Match Point

Match Point (2005): ***

The trophy for the singlemost theme about relationships that’s so over-done on the big and the small screen that there’s just no more to say, has to be presented to extra-marital affairs. Sparks at first sight leading to months of secret courting and sex to normal life getting progressively neglected to the doubting spouse at home to the finale. We know the notes, the moments, hell–even the reactions and dialogues for every character. So what does Woody Allen throw into the mixture to make it just a tad more exotic? The element of luck. Getting caught or going scotfree.

Chris (Jonathan Rhys Meyers), the protagonist and a tennis pro bumps into Chloe (Emily Mortimer), sister of his new student Tom (Matthew Goode). On a dinner night, he gets to meet Tom’s fiance Nola (Scarlett Johansson) who’s a struggling American actress and is absolutely enticed by her charm. But of course, he’s gone way too far with Chloe to turn back and Nola is Tom’s fiance anyway–reason enough for him to take the wedding vows with Chloe and start the job at his in-law’s super-successful company. As luck would have it, no sooner is he married that Tom breaks up with Nola fed up with his mother’s not-so-subtle criticism of Nola’s lack of direction in life. Chris, now somewhat bored of his new life and wife and in no mood to suppress his temptation second time around , kickstarts a steamy extra-marital affair with Nola and within no time has sowed his seed. Now that Nola’s reluctant to go through abortion yet again (remember Tom? Well, basically he had also banged and then left her), things start spiralling out of control as Nola pushes Chris everyday to take the leap and leave Chloe once and for all. Which is when Chris decides to take matters in his hands, rather violently. Watch the film to check out the brilliant climax which’ll have you swearing by Chris’s favourite line– “I’d rather be lucky than good”.

If his directing repertoire is to be believed (haven’t seen any of his previous films), Woody Allen is a thespian when it comes to delivering character-centric cinema. And deliver he definitely does with Match Point where he lets the characters drone casually from one cliche to another and another. Until the unsuspecting climax makes you jump up and take notice (surprisingly, even here, in the film’s most impactful 30-minute finale, the camera and sound would carry on to be as unsuspectingly quiet as in the rest of the movie but the whole sequence is such, it jolts you no matter what). Reading what I’ve just written I definitely have used stronger adjectives than I’d planned to but in such a genteel and lush film, the thriller elements towards the end really come across more shockingly than they’d otherwise be worth. A perfect example of genre-mixing that works.

Till the final shocker though, you have to sit through a surprisingly timeworn romp of an upper middle class British family that believes in leading a high life– watching operas, ordering rather immodestly at the best restaurants, practice shooting and tennis, drive around in Beemers and holiday in the Greek Islands. And yes, speak in a language reminiscent of pre-pre-Victorian era. Seriously, the dialogue of Match Point is either written by someone who’s read all his Dickens and Twains and Eliots so many times he’s lost touch with how people speak in the real 21st century London or someone too desperate to “construct” a prim-n-propah British feel. Either way, it stands out like a sore thumb and is unintentionally funny for the first few minutes (after which your brain just ignores it).

A much larger part though in keeping your attention from wavering is played by the drop-dead sexy Scarlett Johansson who gets to show off some real stuff (anatomically and vocally) and boy, does she rock or what. All my doubts about her acting talent (after watching her sleepwalk through Lost in Translation and Island) have really burned to ashes. And then there’s the good ole charming British ensemble headed by a certain Matthew Goode (playing Tom) who could really teach a thing or two to the leading man in question (Jonathan R.Meyers) about improvisation and voice modulation. Mr Meyers turns in a surprisingly self-conscious performance (or is it his calculating character?) with a rather strange accent and hilarious mannerisms but somewhow manages to pull it together in key sequences and doesn’t, thankfully, hamper the film’s energy.

Overall, an old fashioned caper about extra-marital affairs that’ll leave you with a smile (for all the wrong reasons) with its smartly canned finale.

Quoting from the film: “There are moments in a tennis match where the ball hits the top of the net, and for a split second, remains in mid-air. With a litte luck, the ball goes over, and you win. Or maybe it doesn’t, and you lose.” Watch it to see if the hero manages to get a match point.
More reviews to follow!

Brokeback Mountain

Brokeback Mountain: ***
Munich: ****

2 movies that made the most noise. So much so that I had to get my lazy arse up and rush to the nearest cinema to see what the chatter was all about. And I have to admit that there indeed was some substance to be found amidst the pile of hype that both of these were buried under. As if the rating hasn’t already declared, its Spielberg’s historic recreation of a government employed hit squad that comes up trumps. Both of them vying for the Best Film at the Oscars and in my humble opinion, even though I am gutted that they’ll hand it to Brokeback.., Munich is a more deserving candidate.

Coming to Brokeback Mountain first. In noway is this gay cowboy drama as profound or as powerful as every critic in every newspaper, every online daily claims it is. Granted, its good cinema–but giving it the status of the best to come out of Hollywood is insulting the film industry, if I can be polite enough. Since Hollywood fever caught me only back in 2003, despite my continuous valiant attempts to be abreast with the plethora of movies released and classics over these few years, I have never felt drawn into the celebrity culture–the interviews, the scandals, the break-ups, the awards, the casting coups etc etc. Which meant that I was more or less oblivious to the presence of the lead actors as A-list stars. Okay, so Gyllenhall caught my attention in the godawful Day After Tomorrow last year. In arguably, one of the most artificial and stilted performance I have seen on the big screen. So I wasn’t all that jazzed up when I looked at the star cast. Which, in a way, is good because when I was watching the movie, I wasn’t hung up/awed by/clapped at the courage of two A-list actors kissing on screen. I mean if BM was made in Bollywood (strictly hypothetical folks… don’t worry, it won’t happen EVER), I’d be applauding it (or more so-the actors) for being brave, courageous, forthright and what not. Yes, I could have been biased by the star-status.

But BM is free of any such biases of mine. And to start on a positive note, credit has to be given to Ledger as the lead who pitches in one of the most true-to-character performances ever (I have read the short story and Ledger is indeed well cast). The guy sure does make you wince with his silences and laconic speech but thanks to the length of the movie, he grows upon you like anything and towards the end, he’s one of the strongest reasons why you are not dozing off in your seat.

At its heart, BM is a tragic love story and with the skill of Ang Lee, the film does manage to tug at your heart enough to choke. Yes, the film douses you into half an hour of pity and sympathy for the doomed lovers and gives you ample time to meditate on the sheer injustice and prejudice imparted by the heartless society to homosexuals (no seriously, I really was sitting with one hand on the chin and really wished they got together and pondered over the fate that would have awaited them if they’d gone ahead with their relationship. At this point I also found myself mumbling “f*ck this society”). Proof enough for effective direction and focussed screenplay.

But all isn’t quite right in BM. For once, its far too long, and way too brooding. Especially the opening hour. Its a faithful translation of the short story, granted, but the absolute absence of direction, progression for a whole one hour sends all the wrong signals to the sleep centre. And sure enough, just as the movie was catching steam, I was groping for my Airwaves gum to keep myself alert. And then there’s the mumbling. Again, when did sporting a Southern accent meant you shouldn’t open your mouth. Atleast the director and the lead guys seem to think so. With a thick accent, the dialogues are just as comprehensible as a foreign language. I didn’t mind it that much as they are lifted almost line to line from the short story but I sure saw and heard numerous tuts and frowns on the fellow viewers’ faces. On a retrospect though, maybe speaking with one’s mouth almost closed is probably one of those classic signs of repression in Ledger’s character. In fact as I think about it, there’s so much about Ennis suggesting he’s uncomfortable being himself (hands in pocket, funny gait, odd constricted body language–typical signs of self-hatred, repression)

Overall, a good enough, if a bit rosier and romanticised translation of a piece of literature, BM’s got a terrific scene (one hell of a cinematic moment this one… when Jack and Ennis have a final confrontation and Ennis breaks down) and a terrific performance from Ledger as its only trump cards. The length, editing (or the lack of it), the brooding nature in the first half dilute the impact that the gritty short story packed. But still, good refreshing piece of cinema that’s quite direct in showcasing the problems of being a homosexual (being in closet, getting on with what society perceives as “normal life”)–something that its publicity designers shy away from and we have “universal love story” etc etc plastered on every hoarding, every poster.

To remind myself of my favourite scene, here’s the dialogue of the same:

Ennis Del Mar: I’m gonna tell you this one time, Jack fuckin’ Twist, an’ I ain’t foolin’. What I don’t know - all them things I don’t know - could get you killed if I come to know them. I mean it.
Jack Twist: Yeah well try this one, and I’ll say it just once!
Ennis Del Mar: Go ahead!
Jack Twist: Tell you what, we coulda had a good life together! Fuckin’ real good life! Had us a place of our own. But you didn’t want it, Ennis! So what we got now is Brokeback Mountain! Everything’s built on that! That’s all we got, boy, fuckin’ all. So I hope you know that, even if you don’t never know the rest! You count the damn few times we have been together in nearly twenty years and you measure the short fucking leash you keep me on - and then you ask me about Mexico and tell me you’ll kill me for needing somethin’ I don’t hardly never get. You have no idea how bad it gets! I’m not you… I can’t make it on a coupla high-altitude fucks once or twice a year! You are too much for me Ennis, you sonofawhoreson bitch! I wish I knew how to quit you.
Ennis Del Mar: [crying] Well, why don’t you? Why don’t you just let me be? It’s because of you that I’m like this! I ain’t got nothing… I ain’t nowhere… Get the fuck off me! I can’t stand being like this no more, Jack.

Jack Twist: God, I wish I knew how to quit you!
Ennis Del Mar: Well, why don’t you?

The scene alone is worth the admission price.

PS: Munich review to follow soon.

Batman Begins

My rating: ***

For lack of time, here are some of the +ves and -ves

+Ves:

~ Bale’s performance is top notch. He’s as sizzling as Batman as he’s real as Bruce Wayne. Even otherwise, acting throughout is top-notch.
~There’s awesome flow in the screenplay. And the casual way of unfolding every page of it by the director makes it more realistic.
~The acoustics–both background score and mixing are the most terrific ever. Esp the background score–absolutely haunting.
~The works–Batmobile, Batman costume and the larger than life stunts–bring to life this superhero in the most powerful way.
~The action sequences in the 2nd half… especially the train sequence, however predictable, is one thrill ride.
~The Scarecrow is fantastic. Everything–the actor, the hallucinogen–its just novel (atleast for me since neither have I followed Tim Burton’s adaptations or the comics)
~The humour is fantastic. Michael Caine and his one-liners like “What’s the use of all those push-ups when you can’t lift a log” simply bring the house down (more so as they are in situations where you least expect people to be humorous)
~The movie is dark and shadowy. Makes no pretensions on being so… the darkest and the most disturbing edifices of Bruce’s life are churned out to convey the conflict in a blockbuster format. Works bigtime. The “fear” and the “anger” angle is evoked brilliantly, and Bruce’s desperation for redemption is never questionable.

-ves:

~Granted, this is one fantastic character study of Bruce Wayne and how he becomes driven enough to be the “Batman” but the buildup, it has to be said, could be snappier. Atleast by 15 minutes. More so because this is a comic book adventure, I doubt if I’ll ever be sitting through the whole of first 60-70 minutes just to “not” get a glimpse of Batman. 35-45 mins could have been just fine. I remember being irritated by this fact on first-time viewing and not surprisingly enough, everyone in the family also were shifting anxiously in their couches to get to the real stuff. Liam Neeson’s dialogue is a tad too repetitive and monologue-ic.

~The action sequences in the first half–Bruce’s training etc, are way too flashy and cut-n-paste to have much effect. The lack in punch and flow makes the whole training of Batman etc even more un-watchable 2nd time around. And yes, Neeson doesn’t look as fit in the sequences as a cult leader that he’s projected to be should be. Thankfully, Bale makes up for that with his agility and you forget Neeson’s slipping and tripping.

~I have little clue if the actual Batman found his stuff the way he does in the movie… coz him finding exactly what’s required is kind of convenient and lame. But I guess that comes with every superhero movie… capes and swanky automobiles just won’t drop from the sky.

~Again, this is a birth defect of this genre… but the good winning over evil is kind of yawny.

~Even though the production values seem functional, they could have been more grander. Especially with a villian like Scarecrow, there could have been more sinister action/chase/destruction sequences than there are or anything else where we see more of Batman flying. Air-view shots of Gotham are a bit of a laugh really… it looks very plastic. Hopefully, this’d be taken care of in the next Batman.

Look beyond the somewhat clunky and talk-heavy first half and what we have is, IMHO, one of the better comic book adaptations.

Certainly one of the more realistic, character-driven, identifiable, entertaining, continuously rivetting and not to forget–DARK comic adventures-cum-popcorn blockbusters ever. Spider-man finally has competition. Kudos to Nolan, Bale and Warner Bros!

War of the Worlds

I was reserving my opinion on this one till I saw it again. Was so sensorily overwhelmed by the first viewing at the cinema, that all I had remembered was the experience of the joyride, not the actual joyride.

So the second viewing on DVD is a massive disappointment. Unlike in cinema, my experience of watching War of the Worlds sans the sensory overload was bad. Out of nowhere, the discrepancies propped up and ruined it all for me.

Firstly, the film looks bad. Either the camera used throughout is the jaded one from the 80s or there is some deliberate manipulation by filters etc. Whatever the reason, the film looks woefully jaded. None of the slickness and sharpness in the picture that one would expect from a present day sci-fi fest. I’d barely noticed it in cinema but on DVD it was so obvious, it made my mom quip “Is this the new War of the Worlds?” The effect, to put it more colloquially, reminds one of playing a long-forgotten video of Star Trek on VCR.

This poor camerawork/deliberate manipulation dampen the special effects to near-nil. The tripods, aliens and the works simply don’t look as sinister as say in Independence Day.

The background score is a joke. Its so over the top and so cliched (the usual loud bangs and crescendos), makes one laugh. Another factor which inhibits any chilling effect of tripod/invasion. Works bigtime in cinema when you lounge away with popcorn for cheap thrills like these, but on DVD it gives one splitting headache.

The dialogues are pathetic. Its like there’s a huge attempt at being un-cheesy, but the resulting blandness simply doesn’t involve the viewer in this short movie.

Oh yea, the movie is way too short to leave any impact whatsoever. At 112 minutes, its way too quick, the buildup way too haphazard and ineffective, the characters all bland, sketchy and uninvolving and to top it all–the climax, which except for die-hard purists, comes across as stupid and hare-brained to almost everyone else (including yours truly). The abruptness kills whatever impact the film had.

And then there are the gaping holes in screenplay–How come an airplane crash that left the whole house and half the neighbourhood smashed manages to miss out the hero’s van in the open driveway? And amidst the huge blast in the valley which sends every army truck and soldier ablaze, how is it that the hero’s son emerges scratch-less in the climax from, hold your breath, his city home?

Acting’s pretty functional. Cruise is one of my favourites and he gives it all to the un-sentimental protagonist. Dakota Fanning’s awesome and so is the guy who plays Robbie. There’s little anyone else has to do and one hates Tim Robbins’ nerve-grating character for taking so much of this already snappy-short film.

Anything that saves the day?

Well, you have to give it to Spielberg for not showing American landmarks being smashed, Manhattan getting grounded, the usual politico balderdash with the American president coming in the climax to congratulate, the fight with the aliens, presence of aliens throughout etc. (The latter two, it must be said, work bigtime against the movie for an average viewer) Problem is there’s little creativity to compliment his bravery. Some dad-daughter personal sequences jacked off from the masterful Signs don’t a different film make.

Still, a few sequences stand out–like when the daughter’s blindfolded and sings a lullaby to herself as her dad hacks away the irritating survivalist (brings back the memory of LOTR-ROTK when that Hobbit whatsitsname is singing and the beautiful song forms a background to the painful demise of Faramir in Minas Tirith). Coupling this innocence with something as disturbing as murder accentuates the latter’s effect by a ten fold. The tripods’ are admittedly well put together too and the handful of scenes where you see them in the full abandon are the sole high points of the movie.

Its also somewhat difficult to erase the memory of the wonderful experience of the cinema but surely if the film was solid in content and technique… some of that would have been evident on 2nd time viewing. Sadly, there’s too little of that. Repeat value for a blockbuster film like this, is surprisingly, near zero.

My rating after first viewing: ****
My rating after second (and final) viewing: ** & 1/2 (Overall, a quirky, bizzarre film that attempts to be “different” but in the end becomes little else than “a one-time watch and forget affair”)

PS: The DVD extras are alright. There’s no extra footage being shot but dutiful homage is given to the 1950s cinematic adaptation (so tacky, you’ll faint laughing) and H.G. Wells. Usual interviews and computer wizardry chronicled in detail, but everything seems a useless exercise when the actual movie loses its sheen in one viewing.

Sin City!

Sin City: Load of bull!

The analogy is simple-the fact that European languages can be written using English alphabets still doesn’t make them any more accessible to an English speaking person as languages written in other scripts, like Arabic etc.–one still needs to know the grammar, the rules, the subtlities and so on. In the same way, books/comics/comic strips–when adapted to the big screen have a great responsibility at hand–making the uninitiated familiar with the grammar, the innards of the story. Something which the makers of LOTR and HP might have managed, but the makers of Sin City are way off the mark.

Here, there’s just so much compulsive obsession about getting every single frame look exactly like in the comic strip, that the end result ends up being just that–a collage of frames sans emotion, sans depth, sans substance. There isn’t much to write home about the style too. Resembling something of a hybrid between Kill Bill and second grade animation, the sole point of the movie–violence–comes across as so alarmingly disappointing, its pitiably funny. Everything in the canvas looks constructed (which it is)—right from the buildings to the cars to the whole environment—there isn’t a single pixel that evokes a sense of grittiness. Everything’s calculatedly ghetto-cized by some imaginative designer but the “plastic” feel is so imminent, its frustrating to watch (this, when the film was supposed to be a peek at a dark fictitious city with rough-and-grimy streets and dangerous people).

And then there’s this thing called “action”. Yup, Sin City packs in about a millionth of adrenaline rush in the action sequences as fighting with your Gijoes at home might give. In true Kill Bill style, there’s the usual slashing, hacking, body parts flying, weapons aimed from sky, pistols backfiring, fistfighting, speed chasing– all looking like some cheap third person shooting video game in auto mode.

There are no characters to speak of. Some loser from nowhere who gets a hit everytime he slashes gets all senti when a hooker he sleeps with is mysteriously found dead in bed. Turns out its some twisted tale of some godforsaken Senator buying a cannibalistic psycho to do the job (Yawn). Then there’s another cliched storyline of some random ex-photographer accidently killing off a cop (since the cop’s taken his disguise a wee bit too seriously) and alongwith some hooker-female fighter army (who together run a part of city called “Old Town” or something…LOL) tries to cover his tracks by doing some more slashing and hacking. And finally, there’s this almost-retired cop who is imprisoned for a crime he didn’t commit (the same old yarn of a wronged honest cop taken for a ride by politicians etc).

The females particularly have 2 jobs– to flaunt their anatomy and to launch into Uma Thurman style hacking. In typical noir fashion, the males do little else than frown, punch, sh*g, frown some more and punch even more. Surprisingly, the film’s choc-a-bloc full of truly able performers, who unknowingly and valiantly try to give some meaning to the going ons. But the screenplay and direction being so stilted the way it is–only a handful of their attempts yield anything watchable. Of the ensemble, the three leading men–Bruce Willis as the wronged cop Hartigan, Clive Owen as the ex-photographer and Mickey Rourke as the Hellboy-ish Marv manage to be effective. It goes without saying, that the kind of potential the script and the actors had, all that was needed was to turn the comic strip into an entertaining screenplay. Which is what the makers muck up, bigtime.

The dialogue writer takes his job a tad bit too seriously in this make-believe plastic fest, and tries being all ironic and philosophical and rough in every line. Not surprising then that every one of these lines falls flat. It doesn’t help much at all when there’s an irritating voiceover which reads like one long dry monologue throughout the 2 hours (after about 15 minutes, everything being said on this commentary registered as blah blah blah by my brain–that’s how uninvolving is the film). Read the following line from the movie:

Marv (loser-hitman of 1st story): The night’s as hot as hell. It’s a lousy room in a lousy part of a lousy town - I’m staring at a goddess. She’s telling me she wants me. I’m not going to waste one more minute wondering how I’ve gotten this lucky. She smells like angels ought to smell, the perfect woman… the Goddess. Goldie. She says her name is Goldie.

The whole movie is flush with such boring, inane lines being blurted in the background as if the viewers are some kindergarten kids. No scene is allowed to speak for itself–you always have someone blah-blahing all the way through it.

One couldn’t care less for the three stories and their respective characters—the film’s pure sh*t on toast somehow being revered thanks to Tarantino’s name tag attached to it (who IMHO gets way more hype than he’s worth).

Very pseudo both in style and content, totally dry, repulsively sexist and shallower than any of the umpteen horror movies put together, in one word Sin City is just that–BRAINDEAD.