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“PARIS CAN WAIT”: Travels with Miss Lane

June 15, 2017 by butlerscinemascene

Diane Lane

“PARIS CAN WAIT”  My rating: C+

92 minutes | MPAA rating: PG

“Paris Can Wait” is piffle. But it’s pleasant piffle.

Written and directed by Eleanor Coppola — yes, Francis’ wife and Sofia’s mom and the director of the killer doc “Hearts of Darkness” (about the making of “Apocalypse Now”) —  it stars Diane Lane as an American wife thrown together with a charming French fellow for a road trip from Cannes to Paris.

The film will appeal to women looking for a romance with a distinctly feminine perspective…and of course to guys who just like watching Diane Lane.

The film begins on the Riviera where Anne and her producer husband Michael (Alec Baldwin) have been attending the film festival. The plan is for the couple to fly to Budapest where Micheal has a movie in production, but an ear ache grounds Anne.

Michael’s business associate Jacques (Arnaud Viard) offers to drive Anne to Paris. He’s got a spiffy sporty convertible (which he drives like a teen on his first solo cruise); why doesn’t Anne take the scenic route as his co-pilot?

What was supposed to be a one-day drive turns into an extended trek.  The bachelor Jacques has a decidedly Gallic take on time management and cannot pass an attraction without showing it to Anne. And he has an encyclopedic knowledge of every good restaurant along the route.

“I can’t remember the last time I played hooky in the afternoon,” Anne marvels.

There are stopovers for an awesome ancient Roman acquaduct, and for museums dedicated to the Lumiere Brothers (the fathers of cinema) and textiles (one of Anne’s passions).

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“I, DANIEL BLAKE”: In limbo

June 13, 2017 by butlerscinemascene

Dave Johns

“I, DANIEL BLAKE”  My rating: B+

100 minutes | MPAA rating: R

Is Ken Loach our greatest living filmmaker?

Granted, he’s hardly the flashiest. His films, while technically superb, never scream “Look what I can do with a camera!”

But over a career that spans five decades, the 80-year-old Loach has unwaveringly dedicated his movies to examining small lives…or at least the lives usually overlooked by Hollywood.

His vision is invariably humanistic and left leaning, and even when he tackles an historic subject (the Spanish Civil War in 1995’s “Land and Freedom,” the Irish rebellion in 2006’s “The Wind That Shakes the Barley,” the conflict between Church and individual freedoms in the fledgling Irish Republic in 2014’s “Jimmy’s Hall”) he never lets conventional movie storytelling or ideology trump the human beings who are his constant focus.

His latest, “I, Daniel Blake” is vintage Loach: wise, sad, angry, and deeply moving.

The title character (Dave Johns) is a 59-year-old Newcastle widower and carpenter who has suffered an on-the-job heart attack. Dave wants more than anything to go back to work, but his doctors tell him he needs months of recuperation.

To survive this period of unemployment Dave must go on the dole, but qualifying and keeping his benefits proves a Kafka-esque nightmare of “Catch 22” conundrums and contradictions.

Anyone who’s ever spent an hour listening to Muzak while waiting to talk to a “representative” will identify with Daniel’s plight. Actually, that’s a relatively easy day compared to what our protagonist is about to go through.

American viewers who object to “socialized” medicine may be tempted to use “I, Daniel Blake” as a exhibit in their arguments. But not so fast.  Daniel is getting excellent medical care — the problem is the conservative government’s view that anyone receiving unemployment benefits is, by definition, a slacker who deserves to suffer in a bureaucratic limbo.

From the beginning the deck is stacked against Daniel. Government agencies expect him to communicate with them over the Internet, but Daniel’s an analog kind of guy who’s never been within 10 feet of a computer (his music is all on LPs and cassettes). He’s expected to write  up a job resume, then berated when he produces a hand-written CV.

His caseworker orders him to attend a job-hunting workshop — it’s as excruciating to experience in the context of a film as it is in real world.

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“IT COMES AT NIGHT”: Whatever “it” is

June 8, 2017 by butlerscinemascene

Joel Egerton, Kelvin Harrison Jr.

“IT COMES AT NIGHT” My rating: B

97 minutes | MPAA rating: R

The “it” of “It Comes at Night” doesn’t creep about on four legs or slither on its belly.  No fangs or claws. No growls or shrieks.

The subject of Trey Edward Shults’ sophomore feature (after last year’s devastating family drama “Krisha”) is fear. Fear of both the unknown, of whatever may be lying in wait for us, and fear of our own human selves which, given the right circumstances, can devolve into monsters far scarier than those lurking in the imagination.

As the film opens an old man is dying.  His eyes are black. Festering pustules dot his  body. Blood seeps from his nose and mouth. He breathes in gasps.

Whatever is killing the old man has spooked the other members of his family, who say their muffled goodbyes through biohazard masks. Then they load him up in a wheelbarrow and push him out to a pit where he will be dispatched with one bullet and his remains burned.

This is the new normal for Paul (Joel Egerton), his wife Sarah (Carmen Ejogo), and their teenage son Travis (Kelvin Harrison Jr.).  They live in a house deep in the woods. The windows are boarded up so that from the outside the place looks abandoned. They don’t venture outside any more than is absolutely necessary.  They are on constant alert for unwanted visitors.

What catastrophe has befallen mankind that they must live this way?  Schults’ screenplay never provides an answer and, anyway, that’s not what “It Comes at Night” is about.

Late one night the three hear someone trying to break in.  They capture the intruder, a young man named Will (Christopher Abbott) who claims he thought the house was empty when he began scavenging for supplies. Will says his wife and young son are waiting for him in a cabin nearly 50 miles away.

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“MY COUSIN RACHEL”: Age of uncertainty

June 8, 2017 by butlerscinemascene

Sam Claflin, Rachel Weisz

“MY COUSIN RACHEL”  My rating: B- 

106 minutes | MPAA rating: PG-13

Ambiguity can be a wondrous thing on the printed page, as exemplified by Henry James’ “The Turn of the Screw.”

In the dramatic arts, though, ambiguity  can lead to frustration and dissatisfaction.

“My Cousin Rachel,” the second filmed version of Daphne du Maurier’s 1951 novel (the first, in 1952, starred Olivia DeHavilland and introduced Richard Burton to American audiences), is a well-made, well-acted yarn that is overwhelmingly faithful to the source material.

Problem is, the source material is one big guessing game — a game in which cut-and-dried answers are not forthcoming. It gives us a title character whose motivations and inner are  deliberately left obscured.

We can watch with intellectual fascination, but it’s hard to be moved when you don’t know who to root for.

Set in 19th century rural England, the tale centers on the orphaned Philip (Sam Claflin of “The Hunger Games,” “Me Before You” and “Their Finest”). Philip was reared by his wealthy cousin Ambrose on a remote Cornish estate where a bachelor ethos has always prevailed…i.e. no women.

As the film begins the ailing Ambrose (seen only fleetingly in flashbacks) has gone to Italy where the climate is more beneficial, leaving Philip in charge of the estate. Ambrose sends back letters describing meeting an English/Italian widow named Rachel, whom he marries.

But the tone of his letters soon turns dark. Ambrose accuses his new bride of slowly poisoning him and intercepting his outgoing epistles. Philip rushes to Italy but arrives too late — Ambrose has died (of a brain tumor, according to an inquest) and his new wife is nowhere to be found.

Philip returns to the vast English properties he now owns, only to find that Rachel (Rachel Weisz) has followed him to England. Initially Philip treats her with suspicion and contempt, but gradually warms to her courtesy, friendliness and seeming lack of interest in taking control of her late husband’s property. (As it turns out, Ambrose died before revising his will, so she has no claim.)

“Rachel” is a love story, but one studded with all sorts of caveats and concerns.  Philip finds himself falling for Rachel, but then he’s not exactly the most sophisticated guy when it comes to women.  Like his benefactor Ambrose, he knows zip about the fairer sex, which makes him an easy mark if Rachel is running some sort of scam.

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“I LOVE YOU BOTH”: Sibling obsession

June 8, 2017 by butlerscinemascene

Kristin Archibald, Lucas Neff, Doug Archibals

“I LOVE YOU BOTH” My rating: C+

90 minutes | No MPAA rating

It sounds pretty kinky,  like it should be playing at a gay film festival:  A brother and sister — twins, no less — both find themselves falling romantically for a charming hipster.

Except that the comedy “I Love You Both” isn’t actually about sex or romance.

No, this home-grown effort by real-life twins Doug and Kristin Archibald — they co-wrote the script, play siblings onscreen, and Doug directed (plus, they cast their own mother as their characters’ mom) — is about something trickier, something that maybe only twins would truly understand.

As they approach their 28th birthdays, Krystal and Donny are crazily co-dependent. They still live together in a tiny apartment. They share a dog. Both are a bit antisocial — or at least socially inept. Small wonder that they’ve always been each other’s best friend.

Oh, they make a stab at a life outside their little insular world. Krystal works for a software company and recently broke up with a co-worker.  Donny is a keyboardist dreaming of a concert career and marking time by teaching piano to tone-deaf kids.

But basically neither can imagine a life independent of the other.

Enter Andy (Lucas Neff), a laid-back, genuinely nice elementary school teacher who has a history with both men and women.

Initially Krystal and Donny accept Andy’s friendship at face value…except that both are nurturing  a flame for their new bud.

Eventually that tension will force them to begin carving out individual lives.

The film’s oddball sense of humor — filled with eye rolling at the relationship minefield — sometimes pushes too hard. But Kristin Archibald, making her acting debut, proves adept at selling an infectious blend of dweeb sexiness and sardonic glumness.  She might have an acting career ahead of her.

Brother Doug is less photogenic and not quite so compelling a screen presence, but his behind-the-scenes work is top notch.

| Robert W. Butler

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“WHISKEY GALORE”: Island reveries

June 1, 2017 by butlerscinemascene

Eddie Izzard

“WHISKEY GALORE”  My rating: C+

98 minutes | No MPAA rating

Fueled by whimsey, a genuine feel for Scottish village life and cast with a small army of familiar Brit character actors, “Whiskey Galore” wants to capture some of the droll charm of “Local Hero” or “The Englishman Who Went  Up a Hill But Came Down a Mountain.”

But something’s missing.

This remake of 1949’s “Whiskey Galore” (regarded by many as a classic English comedy) looks good and, thanks to a soundtrack of Celtic folk music, sounds good.

But once the initial charm wears off — about 20 minutes in — the picture (Peter McDougall wrote it; Gilles McKinnon directed) bogs down in a sort of desultory sameness.

World War II has bypassed the tiny Scottish island of Todday, where life goes on pretty much as it has for the last century. But the war is about to hit Todday where it hurts.

“The island is dry,” solemnly announces the publican as he pours the last of his stock of whiskey.

“It’s been a terrible war,” laments one old barfly who exits the pub, lies down on the cobblestones and promptly expires from lack of drink. Before long every citizen wears a hangdog expression and is snapping at his fellows.

“It’s the whiskey drought,” someone explains. Continue Reading »

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“THE SURVIVALIST”: Not with a bang…

May 25, 2017 by butlerscinemascene

Martin McCann

“THE SURVIVALIST”  My rating: B 

104 minutes | No MPAA rating 

Nearly wordless and brutally unsentimental, the post-Apocalyptic world of “The Survivalist” looks a lot less like action-packed Mad Max territory than like Cormac McCarthy’s quietly desperate The Road.

In the wake of some sort of breakdown of civilization, the world is on a slow, quiet slide into obscurity.

The title character of Stephen Fingleton’s film is a thirtyish fellow (Martin McCann) who lives in a cabin deep in the Irish woods. He farms a small patch of land. He wastes nothing. (A stranger who stumbles upon his little domain is soon added to the compost pile.)

Mia Goth, Olwen Fouere

The film’s first 15 minutes simply follow the Survivalist as he executes his daily chores.

His solitude of seven years is broken by the arrival of the white-haired Kathryn (Olwen Fouere) and her adolescent daughter Milja (Mia Goth, looking like a young Shelley Duvall).

The newcomers ask for food. When it’s not forthcoming, they offer to trade some vegetable seeds in their possession. When that doesn’t work, Kathryn says it’s OK for the man to sleep with the girl. Just don’t come inside her.

The bulk of “The Survivalist” follows the uneasy alliance that follows. Are the two women content to stay on with the man — who has a shotgun but only two shells — as their protector?  (Periodically the forest encampment is picked over by hungry  raiders.) Is Milja a willing lover? Or are the visitors simply softening up their host, encouraging him to let down his guard so that they can kill him and take over his little plot of ground?

Eventually it becomes apparent that the Survivalist’s little patch cannot sustain three individuals. Something has to give.

Fingleton gives us a world in which our quaint notions of right and wrong are now hopelessly outdated. Staying alive is all that matters.

The film is shockingly grim (maggots wriggling in a wound, an abortion performed with a piece of wire, unabashed full-frontal nudity) but also weirdly compelling. The no-nonsense performances, Damien Elliott’s lush photography, and a music-free soundscape of natural noises come together to create an unsettling but perfectly believable environment.

| Robert W. Butler

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“CHUCK”: If you wanna you can bleed on me

May 25, 2017 by butlerscinemascene

Liev Schreiber as boxer Chuck Wepner

“CHUCK” My rating: B

98 minutes | MPAA rating: R

Watching a familiar actor utterly lose him/herself in a role is one of the deep pleasures of moviegoing.

Liev Schreiber makes that transformation in “Chuck.” But then so do Naomi Watts (a.k.a. Mrs. Schreiber), Elizabeth Moss, Ron Perlman and Jim Gaffigan.

The subject of director Philippe Falardeau’s bracing little film (the screenplay is credited to Jeff Feuerzeig, Jerry Stahl, Michael  Cristofer and Schreiber) is Chuck Wepner, the  New Jersey club fighter known affectionately/sardonically as the “Bayonne Bleeder” for his willingness to be beaten to a pulp.  (In fact, “Chuck’s” original title was “The Bleeder.” Wish they’d stuck with it.)

In 1975 the virtually unknown Wepner got a crack at taking away Muhammad Ali’s heavyweight belt in a bout conceived and advertised by promoter Don King as a blatant racial  confrontation.

Werner’s fight strategy was pretty simple: “I could’t hit  him. I figured I’d wear him down with my face.”

Wepner didn’t win, but he lasted for more than 14 bloody rounds against the world’s best, sending the champ to the mat once and losing by a TKO with only 19 seconds left in the fight.

Out in Hollywood a struggling actor named Sylvester Stallone was so inspired by Wepner’s David-and-Goliath story that he wrote a screenplay called “Rocky.”

“Chuck” isn’t really a boxing film. Rather, it is simultaneously a fact-based yarn about the ever-widening fallout from the Ali-Wepner fight and a character study of a Palooka whose a brief brush with fame went straight to his head.

Schreiber’s Chuck, who narrates his story, is by most accounts a pretty average guy. He worked as a nightclub bouncer and as a debt collector for a loan shark, though his heart wasn’t in it. (“I was never good at roughing guys up. Too nice.”)

His wife Phyllis (Moss) is the family breadwinner, thanks to her gig with the U.S. Post Office. Chuck shows his appreciation by writing heartfelt doggerel about her virtues.

Eventually an admirer lands Chuck a liquor distributorship.  It’s an OK living, but it provides way too many opportunities to hang around bars and pick up other women. (It also provides an opportunity for a soundtrack filled with disco hits.)

The Ali fight provides Chuck with bragging rights and celebrity status.  Once “Rocky” becomes an Oscar-winning phenomenon, everyone assumes he must have sold his story to the  movies for big bucks.  In fact, Chuck didn’t earn a cent off the film.

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“JEREMIAH TOWER: THE LAST MAGNIFICENT”

May 25, 2017 by butlerscinemascene

Jeremiah Tower

“JEREMIAH TOWER: THE LAST MAGNIFICENT” My rating: B-

120 minutes | MPAA rating: R

Jeremiah Tower isn’t a household name…unless you’re a hard-core foodie.  In which case he is a god walking the earth.

Tower’s career as a chef goes back 40 years to the legendary Berkeley restaurant Chez Panisse, where with owner Alice Waters he pioneered the notion of local ingredients and a distinctive California cuisine.

Lydia Tenaglia’s documentary “Jeremiah Tower: The Last Magnificent,” covers its subject’s triumphs (the San Francisco hot spot Stars) and failures, his long period of exile in Mexico and his recent short-lived resurrection as the head chef at the Tavern on the Green in NYC (the place, apparently, where old chefs go to die).

Tower is an important and controversial figure in the world of American cuisine, at least according to  famous talking heads like Martha Stewart, Anthony Bourdain (a producer of  the film), Wolfgang Puck and Mario Batali.

But Tenaglia’s film is perhaps most powerful in its efforts to understand a man regarded even by close acquaintances as unknowable.

Tower was the son of rich jet-setters who taught him by example how to live well. And that’s about all they taught him. One of the film’s more revealing anecdotes relates his hard-drinking parents’ surprise at learning that young Jeremiah had for months been living undetected in their mansion; each assumed the other had arranged for him to be sent to a boarding school.

He grew up charming, handsome, bisexual — and enigmatic. He had lovers and friends, but he reserved his true passions for food.

We see him wandering around Aztec ruins in Mexico, spouting philosophy. (Tower seems much more comfortable discussing ideas than feelings.)

The film’s final passages describe how Tower came out of retirement to take over Tavern on the Green, and how it all blew up in his face.

There are traces of bitterness in Tower’s comments about the debacle, but ultimately he’s a man who seems absolutely content just to be with himself.

| Robert W. Butler

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“THE LOVERS”: Muddled romance

May 25, 2017 by butlerscinemascene

Tracy Letts, Debra Winger

“THE LOVERS” My rating: B 

94 minutes | MPAA rating: R

Spectacularly acted and deliciously dark, “The Lovers” is a breathtaking balancing act between comedy and drama.

Azazel Jacobs’ cinematic faceslap centers on the fiftysomething Michael and Mary (Tracy Letts, Debra Winger), a suburban  couple who  have been married for so long that they’ve given up searching for that old spark.

They’re more like roommates than spouses. Most of their conversations center on the mundane; they can coast a long way on “We’re out of toothpaste.”

But each is having a secret extramarital affair.

Michael is doodling with Lucy (Melora Walters), a  ballet instructor at least a decade his junior whose neediness is off the charts.

Mary is getting it on with Robert (Aidan Gillen, Littlefinger on “Game of Thrones”), a writer who’s given to lurking outside her place of work.

Both Lucy and Robert are absurdly vulnerable and emotionally naked.  They’re more like a couple of lovesick teens than adults, and Michael and Mary are exhausting themselves trying to please their lovers without giving away  the game at home.

It may be time to fish or cut bait.  Lucy and Robert are tired of the lies and excuses and each lays down the law:  End the marriage.  Now

Independently, Michael and Mary both promise that they’ll bring down the curtain  during an upcoming reunion with their college-age son.

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