All work and no play (2005)

I know it has been a while since I posted a review, much less a quality review like in the days of yore. Based on the copious clamoring comments and e-mails, I can tell you are desperate to hear my unique insights into the ins and outs of all things cinematic.

You'll just have to exhale because I do not have a review for you today.

In sooth, I have not sat down and watched, never mind enjoyed, a single movie since I went to see Broken Flowers. I caught a snippet of Igby Goes Down the other night, and it was more of a taste than I have had in weeks. My four Zipped DVDs are collecting dust on top of my TV. I've had Sarah's copy of Monsoon Wedding since early August.

My problem is two-fold: lack of time and lack of resources. I am coop-ing it up this semester, in addition to tackling the most demanding course I have taken thus far in my sorry university career. While all those things suck the time and energy required for watching and snarking, perhaps a bigger problem is how much TV I watch. Despite the on-going CBC/media guild/labour union strike (which keeps me separated from my beloved George), I watch hour upon hour of TV a week. It begs the question: Has TV quality steadily improved over the years, or have I lowered my standards?

I like to pretend that it is neither, that I have simply broadened my horizons. I am quite possibly delusional.

Lack of resources resembles more of a joke being played on me by my wonderful employer. Apparently, when they say they will pay you in September, they really mean October. Thank you, friends. My invisible pay cheque makes the highlighted and annotated calendar ripped from Entertainment Weekly's Fall Preview issue and stuck to Bill Pullman (a.k.a my big girl fridge) all the more depressing. With each passing week, more and more movies slip me by.

Of course, if it were up to me, I would be sitting here transcribing my TIFF notes and coming down from a diet coke/diet Pepsi/diet Dr. Pepper, vitamin supplement, and Junior Mint induced high. And when I say, "if it were up to me," I really mean, "if I had the money."

Since that cannot be, I give you the full list of movies I want to check out between now and December. Some I chose based on cast, some based on crew, some based on concept, and others on buzz. Hopefully you'll get to see a handful reviewed in the coming weeks and months. Until then, stay tuned for more thoughts and notes about Art with a capital "A", Crap with a capital "C", and everything in between.

September 16

Everything is Illuminated
Just Like Heaven
Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang
The Libertine
Lord of War
Proof
Thumbsucker

September 23

Flightplan
A History of Violence
Tim Burton's Corpse Bride

September 30

Capote
Little Manhattan
Serenity

October 7

Good Night, and Good Luck

October 14

Elizabethtown
North Country

October 21

Derailed
Shopgirl
Stay

November 4

Jarhead

November 11

Rent

November 18

Walk the Line

November 23

Ice Harvest

Snack Time (2005)

Just a little tidbit to remind you, me, and everyone in between why I love movies, especially ones that no one has ever heard of, seen, or wants to see. Tm, Noel Murray:

To be honest, some of the images I remember most from TIFF '05 were in Cameron Crowe's much-maligned Elizabethtown, which continues to advance Crowe's faith in classical Hollywood cinema and classic rock, in no particular order. When you strive to be the heir to Billy Wilder, you're going to make movies that strike some people as hokey and artificial, but on a purely stylistic level, Crowe has a lot of what I look for in a great filmmaker. He uses the full range of cinematic grammar in ways that don't draw undue attention. There's no staggeringly long takes for the sake of staggeringly long takes. What sticks are the moments, not the style.

To Gillian on her 37th Birthday (1996)

Outline: Friends and family gather together to celebrate the birthday weekend of Gillian Lewis (Michelle Pfeiffer), who died two years ago. Her husband, David (Peter Gallagher), is still passionately in love with her, and he spends time with her on the beach everyday. His teenaged daughter, Rachel (Claire Danes), knows about her dad's sightings, and his decision not to move on has caused a rift between David and his sister-in-law, Esther (Kathy Baker), and her husband, Paul (Bruce Altman), which comes to a head when they decide to bring a woman (Wendy Crewson) to meet David.

Here's the thing that's both great and crappy about this movie: I don't believe in ghosts, so you have to know that I thought that David would have to be either actively imagining or genuinely hallucinating these encounters with Gillian. Even so, I didn't see what the real problem with them was until the movie gets there.

A screenplay that allows me to work with it instead of trying to tear it down brick by brick is a nice treat for me. Gallagher, Pfeiffer, and Danes (not that I am putting them on the same level) are all such talented performers that it's easy for me to be drawn into their family dynamic and their individual dramas.

And I really don't see the big deal about moving on after your spouse dies. Spending your time on the beach with dead people is taking it too far, but not wanting to get together with someone else is perfectly reasonable.

Still, Michael Pressman hasn't directed anything memorable in the past, and this near-gem isn't an exception. It's nice to watch if you find it on, but there's nothing in it to get you to come back. Although Seth Green does try in his three seconds of screen time. Oh, Seth, when will they ever learn? B

Speaking of letting go, moving on, (and bad segues)

Broken Flowers (2005)

Outline: After aging singleton Don Johnston's (Billy Murray) latest girlfriend (Julie Delpy) leaves him, he receives a unsigned letter telling him that the 19 year-old son he never knew he had is looking for him. At the behest of his amateur detective neighbour, Winston (Jeffrey Wright), Don goes on a tour of his exes from twenty years ago looking for answers.

Oddly enough, it's mostly a comedy.

I can't decide whether the segment with Jessica Lange or Sharon Stone is my favourite. Lange's was a lot more subtly humorous, but the unbelievable cluelessness surrounding Stone's puts it ahead of the rest. Her, her daughter (who I recognized from the only episode of Witchblade I've ever seen), their chicken, their jug of strawberry wine, all of it. It just killed me.

Not so much theatre attendants. Apparently you lose the ability to laugh out loud when you pass 40.

Despite the fact that this is the quietest I've ever seen him (or because of it?), this is also the best Murray's ever been. Mildly caustic, with more of an air of resignation about him in any situation than annoyance, Murray weaves physical comedy in brilliant with the fantastic material writer-director Jim Jarmusch gives him.

While I thoroughly enjoyed the movie, I have to wonder what the big deal is for all the critics. Maybe I'm just too young to understand. In twenty years, however . . . But until then, the work remains unfinished in my mind. A-

I kind of like this more than one movie at a time thing.

The Short Take (2005)

Liz's long take is a thousand words on a picture. My short take is far less. Rather than write detailed reviews of the movies I've seen during my vacation, I've rounded most of them up in one post. Enjoy!

Four Brothers (2005)

Plot: Four adopted brothers (Mark Wahlberg, Tyrese Gibson, Andre Benjamin, and Garrett Hedlund) return home after their mother (Fionnula Flanagan) is killed in a liquor store robbery. Upon learning that their mother was murder, the brothers decide to "knock on some doors," complete with the implication that cracking some skulls will soon follow.

John Singleton could direct a thoughtful drama concerning the difference between revenge and vengeance, in light of what the mother would have thought of her son's actions. But why do that when you can laze your way through yet another vigilante justice movie after giving non-violence three seconds of consideration?

So, Benjamin puts himself to good use, Hedlund gets confused between the movie and a jeans ad, Gibson charms the ladies, and Wahlberg takes the de facto leader position in stride with a light comedic touch and an impossible entrance.

By the time co-writers David Elliot (the moron who also penned the heinous The Watcher) and Paul Lovett get around to their inevitable conclusion, it left a slightly bitter taste in my mouth, in part because it took too long and in part because the inevitable felt unnecessary. Once you've seen one adopted sibling vigilante justice movie, you've truly seen them all. C-

The bonus Emily pointed out for the perfect capturing of Detroit's aesthetic is cancelled out by Sarah announcing that this movie was the worst she's ever seen. Because she's never seen . . .

Waking the Dead (2000)


Plot: Ten years after his girlfriend's (Jennifer Connelly) death, Fielding Pierce (Billy Crudup) begins to see her during his congressional race.

Good chemistry and heartfelt performances cannot redeem this painfully boring, ill-conceived drama. Is she alive? Is she dead? According to the conclusion (spoiler!), it doesn't matter anyway.

Apparently Keith Gordon likes to direct bland, vaguely memorable pseudo-thrillers. Do whatever you want in the future, Mr. "I gave up acting to direct". You shouldn't have quit your day job. D

The Client (1994)

Plot: As the tagline explains, a new lawyer (Susan Sarandon
) takes on a willful young client (Brad Renfro), who a mob lawyer confessed his secrets to on his deathbed. A slick DA (Tommy Lee Jones) tries to get the information out of the boy while his lawyer struggles to protect her client and keep them both from getting killed.

He knows where the bodies are hid! Smirking over that was the best part of the whole movie. When will I live up to my own edict to stay away from John Grisham adaptations?

Joel Schumacher directs Sarandon, Renfro, Jones into separately sparkling performances, nothing can make me care about Grisham's quixotic conclusions.

Still, slightly better than the last two, if only for the laughing at Anthony Lapaglia's mesh shirts. C



Ordinary People (1980)

Premise: A full year after the accidentally drowning of their eldest son, the affluent Jarrett family struggles with their grief - the father (Donald Sutherland) wants to move forward, the mother (Mary Tyler Moore) cannot reconcile her mind with her heart, and the guilt stricken younger son (Timothy Hutton) just wants a chance at something normal.

Could it be that the critically acclaimed film among the bunch also happens to be the best? Mais oui.

When I reviewed Beautiful Girls, I told my mom that I thought Hutton was poor man's John Cusack, which I maintain that he was in the role. My mom said that she thought he was pretty good in Ordinary People. It was already on my Zip List, but that comment clinched it - I must see this movie.

Robert Redford opts for the quietest, must subtle direction possible in this compelling character drama. You initially think you are going to watch the family put the puzzle pieces back together, until you realize that the pieces are shards of glass that cut that cut each member every time they try to pick one up.

It's impossible to single out one of the sterling performances for praise, as they all rely so heavily on one another, despite the fact that the characters live in completely different worlds. You simply watch them collide again and again, perfectely unaware of being stuck in their own bubble.

Sutherland was at the centre, desperately attempting to keep the walls from crumbling down around him as his wife and son grow further and further apart. His powerhouse performance allowed the other two to occur.

Hutton tugged at the heart strings - Conrad was forced to never admit who he really blamed for his brother's death, so he found himself unable to admit anything else. The most common answer in his shattering therapy sessions with the equally talented Judd Hirsch: I don't know.

But it was Moore that broke my heart. Beth never wanted to alienate her living son - it was just that every time she saw him, she also saw what she lost. It wasn't his fault, but she has no one else to blame. She was a woman obsessed with keeping their grief in the family, forgetting that the family was the one place she could not escape her overwhelming grief.

The genius Alvin Sargent and the uncredited Nancy Dowd script is a sneak attach of sorrow, and this beautiful, poignant piece is all the better for it. A+