Vera Drake

I’ve seen our possible, terrifying future by taking a glimpse at the recent past, thanks to Mike Leigh’s masterful period drama, Vera Drake, which has now displaced Richard Linklater’s Before Sunset as my favorite film of the year. But this is not just a film for pro-choice advocates; it is a morally complex drama populated with fully realized characters. The first half of the film, as Leigh and cast explores the rhythms and mundane drudgery of daily life in working-class London, circa 1950, is almost documentary-like in its meticulous attention to detail (aided by Dick Pope’s photography and the excellent production design), so much so that I felt like I had intimate knowledge of both the Drake family and its neighborhood; while the episodic second half, as the machinery of “justice” grinds down both the titular heroine and her family, is an effective melodrama that refuses to descend into simple cliché (the police maybe officious, but they are never less than sympathetic, and I got the distinct impression that they hardly believed in the law that they were enforcing) or outright sentimentality. The best moment of the film is when Reggie put things in perspective during an awkward Christmas celebration, resulting in an unexpected bit of humor in a rather dark portion of the film

I do have a few, minor complaints. Personally, I could have done without the consistent choral music and the subplot involving the bitchy sister-in-law who becomes increasingly odious as the film draws to a conclusion, though that character’s desire to hold onto her newly won middle-class propriety plays into Leigh’s larger examination of class issues throughout the film. This is not a complaint, but typical of Leigh, he expends a considerable amount of screentime in Vera Drake to class issues, specifically contrasting the methods used by both the upper and working class women to obtain abortions (not surprisingly, the upper-class women have access to semi-legal, and safer, professional methods since they can pay for them).

Imelda Staunton’s award-winning performance as Vera is very sympathetic and outright heartrending, and though we mostly share her POV throughout the film, Leigh handles these potentially bathetic scenes with great delicacy and reserve, often expanding his focus at just the right times to encompass the greater effects of Vera’s arrest upon the Drake clan, who, not surprisingly, react in various ways to the news (Syd’s reaction is probably the most interesting; the most outraged, he was earlier also depicted as a young man on the prowl, and perhaps responsible for getting some girls in trouble himself). The surprise of the characters actually seems quite genuine, a credit to Leigh’s collaborative and organic working methods, since only Staunton knew of her characters secret prior to the filming of the revelatory scenes. Of course, another benefit of this approach is the rich characterizations the film offers. For example, even though Vera seems simply altruistic in her desire to “help the girls,” her attitude when dealing with them, while pleasant, is distant and businesslike, even when her clients are going through an emotional meltdown, and I found that character trait somewhat off-putting (though she’s still better than the greedy brokers and doctors who fuel the backroom abortion trade). I could not help but admire that kind of attention to detail, especially since it gave me a great deal to think about at the film proceeded.

Vera Drake is the first film in a long time that has actually motivated me to write about it as soon as I got home. I’m going to be very tired at work tomorrow, but not only did I regard the subject matter as prescient given the results of the elections, this film affected me emotionally so much that I just had to write about it as soon as possible. Great stuff. Bravo to a filmmaker whose films I generally admire, but do not love.
Posted By Anonymous at 9:43:00 PM 0 comments

 

Finding Neverland

100 years ago, long before pop psychology discovered our annoying "Inner child", a man named James Barrie wrote the archetypal version of that theme, all about a boy who never grew up and a land where we stay young forever. Finding Neverland is his story, although the film is less his biography than a tribute to that spirit of eternal youthfulness, and how that gift is given to a family Barrie befriends.

The eternally young Johnny Depp plays J.M. Barrie, a successful dramatist already in his 40's by the time he meets Sylvia Llewellyn Davies -- the eternally ethereal Kate Winslet -- who is a widowed mother to four young boys. Like missing pieces to a puzzle, Barrie and the Davies family fit each other's needs perfectly -- he bringing some magic along with a degree of fatherly protection to their lives, they becoming an audience and the ultimate inspiration for his.

The film is both a story of love and an intimate peek at a pivotal moment in literature. The love story part is touching and sweet, if unspectacular. The literary part, the birth of Peter Pan, is more interesting as we see how Barrie's world of neverending playtime helps four boys get past the death of their father, and also how his creativity brings a strikingly fresh voice to stuffy old England's theatrical society. By themselves, Barrie's eccentricities -- his childlike playfulness, his own sterile marriage, his odd emotional detachment from all around him -- would be frustrating character flaws were they not used as clues foreshadowing the famous play that immortalized him. In that sense, Finding Neverland uses Peter Pan in the same way Titanic used an iceberg: It's the film's big payoff. Anticipating the character's creation is the hook that overlays the rest of the story. We hear Winslet call one of her boys "Peter" and immediately think, "Ah-hah!"; we see Barrie imagining the four boys flying off their beds and think, "Hey, I recognize that!".

As the bond between Barrie and the boys becomes more clearly paternal, the relationship between him and Sylvia becomes even more purposefully vague, deeper on some levels and yet less adult on others. Their connection zigs but then refuses to zag. They both have unrealized needs, but it isn't great sex or true love that's coming to the rescue; it's more like a variation of "Don't Worry Be Happy". It's Peter Pan and Wendy all over again, just as soul-stirring a relationship but just as developmentally stunted. Nevertheless, James and Sylvia's connection counts as a love story, running as deep as any other romantic couple's, only in a different direction.

The fairy dust is layed on a little thick at times, but Finding Neverland gets by on the charm of its two leads. Kate Winslet's Sylvia combines the best qualities of British women -- beauty and elegance, but with a casual charm that melts through the icy English permafrost. Johnny Depp's James Barrie is a charming enigma, sliding between being the nurturing father figure and being another one of Neverland's Lost Boys. (Come to think of it, Johnny Depp has made a career out of playing lost boys.) Here he straddles the pubescent fence, being warm and cool at the same time, never distant but never overtly affectionate. He plays Barrie as an emotionally muted man who spins magic around him from the safe distance of a consumate storyteller, which is by all accounts an accurate reflection of the real J.M. Barrie's personality.

But the best reason to watch the film is Freddy Highmore, the young actor who has the only role that really flies from here to there. Appropriately, his character's name is Peter. His relationship with Barrie is easily the film's most interesting, and it's his sincerity that carries the film's sentimental weight, as well as giving us a couple of good weepy moments. As for the characters that have managed to grow up, Julie Christie's face has remained beautiful, but she plays Sylvia's Mom with a demeanor that hints at Cinderella's wicked step-mother, and Dustin Hoffman's role as the nervous producer of Barrie's plays is, perhaps, the smallest and least significant of his career.

2004 seems to be the year of biographies, and if Ray, The Aviator, Alexander and Kinsey are hard-hitting classics written on the roughest sandpaper, Finding Neverland is the bedtime story you hear while wearing your softest flannel pyjamas.
Posted By Anonymous at 5:31:00 PM 0 comments

 
After my somewhat long absence, I’m going to ease back with some thoughts on two films I’ve recently seen:

Primer

Oh how do I love mindfucks, a good ole’ meta-genre, so I was pleased to attend an afternoon screening of Primer, one of the few winners of the Sundance Grand Jury prize that I did not despise upon first viewing. For anyone who hasn’t already heard the Cinderella story behind the film, ex-engineer and filmmaking autodidact Shane Carruth spent $7000 to create (quite literally since he was the writer, director, producer, editor, composer, co-cinematographer, and star of the film) his low-fi, sci-fi, time travel odyssey; took his film to Sundance; and won a couple of big awards (though not big time distribution). While I’ve heard a version of that story before in regards to previous Sundance winners, this time I think the hoopla is kind of deserved. Not that Primer is a perfect film, but it is an interesting achievement. Shooting in grainy 16mm, utilizing various sickly hues (fluorescent green, drab blue metallic, sun-bleached brown), Carruth creates a pervasive atmosphere of low-intensity dread, pitch perfect for his film, which sees two garage-based inventors, whose exploitation of their accidentally discovered, home-made time machine results in slowly eroding ethics (though without being preachy like a Star Trek episode) and an escalating game of paradox causing cat-and-mouse. Carruth uses his low-budged to his advantage, filming in various anonymous industrial and suburban locales, using just enough serious-sounding technobabble to be somewhat believable (though without explaining what exactly is happening or how anything really works), and cobbling together an invention that looks appropriately cobbled-together, as well as a bit ominous (known, generically, and somewhat sinisterly, as “the box.”). The entire enterprise is somewhat confusing, at least on initial viewing, and I can not be certain I fully understood what was going on (I can’t even say which version of Aaron was actually narrating the film), but the ending is clearly not a good thing.

I Heart Huckabees

I’m surprised nobody else has written about this film yet, since it is certainly a singular achievement in American film this year, but I could not shake the feeling that I was back in college attending a lecture. A good lecture by a humorous professor, but a lecture nonetheless. I felt like I should have been taking notes. I really enjoyed Jude Law, in his millionth film of the year, and especially Mark Wahlberg, who I thought stole the show.
Posted By Anonymous at 2:59:00 PM 0 comments