Podcasting Them Softly

Martin McDonagh’s directorial debut In Bruges is a nasty, unpredictable piece of noir-soaked entertainment that pokes holes in the hit-man-on-the-lam genre while also displaying a wickedly funny sense of humor and a deathly serious sense of morality. McDonagh, an acclaimed playwright (The Pillowman, A Behanding in Spokane) directed from his own original screenplay, and crafted a David Mamet-esque big-screen debut with this tough-talking, wise-cracking, and happily bloody crime film that threatened to spiral out of control in the last act but didn’t thanks to some terrific performances and a surreal narrative. It’s the sort of movie that loves its own movieness, a work that’s steeped in tradition while also feeling uniquely original. It’s a debut that instantly noted the arrival of a talented new filmmaker, and if his follow up, Seven Psychopaths, wasn’t as fully realized, there was still a lot of demented fun to be had; it comes close in some ways to matching the anarchic spirit of Oliver Stone’s underrated U-Turn. If you saw the misleading trailer for In Bruges you might be under the impression that it’s an action film first and a dark comedy second. In reality, it’s the other way around; Focus Features cut together some dishonest previews trying to lure people in with the promise of constant gun fire and violence.

Colin Farrell, in what’s possibly a career best performance (his work in the trifecta of The New World, Ask the Dust, and Miami Vice is beyond underrated), is Ray, a Dublin-based hit-man who has just botched his first job. He’s accidentally killed a child after taking down his intended target, a priest. He and his partner Ken, the always fantastic Brendan Gleeson, are told by their wild-man boss Harry (Ralph Fiennes, snarling and utterly amazing) to hide out in Bruges for roughly two weeks, or until he deems it’s safe to come back to Ireland. So the two men, in tried and true buddy movie form, get a hotel room in the ancient city and start doing some sight-seeing. They visit art museums, take a boat tour, and experience some night life. Then, Harry comes calling, and he’s pretty pissed off. The way an independent movie-shoot, a horse-tranquilizer abusing little person, a smoking-hot French drug dealer (Clemence Posey, so sexy), and a bizarre nihilist with a unique fashion sense all figure into the plot are things I will let you discover.

The climax, which is what the bullet-filled trailer is predominantly made up of, echoes back to Hitchcock while simultaneously calling to mind Guy Ritchie and Quentin Tarantino. It’s a heady mix of action, pathos, and jet-black humor that brings In Bruges to its satisfying conclusion. There is nothing cookie-cutter or “safe” about In Bruges, and the bold, surreal story turns that it took always keep me massively buzzed as a viewer. We’ve seen tales like this before so in order to make it fresh, McDonagh was required to have some fun with his characters and the plot. And fun he certainly had. He also showed himself to be quite capable, yet never show-offy, with his visual style, creating an excellent sense of atmosphere and dread. Making great use of the medieval, gothic city of Bruges, McDonagh and his ace cinematographer Eigil Bryld dreamt up a nightmarish landscape that perfectly suited the damaged psyches of the morally conflicted hit-men. These are men who live by codes, no matter how off-putting or morally reprehensible those codes may be, and the visual flourishes that went along with the thematic underpinnings were in perfect synch.

Politically incorrect at almost every opportunity and gleefully profane (there are lots of F-words), In Bruges carries a subversive, casual disdain for Americans that was aggressively funny. McDonagh, who is Irish, has created characters who speak their minds, no matter how rude, racist, or inconsiderate they may sound. Farrell, who is best when playing tightly coiled characters with live-wire intensity buried underneath, was given some fantastic one-liners that he delivered with a great sense of humor. A stand-out scene, taking place in a restaurant where Ray gets into it with an American couple, is one of the funniest (and meanest) scenes in recent memory, displaying true attitude that makes sense rather than just being thrown in for shock value. Fiennes, doing his best Ben Kingsley-in-Sexy Beast-riff, stole every scene he appeared in; what a rush it was to see this typically reserved actor chew the scenery with such gusto. And the older, regal Gleeson hit perfect notes of melancholy and wisdom that was well-balanced in terms of his hot-tempered partner. This film was a massive surprise when I first saw it back when I was living in Los Angeles, and over the last few years, it’s a title that I’ve come back to on any number of occasions. It’s currently streaming on Netflix, and the Blu-ray looks absolutely fantastic.

Other than the misleading title which suggests some sort of revisionist feminist twist on the old west milieu which never comes to pass, I’m not so sure what the problem was with Jane Got A Gun. This is that supposedly “bad” outlaw revenger that came and went this past winter, getting beat up by “critics” who were more interested in rehashing the lengthy behind the scenes turmoil that the project endured and the ensuing bankruptcy of distributor Relativity Media, rather than the solidly entertaining final product. There’s nothing game-changing about Jane Got A Gun; it’s a line drive up the middle with the hitter taking second base standing up. Sometimes a film doesn’t need to hit a grand-slam; sometimes it’s just fine to be well made and competently written and traditional. And to be honest, I’ll take ANY movie I can get that’s set in gunslinger territory. Gavin O’Connor’s sensible direction never went above and beyond the call of duty, and he was able to whip up some evocative shots with his skilled cinematographer Mandy Walker (Australia, Shattered Glass), while the tight editing by Alan Cody never wasted a moment. Everyone in the cast gave a committed and believable performance, with producer-star Natalie Portman and Joel Edgerton sharing some fine chemistry. Ewan McGregor made for a vicious baddie, and Noah Emmerich, Rodrigo Santoro, and Boyd Holbrook all offered up good support. The Blacklist-approved script, originally written by Brian Duffield with input from Anthony Tambakis and Edgerton, moves in a straightforward manner, totally unfussy and to the point, with terse dialogue and lots of opportunities for violent confrontation. The plot isn’t anything you haven’t seen before — a woman enlists the help of her bad-ass former lover to protect her home as a band of outlaws are coming for her and her husband, who has already taken a bullet in the gut.

This is yet another bad-luck item for director O’Connor, a classical director with a slew of underrated credits on his resume, including the Olympic hockey drama Miracle (which made some decent coin), the rough-house cop film Pride & Glory with Ed Norton and Colin Farrell (and a script co-written by Joe Carnahan), and the absolutely sensational MMA drama Warrior, which features Tom Hardy, Nick Nolte, and Edgerton in a trio of fabulous, method-y performances. O’Connor is attracted to quality material, he’s a strong visual storyteller, and he lands big stars in all of his projects; it would be nice if one of them would strike box office gold. This fall’s upcoming hit-man thriller The Accountant, with Ben Affleck, looks to be a return to the glossy, 90’s-styled, star vehicle movie for adults, and I’m hoping it delivers on the promise of its exciting trailer. But what a shame about the entire situation that Jane Got A Gun faced; it was never given a chance to succeed, and when the Weinstein company released it this past January, it bombed on a spectacular level, grossing $865,572 on its opening weekend from roughly 1,210 theaters. It would limp to a $3 million domestic total, making it the worst wide release opening in the history of The Weinstein Company. Currently streaming on Netflix, this is a movie that will satisfy almost anyone who gives it a chance, and if you’re a big fan of westerns like I am, this will definitely serve up a nice slice of undemanding yet enjoyable genre entertainment.

This is such a nifty flick – it’s basically an inflated B-movie with some low-key A-production values, with journeyman action filmmaker John Badham directing with a plucky sense of verve, and Johnny Depp doing a great “every-man” performance as a regular Joe forced into an extraordinary circumstance. Depp starred as mild-mannered businessman/father who is nabbed at the train station, along with his daughter, by corrupt cops, and is told that he has roughly an hour to kill the Governor of California. If he doesn’t, his daughter gets whacked. It’s that simple, a premise to make Hitchcock smile, and carried out in a slick and theatrically heightened manner to always remind you that you’re watching a movie. Nick of Time is so mid-90’s, and I mean that as a compliment. I can remember seeing this on the big screen, and then watching it 250 times on HBO. Badham and screenwriter Patrick Sheane Duncan did the “real-time” conceit very well here, with the action starting immediately and rarely letting up for 90 minutes. Sinister and cheesy in almost equal measure, this is the sort of disposable entertainment that’s become a rarity on studio slates in recent years.

Christopher Walken was terrifically menacing to the extreme, all bug-eyed crazy and sweaty-desperate; Marsha Mason was fun in a key supporting role; Charles S. Dutton did a great job as the one guy you can trust; and Courtney Chase was fantastic as Depp’s perpetually scared and kidnapped little girl. This movie absolutely revels in child endangerment, and really reminds you how things have changed in Hollywood over the years. Arthur Rubinstein’s sketchy score kept the tension palpable, and the hot-white-light cinematography by Roy Wagner cleverly used numerous POV shots and skewed angles to ratchet up the anxiety; this is a very visual movie in many regards, and he must’ve had a really fun time figuring out how to cover all the action. Frank Morriss and Kevin Stitt’s nimble editing was a lesson in pure economy, never allowing the pace to sag for a moment. Most of the film was shot on location at the Westin Bonaventure Hotel in downtown Los Angeles. I seem to remember a number of films shooting there in the 90’s. Currently streaming on Netflix; it’s lots of silly fun.

Mark Webber’s The End of Love is a small masterpiece, a film filled with such aching sadness and yet such hopeful possibilities that it consistently reminds me of how fragile life is, and how we often take it for granted. This film will be too much for some people, too raw and nakedly emotional, and I totally understand that; you have to want to take this particular journey as it goes to some very real places that might be uncomfortable for some viewers to process. And I know that my perception and respect for The End of Love has changed throughout the last few years, as I now have a child of my own, and could never begin to think of raising him without his mother. The power of family and what it does to people can’t really be put into words, and when this bond is cut short, it produces feelings of fear, uncertainty, and anger. Webber’s delicate screenplay never leaned too hard in any one direction, and because he cast himself in the lead role and acted with his own two-year old son, Isaac, the entire film has an authentic quality that is rarely seen on screen. The moments between the two of them are incredible to observe, as a real paternal instinct can be viewed all over Webber’s expressions, while Isaac steals the show at every point, delivering an impossibly adorable performance that never felt cloying because of the skillful way that Webber structured the entire piece.

Webber plays a struggling actor living in Los Angeles, shuffling from one audition to the next, without any sense that his career is gaining any forward momentum. Then, suddenly, his life is changed in an instant and forever, when his wife, and the mother of their child, unexpectedly dies, leaving him as a confused and stressed single parent, who is still trying to figure himself out as a person, let alone being fully prepared to tend to the needs of a small child. The observational aspects to Webber’s filmmaking aesthetic produce a low-key vibe that very much feels inspired by European art cinema, in that the film is more concerned with catching small moments in an effort to create a larger picture. The supporting cast includes some familiar faces such as Michael Cera, Amanda Seyfried, Michael Angarano, Aubrey Plaza, Alia Shawkat, and Jason Ritter, while the underutilized and alluring actress Shannyn Sossamon cut a convincing portrait of a single mother trying to navigate some of the same precarious waters. There’s a level of sensitivity in Webber’s direction that casts a spell over the viewer, and despite a low budget, the film was expertly shot by the smart cinematographer Patrice Cochet, who knew exactly when to opt for close-ups and when to settle his camera in the background, so that it could simply observe the behavior and relationships of the various characters, especially those moments between father and son. What an amazing document to have as a parent, as this is a piece of art that truly defines the term forever lasting. And while the movie is called The End of Love, it could easily have been called The Beginning of Love, as it presents a world that demands change and acceptance, while demonstrating that people are capable of just about anything, no matter the situation, if they use their heart and their mind to accomplish their goals.

I love In Her Shoes. This is a wonderful movie, filled with big laughs and lots of heart, never succumbing to anything cheap, and always demonstrating compassion for its characters. Curtis Hanson’s naturalistic direction was a perfect fit for the emotionally sensitive material, while he demonstrated a deft hand for light comedy, and as always, a generous ability to coax excellent performances out of an ensemble cast. He made SO many solid or great films all throughout his steady directorial career: The River Wild, Wonder Boys, 8 Mile, L.A. Confidential, Bad Influence, The Hand that Rocks the Cradle – he could do any genre seemingly at any point, and it’s a terrible shame that health issues slowed his life and filmic output, and even more sad to learn of his recent passing just yesterday. I need to go back and revisit his poker drama Lucky You, with Erica Bana, on which he collaborated with the great writer Eric Roth (The Insider, Munich, Benjamin Button). The eclecticism of Hanson’s storytelling choices simply cannot be denied, and because he placed a large emphasis on the people within his narratives, all of his films have a humanistic quality to them, even when dabbling in genre-y elements.

Cameron Diaz was super-sexy as Maggie, a promiscuous, hard-drinking, and perpetually aimless couch potato who can never pull her shit together, and was matched very well with Toni Collette as her all-business sister named Rose, a woman trying to successfully balance her career and love life in equal measure. Shirley MacLaine did fantastic work as their grandmother who sets them both straight in all areas of life, while Norman Lloyd stole the entire show and elicited tons of tears as a blind patient of Diaz’s (she becomes a nurse for the elderly) who asks her to read poetry to him as he lays in his bed; the unique friendship that develops between the two of them always melts my heart and makes me smile. Seriously – this is a great little film, with nary a false moment or wasted scene. The screenplay by Susannah Grant was witty and funny and sharp and Terry Stacey’s warm lensing made the most out of the sunny Florida locations and Diaz’s bikini-ready body. Call it a chick-flick if you want — I’ll just call it an awesome movie that never fails to entertain and enlighten, and a further reminder of how elegant and clean a filmmaker Hanson was all throughout his quietly underrated career.

Spider is easily one of my favorite films from master filmmaker David Cronenberg, with other personal highlights on his wild and provocative resume including Videodrome, A History of Violence, Dead Ringers, Scanners, Eastern Promises, and The Fly. He’s made so many great films, almost all of them extremely memorable, but I think this is one of his sharpest and most deceptive works to date, a movie that’s hard to explain without spoiling, so if you don’t know too much about this one, I would suggest staying far away from anything that might give up it’s numerous secrets. The narrative centers on Dennis Cleg, aka “Spider,” played by Ralph Fiennes in a shattering performance that’s very hard to shake upon first viewing, a man who is recovering at a halfway house after being released from a mental institution after decades of treatment. He begins to attempt to make sense of his fractured life, striking up a friendship with another resident of the house, played by the great John Neville. It seems that Spider’s childhood was one filled with terror, as he was abused by his father, played by Gabriel Byrne, and lived through the murder of his mother, hauntingly played by Miranda Richardson. Themes of transference, emotional isolation, and mental duplicity are all at work, while Fiennes went all out in a performance that ranks as one of his absolute best.

The layered screenplay by Patrick McGrath, which was based on his novel, perfectly balances the real world with Spider’s remembrances, while adding a trippy “is-this-really-happening” element in certain spots. The appropriately dark, shadowy, and murky cinematography by Cronenberg’s regular director of photography Peter Suschitzky casts a gloomy pall over the entire film, that feels very much in line with psychologically complex story being told. Howard Shore’s creepy score and the tack-sharp editing by Ronald Sanders keeps you on edge at all times. Spider premiered at the Cannes Film Festival and was released in 2002, and while it received extremely strong reviews from critics, it failed to catch on with audiences, as it was only released in a handful of theaters in select cities in America. Cronenberg won Best Director at the Genie Awards. Produced by the legendary Samuel Hadida (Domino, True Romance, Freeway, The Rules of Attraction, Perfume: The Story of a Murderer, and Good Night, and Good Luck).