Category: Film Review

Brooklyn is a delightful film that had me crying pretty much all throughout. It’s heartfelt, it’s poignant, it’s sentimental (in the best possible way), and it features a performance of exquisite care and radiance by Saoirse Ronan, who in film after film has impressed, but here, genuinely dazzles. And completely steals your heart. And did I mention make you cry? From the very first scene, I was wrapped up in this honest, believable, thoroughly universal tale of home, family, love, and unknown opportunities. Yes, the filmmakers have told a romanticized version of the Irish/Italian immigrant experience in NYC circa 1950, but there’s a certain clarity to the message, and a touching sense of nobility to the narrative that reinforces the themes at every turn. Directed with grace and class by John Crowley (Boy A and Intermission, two very gritty and underrated films) and sensitively written by Nick Hornby (About a Boy, High Fidelity) who adapted Colm Tóibín’s novel, Brooklyn centers on Eilis (Ronan), who leaves her mother and sister back in Cavan for a new start in New York. She has a leg up, as a kindly priest (the magnificent scene stealer Jim Broadbent) has helped to arrange a room at a boarding house and a department store job, but her life changes when she meets the potential love of her life, a young Italian named Tony, whose parents had come to the states in search of a better life for their family. There’s an excellent scene at the dinner table where you get to meet Tony’s family, and rather than becoming a cheap stereotype, the moment feels beautifully played by all parties. Brooklyn is a movie about the importance and longing for family, how it defines many of us, and how it can shape us in ways we can’t predict. The movie was captured in creamy, sometimes gauzy tones by cinematographer Yves Bélanger (Dallas Buyers Club, Wild, Laurence Anyways), while the elegant score by Michael Brook (The Perks of Being a Wallflower, The Fighter) never ladles the schmaltz on too thick.

Throw in some drama back at home or Eilis, a budding romance, and the blossoming of her own sense of purpose and individualism, and you’re left with a warm and engaging film that hits all the proper notes you’d expect. Crowley knows exactly how long to hold on Ronan’s face in key moments, wisely holding on his actress’s expressive and pretty face, but also finding the uniqueness in her as a person that helps to separate her from her contemporaries. After some startlingly excellent work in diverse films like Atonement, Hanna, The Lovely Bones, How I Live Now, and The Way Back, this is a further reminder of her skills as a young actress, and offers a fantastic pairing of actress with material. Emory Cohen shines as Tony, the young Italian plumber from a big family who falls in love with Eilis, giving off irrepressible humor and spirit as a man who feels as if life is an endless stream of possibility, especially when he’s living it with the woman that he loves. After being featured in Derek Cianfrance’s The Place Beyond the Pines, his performance here is even more relaxed and sturdy, and you really root for the character. Domnhall Gleeson adds another feather in his cap from 2015 after his superb work in Ex-Machina and The Revenant with a stop for some ruffled-nose-fun in The Force Awakens, getting another juicy supporting role, and never allowing his character to become the cliché that it so could have been. And that’s the thing about the story to Brooklyn – it never gets too complicated or unnecessarily stuffed – this is Eilis’ story and the Ronan show all the way, with the filmmakers wisely zeroing in on the character and letting it take center stage. Ronan totally deserved her recent Best Actress nomination, as it’s a performance that signals a major step up for her as an artist. And it’s a large step up for Crowley, who on a $10 million budget made a film that feels at least twice as expensive, with a smart sense of pacing and tone; I’m anxious to see what’s next for him as a director.

David Gordon Green is one of my favorite filmmakers. Impossible to pin down, he’s dipped his hands into a multitude of genres, going big with some, small with most, and always delivering something unique. He’s been extremely prolific, releasing almost a movie per year, and in some instances, more than one film in a 12 month period; he’s busy and I like it that way, because there’s always something different, edgy, and different about his films. He’s an idiosyncratic filmmaker clearly inspired by 70’s filmmaking, and the more I see of Hal Ashby’s work, there’s almost a modern Ashby sensibility to some of DGG’s output, as he’s always been interested in character and mood and atmosphere and people just as much as he’s been in plot. In his dark, slow burn drama Joe, Nicolas Cage went down and dirty and extra deep and DGG went small town and very mean with the nasty little film. This is a really tough but oddly rewarding movie, filled with low lives and drunkards and raw emotional and physical violence, telling a bruising story about a young boy dealing with a dangerous father, and how the kid crosses paths with a mysterious drifter (Cage) who may or may not be able to change his life for the better. Thanks to Tim Orr’s gritty cinematography, Joe has a very authentic atmosphere, and it’ll make you feel like a shower is necessary afterwards. Tye Sheridan impresses yet again; this kid has a serious streak going. Gary Poulter gives one of the scariest, most unpredictable performances of an alcoholic in a long time. But it’s the Cage show all the way in Joe, and this movie is a further reminder that he can still bring it when he’s interested in working with quality filmmakers on hefty material. He’s invested in the character, and so becomes the audience, and by the finale, the film hits moments of reflection and catharsis that are both unexpected and well earned.

This is a very hard hitting film, and served as Sean Penn’s remarkable directorial debut. I’ve found merit in all of Penn’s efforts as a filmmaker (Into the Wild is likely my favorite of his works), but this has got to be one of the most intense and anguished films from a first time filmmaker, at least that I’ve seen. Curiously based on the song “Highway Patrolman” by Bruce Springsteen, the film is set in Nebraska and revolves around two very unique brothers, one a small-town deputy while the other has resorted to a life of crime. The lawman is played by the wonderful character actor David Morse, giving one of the very best performances of his supremely underrated career, while the criminal is essayed by an early-in-the-game Viggo Mortensen, who gives an incredible and deeply layered performance as a Vietnam veteran who can’t seem to pull his life together no matter how hard he tries. Released in 1991 to excellent critical support but nonexistent box office, the film has attained a cult following, and is one of those small, meditative pieces concerned more with mood and character than about plot and overt payoff.

Anthony B. Richmond’s cinematography stings with burnished elegance, and Jay Cassidy’s editing keeps the pace moving along despite the film possessing a certain slow burn quality. The melancholy musical score by Jack Nitzsche and David Lindley only helps to add to the somber atmosphere, with Penn never resting on his music to do any of the emotional heavy lifting; his actors were more than up to the task while Penn’s screenplay stings in all the proper places. This is a very heavy, dramatic film, with an ending that leans on impassioned family dynamics rather than right and wrong. A fantastic supporting cast comprised of Dennis Hopper, Benicio Del Toro, Valeria Golino, Patricia Arquette, Charles Bronson (quietly powerful), and Sandy Dennis in her final film role all have memorable bits in this tough and sad film, while Arquette’s character goes through one of the most believable child-births that I’ve ever seen captured on film. The Indian Runner is only available, at the moment, on DVD, but this title screams Criterion Collection or Twilight Time.

10,000 Saints is a solid indie drama, taking familiar, coming of age material and spicing up the proceedings with some excellent performances from a deep cast, most notably Ethan Hawke and Hailee Steinfeld. Set in the 1980’s in upstate Vermont and NYC, the film follows the journey of Jude Keffy-Horn (an effective Asa Butterfield), an introverted high schooler and aspiring musician, prone to smoking weed and huffing anything he can get his hands on. After a rather unfortunate mishap with his best friend, he decides to change up his lifestyle, and he moves in with his pot-growing hippie father (Hawke, in a sensitive, generous, extrememly funny performance) in the big apple. This film was directed by Shari Springer Berman and Robert Pulcini, the director’s of American Splendor, and if each of their projects hasn’t gotten close to the brilliance of their first, they’ve become reliable storytellers who are interested in that middle of the road story or project. Based on Eleanor Henderson’s novel, the film benefits from an excellent sense of time and place, with 1980’s NYC convincingly recreated on a presumably small budget, with the New England location shooting adding a touch of lived-in believability. Emile Hirsch, Julianne Nicholson, Emily Mortimer, Nadia Alexander, and Avan Jogia all contribute spirited supporting performances, while the camerawork from Ben Kutchins is unfussy yet moodily stylish in a low-key manner. Personal fun fact: one of the producers of this film, Robert Simmons, is an old high school friend – congrats!

Paul Thomas Anderson’s unique and sprawling sense of narrative was perfectly matched by cinematographer Robert Elswit’s total mastery of the widescreen aspect ratio in Magnolia, a film that feels studiously cinematic, existing in its own hermetically sealed universe, a world that looks and sounds pretty much like our own, but contains a surreal, heightened atmosphere that was made possible expressly because of how well PTA and Elswit understand light, framing, and overall composition. The Stedicam work in this film is extraordinary, with one shot in particular ranking as one of the greatest of all time – the scene where child prodigy Stanley Spector (Jeremy Blackman) is being escorted by his domineering father (Michael Bowen) and stressed-out show coordinator through the bowels of the TV studio. In this long, unbroken piece of virtuoso filmmaking, the audience learns not only about two very important characters, but comes into contact with a variety of peripheral individuals, while providing a fascinating look at the behind-the-scenes machinations of a game show. The shot also starts outside, in the rain, and then moves inside, further upping the technical demands of the crew, which resulted in something truly unifying from a filmmaking perspective; it’s one of the ultimate “show-off” shots that adds something to the narrative instead of just being style for style’s sake. All throughout Magnolia the audience is treated to PTA and Elswit’s massive sense of style (the bit with the camera staying locked in place in the kitchen with Melora Walters and John C. Reilly entering and exiting frame is a delight), which never overpowers the story, probably because the narrative is as juicy and oversized as the visual aesthetic.

And this isn’t an action film or a period piece or some sort of hyped-up thriller, but because PTA is pure-cinema-all-the-time, Magnolia feels big, it feels weighty, and the visual design of the film intermingles with the density of the script and forms one epic yet intimate whole that feels cohesive. The camera seemed at-one with all of the actors and it’s because Anderson and Elswit are so in touch with one another as collaborators that this film feels uniquely organic in a way that few other films ever achieve. The use of music jacked-up many scenes – not to mention the sing-along towards the mid-way point – to the point of dizzying heights; this film has a busy soundtrack, taking in tons of sonic information, in an effort to create an audible tapestry in a decidedly Altman-esque fashion. One after another, a roll call of brilliant actors take center stage and run away with the movie; Tom Cruise, Jason Robards, Philip Seymour Hoffman, Julianne Moore, William H. Macy, John C. Reilly, Melora Walters, Philip Baker Hall, and Jeremy Blackman offer up performances that stare directly into their tortured souls as screen artists. This is a movie about damaged people behaving in questionable ways, so as a result, there’s an anything-goes quality to the narrative. It may not live in the “real-world,” but in terms of an untouched cinematic vision, something like Magnolia lives with the greats of Los Angeles storytelling. Even if the results are exactly your cup of tea, the boldness of the filmmaking simply cannot be denied.