|
Lost in Translation
Directed by Sophia Coppola
Starring: Bill Murray and Scarlett Johansson
In theaters nationwide September 19
Sophia Coppola's second film, "Lost in Translation" is, perhaps, about the way two strangers in a strange land can
connect over the missing pieces in their own lives. Bob (Bill Murray) and Charlotte (Scarlett Johansson) are in different
stages of life and marriage, but are suffering from similar dilemmas. They are drawn to each other in Tokyo where the meaning
of language and life gets, well,, lost in translation.
Bob is a once big time star who is in Tokyo doing whiskey commercials rather than on stage back in the states. He wears
his mistakes on his sleeve, and his loneliness despite his fame and fortune cause him to seem not only isolated but bitter.
Charlotte is a recent college graduate (with the vague major of philosophy) who has been married to her geek-affected photographer
husband, John (Giovanni Ribisi), for two years. He shows warmth to her through awkward neck squeezes, and Charlotte wonders,
it seems, what she is doing with this strange man. Bob and Charlotte are staying in the same hotel, isolated insomniacs with
chip-filled shoulders.
When they meet, gradually though smiles, glances, sent over drinks, and quips, they find someone to talk to in their own
language (not just English) with very few words. Their "adventures" are punctuated with sweet silences within the
loud roar of Tokyo, and they find solace in picking on the ill adept English of their Japanese hosts. Since neither speaks
a lick of Japanese, their prickliness is another attempt at masking their flaws. They become attached to each other in a
way that is only possible on these isolated occasions-away from family, friends and real obligations. They engage in the
innocent beginnings of a would-be May/December romance without ever mentioning or attempting to circumnavigate the obvious
outcome of their brief relationship.
Coppola's film is quiet and calculated, much like her beautifully tragic (and tragically under-recognized) debut, "The
Virgin Suicides." But in this film, the only tragedy lies in the ennui that engulfs both Bob and Charlotte. These characters
are near-comatose from their unfulfilling lives, and without each other, they either drink alone (Bob) or waste days lying
around in pink cotton underwear (Charlotte). Coppola allows the camera to linger on the silent moments, and the actors take
every advantage to fill those moments with meaning. A less adept filmmaker would fall prey to pretension in such moments.
They'd linger too long or become obvious or overly arty, but Coppola's hand is sure. She cuts away just soon enough so that
her audience never feels the need to compare her to some other independent director with some French or German name. In the
end, she allows her actors enough room to breathe inside their characters, and the result is perfect acting and emotional
honesty.
Bill Murray is, of course, fantastic. Wes Anderson's 1998 film "Rushmore" reintroduced Murray to a new wave
of talented filmmakers, and Coppola capitalizes on his droopy, sad eyes and rapier wit. His Bob has moments of true bitterness
as well as those of real kindness, running the gamut between seamlessly. When Charlotte accuses Bob of being in the throws
of a mid-life crisis, he is cynical enough to not disagree. But he is a father and, regardless of his obvious chemistry with
Charlotte, he constantly works his fatherly magic on her. Murray works his own magic through Bob, and the result is both
funny and heartbreaking.
But the film's real treasure is Johansson. At 18, she is the rare gem of an actress who is mature enough to play characters
years her senior. She's ethereal but never wispy like Kirsten Dunst can sometimes be. She brings Charlotte her old soul,
and in the film's quiet moments, you feel like you could watch her forever. Johansson has always been good, especially in
"Ghost World" and "The Man Who Wasn't There," but this is her first starring role, and she shows a depth
of emotion that has heretofore eluded her in those more distant characters. Her beauty is absolute, but not typical, and
her acting suits her looks turn for turn. When Charlotte tells Bob that she thinks she's mean, he is rightfully consolatory
and nonplussed-Charlotte is the kind of woman who can be mean, who can tear apart those who are less smart or more self-interested,
but she isn't cruel. Not in the way Bob is sure to have witnessed in his career.
It's Johansson who truly propels the emotional relationship between Bob and Charlotte, and it's no wonder that Bob is
taken with her the moment she smiles at him in a crowded elevator. Charlotte is the kind of person that you only want to
know if you can keep up with her (but like Coppola's dexterity as a director, that never translates into pretension or unlikability),
yet she's lost and isolated in a way that makes you feel bad for (not pity) her. Johansson gets all this across pitch-perfectly,
and in turn, gives one of the most compelling (but quiet) performances in a long time.
This film isn't for everyone, as even moviegoers with respectable taste might feel disinterested or bored. But many moviegoers,
like myself, will not turn from the screen for a moment, relishing Sophia Coppola's delightful touch. It would be, somehow,
an insult to say (like the interviewer in the L.A. Weekly did) that this film "could only be made by a woman."
That is something said to separate things into a different category. It always feels belittling regardless of the intent,
and in this case, it doesn't even make sense. That having been said, as Coppola solidifies her place in the ranks of her
generation's best filmmakers-along with Wes Anderson, P.T. Anderson, and her husband Spike Jonze-it's great to see a woman
giving those talented guys a certifiable run for their money.
Alias
The Complete First Season on DVD
Starring: Jennifer Garner, Ron Rifkin, Michael Vartan, and Victor Garber
Have you met Sydney Bristow, literature graduate student, devoted friend, spy? If you haven't, get to know her; if you have,
it's time to remember what it was like when she first snuck her way onto your TV.
Alias, season one, is on DVD,
and it's a kicker. Sydney Bristow's (Jennifer Garner-Hollywood's next big superstar) life is complicated when we first meet
her in "Truth Be Told," the Alias pilot episode. When we first see her, she's being tortured. Flash back to Sydney
in class, to Sydney with her boyfriend, Danny, to Danny proposing by sing-screaming "Build Me Up, Buttercup" on Syd's university
campus. J.J. Abrams, series creator (as well as creator of the sub-par Felicity), likes to shake it up. His abrupt introduction
to Sydney-dropping her into the action, allowing the puzzle to come apart piece-by-piece only to be put back together later-belies
a tactic he will return to again and again. This form of storytelling is the show's signature, and it works beautifully.
The players in Syd's life unravel one by one. We meet best friends Francie (Merrin Dungey) and Will (Bradley Cooper),
we meet her partner at SD6-a spy network that is supposedly a splinter group of the CIA-Dixon (Carl Lumbly), and we meet her
stoic boss, Arvin Sloane (brilliantly, chillingly portrayed by Ron Rifkin). We are introduced to Syd's dad, Jack Bristow
(could Victor Garber have beadier eyes?) during a conversation between he and Danny, and we learn immediately that he is a
distant father, and a man with many, many regrets. It's a testament to Garber's amazing talent that we see so much of him
in such a short scene, but it's Abrams' calculated planning and well-placed dialogue that keep the show moving, even in a
pilot episode, so many of which are clunky.
After Syd admits that she's a spy to Danny, SD6 has him killed, and Jack,
a double agent for the CIA and SD6 (all new to Syd), tells her that SD6 is not what it appears to be. She's working for the
enemy she thought she was fighting, and Sloane has duped her as well as her trusted coworkers. Sydney approaches the CIA
and eventually becomes a double agent, working with Michael Vaughn (side note: now that we know Garner and Michael Vartan
who plays Vaughn are a couple in real life, I can't help but look for clues in these early episodes. All that hot chemistry,
I surmise, is real), her handler.
And then we're off. Episode after episode is full of action, ass kicking, deception,
desire and tears (Syd cries a lot, but it never really seems undeserved. Her life is really really complicated. Sometimes
she's just acting. She's also a really really good spy). The show belongs to Garner, and her adeptness from scene to scene
becomes even clearer on second viewing. This show is top notch in both acting and action, and with Buffy off the air, it
stands at the top of the pile with 24 and Angel as the most compelling shows on network TV.
As a repeat
viewer, it was a lot of fun going back to the beginning and watching for clues, like the fact that fictional 16th century
scientist and mystic, Rimbaldi, is present from episode one, even though his name is not mentioned. Abrams has masterfully
turned the show on its head twice now, but the Rimbaldi thread has always been there, tempting us to believe that his plans
were very deliberate, and that there is so much more to come.
On the second time around, the side story with Francie
and Will is far more intriguing-watching Syd juggle her three lives, watching as they crash together in unexpected ways.
The one side-effect of this storyline is the Felicity-esque tale of Francie and her cheatin' beau, but he's done away with
early enough that by the tidal-wave of a season finale, he and his silly subplot are long forgotten.
First time viewers
have the great fortune of never having to wait a week or more for the next episode. This series almost always ends in a cliffhanger,
and it's refreshing to be able to watch it for hours on end.
The DVD also includes a few commentaries, one with Garner
and the spastic Abrams discussing the pilot, and some short documentaries. As far as extras go, it's a bit lean, but the
brilliance of the show itself makes the DVD set a must rent or buy.
Neil Young & Crazy Horse
GREENDALE (CD/ DVD)
2003 Reprise Records
Come visit GREENDALE, Neil Young's new fake city and very real, very good new album. GREENDALE is America in many
striking, amazing, ugly, depressing, frustrating, frightening, comforting and, ultimately, uplifting ways. Greendale
is your basic concept album in many ways as well, but packs quite a wallop and never feels bloated or pompous, which is often
the downfall of this tricky format. Part of the success of Greendale stems from its economy and familiarity.
It is a concept album/song cycle more in league with Lou Reed's equally intriguing record NEW YORK or Bruce Springsteen's
last release, THE RISING. Like both of those albums, GREENDALE is about a people, but whereas Reed's was very much a
love letter to his stamping grounds-filled memories and account of loved ones and strangers that helped shape his city and
him as an artist, and Springsteen's was a concerned and poignant meditation on his world following the horror and destruction
of September 11, Neil has created something uniquely his own yet recognizable to all of us.
In much the same way, Robert Altman's film NASHVILLE used the colorful backdrop of the 1970's Country Music Mecca and
its diverse population as a microcosm of the troubles present in an America awash in the turmoil and uncertainty of Watergate
and the Vietnam War so does Young ( a Canadian, and damn proud of it) present a town we all can relate to. Elements
of Seattle, Pittsburgh, Dallas, Cincinnati, Tulsa, Greensboro, Winnipeg, Detroit, Milwaukee and hundreds of other smaller
towns in between can be found within Young's fictional burg. It is meant to be a travelogue of what's really happening
in your town, wherever that may be.
In the liner notes, Young describes his town saying:
"We're going on a little trip, folks… these songs are about a place called Greendale… there's a lot going
on in town. It seems to be a pretty mellow place, really. In town, there's about 20 to 25,000 people… there's
mountains and farms, over there, there's an ocean… well, Greendale is a nice place, but it has its quirks… there's
a lot going on in Greendale that I don't know about either."
\Indeed, Young often adopts the position of spectator within his creation. Accounts of ranchers painting sign posts
and teenagers composing book reports are positioned alongside darker accounts of Greendale's townsfolk. Officer Carmichael
is gunned down by troubled Jed Green and sits in jail while his artist brother Earl tries unsuccessfully to sell his paintings.
Grandpa Green dies and Grandma wrecks his old '78 Eldorado. Indeed, much of the album revolves around town patriarchs
the Greens and their ranch, the Double EE. Their trials and tribulations are rendered with a combination of small-town
nostalgia and mythic portent. The result is somewhat like having Thornton Wilder's OUR TOWN or George Stevens's GIANT
shoved inside Homer's THE ODYSSEY.
If this all sounds confusing or perhaps a bit too dense, it's not. Because, luckily, this also happens to be an
amazing sounding album as well. Neil Young and Crazy Horse, combining forces for the umpteenth time, provide the perfect
sonic palette for Young's story of the city. This music is the equivalent of an old shirt— comfy, a bit tattered
and familiar. The gravel and grind of the band and Young's seasoned voice are immediately recognizable and their facility
lends a deceptively simple quality to the music. This is not to say that Neil and his mates are by any means boring
old farts. On the contrary, this is Young's freshest, most energized and ambitious work in years.
Indeed GREENDALE the town and GREENDALE the album both seem to represent Young's current status as an artist, weathered
and laconic on the surface but underneath still full of surprises and an urgency to explore his craft. GREENDALE is
an example of a master at the top of his game. Long may he run.
BONUS MATERIALS:
The original run of the GREENDALE CD also contains a DVD containing concert footage of Neil Young performing acoustic
renditions of the albums tracks live at the Vicar St. theatre in Dublin, Ireland.
By Jason Brown
Paper Moon
Directed by Peter Bogdanovich
Starring Tatum O'Neal, Ryan O'Neal, and Madeline Kahn
New on DVD in August
Every self-respecting film fanatic has an all time desert island top five list of films. My list is carefully comprised of
personal favorites; films that are often classics, but that are, more importantly, movies that I can watch over and over until
my eyes fall out. Number one on my list is Annie Hall, followed by Paper Moon at number two.
My sweetheart of a husband, knowing this to be a long-decided fact, brought home the latter film on DVD as a gift. As
a slightly under-remembered 70's masterpiece, this movie has never before been seen in this format. The stellar cinematography,
all black and white with swirling clouds, looks crisp on DVD, allowing Peter Bogdanovich's long takes to resonate clearly,
magically.
Having seen the film like a zillion times, I skipped a repeat viewing and dove right in to the director's commentary.
As a film critic and historian, Bogdanovich illustrates his careful choices in the "picture" (he never uses the words "movie"
or "film"), such as his intensely long one-shots, his choice to shoot in black and white (using green and red filters as John
Ford taught him), and his wonderful use of existing locations-for the most part, no sets were built. His commentary couldn't
have made me love his film more, but it did confirm what I already knew of this charming picture. It's lack of sentimentality
and showiness allows the truest kind of heart to show through. Bogdanovich never panders for a laugh in Paper Moon,
and he never makes an overt attempt to tug at the heartstrings. Still, any viewer worth her salt will laugh her way through,
grinning at the film's end with eyes full of tears. This movie is pitch perfect, accentuated by the stellar performances
of Tatum and Ryan O'Neal.
The film, which is based on roughly the first half of the book Addie Pray by Joe David Brown, opens on a close
up of Addie (Tatum), a child at her mother’s funeral. Soon after, we meet Moses Pray, one in a long line of the dead
woman's suiters. Through the prodding of a neighborly Kansan who claims that the child and him "have the same jaw," Moses
agrees to see Addie to her aunt's house in Missouri. He sees her as an opportunity to make a quick buck, swindling an inheritance
off a fellow suitor in some convoluted plot. However, the ever-smart Addie proves to be more than a match for Moze, claiming
that he owes her $200. She plans to stick by his side until he pays up, and she does, becoming the one person he, begrudgingly,
does not want to do without.
Tatum O'Neal won a best supporting Oscar for the film back in 1973, even though she is the film's clear star. Her Addie
reels the viewer in tight in the classic Ne-hi and a Coney Island scene and continues to charm throughout. Her constant smoking
in the film gives an eerily realistic feel of little-girl lost, until she stands in a mirror emulating a grown woman, showing
the world that she is still very much a child. Her desire to be loved and taken care of but never taken advantage of is at
the heart of the movie.
But if she's the film's heart, Madeline Kahn brings its soul with the character Trixie Delight, an exotic dancer who Moze
makes time with for a while. Although Bogdanovich never mentions Kahn's death in his commentary, he speaks so fondly and
winsomely of her that he adds a layer to the film that fits as part of the narrative. He is never sentimental, but real warmth
comes through, and one cannot help but miss this brilliant comedienne. Trixie's short time with Addie and Moses Pray rounds
out the film with tits and ass, adding depth to the central relationship and a ton of laughs with her cries of "This little
girl has to go winky tinky." Perhaps that Teletubbie fellow was named for her bodily necessities.
Most of all, this film about finding family where it happens is set in the 30's, made in the 70's, but timeless in every
way. It's quiet and perfect, and is as much an homage to great filmmaking as it is a small tale about family.
Liz Phair
by Liz Phair
Capitol Records
So what's the big deal about Liz Phair's sell out? Really, I don't get the commotion. Please understand that I have listened
to Liz's "Exile in Guyville" more than any other album in my vast collection. It's number one on my all-time-desert-island-top
five. And I admit it completely-Liz's new album, "Liz Phair" is not as good as any of her others. And it's quite
commercial. I just need to ask, so what? It may not be as good as her others, but it's a good album. It's summer fun in
the sun sing-a-long stuff. And some songs, though radio-friendly, are still typical Phair fare. The wonderfully catchy "Rock
Me" is some good old-school Liz, as she tells her young lover: "Your record collection don't exist. You don't even
know who Liz Phair is." This is one of the tunes so villainously produced by The Matrix-producers of Avril Lavigne's
poppy album and the up and coming David Bowie effort- who are the apparent cause of Phair's downfall. Well, the song, however
produced, happens to be a good one. The weakest song on the album, "Why Can't I?", ironically the first single,
is that which began this whole indie debate before the album ever debuted. It's not a great song. But "H.W.C."
(stands for hot white come) is a keeper in the vein of "Flower" or "Chopsticks" (here she replaces a repetitive
boredom with sex for the happy harmonicas of a personal sexual revolution), and "Little Digger" is a moving diddy
written by Phair for her son, and which shows the maturity that comes with great responsibility.
It's that responsibility that has driven Liz Phair to create such a commercial album in the first place. As she mentioned
in an "Entertainment Weekly" interview, she'd rather go commercial than move into her parents' basement. Well,
maybe I'm getting old, but that makes sense to me. I'm sick of being poor, too. We may see the life of a rock star, but
the truth is that Liz's previous albums, mediocre sellers, only totaled three in nearly 10 years. She was never a big tour
girl. Now she's got a kid and her perspective is changing. Good for her. I think more snobby, indie-minded, male-purse
carrying, self-aggrandizing assholes should consider giving up the sleek hair products (just don't wash it) and attitudes
and enter the real world where choices are not made based upon underground street cred, but real things, like food.
All that said, I hope, most of all, that Avril's hoards like "Liz Phair" enough to try out some of the old stuff.
We could, in these sad and pathetic times (the "president" has now appointed an ex-drug company CEO to the AIDS
agenda, America's next top model has been crowned), use a little third wave feminism. And to you Liz naysayers, I advise
going back and giving that great indie favorite, "Exile in Guyville," another listen. Because when she says "Turn
my disgust into fame/ and watch how fast they run to the flame," she was talking about you.
Mo Snyder, July 2003
|
