Friday 25 November 2011

Margin Call (2011)

Margin Call (2011) is a thriller set in a tumultuous 24 hours for an un-named Wall Street firm during the 2008 financial crisis. It opens with staff-cuts to the entire floor. 80% of the staff are being fired, among them is Stanley Tucci’s character Eric Dale. Dale works in Risk Management and thinks he’s stumbled upon something big, but he’s unable to complete his assessment because as the firm remind him as politely as possible, it’s not your problem any longer. In an attempt to do the right thing he hands his former subordinate, Peter Sullivan (Zachary Quinto) a USB with his workings saved onto it. Sullivan, a former rocket scientist has no trouble finishing what Dale started but what he finds out is bigger than he expected. The findings are constantly reported to higher pay-grades as they all struggle to plug the leak in a sinking titanic.
There is constant talk of ‘MBS’ (mortgage backed securities), ‘historical volatility levels’ and ‘leverage’. To anybody who hasn’t been involved in investment banking this may not mean a lot. Luckily it doesn’t mean a lot to many of the higher paid people in the firm either who are constantly asking to have the situation clarified in plain English until everything, including the wider situation, is explained through a series of metaphors and analogies. To teach a wide ranging audience about the comings and goings of high betting Wall Street firm, would be too hard a task for a mere film, but the situation is explained and re-explained in a way that’s real to those who know, and understandable to those who don’t.

Margin Call is to Wall Street, what The Wire (2002) was to crime. This doesn’t mean that Margin Call is a gritty, all-encompassing drama, but that it attempts to change perceptions. The Wire told audiences that not all drug dealers were bad-guys and not all cops were good, Margin Call tries to tell an increasingly anti-Wall Street society, that these investment bankers aren’t all the caricature villains they’re made out to be, but that they’re human beings with both good and bad qualities. 
Stanley Tucci plays Eric Dale, an engineer turned risk assessor. He dedicated 19 years of his life to the firm. In this incredible ensemble, Tucci’s role is the first to draw sympathy. With all the surrounding anti-Wall Street Media, we, as an audience, start the film with generally bad pre-conceived notions of all the characters. Dale doesn’t look like he belongs in the same category, he doesn’t appear to be flash or cocky and after he’s been let go his reactions seem genuine.
Zachery Quinto plays Peter Sullivan, a former Rocket Scientist at MIT turned junior risk assessor. As the walls start to crumble Sullivan’s concerns seem to be directed in the right place. He’s modest and he cares for the futures of his colleagues and the everyday people on the street.
Penn Badgley plays another junior employee and friend of Sullivan, Seth Bregman. Bregman only seems to be along for the ride because he’s Sullivan’s friend, he doesn’t contribute anything to the actual situation. There is one point that he earns sympathy, but other than that he isn’t particularly likeable. He finds it necessary to constantly bring up the point of earnings. He tells Sullivan how much he earned, how much his boss Emerson earns and questions how much the CEO earns. Unlike other characters who have a history in other fields, he only ever wanted to be an investment banker, and it seems apparent that the only thing drawing him to that career was the financial gain. 
Paul Bettany seemed to kick-start his career with either overly likeable (A Knight’s Tale -2001) or overly nice (Wimbledon -2004) characters but really earned his stripes with the unnamed gangster in Gangster No.1 (2000). Since the mid to late 2000s though, he’s played around with villains or anti-heroes. His choice of films has often been suspect, but he’s proven he can play both heroes and villains of pieces. This history stands him in good stead for his role has Will Emerson. Emerson appears very callused by the nature of his work which gives him a very cynical view of the general public and his industry. This cynicism often paints him as the banker ‘Occupy Wall Street’ protestors have come to hate, but the same cynicism grounds him and keeps him loyal where it seems to matter. The film is full of incredible performances but Bettany’s is one of the best.
Kevin Spacey is one of the central actors of the ensemble. He plays Emerson’s boss Sam Rogers. While Dale and Sullivan are nice guys, they’re fairly junior, Rogers has a more vital role in the firm, while keeping his integrity. That isn’t to say he’s naïve, the way he deals with the cuts at the opening clarify that, but his attempts to stand up to his superiors, his honesty with his staff and his emotion in regards to his personal life let the audience know that he is the moral compass they can follow. Spacey’s performance in this role is expectedly fantastic.
Jared Cohen (Simon Baker) is the head of securities Sarah Robertson (Demi Moore) is the head risk and they both comes across as selfish and two of the key people to blame for the firm’s current problem. Cohen is more than comfortable doing the morally wrong thing for the safety of the company while Robertson is constantly on the back-foot defending her situation. While Baker’s performance provokes only feelings of distain, Moore’s is more ambiguous. She is by no means likeable, but it is clear that she is the only woman this high up in a male dominated business and it seems that she had to become this unlikeable to get to that position.
Jeremy Irons flies in as the enigmatic CEO John Tuld. The enigma is whether the audience like him or not. His business methods aren’t likeable, he’s not intelligent enough to have worked his way up to his position (as he states in the board-room) and his perception of money proves how detached he is from normal society. And yet his calm charisma and his open friendliness to the staff below him make him seem the complete opposite of the greedy, selfish CEOs the media would have us believe are in charge of all Wall Street firms. Just when you think you’ve heard a Gordon Gekko style quote: “There are three ways to make a living in this business: be first, be smarter, or cheat.” Tuld follows up by saying he doesn’t believe in cheating. He isn’t a caricature, but his dislikeable features are all there. Like Bettany’s role, Irons’ performance is another to keep an eye on.
New York is used to represent the anonymous general public who are to be affected by the events unfolding throughout the film. The beautiful skyline is often shown as separate from the characters. With the exception of two or three short scenes there is either a great height or a car or building separating the principle cast from the city, and the scenes that are exceptions to this involve characters sympathetic to those who’ll be affected by the aftermath. New York, like London and many other cities, is a melting-pot of cultures and communities and is a great representation of the unsuspecting citizens. J.C Chandor, the film’s writer and director draws this representation incredibly and makes use of the height of the sky-scraping offices to capture the beauty of the city in his symbolism.
This is Chandor’s first feature film; his history was previously in documentaries and adverts. His father worked on Wall Street for 40 years, which gives Chandor an edge that makes his perception of Wall Street more human and more real in comparison to films such as Wall Street (1987). The direction is great, but it’s the writing that really proves his worth. The script is full of moving and insightful speeches. Emerson’s speech about how the public will view them, Tuld’s briefing room dialogue and Rogers’ speeches to his staff are just a few gems within an exceptionally intelligent script.
So what is being said? Is Chandor blaming the greed of the high-flying investment bankers? Or is he defending them? Greed doesn’t seem to enter the equation of the characters (with the exception of Seth) and because of this lack of greed (that is so consistently present in the media), audiences might think he’s defending the bankers. There is never really a defence though. Chandor’s film tells the public that there are two sides to every coin, and not to tar everyone who works on Wall Street with the same brush. Just because somebody works for a corporation, it doesn’t mean they deserve the same credits and blames handed to that company. Chandor is saying that bankers are human beings, but he isn’t claiming their innocence. Even the likeable and sympathetic characters go along with the company despite knowing the exact moral implications. Rogers goes along with it under protest and Dale finds himself going along with it in order not to make his own life any more difficult than it has to be. They’re human and sympathetic characters, but they’re not innocent or righteous.
As for greed, only Seth seems to believe in Gordon Gekko’s idea that greed is good. Emerson, while on the roof of the office building having a cigarette, explains to the two junior employees that humans will always spend what’s in their pocket and explains how easy it was to spend his $2.5 million earnings of the previous year. It’s not that he craved, or still craves, more; simply that once he earned it he was able to spend it. 
Chandor also seems to be making a statement about the hierarchy of such companies. This corporate ladder that might not be visible in everyday proceedings is climbed very quickly by the audience. Everybody seems to be introduced as somebody else’s boss, the layer-cake is clear.
As the ladder is climbed, the characters seem that little further out of touch with the employees. Each time the situation is explained to another boss it needs to be clarified and simplified once more until the top is reached and Tuld asks Sullivan to explain in the same way he’d explain it to a child or a dog. Both the apparent ignorance at each level, and the constant need to take the issue higher, undermines the authority of each boss. The power that each character feels (or wants to feel in the case of the more junior characters) is far from real power.
Margin Call has the potential of being praised or condemned: The film never focuses on the so-called 99%, the general public. It doesn’t ignore us, but it doesn’t really introduce us. Those who see the bankers as the enemy can claim that Chandor is defending them. Sim Segal, writing for Forbes tore the film to ground for the use of ineffectual arguments and half-truths to change perceptions of the actual events of 2008. Although Segal raises some interesting points, his argument is let down with some entirely ill-perceived thoughts of specific scenes. David Denby, writing for the New Yorker, picks up some very similar points but reads them in a completely different way finishing his review with:
“If Wall Street executives find themselves at a loss to understand what the protesters outside are getting at, they could do worse than watch this movie for a few clues.”
Whichever you read the sub-texts, the film is worth a watch on the merits of the acting and the writing alone.
Written by Edward L. Corrigan on 25/11/2011

Thursday 24 November 2011

Snowtown (2011)

Happiness. Sadness. Heartache. Nervousness. Excitement. Fear. 
Films regularly provoke these feelings and emotions. For a film (generally a story that doesn’t involve the audience personally) to provoke these feelings is an achievement; however the achievement is belittled by the everyday, or at least regular, use of these feelings. It is for this reason that ‘Theatre of Cruelty’ has such a hard-hitting impact. In the ‘Oxford Dictionary of Literary Terms’ Theatre of Cruelty is described as:
“a term introduced by the French actor Antonin Artaud in a series of manifestos in the 1930s, collected as Le Théâtre et son double (1938). It refers to his projected revolution in drama, whereby the rational ‘theatre of psychology’ was to be replaced by a more physical and primitive rite intended to shock the audience into an awareness of life's cruelty and violence.”
However, it is no longer enough to replace inward, Stanislavski style acting with physical and primitive performances. New methods have needed to be introduced in order “to shock the audience into an awareness of life’s cruelty and violence.” Since the 1930s cinema censorship has adapted, boundaries have been pushed and the theatre of cruelty has crept onto our screens and keeps shocking new audiences. How do films that implement the theatre of cruelty succeed in affecting audiences deeply where other films fail? It’s due to the feelings that are provoked. As humans we actively seek the everyday feelings mentioned above, the happiness helps us feel good about ourselves and the sadness and heartache make the happiness, excitement and love we feel all the stronger. Disgust is not a feeling we pursue, it’s not a feeling we like, or understand to be necessary. But it’s a feeling that provokes deeper thought, which in turn provokes debate.
While writing an article about the range of audience reactions to his controversial comedy, Ricky Gervais struck a point that transcends comedy and reaches at performance in general:
“When dealing with a so-called taboo subject, the angst and discomfort of the audience is what’s under the microscope.” – Ricky Gervais
Part of the debate sparked by visceral performances and horrific films is a debate about the reactions of audience members. The horror and disgust of some audience members speaks volumes about them, but just as important are the lack of reactions of those who are able to casually watch films that implement the theatre of cruelty. The same can be said about controversial comedy.
John Bunting was a serial killer in the 1990s who was able to manipulate the people around him to help kill eleven people in Snowtown, just north of Adelaide, South Australia. He tortured and killed, primarily, people he thought to be paedophiles or homosexuals. Snowtown (2011), an Australian film directed by Justin Kurzel, tells the story of Bunting and these eleven murders. The film is written from the point of view of Jamie Vlassakis, a young man that Bunting manipulates and becomes a paternal figure to. Playing the story out through a less guilty party allows the audience the option to relate to a key character. This of course creates a connection with the film that would be far less likely than if the film was from Bunting’s perspective. This technique was used in a similar way in the film Der Untergang (2004), or Downfall, a film about Hitler’s final days. By viewing it from his secretary’s perspective it allows a voyeuristic view of Hitler, turning him from a cartoony monster, into a sometimes frail, human being, making the thoughts of his crimes even more shocking. That is one of the keys to making Snowtown all the more shocking, painting Bunting as a charismatic human being, not a caricature of evil.
The film is distinctly Australian, the opening title cards make sure everyone is aware of this, but the audience don’t get the coral reef, clear sky, white sandy beaches they expect of Australia from travel brochures. The surrounding locations are grim, dilapidated with natural colours seemingly muted. The very scenery seems to uphold the bleakness that the rest of the film promises. There is a large cast, but the majority of them are on the side-lines, the key characters are John Bunting and Jamie Vlassakis played by Daniel Henshall and Lucas Pittaway. Pittaway was a none-actor who stepped into the role of the young, abused Jamie. Henshall gives a performance that is both enigmatic and tough to turn away from. Is he helping Jamie? Or is he just carrying on the cycle of abuse in a different way? Although the answer is clear, the paternal relationship is not. The relationship is there, but does Bunting care for Jamie like a son, or does he simply want to be looked up to like a father? Henshall flips from charismatic friend to aggressive abuser with ease, while Pittaway generally plays his passive character with monotony; he doesn’t have a great deal of lines, he doesn’t do a lot. Vlassakis constantly gets abused and goes along with stronger, more alpha personalities. It is this monotony that adds depth to his infrequent outbreaks and tears.
Justin Kurzel’s feature directorial debut is filled with tension from the opening to the end. After a quiet start it is revealed that Jamie and his brothers are victims or a local paedophile, they allow themselves to be taken photos of with no apparent resistance. The lack of resistance continues as Jamie is raped by his half-brother. The apathy to such actions creates a bleak depression rather than a gruelling disgust. Bunting’s arrival is a blessing despite the audience’s knowledge of his future actions. His charismatic paternal relationship with Jamie is a ray of light in an otherwise dismally dark story, as Bunting, with the help of Jamie and his brothers, forces the paedophile out of the town. But the promising light is shadowed with the knowledge that this is a story of John Bunting’s violent murders. Jamie soon becomes a victim, not of sexual assault, but of Bunting’s stranglehold on the community. Jamie is made an accomplice first in the murder of a dog, and later into the murder of humans, some of which are his friends and family. While it is clear to the audience that Jamie has been passed from one form of abuse to another, it isn’t clear to him. The first time Jamie shows any strong emotion is when his mother reveals that she had a fight with John, his new friend and mentor. Despite the mental abuse clear in the relationship, Jamie orders his mother not to ruin his new situation. He cares more about making sure John sticks around than his mother’s happiness.
The film requires the dedication of the audience; the mental dedication to sit through two hours of dark tension, but also the dedication to have researched the story. There are a lot of important plot points or character details left to implication. Many characters aren’t properly introduced or developed, but this is to keep the focus on Jamie, whose story is deeply disturbing in itself. The film doesn’t explain who the victims are or why they were victims, perceived paedophilia or homosexuality is implied (which seems to sit alright with the surrounding bigoted society), but some victims are clearly neither. Depending on how well you know the story, you will either see this as a failing on the part of the filmmakers, or the complete opposite. The lack of surrounding information provided helps provoke questions that make the audience feel the need to learn more about the subject. The film is not supposed to be educational, like a documentary about the events, but a story about a false parental relationship between a sadistic man and a naïve, impressionable boy. 
There are some deeply disturbing scenes of violence and torture, scenes that are tough to watch, but tough to shy away from (in the key torture scene Bunting keeps shouting at Jamie to stay and watch, also seemingly daring the audience to keep their eyes focused on the screen). However the majority of the violence is implied. The deaths are implied by answer phone messages to loved ones explaining the necessity to move away, or by shots of a bath-tub stained with blood. The film is an incredible tour-de-force and well worth the mental torture the audience have to endure, but a film that clearly wasn’t designed for a wide array of audiences.

Written by Edward L. Corrigan on 24/11/2011

Friday 18 November 2011

The Rum Diary (2011)

Hunter Stockton Thompson, the father of gonzo journalism, has been described in a variety of ways: an alcohol abuser, a drug abuser, schizophrenic, brutally honest, a mad-man…a genius. By injecting himself into his articles he became part of the stories themselves, extending some into full novels. Thompson has written for the screen and had his work adapted for the screen, but there are two key adaptations that are worth noting today, both of which star Johnny Depp, both of which are very different, and yet both are incredibly autobiographical. The first is Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas (1998), the film adapted from a book originally meant as an article written for Rolling Stone. It follows Johnny Depp playing Raoul Duke, Thompson’s alter-ego, on a drug trip in disguise of a journalist writing a story. The second is The Rum Diary (2011), in which Johnny Depp plays Paul Kemp, a journalist who moves to Puerto Rico to work for an international newspaper and winds up finding trouble everywhere he looks.
Duke and Kemp are two entirely different characters, so was Thompson Raoul Duke or Paul Kemp, or both, or neither? 
Having already played a Thompson alter-ego, and having been a friend and accomplice to Thompson, Johnny Depp appears to be the perfect actor to play Kemp. Their friendship lasted longer than the production time of Fear and Loathing with Johnny Depp organising a cannon to fire the late author’s ashes into Colorado’s night sky, as per his wishes. Separate to his relationship with Thompson, Depp is living proof that contemporary bohemian culture isn’t reserved for East London hipsters, and that it can be cool. Depp is bohemian enough to not be considered mainstream, but not too much that he pushes his everyday fan away. His body of work, although far from being able to categorise as ‘indie’, is generally not chosen on projected sales figures or award potential. He chooses the roles he wants to play, no matter how alternative they appear. In the exceptions to this, which some people have described as selling out (Pirates of the Caribbean: Curse of the Black Pearl (2003) most notably) his approach to the work and the personal development of his characters proves that he is not about pleasing studios heads and financial providers. This project, the first of his new production company, is no exception, when asked if he cared about the financial return of The Rum Diary he replied: 
“No, God no, no. It's always a crap shoot, and really if you have that in your head while you're making a movie the process would become something very different. No, I couldn't give a rat's arse really, not really." 
He went on to say: 
"I believe that this film, regardless of what it makes in, you know, Wichita, Kansas, this week – which is probably about $13 – it doesn't make any difference. I believe that this film will have a shelf life. I think it will stick around and people will watch it and enjoy it."
The word ‘cult’ is thrown around too often these days, especially around cinema. An independent, alternative or foreign film is not automatically given the description cult. However Bruce Robinson earned the use of this word with his film Withnail & I (1987), whether loved, hated or simply not known about, it is the very definition of the word cult. After retiring from the film industry Robinson was pulled out of retirement by Depp (a huge Withnail fan) like a Hollywood maverick cop.
The collaboration of these three talents for the adaptation to screen of Thompson’s The Rum Diary creates huge expectations.
The Rum diary was written in the early 1960s, but not published until the late 1990s. While doing research at Thompson’s for his performance in Fear and Loathing, Depp found it, loved it and persuaded Thompson to publish it with the intention of filming it further down the metaphorical road. It’s written in a style that pre-empts the journalism and writing style that readers came to expect from Thompson, but shares many characteristics, the key characteristic being brutal honesty. There are no likeable characters in the book, even the protagonist, Hunter S. Thompson himself (Paul Kemp). Even from the very beginning we are unable to empathise with Kemp, or even sympathise for him, it’s not like a hero gets dragged down when he encounters new cultures; he is rotten to the core before he leaves the States. The book doesn’t glorify or glamorise, but it doesn’t condemn the majority of the subjects it illuminates either. It doesn’t condemn Puerto Rico (quite the opposite at times) and it doesn’t condemn the constant consumption of alcohol. So what is the message of the book? What is being said? There are two key things that are being denounced are capitalism, and above all, journalism. Thompson summarised his feelings in a section of his following work, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas: A Savage Journey to the Heart of the American Dream:
“Journalism is not a profession or a trade. It is a cheap catch-all for fuckoffs and misfits – a false doorway to the backside of life, a filthy piss-ridden little hole nailed off by the building inspector, but just deep enough for a wino to curl up for the sidewalk and masturbate like a chimp in a zoo-cage.”  - Hunter S. Thompson
So how does this dream film crew handle the adaptation process? Unfortunately, not particularly well. While it is more than understandable to want to put your own stamp on an adaptation, Bruce Robinson left out some very key ingredients from the book and added some entirely unnecessary scenes. The key ingredient left out is the character of Yeamon, the volatile, aggressive, unpredictable magnet for trouble. Without him the scrapes that Kemp finds himself in, seem accidental and stumbled upon. Then there were the unnecessary additions, for example the drug scene and the cock-fighting. While both are undeniably beautifully shot, they contribute nothing to Thompson’s original work. In fact, the acid scene takes away from it. Thompson’s time spent in San Juan was drug free, albeit alcohol was prevalent, but narcotics were waiting for him in the near future, waiting to fuel an entirely different sort of writer. Kemp is also a different sort of person, a nicer guy with more integrity, is this really Paul Kemp, or is Johnny Depp just trying to help his hero and late friend save face?
It is far from fair to compare a film to the literary work it was based upon. Despite this fact, The Rum Diary fails work as a stand-alone film. Depp’s performance is disappointing, especially considering the character is based on a real person, who Depp was very close with. Kemp just doesn’t seem believable, he finds himself in a paradise with new friends, adventure, the possibility of the love of a beautiful woman, with the only thing really keeping him down being his boss. Yet none of this makes him bat an eye-lid, the only time Kemp’s pulse raises is when he tries to take down capitalists trying to ruin the landscape that he has almost failed to take in. The journalists who Thompson had berated almost become cohorts for Kemp’s anti-American agenda, something that seems more to suit the Europe loving Anglophile Johnny Depp than Paul Kemp.
The comedy, some of which featured so well in the trailer, seemed to lack the right timing in the finished film. The film’s best features were the performances of Aaron Eckhart and Amber Heard. Heard in particular, played the character of Chenault in a way that seemed true to the book, but also fitted with what was being attempted with the film. The scene that proves her talent is the scene in which she appears at Kemp’s front door, a character so previously full of life and untameable seems so fragile, innocent, dependent and apologetic with no dialogue necessary.
Despite all of this the film isn’t completely unsalvageable. There are some laugh-out-loud moments and scenes with great acting talent from the entire cast. There is an incredible scene in which Lotterman (Richard Jenkins) explains to Kemp that their readership isn’t interested in real news, or even interested in having their eyes opened to the damning truth of the ‘American Dream’. They are happy to continue sleeping so as to live the dream. This scene has two powerful performances and a message with real integrity; however it is a short scene in a two hour movie.
This was the first film from Johnny Depp’s production company and he has stated that financial gains wouldn’t have affected the making of it. The question to ask is if the project was so personal to him, why would he ruin it? If Thompson was such a hero, why play him your way when you’re clearly capable of playing him as he wrote himself? Although enjoyable, the film lacked the manic energy that fuelled the book and despite all of Depp’s promotional words, felt distinctly impersonal. 
Written by Edward L. Corrigan - 17/11/2011

Thursday 10 November 2011

The Ides of March (2011)

Don’t “Beware the Ides of March.” – watch it. 
George Clooney’s behind-the-camera accolades have proven his directorial talent, and that he has a great eye for stories with depth. To merely mention Confessions of a Dangerous Mind and Good Night, and Good Luck is enough proof of the aforementioned talent. His latest directorial project, The Ides of March (2011) helps solidify his behind-the-camera, as well as his on-screen, reputation.
The film follows Stephen Meyers (Ryan Gosling), an idealistic Junior Campaign Manager for a potential Democratic Presidential Candidate Mike Morris (George Clooney). At a key moment in his political career Meyers finds his moral fibre put to the test. Adapted from a stage play entitled Farragut North by Beau Willimon, The Ides of March shows an ugly insight to world of politics. While shows such as The West Wing (1998) show the depth of talent behind Presidents and Presidential candidates, they often show a more positive view, Clooney’s view of American politics is far more cynical and dark. Analysis of this film is made tough because key scenes and moments throughout fit around important plot points and it is important not to give these away. In spite of this, there are other ways to discuss a film without delving into specific scenes.
Although planned to be shot in 2008, a dark political drama didn’t fit in with public opinion. Clooney was forced to put the project on ice: “President Obama got elected, and everyone in America was in such a good mood.” Clooney went on to admit that “that mood lasted about a year and it was over.” But it is important to screen a film to like-minded audiences; the optimistic America of 2008 would have rejected The Ides of March. But it’s now 2011 and the director feels that “It’s a very difficult time to govern. There’s a cynicism out there. Cynicism is winning over idealism right now.”
Ryan Gosling’s Stephen Meyers faces a tough question: When you find yourself under attack do you look after number one, or stick to your guns? His moral integrity comes across almost as naivety at the start of the film, and it’s this naivety to the use of dirty tactics that causes the inevitable disequilibrium in the film. This naivety is shown early on, despite his protests, through the political clichés he uses to describe Morris which come across as hero worship. This doesn’t seem natural for a consultant as experienced as he claims to be. However, despite this, Gosling plays his Junior Campaign Manager with depth making him believable as a character and a person.
Clooney’s role is essentially a bit part, allowing Morris’ politics to take a back seat to the characters. Despite not having much screen-time, Clooney shows Morris’ charming exterior, both in public and behind closed doors with his wife. But in a key scene Clooney allows a darker side mixed with a hidden vulnerability to show through. This scene is made all the stronger due to his lack of presence and the constant use of implied presence.
Philip Seymour Hoffman is one of two highly lauded indie actors in this film. Like the rest of the cast, he is a bit part in comparison to Gosling’s Meyers with only a few scenes in which to shine. One of his key scenes is played out behind the stage while Morris speaks to Cincinnati. Hoffman’s “It doesn’t matter what you thought! It matters what you did! It matters what you didn’t do!” speech to Gosling makes him feel like a normally proud parent who has been let down making the audience feel for both characters in the duologue.
Paul Giamatti is the other incredible indie actor to appear in this film, playing Hoffman’s opposite in the Ohio primary. Is he a bad guy? Is he just another good guy fighting for the opposition? He gets even less screen time than the other supporting roles, which could normally be used as an excuse for a lack of dimensions, but he manages to round out the character nicely.
Evan Rachel Wood plays Meyer’s love interest, Molly. She plays with the characteristics of a teenage girl with a crush, changing deftly to a mature political intern trying to climb the ladder depending on her surroundings. There didn’t appear to be a weak-link in the cast whatsoever. 
Politics seems like a key theme throughout the film with the story revolving around the Democratic primary for President. Political links have already been drawn due to the postponement of the film due to Obama’s election, but are there more links to be made. Morris’ campaign poster is clearly inspired by Shepard Fairey’s now iconic ‘Hope’ poster for President Obama’s campaign. Is Clooney drawing parallels between Morris (and his darker side) and Obama? Or simply drawing parallels between the campaigns? The answer isn’t clear but is presumably decided by the political inclination of each audience member. The reality however is that politics isn’t that important as a theme in this film. The republicans never appear so it doesn’t allow for comparison; it’s an in-house battle which doesn’t even comment on the policy of Morris’ opponent. The reality is that the political setting could be swapped for any other industry in which somebody is in the public eye with consultants and advisors. It would not be far-fetched to imagine the narrative within the parameters of the film or music industries for example. The key theme that hides behind the political façade is in fact morality and integrity. Meyers’ reaction to having his moral fibre tested is the most important factor for the narrative. The consistent use of dirty tactics used against each other within the same party, and even within the same team of the party, show just how far people some people are willing to concede their own integrity to win. The other important point is how the audience react to all these tactics. The characters you choose to side will say a lot about you. 
Having not seen the original play it is difficult to comment on the adaptation from stage to screen, but there are some key differences that I am aware of that are worth noting. The first key difference is the addition of Mike Morris. In the play he is only ever spoken about, he never appears in person on stage. So Clooney was able to write this part for himself from scratch and although he doesn’t feature a lot, his presence seems important. This fact can also be related to the political television drama The West Wing. In the pilot the President only featured for a brief moment and this was supposed to be the start of how things would continue. But Martin Sheen’s Presence tested so well with audiences that they changed the format of the programme to feature President Bartlett more regularly. It could be that Clooney thought the charming head of the campaign would test just as well with audiences.  It has already been noted that The Ides of March is far more cynical than The West Wing, but it is worth mentioning that the lighting matches this. While Aaron Sorkin’s regular corridor meetings are lit close the point of over-exposure matching the positive overtones of the series, Clooney’s film is haunted by shadows throughout.
The second important difference is the time setting; the primary is set to take place on March the 15th, hence the new title The Ides of March. The title clearly harks back to Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar. The title was a deliberate change, and with Beau Willimon helping to write the screenplay the reason wouldn’t have been the separate the play and film. “Some of the themes in the movie seemed Shakespearean,” Clooney says. “We’ll leave it for people to decide who’s Cassius, who’s Brutus and who’s Caesar.” To explain which character in the film represents which Shakespearean character would need to explain the film in too much detail, but I will say this, opinions can, and should, vary on the answer to that question. If you’ve already seen the film think about who each character could represent, if you haven’t keep this in mind while watching it: Who represents Caesar the powerful leader? Who represents Brutus, his close friend and murderer? Who represents Cassius the conspirator who persuades Brutus into committing such an act? And who…if anyone, represents the avenger of Caesar’s death, Mark Anthony?
Written by Edward L. Corrigan 10/11/2011

Quotes taken from:
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/film/starsandstories/8839392/George-Clooney-a-Julius-Caesar-for-our-times.html


The Way (2010)


Written for the screen, produced and directed by Emilio Estevez, The Way (2010) is an inspirational, funny and deeply moving journey, for the characters, presumably for the film’s cast and crew, and certainly for the audience. 

It is difficult to explain the plot of the film without using numerous clichés, but once the film starts, the amazing realisation begins to set in: Estevez has succeeded in making this film avoiding the obvious clichés. The film follow’s Martin Sheen’s character of Tom, who seemingly has built his life, brick by brick, around his job and family, and is unable to understand his only son Daniel (played by Sheen’s son Emilio Estevez) who longs to see the world. Tom is told that Daniel died in France on the first day of a pilgrimage called El Camino De Santiago. Once in France to pick his son’s body, the once closed off Tom is inspired to finish Daniel’s journey. Once the journey begins Tom meets people doing the pilgrimage for their own reasons. These people help Tom, making the journey more than just an 800km walk.

Sheen’s performance as Tom was compelling and different. Many viewers will have followed the entire term of Sheen’s Bartlett as Liberal President of the United States. That is what makes Tom, a reserved and conservative American so much different. In an interview with Will Lawrence of Empire Magazine, Sheen remembered the constant reminder his son had to provide: “Tom voted for Bush. Twice!” In the same interview Estevez urged that “it’s important that Tom is emblematic of how America is viewed by the rest of the world: somewhat cut off.” To perceive Martin Sheen as anything but the responsible and liberal paternal reputation that he built for himself since his early career is confusing. However the film constantly reminds the audience that despite how personal the film feels, and despite the real father/son connection, Tom is not Martin Sheen, or Jed Bartlett, but an average hard working American. Along with the rest of the cast, Sheen is able to slide almost seamlessly through comedy and profundity making it seem like a very real performance.

The supporting cast are all equally important. Estevez stated in the interview with Lawrence that he used The Wizard of Oz (1939) as a template. Tom is Dorothy, Joost the Dutchman is the cowardly Lion, Sarah from Canada is the Tin Man and Jack from Ireland is the Scarecrow. The performances are all entirely believable and enjoyable to watch, each with their own struggle between profundity and comedy. The real interesting thing about each character however, is their implied exposition. While the audience is following the journey of Tom, and each of the other characters are just supporting cast along for the ride, they all have a depth that isn’t explained. While they create comic relief while they’re all together, each has a small scene, line or section of dialogue that tells the audience how human they all are. It would be entirely understandable if four versions of this film were released instead of one, each focusing on a different character, changing who’s story is being told. Just as life is, the film seems to simply be a matter of perception.

Emilio Estevez is clearly the creator of this film, it is his film. He is the author of it, unfortunately, however, he is not an auteur. Everybody describes this film as ‘personal’. What they fail to mention is that despite how personal the project was the Estevez, he has managed to make it personal to the audience as well. This is a clear case of ‘birth of the reader’. Estevez doesn’t force any particular message onto the audience, but leaves a few that can be chosen.

I have tried to avoid using the sentence: “The setting is a character in itself.” However the setting is a vital part of the film, if not a character as well. It is a pilgrimage that has been made for thousands of years. The scenery, weather and inhabitants change as the journey continues, but the journey itself represents either a greater, more important change in the people making the walk, or at least the hope of a greater, more important change. For anybody who likes to travel or to see new things, the consistently beautiful backdrop is inspiration for making the pilgrimage. 

It has already been mentioned that most people summarise The Way as a very personal film. I feel that a better description is to describe it as a very ‘real’ film. The characters all feel real and could easily be people that we all know. The Way is a deeply moving, funny and thoroughly enjoyable film. To those who have yet to watch this Buen Camino.

Written by Edward L. Corrigan 4/6/2011

The Girl who Played with Fire


The second installment of Stieg Larsson’s Millennium trilogy has hit the big screens. After the The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo brought such high hopes for this Swedish trilogy, The Girl who Played with Fire (Flickan som lekte med elden) failed to live up to the high expectations. The amount of fans of the books keeps growing, so this film not only had to contend with the reputation of it’s prequel, but with the reputation of the book. It has been said that all trilogies have to have a weak installment, and it can only be hoped that this is the only weak spot with the release of The Girl who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest fast approaching.
 
The stories of Lisbeth Salander and Mikael Blomkvist continue as Salander is accused of triple homicide and Blomkvist tries to prove her innocence while investigating a sex trafficking ring.  

The Girl who Played with Fire’s character development was anaemic and lack-luster. A year has passed since the previous film and no exposition is provided. Relationships between the journalists aren’t explained, which is hard enough to understand without having read the books, but on Lisbeth’s return to Sweden she tries to reconnect with old friends, but again there is no exposition to these friends, and despite their obvious integral roles in the story-line they all seem to have cameos and bit parts, brushed to the side. The police’s investigation of Salander is also incredibly loose and unprofessional, we as an audience can’t feel any connection to them, despite their jobs being vital to both the story, the Swedish society and to understanding Salander’s mysterious background. This is disappointing because the mystery and intrigue surrounding Salander was so well set-up in the first film. Despite the poor character development, it has to be understood. The film runs for over two hours and to accurately explain everything necessary, the film would run for over three hours, which would have lost a lot of audience members, with many not being willing to watch a subtitled feature anyway. This causes problems however, because the final installment is a longer book. Time will only tell if Oplev’s successor, Daniel Alfredson can rescue what started as a magnificent trilogy from the brink of failure.

This story is also missing a characteristic that helped make The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo what it was. The relationship between Blomkvist and Salander. It was always a strange relationship, but due to distance and secrecy, the relationship should have become far more interesting, but it was placed on the back-burner in order to keep the story going. This film felt less like a work of art and more like a story, which was another disappointment. The original complex story had many of the complexities removed, it seemed like plot device after plot device, driving the narrative forward. The original reason for Blomkvist’s investigation, and Salander’s past being brought to the public eye was Millenium’s work on a sex trafficking scandal, which as time passed seemed to be put to the side and slowly slipped from the story all together. 

Despite all of these problems, the film had a beautiful aesthetic. A stark contrast between the opening in the Caribbean to the cold dark streets of Sweden shows how two worlds can collide, the dark and private world of Salander, and the open and world of Blomkvist. The shots of flames engulfing buildings and people representing Salander’s explosive nature. The imagery continues to impress even though the story fails to. 

While this film fails to live up to the reputation that The Girl with the Dragon Tattoocreated, there is still time to recreate the greatness of Larsson’s novels. The final installment is to be released soon, and Hollywood have got their grubby hands on the rights. This however might not be as bad a situation as it sounds. With Daniel Craig set to take the role of Blomkvist, there is a chance that Craig’s charisma will bring out the womanising Blomkvist who is not afraid to take practical matters into his own hands, that Larsson created, and not the Blomkvist that we see on the Swedish big screens.


Written by Edward L. Corrigan 10/10/2010