Totally Obligatory Zooey News!: Zooey Does 80's Pop-Rock!

Stereogum got the word on this first but this wouldn't be Sonic Parthenon without some obligatory news of Zooey Deschanel.

Zooey is prettying up the otherwise really dull looking Jim Carrey vehicle called Yes Man. Though it marks the first time (that I can think of) that she plays a bona fide musician in a film, she departs from her recent real life incarnation as folk chanteuse with a turn as an 80's-inspired synth rocker (all the rage these days but curiously not really the rage at the time this film was being shot).

The phrase "booty call" never sounded so sexily cute.

Rachel Getting Married

A film about a delightful, multicultural, Indie artiste upper class wedding as directed by Jonathan Demme would instantly seem to have more in common with Demme's Talking Heads concert film, Stop Making Sense, than Demme's most notable piece of work, The Silence of the Lambs. And yet, thanks to drilling, brutal dialogue written by Jenny Lumet and some stunning performances centered around a marauding substance abuse addict, Rachel Getting Married at times conjures up the emotional horror of that later film, even if the character of Kym is a far cry from Hannibal Lechter.

Kym is detestation. Her reckless, irresponsible, and extreme behavior goes beyond that of the spoiled, privileged child and into realms and actions that few people rarely have to encounter. In modern, stable Americana, this is as bad as it gets. In spite of the tragedy, Kym's family perseveres. Her father, as portrayed with warmth and frustration by Bill Irwin, is a true patriarch but one whose family is held up by Popsicle sticks. Her mother, distant and cold, is physically removed from her family by divorce and by her own choice, and she is played with grace and ease by Debra Winger, who reminds us why it's such a shame she doesn't take more roles. And then there is Rachel, she of the title and Kym's sister, played with utmost magnificence and realism by Rosemarie Dewitt. Her moment, her time, is faced with the storm of a girl who finds it impossible to think beyond herself.

Anne Hathaway steps into another level of the discipline that few of her generation will ever match. In the meta sense, the girls that grew up with her as a teen star are witnessing an evolution that began with her role in Brokeback Mountain. She not only taps into the vibes and waves of the case of a spoiled brat, a miserable addict, and a mental misfit, she seemingly lives it. Her chemistry with Dewitt is extremely natural. Maybe because they are both real New York area actresses who grew up in the specter of the city, they know and therefore fit very well into these very distinct roles. Why this movie is taking place in suburban Connecticut and not Park Slope (or at the family's original grounds on the Upper East Side) is a mystery...

TV on the Radio's Tunde Adebimpe brokers a good deal as an actor. Playing Rachel's fiance, Sidney, Tunde fits right into Demme's documentary-style filmmaking, requiring him only to play a little bit of pretend. He certainly seems to be enjoying himself and that certainly helps. His Adembimpeness is joined, in the musician-as-actor troupe, by Robyn Hitchock and THE one and only Fab Five Freddy. Cameos worth the price of admission alone (see the movie's official website for the rest of the story on the music and other musicians in the film).

The one semi-problem in the whole affair is the too-Hollywood appearance of a dashing man played by Mather Zickel, who happens to be both Sidney's best man and a fellow addict Kym happens to find at a meeting. It's a bit of a sop to conventions, a pressure to attach a love interest and motivation for rectitude, but Zickel's performance is another naturally well-delivered one and that keeps the plot point in check.

The last Jonathan Demme fictional piece was his remake of The Manchurian Candidate, a truly unmitigated disaster. That film was awkward and cheap. Here, with a look deliberately designed to be cheap, and a screenplay specializing in the familial strains of awkwardness, we have the complete opposite effect. And though this film's look, style, and flow probably could not have been sanctioned without the effect of films like The Squid and the Whale and Garden State (the retro-modern hybrid Indie thing), not to mention the obvious allusions to Woody Allen's stories of the neurotically elite, the versatility and range of the fillmaker provide a different window into this world.

And if you needed any more reason to love Neil Young's music...wait till you get near the end.

The Runaways: The Movie

The best looking band in the history of rock n' roll is getting the biopic treatment. Joan Jett will be played by some girl who is big right now thanks to some vampire teen book adaptation that I never heard of before last week (though by the very nature of vampire vs. wizards, it has to be better than that Henry Potter buggaboo). I suppose our gal Zooey was a more obvious choice but somehow one cannot see Zooey playing such a tough chick. Now the question is...who will play Lita Ford? And maybe more importantly, who will play the presumably villainous role of Kim Fowley? (Probably Kim Fowley).

If this seems headed for a typical Hollywood disaster (the traditional pointing out of which has itself become boring), the saving grace could be that the film is being scripted and directed by Floria Sigismondi, one of the best music video makers around. She has a consistently excellent vision, usually darkly glamorous (think the White Stripes' "Blue Orchid" video), right up the alley of the story of the Runaways.

The Go-Getter: The Pennypacker Perspective

So all biases for She & Him aside, The Go-Getter is not just a decent Indie film that avoids the pitfalls of pretension, it is actually a near-perfect picture. The screenplay of this compelling road trip dramedy is essentially poetry and it is delivered with stirring warmth and sincereity from the entire company, notably the surprising lead Lou Taylor Pucci. Rather than be a overgrown pretty boy, Pucci is an authentic, lovable portrayal of a good kid who does one stupid thing. Considering the series of events that follow his one stupid thing, he handles it all with a mix of bewilderment and existential acceptance. Zooey gives her strongest performance yet in a role that she absolutely excels in (the ultimate good girl), and if it wasn't June, she could have (and should have) some Oscar buzz. Bill Duke shows up for a monologue that is the highlight of the picture (along with the small ode to the French New Wave), Judy Greer makes a cameo doing her best Judy Greer-ish performance, and Maura Tierney makes you remember why she was a discovery on Newsradio before she was stranded on E.R. for so many years. Jena Malone is maybe the one hiccup in the affair but not so much for her performance as for the brazen and bold way she sheds her childhood acting past for the role of the sexpot. It is too-far-off-the-scale from her past work. But she does pull it off, as disturbing as it is.

The soundtrack is, as was to be expected, exceptionally good. Besides being the birthplace of She & Him, it is a repository of prime M. Ward material, most notably "To Go Home" and "Sweethearts on Parade". The Black Keys also show up a couple times, including with their career best "10 A.M. Automatic".

This film is writer-director Martin Hynes' debut. This has to be one of the most impressive debuts of the decade. What could have so easily been a ham-handed waste of talent in a muck of pretentious drivel is instead a meditation on not just the classic road story, but on the fundemental concepts of family, friends, and relationships. There have been few if any pictures that have done so much about the complicated process of being distant siblings by doing so little. A very simple, sparse story about two brothers is made complex and whole by a wedge of assorted characters who run the spectrum of good to bad to good again and it is all set against a loving backdrop of the North American west, from Eugene to south of the border. Comparisons to road trip films and novels of the past are inevitable, but The Go-Getter makes a very strong stab at carving out a niche all its own.

In New York, the film is playing at the Quad Cinema on E 13th St between 5th and 6th but you only have a couple more days to see it. Its run ends Thursday night.

Jena Malone is in That Zooey/M Movie...She Also Invents Instruments

Jena Malone - another young actress turned Indie singer - is in The Go-Getter, the movie starring Zooey Deschanel and featuring M. Ward's acting debut.

The Go-Getter - Trailer


Meanwhile, Pitchfork reports that Malone has actually built her own instrument.

Da Gum has photos and related clips from the set of She & Him's first video.

She and Him and NPR and Nick Cave And Cormac McCarthy and Michael Chabon and Coens and Movies

Zooey and Matt were interviewed last week on Day to Day, while Zooey was interviewed on Fresh Air a little over a month ago.

By coincidence, I caught The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford this weekend, and it's a film that has, as part of its thoroughly sharp cast, Zooey and Nick Cave (also recently on Fresh Air). Nick - along with Warren Ellis - scored the film's music.

Here's the IMDB page of The Go-Getter, the upcoming film which stars Zooey and includes Matt in his acting debut. And for good measure, here's the IMDB page of Nick's upcoming scripted project, to be directed by John Hillcoat, who directed Nick's previous scripts, notably The Proposition. Hillcoat is currently working on the film adaptation of Cormac McCarthy's The Road, which - based on its own merit as a novel and on the strength of No Country For Old Men - promises to be the movie event of the year. Nick is indeed scoring the music for that adaptation.

Speaking of No Country For Old Men, that adaptation was of course directed by the Coen Brothers, who are putting the finishing touches on Burn After Reading, which stars George Clooney and Brad Pitt, the latter of whom I just watched this weekend in The Assassination of Jesse James. The internet campfires state that after the Coens work on their next film, the rumored about A Serious Man, they will get to work on an adaptation of Michael Chabon's The Yiddish Policeman's Union, which I happen to be reading right now.

Nick Cave was in The Assassination of Jesse James with Zooey Deschanel who was in The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy with Sam Rockwell (who was also in Jesse James) who was in Confessions of a Dangerous Mind with George Clooney who was in Ocean's 11 with Brad Pitt (also in Jesse James) and Julia Roberts the latter of whom was in Flatliners with...you guessed it...Kevin Bacon.

Norah Jones Blueberry Movie Madness

El MadmoNoJo (whose run of secret Living Room appearances are probably done forever what with the very public 10th Anniversary celebration) hits Hollywood in the very sketchy-looking My Blueberry Nights, a Wong Kar-wai film that also stars Cat Power, Jude Law, Natalie Portman, and David Strathairn, which made an infamous debut at the Cannes Film Festival last year.

However the movie ultimately turns out to be, and however critics find Norah's acting debut, she's taking it in all stride, like she seems to do with everything that happens to her. What a gal.

And what a publicity run!

On Letterman:


On Lopate, with Wong:

(Bonus: Wong also stopped by Soundcheck)

On Fair Game

Belated April Fools? The Flaming Lips' Christmas on Mars is Finished!

Apparently this is really, finally, it. After years - and I mean years - of production (start and stop obviously, not continuous Coppola-Apocalypse Now style), the Flaming Lips' feature length production, Christmas on Mars, will be screened at upcoming music festivals.

The Triumph of Generation X

Jeff Gordinier has written a book that evaluates the history and present status of Generation X, which he more or less loosely defines as those born between the early 60's and mid 70's. He is inclined to include Barack Obama as a Generation X-er but he more distinctly points to those like the Google founders and filmmakers like Richard Linklater and Quentin Tarantino as proof that the generation issued a very productive field of talent and success - in stark contrast to the slacker image the generation was emblematic of in their early-mid 20's some 15 years ago. In politics and social rights, in business, in culture, he makes the case that this is the generation that can save America from itself.

It's a compelling argument in terms of consistency of talent and output but it really relies on the multi-generational concept of "My generation is better than your generation...why in my day...". Of course Generation X looks fantastic compared to Generation Y, also known as the (really awfully-termed) Millennial generation (I assume that's my generation, the generation of delaying adulthood) that wants everything handed to it on a silver platter without making any effort. At least the X-ers didn't want anything at all while they sat around.

But for as fantastic as the Google guys and YouTube guys and Linklater and Tarantino and Wes Anderson have been, the Baby Boomers - for all their flaws - gave us people and talent of equal measure - especially those later baby boomers like the Coen Brothers, and the Ramones. And in fact, the rarely categorized Depression-era born and War-time born Generation may have given us the greatest talent of all - filmmakers and actors (Woody, Marty, De Niro, Pacino), and musicians like Bob Dylan. They aren't quite baby boomers, they came from this void of American description and they, aligned with those late boomers, may have produced the grittiest, most independent, and most raw art the American people have ever known (note I am focusing on popular culture, Gordinier probably has it right on business).

Politically, as with business, Gordinier may be onto something. The X-ers, by and large, retained the spirit of the liberal 60's but without the hell-bent need to fight like it was still the 60's...in other words, there is more practicality with X-ers. And maybe Obama indeed best defines that outlook...then again that may just be taking the Obama image and slapping it onto a generation.

Whatever. All I know is, I miss Daria and the early days of The Simpsons. And for all the overpraise given to Nirvana - the band that represents Generation X - when you think about what was popular before Kurt (the hair bands) and what was popular after Kurt (Britney), it is amazing to think that for a brief time, this was the popular music, a moment when the underground and the mainstream came together...only to be killed by a suicide and the O.J. Simpson madness:


But for my money, give me the days of dirigibles and Einstein and Edison and Louis Armstrong. Now THOSE were some generations. Why in my day...

The Diving Bell & The Butterfly

I finally saw this yesterday, though it's too little, too late for Oscar. I had originally said it looked "tepid" but it is actually a fantastic film, wacky old Schnabel is a genius. It has as compelling a new cinematic style as a narrative film could. Mark Kermode recently said that There Will Be Blood changed the way narrative cinema is told. That's entirely possible but Schnabel possibly has too. The consistency in the work, the devotion to the aesthetic, is truly remarkable. The acting is top notch, notably Mathieu Amalric in the lead role of Jean-Dominique Bauby and the stunningly, heartbreakingly beautiful Marie-Josée Croze as one of Bauby's therapists. Emmanuelle Seigner is also very notable as the suffering mother of Bauby's children.

Obvious bias aside for Schnabel's signficant use of the Dirtbombs' "Chains of Love", the short soundtrack is the best of the year by far. It conquers Juno. One of U2's best - "Ultra Violet (Light My Way)" - anchors a major moment and Tom Waits joins Mick Collins and company as the only artist to have his song do double duty, in this case "All The World Is Green". VU's "Pale Blue Eyes" and Joe Strummer's "Ramshackle Day Parade" are used superbly as is the exceptionally great opening sequence "La Mer" by Charles Tenet. But perhaps above all, dead center in the heart of the film, is the staggeringly good, impressively powerful "Don't Kiss Me Goodbye" by Ultra Orange and Emmanuelle (as in actress Emmanuelle Seigner).

Oscartone News!

• The 80th selection for Best Picture by the Academy of Motion Picture Arts & Sciences is by far the best choice the Academy has made in a very long time (American Beauty? Schindler's List? Honestly, it may be Annie Hall). The best film made since Pulp Fiction, this almost rights the wrong made when that film lost.
  
• The only thing wrong about the Coens winning Best Director was missing out on Julian Schnabel's rant.
• My ability to psychically predict these things in the seconds before the announcement fell apart this year. I blew it on the actress awards. But Tilda Swinton - who is one rock n' roll off-beat bad ass in her own world who happens to visit ours from time to time - deserved it from among the field. Ellen Page should have won for lead but it's OK, she has a long, successful career ahead of her.
• What a strong Actor field, only containing the waste of Johnny Depp's nomination (though that is by no means a swipe at him). The spot should have gone to Frank Langella. Javier and Josh Brolin should have both been in the leads (with Bardem winning), and Tommy Lee should have been in Supporting for No Country, and should have won it. Oh well. And you'd think that with all the "milkshake" love of late, Daniel's clip would have been that, not "I've abandoned my child!"
• Carr points it out best: Acting sweep for Europe, combined with the trifecta victory of the American fringe Coens - plus the Once win - and you have a night in which the Hollywood factory really faded away, and art for art's sake was applauded.
  
• Screenplay awards went as they should have (Wait, really? Wasn't Michael Clayton's genre-breaking script better than the annoying excesses of Diablo Cody's Juno?), but the bigger story is that Cormac McCarthy was at the show, in the flesh.
• Once, god dammit. Once. It did it. And ace move to bring Marketa back on. That beautiful, warm gal deserved that moment. What a triumphant night for artistic integrity (though the performance could have done without the orchestra; The beauty of that song is the spartan simplicity of it).
  
• The picture of "Roderick Jaynes" was terriffic. Shame he didn't win.
• When did Jack Valenti die? The Academy really needs to ask the audiences to abstain from applauding and just let the memorial play out in a respectul silence (with applause at the end). The applause roller coaster that occurs is sickening.
  
• No Obama speeches? Kind of surprising.
• Ms. Adams. Marry me. If not, it's ok. Mar is right up there with ya.
  
• Stewart wasn't as risky as he was a couple years ago, but he was just as funny and this time he had the crowd's support. He's been the only good host since Billy Crystal's first few go-rounds.

One of the All Time Greats Passes: Roy Scheider

The actor passed away today. He was great in great films and great in bad films. His biggest contribution was to the dark golden age of 70's cinema, starting off with the biggest gem of all:

Michael Clayton

I did not expect much from Michael Clayton. It seemed to be a typical evil-corporation-combatted-by-avenging-lawyer film, but that isn't what we have here. It takes a turn from the conventional and delves deeper into the minds and psyche of the characters involved. Rather than bask in the sanctimony of a valid message, it's a driven study set as a thriller. It is so multi-layered and the dialogue so rich, Michael Clayton feels like an Indie film disguised as a Hollywood opus.
George Clooney, if he hasn't established it before, does it now: He's THE leading man of the big stars. He has the look and grace of a Cary Grant with the affability and understated bravura of a Spencer Tracy. Tom Wilkinson and Sydney Pollack each revel in roles made just for them (who plays older New York mega-rich types better than Pollack?) and Tilda Swinton takes what could have been a one-note character andd makes her the most complicated villain to come around in sometime.

It's not the best picture of the year, not even close, but it's the major studios' best film of the year by far.

You know the scorecard by now, I won't even bother writing it.

There Will Be Blood

Paul Thomas Anderson's fifth feature leaves his familiar zone: the final third of the 20th century and the early days of the 21st in Southern California and delves into unchartered territory: the dawn of the 20th Century. It departs from the modern conundrums of life and finds itself at the start of modernity, when the modern American story first took root, when the outcome of the homesteaders met the century that defined a civilization.

The remainder of this review will bear spoilers so be warned:

Never has there been a film that so bluntly states that in the end, Selfishness should triumph overall. In no uncertain terms, P.T. Anderson takes the modern Republican party and makes it look at its origins in the hellfire of California oil wells, via the work of Upton Sinclair. The film is the account of the genesis between the barons of unbridled new capitalism and the sham of religion, the birth of the fruit most exemplified by Ronald Reagan. And in the end, it sides with the capitalist. At least the ruthless oilman understands his dimensions, he understands his goals and his motivations. He's not deluding himself with the grandeur of superstition, false prophecy, and all around bullshit. Even when the faith brings about a goodness in some people that can give the oilman pause, in the end it is the foolishness of the believers that bears witness to the primacy and supremacy of Daniel Plainview. His last name could not be more obvious. In opposition to the masquerade of Sunday, there is the plain view.

In other words, for all his Mormonism, Mitt Romney is vindicated by his venture capitalism, at least in the eyes of There Will Be Blood. And the film is the ultimate judgment on George W. Bush's electoral victories, and it exposes those victories for the Popsicle sticks that they were. Of course, Daniel Plainview's simple quest for the wealth from oil, to facilitate a very sympathetic need to escape from the world, to hide away from people, is much more acceptable than a modern American company's quest for ultimate profit by hidden fees and abuse of customers. If Anderson's opus treads wrongly in one fashion, it is the complacency with which it makes even the worst of Plainview seem infinitely better than any aspect of Sunday's sham, and that's only because of what it implies for everything since.

And now the judgment of the quality of an entertaining picture:

Anderson has never faltered as a director, even in his self-congratulatory masturbation of Magnolia. But he has never been more lucid and better than here. Every shot, every frame is a crisp capture of the narrative. His leap from his familial surroundings to new ground not only signifies his endurance as a landmark director, but as a contributor to the American canon, the pantheon of cinema.
Daniel Day-Lewis is receiving his biggest raves since My Left Foot and he deserves every inch of it. From the meticulous care of his accent to his facial expressions to his sheer presence, the actor may be channeling a thread from his role of Bill Cutting in Gangs of New York to here. One could see a little hammyness in both roles but few actors could be faced with such obvious over-playing and then tame it like Daniel Day-Lewis does.
The supporting cast is flawless in every sense of the word, led by Paul Dano - who last year was arguably the one cast member of Little Miss Sunshine who didn't deserve an Oscar nomination but who deserves one here. The kid is now a man.

Did Paul Sunday actually exist? This ambiguousness is the trademark of the new great films of our era...which brings us to the ultimate question:

How does it stack up? With a couple exceptions, There Will Be Blood is edging out No Country For Old Men for best picture. Placements by Atonement and The Diving Bell & The Butterfly aside, these two neo-westerns are duking it out and Anderson's work seems to be getting the best of the Coens. But is it justified? No. Of course Hollywood would respond to a story about its own origins before a nihilistic weave of malfeasance, but that does not obscure the truth. For all the power of There Will Be Blood, it doesn't hold a candle next to No Country For Old Men. Where the former lavished in its own compelling opulence, the latter exulted in its simplicity. Where the former relied on the gravity and gravitas of its star and his sincerity in every single moment of every single scene of the work, the latter took all things in equally, from the concept of the screenplay to the equity of the ensemble, to the sheer horror of its stillness. If one character dominated the latter it was because he benefited from the energy around him, whereas the former would have fizzled out if not for what its one character brought out of the rest of the picture.
In what should have been the ultimate battle, Anton Chigurh made mincemeat of Daniel Plainview.

Chigurh 1, Plainview 0.

Woody Allen Speaks

This doesn't happen too often: Woody on WNYC today discussing his new film.

Juno

Several months ago, there was a defense of the Era of Quirk on this blog. But lo and behold, just a few months later, that defense has been softened by the failings at the heart of Juno. Between the oh so cute animated (of sorts) opening sequence (something that appears is or will be director Jason Reitman's stock-in-trade) to the mind numbingly relentless witticisms poured on by stripper-turned-screenwriter Diablo Cody (I hate that quirky name), Juno - to borrow from Midge Simpson - doesn't just cross the line, it throws up on it. How quirky is Juno? It's Knocked Up for the hipster set. How hipster is Juno? The White Stripes not only get mentioned in the film, but Jack White gets made fun of.

Awful film, right? Nope. Despite the early onset quirk overload, and the beyond excessive use of "dude", Juno is one of the best films of the year. Reitman stewards the ship better than he did his first feature, the still fine Thank You For Smoking, and he is able to seam a valid look at teenage pregnancy, even through the eyes of a too-smart-for-her-own-good little hip Indie chick. Cody's love of punk, Indie, and all things good music - from Mott the Hoople and the Stooges to the Melvins and beyond, in conjunction with the fantastic soundtrack anchored by Kimya Dawson, make Juno the rock movie of the year and the Indie cred music movie of the year.

(The issue of abortion and the decisions made by the characters in Juno and Knocked Up will not be dwelled on here because...well...would you want to touch that one?)

But above all, the acting carries the film. Ellen Page was already exceptionally good in the disturbing Hard Candy (but admittedly forgettable in the last X-Men movie as this writer had to be reminded she was in it, and prominently at that). In Juno however, she soars, literally leaps over a career's work of evolution, and is instantly the actress of her generation. Her inherent warmth saves the character from being a stripped-down, soulless machine of one-liners and boring old teenage angst. She's surrounded by a crackerjack ensemble, most notably the veteran character actor J.K. Simmons, in arguably his biggest role to date, and his biggest departure from the usual rabble of toughies he's known to play. It's always, always, satisfying to see a long time supporting player get to have a moment and this is it for Simmons. Juno reunites two of the actors from the best network sitcom of the decade, Arrested Development: Jason Bateman and Michael Cera, the latter of whom already made a winner this year in Superbad. Bateman has so far departed from his teenage acting days it's not even something to reflect on anymore. He's an actor. End of story. Cera may be treading on a one-note style of acting but here he shows a little more depth and range, despite his incessant (though always charming) Cera-ness. If he was better in Superbad, it's only because he was crowded here. Allison Janney never falters and she brings a lot to the unique role of a stepmom who not only means well, but does well and there is little if any time wasted on conventional step-parent fodder. Hell, even Jennifer Garner is good in this thing and that's saying something. The few other teen characters in the film are also all played well despite the fact they are given the remainder of Cody's blather that the Juno character doesn't have to speak.

Amazing how so much can be written about a very good but not perfect film whereas the perfect No Country for Old Men consisted of a one-line review. But that's just how it is. A wordy movie gets a wordy review and an austere, stoic, breath of cinema gets a terse one. For all the love one may have for Juno MacGuff, it's muted by a single shotgun blast from Anton Chigurh. Chigurh 1, Juno 0. Sorry, kid.

Next up: There Will Be Blood. If anyone can stop Chigurh, it must certainly be Daniel Plainview. Or so THEY all say. We shall see...

Starting Out In The Evening

After years of playing the most evil of villains (notably - or least notably - Skeletor in the Masters of the Universe live action bomb), Frank Langella has mellowed in his senior years, portraying Bill Paley as a wise boss in Clooney's Good Night and Good Luck, and having a bit of fun as Perry White in last year's Superman Returns. But this year, Langella takes it a step further, playing an aging New York professor and obscure novelist, Leonard Schiller, in Andrew Wagner's Starting Out in the Evening. Despite the fact that Schiller is a rather distant, removed, introverted type, he is naturally the most warm, inviting, and friendly character that Langella has possibly ever played. He is certainly the first sympathetic character that Langella has ever played - but that usually comes with the territory of the lead role, something Langella has never had the privilege of playing often.
The story: Langella's Schiller is surrounded by two women, one stronger than she should be, and one weaker than she should be. The former is grad student Heather Wolf (uncreative last name) played by Lauren Ambrose, an obsessive fan of Schiller's, seeking to write her master thesis on him. The latter is Schiller's daughter Ariel, played exceptionally by Lili Taylor. Ariel finds herself her father's primary caretaker, and as both she and her father come to grips with the ramifications of their respective ages, there is the requisite bit of family drama. Heather only complicates matters.
The script is eventually predictable, and the film score is atrociously melodramatic, but this is an actor's movie, and the three leads make the most mileage out of it. Indie New York is Taylor's stock-in-trade and she only gets better and better. Like Langella, she is playing against type by playing a rather conventional person in a rather conventional setting, and it makes her flex her chops all the more. Ambrose at first comes off insincere and creepy but then it is quickly apparent that is her character, and she's playing it as she should. The unease, the tension, of her presence around Leonard and Ariel, is the grease of the film, and she makes it work.

Above all, there is Langella. He transitions into Leonard with ease and grace, and he elicits the emotions of an old man accepting he's old with a combination of austerity and affability. You don't want Leonard to be bothered by Heather, but after Langella's done, you hope that Salinger and Pynchon are this pleasant.

It remains to be seen if there will be Oscar buzz for Langella for this role. It is more likely that he will garner a nomination for his work next year when he returns to playing pure evil, an evil more evil than Skeletor...Richard Nixon.

No Country For Old Men

The Movie of the Year...and maybe...maybe...the decade.

Dirtbombs Used In Movie Trailer

"Chains of Love" is used in this trailer for an otherwise tepid-looking Miramax release:

Ben Blackwell wrote of the Cannes festival adventure.

Romance & Cigarettes

After 2 long years, Romance & Cigarettes has finally been released, by director John Turturro himself, and it's been playing at the Film Forum here in New York.
Pennypacker has never been one for musicals. The idea of breaking out into song in a brief suspension of reality always struck me as a bit stupid, even in good musicals. Little Shop of Horrors pretty much stands alone as the only musical this writer truly likes without any hesitation. And so that record remains after seeing Romance & Cigarettes but that isn't to say this is a bad film. This movie is neither bad or good, it just sort of is. It exists in its own bizarre alternative reality and so it exists as such in our world. Using unoriginal song material, and using original recordings of said material for the actors to sing along to, works out more than it bombs but this is irrelevant as the movie is overtaken by its strange, offbeat non-musical scenes. The dialog and delivery hover somewhere between a Broadway show and someone's dream. The story may take place in Queens, it may have construction workers and housewives and mothers but it's not the Queens we know, or the Queens we would know in a standard old-fashioned musical. There is an unwavering, unflinching sense of weirdness, of surrealism, throughout the entire picture. It doesn't feel real for one second.
Perhaps the most notable feature is the un-sexy-sexiness or sexy-un-sexiness of the film. Is Kate Winslet (back in glorious redhead, as she should always be) incredibly hot? Or is her character rather ugly, unattractive, and repulsive? Or both? And why is she Scottish?
Sure, one could also talk about whether Gandolfini breaks away from, or further steeps himself into, the grip of Tony Soprano. And about whether Christopher Walken was perfect or terrible. But there is a more important question: Why were Mary-Louise Parker and Aida Turturro cast as Gandolfini and Susan Sarandon's daughters? Mandy Moore made sense. But are Parker and Turturro playing significantly younger than they really are? Or is there some further twisted thing going on in this film's alternate reality? It seemed entirely plausible throughout the film that Aida Turturro's character was the actress's age but the character's mental problems included a distortion of her own age. But this is thrown off by the presence of Parker. Or at least it seems to be thrown off. Nothing in this film seems to be what it should, or could, or would. It just is.