The Face of Love

This review first appeared in the Sunday Star-Times, 29th June 2014

Grief is an emotion that shouldn’t be trifled with, but the very nature of yearning for someone who is not coming back is ripe for all manner of “what if?” scenarios in literature.

Handled well, such tales can be sensitive and touching, drawing the viewer into empathy with the protagonist. Sadly, The Face of Love wastes the opportunity and winds up as trite as its title.

The idea of “replacing” a loved one may be anathema to many, while others may pursue all efforts to move on. Five years after Nikki (Annette Bening) loses the love of her life, she meets a man who bears a striking resemblance to her dearly departed. Compelled to rekindle the feeling she has been so desperately missing, Nikki does the dramatically inevitable and embarks on a relationship while withholding from him the true impetus behind her attraction.

This is only the second feature from writer-director Arie Posin, and he was fortunate to secure a strong cast, despite what turns out to be a fairly laboured script. This is a shame as it’s a potentially interesting concept – connection is often in the eye of the beholder, and Bening works typically hard, using every muscle in her face to convey silent sadness or loved-up joy as she gazes at Ed Harris’s painter Tom (who, coincidentally, shares not just the looks but seemingly the temperament of her husband).

But ultimately Nikki’s predicament is the same as in every romantic drama where one person is keeping a secret from the other. All the audience gets out of it is that tight feeling in the stomach knowing that eventually things are going to get awkward.

With a lighter narrative touch, we might have sympathised with the widow, who is torn between prolonging her past or letting it go, but the story’s signposting is unsubtle and Nikki’s choices clangingly wrong-headed.

Speaking of awkward, so is the casting of Robin Williams (in any film, actually) as Nikki’s wistful neighbour, not helped by his clunky delivery of one-note dialogue. Williams’ unconvincing performance is almost balanced out by Harris giving it a good shot as the unsuspecting Tom, but overall it’s impossible to lose yourself to the tragedy implicit in the premise.

Ruby Sparks

This review first appeared in the Sunday Star Times, 23rd September 2012

In the realm of fiction, it’s been happening for years. Geppetto carved himself a wooden son; Frankenstein created a monster. Less magically endowed people have been conjuring up imaginary partners through fantasy (and sometimes just bald-faced lies) since time began.

Struggling writer Calvin lives in a trendy suburb of Los Angeles, weighed down by the success he gained as a bright young thing 10 years prior, and his subsequent inability to produce that “difficult second album”. He lives comfortably off the fruits of his erstwhile fame, spending his days on his therapist’s couch and walking his terrier, the significant other in his life.

When Calvin’s dreams about a beguiling redhead turn into an inconceivable reality, it seems that he may be the one writing his own narrative.

Is Ruby for real, or too good to be true?

Taking a twist on the Stranger Than Fiction approach, the film’s premise (written by its talented leading lady, Zoe Kazan) is as enticing as its characters. Little Miss Sunshine‘s Paul Dano balances his gangly physical comedy with a perpetually plaintive demeanour, before allowing his (and many men’s) fantasies to give in to a darker, more controlling impetus.

Some viewers will stay on the ride, while others may baulk at the inherent misogyny. It’s interesting, then, that this story was written by a woman, by extension controlling what her characters do – while playing the very woman in the film who is merely a puppet. It’s a fascinating conceit and this more sophisticated update on its 80s forebears (Mannequin, Weird Science and Splash explored notions of this male fantasy) is played out by a great cast, especially Annette Bening and Antonio Banderas. The story weaves its indie magic, keeping you enthralled, horrified and perhaps conflicted as it ends. A brilliantly clever cautionary tale.

Due Date, The Kids are All Right, The Girl Who Kicked the Hornets’ Nest

The Final Countdown

As 2010 drew to a close, I managed to sneak in three more films.  Herewith, for the sake of completeness, my musings:

Due Date

I wasn’t going to bother. I mean, I enjoyed The Hangover, and will see pretty much anything Robert Downey Jr. turns his hand to, but the trailer did look rather full of slapstick and base humour, the type (dare I say it – yes I do) that boys like. And when you’re hanging out for 2011’s release of The King’s Speech, Due Date is like the Turkish Delight chocolate in the bottom of the box.

I do wonder when Hollywood scriptwriters and their audiences are going to tire of the “I’ve never taken drugs in my life” Downey in-jokes. And when Zach Galifianakis is going to finally get sick of the typecasting and demand a dramatic/romantic lead. But until that day comes, we are destined to see many more buddy-comedies with mismatched leading men getting themselves into predicaments and then bonding (think Paul Rudd and Jason Segel in I Love You, Man, Paul Rudd and Steve Carrell in Dinner for Schmucks, Paul Rudd and Seth Rogen in Knocked Up… hang on a minute).

To be fair, Downey plays a good straight man, his character sufficiently fleshed out to justify the oscillation between bursts of anger and chastened warmth for the idiot who got him kicked off his flight home, and with whom he must drive across America.  Although Galifianakis feels somewhat exploited for his ability to abandon his dignity for the sake of a laugh, I can’t help but side with the playground bully who first forced him to perform.  From his mincing walk and flamboyant scarves to his naively ridiculous responses to some genuinely emotional situations revolving around paternal loss, Ethan Tremblay steals every scene, and Downey’s Peter graciously abets him.

There is plenty of silly physical humour, peppered with some laugh-out-loud lines that still render this a 3-star (out of 5) film. But it’s no Hangover, and it will soon be time for the filmmakers to observe their talents’ real talent and start using them for something better.

The Kids are All Right

A wonderfully original premise: the children of a lesbian couple seek out their biological father and the family starts a relationship with him – is played out surprisingly and beautifully by acting heavyweights Annette Bening, Julianne Moore and Mark Ruffalo.

The women in particular bring terrific characterisation to the dinner table (and bedroom) as Nic and Jules, happily married for 20 or so years, with two well-adjusted teenagers who call them “Moms”.  When Paul (Ruffalo playing his oft-seen slacker, a role he seems designed for) enters their mix, the moms take to him in different ways – Nic perturbed by and Jules attracted to his laid-back, dope-smoking, attitude; daughter Joni excited and son Laser more skeptical. The family dynamics shift slightly, and lessons are learned along the way.

If anything, Paul’s response to having two ready-made children pop up in his commitment-phobe life is the only slightly untrue note in the film; however, Ruffalo plays this as if meaning every word.  Across town, Nic and Jules feel the impact on their own relationship as much as theirs with their children, and the effects on their expanding family are enlightening as well as painful.  The story doesn’t seek to propagate big ideas, but is nonetheless heartwarming and well-performed.

The Girl Who Kicked the Hornets Nest

Yes, I saw the others.  So you’ll have gathered that, so unimpressed was I with the second film, I didn’t bother to review it in these pages.  Having now completed the trilogy, I think it’s worth a few words.

I didn’t read the books, but I understand the filmmakers left out some of the key thriller moments in their final film.  Why, given the 147- minute story which is overstuffed with padding, unnecessary dialogue and sub-plots that in no way advance the main narrative, I do not know.  What the filmmakers did not shy away from, however, is the extreme violence in each of the books.  I do get that our protaganist, Lisbeth Salander, needed to have been treated badly (which is putting it mildly) in order to justify the intense revenge story that followed.  I also appreciate that often people who are hellbent on such a course of action need to shut themselves off from emotion, and appear cold, unfeeling and impermeable.  They might even want to wear dark clothing and have tattoos.  Perhaps a piercing or two.  Often they will have sought solace in the restriction-free, impersonal world of the internet and may be IT whizzes.  I suppose it’s plausible, if a little gratuitous, that they might be lesbian (or at least bisexual).

But rather like in a serial killer movie where the screenwriter has done a spot of research online before writing a character ridden with cliches, to me Lisbeth Salander is a cobble-together of every supposedly antisocial (or “hardcore”) trait imaginable.  On top of this, she isn’t even very likeable.  We feel sorry for her, sure! (she is put through extraordinary ordeals in flashbacks and in the present, to ensure we forgive any resulting murderous deeds).  But overall the films are so grim, and the conclusion so muted and joyless, that even leaving the cinema after 2 1/2 exhausting hours of it, I found it hard to care.

Hornets Nest brings us to the end of Lisbeth’s story (the author, Stieg Larsson, having died before the success of his books, will not be bringing us any more).  I enjoy a good courtroom drama more than most people, and there was sufficient opportunity for there to have been shock and awe on the faces of the prosecution in the denouement.  But alas, as the Swedish film meandered along, the key evidence was leaked to the audience early on, and subsequently lost all impact by the time it was played in court.  Meanwhile, back at the offices of Millenium where journalist/knight-in-shining-armour Mikael Blomkvist is sending the whistleblowing issue to press, we sit through irrelevant backstories about the danger their editor is in, while Lisbeth languishes in jail, spiking her hair and applying eyeliner in preparation for another day refusing to answer questions.

David Fincher is making the inevitable Hollywood remakes as we speak. Normally I wouldn’t give you tuppence for an American version (I gather vampire movie Let Me In adds nothing to its Swedish precursor) but in this instance, I’m going to give Fincher’s a go, simply because he knows how to craft a good movie, and I want my story served rare, without garnish and chutney.

See you in 2011 to discuss whether he managed it.

Two different takes on unexpected parenthood

Mother and Child

The trailer for this latest Naomi Watts/Annette Bening/Samuel L. Jackson vehicle was, in my view, a mix of predictable, schmaltzy and yet strangely enticing.  And ultimately it proved to be all that and more.  This tale of interweaving lives (crafted by Rodrigo Garcia, the son of Colombian writer Gabriel Garcia Marquez) sees unexpectedly nuanced performances from the terrific Bening as an embittered woman who gave up her child at age 14 and Watts as the coldly independent lawyer whose inability to bond emotionally ultimately leads to heartbreak.  The third woman, whose story revolves around her desire to adopt a baby and the impact this has on her marriage, is played by Kerry Washington who bakes cupcakes for a living and often tends to overact, though granted she is dumped with some weak lines during the first half of the film.

Bringing up the male contingent, Jimmy Smits is notable as the even-tempered, slightly paunchy colleague whose attentions attempt to win over Bening’s prickly pear.  However, it’s shoutingly obvious that the female characters in this film are, without exception, unlikeable in some capacity, whereas the men are doting, patient and impossible to criticise.  (Even Washington’s husband doesn’t come off as annoying and whiny as she does, despite dipping out before the going gets tough.)  Meanwhile, Watts climbs the corporate ladder, onto the boss’s lap, and dabbles in home-wrecking, just for the hell of it.  Bening is distant from her own mother and mistreats her home-help (who are Hispanic and tolerant, just like Smit’s Paco).  Bening’s mother makes thoughtless comments.  Washington’s mother nags.  The pregnant teen is feisty and unendearing.  Only the nun smiles with any degree of warmth!

Despite all this however, I found the story engaging and the essence of the personal crises very affecting.  Audiences may consider it predictable or convenient in places, and there’s no disputing the strands are tied together at the end so we can leave the cinema feeling ever so slightly optimistic after two hours of angst.  Mother and Child will not be for everyone, and the trailer warned as much, but I’m glad I took a chance with it nonetheless.

 

Life As We Know It

The trailer seemed to give everything away (two people hate each other! are made Godparents! the kid’s parents die! they have to bring up the kid! together! will they fall in love??).  I wondered who the heck Josh Duhamel was anyway (it turns out he’s a soldier in Transformers 1 and 2) and I feared Katherine Heigl would fax in her Knocked Up performance here, and dish out another rom-com about unexpected parenthood foisted upon two incompatible singletons.

In fact, I was very pleasantly surprised.  The plot may not be quite paper thin, perhaps more the cardboard of the cake boxes Heigl’s character Holly packs her cupcakes in (as in Mother and Child – this shows she is at heart homely and maternal!).  But the performances, chemistry and comic timing of our romantic leads make for a fun couple of hours, with a witty script and overall likable characters in every scene.  Eschewing the screenwriter’s usual habit of making the interim boyfriend some sort of closet egomaniac or secret child-hater, Josh Lucas plays Doctor Sam, a worthy adversary to Duhamel’s bumbling but charismatic Messer.  The hodgepodge of well-meaning neighbours are hilarious, and new face Sarah Burns puts in a terrific performance as the child welfare officer whose impromptu visits provide the impetus for some of the slapstick.

But it is the family play-acting between Heigl, Duhamel and their onscreen daughter which seals the film’s realism, and gets us caring about their future.  A public row at a suburban street party, both characters oblivious to their painted animal faces as they deliver heartfelt lines, is a particular delight.  The film may be predictable, and as light as Holly’s baking, but it’s certainly just as delicious.