Lady Bird review

Quentin Tarantino once said of Kevin Smith’s “Chasing Amy” “Yeah, it’s personal, but if it isn’t good who cares?” This was, of course, Tarantino’s lead into a strong endorsement of the indie filmmakers critically high-point, before Smith eventually squandered most his good will on half-baked stoner comedies and non-sense podcast fodder. But it’s this sentiment that comes to mind when reviewing actress Greta Gerwig's “Lady Bird,” her debut film as both writer and director. Based heavily on the 34-year old’s  own coming of age experiences in 2002 Sacramento, the movie plays as both a love letter to the California capital, as well as a tender-hearted comedy about a big fish in a little pond who’s awkwardly splashing her way to grander opportunities.

Christine McPherson (Saoirse Ronan) is a high-school senior who is desperately trying to leave her small town life. While forced to live a lower-middle-class existence, fighting with her pragmatist mother (Laurie Metcalf) and preparing graduation from her strict Catholic education. As she tries on many new personalities she ready’s herself for a more cultured life at one of the prospective east-coast universities she hopes to attend. This is made explicitly known to her friends and family when she forces them to refer to her as Lady Bird instead of her given name. After deciding she needs an artistic outlet, her and best friend Julie (Beanie Feldstein) take small parts in the school musical, just before Lady Bird finds a new group of partying, pseudo-intellectual parking-lot rebels. In the background of this, with the help of her out-of-work father (Tracy Letts), our protagonist tries to apply to as many out-of-state schools as she can without her easily-worried mother finding out.

Gerwig’s treatment of this coming-of-age story is grounded by its specificity. It’s not a story that has to take place in Sacramento to work, but in doing so the city becomes another character whose relationship with Lady Bird is just as nuanced as the other human relationships in the movie. This didn’t need to be set in 2002, but the music and wardrobe choices, as well as the pre-smartphone, pre-social media time-frame that’s captured here, keep the characters isolated in their suburban malaise that’s lovingly recreated. It’s also nice to see a story about a realistically middle-class family who is struggling financially but without shifting the narrative away from the protagonists

The other element that separates this effort from the film’s generic teen-movie lineage, is the quality of the performances combined with Gerwig’s funny yet truthful, conversational dialogue. The many prickly scenes between Metcalf and Ronan’s mother-daughter exchanges is like watching two tennis pros bat the ball back and forth without ever letting it hit the ground. These actors are totally in tune with each other but not at the expense of movie’s larger impact. As real and emotional as the acting is, it never overwhelms the story or dampens the scripts many comedic highlights. Actor/playwright Letts also has complicated arc throughout the story as his personal and professional failures are redeemed through his daughter’s naive ambitions. It’s a heartbreaking arc that the film doesn’t explicate in an overly sentimental way. 

Not only is “Lady Bird” an exceptional effort from a first time director, this has been one of the strongest films to come out this year--though it should be stated Gerwig’s collaborations with directors Noah Baumbach and Joe Swanberg was more extensive than the usual co-writer or actor. Every scene advances or complicates the characters and never lets them settle into a comfortable archetype, and the craft behind the earthy, amber-hued visual design of the picture also shows a level of stylistic confidence that elevates the project beyond either the teen genre or the usual Sundance crowd-pleaser.  Like any great filmmaker who understands how to balance story with style, Gerwig’s snappy dialogue and personal touches are in perfect sync with the rhythm of the narrative and in service to the overall quality of the final result.

Grade A+

Originally Published in the Idaho State Journal/Dec-2017

Listen to this episode of Jabber and the Drone to hear more conversation about "Lady Bird."

The Wind Rises review

                 Last weekend saw the official release of Hayao Miyazaki’s final film “The Wind Rises”, a leisurely paced WWII drama about airplane engineering, first loves, ambition and regret. It’s a sweeping melodrama, a fanciful coming of age story, and an emotionally driven historical allegory all in one, and, like many other Miyazaki films, it manages to weave in and out of these modes seamlessly, despite its slightly saggy 126 minute run-time. 

                Working as one of the last auteurs in post-Disney animation, Miyazaki films revel in an organic quietude and classical storytelling, in a time in American animation when loud, fast and 3D seems to be the most prominent aesthetic. “The Wind Rises” takes his hand-painted, reserved technique even further, with an autumnal tone that strips away most of the fantasy elements that made movies such as “Princess Mononoke” and “My Neighbor Totoro” definitive Japanese imports.

                From a young age, Jiro Horikoshi (dubbed in English by Joseph Gordon Levit) dreamed of a magical airspace where he could ride the wings of the crafts built by his hero Caproni, an Italian airplane manufacture from the early turn of the century.  Driven by these reoccurring fantasies, Jiro enrolls into engineering school, where he works late nights to accomplish his goals, with very little social interactions. Later when he and his best friend Honjo (John Krasinski) are hired by the Japanese government to help advance their aero industry and catch up with the technologies of Europe and America, Jiro must reconcile his ambitions for designing the perfect plane, while knowing his inventions will be used in massive acts of violence in the oncoming War.  

                It’s Miyazaki’s subtle power in narrative poetry that really brings to life this multi-stranded story. From early on we know that the hopeful innocents of Jiro’s goals are dimmed in the shadows of their consequences. When he meets his future wife, as he is on his way to his first big job, the serene beauty of the moment is devastated in an earthquake that derails their train and destroys the city around them. Years later, when they meet again and fall in love, their union is compromised when Nahoko (Emily Blunt) is diagnosed with tuberculosis. All the while, their bittersweet romance is gracefully juxtaposed alongside Jiro’s journey through moral tribulation as he and his colleagues reluctantly build deadly war machines for the pride of Japanese nationalism.  

                “The Wind Rises” is a complicated and beautifully executed piece of animation. The craft and attention to the water-color backgrounds and the soft touches it brings to every detail of every frame captures Miyazaki’s wistful tragedy perfectly. However, unlike many of the other releases imported from Studio Ghibli, this is not exactly a ‘fun’ movie, and though there is nothing explicitly adult about it, it’s not really intended for children either. The languid pace of the film is breathy and the scope is both intimate and spacious at the same time. Meaning, it’s safe to say that the sophisticated storytelling of this cartoon would probably have most kids under twelve shifting in their seats, and to be fair, at times, it had me checking my watch as well.  With that said, there’s nothing here that’s begging to be cut but like most movies it could probably benefit from a tighter trim.  Regardless, those who can respect an impressionistic style of animation should privilege themselves to the accumulative power of Miyazaki’s last work.

Grade: B+

Originally published in the Idaho State Journal/March -2014

The Secret Life of Walter Mitty review

                 Ben Stiller, an actor most commonly associated with embarrassing-parent movies, released a remake of a somewhat forgotten 1947 movie called “The Secret Life of Walter Mitty.” It’s a congenial film about a timid guy who learns to take control of life instead of letting it pass him by. It’s nothing special, but actually, Ben Stiller—when he wants to be—is a pretty talented director. “The Cable Guy” is a massively underrated dark comedy, “Zoolander” is a near perfect farce of fashion culture, and “Tropic Thunder” was the high water mark in modern comedy until it was regrettably dethroned by Todd Phillips’ “The Hangover.”

                …But back to this Walter Mitty business. It’s fine. I mean, it’s sappy, and sentimental, it plays to least adventurous portion of the lowest common denominator, and the product placement is so blatant that it might as well be a feature length commercial for Match.com and Papa Johns, but it isn’t unwatchable.  What it is, unfortunately, is mundane and simple; two words I would have never attributed to Stiller’s previous directorial work.

                Walter Mitty (Ben Stiller) is a humble photo developer at Time magazine who often dreams of a better life where he can travel the world like his rock and roll photographer Sean O’ Connell (Sean Penn) and where he can muster up the gumption to ask out his workplace crush Cheryl Melhoff (Kristen Wiig). In real life, however, he can’t even get his online dating profile to work, and he hasn’t done enough with his life to complete its comprehensive questionnaire.  When his new boss—a cartoonish, condescending tool, played by “Parks and Recreation” actor Adam Scott—comes in to inform the company that they will be printing the last issue of the magazine, the pressure is put of Walter to locate a missing frame from Sean O’Connell’s negative.  Walter is then forced to track down the techno-illiterate photographer to the ends of the earth in search of the mysterious image.

                Wallter Mitty goes on a journey. But it’s not just a geographical journey, you see; it’s a journey of life, love and self-discovery, which would be fine, if we had any investment in his character at all. Ben’s performance as Mitty is thoroughly wishy-washy and one dimensional. The arc of his development through the story, even though it is being literally forced in the most absurd ways possible, is never clear or satisfying, and that’s a problem for a film about self-discovery.

                There’s an aesthetic choice by Stiller to blur the line between reality and fantasy. Walter’s day dreams seem to manifest into full plot by the middle of the picture, only to drift back into believability whenever the movie sees fit.  I have no problem with this sort of ambiguity in theory. Certainly, Terry Gilliam made good use of this idea in films such as “Brazil” and “The Fisher King”. But Stiller seems to use this trope not as a way of expressing the needs and hopes of Walter, but rather as a lazy device to move the story along. And in the end, because he can’t keep track of his own narrative rules, the character’s goals are empty and the romantic resolution with his crucially underdeveloped love interest feels unearned.

                Walter backpacks a snowy mountain, he’s saved from a shark in below-freezing waters and he skateboards down a winding street in Iceland, but in all of this action the movie never lifts out of its mopey, naval-gazing tone and embraces the adventure of its premise.  Photographed like a Nissan commercial, and paced like a travel channel special, “The Secret Life of Walter Mitty” probably aims for the life-affirming warmth of “Stranger than Fiction” or the lovelorn idiosyncrasy of “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind”, yet, with all the depth of a motivating office poster, at best, what it ends up being is something closer to a dude-centric, “Eat Pray Love”.

Grade: C -

Originally published in the Idaho State Journal/Jan-2014

The Wolf of Wall Street review

            The economy has been the underlying theme of many of the films released in the last 3 years, and this year being no exception. But whereas “The Hunger Games” and “Killing them Softly”  focused on the  struggle of the lower class and the inertia of the economic climb, moves of this topic in 2013, such as “The Bling Ring”, “Spring Breakers”,  “The Great Gatsby” and  “American Hustle”, are bleak satires of the bloated excesses of the one percent and the material obsessions of American culture.  Martin Scorsese’s latest, “The Wolf of Wall Street”—bizarrely released on Christmas weekend—is perhaps the most salty and biting of this crop; an unrelenting, tenacious carnival of queasy decadence and mind boggling affluenza.

                After losing his first fortune in the big Wall Street crash of 1987, young stockbroker Jordan Belfort (Leonardo DiCaprio) builds his way back up through an unregulated investment scam, tricking small start-up companies to sell stock to him for half the profits they receive. Later, when Belfort learns he can take this same business model to catch the bigger fish, his life, his friend, his wives, and his firm begins to quickly spin out of control.

                Not unlike Marty’s “Goodfellas” back in 1991, this film follows the rise and fall of an overconfident and mostly unlikable main character as he narrates the events of his life in a barely confessional, but mostly self-congratulatory, tone.  The friends and colleagues who surround Belfort, such as his sloppy yes-man Donny Azoff (played with spot-on comic sleaze by Jonah Hill), his mentor Mark Hannah (A Mathew McConaughey cameo, that almost steals the entire movie in one scene), and even his playboy-model second wife Naomi Lapaglia (played by newcomer Margot Robbie, who’s tough enough to keep up with all of the barking dogs in this movie) not only encourage his extreme behavior but they count on it to maintain their own status.  And when I say extreme behavior, sex, drugs and rock and roll is a reductive bumper-sticker in comparison to the day to day risk-taking these executives indulge in, as they engage in company-funded sex-parties on airplanes and consume fistfuls of illegal pills before and after meetings.

                Barely avoiding an NC-17 rating, Scorsese and company have been heavily scrutinized for portraying this lifestyle as all party and no hang-over and for possibly giving Belfort more money for his actions by adapting his own autobiography. While I can’t speak for Belfort’s royalties, I can say that if this had been a ninety minute blaze of orgiastic crunking, I could see the cocaine ecstasy that this film displays as being problematic. However, this is a three hour film, and after the first few hours of scandalous fun, the darkly-comedic beats begin to ramp up faster and faster until it becomes a numbing montage of capitalistic gluttony. What was once funny, dangerous, and sexy in the first half of the film becomes depressing, disgusting, and irredeemable by the second half, and I don’t consider that as a point of criticism. That, I believe, is exactly the point.

                The half-way mark is where audiences will likely take their position on the film. While some will find the epic build of this to be a monumental critique of privileged narcissism—a kind of Citizen Kane by way Gordon Gekko on bath-salts—others will not be as charmed by Scorsese’s persistent energy and may simply feel like they are sloshing in a bog of exploitation.

                 If this were a straightforward morality tale the characters would learn something valuable and karma would be the ultimate victor, but history isn’t fair and justice isn’t thorough.  Instead, you’re supposed to watch the actions of these men with conflicting sense of curious envy and outraged condemnation, and in that sense, “The Wolf of Wall Street” boldly puts its money where its mouth is.

Grade: A


Originally published in the Idaho State Journal/Jan-2014