Mountains of the Moon

Mountains of the Moon (Bob Rafelson, 1990) A recent book about the quest for the source of the Nile River, "River of the Gods" by Candice Millard tells of the epic journey of British explorers John Hanning Speke and Richard Francis Burton to solve that mystery. It was a quest as perilous and fascinating as that of Lewis and Clark, with two distinctly different personalities of men heading the expedition, which, after surviving travails and hardships on the journey, descended into bickering and enmity when they returned to what they supposed was "civilization."

 

Yeah, well, I've seen that movie. Bob Rafelson, he of Head and Five Easy Pieces, The King of Marvin Gardens, and The Postman Always Rings Twice, was as unlikely a person to tackle this international tale that rivaled fiction, but he managed to pull it off. Not only that, it's one of, if not his best movie. And no one went to see it. And I dare say, very few people know about it. Talk about trying to find something that's "lost."

Burton: "...tends to mingle."

In 1854, Speke (Iain Glen) arrives on the East African coast on leave from the Indian Army with the purpose of hunting big game, but as he is informed, the coast "is closed", and it's suggested that he hook up with Richard Francis Burton (Patrick Bergin, easily his best role and his survey party with the Royal Geographical Society, which has been given permission to go deep into Africa. The RGS has bankrolled Burton's journey in order to find "the true source of the Nile"—that river being so important to British trade, it's beginnings will assure King and Parliament that trade will continue to flow not risking any disruptions to the economy.

Speke: his character in one shot. It will provoke an attack on the camp.

Burton just wants to find it and he'll use any excuse: "Every westerner's curiosity has been met with torture, mutilation and death. The river is shrouded in mystery. Who will be the first to discover its source?" For Burton, embarking on such an exploration is just as challenging as mastering another language (he would eventually speak 29) or translating a text ("One Thousand and One Nights," the "Kama Sutra" and "The Perfumed Garden") and for him the journey is as important as the destination as he was always gathering and noting facts, which is why he became one of the few non-Muslims to visit Mecca.

But, if Burton is there to get the lay of the land and everything set upon it, Speke just wants to hunt it. Burton needs a game hunter to supply food en route and Speke is a crack shot—he's hired immediately—but the two men couldn't be more different. For Speke, the goal is the thing, always interested in the target; for Burton, it's the journey, the process, the evidence. Each man will be tested, physically (both suffering from injuries that are horrendous—Burton, his face pierced through both cheeks by a native lance and Speke stabbed multiple times during a native attack) and mentally on their way to find the Nile's source. And despite their differences, they will prove essential to each other. Indeed, one wonders if either of them could have survived without the other.

One sub-plot of the movie is treachery, which both men will find in Africa and in England, belying the British chauvinism towards the African nations when they are equally capable of such behavior themselves, something Burton, in his studies of other cultures and his lectures, is trying to impress on a reluctant class-based society. But, those treacheries, both in Africa and England, will create circumstances that will challenge another major theme—loyalty. 

Burton and Speke are bound to each other in mission and friendship, and neither one would weaken their mutual trust were it not for the machinations of others. For all the tragedy—and triumph—that the two discoverers will encounter on their journey, it is only the influence of others that manages to come between them, sewing discord, and ultimately ending their partnership.

If the movie has a failing, it is that it tends to favor Burton's point of view over Speke's to the latter's detriment. It's easy to see why, though: Burton is a renaissance man, far before his time, and outside the status quo of those of his countrymen. His life was a constant quest for knowledge of the Earth and its peoples and seeking means to communicate similarities than promoting the stereotype of "the other." The movie could have made something of Burton's ego and his way of intimidating others, but he is pretty much given the benefit of the doubt in the movie.

And Speke has the disadvantage of class—too much of it, perhaps. He didn't seek adventure or Burton's loftier schemes (although he inherited Burton's zeal), he sought sport, and circumstances just conspired that he would make history. Mountains of the Moon has Speke being fooled by the manipulations of others, and, once having discovered the subterfuge, only doubles-down on his claims lest he lose his newly-found reputation. It lays the blame for the two men's disputes entirely on him, when the truth is probably more nuanced.

But, there's a lot to admire, not only in performances—Fiona Shaw is amazing as Burton's wife-to-be, Isobel, and Bernard Hill has a lovely turn as the legendary Dr. Livingstone, and one corker of a scene where he and Burton compare wounds they'd received on their travels—but also on the technical side, as well. The whole thing was photographed by the now-renowned Roger Deakins, edited by the ubiquitous Thom Noble, sound design by David Lynch's sound-man Alan Splet, with a resounding score by Michael Small. That's a lot of talent behind the scenes, making what's up on the screen so impeccable.

I can't recommend this movie enough. It's a great adventure story like The Man Who Would Be King or even Lawrence of Arabia, made without compromise and in some startling locations. I've always found Rafelson a little indulgent as a filmmaker. Not here. This is an amazing tale, well told by some of the best artisans of the movie-making craft.

 

It may be difficult to find, but the journey will be worth it.

 

 

The real Burton and Speke
 

IF (2024)

A Big IF'n Steal

or

"What Kind of a Kid Comes Up with an Invisible IF???"

Everybody loves bed-time stories. That ritual of childhood that settles one down from the turbulent activities of childhood and lulls the mind and the nerve-endings to slowly limbo under the bar of sleepiness and gather the necessary 40 winks of REM sleep needed to recharge the batteries and the burgeoning brain-cells of the aware recently-minted child. It can also work for the preoccupied and agitated adult who is lucky to eke out 30 winks without resorting to warm milk and a couple of pills. Bed-time stories are nice and cozy and curatives for the sleep-reluctant child and the sleep-resistant adult and that's a good thing.

 

IF (standing for "Imaginary Friend" and not to be confused with the 1968 Lindsey Anderson movie starring Malcolm McDowell) is not unlike a good bed-time story. But more on that later.

 

IF tells the story of little Bea (Cailey Fleming), who would bristle at that "little" adjective. As she's likely to tell anyone stoically "I'm not a kid anymore." No. She's 12. And as much as her grandmother (Fiona Shaw) wants to treat her like the kid she was, she is highly resistant. There's bad reason for that. She's visiting grandma's in New York, because her Dad (director John Krasinski) is in the hospital there for an upcoming operation—we're not given a lot of specifics but one guesses that it's heart surgery, and Bea is determined to tough it out, be grown-up about it, and not to be a child.

She's had experience at that, as we're shown in the opening credits sequence filled with home movies, she had a rather bucolic childhood full of laughs and the love of her parents. So bucolic that only rarely do you see Mom wearing a warm hat (which will fly by any child watching this movie, but adults will see it and think "cancer"). Bea, you see, lost her Mom at any early age, and now Dad's in the same hospital and she's going to be serious about it, act like an adult, and won't let him or his mother try to cheer her up.

That will be somebody else's job, as she stumbles into the orbit of various "Imaginary Friends" who are at loose ends because their own "Real" friends have grown up and forgotten them. They're employing a placement service run by Calvin (Ryan Reynolds) who is trying to find them new humans, and Bea eventually decides to help out. Cal takes her to the Memory Lane Retirement Home, located in Coney Island, and, with a slightly frayed older teddy bear IF named Lewis (Louis Gossett Jr., in his final role) to start the process of finding new kids for the old IF's.

It does not go well, and Lewis suggests a change of tack—rather than finding replacement people for the IF's, they should try to re-unite them with their old Unimaginary Friends. At this point, you begin to realize that the rules governing IF's is rather arbitrary, and it only gets more arbitrary as the movie goes along. The plot if as untethered as the orphan IF's and lacks any real depth, which puts it at odds with the inspiration that Krasinski was going for when he imagined this movie.

IF references two staples of the Imaginary Friend trope, the movie Harvey (of course) and Bill Watterson's "Calvin and Hobbes" cartoon strip. But, the true inspiration is the output of Pixar Studios. Krasinski has gone on-record to say that his intention was to make a "live action Pixar movie." One can certainly see it when one considers the steals from Up, Monsters, Inc., touches of Inside Out, some character designs that certainly are inspired by Pixar creations. And, admittedly, it is a high bar to set oneself as Pixar has consistently been at the top of the form as far as story-telling, film-making ingenuity, and artistic craftsmanship.

But, there's something that Pixar consistently accomplishes that Krasinski utterly fails at: emotional depth. Yes, it's fun to make a movie about toys, about monsters hiding in the closet, about any high-concept merchandisable gimmick that looks fun. But, Toy Story is just play-things without the concept of abandonment (that's checked off rather clean-fingered in IF), the motivations behind monsters and their creators) in Monsters, Inc., the yearning for something better despite prejudice in Ratatouille, the overcoming of grief in Up (big IF'n steal there!), or the deep-dive into the psychological stew of Inside Out. Krasinski begs, borrows and steals parts from Pixar, but he can't make them work together for a satisfying, mind-blowing epiphany the way that the Pixelators can.*

And, gosh, everybody tries so hard to make it work it was causing me to grind me teeth down to the root. Krasinski—the actor—is constantly working the comedy card, quite winningly, Reynolds, as if sensing he should play against type, dials down the clownishness he excels at, and Cailey Fleming comes off the best, gamely tossing any "cute-kid" shenanigans to survive this zombie of a movie. 

But, one of the big selling points of the movie is the list of star-voices for the Imaginary Friends. It's quite impressive looking at the list: besides Gossett, there's Steve Carell and Phoebe Waller-Bridge with the more prominent roles, plus Awkwafina, Emily Blunt, George Clooney, Bradley Cooper, Matt Damon, Bill Hader, Richard Jenkins, Keegan-Michael Key, Blake Lively, Sebastian Maniscalco, Christopher Meloni,** Matthew Rhys, Sam Rockwell, Maya Rudolph, Amy Schumer, Allyson Seeger and Jon Stewart. That would all be great...if anybody really registered as distinctive personalities. As it is, everybody comes and goes so fast that there really isn't any time to register who they are and how those voices related to the characters they play. They don't. For all the personality they bring to the roles they could have just had Frank Welker do all of them—and given Welker's versatility it would probably be an improvement.

Reynolds, Fleming and Gossett's Lewis interview Wall•e...er, uh, Jon Stewarts's Robot

(not that you could tell)

It's a bit like the trick John Huston played with his mystery film of The List of Adrian Messenger, where big A-lister guest stars were scattered in disguise around the movie to see if audiences could guess if they could see them. A nice gimmick, that. But, the real reason to do it was to draw audiences to a movie that only boasted George C. Scott as its lead actor. Here, they're just padding the resumé.

And it results in one of those little things that's emblematic of IF's problems. There is a running gag (more of a stumbling gag...) where Reynolds' Cal keeps tripping over an invisible IF named "Keith." He trips. Yells "KEITH!" After he does it the first time, Cal muses "What kind of a kid comes up with an invisible IF???" And they do the joke again...and again...and again. If you miss the first one, you don't get the rest of them.

 

To top that off, when they're running the credits (which I noticed people stayed through to figure out who's voice was what) at the end of the IF voices, Brad Pitt is listed as the voice of "Keith." Even though...he never says anything throughout the entire movie.*** It would be tempting to say that, like Keith, IF has no "there" there, but some things do work, just not enough to make a movie that's more than only "surface" deep, merely gets by, and certainly doesn't have the resonance of its Pixar betters.

 

Jon Krasinski has done some good work in the past. But, here he bunts and expects it to be a home run. Now, that's imaginary.  

 

Oh, and how is IF like a good bed-time story? Because I was fighting sleep the entire movie.

* Oh, there's an epiphany, but if you don't see it coming a mile away, then you should have your movie-watching credentials revoked (or your movie-chain club card). Oh, and it's a steal from M. Night Shymalan.

Surprise Ending once, Shame on You. Surprise Ending Repeated, Shame on Me.
 

**  ♪Chung-Chung♪

 

*** The same joke was played when Brad Pitt played an invisible character in Deadpool 2. 

Colette (2018)

The Graduate
or
"The Hand That Holds the Pen Writes History"

My name is Claudine, I live in Montigny; I was born there in 1884; I shall probably not die there.

Sidonie-Gabriel Colette's story has been taken off the book-shelf and adapted, and despite covering her years during the turn of the century (20th) from fancifully-romantic young womanhood to a sadder-but-wiser independence, could not be more timely. While being so, Wash Westmoreland's* biography of French writer known simply as Collette manages to rise above the constant threat of the stiffness of a BBC adaptation, which might have been, if they decided to tone down the life and present her as merely a Nobel Prize winning icon. Colette, you have to read between the lines.

It couldn't have been easy. Films about writers tend to be either precious when recalling inspirations for their work, or present the creative process as a magical mystery, completely unfathomable (except with voice-over). 

Colette falls into the latter category, but at least it shows a side of writing few of these things show: writing is hard work, often born of necessary...and it's not a lot of fun.

We meet Gabriel (Keira Knightley) at the age of 19, the daughter of Jules-Joseph Colette (Robert Pugh) and Adele Eugenie Sidonie (Fiona Shaw), living in a small rural town in Burgundy. The family, being once well off, is now in financial straights—they can't even provide Gabriel with a dowry. Good thing a family friend, the well-known author, publisher, critic and bon-vivant Henry-Gauthier Villers (Dominic West)—who writes under the pen-name "Willy"—finds her enchanting...and available. They whisk away to Paris to a cosmopolitan married life and where Gabrielle finds that "Willy" depends on ghost-writers for his output and he can be counted on to be unfaithful to her.

His small stable of writers rebel and finally quit, leaving them in bad consequences, given Willy's exorbitant lifestyle. Gabriel offers to write something—a novel, something that Willy is in no position to turn down. She spends hours on the project, the story of a young girl named Claudine, who, not unlike herself, grew up in Burgundy and her years at an all-girls school.  When she's finished, Willy dismisses it as fine writing, but the novel as "plotless" and beneath his standards. he won't publish it. Gabriel is crushed—the writing was hours of hard work and says she'll never do it again.

But, in a moment of frustration, with the bills mounting, Willy relents, after making some small suggestions for tinkering and spicing up...and surprise! "Claudine at School" becomes a publishing phenomenon. Everyone seems to be reading it, and Willy—whose name is on it as author—becomes the toast of the town, as Colette looks on in amazement. Along with the staggering book sales, Claudine even inspires merchandising and a popular play. Everyone assumes that the book is inspired by Gabrielle, but no one suspects—because Willy won't allow them to—that she might actually be the author.

Willy buys her a country estate, away from the city, with the profits for her. But, he has an ulterior motive. While Gabrielle spends time fixing it up and making it "just so," Willy becomes more and more agitated; he'd intended it to be a writer's retreat for Gabrielle—but she isn't writing, a problem he solves in his usual subtle way by locking her in her room until she's produced enough pages to his satisfaction.

As if he wasn't "Svengali" enough, Willy starts to become possessive and jealous if Gabrielle even looks at another man, but she dismisses the idea as absurd—she's more attracted to their lady-friends, if anything. Noting how Gabrielle is charmed by an American heiress from Louisiana, Georgie Raoul-Duval (Eleanor Tomlinson), he encourages an affair between the two, and, because he's a complete cad, decides he'll seduce Georgie, as well.

At this point, the marriage of Willy and Colette, as she begins to call herself, becomes fractious, and some of the invective starts to spill out on the pages of the books. When Colette even includes a fictionalized version of the menage-a-trois with Georgie in her third volume of "Claudine," Willy takes the opportunity to avoid a lawsuit by burning the existing copies, and then having them re-published, anyway. At one point, in discussing sequels she coyly tells him "I'm going to kill [the husband] in the next one."

Colette sets out on her own. Instead of writing, she decides to begin a career on the stage, separating herself from Willy and starting an intense friendship with Mathilde de Morny,(Denise Gough), the cross-dressing Marquis de Belbeuf. She very publicly rebels, recreating herself to her own satisfaction if to the bewilderment of the public-at-large. What's lovely about Colette is that there is no shame in it, merely the story of a woman who's been boxed in and revels in seeing just how free she can become, and on her own terms. 

Everybody's great in it, but it is Knightley that shines. She has always been an actress of intense daring, presenting her roles in mercurial flashes that hint at the conflicting emotions roiling within her. At times in the past, she has been so good, she's been scary, but in Colette, she presents a relaxed strength that finally snaps when she realizes that the nice little life she's made for herself has also become a prison...and a raw deal. After a success has been stolen from her, merely because anyone can claim words on a page, she makes herself the art, and no one can lay claim to that, good or bad.

Perhaps now, that Colette is out (although it hasn't done extremely well at the box office) we could supplant the endless adaptations of Jane Austen and maybe do the "Claudine" series as films, so that the author, so well regarded, can be most well known for something other than Gigi. Thank heavens.

    

* Westmoreland made the well-acted, but soft-pedaled and blunted Alzheimer's drama, Still Alice.