REVIEW:
The Aviator |
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 Once upon a time, there was an innovative young filmmaker whose obsessive genius transformed the way we think about film. Sadly, as he got older, he began to lose all tenable grip on reality. This is the story of Howard Hughes, the great movie producer and airplane designer. It is also the story of this Hughes biopic's director, Martin Scorsese.
With this new film, Scorsese continues his downward spiral of self-indulgence, which started with Bringing Out the Dead and came to a head in Gangs of New York.
The Aviator stars Leonardo DiCaprio as Hughes, a role that requires significantly more than the actor can give. Dicaprio does a lot of squinting, trying to look serious or haunted; he struggles to maintain what's presumably a Texas accent. As his character descends into madness, he borrows heavily from Brad Pitt's turn as the psychotic animal-rights activist in 12 Monkeys.
Indeed, the entire portrayal of Hughes's deepening insanity seems to have been rehashed from better films, mainly Roman Polanski's Repulsion. There are moments were Dicaprio babbles while a fire rages behind him, or sparks fly. The symbolism is tired, and so is the dialogue. When Hughes's lover, the actress Ava Gardner (an appallingly unconvincing Kate Beckinsale), enters his trash-filled lair, she jokes, tediously, "I love what you've done with the place."
What does work about the film is Cate Blanchett as Katherine
Hepburn. Blanchett's Hepburn has depth and weight, unlike the characters
around her. Her scenes with Hughes — two powerful, eccentric outsiders
finding solace and understanding in each other's arms — are
genuinely touching. There are also some lovely flying sequences set to stirring
classical music, but haven't we seen that before? Running close to three
hours, The Aviator needs trimming far more than Hughes's infamous fingernail. — Nic
Sheff |
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REVIEW: Lemony Snicket's A Series of Unfortunate Events |
 Plagued
by a dozen rewrites, two different directors, and author Lemony
Snicket himself asking to have his name removed from the project
(even though that's not his real name), the film version of A
Series of Unfortunate Events was ripe for disaster. Surprisingly,
it's anything but.
For those who haven't read the books, Lemony Snicket's A
Series of Unfortunate Events tells the tale of the Baudelaire children and
the terrible disasters that befall them, starting with the death of their parents.
In this adaptation, directed by Brad Silberling, Jim Carrey lends his somewhat obnoxious talents as the children's
hook-nosed, uni-browed guardian, Count Olaf, who wants to kill the orphans so
he can steal their family fortune. All this is set in a Tim Burton-esque Victorian
mansion, full of leeches and snakes and three-eyed toads.
The great thing about this movie is that it never tries to
be anything but silly. Even Meryl Streep hams it up marvelously as the orphans'
neurotic Aunt Josephine. Of course, this being Hollywood, they do throw in some
sappy moralism found nowhere in the books. Still, it's funny, sweet, and preserves
the books' macabre sensibility. — Nic Sheff |
Date
DVD #12: Paris, Texas |
 There's not exactly an obvious date film this week. Maria Full of Grace and Collateral are excellent films, sure, but murder and drug-smuggling tend to dampen the mood. And to rent The Ultimate Matrix Collection is to embrace celibacy.
So why not take a chance with Paris, Texas, perhaps Wim
Wenders's only great film, a landmark in arty 80's cinema.
It's a strange, smart movie that moseys along, with one of those
laconic Sam Shepard scripts that can slow even the strongest
actor to a crawl. But in this case, that main character, Travis,
is played by the jagged, weather-beaten Harry Dean Stanton, who
really seems
like he might collapse under the weight of the world, even bolstered as eh is by a sly Ry Cooder soundtrack.
There's a whole lot of metaphysical foreplay in this film, but it's ultimately
a romance, even if it's a failed one. Shepard's always interested in what men
have lost (mainly through drinking), and Travis, mainly through drinking, has
lost his wife (the much younger Nastassja Kinski) and son. There's a heartbreaking
reunion between Travis and his son in Los Angeles, and then some almost endless
conversations between the two as they seek out the mother. It all peaks in some
difficult, dueling monologues delivered by Kinski and Stanton that are as
powerful as anything Shepard's ever written, and more passionate than anything
Wenders has filmed since. Featuring a couple who screwed things up the first time they got together, the film is a passionate argument for why you ought to treat your date right tonight. Logan Hill |
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Commentarium (3 Comments)
Didn't like the Aviator, hmmm? I admit, it is very possible that my prespective is different, not only from that of the reviewer, but other people, as well. I'm a sort of Howard Hughes fan, well, not completely. I have been fascinated and drawn to his early genius, both in the aviation and the Hollywood realms. I am definitely a fan of *that* Hughes. The rest of the Hughes fascination comes from the mysterious way he gradually crumbled and disappeared, coming out just long enough to slice and dice in Washington, and quickly vanishing again.
I say mysterious, in the sense that it used to be. It's a lot more understandable now, having stood in those shoes for quite a few years. Perhaps the reviewer has problems with DiCaprio's portrayal, but the resonance I felt tells me he was on target. Maybe you just gotta be there.
Yes, the Texas accent would slip around like Jello on a hot plate. Ms. Blanchett could have used more practice her accent. I think it was supposed to be from Maine. Accents are hard to maintain, so I don't take off too many points.
The film captured both the exuberance and the tragedy that was Howard Hughes. Even with a billion bucks, you can still lose your mind and wind up peeing in milk bottles. That's kind of refreshing to those of us watching the gap between rich and poor continue to widen.
I dont know what's more disturbing in the life aquatic review. The fact that you referred to David O. Russell as an auteur, or the fact that you refered to Hal Hartley as an auteur.
Now you say something