What happens when you sleep? Paranormal Activity, that’s what.

Katie and Micah spot some Paranormal Activity

It’s been ten years since the premiere of The Blair Witch Project: the tiny indie-horror-film-that-could terrified the beejusus out of us on a mere $100,000 budget simply by throwing three sadsacks into the woods with a few handheld cameras, offering them bloodied bundled sticks as creepy daily gifts, and most horrifying of all… sticking a guy in a corner.

Now we’ve got another indie horror flick made on an even smaller budget (an impressive $11,000).While Paranormal Activity capitalizes on its predecessors’ success with the home-movie genre (though the steadiness and clear shots of a tripod replace the nauseating herky-jerky camera movements of Blair Witch), it also throws in a great deal of The Exorcist for chilling measure. Instead of witches, director-screenwriter Oren Peli offers a demon that nightly terrorize a young San Dieogan couple in their two-story home. Blair Witch smartly taps into our psychological fear of deep, dark woods by not showing us anything except the pitch black night and close-ups of tear-stained faces. Not so here: we see  exactly what’s happening to adorable girl-next-door Katie (Katie Featherston) and her obnoxious but endearing boyfriend, Micah (Micah Sloat) in their bedroom at night, and without throwing out any spoilers, it’s more than sufficient to say that seeing the demon at work is just as petrifying as not being able to see a darned thing. While the film within a film device (we see the nightly terrors through the lens of Katie and Micah’s camera, never just through Peli’s eye) does offer a modicum of protective distancing for the audience, there’s no denying the primordial fear it induces: the gut-tightening, hairs-standing on end, sleeping-with-the-light-on paranoia.

Audiences were divided on the scare tactics of Blair Witch, and  they’ll either love or hate Paranormal Activity too. The new fright flick is coasting nicely on the groundwork  established by its predecessor, both in cinematic form and clever marketing — including the false “based-on-a-true-story” tagline and a slow buzz-building release of  midnight-only showings that will swiftly guarantee it a  cult following. A lack of formal innovation, however, doesn’t detract from Paranormal’s super-freaky effectiveness, as it asks the unnerving question “what happens when you sleep?” The terrifying answer plunges  and roots itself into your psyche, ensuring countless sleepless nights and a raising of the bar for all low-budget frightfests to come.

Sideshow by the Seashore: Coney Island offers some of the best of New York theatre

Diablo Cody recently wrote a love letter to Coney Island in Entertainment Weekly, but she left out a one of its most delightful charms.

Coney Island is the most un-New York place in all of New York. You immediately sense the difference as you walk off the train:  the air is lighter, the energy is brighter. You can actually feel the absence of stress, impatience, crazily-accepted narcissim. It’s a sudden weightlessness, a kind of relaxation and openness you can only fully experience outside of the city — time actually slows down. You’re clearly not in Manhattan, and it’s nothing like Brooklyn. It’s the Venice Beach of the east coast, the Second Happiest Place on Earth. It’s an escape for every New Yorker, an awesome tourist destination, and rightly so: there’s no place exactly like it. And it’s slowly, and sadly, disappearing thanks to building developments and a lack of appreciation for its unique cultural and historical significance.

But let’s not get too somber here. Coney Island boasts some of the bestentertainment in New York. Never mind the crazy antics of the vast array of people — families, hipsters, performance artists, seniors, carnies, foreign tourists.  Forget about the thrills — yes, thrills — of the Cyclone, the infamously painful wooden roller coaster, or the scarily swaying Wonder Wheel, or the cheesetastic-yet-awesome-frights of the Spook-a-rama. Let’s talk about the Freak Show, one of the most fantastic pieces of theatre to be found in New York, anywhere, anytime.

Consisting of six acts, with the performers gamely sharing hosting duties, the (more accurate and PC-titled) Side Show constitutes one of the city’s best shows in just 30 minutes.  The devilishly charming Donny Vomit opens with the horrifying Human Blockhead in which begins by hammering a nail up his nose, and then ends with a terrifically terrifying flourish — can you say electric drill?  Other highlights include the ridiculously flexible and endlessly jaunty Krissy Kocktail’s serpentine physical navigation of 18 blades as she lays happily trapped  in a wooden box and the fearless Heather Holliday, who at 19 is the world’s youngest sword-swallower and can bend over while swallowing two swords. Not all the acts are as mind-blowing as these, and the disturbing low light is the one authentic “freak” in the entire show. The Black Scorpion’s entire act revolves around his Ectrodactyly, or in layman’s terms, his lobster hands.  While he does walk on glass (which isn’t all that exciting anyway), the Scorpion’s only real asset is the rareness of his captivating hands and feet, but the fascination doesn’t last long — and unfortunately, his act does. After the initial reveal, the discomfort of the audience is tangible as the performer gleefully and repeatedly refers to his extremities as “super-happy hands/feet.” This classic “freak show” act has dramatically lost its appeal for our PC-world, and the Black Scorpion’s awkward, forced  jocularity only thinly veils what must be a good deal of personal pain.  Despite this, the draws of the other equally authentic Side Show by the Sea Shore acts are fantastically recreated with contemporary  humor and striking talents.

While Labor Day generally marks the end of summer and with it, the closures of many Coney Island’s quirky amusements until the weather warms once again, you can catch the the world’s first professional non-profit theatre dedicated to keeping the American sideshow alive until the end of the month. Don’t miss out on one of New York’s finest treasures. I promise it’s the best $8 you’ll ever spend.

Peter Jackson Takes on Aliens & Racism in the 2009’s Most Thrilling Film

A defective spaceship hovers over Johannesburg, containing thousands of malnourished and generally unthreatening aliens. What to do, what to do?

If you’re writer-director Neill Blomkamp, you sequester said aliens in an area located mere kilometers outside the city, cutting them off from interactions with citizens by barbed wire and armed guards. Essentially, you create an alien slum.

Despite Peter Jackson’s helming as producer, District 9 is not just another visually spectacular action adventure – Independence Day this surely is not. Told through the experience of dweebish everyman Wikus Van De Merwe (played exceptionally by South African unknown, Sharlto Copley), District 9 weaves a disturbing and fascinating cinematic experience, offering a totally engrossing amalgamation of styles – documentary, science fiction, horror, psychological thriller, and moving drama. Blomkamp’s startlingly imaginative and clear-cut direction doesn’t let you catch your breath for two hours: the aliens, cruelly treated as social pariahs, desperately attempt to get their ship back to working order, and all the while, Wikus’s ignorance and disregard for them, as he evicts and forces them into even more horrifying living conditions, slowly morphs into a more sympathetic and even realistic camaraderie. This change is smartly depicted, both physically and intellectually, in one of the most visually horrifying sequences. (While I won’t spoil the film for others, the payoff is indeed great: the final shot of Wikus, and of the film itself, is both overwhelmingly moving and harrowing.)

The point of the film is clear: the shrimp-like aliens are derogatively referred to as “prawns,” and the whole of Johannesburg violently demands their banishment from the city. Assumed to lack any kind of sensitivity or intelligence, as shown when an adroit alien calmly demands – in his own language of glottal clicks and pops – the mandatory 24-hour notice of eviction, the government agents disregard him, pretending they do not hear or understand (when they are clearly fluent in his language).

It would be a mistake to entirely dismiss this layer of social commentary as ineffectual or flawed, as one of my friends smartly argues here. While the science of the racial commentary is off – the idea that “hey, aliens aren’t any different from us!” – if aliens and humans do not, in fact, share any DNA (though I’m not sure the film ever states that), District 9 is clearly not interested in exploring such specifics of science and racial engineering; rather, the film is about heightening our expectations for the alien-movie genre in general, and it does so spectacularly by visually stimulating our senses and emotions simultaneously. While we’re offered yet another cinematic commentary on the far-reaching and crippling consequences of racism, classism, and government corruption, this time it’s under the guise of a kick-ass alien -invasion movie that just about anyone with a strong stomach – whether a cinephile, sci-fi junkie, or something in between – can enjoy. District 9 just so happens to also be one of the year’s most intense and gripping films.

It’s Britney, Bitch.

While Britney Spears’ Circus Tour is ripe for analysis for all you queer and feminist theorists out there (maybe a tad less so for you music scholars), where’s the fun in that? I mean, really: despite the dwarves and Bollywood refrences — not to mention the whips and cages and giant umbrellas (oh my!) — the experience of attending, and even more so, the preparation and anticipation for that experience — is more than half the fun. And so, I offer you a (slightly) tongue-in-cheek play-by-play of my delightful day of Britney that occurred on August 25, 2009:

A 13-STEP GUIDE TO CIRCUS TRAINING…BITCH
What to do the Day of the Show, Y’all

ONE.
Listen to every Britney album on a constant rotation for at least 24 hours prior to the big event. This includes Brit’s “Greatest Hits: My Perogative,” which offers the distinct pleasure of hearing gems like “Crazy” and “Lucky” twice within a single rotation. Which makes you crazy-lucky.

TWO.
Wish desperately that “E-mail My Heart” had been made into a single. Ponder the poetry of the pure and illuminating, late 90s lyrics: “I can see you in my mind / coming on the line / and opening this letter that I’ve sent a hundred times.” Ridiculous insightful commentary on our technologically-obsessed time.

THREE.
Get a good night’s rest and drinks plenty of fluids. You’ll need to be alert — prepare for flashing lights; revolving, multi-tiered sets, blinding sequins; + dwarves, acrobats, and ridiculously toned dancers. Don’t forget to hydrate too (must. keep. up. with. screaming. 12 year olds.) It may also be beneficial to do a few stretches and vocal warm-ups.

FOUR.
Try not to be too obvious that instead of working, you’re actually following Brit on Twitter. (She’s somewhere in Manhattan, below 60th, above 12th. So elusive. But you vow to find her and win those front row tickets)

FIVE.
Carefully select your faves B-lyrics. Post said lyrics — not too obvious, not too obscure — as Facebook statuses every hour on the hour (while continuing the performance of “working”). Delight in the fact that closet Brit fans are outing themselves by joyfully completing the lyrics. Feel warmth in your heart when unassuming others imagine you are in the throes of young love or existentially pondering your life in the big city. [Make mental note to burn all 5 cds for those uninitiated to B's magic.]

SIX.
Curse the young trollops who discovered Brit’s “hiding place” in the M&M store in Times Square. Continue to grumble to yourself that you could’ve found her too if you were 16 and didn’t have to work for the Man. Shake it off, and head downstairs to Duane Reade and purchase your own M&Ms. Brit would want you to.

SEVEN.
After the completion of a monotonous and generally unproductive 8 hours (ie. every Monday through Friday of your life), meet best Brit-fan gal pal for power happy hour. Discover the joys of the cucumber martini — again and again and again.

EIGHT.
Proceed to Madison Square Garden, where throngs of Britney clones swarm afore merch stands (while their parents fiercely attack the many, many bars located throughout). Try desperately to find “You want a piece of me” tee, but settle for a photo-op with a life-size Britney cardboard cut-out. Nab a sample of B’s new fragrance “Circus” as you elbow past the remarkably aggressive teeny boppers.

NINE.
Skip opening act of Jordin Sparks (“Battlefield” blows, anyway) in favor of continued quest to find aforementioned tee. As attempt #2 = big fail, trudge up stair after stair to outrageously expensive seats that are located in BFE. Settle in, catch your breath, and proceed to make new friends with your fellow Britney fans, including a charming lad who, rocking out a fedora, later snaps his fingers and swivels his hips while intensely singing along full-tilt to the entire act. Love him.

TEN.
The Circus begins! Acrobats, dwarves, and clowns ascend the tri-circle stage and delight with trampoline tricks, fierce juggling, and generaly awe-inspiring feats of flexibility, balance, and strength. Begin to get a bit anxious, and wish the circus bit wasn’t so over-done. WE WANT BRITNEY.

ELEVEN.
As the Circus Countdown projected on the massive screens dwindles to 0: stand, cheer, and become giddy with excitement as Brit magically appears onstage amidst the tremendous applause/screaming of thousands of rabid fans. Proceed to sing loudly and dance embarrassingly to some of B’s biggest hits (and some of her more forgettable, but obligatory Circus tracks), as she struts in scarily high heels and feigns masturbation at one point — remember “The Touch Of My Hand”? — all while scantily clad. Highlight: naughty police officer Brit Brit readies to kick your Womanizing ass in the encore. Even after two kids and all those Cheetos, she’s still H-O-T.

TWELVE.
Exhausted, but still high off the excitement of the crowd and B’s magneticism, follow the herd out of the arena, and in one last-ditch effort, make a pit stop at the huge merch stand in the lobby. Buy second-choice tee (and another not-to-be disclosed item), and wander happily to the 1-train, where you proceed to make more (lovely French) Brit-fan friends and guzzle ice-cold water to soothe parched throat from too much singing.

THIRTEEN.
Riding the train, and walking the few blocks home, keep the B-buzz going with your i-pod. Fall into bed, happy and content with your full and bedazzling Circus experience, with which you’ll regale your co-workers tomorrow while you do some more “work.”

Until next time…it’s Britney, Bitch.

The Cries from The Cove

Who doesn’t love Flipper? That perpetually smiling, fin-waving, happy-go-lucky cetacean that offers quite the show of aerial acrobatics and then manages to save a surfer or two from a menacing Tiger Shark. What’s not to love?

Absolutely nothing, declares Activist Richard O’Barry, director Louie Psihoyos, and their assorted crew of adrenaline junkies, weepy free divers, and ex-military personnel. They’re counting on that exact kind of nostalgia for the beloved title star of the famed ’60s tv show (not to mention your fond memories of visits to Sea World with the kids to view the majestic, soaring dolphins), because they need you to get mad. Real mad. So mad that you’ll flee the theatre with tar-and-feather gusto towards those evil, evil Japanese fishermen to avenge the needless slaughter of thousands of helpless, beautiful dolphins each year.

Do they succeed in their mission?

It’s true that thousands of the intelligent and sensitive creatures are murdered in a cove off of Taiji, Japan every year, and the ghastly footage that this documentary crew captures — spear-clad fishermen repeatedly striking trapped and frenzied dolphins in a disturbingly careless, unthinking kind of choreography — is enough to wrench tears from even the coldest of souls. As the once murkily blue water turns a deep, shocking shade of crimson, and one last terrified and fatally injured dolphin jerks its head above and below the scarlet waves before it darts under one final time, never again to resurface, you think: THAT’S IT. THOSE MOTHER-F*CKING FISHERMAN ARE GOING DOWN.

And that’s exactly the problem with The Cove, Richard O’Barry’s vengeful documentary plea to save the dolphins: this fascinating doc is not meant to explain why the fishermen do what they do, why the Japanese government condones their actions, nor why the rest of the world — including so-called environmental activist groups — turn and look the other way.  It’s not until 3/4 of the way through that the film begrudgingly reveals teasing nuggets of reasons as to why these slaughters are occurring.  One being that 70% of people the world-over depend upon fish as their main source of food, a preference the dolphin shares. The filmmakers scoff at the Japanese rational that the dolphins are “pests” who are destroying their food supply: very little attention is paid to the fact that it’s true: if we do keep fishing as rapidly and rabidly as we have been, our current and main source of food will disappear in only forty years. This horrifying fact is glossed over by Ric and his crew as though it was the most absurd and inconsequential of facts.

Of course, the Taiji fishermans’ “over-populated dolphins are consuming all our food” excuse is downright ridiculous and offensive, but one interviewee additionally offers the reason for the slaughters as simply “the last grasp of an empire” that can no longer stomach the West (embodied here by the American activists-filmmakers) telling them what to do.

Seriously.

You walk away with an image of the Japanese as a maniacally laughing, soulless and power-hungry people who could give the slightest care for the adorably curious and self-aware animal that may actually equal humans in intelligence. The Japanese are depicted as the clear-cut, no-questions-asked villains in this narrative. You are not meant to understand them, nor their point of view. No, you’re meant to cry a lot (I did) and get angry (oh yes) while you watch what is in turn a Mission: Impossible-esque recon mission (complete with adrenaline-pumping musical score), weepy tragedy, and (least of all) informative documentary.

But you can’t entirely fault Ric for creating such an erratic and overly-emotional doc. The  70+ year-old activist, whose watery eyes always give him the appearance of crying for his beloved dolphins, began his career training show dolphins, including the original Flipper(s). You don’t need him to tell you — though he does anyway — that he blames himself for the world’s obsession with those lovable creatures — an obsession that ultimately lead to their captivity in aquariums and theme parks the world over…and quite possibly to the Taiji slaughters as well.

You needn’t blame Ric, because he already blames himself. All he really wants is for you to take notice…and maybe some action, too. So does his film succeed?

You tell me.

Pixar soars once again, lifting audiences UP

Something has been a bit off with Pixar. Though enjoyable, I never quite understood the excitement over The Incredibles.  Cars was utterly boring. Ratatouille was cute, but lacked a vitality of inspiration.  And WALL•E, which began with such invigorating promise, abruptly devolved into cute-robot-saves-the-day dreck. Pixar, the company I had built such high hopes for based on the visual delights and depths of emotion presented in the Toy Storys and Finding Nemo, was dropping the ball. 

And then I saw Up.  

Everything I had been missing about Pixar was there: complex human emotion presented through beautifully simple storytelling, clever dialogue and honest humor, and breathtaking, fantastical feats of visual imagineering.  Within the first ten minutes of the film, I had laughed loudly and openly, abruptly and quietly wept, and then laughed again before I had a chance to wipe away the tears.

The story is simple:  we watch as the withdrawn Carl (the wonderful, curmudgeonly Ed Asner) meets his childhood sweetheart and fellow adventurer, the charmingly boisterous Ellie. Through a brilliantly calibrated and underscored sequence sans dialogue, we witness them fall in love and marry; we weep with Ellie upon the devastating realization that she cannot have the children they so longed for, and we  whole-heartedly root for them as they save and plan for the South American adventure they had always dreamt of experiencing together. When life gets in the way and their grand plan falls to the wayside, that’s exactly when the adventure begins: Carl attaches a rainbow of balloons to their lifelong home, and in a loving tribute to his beloved Ellie, steers the makeshift contraption to Paradise Falls, along the way, learning the life lessons of how to let go and open himself to new experiences and new loves. Of course, Carl does this all with the help of a quirky and endlessly amusing supporting cast of characters including the youngand adorably earnest boyscout-stowaway, Russell, the loyal and lovable canine, Doug, and the maniacal foil and one-time idolized explorer, Charles Muntz (the always wonderful, and in this case, delightfully despicable, Christopher Plummer).

While the story is predictably conventional, there’s a reason Carl’s tale of loss and rediscovery is one of the oldest narratives in existence: it is universally true, resonating with all audiences, everywhere. Carl’s tale is heartbreaking and heartwarming, and Pixar tells it so thoroughly and subtly, and with such elegance and understanding of the human experience, that instead of overpowering the beautiful simplicity of the story, the awe-inspiring animation elevates and enhances its inherent narrative delights through lush coloring, vibrant characterizations, and heartrending sequences. The title is more than fitting: as Carl and his house of balloons alternately ascends and falls, paralleling his life journey, we know that no matter how weighed down or disheartening life becomes, there’s nowhere to go but Up.  And that genuine and open optimism creates the best kind of (Pixar) adventure.

And the Tony goes to…

If you’ve read my Oscar predictions post, you know how long this type of post can be. Unfortunately, because I’m a bit behind schedule, this will be mostly just predictions, with the just the barest of criticism.  But yes, let it be known: I did see every last nominated performance/production and so this will be an informed prediction.

So, without further ado, here are my picks (*), as well as my predictions.  Enjoy!

 

Best Play

Dividing the Estate

Author: Horton Foote

God of Carnage

Author: Yasmina Reza

Reasons to Be Pretty*

Author: Neil LaBute

33 Variations

Author: Moisés Kaufman

 

This is a rather dismal category. Actually, all of them are, but Broadway plays always seem to bring forth rather lackluster material as of late years. I wasn’t floored by any of these: I wanted more carnage (and fewer cliches) in Carnage, less Amadeus and more originality and emotional connection in Variations, and I frankly could’ve done without Estate altogether (zzzzzzzzzzz). I’m not a huge LaBute fan, but he seems to be softening up a bit, which I enjoy, creating characters that are a little less hateful and a little more sympathetic. The amazing performances by Thomas Sadowski and Marin Ireland didn’t hurt either. 

 

Best Musical

 

Billy Elliot, The Musical*

Next to Normal

Rock of Ages

Shrek The Musical

 

This category is a no brainer. Next to Normal is the clear winner in voters’ eyes, but my fingers are crossed for the little boy who just wants to DANCE! Normal tries too hard to be “edgy” and “important,” but the music is uninspired, the lyrics oftentimes insulting (the bipolar lead sings “I saw this movie,” and continues to parallel her experience to One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest as she stands defiantly on a gurney…ugh), and the book just all around underwhelming as it fails to take any risks beyond its initial concept (ie. a musical about mental illness!). I like Rock of Ages more now that I’ve seen the YouTube series, but it’s just shallow good fun, and Shrek is…well, Shrek. Billy’’s book is heartwarming and topical, though Sir Elton’s music is by far the weakest link in the show (someone please tell this man to stop writing musicals) — he has no theatrical sensibility when it comes to developing character and themes — it’s just pop music. But god damn if I didn’t love every minute of this show.

 

[Unfortunately, the only nominated productions that I did not see were the "special theatrical events." Somehow, I think Will Ferell will be successful with or without my vote...or money]

 

Best Book of a Musical

Billy Elliot, The Musical Lee Hall *

Next to Normal Brian Yorkey

Shrek The Musical David Lindsay-Abaire

[Title of Show] Hunter Bell

 

I actually have no idea what the committee will go for here, but my vote goes to Hall. I wouldn’t be surprised if [tos] lands this one, as this is the only nomination that show received (and you know I feel vindicated because of that ). 

 

Best Original Score (Music and/or Lyrics) Written for the Theatre

 

Billy Elliot, The Musical

Music: Elton John

Lyrics: Lee Hall

Next to Normal

Music: Tom KittLyrics: Brian Yorkey

9 to 5: The Musical *

Music & Lyrics: Dolly Parton

Shrek The Musical

Music: Jeanine Tesori

Lyrics: David Lindsay-Abaire

 

I hope I’m wrong with my prediction, but I doubt it. I can’t lie: I had a FANTASTIC time at 9 to 5, and though that was mostly due to the book and choreography, Dolly does have a knack for lyrics and tunes — if not showtunes. And if I didn’t know Tesori brought us those fine scores in  Caroline, or Change and Violet, I’d think she was hopeless.

 

Best Revival of a Play

Joe Turner’s Come and Gone

Mary Stuart*

The Norman Conquests

Waiting for Godot

 

The winner here is so clear to me, but since I’m not voting, the only one we can really count out is Godot (zzzzzzzzzzzzzz). The critics loved Joe, audiences and (most) critics loved Norman (my least. favorite. show. of. the. year.), and most all adored Mary. Forget the guys, the gal-dominated production trumps them all with its fierceness and intensity. 

 

Best Revival of a Musical

Guys and Dolls

Hair

Pal Joey

West Side Story

 

This category may be the saddest of all. I’m not sure how you screw up classic musical comedy gold, but Lauren Graham & Co. sure figured it out with Guys and Dolls, possibly the worst production of a musical I’ve ever seen on the Great White Way. Pal Joey wasn’t much better, and we all know how I feel about West Side Story. I am not a fan of Hair, and this production did not change my mind, but everyone adores it, and so it’s winning, like it or not. If I have to pick one to win, I’m — shockingly — going to root for WSS. But only because of the incredible score, choreography and (some of the) performances. Lord knows it wasn’t the direction, design, or the added Spanish.

 

Best Performance by a Leading Actor in a Play

Jeff Daniels, God of Carnage

Raúl Esparza, Speed-the-Plow

James Gandolfini, God of Carnage

Geoffrey Rush, Exit the King*

Thomas Sadoski, Reasons to Be Pretty

 

I don’t know how he can’t win. Seriously. And I thought all the other guys were terrific, too.

 

Best Performance by a Leading Actress in a Play

Hope Davis, God of Carnage

Jane Fonda, 33 Variations

Marcia Gay Harden, God of Carnage*

Janet McTeer, Mary Stuart

Harriet Walter, Mary Stuart

 

This is a bit harder than the guys. The Mary ladies were fantastic, and Marcia Gay Harden was hardcore fierce.  I think the Marys may cancel each other out with half the committee voting for one, half for the other — but who can say for sure? Janet is the critical darling (though I tend to think the performance is a bit affected), but I’m going to go for Marcia. If only for her amazing ability to beat the crap out of James Gandolfini, while spitting verbal fire at everyone else. Fun stuff.

 

Best Performance by a Leading Actor in a Musical

David Alvarez, Trent Kowalik, and Kiril Kulish – Billy Elliot, The Musical*

Gavin Creel, Hair

Brian d’Arcy James, Shrek The Musical

Constantine Maroulis, Rock of Ages

J. Robert Spencer, Next to Normal 

 

This category is boring. What a sad year for musical theatre all-around — except for the dynamite performances by the trio of Billys. (side note: I found Constantine utterly charming. There, I said it.) 

 

Best Performance by a Leading Actress in a Musical

Stockard Channing, Pal Joey

Sutton Foster, Shrek The Musical

Allison Janney, 9 to 5: The Musical

Alice Ripley, Next to Normal*

Josefina Scaglione, West Side Story

 

This isn’t even a competition. (and what in god’s good name is Stockard doing up there? The woman can. not. sing. (yes, she has gotten worse since Grease! No, I am not kidding). Then again, neither can Janney…but I love her too much to fault her for that).

 

Best Performance by a Featured Actor in a Play

 

John Glover, Waiting for Godot

Zach Grenier, 33 Variations

Stephen Mangan, The Norman Conquests

Paul Ritter, The Norman Conquests

Roger Robinson, Joe Turner’s Come and Gone*

 

And I thought the last category was underwhelming, but I had to look half of these gentlemen up in ibdb.com just to remember who they played.  Roger Robinson gets my vote, as he was both  charming and smart in Joe Turner. Glover would be my second vote, but I have a feeling voters will go for one of the Norman boys. I can’t be bothered to look them up, as I disliked this trilogy — and everything associated with it — so much. Sorry, guys: it’s not you–it’s Ayckbourn.

 

Best Performance by a Featured Actress in a Play

Hallie Foote, Dividing the Estate

Jessica Hynes, The Norman Conquests

Marin Ireland, Reasons to Be Pretty

Angela Lansbury, Blithe Spirit*

Amanda Root, The Norman Conquests

 

I cannot even fathom that voters won’t give this one to Angela. So, so charming and funny and still so sprightly at age 84, her Madam Arcati steals the show each time she’s on stage. No one else even holds a candle to her. The only way I’d forgive Tonys voters for not voting for Jessica Fletcher is if they vote for the fabulous Marin Ireland.

 

Best Performance by a Featured Actor in a Musical

David Bologna, Billy Elliot, The Musical 

Gregory Jbara, Billy Elliot, The Musical

Marc Kudisch, 9 to 5: The Musical*

Christopher Sieber, Shrek The Musical

Will Swenson, Hair

 

I have a feeling the funny guys are going to win the day here. Kudisch is great as the smarmy womanizer, Franklin Hart, and Christopher Sieber’s pint-sized, egomaniacal Lord-Farquaad made me laugh so hard I cried. Unfortunately, he’s in that big green show, so he’ll probably get the cold shoulder. Shrek’s not gettin’ any Tony-love, guaranteed.

 

Best Performance by a Featured Actress in a Musical

Jennifer Damiano, Next to Normal

Haydn Gwynne, Billy Elliot, The Musical

Karen Olivo, West Side Story*

Martha Plimpton, Pal Joey

Carole Shelley, Billy Elliot, The Musical

 

Karen Olivo is fierce (word-of-the-day). That is all.

 

Best Scenic Design of a Play

Dale Ferguson, Exit the King*

Rob Howell, The Norman Conquests

Derek McLane, 33 Variations

Michael Yeargan, Joe Turner’s Come and Gone

 

I didn’t get the Norman design (what was with that miniature cityscape that disappeared as soon as the show began?) and Joe Turner’s was a bit overly-conceptual for my taste, but Exit’s was pitch-perfect with the crumbling, rich asthetic. Too bad it’s not showy enough to win — this may be the category that earns 33 Variations its sole Tony (though I thought the twirling bookcases were a bit over-the-top, they were fun and helpfully distinguished between the two worlds within the show).  

 

Best Scenic Design of a Musical

Robert Brill, Guys and Dolls

Ian MacNeil, Billy Elliot, The Musical*

Scott Pask, Pal Joey 

Mark Wendland, Next to Normal

 

What was up with the projections in Guys and Dolls? And that ridiculously tall staircase in Pal Joey? Discluding those missteps leaves us with the “edgy” Normal and the never dull let’s-move-in/up/down-a-set-piece-every-five-minutes Billy. I vote for the latter, if only because I have the attention span of a 6 year-old. 

 

Best Costume Design of a Play

Dale Ferguson, Exit the King

Jane Greenwood, Waiting for Godot

Martin Pakledinaz, Blithe Spirit

Anthony Ward, Mary Stuart*

 

I love the contrast between the men’s contemporary suits and the women’s period pieces (especially that gorgeous red velvet number that Janet McTeer sports at the end). 

 

Best Costume Design of a Musical

Gregory Gale, Rock of Ages*

Nicky Gillibrand, Billy Elliot, The Musical

Tim Hatley, Shrek The Musical

Michael McDonald, Hair

 

I want Gale to costume my next 80s party.  Amazing. If Shrek gets any love, it clearly will be for its clever fairy-tale creature costumes.

 

Best Lighting Design of a Play

David Hersey, Equus

David Lander, 33 Variations*

Brian MacDevitt, Joe Turner’s Come and Gone

Hugh Vanstone, Mary Stuart

 

MacDevitt’s design gave Joe Turner the magical realism-quality that it needed, but I like the more elegant and musical-quality of Lander’s. (If that makes sense. I’m not sure it does, but there you have it.)

 

Best Lighting Design of a Musical

Kevin Adams, Hair

Kevin Adams, Next to Normal

Howell Binkley, West Side Story

Rick Fisher, Billy Elliot, The Musical*

 

Binkley designs for pretty much every major musical that comes to Broadway, but unfortunately, I cannot forgive him for the mess that was Parade’s Bway design.  Fisher’s alternately subtle and flashy design wins my vote.

 

 

[I'm skipping sound design, as I know nothing about that...]

 

Best Direction of a Play

Phyllida Lloyd, Mary Stuart*

Bartlett Sher, Joe Turner’s Come and Gone

Matthew Warchus, God of Carnage

Matthew Warchus, The Norman Conquests

 

Best Direction of a Musical

Stephen Daldry, Billy Elliot, The Musical*

Michael Greif, Next to Normal

Kristin Hanggi, Rock of Ages

Diane Paulus, Hair

 

I cannot even tell you about the genius that is Stephen Daldry’s staging. Go see Billy and discover it for yourself.

 

Best Choreography

Karole Armitage, Hair

Andy Blankenbuehler, 9 to 5: The Musical*

Peter Darling, Billy Elliot, The Musical

Randy Skinner, Irving Berlin’s White Christmas

 

This was a tough call, but Billy IS the dance musical, so Tony voters are going to gravitate towards it when it comes time to cast ballots (as they should: the dance numbers are phenomenal). But my boy Blankenbuehler (of In the Heights fame) takes a fluff piece and elevates it with his office-like choreography. I can’t explain it — just go see it. We haven’t seen such a distinct style of musical choreography since Fosse. So great!

 

[I don't know anything about orchestrations either.]

 

 

 

There you have it. Happy Tonys Day!

 

And the Oscar goes to…

It’s one of my favorite days of the year: a day preceded by a lot of hard work, sweat, and (oh-so-many) tears, running from theatre to theatre, partaking in many an eye-straining and butt-numbing double feature, and maybe some, shall we say, not-so-legal viewings as well.  (Maybe.) It’s Oscar day, y’all, and you can count on me to yell and curse the Academy with the best of ‘em tonight at 8:00ET.  So, without further ado, here are my predictions, aggravations, and adorations.  

Predicted winners are shown with their picture; if different than that which is predicted, my pick is, fittingly, in orange font.

Performance by an actor in a leading role

 

• Richard Jenkins in “The Visitor” (Overture Films)
• Frank Langella in “Frost/Nixon” (Universal)
• Sean Penn in “Milk” (Focus Features)
• Brad Pitt in “The Curious Case of Benjamin Button” (Paramount and Warner Bros.)
• Mickey Rourke in “The Wrestler” (Fox Searchlight)

While I’m a big fan of Rourke, there was simply too much fanfare for this performance. While perfectly subtle in his depiction of both the emotional and physical pain of a lonely wrestler embarrassingly past his prime, the story too closely parallels Rourke’s own life of isolated suffering and disappointment for his performance to be a revelation. Instead of being even more poignant because of this connection, it felt less so.

Frank Langella, on the other hand, blew me away with his Richard Nixon, layering what could have been a one-dimensional corrupt and blustering politico with flashes of heartbreak and isolated despair. His carefully balanced portrayal isn’t as politically timely as Sean Penn’s Harvey Milk or as (supposedly) awe-inspiringly computer-rendered  as Brad Pitt’s precocious Benjamin Button.  And that’s exactly why, though not quite the underdog (sorry, Richard Jenkins), he’ll be overlooked. And I’m sad about it.

Performance by an actor in a supporting role

• Josh Brolin in “Milk” (Focus Features)
• Robert Downey Jr. in “Tropic Thunder” (DreamWorks, Distributed by DreamWorks/Paramount)
• Philip Seymour Hoffman in “Doubt” (Miramax)
• Heath Ledger in “The Dark Knight” (Warner Bros.)
• Michael Shannon in “Revolutionary Road” (DreamWorks, Distributed by Paramount Vantage)

This is probably the least contested category; we all know the golden boy this year is Ledger, so really why bother with other nominees? What saddens me is the prospect of what would have transpired had the young talent not passed away long before his time. Would the Academy ever acknowledge and amend its previous indiscretion?  Speaking of said indiscretion, Philip Seymour Hoffman, is, as always, in fine form: over-acting, over-yelling, and generally mutating the character of Father Flynn beyond recogntion, he only adds to the horror that is the film adaptation of the stage-worthy Doubt. But we’ll get back to that soon.  

Always and forever a Goonie, Josh Brolin is close to my heart and inspires my admiration more and more with every role he takes on, but the problematic Milk simply doesn’t give him enough opportunity to show what he can really do with the infinitely complex killer, Dan White.

While I adore Downey, I cannot even fathom what the Academy was thinking. Cannot. Even. Fathom.

I have to say, though, that if the ghost of Ennis Del Mar wasn’t still haunting us, I’d be enthusiastically rooting for Michael Shannon. We all know I love the crazies, and Shannon’s entirely inappropriate yet hilarious (not to mention perfectly astute) outbursts as the troubled next-door neighbor on Revolutionary Road showcase him as, like Richard Jenkins, one of our most underappreciated talents.  Watch out for this one; he’s a firecracker.

 

Performance by an actress in a leading role

• Anne Hathaway in “Rachel Getting Married” (Sony Pictures Classics)
• Angelina Jolie in “Changeling” (Universal)
• Melissa Leo in “Frozen River” (Sony Pictures Classics)
• Meryl Streep in “Doubt” (Miramax)
• Kate Winslet in “The Reader” (The Weinstein Company)

This is a strange category for me, mostly because I don’t think any of them stand out from the rest. They are all extremely fine performances — that is, with one terrible exception: Meryl Streep, in accordance with the overblown mess that is Doubt, gives one of the most insufferably melodramatic performances of the year. [Because I have no where else to to voice my thoughts on the film (as it was, thankfully, not nominated), let it be said here and now that John Patrick Shanley has no business directing anything. While Streep should have enough sense to tone down her own performance, JPS's ridiculous "opening up" of the film to include intensely serious walks in the blustery leaf-strewn wind, and his bursting light bulbs (really?) and haphazardly directed screaming matches created an infuriatingly amateurish film that encouraged over-the-top performances and my own personal venom.]

All that being said, I would be equally happy for any of the nominees to win. Never a huge fan of Jolie, I found her performance lovely and surprisingly moving, and Hathaway’s harshly and heartbreakingly honest. Leo’s turn as a desperate mother illegaly assisting immigrants into the country is both subtle and layered. Winslet is in fine form, though I wish the ex-Nazi Hanna was better developed on the page; there is something lacking in the writing that Winslet doesn’t quite overcome (though I’m afraid I’m alone in this opinion).

 

Performance by an actress in a supporting role

• Amy Adams in “Doubt” (Miramax)
• Penélope Cruz in “Vicky Cristina Barcelona” (The Weinstein Company)
• Viola Davis in “Doubt” (Miramax)
• Taraji P. Henson in “The Curious Case of Benjamin Button” (Paramount and Warner Bros.)
• Marisa Tomei in “The Wrestler” (Fox Searchlight)

Despite JPS’s mutilation of his own script, he managed to get two fine performances in Doubt: both Adams and Davis are superb, but as the disturbingly frank mother of a possibly abused, possibly homosexual son, Davis possesses better odds at taking home the golden statue tonight. Never a fan of Cruz, she’s fiery and fun, but not Oscar-material in the lackluster Vicky Cristina Barcelona, and I don’t think anyone’s talking about Tomei’s performance that is largely noted for her consistent nudity (you look super-hot, Marisa, but that’s not quite enough for me).  Taraji P. Henson is causing quite a stir (though I preferred her in Hustle & Flow), and she may v. well receive the statue, but it seems to me that this one should go to Davis.

 

Best animated feature film of the year

• Bolt (Walt Disney)

• Kung Fu Panda (Dreamworks)

• WALL-E (Walt Disney)

Who are we kidding? The cutest ‘bot ever to roam planet Earth has got this category on lock-down.  While I’m not a fan of the film (check out my full review: http://criticalconfabulations.wordpress.com/2008/07/02/wall-e/), I must say the animation and characterization are stunning and fully deserve the accolades over fellow nominees Bolt (surprisingly cute, but with miscast voices in its animal leads — Travolta and Essman) and the Jack Black-show, Kung Fu Panda.

 

Achievement in art direction

• “Changeling” (Universal)
• “The Curious Case of Benjamin Button” (Paramount and Warner Bros.)
• “The Dark Knight” (Warner Bros.)
• “The Duchess” (Paramount Vantage, Pathé and BBC Films)
• “Revolutionary Road” (DreamWorks, Distributed by Paramount Vantage)

 

There is very little I like about Benjamin Button, and I seem to be equally as unimpressed by the art direction as the rest of the film’s elements.  The muted earth tones and  narrative technique to “artful” flashbacks are over-earnest and over-employed, and give the film a sleepy look, which in turn, put me to sleep — literally. But the academy seems to like it, and honestly, besides makeup, this is its only chance in taking home an Oscar, and so it goes.

Revolutionary Road is certainly my biggest disappointment of the year. With a star-studded cast and director and a script adapted from an acclaimed novel, how did it all go so wrong? With the exceptions of DiCaprio (seriously? no best actor nom?) and Shannon, this is a pretty big clunker all-around.  Wallowing in closeted ’50s depression and pipe dreams, Mendes’s direction is misguided and quite  frankly, embarrassingly messy.  Does Kristi Zea and Debra Schutt’s art and set direction save the film?  No, but they certainly make it more watchable.

While The Duchess let me down (http://criticalconfabulations.wordpress.com/2008/09/18/theduchess/), Michael Carlin and Rebecca Alleway’s work certainly did not. The film is beautiful, and certainly deserves recognition for that. Alas, the over-wrought Benjamin Button will never allow for that.

 

Achievement in cinematography

• ”Changeling” (Universal)

• ”The Curious Case of Benjamin Button” (Paramount and Warner Bros.)

• ”The Dark Knight” (Warner Bros.)

• ”The Reader” (The Weinstein Company)

• ”Slumdog Millionaire” (Fox Searchlight)

Cinematographer Anthony Dod Mantle captures the vibrant beauty and amazing colors of Mumbai amidst the throngs of people and overpopulated slums. Considering the muted sensibilities of the other nominees, the vivid lighting and deft camera work makes Slumdog the clear standout.  

 

Achievement in costume design

 

• ”Australia” (20th Century Fox)

• ”The Curious Case of Benjamin Button” (Paramount and Warner Bros.)

• ”The Duchess” (Paramount Vantage, Pathé and BBC Films)

• ”Milk” (Focus Features)

• ”Revolutionary Road” (DreamWorks, Distributed by Paramount Vantage)

They don’t call it a costume drama for nothin’: The Duchess, with Michael O’Connor’s gorgeous gowns finely detailed with rich velvets, delicate laces, and astonishing jewels is sure to take home the prize.  (Milk?  Seriously?) Oh — does it matter that I somehow missed seeing Australia?  I didn’t think so.

Achievement in directing

• “The Curious Case of Benjamin Button” (Paramount and Warner Bros.)

• ”Frost/Nixon” (Universal)

• ”Milk” (Focus Features)

• ”The Reader” (The Weinstein Company)

• “Slumdog Millionaire” (Fox Searchlight)

Have you seen Slumdodg Millionaire?  Because if you have, you know there’s no contest here. Danny Boyle works wonders with the enormously formulaic conceit that in lesser hands would have been cloying, and let’s be honest, fairly uninteresting. Boyle grabs our attention from the initial moment and never lets up: the work is fresh and intense, fast-paced, and sentimental in the best possible way — ie., minimally. And let’s not forget the amazing performances he manages to pull from three of the most adorable and talented kids ever to grace the silver screen.  No one’s work comes close to Boyle’s this year (especially Fincher’s work on Button, which feels like an epically emotionless dead weight), though respect for Ron Howard went up in my book, considering his adroit techniques and quietly astute perceptiveness utilized in creating an intriguing and thoughtful  character study.  In what could have been another static mishap of a play-turned-film (by now you know to which sadly rendered film I refer), Howard scores.

Achievement in film editing

• ”The Curious Case of Benjamin Button” (Paramount and Warner Bros.)

• ”The Dark Knight” (Warner Bros.)

• ”Frost/Nixon” (Universal)

• ”Milk” (Focus Features)

• ”Slumdog Millionaire” (Fox Searchlight)

Again, the clear winner here is Slumdog. Chris Dickens’s masterful editing makes us forget about the potential annoyance of such a formulaic narrative structure.   We are pulled in and around locations and times with deft expertise and fluid transitions, creating concise and intense scenes and emotionally-packed moments. This is the work of an editor who is clearly in sync with his director.

      

Achievement in makeup

• ”The Curious Case of Benjamin Button” (Paramount and Warner Bros.)

• ”The Dark Knight” (Warner Bros.)

• ”Hellboy II: The Golden Army” (Universal)

While Ledger’s pale visage smeared with red lipstick and smudged black eyes is already an icon of creepiness, there’s no mistaking who this award is going to: Greg Cannom’s talent to age the seemingly ageless Mr. Pitt from old-young to young-old has got this award sealed.  

Achievement in music written for motion pictures (Original score)

O…Saya: http://sound12.mp3pk.com/indian/slumdog_millionaire/slumdog_millionaire01(www.songs.pk).mp3

• “The Curious Case of Benjamin Button” (Paramount and Warner Bros.)

•”Defiance” (Paramount Vantage)

•”Milk” (Focus Features)

•”Slumdog Millionaire” (Fox Searchlight)

• “WALL-E” (Walt Disney)

Despite my unfortunate missing of Defiance (really, I can’t imagine how that happened…), amidst the rest of the nominees, there’s no real competition: A.R. Rahman’s vibrant and entrancing score with pounding dance beats to spare perfectly captures the people and locale of his film, Slumdog Millionaire, as none of the other nominees does.

Achievement in music written for motion pictures (Original song)

Jai Ho:

http://sound12.mp3pk.com/indian/slumdog_millionaire/slumdog_millionaire13(www.songs.pk).mp3

• ”Down to Earth” from “WALL-E” (Walt Disney)

• ”Jai Ho” from “Slumdog Millionaire” (Fox Searchlight)

• ”O Saya” from “Slumdog Millionaire” (Fox Searchlight)

Along with best score, Rahman is also taking home a golden boy for the uplifting, dance-worthy, smile-inducing vibrancy of the pumping dance rhythm that vividly conjures a people and their culture: Jai Ho.

 

Achievement in sound editing AND sound mixing

  

Let’s not bother with the other nominees: both awards will go to The Dark Knight (Warner Bros.).

 

  

Achievement in visual effects

Clearly this is going to my least favorite film of the year: Benjamin Button.  I would pick The Dark Knight if only because it is an infinitely better film, and unlike Benjamin, Knight’s effects managed to keep me awake, but keep me utterly compelled.

    

Adapted screenplay

• “The Curious Case of Benjamin Button” (Paramount and Warner Bros.)

• ”Doubt” (Miramax)

• ”Frost/Nixon” (Universal)

• ”The Reader” (The Weinstein Company)

• ”Slumdog Millionaire” (Fox Searchlight)

How one manages to turn a short story into a three hour bore-fest, only screenwriter Eric Roth knows (Benjamin Button) and we’ve already covered JPS’s ridiculous missteps Doubt. Again, screenwriter Simon Beaufoy creates gold out of dross with Slumdog’s narrative.

 

Original screenplay

 

• “Frozen River” (Sony Pictures Classics)

• ”Happy-Go-Lucky” (Miramax)

• ”In Bruges” (Focus Features)

• ”Milk” (Focus Features)

• ”WALL-E” (Walt Disney)

While the quirky Happy-Go-Lucky longs to be this year’s Juno, it sadly is not, and we all know that I think WALL-E is a mess of two films smushed into one. In Bruges wins a partial vote from me because only the talented likes of  Martin McDonagh could bring out a charming likeability from Colin Farrell, but there isn’t nearly enough of McDonagh’s deliciously violent humor here. Frozen River receives my other half-vote because it puts on display an under-covered topic and does without preachiness or overt sentimentality. 

Unfortunately, Milk will win. A complete mess of a film, screenwriter Dustin Lance Black never knows what kind of film he wishes to write. A documentary? Maybe. A drama? Perhaps. We go inconsistently back and forth between the two forms. The film only captured my interest when it offered up clips of the real people involved with the issues and controversies of the time. Overly ambitious, Black attempts to cover everything, and as a result, I left the theatre never feeling as though I knew the man behind the title — or any of his supporters or detractors — and worse than that, I didn’t feel for him either. A big disappointment, but for a reason that is still unclear to me, one that will take home my favorite award of the night.

 

 

 

Best motion picture of the year

 

• ”The Curious Case of Benjamin Button” (Paramount and Warner Bros.)

• ”Frost/Nixon” (Universal)

• ”Milk” (Focus Features)

•  ”The Reader” (The Weinstein Company)

• ”Slumdog Millionaire” (Fox Searchlight)

Because it shows us the best and the worst of human nature and happily melds art and mainstream. Because it boasts a terrific ensemble cast, superior direction and editing, beautiful cinematography, an ultimately uplifting and entertaining story coupled with complex, sympathetic characters and set to a buoyant score. Because it’s that rare cinematic package in which everything and everyone works perfectly and brilliantly together: Slumdog Millionaire is the best film of 2008.

 

 

Despite my best efforts to see and review all nominees, I failed in completing the following categories: Documentary Feature, Documentary Short Subject, Foreign Language, Animated Short Film, and Live Action Short Film. When listed like that, my efforts appear sadly lackluster.

Harvey Gets His Chance

I’m not 45. Not even close, in fact.  Marketing campaigns have made it clear that such an age is the key ingredient — along with the obligatory vagina, of course — needed to enjoy Last Chance Harvey, a quiet romance about the middleaged and unassuming discovering that there’s always one more shot at love…and life.

Dustin Hoffman and Emma Thompson offer beautifully simple performances as Harvey Shine and Kate Walker.  He, the self-proclaimed “vulgar American” and unenthusiastic jingle writer who once dreamt of jazz pianist fame, needs to make amends with his estranged daughter on the eve of her London wedding. She, the quintessential emotionally reserved Brit, perfunctorily collects surveys from airline passengers for a living and dreads her infrequent – and frequently bad – blind dates.  Clearly it’s kismet that the two meet, spend a single blissful day together, and…live happily ever after?  Are the middleaged even allowed to do that?

That’s the entire premise of writer-director Joel Hopkins’s cliché-riddled film.  The weird thing is, it actually works.  Let’s not kid ourselves: it’s more than difficult to make an utterly original movie these days, particularly within the overstuffed realm of the romantic comedy.  And Hopkins steals from some of our most beloved weepies: his entire cinematic concept echoes a Before Sunset in in the twilight years of life, but there’s also the scene in which Harvey serenades Kate with his sultry piano skills in an vacant hotel ballroom (a la Pretty Woman) and the fact that any potential romance for Kate ends before it begins thanks to a loved one’s incessant phone calls and constant clinginess (Love Actually).  And I can’t even begin to name all one hundred-plus rom-coms that utilize the estranged relative device, but they’re there, in abundance, workin’ hard for the tears and sympathy (here, a little Meet the Fockers painful awkwardness is thrown in for good measure). There isn’t one person who can’t relate to daddy/mommy issues, and the traditional rom-com knows this and exploits it to usually comic effect, but here it does so subtly and surprisingly effectively.

But Harvey has one thing going for it that almost no other love-centric flick does: real, honest-to-goodness age.  And I’m not talking about the wisdom that comes with it either. I mean the actual years – with the frown lines to prove it. Dustin and Emma, in their 50+ years, present an intriguing picture to those like me, in their 20s, unsure of their ability to relate to such, shall we say, seasoned characters.  But working within the same tired frame of romantic leads half their ages is exactly what’s so alluring.  To see Thompson as Kate, dreamily gazing out a bus window, and nearly bursting out of her skin for the pure giddiness of meeting someone she is utterly surprised to so fancy, and then moments later, to see that unadulterated happiness break down into the depths of disappointment and heartache when the older object of her affection fails to show for the fairytale-like meeting… It’s not until then that the realization hits that the one thing that does not change with age is the dizzy anticipation of meeting a new love and the tragic loneliness of rejection. Absurdly obvious as this is, Hopkins’ film portrays this “last chance” at love with such tenderness and honesty that is not until Kate tearfully inquires how their cross-the-pond romance could work, and Harvey tenderly, and with a quiet confidence responds, “I don’t know. But it will,” that I understand the difference between 20-something and 50-something romances: silver-haired Harvey isn’t going to let the wonderfully feisty Kate slip away, because he’s finally able to recognize that she is the chance he was waiting for.

 

Knightley’s Duchess Shines in an Uninspired Period Piece

Last night, after more than willingly being wined and dined, I, in my rather happily besotted state, was introduced to Georgiana, an impeccably dressed, lovely young woman of eighteen years of age who was abundantly pleased and honored to be selected for marriage by the Duke of Devonshire.  Perhaps “honored” isn’t exactly the right word for it: poor Georgiana, after all, was about to enter a formal and loveless marriage to the rather stiff and dull Duke, who would show his two similarly personality-deficient mongrels more affection than he ever would his own wife and children.  Throughout the course of their opulent aristocratic existence, Georgiana would painfully discover the selfishness and desperation of the women of her time; that, in truth, marriage is always a “duty,” never a joy; and that every woman must sacrifice her own happiness for that of her children – who, one day, will inevitably do the same for their own luckless progeny.

If the sentiments and situations of screenwriter Jeffrey Hatcher’s The Duchess appear all too familiar, that’s because they are.  While we’ve been transported from France to England, and there’s a distinct lack of excessive parties, decadent desserts, and an insanely awesome shoe collection, and certainly everyone’s head remains firmly attached to the body, The Duchess does remind us a bit of Sophia Coppola’s Marie Antoinette, as well as countless other films that deal with the constricted lives of the softer sex in periods past.  While Saul Dibb’s direction is more classic costume drama in its elegant simplicity than stunning in its stylishness (as Coppola’s work was), his softer and more reserved tone is supported by Gyula Pados’s lush and sweeping cinematography that fittingly reminds us of that acclaimed period piece (Pride & Prejudice) that also boasts the waifish yet sassily strong-willed Keira Knightley.

 

Knightley

 

 

Knightley gives one of her finest and most affecting performances to date as the Duchess of Devonshire (and yes, I’ll go so far as to say her skills here are even more stunning than those she demonstrated in Atonement).  With every personal disappointment and  societal restriction that is forced upon Georgiana, this young and quite talented actress reacts honestly and flawlessly:  composed and refined on the surface, Georgiana’s heartache and fire are kept in check, always subtly visible on Knightley’s delicate porcelain doll face, but never overcoming, and we feel our own guts wrench as we know hers must at such trying times.  Only once does G – as her husband familiarly (and therefore strangely) refers to her –  allow her composure to crumble, and only when her maternal feelings and warmth are questioned, but even then, only for the briefest of moments.  But oh, how we feel her suffering thanks to Knightley’s keenly nuanced depiction of the Duchess’s difficulties.   Ralph Fiennes is the cold, distant, and unfeeling husband who refuses G’s every pleasure – even that of a lover, though he himself takes on a myriad of mistresses.  As per usual, Fiennes doesn’t disappoint, though it would be nice to see him play a role that requires a bit of warmth and emotion at some point.  

While the entire cast is lovely and in sync, all offering gratifyingly subtle performances (thank goodness Mama Mia! and History Boys’s Dominic Cooper – playing G’s lover – is finally given a decent vehicle through which to demonstrate his fine abilities), they can never quite make us forget that what we’re watching, we’ve all seen before.  Not only that, but we’ve seen it done better.  Georgiana Spencer didexist in 18th century England, and she is well-known as being one of the very first celebrities, as well as a politically active feminine figure for her time.  But does the film capitalize on these choice characteristics?  No. Rather, her importance as a British cultural and historical icon (and one who contemporary women could certainly relate to) is offered in the form of only slightly interesting, yet entirely throwaway tidbits that actually, when they appear, are quite irksome as they take away from what the film raises as the main issue at hand: will the spirited G ever leave that dastardly Duke?  As tame as the film’s politics are, it does attempt to make some kind of comment on freedom, which theme is not exactly seamlessly woven throughout the plot, and which never appears to resolve itself through the film’s uninspiring conclusion (if one can call it that).

Despite its lack of fervor in meaning and topicality, The Duchess offers many wonderful moments brimming with quiet, yet deeply felt emotions thanks largely due to the dedicated and sensitive Knightley.  Will Oscar be a-buzzin’ ’round everyone’s favorite British It Girl?  Unfortunately, I think Knightley’s intuitive and moving performance is not flashy enough to draw attention to this quiet film and its creators, but one hopes that it will draw her to films more worthy of her high caliber of talent.