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Posts Tagged ‘greta gerwig’

Ryan Gosling, Margot Robbie

“BARBIE” My rating: B (Theaters)

114 minutes | MPAA rating: PG-13

I’m pretty late to the Barbie party, having only just recently caught Greta Gerwig’s “Barbie.” 

Given that I’m playing catch-up, this is less a straightforward review than a collection of observations about what has become a major cultural phenomenon.

You needn’t be a past or present Barbie doll owner to enjoy the movie, but it sure helps.   

The screenplay by Gerwig and significant other Noah Baumbach draws endlessly from the 60-plus-year history of Barbie, going so far as to resurrect as characters discontinued dolls like pregnant Midge, “Ken’s buddy” Allan (an hilarious appearance by Michael Cera as the lone wimp in a sea of muscled Kens), Video Girl Barbie (with a tiny TV screen embedded in her back) and even Sugar Daddy Ken (???).

As someone unfamiliar with all the Barbie permutations, I still found these characters amusing.  But I can only imagine the giddy joy experienced by little girls (now women) who retain fond memories of these long-lost inhabitants of the Barbie universe.

The film is undeniably diverting and occasionally even moving, and packed with visual and aural jokes. But it cannot — in my opinion — live up to all the hype that has been generated since it hit the theaters.

In fact, I found myself becoming bored in the picture’s central section.  For all the diverting eye candy and well-aimed jokes, the characters are still defined by their “doll-ness.” They are commercial objects, and as such remain essentially artificial rather than fully formed.

Within the limitations imposed on them, our Barbie (Margot Robbie) and Ken (Ryan Gosling) are able to suggest a dawning emotional and intellectual depth. But I was never able to accept them as fully human.

There is, however, one moment that almost brought me to tears.

 In the film’s central passage Barbie and Ken are transported to contemporary Los Angeles.  There are plenty of jokes about doll world/real world culture clash.

But in one brief but throat-lumping scene, Barbie sits at a bus stop next to a white-haired old lady.  She stares at the senior citizen for a moment and then says with near-reverence: “You’re beautiful!”

So much going on in just two words.  There are no old people in Barbieworld, of course. The filmmakers could have played this encounter for laughs. But instead of being frightened or repulsed by this vision of mortality, our heroine is awed by the human truth exhibited by one old lady waiting for her bus.

Now that’s a GREAT movie moment.

“Barbie” has it both ways.

The film is a wicked satire of all that the Barbie franchise stands for; at the same time, it is never mean spirited. In fact, it’s a celebration. A balancing act for the ages.

Ryan Gosling is going to win an Oscar.

One bit of hype is absolutely true: Gosling is spectacularly entertaining as the shallow, preening Ken.  It is a great comic performance that isimultaneously generates uproarious laughter while subtly suggesting a dawning consciousness.

The conservatives are right to be terrified.  

The film is an incredibly effective parable about female empowerment, as Barbie (all the Barbies, actually) gain self-awareness. 

Moreover, “Barbie” dives headfirst into political commentary when the Kens establish a Taliban-ish patriarchy over Barbieland. One of the film’s major themes is that of female desire (spiritual, not sexual)  butting heads with male oppression. 

Whether this constitutes man-bashing is in the eye of the beholder.  Our friends on the right seem to think so.

I’m on board with the film’s point of view; even so, there were moments when it felt like Gerwig and Co. were endlessly rearguing their case.  The phrase “beating a dead horse” comes to mind (an appropriate choice, given that a key manifestation of the Kens’ newfound toxic masculinity is an obsession with galloping stallions).

The film feels padded. 

Most of what I found problematic about “Barbie” would have shot right past had the movie been, say, 90 minutes long instead of two hours.  Better too short than too long.

The execs at Mattel  (owners of the Barbie franchise) are either geniuses or idiots — not sure which.

“Barbie” is full of jabs at  corporate culture, going so far as to cast Will Farrell as the bumbling president of Mattel.

How the hell did the screenplay get a pass from the company’s bigwigs?  Since when have corporations developed a sense of humor…particularly self-satire? Like, making fun of their own products?

In the end it doesn’t matter.  By serving as the butt of the filmmakers’ jokes, the corporation has found itself in the midst of a marketing bonanza.  No doubt in the wake of all this sales of all things Barbie  have gone stratospheric. 

Talk about a happy ending.

| Robert W. Butler

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Emma Watson, Florence Pugh, Saoirse Ronan, Eliza Scanlen

“LITTLE WOMEN” My rating: B+

134 minutes | MPAA rating: PG

Each generation, apparently, gets its own cinematic “Little Women.” Count Greta Gerwig’s new version among the best.

Beautifully acted, classily mounted and delivering its emotional detonations with almost clocklike precision, this adaptation manages to do justice to Louisa May Alcott’s classic novel while viewing the tale through a protofeminist lens.

Gerwig lets us know what she’s up to in the opening scene, where aspiring writer Jo March (Saoirse Ronan) meets with a New York publisher to discuss her latest story.

“If the main character is a girl,” the bewhiskered editor (Tracy Letts) advises, “make sure she’s married by the end…or dead.  Doesn’t matter which.”

This is only the first of several moments in which the film takes aim at male privilege and arrogance in 19th century America (and, by implication, in today’s world).  Not that the film ever mounts a soapbox or goes strident.  Gerwig’s screenplay effortlessly incorporates a modern sensibility into the classic tale; it feels as if she discovered these  millennial attitudes  in the original story and merely amplifies them.

This “Women” is novel as well for its narrative juggling.  The film opens several years after the Civil War…the March sisters from Concord, Mass., are now young adults.

We’ve already seen Jo pursuing a career in the Big Apple.  We find sister Meg (Emma Watson) back in Concord; she’s married, a mother and struggling with money issues.  Little sister Amy (Florence Pugh) is in France studying painting under the watchful eye of their wealthy Aunt March (Meryl Streep, doing her best Maggie Smith).

There’s a fourth sister, Beth (Eliza Scanlen), whom we meet in the flashbacks that make up the bulk of the film.  (One of the great pleasures in Gerwig’s narrative sleight-of-hand is that we’re able to compare the mature women we first meet with their much more innocent selves seven years earlier.)

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“ISLE OF DOGS” My rating: B

101 minutes | MPAA rating: PG-13

So much is going on in Wes Anderson’s “Isle of Dogs” that it’s hard to wrap one’s head around it.

Perhaps it’s best to let our eyes do all the work, for this is one astoundingly beautiful animated film.

Shot with the same stop-motion techniques as Anderson’s earlier effort, “The Fantastic Mr. Fox,” this new entry employs the filmmaker’s usual deadpan humor with gorgeous Japanense-inspired designs and a yarn about human/canine relations.

It’s part sci-fi, part “Old Yeller.”

In an introductory segment designed to look like Japanense screens and woodcuts and propelled by throbbing Japanese drumming, an unseen narrator (Courtney B.  Vance) relates how, after an outbreak of “dog flu” and “snout fever,” all canines in the city were banished by the cat-loving Mayor Kobayashi, head of the ruling Kobayashi clan.

The dogs were transported to an island of trash off the coast where they learned to dig through the refuse for sustenance.

But not all humans are anti-dog.  A few still long for the days of “man’s best friend”; a pro-pup scientist is even developing a cure for dog flu.

The plot proper (the screenplay is by Anderson, who developed the story with Roman Coppola, Jason Schwartzman and Kunichi Nomura) kicks in with the arrival of Atari, the ward of the Mayor who has stolen a plane and crash landed on the Isle of Dogs in search of Spots, his beloved guard dog, who was torn from him by the canine exodus.

The boy immediately teams up with a quartet of puzzled pooches (voiced by Edward Norton, Bob Balaban, Bill Murray and Jeff Goldblum) and the suspicious Chief (Bryan Cranston), who understandably nurses a bad case of anti-human sentiment. (more…)

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Saoirse Ronan

“LADY BIRD” My rating: B+ 

93 minutes | MPAA rating: R

That Saoirse Ronan gives an Oscar-worthy performance in “Lady Bird” is expected. She is, after all, perhaps the greatest actress of her young generation. (Exhibit One: “Brooklyn.”)

What’s really surprising about this funny/furious coming-of-age yarn is the voice behind the camera.  “Lady Bird” is the first feature soley written and directed by Greta Gerwig, the actress known as indie filmdom’s go-to gal for slightly ditzy heroines (“Greenberg,” “Frances Ha,” “Mistress America”).

Gerwig gives us not only a first-rate dramedy about a young woman’s growth from cranky teen to independent woman, but also the most incendiary mother/daughter movie relationship since “Terms of Endearment.”

Combining savage wordplay, satiric insights into adolescent life and a genuine sense of family dynamics, “Lady Bird” is simultaneously familiar and fiercely original.

Christine (Saoirse Ronan) is a high school senior (the year is 2002) and  pissed off about nearly everything. Her general dissatisfaction may be behind her decision to change her name to Lady Bird…or to at least demand that her parents, friends and teachers call her  that. A new name may lead to a new life, right?

In the film’s first scene Lady Bird and her mother Marion (Laurie Metcalf) are reduced to tears while driving down the highway listening to a book tape of The Grapes of Wrath.  It’s a rare moment when mom and daughter are on the same page; seconds later Lady Bird’s temper flares and she impulsively bails from the moving car. (She will spend much of the movie with a cast on one hand.)

The source of the argument is college.  The two are returning from a scouting trip to regional universities, but Lady Bird has her heart set on something back east, a place with “real culture, like New York…or Connecticut.” Marion, a glum financial harpie, warns that there isn’t any money for an Ivy League education.  A small state college the next town over will have to do.

This is the film’s central conflict: a smart, ambitious and somewhat spoiled adolescent versus her penny-pinching, essentially joyless parent.  (Lady Bird’s dad, played by Tracy Letts, is a laid-back  noncombatant who offers moral support to both mother and daughter but not much else, having been downsized from his tech job.)

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Greta Gerwig, Annette Bening, Elle Fanning

Lucas Jade Zumann, Greta Gerwig, Annette Bening, Elle Fanning

“20th CENTURY WOMEN” My rating: B

118 minutes | MPAA rating: R

In his 2011 film “Beginners,” writer/director Mike Mills presented a fictionalized portrait of his father, who at age 75 announced that he had cancer and, by the way, was gay, too.

With “20th Century Women” he does a similar service for his mother, delivering a funny and emotionally substantive look at an unconventional household of feminists in the mid-20th century.

Much as Christopher Plummer won a supporting actor Oscar as the father in “Beginners,” Annette Bening is gaining awards buzz as the divorced matriarch in “20th Century Women.”

Set in the ’70s, the film centers on 55-year-old Dorothea (Bening) and her 15-year-old son, Jamie (Lucas Jade Zumann).

Dorothea is a curious case, a chain-smoking, mildly eccentric traditionalist in her personal life but a low-key crusader when it comes to social issues. (That conflict is reflected in the musical soundtrack, which pits the likable Talking Heads against the snarling punk of the Germs and Suicide.)

Dorothea lives in a big crumbling house undergoing perennial restoration. She’s got a hunky, laid-back boarder, William (Billy Crudup), who serves as carpenter, mason and auto mechanic.

There’s another renter, the henna-headed Abbie (Greta Gerwig), a blend of punk and hippie sensibilities who is undergoing a cancer scare.

And then there’s the young beauty Julie (Elle Fanning). Two years older than Jamie, she uses his bedroom as her refuge from an unhappy home life and a series of apparently joyless sexual couplings. At night she often enters through his second story window, scrambling up the construction scaffolding that surrounds the house.

Jamie is desperately in love with Julie (so are those of us watching the movie), but she keeps it platonic. She needs a friend and sounding board, not another young dude who wants to paw her. (“It was so much easier before you got so horny,” she sighs.) (more…)

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WIENER-DOG-01“WEINER-DOG” My rating: B+

90 minutes | MPAA rating: R

A new Todd Solondz movie should be approached with equal parts anticipation and trepidation.

Trepidation because Solondz’s take on the human condition is a grimly amusing collision of the tender and the terrifying. And because while other American filmmakers cannily hedge their bets, diluting the astringent bite of their messages (or avoiding messages altogether), Solondz appears incapable of delivering his shocking assessments at anything less than full strength.

Oh, he’s got a sense of humor. But it’s a comic vision so dark that many won’t find it comic at all.

His latest, “Wiener-Dog,” follows a format most famously established by the great French director Robert Bresson in 1966’s “Au Hasard Balthazar,” the story of a hard-laboring donkey who passes through the hands of various cruel or indifferent human beings.

But “Weiner-Dog” is also a sequel of sorts to Solondz’s debut feature, 1995’s “Welcome to the Doll House,” which followed the unhappy adolescence of outsider geek Dawn Wiener.

The canine of the title is a female dachshund bought from a pet store by a middle-aged man (the playwright/actor Tracy Letts) as a gift for his son, Remi, who has only recently beat a cancer diagnosis.  Mom (Julie Delpy) is furious — one look at her sterile, uber-modern home tells us she has enough issues with a messy little boy, much less a shedding, shitting animal.

Little Remi (Keaton Nigel Cooke, who bears an uncanny resemblance to Heather Matarrazo, the star of “Dollhouse…” back in the day) lives an isolated life and is thrilled with his new pet, whom he dubs “Wiener-Dog.” The pooch is the one touch of spontaneous joy in his chilly world and his love for Wiener-Dog only intensifies with his parents’ growing irritation with this latest member of the household.

For Wiener-Dog whines and barks all night from her cage, refuses to be house trained and cannot obey Dad’s frustrated commands (“Heel, motherfucker!”). And when Remi objects to his  pet being spayed, Mom delivers a ghastly story from her own childhood about how her pet dog  was “raped” by a neighborhood cur named Muhammud and died giving birth to stillborn puppies. (Like so many memorable moments from the Solondz canon, you don’t know whether to recoil in horror or collapse in bitter laughter.)

Following an epic case of canine diarrhea — recorded by Solondz in a long tracking shot that feels like a nod to the traffic jam in Godard’s “Weekend” — the dog is sent to the vet’s to be destroyed.  But a lonely veterinary aide (Greta Gerwig) adopts Weiner-Dog, aptly renaming her Doody.

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Greta Gerwig, ***

Greta Gerwig, Lola Kirke

“MISTRESS AMERICA”  My rating: B (Opens Aug. 28 at the Glenwood Arts)

84 minutes | MPAA rating: R

My appreciation of the filmic collaborations of director Noah Baumbach and comic actress Greta Gerwig (“Greenberg,” “Frances Ha”) has been an on-and-off affair. Their latest, “Mistress America,” is definitely an on.

It is, in fact, about as close to a classic screwball comedy as we’re likely to witness in this era of “duh” cinema — wonderfully acted and impeccably timed.

The film begins with an insightful five-minute montage depicting the early days on an NYC campus of Tracy (Lola Kirke), a freshman who dreams of a career as a writer. Instead of life-changing experiences, Tracy finds herself lonely and isolated.

Relief arrives in the form of Brooke (Gerwig), a 32-year-old whirling dervish of energy and ambition who introduces Tracy to the odder corners of the Big Apple.  Tracy’s mother and Brooke’s father are engaged; the two women will soon be stepsisters.

Brooke immediately begins introducing Tracy to her bohemian pals as “my baby sister, Tracy.”

Here’s the thing about Brooke:  She’s all fervent ideas and no followthrough. Her current project is a restaurant that would be a bizarro amalgam of eatery, community center and hair salon.

Brooke has a motormouth that is several blocks ahead of her brain; she converses in a form of East Coast Valley Girl-ese with a stream-of-consciousness style worthy of James Joyce. She’s exhausting, but oddly delightful.

One acquaintance says of her: “I don’t know if you’re a Zen master or just a sociopath.”

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frances“FRANCES HA” My rating: B-  (Opens May 31 at the Glenwood Arts, Cinemark Plaza)

86 minutes | MPAA rating: R

“Frances Ha” finally won me over. But it took a while.

The latest from director Noah Baumbach (“The Squid and the Whale”) finds him reunited with Greta Gerwig, the vaguely daft co-star of his 2010 “Greenberg.”

Gerwig was about the only thing about that uber-dry Ben Stiller comedy that I enjoyed, and since then she’s appeared in a rash of indie and mainstream films (“No Strings Attached,” “Arthur,” “Damsels in Distress,” “To Rome with Love”)  and become an item with Baumbach.

Gerwig co-wrote and plays the title role in “Frances Ha,” which was shot in crisp black and white in a style that is hugely reminiscent of Woody Allen’s masterful “Manhattan.”  For the first hour or so I was very much on the fence. This is one of those comedies that is more funny strange than funny ha-ha

The twentysomething Frances lives in New York City where she struggles with relationships and employment and making ends meet.

She’s an apprentice with a professional dance company and wants to move up the ladder there, but she’s kind of clumsy and dorky, certainly not prima ballerina material.  She’s much better at leading a dance class for the small fry, where her childlike persona melds effortlessly with those of her students.

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