BROWSE
ARCHIVES

It’s sometimes the mark of a masterpiece to set up a fascinating plot and group of characters at the beginning of a film, only to throw them away for something even better.  The first half hour of Psycho could’ve been continued to make a good (who knows, maybe even great) movie about an alienated office worker on the run with $40,000.  Synecdoche, New York could’ve been a good family drama about a sick theater director with weird poop and a failing marriage whose life was turned around by Fluorostatin TR.  Hitchcock and Kaufman took huge risks by shifting their plots so drastically, and produced masterpieces.  Julia, however, takes a fatally wrong turn when it changes from an honest and extremely well-acted story of addiction to a drawn-out and clichéd thriller.

I want to know more about the daily lives of the destructively alcoholic Julia (Tilda Swinton), her mysterious neighbor Elena (Kate del Castillo), her saintly ex-boyfriend Mitch (Saul Rubinek), and Elena’s observant but still childish son Tom (Aidan Gould).  The performances of Swinton and the supporting players were so strong that there is no doubt in my mind that they were capable of making a movie as gritty and honest as The Wrestler, giving us a real window into Julia’s world rather than a cursory glance.

What is accomplished by denying us true character development, and instead taking the movie into the realm of the implausible?  We see a few cycles of Julia’s drinking binges and mornings after, one scene in her office, and one scene at an AA meeting, a few scenes with Elena, and a few scenes with Mitch, but this isn’t enough to really get a good idea of who any of them really are. I suppose you could make the case that we learn about Julia from when she takes off her mask, where she points her gun, and how she chooses to deal with the suitcase full of money.  But that’s the Julia who inhabits an implausibly exciting world, not the Julia who could be living down the street.  At first I thought that Elena would remain mysterious throughout much of the movie, and that I’d have the joy of trying to piece together who she really is.  Unfortunately, all of the mystery was resolved within fifteen minutes.  I’d rather see more of Mitch trying to save Julia by warning her in his living room than by negotiating with her in Tijuana.

As slow and clichéd as the last hour and a half (or so) of the movie becomes, a few parts of it made it a little closer to bearable than it otherwise would’ve been.  In a very impressive performance, Gould captures perfectly the phase of childhood when a kid understands what’s going on around him, but nonetheless is still a kid.  Though the whole movie collapses along with the border fence, that shot was an especially effective transition.  It was also nice to be reminded of Greed when the film took us to the California desert.  You know what? Why not just watch that instead?  Not only does it allow its characters to develop, but if you like gun-pointing and lots of cash, you can find them there too.  How horribly ironic it is that so many of the best parts of Greed were cut, and so many of the worst parts of Julia were allowed to stay.

-Robert Henderson

This movie opens up with Burt Farlander (John Krasinski) and Verona De Tessant (Maya Rudolph) in the act of coital foreplay.  With his discerning sense of smell, Burt realizes that his longtime girlfriend is pregnant.  Cut to the title card displaying the movie’s title.  Thus it has begun.

This quick opening sets the tone for a beautifully paced, skillfully developed character study artfully crafted by the great Sam Mendes.  Mendes’ last film, Revolutionary Road addressed a couple similarly surprised by a pregnancy, albeit strictly within a dramatic drama.  Within the aforementioned film, not even in the poignant moments were there ever any sense of joy, as much as the terrible anxiety of waiting for the next tragedy to strike.  Away We Go however, has a spectacular lightness in tone that is wholly uncharacteristic of the typically bleak Mendes.

The basic story is a series of vignettes where Burt and Verona travel around the country having encounters with a colorful cast of characters.  Each encounter with a new couple introduces a new perspective on becoming parents.  Each encounter is incredibly distinct with each new family introduced serving both as comic material and tragedies of misdirection.

Away We Go isn’t simply a comedy.  It isn’t simply a drama.  It is meant to depict life; it insightfully represents all of its ups and downs.  Through their humor, we see each characters’ true pathos revealed.  When Burt jokes with Verona, there’s always a wonderfully apparent motive, which is most of the time an attempt at cheering her up.  Conversely, when Lily (Allison Janney) jokes about her kids’ physical shortcomings we can tell that its her way of justifying the oration of her own shallowness.  With some of the more zany characters, such as LN (pronounced “Ellen”) (Maggie Gyllenhaal), all of their funny lines are meant to be reflections of their own misguidance, which sometimes can be just as funny as it is sad.  In an almost Freudian way (i.e.Wit and its Relation to the Unconscious) this movie reminds us that any need for humor is mostly used to compensate for feelings of sadness, anxiousness, awkwardness, or other feelings of discomfort.

As a whole, this movie is quite incredible, but this is certainly due to the tremendous strength lying within each of its parts.  I laughed harder than I have from any film this year, but I simultaneously felt extremely touched by the simple problems of the people on screen.  A level of poignancy is reached that can only be found in films that show life within the reality that there are both good and bad things going on, more than likely simultaneously.  The language in this movie is quite foul at times, but it never once feels offensive.  It is all used within such loving context, as a simple means of venting about other bigger problems within a given character’s life.  Together Krasinski and Rudolph create a magnificent chemistry on screen that manages to radiate warmth and the utmost Eros, even in the absence of all eroticism.  So much love is felt with only dialogue as a means of conveyance.  This script fit the actors with such fluidity that the entire movie feels like a series of completely spontaneous dialogues.

Most criticism for Away We Go has been at an alleged superiority complex within Burt and Verona.  These claims are truly baseless.  Both characters express doubts of their own lives, and don’t ever hint at any self-appointed eminence.  Burt’s charm and wit come from his pure benevolent compassion for Verona, and his inherent courtesy for all those around him.  He’s a smart, nice, likable guy.  Verona is possibly smarter than Burt, but not nearly as self-assured at times.  They have a great understanding between the two of them that isn’t seen in any other on-screen couple during the film.  Does this make them better than everyone?  If the issue is really that they are just a little bit better adjusted, or just a little bit luckier, or even just a lit bit more in love, than what’s there to be mad about?

My recommendation is that everyone should try to see this movie.  It’s an absolute joy to watch, as it manages to stay funny whilst building poignancy throughout.  I sincerely hope that Away We Go secures one of the ten Best Picture nominations this year.  Thankfully for the Academy, Juno has already proved to us that indie comedies with dramatic elements are still in contention.

As a final note: Dear Sam Mendes- Stay Upbeat.  It suits you.

-Paul Brinnel

At first I didn’t think that I could be sympathetic toward the plight of three wealthy siblings who have the onerous chore of deciding how to dispose of their extensive inheritance, which consists of a house and art collection that once belonged to a successful artist. While most of us leave behind heaps of junk headed straight to a garbage dump, nearly everything that Hélène Berthier (Edith Scob) leaves behind, down to the smallest vase, has a potential home waiting for it in a museum or private collection. The sensible thing to do would be to donate a few major pieces to museums for posterity’s sake, keep a few personal items for sentimental value, and sell the rest. As she anticipates her death, Hélène not only wishes, but knows that this is how things will play out. After all, people are much more motivated by economics than by art or memory.

To Hélène’s son Frédéric (Charles Berling), the inheritance isn’t just beautiful and valuable, but allows the family to remember and to re-live the house’s past summers as a Romantic oasis, where life is ruled by artistic considerations, and not economic ones. As desperately as Frédéric tries to convince the public, his family, and himself that people are not beholden to economic laws, his case is untenable. His brother Jérémie’s (Jérémie Renier) utility would be maximized by using his share of the inheritance to support his career in international business by starting a new life in China, complete with a new vacation home in Bali. While his sister Adrienne (Juliette Binoche) does have an affinity for art, she prefers the contemporary variety, and needs cash to bolster her career as a designer in New York. Even Frédéric finds that his seemingly infinite love for two paintings has a price tag associated with it.

But is it really the things themselves that are so important to Frédéric, or the activities that surround them? He can visit some of his mother’s most prized possessions at the Musée d’Orsay (which produced the film) whenever he wants, and all of the public can enjoy them with him. The problem with the museum is that it is calm to the point of lifelessness. The objects of art are behind glass, the sunlight shines unceasingly through the skylights, the tourists quietly walk through unmoved, and the music (very important in this film) is mellow. Frédéric not only wants to save the house, but he wants to prevent it from turning into a museum. It is not just the objects that make the house, but the fact that children are playing in the garden (with a frantic camera emphasizing their activity), vases are filled with flowers, and the whole family sits down to lunch together.

I was most struck by this film when I realized that it wasn’t about economics, art, or the struggle between the two. I will even be bold enough to say that the film isn’t really about memory either. The film is about how we must play our own roles in life, and how, in a Walt Whitman sense, there is a beauty and dignity to nearly every activity, as long as we do something and, as the cliché goes, are true to ourselves. From the beginning of the film, Hélène realizes that her role as a woman at the end of her life is to contemplate to herself and to get out of her children’s way. Jérémie does what a man who wants to get ahead in business and raise a family should, and there’s nothing wrong with that. We cannot condemn Adrienne for trying to advance her career and begin life with a new husband. We can only go so far in chastising Frédéric’s daughter Sylvie (Alice de Lencquesaing) for her nonconformist boyfriend, cheap liquor, pot, and bubble gum pop. After all, she is a teenager. Frédéric will never find peace until he realizes that he is a father (it was easy both for him and for the viewer to forget over the course of the film) and economist, and not an artist or art collector. He must allow himself to see that he can behave rationally without betraying his family heritage.

If, as I hope, you enjoy Summer Hours, keep on the lookout for a possible sequel dealing with Adrienne’s life in New York. It will be interesting to see what she does with her mother’s tea set.

-Robert Henderson

It’s a good thing Billy Wilder released Sunset Blvd. in 1950.  Another three years, and chances are he would have had to have the following sit-down with his producer:

“Now Billy, the guys and I were thinking.  The market being what it is, these kids are coming to the movies expecting certain things out of their movies.  Well, I’ll cut to the chase.  Wouldn’t the ending be all the more spectacular if we could get more of a jump from the audience at certain moments?  Just imagine.  The kids are already on the edge of their seats and then, BOOM, old Norma pops out to within an inch of their face and they all scream, and then she screams: ‘All right, Mr. DeMille, I’m ready for my close-up,’ then we see her stare ya straight in the eye!”

Not a single great film of the 1950’s (a.k.a. Golden Era of 3D) is in 3D.  Great artists for whatever reason chose not to utilize the day’s gimmicks to supplement their already great movies with cheap thrills.

I saw Up in Disney Classic 2D followed a week later by Disney Digital 3D.  It was absolutely breathtaking both times.  3D is never used as a gimmick and is never in the way of the experience.  Nothing ever flaunted the 3D, and there were long stretches during which I stopped even thinking about it.  It maybe took 15 minutes to get used to the slight motion blur inherent in 3D.  (I assume if I were to watch more films in 3D I would eventually cease to notice said motion blur.)

My final conclusion is that it really doesn’t matter how you see a film.  As long as it doesn’t need 3D to support any gags or gasps, then it’s really just one more frill the theater can charge you for.  Undoubtedly, it’s also another subtle way to combat piracy.  If the pirates don’t have 3D cameras, then it’s pretty hard for them to pirate said experience.  At the end of the day, a great artist can create great things.  When movies operate at this level, nothing can stand in their way.  Now let’s give James Cameron a chance to prove me otherwise.

-Paul Brinnel

Steven Soderbergh is a very interesting man.  His last film, Che was a four and a half hour masterpiece.  Never boring, never dull, I not once found myself looking at my watch.  The Girlfriend Experience, however is a painfully long 78 minutes.  The movie doesn’t flow like Che; it just sits there, stagnantly awaiting some sort of justification for its own existence that never quite comes.

Famed adult movie star Sasha Grey proves to us once again that porn stars can’t act.  She is virtually emotionless.  No, this does not add to her character.  Some could be inclined towards arguing that she is living such a depraved existence that she no longer experiences pleasure, therefore that should be self-evident in her acting (or lack thereof).  To people who thought her “minimalistic” performance works with this theme, I say that they are missing the point of watching movies in the first place.  Things happen.  Yes, things do indeed happen in this movie (albeit few).  Still, we see no reaction brew inside of this woman.  Even in the film’s (relative) emotional climax we see her react like a crappy community theater actor to the dashing of the little joys remaining in her life.  I can’t pity a woman who doesn’t react to things happening around her.  If she doesn’t seem hurt, than why should I feel bad for her?

Interestingly Soderbergh chooses to take a simple story, and convolutes it by presenting the linear story out of sequence, but without any way of knowing where in time any given scene takes place.  Yes, this blatant confusion of the sequence of events can work (i.e. Pulp Fiction), but it just doesn’t here.  Certain parts are even shot on a video camera like a reality TV show, and are similarly painful to watch.  There is not much going on in terms of story, and no fancy or confusing devices are going to hide that fact.

In conclusion, this movie feels long even though it is exceedingly short.  It is not in any way enjoyable to watch, which is the fault of the directer, editor, and certainly the actors.  This movie is quite simply bad.  I recommend saving your money or just watching Che again.

-Paul Brinnel

It’s a beautiful day. Flowers are blooming, birds are singing, and houses are flying. Summer has arrived, and with it comes an array of loud films filled with explosions and your favorite comic book characters. ’Tis the season when studios make their money by unleashing sequels and prequels of their cherished franchises to an all-consuming, fanboy public. Adults are busy hibernating until the fall. While continued franchises like Star Trek, Transformers, and Terminator compete with each other on a level of pure cacophony, Pixar Animation Studios presents yet another film that is more quiet and emotionally authentic than just about anything we’re liable to see this year.

The tenth Pixar film Up is the second by director Pete Doctor, whose prior effort was the charming buddy comedy Monsters, Inc. Like last year’s Wall-e, which brought us into the lonely world of the last robot on earth, Up brings us into the lonely world of septuagenarian Carl Fredericksen (Edward Asner). In his youth Carl was a balloon salesman and married to his childhood sweetheart, Ellie. The two were attracted together through their love of adventure and living life to the fullest. Their life together is presented in a silent, elegiac montage, set to Michael Giacchino’s beautiful score. In this sequence, Doctor manages to capture both the tragic unpredictable moments of life, and the human comedy of a relationship as portrayed in the couples buoyant perseverance and eternal love for each other. Now that Ellie has died Carl has receded from life into a grumpy old man. Then, to stave off going to the nursing home, and in obligation of an unfulfilled promise he made with Ellie, Carl straps thousands of balloons to his home, which lifts the multicolored house from it’s foundation into the air. The sight of the house soaring through the air, once again accompanied by Giacchino’s fine score is a fresh, breathtaking image. The flying house is headed toward Paradise Falls in South America, where Carl and Ellie’s childhood hero, adventurer Charles Muntz (Christopher Plummer), used to travel to in his zeppelin, in search of exotic creatures. Accidental stowaway and young wilderness explorer Russell accompanies Carl to South America. The relationship between the two is the centerpiece of the film. Russell (Jordan Nagai) at first seems annoying. He’s an average kid who whines when he’s tired and has no reservations of saying what’s on his mind. Russell unintentionally forces Carl to come to terms with his own fears and helps him to rediscover the meaning in his life after Ellie.

While being deeply emotional and visually beautiful, Up is extremely funny. The age gap of the main characters fulfills its expected potential for comedy. Meanwhile there is absurdist humor with a giant colorful bird, whose neck movements alone provide a wonderful array of endless sight gags, along with dozens of anthropomorphic dogs, which somehow feels naturally integrated into this fantastical story. And while I praise the film for it’s moments of quiet, there is plenty of action. However the action is filmed fluently, without a lot of fast cuts or quick movements. Doctor has respect for the aerial action, not to mention the human eye. The only aspect of Up that doesn’t quite hit the mark is when Russell goes into exposition explaining his unfortunate family situation. These conversations are not only abrupt and manipulative, but also unnecessary. This is Carl’s story, and it’s a good one.

-Jason Bardin

On the surface, Carey Fukunaga’s directorial debut, Sin Nombre, comes across as a serious exploration on the parallel themes of the struggles of illegal immigration into the United States through Mexico and the violence and barbarity of the local Mexican gangs. The honorable intentions that I’m sure were brought to this film have been lost to a dominating, clichéd, melodramatic love story. What could have been the Mexican equivalent to City of God, instead settles for a story filled with conventions and contrivances, along with three stock character protagonists, all of which equal a nice, formulaic film that would conveniently fit quite well in Hollywood.

The protagonists in question are Smiley (Kristian Ferrer), Casper (Edgar Flores), and Sayra (Paulina Gaitan). Smiley is a child of about ten who is being initiated into a local gang. This initiation mainly consists of the gang beating him up. Every member of the gang has a nickname and a bunch of tattoos. Apparently the higher up one is in the gang the more tattoos he has. The leader’s nickname should have been Queequeg. Casper is obviously another member of the gang, but after a mishap between his girlfriend and his superior gang member, followed by a similar incident between him and the same gangster, he wants out. He winds up on a train housing hopeful illegal immigrants headed for the U.S./Mexican border. Sayra, a reluctant, exhausted, Honduran teenager is on board that same train. She’s heading for the land of opportunity, specifically New Jersey. Naturally she falls in love with Casper, as all proper girls do when they see a violent gangster hoping to evade an entire gang who wants to kill him. How does Casper know that the gang’s after him? He gets a text message.

It’s the relationship between Casper and Sayra where the film becomes like countless others. Within a day and a fortnight they become eternal lovers. Romeo and Juliet were given more time than that. But what’s really peculiar in this relationship is Casper. What the hell does she see in him? Flores plays him like the totality of Brando’s wild one and Dean’s rebel. Except he strips the character of all personality, so what’s left is an excess of blank stares and shrugs.

It’s the violence in this film that’s truly disturbing, precisely for the reason that it’s not at all disturbing. When the gang first beats up Smiley I didn’t care. The camera angles prevented me from being affected. Apparently Fukunaga did not want to upset anyone watching his film about Mexican gangs. There are indeed three scenes of considerable bloodshed, but in each instance the character dies instantly, so there is no real pain, no suffering. There is even a scene that mirrors one of the most devastating scenes from City of God, a film that deals far more honestly in terms of the relationship between human nature and violence. The scene involves Smiley being forced to kill someone as part of his initiation. In City of God the similar scene was primarily about the pain of the victims, showing exactly what it means to murder someone. The incident in Sin Nombre is rather quick and painless. Smiley even gets a bit of help pulling the trigger.

Overall the film doesn’t have enough energy to keep up any level of suspense or momentum, which should be more prevalent in a story where a group of people is trying to illegally immigrate, while an allegedly vicious gang is hunting one of those persons. The score, which is one of the more generic, and deliberately manipulative scores I’ve heard in awhile, served to compromise for the film’s tonal shortcomings.

What’s the point of making a film outside of Hollywood if your only going to adhere to its basic formulas? I wouldn’t be surprised if Fukunaga’s next film is for a major studio.

-Jason Bardin

Back in the mid-90’s, there was some buzz that Terry Gilliam was to helm his own adaptation of this classic graphic novel of the 1980’s.  Famously, Gilliam proclaimed that to be true to the source material, a 12-part mini-series was in order.  Needless to say, no one financed this aforementioned effort.  Cut to two years ago: the great Zack Snyder, fresh off his “victorious debut” with 300 is deemed the brilliant mind capable of turning this complex character drama into a mainstream action movie.

Before I start to really pick apart this film, I must say that I am a huge fan of Alan Moore’s original graphic novel.  It is brilliant, revolutionary, visually stunning, brimming with mind-bending complexity, and above all an absolute joy to read.  I’d like to say that a tremendous amount was lost in its translation, but in reality, the problem is more that so little was lost in translation.  Snyder has proved to us that he fundamentally doesn’t understand the point of adapting source material for the screen.  Rather than creating a film that can stand on its own, he has sowed this 2.5+ hour monstrosity so filled with references to characters and events developed far more fully in the book, that this movie is nearly impossible to follow.  I hear the director’s cut might reconcile this, but at the cost of making the unfortunate viewer sit through an additional hour of previously unused footage.

Watchmen takes place in a universe where superheroes are real.  That concept needs a large amount of explanation.  Snyder gives us a title sequence of “stills” that are meant to bring the viewer past the rise and fall of the superhero (a period of about 40-50 years).  There are a few more allusions to these past events as the movie goes on, but never is the audience specifically told: this is why super heroes are real; this is why their world is different than ours; this is why you should give a damn about what is happening on-screen.  The audience is thrust into a world they can’t possibly understand, almost entirely in medias res.  The effect is an unfortunate one.  Who are these decaying characters that claim to be the superheroes of old, but only spend fleeting time on-screen, with little or no reference made to anything that happened to them prior.  Who can care when one of them dies or cries or lies or has an affair?  We know nothing about these people.  If Snyder didn’t have the screen time to develop characters, then why did he instead opt to stick them into a scene or two, and just assume his audience could surmise that in some way they must be important, even if he has not taken the courtesy to indicate why.  Yes, if you read the book, everything would make sense.  But should reading the source material be a prerequisite to watching the movie?  Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of adapting it in the first place?

Mr. Snyder, you need to make changes, “adaptations” if I might be so bold, if you wish to successfully “adapt” a book for shooting as a movie of any reasonable length.  A literal adaptation could not possibly fit within Hitchcock’s classic rule that the length of a film need by directly proportional to the endurance of a human bladder.  Gilliam understood this when he said it would take 12 hour long parts to do Alan Moore justice.  Snyder would have been better suited to take a cue from Victor Fleming and suitably change the story into that of a self-contained movie, as opposed to an abridgment of an un-adaptable source material.

Few things made this film watchable.  (Here’s a hint: it definitely wasn’t a bizarrely long sex scene, or the soundtrack, which seemed to come from a CD titled “Greatest Hits of Hollywood Soundtracks: 1990-2008.”)  Billy Crudup, Jackie Earle Haley, and Patrick Wilson make their characters the only really believable things in a terribly unexplainable world.  These three acted as if even though their histories were never addressed on-screen, they still existed as complex human beings nonetheless.  Everyone else was mediocre, with the exception of a certain Miss Malin Akerman, to whom I attribute a new depth of mediocrity.  Her scenes might have been more believable had they been played by any of our great deceased leading ladies of the 40’s and 50’s (their present condition withstanding).

In conclusion, this is a bad movie.  If you really want to experience Watchmen, put your ticket price towards a copy of the 1987 original.

-Paul Brinnel

Imagine Steven Soderberg coming up to you and asking for upwards of $60 million to make his next movie.  Now imagine him telling you that it’s a four and a half hour bio-epic about Che Guavera.  Who knows how this movie got made?  It was obviously doomed from the onset to have negative returns for its investors.  That said, this movie is unlike anything I have ever seen.  It accomplishes everything it sets out to do from the beginning, chronicling the last 13 years of this man’s life using a variety of cinematic techniques, which all complement one another beautifully.

The first part of the movie starts in 1954.  Guavera and Castro are sharing dinner with other revolutionaries in Mexico City.  Probably one of the most important realizations comes here when we see a few casually dressed individuals planning the fate of an entire country over dinner and a few beers.  The movie takes off with the onset of their campaign in Cuba.

It’s difficult to say what exactly this movie is trying to say.  Sometimes it follows slowly developing, mundane events, sometimes it brings us into the heart of a battle.  All of this is done cutting back to an interview with Guavera from 1964.  This creates an incredible perspective, allowing us to hear all about the passion of these guerrillas as the hardships and barbarity of their campaign takes place on screen.  This voiceover allows the first half of the film to have a fantastic contemplative feel.  Conversely, there are no real opportunities to study the internal conflicts within these characters.  They are constantly in situations where there are more important things than actualizing the class struggle taking place around them.  This ongoing internal monologue makes up for a lack of real time spent alone to focus on the overflowing emotions of the characters.

In order for the characters of this movie to be sympathetic, one needs to understand what oppression has brought them to the point that they’ll sacrifice their life just for the chance that other’s will be able to live in a more humane world.  There was virtually no exhibition on-screen of any such government oppression, leaving viewers to their historical knowledge in making up back stories and motivations for these characters.  It was a bit odd that the antagonist was constantly exhibited as simply “the bad guy” with no exhibitions of the bad things that he has allegedly done.  We are forced to assume that the choreographers of the revolution are intelligent, ambitious, moral, and most importantly, trustworthy.  Looking back on the movie, there was never any justification for any of these assumptions.  There was never any harm displayed on the screen that seemed to warrant the tremendous foul called by the likes of Castro and Guavera.  We are left with Che’s contemplations via voiceover instead.  We believe this man is good, because he talks with such charm.  Soderberg assumes that is all the audience needs to know to eat out of this man’s hand.

The second part of Che takes place over the course of just under a year, starting in 1966.  Che has achieved international fame, but feels that in keeping with his revolutionary ideals, must now turn his eyes inland and orchestrate the start of a similar revolution in Bolivia.  Slipping into anonymity, changing his name, initially even using disguises, Guavera becomes an odd sort of spectre.  His mere mention seems enough to excite any freedom-craving Bolivian, but his actual presence seems to do very little to bolster their struggle.  This portion of the film aims to suck the viewer into that exact feeling of doom that the actual Bolivian guerrillas felt in 1966 and 1967.  This portion of the film is shot in a less wide aspect ratio, and utilizes a much less saturated color palette.  There is all of the violence of the first half, with many scenes playing out very similarly, but something is missing.  Gone is that incredible voiceover!  We are left very much in the dark in terms of what any of the characters are thinking.  Of course we can surmise when something scares them or makes them happy or more likely, sad, but that complex internal debate is sadly missing without any deliberate reflection of the events unfolding on-screen.  It is certainly tragic to watch Guavera’s plan’s unfold, unfurl, and generally go to shit, but this is only because we grew to know so much about him in the first two hours of the movie.  The second part simply cannot stand on its own.  It felt like this latter half was more about going through the motions, and attempting to repeat the first half, but this time with a different result.

I wholeheartedly recommend Che, as it is one of the most ambitious movies of the last several decades.  Del Toro fits into the role so naturally, that it is easy watching the movie to forget that you are watching anything but original footage of Che, himself.  Soderberg has created something that approaches the life of an impactful man, and chronicles it without drawing any conclusions as to his morality.  The comprehensiveness of this movie is what is truly to be commended.  It is at heart, great filmmaking.  The only enduring question is how on earth this movie ever got the financing to be made.  Does it even have a target audience?

-Paul Brinnel

The protagonist of any tragedy can suffer as one of two people: the man, or the artist. The vast majority of tragedies subject their lead to the former. I needn’t even list examples of times we’ve watched as a man has hurt or lost something important to him. What makes these moments bearable though is the hero’s ability to channel his suffering into something that exhibits the beauty of humanity. We can watch Omar Sharif in Dr. Zhivago be repeatedly thrust into the mud, because we as observers are constantly being reminded that he is letting out all of his frustration as beautiful poetry. We can watch Roberto Benigni have his life destroyed in Life Is Beautiful, because we know that he still managed to make someone else’s existence less miserable. This redeeming quality is needed for us to truly care about the downtrodden. A single act of beauty can make even the most wretched circumstances watchable, and their protagonists even enviable. So what happens if the characters suffer within their lives, but also fail at creating anything that makes their life meaningful? Is this not the greatest tragedy of all?

As art has transitioned more and more into themes of realism, where an artist’s life ends, and their art begins has become a more and more blurred line. Artists draw on what they see around them, and how they relate to it. This being the case in most movements post new wave, if an artist lives a pathetic existence, shouldn’t their art theoretically be teeming with that same pathetic quality?

Synecdoche, New York starts off as a simple domestic drama. The middle aged, moderately successful theater director, Caden Cotard (Phillip Seymour Hoffman) wakes up one fall morning. He has settled into a comfortable existence with his wife, Adele (Catherine Keener) and their daughter, Olive (Sadie Goldstein). Some of the movie’s best dialogue happens between these three characters within the first 25 minutes of the movie. After that Caden is left alone as his wife and daughter become invisible forces that drive seemingly all of Caden’s actions for the remaining 98 minutes of the movie. We watch Caden’s life gradually fall apart from then on. It isn’t in any way more tragic than how any one else’s life gradually deteriorates after they hit forty, but this movie is edited in such a way that the viewer can never quite gauge the passage of time, and it seems as if Caden’s body is gradually succumbing to some terrible, terminal illness. Once one finishes watching the movie, the real weight of this sinks in. All of Caden’s symptoms were that of an illness that the vast majority of us will unavoidably die of: old age.

Caden, due to his strong background in theater, sees a man’s entire existence unfolding in an hour or two. He cannot help but empathize with the characters he constructs, assuming that his entire life is but the same flicker as Willy Loman’s, able to be entirely explained within an hour or two. We watch the last forty or so years of Caden’s life unfold over the course of two hours, and by the end one is struck by the sense that the viewer knows just as much about the lead character as he knows about himself; it is as if the year long time lapses between events wouldn’t have contributed any additional insight into the inner workings of a certain Mr. Caden Cotard.

Within the window of this man’s waning life, virtually every theme that has ever preoccupied the mind of an aging man is explored. We watch Caden struggle in relating to his family, understanding exactly what he wants from a woman, and most importantly, what kind of legacy he wants to leave behind. There are a handful of points when Caden reaches a plateau, a point at which his life is seemingly what he wants, and should need to operate optimally as an artist. Soon after, though, Caden spies something off in the distance that he desires. He is constantly looking for just this something more, and then never quite happy when he attains it. This theme is represented in Caden’s directions to his acting troupe, and his constantly shifting goal in his ongoing project of a theater piece. He tries to better understand his own life by forcing actors to re-enact it in front of him, and by doing this only becomes more and more removed from his own existence.

This movie explores the unfathomably complex question: “what is the purpose of art?” Is it to better understand reality, or is it within itself an escape from reality? Charlie Kaufman explores this theme with more verve than any auter I have ever had the joy to watch. Whereas his earlier works like Being John Malkovich and Adaptation. were incredible commentaries on the nature and purpose of art, this movie goes leaps and bounds further, making its protagonist infinitely more relatable to than any of his previous films, by simply making his existence all the more varied and vague. This of course causes the movie to have many Lynchian, dream-logic-like qualities, which ironically has had the effect of making this movie less accessible to the linearly self-righteous.

Synecdoche is without a doubt, the best movie of the year. It is touching, tragic, and quite simply incredible to see what Kaufman has created. A directorial debut of such epic proportions is only comparable to that of Orson Welles. My only hope is that this incredible film’s tragic snubbing by the public won’t make this the last film for Kaufman in which he has total control. If this is indeed the case, one must watch this film and ask: “In 2075, which early films of the 21st century will be the most revered?”

-Paul Brinnel