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Posts Tagged ‘Andrew Scott’

Kate Hudson, Hugh Jackman

“SONG SUNG BLUE” My rating: B (In theaters)

133 minutes | MPAA rating: PG-13

The phrase “audience pleaser” might very well have been coined to describe “Song Sung Blue,” a ridiculously entertaining comedy-drama-musical from the chameleonic Craig Brewer.

First off…this is not a Neil Diamond biopic, despite the trailers featuring a shaggy and sequined Hugh Jackman crooning hits from the Diamond catalog.

Jackman is playing a real-life character,  Mike Sardina, a Milwaukee native who in the ‘90s became something of a local celeb as a Neil Diamond interpreter (not an imitator…there’s a difference). 

With his wife Claire (played by Kate Hudson, who has snagged a Golden Globe nomination) Mike created an act called Lightning and Thunder. Their regional fame was such that one time they actually opened for Pearl Jam.

When we first meet Mike and Claire they’re part of a celebrity sound-alike show.  Claire does a Patsy Cline act, while Mike has been hired to sing Don Ho hits.  Except that once on stage he starts singing Neil Diamond, with whom he has been obsessed for years.

Brewer’s amusing screenplay follows the couple’s courtship (they’re both blue collar, divorced with teenage daughters) and the development of the act. (Playing members of their entourage are Michael Imperioli, Fisher Stevens and Jim Belushi.)

It’s pleasantly romantic and affectionately amusing…but things really come to life in the musical numbers.  Mike’s Neil Diamond addiction is so weighty that along with “Crackling Rosie” and “Sweet Caroline” he tosses in semi-obscure Diamond songs that many  of us have never heard.

Expect “Neil Diamond’s Greatest Hits” to climb the charts in the film’s wake.

In its latter passages “Song Sung Blue” takes a somber turn, first with a disfiguring auto accident and finally with something even more sobering. But somehow Neil Diamond’s music helps navigate the bumps in Mike and Claire’s lives.

Laughter, song and tears.  It’s a satisfying package.

Margaret Qualley, Ethan Hawke

“BLUE MOON” My rating: B+ (Various PPV services)

100 minutes | MPAA rating: R

Ethan Hawke has always been watchable, but in recent years his work (“First Reformed,” “Juliet, Naked” and the streaming series “The Good Lord Bird” and “The Lowdown”) has taken on near-legendary weight.

“Blue Moon” cements his rep as one of our best actors.

Here Hawke plays Lorenz Hart, the famed lyricist who with writing partner Richard Rodgers created his own chapter in the Great American Songbook (“Where or When,” “My Funny Valentine,” “Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered,” “(I’ll Take) Manhattan” and of course “Blue Moon”).

Written by Robert Kaplow (and based in part on Hart’s correspondence) and directed by Richard Linklater (his second excellent film of the season after “Nouvelle Vague”), the film opens in 1943 with the debut of “Oklahoma!” on Broadway. 

 The show obviously is going to be  huge success, which utterly demoralizes one member of the audience. Lorenz Hart (Hawke) realizes his old collaborator Rodgers (Andrew Scott) is now joined at hip to a different lyricist, Oscar Hammerstein. And he’s sick about it.

“Blue Moon” unfolds mostly in the bar of Sardi’s restaurant, where Hart has fled to drown his sorrows while members of the “Oklahoma!” crew gather to read the reviews.  The film’s first 30 minutes are a virtual monologue as Hart bitches to the bartender (Bobby Cannavale) and cajoles his way into a drink or two (he’s supposed to be on the wagon — in fact, Hart’s boozing and unreliability contributed to Rodgers leaving for more stable pastures).

So Hart grumbles about how “Oklahoma!” caters to the audience’s sappiest instincts…he’s even pissed at the exclamation point in the title. He’s catty, whiney and sad…all while putting on a show of aloof indifference and intellectual superiority.

His harangue also gives us a chance to marvel at Hawke’s transformation. His Hart sports a desperate combover that isn’t fooling anyone.  And through some cinematic trickery the five-foot-ten Hawke has been reduced to Hart’s sawed-off five feet. Even women tower over him.

Hart spends a good part of the evening describing the college coed with whom he’s in love…which sounds like wishful thinking since he’s so obviously gay.  This dream girl (Margaret Qualley) only wants Hart as a friend and mentor. Yet more rejection.

A good deal of the pleasure of “Blue Moon” comes from its attention to detail. The cast of characters includes New Yorker writer E.B. White, the famed photographer Weegee, an adolescent Steven Sondheim, and college boy George Roy Hill (who would go on to direct films like “The World of Henry Orient,” “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid,” “The Sting” and “The World According to Garp”).

The supporting perfs are all fine, but this is strictly Hawke’s show.  He fills every frame with anger and anxiety and yearning.  It would be easy enough to dislike his “Larry” Hart, but just when you think you’ve had enough he says something so witty, so pithy, so heart-breaking that you crumble.

He gets my vote for the year’s best performance.

| Robert W. Butler

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Andrew Scott

“RIPLEY” (Netflix):   

Patricia Highsmith’s charming/creepy con man Tom Ripley has been a favorite of filmmakers ever since the character first saw the light of print in 1955.

Over the years he’s been portrayed by Matt Damon, Barry Pepper, John Malkovich, Alain Delon and Dennis Hopper, among others. 

So I approached writer/director Steve Zaillian’s new adaption on Netflix with a few misgivings. What could this 8-part series possibly bring to the table that I hadn’t already encountered in all those other movies?

Silly me. 

This is now officially my favorite Ripley of all.  Andrew “Hot Priest” Scott is both seductive and repellant in the title role, deftly sliding between charm and creepiness, between superficial warmth and a near-reptilian indifference.

But sharing star billing is the series’ use of Italian backdrops, captured in black-and-white footage so jaw-droopingly rich that you want to linger on every frame, soaking up the unerringly “right” compositions and mesmerizing interplay between light and dark.

In fact, cinematographer Robert Elswit just might singlehandedly make b&w a thing again.  The format has the almost mystical ability to capture and magnify textures ranging from worn marble to fabrics. This “Ripley” is more than a crime story or a personality study…it’s a freakin’ sensory adventure.

(Elswit uses only a brief moment of color…it’s at the end of Episode 6. Look for it.)

The plot is pretty much as you remember it.  In the late 1950s New York scammer Tom Ripley is recruited by a rich man to seek out the  wayward son who has decamped to Italy.

Ripley barely knows the young fellow he’s supposed to bring back to the States, but at the very least he can spend a couple of months living high on the old man’s money.

His target, Dickie Greenleaf (Johnny Flynn), is a wannabe writer and painter who has a taste for the expensive things — like the  original Picasso on his villa wall — that a plebe like Ripley can only dream of. 

In fact, our man soon realizes he isn’t satisfied with being Dickie’s drinking buddy and traveling companion…Ripley wants to take over Dickie’s life, to actually become Dickie.  Which will of course necessitate the real Dickie disappearing.

Dakota Fanning, Johnny Flynn, Andrew Scott

Two of the series’ episodes are devoted to depicting separate murders and Ripley’s coverup efforts. Zaillian has filmed these with virtually no dialogue, studying Ripley’s efforts to clean his messes and hide the evidence in practically microscopic detail.

Along the way he ratchets up the tension to painful levels…time after time it looks as though Ripley is going to be found out…and like a cat he somehow always lands on his feet. Whether by luck or strategic thinking, he always turns the odds in his favor.

“Ripley” is pretty much a one-man show, and Scott is nothing short of hypnotic.  You find yourself rooting for Ripley against your good judgment; there’s perverse pleasure (and in several instances sardonic humor) in watching him run circles around everybody…including us viewers.

It’s not entirely a one-man show. Dakota Fanning is effective as Dickie’s girlfriend, whose almost instant dislike of Ripley may put her in his cross hairs. Eliot Sumner has some fine moments as Freddie, Dickie’s fey friend, and Maurizio Lombardi is quite wonderful as the Roman police inspector wrapped up in Ripley’s wild goose chase.

| Robert W. Butler

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Paul Mescal, Andrew Scott

“ALL OF US STRANGERS” My rating: B+ (Hulu)

105 minutes | MPAA rating: R

It’s just about impossible to describe Andrew Haigh’s deeply moving “All of Us Strangers” without either giving away the film’s big reveal or making it sound like a half-baked dive into armchair psychology.

Yet “…Strangers” got under my skin unlike any other film of 2023. It’s a downer…but we walk away from its all-consuming sadness with filled with hope for our capacity for love.

Andrew Scott, the “hot priest” of “Fleabag,” stars as Adam, a lonely writer living in a London high-rise so recently opened that there’s hardly anyone else in the building.

One fellow resident who does catch his eye is Harry (Paul Mescal); they spot each other during a fire drill and Harry almost  immediately shows up at Adam’s door with a bottle and a too-eager desire to be let in.

Nothing immediately comes of Harry’s advances (both men are gay), but over the course of the next week the two strike up a relationship that moves quickly from the physical to the romantic.

Meanwhile the screenplay by Haigh (adapting Taichi Yamada’s novel Strangers) tosses a head scratcher into the mix. 

One day Adam boards a train and gets off in a suburb where he is reunited with his parents (Jamie Bell and Claire Foy)…an impossibility since (a) Mom and Dad appear to be the same age as their son and (b) we have already learned from Adam’s conversations with Harry that his parents died in a car crash when he was a young teen.

Jamie Bell, Andrew Scott, Claire Foy

What’s happening?  Well, apparently Adam has constructed a fantasy world in which he can receive the parental love denied him in reality. In this world he can touch and be touched. He can reveal to his parents his homosexuality (Dad is cool with it; Mom is  a bit slower to get on board).  He can take comfort in the warmth of his boyhood home.

Obviously Mom and Dad don’t exist anywhere but in Adam’s head. Yet so spectacularly convincing is Scott, so quietly desperate is his need for affection, that we end up buying into his delusion. And as delusions go, this one is pretty damn seductive.

At the same time the Adam/Harry relationship is deepening…at one point Adam takes his new boyfriend out to meet the folks, only to be confronted with an unoccupied house. Harry quite naturally gets a little creeped out.

“All of Us Strangers” is forever whiplashing us between the real and the imagined. It probably shouldn’t work, but the players are so astoundingly convincing that we find ourselves believing despite the craziness.

And is it really craziness?  “Strangers…” isn’t into psychoanalyzing Adam; that sort of real-world attitude is at odds with the film’s near-poetic approach.

The moral here: We humans need love. Even if we have to invent it. There’s madness there, but a kind of nobility, too.

| Robert W. Butler

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George MacKay

“1917”  My rating: B+

118 minutes | MPAA rating: R

Both epically sprawling and remarkably intimate, “1917” instantly establishes itself as one of the great war films.

Here’s the ugly truth of trench warfare during World War I: Rotting corpses, feasting rats, clouds of carrion-colonizing insects.

Yet along with these ghastly images, “1917” delivers a profoundly human story that taps into all sorts of emotions: terror, comradeship, compassion, bravery, hubris.

That the entire two-hour film is told entirely in what appears to be one uninterrupted shot makes it a technical tour de force (Roger Deakins is the d.p. and his work is jaw-dropping). But this is more than a cinematic gimmick. Without editing and alternating camera angles we’re forced to focus on the conflict in much the same way as its participants. There’s no way out.

The screenplay by Mendes and Krysty Wilson-Cairns (reportedly inspired by wartime tales related by Mendes’ grandfather) is straightforward enough.

Two lance corporals in the British army in northern France — Blake (Dean Charles Chapman) and Schofield (George MacKay) — are sent on foot across nine miles of no man’s land to deliver a message. Another British unit  is planning an attack on “retreating” German troops.  But aerial surveillance shows that the enemy withdrawl is merely a strategic realignment, and that the Tommies are walking into a trap that could mean death for 1,600 of them.

So it’s a race against time that takes the two young soldiers through a shell-pocked landscape, into abandoned enemy trenches, through rubble-strewn farms and villages and down swollen rivers.

Though their journey is marked by growing suspense and flashes of real danger, there’s relatively little in the way of conventional combat here — just one incident with a German sniper. Mendes and Wilson-Cairns find plenty of moments of relative calm in which to explore their characters.

Blake, who was picked for the mission because his older brother is an officer in the target battalion (evidently the brass figure that a chance to save his sibling will prove motivational), is gung ho to get moving.  Schofield, several years older and much more combat savvy, wants to wait for nightfall. He’s overruled and bitter that his fate is in the hands of an amateur.

The two marvel at the complexity of German engineering (the Huns’ trench network is made of concrete with subterranean barracks outfitted with bunk beds; the Brits basically squat in the mire). They talk about duty and valor. The still-idealistic Blake is shocked to learn that Schofield has traded his combat medal to a French officer for a bottle of wine (“I was thirsty”).

They witness an aerial battle between British and German planes; from the ground it’s a weirdly peaceful, balletic experience…at least until fate drops one of the plummeting aircraft into their laps.

(more…)

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