Iris (2001)

Brief: The beginning of the life-long romance between Iris Murdoch (Kate Winslet) and John Bayley (Hugh Bonneville) is juxtaposed with her later descent into Alzhemier's as John (Jim Broadbent) struggles to care for Iris (Judi Dench) on his own.

I'm watching a lot of juxtaposition lately, aren't I?

Unfortunately, I'm also watching a lot of movies that I don't really connect with emotionally. Broadbent earned his many awards and nominations and then some. His portrayal was so brutal. Everything he did and said was so honest. It hurt to watch. It just hurt.

Dench pretty much seemed like she was slowly losing her mind, so I approve of her as well. I can't help but wonder if it is more like Hagar's point of view in The Stone Angel, but I guess I don't really want to know anyway.

What I failed to connect with - and this may shock you - was the Kate Winslet/Hugh Bonneville early years bit. What I didn't get at all, what Richard Eyre and Charles Wood's screenplay never gave me, was what was so darn great about Iris. Why did John put up with her? Where was this legendary lust for life and love? She would have made a fun friend to be sure, but there was nothing more to it.

Could it be that Martin Walsh left all the good bits on the cutting room floor? He's edited other movies that I've very much enjoyed, so it's tough to say.

But something went wrong here. Something's missing. The heart, perhaps. C

Casa de los babys (2003)

Summary: Six women wait in a Mexican hotel/resort to adopt a Mexican baby. Their stories are juxtaposed with those of the employees at the hotel and those of a group of street kids.

When I heard that this movie was from the critically acclaimed director John Sayles, I knew something was off. I wanted to see it, and I did, but I just kept rolling his name over and over in my head, trying to figure out what was wrong with what I was hearing.

And then it hit me: Eight Men Out.

I'll remind you that that movie made no impression on me. I watched the whole thing, and I didn't care about anything that was going on there. To me, there is no greater failure in a film than the failure to connect with your audience.

This is, of course, different from being misunderstood (kind of like me and modern/post-modern art). Art is made to express something that the artist cannot express otherwise. But when you give your audience nothing at all to connect to, when you cut them off, you may have failed to create art at all.

I mean, even Alexander made me really, really angry. But not this one. It made me feel nothing at all.

That's the problem with Sayles' direction. Something's off about it. Something austere and clinical. It's like watching the movie unfold in a museum. I love museums, by the way. My grandma and I have traveled many a kilometre for a worthy exhibit.

Even so, there's this twinge of disappointment that I feel in museums. It's that whole stripper-like look-don't-touch rule. Never caress the fabric of the beautiful 17th century Acadian dress. Never run your fingers over Van Gogh's loving brush strokes. They have good reasons for these rules, but I still wish I could, y'know?

It's not the performers' faults, mind you. Daryl Hannah, Marcia Gay Harden, Maggie Gyllenhaal, Lili Taylor, Susan Lynch, and Mary Steenburgen all did excellent jobs. They had this way of slowing letting out their characters that suggested there was always more to them than you already knew.

There was this one little part where Vanessa Martinez, who plays one of the cleaning ladies, and Susan Lynch share stories about their daughters. They don't speak the same language and seem to completely misunderstand each other, but it's there. That love that only a mother can know - it's right there. If nothing else, Sayles can write a monologue like nobody's business.

Unfortunately, I do mean nothing else. The cast is this movie's saving grace, so I can't condemn it. C

. . . and justice for all (1979)

Summary: An ethical lawyer, Arthur Kirkland (Al Pacino), is blackmailed into representing a judge, Henry T. Fleming (John Forsythe), who is accused of the rape and battery of a young woman.

I don't have much to say about this magnificent piece of work except to point out that Norman Jewison (director) rocks. I've always questioned his choices, but I'm right behind him here. Man, that final (courtroom - who woulda thunk it?) scene was filmed in a single take! How could that be if everything had no come together so seamlessly? So flawlessly? Who else could be responsible for that exceptional scene if not the director?

Sure, Pacino was in fine form. He may have even been in top form. Pacino may be insanely operatic now but back then . . . oh, Pacino in the seventies. Barely taller than me, he's one of the most commanding screen presences I've ever seen. He is there, and you will look! He speaks, and you will listen! It's a wonderment to see him like this.

And Jack Warden as the possibly crazy Judge Francis Rayford. That's a good time right there. Kirkland reveals something about his character that I didn't think of on my own, and, after that, suddenly that was all I could see. He's good.

All I can say about the screenplay is that inspired me to watch more Barry Levinson. You might think it's riddled with clichés, but I don't think most of them existed a quarter century ago.

Heck, you should watch it just for Dave Grusin's jaunty music. A

Rent

Premise, Act I: It's Christmas Eve. Mark and Roger are best friends and roomies. Benny, who used to be one of their roomies and now owns the run-down former music publishing house they live in, shows up demanding last year's rent. Mark and Roger, of course, can't pay, so Benny offers them an exchange. Benny also owns the lot next door, and he plans to evict the tent city that has sprung up there. Maureen, Mark's ex, is planning a protest, and they are golden if they can get her to stop it. They don't even bother trying.

Meanwhile, their friend Tom Collins is rescued by drag queen Angel after he is mugged, and they take up together. Roger meets their downstairs neighbour Mimi, and they like each other, too.

Premise, Act II: Everyone breaks back into their padlocked building on New Year's, and the rest of the musical chronicles their lives for the next year.

Now I can't technically review something I saw in the theatre. I just wanted to tell you that I went to see it at the NAC, that it was amazing, and that I think you should go.

That's it. Really. Rock operetta's rock, and I would recommend this Pulitzer Prize winning adaptation of Puccini's La Boheme to anyone.

Only don't go see it with Drew Lachey and Melanie Brown. That offends me and Rent, I think. The people I saw peform were virtual unknowns, and I think it was better than way.

My only problem was the trecaley ending.

Return to Paradise (1998)

Idea: In eight days, Lewis McBride (Joaquin Phoenix) will be hung in Malaysia for drug trafficking unless his lawyer, Beth Eastern (Anne Heche), can convince Sherrif (Vince Vaughn) and Tony (David Conrad) to return and exchange three years of their lives for his.

I actually worked the tagline of this movie into a plot description. Good tagline. Tells me just want I want to know, and the poster tells me the names of the three leads.

Too bad it features Vaughn's and Heche's stupid heads. Yes, that's right, for the sake of sweet, sexy Phoenix, I watched a movie that starred two actors that I basically don't like.

Big mistake. I don't know why the three of them are billed above title since Phoenix is barely even on screen, which sucks. He does the insanity that comes from isolation and the certainty of death very well.

Unfortunately the audience spends most of their time following around the antics of the charmless assclown that is Vaughn. He's not charming, and I think he goes for smarmy but ends up coming across as a charmless sadist in everything I see him in. Everything. To call him one note is an understatement. Don't get me wrong - sometimes that works. Sometimes that works exceedingly well, like in Swingers.

It just doesn't work for me here.

Heche is another story. Her singular voice gives me the creeps, as does her nearly singular facial expression. I just don't care about her in movies. Also, what was with the way her character dressed in Muslim Malaysia? Could she be more inconsiderate of their culture? No wonder no one wanted to listen to her.

The only good thing about Wesley Strick and Bruce Robinson's screenplay is that it allowed me to end a sentence with "in the Biblical sense", if you know what I mean. And I think you do. If you don't, you're not reading enough Television Without Pity.

Overall, it's not that bad. I don't want you think that I watch a lot of drug movies now. It's just that this movie focused on two people that I couldn't care less about. Their characters failed to be compelling, and the movie featured a serious lack of resolution in the conclusion. Just don't bother with it unless you love Vaughn. Then you should go ahead. C-

Maria Full of Grace (2004)

Premise: Maria (Catalina Sardino Moreno) takes a job trafficking cocaine from Columbia to New York through her digestive system after she discovers she is pregnant. Her best friend Blanca (Yenny Paola Vega) decides to join up to, and Maria makes friends with Lucy (Guilied Lopez), another mule, who puts her in contact with her sister, Carla (Patricia Rae).

Yeah, I struggled with how much I was giving away there, but Maria throws up pretty early in the movie. As you well know, no one just gets the flu or food poisoning in a movie, so it's pretty easy to figure out what's up at that point.

Oh, fine, we'll go over this really quickly. If a character throws up in a movie, it means one of the following three things:
a) She is pregnant.
b) S/he has cancer/is responding to their cancer treatment.
c) S/he is hung over/just drank way too much.

Any other reasons? Give me a shout out if you think of something.

Moving right along. Let's all give our props to Joshua Marston (writer-director) for his tense and brilliant sophomore offering. How does a Californian man know so much about the Columbian drug industry? I don't know. Call it research, call it a work of pure fiction. Don't care - it was lovingly crafted, beautifully framed, and seamlessly told.

Much of this can be credited to his pitch perfect leading lady. Moreno, only just shy of 23, has never done anything else if IMDb is to be believed. Nothing at all. Maria was supposed to be one of those head-strong, stubborn, singularly beautiful types who always gets herself into trouble because of her chronic inability to rely on anyone other than herself. But in Moreno's hands she was so much more. Not once did I feel like chastising her. Instead, I was struck by how stupid and mean all the other people she had to put up with were.

Consider Blanca, for example. Blanca had no reason to quit her job at the flower plantation. Blanca had no reason to suddenly need a lot of money. Blanca had no particular personality beyond dumb, whiny brat. Above all, she possessed the kind of jealousy that only a best friend can possess in the face of one who is clearly bigger and better than the former ever thinks she will be.

I kept waiting and hoping for the moment when Maria would just reel back and slap her stupid face anyway.

Normally I find this sort of juxtaposition grating and trite, but Moreno and Vega make it work. Mostly Moreno. She is such a rarity that I could have watched her do pretty much anything.

Including waiting for her bowels to pass. Yup, this movie involves watching her swallow cocaine pellets and crapping them out. And it was worth seeing. She's that good.

I know I already made my list top ten for last year, but I'd likely bump one of them for this gem. If I had only known. A+

The Jacket (2005)

Plot: Jack Starks (Adrien Brody) receives a head wound in the first Gulf War and develops retrograde amnesia as a result. Back home in Vermont, he is framed for murdering a cop and ends up in an institution for the criminally insane. Dr. Thomas Becker (Kris Kristofferson) chooses Jack for an experimental sensory deprivation treatment wherein Jack is put in a full body straight jacket and locked inside a morgue drawer. While inside, Jack sees another life, this one involving Jackie Price (Keira Knightley).

Second movie I've gone to see for the male lead[s] despite this particularly leading lady. I don't want to feel like I'm personally forwarding her career, but sometimes I wonder.

Knightley's attempt at an ingenue is not to be rewarded. Her character was over-the-top, just like her American accent which simply involved speaking in a poorly suited, exaggeratedly deep voice. There was nothing compelling about a character that was supposed to be broken and ends up coming across as bratty.

Wait, that's Mischa Barton's Marissa. Holy crap, kid, that's never something to aspire to be.

Brody was fantastic, though, every bit as frustrated and confused and angry and lonely and lovely as he needed to be. I felt bad that he is so much and can do so much, but the script didn't give him clear direction one way or the other. Sometimes it was a thriller, sometimes it was a love drama, sometimes it was both, sometimes it was neither. Because of the consummate actor I believe him to be, I believe he tried to fit his character into the whatever the movie was trying to be at that particular moment, so he can't be held accountable if it didn't all jive.

Jennifer Jason Leigh was there to hand me a beautifully understated performance combined with a bad dye job, and Daniel Craig stole the show with his scary physical chameleon-ness. If it weren't for those eyes, I'd never recognize him.

I didn't really understand where they were going with Craig's character. I thought, "So, what, everyone can do it? Are they supposed to be connected in some way? What does he see?", but, alas, those questions go unanswered.

Oooo, Brad Renfro and Steven Mackintosh were around as well! Hurrah!

Kristofferson gave it the old college try, but I felt like he was distancing himself. Maybe he was trying to do that through his character, a man divided between his paternal desire to help heal wounded souls and the more justice-minded desire to punish criminals for their sins.

Jay Maybury (director) and Peter Deming (cinematographer) kept the camera moving, lulling us with desolate and sterile winter landscapes and the griminess of the world around them. Maybury's a video director at heart, but it works for him here. The middle doesn't start sagging like it should, and he throws all his energy into keeping you from getting bored.

Although, and this is just a knit-picky point, but when you film a movie in Canada that isn't set in Canada, you should try to avoid having Canadian road signs in the frame. It's just a thought.

But, oh, Massy Tadjedin's screenplay. Gaping holes and leaps in logic abound. She wrote a great main character but neglected to fill in the rest. Also, what was the Jack-Jackie-Jacket combo supposed to signify? Is Jack the necessary prerequisite for them both?

Perhaps. B

P.S. I got to experience an entirely empty movie theatre for the first time this week-end. Joy!

They Shoot Horses, Don't They? (1969)

Plan: Gloria's (Jane Fonda) partner is immediately disqualified, so she enlists the aid of a drifter, Robert (Michael Sarrazin), to win a dance marathon during the Depression.

There are all sorts of other characters who are trying to win or draw attention to themselves for various reasons, but they all existed in relation to Gloria and Robert. It's almost as though they weren't characters at all, just reflections of the past and the future.

Hmmm.

Good work James Poe and Robert E. Thompson in your adaptation of Horace McCoy's novel of the same name. It's more difficult to involve your audience and hold them at arm's length simultaneously than to simply draw them in. Their screenplay was so cold. I find it odd when movies set in the Great Depression can seem so empty but never gritty. I always thought it would be a gritty time.

I will warn you that this is quite the mood piece. I was in the right mood just to sit and stare without having to spend much time thinking. Of course, I knew the ending before I started, so maybe I didn't have too much to think about it.

Even so, I loved watching Fonda and Sarrazin. Her Gloria was as tough as nails, so angry and frustrated. When she finally cries over a torn stocking, you don't even feel sorry for her. You just feel confused, and you wish Robert had some more change in his pocket. I suppose it wouldn't change a thing.

Sarrazin was something else entirely. He wanted to see the sun so much that he grew to hate it as the days passed by, as though it had betrayed him by staying outside. I went into the movie wondering how he could do it, and I know now that the question should be, "How could he not?"

Syndey Pollock (director) is downright ballsy. You suffer through this unrelenting movie right along side the contestants, all so you can see what is either the best or the worst movie ending of all time. It's so simple, so mysteriously obvious, so . . . natural? Can it be that it was natural?

Knit-picky point: Did mirror balls exist in the 30s?

Don't watch it if you don't have two solid hours to commit to it and many more yet to its lingering presence in the back of your mind. B+

Oscar Wrap-Up (2005)

April takes requests!

I know you are probably already sick of the endless commentary about one night that always runs too long, but I have a few things to throw out there upon request. I think you can sit through a few more minutes.

Plus, I have more freedom to say whatever the hell I want, and I usually do. So you've got that.

Let it be known that April did not stay up to watch the end of the awards. I had to get up and go to work the next day, so I couldn't. I watched enough to be able to comment on the coups, the high points, and the disasters of the evening.

Truth be told, Gil Cates runs a tight ship. Things were moving along at a pretty good clip by the time I turned in. The supportings were already neatly tucked away, I had heard three crappy songs (during which Beyoncé sported two fugly outfits), and Sideways had received the only award it was bound to get.

But were the sacrifices he made to keep things so tight worth it? Handing out awards in seats or having everyone stand on stage like beauty pageant contestants for so-called "minor" awards?

In a word? No. Those changes, while offering something refreshing in a pretty cut-and-dry world of award shows, were an offence. That's like pretending that sound or editing aren’t important and essential components of a film. It also suggests that that documentary or short films are lesser forms of filmmaking.

Stupid Gil Cates.

Morgan Freeman was the only dark horse candidate that threw me off my game, and his speech was among the best. I wasn’t sure what was going on with his scarf, so I convinced myself that it was a nod to the upcoming Nelson Mandela biopic. I say upcoming like you will soon see it in a theatre near you, but that’s not really the case.

Since Blanchett took the award I knew she would, Madsen wins best dressed Supporting Actress Contender. Her blue and black Versace was sexy and lavish. I was in awe and glad to see her forgo the “Old Hollywood” rule.

Swank beat out poor Bening again, but her simple and silly looking Guy Laroche didn’t compare Bening’s sleek Armani jersey. I think she was hoping that the dress would detract from the scary monotone way she was speaking.

Of course, Kate Winslet gave them both a run for their money is a gorgeous Greek inspired blue Badgley Mischka.

I can’t find Catalina Sardino Moreno’s designer, but someone must tell me as she was the most gorgeous creature there. Her sleek white body skimming dress with thick jewelled straps, hair pulled back in a plain ponytail, and minimal make up to show off her beautiful skin – the combination was breath taking.

Can someone please explain to me what the hell Johnny Depp was thinking? Your lady is a Chanel model, my good man, and you are one of the most attractive people on the planet! Shape up, buddy!

I may get stoned for saying this, but, after the Golden Globes and then the Academy Awards, I confess that I think Leonardo DiCaprio has turned out to be a class act. He carries himself through all of this hoopla with composure and even a measure of grace. He’s aged a lot since Hollywood first started beating down his door.

Who else found Clint Eastwood’s green bowtie cute?

People that should be charged for crimes against humanity (or at least April’s eyes) for their ensembles: Scarlett Johansson, Kirsten Dunst, Melanie Griffith, Carlos Santana, Robin Williams, Laura Linney, Orlando Bloom (wrong collar for the no-tie look), and P. Diddy.

I wish Kidman had been there to pick up were so many starlets left off in the fashion department.

Those they will need to defend the above for their fashion crimes: See above, plus Clive Owen, Emmy Rossum, Sophie Okonedo, Chris Rock, Don Cheadle’s wife (she was wearin’ that dress), Cheadle himself, and Jamie Foxx. The latter two weren’t stellarly dressed, but there was nothing offensive about their outfits.

How is it that P. Diddy does both his suit and Rock’s, but Rock doesn’t look like an asshat?

As a host, though, kind of racist. Died during that “If you can get the star, then wait!” bit. Russell Crowe certainly could be three weeks ago.

Applause goes to Charlie Kaufman for seeing his day (yay!), as well as Alexander Payne and Jim Taylor. Screenplays were good this year.

I was all teary eyed when everyone kept thanking Marty because I knew he had a snowball’s chance of holding a gold statuette of his own. Makes a girl sad.

And so, I bring you something I have no doubt you’ve been patiently waiting for for two months now: April’s personal top 10 of 2004 list. I reviewed nearly 40 movies that came out last year, and I’m sure I will yet see many more. Until that day, though, here’s a sample based on personal enjoyment and final grade.

The 10:

Hotel Rwanda
Million Dollar Baby
Sideways
Finding Neverland
Outfoxed: Rupert Murdoch’s War on Journalism
Mean Creek
Before Sunset
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
Garden State
The Aviator

Holy crap that was tough. I spent nearly two hours picking those out from the crowd. There are many, many others who were close contenders, but I think just mentioning them will make me want to change my mind.