The Way Back (2010)

Written at the time of the film's release. 

 

This is the last film directed by Australian director Peter Weir. On March 17, 2024 saying that he had "no more energy," Weir announced he was retiring from directing and that "for film directors, like volcanoes, there are three major stages: active, dormant and extinct. I think I've reached the latter! Another generation is out there calling "action" and "cut" and good luck to them."

 

"Strangers in a Strange Land"

or

"Every Journey Begins with the First Steppe"

A new Peter Weir film is something of an event. The Aussie director of Picnic at Hanging Rock, The Year of Living Dangerously, Gallipoli, The Truman Show, Witness, and Master and Commander makes meticulous, thoughtful films of ambiguity and great beauty, throwing civilized men and women into clashes of culture (frequently more primitive) exploring the impact, with an eye towards the rough, otherworldly beauty of this world. Along the way, you learn a lot even if the movie does not draw to a dramatic or philosophical conclusion.

So, with little fanfare, here is The Way Back, Weir's latest film, one that has been optioned many times since its source book, Slavomir Rawicz's "The Long Walk: The True Story of a Trek to Freedom," was published in 1956. The veracity of the tale has been questioned a lot in that time, but the evidence is clear: four emaciated men walked into an Indian village, saying that they had walked from a Communist gulag in Siberia across the Gobi Desert and the Himalayas to freedom, a journey on-foot of 4,000 miles.

One could speculate—for the length of such a journey—why it had never come to the screen before: too depressing—but think what it would do for soda and popcorn sales! Elvis wasn't interested, indeed, what star would take on such a rugged movie, Burt Lancaster's brief interest notwithstanding; the movie has a lot of explaining to do about socio-political situations; the Russian market might not be too pleased with the film, and on and on. Weir made it (reportedly for less than $30 million, which seems incredible), but so few studios were interested in it that it almost went straight to video...which would have been a shame, as this is one of those movies demanding to be seen on a big screen.

Janusz (Jim Sturgess) begins the film under interrogation in occupied Poland. The year is 1940.  He has been turned in (reluctantly) by his wife under torture, and he is sent to a Soviet gulag in the mountainous regions of Siberia. After a period of learning the ropes (and the whips of the guards and the barbed wire of the camp), he becomes a part of a loose group of prisoners of differing skills and supplies to make a fast surgical escape from the gulag and make their way to Mongolia. Based on a loose plan of prisoner Khabarov (Mark Strong), they plan to make it to Lake Baikal, following it to the Sino-Russian railway. Their supplies will run out in mere days, but Janusz is convinced they can live off the land, walking the entire way. Among the group of escaping stragglers are "Mr. Smith" (Ed Harris)—"First name: Mister"—a particularly mysterious American (he tells Janusz, "you have a weakness I can use: kindness"), and, as it seems all movie escape attempts must have, a plays-by-his-own-rules maybe-criminal named Valka (Colin Farrell). The group begins suspicious of each other, but soon forms a close-knit, surprisingly democratic structure, sharing ideas and resources, voting when they're at a crossroads—despite the occasional individual insurrection.

Watching the movie is a slog. At 2 hours, 20 minutes, with the principal characters pushed to their endurance, the film feels longer than its running time, but one is never tempted to do a watch-check. The Way Back is one of those films that keeps you guessing, intrigued and involved every minute, like you were involved in the long walk, craning to see what is around every corner. Weir keeps the pace moving quickly, cutting scenes briskly from one episode to the next, so the film develops a natural rhythm.

But, it's the director's eye for detail—as always—that is striking, with scenes of stark, natural beauty that astonish: taking refuge in ancient caves, the camera pans up, following a bedraggled Mr. Smith's gaze, to two large holes in the ceiling, like the angry eyes of God; walking up a scrabble hill, Weir directs our view up and over the weary travelers to a screen-stretching shot of the expansive Gobi desert; at one point, they find a single solitary structure—a gate with no walls—absurdly marking their goal, while announcing another set-back.

It is a grueling adventure story with fine performances all around, interpreted through Weir's talent for keeping things real, even when they turn startlingly surreal. Go prepared for a tough movie, but a satisfying one, that, like all escapes, becomes a journey of the individual will and spirit, covering all manner of obstacles in physical space, mental discipline, and the longest journey...of time.

One Day (2011)

Supposedly, there's a mini-series of this on Netflix released this year. I saw the movie version  in 2011, and I wrote about it at the time of the film's release.

"July 15ths with Emma and Dex"
or
"Same Time Next Year"

Can a man and woman "just" be friends? (the question posed by When Harry Met Sally)  I've gone 'round and 'round with this one. I've said "Yes" for many years, and then that became "No," then back to "Yes," and now, it's something of a toss-up. "It's possible," I say noncommittally (which is the basis for many of the male-female problems, friendship or no).

But anything is possible.

 
"One Day" was a nifty best-seller by David Nicholls, smart, tight and funny, a romance told in snap-shots of one day that was realistic about the vagaries of life and love and the "yin" and "yang" of both. What makes the novel special gets distilled somewhat in celluloid form, making One Day feel a bit less exceptional, the humor muted somewhat, and given the twenty year time-span of the movie, some of the anniversaries celebrated are given short shrift, skipping to the more complicated "good parts," as opposed to those years when nothing much happens...you know, like "life."*

Dexter (Jim Sturgess) and Emma (Anne Hathaway) have "just met" at their graduation as they string along with their mutual friends, a couple. Emma is bookish, unstylish, a bit of a character—has a "nice personality"—Dexter is boyishly handsome and knows it, and Emma is "crushing." An awkward "overnight" happens, where it is unclear what transpired, but it's important enough that Dexter is helping Emma move when the next 15th of July occurs, but not important enough that Dexter isn't moving to Paris to teach.

July's come and July's go, as Emma suffers through waitressing at a London Tex-Mex restaurant and Dexter jumps from job to job, eventually becoming  the smarmy host for a late-night dance teen program. Where Emma is a busy bee, droning through know-where jobs until she catches her big break, Dex is a moth attracted to the brightest (or blondest) thing in the room. They're devoted to each other, but only so far. As her star rises, his sets—first Mom (the ever-reliable Patricia Clarkson) dies of cancer, then his fortunes go South, followed by years of over-indulgence. Before you can say "This is Mrs. Norman Maine," he is seeking her out, where she has nearly given up. As traditional as this is, what is nice about One Day is that Emma does just fine without him, she makes her way in the world without a man's help (and frequently, they're a hindrance), whereas in most films of the romantic genre, everything can be solved by anything in pants.

The director, Lone Scherfig, previously made An Education, which, while well-acted and elegantly directed, suffered from a distinct lack of heat and a little too much posh. The former problem still applies here. The film is decidedly chilly in tone, and while this is a welcome change from the day-glo color, syrupy music rom-coms that chirp incessantly about Moon, June, (premarital) Honeymoon," poking you in the heart-area that "Love is Great, right? RIGHT?" One Day makes it hard to feel anything beyond "Gee...that sucks."

Maybe it's the skipping around from year to year, but there's a distinct lack of focus in the story, as it spreads itself around a bit too thin, the ancillary characters populating the movie to make life difficult for Emma and Dexter, necessary irritants and bothers that will drive them into each other's arms every year. Plus, the story arcs of the two main characters run precipitously up and down, without any jolts of happiness amidst the gloom, or hurdles to happiness on the ascent.**

Things settle down as people "settle" and, although One Day manages to avoid many of the cliches of the romantic genre, it also hasn't found anything as compelling to replace them. Plus, with the mutual reversals of fortune, there seems to be a dramatically required "leveling of the playing field" in order for things to resolve "the way they should".

One should be grateful that one is asking these questions about a romance movie (haven't done that in a while), so it's nice to see somebody making the attempt. But, one gets the idea that the same old "Love Potion No.9" is being hawked. All they've done is change the shape of the bottle.

* One of my favorite quotes is by Anton Chekhov: Any idiot can survive a crisis; it's the day-to-day living that wears you down.

**  Well, that's not entirely true, but we don't want to give anything away. 

Legends of the Guardians: The Owls of Ga'hoole

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

"Use the Gizzard, Luke"
or
"Not So Much 'Hoo' as 'What' and 'Why'"

I loves me my fantasy films. You give me a good fantasy film, and I'm back to being 5 years old, giddy with the possibilities of a world-view that has no knowledge of mortgages, property tax, paralyzing self-doubt, and Glenn Beck.* Innocence makes a comeback, the world seems simpler, and it gives us something to aspire to besides not hitting the "Snooze" alarm in the morning. I miss those pre-cynical days.

Which is why a lot of the current crop of kids' flicks leaves me cold. Harry Potter used to be fun, but they've gotten increasingly dark and creepy, and they're going to end with an inevitability that's telegraphed and a bit morose (and I wouldn't be surprised if the last one were just a black screen). I mean, c'mon, the kid has an invisibility cloak and flies a broomstick for crying out loud, what's he got to be depressed about? The Star Wars films were fun before Darth Freud came waltzing in, then they careened into the side of the Death Star trench—impressively, one must say, but they weren't too much fun trying to present their civics lessons.

One goes into these things with that same innocence. Tell me a story. Gladden my eyes. Charm me. Seduce me. Make me not think about the $10 admission and the two hours I'm wasting of my too-short life. Give me something new and let me walk out with a spring in my step and a song in my heart, and maybe...maybe...a fresh, better way of looking at the world. We don't have to be friends, just don't make me regret the time I spent with you. I'm easy. I came to buy.

So, an animated owl movie sounds like just the ticket. I like owls, even though they're predators. They impress me, and I've enjoyed a couple of them as neighbors. But, Legend of the Guardians: The Owls of Ga'hoole (they needed the post-colon part, as the title couldn't be more generic) left me wanting to repeal the Endangered Species Act. Yeah, I know, the thing's popular with kids, but I remember kids used to like Clutch Cargo, which was the lowest form of animation there was. 

The story is Template No.2 in the Fantasy genre—ostracized something-or-other must prove its worth against big, bad oppressors, while putting aside its childhood loyalties in some small way. But I couldn't help but think the authors just did a cut-and-paste job putting owls into Star Wars (yes, they really DO say "Use the gizzard" as a euphemism for instinct). The complete lack of anything original in the plot can sometimes be overcome by clever film-makers with style.  Zack Snyder, as successful as he can be adapting other media—specifically graphic media—to a cinematic form, seems to be up a tree when making the leap from prose to image. 

I've often mentioned that graphic novels are movie storyboards with better writing, and it would appear that is how Snyder managed to make good movies out of 300 and Watchmen. LOTG:TOOG is a mess. It's an unmemorable mess, that flies out of the mind as if it was searching for a more palatable meal—something with meat and gristle—the only memorable thing about it being its own lack of anything that sticks. The owls look like sock-puppets with beaks, devoid of distinguishing characteristics that allow you to follow their progress in the story. The flying scenes are choreographed with the intention to disorient, rather than create empathy or epiphany. The only thing I took note of were the impressive background vistas the critters inhabited, but it is the faintest of praise to say that the best thing about the movie was the stuff you'd see in the rear-view mirror. This film is totally devoid of charm, and even, coherence.

Now, I'm sure there will be some parent out there who'll read this and immediately take umbrage ("My child LOVED this movie!!"**) and want to go on the attack, as if I was writing this with their precious issue particularly in mind.  For all you potentially psychotic parents, I don't question your child's taste (although I'd be willing to bet they were as fidgety as the kids I saw it with—and as I was—and I'd also wager that if they liked it, it was because they were familiar with the source material, and would be happy if there were a Ga'hoole breakfast cereal consisting of twigs and feathers), but this is a BAD movie. Really bad. 

A reasonable child can like bad stuff (I loved the TV-show "Supercar" as a kid—which was a marionette show about a flying car, and I never questioned why all the cars were convertibles—so I speak from experience), but this is cotton candy movie-making, spun to give an ephemeral surge of interest, but with zero nutritional value (perhaps the calories should be posted in the End-Credits, I didn't stay to find out). When one considers how much time and money has been spent digitizing (one hesitates using the word "creating") this exercise, you begin to fantasize staking yourself out in a field, wearing a mouse-suit ("Come and get me, owls, you can't do anything worse than you already have!!). Better to salve your inner child with a daily dose of Babe, or Charlotte's Web.

If your child does drag you to this mess, I would suggest texting your friends throughout the entire movie...or even watching another movie.

I can't help but think that Ga'Hoole is a cynical writer's malaprop of "Go to Hell."

* The problem with re-posting old reviews is that there are references the reader might not have any clue about—like Glenn Beck who used to be somebody. Billy Wilder ran the same danger when he put in topical references into his movies. Unless he was very careful, 50 years on people wouldn't know what he was talking about, cultural-reference-wise.

** I still remember the time some parent castigated me for hating Speed Racer.  The movie sucked...and it's a deeply cynical thing to show a child.  I'm unremorseful in my assessment.  (2021 Update: I'll be re-posting reviews of Speed Racer and Watchmen next week).