Daddio

I will—sporadically (which is all I ever do)—be filling in gaps of movies I wanted to see, or felt I should see in the past year, but for one reason or another passed on the opportunity (which was usually a short window of availability) for some reason.

All's Fare

or

It took a while, but she looked in the mirror
Then she glanced at the license for my name
A smile seemed to come to her slowly
It was a sad smile just the same

 

Daddio (Christy Hall, 2023) This is one where, when I described the movie ("The whole movie takes place during a cab-drive from JFK airport to mid-town Manhattan and it's  starring Dakota Johnson and Sean Penn") got the response: "That sound like Hell."

 

Still...Johnson's choices (outside anything with the words "Shades" and "Web" in the title) have been at least interesting—and she produced this one—and that it managed to coax a disgruntled Penn out of self-imposed retirement says something about the material. Sometimes, the risk of going to Hell is worth it. Daddio, although it won't be to everybody's taste, was certainly worth the risk...especially as it's nested itself in Netflix for awhile. I've been ignoring Netflix—and it's time to sharpen my algorithm and cull the "My List."

Girl (Johnson) disembarks a flight from Oklahoma home to New York. Gets a random cab—the last fare of the night for Clark (Penn) who's been doing this for twenty years and "knows people." It's a flat fare from JFK so he's not running the meter and after some pleasantries and some business ("44th and 9th street—"Good ol' Mid-town"), they settle in for the trip. Music? No. She notices in its absence that he likes to drum his fingers on the steering wheel to some unheard tune. He notices she's not glued to her phone ("It's nice...") and gives her points for that—although her phone is parked on a texting conversation with her "boyfriend" and is never too out of reach. It's Clark's ("I'd prefer to be a 'Vinnie'") last call, so he's relaxed—and doesn't give a shit about his salty language—and in a mood to talk. 

After some pleasantries—"You can handle yourself""How could you possibly know that?""It ain't that difficult to read people.You gave me cross-streets, instead of some recited address from your phone n' I can tell you're not concerned with the meter 'cause JFK's a flat-rate") The lack of screen-time leads to a discussion of people in bubbles of technology and how the tipping situation is screwy (and detrimental to the server) now, less casual and random and he finds out she's a coder—isn't that a coincidence—and he asks if that's a tough line for a women to crack and endure (yeah, it always is) and then just (out of curiosity—"I can't be a know-it-all if I don't known nuttin'") says although he uses all this stuff, he doesn't "get" it. She does, so what's it all about. It's just 1's and 0's endlessly—either "on" or "off" or "true" of "false" in an atomization of language and command and instruction. Clark applies that to foundations—we start answering "yes/no" questions just to navigate daily life.

Given that context, Clark is always "on". With no music to fill the void, he's the music (with intermittent drum-solos), talking, espousing, bloviating—he's been around, he's done things, but not so much that he's using it for memory-fodder so much as context and learning material. He's good where he is, but he's as good a listener as he is a talker, and their back-and-forth turns into a teasing competition of who's got the advantage (with no winners or losers and no reward).

But, she keeps looking at her phone and that text-string. Her man-friend wants to hook up—she JUST got off a plane!—but, he keeps pushing it. He wants sex; she just wants to get home. And her expression changes so much that even looking through the rear-view mirror, Clark picks up on it. "What's his name?" Clark asks. "I'm not going to tell you THAT!" she says. "He's married" Clark deduces. She's silent, trying to not give anything away. "Yes...." she says, and the discussion turns to that. "You didn't say the "L" word to him, didja?"

Of course, she did. And then Clark is off, a long discussion about men, women, class, manipulation...and the crux of the matter, how people hide. How they put up a mask, how they put up a presentation ("The suit, the house, the car..."), and how, nowadays, "lookin' like a family man is more important than being one." Clark is more than a trip from the airport to Mid-town, he's a trip through time. He's been doing this for twenty years. The city has changed incrementally, but he hasn't, and people—they change a lot, but not really. And he's seen it all. And driven through it. He's not about giving advice, really, but, his observations make her think...and as it's a flat fare, it's less expensive than an hour of therapy.

And unlike her boy-friend, they're both open and frank (it's New York!) and not putting on airs—they're not going to see each other again, so there's no future consequences or repercussions, so they're frank with each other—not unguarded, but open. They're driving through a judgement-free zone, and traffic's not good. But the conversation has no pileups, and everybody knows how to merge.

It's two people in a cab for a whole movie; the cast has to be good for the movie to be work and Christy Hall, through the good luck of her writing a knock-out script (it started as a play and ended up on The Black List), got Dakota Johnson and her production company involved and Johnson's dream-casting for Clark was Penn. Good instincts all around. 

The two of them do more things with glances through rear-view mirrors than most actors could achieve nose-to-nose (Penn rehearsed with Johnson working with a rear-view mirror, supposedly). Body language is minimal, but when it happens it has an out-sized effect. Penn is mercurial, but relaxed with all the possibilities. And his eyes, man, they have their own-sub-text. Johnson has the breadth that she can look like she's aged twenty years with a passing thought and shifts conversationally fast and fresh. And the two riffing off each other is like watching the deftness of Tracy and Hepburn, they're that good together. And you totally buy that they're in a cab making their way down the Van Wyck Expressway.

Except...they aren't. Yeah, there was some location shooting and you see shots of a cab driving down streets just for some perspective now and again, so you can stretch your legs. But, the whole thing was shot in a studio surrounded by LED screens surrounding the cab-set...and it's amazing. Shot by Phedon Papamichael (who's been shooting for Clooney and Mangold and Alexander Payne), nobody's had so much fun playing with the kaleidoscope of traffic lights since Scorsese's Taxi Driver.

Yeah, so first-time director/first film-project. Shot in 16 days. Physically-limiting/imaginatively-challenging staging. It does sound like Hell. But, it works so great and the actors are so riveting, nothing else matters. Maybe you get your sensitivities tweaked a little bit, but the journey's worth it...and there are seat-belts for the squeamish. Ya won't need an air-bag.
 

And the cab-ride? What can I say, they made good time.

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?)

The Interpreter

The Interpreter (Sydney Pollack, 2005) A lot of "firsts" in this movie: the intriguing pairing of Sean Penn and Nicole Kidman--she, in a role tailor-made for Charlize Theron, and he, basically making money for the production of Into the Wild;* it's the first time the United Nations has allowed filming on its premises (a wise move to dispel some of the recent "Secret Society" rantings about the U.N. among the Red States), showing the inner workings and the awe-inspiring chambers inside; it's Sydney Pollack's first film designed for wide-screen since his work in the 60's**--his compositions are far more elegant and complex than the kind of attention he paid to, say, The Electric Horseman, or Tootsie, or sadly, Out of Africa. The wide-screen compositions give the impression that the film is more complex than it actually is. As it stands it follows the Pollack formula ("Person of Mystery investigated by another until all is revealed in a pro-forma setting," in this case, the general assembly of the U.N.) The Person of Mystery is Kidman's Sylvia Broome, an interpreter at the U.N. with a burning secret. The investigator is Penn's Tobin Keller with the Secret Service, charged with protecting the despotic President of an African nation--where Ms. Broome's dissident parents, sister, and most recently, brother were killed. Only he doesn't know that.

Why wouldn't he know that, you may ask? So do I, as a background check might--just might--turn up that information. But, he's distracted because 1) you know how investigations involving information from third world countries go, 2) Broome is very good at not volunteering any information, 3) she's being stalked, so now he's involved in protecting the potentate and her for what she might know, and 4) oh yeah, his wife just died.

I guess 1-3 weren't dramatic enough reasons.

There are plots, counter-plots and even bogus plots falling all over each other, one particularly nasty explosion (that violates the "Hitchcock rule"***), and some such nonsense about Truth being better than Lying. It's a lot of drama built over one of those Messages that is so Simplistic, Nobody's going to be Offended. I guess you have to do that when you film at the U.N.

Seeing the magnificent cathedrals to world peace is the best reason to see this movie. Kidman and Penn are very good, but wasted (but not as "criminally" wasted as Catherine Keener is as Penn's partner-agent), and Pollack's eye for composition has never been better. If those particulars are of interest it's a movie to see. If things like story matter, best to give it a pass.

*More and more, Penn is looking like his generation's George C. Scott, in the literal and spiritual sense.

*** Pollack stopped doing wide-screen composition for films because the only other market for films was airings on television--full-screen, which would take wide-screen films and electronically shift them to the area of the screen where the center of attention was, a process perjoratively called "pan-and-scan." So, Pollack made movies where most of the "action" was going on in the middle of the screen in a barely elongated square, like your television screen. Now, that the technology has advanced with wide-screen TV, and DVD's eclipsing TV broadcasting (the "major" networks don't show movies anymore), and the cable channels mix wide-screen with "pan-and-scan." Movie channels devoted to films (like TCM) show films wide-screen. Movie channels that only SAY they're devoted to films like AMC) pan and scan--and insert interruptions, like commercials and promos. Stanley Kubrick composed for television, as well. that's why there's such a stink about his DVD's (except for the early films through A Clockwork Orange) not being wide-screen. They supposedly weren't intended to be.

*** Before you set off a bomb, tell people there is a bomb, and where it is, and when it will go off, to build suspense. That's why a lot of movie-bombs have superfluous LED screens.

All the King's Men (2006)

Written at the time of the film's release. Recent events have compelled an update.

All The King's Men (Steven Zaillian, 2006) The story goes that Robert Rossen, the director of the 1949 version of All the King's Men was not happy with his film. Too long, too talky, and too boring, Rossen was unsure of what to cut to get it down to length. A plan was drawn up: he told his editor to take 30 seconds from the beginnings of scenes and 30 seconds from the end. What was left came in under two hours of running time and moved at a jarring pace, but it won Oscars for its star Broderick Crawford, Best Supporting Actress Mercedes McCambridge...and as Best Picture.

All the King's Men was already a great film, but there were too many compromises to the Hays Code to get it to the screen. Steve Zaillian (a fine screenwriter, who directed a favorite film of mine Searching for Bobby Fischer) decided to make a new film of Robert Penn Warren's Pulitzer Prize winning book, and sadly, wasted the opportunity in a film convinced of its own importance.*

From the crack of thunder that appears before the opening credits, to the thudding James Horner score that telegraphs (with hammers) each imminent plot-point (Horner uses one dirge-like theme which, by its third appearance, I had assigned lyrics "This-is-a-sad-sto-ry/A-bout Lou-i-si-an-na"), to the subdued lighting and the art design in shades of "Godfather" mordant, everything about this movie promises great portent, but merely meanders through its story of how nothing born of corruption can come to any good, be it man, ideals or building materials.

It's a frustrating film to sit through, because the pieces are there given a less respectful (as in funeral-respect) presentation. The cast is impressive. Kate Winslet and Mark Ruffalo and Anthony Hopkins play the well-to-do Stanton clan. Kathy Baker and Jude Law are the blighted Burden clan, and Sean Penn, looking more and more like a young George C. Scott, plays the fictional surrogate of Huey Long, Willie Stark. As his flaks and flunkies, James Gandolfini, Patricia Clarkson and Jackie Earle Haley.

Good cast. But there are problems. Penn, as he is wont to do, goes over-the-top in his speechifying, his arms waiving wildly in the air, his fingers doing filigreed dances. Where Penn got the inspiration to play it this way is a mystery, as footage of Long in speech-mode (below) shows him much more in control. Not even Adolph Hitler emotes this much. Jude Law, never the strongest of actors, falls into the dreariness of the film, staring at the other actors or nothing-in-particular with sad doe-like eyes.** One suspects editing problems with this film—Zaillian did spend an inordinate amount of time in post-production on it. Subjects are brought up and dropped, like Stark's football-playing son, who figures prominently in the '48 film, is mentioned here and then never heard from again.*** We never do find out how Burden's mother acquires facts to make an accusation against him. Mark Ruffalo's character is left as a dissatisfying enigma.

What we do get is ponderous, and pretentious. Zaillian spends a lot of screen-time trying to show (visually) that the only thing that could unite the "hicks" and gentry of Louisiana is death. Again, that same lesson has been told in better films.

2023 Update: At the time the film came out, there was speculation that it was a "dig" at then-President George W. Bush. If so, it was bound to disappoint both sides, no matter where you came down on that particular president.

But, a re-watch today would make folks blanch—"well, that-tha-that's Donald Trump!"

Nope. Trump just borrowed from the same play-book that politicians have been using since politics became the world's "second oldest profession:" "Get elected by any means necessary. Cease power. Never let it go." That's the genius of Robert Penn Warren's book; he found inherent truths in the process and they continue no matter what generation after reads it. Sure, it seems like Trump—except for the details, the milieu, the accent. But, the autocracy is there. The crowd-whipping. The scandals. Warren could be accused of writing cliches. But, cliches are there because they're unerringly true and happen enough to become cliches.

For the truth is, politicians lie. And people look for a Messiah and want to be lied to. They eat it up. And the ultimate cliche. Absolute Power Corrupts Absolutely.

Just because it's a cliche doesn't make it not true.

* Given the awards-history of the cast and screenwriter it was assumed that this version of All The King's Men would be a top contender come Oscar-season, but its poor box-office reception scuttled those hopes.

** K (who likes Law) kept yelling out "accent-drop!" whenever his "Lawsiana" draw-el moved to Market Street. Anthony Hopkins, the sly old dog, doesn't even try.

*** Sadly, Zaillian, in an attempt to simplify his film, gutted some crucial scenes from it including the sub-plot about Stark's son, and an extended ending that provides the best scenes for Jude Law and Jackie Earle Haley.

Licorice Pizza

What Makes Gary and Alana Run?

or 

Once Upon a Time in Paul Thomas Anderson's Encino

 

"I'm never gonna forget you. And you're never gonna forget me."

 

At some point, the current crop of filmmakers go back home. Lucas did American Graffiti, Linklatter did Dazed and Cofused, Tarantino made Once Upon a Time in Hollywood. They take stories and attitudes and landmarks and build a movie out of it. Nostalgia, certainly. But, also an homage to a better time of life (certainly for them), not dealing with critics and unions and divas, when the dreams were simpler and just within grasp. Aspirations went with ideas and not with box office, and the chance to tell stories the way you want to tell them is the biggest aspiration of all.

 

And so, Paul Thomas Anderson makes Licorice Pizza about a time that can't be recaptured, merely recreated and certainly not eulogized. These things are supposed to be celebrations. The film takes place in 1973 (Anderson was born in 1970, but started making films when he was eight), so there is more than a hint of idealizing the period, as its young protagonists bumble through the California Dreaming and Ambition that typified the era in the post-Summer of Love/Manson-Psychosis.

Meet Gary Valentine (Cooper Hoffman); he certainly wants to meet you. Gary is a child actor who's aging out of the industry, but has found a new outlet for his precociousness. At 15, he has a public relations firm in partnership with his mother, and he is always on the eye for "the next big thing" that will make his future. At his high school's picture-taking day, he is struck by a lightning bolt in the form of photographer's assistant Alana (Alana Haim), 25 years old, and both stand-offish and alluring. Gary loves a challenge and he asks her out for a date. As if! He's a high school student and a pimply one at that. But, Alana is still trying to find herself, and so, to her surprise, she takes him up on it, at a darkly upholstered watering-hole that Gary's company has done work for.

There's an agenda for the rendezvous; Gary has to fly to New York to do a promotional gig on "The Ed Sullivan Show" for this movie he did with Lucy Doolittle* (Christine Ebersole). His mother has to stay behind to watch the business, and Gary, being underage, can't fly across country unsupervised. So, he asks Alana if she'll be his "chaperone". For him, it's a mere complication that needs to be dealt with, like re-scheduling a meeting; for her, it's just weird, she's an adult and she has to supervise this horny kid. But...it's a chance to fly across country. It's a chance to go to new York. It's a chance to be behind-the-scenes of show business.

It's a chance to be an adult.

Alana is from a strict Jewish family straight out of "Fiddler"—three daughters who are expected to "shelter in place." For her to be in charge on this trip, it's a thrill, no matter how odd it is to be with Gary, and it starts a series of adventures and misadventures that up-ends the traditional trope of "girls mature faster than boys." It's true to a point, Gary is incredibly immature emotionally, but has enough chutzpah and charm and manner that he's comfortable in any room he walks into. Alana is the more mature—to a point—but she's hindered by self-doubt and limited life-experience. Together, they're a power-house combination: where one is deficient, the other is strong (he can't drive; she can).

It's just the emotions get in the way. They're both smitten, but not in love. They're more partners, co-conspirators. So, Gary gets Alana an agent. Gary discovers there's this new thing called a "water-bed" and determines to be the most successful retailer in the L.A. area. When Alana starts working on the mayoral campaign of councilman Joel Wachs, she hires Gary to shoot some promotional pieces and Gary uses insider information overheard in the campaign headquarters to start a pinball arcade business.

But, with those adventures come friction. Alana's agent gets her a meeting with producer-star Jack Holden** (Sean Penn), who has dinner and drinks with the aging star, which is witnessed by Gary in a simmering jealousy. That's pay-back from Alana, who Gary hired to promote water-beds at his brick-and-mortar store only to ignore her for a class-mate at the opening. Alana is miffed that Gary has used the insider information to build his arcade business and goes for drinks with the attractive Wachs, only to discover that he's just using her as a "beard" to cover his break-up with a lover.

But, the most extended sequence (and the best) is Gary and Alana dealing with a water-bed delivery for one of their customers, Jon Peters*** (Bradley Cooper going over the top because you can't under-play Jon Peters), which involves Peters' own "irrepressible" personality, the energy crisis, and driving a delivery truck through the Hollywood Hills all mixed into an "incredible mess" scenario that skirts the edges of the "comedy/panic" matrix.

For Anderson, who cast friends, relatives, sons and daughters of friends, and family in the film—and photographed it himself—it must have seemed like making a home movie when he was eight years old. That everyone is so good in it just shows that he's as good at making friends as he is at casting. The script, based on tall tales told by producer/child-star Gary Goetzman is rather shaggy at times (and a couple of times, downright cringey, as the scenes involving John Michael Higgins' non-Japanese speaking restauraunteur), careening like a teenager's mood-swings, but ultimately, it's momentum leaves you with a smile on your face for one of the loosest movies Anderson has ever made, celebrating the sparking of adulthood's pilot-light before it becomes the smudged simmering of middle-age.

 

It's good to have fun making movies every once in awhile.

* The character is based on Lucille Ball. If you griped about Nicole Kidman's portrayal of her in Being the Ricardos, you will NOT be happy with what Anderson and Ebersole do with her.

 

** "Jack Holden" is based, it seems from dialogue spoken in the film, on William Holden, a movie star somewhat past his prime, but still considering roles where the leading lady is in her 20's ala Breezy.

 

*** Jon Peters is based on the real Jon Peters, who agreed to be portrayed in the movie only if they used his favorite pick-up line ("Hey, do you like peanut butter?") in the script because, after all, he is "from the streets."

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.

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!