Marie Antoinette (2006)

Idea: The empress of Austria's daughter, Antoine (Kirsten Dunst), is promised to the dauphin of France, Louis XVI (Jason Schwartzman). She leaves her life and family behind to become Marie Antoinette at Versailles. Marie struggles against her naiveté to fit in with French society (Rose Byrne, Shirley Henderson, Molly Shannon, Steve Coogan), please her father-in-law (Rip Torn) and his mistress (Asia Argento), and produce an heir.

Although I had been keeping with my policy to avoid reviews, I did know that writer-director Sophia Coppola's third offering was booed at Cannes. Further, my office mate announced to me that this was the worst movie he had ever seen. Now, I've seen a lot of movies. A comment like that makes it clear to me that he has not.

I liked both of Sophia's* other movies. I've watched The Virgin Suicides repeatedly. Part of what makes Sophia's movies work is her quiet and slow storytelling. It's not economical so much as it is hazy, lulling you into contemplative complacency like a cat lying in a shaft of sunlight. For Suicides and Lost in Translation, the deliberate pace works against the audience, blinding you to how invested in the story you've become. You're mesmerized.

Here, however, the very thing that made Sophia's movie work in the past has the opposite effect. Her protagonist barely speaks for the first twenty minutes, which is indicative of the minimalist dialogue and plot. Endless shots of sumptuous Laudrée cakes and gorgeous Manolo Blahnik shoes do not a story make.

Much like Wing Chun, I've seen a lot of Dunst movies without ever being certain that I like her . There certainly is a place for effervescence with an undertone of petulance, and I hold it possible that I want Dunst to be the person to fill that niche. She tries, but she's sort of lost here. I'm not even sure that I would blame Dunst - she nails Marie as an easily influenced kid in the wrong place at the wrong time, but Sophia doesn't give her a character to work with.

She neither gives her cousin much of a character, but somehow Schwartzman comes across as adorably and amusingly befuddled. To be honest, I would sit through it all again to see - and I swear this happened - an elephant flirt with Schwartzman.

The problem lies with Sophia. Given the international success and acclaim for her sophomore effort (which she penned while trying to work this story out), she seems to have fallen into complacency herself. I counted seven different scenes with visible boom mics. Not in the film geek, I-spotted-one-in-the-reflection-off-a-toaster way. In the there's-one-above-the-actor's-head-right-now way. Budget restrictions aside, that's just lazy. Re-shoot, use a different shot, digitally edit that shit out.

The movie's not bad - just boring. I have no problems with the anachronisms, pop music included.** The movie lacks the emotional connection that made her other pictures palatable. There's little substance to weigh down the fluff. C

* Liz was right. Calling her Coppola is just weird.

** There was one song that I hated. We will speak no more of that hideous thing.

Also, I agree with the Fug Girls. I would totally go see that movie.

Flags of Our Fathers (2006)

Outline: Three men (Adam Beach, Ryan Phillippe, and Jesse Bradford) who managed to survive Iwo Jima are shipped back home to stomp for war bonds, but they can't manage to leave the horrors of war behind them.

I feel as though I cannot criticize this movie without it seeming like I am criticizing veterans. Can you just take my word for it that I have nothing but the utmost respect for veterans of the Allied forces? You can? Okay, good.

Because this movie . . . isn't that good. It's not bad, per se, but there are times when it is downright ridiculous. Forehead smackingly so. Bradford's accent is one of those things, but I am sure there are more subtle examples.

I should probably tell you that it is not the direction that is at fault. Clint Eastwood is an amazing director, and his pluckly little score is lovely. He's working with some great people, like Barry Pepper, Robert Patrick, Harve Presnell, Jamie Bell, and Joseph Cross, so it's no surprise that the picture is, at turns, very moving.

Even so, I get the feeling that co-writer Paul fucking Haggis (as his name will forever me to be) woke up one morning and announced, "Non-linear is so fucking hot right now." I'd say it was William Broyles Jr., but his filmography suggests that he wouldn't go there. I've never read James Bradley and Ron Powers' book, so I guess it could be non-linear, but that seems unlikely.

Listen - I like non-linearity from time to time. The Prestige used it to great aplomb. It's an effective device to get the audience to stay in the now of a given moment, to focus on the scene instead of working on the story. Here, however, the non-linear plot works against any tension the movie may have had, dramatic or otherwise. An argument could be made that because the movie is historically based, there was never any tension in the first place. I would challenge that person to find ten average Americans who know anything about that battle other than the iconic image.*

In any case, by telling us in the first few minutes who lives and who dies, the movie looses any shot at dramatic tension it may have once had, and the denouement, minus a few touching moments, ends up feeling drawn out and overwrought.

Nevertheless, there are enough tearjearking minutes and good action sequences to redeem the film from Paul fucking Haggis' "handiwork." We'll see how the companion piece compares next year. B

*Props for acknowledging the belief that the planting of the flag was a PR stunt.

The Illusionist (2006)

Story: Edward and Sophie, although a peasant and a duchess, manage to meet and fall in love. Finally tore apart, Edward disappears for more than a decade. He reappears in Vienna as Eisenheim the Illusionist (Edward Norton), just as it appears that Sophie (Jessica Biel) will marry Crown Prince Leopold (Rufus Sewell). Leopold becomes suspicious of Eisenheim and Sophie, and he orders Chief Inspector Uhl (Paul Giamatti) to find a reason to arrest the magician.

After publishing my own review of The Prestige, I happily settled into reading others' reviews. Imagine my disappointment when I discovered that most critics, or at least the ones I have read so far, felt that The Prestige didn't stack up the year's earlier magic-centric movie, The Illusionist. I had put off seeing the latter until I could screen it for a little less at ye olde Bytowne, and the reviews had me baffled.

So what makes this movie any better than the other one? In a word? Nothing. It's not that writer-director Neil Burger's adaptation of Steven Millhauser's short story isn't good. It's plenty of good. It may even be very good.

It is, however, hollow. From the dialogue to the acting to the director, there's no emotion in any of it. We're kept at an arm's length, and, well, it's hard to love a picture that won't take you in.

Giamatti comes close to inviting us into what should be a passionate love story. Subverting his schluby, stuttering Everyman type, Giamatti displays a sweet confidence that is undercut with menace. It's pretty clear which side Uhl will line up with, but Giamatti makes sure that even Uhl is surprised by his choices and actions.

It's great that Norton has found something worthy of his intensity. Too often the material before him isn't up to what he pours into the role, but he and the love-sick Eisenheim are a good match.

Biel pulled a Perabo, managing to not annoy me. It's quite a feat on her part. It would have been nice if she had put a little more emotion behind her heaving bosom, but it's a start.

Oh, Sewell, with your lazy pupil built for bullying. Remember when you were the hero that one time? Or - dare I mention it - the romantic lead? Me, too. Oh, well. You were meant to be an villain, weren't you? It's that display of cunning and intelligence combined with the very real possibility that you could kill someone with your bare hands.

It's Philip Glass' lush, elegant score that steals the show in the end. When you've got a composer like Glass on contract, you want to put the music out in the open as much as you can, but it is to the film's detriment that Burger does so. Entrancing though the score is, it also serves as a reminder of what the movie is not.

The movie is like a trick with a pledge and a turn but no prestige. The final explanatory montage is a cheap let down, as well as the annoying bit of contrivance that led to it. Good thing we have Giamatti's low angle laugh to get me through it. B+

The Prestige (2006)

Premise: Apprentices Alfred Borden (Christian Bale) and Rupert Angier (Hugh Jackman) are competitive but friendly. An accident during Milton (Ricky Jay)'s magic show leads to a death, and their competition turns to rivalry. Angier's the better showman, but Borden's the better magician by far, forcing Angier to wonder if Borden has gone beyond tricks and illusions. Angier's obsessive need to beat Borden feeds Borden's own obsession, consuming both of them until it leads to murder.

Co-writer and director Christopher Nolan is a prima ballerina. His moves on the screen are so graceful, so delicate, and so disarming that you are hardly watching a movie at all. I was about 40 minutes in before I even remembered it was a movie. He and his brother, Jonathan, composed the screenplay, based on Christopher Priest's novel, in the three acts of a magic trick: The Pledge - the magician shows you something ordinary. In this case, it's a trial. The Turn - the magician makes the ordinary extraordinary. Film making is magic in and of itself, and here the magic comes from making you believe. Obviously the suspension of disbelief is required in all storytelling, but the Nolans go beyond that. They don't care about your disbelief because they do a lot more than get you to suspend it momentarily - they get you to leave it behind entirely.

Getting a convincing performance out of Bale is hardly extraordinary. Borden isn't one person but a plethora - a magician, a showman, a husband, a father, a lover, a friend, and an enemy. The characters are a lot to keep track of, and Bale's best moments are when the discrete personae begin blur and overlap. He never plays one emotion without the undercurrent of at least one more, if not two, and it's in that conflict that he achieves the extraordinary. He doesn't have to will you to believe in him as a great magician - he is one.

Perhaps the more extraordinary feat from C. Nolan comes then in Jackman's performance. It's not that I didn't believe that Jackman was a good actor before. It's just that he's not had much of a chance to prove it. Here he takes on a plethora of roles as well, but there's an emotion that each must possess and that Jackman embodies with a ferocity never before seen: hate. Hate is a complex human emotion, and a lot more goes into it that simply intense dislike. There's jealousy and admiration and loathing, and all of it is only a split hair away from love. I was awestruck by how much Jackman put into this role.

Another extraordinary feat was making me maybe, a little bit like Piper Perabo. She's not in the movie for long, but she didn't annoy me once, so I have to credit where it is due. Where isn't it due? Scarlett Johansson. What was that crap? I can get past her Gwyneth Paltrow English accent, and there's still nothing to get to. Her husky voice and opaque sexiness mean nothing if there isn't something behind them. And there wasn't. None of the love or hate or betrayal she should have felt as a pawn of these men was there. Instead Johansson was the apotheosis of John Berger's comment that "Men act. Women appear."

It certainly didn't help that Rebecca Hall, as Sarah, created a complete and compelling character. Or that Michael Caine delighted as Cutter, an engineer and inventor who made Angier's illusions possible. Or that David Bowie made quite an impressive entrance as Nikola Tesla.

David Julyan's score gives the movie just the right atmosphere of deception, as does Wally Pfister's compelling cinematography.

It is the third act, the Prestige, that gets you. The Turn on its own isn't enough. It's clever and nice, but figuring it out is too easy. No, the Prestige is the twist that makes you believe. The Prestige is the moment you realize the ordinary thing you thought you saw at the beginning was never ordinary. A

The Departed (2006)

Premise: Boston Mob boss Frank Costello (Jack Nicholson) gets a rat (Matt Damon) in the state police at the same time that the staties manage to get a rat (Leonardo DiCaprio) into Frank's crew. Sullivan (Damon) is tapped to track Frank's rat down, while Costigan (DiCaprio) attempts to flush the snitch out.

And you know who else is in this movie? Martin Sheen and Mark Wahlberg as DiCaprio's supervisors, Alec Baldwin as Damon's supervisor, and Ray Winstone as Frank's no.2, Mr. French. You guys, I love Ray Winstone. He kicks ass.

Ooo, and Special Agent Charlie Brown! It's too bad you guys don't know that ref. And Anthony Anderson! And Kevin Corrigan! As Em pointed out, who isn't in this movie?

Although I do not have confirmation, I believe this movie occurs in five acts instead of the standard three. Or, you could say that it has three acts as well as a prologue and epilogue. I say this because, as a viewer, I could feel the gears shirt between the acts, much to my delight.

Act 1: Setting the stage. At this point you pretty much nod your head and wait for director Martin Scorsese, in his infinite wisdom, to situate you. You pick up as much as you can (for there are clues to be had), but you mostly sit back and relax. You're in the hands of a master, right?

Act 2: And, by golly, he's going to set that scene. He's going to set this premise up like no premise has ever been set up before. You think about attempted Boston accents with varying degrees of success. You commend Nicholson for not bothering. You note Nicholson isn't playing Nicholson, and you appreciate Scorsese for that tender mercy.

Act 3: You lose complete track of the movie. You know who's a good guy and who's a bad guy and you are following the plot, but you find yourself wondering what's happening. As in, what's going on around here? Turns out Scorsese is lulling you into a false sense of security, however, as the movie hits a turning point (you'll know if the instant you see it). The action starts ramping up, hard, and the tension hits 11. And never comes back down. Thank goodness . . .

Act 4: Because it is on. And it's going to be messy. Scorsese excels in telling raw, human, American stories, and this one, although adapted from a trio of flicks from Hong Kong, is no exception. People make decisions, often the wrong ones, and those decisions always have consequences. Scorsese's lens spares no one from this fact. It was as Act 4 came to a close that I started to giggle maniacally because this movie, for reasons I can't quite put my finger on, had seeped into my very bones. Of course, this meant that I knew what had to happen next.

Act 5: It came to pass. I knew it could only go down this way for some time, I knew who would pull the final trigger and against whom for a long time, long before I knew who would be left standing at the end. This act is only a scene long, which is why it may be better to look at this film as three acts + prologue + epilogue. By the time Scorsese hits his final shot, as groan-inducing as it may seem, you don't mind because he's earned it. It's not annoying - it's hilarious.

DiCaprio continues to delight me as adult player who puts so much intensity and vulnerability into his roles. His ferrety movements and red-rimmed eyes at his first meeting with Dignam (Wahlberg) and Queenan (Sheen) is just the beginning. It's great that he's found a director willing to push him as further each time they collaborate.

I may not like Damon, but he makes a great prick. So smug, with the intelligence and the confidence and the inseparability.

But the best thing about this movie, perhaps the best thing about many of Scorsese's movies, is that it's not about good versus evil. There's no triumph. Instead, it's about achieving equilibrium. It's about symmetry. Things have a way of evening out. Victories are small, and they don't last. The fight does. So you fight. Scorsese gets that. A-

The Science of Sleep (2006)

Premise: At his mother's behest, Stéphane (Gael Garcí­a Bernal) returns to France following his father's death. He gets a mind numbing job, and his coworkers Guy (Alain Chabat), Martine (Aurélia Petit), and Serge (Sacha Bourdo) begin to populate his dreams. Stéphane has always had a problem inverting dreams and reality, and he believes he has found a kindred spirit when Stéphanie (Charlotte Gainsbourg) moves in next door.

I cannot recall the last time I saw such a charming film. Writer-director Michel Gondry has created a winsome word that defies you not to surrender to it. Visually arresting, Stéphane's dream world takes on the characteristics of joyful artistic expression occasionally tainted by the pressures of adulthood, but, for the most part, it remains childlike and honest. The entracing work of composer Jean-Michel Bernard and cinematographer Jean-Louis Bompoint certainly help immerse the viewer in Stéphane's universe of cardboard toilet paper rolls and candy wrappers.

Although each performer conceives a memorable character (Chabat is a standout as older, randy coworker who needs Stéphane to keep him entertained), it is Bernal who owns the movie from start to finish. Rather than grounding the action with temperance, Gondry gives him carte blanche to elevate the film to fantastic heights. Stéphane exists in a world apart, and Gondry makes sure to blend the realms of the imagined with reality in order to ensure that the audience sees the world as Stéphane does. It is a credit to Bernal's talent that he can make the protagonist, even in his most annoying and obnoxious moments, the most delightful of the bunch.

It is a credit to Gondry's quixotic picture that he never reveals the basis for Stéphane's feelings of rejection and his need to create elaborate delusions. Hints are dropped throughout, but there's never an eureka moment. Gondry never suggests you to feel that you should try to live as Stéphane. There is magic in this world, and some people are fortunate (unfortunate?) enough to find it. A

Bully (2001)

Brief: Marty (Brad Renfro) and Bobby (Nick Stahl) are best friends. They meet Lisa (Rachel Miner) and Ali (Bijou Phillips), and Marty and Lisa end up together. After rapes, beatings, and psychological torment at Bobby's hands, Lisa becomes convinced that Bobby is the source of everyone's problems and starts a plot to murder him. Ali rounds up her new beau (Michael Pitt) and friend (Kelli Garner) and hires a hitman (Leo Fitzpatrick), while Lisa enlists Derek (Daniel Franzese) to help.

Here's the kicker: it's a true story.

Often times, I receive movies from the kind folks at Zip and wonder, "What? What is this movie and why did I put it on my ZipList?"

Despite the fact that I had never seen this movie before or have it stored in my mental file of must-sees, I quickly put together the wherefore of it landing in my mailbox: it must have been the climax of my "Nick Stahl is good looking and a good actor" and "Whatever happened to Brad Renfro?" zipping extravaganzas. No, an ordinary person wouldn't wonder what happened to Renfro. Even if someone did, that person wouldn't look up the actor and make a point of seeing all that actor's movie from the last five years. But, well, that person isn't writing this blog.

When I watched the trailer, I suddenly remembered why I had nearly removed the movie from my ziplist more than once. The answer is simple - director Larry Clark. Clark made his infamous debut writing and directing Kids, a movie so thoroughly horrifying that I have yet to make it through an entire screening. I've seen a lot of things, moviewise, that I might want to unsee (and a fair amount of them involve Stahl, now that I am thinking about it), but I can't think of a single other movie that I don't think I have the emotional or visual capacity to sustain. Maybe, maybe A Clockwork Orange, but I'd sooner do that than Kids.

Aside from any aesthetic or artistic merits that a Clark movie may or may not possess, the critical argument always circles back to this: Does Clark exploit his barely legal young stars, or is he showcasing teen reality in a way that pretty much every other director is afraid to?

While he does a commendable job drawing the line between sex and rape (both of which you see graphically), I'm coming down on the side of exploitation. I've seen plenty of graphic scenes in my days, and these were, for the most part, no worse than ones I've seen before or will likely see again. It's the excessive nudity on top of that pushed me to side with the exploitative argument. Am I really supposed to believe that a teenaged girl who dresses in only giant men's clothes that add a solid 30 pounds to her frame sleeps nude, makes all her phone calls nude, and takes pregnancy tests nude? Or that guys normally just take their shirts off while over at other people's homes, watching TV? I was about throw in another example, then I remembered that he was naked so we could have the faintest whiff of sexual abuse by the father. Thanks for that, Clark. How such intimate details could be known about the dead guy are beyond me, but thanks anyway.

I'd get into the storyline or the acting, but, well, I'm still too saddened by the sentences the seven received. Hasn't anyone in California ever heard of mitigating circumstances?

Overall, an appalling movie that neither performances nor style could rescue. D

On the positive side, a list I thoroughly support. I was surprised at how many where among my favs.