Shakespeare in Love (1998) Review

rating: *****

the story: Will Shakespeare’s inspiration for Romeo & Juliet.

the review: One of the most ridiculous common opinions in film criticism is that of course Saving Private Ryan should have beaten Shakespeare in Love at the Oscars. I think this mostly stems from the original backlash against Harvey Weinstein, the since-disgraced producer who helped usher the ‘90s independent film renaissance. 

Saving Private Ryan is a combat-drenched, grinding experience of misery. Its showcase moment is the landing at Normandy on D-Day, and then a parade of stars then and from the immediate future (I always like to remember Vin Diesel’s part as a reminder he’s good for more than muscles and cars), until we reach Ryan himself, Matt Damon, who surprises everyone by not even wanting to be saved. This would work far better if it didn’t take so long to reach him, if we had followed his war experiences in parallel to the unit led by Tom Hanks. Instead it’s just a lot of disjointed war scenes.

Shakespeare in Love is quite different. It’s a deliberately crafted experience that speaks both to the heart of our culture, in exploring a fictional account of the greatest playwright who ever lived, and to social issues, the very role of women in society.

And it’s filled with great acting. Judi Dench won wide acclaim for a relatively brief performance as Queen Elizabeth; Joseph Fiennes, in his one shining moment as someone other than the younger brother of Ralph Fiennes, seizes the opportunity; and Gwyneth Paltrow, who later seems to have gone out of her way to get people to hate her, has a truly effervescent role of a lifetime.

And Ben Affleck, before anyone had even considered to hate him, steals every scene, and Tom Wilkinson, getting to play a bad guy who gets to be a good guy, and Geoffrey Rush being Geoffrey Rush, and Colin Firth actually being insufferable, as I often find the overhyped praise he tends to garner...

It’s a celebration, that rare moment Shakespeare gets to be loved, not merely for his words but as a person. There’s a great running gag involving Christopher Marlowe. In short, the whole movie is a culmination of the last time everyone agreed Shakespeare was worth the time, when Branagh was still in the thick of building a career around him. And remembering that this is a great movie worthy of its praise and laurels might even bring the Bard back, again. 

And they don’t make movies like this every day. That’s the biggest sin of trying to downplay it, that you can have a thousand war dramas (the same year, Malick returned with The Thin Red Line, for instance) but very few efforts to have a romance that isn’t saccharine, that has ambition, speaks about a famous person, and one who himself wrote great romance. The boldness of Dench’s Elizabeth alone is a testament to what’s of real value here.

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004)

rating: ****

the story: A depressed man learns his ex deleted all her memories of their relationship, and so he resolves to do the same.

what it's all about: Jim Carrey is one of my favorite actors, and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind is one of his most critically acclaimed films.  So why have I struggled with it for fourteen years?

Carrey became famous after making films like Ace Ventura: Pet Detective, The Mask, and Dumb & Dumber.  He transitioned into surrealist comedy with The Truman Show and Man on the Moon, although they could just as easily be described as existentialist.  Eternal Sunshine was the next evolution from that, and he was never able to go further than that, with the closest being The Number 23, where he played someone with memory issues and an identity crisis.  Again, all this because he became uniquely suited to embodying characters well beyond the societal norm, in a mostly humorous fashion. 

Eternal Sunshine presents itself as something of a riddle.  Mindful viewers will know that we begin actually at the end, and then rewind back to the circumstances that immediately preceded it (my summary), and then dive into his memories as they're being erased.  Carrey begins to outrun the erasure, which provides the most amusing elements of the movie.  But ultimately he can't, and his memory is wiped, and...he meets Kate Winslet, again, for the first time, just as we see in the beginning. 

The whole thing becomes a meditation on the stresses of a relationship, and what will or will not, given a few variables, be deal-breakers.  It's kind of (500) Days of Summer before (500) Days of Summer, with a more hopeful, if ambiguous, ending.

So why have I so long had a nagging problem with it?  Well, for one the Jim Carrey who shows up in it, for long stretches at a time, isn't a familiar Jim Carrey at all.  It's not that he's unidentifiable, but that he's so low-key it can be difficult to remember why he was cast.  And then the sequences where he does resemble Jim Carrey...seem out of place. 

Basically, is this a movie that's weird for the sake of being weird?

It feels like someone's idea of what happens if we turn Truman Show up a notch.  Carrey experiences the erasures as if he knows they're happening, and comments on them, and even interacts with the technicians, to a certain extent, while they're working on him.  All this makes for fascinating viewing, but it can also feel artificial, a movie rather than an experience, and yet the whole point of seeing what amounts to an idea of the "real" Carrey, the one who doesn't need to perform all the time, contradicts this.  Charlie Kaufman, the screenwriter known for this kind of material, at least showed restraint previously.  Nicolas Cage talks with himself, Kaufman's imaginary twin brother, throughout Adaptation.  Most of Being John Malkovich is spent with the people using John as a glorified puppet.  The lines are too blurred in Eternal Sunshine. 

That's not to say the individual elements don't work in and of themselves.  The technicians are played by Tom Wilkinson, who leads the team, Mark Ruffalo, Kirsten Dunst, and Elijah Wood.  These are all reliable actors; only Wood is playing against type, which is something he was desperately pursuing in the years following Lord of the Rings.  But he still feels natural.  We learn, eventually, that Dunst once had an affair with Wilkinson, but her memories of it were erased.  Like Ozymandias's supposed brilliant plan in Watchmen, the effects of the erasures aren't as binding as they seem.  If you're attracted to someone, you're attracted to someone. 

The object lesson is the ability to cope rather than hide from heartbreak.  Wilkinson's wife comes closest, briefly though we see her, exasperated though she is, breaking the news to Dunst.  At least she doesn't try to hide from it.  She's the most rational person in the whole movie. 

In the end, I suppose, this is the kind of story that can't have proper resolution, and so it's the ideas that are supposed to be its effect.  It leaves one unsettled because life is messy.  In that regard it's as successful a movie as there ever was.

But darn it, it's still weird not to be satisfied, from a movie starring Jim Carrey.  This is the guy who made a modern Frank Capra (The Majestic).  He may not be downright sappy, but he usually has more concrete things to say, even when exploring the life of a different Kaufman (Andy), who may or may not have faked his own death as his last and greatest prank on the world. 

Oh well, there can always be exceptions.

Selma (2014)

rating: ***

the story: Martin Luther King Jr. prepares his historic march for voting rights in Alabama.

what it's all about: I think in hindsight, Selma is where the culture truly started to fracture.  Selma is far more about the budding Black Lives Matter movement, the politicization of it, than MLK's march.  It's somewhat clear that that's the whole reason the movie was made at all, and why critics lined up to state how great and timely it was.  To state this is not to say BLM is meritless, but to say that as a matter of civil discourse, such a cultural response to a film, and the cultural divide it helped spark, is far more damaging than anything MLK confronted, and is in fact why BLM exists at all, why MLK's actions seem to have amounted to nothing but an annual holiday.  It doesn't even seem to matter that the march spurred exactly the results MLK wanted.  For committed activists, results don't matter.  For such people, it becomes about social revolt. 

Ironically, there's a moment in Selma where Malcolm X, shortly before his assassination, has finally stepped from out of the shadow of such reasoning, and MLK struggles to believe it. 

No, Selma is not worth the hype.  It's worth a look as a glimpse, of the times it reflects, even as a reflection of the times in which it was made.  But it is not good filmmaking.  MLK himself is not even the central figure.  The central figure of this movie is simmering rage, which again, reflects not the story itself but what director Ava DuVernay is really talking about, in intentionally incendiary ways.  It's a tone poem, of sorts, to further stoke the flames of social division.  And not much more.

The worst thing about it is the second-most lauded thing about it, the performance of David Oyelowo as MLK.  If this had been a movie about Frederick Douglass, there wouldn't be much of a problem with his performance.  Douglass has been lost to history as a person.  As a champion of black rights, he remains as well-known as he ever was, but all we have are photographs.  This was long before the advent of film, of recorded voices.  But the same is not true of MLK.  Everyone who knows MLK knows what he sounded like.  We certainly know what he looked like.  DuVernay chose an actor who looks nothing like MLK, and who chose to sound nothing like MLK.  He may turn in a competent performance, but Oyelowo seems to have chosen to dismiss the source material as much as DuVernay herself.  These are two fundamental strikes against the quality of the production. 

Tom Wilkinson, Tim Roth, they both turn in Tom Wilkinson and Tim Roth performances, as Lyndon Johnson and George Wallace, respectively.  What I mean is, they look and sound like Tom Wilkinson and Tim Roth.  It's a pattern.  DuVernay has no interest at all in anything but her metaphor.  Wilkinson is Wilkinson as Benjamin Franklin, too, in John Adams, but again, it doesn't matter as much in John Adams, because we definitely retain no cultural memory of Benjamin Franklin as a person.  LBJ, meanwhile, was certainly a Texan, and by most accounts a lot like Trump, with a lot more sympathetic coverage, an abrasive personality.  But yeah, with a Texas accent.  Which Wilkinson does not give LBJ. 

And yet, DuVernay, and Oyelowo, and Selma itself were almost uniformly called great.  How again?

There's very little art to it at all.  The movie begins with MLK already declared a cultural hero.  There's token reference to his personal failings, but mostly to represent his struggle with LBJ.  The only real complaints about the film are in fact about LBJ, how DuVernay depicts him almost exclusively as a villain.  Although really, his actions are little different than Lincoln's leading up to the Emancipation Proclamation, even as depicted.  It may be worth noting that Douglass eventually decided Lincoln was less the hero than history has since decided.  The first demagogue lost for perspective in this struggle, perhaps.

Oprah Winfrey appears as a token representative of the struggle MLK is working against, voting rights.  She's depicted saintly, of course, until the movie thinks it can get away with her lashing out.  About the one performance that's just about what it needs to be comes from Cuba Gooding Jr., once (and once) a critical darling.  He appears as a lawyer.  If Selma is so tepid about actually featuring MLK, it could easily have given Gooding an expanded role.

The biggest irony of all this is that none of this, in any other context, would merit such a harsh review.  If this had been made, say, in the early '90s, like Spike Lee's far superior Malcolm X, it might be different.  Although there was considerable civil unrest then, too, it hadn't yet been politicized, turned into a permanent wedge in society.  There was still a chance, even with the once militant figure in Lee's movie, to look for common ground, a positive rallying point.  Films had come a long way from Guess Who's Coming to Dinner, the tepid Sidney Poitier breakthrough icebreaker in which a black man merely asks to be accepted by a single family.  Now we get a satire like Get Out, in the current climate.  Coincidence? 

Of course, if it had been made then, it would've been for TV, and been little noted.

There are better movies to try and heal old wounds with.  But now we seem to get only ones that want to rub salt into them.  Selma, alas, the first movie to significantly feature MLK, is one of them.  Never really thought I'd see the day.  Much less with Martin Luther King Jr., of all people. 

As a reflection of the times in which it was made, Selma is a useful mirror.  As filmmaking, it's junk.

Lone Ranger (2013)

rating: ****

the story: John Reid becomes the eponymous hero.

what it's all about: Basically this is a movie that flopped at the box office for an incredibly superficial reason, and that was the immense backlash at Johnny Depp playing Tonto.  For the kind of movie Lone Ranger is, the casting makes absolutely perfect sense.  Depp is literally the only actor who could've pulled it off.  It's quintessential Depp.  But he's also not exactly Native American, so there was immense backlash.

If the casting had been accepted, Depp's Tonto would've added to his collection of signature characters.  That was the whole point.  His Jack Sparrow revived Depp's career, and was the first time since Edward Scissorhands where Johnny Depp Being a Character Instead of a Generic Pretty Boy really worked, and that was the whole point.  So casting directors started trying Characters all over the place for him to play.  Robert Rodriguez scored a coup early on in securing Depp for Once Upon a Time in Mexico soon after the first Pirates of the Caribbean movie proved such a phenomenon, and, well, Depp's role and performance in it changed the tone of the Mariachi movies Rodriguez had been making, in such a way that still defines a Rodriguez movie to this day, but didn't really itch the scratch created by Jack Sparrow.  Then Depp appeared in Tim Burton's Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, as an Eccentric Johnny Depp Character.  But it again felt forced.  And so on and so forth.  Really, Depp's career always thanked him most when he was appearing as Jack Sparrow, but eventually...he had to do something else.  He had to become something else. 

So he became Tonto.  This Tonto dominates Lone Ranger.  He's the framing narrator, the unreliable narrator who's, again, perfectly cast for the story Lone Ranger is trying to tell.  Ironically, this Tonto exists at all because in the years since Tonto's creation he's become less accepted as the Native American Sidekick, and now every time "kemosabe" is uttered, someone has to explain what it means.  It can't just be a term of endearment.  It's got to a commentary.  And so when Tonto in Long Ranger explains what it means this time, it's part of a running joke that's at the heart of this version of the story.  It's very much in the vein of Jack Sparrow, the character everyone used to try and explain, why he walked the way he did.  Ah, and the answer's always been, because Johnny Depp created a really, really interesting performance.

So here I am, still talking about Tonto.  Tonto is inescapable in this movie.  Imagine what the character would be, in this context, if someone like Adam Beach had played him.  And no offense to Adam Beach, but I know Adam Beach, and he's no Johnny Depp.  That's part of the problem.  Native Americans aren't allowed to be Johnny Depp in general, even now, decades into redefining their role in stories like this.  We're still stuck in a one dimensional look at them, it just so happens that now it's supposed to be positive.  But they're static, and we like it like that, and so when we say we're complaining about Johnny Depp playing Tonto we're really criticizing our inability to think of Tonto in any other way than Stoic Native American, because the actors we have?  Totally incapable of playing this Tonto. Except, maybe, Graham Greene.  That guy's awesome.  But he's also older than Tonto ought to be.

Anyway, so Tonto's at the heart of understanding this movie.  He's even at the heart of understanding why Johnny Depp's casting is so perfect, despite everything.  Tonto is meant to be "a band apart," as explained, eventually, in his origin story, late in the movie, when it's explained why he became the screwy dude we see throughout the movie, why he becomes such a perfect Johnny Depp Character.  He's been traumatized, and all his quirks have developed from his attempts to cope with what happened to him, what he did, when he was a boy.  He's not weird for the sake of being weird.  There's a honest-to-god, genuine answer for it. 

And that's the rest of the movie, from the framing narration, which tries to explain what happened to Lone Ranger's legacy, both in the fictional and real worlds, and the pathos at the heart of the madness.  That's the story in a nutshell, pathos at the heart of madness.

It's about a corrupt businessman (Tom Wilkinson, doing brilliantly restrained work in extreme contrast to William Fichtner's showy Butch Cavendish, whose look seems to have been the one real concession to Depp and director Gore Verbinski's Pirates past) who tricks the public into believing his lies, even though the one character who most interacts with him (Ruth Wilson, who does wounded beauty so incredibly well) thinks he's scum mostly worth shunning as much as possible, even though it's continually impossible.  To watch Wilkinson at play is to know this movie has a beating heart, and knows exactly what it's doing at all times.  To watch him perform under a heavy beard that makes him unrecognizable is to know that this is a production that takes seriously immersing itself in its own reality.  We don't need to see Fichtner's bloody fingers as he works a loose nail free, but that's detail that rewards the viewer, that authenticates a movie that spends much of its time with, well, Tonto.

Then there's the Lone Ranger himself, Armie Hammer.  Armie's, surprisingly, had it rough since his breakthrough role(s) in The Social Network.  He's an actor who oozes charisma, but it's so hard to quantify, because like Depp he refuses to be just another pretty face.  So it's not surprising to see the two in a movie together.  Where Depp's instinct has always been to bury his looks under a gauzy character, Armie simply rejects expectations.  He looks like the classic leading man, but he's not afraid to make a fool of himself. 

Tonto is constantly complaining that the wrong brother survived.  The other brother is James Badge Dale, another actor who inexplicably finds it difficult to be appreciated.  He embodies the hero as the hero is supposed to be, in Lone Ranger, and makes an early exit.  Dale's biggest problem is that he commits so thoroughly to his roles that he doesn't mind taking the backseat.  His squinty eyes say he's a clever guy, but the rest of his performance says he'll hide the best of his work behind everyone else's.  It's not that he can't command a scene (my first and favorite experience with him to date is a glorified cameo in Flight, where his character is literally named Gaunt Young Man in the credits, where he absolutely dominates a scene with Denzel Washington), but that he never has a role big enough to fit his talent. 

So the brother is so heroically competent that Armie's Lone Ranger is stuffed ideals that are always comically backfiring on him, so that he can never live up to him.  That's this movie's version of the character, a thorough deconstruction calculated for cynical audiences who maybe don't trust Westerns as a source of popular modern entertainment, but somehow ending up rejected...because of that?  Because it didn't take itself seriously enough?

Again, only if you're looking only at the surface, and this is a movie with a lot of moving pieces, that's endlessly rewarding, that throws supporting stars at you without warning (Helena Bonham Carter!  Barry Pepper!  Stephen Root!), seemingly at random and with no regard to their narrative impact.  But it's all calculated.  Brilliantly.  The way Wilkinson's character thinks he's got all the angles figured out.  The way even Tonto believes he's got everything figured out. Certainly the way the Lone Ranger thinks he does.  Before he puts on the mask.

This is a story about why good men must wear masks, why the heroes aren't happy being paraded before the public, why even when the narrator is unreliable he's telling the honest-to-god unvarnished truth (even about that stupid bird on his head).  It contradicts basically every common conclusion about this sort of storytelling.  It's more clever than any of Depp and Verbinski's Pirates movies (even if they could be quite rousing and affecting).  It knows it's retelling a classic Hollywood story, one of the stories that made Hollywood, the Western at its zenith, as myth. 

And yeah, it features a classic Johnny Depp performance.  Don't believe what you've heard.  Watch it for yourself.  You'll feel its magic for yourself.