Millions

Written, initially, when it was released on video. And recently expanded because it's so darned good and everybody needs a good movie every once in awhile...

Millions (Danny Boyle, 2004) "The French have said au revoir to the franc, the Germans have said auf wiedersehen to the mark, and the Portuguese have said...whatever to their thing."

 

"Now, it's our turn to say good-bye to sterling. This Christmas, we are going to get the euro. Good-bye, old pounds. Everyone says we're going to miss you."

 

It's 2002, and with the establishment of the European Union, the country-specific currency in the days of conflicting exchange rates was being replaced by the euro in 12 of the member states (although it's now in 20 of the 27 EU countries) as of the first of that year, all in the name of solidarity and globalization. Such a radical shift is the sort of thing to make great stories of, and this little parable (of a sorts) is a remarkable example of making a great story out of cultural change (and not just the monetary kind).

Director Danny Boyle begins Millions with a sun-dappled intro to a child's world, and a visit to the site of a new housing development, where our hero Damian (Alex Etel) and his brother Anthony (Lewis McGibbon) imagine the building of their soon-to-be new home in fantastical stop-motion animation set to John Murphy's cooing Elfmanesque score.* One is instantly charmed, not only by the fairy-tale way in which the story is introduced, but also by the promise of what is to come. Anything is possible.

But, the sequence is interspersed with shots of impossibly propulsive trains, indicating—along with the house-building sequence that, in this child's world, things can move pretty fast.

Once, they've moved into their new home named appropriately "Serendipity" ("Surprisingly spacious with attractive views!" enthuses Anthony), it's off to school with them, where Anthony is better able to adapt than Damian who when he's asked if he has any heroes rattles off the names of saints (with whom he's obsessed) enthusiastically detailing their grisly fates to the horror of his fellow students (whose heroes are footballers).

But, their lives change when Damian imagines an audience with Clare of Assisi (1194 to 1253 and the patron saint of television...no, really) in his hermitage made of moving boxes taped together to form an ornate structure and its interrupted by the construction being crushed by a flying Nike bag filled with pound notes—£229,520 to be precise—which Damian assumes (naturally) that it came from God. His brother, Anthony, is far less deistic and thinks—maybe—it came from a passing train, but doesn't question it enough to see the opportunities implied. The kids stash the loot, vow to not tell their Dad, and Anthony begins to use it to gain friends at their new school to form a "posse."

But, Damian has other ideas (of course). Since the funds came from God, he starts to distribute it the way his idols, the saints, would. His first act is to buy a bunch of pigeons and release them, as per St. Francis (who dutifully shows up to give his approval and suggest that Damian use the money to help the poor). With aid from St. Nicholas, he leaves stuffs a lot of pound notes into the mail-slot of some neighboring Mormon missionaries (they needed a dish-washer and a microwave), the Ugandan Martyrs persuade Damian to give to a Christian charity that will provide wells to African villages (that one is so obvious and un-anonymous it gets him in trouble with his whole family and exposes the fact that he has the loot), then St. Peter comes by for a visit and tells him maybe he should slow down a little as miracles aren't always what they seem.

Damian with St. Francis (note the halo)

 

Meanwhile, there's all this money with a certifiable expiration date and two boys have to figure out how to use it while it's still valuable. Anthony starts to tour real estate "for investment opportunity." Damian comes to realize that even though giving to the poor is a really good idea "it's really hard" to do. Plus things get...complicated once Da knows there's all this money and then, there's the business of some guy nosing around the neighborhood looking like he's lost something really valuable. And Doyle maintains his penchant for keeping things visually fascinating and telling a story in unconventional ways, but still conveying what he absolutely means.

Millions is one of those ones I missed in the theater, and one I deeply regret for having missed it. It's a little gem of a movie Boyle made between his zombie-film 28 Days Later (which will be getting a sequel this year) and his sci-fi film Sunshine but sweeter than his usual fare, although—Doyle being Doyle—it does flirt with some dark material involving child jeopardy, but it ultimately has its sacred heart in the right place.

At one point St. Peter tells Damian: "Something that looks like a miracle turns out to be dead simple." Millions isn't dead simple, but it is something of a miracle.

 

It's a highly charming movie, while avoiding the usual cute kid cliches, and maintaining a quite sophisticated tone of drama and off-the-wall comedy. That was a trick even Disney found hard to pull off.** It gets a very high recommendation from me. 

* I was delighted to see that the score was performed by the Seattle Symphony Orchestra and The Northwest Boychoir and recorded at Studio X of my old stomping ground Bad Animals and recorded by old comrade Reed Ruddy. Nifty!

 

** This being what they are, and the film being originally produced by Fox Searchlight, it is now the property of The House of Mouse. 

Everybody watches "Who Wants to be a Millionaire" which is some sort of career-foreshadowing.

Trance (2013)

Post-Modern-Femi-Noir
or
I See London, I See Trance

Danny Boyle has been on something of a tear lately. His last couple films have been popular show-cases of how diverse and direct his story-telling skills can be now, and resonant with audiences. And yet none of his recent films should have "worked:" Oscar-winning Slumdog Millionaire's combination of pop culture, Bollywood, gangsterism and classic literature; 127 Hours' brutal and claustrophobic story about a man  who cuts off his own arm, which still manages to be uplifting and even inspiring. Boyle is now a household name and an A-list director thanks to Slumdog. His previous film, the sardonic sci-fi film Sunshine did not attract an audience, nor did his kids' film Millions (despite being delightful, both for kids and adults). His new prestige made him the natural choice to become the creative director for last year's London Olympics.

It was while working on them that the opportunity came to take a break, and he rushed this film, Trance, into production—not that you could tell, it's full of his multi-media eclecticism that at times can run out of control. The script had already been directed (by its writer Joe Aherne) as a TV movie in 2001. It's a heist film with several twists, and, as Doyle has said in interviews, it was a dark tonic to the celebratory work he was doing for the Games.

We are introduced to the movie by Simon (James McAvoy) who gives us a brief art history lesson on particular paintings and their peculiarities. But one thing about this ersatz collection sets them apart; "You haven't seen them because they've been stolen." Simon works as an art auctioneer and walks us through a brief summary of audacious art thefts, and the precautions that auction houses take to protect their commodities. "Lesson number one," though, is "don't be a hero. No work of art is worth a human life."

"Rule No. 1: Don't Be a Hero."

It's a lesson he should take to heart. A robbery does take place, and true to instructions, Simon isn't a hero--he's in on it, the job's "inside man.' But, in the shell-game of keeping up appearances, he is given a severe head trauma, and (isn't this a pretty picture?) can't remember what he did with the painting.

This is, of course, quite upsetting to the ringleader, Franck (Vincent Cassell), who tries to extract the information in the typical gangster fashion (old fashioned threats of death, disfigurement, and the actual pulling out of  fingernails). Nothing breaks through Simon's personal pentimento.

Go to Plan B. They send Simon to hypnotherapist Elizabeth Lamb (Rosario Dawson), who's had quite a success breaking addictions, changing lives and messing with heads. It's the latter skill that comes in good stead as she quickly realizes that Simon is not just a guy in need of finding his car-keys, but may be in league with the devil. Finding his memory might even make him a memory.

Doyle's good at messing with heads, as well, as Trance proves fairly quickly. 

Under his hypnotherapy, loyalties are tested (particularly the audience's), and no matter what subject matter is on screen, whether grisly or enticing, it's tough to take your eyes off it. Pretty soon you're not sure what's real, what's illusion...or (finally) what's going on. Some neat tricks are played, expectations are shattered, but all to the service of a script that isn't all that great.

One can appreciate the twists and turns and diversions, and the slightly feminist slant that the movie tilts in the traditional role of the femme fatale in film noir. But, ultimately the biggest trick that's pulled is the illusion that a better movie is happening. For all the visual pyrotechnics and the reality warping manipulation of the audience, Trance isn't that good a movie, and unconsciously or consciously, a trifle.

Goya's Witches in the Air—the "MacGuffin" of the movie

127 Hours

Written at the time of the film's release...

As I recall, the Best Picture winner for that year was The King's Speech (the nominees were quite impressive that year), although 127 Hours and Franco's performance were nominated.

"Drinking Your Own Epiphany"

or
"Rock On/('Ooops')/Arm(our) Off"

The story of Aron Ralston, extreme....everything, who, on a solo trek through Canyonlands National Park in Utah finds himself stuck in a seam of the Earth pinned down by a boulder he has no way of moving, is a harrowing story of survival, self-reliance and an ultimate example of "a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do."* Beyond the gruesome headlines is the story of a young man, who, faced with a situation;putting him, literally and figuratively "between a rock and a hard place" (the title of his book outlining the story), chose to follow his philosophy to an extreme act, losing a part of himself, but gaining far, far more.

Not your typical film subject. In fact, it would be a daunting thing to film, not only from a technical aspect—limited staging, convincing illusions of the injury—but from a dramatic one, as well (we're talking one-man show in a cave).

Danny Boyle's film of the incident, though, 127 Hours, not only makes the film seem invisibly easy to accomplish—one doesn't think for a moment of the filming difficulties, so engrossed are you in the challenges of the film-Ralston in his tasks trying to extricate himself and survive, basically—it is an intense, kaleidoscopic presentation of a human psyche in solitary duress. Ralston (James Franco) fights the battle on two fronts: physically, dealing with his limited options and the practical, and impractical, tools at his disposal; and mentally, as he struggles with the mental challenges of time, pain and personality. With only 15 minutes of sunlight each day, which he finds the capacity to luxuriate through, he keeps a running countdown of resources, limited food and water, the tools at his command and his own diminished capacity. He knows his time and options are limited, and gradually, as they run out—that poster embedded here suggests, very appropriately, an hour-glass—he must come to grips with his responsibility to himself, and the people in his life that, heretofore, have been merely fleeting encounters, as jettisonable as the wrapper of his last Power bar.

Time wounds all heels. And in his forced imprisonment, the taking stock of Aron Ralston brings focus and clarity. The hyper-activity of Ralston's previous life, which Boyle crams into a split-screen multi-speed, multi-media format, is stilled, brought to a very narrow range of existence, and places him in the Here and Now, as opposed to the Next Empty Thing. Time and relationships become essentials, and his own self, literally and metaphorically, becomes disposable. He discards, mentally, physically, what has become useless.

And chooses life. 

Wow. Great story. "Intense" (as one Grand Cinema patron remarked leaving the theater gasped) and harrowing.

Don't let the amputation aspects of the film turn you off to a great film experience. Yes, it's graphic (Boyle prepares you for it with early attempts that do nothing to solve the situation—they're more exploratory surgeries), yes, there will be blood...and sinew and gristle...and nerve-slicing—which Boyle and his sound-designers amp up with a dentist-drill irritation—but, nothing that hasn't been CSI'd into our consciousness to the point of numbness. By this time, the identification with Ralston has become so empathetic, that I (perversely, I guess) found the episode liberating, and an act to be cheered.

Boyle's quilting of the movie is brilliant, but he's aided and abetted by an army of technicians who keep things fascinating, not the least of which are cinematographers Enrique Chediak and Anthony Dod Mantle, and Boyle's Slumdog Millionaire composer A.R. Rahman (and a goofily eclectic soundtrack).

But the hero is Franco. After seeming a bit of a "meh" actor in the first Spiderman movie, it has been fun to watch him grow as an actor, first in that series, and in the clutch of carefully chosen dramas and comedies he has made since. Boyle has set a fine table, but Franco is the center-piece, the one essential ingredient that had to "work" to pull it all together. This is a sure Oscar-nominated performance, and, if there's any justice, he'll get the statuette, as well.

Oscar-wise, Boyle might even pull a "two-fer." We're on the cusp of December and the Christmas movie crush, but it is not hard to imagine 127 Hours turning out to be the best movie of the year.

Aron Ralston.  Rock On.

* I still remember where I was and what I was doing when I first heard the news reports of his story and what he did. I also recall my reaction, which consisted of taking a deity's name in vain, and contemplating—for several minutes—what I would have done in that situation. I could conjure no definitive answer except "Maybe...but certainly not as well."

Don't Make a Scene: Yesterday

The Story: I read the news, today/Ohh-boy...

Actually, it was Friday. Friday was the 80th birthday of John Winston Ono Lennon, MBE, founder of The Beatles. Think on that for a moment (and that his middle name was inspired by Winston Churchill—he was born during the second of the World Wars). We know his story. We know how it ended. We have the clips. We have the songs, the music and his words.

And we have a certain amount of sadness with the joy for all that.

He couldn't anticipate the effect that he would have—who, given his circumstances, could? But, the group he formed out of the British "skiffle" craze went to the "Toppermost of the Poppermost," and became part of a world-wide phenomenon. Like the others, he would "give the world permission to go insane...and, for that, we gave up our nervous systems" (as band-mate George Harrison laconically—as was his way—summed it up). As part of The Beatles, he had the world screaming at his feet...and found it wanting. He looked for something else: therapy, drugs, meditation, a second marriage, political activism, then gave it up for a years-long "time-out" for domesticity, only to be be murdered just as he was returning to the music. Stolen away, just as he was starting to get the hang of it all (one hopes).

Danny Boyle's film of Jack Barth's spec script "Cover Version"—drastically re-written by Richard Curtis as Yesterday—presents a "Twilight Zone"-type story of a struggling musician traumatized into a world where The Beatles never existed...and only he can remember their songs. Singing them, he becomes a success with the purloined classics-that-never-were and he finds that what they went through wasn't so much a "desire devoutly to be wished." Both Barth's and Curtis' versions had the conflicted musician visiting John Lennon, who managed to get through it all and live to a ripe old age, not too far afield from the man the real Lennon managed to become at the end of his life...just not playing music.

When the film came out, it got a lot of stick for this scene for being "in poor taste" and "being on the edge of sacrilege" and as "a gasp-inducing moment." Boyle himself said in an interview: "It produces very intense feelings, which is absolutely understandable...I think it has a lot to do with people's own lives and their own experiences with mortality."

And a lot has to do with their perceived personal relationship with John Lennon, celebrity. Lennon's death is one of those moments you remember where you were and what you were doing when you found out (I heard it, like a lot of people did, watching Monday Night Football). That personal impact is powerful stuff, and might convince folks that their reactions might be as important as someone who actually...you know...KNEW John Lennon in reality. The vast majority of us are merely observers and consumers...not participants. In fact, taking it too personally sounds like the psychosis of the drip who shot Lennon (no names, no celebrity, thank you).

I was surprised—it was a bit of gut-punch, really—...and eventually delighted, not only because the uncredited Robert Carlyle did an eerily accurate portrayal, but also because it presented a fantasy-closure that worked with the story—it was integral, not exploitive, and the film would not have been as good without it.

And it was good to see the old duffer again...if only in fantasy.

There are places I'll remember...
All my life, though some have changed
Some forever, not for better
Some have gone, and some remain
All these places had their moments
With lovers and friends, I still can recall
Some are dead, and some are living
In my life, I've loved them all.

The Set-Up: Imagine there's no Beatles. For busker Jack Malik (Himesh Patel), that's a reality after a bicycle/vehicle accident that left him in the hospital. Now, he's the only one who remembers the songs of The Beatles...and when he plays them, people think he's a genius! And he becomes popular, even celebrated for these songs...that he knows he did not write. This causes him some conflict. Fortunately, he's not the only person in the world who sing the old songs, and a couple of them have given him an address. It might help. 

A-one, A-two, A-three, A-fower....

(knock at door)

John: Hello.

John: Can I help? 

Jack: I don't know. Are you John?
John: That's right.

Jack: From Liverpool?

John: That's right.

Jack: It's an honor to meet you.

Jack: John...
John: Yeah.

Jack: Have you had a happy life?

John: Very.

Jack: But not successful...
John: You just said "very happy." That means successful.

John: Did a job I enjoyed, day after day. 

John: Sailed the world. Fought for things I believed in, and won... couple of times.

John: Found a woman I loved. Fought hard to keep her, too. 

John: Lived my life with her.

Jack: Fought hard for her.
John: There were complica...

John: Sorry, what's your name?

Jack: Jack

 

John: There were complications, young Jack. Loss and gain. 

John: Prejudice and pride. But...

John: It all turned out just...

John: ..fab.

John: How's your love life?
Jack: Bad.

Jack: I let her slip away.

John: Try to get her back.

John: You want a good life? It's not complicated.

John: Tell the girl you love that you love her.

John: And tell the truth to everyone...whenever you can.

Jack: Can I give you a hug?

John (taken aback): What?

Jack: It's so good to see you!

Jack: How old are you?
John: 78.

Jack: Fan-ta-stic!

Jack: You made it to 78!

John: You're a very strange man.

John: But... 

John: ...go ahead.

John: You need serious psychiatric help.

Jack: Not anymore. 

Yesterday

Words by Jack Barth and Richard Curtis

Pictures by Christopher Ross and Danny Boyle

Yesterday is available on DVD and Blu-Ray from Universal Pictures Home Entertainment.