Knox Goes Away

Schrödinger's Murderer

or

"Did You Bury This Guy?" "No. Why?" "'Cause If You Had, I'd've Dug Him Up and Killed Him Again."

Knox Goes Away is a lot better than people say it is.

Michael Keaton's second directed film—his first was the little seen The Merry Gentleman—is another pulpy film noir about a hit-man. The first (which Keaton basically took over when the original director was incapacitated) was more of a character study, contrasting its hired killer becoming something of a guardian angel to a woman in need of protection. But, as opposed to the first, this time director Keaton's fully committed and this one is more of a puzzle film, with Keaton's contract killer, John Knox, having to solve two problems simultaneously, both as them as personal as could be. 

It's not territory Knox is familiar with, as he's as cold as they come, not even wanting to know about the individuals he's hired to kill. He doesn't need a reason, as much as his partner Tom Muncie (Ray McKinnon), tries to justify the murders they've been hired to commit ("because in ten minutes, Tommy, he's not gonna be anybody"). He just does the job, cleans up the scene to avoid suspicion, then goes away. He's a bit of a ghost. The record has him ex-Army ("Deep Reconnaissance Officer") and he did a stretch for tax evasion (of all things) but, given his trade, it could have been a lot worse.

But, Knox is smart. He's extremely well-read—someone says he has 10,000 books in his house—majored in English Lit and History and he has the nickname of "Aristotle" that he got in the Army for always having a book in his hand. And he survives by his wits. His assets are all neatly tucked away, and he has few strings attached—he had a wife and kid, but they've been out of the picture since prison—except for co-workers, like Muncie, and "acquaintances" in the business. There's a hooker (Joanna Kulig), who shows up like clockwork every week (Knox lends her books).

He survives by his wits. But, his first problem is they're starting to fail him. A visit to a neurologist and an E-ticket through an MRI gives him good news and bad news—he doesn't have Alzheimer's (as he feared), he has CJD—Creutzfeldt-Jakob Disease—which is worse. Statistically, 70% of people die within a year of diagnosis, but Knox has weeks, not months. The forgetfulness will increase, there'll be hallucinations, coordination issues, vision problems...then dementia, palsy, coma, then his brain will just stop making him breathe...The Big Erasure. "I'm sorry," the neurologist says lamely. "S'okay, Doc" says Knox. "Even if I hated you for telling me, I'd forget soon enough."

Knox keeps it quiet. He tells Muncie their upcoming job will be his last one—that he's "going away" (truer words...)— and then he'll start "putting his affairs in order" as the doctor recommended. But, that last job of his goes bad, he screws it up when he has "an episode", proving that he's not too good at this "death" business when it happens to take the lead. He makes due with the clean-up, for all the good it'll do, but it's botched and there's nothing he can do about it. The cops are gonna see through the inconsistencies and start looking around. He's losing it and he knows it. Now, he has to work fast.

Then, the other problem happens and it's one he can't ignore, as taxing as it is on his dwindling resources. In a way, it's a similar but more complicated scenario than the issues he had to just make-do with on the botch-job. But he has to get this one right. He cannot fail at this because it'll screw up everything else that he's planned in "putting his affairs in order." But, his disease will make the likelihood of screwing up that much more likely...and he has to be precise. He has to get it right.

So, he goes to an old contact in "the business," Xavier Crane (Al Pacino, doing some of the most subtle work he's done in ages). Crane is retired (although he keeps reminding Knox "you know I'm a thief"), but Knox asks him a big solid: look at his plans, check them, make sure they're right...and, if they are, check in with Knox...daily...to make sure things are going on schedule and monitor Knox's condition. Crane becomes caretaker to Knox and his plan...and it's one the old pro doesn't take lightly.

I'm not saying anything about what Knox has to deal with—for one thing, it's really spoilery, and for another, it's a bit problematic—it's a little too convenient that it happens just at that time (one keeps expecting a twist that says the whole thing's a set-up but it doesn't), but one could, if being generous, explain it away using the "life's what happens when you're busy making other plans" trope. But, everything is so inextricably linked that it's actually far more resonant than if all Knox had to do was liquefy his assets and make sure that everything is "clean."

What Knox does in the ensuing couple of weeks will only reinforce one's confusion about his condition—what is he doing? Why is he doing that? Is he losing it? Truth be told, he is, but he's working on a scheme he came up with years ago...with an awful lot of last-minute improvisation. But, he's gotta do it without screwing up. Meanwhile, on a parallel track, the cops—in the form of Detective Emily Ikari (Suzy Nakamura, who's so good) and her partner, Rale (John Hoogenakker)—are looking at how Knox "cleaned up" that last hit and it just isn't adding up as what Knox wanted it to look like. And they're starting to circle around Knox as the forensics start to come in, confirming their theories. It's just a matter of time, something Knox doesn't have.

Like I said, this one is better than people say it is. I don't know what the issue is—maybe it's too complicated for today's entertainment "journalists" or maybe a lot of the stuff just goes over people's heads, but it's a lovely exercise in how one deals with a "post-'Dateline'" world of micro-forensics, DNA research, cell-phones, and a security camera on every street corner. It's intricate without broad strokes and there are a lot of sly subtleties in the script, direction and acting.

Keaton's great in this, certainly as an actor, but—as he showed in setting up shots on The Merry Gentleman—he has a good eye for story-telling camera placements of a certain moody edge...without the burden of the "attention-getting" tricks that early directors fall prey to. I did have some issues with how he portrayed Knox's condition—it didn't seem like Alzheimer's to me—but then reading up on CJD with its dementia AND hallucinations, I could see what Keaton was going for. Marcia Gay Harden's in this and she's terrific as Knox's ex, James Marsden might be a tad too mercurial in his part (but he's supposed to be a hot-head) and Pacino plays his wizened mentor role with the former quiet intensity of his past. It's good to have that back.

I like it for its intricacies, its resonances, and the fatalism that should run through any good film-noir. And it is a film-noir, despite the sunshine and the surprising humor that runs through it (Nakamura's delivery, for example, is as dry as a bone). I'm thinking of one particular shot of Detective Ikari near the end that in contrast to the rest of the story shows what an uncaring Universe we inhabit, no matter our intentions and competence. That shot didn't need to be there, but Keaton kept it in, and it's heart-breaking given the rest of the film. That's noir, and this little film, slipping under the radar, manages to revive the form, staying true to its inherent world of cynicism, but seeming so triumphant.

Into the Wild

In a time when the toppling of statues and monuments have been making the news, one may have missed your attention. Officials have removed the "Into the Wild" bus from its position in Denali National Forest in Alaska. The bus, where the body of adventurer Chris McCandless was discovered, has been a macabre destination for tourists and fans of the Jon Krakauer book and Sean Penn film made from it. But, many came ill-prepared. Many rescue operations had to be dispatched, and there were some deaths. And so, authorities flew in on one last rescue mission to end all rescue missions and end the possibility of any more tragedies that might echo that first one. 

Here's the review of that film, written at the time of its release.

Finding Oneself and Getting Lost

There is a pleasure in the pathless wood,
There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
There is society, where none intrudes,
By the deep sea, and music in its roar:
I love not man the less, but Nature more,
From these our interviews, in which I steal
From all I may be, or have been before,
To mingle with the Universe, and feel
What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal.

Lord Byron

The films of Sean Penn's directorial career have all carried the underlying theme of obsession. But until now, he has always shown the dark side of it—The Indian Runner, The Crossing Guard, The Pledge (the latter two focusing on revenge, of sorts)—the Need to get even, to balance the books, to set the world and Nature right. But with his Oscar-winning role in Clint Eastwood's Mystic River, he seems to have cauterized that need from his system. His new film, Into the Wild, is just as obsessive but presents more of a spiritual quest. Nature is already balanced. Now one must become a part of it. Based on Jon Krakauer's book (which is expanded from his articles on "Outside Online"—originally called "Death of an Innocent" and not available on the site at this time), it dogs the footsteps of Christopher McCandless, who upon graduating from college, disappeared on a journey across the country and eventually to Alaska, where he tried to live off the land, and his body was found by moose hunters in an abandoned bus. If he wanted to become one with Nature, he achieved it. But there's no great trick doing that. As so often happens, the destination isn't as important as the journey.

Penn (who also wrote the complex screenplay) presents McCandless' Odyssey as a rite of passage, literally divided into chapters, starting with his shedding of everything tying him to a middle-class life like his parents (played cold and shrill, by, respectively, Willian Hurt and Marcia Gay Harden), and simply disappearing, leaving no trace, and ensuring that he would have at least a couple months head-start before anyone knew he'd left. These chapters serve as flash-backs of a sort (given the opening of the film, the whole thing could be a flash-back) to McCandless' day-to-day life living in the abandoned bus/hunting drop that would unwittingly be his last stand. 

The narrative is punctuated by McCandless' writings in dreamy, floaty script, and a journal-like view from home from the perspective of his sister (played by Jena Malone). Each chapter begins with an extended montage played over songs by Eddie Vedder (which sounds like it could be horrendous, but Vedder's introspective lowing is the perfect counter-point to the images and one begins to look forward to the transitions). The results are never less than hopeful while never losing sight of the hardships along the way, the lessons learned and the experiences along the way.

Or the people. Along the way in the form of jobs worked, beds crashed, and meals shared, McCandless (who travels by the name of "Alexander Supertamp") encounters reflections of his parents and free spirits who push him to abandon his mental baggage, that, instead of establishing lasting ties, only steels his determination to complete his trek to Alaska. Here the movies shines with wonderful performances by Catherine Keener, Vince Vaughn (who's great), Hal Holbrook (who is heart-breakingly good-he should be recognized for this) and some folks that Penn just found on location (including a guy named Brian Dierker, who runs a ski shop in Flagstaff, Arizona--first movie--endearing performance). 

And its here that if the movie has a weakness, it is that Everybody Loves Chris, wanting him to settle, and by having that be the sole reaction, one's manipulation-shield is engaged, wondering if Penn is stacking the deck, making his McCandless not merely charismatic, but near-messianic. Counter that with the fact that these people are road-blocks to his purposes, while being necessary way-stops on the journey, and those quibbling mountains become mole-hills.* 

I suppose one could have done more to balance his character (for example, including the opinions of the native Alaskans who thought him merely "stupid"), but short of showing him rolling a drunk, I'm not sure that such a pruning would be all that worthwhile. His encounters are already showing the roads not taken, it is THIS path that is the subject of the film. Anything else would be a detour.

I didn't want this film to end, frankly. It's truly exciting to see a director use a kaleidoscope of techniques to tell a story that celebrates life.

Even if it ends in death.

* I wrote this entire review without mentioning the amazing work of Emile Hirsch as McCandless--the guy's in the ENTIRE movie, and if McCandless is too much of a good thing, it's because Hirsch's performance is so constantly winning, and focused. You're compelled to keep watching this kid, and fear that his next step will be wrong. It's an involving, remarkable performance. While Penn's work is astonishing, he has the best co-conspirator in Emile Hirsch. His next role? He's playing "Speed" Racer. Sure, he looks just like him, but...I mean, c'mon, man. AAAAUGH!

Fifty Shades of Grey

Grey's Anatomy
or
"OK, Where the Hell Did You Put the Key to the Handcuffs?"

So, okay, how is it?  

Short answer: surprisingly not bad. Certainly not as bad as I thought it would be. With this sort of material, the result can either be ludicrous or hilarious, evoking contempt or snickers. Fifty Shades of Grey did neither. Nor (boys), did it turn me on, in any way, shape or form.

But, also, it was not what I expected. Fifty Shades of Grey is a variation of the Harlequin Romance (of which I've never been a fan), a soft-core modern version of the Princess fairy tales, albeit with whips and bondage (didn't all those handsome princes live in castles and all of them had dungeons?). The Harlequins have a standard road map that is well-trod: capable but insecure woman finds herself in new surroundings, encounters a male of the species, capable but secure—that is, until he encounters this woman of said species. The two then cross paths in which they meet, engage, disengage, trade doubts, insecurities, and misunderstandings of each other and themselves until circumstances are made understandable and the road to romance is removed of barriers, mental and physical. FSoG follows this pattern, but (evidently) does so over three books, with ever-increasing complications that seem to have come from American soap operas. No doubt, the film-makers will split the third into two movies, padding it out with dwarves and protracted battles involving giant beasts.  
Anastasia Steele (Dakota Johnson), virginal student at Wazzu (Vancouver Branch—you know it's some kind of fairy tale, as there aren't any virgins at Wazzu) does her journalism student room-mate (going to the Edward R. Murrow School of Communications?) a favor by driving to Seattle* to interview young business tycoon Christian Grey (Jamie Dornan). It's never made clear what he is a tycoon of, but his office artwork suggests it has something to do with pandas or inkblots. All of his office workers appear to be Hitchcock blondes, right down to the gray suits.

Steele and Grey (notice the names—they're meant to be together) meet cute—she trips and face plants upon first entering his clean minimalist office (we're spared his quipping "Thanks for dropping in...") and the interview begins. She, of course, doesn't have a pen (or a laptop?—she's an English major, for godssake!) He gives her one with no snarky or suggestive comments. 

Grey is intense (you can tell because Dornan keeps his eyes creepily wide and locked like they were super-glued in his skull) and he often derails the interview with persistent questions (he is the one being interviewed) like about Anastasia's major: "What made you an English major—Jane Austen, Thomas Hardy or Charlotte Bronte?" If she were a real English major, she would have replied "What's the difference?" But give Grey points for being comfortable in his own fictional milieu.

He's sensitive (he really, really is) and he'd like to make you MORE sensitive

This is why I liked FSoG (of all the movies I saw this week, despite their pedigree)—it's smart enough to know it's dumb, it knows the genre, knows the tropes, and tosses in some nice visual sub-text to enhance it (that pen, the overabundance of flying scenes, the use of elevators, especially doors, for sexual metaphor). For the visual touches, credit Sam Taylor-Johnson (she made the quite good "Young John Lennon" bio-pic Nowhere Boy) for having fun with the material and lightening up her actors; Johnson is your typical awkward Cinderella, but not enough to evoke derision from the audience, and her character has a significant spine, and Dornan does eventually warm up and finds some casual humor in his scenes with her, but still suffers from disconnect when he has to express any ardor. His is the part of the "unknowable" man of mystery (which is romance-speak for your typically inconsistent male), although what's really unknowable is how he came to be more neurotic than Steele.** That is a bit refreshing, as it upends the traditional fairy tale so that the maiden saves the prince (or I'm giving the writer too much credit), rather than him trapping her in his castle...and, you know, dungeons?

Give the movie points, though, for having some fun with this stuff. For instance, Grey, once he targets Steele as a potential "partner" draws up a non-disclosure agreement ("no talking" and presumably—like most NDA's—she can't get in a relationship with anyone for a year after they break up) and a Terms and Conditions contract in which limits are set before entering into any sort of agreement. This sets up a mock-serious "Business Meeting" that is hilarious in its dialogue, before getting down to brass tacks (no, those aren't used) and the movie turns serious-serious with misunderstandings and mixed signals.

But, one wonders how all of this started.*** Is bondage "play" that popular, or is it just a thrill to read about it, like vampire novels and zombie shows. Does anyone buy into the pain-for-pleasure garbage (which is a given in "The Story of O" and "Emmanuelle" movies) which sounds like just a defense tactic for NFL abuse charges. Violence against women turns my stomach, especially if it's done "for love." This causes the movie to fall apart in the last twenty minutes or so, over a misunderstanding over the T's and C's, and the reality of just what they entail.

I can't be too delicate about the details: Steele and Grey agree to a spanking session with a belt. She says "yes." He re-iterates the "safe" words when she wants to stop—"yellow" for when things get too rough and "red" when she wants to stop. They begin, her counting off the blows (there are 13). It is, of course, traumatic and they stop. Grey tries to comfort her and she turns on him: "Don't you touch me!" The "relationship" breaks up over this.  

For him, it's a case of confusion—she had the "safe" words and didn't use them. For her, it's not confusing at all—yes, she had the "safe" words and (yes) she agreed to it, acquiesced to it (for whatever reason) but expected him to stop of his own volition, empathy, or conscience. He would have stopped (presumably) if she used the "safe" word, but she expects him to read her mind, her mood, her tears, and "be the man," and do the right thing. At least, the thing that would require him to man up and think beyond himself. Perhaps too much for her to expect given his proclivities, but you see where this is going. She's trying to "save" him from his indulgences, maiden to prince, and bring him to a normalcy. But, the first round is a big "fail," and she exits through those shuttering elevator doors, a clear visual "no" as the movies can present. The situation is unseemly, but I like that the character makes that choice, however too-optimistic her expectations may be. You find positive messages in all sorts of weird places.

And (if I may be indulged) can I venture to critique Grey's technique (beyond the kinky stuff)? There's no finesse, no foreplay, no interaction, it's just too direct and ham-fisted. His spanking (with hands) has no snap to it. Nothing has any "snap" to it. Verdict: the movie Christian Grey is no fun in bed. If I were her, I'd throw his own (borrowed) line back at him.

"Laters, baby."

* Well, it's Seattle in the aerial shots—you can tell because it's gray and traffic-jammed—the rest of it was filmed in Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada, Seattle's cheaper stand-in, as downtown Seattle doesn't have any curved streets, but is on a strict, though slightly cattywampus grid, and because Anastasia is able to find actual parking on the street.

** Apparently, given the next two books in the series, it's because he is less than neurotic or vengefully insane than everybody else in the world.

*** It started as "Twilight" fan-fiction, evidently, that was posted to a site for such things (until author Stephanie Meyer asked for it to be removed), then, after characters and situations altered in a comprehensive re-write, made it's way to e-books and self-publishing before become a phenom'.

Magic in the Moonlight

That Voodoo That Doesn't Work So Well
or
A Pratfall of Faith

Chief Dan George's Old Lodge Skins character in Little Big Man probably said it best; after a botched ascending of his spirit that results in a rain-storm that he decides to escape (only physically) he rasps "Sometimes the magic works. Sometimes it doesn't."

It's that way with movie-making, too. Even a director who makes a classic film, can make a total disaster (even if an interesting one) the next time out. There's no easy formula for making great films; if there were, then Robert McKee would have more credits in his IMDB listing than the TV-Abraham and some "Barbie" direct-to-video releases. No, even the best and most consistent of directors—say, Ernst Lubitsch—couldn't make a masterpiece every single time. Given what it takes to make movies—the coordination, the expense, the collaboration, the casting (and the cast's individual moods on any given day of shooting), the weather, even the catering can affect a movie—it is something of a miracle that the things manage to come together...at all. And the great ones...well, the great ones have an undefinable quality, a God Particle, that make them rise above the journeyman exercise and become indelible and special. What that quality is, no one could tell you while making the movie—it's just that something...*clicks*...sometimes by design, sometimes by the happy accident in the editing room, or on the stage, that unanticipated sparkle of stardust that makes a classic.

Woody Allen's had a good run lately with his international films—the British films with Scarlett Johanssen, the Spanish Vicky Christina Barcelona, the sweetly ethereal Midnight in Paris, and the slightly spastic To Rome with Love. His last film, Blue Jasmine, garnered almost universal acclaim. It was about time for him to stumble, ala Stardust Memories, Deconstructing Harry, Sweet and Lowdown, or The Curse of the Jade Scorpion. Those are the ones I'm not crazy about, but, like the Coen Brothers, Allen can be polarizing, it's actually more rare for him to make a movie that everybody agrees on, than to make a genuine stinker.

But Magic in the Moonlight is one of those. A great cast (Colin Firth, Emma Stone, Eileen Atkins, Marcia Gay Harden, and Jacki Weaver) is wasted in an exercise of warmed-over material (which Allen can be really good at saving—one can see echoes of all manner of things in Allen's movies once he lost his TV-movie amateurishness with Annie Hall, but his spin is always a little deeper and gives a fresh perspective, if only, like Blue Jasmine, to take a classic like A Streetcar Named Desire and put it into a contemporary sensibility).   

Stanley Crawford (Firth) is a professional magician and magical skeptic. As the magician Wei Ling Soo, Stanley stages big, broad set-pieces—making an elephant disappear on-stage, sawing a woman in half, transporting himself across stage—but for him, it's all mechanics, no mystery. Off-stage, the magic stops. The make-up comes off and Stanley reveals himself as a surly diva, contemptuous of his audiences of rubes, because his "day-job" is as a de-bunker. He makes magic for a living, but doesn't believe in it, demystifying and debunking it, in his life.

A friend tells him about a mystic, Sophie Baker (Stone), who has the well-to-do family Catledge in thrall. The Catledge scion (Hamish Linklater) is in love with her; his mother (Weaver) uses her to contact her recently-deceased husband. The friend, also a skeptic, hasn't been able to see what Sophie is doing to pull off the charade and is beginning to think she might be a genuine clairvoyant and asks Stanley to observe and see if he can find out how she does the voodoo that she does seemingly so well.*

Sophie impresses Stanley (she seems to know a lot about him although they've never met) and a seance that produces some knocking "Yes/No" answers and a floating candle he can't explain makes him think that maybe she might be truly clairvoyant. Not only that, he begins to have feelings for her, and his cynical facade begins to crumble as something approaching belief and faith creeps into his own psyche. Sophie's unexplainable powers is a catalyst for the worldly (and world-weary) man for whom there is no magic left in the world...except (let's spell it out) the Possibility of Love. It's Metaphor 101, and where Allen (in his "earlier, funnier" and certainly more romantic days) might have made something out of this...even a joke...here it is quite charmless and devoid of any magic...not even the glimmer of fantasia that informed earlier films.  

Part of the lack of charm may be the chemistry that doesn't exist between Firth and Stone. Stone has that problem that a lot of actresses have with "Woodian" dialogue—they don't sound like they'd speak it, let alone think it.** There's something just a little mannered in the delivery (even Diane Keaton occasionally had this problem when being too direct). You can believe it when it's someone naturally airy as in Blue Jasmine, but here Stone's psychic appears to be all show.

But the real problem is Firth and his character. Despite his reputation as a fan-favorite, Firth has always been something of a cold fish and excelled at playing them—in fact, that's part of why he's so popular as his Mr. Darcy from the "Pride and Prejudice" mini-series starts out as a lip-curling judge and warms up under the tutelage of Jane Austen's Elizabeth Bennet. Here, there isn't much of that redemption on display. Even smitten, his skeptical magician is snide and charmless, and we've spent so much time with him when he's downright nasty, that the character never really recovers any sympathy. I spent an awful lot of time in this film squirming in my seat uncomfortably over his baldly insulting dialogue and the way no one ever calls him out on it. He's Henry Higgins without the ability to cajole and prompt, a total "Prig-malion," in fact. Yes, he may be capable of falling in love, but it would difficult to imagine anyone loving him back. It's partly the fault of Allen's script and partly Firth's handling of it, but this year's Allen film has none of the magic promised in the title.

* Cole Porter's "You Do Something to Me" is the Main Title theme and runs throughout the film.

** It's part of the reason why Allen stammers so much when he acts—he's feeling his way along the thought process to come to the thought—it's a tried and true method that has worked wonders for such prevaricaters and obfuscaters as Jimmy Stewart and Hugh Grant.  When Kenneth Branagh had to play the "Woody Allen" stand-in in Celebrity, he stammered.