Trap (2024)

In Concert With a Serial Killer

or

"Take Your Daughter To Work" Movie
 

M. Night Shymalan hits the nail on the proverbial head calling his new thriller Trap and then doubles, triples and quadruples down on it in an obsessive way that he's never done before, with layers and layers of traps for the the film's central figure, who has to find ways out of them, even though to do so, will only keep him trapped in an endless cycle that he is unwilling to free himself of—he is compelled to repeat the cycle over and over again.

 

Well, to paraphrase the old saying, when one trap closes, another one opens.

 

Cooper (Josh Hartnett, in a tour de force performance that is entertainingly mercurial) is a good dad taking time off work as a fire-fighter to treat his daughter Riley (Ariel Donoghue) to the hottest ticket in town for her good grades. Riley, you see, is obsessed with pop-phenom' Lady Raven (Saleka Shyamalan, the director's daughter) and Dad's managed to get tickets right on the floor. Riley couldn't be more excited.

Which is why she doesn't notice that Dad's a little distracted. Concerts always have tight security, but the police presence for the Raven concert seems to be amped up a little bit and Dad can't help noticing. So, once they've got their seats secured, Dad starts to disappear for awhile—with a protective "Don't you move. Stay here."—to do some reconnaissance. Seems that all the cops and security are there because it's suspected that the local serial killer "The Butcher" is going to be attending the concert—yes, it seems strange that the authorities would be so certain of that and a good length of the movie will be spent in "plausibility mode" doubting it, but writer-director Shyamalan does manage to plug that plot-hole and rather neatly. The concert-goers—except for one individual—are entirely oblivious of this circumstance, thinking that it's just the usual security detail.

That one individual is "The Butcher" and it just so happens that Cooper is the guy they're looking for. He spends his absences from the concert, checking the exits, making distractions—there plenty in a busy concert-hall, gathering information, and making in-roads with the security staff. By the end of the concert, by grace and guile, he will have secured a staff badge—gaining him entry to employee spaces, the password to identify security staff and has even managed to lift a police radio, so he can listen in to alerts. Seems like he has the advantage.

But, he doesn't. He's still stuck at a concert with his daughter (who doesn't know his secret) in a loud, thronging fortress, that is person-by-person, questioning the adults in the hall looking for their quarry. "Trap", indeed.

He's trapped because he's in a maze of a concert-hall, surrounded by armed security, but also because he's trapped by the presence of his daughter in the situation, and by his own need to keep the roles of good parent/serial killer separated. It takes an awful lot of artful dodging, lying, subterfuge, and slight of hand to keep the predicament he's in from closing in on him. At the same time, he keeps checking his phone—he has a potential victim locked up in an abandoned fire-trap and the remote ability to kill the guy with carbon monoxide. Then, things start to escalate when the FBI shows up.

The thing of it is, we're trapped, too. As a helpless audience-member*, we're stuck at looking at the movie from "The Butcher's" perspective—the same way we're left with Norman Bates after the murder of Marion Crane in Hitchcock's Psycho, the only difference being that we find out quickly that Cooper is "The Butcher" and we still follow with interest, albeit conflicted. We're stuck in his situation, and it could be extraordinarily claustrophobic were there not another show going on the full time—Lady Raven's concert.

Say what you will about the obvious nepotism—I certainly did in the title—but, at least Saleka Shyamalan is talented and obviously heavily influenced by Beyoncé, and it does provide a distraction from the constant tension of Cooper's obsessive paranoia. Besides, what Dad wouldn't give their daughter their own Eras tour?

If the movie has a failing, it's that it can't sustain the suspense, that it has to open up in order to fully resolve the situation...and then doesn't resolve it in ways that really do strain credulity. If there was any film of Shyamalan's** that could have wrapped things up neatly and cleanly with a certain amount of resonance, it's this one, but for some reason the film-maker could not help not ending the movie satisfactorily, which is strange as Shyamalan made his career by finishing his movies with a gut-punch.

 

So, what you get is a strange amalgam of concert film and suspense thriller with an extraordinary performance by its lead. And one of the better Shyamalan films in years. 

* "Helpless?" You bought a ticket, friend-o!

 

** I'll bet you're wondering if Shyamalan does his customary extended cameo. I was wondering myself when the movie had gone a considerable length without showing up. "Where's Night?" I found myself thinking...only to discover that he showed up in the very next shot.

To Rome With Love

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

Around the World in Woody's Malaise

or
The Ozymandius Melancholia Gambit ("Turbulence!  My Favorite!")

Far be it for me to suggest that Woody Allen might actually be comfortable in his own skin as a storyteller. but when it has come time for him to do his own "Roman Holiday" film, To Rome With Love, there's not a hint of Fellini in it (Been there, done that—specifically, way back in 1980, when he made his Stardust Memories in tribute to the great Italian film-maker). 

Truth to tell, his latest has more in common with the Italian "anthology" films of the 1960's, where directors would tackle similar themes in short personal films.

To Rome With Love has four interlocking fantasias about love and personal dissatisfaction: in the first, a young married couple (Alessandro Tiberi and Alessandra Mastronardi) come to Rome, where he is to be introduced to his new work situation—eager to make a good impression, the wife goes shopping and ends up getting lost and involved with an Italian film-star, and hubby, thanks to a case of mistaken identity, must go to his functions in the company of a pre-arranged hooker (Penelope Cruz); the second involves two architects, one seasoned (Alec Baldwin), the other just starting out (Jesse Eisenberg) who become each other's fantasy figures (of a sorts) when the young architect, already attached to Sally (Greta Gerwig), falls for her best friend Monica (Ellen Page), a self-involved, if fascinating, actress.

The third involves a "normal member of the middle class" in Rome (Roberto Benigni) who suddenly becomes "famous for being famous," and is pursued and interviewed by an indiscriminate paparazzi; the fourth involves a former classical music executive (Allen), who discovers a great opera singer (Fabio Armiliato) in the family of his potential son-in-law..with conditions.

The setting is Italian, but the themes are pure "Allen-town." Each of the characters get a brief glimpse of "life on the other side," gingerly placing their toes where the grass is greener, and find it wanting, but themselves enriched from the experience, survived without harm or consequences paid. Baldwin's architect gets to play devil's advocate (much the same way as Bogart did in Play It Again, Sam) with a realist's wisdom, as opposed to a romantic's fool-hardiness—a good cure for his nostalgia. The Italian couple experience romantic fantasies before settling down to domestic bliss, not older but wiser.

Benigni's civil-functionary briefly enjoys cultural significance, with all the invasiveness and dissection of minutiae, before returning to anonymity and the value of a private life, and Allen's retiree gets to witness a fulfillment of his dreams by providing a channel for another, and, having achieved it, returning to his normal life.

Any of these stories could be set anywhere. Rome provides a nice catalyst for these quick short pieces that summarize the Allen world-view: "Life is terrible, but it beats the alternative." And it's buttressed by the standard "Volare"...which mean "to fly." 

Happy landings.

Midnight in Paris

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

"Gertrude Stein Punched Me in the Mouth"
or
"L'époque est toujours plus belle de l'autre côté du pont Einstein-Rosen"

I first came to Chicago in the twenties, and that was to see a fight. Ernest Hemingway was with me and we both stayed at Jack Dempsey's training camp. Hemingway had just finished two short stories about prize fighting, and while Gertrude Stein and I both thought they were decent, we agreed they still needed much work. I kidded Hemingway about his forthcoming novel and we laughed a lot and had fun and then we put on some boxing gloves and he broke my nose.

 "A Twenties Memory" by Woody Allen

Copyright © 1966-1971 by Woody Allen

I've been waiting for Woody Allen to make this film since before he asked to Play It Again, Sam (or even What's Up, Tiger Lily?). 

Based on a routine from his stand-up days,* which he later expanded for a piece in "The New Yorker" (see above), Midnight in Paris follows Gil (Owen Wilson) a self-absorbed, neurotically anxious writer of Hollywood fluff ("Wonderful, but forgettable...sounds like something I wrote"), who is obsessed with death,** as he travels to Paris from Pasadena with fiancee Inez (Rachel McAdams, but it could just as well have been Elizabeth Banks) and her conservative family. Gil is working on a novel, long in the gestation, and is distracted by the vapid shallowness that he is about to marry into. Paris is shops, restaurants, museums and snootiness, and to escape the jejeune de vivre, he takes a late-night walk through the streets of Paris and is approached by a vintage taxi.

Entering the cab for Gil is a magical moment for him, on the same plane-breaking as when Tom Baxter (or is it Gil Shepherd) walks off the screen in The Purple Rose of Cairo. He is instantly transported to 1920's Paris and becomes lost in "The Lost Generation" (without the benefit of having survived World War I), meeting Cole Porter (Yves Heck), Ernest Hemingway (Corey Stoll), Zelda (Alison Pill) and Scott Fitzgerald (Tom Hiddleston), all the heroes of his favorite literary era and time, the 1920's. He's enchanted...and as his novel is about that period of time...inspired. He goes back to Inez, gob-smacked, unable to explain where he's been all night, but "alibi's" his adventures as a dream (as they are, certainly in the aspirational sense). He tries to bring Inez to the party, but the magic doesn't work—she's as unthrilled with Gil's stories as he is with her wine-tasting adventures with acquaintance Paul (Michael Sheen).

She leaves. And the taxi arrives, bearing Gil and Hemingway to the apartment of Gertrude Stein (Kathy Bates) and Alice B. Toklas (Thérèse Bourou-Rubinsztein), who are playing judgemental hosts to Pablo Picasso (Marcial Di Fonzo Bo) and his enchanting mistress Adriana (Marion Cotillard). Gil gives his novel to Stein and Hemingway to critique, but he is drawn to Adriana, making her way through the 20's as best she can.

So, the two planes of existence for Gil are set up: his modern-day drudgery on the cusp of a marriage of inconvenience; and his fantasy past, where his dreams are reality and reality can make dreams. You know where this is going.

It doesn't matter, though. This is a "feel-good" Woody Allen picture—the kind people like—where the messages are still telegraphed the way they are in "obvious" Allen movies, the coincidences just a little too convenient, but so full of incident, grace and nuance (and quite a bit of humor) that it goes down well (as Allen groused throughout Stardust Memories, audiences "like his earlier, funnier [movies]"). That Gil is such a sunny presence in the past (and as played by Wilson, he has a guileless charm that doesn't sacrifice intelligence—he's the way you'd imagine Jimmy Stewart would play Woody Allen), even his kvetching is charming and not harsh.  It doesn't matter that you be a history buff and "get" all the references,*** (and we meet Luis Bunuel, Man Ray, Salvadore Dali [Adrien Brody], and on a side-trip, Toulouse Lautrec, Gaugin and Degas).

Of course, Gil is enchanted; he is an era when his heroes are still at the stage he is, becoming themselves, with their best work still ahead of them. His age of magic is their everyday life. The interesting lesson of the film (and what makes it special and wise) is that the knife cuts both ways. The "lesson" is both sour and sweet, but not hope-crushing—a little bit of salt in the creamy fluff.

 

And no, nobody punches Gil in the nose—but you can't help noticing that Wilson's is a little broken.

*  I mentioned before that I was in Europe. It's not the first time that I was in Europe, I was in Europe many years ago with Ernest Hemingway. Hemingway had just written his first novel, and Gertrude Stein and I read it, and we said that is was a good novel, but not a great one, and that it needed some work, but it could be a fine book. And we laughed over it. Hemingway punched me in the mouth.

That winter Picasso lived on the Rue d'Barque, and he had just painted a picture of a naked dental hygienist in the middle of the Gobi Desert. Gertrude Stein said it was a good picture, but not a great one, and I said it could be a fine picture. We laughed over it and Hemingway punched me in the mouth.

Francis Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald came home from their wild New Years Eve party. It was April. Scott had just written "Great Expectations," and Gertrude Stein and I read it, and we said it was a good book, but there was no need to have written it, 'cause Charles Dickens had already written it. We laughed over it, and Hemingway punched me in the mouth.

That winter we went to Spain to see Manolete fight, and he was... looked to me eighteen, and Gertrude Stein said no, he was nineteen, but that he only looked eighteen, and I said sometimes a boy of eighteen will look nineteen, whereas other times a nineteen year old can easily look eighteen. That's the way it is with a true Spaniard. We laughed over that and Gertrude Stein punched me in the mouth.

** Yes, this is the Woody Allen character.  His films never fall too far from the analyst's couch.

*** I certainly didn't—I had to do some referencing for the line: "That was Djuna Barnes (I was dancing with)?  No wonder she wanted to lead."

Milk

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

"The Plural of 'Us's' is 'I'"

I had all these cute little headlines to put at the top of this review, reflecting my disappointment with Gus Van Sant's bio-pic of slain San Francisco supervisor Harvey Milk—"Condensed Milk," "2% Milk"—but ultimately it comes down to this: you owe it to yourself to see The Times of Harvey Milk, the Oscar-winning documentary on Milk and his efforts to fight discrimination. 

It'll cost you 90 minutes of your time—and I can't find it online without some kind of rental fee. But, it is definitive, and, frankly, more effective. The new film, Milk acknowledges its debt to this film in its final credits. Indeed, you'll see a lot of archive footage shared by both films. And Milk, a features recreations of footage from this film. The film ends with Sean Penn, as Milk, saying the words that you'll find in the video at the bottom of this review into his tape recorder for the prescient "In the Event of My Death by Assassination" tape he made. But that sentiment was not a private one. And the film does a disservice to Milk making it so.

It also inadvertently plays into stereotypes by suggesting that Milk's assassin Dan White was a closeted gay man instead of the mentally ill person he was. White's angry (and public) resignation during a meeting of the Board of Supervisors is also made private in the film. White's sneaking into the city hall with a loaded weapon to avoid metal detectors is alluded to, but not that White re-loaded his pistol after shooting Mayor Moscone and heading to the Supervisor offices to kill three other board members (Milk was the only one present). That the crimes were deliberate seems incontrovertible. But White was only convicted of manslaughter and released after serving five years in prison.

And one can quibble about Penn's performance as well, making Milk more fey in his mannerisms (Milk had hidden his sexuality in New York for years), and giving him a thick Bronx accent more Harvey Fierstein than Harvey Milk (ironically, Fierstein narrates the "Times" documentary).

Still, ya gotta do what ya gotta do. The original documentary is 25 years old and is probably past its shelf-life. A dramatic re-telling of the tale was probably due (a twin project "The Mayor of Castro Street" has been in the works, first by Oliver Stone and more recently by writer Christopher McQuarrie and Bryan Singer for years, and has, for the time being, been abandoned) if only to keep reminding people of the toll closeted life inflicted on the gay population. The battle continues to put a familiar face on homosexuality. And if a melodramatic re-telling of a pivotal story is required, so be it.

Van Sant does a fine job of mixed media cutting between vintage footage, newscasts, and recreations. And he gets great work out of his cast, particularly Penn, who's never seemed so relaxed in a role, James Franco (who gets better with each movie) as his first partner in San Francisco, and Emile Hirsch from Penn's Into the Wild as one of his youngest recruits.

Miss Sloane

The Trump Card
or
"My God, Were You Born This Cynical?"

"Winning isn't everything. It's the only thing."

Vince Lombardi

When I think of that quote, I want to kick Vince Lombardi through the goal-posts.

That sentiment is exactly what's wrong with the country right now—the idea that it is best to win at all costs. And it's what Miss Sloane, the too-clever-by-half film about cut-throat lobbying tactics is all about.* Jessica Chastain plays a much-in-demand, but not-exactly-respected lobbyist for a firm that has a Senator for a client who's trying to head off a new gun registration law by creating a campaign to make women "comfortable with guns." Sloane thinks that idea's a hoot, and thinks the gun-lobby just wants to hire a female lobbyist to put a woman's face to the campaign, and so much so that she refuses to work on it, which causes her boss (Sam Waterston) to get all-cranky and threaten her with her job. Good thing she gets an offer from the lobbying group on the other side, so that she can stick it to her bosses with great brio and more than a little self-righteous verve.

When we first meet her, Sloane is being deposed by her lobbying firm's lawyer. She's been accused of bribery and illegal activities by a Senate sub-committee (led by John Lithgow's on-the-take Senator) and she's learning how to "take the fifth" without over-editorializing other than the standard requirements, so she doesn't dig herself any deeper than she already is. Well, good luck with that. Right off the bat, she's all too willing to tell her mouthpiece her philosophy of life: "Lobbying is about foresight and anticipating your opponents' moves and creating counter-strategies. The winner always plays one step ahead and plays their trump card just after the opponents play theirs." 

She knows her opponents only too well—she's worked for them and probably already given them her playbook for winning at all costs. Her opponents are not the gun-lobby, it is her very industry and its tactics that she's very adept at playing. She is cut-throat, take-no-prisoners, leave-no-one-alive tough in her work, feelings and principles be damned. And if she has to roll over a few people, even colleagues, to get the better hand, she will roll over them without batting an eye or mussing a single red hair out of place.

Or losing any sleep. That's a problem. Sloane pops pills to keep her energy up during the day, but she has a hard time sleeping at night. It's not angst, it's not guilt, it's pharmacology that keeps her awake, and those little white pills keep her going at the manic level the job requires, that allows you to start rebutting before your opponent can finish their sentence. The pills, taken with a healthy dose of ego, get her through the day.

Basically, Madelyn Elizabeth Sloane just wants to win. She doesn't think she should be working for the gun-lobby; she might win, but, in the long run, she's going to lose some of the prestige she's acquired. Plus, the amendment is designed to kill background checks, which Sloane believes in. So much so, she quits after getting an offer from a rival lobbying organization run by Mark Strong. She takes most of her team with her, except one loyal assistant (Allison Pill) who doesn't want to commit career-suicide. Once at the other firm, she immediately is the bull in the china shop, abrasively undercutting the firm's previous efforts and going on a new tangent. As she escalates, so does her firm's efforts under the guidance of her old boss (Michael Stuhlbarg, with three "jerk" roles in the last two months) to counter her moves and undercut her efforts.

Some may see this as a political film (and it's certainly in the wheelhouse), but, it's not about "the gun lobby"—arguments pro and con are tossed around as so much background noise for authenticity—and it certainly will make you think it is, although it is not very successful as one. But, truth is, it's a "sting" movie, where the audience is kept in the dark, much like Sloane's opponents, until she plays her "trump card." But, why she plays it thoroughly undercuts the character and negates the rest of the film. The main issue with the movie is, even after the card is played, there is no one to root for or feel sorry for—everybody is a good-for-nothing in a system so corrupt that the novelty isn't that people are doing anything illegal, it's that they're leaving evidence to that effect.  You don't have a "dog in the fight," except feeling that the movie is one.

It's good to see Chastain playing such a role. She's made her initial mark by playing sensitive and supportive Moms in some very good things and competent functionaries. But, it's great to see her in full Bette Davis-dither as she plays here, and as she did in 2014's A Most Violent Year. There's an "alienness" to Chastain that allows her to pull off things like this and Zero Dark Thirty, where you can believe that she's effective all the while being the "800 pound gorilla" in the room. She towers over everybody in the film, and it's a cast that doesn't have any slouches. 

But, even though the character is the driving force of the film's through-line, it isn't enough to pull off this rather weak exercise in hand-wringing. Trouble is, this type of film is better done as black-comedy—although I've yet to see an example that does it successfully other than In the Loop. You have to match the tone, by being as cold-blooded as the operatives, rather than have it over-boil with indignation. 

Perhaps the incoming presidential term will inspire something along those lines.

* No, it's not "about gun-control", as has been purported in reviews by internet writers who haven't seen it (self-proclaimed as in "I wouldn't spend any money on this lib-tard gun-control garbage"), or (evidently by what I've seen) invested in Spell-Check. It's about lobbying groups cutting ethical corners to "get their way" at all costs...for whatever reason...to the detriment of both sides. But, you have to "see" the movie in order to understand that. Unfortunately, in the "wild west" of the Internet, you don't have to know what you're talking about in order to make a comment...and, you can even brag about it to prove your passion as well as the depths of your ignorance.

Who said "Better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak and remove all doubt."?