Mr. Naylor Goes to Washington

It’s always been my impression that satires run out of steam thanks to a lack of story or become so unrelenting in their one-sidedness they fall to pieces. I think the problem is that they just don’t know how to be movies. But now along comes “Thank You For Not Smoking” which bucks the satire trend and works.

It works as a satire because it doesn’t spend its entire time railing against the wiles of cigarettes. It focuses solely on telling the story of Nick Naylor (played wonderfully by Aaron Eckhart who seems to be one of the great chameleon actors of current cinema) and thus becomes a satire of one man whose job is to protect those who wish to smoke and those who profit from those who wish to smoke. It’s funny because it doesn’t just sit back and take cheap shots. The humor comes from the characters. An example: The M.O.D. (Merchants of Death – namely the 3 head lobbyists for Tobacco, Firearms and Alcohol) Squad is having lunch and Naylor brags that liquor and guns come nowhere near to killing the number of people that tobacco does in a year. But the gun and liquor lobbyists do not rest until Naylor admits that all three are death-causing equals. This, of course, is a backhanded way of showing the evil of all three vices but it’s hilarious because it’s a conversation these three characters would undoubtedly have.

It presents Naylor as a guy who – as he puts it – “talks” for a living. Early on he discredits a grade school girl who advises her mom says cigarettes kill by pointing out her mom isn’t a doctor. He suggests to his powers-that-be they show more people in movies smoking because people will want to smoke if they see movie stars doing it. This leads to an uproarious sequence with Naylor and a top Hollywood agent (Rob Lowe). The agent suggests they show Brad Pitt and Catherine Zeta Jones smoking in an upcoming movie set in space. But Naylor points out they would just explode in a non-oxygen environment. Not to worry, says the agent. They’ll fix it by changing one line of dialogue. “Thank God we invented the…” I have no doubt this type of thing happens every single day in offices all over Hollywood.

It’s interesting because in technical terms Naylor is an anti-hero. He should be the guy you love to hate. But the movie makes sure he is more than just a sleek villain. It establishes the relationship with his son as being key. It forgoes the obvious arc of having Naylor neglect his son in the beginning only to change into a better father at the end. It’s more complex than that. The son really wants to understand who his father is and what he does and the father makes an effort to include his son in his life.

In a key sequence Naylor is required to deliver hush money to one of the original Marlboro Men (Sam Elliot, in a perfect piece of casting) who is suffering from lung cancer and speaking out on the dangers of cigarettes. Naylor clearly feels some guilt about having to do this but when it comes time to “talk” to take care of the problem he does it and does it well.

At the end, Naylor has his "Jimmy Stewart moment" and comes face to face with his nemesis – Senator Finistirre (who gets the film's funniest line) – who has called a congressional hearing to propose that all cigarette packs contain a skull & crossbones instead of a written warning label to let consumers know just how dangerous the product is. It is up to Naylor to prevent this from happening – though whether he does or not isn’t necessarily the most important point. In the conclusion of his testimony, Senator Finistirre asks Naylor whether he will buy a pack of cigarettes for his son on his 18th birthday. Naylor’s response is perfect and rings absolutely true.

The film is biting and funny but it does most satires one better than that – it gives us an actual character, flaws and all. It's not a crusade - it's a story. I don’t necessarily want to call it great, but “Thank You For Not Smoking” is certainly the first very good movie of 2006.

V Is For A Guy In A Fawkes Mask

"V For Vendetta" tells the tale of a Totalitarian society with many shades of Orwellianism thrown in for kicks. Enter "V" himself - or the person I prefer to call The Guy in the Fawkes Mask. Guy Fawkes was the guy who attempted to blow up the House of Parliament way back in 1605 and now The Guy in the Fawkes Mask is determined to do the same thing.

The film was written by the infamous Wachowski Brothers who were also responsible for writing and directing "The Matrix" movies. But the same flaw that undid those three scripts is still present here - namely, subtlety. Oh, how the Wachowski's love exposition. They pine for long-winded soliliquies that explain every plot development and character motivation. Normally I depise those contrite lessons in screenwriting class but I think the Wachowski's need to attend one soon. Show, boys! Don't tell! But perhaps I'm wrong. Perhaps you can't have interesting dialogue not purely for expository purposes when your primary character is hidden behind a mask the whole time. And therein lies another flaw of the film.

I know the mask is supposed to work as a symbol. But that's all the character felt like to me - a symbol. Call me crazy but I felt nothing for The Guy in the Fawkes Mask. When he meets his final fate I should have been riveted but instead I just kind of shrugged.

But while The Guy in the Fawkes Mask is busy clarifying everything for us, Natalie Portman is hard at work turning her character of Eavy Hammond into someone much more real and moving. This performance is more proof that Portman is a wonderful actress so long as she's not pinned down in front of a blue screen with a hack director. Eavy has to transform from a naive newsworker to a hardened rebel and convinces us she has done so (or convinced me, at least). The vignette midway through in which she's tortured and simultaneously moved by a past victim was the highlight of the film in my eyes. And while we're at it, Stephen Rea brings an appropriate level of world-weariness to his otherwise conventional role of the Police Inspector hot on the trail of The Guy in the Fawkes Mask.

Again, I have not read the graphic novel so I don't the know way it goes in print but it seems the film is stuck in the middle ground when it needed to lean one way or the other more predominantly. If it wanted to be a more real and vicious comment on contemporary society/government I think it needed to spend even more time with Eavy's character and, for God's sake, not have The Guy in the Fawkes Mask babble so much. But if wanted to be more of a fantasy then it should have lessened the dark quotient a bit and, for God's sake, not have The Guy in the Fawkes Mask babble so much. It's that recurring problem with studio movies - they must appeal to every common denominator to ensure as much box office as possible even if the film suffers.

Whatever the case may be, "V For Vendetta" works as a sort of parallel to our current American government. Not an exact parallel, mind you, but I can imagine George W. watching this movie and thinking, "Yeah, that's what I'm going for". You may chuckle but I envision a time in the near future where "Saturday Night Live" does one too many sketches and the real Dick Cheney shows up at Darrell Hammond's house to conk him on the head and drag him away. Don't think it can't happen.

The Madness!!!!! The Madness!!!!!

Recently, I was berated by several irate and doggedly loyal devotees of this blog who were upset I have not updated in awhile. I understand their frustration. But this is the time of year known as March Madness and the when the Madness starts my movie-going (and blogging) take a rest. I did rectify that this weekend but before we delve back into the world of movies I feel the need to self-indulge and go on a tangent unrelated to cinema. But you know what? It is related to cinema. What happened yesterday was so glorious it was cinematic in its grandeur.

Have you ever seen “Hoosiers”? It’s generally considered one of the greatest sports movies ever made, if not the greatest. It’s the tale of the Hickory Huskers - the ultimate underdog -winning the state high school basketball championship – a David slaying a Goliath in the sports arena. At the end – before the championship game – the coach asks his players if they have anything to say. One of the players says, “Let’s win this one for all the small schools that never had a chance to get here.” It chokes me up every time.

As many of my faithful readers know I’m a passionate fan of college (not pro) basketball. The first day of the NCAA Tournament is my own personal holiday. I watched my first Final Four exactly 20 years ago. Oddly, they showed a clip of that Final Four this past weekend. They players were all in those horribly short shorts and the footage was amazingly grainy. God, am I getting old.

But as a tried and true fan of the college game, my favorite part of the NCAA Tournament has always been and always will be the “little guy”. The tiny schools that spring unforgettable upsets or come within a gasp of winning the game they’re not supposed to win. I still remember where I was when 16th seeded Princeton came within a point of taking down mighty Georgetown nearly 15 years ago. And I vividly recall sitting on the floor of Miss Carlson’s 6th Grade Classroom with several students who understood March Madness super-ceded hot lunch as we listened on the radio to the forever immortal (in my book) Maurice Newby sink a 3-pointer at the buzzer to hoist his 14th seeded Northern Iowa team to an improbable upset of Missouri.

But that’s how if often works for the “little guy”. They win one game – or play one game tough – and then they’re done. They have their fleeting moment of glory, often to be relived through highlights each March, but nothing more. But as a fan I often wondered how amazing it would be if one of the “little guys” – a Cinderella, if you will – did more than win just a single game, or two games, or even three. What if they somehow scrapped out four victories and found their way to the promised land that is supposedly reserved only for the beasts and “names” of college basketball?

Well, here it is 20 years later, and the inconceivable has happened. George Mason University is going to the Final Four. Wait, let me say it again! In fact, say it with me! Scream it at the top of your lungs! George Mason University is going to the Final Four! That is not a misprint. Fairfax, Virginia’s own George Mason University of the Colonial Athletic Conference is playing on the biggest stage basketball of any level has to offer. Duke won’t be there. North Carolina won’t be there. Nor will Kentucky. But tiny George Mason will. I love it. God help me, I do love it so. The team a couple "know-it-all" announcers said the day the tournament field was revealed did not deserve a spot ahead of other "top" teams will be there. Please forgive me for saying it once more but I must – George Mason University is going to the Final Four. I will say - admittedly still in the post-game glow - this might be the most exciting event in my 2o years of college basketball fandom.

A few years ago on salon.com Andrew Leonard authored a wonderful essay singing the praises of upsets in the 1st round of the NCAA Tournament. Leonard called them "lessons in civic virtue" - likening them to the dumping of tea in Boston Harbor. But yesterday's event is better. I would liken George Mason's advance to the Final Four to Washington crossing the Delaware to take Trenton. And if the utterly unfathomable somehow happens and George Mason pulls out two more victories next weekend it would be the equivalent of the British playing "The World Turned Upside Down" after the Battle of Yorktown.

Come 5:07 PM next Saturday I will be on the couch rooting for a Final Four team harder than I've ever rooted for one before. I hope they win it all. I hope they win it for all the small schools that never had a chance to get there.

Junebug

I watched “Junebug” on Sunday in order to get myself completely up to speed with all the films bearing contenders for the Academy Awards (save for the one starring Dame Judi Dench and “North Country”). Its lone nominee was Amy Adams for Supporting Actress. And she is nothing short of wonderful. She plays a pregnant wife who likes to talk and talk and talk and talk and talk…but more on her a minute.

The movie tells a story that is pretty conventional. Big-City Woman (Embeth Davidtz) returns home with her Small-Town Husband to meet the Unaccepting Family and the Mandatory Outsider (Adams). The "twist" is that the Big-City Woman – let’s call her Madeleine – is an art dealer and has come to the south not only to meet the Small-Town Husband’s - let's call him George - family but also to lock up a deal with a famed recluse of an artist.

But the convention is just a jumping-off point. It doesn’t dwell on it. There is a certain tension hanging over this family. The father hardly speaks, spending his time woodworking crafts that no one ever sees. The mother seems fond of criticism more than anything else. The younger son hardly ever speaks and possesses what appears to be a deep dislike for his older brother. Then, of course, there is the younger son’s pregnant wife – played so capably by Adams.

It’s rare to see a film that is so minimal on both story and character revelation. It basically sets up this scenario and then refuses to push it with idiotic decisions to further a bunch of plot mechanics. It lets us watch these characters over the course of a few days and nothing more. I found it refreshing. We see George get up at a town potluck and sing a hymn. Madeleine helps George’s younger brother with his book report (he’s attempting to attain his G.E.D.) They get in an argument and the younger brother reacts much as you might expect – but it watch it closer. It’s not necessarily that he wants to do what he does, it’s just that he doesn’t know any better.

The dislike between the brothers is never really spelled out in any detail. We’re aware of its existence but that’s all. It may be they don’t even know anymore what started it. At the end of the film, the two come face-to-face and the younger brother winds up flinging a wrench at George’s face. What comes next, do you suppose? A heartfelt moment wherein both brothers come together, exchange a few words, embrace, and declare they will be “better brothers”? Wrong! As I recall, the two don't even share another scene in the movie. The feud will continue and nothing much will change. Ah, real life.

What's the theme? The point of the movie, you may ask? Is it family comes first? Possibly. Madeleine's deal with the reclusive artist is used as a device to make her decide between her career and her adopted family. George hints at what he wants her to do but does not force her decision. The mother is none too taken with Madeleine and asks her husband why George married her. "He loves her", the father says. "She loves him." It's that simple. Or is it? The movie doesn't say so and would be less interesting if it did.

Right. I almost forgot. Amy Adams. She is delightful. She is bubbly and chattering (endlessly) but plays it quite consciously as a woman who acts this way to mask a much deeper sadness. But there’s a scene in particular I want to mention. It was five of the most glorious minutes of cinema from all of 2005. I had to rewind it and watch it again. As I stated, she’s pregnant. And if you put on your thinking cap you can probably deduce in this type of movie what will happen to the baby. But that’s beside the point. It merely lets her do what precious few movies let actresses do – go through the entire human palate of human emotion in a matter of minutes. The hospital sequence is a nod to a scene in “You Can Count on Me” in which Laura Linney takes a similar journey of emotion (which itself is a nod to a scene in “Stromboli” in which Ingrid Bergman does the same). It’s bold and brilliant. She starts out happy – but it’s that kind of happiness you project when in denial. Then she – a devout Christian – turns on God. And then she returns back to the person we knew, asking her brother in law for some “peanuts”. This scene is flat-out as good as it gets and all alone worth the price of a rental.

If you’re looking for an evening away from the grandiose gestures of Hollywood, I would recommend “Junebug”. It would be an evening well spent.

Oscar Reaction

In any given Oscars I am hoping the following three things are properly awarded - Best Picture, Best Screenplay (whether original or adapted), Best Performer (whether lead or supporting, male or female). It is more than difficult to have all three of these happen. Often times the proper films or people are not even nominated making it impossible. Thus, when just one of these is correctly bestowed, I am happy.

That's why I'm pleased to report the 2006 Academy Awards did get one of those right - the actress who gave the year's single best performance did, in fact, go home with a statue (i.e. Reese Witherspoon). Therefore I'm content.

Cheer for the Scribes!

Robert Towne. David Newman. Robert Benton.

Any of those names ring a bell? I didn’t think so. And I’ll tell you why. They’re screenwriters. Towne wrote “Chinatown” and Newman and Benton penned “Bonnie and Clyde”. Consensus will tell you these are two of the greatest movies ever made but consensus wouldn’t have a clue who authored them.

I suppose that’s fine. Writers are usually an introverted bunch, understanding they will toil in obscurity and not really minding it. As Charlie Kaufman – last years recipient of the Best Original Screenplay Oscar for “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind” – said during his acceptance speech, “I don’t want to take my time. I want to get off the stage.” That was his moment of glory and all he wanted to do was flee. I respect that.

But deep down – way down there – all writers wish to be acknowledged, a little bit more than usual. Everyone who leaves a good movie will often go on and on about the wonderful acting or that really cool tracking shot they remember but they rarely wind up rejoicing at how masterfully the script was structured. People do often revel in a particular line of dialogue but I would wager the common movie-goer is unaware all dialogue is not invented by the actors on the spot. You may think I’m joking but ask some random theater patron the next time you attend a film.

I mention all this because a new book authored by David Kipen has come to my attention. The book argues that the so-called “Auteur Theory” (which basically stipulates the director is always the most integral part of a film’s creation and that knowing who the director is determines whether or not a movie is any good) is wrong. Instead Kipen gives us “The Schreiber Theory”. He states the screenwriter is the most integral part of a film’s creation and knowing who the screenwriter is the correct barometer of a film’s worth.

I’m sure most people disagree. Once a script is turned over to a director it ceases to be the writer’s project anymore. And that’s true – up to a point. The movie’s spine is still a product of that script. The lines the actors speak are still a product of that script.

“Casablanca” is generally considered one of the finest films ever made, and what does everyone remember about it? How quotable it is, that’s what. I’m not just talking about the famous lines like, “This is the beginning of a beautiful friendship” and the like. Re-watching it on the big screen a couple weeks ago allowed me to re-visit some of the most blistering dialogue ever written. Examples:

Yvonne: “Where were you last night?”
Rick: “That’s so long ago I don’t remember.”
Yvonne: “Will I see you tonight?”
Rick: “I never make plans that far ahead.”

or

Ilsa: “….that was the day the Germans marched into Paris.”
Rick: “Not an easy day to forget.”
Ilsa: “No.”
Rick: “I remember every detail. The Germans wore gray. You wore blue.”

or

Renault: “What in heaven’s name brought you to Casablanca?”
Rick: “My health. I came to Casablanca for the waters.”
Renault: “Waters? What waters? You’re in the middle of the desert.”
Rick: “I was misinformed.”

God Almighty! What I would give just to have written one of those exchanges! Now I’m well aware the actors had to deliver the lines and the director had to properly set up the angles but none of that would have existed if not for the writer’s pen. And even if you take “Casblanca” and remove all of the crackling dialogue you would still have an unbreakable screenplay structure. Michael Curtiz did a wonderful job directing this classic but it’s not as if he just showed up on set and started filming blind. It’s not like Martin Scorsese went out on the streets of NYC with Robert DeNiro, a taxi, a camera, and said “okay, let’s make a movie”. No, Paul Schraeder’s script made that happen and allowed for both a brilliant piece of directing and acting.

On the flip side, it wasn’t special effects or shoddy direction that doomed “War of the Worlds”. It was the story deciding to veer off into a cellar lorded over by a crazed Tim Robbins. And for an in depth example of how (in this case) a duo of directors can take a solid script and muck it up look no further than the 2nd edition of Project Greenlight ("Battle of Shaker Heights" being the winner). Read the script, watch the movie, view the documentary in its entirety, and you'll find yourself in the screenwriter's corner.

Granted, I’m irrefutably biased. In any war that may erupt between director and screenwriter, I will fall squarely on the side of the scribe. Maybe “The Schreiber Theory” will rub some cinemaphiles the wrong way. So be it, I say. This Sunday a few screenwriters will experience their utmost triumph at the Academy Awards. It will be wedged between more “important” awards like Supporting Actor and Director. Many people will probably even miss its presentation because they’ve switched over to an episode of “Cold Case”. And if people are tuned in, they’ll probably scratch their heads in confusion at the winners and ask, “Who?” That’s why I won’t necessarily be concerned with any auteurs upset with “The Schreiber Theory”. Screenwriters deserve their moment in the sun, by God. They’re just as important of a cog in the machine as the directors, actors and producers.

Remember this - last year’s Oscar-winner for Best Picture “Million Dollar Baby” had not a single re-write. Coincidence? I think not.