JCVD

One of the most playfully poignant and unexpectedly self-reflexive films I've seen in awhile is Mabrouk El Mechri's JCVD. The film is downright fantastic. Within, the narrative unravels in the present but frequently cuts back to the past in order to focus its "answer before the question" frame, a frame which postures the problems Jean-Claude Van Damme's been having finding roles outside of the kitschy films in which he has been generally cast. His fans greet him with enthusiastic applause and he responds by willingly having his picture taken with them and signing autographs. They love him because of the ways in which he fought to become a star, the hardships he dealt with in order to craft his own sacred place within the world of action films (all the while remaining a regular guy). Unfortunately, that place was rigidly hewn and Van Damme's attempts to break free from its caricatures (in both his professional and personal lives) have proven to be an even tougher battle (which JCVD resolutely wages). An ambiguously and seriously comedic film noiresque aesthetic is cultivated throughout and it's pleasantly impossible to determine what precisely is going on, the sentimentally offbeat and bang on content carving a multidimensional portrait which deconstructs Van Damme's popularized aura. Take the scene where the bank robbers argue over what course they should take and one of them shoots the other in the head and the bullet refuses to pass through his skull (is this an example of realism and do my expectations regarding the bullet's impact ironically highlight the ways in which I've been misled by the fantastic elements of action films?); or the soliloquy Van Damme is suddenly presented with before the dénouement, wherein he brilliantly outlines his troubles, shedding maudlin perfectly placed tears in order to ambivalently mitigate their impact (the film concerns a bank robbery wherein the robbers hold Van Damme hostage and he has to use his brains rather than his brawn to save lives). The foils are doubled and even tripled throughout as Van Damme takes advantage of the situation to pay off his legal bills in an attempt to mollify his captors and secure custody of his daughter which only backfires in the end, landing him in prison for extortion at the exact moment he has ironically freed himself from his type casted chains.

Much to the dismay of his confused parents.

This is definitely my favourite Van Damme film (although I also love Bloodsport) and it's great to see him provided with the opportunity to rigorously refine a role (no doubt he is able to display a broader range of emotion due to the fact that it's shot in his native French [while also leaving him room to showcase his hard fought mastery of the English language!]). Deconstructing what it means to be a Van Damme film while simultaneously reestablishing their iconic images, Mechri's JCVD is an intellectual treat for the popularized senses, a crowning achievement within the action film genre, and reminiscent of the French New Wave.

Defiance

Edward Zwick's Defiance chronicles the harrowing and heroic plight of a group of valiant Jewish villagers as they hold out in the forest against Nazi oppression. As World War II rages on, the inhabitants of Belarussia fall prey to fascist aggression and must find a way to survive against seemingly insurmountable odds. Brothers Tuvia (Daniel Craig), Zus (Liev Schreiber) and Asael Bielski (Jamie Bell) lead the group and struggle to maintain both a sense of community and fraternal unity. As their time in the woods wears on, the pressures associated with conducting frequent midnight raids, occasional acts of retribution, and administering a starving populace, test their resilient characters, presenting them with unanticipated complications that only their continuing resistance can overcome.

Each brother finds their own path throughout Defiance's narrative. Tuvia is the head of the group and must make tough decisions to maintain a semblance of order. He butts heads with younger brother Zus who wants to fight more aggressively and consequently departs to join a group of Soviet militants. And youngest brother Asael contends with his timid character, rising above its natural inclinations to frequently engage in acts of heartfelt and painstaking heroism.

Their community grows and thrives throughout with intellectuals and a commitment to equality rounding out its social contours. Fighting against all odds, they dig in their heels and refuse to yield, all the while displaying the qualities of both consummate courage and gregarious, magnanimous, humanity.

Friday the 13th

I am of the opinion that the new Friday the 13th flick Friday the 13th doesn't count. Marcus Nispel's film is a worthy addition to the franchise and Jason's (Derek Mears) unleashed fury is adorned with several new characteristics (marijuana growing?, kidnapping) (although the opening sequence drags on for far to long). But he's officially in space and overlooking this fact (and the great additions to the franchise it encourages) is not overcome by once again situating the narrative back at Crystal Lake Camp, planet Earth. They also don't explain why Trent (Travis Van Winkle) has been permitted to cottage next door to Jason's layer for his entire life without ever suffering any adverse affects. Back to space with Friday the 13th, back to space.

[True, Jason X doesn't really count either, but it gave the series a fresh scientific edge that refueled and reignited its mayhem, thereby enabling those dismissive of its non-linear content to provide it with the designation of counting. Jason is in space!]

The Wrestler

Darren Aronofsky's The Wrestler poignantly and poetically presents a multidimensional portrait of a professional wrestler's undesired retirement. Randy "The Ram" Robinson (Mickey Rourke) lives life the hard way and when things come crashing down does his best to reign in that which he unfortunately let go during the more belligerent days of his career. Dashing dancer Cassidy (Marisa Tomei) and estranged daughter Stephanie (Evan Rachel Wood) do their best to help piece together the puzzle, but it's a heartbreakingly byzantine panorama requiring a sincerely dedicated degree of patience to comprehend.

The film's strong and Rourke's performance is my pick for Oscar's best actor of the year. The grainy shots and promotional poster credits establish a prominent yet passionately melancholic aesthetic that aptly reflects The Ram's troubles. And it hurts to see him go through it, a spur of the moment man crippled by the financial and humanistic consequences of responsibility. Things happen, not everyone can deal, and not everyone chooses a comfortable career with a pension, regular pay, and wide ranging benefits. The Ram's predicament generally functions as a representative of the aging economic other, the dedicated destitute artist doing what she or he can with what little he or she possesses to bring a bit more cheer to the members of her or his community. And each particular performance electrifies and holistically humanizes what it means to live according to your own individual rules with their own attendant predilections.

There are feelings and points of view that get lost in the rush as you travel from one dimension to another in order to reconstruct daily routines, get by, important pieces of your personal constitution that lie dormant in the unconscious waiting for a specific smell/game winning touchdown pass/deal breaking decision/surprise dinner/work of art to bring them back to life. And The Wrestler really made me feel a lot of the convictions that I had been simply thinking for who knows how long (providing them with an outlet to be revitalized) and that's just one of the reasons why I found it to be such an exceptional film.

Rourke's powerful portrayal of a dislodged, dominant demon, stalwart yet dainty, determined yet spellbound, vigorously demonstrates what it means to succeed while simultaneously pointing out the lesions of loss. Aronofsky once again provocatively illustrates his evocative chops, presenting another infinite requiem for a courageously clandestine character.

Frost/Nixon

Ron Howard's Frost/Nixon closely follows the footsteps of Robert Altman's Secret Honor insofar as it presents a puzzlingly polite picture of the dastardly Richard Nixon (Frank Langella). Set up in a centrist style (whose mitigating factor is represented by the naive, dedicated and opportunistic David Frost [Michael Sheen]), Frost/Nixon chronicles a series of interviews conducted by Frost in the wake of Richard Nixon's unprecedented Presidential resignation. Sensationalized for sentiments sake, the right is represented by Nixon acolyte and Vietnam Vet Jack Brennan (Kevin Bacon) and the left by a solid team of researchers including James Reston Jr. (Sam Rockwell) and Bob Zelnick (Oliver Platt). Shot linearly but intercut with reality t.v. style reflections upon the events as they unravel, the film kaleidoscopically presents a variety of passionately opposing viewpoints regarding commitment, exposition, desire, and dogma, all the way to an intoxicating interrogation of one Richard Nixon.

Each performer is given their chance to shine: Platt humoursly delivers an intricate Nixon impersonation, Rockwell zealously critiques Frost for not leveling the same degree of ideological rigour, Bacon demonstrates unyielding support for his mentor, and Sheen gesticulates and genuflects his way through several different frenetic facial expressions. But they're all left in Langella's domineering dust as he stoically commands his realization of the role. The performance is strong, potentially best actor strong (although the competition's stellar). While he generally steals each scene, at one point, after delivering a semi-commercial speech at a relatively unimportant function, he particularly lets go of his characteristic resolve and enthusiastically laments his post-Presidential predicament, thereby unleashing a substantial degree of split-second emotion that elevates his performance to another level.

There's a lot more to Frost/Nixon than an interview between a struggling talk show host and an ex-President. It complicates and coruscates the Nixon phenomenon in a wizened well-rounded manner, all the while demonstrating the cultural pressures competently pursuing each combatant. The subtly ambiguous ending supports its centrist technique as well inasmuch as Frost clearly wins, thereby saluting the left, but his victory is set up in a black or white either/or opposition, thereby clearly saluting the right. Does this ending represent Howard's elevation of clandestine contradictions and the ways in which they convolute any attempts to uniformly delineate a point of view, and, by doing so, does the ending, like Nixon's thoughts regarding the responsibilities of the President, situate the film beyond good and evil?

I really don't know.

The Reader

Throughout the first half of Stephan Daldry's The Reader, I couldn't figure why it's up for best picture until it hit me: it innocently and delicately establishes Hanna Schmitz's (Kate Winslet) and Michael Berg's (Ralph Fiennes, David Kross) affair before calmly and laconically bringing it to an end, all the while demonstrating the everlasting impression it's left on the elder Berg (who remembers the film in a series of extended flashbacks). Eventually, Schmitz is brought to trial for war crimes and Berg's law class must attend. As he watches her take the stand, his tender heart, full of pleasant and prominent memories of their fruitful time together, slowly and desperately bursts, as the extremely complicated nature of her trial's ethical/political dimension prevents him from presenting exonerating evidence. Afterwards, his guilt is extreme, and he expends an enormous amount of time doing what little he can to ease her life sentence.

The emotional impact is profound, suddenly pounding the audience with the affects of Berg's maturity and the crystallizing consequences of his insurmountable youthful passion, a recurrent moment of change, of becoming, solidified (thereby filmically capturing the passage from adolescence to adulthood, afterwards, the synchronous affects of an Event). He cannot overcome the lasting impression Hanna's ingenuous (yet naively brutal considering) soul has left upon his own and struggles with its agonizing influence for the rest of his days, love's torrentially tenacious (and eternal) nascence and mortality continually haunting his soul, a robust gentle diamond, shattered, constantly attempting its reconstitution. Nothing else really stood out from the film for me, similar to both The Deer Hunter and A Woman Under the Influence in form, a possible challenge to Slumdog Millionaire for best picture, unforgivably unforgettable.

Milk

Gus Van Sant's Milk presents a beautiful biographical portrait of an extremely brave human being, Harvey Milk. Dynamically portrayed by Sean Penn, Milk overcomes his generally timorous disposition and navigates his way up an extremely steep political hill to become the United States's first openly gay politician. Then, possessing a resolve which never lets up and quickly learns the ins and outs of being a San Francisco City Supervisor, he fights against a movement to have homosexual teachers removed from public schools as well as a homophobic campaign led by singer Anita Bryant (archival footage). His character is molded by an unyielding desire to face his fears head on, keeping physical reminders of their content posted upon his fridge, refusing to move his camera shop from a neighbourhood that is initially hostile, and continuing to seek election after being defeated several times. However, his success incites the hatred of fellow City Supervisor Dan White (Josh Brolin), who murders both Milk and Mayor George Moscone (Victor Garber) after hastily resigning from public office. There's an exceptional shot that may win Van Sant the oscar for director of the year as well, that being a whistle lying on the ground upon which Milk can be seen conversing with a police officer. Whistles were used by members of the gay community to sound an alarm if they were being attacked. During the 70s in the Castro district of San Francisco, it didn't always work.

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button

David Fincher's adaptation of F. Scott Fitzgerald's The Curious Case of Benjamin Button chronicles the life of its title's hero (Brad Pitt), born an old man who grows younger as he ages. Throughout his travels, he meets many a quirky character with an idiosyncratic tale to tell, including an artist (who dies with cigar in mouth [Captain Mike played by Jared Harris]) and a sirenic swimmer who tenaciously challenges the English Channel (Elizabeth Abbot played by Tilda Swinton). These minor characters leave major impressions on both the film's and Benjamin's personality ("it's funny how sometimes the people we remember the least make the greatest impression"), placing this curious case in the realm of other magically realistic narratives such as Forrest Gump, Big Fish, and The Princess Bride. Benjamin's innocent love for childhood sweetheart Daisy (Cate Blanchett) parallels that cultivated by the heroes of these films as well, and as their roundabout romance ties together each successive movement, we're left to examine the alimentary affects which valedictory events have on the development of an individual.

Benjamin doesn't spend much time moralizing about right and wrong or the difference between the correct way and the highway. Instead, it elevates happenstance and making the most of what you have, much to its credit. One theme which reverberates throughout emphasizes that it's "not about how well you play, it's about how you feel about what you play," a theme which encourages and applauds disenfranchised forms of artistic expression, while coincidentally displaying them all the while. It also provides several neat little particular tidbits of avuncular advice for puzzling situations that arise throughout life, such as the three rules for Benjamin's first love affair (never look at me during the day, always part before sunrise, and never say I love you) amongst others.

While I found The Curious Case to follow Forrest Gump's heels far to closely, providing a sedately sensational story that left little room for outstanding acting, it's certainly multidimensional enough to inspire myriad interpretations depending upon the disposition of the viewer in question. And it's romantic and fun. Probably not Oscar's choice for best picture of the year, but it's worth checking out if you like films that present profiles of charismatic offbeat people in a fantastically realistic fashion. In tune, in touch, quite different from the other Fincher films I've seen, Benjamin's buttons are sewn on tight with a sentimental style that's laid out just right.

Zelig

Zelig, Zelig, Zelig: just who the hell is Woody Allen's Zelig? In every situation he physically, mentally, and spiritually adjusts to become one with his interlocutors, and there's nothing he can't learn, stomach, or do. His story inspires songs, advertisements, sensations, newsreels, critical and commercial interpretations, parades, biographical imitations. There's a wealth of tightly edited picturesquely paced material reminiscent of Citizen Kane and formically linked to any Wes Anderson film. His doctor does her best to establish an I but as he moves from congenial agreement to aggressive confrontation similar situations and age-old psychological adversaries arise. Playing baseball, writing academic essays, acting, golf, Zelig moves and grooves with the rest of the 'em all the way to an hilariously restructured resolution, creatively and comedically cast with the most intertextual of designs in mind.