Moonwalkers

Often a movie come along that urges anyone who sees it to root for its success. It’s a movie you want to like. Sometimes it’s an actor, a line of dialogue, a shot. Sometimes it’s an entire cast, a screenplay or the aesthetic feel of the film. Sometimes it’s enough to win you over. Whether it’s Rupert Grint, the occasional gut busting line or the visually innovative way in which director Antoine Bardou-Jacquet challenges the idea of verisimilitude in both life and movies, something about the 2015 action-comedy “Moonwalkers” encourages you to hold on and grit your teeth through every bit of forced hedonism found in the one liners, nudity and violence.

The comedy revolves around the idea that US mission to the moon Apollo 11 might not succeed, and in order to keep this potential failure from the world, the CIA has a solution: they’re going to redeploy special operative Kidman (Ron Perlman) with the task of finding Stanley Kubrik, director of “2001: A Space Odyssey,” to film a fake landing. Things go awry when band manager Johnny (Rupert Grint) pretends to be Kubrick’s manager, hoping to solve his personal money issues with the massive amounts of cash the CIA promised Kubrick. His decision ties his fate with that of the lethal agent Kidman, and the two must work together to pull off a production of their own moon landing.

Moonwalkers” starts out strong, pulling you into the movie with a violent and beautiful action sequence. The scene looks like an episode out of the Vietnam War, but its production design comes off a little false. The vegetation’s plastic appearance indicates a studio filmed scene, rather than one filmed on location, but this serves only to raise the biggest question in the film: what is real? As the scene unfolds it becomes clear that the little is real and the battle illustrates the PTSD induced dream of Special Forces and CIA veteran Kidman. This sort of artistic illustration remains constant in the movie, adding dimension to an otherwise typical action comedy plot.

One of the films biggest strengths is its actors, encumbered only by a mediocre screenplay. Actors such as Rupert Grint have proved their merit in major films, so the unconvincing portrayals of small moments boil down to writing.

The plot lends itself to natural situational comedy, but instead much of the dialogue is forced. Lines that should at least illicit a silent chuckle lack comedic timing and come off as stilted and unnecessary. One joke doesn’t flow to another without noticeable transition, but they instead stutter from the mouths of awkward actors.

Like many other elements in the movie, profanity is used gratuitously. This style shows itself frequently in action comedies, where f-bombs are dropped more than actual bombs, but the placement of the words seems forced. These instances of dialogue come off like an episode of South Park, but without the cut-out animated 10 year olds, it loses much of its charm. Filmmakers veering towards the side of more swearing than less should remember that film should aim to eliminate the superfluous.

The sex and drugs tend to approach excessive as well, while rock ‘n’ roll lazily comes into play only a few times. Most shots in the film feature some sort of drug, whether its weed, cocaine or acid, you won’t have to wait long to see one being inhaled, snorted or ingested again. For a comedy set in the 60’s, extreme drug use is fair game, but in the spirit of an SNL skit, “Moonwalkers” keeps the joke going a little too long. If you aren’t high while you watch, you’ll soon wish you had something to ease the onslaught of “funny” shroom and acid trips.

“Moonwalkers” continues there toe-ing the line (maybe even jumping it) with the unnecessary costuming, or rather lack thereof. Just as you won’t need to wait long to see drugs onscreen, topless girls seem to be a hallmark of the film. While it initially seemed to depict the wild and wanton sexual awakening in the 60’s, the intent of the nudity appears to be to add sex appeal rather than for story development.  The same goes for violence, as many time we see Perlman’s character blast off the head of a foe, spraying gore and brain matter everywhere. Sometimes this can be effective when used with self-awareness. It can highlight the movies own absurdity or show the atrocity that is violence. “Moonwalkers,” however, fails to make any real statement about the violence, and it’s graphic nature does little to augment the movie.

The movie picks up in the last half considerably. The moon landing scene is hilarious and watching the characters struggle to make the flag stick on the set was one of the most genuine laughs I’ve had in a while. If you need something to pass the time, and can ignore the more gratuitous aspects of the film, the urge to enjoy this nearly clever “what-if” movie may just overcome your sensibilities.

Starring:  Ron Perlman, Rupert Grint, Robert Sheehan, Eric Lampert, and Kerry Shale. Directed by Antoine Bardou-Jacquet. Screenplay by Dean Craig. Produced by George Bermann.

La Tête haute

Emmanuelle Bercot tells the phenomenally acted, well-motivated story of a juvenile delinquent and the disparity between poverty and justice. A boy born to a drug addicted teen mother soon finds himself in a situation much the same, bouncing in and out of Juvenile Homes. While there is no way to deny the social relevance of the topic, the film’s runtime may be an obstacle in getting that message across. The length depicts the repetitive and daunting cycle of the career criminal, but borders on excruciating as a viewing experience. Still, if you want to be moved to true empathy, Rod Paradot’s portrayal of Malony and his confused rage might just get you there. In company with an amazing supporting cast, he taps into the feral desperation  of those stuck in circumstances outside their control. Even as he abuses others in the truly horrifying ways that can only be summed up in a scene where he slams a table into a pregnant woman’s stomach, Bercot somehow elicits empathy. You can’t help but to understand how Standing Tall is the only way to be above the hurt.

Louder Than Bombs

 Nothing so quiet could ever hit you so loudly—“Louder Than bombs” has a softness in its sincerity that will deafen you. It’s subtle, it’s conspicuous, it’s simple, it’s intricate. Jochem Trier has captured grief and pain and rage with all the melody of a symphony—with all the cacophony of a car crash.

 The film tells the story of a family dealing with death. Prolific photographer Isabelle Reed (Isabelle Hupert) has been dead for years, but an upcoming article by one of her colleagues will reveal little known circumstances of her death. The article looms over her husband’s head (Gabriel Byrne), his youngest son Conrad (David Druid) doesn’t know the truth: her accident wasn’t an accident, but suicide. When he comes home to help comb through the leftovers of Isabelle’s work, her oldest son Jonah (Jessie Eisenberg) also must deal with his brother’s innocence, as well as problems of his own like his wife, his baby and a run in with an old lover (Rachel Brosnahan).

If there’s a singular message to be found in this film it’s one of empathy. Throughout its course the movie takes the viewer through the lives of the living and the deceased, and though it dances with genre tropes, it refuses to fall into a niche. It’s not just the coming of age story of a reclusive high school boy. It’s not just the drama of a man trying to tame his inner demons for fidelity’s sake. It’s not another heartwarming story of an estranged family coming together during a crisis—it’s an exploration of love in all its tragic eloquence.

What’s exceptional about the film is the conspicuous way it tugs at your emotions, while refusing to cross over to melodrama. On the contrary, while every element of the film hits you without subterfuge, each part is broken into such manageable and subtle phrases that it never seems trite.

It’s broken into an anthology, really, a collection of circumstance that varies in time, characters and sentiment.  By doing this Trier is able to not only create a barrier between the poignant and the theatrical, but also expertly manipulates your opinion without your knowing it. He does such an effective job at this that, at first viewing, one might think the movie avoids assigning blame altogether. However an observant movie goer might realize that fault doesn’t necessarily imply culpability.

It appears that a real effort has been made to present the story in all its complexities and from each of its angles. The distortion and disorder of time also serves this end, symbolizing the ephemeral nature of truth and reality—we often see a scene from one perspective just before seeing it from another.

In the first scenes with Conrad he acts withdrawn, suspicious and even aggressive, so much so that sympathy for Gene comes instinctually. But soon after the same scene unravels from Conrad’s perspective and we understand him in a very different and much more intimate way. You can’t help but feel for him.

The same sort of structure occurs in the exploration of Isabelle’s death. We see similar imagined scenes of her death, all beautifully tragic, each desperate in their search for the truth. By the end of the movie, these interpretations actually make you question the extent of the intention behind Isabelle’s suicide; it even points to the idea that truth is a more transient concept than we’d like it to be.

Reality acts as a character itself, refusing to be static. Trier ties the motif into that of truth, in that neither are ever sure things. The whole cast experiences moments with Isabelle that never clearly exist in the past or present. Often we see Gene arguing, or even confessing his unconditional love for her, but it’s impossible to distinguish if these are previous conversations or in his head.

Conrad, too, represents a questioning of authenticity, and while it initially seems that his sorcery-like motions are only the product of a reclusive nerd too wrapped up in role playing games, we soon wonder. The intricate weave of truths and facts sheds little light onto which is which and Trier leaves us unsure of why Conrad’s “magic” couldn't just be magic.

Anyone who believes “Louder Than Bombs” has no climax fails to understand story telling at its core. Trier doesn’t follow traditional rise and fall structure, sure, but instead illustrates life more accurately. Elevation and free fall happen frequently and in gentle waves rather than a full frontal assault. The repeated percussion of small barrages penetrates in a much more personal way than any single atomic bomb ever could.

Director: Joachim Trier; Writers: Joachim Trier, Eskil Vogt; Actors: Isabelle Hupert, Gabriel Byrne, Jessie Eisenberg, Rachel Brosnahan, David Druid; Producer: Naima Abed

    

Get on Up--and out of the Oscars

2015 was a year of heavyweights. Controversial as some of them may have been “Imitation Game,” “Selma,” “Grand Budapest Hotel,” and “The Theory of Everything” were perhaps the most justifiably memorable movies to have received the prestige of an Academy Award nomination… but they aren’t the only ones that should have. “Get on Up,” the biopic about Soul icon James Brown, was not among the contenders at this years Oscars. If you thought director Ava DuVernay’s snubbing was an isolated case, think again. Tate Taylor’s depiction of one of America’s most important and influential musical innovators lost out the auto-fellatio that is Hollywood’s “Bird Man,” and Richard Linklater’s second attempt of the cheap gimmick that is “Boyhood.” “Get on Up,” may have had its issues, but with such magnetic actors portraying the well fleshed characters that it has, the film wipes the floor with half of the nominees the Academy selected this year and certainly captivates you more than the snooze-fest of “Foxcatcher.”

The film tells James Brown story, alternating between points in time in a fashion similar to (but less confusing than) Christopher Nolan’s original works. Throughout its course, we learn who he, how he came to be and who else came to be with him—and didn’t. Chadwick Boseman brings Brown to life. The character is built in manic throes of genius, arrogance and insecurity. Nothing about his performance is over the top, or maybe everything is, but it only adds to the believability of the larger than life James Brown persona. Through the nuances Boseman brings to the role, we intimately come to know Brown for all his brilliance, his good and his evil. Everything from the feverish obsession in his eyes, to raspy-ness of his voice, to the soul in his music embodies what one could easily believe is the real James Brown.

It’s hard to say that the nominations for actors and actresses were racist with the total absence people of color in the lead and supporting categories. There just weren’t that many to even consider—excluding of course David Oyelowo, Carmen Ejogo, Henry Sanders, just to name a few from DuVernay’s “Selma.” And, also, not considering the incredible performances in addition to Boseman in “Get on Up,” such as Viola Davis’s portrayal of Brown’s mother, Lennie James’s of his father, and Nelsan Ellis’s of his best friend Bobby Byrd all who brought something vital and poignant to the film.

Though some might argue that the film was inaccurate or overly inventive, some might say stick to documentaries. The movie was written in such a way that it captivates from start to finish and the evolution of James Brown is shown clear and creatively. The supporting roles may be the best part Brown’s portrait, detailed by the brushstrokes they leave on him. His mother and Bobby Byrd especially add a dimension to his character. They separate the protagonist from the cliché artist whose genius alone fuels an egomaniacal belligerence. Instead they show that his hostile superiority comes from an insecure need to be self-reliant and a determination to “do right by him.” Without them, Brown would be seen in a similar light to the one Kanye is shown in.

The editing, too, might seem to be too traditional with its vacillation between present/near present and flashbacks. However, in addition to the fact that there is absolutely nothing wrong with traditional story structure (after all it’s survived for millennia for a reason), it also isn’t quite as traditional as it might seem. While for the most part the film follows a pattern, it starts in the present and then tells the story chronologically with occasional flashbacks, a few scenes are cut strategically in such a way that they don’t reveal everything until it becomes completely crucial to the plot development.  This device keeps the film from finding itself in any lulls and helps to keep disingenuous sentiment out of more dramatic events.

               

The film may not have made noteworthy achievements in cinematography like “Bird Man,” it may not have had quite the social relevance and power of “Selma,” and it may not have had a lot of qualities that nominees for other categories had. However, the screen play should have demolished “Boyhood” and “Foxcatcher”, and the actors certainly should have been contenders. This year the Academy has forgone the pretense of awarding or even nominating token minorities for contributions in the realm of acting, leaving remarkable cast like that of “Get on Up” in the shadow of hollow films and their actors.