What Just Happened

I'd say "written at the time of the film's release" but I mention the DVD commentary, so it must have been a year later or so.

What Just Happened (Barry Levinson, 2008) Ben (Robert De Niro) is a producer in Hollywood and he has a tough life. His new movie starring Sean Penn just previewed and the audience reaction cards don't look good. The director, wanting to be "edgy," has a scene where the bad guys shoot Penn's dog, then kill Penn. Audiences are upset about the dog. The studio (run by Catherine Keener) is upset about the audiences and wants to re-cut the film, the director is upset about his "vision" being changed and refuses to cooperate. Ben wants the to keep the director happy, the studio happy, the audiences happy, the two ex-wives (including Robin Wright) and three ex-children (including Kristen Stewart) happy, while still worrying about where he's standing in a Vanity Fair "Power in Hollywood" photoshoot.

On top of that, he's got a big budget movie starting its shoot on Friday and the star (Bruce Willis playing Bruce Willis) is being payed $20 million to star in it, but there's one little hitch—he's grown "a Grizzly Adams" beard, and the studio is panicking—people want to see Bruce Willis when they see Bruce Willis and they want Ben to coax the temperamental star to shave it off, which he refuses to do for "artistic reasons."* Ben's life is an endless soliloquy of superficial arguments, hastily-composed rationalizations and insincere ego-stroking in the gamesmanship of Hollywood, played over a Blue-Tooth behind the wheel of a constantly in-motion Lexus. 

Based on producer Art Linson's book (sub-titled "Bitter Hollywood Tales From the Front Line") and adapted by him for this film, it's a nice study of how removed from reality, logic and best practices the industry is. But, at the same time Barry Levinson's film of it, while duly making note of the sliding loyalties Ben displays, also seems to expect you to feel sorry for him. One would, if one didn't want to have this life. There is no tragedy here, merely minor inconveniences that whittle away at Ben's soul and career. But, he still has a roof over his head. He has a car (and the insurance for it), a cell-phone, a blue-tooth, a fancy-schmancy espresso machine, the ear of many Hollywood players, and the phone numbers of ambitious actresses. Boo to the Hoo. Yes, Hollywood's crazy...but it's not homeless and crazy.

That's why backstage dramas in tinsel-town are really only good when played for laughs, and should only be reserved when the writer-director-producer has completely run out of ideas (and when that happens, they should read a book, instead). You look at movies like The Oscar, or The Big Knife, with the hand-wringing of the elite, and you can look right into the soul of industry people who have lost touch with their audiences**...like Norma Desmond screeching about her woes. It's why Sunset Blvd. is such a classic gem of a movie. Norma is crazy...and pathetic...and clueless.

Howard Hawks had it right. After awhile, he was making movies about making movies—but, they were well-veiled allegories. Anytime Hawks had a group of disparate people coming together with a single goal in mind, he was talking about what he and his crew did for a living...only they were flying the mail, or capturing live rhinos, driving the cattle, getting the headline, or battling the monster at the research station...anything but making movies. That would be as much fun as watching sausages being made. If you want to complain about being in the entertainment industry, try pumping gas...then, have a drink or climb onto the shrink's couch. Don't get "meta" on the audience. They go to the movies to escape their troubles, not hear about yours.

But, like Fellini, pretty soon the writers start penning their autobiographies.  Linson might be thinking that he did a good job changing the names to protect the innocent, but listening to  his DVD audio commentary with director Levinson, one hears the vagueness, the "rote"-ness of his expressions, as if he's just passing through, and once the credits come up, he's already out the door (he's gone before the "A Barry Levinson Film" credit comes up). The two were in separated facilities recording their tracks, and as Linson gets up he says "Good seein' ya, Barry" "uh...talking to ya," says Levinson. "Oh.  Yeah...well..." says Linson. "We should get together when you come to New York."

Yes, we "really" should.

* True story, although I won't mention the movie or the star (it's easily found, actually).  But, it reminds me of the struggles Richard Donner had while making Superman, the Movie—making a man fly was easy compared to star-negotiations.  Donner had a meeting with Marlon Brando, where the actor was pitching character ideas that would keep him from having to appear on camera, like playing Superman's kryptonian father as a suitcase or "a green bagel," and Gene Hackman didn't want to shave his moustache to play Lex Luthor.  Donner finally said to Hackman on-set. "Look, Gene, you shave yours off and I'll shave mine off."  Hackman agreed, shaved and came back on-set.  "Okay, now it's your turn."  Donner then peeled off the fake moustache he'd been wearing, which delighted Hackman.

** (The same could be said for politicians—anybody in Washington looking at cutting the health-plans for those in the legislative branch...if not, why not?)

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!

Life Sucks for a Teen-Age Vampyre (In Love)

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

"Fangs for the Memories"

Bella Swan (Kristen Stewart) may be the palest student ever to transfer to Forks High School from Arizona. For some reason her inability to maintain a tan is given a pass by her class-mates (who all try a bit too hard acting like fun-loving "with-it" teens-in-the-woods), but the constant topic of conversation are the equally pale Cullen family.

The Cullens keep to their ruby-lipped, paler-than-pale selves. They don't mingle and are a clique unto themselves. When the weather is good (rare in Forks, Washington out there on the Olympic Peninsula) the Cullens don't show up for school, but instead "go camping," as the story goes. Bella, a natural klutz physically and socially, is drawn to the unattached Cullen, Edward (Robert Pattinson). And why wouldn't she be? Like the rest of the Cullens he always appears to be walking in an undercranked slo-mo dream state, the chiseled delicate face of a Orlando Bloom/Johnny Depp/Jude Law, stops careening vans like Superman, growls like Elvis, and has the hair, neuroses and doomed bad-boy presence of James Dean, and perfect skin that glows translucently in the sun-light like diamonds . He seems particularly drawn to her, too. He can't eat, can't sleep, and has a lean and hungry look all the time.

It might be love, but maybe it's the vampirism.

It must be nice to be Stephanie Meyer right now. She's making a ton of dough off of recycled ideas and the cross...uh, sorry...combining of similar genres to create the biggest literary sensation since....well, since "Harry Potter" claimed to be literary. The "Twilight" series mixes equal parts Gothic Romance, standard Romance novel tropes and vampires and comes up with "Dark Shadows." Except Dan Curtis came up with that idea in the 1960's, so toss in a healthy dose of Judy Blume, and you produce what 'tweenettes have been swooning over the past couple years.

Now, here comes Twilight, the movie, and like the "Harry Potter" films it distills the essence of the plot without communicating what makes both of those series fun reads in the first place. Instead, everything comes across just a bit cheesily dramatic: Edward is all lowered gaze and wolfish teeth, and Bella (the name clues you in that Meyer is being a bit playful with her writing) is all heaving commitment. Edward's self-loathing for his disease puts up a barrier that confuses and messes with Bella's head (the only mind that Edward can't read), and his affliction just attracts her all the more. Which is bad for Edward because he and the other Cullens subsist on only animal, not human, blood (which he says is like humans on a steady diet of tofu: sufficient, but not very satisfying--a nice touch, that), and Bella is a constant temptation. "You're like my form of heroin," he says to her. And for all the romantic hooey of "the lion falling in love with the lamb," it feels a bit more like falling in love with a T-bone steak.

Yeah, well, I love chocolate, but not enough to marry it.
Remember, back when I wrote about Dracula, and said that it was a metaphor for raw hetero-sexuality?** Here, it's spelled out in big block letters Barbara Cartland could read with her lowest level bejewelled spec's: a vampire's blood-lust is just lust with everybody's formal-wear on. And penetration is penetration. Edward is the good boy with manners enough not to soil his lady-love ("killing" her for real, not just her reputation), while Bella is the willing maid panting for "it" (Kristen Stewart basically fulfilled that same role in Into the Wild). In one particularly heaving bedroom scene, they kiss to test how far they can restrain themselves (him to chomp on her, she to have sex with him) and just when things get a little out of control, he heaves himself against the opposite wall--like he was spring-loaded, or something.

That scene, and a lot of others, boast some of the most poorly done practical effects work done since Clark Kent's "skimming" run in the original "Superman" movie. We're in the post CGI-realm, folks, things could look a lot better than the FX one would expect on "Smallville."

That's another issue: Director Catherine Hardwicke makes "Twilight" looks cheap. I've seen Billy Burke (Fracture) before, and Elizabeth Reaser (she was wonderful in Sweet Land), but they're the only recognizable faces in the film, and the movie seems to have a film of murk all over it. As they filmed it in the Northwest--Oregon substituting for Washington (nice work, again, Washington Film Board!)--it might be fog getting under the lens. These books are making ga-zillions of dollars, you'd think they'd throw some money at the adaptations.

It takes the film a bit to get going, because Bella has to do research to discover what vampires are--seemingly being out of touch with culture her entire life--but it does spring to life in a decidedly unexpected way: when the two kids have to meet the families. Edward turns a bit paler meeting Bella's cop-dad, and the joke about the Cullens having Bella over for dinner is nicely mined for uncomfortable laughs. "Bella, you're about to go to a house full of vampires, and the only thing you're worried about is making a good impression?" is the best line in the film. Then, it all goes completely south with a vampire baseball game (seriously) and a tedious version of "The Most Dangerous Game" with a trio of "bad" vampires, who are evidently playing for another team. At that point, everyone stops thinking and starts doing stupid things when there is so much at...stake.

................................................................................................................

But just when one thinks there's not enough blood in the genre that hasn't already been regurgitated along comes this modest film from half-a-world away that covers a lot of the same unconsecrated earth as "Twilight' but gives it a poignant spin.

Let the Right One In (aka "Låt den rätte komma in") introduces us to Oskar (Kåre Hedebrant), a child of divorced parents living in an apartment block in a Stockholm suburb in 1982. When first seen, one could mistake him for a Renfield-type, babbling to an unseen person to "squeal like a pig" while brandishing a knife. He watches from his window as a car pulls up in the middle of the night, and a man and a girl get out and move in to the apartment next door. Cardboard is put up in the windows and things go quiet.

Then, strange ritualistic murders begin happening around town, and Oskar's fellow students are warned to beware of strangers in the night walking home from school. Oskar has his own problems with an unholy trinity of bullies that regularly taunt him--they're the reasons for his revenge fantasies played out in the safety of his own home. 

About the same time, he makes the acquaintance of a pale girl named Eli (the excellent Lina Leandersson), who's about his age..."more or less," she says. When she learns of his bully troubles, her answer is simple: "Oskar, hit back. Hit them harder than you dare. Then they'll stop." Eli gives him the courage to do just that, and he begins to take weight-lifting classes.

Eli has her own problems: her benefactor and procurer has begun to make mistakes and the towns-people are getting suspicious, as the attacks become more random and more vicious. Eli and Oskar grow closer, deciding to go "steady," as events threaten to tear them apart.

Let the Right One In may sound sweet, but the savagery of the attacks is anything but—director Tomas Alfredson stages them swiftly and suddenly, and they can catch the audience by surprise. Plus, some of the happenings have a giddy violence that may produce uncomfortable giggles along with the chill up the spine (not unlike those of the excellent, though little seen, Exorcist III).

There is visceral, grisly horror in the story of the both supernatural and all-too-human varieties. The vampires of "Twilight" are ethereally pretty in the sunlight of the Northwest. In the similar light of Sweden, the results are decidedly different and more spontaneous. To say more would rob the film of its twisted charm, something that can't be said for the cob-webbed cliches of Twilight. That an American remake is in the works is news that can be regarded with its own brand of horror.

May it never see the light of day.

"Just So You Know, I Won't Be Your Friend"

Let Me In is an American remake of Let the Right One In, the terrifically creepy 2008 Swedish film. For those who hate sub-titles, this is probably a good thing. And what's good about the original is slavishly copied here, but director Matt Reeves (Cloverfield) does some good things (and a couple bad) to move the situations from frozen Sweden to a wintry Los Alamos, New Mexico.* The best thing is the acting.  Let Me In includes such great thesps as Richard Jenkins (a fine actor and more people will see him in this than any other film he's done) and Elias Koteas. But, it's the kids who are the best thing about it.  Anyone who's seen Kick-Ass already knows Chloe Moretz is terrific, but this is less of a joke-performance, and plumbs the depths of what she can do dramatically. Her waif, Abby ("I'm 12...more or less") starts out alarmingly strange, but as the movie progresses, the character turns more vulnerable and sympathetic—far more than Lina Leandersson in the original. 

But, the stand-out here is Kodi Smit-McPhee as the initially screwed-up Owen, a victim in danger of continuing in an unthinking cycle of violence. McPhee's Owen wears his heart on his sleeve—he just won't show it on his girlish face—but as the movie progresses, that face starts to beam (he is far more expressive than the Swedish version's Kåre Hedebrant, in fact, both kids in the first have a Teutonic reserve that is appropriate for that film's style, but would seem catatonic in this version) as he approaches his relationship with Abby with the same vulnerable hopefulness he just can't allow in his other interactions.

Reeves does manage to make some things his own, as well. He mostly discards the firsts glacial blue color palette for a neon orange that suffuses scenes, and he nicely captures a bit of the gender-bending feel of the first, though differently. Also, he very cleverly stages some of the violent sequences obliquely, thrusting them in the stage-rear of the frame while the main focus is going on in the foreground. The more human attacks are handled extremely well, surprisingly—alarmingly so, but the movie veers into goofiness whenever more occultish violence occurs. The director holds on the scenes too long, and even though a lot of it is done in back-lit cameo, the effects make it look like the perp is less a savage beast than a crazed monkey with a banana-buzz. 

Sure, there should be some giddy thrill involved in horror, but "giddy" shouldn't translate to guffaws. He also makes crystal-clear the true horror of the piece, something that only occurred to me, after a bit of time of contemplation—for some reason, I like my "OMG" moments to be outside the theater. And he gums up the last scene of the film with a too-nostalgic pop reference that negates its effectiveness.

Still, after having dismissed the idea of an American remake with "may it never see the light of day," I have to admit that this one doesn't suck badly.

* Yes, it DOES snow in Los Alamos, New Mexico, and it has nothing to do with a Nuclear Winter.

** No, you don't because it's being posted Friday, so consider this a teaser.

Billy Lynn's Long Halftime Walk

Kevlar vs. Papier Mâché
or
That's Life in War-Time (That's Life in America)

It's hard to say just how good a film Billy Lynn's Long Halftime Walk is because no one outside of Los Angeles and New York has seen it in the way director Ang Lee intended it. 

His last film, the magical The Life of Pi, took full advantage of the latest film technology—3-D, IMAX, ATMOS-sound system—and the results were astounding, as it created a totally immersive experience, which made all subsequent viewings dull and dissatisfying by comparison. It made me wonder how The Life of Pi compared for viewers who'd only seen the "flat" version. Was the film as impressive to them as it was to me having seen it with all the bells and whistles? More importantly, would my opinion of the film change if I had not seen it in full format. One could tell, just by looking at The Life of Pi, that Lee had chosen camera angles, shot choices and transitions based on their effectiveness in three dimensions. Without that focus, the "flat" version of the film looks a bit disjointed—at least to my eyes.

Given all that, reviewing Billy Lynn is problematic. Ang Lee shot it in an ultra-high-speed format. Most films are recorded (and projected) at 30 frames per second (film was shot at 24 frames per second). Billy Lynn's rate is 120 frames per second (Peter Jackson's "Hobbit" films were filmed at 48 frames per second). I've seen films projected at such a rate—decades ago, actually—and the effect is akin to watching a high-definition videotape, the image is much sharper and more defined. But, it is also more unforgiving than standard projection, HD, or film. New techniques in lighting and make-up had to be devised, and even some of the acting had to be reconsidered for this format. Decisions that made an impact on the film at 120 frames per second ultimately will not make a difference in other formats, and so I'm in the uncomfortable position of reviewing a film that I haven't seen...at least in the way it was intended. Did I, then, actually see the film?

What is there in the 4k presentation is an uneven film that may be that way to allay any artificiality that the 120 frame process might have caused. Lee is no stranger to stylization in whatever genre he's working in. Billy Lynn, however feels a bit petrified in amber—how that might change in its intended presentation is hard to judge.

The story of an extended stateside tour for an Iraq unit that has just come off a well-publicized firefight caught on a reporter's phone-cam has at its basic core the nature of Truth. For Bravo Company, Truth is life and death. One of their own, Sgt. Shroom (Vin Diesel, in one of those performances where he thinks he's doing something very important) has been killed and Lynn was caught on-camera pulling the sergeant out of the line of fire. Now, as Sgt. Dime (Garrett Hedlund, giving what is genuinely the film's best performance—why didn't they peg him to play the young Indiana Jones?) tells his men "By the grace of God and the media, we are the face of the military." So, they are being escorted to the Thanksgiving game of the Dallas Cowboys to appear in an extravagant half-time show (with Destiny's Child, no less). Bravo Company and their story is a hot item; Hollywood's knocking on their door to buy the story (Hilary Swank is interested!) and they have a manager (Chris Tucker) who's doing all the negotiating.

"It doesn't have to be God or Country. Just find something bigger than yourself..."

The film veers between the events of the game and the time in Iraq that got them there and the film drips with irony going from the action in Iraq when boys are taking care of each other, and their PR tour where they're touted as symbols, but are treated as little more than set-dressing. "It's a little weird bein' honored for the worst day of your life," Lynn (newcomer Joe Alwyn) observes at one point. And when one of the Bravo's point out that it's been "a rough tour," they're asked "There or here?"

Shroom starts a mission by telling each one of his men that he loves them.
The last one says "Yeah, yeah. Let's get a middle school named after us."

The Bravo's know the game. "Yes sir, No sir. Look sharp." But, for all the "proud of ya's" there is the sense of false spectacle and hype. The Bravo's are just pawns going from cannon-fodder in Iraq to camera-fodder in Dallas, and there is marked juxtaposition between the very real stakes of war and the superficiality of just about everything stateside. And Billy has to make a choice: stay with his unit for another tour of duty, or jump off and maybe take advantage of the brief amount of fame that he's currently enjoying. How long that might last is anybody's guess, but the superficiality of their brief fling with "the show business" provides a pretty good clue that it will be brief and ultimately meaningless.

The temptations are many. A brief stop-over at his home in Stovall, Texas holds the same dichotomy—the family's proud, but they don't want to hear about the war, except for Lynn's sister (played by Kristen Stewart), who provides a lot of answers to why the 19 year old joined up in the first place. She's conflicted. She hates the war, but loves her brother, and feels an overwhelming guilt for her part in his decisions. She wants him home. They all do, but the rest of the family isn't quite comfortable talking about the war, not wanting to upset Billy, but not so that their sudden displays of temper at the family dinner table might set off his PTSD.

The hanger's-on and money-men behind the Cowboys event just know platitudes and say they're honored and proud and use the Bravo's to bolster their world-views, but aren't so proud and honored that they won't short-change the group for the rights to their story. And then, there's that cheerleader (Makenzie Leigh) who keeps catching Billy's eye who says all the right things, but...

One would expect, given Hollywood's own superficiality that there will be some big "reveal" to add drama. No, there's no big "freak-out" scene, no histrionics, and no epiphany scene, just the alternate views of life in war-time and life in these United States insulated from the war (other than our relationships to the ones fighting it). Ultimately, the ones who really know the war are the ones fighting it, free of illusions and filters. Everything else is just fantasy and platitudes. Fireworks, not flesh and blood. Loyalty, not gamesmanship.

Lee, in his quiet way, shows the difference between words and actions, flummery and truth. As he does with all his films, there is a coming-to-terms with reality versus illusion, a learning process of the self to determine who one is. Sure, it's focus is Billy Lynn, but it could be talking about America, too. It's one thing for us as a nation to say "we honor you" with our words, and belie that with our actions (as, unfortunately, seems to be the case). It's quite another to acknowledge the real sacrifice those that defend our right to be frivolous make. It's why it's entirely appropriate to play "The Star Spangled Banner" before our "oh-so-important" sporting events, to present a song about war-time to remind us exactly what it encompasses for us to be able to waste our time.

Café Society (2016)

The Impending Twilight of The Magic Hour
or
What Makes Bobby Run Away?

I have not seen American Ultra—the second pairing of Jesse Eisenberg and Kristen Stewart (after their 2008 Adventureland), but I'll hazard a guess it isn't anywhere nearly as impressive as the work from either of them as Café Society is. Woody Allen's new film, set in the 1930's features the two as on-again, off-again lovers in Hollywood with big dreams and big hearts, all the better to crush them with.

This is Allen's version of "The Great Gatsby," with more domestic judaism and less dream-swept into absurdity, and thus, it is more relatable for that. The setting is more Hollywood than West Egg and so the surface glamour seems thinner and less substantial and more easily dismissed than the Ivy League prestige that is taken SO seriously. Legacy, ya know.

Bobby Dorfman (Eisenberg) moves to the West Coast from the Bronx without any prospects. His mother Rose (Jeanne Berlin) calls her brother Phil Stern (Steve Carell), an established Hollywood agent, to give Bobby a leg up and maybe find him some work. He's family, after all. Stern is a big wheeler-dealer and a name-dropper of some magnitude, and, if anything, he'd just as soon forget he has any family on the East Coast, but after a week of prevaricating, he deigns to see Bobby and likes what he sees—an eager, puppy-eyed, but not naive intellectual who obviously looks up to his Uncle. There's no job in the mail-room, but maybe he can do some odd-jobs for Stern, he'll let his assistant Vonnie (Stewart) show him around town, and, hey, there's a party Phil's throwing where Bobby can meet a lot of IMPORTANT people. Important people.

Bobby does well. He mingles professionally, and meets a nice couple Steve and Rad Taylor (Paul Schneider and Parker Posey), who take a liking to Bobby. And his city-tours with Vonnie are his favorite part, riding around town looking at the extravagant homes, taking in shows at the bijou (the Stanwyck The Woman in Red is showing so it must be 1935), talking, getting familiar, both with the city and with Vonnie, with whom he starts to fall in love. For her part, Vonnie likes him but she has a boyfriend-journalist she tells Bobby about and they remain friends and confidantes.

Back in the Bronx, the Dorfman's are excited about Bobby's prospects, but the family is in turmoil with the youngest being so far from home—Rose worries but father Marty (Ken Stott) is unconcerned, sister Evelyn (Sari Lennick) and her communist husband Leonard (Stephen Kunken) are fighting with their neighbor, and brother Ben (Corey Stoll) has moved up from being a petty thief to a shady businessman with gangsterish tactics.

Back in Hollywood, the boyfriend falls out of the picture and Bobby and Vonnie become lovers. Bobby is already thinking about moving back to the Bronx with her as his wife, by Vonnie is slightly ambivalent about the prospect. Before long, the absent boyfriend comes back and Vonnie chooses him over Bobby, and he is left bereft-especially considering who that boyfriend is. 

Anyone who's seen a Woody Allen in the past might be able to predict who the boyfriend is (even if IMDB didn't "spill the beans" in their "spoiler free" synopsis). The Woody-verse is pretty limited, even when doing multiple stories in a single movie (like To Rome With Love), so the acorns don't fall too far from The Woodman. There is no way Bobby can live with the humiliation, so he slinks back to the Bronx, back to his family. Brother Ben takes him at the juice joint he's running (the former business partner having become the cornerstone of some highway in the outskirts).

He makes a "go" of it, the nightclub becoming a New York hot-spot attracting the rich and powerful and under indictment. It's where Bobby meets his socialite shiksa wife (Blake Lively), also named Veronica, and life moves on successfully.

But, life has a way of cycling back on you, and Vonnie shows up at the nightclub like Ilsa Lund in Casablanca, and Bobby goes from the BMOC to also-ran in the blink of an entrance. He's happy and successful, but his disappointing past shows up to haunt him. And despite his success he still has to right the wrong. How messed up is that?

It's "Gatsby," yes, with a little bit of Billy Wilder thrown in to the mix, because Allen can't help but make things a little bit more complex than Fitzgerald was capable of—Allen is just as much a romantic, but can't quite get past the point being a realist about it, and looking past the glamour. It's only natural—that Hollywood angle again. Allen has always been deeply cynical about the veneer of Hollywood—maybe it's the constant sun (one of his early jokes was "I'm red-haired and fair-skinned; I don't tan, I stroke!"), the appropriated architecture. Hollywood both fascinates and repels; it's a foreign country to Allen as much as Rome or London or Spain. 

And, with the artist's touch of Vittorio Storaro, Café Society is assuredly the most beautiful movie Allen has done since he and Gordon Willis parted ways...but in color, a popping, vivid color that suggests a 24 hour sunset (or what they call in the trade "The Magic Hour"). Not the rainbow Technicolor that Allen suggests in his opening narration (he's starting to sound his age), but Storaro's organic rich color from his work with Coppola and Bertolucci. It's a revelation that makes the most of Allen's compositions and Santo Loquasto's production design, which usually is invisible in Allen's lived-in world, but becomes exotic in the light of Storaro.

But where Allen lucks out is in the casting. He has gotten two very subtle transformative performances out of Eisenberg and Stewart, two young actors who've taken a lot of hits lately—Eisensberg for his manic, burbling Lex Luthor in Batman v Superman, Stewart for her "damsel" roles in Twilight and Snow White. These two are character actors, not stars. They have quirks and rough edges that make them interesting. If you scraped them down to the least common denominator to make them more palatable and A-list, they'd only become more dull.

They're anything but dull here. Stewart is the "Daisy" it's been impossible to recreate in the official "Gatsby" adaptations, undeniably smart but with the annoying tendency to be vapid in moments of comfort and leaning to the path of least resistance, inspiring the need to strangle in the same moment you want to hug her. She's capable of showing you the woman you want her to be, while steadfastly being the woman she wants to be, even if they're in opposition. That, in "Gatsby" has lead to a character seeming weak or indecisive, but Stewart never betrays that or her character. And Eisenberg does something amazing here. The temptation is to say he's the "Woody Allen stand-in" for this movie, but the character and the way he plays it belies that. Bobby is too smart, too forthright. He doesn't natter or stammer uncertainly, for all the puppyish enthusiasm at the beginning, he pretty much knows who he is and stays direct, which is far afield from Allen's typical characters. He doesn't waffle. And when conflicts come, if anything, he internalizes, going uncharacteristically quiet when confronted with Vonnie again, and when appraising his situation in the latter part of the movie, his eyes don't appear to be seeing, but looking inward, not looking for a way out, but trapped in a self-realization that paralyzes him. For all the talk of dreams and romance, those eyes betray a melancholic amusement at his own fallibility. 

Allen is lucky to have these two. They raise Café Society out of its slim pretensions and give it a living, breathing soul.