the beginning (outside the casino), the middle (at the charity ball), and at the end (the press conference). She's the reporter who sleeps with Stark immediately after some verbal sparring, is suggested by Potts to be part of "occasionally taking out the trash", and then reappears to create the schism between Tony and Obadiah (Jeff Bridges) so the conflict can begin properly, and then gets one parting shot in before Stark announces "I am Iron Man." That's it. That's her character.

While you could make the argument that they're doing this job because they enjoy it, I do feel the need to mention the flight attendants on Stark's private plane who strip down and work out on a stripper pole in mid-flight. One could also argue that this entire sequence exists only so that they could incorporate a Ghostface Killah video into the film (as one of Ghostface's alter egos is named Tony Stark and his first album was called Ironman), which I'd buy, but it doesn't necessarily explain away the "women as objects" argument in Iron Man.


2. Violence - I lost count of how many people Iron Man cripples, maims, or kills during the film (either by burning them, blasting them, or in explosions), but it's a pretty high body count, even for a comic book movie. To put it in perspective, let's look at X2 and Spider-Man 2, which both have higher body counts than the first film, but still nowhere nearly as high as Iron Man*.

Okay, in X2, Wolverine goes on a berserker rage and kills ten to fifteen soldiers in the Xavier Institute. Let's safely assume he wipes out some more in Stryker's lab, plus the presumed killing of Lady Deathstrike (always possibly alive for sequels). All of the other murders are committed by villains; Magneto kills the guard, Mystique kills a bunch of schmoes, and I'm sure I'm forgetting something else. Nightcrawler doesn't kill anyone, per se, in his White House siege, although I'm sure he knocks out several people.

In Spider-Man 2, Spider-Man kills... nobody. He doesn't even accidentally kill someone, like the Green Goblin in the first film. Doctor Octopus kills all of the medical staff, and I'm sure there was some serious collateral damage during the "car thrown into the coffee shop" scene, but he also willingly sacrifices himself to the deep to save Spider-Man and Mary Jane (and the world). I'm reasonably certain less people die in Spider-Man 2 than did in Spider-Man.

Iron Man is not quite The Dark Knight in terms of violence, but there's a lot of carnage in the film. Even when Iron Man and Iron Monger are fighting, Jeff Bridges is talking the entire time, so it's hard to pretend that two cgi robots are kicking the crap out of each other. Speaking of which, that brings us to the second reason...

3. Generally Disturbing Content - See, it's not just that Obadiah has people killed, including two attempts on Tony's life. The way he does is is way too creepy for children. Bear in mind that the "paralyzing" sonic device that he uses is not explained in full until he uses it on Stark, so the first time it comes out on Raza, we don't know what the hell is happening. All the audience knows is that the veins on his head are becoming very pronounced (and blackened) and he's having trouble breathing. Then Obadiah says "that's the least of your worries right now" and leaves. We have no idea what's going to happen. Is there some kind of horrible virus in him?

To make things worse, when Stane uses it on Tony, Stark is at a 45 degree angle on his couch while Obadiah leans over him and explains a) how the device works, and b) his evil plan. Then he uses a device to burn through Tony's shirt and pull out Stark's "heart", leaving him there to die. As someone who watches quite a few horror movies, this would fit nicely in one of the A Nightmare on Elm Street sequels as a Freddy torture dream. Definitely not for kids.

For more examples, let's move along to number four...

4. Again, This Movie is Rated PG-13??? - While I think I've laid out a pretty good case so far, let's push a little further, shall we? I haven't even mentioned the fact that the film opens with Tony Stark under siege and the troops protecting him being wiped out one by one, or the fact that he's captured by the Ten Rings, which is presented as a terrorist organization and makes a video eerily reminiscent of al Qaeda hostage tapes. Or we could talk about the fact that Tony Stark's Mark One is constantly being attacked by his own machine guns. Or Stane trying to crush Iron Man to death, and then opening his suit and falling to his death, or any number of wonderful things that happen earlier in the film before Stark has his eyes - and chest- opened and begins a not-so non-violent reaction to the Ten Rings.

Don't get me wrong; The Dark Knight is a MUCH harder PG-13 (I'm surprised, at times, it's not an R), but Iron Man is not at all a movie you should show to kids. I'd debate showing it to a 12 year-old, as some of the thematic material at the beginning of the film really surprised me. I honestly didn't remember the movie being so "adults-only" when I saw it the first time. Maybe it was that the development of the Mark II really brought out the "kid" in me, but I instantly regretted ever recommending this movie for an 8 year old.

So hopefully I've made my case, which many of you can simply reply to with, "well, duh." And that's fair, but the Cap'n makes mistakes too, y'know. I watched the remake of Friday the 13th, for crying out loud. Anyway, the moral of the story is that geek parents might want to think twice about bringing their kids to Iron Man 2 this summer, which looks to be darker than the first one by sheer virtue of Mickey Rourke. I mean, just look at him.


* I'm willing to concede that the Cap'n is probably forgetting a LOT of other acts of violence in Spider-Man 2 and X2, but for the purposes of this argument I think I covered the bases pretty well. Yes, I left out the scene where Logan sustains a head shot - which later becomes a joke about spitting the bullet out - but at that point you are aware of his healing abilit

Retro Review Double Feature: Death to Smoochy and Panic Room

 Or was it Panic Room and then Death to Smoochy? It's so hard to say these days, as memories get hazy... in fact, it's been almost ten years since both films were released. On the same day (March 29th, 2002), which was why we determined that it MUST be a double feature we attended. Who is we? Well, it was broken up into two groups - the folks who went to see Death to Smoochy and the folks in for the long haul: all 221 minutes, plus trailers, ads, and the period in-between films at the Grande*.

 It was necessary to make this a double feature for the following reasons:

 1. Panic Room was David Fincher's follow-up to Fight Club, a movie we'd seen three years before and been blown away by. While the two films only featured one actor (Jared Leto, who suffers brutal disfigurement in both movies), Panic Room was being described as Fincher's "Hitchcock" and we were on board.

 2. Death to Smoochy starred Edward Norton (Fight Club), Catherine Keener (Being John Malkovich), Danny DeVito (Batman Returns), Jon Stewart (The Faculty...?), and Robin Williams, who would go on to have a banner year by adding One Hour Photo and Insomnia for a "comedian playing psychopaths" hat trick. Oh, and DeVito directed Death to Smoochy, an R-rated film about children's television.

 3. I love double features. As time goes on, it's probably become abundantly clear that's the case, but even now it's something I consider a luxury in theatres. It's certainly not cheaper now, but I'd like to try one again sometime soon if the right movies were playing in conjunction. Anyway, that's neither here nor there in a Retro Review. We went to see these movies because they looked like fun, like it would be a twisted / suspenseful / hilarious double feature. There was nary a hint of irony in seeing two disparate genre entries (black comedy and thriller), in spite of our post-Phantom Menace / pre-Attack of the Clones malaise.

 Death to Smoochy had the great benefit of being unable to accurately portray what a filthy, irreverent, at times brutally violent, and profane film in its trailers. This can work against many R-rated comedies, and I believe it had an adverse effect on Shaun of the Dead, Bad Santa, and Pineapple Express initially. They all had word of mouth and the internet to help with that, but Death to Smoochy is still kind of regarded as a stinker. It sold itself as goofy, only to welcome audiences with a litany of profanity as soon as Rainbow Randolph (Williams) was no longer on camera. The mean-spirited nature of the film turned critics and audiences off alike.

 We loved it. The film is unabashedly cruel to all of its characters from beginning to end, and if you like movies like Heathers (or later, World's Greatest Dad) about misanthropes being horrible to each other in bitterly funny ways (as opposed, to say, anything Lars von Trier ever made, which is exactly the same without the "funny" part), Death to Smoochy is for you. It's probably very easy to find out DVD, so go pick it up.

 Panic Room, which I really think was the second film, was our first brush with disappointment and David Fincher. After Seven, Fight Club, The Game, and even Alien 3 (which many of us argued was flawed but more interesting than Aliens) seeing a young director stumble wasn't much fun. Panic Room isn't a bad movie necessarily, but it's not a very good one either. At nearly two hours, it drags out the tension for too long and doesn't do enough to keep viewers invested in the narrative. Yes, the cast is pretty good: Jodie Foster, Forest Whitaker, Dwight Yoakam, Jared Leto, and a pre-Catch That Kid Kristen Stewart are all pretty good. The visual trickery, camera angles, and seamless digital effects are all cool beans, but for the life of me I can't get or stay excited about Panic Room.

 Fincher bounced back in a big way with Zodiac in 2007 and I liked The Curious Case of Benjamin Button even though most people I know won't even watch it. Everybody seemed to enjoy The Social Network (including the Cap'n) and I haven't seen The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo so I can't comment on that. But Panic Room? I haven't seen it all the way through more than once since then. I hesitate to even suggest I DID see it again because while I know (as a completist) I owned both the "Superbit" and 3-Disc "Collector's Edition" of the film, I don't remember wanting to sit down and revisit Panic Room. By comparison, I've seen Seven, Fight Club, Alien 3, and The Social Network more than once since initial viewings.

 I've seen Death to Smoochy again since as well, and am wondering if I should drive over to a local used cd / DVD store to see if I can find a copy tonight or tomorrow.... Hrm...

 Next week I'll jump even further back, to an even more improbable double feature: Being John Malkovich and Dogma.


 * That's my way of saying "I don't remember exactly who was there for both films." Sorry.

From the Vaults (Kinda): Leaves of Grass

editor's note: This may be the quickest turnaround for a "From the Vaults" in Blogorium history. I'm reposting this review because the release of the review (March of 2010) - at the time one I hoped would increase viewers for its theatrical run - was so staggered from Leaves of Grass's actual review. Now that the Tim Blake Nelson directed, Edward Norton starring film is on DVD and Blu-Ray (with a rather lackluster cover), I thought it might be a good time to remind people about a movie I think they'll enjoy.

If I'm correct in reading IMDB, Tim Blake Nelson's Leaves of Grass should be playing this Friday at a theatre near you. I would recommend you go check it out; in addition to having the conceit of Edward Norton playing twin brothers - one a Professor of Philosophy and the other an awfully clever Pot Farmer - the film itself (which is also written by Nelson) takes a well worn genre and gives it some clever tweaks.

Norton plays Bill Kincaid, a Brown Professor of Philosophy who spent the better part of his life trying to disassociate himself from his mother Daisy (Susan Sarandon) and brother Brady (also Norton) and his background in Oklahoma. Despite some hiccups with a student making passes and writing suggestive love poems (in Latin), Bill is on track to have his own department at the Harvard Law School. That is, until he gets a call from Brady's friend Bolger (Tim Blake Nelson).

Brady's deep in debt to Pug Rothbaum (Richard Dreyfuss) for the cost of building his state-of-the-art hydroponic grow house, and in addition of Rothbaum's thugs hounding him for the money, he also has pressure from Jimmy and Buddy Fuller (Ken Cheesman and Steve Earle), whose dealing business he ran out of town. So Brady fakes his own death to trick Bill into coming back to Oklahoma. Brady thinks that if he can use Bill to convince people he's still in town, he can go to Tulsa and take care of Pug without consequences, then get back to being a husband and father to Colleen (Melanie Lynskey) and their unborn child.

Meanwhile, a rather confused Bill is talked into smoking up with Brady and meeting Janet (Keri Russell), a high school teacher and poet, as well as dealing with his hippie mother and coming to terms with the family he left behind.

Oh, I know. At a certain point, I was really worried that despite the philosophical backdrop and the great cast, I was just watching a variation on the "city person who left their family behind but then is drawn back in by the folksy good nature" movie. You know, the Sweet Home Alabama / Doc Hollywood kind of film. And while it is kind of that movie, Tim Blake Nelson has the good sense to take Brady's story in some unexpected directions, which Bill then has to deal with in very serious ways.

Leaves of Grass reminds me, in a lot of ways, of a much better version of Junebug. I like Junebug quite a bit, but Leaves of Grass is willing to go to darker places and constructs a better narrative, anchored by a really impressive dual role by Edward Norton. At no point did I not buy that Brady and Bill were different people. Yes, they both look like Edward Norton, and when Brady cuts his hair so that they kinda-sorta look alike, it's even clearer it's the same actor, but Bill Kincaid and Brady Kincaid are two very different people. Bill can only physically pass for Brady in the story, because Norton is that good at convincing you that they have lived different lives and that they do fundamentally see the world differently, even if they're both really intelligent about what they do.

Nelson doesn't re-invent the wheel with split screen technology here, and despite being cognitively aware of how the effects were being achieved, I still believed that two Edward Nortons were occupying the same space at times. There's a great shot involving a mirror with the two of them that really sells the physical proximity, even though it's technically impossible that Norton could be tapping himself on the shoulder.

Anyway, I don't mean to get bogged down on the technical stuff. The story keeps you going through the predictable beats and then heads down less worn roads, and the cast is all uniformly great. There are a handful of characters and plot points I'm not mentioning just to preserve some sense of discovery, but I think you'll find Leaves of Grass to be a movie worth visiting. And yes, Walt Whitman figures into the story, as though I needed to tell you that.

Blogorium Review: Leaves of Grass

If I'm correct in reading IMDB, Tim Blake Nelson's Leaves of Grass should be playing this Friday at a theatre near you. I would recommend you go check it out; in addition to having the conceit of Edward Norton playing twin brothers - one a Professor of Philosophy and the other an awfully clever Pot Farmer - the film itself (which is also written by Nelson) takes a well worn genre and gives it some clever tweaks.

Norton plays Bill Kincaid, a Brown Professor of Philosophy who spent the better part of his life trying to disassociate himself from his mother Daisy (Susan Sarandon) and brother Brady (also Norton) and his background in Oklahoma. Despite some hiccups with a student making passes and writing suggestive love poems (in Latin), Bill is on track to have his own department at the Harvard Law School. That is, until he gets a call from Brady's friend Bolger (Tim Blake Nelson).

Brady's deep in debt to Pug Rothbaum (Richard Dreyfuss) for the cost of building his state-of-the-art hydroponic grow house, and in addition of Rothbaum's thugs hounding him for the money, he also has pressure from Jimmy and Buddy Fuller (Ken Cheesman and Steve Earle), whose dealing business he ran out of town. So Brady fakes his own death to trick Bill into coming back to Oklahoma. Brady thinks that if he can use Bill to convince people he's still in town, he can go to Tulsa and take care of Pug without consequences, then get back to being a husband and father to Colleen (Melanie Lynskey) and their unborn child.

Meanwhile, a rather confused Bill is talked into smoking up with Brady and meeting Janet (Keri Russell), a high school teacher and poet, as well as dealing with his hippie mother and coming to terms with the family he left behind.

Oh, I know. At a certain point, I was really worried that despite the philosophical backdrop and the great cast, I was just watching a variation on the "city person who left their family behind but then is drawn back in by the folksy good nature" movie. You know, the Sweet Home Alabama / Doc Hollywood kind of film. And while it is kind of that movie, Tim Blake Nelson has the good sense to take Brady's story in some unexpected directions, which Bill then has to deal with in very serious ways.

Leaves of Grass reminds me, in a lot of ways, of a much better version of Junebug. I like Junebug quite a bit, but Leaves of Grass is willing to go to darker places and constructs a better narrative, anchored by a really impressive dual role by Edward Norton. At no point did I not buy that Brady and Bill were different people. Yes, they both look like Edward Norton, and when Brady cuts his hair so that they kinda-sorta look alike, it's even clearer it's the same actor, but Bill Kincaid and Brady Kincaid are two very different people. Bill can only physically pass for Brady in the story, because Norton is that good at convincing you that they have lived different lives and that they do fundamentally see the world differently, even if they're both really intelligent about what they do.

Nelson doesn't re-invent the wheel with split screen technology here, and despite being cognitively aware of how the effects were being achieved, I still believed that two Edward Nortons were occupying the same space at times. There's a great shot involving a mirror with the two of them that really sells the physical proximity, even though it's technically impossible that Norton could be tapping himself on the shoulder.

Anyway, I don't mean to get bogged down on the technical stuff. The story keeps you going through the predictable beats and then heads down less worn roads, and the cast is all uniformly great. There are a handful of characters and plot points I'm not mentioning just to preserve some sense of discovery, but I think you'll find Leaves of Grass to be a movie worth visiting. And yes, Walt Whitman figures into the story, as though I needed to tell you that.

Blogorium Review(s): Iron Man and The Incredible Hulk

Luckily for all of you, The Cap'n did actually have a couple of stored up reviews just in case such a day came where I was a) no longer angry about the news or b) irritated by something in the film department. In a rare show of "double featuring", I watched Iron Man and The Incredible Hulk, roughly back to back not long ago.

Of the two, I'm definitely landing on the Iron Man side of things. It's hard to not want to compare Iron Man to The Dark Knight, the other "big" summer comic book movie, but I'm going to try. They're very different types of films, anchored in very different ways (which actually comes in handy when we turn to The Incredible Hulk, which tries to be darker).

I'm a casual Iron Man reader, so forgive me for not knowing the series as well or catching all of the in jokes, but I did dig the hell out of this movie. While I'd be tempted to say that it could still work with someone else in the suit, Robert Downey Jr is pitch perfect as Tony Stark and kicks the movie from "very good" into "a damn entertaining movie".

And that's what Iron Man is: entertaining. As an origin story, it covers all of the necessary ground quickly and integrates it into the narrative in such a way that things feel organic. In most "origin stories" (think Spider-Man or Batman Begins), there's a dividing line between "hero hones his skill" and "first major test from any villain". Iron Man has three pretty serious tests to the suit, punctuating the film in such a way that the "learning" process scenes in between feel necessary and not, well, "necessary".

The difference is that you're on the ride with Stark as he changes from indifferent playboy to man with a cause, and his adjustments to the suit and his technique don't feel perfunctory because "an origin story needs x, y, and z". Credit for that goes to Jon Favreau, who I felt made a surprisingly good kids film with Zathura a few years ago and is really establishing himself as a great director of summer entertainment.

The cast all seems to be having a great time, with Downey in the lead, but that shouldn't leave out Jeff Bridges, Terrence Howard, Gwyneth Paltrow, and Favreau himself who plays Stark's chauffer. What Iron Man has that few comic book movies do is the sense of enjoyment with the material, and a wonder at what unfolds onscreen. In that respect it's a lot like Superman: The Movie.

And yes, there's the Nick Fury scene at the end, setting up the whole "Avengers Initiative", a thread that continues in The Incredible Hulk. Most of the weaponry used by General Ross (William Hurt) against Bruce Banner / The Hulk (Edward Norton) comes from Stark Industries, and Robert Downey Jr makes an appearance in the film as Tony Stark. This is notable because two different studios made Iron Man and The Incredible Hulk, but Marvel is asserting its universe whoever finances the film.

Like I mentioned above, The Incredible Hulk is "darker" than Iron Man, by which I should say "angstier". Like Superman Returns, the film is almost slavishly devoted to the Incredible Hulk tv series, borrowing music, iconography, and even some cast members (look for Bill Bixby on a tv show and Lou Ferrigno halfway through the film). Ferrigno is also the "voice" of Norton's Hulk, and yes, that does mean he talks, not just growls.

To separate itself from Ang Lee's Hulk, the reboot has a Spider-Man 2-like opening which quickly recaps the Hulk origin story in flashes. The movie goes ahead and assumes you've either a) seen Lee's version or b) watched the tv show, so there's not a lot of time spent recapping stuff. There is a lot of staring, running, Edward Norton and William Hurt looking angsty, and Liv Tyler being menaced.

In fact, only Tim Roth seems to be having any fun with the movie, until he too is reduced to the cgi Abomination for the big brawl at the end. I'll give it to The Incredible Hulk for upping the "destruction" quotient in this second go-around, but overall the movie is narratively fractured, edited sloppily, and mostly uninterested in doing more than moping and smashing. I'm not in any hurry to watch it again, or see the "alternate opening" and deleted scenes, which Edward Norton claims are a fraction of what was cut from the film (oh boy, a longer, angstier version of The Hulk awaits...)

They do continue to set up Captain America, particularly since Roth's Emil Blonsky takes the super soldier serum to equal Hulk in power, and the aforementioned Iron Man / Avengers connection. One of the other ones I hadn't necessarily read about but wanted to address is an oblique reference to another Marvel character not mentioned by name in the film.

Early in the film, Banner is contacting someone online through encrypted chats. Banner uses the name "Mr. Green" and the person he's talking to is "Mr. Blue". What I noticed is that when Banner sends his blood sample to "Mr. Blue", the address is New York, so am I wrong in assuming that Mr. Blue is Reed Richards?

 Edit: I have no idea what the whole Fantastic Four conspiracy theory thing is still doing here. Really, I don't. I may have written this part before I finished The Incredible Hulk and simply neglected to remove it because it's pretty clear that's not what happens in the film AT ALL. Sorry to drag the rest of you down into this mire on non sequitur-dom. 
Did The Incredible Hulk sneak in a Fantastic Four reference in a way that 20th Century Fox wouldn't notice? Marvel owns the rights to The Avengers (every member) and is working on bringing films for all of them to fruition before a "team" movie (up next are Thor and Captain America). Marvel, however, does not own the screen rights to The X-Men, The Fantastic Four, Daredevil, The Punisher, or Spider-Man (they belong to Fox, Fox, Fox, Lionsgate, and Columbia, respectively). That's one of the big reasons you didn't see Spider-Man in either of the FF movies, even though they both operate publicly in New York, and why Kingpin will never be attacking Peter Parker or The Punisher.

The Cap'n could be way off here, but that was my hypothesis. It made sense, anyway. If I'm missing another "blue" Marvel character, feel free to catch me up. I look forward to Iron Man 2, even if the "Terrence Howard / Don Cheadle" situation confuses me a bit. If Kenneth Branagh is still involved with Thor, I'm quite curious, and the announcement of Joe Johnston on Captain America doesn't feel like a detriment. We'll see what Marvel has in store for us.