“The Great Gatsby”
Directed by Baz Luhrmann
Starring Leonardo DiCaprio, Tobey MacGuire, Carey Mulligan, Joel Edgerton, Elizabeth Debicki
Drama, Romance
143 Mins
PG-13

Cut through the glitzy spectacle of Baz Luhrmann’s ambitious adaptation of The Great Gatsby and you’ll find the same enthusiastic spirit that defined Fitzgerald’s timeless opus about tragic love amidst the underbelly of American opulence. Rather than stripping the story down, Luhrmann indulges the more caricaturesque elements of Fitzersgerald’s tale, painting an almost unimaginable sketch of wealth during the roaring ’20s. But in trying to replicate the tone-poem of the prosaic novel, Luhrmann goes with some unfortunate filmmaking tactics, such as back-reaching recollection via plagiarized voice-overs, which rob the film of its full emotional and visceral impact. On a visual level, The Great Gatsby is beyond perfect but its lingering emotional stasis and hackneyed, choppy editing limit it from reaching the greatness it promises.

Like the great novel, The Great Gatsby follows the perspective of Nick Carraway, an aspiring novelist who has abandoned his dream to chase illusions of riches in the bonds business. When Nick moves into a humble abode on West Egg, sandwiched between castles of old and new wealth, he discovers that his mysterious neighbor, Gatsby, is a man of many rumors. After being formally invited to one of Gatsby’s famous parties, Nick strikes up a chance friendship with Gatsby as his true motivations come to light.

Although Luhrmann’s film sticks closely to the book, it breaks away in the opening moments as we meet soft-spoken protagonist Nick in the throes of an up-class psychiatry institute. Recalling the circumstances that led to his disillusionment with the city of New York and his history with his friend, the illusive Gatsby, Nick’s story is seen as a therapy of sorts – an unloading of demons and a second-look at a time littered with boozing and schmoozing. As Nick writes, we fall into his tale of the magical and notorious Gatsby.

Rather than axing the first person recollection of the novel, The Great Gatsby adopts it, at once revealing its soft belly and opening it up for easy criticism. As a golden rule, recollection is a storytelling crutch and even though Fitzergerald’s novel used that method, film is held to a different standard. Unfortunately, Luhrmann carries the shoddy first act on the shoulders of voice-over and recollection and it’s not until the 30-minute mark when we actually met Gatsby that the voice-over fades away and the disparate pacing changes to a more manageable and enjoyable cadence.

Moving outside of his faltering editing tactics and onto the visual spectrum, Gatsby is a thing of awe. Luhrmann paints on thick coats of grandeur and offers up true aesthetic decadence, realizing the spectacular vision of Fitzgerald’s novel with exemplary panache. Like a child playing with ants, Luhrmann peels back the castle-tops and mansion walls, exposing the hive of manufactured social circles pettily scurrying around. He has captured the dreamlike quality to Fitzergerald’s work, particularly during the lavish party scenes. The music is lively and explosive and his choice to approach the soundtrack with a more modern flair works for the most part. These are the parties of our dreams and it’s no wonder that they and Gatsby cast a spell on the whole of New York.

But beneath all of the glamorous appearances, the caked-up faces, the flapper dresses and penguin tuxedos, Gatsby’s guests are petty people glomming onto unattainable rumors and silly assumptions of their host. Amidst tales of espionage, murder and thievery, Gatsby has a mythology all of his own and this mystique only seems to ignite the townsfolk’s attraction. Slashing through the cascades of sparkling streamers, beneath the fireworks and beyond the reach of the blaring jazz, we discover Gatsby is a quiet entertainer, carefully biding his time and allowing these many rumors to wash over him. The execution of Gatsby’s big reveal, when he and Nick first meet, is a visceral gut-punch, exhibiting the fact that Luhrman can be a cunning and tasteful director when he puts his mind to it.

For the most part though, the aesthetics take precendence over the story, which often feels piecemealed together. Events are pasted together, lacking the natural flow of time and circumstance that defines more fluid efforts. Time in the film jolts unmarked from one event to another without much explanation and this rocky sense of a time frame yanks us out of the moment, back into our theater chairs. Without an organic sense of inertia, the story feels inconsequential and loses any sense of realism that it fleetingly grasps.

But behind the lavish set designs, shimmering costuming and Luhrmann’s many crane-cam flourishes, the performers can be seen taking their roles seriously, digging into them as much as the material allows and each player acting out this ill-fated romance fits the bill of their respective, iconic roles perfectly.

Gatsby is an iconoclast set on fulfilling the grandiose illusions he has dreamed for himself and Leonardo DiCaprio fills those heavy shoes with careful trepidation. This is a man submerged within himself, who rides the spectrum of emotion and only an actor with such broad range as DiCaprio could bear that hefty burden. The man behind the curtain of Gatsby is caught in the trappings of hubris, set with the false assumption that wealth can overcome all odds. In his belief, he is a man both empowered and terrified, bold yet bumbling. In his depiction of the great Gatsby, Leo lives up to his namesake and delivers another great performance.

While Tobey MacGuire aptlytakes the reins of the squeamish, easily agitated Nick Carraway (and his off-camera chemisty with DiCaprio works to their character’s relationship on-camera), he is more of a supporting character even though he’s our guide narrating us through the story. He’s happy to be a bystander and play lapdog to the grandeur of Gatsby so he’s somewhat easy to overlook in the long haul.

At the center of the equation is Daisy who is an inherently difficult character to play, as she essentially is a smart, witty girl playing the role of the dullard. Some of the first words out of her mouth are –“the best thing a girl can be in this world is a beautiful little fool.” From here, her character is born. Afraid of breaking out of the role that society has placed her in, Daisy refrains from exposing her true self and falls back on parroting the bold men she surrounds herself with. Carey Mulligan captures the hopeful emptiness of Daisy in her portrayal but in doing so it’s hard to draw the line of disengagement considering that trait is built into the fundaments of her character. Where she’s faking it or her character is at times unclear but in the time of false people and pseudo-love, isn’t that the point?

Rounding out the ménage-à-trois of doomis Tom Buchannan, the hard-handed ruffian raised on old money and whitewashed with Americano ornaments. Joel Edgerton‘s gruff face and wary eyes fit Buchanan like a tailored suit and he is able to be a truly detestable scourge without flying off the handle or leaping over-the-top. He’s the odd man out in this love triangle and a sore loser at that but Edgerton manages cool restraint even when driven over the edge and this calculated performance adds life to an otherwise one-dimensional bully.

As such a classic piece of work, audiences go into The Great Gatsby with a sense of ownership. Whether that will paint your existence one way or the other really depends on the level of flexibility you’re willing to engage in with Luhrmann’s work. While it closely encapsulates the inimitable essence of the loosely moralized jazz age, it does so in such a way that is sure to scrub your own imaginary palette clean for its duration.

Whereas the novel was a piece of work worthy of being slowly digested, cherishing each beautifully piercing line of prose, this adaptation fails to cast the same enchanting spell. While it’s a worthy adaptation of one of the greatest works of American literature, it feels, at times, flat and uninspired. A mere coughing up of something great; pre-digested, regurgitated and spray-painted with gold. 

Baz Luhrmann has an alleged fascination with tragic romance and The Great Gatsby is no exception. From a purely aesthetic point of view, his film is dazzling – capturing the spectacular life of something assumed unfilmable. The performers are all on pitch and manage to breathe life into these characters to help weave the caricature of a time on the brink of moral and financial collapse. Regrettably, the film overextends its boundaries, aided by poor adaptation prowess, and disappoints on its pledge of greatness. The true tragedy is that the film settles for being pretty good.

“Iron Man 3”
Directed by Shane Black
Starring Robert Downey Jr., Gwyneth Paltrow, Guy Pearce, Don Cheadle, Rebecca Hall and Ben Kingsley 
Superhero/Adventure/Sci-Fi
130 Mins
PG-13

With Iron Man 3, the Marvel brand has tried something new and shown that they have some tricks up their sleeves after all. Up until now, every Marvel film has been an origin of sorts – Iron Man, Thor and Captain America all fleshed out the roots of individuals who were soon-to-be involved in a superhero collective and even Iron Man 2 served as more as an introduction to The Avengers than a story functioning aptly on its own. Iron Man 3, however, tells a most self-contained story that’s got more pithy humor, high gloss action, unexpected twists and its fair share of jarring narrative jumpiness.

The beginning of this tale finds Tony Stark offering up a confessional of sorts. He’s reconciling with his demons in the aftermath of the New York incident where he nearly died on the other side of a wormhole in a galaxy far, far away. This healing process is proving harder than he may have first assumed. Killing terrorists and blasting baddies may be one thing but a panic attack is something else entirely and seems more alien to Stark than…aliens. Flirting with death is heavy stuff, no doubt, but it’s hard to wallow too much in the mire when there’s yet another madman at large with a penchant for blowing people up, especially when they set their sights on you.
 
The Iron Man franchise feels as topical now as it did in 2008 as the continuing themes of terrorism are lasting landmarks in our global society. Although the bombings that take place in this film seem to be serendipitously ill-timed in the wake of the recent Boston attacks, the coincidence is no more than just that. The resulting cultural impact is questionable though as the Marvel Universe is a very sterilized world lacking blood or bodies, the real consequence of war and terrorism. I can’t really gripe about the watering down of any political or cultural significance because, well, this is a wide-netted PG-13 Marvel flick. While I would love to see a hard-R version that really disembowels the messy themes of terrorism and vigilante justice, I guess we will all have to settle with the popcorn action that we get.

Continuing to play a role that he seems born to play, Robert Downey Jr. is as suitable as ever playing the motormouth Tony Stark and his quips come fast and loose. Even more than before, Iron Man 3 aims for comedy and delivers well-tempered laugh-out-loud moments as well as the smirking, sardonic wit we have come to expect from Mr. Stark. The Marvel universe has seemed to carve out its own niche little brand of humor that, however broad in appeal, feels quite genuine to the world that they have created. There’s a little moment when an unnamed henchman surrenders to Stark and makes a little comment about how he doesn’t even like his employers. It got quite a rise out of me and it’s snappy and odd humor like this that defines the levity of the franchise.

Even while upping the laughter ante, the film feels more grounded and psychologically taxing. While its predecessor, Iron Man 2, attempted to show Tony Stark battling with the weight of his new found persona, it’s in this installment that anything has any clout. No holds bar, this third installment is head and shoulders superior to Iron Man 2. Whereas that film attempted to skate by on Downey’s easy charisma and extensive suggestibility towards the larger Marvel universe, this film is happy to strip things down to barebones and start fresh.

Similarly to Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol, Iron Man 3 takes jabs at our utter dependence on faltering technology. Instead of all the high-tech, mecha-as-God gloss, we see the more unvarnished side of the equation where suits malfunction and break down, GPS fails and people are bonking their heads left and right. It’s a craft little side arc that serves as a parallel to Stark’s perception that he and his suit are inseparable entities as well as some social commentary on our ever-increasing dependence on anything battery-powered. Like Stark, the more reliant we are on tech, the more we lose our ability to stand on our own two feet.

Fleshing out the ensemble are all the series regulars performing more than sufficiently. Gwyneth Paltrow returns as Pepper Potts and has really been given a great opportunity to round out her character throughout the series. From her meek roots in the first installment to her almost super-hero personality at the end of the franchise, Potts is an interesting female character who has run the gamut on female character tropes. She’s been the mild assistant, the secret crush, the self-empowered businesswoman, the concerned lover, the savvy partner and finally the commanding power-top. Of all the characters in the series, she has evolved the most and finds the most interesting beats in this installment.

Don Cheadle fills out the suit of the Iron Patriot, the military-officer-formerly-known as War Machine. After a little re-branding, Colonel James Rhodes has doubled down his efforts as a US piece of military might/war deterrent and his once rocky relationship with Tony Stark is now fixed up back to buddy-buddy status. One of the biggest bonuses for this film was seeing the actors actually getting to do some of the action sans the suits. Seeing Cheadle rock it bare bones and fire off his pistol Lethal Weapon-style left me with the impression that the powers that be may just have a natural successor on our hands for Downey once he abandons his post as Iron Man.   

Now, I’m still kind of making up my mind about the whole villain part of the equation. First off, Guy Pearce is unfortunately underplayed in the marketing. His character was slimy, power-hungry and just a force to be reckoned with. Pearce easily has one of the most impressive resumes of the actors here and yet seems to go largely ignored. The guy seems to be a good luck charm for Oscar films having worked on The Hurt Locker and The King’s Speech, two films that won Best Picture in a three year span, so it’s always odd to me when someone like this slips under the radar.

It’s like all the cool kids had a pool party and he didn’t quite make the cut even though he’s clearly the under-championed coolest of them all. Personally, I had no idea how significant his role would be and I’m all the more grateful that a talent as strong as Pearce could head up the villainy department. It’s nothing of the Heath Ledger Joker caliber but it’s far better than the immeasurable cannon of superhero baddies.

As far as Ben Kingsley goes, Marvel and Co obviously played his role in the series rather close to the chest so I’d rather not discuss him at length other to say that his performance came as quite a jarring surprise. However unexpected, it’s little bits like this that show that Kevin Feige et al really understand the media stratosphere that they are functioning within and are able to manipulate it to their advantage and the advantage of their audiences. And finally, a quick note on Rebecca Hall: throwaway character.

Where the other Iron Man movies have depended on climaxes that pit metal-on-metal, the action here is far superior. Instead of the tired and inconsequential pounding of iron suits, the fiery Extremis enemies offer some variety both from a visual and blocking standpoint. Director Shane Black handles the action sequences in a cool and casual way, fishing for the feeling of 90’s action buddy comedies and has caught it hook, line, and sinker even with all the iron suits and a legion of CGI wizards standing behind him. Although the spectacle doesn’t quite match the awing wow of The Avengers, it is just as much fun and even more impressive considering it’s more limited budget.

Now that all is said and done, the question that remains is will we see Iron Man again? Surely. And while it’s easy to stick holes in the lack of the rest of the Marvel characters here, this is a more intimate and personal story. If anything, this is more Tony Stark’s tale than Iron Man’s. Big set events included, Stark is out of the suit for the majority of the action sequences and this gives the action more of a sense of consequence than it had before. Even though the participation of the Avengers would surely have eased the situation a bit, there was not necessarily a need for the whole crew of supers.

There is a necessary amount of forgiveness involved in the Marvel Movie Universe but if you’re willing to engage and let this world full of superheroes and supervillians continue to grow and spread it’s roots, then this is a worthwhile stepping stone along the long and winding road. However inconsequentially the end result is, Iron Man 3 is buttery blockbuster fare hitting all the right notes.

B

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“Mud”
Directed by Jeff Nichols
Starring Matthew McConaughey, Reese Witherspoon, Tye Sheridan, Jacob Lofland, Michael Shannon
Drama
130 Mins
R

From the first time we meet the titular character in Mud, we know that there is something strangely magical about him – a forty-something hobo (but don’t call him a bum) living out of a tree-ridden boat in the midst of a deserted island. Cut through the many layers of caked-up dirt and ignore the .45 hanging out of his pants and you see a fully grown man-child living out his own never–never land fantasy – a postmodern Peter Pan who’s been trapped in a cyclical time warp, chasing down the ever-fleeting girl of his dreams.

Mud is a coming-of-age story for adults and children alike that weaves a meaningful fable about the disillusioned and discarded coming to terms with the harsh reality of their evaporating worlds.Matthew McConaughey disappears into this snaggle-toothed ruffian Mud, grounding this dreamlike down-by-the-bayou yarn with a believable but odd backbone. McConaughey’s performance is delicate and unique, dark and nuanced offering award-caliber work.

Tye Sheridan and Jacob Lofland play Ellis and Neckbone, a pair of scrappy teenagers living in the backcountry of Arkansas. When the duo comes across a mysterious boat jammed in a crook of a tree in the woods, they discover that an wanderer named Mud has taken up shop there. As Ellis grows closer to Mud, he learns that Mud is a fugitive on the lamb who intends to sweep up his lost love and whisk her away to a “better life.” Although we can see that Mud’s hapless lifestyle is hardly from the pages of a fantasy book, Ellis, having discovered that his parents are splitting up, decides to fight for “true love” and aids Mud’s quest to reunite with his splintered love and make the tree-boat seaworthy again.

Since so much of the film is anchored on Sheridan and Lofland’s performances, director Jeff Nichols is lucky to have found such a pair of authentic young actors. While Lofland’s oddly named Neckbone plays nicely as the comedic relief (rifling off cusses and indecencies well over his age), Sheridan is the true heart of the story. His wide-eyed curiosity and irreverent attitude towards his elders makes him a captivating combination of esoteric traits.

On one side of the spectrum, Ellis is an uncommonly brave young man, willing to fight people far older and bigger than him if he deems it right, and yet there is a palpable and tragic sense of naivety to him. He’s a small fish in a big ocean and this little guppy hasn’t really encountered the adult world, even though he likes to think that cruising around on a dirt bike and playing rebel makes him a bona fide BA. Like walking in on a kid learning that Santa Claus ain’t real, we witness Ellis as he encounters disillusionment and heart break to poignant and intimate results.

The detailed sense of place in this story is wonderfully articulated and takes on a murky character of its own. The dirty, brown, ugly river running through the story is a Giving Tree of sorts. It provides with no thought for itself and everyone who lives on the river seems to be living off of it in one way or another. Ellis’s father catches and sells from his riverside shanty, Neckbone’s uncle dives for mussels and pearls and even Mud seems to have emerged mysteriously from the riverbed like an Uruk Hai from a birthing pit.

Unfolding on this mucky river is a growing sense of wonder and mystery that seems to mimic the outlook of a child. Even in his world of recycled possessions and mud-stained belongings, everything seems so full of intrigue and promise. But things are not always as they seem and nothing is black and white in Nichol’s film. Every one has their own indiscretions and share of mistakes but that doesn’t necessarily make them bad, it just…makes them. This is the case with Reese Witherspoon’s character Juniper – a kind but lecherous soul. Her helpless love with Mud is at once pure and manipulative and in the end our impressions of any one of these characters is limited by our brief encounters with them.

Neckbone’s uncle Galen, played in a bit-part by Michael Shannon, offers an anecdote that seems to encapsulate the magic of the film. Looking up at his ceiling fan winding overhead, he muses to his nephew that it’s the best ceiling fan that he’s ever had, finer than all the other ceiling fans he’s ever owned, and yet he found it on the bottom of the river. Who or why someone threw it out is a mystery to him but as the adage goes “one man’s trash is another man’s treasure”. To extend this metaphor to Mud (both the character and the film,) even people who have been thrown away, mistreated or discarded can be worth saving and may just be the finest things of all. They just may need some re-wiring.

Themes of innocence lost and re-invigoration of character are beautifully woven into the subtext and come across as potent and intoxicating, allowing Mud to be something to dwell on rather than watch once and dismiss. It’s a surprisingly tender film that, like its characters, wears its heart on its sleeve. As a postmodern tale of virtue gone slumming and a story of the veracity of the human spirit, Mud is a tremendously heart-warming and gritty modern day fairy tale.

B+

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“Oblivion”
Directed by Joseph Kosinski
Starring Tom Cruise, Andrea Riseborough, Olga Kurylenko, Morgan Freeman, Nikolaj Coster-Waldau
Sci-Fi/Action/Mystery
126 Mins
PG-13

For a seemingly effects-driven spectacle, Oblivion is a quiet and patient film that’s more drawn to mind games than an all-out brawl. If you’re expecting a guns-blazing, us-vs-them actioner, save yourself the ticket price and skip out on this one. However, if you’re willing to engage in a beautifully realized, if somewhat retreat, cerebral sci-fi flick, be sure to catch it while it’s still in theaters.

Tom Cruise plays Jack, a drone technician living and working on the now-abandoned Earth. Pixar fans will no doubt find comparisons with Andrew Stanton’s character, Wall-E as he’s tasked with the challenge of cleaning up the smoldering ashes of our ruined planet, after a cloaked alien race destroyed the moon and invaded.  Like Wall-E, Jack even discovers a rare plant but instead of putting it in a shoe, he plops it in a tin can and presents it to fellow Earthling and girlfriend-thing Victoria (Andrea Riseborough).

As Jack’s tenure as a technician runs to a close, he gets closer to moving to Titan -Saturn’s largest moon, where all his fellow humans have already relocated to. Ever the curious one, Jack discovers a crash-landing which holds a time-frozen Julia (Olga Kurylenko) who opens up a world of secrets into his memory-wiped past.

Knocking on Cruise has become something of a pastime for America but I stand behind him as a man with massive talent. Not only does he do all of his own stunts (even the ones which would likely kill him) but he always brings his A-game. Sure, his action star roles often resemble each other but he offers enough variation while still preserving his distinct persona and has created a formula that really works. His role here just goes to prove why Cruise is such a household name. Sure, this is totally within his comfort zone but the man knows exactly what to do in a movie like this and hits all the notes perfectly. Without a weathered star like Cruise to dominate the vast majority of the screen time, it might not have been as captivating minute-to-minute and certainly wouldn’t have the same pull with mainstream audiences.

Outside of Cruise, most of the other performances are acceptable but hardly noteworthy. Both Kurylenko and Riseborough play apt female supporting bits but neither seem to have had quite  enough pulp in their character to squeeze a satisfying juice from. Morgan Freeman is definitely being overplayed on the marketing side of the equation as he probably only has about five to ten minutes of screen time. I was, however, pleasantly surprised to see Nikolaj Coster-Waldau from Game of Thrones (Jaime Lannister) pop up as Freeman’s partner in the film although his role was equally small. This is Cruise’s ballgame and there is no denying that he alone shoulders the bulk of the film – hardly a shocker with a leading man like him.

Where Oblivion did surprise me was in its unhurried pacing. The set pieces and action scenes actually service the narrative rather than the other way around. Instead of charging ahead, full on, towards the steady throb of endless action sequences, the film takes its careful time to develop the world and its two (and then three) inhabitants. Without the tired scramble from one shoot-out to the next – something that has come to define the blockbuster sci-fi genre of late – Oblivion works as a slowly unwrapped question mark leading down an increasingly heady rabbit-hole.

Lucky for us, that rabbit-hole is laid out amongst some truly stunning and yet adequately restrained visual effects that really make this post-apocalyptic world pop. Less-is-more seems to have been adopted by the effects team as they offer a view of a world disappearing into itself rather than imploding in your face. Much like the powerful image of the Statue of Liberty’s arm rising from the sand that truncates the original Planet of the Apes, Oblivion relies on the power of suggestion and visual simplicity to create its landscape of desolation and the accompanying melancholic tone.

Having transitioned from Tron: Legacy to Oblivion, director Joseph Kosinski has made great leaps as both a storyteller and filmmaker – genuinely appearing to have learned from his previous missteps. The visual wizardry that made Tron: Legacy watchable is still as potent if not more so here but Kosinski accomplishes so much more without everything else being so loud and ultimately shallow. Turning it down from eleven makes the ordeal not only more bearable, it makes it more inviting to those willing to invest themselves. Again, for those of you wanting things to pop out in your face and the knowledge that you’ll only have to wait mere minutes for the next big shootout…this is not the film for you.

With so much technical mastery at his disposal, Kosinski earns points by not overextending and brazenly grabbing for the “oohs” and “ahhs.” I’d take this simplified spectacle over cluttered CGI blowouts any day. It is in this simplification that you realize that the scope of a sci-fi film can still be epic without all the flashy glitz trying to distract us from its lack of backbone. By being a student of restraint, Kosinski has made a much grander film than his previous one and one that doesn’t have to compete with itself for your attention.

Oblivion has the DNA of The Matrix, Alien, Wall-E, Terminator and especially Duncan Jones‘ Moon and while it’s hard to ignore the influence that those films had on Oblivion, Kosinski could have taken his cues from worse places. The cautionary tales of nuclear war and fear of advancing technology have become staples to the sci-fi diet so much of the film feels like familiar territory. This does not mean that it’s not worth our attention though. With more mature direction from Kosinski, a skilled star in Cruise, beautiful effects work, and a bold, if retread, narrative, Oblivion is exactly the type of heady popcorn flick the sci-fi genre needs

B+

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’42’
Directed by Brian Helgeland
Starring Chadwick Boseman, Harrison Ford, Nicole Beharie, Christopher Meloni, Alan Tudyk, John C. McGinley, Ryan Merriman, Lucas Black and Andrew Holland
Biography/Drama/Sports
128 Mins
PG-13

An often-feckless biopic milking sentimentality at every turn, 42 may be an inspiring story but it is uninspired filmmaking. When you break through all the pure formula, there’s little to distinguish this from other, greater films that tackle the similar territory of an African-American underdog rising up in a sporting arena in race-intolerant America. Though a good story is embedded in here somewhere, you’d best bust out the knives because the sap is so thick you’ll have to cut deep to find it.

42 chronicles the true story of Jackie Robinson (the first African American major league baseball player) and his first year playing for the Brooklyn Dodgers in deeply segregated 1947. Dodgers GM Branch Rickey (Harrison Ford) spits in the face of tradition by selecting to draft an African-American ballplayer because Harrison Ford says so. Rickey finds the ideal candidate in Robinson (Chadwick Boseman), a thick-skinned rookie with a penchant for stealing bases. And where Robinson is truly a maestro at stealing those bases, filmmaker Brian Helgeland doesn’t make off with his blatant attempt to steal some tears.

From the get-go, the pandering score clues us in to the hopeless sentimentality that will dominate the feature. The faux-inspiring, melancholic score is deeply reminiscent of John Williams at his most indulgent, a symphonically situated somberness used to play up the audience’s sense of sympathy. But having played this card so early in the game, it’s impossible to miss the emotional manipulation oh so conspicuously taking place behind the curtain. Instead of building his house of cards carefully, Helgeland charges full forward into the sobbing mire, never even attempting to woo and court us before he takes us out back to the milk-machine.

The films strongest asset is surely its talented host of performers. Boseman offers a faithful portrayal of Robinson, balancing his callous and charm with a careful hand. However, for the star of the film, we occasionally get the impression that he seems a bit out of his league. A scene that involves a smashed bat in the shadows may be particularly stirring but it’s one of the few moments where the inner workings of Robinson actually come into the light.

Given the chance to work the comedic relief, Ford offers a fairly slight performance as Branch Rickey. We’re shown that Rickey is a good guy but he’s got very little depth beyond being a kindly subversive figure. His motivations are veiled until a big reveal that didn’t stir up the emotional value it thinks it did and as a result, the character suffers. He’s Moneyball‘s Billy Beanewithout the palpable, ticking sense of angst and fervent rebellion.

The real winning performances in 42 come from Alan Tudyk, who plays the epitome of a redneck racist and John C. McGinley, the strangely cadenced game day announcer. While most of his fellow actors in the film are playing in safe, Tudyk is tasked with spewing out the most offensive racial slurs he can get his hands on and boy is he effective. Within moments, you want to strangle this dopey-eyed son-of-a-bitch and yet he’s so pathetic and lost that you can’t help but pity the man.

Although the true story behind the man who wore the number 42 seems dutifully told here, it is all so glossed over that it gets difficult to see straight. The nitpicky details may be covered but the execution is a poor thatch job of benchmarks that settles with reporting the facts rather than weaving them into a thoughtful narrative. Anytime Helgeland attempts to edify us, it just seems like a cheap collage of scenes that hop from Robinson’s recruitment to his ultra-lame marriage proposal to his baby’s birth to his difficult transition into the majors. Since these stepping-stones are treated as random asides, they never feel like fundamental additions to the character or his story arc.

The best drama in the film is mined out on the ballfield where Robinson is in his element and the whole production seems at its most comfortable. Out here, there’s no attempt to pigeonhole in side narratives or elicit a false emotional response. Like Robinson so often says, they’re just here to play ball. It’s in these moments that the unspoken acts of racial violence seem the most present and disturbing.

While baseball after baseball are intentionally thrown at his head, Robinson can only summon the strength to be a better man than his ignorant colleagues and it makes it that much more powerful when he knocks one out of the park. In this study of race in baseball, 42 enjoys success. Even then, however, Helgeland can’t help himself but to slow things down to a slo-mo trot and pan across the audience to random, uplifted black folks and jeering whites again and again and again.
 

Every time the film looks like it’s going to rise to the occasion, it shoots itself in the foot, reading from the book o’ cliché. Instead of boldly going where no one has before, it settles with following tradition and leaving the mold as it is. Other films, such as Remember the Titans, have done this story before and hit all the weighty notes without the senseless pandering that takes place here.

Perhaps its greatest asset is also its greatest flaw: an eagerness to please the masses – as its appeal is unapologetically broad. This is drama for the moms and pops, not for the student of subtlety. While I’m sure some would claim that it takes its fair share of risks, those mostly gravitate around its copious use of the n-word: a tired-and-true mine for easy sympathy, a sweeping play for the ‘Awws’ and a cue for the white guilt to kick in. The real risks, however, are left for another day, for another movie, for another audience, as this one is happy picking up the crumbs from every other black-person-playing-sports-back-in-racist-times movie. 

At the center of the 42 is a stirring tale of resistance, will-power, personal triumph and character- a Jesus-esque tale of turning the other cheek and growing in spite of it all. Unfortunately, every time these earnest moments show their head, they are quickly degraded by a spewing geyser of soapy sentimentality. Even in the decadent little movements of intimacy, over-sensationalization takes hold and bucks the viewer into a fatiguing stronghold.

D+

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‘Trance’
Directed by Danny Boyle
Starring James McAvoy, Vincent Cassel, Rosario Dawson, Danny Sapani and Tuppence Middleton
Crime/Drama/Thriller
101 Mins
R

Anytime a Danny Boyle film is in the works, I can’t help but get my hopes up. The man who’s brought such great films as Trainspotting, 127 Hours, 28 Days Later and Slumdog Millionaire has truly earned the title of auteur chameleon as he drifts in and out of genres with faultless ease. With Trance, all the earmarks of a Boyle film are here: uncomfortably close digital shots, a rich, vibrant color palette, a pulsing sense of place and life, reversals of character, etc. This time, however, we find him playing with the notion of the power of suggestion. As Trance leaves little hints along the way, the twists and turns are admirable and calculated and there’s enough intrigue in the journey to set any accusations of bollocks by the wayside.

The film begins with a sly little musical ditty as Simon (James McAvoy) breaks the third wall and tells us the ins-and-outs of the fine art auctioneering business. After a century of robberies and hold-ups, the auctioneering society has developed a systematic method to safeguard their highly prized paintings. However precious these costly paintings may be, no art is worth a human life. At least this is the case for the snobbish art auctioneers society. We quickly find out that criminals may have a different take on the subject.

Whenever these attempted robberies take place, Simon is tasked with nabbing the painting and hustling them to a slide-away safe. This time though, he’s cut a deal with French mafioso-type Franck (Vincent Cassel) to steal Francisco Goya’s “Witches in Air”, worth a whooping 27 million British pounds. When things go awry, Simon suffers a blow to the head and forgets where he’s stashed the high-priced painting. Franck and Simon seek the help of Elizabeth (Rosario Dawson), a hypnotherapist, with hopes of cracking through Simon’s amnesia and discovering the lost canvas.

What plays out is a cat-and-mouse game of beating the psyche but as bits of Simon’s mind become unlocked the dynamics between these characters begin to shift and unfold a much deeper plot. There’s a bit of Inception taking place here as the troop attempts to crack into Simon’s mind to extract his lost memories but instead of big set pieces, Trance relies on crafty camera work and subverted expectations to keep our attention and earn our anticipation. Every shot seems framed by another frame, a reflection of a reflection – a thinly veiled metaphor for the character and yet another example of some damn fine camera work by Boyle regular, Anthony Dod Mantle.

While there are no award worthy performances per se, all of the players do a great job at fleshing out their characters and giving them the back-story needed to make the plot twists flourish. James McAvoy’s (X-Men: First Class) Simon is a bit of an enigma and as Boyle peels down the onion of his character, we see the crafty construction that he truly is. As always, McAvoy offers a tight little performance with an edgy air and scatterbrained coolness. At this point, he’s nailed down the apprehensive, panicky protagonist who dances with darkness. Once again, he’s right on cue here.

Vincent Cassel (Black Swan) lets the charisma flow and in the process, transforms a one-dimensional character into a more intriguing antihero. Suave to a fault, he channels the same seductive sporting that characterized Thomas from Black Swan. But as his secrecy melts away under the spell of Dawson’s Elizabeth, we see the man beneath the title and he’s more interesting than your cookie-cutter gangster.

Playing the fulcrum between her two leading men, Rosario Dawson (Sin City) plays Elizabeth in a similarly cryptic manner. While, at first, her decisions seem to be motivated by sympathy and greed, there is a primal sense of self-preservation to Elizabeth that grows throughout. I admire the fact that instead of using Elizabeth as a typical female playing third-fiddle, she is at the center of the action. She’s the Queen in this game of chess and without her everything is lost. Instead of a throwaway role, Dawson plays up this character’s complexity and dumps all over the boring love triangle formula that dominate similar films.

There’s a good measure of sex and gore with some hairy carnage – one half-headed scene in particular reminded me of a Cronenberg film – and even some hairless vajayjay. Boyle knows where to beef up his scenes with a healthy dose of these guilty pleasures and adds them in gleefully. This is hard-boiled pulp made for adults seeking an intelligent film that doesn’t pretend it’s anything more than it is. This isn’t some grand deconstruction of eternal themes; it’s an ample little thriller that keeps you guessing until the end and flips our expectations at every turn.

It takes a tested hand like Boyle’s to turn this relatively minor film into a genre flick buzzing along with tactful cinema purity and a life all its own. The sly little reveals peppered throughout the film keep it light and exciting, allowing it to zip along to a satisfying conclusion. Although some of the character beats seem hurried at times, once Trance plays its final hand, you’re sure to be left satisfied and not feeling conned out of your time and money.