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Film Review: "Nebraska"

Details: Parent Category: Film and the Arts; Category: Reviews; Published on Friday, 22 November 2013 18:04; Written by Matt Oakes

"Nebraska"
Directed by Alexander Payne
Starring Will Forte, Bruce Dern, June Squibb, Bob Odenkirk, Stacy Keach, Mary Louise Wilson, Kevin Kunkel
Adventure, Drama
115 Mins
R

Nebraska starts with the oldschool painted mountains of the Paramont logo, a veiled reminder of the golden days of the USA, and jumps into an austere black-and-white landscape of Montana as Bruce Dern's Woody Grant stumbles down the snowy strip of government manicured grass between some train tracks and a largely vacant highway. Convinced he has won a million dollar prize, Woody's intent on claiming his winnings in Nebraska even if that means walking the entire eight hundred mile trip on foot. A reminder of how off the tracks his life has veered, Woody sees his not-too-good-to-be-true grand prize as a means to a life he never had - a golden ticket to meaningfulness and utility long lost.

Reinvention is not that simple though, a fact illustration by the simple reality that Woody's prize is very clearly a scam - the stuff of Mega Sweepstakes Marketing mailing centers intent on pawning off China-made trinkets or magazine subscriptions. His family knows the truth of this hollow sham and treats his bullheaded demand to head southeast as a warning sign that he might be more than ready for a retirement home but Woody is steadfast in his plans of great forture.

Film Review: "Delivery Man"

Details: Parent Category: Film and the Arts; Category: Reviews; Published on Friday, 22 November 2013 17:56; Written by Kyle Sittig

Whether our viewing sensibilities are just outgrowing Vince Vaughn or people just aren’t writing good showcases for him, it is undeniable that his career is not what it once was. Wedding Crashers came out eight years ago. Let that sink in. I’m of the opinion that the problem has been the material. Ken Scott directs the remake of his own 2011 film Starbuck, which provides an avenue for Vaughn to branch out a little from his typical snarkiness. The result is a surprisingly heartwarming film, if not a bit on the forced side. With some serious revisions, this could have been a great film.

Comedies these days have such farcical plots that you have to just roll with it. If the idea of a man being hunted down by over a hundred of his own illegitimate children doesn’t instantly set off your BS meter, you can probably handle Delivery Man’s multitude of plot holes, inconsistencies, and “yeah right” moments. In reality, the contract of an anonymous sperm donor is rock solid. In the world of Delivery Man, however, David Wozniak has to deal with the fact that 142 of his 500 plus sperm donations are suing to know his identity. On top of this, he has to deal with becoming a “real” father.

After Vaughn learns the identity of the lawsuit children, he takes to stalking them and playing guardian angel. Stalking one of his daughters, he defends her from catcalls. For a musician son, he encourages donations to his street performances. One particularly offensive thing is the way Scott portrays a daughter who overdoses on heroin. Vaughn has the opportunity to send the 17 year old addict to rehab, but instead chooses to take it on faith that she can handle herself, making it painfully obvious that Scott has never dealt with drug addiction in any capacity. For anyone reading this, in case you didn’t know, send them to rehab. Disappointingly for the films own potential, she keeps her word to this man she has never met before, presumably kicking the drugs. What a great opportunity, to teach Vaughn’s character a harsh lesson about parenthood, wasted.

Parks and Recreation star Chris Pratt plays opposite Vaughn, as his comically stupid lawyer friend. Their exchanges are often hilarious, but still fail to carry the necessary weight, given how much screen time they take up. Pratt brings much of the films comedy, but might conflict a little too much with the realism of the film. His childlike demeanor in the courtroom scenes exist to show just how open-and-shut this case is.

Vaughn’s character also owes 80 grand to some seedy folk, adding a sense of urgency to the film that feels artificial. This is basic screenwriting 101 stuff. A plot device like this should be more ingrained within the film. It ends up being his reason for countersuing the sperm donation facility for defamation. Wouldn’t greed be a much more interesting motivator, though? Also, this falls flat because the stakes of his trial aren’t that serious. There should be some consequences when his children find out who he is. Instead, they are joyous and relieved. This is all fine and good for the feel-good factor, but I wanted some more authenticity added to the stakes.

In the end, Delivery Man doesn’t quite have the comedic chops to be a great comedy, nor does it have the dramatic chops to be a great dramady. And that was the problem. No matter how much I was enjoying the movie, I just felt it wasn’t something I would never want to come back to.

C

Movie Reviews: "The Book Thief"

Details: Parent Category: Film and the Arts; Category: Reviews; Published on Friday, 22 November 2013 17:51; Written by Matt Oakes

"The Book Thief"
Directed by Brian Percival
Starring Sophie Nélisse, Geoffrey Rush, Emily Watson, Roger Allam, Nico Liersch, Kirsten Block
Drama, War
131 Mins
PG-13

It's not the first time we've seen a World War II movie rife with Holocaust themes and the omnipresent horrors of war nor will it be the last, but The Book Thief manages a healthy dose of thoughtful introspection and rock solid performances amidst extraneous narration a la the Grim Reaper. This narrative tactic might have worked fine in book form but in the film only serves to interrupt the sense of immediacy inherent to the lifeblood of film. Death the narrator comes in unannounced to smooth over the rough edges, blunting the emotion impact of sequences that should have been the most shocking and gut-wrenching. Each time the film reaches an emotional apex, Death takes the stage and narrates us through what we ought to be feeling like we're reading a storybook about pretty ponies.

NYC Theater Roundup: More Shakespeare on Broadway; Beckett, Beth Henley off-Broadway

Details: Parent Category: Film and the Arts; Category: Reviews; Published on Thursday, 21 November 2013 20:34; Written by Kevin Filipski

Richard III/Twelfth Night

Written by William Shakespeare; directed by Tim Carroll

Performances through February 2, 2014

Belasco Theatre, 111 West 44^th Street, New York, NY

shakespearebroadway.com

All That Fall

Written by Samuel Beckett; directed by Trevor Nunn

Performances through December 8, 2013

59 E 59 Theaters, 59 East 59^th Street, New York, NY

59e59.org

The Jacksonian

Written by Beth Henley; directed by Robert Falls

Performances through December 22, 2013

Theater Row, 410 West 42^nd Street, New York, NY

thenewgroup.org

Barnett and Rylance in Twelfth Night (photo: Joan Marcus)

Although Mark Rylance has two Tony awards—he won for his memorable turns in the rickety farce Boeing Boeing and the rickety epic drama Jerusalem—his current mugging as Olivia in Twelfth Night and the title role of Richard III for the Shakespeare's Globe all-male, “authentic” Elizabethan productions might be cause to return them: for all his formidable skills, the actor and his self-centered antics are a disappointing comedown from his previous highs.

Since Twelfth Night is an ensemble piece whose masterly mix of comedy and romance is handled with aplomb by other actors in and out of drag, Rylance’s interpretation of the grieving Olivia who falls for Cesario (actually heroine Viola in disguise)—go-between for Duke Orsino, whose love for Olivia is not reciprocated—doesn’t entirely ruin it. But as Richard, he’s the whole play, so his stuttering, stammering, wink-wink/nudge-nudging quickly becomes tiresome, much of the time remindful of another brazen comic ham: Robin Williams.

Mork III would be a more accurate (if less catchy) title: Rylance is so busy playing to the audience (which includes dozens of people onstage seated at either side of the stage for closer proximity) that he never creates a compelling, consistent characterization of Shakespeare’s loathsomely conniving but monstrously charming king. Rylance makes comic faces while speaking, then gives blank stares, similar to what Williams does on talk shows after going off on some kind of riff or impression, putting on his “normal Robin” face to gales of laughter.

Rylance’s brazen hamming as Richard (who knew “tragedy” is spelled “travesty”?) also deflects from decent “drag” acting by Joseph Timms as Lady Anne and Samuel Barnett as Queen Elizabeth; in fact, Timms is the sole reason the infamous wooing scene—when Richard sweet talks the newly widowed Ann in front of the body of her husband whom he killed—works at all, since Rylance is too busy making sure we “get” that he’s being an utterly magnificent bastard.

Although he reins it in for Twelfth Night, his Olivia is basically the same as his Richard except for a more feminine voice, which makes him sound like Williams’ own drag role Mrs. Doubtfire. He goes for cheap laughs by, for example, overreacting when discovering that Cesario/Viola and Sebastian are twins, saying “Most wonderful!” before falling into an exaggerated faint.

Barnett, as Viola/Cesario, gives a textbook example of how to beautifully underplay as a man playing a woman playing a man: everything that Rylance overdoes is balanced by Barnett’s graceful but riveting performance. Also worth mentioning is Stephen Fry’s lower-key Malvolio, a comic villain often camped up; Fry’s more elegant demeanor, which makes him more sympathetic, allows his final threat of revenge to be more bittersweet than funny.

Tim Carroll’s competent if uninspired directing is enhanced by Jenny Tiramani’s hand-stitched 16^th century costumes and Stan Pressner’s lighting, which works subtle wonders on Tiramani’s functional unit set—but why are electric lights used for supposedly authentic stagings instead of just candles? These shows’ gimmickry, like Rylance, far outstrips their real pleasures, like Barnett, Timms and Fry.

Gambon and Atkins in All That Fall (photo: Carol Rosegg)

Along with game-changing classics Waiting for Godot, Endgame andHappy Days, Samuel Beckett wrote several works that only diehards defend or even remember. Case in point: the obscure but patently autobiographical 1957 radio play All That Fall.

This 75-minute black comedy, which begins with elderly Mrs. Rooney going to the train station to meet her blind husband after work, is another Beckett play about earthly pain and suffering in a world devoid of God. Mr. and Mrs. Rooney, both suffering from physical and spiritual ailments, deal with life’s unrelenting bleakness that culminates with an explanation of why the train was late—a small girl fell out of the train and died—that the old man may have had something to do with. At the end, their cathartic explosion of laughter at the theme of that Sunday’s sermon—“The Lord upholdeth all that fall and raiseth up all those that be bowed down”—is their own revenge on a vengeful (or non-existent) God.

Trevor Nunn's staging puts us in a radio studio watching the actors (who sit in chairs on either side of the stage when not part of the action) play their roles while various sound effects are heard: they walk around with scripts and speak into overhanging microphones. The lone stage prop, of the car in which Mrs. Rooney gets a ride, seems out of place, raising the question of whether Beckett’s blunt, meandering play should remain in its original audio-only form.

But a superior 10-member acting troupe—led by Michael Gambon, who perfectly embodies Mr. Rooney’s torturous existence and, even more exquisitely, Eileen Atkins, whose Mrs. Rooney (Beckett’s first female protagonist) is simply and heartbreakingly real—makes every single word count, the ultimate compliment for any Beckett production.

Harris and Pullman in The Jacksonian (photo: Monique Carboni)

In her new play The Jacksonian, Beth Henley dives headfirst into the depths of depravity, surfacing with a diverting if improbable melodrama. Set in the eponymous motel in Jackson, Mississippi—and moving back and forth between April and December 1964—the play is narrated by precocious teenager Rosy Perch, whose parents are local dentist Bill and mentally unbalanced Susan; Bill, staying at the motel since they’ve separated, finds his life spinning out of control. Then there’s the motel’s menacing bartender Fred Weber and flirty waitress/maid Eva White, whose relationship is in flux: Eva, who desperately wants to get married, sets her sights on the estranged dentist after Fred lies to her about his terminal heart condition.

Two murders—one offstage, one on—propel the hackneyed plot to an enjoyable conclusion after 90 minutes of characters twisting themselves into pretzels. Henley’s (in both senses) hysterical dialogue provides local flavor, with 20/20 hindsight, of course: Eva, who profusely and casually uses the N word, insists after Bill tells her to say “Negro” that “it doesn’t matter what you call them—they’re still not white.” Henley obviously identifies with awkward, acne-scarred Rosy, who’s out of place with these people in this era and locale.

In Robert Falls’ brisk staging on Walt Spangler’s knockout set of a bar and hotel room, a terrifically game cast makes the most of these wildly careening characters, even if four of them are a couple decades too old for their roles: but Ed Harris (Bill), Bill Pullman (Fred), Amy Madigan (Susan) and Glenne Headly (Eva)—who looks smashing in her underwear, by the way—give committed, fiercely funny performances as people unable to escape traps of their own device, while 20-year-old Juliet Brett—who looks all of 14—is scarily perfect as a youngster scarred by what adults are up to around her.