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Posts Tagged ‘Sean Penn’

Leonardo Di Caprio

“ONE BATTLE AFTER ANOTHER” My rating: B+ (In theaters)

161 minutes | MPAA rating: R

Rarely has a journey from cautious cringing to outright admiration been as marked as in the case of Paul Thomas Anderson’s “One Battle After Another.”

For the first 20 or so minutes of this epic satiric actioner I feared that the movie was going over a cliff.  Anderson is here practicing a form of exaggerated realism that, until you lock into his ethos, feels like slapstick caricature. And not very clever slapstick at that.

The dialogue in the opening minutes — most of it spoken by a sexuality-fueled young black woman with the unlikely name of Perfidia Beverly Hills (she’s played with feral ferocity by Teyana Taylor) — seems almost a parody of blaxploitation/hippie era speechifying.  

The target of her taunting is one Col. Steven J. Lockjaw (Sean Penn, looking as if he grooms with a dull-bladed Lawn Boy), the turkey-necked commander of an immigrant detention camp being raided by the French 75, the underground army of which Perfidia is one of the most outspoken and violence-prone members.

Sean Penn

Clearly Colonel Lockjaw (the names alone should have provided me with a clue as to how to navigate this material) is torn: He’s a racist being held at gunpoint by a young black woman, which is humiliating.  At the same time, this situation fulfills his most twisted  fantasies;  Perfidia sneeringly comments  on the involuntary bulge in his camouflage pants.

If all this sounds pretty over the top…well, I thought so, too.  But a funny thing happened…as the film progressed I found myself warming up to its unique blend of violence, “Dr. Strangelove”-level social/political black comedy and goofball characters.  Weirdest of all, perhaps, is “Battle’s”  genuinely moving depiction of father/daughter bonding.

The film’s prologue depicts Perfidia’s life with her lover and fellow terrorist, a bomb-maker played by Leonardo DiCaprio.  When the two find themselves facing the prospect of parenthood, he’s all for dialing back on the radical behavior.  But not Perfidia…she keeps pushing for more and bigger actions against the Establishment.  

The segment ends with Perfidia’s arrest.  Her lover and their baby girl are relocated by the underground army to a small city  in what appears to be the Pacific Northwest. He changes his name to Bob and devotes his spare time to weed.   His daughter  Willa (Chase Infiniti) grows up hearing stories of her legendary mother; she’s an overachiever who seems determined to make up for her doofus dad’s dropout lifestyle.

The bulk of the film (it’s 2 1/2 hours long but feels much shorter) centers on Colonel Lockjaw’s obsessive hunt for Perfidia’s lover and child. To that end he orders the military invasion of the sanctuary city where the pair reside.  In the chaos father and daughter are separated; the heart of the film centers on Bob’s quest to get Willa back.

Chase Infiniti

Willa is abetted in her escape by one of her parents’ old French 75 comrades (Regina Hall), while Bob (clad in plaid bathrobe) relies on the vast underground network run by Willa’s karate instructor (a scene-stealing Benecio Del Toro), who blends zen calm with barrio bravado. 

Along the way Anderson dishes some genuinely biting satire.  Willa finds herself sheltered in a leftist convent where the nuns have daily machine gun practice. And there’s an entire subplot involving the billionaire members of the Christmas Adventurers, a clandestine ultra-right cabal dedicated to racial purity (Tony Goldwyn and Kevin Tighe are among the fat-cat members).  

DiCaprio has a truly hilarious segment in which he phones the underground army’s call center (the music you hear while on hold is Gil Scott Heron’s “The Revolution Will Not Be Televised”) and totally freaks out because after years of drugs he can no longer remember the password that will allow him to talk to his old French 75 buddies.

Now it’s pretty clear that a movie like this takes several years to get off the ground, yet “One Battle…” feels as if it was torn from today’s headlines.  Its depiction of alien roundups, concentration camps and ICE-type military actions smack of our evening news.

And the Christmas Adventurers are a savage sendup of American oligarchy that in the long run feels less satirical than prescient.

I mentioned earlier that “Battle…” features “Strangelove-ean” humor.  There are moments, in fact, when the film feels like a homage to Kubrick.  A meeting of the Adventurers unfolds with the same stiff-necked formality we saw in “2001” in the office gathering on the moon. And who is Lockjaw if not a descendant of Gen. Jack D. Ripper?

Given the outrageousness of it all, it’s a miracle that the players achieve a surprising level of depth and believability.  Exhibit No. 1 is Penn’s Lockjaw, a cartoon of military macho (the guy literally walks as if there’s a ramrod up his butt)  who somehow segues from silly to weirdly chilling and maybe even a little compelling.

“One Battle After Another” is so diverting that it’s easy to overlook Anderson’s dead-serious ideas about radicalism and the difficulty of keeping one’s idealistic edge in this America of consumer excess and moral erosion. Laugh until you cry.

| Robert W. Butler

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Sean Penn, Tye Sheridan

“ASPHALT CITY” My rating: B (In theaters)

120 minutes | MPAA rating: R

It’s been so well done that you’re compelled to keep watching, but along the way “Asphalt City” will have you wondering just how much ugliness and trauma an audience is expected to take.

Jean-Stéphane Sauvaire’s third feature is a grim, gritty and existentially challenging study of a young man going slowly bonkers.  But that isn’t immediately clear.

For the first 45 minutes the film employs a semi-documentary style (handheld camera, a cacophony of screams, the almost constant shriek of ambulance sirens) to sink us neck-deep in the daily grind of Ollie Cross (Tye Sheridan), a new EMT for the NYC Fire Department.

Along with Cross’s partner, the much more experienced and disturbingly cynical Rutkovsky (Sean Penn), we are almost immediately thrown into the chaos of a shooting in a housing project.  It’s a scattered, splattered dreamlike (or, more accurealy, nightmarish) collage of pulsing gore, angry voices and intimidating gestures.

Basically the first half of the movie is a rapid-fire montage of what Cross and Rutkovsky endure daily: Heart attacks, overdoses, the ugly fallout of physical mayhem.  A bedsore-riddled patient in a cheap nursing home. A body discovered after weeks in fly-infested apartment. 

Many of the people they serve speak no English and are antagonistic whenever anyone in a uniform shows up. Like the middle-aged female junkie brought back from the edge who cusses out her saviors for not letting her out of the ambulance to score.

“We cant save everyone, not even with all the toys and the training,” Rutkovsky tells the newbie.

The screenplay (by Ben Mac Brown, Shannon Burke and Ryan King) doesn’t provide Cross with much respite in his off-duty hours. He  sublets a beyond-shabby room in a China Town tenement; he’s hoping to save enough money for medical school…if he can pass the entrance exams.

About the only calming element in his world is a young single mother (Raquel Nave) he meets at a dance club; the mostly wordless scenes between the two are frankly intimate, but the effect is less eroticism  than lyrical escapism. For a minute, anyway, Cross can forget the horrors of his workday.

After 45 minutes “Asphalt City” tones down the frantic editing and bobbling camerawork and settles down enough to dig a bit into its characters.

Rutkovsiy introduces the kid to a woman (Kathleen Waterston) who wryly identifies herself as “the most recent ex-wife and mother of his only child.” Indeed, in the presence of his young daughter the grizzled Rutkovsky is all gentleness and loving language.

A couple of segments stand out for their fierceness.  In one Rutkovsky loses it and attacks a surly wife beater; in another the pair frantically work on a young woman (“True Detective’s” Kali Reis) found in a blood-soaked bed.  She has given birth to what appears to be a dead baby. Plus she used heroin to try to dull the pain of labor.

Slowly it dawns on us that Cross is losing it.  Initially he sees himself as a good guy (out of uniform  he sports a flashy red jacket with angel wings embroidered on the shoulders), but no one could remain unaffected by the daily diet of anger and anger’s bloody fallout.

“We carry the misery and nobody gives two shits about it,” observes one of the EMTs.

Indeed, among the paramedics the most effective retirement plan seems to be  suicide.

“Asphalt City” ends on a more-or-less upbeat note, but not before pushing its young protagonist into primal scream territory.

Along the way it delivers a few notable surprises.

Mike Tyson (yes, that Mike Tyson) is absolutely believable as a tough/weary NYFD chief in charge of the EMTs.

Michael Pitt (where’s he been for the last decade?) is astonishingly good as a soul-dead paramedic  perfectly happy to deny treatment to a wounded drug dealer — if the creep dies in the back of an ambulance it would be a public service.

And there’s a small army of performers (I’m guessing relatively few of them are professional actors) who are devastatingly effective as the New Yorkers our heroes encounter on their runs.

In its last 20  minutes “Asphalt City” flirts with pretentiousness. But by then it’s earned our trust.

| Robert W. Butler

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Alana Haim, Cooper Hoffman

“LICORICE PIZZA” My rating: B (Theaters)

133 minutes | MPAA rating: R

The name Paul Thomas Anderson on a movie (“Magnolia,” “There Will Be Blood,
“Boogie Nights,” “The Master”)  usually portends a good dose of  anger, angst and a journey through the underbelly of human experience.

But “Licorice Pizza” is something else entirely — a lighthearted cultural memoir of ‘70s teen life in L.A.’s San Fernando Valley. 

So lightly plotted as to be weightless, the film is a celebration of youthful energy and ambition. I’ve no idea how much of it is true memoir and how much fiction, but Anderson has absolutely nailed the essence of its setting in much the same way George Lucas did with “American Graffiti”.

Basically this is a love story…or more accurately a study of long-suffering adolescent lust.

Alana (Alan Haim, of the rock sister trio Haim, for which Anderson has directed several music videos) is in her mid-20s and working for a handsy  photographer who shoots portraits for high school yearbooks.  

They’re snapping mugs at a local school when she’s glommed onto by Gary Valentine (Cooper Hoffman), a vaguely pudgy 15-year-old (he looks uncannily like the “Mr. Tambourine Man”-era David Crosby) with the self confidence of a veteran grifter.

Gary wastes no time establishing his celeb bona fides.  He’s a child actor (well, former child actor) still recognized for his recurring role in a TV sitcom. He still goes out for auditions, but mostly his energy is devoted to entrepreneurial efforts…the kid has a never-ending supply of get-rich ideas.

For all his bravado — he appears to be on a first-name basis with every maitre’d in town — Gary is also quite obviously a virgin.  

Alana — whose life to date has been unremarkable — is amused by Gary’s chutzpah. Moreover, the kid actually does have several business concerns going; she could do worse than hook her star to this go-getter.

And so she becomes Girl Friday to a teenage Sammy Glick. 

As for the romantic thing…well, there’s a decade between them, though Gary is clearly the adult in the equation. Of course, under the law he is jail bait, which sets off the queasy meter whenever Alana (or those of us watching) contemplate the possibility of something physical between them.

Anderson’s screenplay finds this duo — often accompanied by a small tribe of tweener hustlers attracted by Gary’s grown-up schemes (they’re like human versions of the Minions) — going through a series of misadventures.

Bradley Cooper, Cooper Hoffman, Alana Haim

The most sustained of these has Gary marketing that new invention the water bed. In one jaw-dropping episode he installs a new bed in the posh home of real-life hairdresser-turned-producer Jon Peters, played by Bradley Cooper as a coked-up maniac late for a date with girlfriend Barbra Streisand.

There are other bizarre encounters, like the one with an over-the-hill action star (Sean Penn) who picks up  Alana  at a restaurant and, at the urging of a drunken movie director (Tom Waits), attempts a jump over a bonfire on a souped-up motorcycle.

And the yarn finds time to plumb Alana’s home life (her disapproving parents and  sisters are portrayed by the actress’s real family members) and her brief fling with a young actor who alienates the clan by admitting he is no longer a practicing Jew.

Astoundingly enough, neither Haim nor Hoffman has ever acted before (although she’s done the rock ’n’ roll thing and he is the son of the late Philip Seymour Hoffman).  Their performances work precisely because they’ve not been over-polished…there’s just a touch of endearing amateurism lurking about, one reinforced by the duo’s look — neither is movie-star handsome/beautiful, and this makes them all the more embraceable.

| Robert W. Butler

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Mel Gibson, Sean Penn

“THE PROFESSOR AND THE MADMAN” My rating: B (Now on Amazon Prime)

124 minutes | No MPAA rating

Given that it was initiated three years ago by Mel Gibson’s production company, that its release was delayed by internal controversy, and that its director has insisted on using an alias in the credits, one expects “The Professor and the Madman” to be a hot mess.

Instead it is a fascinating slice of history and a moving tale of friendship and salvation. Plus it features one of Sean Penn’s greatest performances.

Be thankful the film was picked up by Amazon, where it will be experienced by far more people than would have paid to see it in a theater.

Based on Simon Winchester’s non-fiction best seller of the same name, “Professor…” stars Gibson as James Murray, a self-taught Scotsman who ended up leading a team that over 70 years produced the Oxford English Dictionary, an attempt to catalogue and parse the history of every word in the English language.

A genius with an almost encyclopedic memory when it came to language, Murray set up a system by which everyday British citizens from throughout the Empire could contribute postcard-sized analyses of words, quoting examples of their use in great literature.

His work created problems on the domestic front — Murray’s obsession with the project led to tension with the Missus (Jennifer Ehle). And he was forever being undercut by the titled snobs attached to the project, who resented Murray’s Scottish background and his lack of a university degree.

Murray is the “professor” of the title.  The “madman” is a veteran of the American Civil War, surgeon William Minor (Penn), who suffered from what today might have been diagnosed as PTSD, along with a good dose of schizophrenia.

Minor was convinced he was being targeted by an assassin; in Lambeth in 1871 he shot to death George Merrett, a man he believed was stalking him. He was found not guilty by reason of insanity and incarcerated in an asylum.

(more…)

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“THE TREE OF LIFE”  My rating: A-

138 minutes | MPAA rating:  PG-134

“The Tree of Life” is a sublime, transcendent movie experience.

“The Tree of Life” is like watching your car rust.

That both of the above statements are true only goes to show the uniqueness of the latest effort from the reclusive Terrence Malick.

(more…)

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