Caths Film Forum

The Power of the Press

Catherine — Wed, 08 Sep 2010 20:42:19 +0000

Due to the dearth of anything remotely compelling playing in the theatres, I have been turning my attention lately to my lengthening Netflix queue, in an attempt to somehow make a dent in its vastness. This past weekend brought me two long-overdue-to-be-seen titles, Raging Bull and Absence of Malice. The latter, a 1981 classic directed by the late, great Sydney Pollack and starring Sally Field and Paul Newman, is a dramatic and thoughtful treatise on journalistic ethics and it got me to thinking….what is it about journalism movies that make them so good? When I started to think of other movies about journalism, I found it astounding that the three titles that instantly came to mind just happen to be—in my opinion— three of the best films ever made. Not only the best films made about journalism, but among the best films ever made, period. Coincidence? I doubt it. I was determined to get to the bottom of it and figure out what exactly it is about these movies that makes them so darned excellent.

Absence of Malice (1981) Director: Sydney Pollack.

While the weakest film of the lot as a whole, Absence of Malice still delivers a powerful morality tale, asking all the right questions about where the lines are drawn for a journalist between “truth” and what is fit for print. Several themes are brought to the fore, including what makes something a fact and the media’s effect on our belief system, i.e., if it’s in the paper, it must be true. But where does that truth lie? Absence of Malice walks the very thin line between what a journalist can print and what they should print. The topics of sources, confidentiality, facts and what constitutes “news” are all addressed against a broader backdrop of how printed words affect human lives. In an odd way, the greater impact of this film seems like it would have been stronger for me if it hadn’t had Sally Field and Paul Newman in the leads. Back in 1981, they were the ultimate A-listers and while they are both extremely talented, they both just seem miscast here. Field just doesn’t have the fortitude to play a character who is in severe ethical crisis, while, at the same time, is trying to stand up for what’s right, while proving to herself and to everyone else that she’s up to handling the most difficult (and dangerous) stories. And Paul Newman playing the scion of a mafia boss? I just didn’t believe it for a second. But, all of that aside, Absence of Malice does have a terrific script, by Kurt Luedtke, which takes on all the right themes and offers an intriguing discourse on ethics and what lines you are willing to cross to break the big story.

Broadcast News (1987) Director: James L. Brooks.

One of the all-time greats, Broadcast News is exactly what I need and want in a movie: funny and smart. The smart comes in its seemingly all-too-accurate portrayal of the people who inhabit the network news—the producers, editors and anchors who we trust to tell us what’s going on in the world, and the funny comes from the knowledge that maybe we trust these people just a little too much. In no way a spoof or a full-blown satire, Broadcast News offers just enough cutting-edge insight into the machinations and manipulations of a network news broadcast while humanizing those responsible just enough to make them seem fallible, flawed and awfully funny. The irony in the fact that these people who we trust to tell us the state of the world and to offer intelligent analysis on the events of the day are also the most insecure, self-doubting and frustrated is not lost here. Network news is a real and important thing (or at least it was back in the days before internet) and Broadcast News treats it with humanity, humor and a healthy dose of skepticism. While Holly Hunter and William Hurt are the leads here, Albert Brooks steals the show with his dry wit and sarcastic one-liners. Everything about this film is first-rate and it guarantees you’ll never watch the evening news the same way again.

All the President’s Men (1976) Director: Alan J. Pakula.

The ultimate journalism movie. But what makes All the President’s Men different from all these other movies about journalism is it’s not about the journalists, it’s about the story. There is no time spent here dwelling on the character’s inner conflicts or emotional backstory. Instead, this film is a straightforward guys-doing-what-they-have-to-do-to-get-the-story tale. But what All the President’s Men does have in common with all of our other journalism movies is the focus on process. How does a story become a story? And what does it take to get it printed? Facts and sources are comingled with instincts and gut feelings and, as always, manipulations are everywhere as the motivation of every journalist remains the same: get the story. But when the story has implications and possible consequences as massive as the ones in All the President’s Men, the journalists become more than reporters, they become the conscience and advocate for the people and bring to the forefront the very essence of our republic: freedom of the press. Dustin Hoffman and Robert Redford are both excellent in their portrayals of Woodward & Bernstein, the Washington Post reporters who broke the Watergate scandal, and Pakula’s moody and intense direction creates a tone equal to the subject matter. I can only imagine how many kids were inspired to be reporters after having watched this movie. Forget Clark Kent. Woodward & Bernstein are the real superheroes.

Network (1976) Director: Sidney Lumet.

Ah, the granddaddy of them all. Network is a chilling, scathing, brutal and cold-blooded look at network television and what it takes to survive in a ratings-driven world. While Broadcast News offered a light-hearted approach to the broadcast industry, Network is violent, taking a sledgehammer to any notion we may have that integrity, mutual respect and decency have any place in the world of marketplace media. Faye Dunaway encapsulates the ideal represented here, a self-serving, ladder-climbing, ambitious snake whose only interests are those that will result in the most money—and the highest ratings. She is the head of programming at the network and wants to take advantage of the on-air emotional breakdown that happens to one of the network’s newscasters, played by Peter Finch, who won a posthumous Oscar for his performance. Dunaway’s character, along with that of ruthless network president, played by Robert Duvall, will milk Finch’s character’s emotional state until every last drop of humanity has been wrung out of them—or until the ratings drop. Human consequence has no place in the realm of competitive programming, as moral, ethical and legal lines get crossed, all in the name of ratings. Magnificently scripted by Paddy Chayefsky, Network is incisive and biting, and one of the most powerful commentaries ever made on the power of television in our culture, and our allowance to be manipulated by its images and ideas. If you have not yet seen Network, you owe it to yourself to see it, as it is truly one of the finest films ever made.

No matter how you portray it, journalism and Hollywood seem to be a match made in heaven. These movies, along with many others, clearly exhibit all the drama, angst, ambition and ultimate search for truth that seem to lie at the heart of the journalistic profession. They offer a glimpse into our cultural psyche, for the way we receive and process our news is an inherent and relevant reflection of ourselves and our time. And it never hurts to see the world—and ourselves—for what it really is.

More journalism must-sees: The China Syndrome, The Year of Living Dangerously, The Killing Fields.

The American

Catherine — Sun, 05 Sep 2010 01:50:22 +0000

I love George Clooney. And I love director Anton Corbijn. So, naturally, I couldn’t have imagined a better place to escape the heat on a blistering Saturday afternoon than to the theatre which was showing The American, the second feature film from the acclaimed video director, starring Clooney.

Corbijn is best known for his music video work, as a longtime collaborator of groups like U2 and Depeche Mode. His feature film debut, Control, was a captivating portrait of Ian Curtis, the enigmatic and tortured lead singer of the band Joy Division, who took his own life on the eve of the band’s first-ever U.S. tour.

Unfortunately, The American is neither as captivating nor as excellent as Control. In fact, it couldn’t be a more distant reminder of Corbijn’s talents, which obviously lie solely in the musical arena. Out of his comfort zone, Corbijn has created a film in The American that is a tedious, one-dimensional and completely pointless tale that goes nowhere very slowly. A style that may work for a 3 ½ minute music video turns mind-numbing after an hour, and makes you long for simple things like dialogue and action. 2 hours of gorgeous shots of George Clooney looking pensive doesn’t a movie make.

I know the pickings have been slim in the theatres so far this summer, but The American is not the first sign of Fall. Instead, it is just another disappointing let-down by those I trusted.

Here’s a much better example of Corbijn’s work, which, funnily enough, shares the same theme, tone and visuals as The American, and you don’t have to shell out $12 to see it:
Depeche Mode "Enjoy the Silence"

The Comfort of Clutter

Catherine — Tue, 24 Aug 2010 05:36:41 +0000

COMMENTARY

There have been a lot of changes in my life lately, and, to be honest, I’m not so sure how I feel about them.

Some people have comfort food. Some people believe in retail therapy. For me, what brings me ease in times of stress is the warm cocoon of media that I have always surrounded myself with. My books, my music and my movies. When all else fails, these are the things that bring me back—that save me. There’s just nothing quite as wonderful as being able to scan the bookcase, the CD shelf or the DVD/Blu Ray stacks and pull out an old friend. Whether it’s a William Goldman or an F. Scott Fitzgerald, an ABBA or a Vivaldi, a Steel Magnolias or an Amadeus, I was never at a loss for stimulation, comfort and salvation.

And it’s not just the content that soothed the savage beast within me. Sometimes it was just knowing they were there—their physical presence in my space was sometimes enough to bring solace, reminding me that there is a world outside my four walls, one filled with literature, music and images that lift me up, make me think and deepen my understanding of this sometimes cold and lonely world.

But now I’m at a crossroads.

I love technology. Anyone who knows me knows that I love new gadgets and embrace all the gizmos and toys that electronically enhance our lives. Tivo? I can’t imagine ever having lived without it. A cellphone that’s used more for texting, taking pictures, checking emails and surfing the internet than for making calls? Guilty. The newer it is, the more I want it. Not that I can always afford it or always get it (iPad, you are still but a dream), but I will always want it. And I have loved it. I can’t imagine my life without gadgets.

But now this technology that I have for so long embraced and encouraged is encroaching on a very protected territory: my media comfort zone.

The first to go? CDs. The downloadable music reality is that no CD ever needs to be purchased again, thanks to iTunes and various other methods of electronically capturing any music you want. Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely love my iPod more than I do most things I own—I still get giddy at the idea of walking around with my own personal jukebox that can call up ANY song I own at ANY time—but it always lived in a parallel universe with my physical CD collection. My CD collection—which already has replaced my record and cassette collection—recalls so many days and years gone by and represents a part of me, for I truly believe there is no truer reflection of one’s soul than the music they listen to. Those CDs on these shelves, in fact, the entire bookcase full we have of silver discs in plastic cases, are our own individual cultural zeitgeists, from the innocence of childhood (ABBA) to the trauma of high school (Tears For Fears) to the anxiety of college (Depeche Mode) to the days of discovery and self-acceptance (Melissa Etheridge) to finally figuring it all out and the depth of adulthood (Dead Can Dance). There’s just something special about having the various chapters of your life all there on the shelf, instead of locked away in some playlist, only to be stumbled onto during Shuffle All. So yes, even though I haven’t bought a CD in probably at least three years (I even downloaded Depeche Mode’s last release), I kept my collection close to me, prominently positioned in our living room, even though I truly can’t remember the last time I actually pulled one down and played it. And yet I could never imagine not having them there.

But, being an adult, and therefore obligated to look at reality once in a while, it soon became apparent that a wall devoted to ancient relics that only sat around gathering dust was not only pointless but a waste of space. The question was posed: “why do we really have these, anyway? Everything that we want on these CDs is in our computer.”

So it was done. The CDs were taken down, one by one, and placed into sleeves in giant binders and put away in a closet, not gone forever, but no longer there on the shelf, beckoning me to stand in front of them and select the perfect accompaniment for the current mood. Gone and probably soon forgotten, these discs are now relics of yet another technological advancement. And even though their disappearance reduces the clutter and represents an opportunity for other decorative options, I can’t help but feel a bit of my heart disappear as well.

As if the CD relocation project wasn’t enough to be an emotional upheaval in my personal media world, along comes…the Kindle.

OK, I’ll be the first to admit it: I love the Kindle. Yes, it’s a gadget and I love gadgets. But this one is so amazing in its potential, I embraced it with everything I am and have.

Until I realized its full implications.

If you think I covet my CD collection, you have no idea how I am with my books. Let’s put it this way: my favorite subject in high school was English, I was an English and Comparative Literary Studies major in college and I somewhat fancy myself a writer. Yes, I love books. And they are my personal history. From my childhood Tintin collection to my college philosophy books to my contemporary collection of film books, there are more bookcases in our house than art on the walls. When talk in our house runs to the “what would you do if you won the lottery?” I always mention that my dream house would have to include two things: a home theatre and a library. My dream has always been to have one room of my house dedicated to just books. A place to read, to find peace and quiet, a place to dream—all encouraged by the words, stories and poetry living on the shelves.

But the Kindle has changed all that. No longer will I be buying physical books and, after reading them, putting them up on the shelf to mark another chapter in my personal history. I will only be left to recall a time when people actually flipped pages and stretched spines. Any growth of my physical collection stops now (as does my lottery library fantasy), and, not only that, a purging of my current collection has also begun, as the discovery of thousands of classics available on the Kindle for free means that my ragged copies of Crime and Punishment, Don Quixote, Anna Karenina and others no longer have to sit gathering dust while they wait for me to come to them. If I can get them for free on the Kindle, why keep them around? Reality and practicality, you are cruel cousins.

So the purging has begun, as space is made and “superfluous” editions are jettisoned. And another piece of my heart is broken.

Which makes me wonder when the time will come that I will be facing down the final media haven in my world: my precious DVD and Blu-ray shelves, packed with the ultimate personal comforts. From Tootsie to Zoolander, from The Ice Storm to The Godfather, from Almost Famous to Notting Hill, these are my go-to guys in any crisis, my harbor in any storm. Having them all up there on the shelf feels like protection and, with their help, I know I can get through any sick day, any sleepless night, any patch of boredom, any need to escape a bad day by just picking the perfect movie tonic from off the shelf and pushing play.

Well, it hasn’t arrived yet, but we know it’s coming. It’s happened to music, it’s happened to books, it’s only inevitable that it will happen to movies. DVDs and Blu-Rays will soon be history, replaced surely with their digital, downloadable superiors, available to us instantly at a lower price. It’s already happened with movie rentals, as my Netflix Instant Queue now has almost as many members as my regular queue, so it’s only a matter of time, the heartless companion to reality and practicality.

I’m not a big shopper, but two of my favorite stores in the world are Virgin and Borders. What do these stores sell? CDs, books and DVDs. The day I will no longer be able to walk into a store and spend hours browsing books on the shelves, fingering through the CD bins or looking at the latest releases on Blu-ray will probably be the saddest day of all. No matter all technology can offer, it will never be possible to duplicate on a computer the experience of being in a store surrounded by books, music and movies—and people who are there looking for the same comfort you are.

I know I’ll get used to these empty shelves in my home, and I know we’ll use the space wisely, life will go on and technology will continue to find ways to make our lives easier and less cluttered, but, for now, I am mourning. Sometimes, you just like having old friends around.

Salt

Catherine — Sun, 25 Jul 2010 02:40:01 +0000

I don’t really ask for much during the summer. A nice ocean breeze, a nice grilled veggie dog, some good waves, and at least one mindless action movie that doesn’t subtract brain cells. Salt definitely isn’t a classic movie, or is it even close to being a good movie, but it certainly fills the bill for an entertaining summer popcorn picture: lots of bang for your buck.

Salt returns Angelina Jolie to the spy/action genre that she inhabited so wonderfully in Mr. & Mrs. Smith, but don’t be fooled—-Salt is a far cry from the well-made, well-written and well-acted film that Mr. & Mrs. Smith was. Here Jolie is bland and uninspiring, even as she kicks butts and performs the best James Bond impersonation I’ve ever seen from a female onscreen. The character she plays was originally written for a man—Tom Cruise, in fact—so some of her feats are quite implausible, but I think she’s the only actress in Hollywood that could have even come close to pulling it off. She has this unique combination of strength and sex-appeal that is truly appealing—to all demographics. And that’s what makes it easy to forget how out-matched she is for the character, as written, and you are able to accept all the many “oh come on, no WAY” moments that occur during this film. I went to see the movie on opening weekend and the theatre was filled with every type, from old ladies to teenage boys. Jolie’s universal appeal is undeniable. But even Angelina Jolie cannot save Salt from being just another run-of-the-mill action shoot-em-up movie and the only reason to go see this in the first place IS Angelina Jolie.

She does have the good luck of having a co-star, in Liev Schreiber, who is smart, strong and equal to her in everything but sexiness. Schreiber has long been a completely underrated actor and he gets some moments here to shine, but, mostly, he is reduced to being an extra in chase scenes and is never able to rise above the script, which is painfully one-dimensional and unimaginative.

What director Phillip Noyce—best-known for the Tom Clancy/Jack Ryan actioners—is able to do, and quite well, is make a movie that is so fast and furious that you really don’t—and can’t—pay attention to its flaws. There is hardly a moment to breathe, and, before you know it, it’s over. To some, that may be a relief, especially for those who roll their eyes at some of the action sequences that are way too far-fetched to believe. But, for me, I found Salt a thoroughly enjoyable way to spend a hot summer afternoon, as I accepted that this film is simply Hollywood-being-Hollywood and, sometimes, that means checking your critical eye at the door. Accept it for what it is and you’ll have a good time. And maybe be happy that summer only lasts for 4 months.

The Kids Are All Right

Catherine — Sun, 18 Jul 2010 01:16:34 +0000

Review/ Commentary

My biggest pet peeve, in life and in movies, is falseness. If I don’t believe it, then you’ve lost me. Or, worse, if you try to put something over on me, I will actively rebel.

This is me actively rebelling.

The Kids Are All Right is one of the best-reviewed movies of the year so far. It has a 93% approval rating on rottentomatoes.com, the film review site that generates scores for movies based on the number of positive or negative reviews from both top critics and average Joe reviewers. For comparison’s sake, last year’s Best Picture winner, The Hurt Locker, had a Rotten Tomatoes score of 97%. So 93% is pretty good. Generally, anything garnering in the 90th percentile usually gets you a spot in the Best Picture race.

I should be happy. The Kids Are All Right is a nice and well-made movie about lesbians. With stars Annette Bening and Julianne Moore, two Oscar nominees, it qualifies, even though it’s independently made, as a mainstream movie. Much like Brokeback Mountain, people will hold up The Kids Are All Right as another step in the right direction for Hollywood to represent the most under-represented group on the big screen. Don’t get me wrong, there are “gay” movies out there, but they are generally marginalized and labeled “gay movie” and usually only see the light of day at Outfest or go direct to DVD for the niche crowd. Any of you straight folks ever heard of Billy’s Hollywood Screen Kiss or The Adventures of Two Girls in Love? Didn’t think so.

So now, we get a warm, wonderful and funny story of a longtime lesbian couple who have been raising their two children, happily and normally, for 18 (or more) years. Into their life comes the man who served as their sperm donor, sought out by the couples’ son because he wants to meet the man who is his biological father. The donor’s arrival into their perfect suburban Los Angeles life throws everything awry, as this new figure’s presence—and his unique relationship to everyone in the family–causes dramatic and sometimes funny situations that never of them would have ever expected.

Sounds good, right? I mean, what more could I ask for? The film portrays a happy and stable lesbian couple who have two teenage children who have grown up just fine and neither of whom have any problem with and show no ill effects from having been raised by two women. And it stars two A-list actresses—with 7 Oscar nominations between them—which guarantees it an audience and critical looks. This is what we want, right? Honest portrayals of gay people, just living their lives, having problems like the rest of us, doing and experiencing all the things that straight people do and experience. There are no serial killers here, no self-loathing suicidals, and not a single flaming queen sidekick/best friend or frumpy depressed old maid in sight.

Which is why I am so angry. After falseness, I hate wasted potential even more.

The Kids Are All Right cheats, takes the easy way out, and undermines everything it initially sets out to be.

[SPOILER ALERT: If you haven’t seen The Kids Are All Right yet and plan to, stop reading]

This film’s great potential is in the fact that it really is a good film. Besides starring Annette Bening—who delivers possibly the finest performance of her career—and Julianne Moore, it also stars the absolutely wonderful and until-now little known Mark Ruffalo. The actors who play the teenage children are also very good, even Mia Wasikowska, who I absolutely hated in Alice in Wonderland. The set-up for this movie is wonderfully thought-out and realistic. It is very common for lesbian couples who have children to use the same donor for all their children, and the premise here is perfect and unique. I was so looking forward to seeing the drama and human dynamics play out as this strange figure with an unfathomably common link to all four members of the family comes in and upsets the apple cart.

But, instead of it being a movie about these very bright, well-adjusted and naturally curious kids meeting their biological father and the potentially deep and meaningful effect it could have on them, The Kids Are All Right becomes a movie about a lesbian being attracted to a man.

What, you say? I thought this was a movie about a lesbian couple that has been together for 18+ years? One of them, all of a sudden, out of the blue, is now attracted to this man and sleeps with him? Over and over again?

Yes, folks, this is what Hollywood thinks of lesbians.

Now, I understand the set-up here. Bening and Moore’s characters, Nic and Jules, have been having some issues. I can understand, after being together for so long, that there could be the temptation, once in a while, to cheat, and it makes for great dramatic storytelling and inserts conflict into a story that needs to keep an audience emotionally involved. But, in the real world, not Hollywood’s fantasy world, this character would never have an affair with a man. There has been nothing established about her past or her character to indicate that she even has bisexual leanings or tendencies. It comes completely out of left field, for no other purpose than to appeal to the majority, those who believe that human sexuality will always naturally tend towards the heterosexual.

This movie made me just as mad as Chasing Amy, a film about a lesbian who, at the end, chooses the man (of course). And that wasn’t even a good movie! And that’s what depresses me the most. The Kids Are All Right is a good movie. Everyone’s performances are top-notch, the script is funny and heartfelt and the pace is perfect. But what pressure did director/writer Lisa Cholodenko (a lesbian) get to make this movie the most palatable to mainstream audiences? Did she really think that this plot twist would be the only way to inject the proper amount of drama into this film? It ends up being all about the affair and never goes back to the relationship between the children and this man they just met who is their biological father. This should have been (and could have been) a movie about two kids wanting to know where they came from and getting to know this man whose genes are flowing through them. Or, even better, and even more hopeful, this could have been a realistic portrayal of a family we are not used to seeing, a couple who is just as real as any other couple, but who happen to be two women. Instead, The Kids Are All Right turns out to be another Hollywood cop-out and demeans everything it pretends to be.

When there have been 100 mainstream movies portraying gay people leading their lives as the rest of us do, not marginalized or stereotyped or made to be pathetic or sinister, then I will accept The Kids Are All Right as a fine, if flawed, film.

Until then, I will keep rebelling.

Inception

Catherine — Wed, 14 Jul 2010 21:01:57 +0000

“What we usually call ‘consciousness’, the fact that I am aware of myself and therefore in a sense can appear to myself, would never suffice to guarantee reality.”
-Hannah Arendt, The Life of the Mind

“All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.” -Edgar Allan Poe

Perception. Consciousness. Reality. Philosophers have grappled with these concepts for eons, trying to define things that are undefinable and concretely grasp the most abstract of ideas. Awareness is the most complicated concept of all, it’s what puts us at the top of the food chain, yet it is also the one thing that creates our anxieties, our fears, our hopes and, yes, our dreams.

Inception, the latest film from Christopher Nolan, who also brought us the trippy Memento and the soul-searching Dark Knight, is a visceral interpretation of all the possibilities of awareness, perception and consciousness—and all they could be, destroy and create. Arendt and others may have written and philosophized about the life of the mind, but Nolan has visualized it. And the result is a film just as confusing and complicated as perception itself.

Unfair or not, it is impossible to watch Inception and not be reminded of The Matrix, another film about the bent nature of reality and perception. The theme of questioning reality is common to both films, yet Inception is not just about questioning reality but of embracing the illusion—the one we each create in our minds when we dream. Dreams are the pathway to the subconscious, the canvas upon which each of us paints our deepest emotions, our most hidden fears and our most intimate desires. Within our dreams, our minds travel to their depths, where we are capable of almost anything—and believe it. Dreams are where we reveal who we really are. Inception is about stealing that knowledge, bending that perception, and altering our reality.

If only the execution were as awesome as the concept.

The reality of this film is that you spend so much time absorbing the ideas and following the premise that you barely notice all the ways it hurts itself as a movie. Inception is a thoroughly intellectual film, steamrolling over any emotions with cold, calculated precision. Everyone and everything has a purpose. And yet, in typical Nolan fashion, the multitude of action sequences feel completely out of control and make me long for that same cool exactness we see in the rest of the film.

What is Inception about? It is about people who can infiltrate dreams and either steal or plant ideas within your subconscious while you are sleeping. Yes, cinematically, the possibilities are endless and Nolan makes the most of his scintillating visual style, giving us a screen-full of dream-like inventions, distortions and illusions—a CGI-lovers’ dream.

But the stunning visuals are unfortunately hampered by the performances, too many of whom are wooden and performed with hardly any passion or emotion at all. Leonardo DiCaprio, a highly skilled actor who has tremendous presence on a movie screen, comes across like a narrator—talk, talk, talk— and is forced to set up the complicated premise and then just act it out. It’s funny to have the feeling he is wasted when he is in nearly every scene, but this is not a film about actors and the limitations of the character make his performance feel restrained and shallow.

Ellen Page is similarly lost here. Her presence in this movie, somewhat odd to be honest, is without much depth and she is, like the other actors, no matter their skill, merely a vehicle through which the concepts travel. And even the brilliant Marion Cotillard—who can usually do no wrong—isn’t able to inject much humanity into this film which is supposed to be about the essence of being human.

Inception is filled with wonderful actors, but this is completely and utterly Christopher Nolan’s movie. As the writer and director, Nolan crafts a movie that is visually stimulating and intellectually riveting, but still leaves you a bit hollow inside. His love for chase scenes and his inability to film them well hamper the film greatly, as does the preponderance of gunfire and painfully confusing editing.

But Nolan’s films have always been about the concept and ideas. And Inception is able to overcome all of its flaws by giving us something real to chew on, by not insulting our intelligence and daring us to imagine, question and expand our intellectual constraints.

The reality of this film may be that it’s not perfect, but it stimulates the brain with visuals and concepts that are both glorious and intoxicating. Free your mind, and the rest will follow.

Toy Story 3

Catherine — Tue, 22 Jun 2010 21:48:35 +0000

If you’re wondering where the heart is in Hollywood, you don’t have to look any further than Pixar. Disney was very wise to have bought the spunky little animated studio-that-could. In a classic case of “if you can’t beat ‘em, buy ‘em” economics, Disney knew it had to do something about Pixar, who was not only starting to take over Disney’s niche in Hollywood, but recreating it as well. While Disney was focused on pirates and teen musicals, Pixar was redefining what Disney had invented: the animated feature. And doing it better, perhaps, than Disney had ever done.

The “Pixar phenomenon” is not too hard to figure out. It’s quality product (read: top of the line technology) blended with great story and characters and true emotional appeal. In short, Pixar films, at their best, appeal to the three things we want fed when we experience a film: the head, the heart and the spirit. But mostly, they make movies that appeal to all ages: from the kids to the kids who live in the adults. Emotionally and spiritually, Pixar knows the secret formula: play to the heart and the rest will follow.

It all began in 1995 with a little movie called Toy Story, which introduced us to loveable characters Woody, Buzz, and others that were animated and inhuman, yes, but, somehow they were so real and relatable. Toy Story took us all to that magical place of childhood innocence, where loyalty and friendship were more than just ideals and imagination could make the world into anything and everything we could want and hope it to be. The film was a smash success, both critically and commercially, and Pixar Studios were on their way. They have made 9 films since Toy Story, some more brilliant than others, but they all seem to come back to those essential ideas that were born in Toy Story: friendship, loyalty, imagination, adventure and goodness. Basic ideas, yes, but in Pixar’s creative and heartfelt hands, become magical.

Toy Story 2, in 1999, became the second sequel I had ever experienced to actually surpass the original (after Godfather II). Amazingly able to capture and even surpass all the tenderness and originality of the first installment, Toy Story 2 introduced new characters and furthered the story of our familiar friends, while pushing the technological boundaries (before 3-D, there was digital, and it looked amazing) and Pixar was, still, at the top of its game and of the industry.

A tough act to follow, now comes the third installment in Pixar’s tentpole series, Toy Story 3. Would there be any way to live up to the expectations, the standards and the hopes that a second sequel could even come close? Well, Toy Story 3 may not be as terrific as Toy Story 2, but it certainly is wonderful. And wonderful is more than enough for me.

Our old pals Woody and Buzz are back, of course, along with their friends from Toy Story 2, Jessie and my personal favorite, Bullseye, and the rest of the gang. I’m not going to ruin the story for those of you who still haven’t seen it, but let’s just suffice it to say that even more new characters are introduced, and by far the most fun part of Toy Story 3 is meeting the newbies.

Toy Story 3 is much more adventurous than its predecessors, and much more dark. Our heroes get themselves into some sticky situations and there are moments when it looks quite dim (a warning to parents with little ones who might get upset or scared at the thought of bad things happening to their lovable toy friends), but, thankfully, the days of Bambi are behind us (too late to salve the wounds of us 30-40-somethings that are forever traumatized) and a happy ending is never in doubt.

But speaking of the ending….yeah, everything you’ve heard is true. You’ll cry like a little girl and you’ll probably be asking yourself WHY. And the answer is the same one as if you ask yourself why Pixar movies are so successful. Because they know the human heart. We long for connections, and those connections begin as children with our toys. They are the purest, truest and most honest connections we might ever have in our lives, because they spring from our imaginations and they allow us to act out our fantasies, our dreams and our hopes for what the world could be. But, mostly, our toys are our friends, our companions, always there for us. It may seem sappy and sentimental, but the catharsis at the end of Toy Story 3 is so right and so real and cuts to the core of what we all are deep inside: an innocent child who loves totally, absolutely and unconditionally, and believes that we are loved the same way in return.

Toy Story 3 may be a fun romp with cute characters and top-of-the-line animation (3D does not enhance the film at all, by the way), but it is the sentimentality that makes it such a unique cinematic experience. If you have a heart and like movies that speak to it, this is one for you. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.