Thursday, February 20, 2020

‘Call of the Wild’ goes digital

It may not be a dog but this adaptation of a Jack London novel stakes out a mediocre claim.
In The Call of the Wild, an adaptation of a classic Jack London story, the heroic dog at the center of the movie has become a digital creation. But it’s not only the dog that doesn’t seem real. The same goes for the Yukon town where the dog — Buck — winds up and for much of the movie’s romanticized sentiment. In Alaska, Buck learns to become a true part of nature, joining forces with wolves and creating a family.

Harrison Ford takes the starring human role; he’s John Thornton, a man who has fled to the Yukon after the death of his young son wrecked his marriage and his life.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. When we first meet Buck, he belongs to a judge in a small California town. Banished to the judge's porch, the unruly Buck is stolen and shipped to Alaska, the wilderness where a gold rush has created a growing need for sled dogs.

Initially, Buck is trained to pull sleds by a mailman played by Omar Sy. Sy's character travels with a woman (Cara Gee), who seems to around so that she can fall through thin ice and be rescued by the always heroic Buck.

Buck becomes a leader among the mail-service dogs but eventually loses his status when the government suspends mail delivery to remote towns that are hundreds of miles apart.

Harrison's Thornton immediately appreciates the dog's finer nature but only reluctantly forms a bond with Buck. Meanwhile, a wealthy man in search of even more wealth (Dan Stevens) tries to exploit Buck. Steven’s character becomes a classic boo-hiss villain.

The story goes exactly where you'd expect as Buck and Thornton begin life in the woods, but this version lacks the kind of grit we might expect from a story by London. It feels bloodless.

Heavyweight cinematographer Janusz Kaminski (Schindler's List, Saving Private Ryan, The Post) does justice by the Alaskan scenery and it's no surprise that Ford holds the screen. But even Ford can’t elevate this one from the mediocrity to which its tethered — or should I say leashed.

The dog’s movements reportedly were created in motion-capture by Terry Notary, who's known for his creation of animal movements. He does good work but I seldom forgot that I was looking at a digital creation rather than a living, breathing slobbering animal.

Call of the Wild did make me think about the advantages of digital dogs, though. They don't poop. They don't throw up on the rug. They don't need to be walked. Vet bills are negligible.

Unconvinced? Me too. Both on-screen and off, real dogs are better.

A portrait becomes a gateway to love

Portrait of a Lady on Fire immerses in a woman's point of view
There might be no greater difficulty in portrait painting — particularly in the days before photography — than a subject who refuses to sit, someone who doesn’t want to be pinned to canvas for as long as the painting lasts. Consider that when watching Portrait of a Lady on Fire, a romantic story about a love affair between two women, one a painter, the other the subject of her painting.

Having said that, I think it would be a mistake to look at director Celine Sciamma’s movie as a deep reflection on the painter’s art. Judging by the portraits we see in the movie, the story’s main artist hardly qualifies as an undiscovered master.

So if the movie isn’t about painting, what is it about?

I’d say that it’s about two women, each weighing the potential in the other before committing to a sexual relationship. Because the movie takes place on a remote island where there are no men, Sciamma achieves a kind of pristine isolation. For most of its 121-minute running time, Portrait of a Lady on Fire becomes a laboratory in which two actresses and the director try to see what happens when the currently out-of-vogue male gaze vanishes.

How could it be otherwise? Aside from a few intrusions, the cast consists entirely of women who have been directed by a woman.

The setup: Marianne (Noemie Merlant) has been hired by a French countess (Valeria Golino) to paint a portrait of the countess’ daughter, Heloise (Adele Haenel). An unseen male — an Italian nobleman who is considering marrying Heloise — has requested the portrait. Presumably, he wants to inspect the merchandise before consummating the purchase.

A reluctant Heloise has resisted her mother’s efforts to obtain such a painting, having totally frustrated the previous artist who tried to paint her portrait. To get the job done, Heloise’s mother concocts a ruse. Marianne will pose as a companion hired to take walks with Heloise. During these excursions, Marianne will observe Heloise. She'll then retreat to her room to paint.

At first, this observation must be done slyly. But it’s also clear that Heloise wants to take the measure of her companion. If you look at the movie as a courtship, it becomes clear that these women are feeling each other out. They’re making assessments. Both actresses handle this period of evaluation with exceptional precision.

Sciamma introduces a bit of a story. Marianne arrives on the island in a storm-tossed sea in which her canvases are thrown into the drink. She dives in after the canvases, which are crated in a large wooden box. Left on the beach, she must haul her canvases up a steep hill to the countesses’ home.

As the story unfolds, Sciamma introduces historical context. We’re in a time when it was difficult for women to establish themselves in the male-dominated art world. At one point, Marianne says that women artists have been kept away from the great subjects, a way of trivializing their work.

The fact that Heloise is a character of mystery and opinion becomes the movie’s saving grace. It soon becomes clear that she won’t cooperate with Marianne unless she feels the two are on an equal footing. She's quick to figure out what Marianne is doing and she rejects the painter's first effort as being too restricted by convention. She wants to participate in determining how she will be portrayed.

Marianne eventually follows this lead — and the two wind up on as much equal footing as can exist between an artist and her subject.

All of this takes place in a sparse environment. Sciamma uses little music and emphasizes natural sound, the creak of shoes on exposed wooden floors, for example. Cinematographer Clare Mathon lights the interiors in ways that fit a period when the best light existed before the sun went down.
It takes time for the sexual relationship between Marianne and Heloise to reach the screen. After an initial encounter (not depicted), we see the two of them in bed. Their nudity makes for the least strained scene in the movie. They share an intoxicating substance (presumably marijuana obtained from one of the women on the island). Freed from bodice-heavy clothing, they finally seem unbound by the constraints of their time.

Moments of female solidarity can be found. Sophie (Luana Bajrami) who works as a maid on the estate becomes pregnant. Marianne and Heloise help her to obtain an abortion from one of the women on the island, a strange scene in which both Marianne and Heloise are present and which takes place with Sophie lying on a bed with a toddler, a child of the abortionist or perhaps a child in her care.

Initially, Marianne looks away, but Heloise insists that she not avert her gaze, perhaps a way of showing what it means for a woman to take control of her body. I’m not sure.

Much of the movie unfolds after Golino’s character has left the island, leaving Marianne and Heloise to live in relative freedom. At one point, they join a group of women on the beach who are engaged in a strange ritual that’s mysterious — if a bit cryptic.

Now, I have to confess that all this gazing between Marianne and Heloise can become a bit dull, even repetitive. Moreover, the movie’s mixture of gothic elements, melodrama, and naturalism doesn't always work.

But the movie’s ending has emotional power. When Marianne returns to society, the appearance of men feels almost shocking. She’s back in a world that has little use for her work, although she now has an enriched inner life. Marianne’s moment on a level playing field has passed. It will take some time for the world to catch up with her — and if you want to carry that idea a bit further, she might still be waiting.

Wednesday, February 19, 2020

A mobster turns agains the mob

Director Marco Bellocchio tells a detailed story about one of Italy’s great mafia trials.
We haven't exactly been suffering from a shortage of mafia movies but director Marco Bellocchio’s The Traitor is a Cosa Nostra movie with a difference. Bellocchio centers his story on a real-life figure -- Tommaso Buscetta, the Sicilian gangster who in the 1980s made history when he testified against his former brothers in crime.

Not surprisingly, Buscetta’s foes thought he was a rat. But Buscetta, played with commanding power by Pierfrancesco Favino, maintained that he had remained loyal to the governing ethos of Cosa Nostra. He believed that the mob's entry into the heroin trade had helped plunge it into levels of brutality that went beyond anything that might be justified by loyalty or business.

When the movie begins, two rival Sicilian families meet in Palermo to forge a truce. Buscetta’s group reaches an accord with the Corleone mob, a group named for the Sicilian town where its operation has its headquarters. After the truce, which no one seems to take seriously, Buscetta heads to Brazil, where he also conducts business. He hopes to escape whatever bloodbath will follow.

The "peace" negotiations involved Buscetta's family. One of Buscetta's sons from a previous marriage had become addicted to heroin. The addicted son and his brother weren't supposed to be harmed after Buscetta left the country. Fat chance.

Buscetta eventually was arrested in Rio. The police dangled his third wife (Christina Fernanda Candido) from a helicopter while he was made to watch from another chopper. The presumably cornered, Buscetta had a change of heart. He was extradited to Italy, where he decided to testify against the mafia.

As the story unfolds, Buscetta develops a respectful relationship with the prosecutor who was trying to bring down the mob. The prosecutorial team was led by Giovanni Falcone (Fausto Russo Alesi), an attorney who later lost his life in a mob-engineered explosion.

After his initial testimony, Buscetta and his wife (safe after her helicopter torment) were sent to the US and placed in the witness protection program. But Buscetta's grudging respect for Falcone led to his return to Italy to help nail Salvatore Riina (Nicola Cali), the head of the Corleone faction.

Rina prides himself on propriety and family values but turns out to be one of the more vicious members of Cosa Nostra. Buscetta hates what he sees as Riina’s s hypocrisy.

But make no mistake. Buscetta is no angel. He's less interested in doing the right thing than in finding a path on which he can take vengeance against former cohorts and save his own skin. He's never less than unremittingly tough.

Bellocchio tells the story with flashbacks and courtroom scenes. In the courtroom, the mobsters who were about to be convicted based on Buscetta’s testimony were held in cells at the back of the room. They had no interest in decorum and frequently shouted profanities at their accuser.

Bellocchio isn’t interested in following a mob-movie blueprint. He’s telling a real story, which may have more meaning to Italian audiences than to the American art-house crowd. He covers a long period. Italy’s famed mafia trails lasted six years - from 1986 to 1992. That makes The Traitor a kind of procedural epic.

It may take a few scenes for audiences to settle into the movie, but Bellocchio has taken an unblinkered look at a man who helped make the mob and ultimately decided to bring it down.

Thursday, February 13, 2020

It’s all ‘Downhill’ from here

Julia Louis-Dreyfus and Will Ferrell star in an American remake of a much better Swedish movie.
What didn’t make sense in 2014’s Force Majeure, a film from Swedish director Ruben Ostlund, makes even less sense in Downhill, an American remake starring Julia Louis-Dreyfus and Will Ferrell. Though still set in Europe, this American version suffers from one of the worst things that can happen to a film: indecision about what it wants to be.

Hovering in limbo between comedy and drama, Downhill won't be helped by audience expectations. Both Louis-Dreyfus and Ferrell are gifted comic actors and you can’t fault an audience for expecting some major laughs, particularly when the film’s trailer plays up moments that can be read as comedy.

At heart, though, Force Majeure was a film about a failing marriage. It explored issues of manhood and fatherhood and tried to understand the mentality of a middle-aged man who was drifting away from his wife and two children. That movie’s darkly comic elements have absorbed too much sunlight in this meager translation. Though brightened, the comic moments feel as slushy as melting snow.

The dynamic of a troubled marriage remains in directors Nat Faxon and Jim Rash’s version of the film, but it has lost the subtle flavors that helped elevate Force Majeure.

As with the original, the story revolves around a pivotal event. Louis-Dreyfus’ Billie and Ferrell’s Pete are the mother and father of an American family that has traveled to Europe to ski and regroup.

On a break from the slopes, Billie and Pete are having lunch with their two young sons (Julian Grey and Ammon Jacob Ford). An explosion is heard in the distance. A controlled avalanche has been set off, not an unusual occurrence at ski resorts.

Suddenly, though, a large cloud of snow descends on the restaurant. It doesn’t look as if it's going to stop. Those dining on the outdoor deck where the family is eating scream in panic. Ferrell’s Pete grabs his phone and runs, leaving his family behind.

As it turns out, everyone’s safe but major questions linger. Why did Pete run? What did his flight mean? Can his marriage survive this act of cowardice? Should it?

Initially, Pete tries to downplay his behavior. Everyone’s fine. What’s the big deal?

The growing tension between Billie and Pete proves as annoying as it is revealing with Louis-Dreyfus drawing sharper lines than Ferrell, whose character often seems a trifle pathetic. The fact that Ferrell is considerably taller than Louis-Dreyfuss creates a kind of jarring visual contrast that doesn’t help, either.

The story introduces a few supporting characters. Zach Woods and Zoe Chao play a touring couple. Pete knows Woods' character from the States. Eager to escape the routine of a family trip, Pete asks the couple to visit. The blind-sided Billie doesn't want company. She views the trip as an opportunity for the family to renew bonds that were fraying in the wake of Pete's grief over his father's recent death.

Miranda Otto shows up as a concierge, an out-sized bombshell of a character who espouses sexual freedom; Otto's Charlotte splashes through the movie like a tipped-over can of paint.

Individually, Louis-Dreyfus and Ferrell do some interesting things, but both struggle to find the right rhythm for material that’s not sure whether to go for laughs or dive into the messy world of a foundering marriage. Not surprisingly, Downhill doesn't do much of either.

Bob's Cinema Diary: 2/14/20 -- A fallen Russian oligarch and a very eccentric woman

Citizen K
Convoluted and full of intrigue, director Alex Gibney’s documentary Citizen K opens a window into post-Soviet Russia. Not surprisingly, the air that blows in is tainted by corruption. Gibney focuses on Mikhail Khodorkovsky, a dethroned oligarch who served 10 years in a Russian prison on charges of tax evasion. Khodorkovsky, who now lives in London, has become a vocal critic of the Putin regime. Khodorkovsky’s fortune was built on oil and, at one point, he was the richest man in Russia. He bought up Siberian oil fields at bargain prices as he built a fortune of $16 billion. The 56-year-old Khodorkovsky serves as our principal guide through a story that Gibney lays out in detail. Khodorkovsky, by the way, is a very rich dissident; he’s supposedly worth about $500-million, a demotion from the upper tiers of super wealth but enough to stave off worries about paying the rent. Gibney (Taxi to the Dark Side and Enron: The Smartest Guys in the Room) isn’t about to let the wily Khodorkovsky rule the movie’s roost. The director's voice-over narration, along with additional interviews, gives the film an independent voice. Khodorkovsky now runs an organization called Open Russia, which tries to support opposition to Putin. I don’t know what to make of Khodorkovsky, but if you’re looking for insight into how Russia operates, Citizen K makes for a start, particularly at a time when Putin’s Russia figures so prominently in our news.

Recorder: The Marion Stokes Project

Eccentricity can be irresistible — so long as you don’t have to live with it. I thought about that as I watched Recorder: The Marion Stokes Project. Stokes, who died in 2012 at the age of 83, was the ultimate tape-head. She used VCRs, as many as eight at a time running 24 hours a day, to record every television show that aired in Philadelphia, the city where she lived. She carried out this activity for 30 years as she made the transition from a Communist activist in the 1950s to a reclusive woman who began hoarding newspapers, books and various versions of Apple computers. Stokes needed eight apartments to store all of her stuff. No person is entirely comprehensible, but Stokes seems more inscrutable than most. Her second marriage to John Stokes -- a man with whom she once hosted a public access TV show -- created a cocoon in which she was able to pursue her interests, which had something to do with the way media informs (and perhaps controls) perception. A librarian by trade, Stokes created a catalog of the evolving nature of television news. Director Matt Wolf interviews Michael Metelits, Stokes' son from a first marriage, as well several people who worked for her in her later years. Whatever you make of Stokes, it’s impossible not to get caught up in her story, which means living in her world for the movie’s length. Clips from Stokes’ collection are seen throughout, turning this weird but rewarding movie into a kind of review of 30 years of history. And, yes, you'll learn what happened to all of Stokes' tapes.

When sexual abuse is normalized

The Assistant takes us inside a movie production company where the boss is a sexual predator.
If you’ve followed Harvey Weinstein’s New York trial, you’ve read about women who say they were sexually assaulted by the former movie mogul. You’ve also probably seen plenty of stories that deal with the #MeToo movement in other areas; sadly, we’ve grown accustomed to a steady stream of news about women who’ve suffered sexual abuse at the hands of powerful men.

With The Assistant, director Kitty Green dives into the MeToo pool, but with the kind precision that only can be bred by minute observation. Unlike the splashier star-driven Bombshell, which looked at the women who helped bring down Roger Ailes at Fox News, The Assistant marries its larger themes to the quotidian details of life on the job. Green sets her story in the modest offices of an independent but evidently successful movie company.

It's clear from the start that the boss's authoritarian demands have been incorporated into the psyches of his employees. He expects his assistant (Julia Garner) to arrive early, turn on the lights and do menial chores designed to remind her of her lowly status. Green doesn't have to say it, but the message is clear: People will put up with a lot to feel as if they're part of the movie business.

Garner brings a sense of unease and palpable uncertainty to the role of a character who's trying to keep her head above water. When Garner's Jane finds an earring on the floor of the boss’s office, she can't ignore the fact that she’s working in a place where women may be expected to do more than recite lines when they audition for parts. Moreover, the boss’s lusts aren’t confined to actresses with aspirations.

When a young woman from Boise (Kristine Froseth) shows up to become another assistant, she’s taken to a fancy Manhattan hotel. Garner’s Jane knows that the newcomer is prey.

A pivotal scene finds Jane meeting with the company’s head of human resources (Matthew Macfayden) to express her fears about the safety of the newly arrived employee. Initially sympathetic, he twists Jane's perceptions and uses them against her. He’s supposed to help — but it’s the boss’s interests that he serves.

Green wisely keeps the boss offscreen. The choice makes sense because it’s clear that the other employees, including two men (Jon Orsini and Noah Robbins) who share space with Jane) are well-schooled in the company ways. The boss isn't really the movie's subject anyway; it's the impact of the warped office atmosphere on an impressionable young woman that matters.

There’s a downside to Green’s narrowly focused approach. By covering a single day in Jane's life, the story can feel constricted, but Green deserves credit for skillfully exposing the go-along, get-along atmosphere that the boss requires. The Assistant isn’t a story of great transformation; it’s a story about the ways in which a powerful man can create an environment in which everyone understands the unwritten rules.

You want to play, you'd best look the other way. Complicity becomes a job requirement.

Wednesday, February 12, 2020

An Israeli movie exposes an assassin's world

Incitement unfolds with urgency and an increasing sense of dread.
The world of a committed assassin is not a pleasant place to be but it’s sometimes necessary to penetrate it, partly out of a desire to understand how an assassin sees the society that, in his view, has pushed him toward the act he deems to be necessary; i.e., murder. He may see killing as a duty that has fallen to him, a task only he has the courage and commitment to carry out.

In Nov. of 1995, one such true believer — a young man named Yigal Amir — assassinated Israeli prime minister Yitzhak Rabin, a leader who had riled the Israeli right by entering a Clinton-brokered peace agreement with Yasser Arafat. There were Israelis who saw Rabin as a traitor. Amir was one of them but his beliefs went beyond the inflamed rhetoric of aggrieved dissent.

In his movie Incitement, director Yaron Zilberman shows us precisely how Amir evolved from being a law student with a future to an assassin who'd spend the rest of his life in prison. From the start, we know how the movie’s going to end. That means that Zilberman must be entirely convincing in creating the environment in which Amir’s murderous plan is hatched.

If we’re going to spend time with Amir, he can’t be an entirely repulsive figure. In a masterful performance, Yehuda Nahari Halevi shows us a sincere believer who aligned himself with radical extremists. At one point, Amir canvases a group of rabbis in hopes that one of them will agree that his plan is more than an example of demented politics. He argues that Rabin’s murder is mandated by Jewish law. The rabbis don't endorse his view, but they don't report him either.

Amir is the son of Yemeni parents who are looked down upon by some of the country’s Eastern European Jews. He's ripe for rejection.

At one point, Amir tries to start a relationship with a young woman (Daniella Kertesz) who lives in a West Bank settlement. He's ready to leap into marriage. Her parents don’t take it to him.

Amir's mother isn't shy about expressing her biases. She thinks her son should confine himself to the Orthodox Yemenite community. A more complex figure, his father thinks that the Oslo Accords may not be perfect but, at least, represent hope for peace. His father believes Amir lost his sensitivity while serving in the military. He became staunch.

But Amir is too far gone to listen to his father. He reveres Baruch Goldstein, the Israeli who in 1994 murdered 29 praying Muslims in Hebron. He hopes to establish a militia to act in instances where the Israeli Defense Force must exercise restraint. The fire in Halevi's eyes never lets us forget that Amir is a zealot; i.e., someone who lacks the ability to doubt his own beliefs.

Zilberman enhances the movie's urgency by skillfully using news clips from the period. And, of course, with an assassination looming, dread thickens as the story progresses.

Incitement delivers a strong cautionary warning about the perils of fanaticism and it shows what happens when an already motivated young man begins to create a world governed by his passions and reinforced by others who would never act violently but who share his beliefs. They’re the forest in which the tree of Amir's twisted conviction grows. Be wary.

Monday, February 10, 2020

'Parasite' scores a stunning Oscar victory

On the night that Parasite was shown to critics in Denver, only two of us attended the screening. As a fan of director Bong Joon Ho's work, I chose Parasite over another movie that was being screened on the same evening.

As much as I loved Bong's film, it never occurred to me that it would win four Oscars, including best director and best picture -- the first foreign-language film to take that coveted honor. A subtitled movie from South Korea, Parasite included enough accessible comedy to make me think it might expand Bong's audience, but best picture? It never crossed my mind. Beyond that, Parasite is a satirically charged film about class warfare, hardly an inspirational subject for an image-conscious industry.

Those who don't know Bong's work, at a minimum, should take a look at The Host (2006), Snowpiercer (2013) and Okja (2017). Snowpiercer, of course, was an English-language film with a cast that included Chris Evans, Tilda Swinton, and Ed Harris.

Still, Bong hadn't made the kind of films that typically find their way to Oscar's center stage. Idiosyncratic and immensely talented, Bong's work has been something of an acquired taste.

The victory of Parasite only reinforces my belief that the Oscars ought to go global and shed the newly named "best international feature" category.

Although it got no Oscar love beyond a nomination in the best-international-feature category, the Polish film Copus Christi strikes me as far more interesting than, say, Ford v Ferrari, which did receive a best-picture nod. Ford v Ferrari is an entertaining movie, but I wouldn't call it "exceptional."

Like many others, I thought 1917, the presumed frontrunner for best picture, would have a great Oscar night. Ditto for its director Sam Mendes. Although the movie won three Oscars, including a best-cinematography Oscar for Roger Deakins, 1917 missed out on the biggest prizes.

Upsets aside, I'm reluctant to draw any major conclusions: Oscar is a fickle beast and there's no point thinking that this year will set any precedents. The leap from last year's best picture -- Green Book -- to this year's winner demonstrates that every Oscar year creates its own moment.

So what about the night?

Overall it was a decent -- if somewhat pulseless -- Oscar show, the only real thrill arriving at the end.

Still, there were a few surprises.

I didn't expect Taika Waititi to win best original screenplay for Jo Jo Rabbit. I thought that category would provide the Academy with an opportunity to honor Greta Gerwig for writing the screenplay for Little Women. I also didn't think Parasite would win best original screenplay, another of its triumphs.

The shock of watching Parasite ascend almost obliterated the memory of Joaquin Phoenix's acceptance speech when he won a best-actor Oscar for Joker. Phoenix delivered a hushed defense of the natural world along with a plea that we stop molesting it. He also described himself as a "scoundrel," a difficult and selfish guy who was grateful for receiving a second chance to do the work he loves. Messages aside, there was a pained sincerity in Phoenix's speech I found touching, a sense that the world was in too much trouble for him to manage a smile about a victory.

You might wonder why Eminem was at the Oscars. He performed Lose Yourself from the film 8 Mile. The song won an Oscar in 2002. Eminem didn't show up. His appearance on this year's show was a closely guarded secret.

Janelle Monae got the show off to a rousing start. Her version of Mister Rogers' A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood morphed into a robust number that made reference to the biggest criticism Oscar has taken this year: its lack of women and people of color in so many categories. Monae also said that she was proud to be a "black queer artist telling stories."

Still, diversity seemed a kind of ornament at an Oscar ceremony in a year in which only one black person -- Cynthia Erivo of Harriet -- was nominated in any of the Academy's many acting slots.

There were smatterings of politics. Brad Pitt won an Oscar as best supporting actor for his work in Once Upon a Time in Hollywood and took the opportunity to say that his allotted 45 seconds for an acceptance speech were more than the Senate allowed for John Bolton to testify during the recently concluded trial of ... well ... you know who.

In all, though, the evening seemed to flow along smoothly with comedy coming from Steve Martin and Chris Rock, who were teamed during the show's opening, almost as if they were meant to evoke memories of the days when Oscar did have hosts. Maya Rudolph and Kristen Wiig, both brilliant, showed up later. Rebel Wilson and James Cordon, both of whom were in the much-maligned big-screen version of Cats, made fun of the movie but I'm sick of Cats humor. The movie stunk. Let's move on.

For me, though, nothing about the evening surpassed its conclusion. I can't remember a time when the film that won the Oscar for best picture was the same film that found itself on the top of my 10-best list of movies, a further indication that the world continues to move beyond comprehension. Maybe we should all join Bong Joon Ho who said that the remainder of his evening included some serious partying. On the other hand, I think I'll just call it a night.

Thursday, February 6, 2020

Say this: 'Birds of Prey' flies fast

Margot Robbie portrays Harley Quinn in a kick-ass display of ... well ... kickass.
Gotham used to be denominated by Batman and his implacable foes, fiends such as The Joker, The Penguin and The Riddler. If you go to the movies, you know that times have changed.

Joker, to cite one example, has become a full-fledged mental case, the living embodiment of urban loneliness and crushed dreams. Joaquin Phoenix, who's about to win an Oscar for his unnerving portrayal, took the Joker out of the comic-book realm and created a figure as disturbing as the one Michael Rooker created in Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer.

Now comes Birds of Prey, which tries to put Gotham back in a comic-book box, turning the movie over to Harley Quinn (Margot Robbie), a character who made her big-screen debut in the woeful Suicide Squad. Director Cathy Yan and screenwriter Christina Hudson give Robbie a platform on which to display her version of crazy. Call it a mixture of girl-power and rage.

The set-up: Having just broken up with the Joker, Harley’s emotional pigtails are drooping. She’s also very angry and when Harley gets angry, explosions likely will follow. So will fights in which Harley will display her phenomenal skills. Her brutal capacities play against her little-girl looks. Make that deranged little girl looks.

Fast-moving and devoted to the idea that action can’t be too excessive, Robbie and her cohorts seldom slow the movie’s roll as it romps across Gotham, a city that has given Harley an accent that’s pure New York.

Say, this: No one will accuse Robbie of not having a good time as she fights the movie's principal villain, Ewan McGregoe’s Roman Sionis, a.k.a. Black Mask. As is appropriate for the genre, McGregor does some scenery-chewing -- with relish, of course.

As the movie develops, Harley encounters several women who have the potential to becoming sidekicks. These include a Gotham detective (Rosie Perez), a singer (Jurnee Smollett-Bell) who plies her trade at Roman's night club and goes by the name of Black Canary. A revenge-seeking woman (Mary Elizabeth Winstead) has made the crossbow her weapon of choice. She's The Huntress. Harley also meets a teen-age thief (Ella Jay Basco), an expert pickpocket who’s able to keep pace with Harley in the profanity department.

Not all of the action can be classified as comic-book harmless. Early on, Harley jumps from a stage onto the legs of a seated man. Bones break. Roman's henchman (an effective Chris Messina) inflicts punishment on his boss's enemies by peeling the skin off their faces.

To her credit, Yan gives each of the women personality and independence. Although Robbie produced the movie, she doesn’t hog it. The basic formula finds women overcoming differences to fight a common enemy.

Yan plays with the movie’s structure, manipulating time to allow for the introduction of backstories but generally keeps pedal to the metal. After a while, the glut of action loses some of its excitement and the movie never pretends to explore any thematic depths.

No, the point here is ass-kicking sisterhood with comic flourishes that land with varying degrees of success. Still, it’s not easy to dismiss a movie in which Haley acquires a pet hyena and names the animal Bruce. A reference to the Gotham of tradition as in, say, Bruce Wayne?

Birds of Prey arrives with a subtitle that can’t be said without taking a breath: And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn. You get the idea. Freed from the Joker's influence, a liberated Harley emerges. But what's with the word "emancipation?" Did Joker free her? If so is that really liberation?

But wait. I'm reading too much into a movie that isn't out to test anyone's interpretive powers.

Birds of Prey doesn't allow for much by way of reflection. At an economical 109-minutes in length, the movie plays a steady game of hurry-up, which may be a good thing because it doesn’t exactly have a lot on its mind. Part costume party, part girl-power explosion and part grunt-and-stunt festival, Birds of Prey passes in a blur.