Burn After Reading (2008)

“I guess that's the way the whole durned human comedy keeps perpetuatin' itself,” says a character at the end of Joel and Ethan Coen’s cult classic The Big Lebowski; in a way, one could argue that that is the idea the Coen brothers have been milking throughout their celebrated 24-year career. In films like Fargo, Raising Arizona, and, yes, even No Country For Old Men, the seminal auteurs depict characters that get trapped in horribly mucky situations, often due to a bad moral choice, or just plain stupidity.

Their newest film, Burn After Reading, explores those same themes, with especially stupid characters. However, it never really comes together, simply because, while every character—whether it’s Frances McDormand’s man-hungry, liposuction-eager gym employee, or John Malkovich’s profanity-spewing alcoholic ex-CIA agent—has its own quirky motives (“I’m writing my memoirs,” purrs Malkovich), they really do feel like hyphenated screenplay throwaways, somehow existing in the same movie and crossing paths at some point, for no reason other than to make the audience laugh. Unfortunately, the movie isn’t especially funny, though it does have its moments; but generally, the viewer never really fully understands, or cares, about what is going on.

The Coens love playing with genre conventions, and while Burn After Reading is their take on an espionage thriller, it has none of the moral conflicts that go with the best entries in the genre. The characters just do and say until the proverbial wheel (if it can be traced) comes full circle. The story goes something like this: Malkovich’s character gets fired, a disc with classified information on it is somehow left at the gym where McDormand and Brad Pitt (in an intermittently amusing, expectedly bright performance) work. Malkovich’s wife is sleeping with George Clooney, a paranoid ex-cop who somehow starts sleeping with McDormand, who by that point has already caused trouble by attempting to blackmail Malkovich. Violence occurs, nothing occurs. There is no tension or feeling for any of the characters. And rather than having a Lebowski-esque profound statement at the end, to explain what it all means, we get shrugged shoulders: “Whatever it was, let’s make sure it doesn’t happen again.” Joel and Ethan, please, follow your own advice.

Though it does have its moments of inspired dialogue and the wonderfully bizarre, Burn After Reading is a scattershot effort, an empty prototype of a movie the Coen brothers have done so well before, and probably don’t need to do again. Perhaps they’re letting off some steam after the dank nihilism of No Country for Old Men. There are two similarities, however, between this and last year’s Oscar winner: neither film gives us a clear exit; and while the earlier film leaves us pondering the meaning of its title, this film is as easy to forget as its title demands. I guess the true human comedy is that nobody—even the great artists—is perfect.

The Wackness (2008)

Writer-director Jonathan Levine’s The Wackness, the story of a Jewish 18-year-old drug dealer finding summer love on the streets of New York City in 1994, is not nearly as interesting as it sounds. Rather, it is the latest in a string of half-baked Sundance favorites, having nabbed the Audience Award at the festival, but playing like a mishmash of original and unfinished ideas.

The protagonist, Luke Shapiro (Josh Peck), has just graduated from high school, and is on his way to gaining thousands of dollars selling marijuana. His swagger and his vernacular—which includes words like “dope” and “fly”—reflect his love of hip-hop culture, yet he is far from a stereotypical gangsta. Rather than being swarmed by the opposite sex or any sort of posse, Luke sits at home playing his NES and not much else. This is somewhat unrealistic, considering how much money Luke ostensibly has, and the number of characters to whom he deals drugs, but still he comes off as naive and weirdly inexperienced. Does he really not have any friends? How did he get into drug dealing in the first place? Do his parents care? The film never answers these questions, and unfortunately for Peck’s fine performance, it’s hard to fully sympathize with his character.

We might suspect that he’d be somewhat unsatisfied, which he is, in that he can’t seem to nab the object of his affections, Stephanie (Olivia Thirlby). She happens to be the stepdaughter of one of Luke’s clients, who is also his psychiatrist, Dr. Squires (Ben Kingsley in an inexplicably weird performance). With his awkward New York accent and haphazard behavior, it’s hard to know what to make of him, and it seems that Levine didn’t know exactly what he wanted to direct.

But Luke’s relationship with Dr. Squires gives the movie what humor and message it has. To paraphrase one of the more memorable lines of the film, Squires tells Luke: “A man has to do whatever he has to in order to become the man he has to be.” This simple, powerful mantra drives Luke through the rest of the film, which goes mostly the way you’d expect, save for a warm, open-ended conclusion that evokes just how important it is to have new experiences.

As solid indies go, Juno this isn’t, even though it has several wonderful things in common with the Oscar-nominated film. The aforementioned vernacular of the characters, though it isn’t used by all of them, provides for an endearing urban aesthetic and quotable dialogue. The soundtrack is a sampling of East Coast hip-hop in its prime, with classics by Nas, A Tribe Called Quest, and the Notorious B.I.G. making the cut. Music is an integral part of teenage life, and the film emphasizes this in the best of ways.

At best, The Wackness is a time capsule for 1994 -- a time where Rudy Giuliani’s influence on New York City hadn’t fully made itself known, kids were cooling off on rooftop couches and Illmatic was an album that everyone had to own. But I have a message for up-and-coming indie filmmakers: nostalgia is a wonderful thing, indeed, but try to give us something new to remember.

Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull (2008)

When is a sequel a good thing? This question ran through my head all throughout watching Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, a film that consistently boggles the mind with the fact that it actually exists. Did I really just sit through another Indiana Jones adventure? Because for the record, I really can’t remember much of it at all.

Steven Spielberg and George Lucas, as any average filmgoer knows, can do whatever they want. The duo has had their fingers on the pulse of Hollywood for the last 30 years, and they have provided us with many timeless pictures that, in turn, have grossed billions of dollars. Since Jurassic Park and Return of the Jedi, however, Spielberg has been expanding his horizons in one way or another (Munich, Catch Me If You Can), while Lucas went a far murkier route: he gave us an unnecessary extension, of sorts, to the original Star Wars trilogy, making three digitized prequels that, while entertaining, ultimately carried none of the magic that made the original films shine to this day.

The new Indiana Jones film is similar in how it attempts to play on the nostalgia of the audience, but it ultimately never rivets or resonates. It’s not exactly a bad film, but it’s certainly the worst of the series, in part because it spends too long on the storyline, which is arguably the films’ weakest aspect, and here it stands out more than ever. The script—apparently the reason why the film took so long to make—is missing many of the memorable one-liners and rapid-fire conversations that heightened the pace of the previous films. We never really care about what’s going on, because so much of the plot is inanely exposed through conversation, rather than actually happen in front of our eyes. In the meantime, we’re hoping for at least one overblown action sequence to take us away. It comes, and it does, but by that point the film has spread mud on the welcome mat.

And by overblown action sequences, I mean the legendary 10-15 minute long opening and closing sequences that defined the original trilogy, which, aside from a magnificent jungle chase scene—in which Mutt (Shia LaBeouf), and not Indy, steals the spotlight—are depicted sparingly here.

The entire point of Raiders of the Lost Ark was to recreate the Saturday matinee adventure films that Lucas and Spielberg grew up with. Those movies were never about anything other than having fun, with a keen sense of intrigue and discovery. The trilogy paid mostly excellent homage to that, with gloriously built setpieces and riveting music by John Williams. The unfairly maligned Temple of Doom played as a deliciously campy extended action sequence, and Last Crusade offered some great character interactions between Jones and his father, played by Sean Connery. The acting was never the important part of the films, but rather the dialogue, and the way it was strung together into the action. Watching those films today, it’s understandable why they were so popular, and they seem to exist in a time and place entirely apart from the CGI-infused superhero pictures we see today.

Crystal Skull hardly ever invites us into its world as its predecessors did, partly because it’s all so fake-looking. Rather than focusing on the natural settings that in the past had greatly added to Indy’s vulnerability, many of the backdrops look green-screened, or the scenes have an oddly dusty, grainy sheen that has characterized many of Spielberg’s films since Saving Private Ryan. A humorous scene in which Jones stumbles into a suburb-as-nuclear-testing-site is so distractingly colorful, it makes the 1950’s and the 1930’s look like different centuries. You might argue that the point of that scene is to poke fun at how happy and “safe” people felt during that decade, but to watch Indy run through that kind of environment just doesn’t feel right. In that sense, the film doesn’t fit into the series stylistically, because it’s too good-looking to try to pretend to be a B-movie.

It also inexplicably misses the chance to develop what Spielberg has already proven he does best: aliens. I may not have expected a Close Encounters of the Third Kind conclusion, but I felt like shouting at the screen when the film ends without any sort of unprecedented encounter or revelation. Rather, we get a lot of broken stone neatly thrown across the screen, and not much is really resolved. And we’re still left scratching our heads as to whose side Mac (Ray Winstone) is on, since he seems to change his mind every 20 minutes.

Perhaps the real problem with this film is that Spielberg seems bored with the material. What compelled him to make this movie? If it was really out of a wish to continue the series, he could have developed real conflict and excitement from within, and given Indy a chance to truly get beaten down and risen up as he does in all the previous films. There’s no problem with Ford’s performance, really; he seems fit and able-bodied, or at least the movie makes him appear to be. But it seems like Spielberg thinks that the audience just wants to see Indy in the costume, and not in another major, life-threatening situation. He’s not actively pursuing the kingdom of the Crystal Skull; he’s just walking towards it, and manages to bump into a few familiar friends and situations along the way. Spielberg should be creating new magic, rather than expecting the audience to already have it. There’s a difference between making a great movie and making an occasionally interesting reel of images.

“Knowledge was their pleasure,” Jones says of the extraterrestrials we don’t ever really get to know, and perhaps knowing only three Indiana Jones films would have been pleasure enough.

Grade: C

Short Takes: 21 (2008), Notorious (1946), Night and the City (1950)

"21" is an enjoyable, if morally vapid and overlong mainstream movie that has a decent soundtrack. You have your attractive leads, occasional product placement, some dozen double-crosses in the last 20 minutes,the obligatory sex scene, and the
hey-he's-fat-and-getting-paid-so-let's-take-advantage-of-the-humor scene (I've never seen someone munch on Twinkies so quickly), not to mention that the character in question looks like he could be Jonah Hill's twin brother. It's a movie that tries not to offend as much as it tries to entertain. This is the first movie I've seen in theaters in about a month or so, and it was generally satisfying.

Grade: B-



"Notorious" is further proof that Hitchcock was one of the greatest masters of the cinematic language, and always played against audience expectations--notably, in this case, making a spy movie without guns. The cinematography is at times breathtaking (the crane shot from the ceiling to Ingrid Bergman's hand is incredible). But the true high points of the film, what make it a must-see in my opinion, are the prolonged love scenes between Ingrid Bergman and Cary Grant. Two of the most attractive leads ever, Hitchcock seriously lingers on these two for minutes at a time, to the point of catharsis. It's the type of escapism that is hardly talked about, but is just as effective as a gunfight in a John Woo movie. We want to be in love like these characters, and Hitchcock's close-ups take us there. A great film.

Grade: A



Richard Widmark’s face seems almost perfectly suited for the camera. His naturally boyish grin effortlessly sinks into a grimace of desperation. He can go from suave to hopeless in seconds. Because of this, he is at once unforgettable as he is riveting to watch. And since his death several weeks ago, I’m sure that many avid film buffs, as well as I, have been going back and experiencing some of his films. But "Night and the City," directed by the underappreciated Jules Dassin--who died within a week after Widmark--is not just a great Widmark or Dassin film. It's one of the best examples of the use of cinematic language to tell a story that I've seen in a long time. It sparkles and shines in ways that most movies don't. Part of that is in the way the characters play off each other, and how we know only as much as we need to know about each person. The movie feels perfectly realized; almost every shot feels like it couldn't have been done any other way. It also has what is probably the best wrestling scene ever shot, a five-minute brawl out of nowhere between two ugly professionals (supporting characters) that surprisingly changes the tone of the movie completely, its outcome adding a layer of humanism that takes the protagonist further towards his inevitably bitter end. A great noir.

Grade: A

The Wild Bunch (1969)

"The Wild Bunch" is a sick movie, in every sense of the word. Its infamous shootouts are worthy of their reputation; and it's about as fun, masculine, greasy, brutal, and fucked-up a movie you're likely to see. The question is whether all that makes it a great movie, and to be honest, I'm not quite so sure myself.

From what Westerns I've seen thus far (and I'd say around 6 to 8), nearly all of them feature at least one protagonist that, regardless of being likable or not, can't help but intrigue us in how their moral compass plays out. In "The Searchers," John Wayne's character was a sick bastard, but he was a believable bastard, a guy that made you think about how guys like him really do exist. And that's what I love about Westerns, and why the genre might become one of my favorites--that sense of the grandeur of the environment that surrounds these characters that have to make decisions people still make today. That all might be a little vague, but my point is that I never made that association with any of the guys in "The Wild Bunch," even though that honestly didn't occur to me until about 3/4 of the way through the movie, when things started to drag a little, and maybe a few too many stereotypical Mexicans ("ehh, gringooos") were laughing into the camera. It occured to me that I didn't really know why things were going on, or who the hell William Holden is, or anything about the characters aside from the fact that they're gun-carrying outlaws who love beer-drenched Mexican whores.

Okay, maybe I'm not being honest with myself here. Maybe "The Wild Bunch" did kick ass. Maybe that slow-motion footage of a guy falling off a building being intercut with Ernest Borgnine throwing some grenades into a crowd of Mexicans is total brilliance. Maybe the entire point of the movie is that men are scum, but hell, let's have our fun anyhow, and go out blasting. "The Wild Bunch" is hell, but it's hell that could have been 20 minutes shorter, and could have used some distinguishable characters. It's some kind of great Western, has some sort of crazy subtext that I might get on a rewatch, but who knows--maybe I'm not sadistic enough to love it more.

Grade: B/B+

Top Ten Movies of 2007

If there was one trend in movies in 2007, it was an onslaught of unhappy endings. The majority of the films in my top ten are tragedies, films that portrayed the immoral desires of men, and how they and others around them face the consequences. One took place in a godless world; another drained the color out of life and let its protagonist try to breathe. One was a stark epic about wasted time; another was about the horrifying sacrifices that come with friendship.

So why watch these films in the first place? Because each is a life-affirming, stimulating work of art. They remind us that there are different kinds of life out there, characters that may or may not really exist, but nevertheless have stories that need to be told. To be a critic, you need to have your own sense of morals, and each of these films challenged my own perceptions and ideas of what a movie should be. They were transformative experiences that educated me, had me racking my mind and heart for deeper meanings. They are movies that have discrete stylistic qualities and narrative techniques that pay homage to older films, yet by experimenting with the art form, they successfully keep the medium fresh and alive.

Out of the 61 movies I saw in theaters this year, these are my favorites.

10. Control

Joy Division, probably my favorite band of all time, gets a biopic better than I could have hoped for. Music video director Anton Corbijn’s feature-length debut is a loving, intimate, perfectly realized biopic of frontman Ian Curtis, based on his wife’s memoirs, that not only does justice to the band’s music, but also makes you forget you’re watching actors in the first place. Sam Riley’s fiercely handsome face makes a perfect Curtis, and his portrayal of Curtis’ internal struggle with infidelity never fails to be interesting. Riley especially amazes when acting out Curtis’ near-epileptic stage performances. The black-and-white cinematography and musical cues are nearly perfect, and knowing the outcome of the story doesn’t lessen the experience.

9. We Own The Night

One of the most underrated movies of the year, James Gray’s third movie in 12 years is such a restrained crime drama that it almost takes you off-guard. A late-80s tale of New York cop family ties, Joaquin Phoenix and Mark Wahlberg play two brothers on both sides of the law, each one’s loyalty tested when their paths cross. Without any big-budget explosions or gunfights, calling it underwhelming is to ignore the fascinating character arcs, arguably some of the strongest uses of sibling-rivalry archetypes. From the rapturous opening club sequence to a car chase shown entirely from a first-person perspective, the movie is a highly sensory experience, and anyone who expects another Departed will be missing the point.

8. No Country For Old Men

Joel and Ethan Coen have been such consistently great filmmakers over the last 20 years that their last couple of misfires were easily forgiven. Here they bring their entire career full circle, creating a tremendous suspense film that echoes the nihilistic themes of their debut Blood Simple, while also containing such trademarks as memorable dialogue and crisp cinematography from Roger Deakins. Javier Bardem, in a career-defining performance, and Josh Brolin play a cat-and-mouse chase through a landscape of diegetic sound and breakable motels, while Tommy Lee Jones provides elliptical bookends for a tale that could only exist in a world where morality is just a passing fad.

7. The Host

Every year there comes a foreign film that should serve as a wake-up call to America that certain kinds of movies can still be successful. In this case, it’s the monster movie, which comes in no better shape or form than Joon-ho Bong’s effort, which is the highest-grossing film ever in South Korea, and deservedly so. A giant fish-monster (one of the few recent convincing CGI-rendered creatures) attacks Korea, and sends the entire country into a frenzy, heavily stemming from the government to instill fear into its citizens. The film is so successful because, aside from being as entertaining as any summer movie, it really makes you care about the characters, and its surprising moments of humor and pathos make it into something more than just a horror movie.

6. The King of Kong: A Fistful of Quarters

The most entertaining movie of the year is also the best documentary of the year, which says something about the integrity of popcorn filmmakers these days. (Did I mention that this is already getting a Hollywood remake?) The true story of the rivalry between the egotistical maniac who held the record for the highest score in Donkey Kong for 20 years and the humble underdog who challenged his legacy is the best movie ever made about videogames; a movie with more plot twists and oddball characters than you could fictionalize. Even if you don’t like videogames, it’s impossible for anyone not to enjoy this movie. And the best part, even after the last-minute overwhelming twist, is that the story isn’t over. Sequel, anybody?

5. 4 Months, 3 Weeks, and 2 Days

The scariest movie of the year is also the most true-to-life. The winner of this year’s Palm D’Or at the Cannes Film Festival, this Romanian film follows a woman trying to secure an illegal abortion for her roommate in the late 1980s, told through long camera takes and natural sounds. Like the sound of a speeding car in the distance—a subtle motif throughout the film—you’re constantly alarmed and worried about their safety, even when the main character is stuck at dinner with her boyfriend’s family in a claustrophobically framed, nearly five-minute take. Yet the film ends up being about a more fundamental theme: the instability of friendship. You wonder, after sitting through two hours of nervewracking tension and frustration, whether you would have taken the same risk.

4. Before The Devil Knows You’re Dead

Director Sidney Lumet, at 84 years old, is beyond trying to make a name for himself. 12 Angry Men and Network remain compulsively watchable moral tales, and I feel that his latest, a tragedy involving two brothers who attempt to rob a jewelry store, will eventually join the ranks of those films as an overwhelming testament to the wrong thing to do. Indeed, this movie is all about the casualties of immorality, and who better to play the lead than Philip Seymour Hoffman, an actor who continues to give his all, always fascinating to watch, and yells up a storm to our delight. Ethan Hawke gives a fittingly submissive performance, while Marisa Tomei and Albert Finney fill out the rest of an incredible ensemble. If you want great, unfettered drama, this is your ticket.

3. There Will Be Blood

I’d be lying if I said this wasn’t my most anticipated movie of the year, and I’d also be lying if I said it was exactly what I expected. Paul Thomas Anderson, who hasn’t made anything less than stellar yet in his career, brings us a sweeping indictment of American ideals with hardly any sentimentality, set to a freaky, remarkable strings-and-percussion score by Jonny Greenwood. His weapon of choice, Daniel Day-Lewis, as fiery and mustachioed as ever, is the cinematic equivalent to a train wreck—scary as hell, but you just can’t look away. In the most talked about performance of the year, he embodies an oil prospector who hates people, particularly a young preacher (Paul Dano) that stands in his way. These are single-minded characters that are as far apart in beliefs as they are in Anderson’s frame, and like all opposing forces, must eventually clash. And by the time the YouTube-bound ending comes around, it’s obvious that this is a caliber of filmmaking rarely displayed and essential to preserve.

2. Zodiac

David Fincher, like Stanley Kubrick before him, is a notoriously meticulous director, and with that, he has made his longest, most involving movie yet, a cinematic case study to the nth degree. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such an obsessive film. The story of the 30-year case on the Zodiac killer and the policeman, reporter, and political cartoonist that gave a good chunk of their lives working on it, Fincher directs tried-and-true actors Mark Ruffalo, Jake Gyllenhaal, and Robert Downey Jr., whose characters combine enough enthusiasm and skepticism to sustain the movie to its overwhelmingly protracted finish. Because the film seems to leave absolutely no details out, it doubles as a historical document, one that is as entertaining as it is informative.

1. The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford

It’s funny how, after all these excellent movies made by veterans, my favorite was from a relatively unknown director, and mostly shunned by critics for reasons I can’t comprehend. Andrew Dominik, obviously a highly visionary filmmaker, brings us one of the most indulgent, achingly cinematic, heartbreaking, and beautiful movies of the decade. It’s as if he knew he just had to make the movie of all movies, an ode to fiction and artificiality, and the consequences of making them a reality. The power of the film lies in the cinematography by Roger Deakins, the unforgettable score by Nick Cave and Warren Ellis, and in Casey Affleck’s chilling performance. From the opening shots of clouds passing by; to the melancholy, oft-repeated chimes of the xylophone; to the disarmingly sheepish grin on Affleck’s face as he holds his tattered hat—this movie has it all. In a year with several attempts at a revisionist western, this is the only one that takes complete control of its environment to bring out the emotions of its characters. And even though the title gives away the ending, you’ll still be on the edge of your seat when it happens. It’s long, but not long enough; and once that feeling is over, when the huge title is finally displayed on the screen, barely able to fit, you’ll know what to call it.