"Karma is the Ultimate Bitch in this One" or, If You Can't Stand the Hot-Flash, Get Out of the Kitchen.
It's refreshing to see a movie about a mature couple of advanced age—mine—dealing with post break-up issues. I just wish they weren't being so immature while doing it.
Jane Adler (Meryl Streep) is reaching a transition point in her life—approaching "empty nester" age: her oldest daughter Lauren (Caitlin Fitzgerald) is engaged to Harley (John Krasinski), middle daughter Gabby (Zoe Kazan) is moving out of the house, and youngest, Luke (Hunter Parrish) is graduating from college. Her ex-husband Jake (Alec Baldwin) is now married to young "Ms. Thang" Agness (Lake Bell), with an inherited son (from her last affair), Pedro (Emjay Anthony). She has decided that she's going to expand her nest...er, house so she can have "the kitchen she's always dreamed of;" she runs a salonish bakery, and she can cook (second movie this year—Julie & Julia from Nora Ephron, this one from Nancy Meyers, both of whom seem to be trying to keep Streep in the kitchen). Youngest son's graduation pulls the whole family together in New York, with Jake "flying solo" due to family illness. Once there, the two old marrieds hook up, and once Jane is tanked, there occurs a "once more for old times' sake" canoodling that leaves him satisfied and her vomiting.
Most guys would take that as a sign, but not Jake. Soon, he's spending too much time at Jane's, telling his ex-wife that his current wife doesn't understand him, and while it may seem like sweet revenge for Jane, she's also creeped out by it, so much so that she won't tell the kids, and allows it to interfere with a budding romance with her architect (Steve Martin). Now, maybe I've been watching too many "Nature" shows on elephants lately, but I could have used David Attenboroughto explain this mating ritual to me.
Maybe it's that Martin and Baldwin are playing the roles the other should have taken: Martin's love interest is a deferential, shell-shocked divorcee with a manner that reminded me of Charlie Ruggles, and Baldwin's in full pursed lips obnoxious priss mode (without the "30 Rock" irony) that makes his character not so much funny as alarming. And Streep, consummate pro that she is, works the material for all its worth, fluttering and kvelling and kvetching, making Jane seem two pastries shy of a brunch. There are times when there seems to be some acknowledgment of time—Jane is constantly fanning herself, as if caught in a hot-flash, but the next instant she's giggling likeJuno.
The one guy who seems to be doing something interesting is John Krasinski, as the not-yet husband who finds he's baby-sitting his future in-laws, and is the only one who seems to rise above the material to be doing something interesting—interesting and funny. As the only fully-informed character in the cast, he manages to convey the screwball nature of the situation, acting as the surrogate audience, eyes widening with each embarrassing compromise. He makes Meyers the director—with her sledge-hammer reaction shots and uneven pacing seem far more successful than she is.
I must confess I remember little about this film, other than Ryan Gosling wasn't very good in it ("well...he got better!"). This review—trying very hard to be spoiler-free isn't much help in remembering. It was written at the time of the film's release...
Fracture(Gregory Hoblit, 2007) Gregory Hoblit has had a long career shepherding quality television work as a co-executive producer/writer/director on such shows as "Hill Street Blues," and "L.A. Law." He can be counted on to lend an air of verisimilitude to his legal films (though when he strays off-court into such films as Hart's War, he brings no real style to the proceedings--even though there was an extended trial scene in the Bruce Willis/Colin Farrell P.O.W. film).
The cast for Fracture is just as impressive with great character actors like Fiona Shaw, David Strathairn, and Bob Gunton lending strong supporting roles. But the film is a bit too "legal procedural" for its own good. Let's see what legal cliches can we trot out:
- the cocky upstart lawyer (Ryan Gosling) just begging for a come-uppence: ✔
- the cocky genius (Anthony Hopkins) using the legal system for his own ends:✔
- the distracting affair with a legal superior(Rosamund Pike) that throws said "upstart" off his game:✔
- the mentor (Straithairn) who warns "upstart" every step of the way, while secretly pulling for the kid because he has such "pluck:" ✔
Paying the Piper: The Last Harvey Weinstein Picture Show
or
"I Think Everyone and Everything Has a Secret"
"I feel equipped to protect you against the Roses of the world, because I have represented so many of them...You should be the hero of this story. Not the villain. This is very doable."
Attorney Lisa Bloom in a memo to Harvey Weinstein
Who knew?
That's the dispiriting question that lingers as one watchesShe Said, the film made of expose by the two New York Times reporters, Megan Twohey and Jodi Kantor, who "broke" the Harvey Weinstein sex-abuse scandal. Weinstein had been using his power as head of the Miramax film studio since the 1990's to harass, proposition, and even rape employees or potential hirees, and then used his lawyers to sign up NDA's, hired spies to follow and intimidate his accusers, and then, had his board of directors approve the hush money that was paid out. That's a lot of personnel. There are allegations that the story was spiked years previously by NBC—or should we say NBCUniversal (Universal being the distributor of this film*) owned by Comcast. Even one of the producers of this film—who was intimate with two of Weinstein's victims, and supposedly threatened him after one of his episodes—still had dealings with Weinstein afterwards even though he knew what kind of a slime-ball he was. Hard not to be cynical when there are as many suspects as an Agatha Christie drawing room can hold.
A lot of people knew. They just weren't talking. Or others kept them from talking. And as long as no one talked, the assaults continued.
Look, not to be too naive about all this—because Hollywood people have been sleeping around even while making remakes of "Polyanna"—but why was anyone surprised this was going on...and why wasn't anyone talking about it? With all the conspiracy theories running rampant these days, why are so many staying silent about all the hush-ups about sexual assault? Because most of the "professional" services are at the behest of men? And men perpetrate the vast majority of sexual assaults? Duh! And one may crow about more women lawyers, but judging by the quote above from a so-called harassment victim "advocate" it seems like membership in any "sisterhood" can be bought out by a sizable check.
Sex in Hollywood was just another coin of the realm. It was a quick way to get ahead or get head, all part of the bartering system of tit for tat, with the guys who had the power to make or break careers and approve budgets taking advantage of their perceived power for their own selfish appetites.
But, to the story at hand. At the New York Times, Twohey (Carey Mulligan) and Kantor (Zoe Kazan) are both working on sexual harassment stories but in different beats—Twohey is following up on a charge against presidential candidate Trump, while Kantor gets a lead that actress Rose McGowan is saying that she's been raped by Harvey Weinstein, the head of Miramax and The Weinstein Company; Kantor has already done work-place harassment pieces about Amazon, Starbucks and the Harvard Business School. She calls up McGowan but the actress won't talk about it—why should she, as she's taken it other places and it has been shelved. Kantor tries to reassure her but McGowan won't commit. It would be career suicide, but she gives the reporter enough information that Kantor can follow up with another source.
While Kantor runs down leads, Twohey takes maternity leave and after suffering through some post-partum depression comes back to the Times and is assigned by editor Rebecca Corbett (Patricia Clarkson) to run down parallel leads for the Weinstein story. Doors get slammed in faces. The same "nobody did anything before" deflection is heard time and again. And editor Dean Baquet (Andre Braugher) starts to become involved: "Harvey...he's...difficult" is his reply when asked if he'd dealt with Weinstein before (Braugher's tough even-handedness is a wonder to behold).
In many ways, one may feel that they've seen this movie before—All the President's Men and Spotlight—the dogged knocking on doors, the "just-in-case" giving of business cards, the leg-work, how the interviews always end with the rejection of the "Always Be Closing" line ("Will you go on the record?"), the assuredness that there is a story there and the frustration that no one will corroborate it. The ghosts of stories that never make it to press because the source won't commit, on or off the record, because...consequences. Who can blame them? For some, it's a matter of life or death.
But not for the perpetrators. The ones with power, whether Presidents or priests or producers.
It comes down to a biological dynamic: women and men are different. Women have to deal with the consequences of sex—pregnancy, child-bearing, child-birth, child-rearing**—and men, because of that difference, can ultimately choose to ignore that responsibility. To the point where they have the attitude that they are immune from responsibility. Does this sound familiar? The active response of men "getting caught" is to delay the inevitable, to avoid the consequences, to kick the can down the road where they have to own up to the consequences of their actions...and pay for them. It leads to an attitude of privilege, and (as I love to point out to people who fight the notion) "to the privileged, equality feels like oppression" so they fight it every step of the way. Every. Step.
Court, to the majority of us, is something to avoid. For the powerful it's just a delaying tactic. So, the "we'll sue" card is always played first as a bluff, actual suits tie things up for a bit but involve money (which the powerful can afford). It's a delaying tactic...but it's "doable." Consequences aren't.
Meanwhile, the press have consequences they're trying to avoid, as well. Those pesky lawsuits, of course, but the shame of "getting it wrong" is tied in with that. Get the story, but verify. Verify as often as possible. From sources with evidence. Get the story, sure. But get it right. Get it dead to rights. One of my favorite shots from the film is the entire team of editors, writers, proof-readers, researchers, huddled around a single computer terminal, reading, re-reading, checking every word, every punctuation, before daring to push "publish." The stakes are high, sure, but I wonder how many reporters suppress a laugh during that scene. I'd like to think very few. But I can't verify.
Still, the film does what it's supposed to do, which is provide food for thought, tell its story with the intended underlying tension, and generate a modicum of righteous indignation.
And the powerful will continue to stalk for anything...or anyone..."doable."
* Penance? I don't know. Idle speculation will make me as bad as any other foil-hat wearing conspiracy wack-o. But, Weinstein got Lisa Bloom on his team by buying the film rights of one of her books. But, NBC did spike those stories.
** A point is made of showing Twohey and Kantor with supportive, stepping-up partners who'll, without whining, attend the kids. Because it's what they do. And who they are.
Ever since seeing The Ballad of Buster Scruggs, I've been looking for my review of this wonderful Western, which has stuck in my mind ever since I saw it, back in 2011. This was written at the time of the film's release.
"Trudging to the End of Knowledge" or "This Was All Written Long Ago"
One must now ask the chicken-or-the-egg question: where does Michelle Williams consistently find these great awards-worthy roles to play in indie films? Or do they find her? Whichever came first, Williams has again found a great role that, if there is any justice come awards season, will garner her attention for her acting inMeek's Cutoff.*
It's a western, directed by Williams' collaborator on Wendy and Lucy, Kelly Reichardt, and is as spare as the genre can get, in a field that has many a furrow in it from the trails blazed by John Ford and Howard Hawks—the wagon train. The Tetherow-Gately-White Party, however, has slightly derailed.
When we first encounter the group, three families, three wagons pulled by oxen, a clutch of horses and guide Steven Meek (an unrecognizable but nicely gruffBruce Greenwood), they are fording a river—Meek and his horse first, then the three women (Williams, Zoe Kazan, Shirley Henderson) carrying precious cargo in what looks like slow-motion—they're actually fighting the current—while the men (Will Patton, Paul Dano, Neal Huff and Tommy Nelson) hang back with the wagons.
Immediately, you're struck with differences: this first sequence is silent, except for the effects track—indeed, you don't hear any dialog until a night-time reading of Genesis, just the white-noise of the river, the thunder of the wagons through the dirt, punctuated by the squeaks of the wheels; the wagons are not tarped as tight as a bonnet as with most trail-films, the coverings hang loose and look like there's been some shifting going on, and the wagons are painted with washed-out colors, not for decoration, but as a vain attempt at preservation.
It's not your TV-"Wagon Train," with a cook and several scouts and organized dancing. This is work. The women get up in the hours before dawn, gathering sticks for fires and grinding coffee. The men get up with the sun and hook up the animals and talk amongst themselves about what they should do next, voting the direction. The women hang back and tend and mend, listening to the muted conversation, their opinions not wanted or appreciated.
It's tempting to call it a "feminist" Western, even though the roles of the women are in marked contrast to the spunky women of past cinema wagon-trains, who would up-braid their cow-like men and take charge during hysterical child-births. It is only "feminist" by omission—the women are strong (as they'd have to be on such a trek), but they are clearly the low men on the societal totem pole, offering opinions, but not expecting them to be taken seriously, and often completely dismissed. More's the pity as the party appears to be lost in the desert, with no water in sight and mutterings that Meek might not know what he's doing and may be deliberately leading them astray...although why is never thought through.
Austere and simple, with moments of truly inspired beauty, Meek's Cutoff is a study in bare-bones story-telling, where, like travelling a desert with no end in sight, the details are important...even critical. The sameness of the journey is only broken by fleeting incidents, often at the edge of sight, and sometimes on the far side of reason. At some point, the possibilities of a future life recede into memory and are replaced by hopes to survive the day, and plans are discarded, like the furniture routinely tossed out of the back of the wagon, because they might be an unnecessary burden—a useless extravagance.
Slowly, but surely, you realize that this is the message of Meek's Cutoffright up to the point where the film ends—in a way that is sure to aggravate some viewers (there was quite a bit of grumbling at the showing I attended). But, there is no other way to end it. The destination of the movie has been made—the point has been reached. And even if the pilgrims are not where they aim to be, geographically, they are, spiritually, at the point where civilization can begin, on the far side of knowledge.
One Step Forward, Two Steps Back—That's a Western Waltz
or "Uncertainty. That is appropriate for matters of this world. Only regarding the next are vouchsafed certainty."
or "Misanthrope? I don't hate my fellow man, even when he's tiresome and surly and tries to cheat at poker. I figure that's just a human material, and him that finds in it cause for anger and dismay is just a fool for expecting better."
There is a sense of nostalgia that prepares you for The Coen Brothers' new Western anthology filmThe Ballad of Buster Scruggs(which makes its premier on Netflix and is playing a very few theaters in the U.S., presumably for Oscar award consideration). It starts with a nicely-composed shot of a dog-eared book bearing the same title as the film, familiar for the plain dust-jacket (from a time before marketing became the thing to sell the book) that will be recognized to anyone who's had to clear out the bookshelf of a recently-passed relative, or from a Sunday afternoon perambulation through a used book store. You can practically smell the dust and age of the pages, as a hand crawls into frame and gingerly opens the book to the artistically rendered end-papers and then to the "meat" of the book, where the page-turning pauses on the dedication page, which has these words:
To Gaylord Gilpin
Who shared with us these stories,
And many more alike, one night
in camp above the roaring fork
'til approach of morn stained the sky
and our esteem for him stained our trousers.
This Book is Dedicated
There are six stories in the book, the titles giving no clue as to what they might be about. Turn the page and we see a list of the color illustration plates included in the volume. A tissue protects the illustration and we see the first burst of material showing us the contents, a single image and an arbitrary line of prose that only hints at what's inside, creating a mystery and a void to be filled, a goal to move on to. And we begin...with "The Ballad of Buster Scruggs." 1. The Ballad of Buster Scruggs
Buster Scruggs (Tim Blake Nelson) is a singing cowboy riding out of Monument Valley into what passes for civilization in the day and age, his legs wrapped around his horse, his arms wrapped around his guitar and his throat wrapped around the traditional ballad "Cool Water." Buster is a white-hat cowboy, loquacious of song and speech (by which he is constantly addressing the audience as in "Don't let my white duds and pleasant demeanor fool ya. I, too, have been known to violate the statutes of man... and not a few of the laws of the Almighty!"). His story demonstrates his "downright Archimedean" skills with a gun, and his reputation as the "San Saba songbird" as he creates a quick comic elegy for one of miscreants of poor nature who have the fool-hardiness to draw on him.*
One can see why the Coens were tempted to start with this one, as it is the funniest and most arch of the six stories, recalling to mind the Looney-Tunes nature of Raising Arizona, and with a lovely, goony performance by Nelson that endears you to him, even if, occasionally, it creeps one out. It sets up the tone for the entire film, where The West challenges the expert and the novice alike and Death comes in unexpected and inconvenient ways and should also prepare viewers that, as such, they can be surprising and grisly, as well.
"The Ballad of Buster Scruggs" is a comic primer for the anthology, showing the film's approach to dusty death and the film's larger message of the nature of wilderness, and the efficacy of trying to rise above it.
"You seen 'em, you play 'em" sneered the hard man.
2. Near Algodones
An outlaw (James Franco) decides he's going to knock over the only game in town (except there's no town)—a bank that looks like it fell right out of the sky to land in the middle of the plains. But, it's just not his day. He has to contend with the institution's sole teller (Stephen Root), who's been through the procedure before, and who, in the opinion of the would-be robber, "doesn't fight fair." The outlaw will have very good luck today, but not so's you'd notice.
After waking up, he finds his neck in a noose, with a hanging party all ready to carry out its sentence. Fate steps in to get him out of the jam, but also put him deep into another one. He will ultimately learn that there's a good side to everything as long as he has the time to appreciate it.
"Pan-shot!" cried the old man.
3. Meal Ticket
A humble wagon makes its way through the scarce pockets of civilization that mark a mountain landscape. It is a traveling show, featuring a cultured orator, Harrison (Harry Melling), who has the added fascination that he is a quadriplegic. The show is fairly simple—the curtain of a small stage parts to reveal the orator, and after a dramatic pause that allows for gawking, he gives dramatic recitations of the story of Cain and Abel, and other sources as diverse as Shakespeare, Shelley, and Abraham Lincoln, to the spare audiences looking for diversion from the night and the cold.
Harrison is under the care of his manager (Liam Neeson), who drives the wagon, posts the bills, prepares the stage, does Harrison's make-up, and provides sound effects for the parts in which God appears and needs accompaniment. He also collects the spare change that the audience provides for their night's entertainment, enough to provide a hot meal cooked over a campfire. The manager does that, too, and feeds Harrison by hand. Lodgings would be too expensive and the audiences are noticeably dwindling the farther they head through the mountains.
The two are tied together in partnership, but the days are long and the rewards are meager. "Meal Ticket" is a story of entrepreneurship, reduced in all its hard-scrabble desperation, and the eye toward improving business at all costs with little regard to anything but the sound of coins in pockets, and it resonates as timely as the day's financial headlines that emphasize the bottom line at the cost of human dignity...and life.
"The quality of mercy is not strained, it droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven."
All Gold Canyon
Based on a Jack London story, "All Golden Canyon" tells the story of a grizzled prospector (Tom Waits), who enters a pristine valley with the intention of culling the riches hidden within it, without regard to the wonders that surround him.
He sets up an elaborate system, digging through the dirt, and noting the glittering specks of gold that he is able to pan out of it, to find the vein of gold that he knows must be there, the source of which he calls "Mr. Pocket," that will allow him to leave the valley a very rich man—if he can survive long enough to hit pay dirt.
And in all that mighty sweep of earth, he did not see a sign of man nor the handiwork of man.
The Gal Who Got Rattled
A mail-order bride, Alice Longabaugh (Zoe Kazan) travels with her brother by wagon train to meet her intended husband. But the journey is long and accompanied by cholera, natives, and her brother's dog, named Benjamin Pierce, whose instinct, owing to its city nature, is to bark at anything wild, upsetting the prickly members of the wagon train, already impatient by the deprivations of the long journey.
When her brother dies, Alice is left alone, on her own, with no experience, few prospects, and a singular disposition towards fretting, which endears her to the ramrod of the train, Billy Knapp (Bill Heck), who takes it upon himself to solve her cares and problems, much to the mute consternation of the train boss, Mr. Arthur (Grainger Hines), who has other considerations than those of a worrisome girl, out of her depth, and out in the wilderness.
The longest and most intricate of the stories, "The Gal Who Got Rattled" is based on a story by Stewart Edward White, and one could comment, here, on the top-tier performances and the exquisite photography (shot digitally, a Coen first) by Bruno Delbonnel, who's been doing a lot of work with the Coens, Jean-Pierre Jeunet, Tim Burton and Joe Wright, but that praise can be said for the entire anthology, no matter the conditions or weather they were recorded in. The film is beautiful to look at, frequently threatening to overwhelm the stories, but never quite doing that, becoming an intricate part of the story-telling fabric, the wide expanses of prairie and horizon looming and often overpowering the melancholy insignificances of the tiny figures making their ways through them.
Mr. Arthur had no idea what he would say to Billy Knapp.
The five could not be less compatible as they hold conversations as to the nature of man and the nature of love on the one side of the stage, while on the other the two partners, Thigpen and Clarence reveal themselves to be "reapers"—bounty hunters, who on this very ride are carrying their latest victim (on the roof of the cabin) to be dispatched at Fort Morgan...but is that the only one designated by the gentlemen who clearly revel in their work?
Unlike the other segments, "The Mortal Remains" is shot entirely on a sound-stage, even the fronts of the fort's houses are decidedly two-dimensional, but it ends the film on a decidedly creepy, if ambivalent note, the kind of campfire story best saved for when the last embers glow out and leave only wraiths of smoke.
Whether or not he heard, the coachman did not slow.
And there you have it: the cowboy, the outlaw, the entrepreneur, the prospector, the wagon train, the stagecoach—tropes and aspects of the Olde West, but given a determined melancholy twist that has become synonymous with the works of the Coen Brothers. The Ballad of Buster Scruggs is another genre-busting masterpiece that plants a flag in their careers, as they never do less than interesting work, but there are some that clearly stand out more than others. The Ballad of Buster Scruggs is one of those. Not a "return to form," so much as one of those where everything works and their experimentation reveals the strengths of the inspiration they've decided to sardonically play around with—in this case, the Western's ability to show us that whatever we may gain, we lose something in the transition, making the genre both the perfect home of triumph entangled with tragedy, sometimes inseparably. It is, indisputably, one of the best films of the year. Ironically, good luck finding it in a theater. *
Surly Joe, the gambler, he will gamble nevermore,
his days of stud and hold'em they are done.
It was long about last April, he stepped into this saloon,
but he never really took to anyone!
Surly Joe, Surly Joe!
Oh, wherever he's gamblin' now, I don't know!
He was slick but I was slicker,
he was quick, but I was quicker,
and the table stopped his ticker, Surly Joe!
Surly Joe, Surly Joe!
Won't be missed by anyone, will Surly Joe!
Humankind he frowned upon,
but not now, his face is gone!
Guess your frowning days are done, oh Surly Joe!
Surly Joe, Surly Joe!
A cedilla on the "c" of Curly Joe!
He was mean in days of yore,
now they're moppin' up the floor
One more sight to make him sore, oh Surly Joe!
Surly Joe, Surly Joe!
Where the rest his face has got to, we don't know!
He was never any fun, now his grumpy race has run,
