Year: 2017

David Lynch appeared to take his considerable toybox and go home after the brave foray into no budget digital filmmaking and self distribution—please don’t forget that he attempted this with Inland Empire long before every Tom Dick and Harry grabbed a camera at Best Buy and broadcast themselves around the globe—resulted in mixed to poor critical reception and little by way of box office.  He had his painting, his music, his American Spirits and his own brand of damn fine coffee, which is to say most fans increasingly had little to no hope he’d get busy lensing his own unique brand of fiction again.  Flash forward twelve years, or for the die hards, twenty five, and a minor miracle has started to roll out before our eyes:  18 new hours of Mark Frost co-written, David Lynch directed Twin Peaks.   The beyond influential show returned in May, flush in the middle of television’s so called Golden Age, a time when expectations for cinematic sweep on the small screen have never been higher.  We’re six episodes in and it’s time for a reckoning:  Is Twin Peaks as good as it was when it unknowingly launched so many serialized dramas?  The answer to this question rests entirely on how big a fan you are of the mind and sensibility that dreamed the whole thing up.

Which is to say, Lynch managed to convince (although he almost didn’t; he famously quit the revival over a budget dispute, but the cast and fans came together online to make sure the production would continue) Showtime to fund 18 new hours of his own uncompromising, post 2000 id to sneak into our homes under a well known brand.  Twin Peaks: The Return is both familiar and alien, probably close to impenetrable if you’re not steeped in the original show and its prequel, and a delight for those of us who appreciate a surprise and a challenge.  Familiar faces show up with regularity, but the most familiar, that of Kyle McLachlan’s Special Agent Dale Cooper, is split into multiple roles in keeping with where he was left back in 1990 (trapped in the mystical Black Lodge, with an evil clone of himself let loose upon the world).  Over the first few episodes we jump around to places as far flung as Las Vegas, New York and South Dakota, meeting new characters and finding new mysteries that, on first blush, have nothing to do with the small town in the Pacific Northwest that harbors so many secrets.  Lynch cracks that toybox open and draws from everything he’s ever made, one minute staging an interdimensional breakout of our hero that feels like a mashup of Eraserhead and Inland Empire; the next, he’s channeling Blue Velvet’s horrific Frank Booth by way of Frank Silva’s Killer Bob—in the body of Kyle MacLachlan yet again.  And make no mistake, this is MacLachlan’s show.  He’s been given so many new notes to hit that it puts the viewer in a near-constant state of disconcertion—just the way Lynch intends, no doubt.  He’s taken a career-defining role and blown it open in all sorts of new directions, so far turning it into an even better crowning achievement than the magnificent original character was.

Catching references to earlier episodes, the film, and other Lynch works is a good piece of the fun, but the proceedings are once again grounded by Mark Frost, a seasoned television writer who maintains the ability to bring his partner in crime just close enough to terra firma that we’re clearly seeing a large and well-conceived interlocking mystery slowly spreading out.  We’ve had multiple murders, with a larger variety of law enforcement entities investigating them, and an increasingly large set of bad guys as well—some clearly not of this earth.  Each week brings a new twist, an old friend, and quite likely a road that will lead many characters back to Twin Peaks itself.  In addition to the mystery, though, there’s perhaps more humor than we’ve ever seen, dashes of the soapy drama that sucked in average viewers oh those many moons ago, and several striking moments of sentimentality that underline Lynch’s very idiosyncratic but near complete mastery of tone.  This new beast can switch between comedy, horror, steamy sex and indescribable surreality, all in the space of a scene or two.  In short, David Lynch is back in action, doing what he does best, and not caring one iota if you like it or not.  So far it’s a bravura reimagining and expansion of what fans knew and loved, or perhaps hated, about the original.  It’s clear that Lynch has keenly watched his progeny develop must-see serialized dramas like Breaking Bad and Mad Men (both of which are visually referenced throughout), mashed up the best instincts behind those shows with his extremely unique perspective and obsessions, and we the audience are all the better for it.

Many people seem to love to hate David Fincher’s divisive, Oscar-baiting epic The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, but I’m definitely not in that group. This is a ravishing movie, filled with more emotion and heart than any previous Fincher film and any Fincher film to come after. Yes, the heart that beats all throughout this somber and exquisitely rendered romantic fable may be a tad cold, but that’s the Finch for you — if he’s going to offer ANY sort of sentiment he’s going to do it on his terms and in his special way. This is a perverse movie in retrospect, a film with a bleeding-heart romance at its core, but one that keeps its lovebirds separated for most of the narrative, due in no small part to the surreal quality that the film’s twist so mind-bogglingly explores. This is sumptuous, old-fashioned filmmaking studded with new-fashioned techniques and technology, and of course Fincher created a digitally altered character that’s more introverted and reserved than flashy and garish. This is a film filled with magical realism, allusions to other great literary works, romantic fantasy, and all of it is pulled together with flawless, groundbreaking visual effects that heighten the story instead of overpowering, great performances from a fully loaded cast, breathtaking cinematography from Claudio Miranda that’s all silky shadows with a stunning quality of light that repeatedly casts a cinematic spell over the viewer, and lush production design by Donald Graham Burt that feels wonderfully old and new at the same time. Every creative element was in perfect harmony with the melancholic notes of Alexandre Desplat’s sweeping original score. At times, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button feels like one of the most expensive art films ever made.

Based on the short story by F. Scott Fitzgerald, the film is the quirky and odd story of Benjamin Button (Brad Pitt), a human being who is born as an old man, and who then ages in reverse, thus complicating every facet of his life. Pitt’s acting talent has long been underrated if not outright ignored, and in this film, he gave a quietly expressive performance, similar to his work in The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford. He’s playing an observant character, not a man of fast action, and because of this, there’s this potential sense of aimlessness and purposelessness that some people had with his character. Not me. I find these roles to be perfect vessels for actors to allow themselves to be ensconced in an environment, letting everything wash over, allowing them time to contemplate the grand ideas of life, something that happens on more than one occasion to Benjamin during the course of the film. Pitt is matched every step of the way by the luminous Cate Blanchett, playing his eternal love interest, and the two of them shared spellbinding on-screen chemistry that you can truly feel in every scene. Watching the two of them find each other and then drift apart then back together again throughout the sprawling narrative is the stuff of genuine heartache, and Fincher, ever the smiling sadist, is happy to break their hearts, and ours, more than once.

The episodic but perfectly balanced screenplay from big-gun scribe Eric Roth (which he wrote from a story he concocted with screenwriter Robin Swicord) does share some of the spirit and structure of Forrest Gump, another film that Roth adapted for the screen and which features an inwardly main character who goes through a variety of life experiences set against the backdrop of the expanding country all around him. Roth always brings intelligence to his work – this is the man responsible for helping craft the scripts to The Insider, The Good Shepherd, Munich, and Ali (to name just a few) – and while Fincher certainly gets his customary mileage out of the visual aspects to this tremendous story, Roth’s poetic dialogue and heartbreaking notions about life never get lost on the audience or on Fincher as a director. Working with his most eloquent of scripts, Fincher was able to craft a film that felt real and right and true, even with a story device that is high-concept yet cerebral.

This is a piece of work where death hangs over the proceedings at all times, very much in an ominous fashion, and the way that Fincher combined these dark themes with an ultimately uplifting message is a stroke of pure directorial finesse. Some of the best scenes of this movie involve the relationship between Pitt and Tilda Swinton in that lovingly burnished hotel which reveals multiple layers of romantic longing that boils the blood in your veins. When this film was released, many people scoffed at it, calling it Fincher’s desperate bid for Academy recognition, and yes, it landed a slew of nominations, but if memory serves me, it went home empty handed in all categories. The film performed well enough at the box office ($250 million worldwide or something close to that) but I’ve always felt that this movie got a big shrug from many Fincher loyalists. I’d take this movie ANY DAY over something like Gone Girl or The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. For as fine as those two genre thrillers ended up being, while watching, you sense an artist on autopilot, directing splashy material that’s beneath his level of smarts and filmmaking savvy. With The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, Fincher stepped outside of his comfort zone more than he ever has, and made a sweeping and romantic film on his terms.