belfast

Perhaps it's reductive to say because Kenneth Branagh has had such a rich career on stage, particularly with Shakespearean acting, that it makes sense he is prone to the theatrical as a director. This was particularly apparent in his recent filmmaking effort, Murder on the Orient Express: a fun, pithy Agatha Christie yarn that felt particularly hammered out and battered to bits in his adaptation. Whether or not the spectator cares and whatever his material may be, Branagh, as performer and director, is always here to put on a show with bits of winking humor. His latest Belfast, is a semi-autobiographical slice-of-life set in 1969 at the onset of the Troubles crisis, with the family of young Buddy (Jude Hill) at the center. 

In midst of swirling violence, sweaty pontifications from the church altar, scrimping and saving to pay bills, taxes and rent, the point-of-view of the film is that of Buddy's and his more wholesome concerns--including obsessing over marrying one of his classmates one day, and feeling guilty over stealing chocolate from a neighborhood candy store. Buddy's father (Jamie Dornan) is a somewhat ambiguous figure, away often, trying to make money while his mother (Caitriona Balfe) is left alone to raise Buddy and his brother. His grandmother (Judi Dench, who quietly becomes the cast standout) and ailing grandfather (Ciarán Hinds) live with him as well--poking fun, and dropping words of wit and wisdom along the way.

Kenneth Branagh seems haunted by this period in his life, and it comes across in the film's black & white photography by Haris Zambarloukos, the genteel nature of the movie and its loving treatment of its familial characters. The use songs by Van Morrison have a bright sentimental feel, and are occasionally, intrusively brassy. But Branagh's film works best when weaving in other elements of art and pop, which are presented, and stand out in color: perhaps since they are the more vivid aspects--the burning influences within Branagh's memories [Star Trek and westerns on TV (High Noon figures in a strong way), a joyous screening of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, an indelible staged viewing of A Christmas Carol (the light and colors reflected in his grandmother's glasses)]. I didn't feel the urgency of the use of  black & white photography as I did in Rebecca Hall's Passing; it's more ornamental here. Sometimes the camerawork is a bit overwrought--as it was in Murder on the Orient Express--swinging about with distracting, meaningless playing of angles.

The acting ensemble does nice work with a script (also by Branagh) that lacks depth. In one scene Hill has a meltdown--as a child of this age would-- and it cuts the cutesy nature of Buddy and his "good kid" persona to something more primal. I saw that Balfe was giving a good, sympathetic, oft-teary-eyed performance, but the film was giving her little to appear connected to--a hollowness; the handsome Dornan acts beside her, listening well, but not giving us much of a character of any distinction. Hinds is winningly charming with his salty sagacity. And Dench has always been able to do so much with a few words and expressions. My favorite scene  of the movie is fairly simple, and one that shows Branagh's strength as a student of theater--a charming moment of Hinds talking to Buddy in a cramped courtyard with Dench at the window, listening, bemused. 

There's something very vacant about Belfast. Most of the time, it just sits there on-screen without much emotional connection, and one too many predictable set-ups. Yet overall, Belfast is so innocuous and personal, it's a difficult film to knock, even if Branagh's broad strokes and big swings don't always land. ***

-Jeffery Berg

some 2013 leftovers

Too soft and contrived to be a starkly realistic drama and too natural and slowly paced to be a giddy fantasy film, there isn't much of a market in this era for a movie like Labor Day. I embraced it as an old fashioned weepie. Based upon a novel by Joyce Maynard, it's a story of 13-year old Henry (Gattlin Griffith) and his depressed, agoraphobic mother Adele (Kate Winslet) who take in convicted murderer on the lam (Josh Brolin) into their shambling house.

This is a departure from director Jason Reitman's snappier, caustic previous efforts (Juno, Up in the Air, and my favorite: Young Adult).  The result didn't pay off with audiences or critics, but still shows Reitman's ador for taking his time with both character development and distinct visuals as the film glows with sweaty skin and sun dappled trees and an acute attention to 1987 details (yay to those magazines and 80s stepmom glasses!).  For some reason, perhaps because it's sort of a "woman's movie" (though not really a feminist one), critics seem to bash flicks like this for its contrivances but gladly accept all the shape-shifting nonsense of today's superhero sagas.  Can't we allow our contemporary dramas a little room for artificiality too without all the hand-wringing?  Because the three excellent actors are so within their roles and we stick around their house so much, I couldn't help but feel a kinship with their characters as the movie slowly baked, even when it swerves into pie-making schmaltz. ***

Philomena was another pleasant surprise. Far more intricate and complex than I expected, Steve Coogan and Jeff Pope's snappy script follows the story of burned-out reporter Martin Sixsmith and a woman who was forced to give up her child as a young girl in a strict nunnery. Elevating some of the cringey lines (old people saying sexual things! hardy har har), Judi Dench is quite commanding and delightful in the lead in a beautifully detailed performance. Her end scene in particular is a smoldering tearjerker. The movie is enhanced by a really stunning, delicate score by Alexandre Desplat (one of his best in a slew of solid works he's composed this past decade) featuring a haunting carousel motif reminiscing the night Philomena lost her virginity and an enchanting main theme fashioned in minor and major keys.  A moving, sometimes funny picture, deftly executed by director Stephen Frears, whose nimble work is often much more than what meets the eye. The movie is also better than Harvey Weinstein's marketing campaign (and its garish yellow poster!) which controversially led the real Philomena to meet the Pope. The movie indeed seems like perfect bait for an older generation who may finally be moving past their twentieth century hangups. ***1/2

Despite its interesting story of a Charles Dickens' (Ralph Fiennes) secret love affair with 18-year old Nelly Turnan (Felicity Jones), The Invisible Woman is drab with pittery dialogue and thinly sketched characters. Under weak sunlight, Jones does a lot of staring out longingly and strolling about in sumptuous costumes (the work of Oscar-nominated Michael O'Connor); though she tries her teary-eyed best to assemble an emotional pull in the film's final scenes, Fiennes' hazy film-making doesn't make much happen.  The movie's a slog but so over-edited, with distracting constant cuts of shaky shots and sudden bursts of a frenetic string score (by Ilan Eshkeri) both of which reveal little.  This is the second directorial effort of Fiennes and like his dreary Coriolanus, this movie never sparks much life, and wallows in a sort of watery gray bog. **


-Jeffery Berg

a look at 'skyfall' by karen g.

I was but a mere pup, fascinated by my father’s collection of classic literature, when one day, scanning his leather-bound volumes, I came across a dusty paperback written by someone called “Ian Fleming”.  I pulled this book from my father’s mahogany book-shelf and immediately asked him if it was there by mistake.  It was at that moment that my father, excited by his daughter’s interest, looked into my eyes and took the opportunity to tell me all about a book called: From Russia With Love.

And like that, a reverent lover of all things espionage was born.  It had been some time since I felt completely blown away and in awe of a Bond film.  Being a purist in many forms, I was definitely more of a fan of classic Bond, and when Pierce Brosnan entered stage left, I exited stage right.  (The Brosnan years, were dark years for me).  My faith in humanity was restored when Daniel Craig recaptured the essence of the classic spy I knew and loved.

While Quantum of Solace didn’t blow me out of the water, I was a true fan of Casino Royale but didn’t have very high hopes for the 50th Anniversary Skyfall. I expected some big explosions, a few fun stunts and nothing more.  Boy, was I wrong.

I was immediately transported back to the classic feel of what those Bond films used to be.  And the moment I was reunited with the DB5 Aston Martin, I turned into the starry-eyed Bond fanatic of my youth, bouncing in my seat, wishing the movie would never end.

Skyfall (the 23rd movie in the franchise) centers on a malicious cyber-terrorist with strong ties to the reclusive “M” and her past.  Judi Dench shines as the head of foreign intelligence, slowly quivering under immense pressure when an important hard drive, holding the names of spies throughout the world is stolen.  M tries to remain composed through a hardened “I did what I had to do” attitude.  Her pain and anguish is captured beautifully in close shots of her eyes, trying to hold back a world of inevitable regret and infinite sleepless nights.  When MI6’s computer system is hacked, ever-efficient and practical M is left to look like an old woman who has compromised too much, and is probably ready for retirement.  She is disgraced by the terrorist who is slowly revealed as a man who is so obsessed with M, that he knows no other way but to destroy everything she is and was.

Javier Bardem is one of the most diabolical and enjoyable Bond villains I have had the pleasure of getting to know.  Memories of Auric Goldfinger danced in my head as I watched Bardem do his sinister and unsettling portrayal of a broken man, once loyal to the organization, now completely consumed by his need for revenge.  The chemistry and tension between Craig and Bardem is palpable.  Look out for a particularly nerve-wracking scene between the two as Bardem slowly starts to touch Craig in a heavily sexual manner. (I remember watching some men in the audience, with their wives or girlfriends, squirming in an extremely uncomfortable way as this particular scene played out).  One also sees Craig, portraying an older and less agile Bond, having his moments of self-doubt as the world of espionage he knows and respects is crumbling around him.

When all hope seems to be lost, Bond and M realize the only way to salvation is to face the one thing they both hoped to take to their graves – their pasts.

Skyfall is a symphony of hard-hitting action, jaw-dropping stunts and heart-wrenching emotion played out perfectly by a stellar cast.  An honorable mention goes to Ralph Fiennes who plays the salty Chairman of the Intelligence and Security Committee, Gareth Mallory.  Mallory makes no secret of how he feels about the agency’s “old ways” and need for fresh perspective and leadership.

My deepest and most humbling respect goes to Sam Mendes for successfully completing such a daunting task – remembering who the classic Bond character was, and making him relatable to today’s audience.  I truly believe Mendes has reawakened a whole new legion of Bond fans with Skyfall.

-Karen G.