The Wife, a most unconventional tale

 The Wife was one of the most surprising movies I have ever seen. Glenn Close was giving us everything and nothing with her eyes, revealing but not revealing her inner feelings, taking us on a little roller coaster ride of suspense just by grabbing our attention with her eyes and her face. Not something you see every day. I don't have a label called #NotSomethingYouSeeEveryDay but maybe I should - it doesn't sound strong enough to describe the revelation of this film.

It's not so much that it's a movie for feminists, although in a way yes it is obviously so. That's not the true power of the movie as much as the deep intimacy between the viewer and characters. Both of the two main characters are complicated --their marriage itself is what we as viewers learn about and internalize and care about and have mixed feelings about. It's not just a psychological movie, however. There are actual acts taken and choices made. The choices are unconventional and maybe even unwise, but nevertheless we as viewers are compelled to empathize.

I think that viewers/readers/watchers/listeners (the audience) being compelled to empathize with characters is an important thing for art, Capital A Art, to do - perhaps that sounds too lofty. It's important however for us never to lose sight of the difference between art and entertainment.

This film moved me, and I am continuing to think about it and will think about it endlessly.

Birdman, aka Biggest Pile of Crap of the Year Award

Birdman has been universally acclaimed as the best movie of 2014. It was lauded for its plot, theme, cinematography, score, and direction, of course. Unfortunately this is yet another turn for me in Going Against the Crowd. Reminds me very much of the year American Beauty was released. That film, like this one, was artsy in a way that gives really good art films a bad name. It comes across as so pretentious, so abstract, and so theme-riddled that you feel the need to vomit up its theme like a bad breakfast. That film, like this one, was overwrought to the point where its message became utterly hollow when it should have been provocative and sad. That film, like this one, made mistakes in just about every category, and to my mind was most notable for being hard to sit through.

This film was worse, however. Despite having talented acting (Michael Keaton and Edward Norton were outstanding, as they usually are, and none of this can be counted against them), which ought to have helped, Birdman failed on every level. The viewing experience was nearly unbearable. ...Why? For several reasons. First, the score, which was basically a cacophonous mess, has been called "audacious" because it is almost entirely "...percussion – a careening, ramshackle-sounding drum score that underpins most of the scenes and gives the film the feeling that the whole glorious mess may come crashing down at any second." Yes, and along with it, your sanity. Many of the jazz drum solos have no notes and likewise no meaning, no soul. They just ramble on towards insanity, like the main character Riggan Thomson. I suppose it would be fitting; it could be helpful, if it were actually necessary to show us the problems the main character is having. But we don't need that erratic nerve-shattering so-called "music" because we already have this: the booming voice of Birdman that Thomson is hearing in his mind.

Yes, he is hearing voices, throughout the movie, or rather -- one voice. The booming, inevitable, inescapable, thunderous, hideous, scratchy, domineering voice of Birdman. "You know I'm right. Listen to me, man. You are the original! Let's make a comeback! You're Birdman! You are a god!"

The voice, along with the other hallucinations (Thomson believes he can fly, and can move objects with his mind) proves to us the level of mental decline. We don't need the score, on top of it all. Because of several humorous interludes, and the powerful talent of Edward Norton (portraying another large ego character, an archetype of a dedicated theater actor, for whom staged reality is the only reality), there are moments of relief in this movie (just barely enough to keep us sane). Nevertheless the hammer keeps pounding us on the head. It says in scene after scene: "Actors have big egos!" Pound, pound, pound. "The search for recognition will drive your ego into the ground!" Pound, pound, pound. "Hollywood is the only place an actor can achieve recognition!" Pound, pound, pound. "But the art world and the world of theater has no respect for Hollywood!" And on it goes.

I'd like to know why so many people found this movie "new" or "refreshing" or some such. If you'd like to see a man flying through the air, if that would be an exciting new experience for you, can I recommend Man of Steel? Wouldn't that be ironic? To find what you really want by leaving your art theater behind and going to see a mainstream superhero movie? But wait -- wasn't that the whole point? To remind us of the superhero movies? Yes, sure, yes. But that isn't what we're watching here. So the effect is, Birdman is telling us those films are too lowbrow while still tricking us with the exact same gimmick? Something smells wrong.

The conversation happens about 11 or 12 times -- the conversation about art v. Hollywood. It is truly old; there is no new idea there. Some critics have said the movie is really about Thomson's ego and search for recognition, his lost identity as an artist, his integrity as an actor being equal to his integrity as a human being. However, the movie itself seems to imply that his identification with the superhero is what saves him... The theater is only a place of torture and bloodshed. I figured the main idea was that if he had any sense of himself, in the first place, any true sense of identity, that he would be equally content to work in Hollywood as the theater, and he would have nothing to prove. He would know he was an actor, an artist, regardless of the medium. I figured the Birdman persona was redemptive, given the ending.

So. yes. Then there's the ending of the movie, which I can't say much about except it was 100% predictable. Not only are we sitting, stuck, watching a movie that hits us over the head (psychologically and sonically) and feels pointless and unbearable, but we also can see the end coming from a long, long distance.

All I can really take away from it is, once again, the old saying that "what's old is new again" to the audience. And/or, people really love cacophonous music and people are very much more masochistic than you would have thought just by looking at them.

Side Effects

I am so happy to say I was not disappointed in "Side Effects" at all. You never know with these small-budget thrillers. Sometimes they slip by and no one sees them, and there's no way to know if it's because they were awful or because they just didn't have a promotional budget.

Rooney Mara, looking nothing like The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, (I wouldn't have recognized her, had it not been for her unusual name) plays a depressed woman whose doctor prescribes experimental drugs. She has tried several traditional anti-depressants, and none of them work anymore. However, once she is on the new drugs, she commits a bloody crime while sleepwalking, and has no memory of the event in the morning. It's up to the viewer to decide who's to blame.

Scene by scene we become more and more uneasy. Could her doctor have prevented this? What made her become so violent? Was there something in her history that we don't know about? What was in those drugs, anyway? Is there any precedent for sleepwalkers to be acquitted of their crimes? (It turns out, there is.)

Her doctor, played by Jude Law, seems like a very nice guy at first (sympathetic to a non-English speaker who finds himself in a psychiatrist's office because of language barriers). After a while though, we learn that he's on the take of Big Pharma. This theme is so pervasive these days, we feel right at home with it. Of course, we say: this is what doctors do. The guy is pushing new experimental drugs right and left. It seems risky and uncertain -- but does it mean he's a bad guy? Hard to be sure. But he's going to suffer from the publicity of this patient's case, either way. He'll lose his reputation and be attacked by his business partners and his wife before this is over.

Meanwhile Rooney Mara does amazing things with her eyes -- they can be zombie-like, empty of all humanity; or droop downward like a heroin addict's; or shine with manic tears and anger. It's very hard to tell what's in her head, indeed.

I can't really say more than this. If you like psychological thrillers, which are frightening not because of their shock value, but because of their familiarity -- the eerie similarity to the anxious uncertainty of real life -- you will love this movie, too.

The Paperboy

The Paperboy is an attempt at a southern gothic, basically. It is rich with dripping moss and cicadas, humid days and bloody murder. Those moments in which you most feel you are really in the south, you are really luxuriating in heat and grit, are its best moments. You get the dialogue, by instinct, rather than by clarity of diction. That's exactly how it is in the south. I love the way the young white boy and the young black maid who works for his father are friends. This is Faulknerian; this is classic. I love the way Matthew McConaughey sits in a grubby room and sweats. He glimmers and still keeps his roughness. I don't know why he always brings the south to life in so many movies. The scenes where he's holed up in his home-made "office" are so gritty they seem to be filmed behind a lens that's been covered in a thick layer of dirt. There are old, rickety oscillating fans and low, dusty lawn chairs.

Then there's the swamp - plenty of swamp - and you can certainly imagine what it's like to have your two choices be getting your throat slit or swimming with crocodiles.

John Cusack plays the murderer. He's absolutely unsettling in this movie and barely recognizable. His face is transformed from the sweet charming boy we all know into someone whose bloodlust eminates from his eyes and open mouth as he stares bluntly, dumbly, his cheeks ragged and his hair hanging down in stiff, greasy pieces.

All of this works well, and makes the movie fun to watch, but it has a shallowness problem. There's a false note in the way Nicole Kidman stumbles on the set and takes over the plot. Sure, she's got some brave moves here, as Ebert pointed out - but we're watching her brave acting rather than believing her character. She takes so much screen time for the majority of the movie; she motivates the plot (no murderer-freeing without her there) and she motivates the actions of the two hero brothers (no victim-rescuing without her there). However, aside from the fact that Nicole can still truss up as a sexy whore, what do we learn from her appearance? There's a lot of potential. She's a dumb-ish lower-class woman seeking a man; she also has a propensity to be attracted to prison inmates. In the very beginning of the story, her romance with Cusack's character, consisting only of letters they wrote each other, reminded me of the beautiful book The Executioner's Song which is motivated also by just such a romance. This could be a real story; she could be a real character. What is it about her that makes her want a convicted murderer for a mate? Why does she want him out of prison so badly?

We'll never know because all she does in the film is spout sex and then be victimized; it's truly a wasted performance by Kidman -- bravery and all.

Six Movies for Thought: Helena from the Wedding; The Romantics; As Good as it Gets; Jeff Who Lives at Home; Morning Glory; Heartburn

This last week has been a film-infusion. There were actually seven movies, but I won't mention the seventh, I don't think.

If one wanted a "snapshot" of my viewing style, this week is perfect.

Rather than choose one or two of these films to write about, I'll try something new. I'll take you through all the movies I saw over the week, and you'll get an idea of my landscape of film experiences, a more accurate picture than if I were selective.

First, there was "Helena from the Wedding," which was a disappointment, but queued me up for film-viewing for the rest of the week. The main character, Alex, is an attractive man but clueless, recently married, to an enchanting but too-young-for-him-seeming sweet lady named Alice. Alice is a nonentity. It's all about her husband, who watches her thoughtfully.

The movie opens with the two of them driving to their country cabin, silently, snowy landscapes behind. I loved the opening: a little dialogue, but not much. Simple scene: unloading the groceries, 'welcome into our little world.' It promised to be one of those quiet movies. Soon, though, you realize that Alex is unsatisfied by his wife. She acts like a little girl, seems basically asexual. Then the plot devolves, because a really sexy woman shows up for their New Year's party, (Helena, of course) -- along with a few other clowns. It becomes one of those couples-getting-away-together themes. They have conversations about life-stage things like marriage, divorce, career, changes from their past, etcetera. A worn-out plot, that no one has ever done as well as "The Big Chill," but you keep watching because the main character is such a nerd. (Obviously, his staring at Helena will not lead to anything, because his neediness is transparent.) I've seen this actor in better roles, more fitting for him, such as Rolling Stone "Reporter," a geek who did ride-alongs with marines in the Iraq invasion, in "Generation Kill."

The stars this time are the friends: Jessica Hecht as Lynn, drama queen drunkard who keeps asking her husband to fetch and carry; and Paul Fitzgerald as Nick, a man who's already done the midlife crisis thing, been abandoned by his too-young mistress, is wiser than his friend Alex and now pretty much shameless. You see the story through the eyes of Alex, but you keep watching because of everybody else. And, in another classic "how not to end" conclusion, Alex has a 'moment' by the river, with friend Nick beside him, and you're more interested in what Nick says than whatever internal insights Alex might be having.

I was then in movie-thinking mode, though, which was perfect for watching "The Romantics," an unapologetically romantic film in all senses of the word. We are talking CHEESY. But I have to confess that I still love to watch Katie Holmes, even though she and Tom Cruise were on the pages of the tabloids for years, and even though I know she's not a good actor. She does certain things very well. She does the gaga lines, the moody eyes, the moonlight walks, very well -- and in this film she even has scenes where she's walking in nylon stockings across a grassy knoll, under the aforementioned moonlight, heels in hand, searching for her lost love. Yes! And she recites poetry, and she leans against an oak tree when he leans in to kiss her. So, you can more or less see the movie now in your head, right? Do you also LOVE this kind of thing? ...Bonus: Anna Paquin as rival, the best friend who stole the man away. Anna Paquin isn't bitchy, though; she is likeable. Especially when she's wearing a green face mask and sneaking cigarettes the night before her wedding. Without saying anything, her nervousness just radiates through the screen. (Anna Paquin is a good actor.) So I give this movie five stars. Most people would say it's terrible. In my opinion it hit the right notes. It did what it set out to do. Also, the ending is nice. It's romantic. :)

"As Good as it Gets" was a repeat for me. I had seen it before, long ago, once upon a time, when I was a kid. Whenever that was, when it came out. Yeah. (I was 21.) Here's the interesting thing: I didn't understand it back then. I remember my reaction: my brain felt blurred. I didn't get it. I didn't know why Jack Nicholson was not just repulsive. I didn't know why Helen Hunt was at dinner with him, when he was so clearly weird; I didn't buy them as a romantic couple. I don't think I even registered the gay artist neighbor as one of the important characters, what with the silly dog and all. (Not to mention my not appreciating Greg Kinnear until ten years later when I saw "Feast of Love," which I now want to watch again... He's terrific.) Anyway, I knew other people loved this movie but I myself had been too immature to understand. So, bring it on again, I thought. Maybe this time it will be good. And, sure enough, I am now capable of getting it. Especially the OCD part, which it occurs to me that my 21-year-old self had no knowledge of. (As in, did I even know what that was about? Was it recognizable to me? I'm not sure.) Also, though, the desperation of Helen Hunt's character, Carol the Waitress -- which this time made me cry. When she breaks down to her mother and says she didn't realize how far in the wrong direction things had gone... Oh boy. It's an adult movie, folks. Why did I even watch it at age 21?

More on Jack Nicholson in a little bit.

So far, so good. A nice movie-watching week. But then things ramped up, on into the glorious: the next three movies were actually mood-shakers, make-you-think-ers. Sigh.... This is what I love about watching a lot of film. You get on a roll.

"Jeff Who Lives at Home" has a dumb title, and I wish I could give it a better one. Suggestions? Jeff is a lot like a lot of guys in my generation; he's like guys I've known in real life, one of whom was actually named Jeff, too. He's a pothead, lives with his mom, can't seem to figure himself out, spends too much time in his head. Maybe it should be called, "Jeff Like a Lot of Guys." In the beginning, he has a great meditative monologue about another movie, which is a nice writerly nod to "Signs," and/or to film lovers as an audience. (We know how Jeff feels right away; we relate to him right away; it makes this movie a movie for those who love movies.)

I don't know Jason Segel as well as I should, considering he's part of the Judd Apatow gang. All I can say about him right now, acting-wise, is that he's very familiar, and probably benefits from that. I liked his performance in "Jeff Who Lives at Home" mostly because I felt like I knew him. (Side note: This familiarity-thing is true of a lot of actors, many of whom have carried a career on it, like Jeff Bridges and Philip Seymour Hoffman and Jeff Daniels and others, and not a strike against them; it simply means they capture a moment in history better than the next guy. They 'fit the bill.')

But it wasn't the acting that made this movie great. In this case, it was the writing. The writing is original -- the plot (the story) is unexpected, and surprises you over and over; so too the dialogue, which is quirky and emotional at the same time. Jeff wanders about town, in a freewheeling kind of way, hopping on the backs of trucks, etcetera, following his nose (and a boy named Kevin). You just never know what will happen to him next. He encounters his own brother, Pat -- more than once -- and assists in a sloppy spy operation on Pat's wife, who may or may not be having an affair. Each of the brothers has issues, we learn; even though Pat's the one who has a job and marriage, he lacks insight into himself and could stand to benefit from his brother's contemplative path. In some ways, the story reminded me of "The Big Lebowski," only not so over-the-top like the Coen bros. do -- this is quieter, more familial; but it does have that theme of 'pothead goes on wild ride and winds up being the smartest person he meets.' There's a bit of substance here though, in the brothers opening up and learning from each other, as well as in a surprising twist at the end of the movie that is downright profound. It plays out like a classic piece of drama, and I really can't give anything away about it here. You have to see it.

A few days later I watched "Morning Glory," which was a bit of fluff, but I ended up thinking a lot about it, so it had an effect that makes it worth writing about. The premise of "Morning Glory" is simple. Rachel McAdams plays a driven career woman, Becky, whose life is dedicated to her work 100% (she gets up at 1:30 a.m. for a 4:00 start time producing a morning talk show). Her dream is to be a producer on "The Today Show." She has no relationships, no other interests, and so on. At the beginning of the movie, she's fired from her job managing the New Jersey local morning broadcast and gets a lot of flak from her mother and other people. What are the chances you'll ever go national; you can only go down from here. She's told to give up on this dream. But she persists, calling everyone she can think of, sometimes applying twice for the same job, until something comes through in New York City. A national network. Of course, it's a total loser situation; she gets a morning show that's tanking. It's absurdly bad, with horrible staff, no money, building falling apart, doorknobs falling off and the whole nine yards. She's immediately told about past producer turnover and how little time she has to bring the ratings up.

Pretty simple. And the plotline is simple, too. You know from the beginning that Becky's going to succeed, because she's so cute and passionate, so it's only a matter of watching it unfold. How will she manage it? This is meant to be a fun, silly comedy. And it is. She has to get her two primary anchors to work together (Harrison Ford and Diane Keaton), despite their differences (Harrison Ford plays a former news journalist, dour and depressed by the necessity of lowering himself in this capacity; and Keaton plays a bubbly, somewhat desperate, somewhat typical television 'personality' -- eager to please, sometimes too eager). The staff of the show must agree to do ridiculous things to get the ratings up, like in one case, ride a roller coaster live on camera, or in another, face off with a sumo wrestler (Diane Keaton, by the way, fell and injured her head during the filming of this scene, and some New Yorkers living in a nearby skyscraper recorded it, so you can see the whole thing happen -- thanks YouTube).

The movie's kind of funny, but it succeeds in going beyond what it should have been (a bit of fluff). The true joy is Rachel McAdams, herself, as you see her running around in heels and suits, bounding across sidewalks, dodging taxis, impossibly energized, cheerful, pulling you into her corner, an unstoppable force of nature -- even in the face of the gloomy, aging Harrison Ford character and his negative appraisal of the morning show phenomenon, which is not 'real news' (a point of view that reflects your own, by the way). Becky is our heroine: she takes it on, accepts the challenge, and makes you believe. And, it is actually inspiring!

I said I thought a lot about the movie. And I did. Why? It was such a failure at the box office, and arguably an embarrassment for actors of this caliber, to participate in a total fluff product. However, I can see the work that went into it, and the heart that went into it. Into every bit of it. Even Patrick Wilson (most gorgeous man alive) plays it up as Becky's love interest, and though his part is minimal and could have been withdrawn from the story, he makes it sweet, he makes it dear; he shines a flattering light on the soul of our heroine. Through him we see just how deeply invested she is (who would forego a night with Patrick Wilson to spend hours trying to motivate an aging newsman?). The character of Becky, by sheer will, makes the impossible possible. She turns the whole story and all the characters around. With the support of some talented actors, but little else, Rachel McAdams turns the whole movie around, energizes it and makes it good. That's a lot of work, and in my opinion worth reflecting on.

It was a supposedly dumb movie I'd love to see again.

So, finally, for my last film of the week, I come to "Heartburn." This is -- and I wouldn't lie -- a hidden treasure. Who ever heard of it? I discovered this film entirely by chance, while perusing a list of Jeff Daniels titles. Jeff Daniels has a teeny-tiny role here. The main characters are Rachel and Mark, played by Meryl Streep and Jack Nicholson. The writer is Nora Ephron and the director, Mike Nichols. Yikes!!! Can you stack it up better?

It's a story about marriage, and it's just beautiful. In the beginning, the unlikely couple meet at a wedding. There are no bells ringing. Their encounter looks like it has all the potential of a one-night stand. Soon enough, though, they are so charmed by each other they are getting married themselves. This all happens very quickly, so you know it's not about how they fell in love. It's about what happened after. In my head I kept comparing it to "Another Year," a film that has a dreamy but mysterious marriage in it -- an unrealistic ideal. These are the two films I've seen that really make you think about what marriage is. In "Heartburn," there are lots of beautiful details, and they feel real. The couple buys a house that needs repairs -- lots of repairs. They have trouble with their contractor, of course. There are small arguments and there's dust. (The house will never be fully renovated, in fact. They will live with unfinished walls for years.) Then, there's the first pregnancy, and singing. Rachel and Mark spend an entire evening singing every song they can think of that has the word 'baby' in it.

Eventually, there's trouble, and it's a little foreseeable, especially by the way Rachel keeps saying, "I'm so happy!" ...But it happens nice and slowly, and not in any way you could predict. It takes a long while for the couple to realize they can't stay together, and along the way there are plenty of moments when you, like they, think it might work out after all.

Meryl Streep is so different here, so subtle and perfumed, so fragile and strong. She's beautiful, of course. And young. She's delicately laughing at dinner parties. But then later ... she's curled up on top of her bedspread with her rice pudding. She's grocery shopping with a vengeance. She's at the hairdresser having a revelation, her eyes opening slowly in the mirror, while a bimbo teases her bangs. She's cooing with her little girl on an airplane, her hands forming the itsy-bitsy spider. She is, in fact, a real woman. She is so good at this that you can forget all the 1,000 other movies you have seen with the famous "Meryl Streep" starring in them. This is mind-blowing, folks. You can watch her and actually forget who she is.

I am tempted to credit Mike Nichols for that fact, because he is a genius, and those scenes are his creation. And I partially credit the age of the film (Meryl did this before she did so many of those other things -- she was new unto herself, even). But I do think this performance was outstanding, and kind of magical.

Which brings me to Jack Nicholson. Not as much was required of him; his character was one-dimensional. Perhaps the film's only weak point was that Mark's point of view is hidden from us. Nevertheless, I thought about old Jack and how diverse he is. Sure, this was a simple role for him. Play the husband who is too good-looking for his wife to see through. You don't think he's good-looking? He can be good-looking. He can do anything.

I most often tend to think of him as "Chinatown." (Snarky, jerky, quick-minded, sharp-edged.) For a lot of people he's "The Shining." (Demented, exaggerated, scary.) There are performances where he's stunned me, like "About Schmidt." Or those where he's repulsive, as mentioned above, in "As Good as it Gets." I've seen him play a retired astronaut and The Joker. In "The Departed," he pulled off being violent, not to mention Irish -- which should have been unbelievable. When you give it a little thought, it's an amazing body of work.

It's tempting to say we've seen too much of Jack and Meryl. But I picked up this little movie this week, and by accident got to discover them both anew, seeing their talent as if for the first time. So, I guess I will close with a grand statement. After years of uncertainty, I am ready to admit that Jack is the best actor of his generation. And I'm ready to say the same for Meryl. Watching them act together is a damn fine way to spend an evening.