Showing posts with label Javier Bardem. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Javier Bardem. Show all posts

Thursday, November 15, 2012

AAA BOND RATING

Craig's 007 shaken, yet stirring, in Skyfall

What does Skyfall, the title of the new 007 movie, actually mean? Suffice it to say that "Skyfall" is James Bond's "Rosebud," an element from his deeply shrouded past revealed here for the first time—one of many "firsts" that make this 23rd outing for the legendary uber-op so interesting.

For once, we see a more vulnerable Bond, a man who has himself been shaken and stirred a few too many times and is no longer in peak condition, a man who's begun to question if its all worthwhile. This Bond even spends several scenes in rumpled clothes and a beard. Most heretical of all, this is a Bond on the verge of becoming "irrelevant."

All these factors, a dynamic performance from Daniel Craig, and sterling work from incoming director Sam Mendes (a filmmaker not generally known for action movies) conspire to make Skyfall one of the best Bond films ever. In this 50th year of the franchise that has itself often been deemed irrelevant (remember the punning innuendo and bloated fx of the Roger Moore era?), Craig's and Mendes' reinvented, revitalized Bond puts the series right back in the game.

It's great to see Dame Judi Dench's formidable spymaster, M, as the principle "Bond girl," in the thick of the action from the very start. The ever-watchable Ben Whishaw (last seen in Cloud Atlas) is terrific as the new Q, a ridiculously young techno-geek whose droll manner and skill earn Bond's grudging respect.

Factor in a mesmerizing performance of grinning dementia from the great Javier Bardem as the chief villain, and you've got a ripping E-Ticket of a movie that pretty much never lets up. (Read more)

Thursday, February 3, 2011

TIME'S WINGÉD CHARIOT


Heads up, kids! Here come two great movies you need to go see right away. As usual, some of the best films of the old year are just now trickling down onto local screens, and opening tomorrow are two of the best of 2010, either one (or both) of which I might have put on my personal Top Ten if only I'd seen them in time. Very different kinds of films, each deals with the passage of time with compassion and urgency.


How long is long enough to save the world? Even the miniscule portion of your immediate world where you might actually be able to make an impact? This is the dilemma faced by the hard-luck protagonist played with furious grace by the great Javier Bardem in Biutiful, a man clawing a living out of the urban underbelly of Barcelona who discovers he has only a short time left to straighten out his messy life for the sake of his beloved children. Brooding and heartfelt, it's a dark, yet tender vision of life on the fringe from the always provocative Alejandro González Iñárritu. (Read more.)


(High Hopes)


Here's the thing about Mike Leigh. From the very first of his films that I saw, the irrepressible High Hopes, in 1988, I knew that he and I were on the same wavelength. This most passionate bard of Britain's working class has always been a champion of the disenfranchised, with a dry, often scathing wit coupled with a huge heart for the human condition.


High Hopes is a blisteringly funny look at class warfare and family ties in Margaret Thatcher's England. At its heart is a scruffy young, leftist couple in the Kings Cross district of London; she's a nurturing earth-mother, he's a disappointed Marxist always railing scornfully (in unprintable but hilarious terms) about the evils of government by the corporate rich. Sadly, not much has changed in the world since then, except that the corporate stranglehold is even more severe and the plight of the lower classes even more desperate.



Leigh's absolutely wonderful new film, Another Year, could be about the same couple, 25 years later. Indeed, the same marvelous actress, Ruth Sheen, plays the wife in both films, and in both cases, she is the wry, good-humored, compassionate soul of the story. This time out, she's paired with the great Jim Broadbent; he's Tom, a geologist bursting with sly wit and bonhomie who does not suffer fools gladly, but most of the time just manages to keep a lid on his snarky opinions. Sheen plays his wife, Gerri, a caring mental health counselor at the local hospital. They live in a comfy brick flat north of London, but spend most of their free time at the neighborhood "allotment," an open plot of land where they tend their garden of vegetables and herbs. Their marriage has been long and happy, produced one droll and loving son (Oliver Maltman), and they still spend all their free time together, cooking, gardening, laughing, and hanging out.


Things have not worked out so well for their friends, most of them alone or unhappily wed, miserable in their jobs, dissatisfied with themselves, and no longer able to ignore the grim fact that life is passing them by. Time, not politics, is the enemy this time around, and the film takes place over the seasonal cycles of one year, from spring through winter, as time's wingéd chariot inevitably whooshes onward. (When Gerri comments on the book he's reading in bed, Tom dryly observes, "I never liked history in school, but the older I get, the more relevant it seems.")


But Tom and Gerri have faced life's challenges and made something of their lives together. The delicate tension wrought by Leigh in the film comes from the desperation with which their misfortunate friends are lured to the nurturing flame of their happiness and stability. Chief among these is Lesley Manville in a fearless and devastating performance as Mary, a lonely, long-divorced secretary at Gerri's hospital clinging to the memory of youth with her too-revealing clothes and too-brittle perkiness, who keeps pushing the boundaries, desperately trying to upgrade from work mate to surrogate family status. Peter Wight plays Tom's old school chum, also divorced, compulsively gorging himself on food, drink, and cigarettes to fill up the emptiness inside. (His neighborhood pubs are now "full of young people, talking about nothing!" he complains.) Tom's elderly old codger of a brother, Ronnie (David Bradley, best known as sinister Hogwarts groundskeeper Filch in the Harry Potter movies), is a new widower reduced to near catatonia, with an explosively angry son.


(David Bradley and Lesley Manville)


Leigh famously workshops his story ideas with his cast to arrive at a script, and there's not a false syllable in the entire movie. Every conversation, however fragmented, has the ache and vitality of real life, as well as every potent glance, and all the things that remain unspoken as these characters face up to life's disappointments. And the movie teems with sudden, breathtaking insights; when Mary talks to Ronnie about the music they loved as kids—The Beatles and Elvis—we realize this is what's become of the generation that was going to change the world back in 1968.


Working with his longtime cinematographer Dick Pope to replicate the changing seasons within a rigorous eight-week shooting schedule, Leigh also masters the look of the film as the year and his dramatic themes evolve. As vibrant as their kitchen is, with its warm, curry-colored walls and vivid tiles, the same interior looks washed out and cold in a later, winter scene when Tom and Gerri are not in it.


Despite the wistful melancholy of its theme, this is a delicious, savvy, and resonant film, peppered with irreverent wit and real feeling. Do not miss it.


(Trivia note: look out for Phil Davis—Sheen's co-star in High Hopes, pictured above—in a cameo in Another Year as a guest at a backyard BBQ.)

Tuesday, August 24, 2010

EAT PRAY LOVE

A girl went looking for enlightenment, and couldn't find it anywhere.



Here's the thing about this movie. I found it enormously entertaining —likable cast, wry dialogue, cool international locations. But I didn't believe for a nanosecond that Julia Roberts' Liz Gilbert was on a serious spiritual journey. It just seemed like a convenient way to dodge the problems in her life.

(Around the world on a freelance writer's salary. Hah! Right there, you know this movie is taking place in Fantasyland. It's like that Drew Barrymore movie, Never Been Kissed, where she's a cub reporter at some newspaper and they give her an office!!! AND a secretary!)

But it's no wonder women love this book so much; it tells them it's okay to stop depriving themselves and go eat! (Preferably in Italy!) (Although I had to laugh when Julia/Liz makes a crack about buying new "fat lady jeans." What, she went from a Size 0 to a Size 1? Oh, the humanity.) The story also it encourages women to empower themselves and jump-start their stagnant lives, then promises them a sexy, wonderful man (in the movie, Javier Bardem) if they just don't give up on love.

But what bugged me was the cavalier way the movie Liz kept discarding all these men, as if the lack of purpose in her life was somehow their fault. Sure, an early marriage before the partners know themselves or each other, that's an honest mistake; it happens a lot. (Although no attempt was made here to make Roberts or Billy Crudup look any younger in the flashback scenes; they looked exactly the same —even had the same hairstyles—on their wedding day as in their last scene together with the divorce lawyer.)

But then she takes up with the sexy, adoring young actor played by James Franco. In need of a post-divorce crash pad after two weeks imposing on her friend/editor, Liz moves all her stuff into his tiny apartment, parades him around among her friends, giggling, "He's only 28!" (nudge nudge, wink wink), then starts to get all affronted about her personal space when the poor guy mistakenly believes they're in, you know, a relationship.

When new men in her life open up to her, she backs off, leaving a trail of broken hearts because she just can't commit, the very thing we used to berate footloose men for in the movies (and life). My psychoanalytical friends point out that a woman's fear of losing herself in a relationship is not the same as a man who claims he needs to be "free," but the end results are the same in this movie: dumped partners left scratching their heads wondering what they did wrong.

And even in Bali, near the end of her journey, when we're supposed to believe that Liz has finally come to terms with her elusive selfhood and dares to start building a new relationship, she still acts like she's just been handed a plague cocktail when her Brazilian sweetie wants to take her away for a few days. Four days alone on a deserted tropical island with Javier Bardem, and she says no? You call that enlightened?.

No doubt the book dealt in deeper complexities (at least I hope so). But it doesn't seem to require a world tour and a Balinese holy man to glom onto the one piece of insight the movie offers: that loving someone else can lead to a more balanced life than endless, solo navel-gazing. Gee, ya think?