Sunday, June 29, 2014

Tom Hardy Gets "Locke"d in his Car, or Something

I'm going to try to keep my review of Locke as pun free as possible, and you'll understand why this will be a hard feat. Locke tells the story of Ivan Locke (Tom Hardy), a concrete construction manager who is about to head home to watch a football game with his family. Also, it happens to be the night before the most important day in his career, but instead of getting some good shut-eye and having bonding family time, he decides to drive the other direction toward London, where he is going to be there for the woman he had a one-night stand with and is about to give birth to his son. The movie is about this car ride towards London.

And that's it. It's only this car ride.



Okay, it's more interesting than that, and you can see quickly see how the title has double meaning (locked in his car, locked in his decisions, locked in responsibility, blah, blah, blah.) Most of the movie features Locke talking with various people thanks to his car's built-in phone system. He has to tell his wife why he isn't coming home, he's yelling at his co-worker as to what he has to do in order to make the next day go as planned, he's tries to lay out the facts to his boss as to why he isn't going to be at work, and he tries to keep his child's mother, a social invalid and emotional wreck, from doing something stupid and involuntarily killing the child. These conversations are tense and dramatic. His conversations with his sons are particularly heart-rending, especially when you learn how important it is to Locke to be a good father. That trait plays a big part in his motivations, and we learn why.

Most of this is revealed about 15 minutes in the film, and then it's just Locke trying to keep his personal life from unraveling and leave his professional life with some dignity. Still, I didn't feel like this story features that big of stakes to be presented in such a severe manner. I am aware that I don't have children or a career that could be destroyed in a minute, so I know that there is some bias in this statement. I just know that if this movie was any minute longer, and it's a tight 85 minutes, it would have been unbearable.

The real stars of the film are Hardy and cinematography by Haris Zambarloukos. Zambarloukos layers the outside through the reflection on the car to show the outside pressure of the world, a major theme in glass bottle stories like this. And Hardy, who is known for being a physical actor who has portrayed Bane, Charles Bronson, and a MMA fighter, is seen only from the mid-waist up. This is completely an acting vehicle for him. He has such an interesting, calm yet assertive manner to his voice, almost like Daniel Day Lewis in There Will Be Blood, where he puts up with everyone illogical emotions.

It's important for an actor to take small projects like this, especially for one who has notched some big blockbusters on his belt. I doubt this film will win any awards, and I don't think it really should, but Hardy does drive this film and makes the slim story interesting and watchable for anyone who has the patience.


Wednesday, June 18, 2014

Did I Check In or Check Out at "The Grand Budapest Hotel"?

Wes Anderson certainly has a bag of tricks that he puts in all of his films, and saying that is a cliche. His style has become so distinct, he makes for a strong case for auteur theory. (Check out the SNL spoof, The Midnight Coterie of Sinister Intruders, the Wes Anderson horror film. It's pretty spot on.) The mise-en-scène in his films are composed to hell, perfectly framed, and contains so much character to the backgrounds that it becomes campy. The Grand Budapest Hotel is the screenplay that Anderson wrote by himself, a first for him, and it seems that having a co-writer caused him to edit down, because in TGBH, he throws all of his devices in there, and guess what! It worked. TGBH turned out to be my favorite of his films.

A part of this is because there isn't a clash between aesthetics and story. The characters are distinct and likable, not common in other films like Rushmore and Moonrise Kingdom. Many of the main characters in Anderson's other films I would describe as capable losers. They're depressive, smart, and egotistical, while the tone is less than serious. 

That is not the case here. Ralph Fiennes portrays legendary concierge M. Gustave at the titled hotel. Gustave is loved by everyone and anyone who he has met, particularly rich, older widows (who happen to also be blonde.) He develops a mentor/pupil bond with the new lobby boy, Zero, played purposely flat by newcomer Tony Revolori. They are connected by the fact that they are both orphans, and fall into a grand misadventure involving a prison break, World War II, Communist, and a fictitiously famous painting Boy with Apple, who is bestowed to Gustave after one of his eldest, um, "customers", Madame D, is mysteriously killed. 

I have to mention Tilda Swinton, who played Madame D, and she was completely unrecognizable in probably the greatest old lady make-up I've seen. It's humorous when you figure out who it's her, but it also irked me a bit because I know that it's hard for older actresses to get work, and I don't know why they would spend so much time and money on transforming Swinton unless it was for a laugh, and it's more of a chuckle at most. 

The other Anderson players show up in various ways, but the story here is pretty much focused on Gustave and Zero, and there is little time for extra character development, which is fine. It's always nice to see Bill Murray, but I don't need to know much about M. Ivan, a member of a secret club of concierge. That's all you really learn, and that's all your really need to know. Still, every character that shows up is fleshed out and play their part in the evolving story.

This madcap of a story is shockingly Anderson's most violent film, involving lacerated fingers, heads in boxes, and cats being thrown out windows. I have to say that I love this kind of light-hearted macabre ever since watching the short lived TV series Pushing Daisies. The film never falls into a depression despite it's dark nature. Yet, despite the lightheartedness and straight up goofy nature of the presentation, TGBH holds up some universal themes, and is Anderson's most profound piece of work. By the last two minutes, I began to get choked up, and as the credit rolled, I began to cry: a new trick to add to Anderson's repertoire.

Sunday, June 1, 2014

Hayao Miyazaki's Final Flight in "The Wind Rises"

Hayao Miyazaki is often called Japan's Walt Disney, or compared to British animator Nick Park, but these associations are pointless. Miyazaki has a style, ideas, and themes of his own, and he has made Studio Ghibli an international and cultural significant studio. His last film, The Wind Rises, is his most quiet and his most down-to-earth film. It follows the 10 year journey of Jiro Horikoshi, the chief engineer of many of Japan's fighter planes during World War II.



This may seem like an odd final film for someone who has created magical worlds involving bathhouses for spirits and giant wolf gods. It only takes a couple of watches of Miyazaki's other films to understand that he is inspired by high-flying, fast paced action, and The Wind Rises doesn't lack any of it. The flight sequences are kinetic and dramatic, as expected, and they are the real reason you would want to view the film on the big screen. There is great joy seeing Horikoshi's projects soar, and his failures explode with a crackling energy. Many of these action scenes contain sounds effects created by human voices, which is both entertaining (during the Kanto Earthquake of 1923, the ground sounds like it has indigestion,) and distracting (the plane propellers sound like children making plane noises.)

The theme of the film, dedicating your life to your passion and your craft, is most likely to resonate more as a final film to a long legacy. Horikoshi often has trouble with designing the perfect plane that will be used for massive killing, and he notes at time that his creations would be flawless if he didn't have to worry about the weight of the guns. The dream sequences where there is discussion between Horikoshi and Italian designer Giovanni Battista Caproni are significant as they voice this struggle. Also, the characterization of Caproni makes for the most humorous scenes in a rather soft movie.

This plot point is put in the background when Horikoshi begins to romance his soulmate, Naoko, who suffers from tuberculosis. While this story is without a doubt achingly sweet, even for a jaded viewer like me, it does cause a sudden shift in the purpose of the film. At times, I felt like I was watching two different films. I thought it was about planes and passion, but then it became a film about love and death. The two storylines may have been merged together better if the lead character was more charismatic. Horikoshi is such a blank slate that the other characters in the scene control the mood. Horikoshi isn't strong enough to anchor us to these two stories and act as a bridge, but luckily the animation and the bigger, historical picture fastens the viewer into Miyazaki's vision.

One thing I love about the animation is the lack of computer animation, which Miyazaki has never really delved into. CGI is the quickest way to date a film. Just look at the first Toy Story and Toy Story 3. Miyazaki's hand drawn animation makes his entire filmography feel like they came from the same era, which is a trait that most auteur's can never achieve. Miyazaki has traits that all filmmakers hope to possess, and it is noted again in this final film. Like all of his films, this last one is bittersweet, epic, and spellbinding, even when rooted in a historical dramatics.