Category: Drama

TWO-LANE BLACKTOP (1971)

by Miguel E. Rodriguez

DIRECTOR: Monte Hellman
CAST: James Taylor, Warren Oates, Laurie Bird, Dennis Wilson, Harry Dean Stanton
MY RATING: 3/10
ROTTEN TOMATOMETER: 93% Certified Fresh

PLOT: While drag-racing through the American Southwest in a 1955 Chevrolet 150, a driver and his mechanic cross paths with an enigmatic hitchhiker and the tall-tale-spinning driver of a GTO.


Once upon a time, comic strip Bloom County name-dropped Gregory Peck in a Sunday-paper cartoon.  When this was brought to Peck’s attention, he read the cartoon and asked, “What is Bloom County?  What is the matter with me that I don’t understand it?”

Gregory, I know how you feel.  Monte Hellman’s car-culture cult classic Two-Lane Blacktop is a film that was and is critically lauded, is on the National Film Registry, and is one of the 1,001 Movies You Must See Before You Die.  But after watching it – or sitting through it, more appropriately – I wasn’t angry; I was completely mystified.  What did I just watch?  What was the point?  Why should I care?  Did I miss the point because I missed the sixties?  What is the matter with me that I don’t understand this film?

The ostensible plot involves a quartet of unnamed characters: The Driver (James Taylor!), G.T.O. (Warren Oates), The Girl (Laurie Bird, who tragically took her own life at the age of 26), and The Mechanic (Dennis Wilson!!).  We first see Driver and Mechanic rambling around Arizona in their souped-up, but dressed-down, 1955 Chevy 150.  [Eagle-eyed movie fans will recognize this as the same model car that Bob Falfa drives two years later in American Graffiti.]  To make some bread, they hustle other hot-rod owners into illegal street races which they handily win because, like the Millennium Falcon, their Chevy doesn’t look like much, but she’s got it where it counts.

After one such race, two fateful things happen.  The first is that they are spotted and passed twice by a stock 1970 Pontiac GTO 455 (nice) driven by the Warren Oates character.  The second is that they pick up a hitchhiker, The Girl.  Well, not exactly…she climbs into their car outside a diner, and when they walk outside to leave, they see her in the back seat and just drive off without any observable reaction that I could spot.  Probably wouldn’t happen today, but this was an era still reveling in the remnants of the Summer of Love, so I give it a pass.

At this point, I could spot French New Wave influences, not to mention echoes of The Hustler (1961), Easy Rider (1969), and good omens of American Graffiti (1973), especially in the film’s fascination with cars.  One short scene involves virtually nothing but shots of The Mechanic changing out the rear racing tires for street-legal tires.  I remember thinking, this is a movie about gearheads, BY gearheads, FOR gearheads.  Not necessarily a bad thing – I’d put Mad Max (1979) and its sequels in that category.  So, okay, I thought, let’s see where this goes.

And I waited, and waited, and waited some more.  James Taylor as The Driver has a great intense look while he’s actually driving, but I have to say it: he has zero charisma.  He could have used an acting coach.  Dennis Wilson as The Mechanic is marginally better.  He’s very easygoing on camera, while Taylor looks stiff and uncomfortable.  I can only imagine their presence was a calculated ploy to bring younger audience members to theaters.  Newcomer Laurie Bird as The Girl is as okay as okay gets.

I get it: the French and Italians used non-actors in their neo-realist films to achieve authenticity from their performances.  Well and good.  But whatever those films had, this one does not.  Blacktop would have benefited immeasurably from veteran actors in the two leads, actors who could at least generate some chemistry with Warren Oates, who gives by far the best performance in the film, even it’s in the service of a vaguely antagonistic character that I never understood.

Full confession: this movie is not badly or clumsily made.  Parts of it felt like they were going for a Five Easy Pieces (1970) vibe, and I think they got it visually.  But the movie never got me to care about what happened to any of the characters.  The Driver is a cipher, The Mechanic is barely more than that, The Girl (who, I guess might represent the concept of “free spirit” in the hippie culture?) is maddening at best and impenetrable at worst, and G.T.O. is all over the place emotionally, which I guess makes him the most interesting character in the film.  I didn’t like him much, but I was always curious what would come out of his mouth next.  (His overriding character trait is that he constantly lies to everyone he meets about who he is, improvising his own backstory with each new encounter.)

Which made me think.  For the longest time, I thought that I had issues when movies or TV shows centered their plots on characters who I thought were unlikable.  But then there’s Succession which I can’t rave about highly enough, or Get Carter (1971) or The Godfather (1972), all filled with genuinely unlikable characters, but which are among my favorite entertainments.  Watching Two-Lane Blacktop, I at first thought I didn’t like the movie because I didn’t like the characters, but that’s inaccurate.  I didn’t like the movie because I didn’t care about the characters.  An effective film can introduce anti-heroes and straight-up villains and get us to root for them because we start to care about the characters and the story.  Two-Lane Blacktop was unable to get me to care about the characters, so I simply didn’t care what happened next.  For a hundred minutes.  That’s a long time.

On the Criterion Blu-ray, director Monte Hellman and various other film fans and scholars wax rhapsodic about the film’s existential overtones, and its place in film history as a time capsule of an era when studio films like this one would become more prevalent for the next decade, while simultaneously heralding the rise of independent films (which can actually be traced further back to 1958 with Cassavetes’ Shadows, but what do I know).  While I acknowledge there may be aspects of this movie that eluded me and which I may pick up on if or when I see it again, I have to be honest…my initial reaction was one of consternation.  If I have to peel the movie like an onion to understand its relevance, is that necessarily a good thing?  I don’t know.  Some movies have achieved that kind of goal (I’m thinking specifically of 2001: A Space Odyssey [1968]), but they are few and far between.  For me, Two-Lane Blacktop was not one of them.  Yet, he said with hope for the future.

AN AFFAIR TO REMEMBER (1957)

by Miguel E. Rodriguez

DIRECTOR: Leo McCarey
CAST: Cary Grant, Deborah Kerr, Richard Denning, Neva Patterson
MY RATING: 8/10
ROTTEN TOMATOMETER: 65% Fresh

PLOT: A couple, both attached to other people, falls in love and agrees to meet in six months at the Empire State Building – but will it happen?


First, a word to devotees of this film:

No, I have not yet watched Sleepless in Seattle.  Yes, I am aware of the deep connection between the two films.  No, Sleepless is not currently on my watchlist radar, but rest assured I will post a review of it if or when I finally watch it.  Today is not that day.  Tomorrow’s not looking good, either.

All good?  Okay, let’s move on.

Leo McCarey’s An Affair to Remember is a grand old melodrama that would have been a perfect example of its genre if only it had ended differently.  As it happens, McCarey’s filmography does include a perfect example of melodrama: Make Way for Tomorrow (1937), not quite as romantic as An Affair to Remember, but packing a devastating gut-punch of an ending that other films can only aspire to.  If Affair had had the nerve to stick to that kind of an ending, I would absolutely have given it a perfect 10 out of 10.  But, while I don’t believe it’s perfect, it still belongs on your watchlist.

Cary Grant plays Nickie Ferrante, an incurable playboy who is nevertheless engaged to be married to an industrial heiress.  Deborah Kerr is Terry McKay, an “everywoman” type – or as everywoman as one can be while looking like Deborah Kerr.  She is also romantically attached to another man (NOT engaged, which plays a crucial factor later in the film).  The two have a pleasantly non-contrived meet-cute aboard a transatlantic cruise to Europe.  As fate would have it, they are both traveling solo for various reasons.

Their connection is immediate and unforced, reminding me a bit of two of my favorite films, Lost in Translation (2003) and Dodsworth (1936).  Grant and Kerr have a wonderful, breezy onscreen chemistry.  Their conversations, especially when they’re alone in her stateroom, are positively gravid with subtext, but they are careful not to let things get out of hand, even when it’s clear they would both like that very much.  It’s a wonderful balancing act that is rarely successful, so it’s a pleasure to watch when it is.

The development of their relationship unfolds perfectly, so I won’t spoil it.  As their ship pulls back into New York Harbor, they make a hasty, almost teenager-esque pact: meet in six months to see if their connection is still as strong as it is now.  The location: the top of the Empire State Building, still the tallest building in the world in 1957.  “It’s the nearest thing to heaven we have in New York,” gushes Terry.  It’s a tribute to how pervasive this movie is in the pop culture zeitgeist that I knew exactly what would happen just prior to that fateful appointment, but I nevertheless gave a little gasp when it happened.

For me, it’s the second half of An Affair to Remember that shines.  The first half is no slouch, but I masochistically perked up when the possibilities of a tragic romance reared its head.  There’s something about heartbreaking tragedy that makes for a sensational film.  There’s nothing wrong with happy endings, don’t get me wrong, but my favorite Broadway musical of all time isn’t My Fair Lady…it’s Jesus Christ Superstar. When done right, tragedy is strangely cathartic.  I’m thinking of movies like Atonement (2007) or The Remains of the Day (1993) or Brokeback Mountain (2005), movies that will never top anyone’s list of feel-good films, but which are somehow more powerful because…well, I find myself unable to articulate why.  They just are.

And that’s why An Affair to Remember does not quite reach the level of perfection attained by Make Way for Tomorrow.  There was a moment in the final reel when I thought it would, but it goes for the happy ending instead.  That’s right, I begrudge the movie’s happy ending just a little bit.  Sue me.  I fully acknowledge that the moment when Nickie sees a particular item in a particular room during the final scene is a thing of brilliance and beauty.  (Treading carefully here…)  It’s a lovely moment capping a sensationally written and performed scene.  …but it just didn’t strum my heartstrings.  I wanted it to, I really did.  I wanted my heart to swell and feel like it’s going to burst, but it never happened.

(For the record, I also could have done without the multiple musical interludes, especially the two with the kids singing…although I did enjoy Nickie’s flashback/memory when he revisits his grandmother’s house in France.)

Does this make me a curmudgeon?  I don’t think so.  I just feel there was an opportunity here to pull out all the stops for some real reach-for-the-hanky moments.  But, hey, what do I know?  See it and judge for yourself.  An Affair to Remember is a pleasure to watch and listen to, just like the stars themselves.  And, hey, if the ending reduces you to a blubbering mess like Meg Ryan in Sleepless in Seattle, then it did its job.  I won’t judge.  Promise.

BIGFOOT WOODS

By Marc S. Sanders

There’s a moment in Bigfoot Woods where a character describes Paul (Rich Sommer) as just a science teacher, not a scientist.  It’s clear that Paul is more than irked by the regard, especially because this person is a believer in the legend of Bigfoot – a Sasquatch fur covered, monstrous figure who’s never been proven to exist beyond its never ending myth.  Paul is a scientist though.  He studied the principles of science.  He researched evidence that describes all the various natures of science.  He’s a high school teacher in the small town of Steamer, Minnesota, but he’s most definitely a certified scientist.  It’s therefore unfortunate his identity is not taken seriously.

This occurs midway through Elizabeth Chatelain’s film.  Paul is already roiling with Bridget, his conflicted fourteen year old daughter (Ambrose Velasco Jenkins).  They are realizing that they are not in fact non-binary.  Bridget is coming to the conclusion that they/them are not the appropriate pronouns.  Going forward, Bridget is certain of being addressed as he/him, and is unequivocally ready to be identified as Jonah.  Paul, and his wife Taylor (Tristen MacDonald) realize they’ll have to adjust.

It’s not even a question of options.  Paul and Taylor love their child.  It’s still a struggle, but that’s okay.  A new job or school or living situation can also require time and patience while adapting.

Chatelain’s film is smart because while Jenkins’ character occupies the most screen time, Bridget/Jonah is not the only one affected by this transition.  How does mom and dad feel about this?  What about friends?  Actually, how does the whole town of Steamer respond when there is primarily a unified mantra in believing in the  Christian values that come with the influence of the church and an ultra conservative mindset of what Jesus Christ stands for?

Steamer, Minnesota is hardly found on a map.  At best, it’s known for being a possible resting place for Bigfoot.  Paul and Bridget have father/child time together by roaming the woods and documenting discoveries in nature.  At best, maybe fifty people watch their series of You Tube videos.  However, that number explodes into the thousands when someone notices a rustling in the trees that could very likely be Bigfoot.  At last, certifiable evidence may exist in Bridget’s footage and attract a wider scope that’ll bring welcome recognition to town.  The folks are giddy over this discovery.

However, Bridget does not stop at what they share with Paul.  Bridget is making a new declaration of self identity when Jonah is introduced, but many folks in Steamer are quick to change their tune.

Bigfoot Woods is simple in its cinematography and editing.  It may operate like an Afterschool Special but that may also be its greatest achievement.  The script by father and trans-son Bruce and Abel Pavalon brings a transparent honesty to trans youth who are developing into who they really are and how family and environment responds.  Despite talent or accomplishments, some will overlook all of that when a trait feels unacceptable.  Others will not get up in arms over how someone chooses to live and will simply welcome the change.  It’ll justifiably become concerning, but they’ll need time.  The script covers a wide range with a small cast and a condensed script.

Bridget/Jonah also suffers from a habitual side effect of cutting.  I’m not here to minimize the character’s physical and mental ordeals.  However, at only a running time of an hour and twenty minutes, I did not think there was ample material to address this ingredient of the story.  Cutting is a very real symptom that needs serious attention.  Either more could have been expounded on that, or it should have been excised from the final product.

One factor I’m grateful for is that Paul, the scientist, does his research on trans topics.  He discovers the anatomical studies that upholds the need for transitioning down to how XX or XY chromosomes operate when another gene comes into play with a person’s DNA.  A majority of those opposed to the idea of transitioning fail to do the research and neither uncover validity or the material that could repute it.  People just make up their minds like it’s an opinion. Bigfoot Woods hinges on facts found in science, not instinctual prejudice.

In all fairness, I’ve done no research on the topic.  Still I trust what’s included in Chatelain’s film.  It’d be foolishly bold of her and the Pavalons to deliver a story that champions transition with unproven or false material.

The performance from Ambrose Velasco Jenkins is winning because there are multiple dimensions to the role.  I didn’t really care for Bridget who was not connecting with their loving parents.  Bridget is off putting and insensitive to mom and dad.  Jonah is very likable though.  It has to come down to an internal peace that Jenkins eventually delivers.  Very good work.

I also really felt for Rich Sommer’s interpretation of a dad who’s a good, well educated father but also confused and lacking the confidence to deal with a change in his family’s dynamic.  Too often men are expected to have all the answers.  This man doesn’t.  Yet, he will not cry about it or give up.  He applies skills that will aid him into deciding for himself with confidence.

Tristen MacDonald offers another kind of identity struggle.  A breast cancer survivor who opted for a double mastectomy.  I recall stories where women feel less of themselves once they have gone through this kind of trauma. Bigfoot Woods tackles a wide berth of identity struggle.  It’s not exclusive to members of the LGBTQ+ community.  MacDonald only has a few lines that address her character’s background but she’s impactful enough to demonstrate self-identity does not stop with gender identity.  It’s a mindset that depends on various factors and situations.

Bigfoot Woods is smart and insightful.  It’s a straightforward account of a teenager ready to recognize internal thoughts beyond outside influence while figuring out who they want to be.  With a curious story of the Bigfoot legend wrapped around it, there’s an intriguing aspect to this collection of three characters who are accepted by some while dismissed by others.  A perfect button on the picture is a nice wink and nod that crosses the last caption before the credits arrive.  I was smiling by the end.

BREEZY

By Marc S. Sanders

The great thing about following Clint Eastwood’s career that spans over seventy years is there is so much I still have to uncover.  For example, following his well-known directed pictures Play Misty For Me and High Plains Drifter, he followed up with a surprising May-December meet cute romance called Breezy, which marks the first time he opted not to direct himself in front of the camera while going against type with an absence of threat or violence.  Heck, he even makes that clear when his heroine of the title makes a run for it out of a stranger’s car.

Breezy is played by a young Kay Lenz, her breakthrough role as a cheerful flower child, which reminded me of Julia Roberts’ hooker with a heart of gold in Pretty Woman.  Breezy aimlessly wanders through the California hillsides with her floppy hat and personalized guitar case on her back, hitching rides from one car to another.  When she comes upon the home of real estate agent Frank Harmon (William Holden), she happily hops in his car with a smile and a lot to chat about.  Frank is the middle age, twice divorced lonely bachelor, who is not looking for any company.  Yet, Breezy’s magnetism grows on him.  Her casual nudity around his house is not so much erotic as just a way to get past any awkwardness between the two. Breezy is young but you’d be hard pressed to find any insecurities about her. The more experienced and elder Frank may be quite the opposite, though.

William Holden plays a similar kind of personality that he would offer a few years later in Network; not quite over the hill but not looking back at the youth he might have felt thirty-five years earlier at Breezy’s age.  The main difference is that Breezy is nothing like Faye Dunaway’s cold-hearted character. Frank is mired in what he gave up too easily in his prior marriages (Joan Hotchkis, Marj Dusay), one on bitter terms, the other was regrettably let go.

Breezy is such a departure from what Eastwood, the filmmaker, accomplished in the 1970s.  He’s not crafting anything in the realm of his violent pictures like Dirty Harry or his six shooter cowboys.  Misty was also bent on a twisted and frightening nature which is entirely absent here.  About the only fingerprints you’ll find is a blink/miss it cameo of the proud director standing on the boardwalk as the lovers stroll by.  They also buy two tickets to see Drifter.  I like these wink n’ nod moments, reminiscent of Hitchcock’s notable mischief.  

This adult romance etched out of mid-life crises mixed with naive youth seems like a variant follow up to the success of Love Story. Kay Lenz occupied the Ali McGraw slot.  Midway through this picture, I told myself that had Eastwood been older, he likely would have played Holden’s role who was in his mid-50s at the time.  Eastwood would get the opportunity decades later with his superbly quiet adaptation of The Bridges Of Madison County. I’ll even say his soft spot shows in his Every Which… movies, albeit with an orangutan or Sondra Locke.

I discovered Breezy after listening to a podcast on the director’s career (Make My Day, found on Apple Podcasts) and my observations are much more alert.  Thematically, I had always divided Clint Eastwood’s career into two halves.  Whether it was comedy or drama, I always considered the bulk of his work before Unforgiven to rely on violence being resolved with violence delivered by his fists and gunplay.  To my knowledge thus far, the Oscar winning western was a first that paved the next thirty years of his career with messages of anti-violence (A Perfect World, Letters From Iwo Jima), steering his persona away from any celebration of bloodletting.  Breezy however, seemed to project maturely sensitive insights that I hardly saw from the filmmaker.  

Like most of his films, Breezy was furnished under budget with simple camera work.  The wheel is not being reinvented here, but with his regular crew, Eastwood assembles a tight story that evolves at a nice pace.  The love story is not rushed even if young Breezy opens every page of her book as quickly as she meets a new person.  William Holden in his sport coats, wide ties, and casual sweaters is the turtle against the rabbit of this race.  The enjoyment is observing when these two parties can move at similar speeds.  

You also get the opportunity to see how Frank and Breezy’s backgrounds clash.  The hippies that carry over from the sixties hang on the street corners while the white-collar professionals sit at their desks on the other side of the window, closing real estate transactions.  Frank’s friend Bob Henderson (the typical boring middle age/ middle class name) played by Roger C Carmel (Harry Mudd of Star Trek) thinks about what his life could be if he didn’t have his past choices to weigh him down.  That’s still a common issue for middle-aged men to wrestle with.  Breezy’s girlfriend Marcy (Jamie Smith Jackson) is a cute pal but it’s clear she has no future because of a neglectful boyfriend, and their shared habit of LSD highs.  Interestingly, neither camp has a problem with the other. In Eastwood’s film, these two very different communities are tolerable of the other’s existence. That’s refreshing. Still, Frank and Breezy have to realize the independence they have even if they are years, and worlds, apart from each other.

Clint Eastwood checks off all the boxes to emulate beautiful chemistry from his two leads. Their unexpected romance is uneven, but there lies the challenge for finding solid foundations of love and respect.

THE DRAMA

By Marc S. Sanders

A happy couple ends up not so happy when they get a little too honest with each other.  

After watching Kristoffer Borgli’s The Drama, I’m left unsure of what was supposed to be learned or what I’m supposed to take away from his picture.  Is he telling me that when you are on the cusp of walking down the aisle, if you see a red flag, you should hike it and run, or should you literally drop your betrothed’s pants and call do-over? 

After a cold open of meet cute cuts where the characters speak with one another and the film “stylistically” edits sudden breaks so that sentences of dialogue are interrupted for quick cut moments in time (I really don’t know why, because this routine got old really fast.), Borgli’s picture makes itself much clearer by showing that Emma and Charlie (Zendaya, Robert Pattinson) are the meet cute couple with successful careers, a million dollar New York apartment in the Village and a gorgeous wedding on the horizon.  

While at a wine tasting evening with the Matron of Honor and Best Man, Rachel and Mike (Alana Haim, Mamoudou Athie), a game is played where the four challenge one another to confess the worst act they have ever committed.  Emma is clearly the most reluctant to participate and thus the last one to go.  Comparatively speaking, Mike’s act is quite tame when measured against what Charlie and Rachel admit, especially Rachel.  The three laugh about it all though.  I found Charlie to be an asshole for giggling over what came of his actions.  I found Rachel to be a heartless fuck for dismissing her sick deed, as well.  These were not immature hang up crank calls.  When Emma admits to only planning her worst act but never following through, the dynamic shifts in the worst way imaginable.  

I will not spoil what she reveals.  What Emma planned when she was teenager is repulsive.  Yet, unforeseen circumstances stopped her from execution, and she explains that her life went in a completely opposite direction of nobility from that point on.  Nevertheless, Charlie cannot look past Emma’s confession, and he randomly grows startled by her while also envisioning his fiancée in unflattering scenarios inconsistent with the woman he thought he knew and loved.

Rachel is even less tolerable or accepting of Emma, and does not hide her bitterness (again) at only what was planned but never happened. Rachel’s mindset goes to a cousin who was a victim of a terrible incident that Emma has nothing to do with.  This allows one of several personal conflicts to remain at the top rather than just drift away.

The Drama runs out of road very fast.  The confessions around the table are interesting and left me curious as each person steps up to share. Afterwards though, when the evening is over, characters have sobered up, and simply because Borgli’s script contrives it to be, the anguish mires on and on and on.  

Borgli thematically uses alcohol consumption as a way to keep his characters repulsed with themselves and each other.  I guess he figures if these people are drunk they can vomit over and over with endless guilt and conflict.  If they sobered up they might start making sense, own up to their faults and move past this with no further judgement or resentment.  

Wouldn’t that be a lousy movie? 

Emma first explains and apologizes when the response does not go over favorably.  Later, she explains to Charlie how she turned her life around and did something positive with herself and the greater good.  Charlie seems to be deaf to what’s told to him.  (Ironically, it’s Emma who is deaf in one ear but remains much more attuned to what’s happening.). Moreover, he never considers relaying Emma’s explanations to Rachel, who really elevated this beyond reason.  If he had, then Borgli’s movie would have ended at the forty-five minute mark.  

With twenty minutes left in the movie, Charlie’s anguish cannot be contained. As the wedding day gets closer, he temporarily lets his guard down and loses a moment of commitment and clarity.  The math adds up to bloody and disastrous proportions at the wedding as toasts are drunkenly made by both Charlie and Rachel.  Poor Mike is delivering the cringe expressions that really belong in a bedroom farce and not in a movie called The Drama that reveals a lot of unwanted, meritless drama for the sake of earning movie ticket admission fees.

None of what you see in Kristoffer Borgli’s film is necessary.  It’s like an episode of Three’s Company.  If just one person would simply stop, think and clarify then all of this would be behind them.  Borgli doesn’t allow his characters to do the most obvious and sensible actions though.  He dumbs his characters down to persist the drama of The Drama.  

The end of the story lacks a payoff.  It’s never clear if all of the truth comes out or if any of these four characters see reason.  All that Borgli does is have Emma and Charlie reunite and try another reset method that they both attempted to do three separate times earlier in the movie.  Am I to believe that this time it’ll work because tears were shed and someone has a bloody nose?

I dunno!

Borgli seems to have painted his screenplay into a corner that he can’t escape.  So, he opts to go in a proverbial loop. If a band aid on a leaky pipe is not going to work the first time, why are you trying to put a new one on after that, and then another, and then another?  

ANATOMY OF A MURDER

By Marc S. Sanders

I’m a sucker for courtroom theatrics and Otto Preminger’s Anatomy Of A Murder is no exception.  Though it is sorely out of date when most of today’s viewing audiences have at least one Law & Order episode under their belt. Preminger’s film, adapted from the novel by Robert Traver and inspired by a real-life upstate Michigan homicide, hinged on taboo language and heinous motives enabled by revenge.  Even the father of leading man, James Stewart, found this film to be entirely offensive and campaigned for audiences to avoid seeing it.

Army Lieutenant Frederick Manion (Ben Gazarra) is on trial for the murder of an innkeeper he believed raped and abused his promiscuous wife, Laura (Lee Remick).  Good ol’ boy lawyer Paul Biegler is the former prosecuting attorney of this small Michigan town who opts to represent the defendant.  This will be Paul’s first trial on the other side of the courtroom, and he recruits his best friend and colleague to help him, a washed-up lawyer and lovable drunk named Parnell (Arthur O’Connell).  Paul’s strategy is to defend his client with a plea of not guilty by reason of insanity because Manion is adamant he has no recollection of killing the victim with five gunshot wounds. 

Anatomy Of A Murder is easy to follow because it does not have a wealth of variables to twist the narrative in different directions.  The interest works on Stewart’s Capra-influenced likability.  George Bailey becomes a lawyer. The actor is older by this point in his career, and this performance would be his last Oscar nomination.  He’s sharp in the role and quick on his feet with objections and standard trial ligations.  He’s also adorably charming as he crafts fishhooks at the table while a witness is being questioned by opposing counsel.  That was a first for me to observe.

The prosecution has its small-time attorney, Mitch Lodwick, played with mustache-adorned, nerdy conservatism by Brooks West.  However, a big metropolitan lawyer sits next to him.  George C Scott might be early in his career here, with black slicked hair and dark suits as the imminent Claude Dancer, who notoriously arrives from Lansing, Michigan. He’s reputably intimidating and altogether sly.  He hardly says a word during the first third of his performance and his silence is impossible to ignore. However, when he takes lead counsel later in the story, Scott demonstrates that he’s the standout element of the picture.

Anatomy Of A Murder relies on the taboo nature of the crime on trial.  A rape of his wife motivates a suspect to kill.  In any circumstance, that is going to necessitate a discussion on the subject of ladies’ undergarments.  With a sidebar committee consisting of Stewart, West and Scott with the sleepy, elderly Judge Weaver (Joseph N Welch, famously part of the McCarthy hearings), the script includes time to debate how best to describe Laura Manion’s panties by going so far as to ask if there’s a more suitable word for “panties.”  The men are stumped and the Judge draws a line in the sand by declaring to the courtroom that any sort of chortling will not be tolerated.

In 1959, it’s unheard of to tarnish a person’s ears with vocabulary that includes “sperm,” “intercourse,” “penetration,” “climax,” “rape,” “panties,” “girdle,” and “bitch.”  Yikes!  My friend Anthony and I watched the Criterion Blu Ray of Preminger’s film, nominated for Best Picture, Screenplay and a trio of actors (Stewart, Scott and O’Connell) and we did our best to put our perspective in the past, before our time when Father Knows Best occupied television sets.  Yes.  It was likely shocking with a lot of gall to pull away the veil of sexual deviancy.  An intoxicated Lee Remick is no Donna Reed as she struts around in tight pants and low-cut blouses with a pair of sporty sunglasses.  On the stand, she describes her panties as either being white or pink with lace down the side and ripped off during her alleged assault.  Later, Jimmy Stewart is holding the evidence in clear view.  It couldn’t be anything but shocking.  Turn on any program today, and you’re apt to find any of this conjecture within an episode of Friends or Modern Family. Still, ‘the fella who spoke to Harvey the rabbit is fondling women’s underpants in a courtroom for everyone to see? For shame.

Laura Manion is also tested on the witness stand by Mr. Dancer when she declares she swore on a set of rosary beads. The attorney questions her faith with the Catholic church and if she is worthy of identifying herself as a Catholic any longer. Another person reveals being born out of wedlock. Something that no one should ever know. Religious conservatism tests the merits of its witnesses. In 1959, to say you swore on a set of rosary beads is not taken lightly. To be known as a bastard child is a social crime. Today, it’s just a phrase as common as saying “I swear on my children…” or you are just raised in a single parent home. The servitude of Anatomy Of A Murder has changed over decades of different generations when many are not so protective their personal sensibilities. The age of internet browsing allows everyone to be much more revealing in beliefs or lack thereof, and what constitutes as sexual appeal or how you originated.

Beyond the coarse language and subject matter of Anatomy Of A Murder, there’s not much here that feels fresh or pioneering any longer.  Today’s audiences are far too sophisticated for what Preminger was brash enough to originally show on screen. Anthony and I were certain that Laura’s adorable shaggy dog and a gold cigarette lighter that resurfaces a few times would lynchpin inevitable twists in the case.  Alas, it was just a dog, and alas it was just a lighter.  Yet, the attention to these items seemed like apparent invitations to significant developments.  

Actually, the one surprise that comes from the film is regrettably revealed too soon.  A material witness is disclosed midway through the picture.  However, when George C Scott questions this individual on the stand towards the end of movie, his character is the only one in the room who doesn’t know anything about this person.  With the audience already in on it, what is left to learn except to watch Scott’s character stand apart from everyone else? Had Anatomy Of A Murder been made today, the big reveal would have occurred in the courtroom for all to be surprised and intrigued.  Sidney Lumet’s The Verdict did that. Unfortunately, this is a terribly unfortunate misstep in execution.  It even takes away from Scott’s sensationally devious performance while sucking out potential dramatic heights.

As Paul waits for the jury to return with its verdict, Parnell ponders the dynamics of twelve strangers coming together to determine the fate of an accused.  It’s as if no one ever heard of a jury before this film was released.  Surely audiences, on the cusp of Perry Mason with Agatha Christie at the local library, were somewhat familiar with juries and judicial proceedings.  Anatomy Of A Murder is so simplified that it’s hard to embrace how heinous its evidence and testimonials should be.  

However, Jimmy Stewart performs like Andy Griffith’s famous characters, from Mayberry and Matlock.  The fella loves to fish and sit with his friend Parnell as they joyously read law books well into the night.  If a trial comes along, he might take it if he’s up for it. This guy is just so relaxed with himself and his practice which amonts to hardly any business and income as his faithful secretary, Maida (Eve Arden) reminds him for the run along relatable humor of the piece. Oh Maida, there you go again. Ribbing Paul all along!

Anatomy Of A Murder serves as a lookback to when movies were shedding their innocent, whitewashed skin. It anticipates that audiences will accept heinous crime and sexual deviancy. Otto Preminger trusts America’s favorite actor, Jimmy Stewart, to deliver. Lee Remick stands as an influence for those overly sexualized roles that Sharon Stone and Demi Moore would occupy thirty years later.

Preminger’s film has a widely recognized reputation with a bestowed ten Oscar nominations (though not including Otto Preminger). AFI ranks it as one of the top ten courtroom dramas, in the company 12 Angry Men and Judgment At Nuremberg. Criterion has a print edition within its library. Yet, seventy years after its introduction the temperature of the film is lukewarm, and the subjects are not so jaw dropping. As well, at nearly three hours running time, it could stand to have edited out so much irrelevant material that slows down the story and lends nothing to its characters.

Anatomy Of A Murder is upheld by its formula which I’d argue has been significantly more enhanced and leaner in movies to come, which drew from its inspiration. This is an anatomy of a courtroom crime drama, in its most basic form, when unmentionables might have been mentioned for the first time. I’m glad I didn’t die of embarrassment in front of Anthony. I mean I’ve heard of intercourse and I’ve seen women in girdles in a Glamour magazine (like George Costanza) before, and at the very least I’ve seen women’s panties on sale at Macy’s. If you have as well, then you are likely ready for Anatomy Of A Murder.

FIVE EASY PIECES

By Marc S. Sanders

Some films simply focus on the internal struggle of a character.  There might side component figures, but those are not fully formed because they exist to shape the main character we are directed to observe.  In Taxi Driver, Paul Schrader and Martin Scorsese scrounge up several people from a seedy New York City underbelly to intrude upon the life of isolated and angry Travis Bickle, the Vietnam war veteran.  All walks of life enter his cab and leave it.  Travis sums up the various individuals by his own twisted meter.  Some he’ll follow.  Some he’ll abandon.  Eventually, he’ll even protect someone vulnerable to the salacious world he occupies.  

Bobby Dupea, played with heartbreaking brilliance by Jack Nicholson, the main character of Bob Rafelson’s Five Easy Pieces, journeys down a similar path.  However, he’d be apt to abandon everyone.  One problem is he can’t escape from himself.  He could leave his personal jacket behind in a restroom and face a bitter cold, but he’ll never be able to shed his own skin.  

Bobby lives with an airhead hick waitress named Reyette (Karen Black in an Oscar nominated role), but he doesn’t value her.  He cheats and boozes around with the next dingbat woman who approaches him in the local bowling alley (Sally Struthers). Whatever is currently in Bobby’s life is one more chapter that’s left behind as a means to gain further mileage away from where he originates.  It’s hard to comprehend how Bobby, a young man with the potential to be a celebrated concert pianist, could flee from a past and dwell within a mundane life as a worker in a California oil field.  Otherwise, all he’s doing is bowling and drinking at night with his buddy Elton (Billy Green Bush) while never thinking about Reyette. Bobby is a problematic guy, never wanting to challenge complexities in relationships or advance his gifts of talent.  Bobby Dupea is never destined for self-comfort or pleasure.

Carole Eastman’s script, with input from Rafelson, examines what I believe many people are too proud or reluctant to admit.  Try as they might they cannot come to grips with the life handed to them, albeit with extraordinary talent or simplicity.  Reyette is happier to be a greasy spoon waitress with a penchant to sing the songs of Tammy Wynette.  Bobby has so much more potential but he’s that much more unsatisfied than Reyette.  

Often within the film there are visual allegories to Bobby’s struggle.  He nurses a bottle of booze while driving on the freeway with Elton.  Traffic is at a standstill.  No one is going anywhere.  There’s no escape, and about the only action anyone can take in this stationary position is to honk their horns with intolerable impatience.  Bobby can’t even settle for that, however.  He storms out of the driver seat to wail at the other cars.  When he sees an old piano resting on a moving truck, he climbs aboard and starts to play.  Nicholson’s body language doesn’t show a man at peace with the instrument though.  Bobby appears like a crazed madman using the piano as a means to drown out the bellows of the automobiles and he does not even show care when the truck exits the freeway leaving Elton far behind.  Bobby Dupea has no sense of direction.  

Elton has a child with his wife and there’s a moment where he displays his paternal affection.  Elton possesses value for someone.  Bobby, however, is beyond feeling.  Reyette tries to hold on to Bobby and find purpose in a life with him.  She’s uneducated and uncultured in art.  Yet, she’s ready to bowl with Bobby and accompany him in life.  Bobby is only content, never happy, unless he’s frustrated with her.  She gutters the ball down the lane all night and only on the last round does she finally get a strike?  Why should Bobby celebrate?  The strike was for naught.

When Bobby’s sister tells him that their father has suffered a stroke leaving him handicapped and mute, he’s conflicted about making the drive to Washington state to see him.  It’s a return to a life he could never find comfort in despite the musical talent he earned from a lineage of artists.  The people who live there are eccentric and maybe too philosophical. There’s nothing there that Bobby finds enriching.  He certainly doesn’t maintain a relationship with his father.  Yet, he decides to make the drive up the coastline by almost making a clean getaway from Reyette who he reluctantly welcomes to tag along.  Now he’s trapped in a car with someone he feels he has to be with but never wants to be around.  How does he resolve his dilemma? He picks up two women stuck on the side of the rode, only to find one uniquely irritating by harping on the filth of the environment as she attempts an escape to the apparent purity of Alaska.  Bobby knows this woman won’t find her utopian salvation, just as he will never get there either.

Bobby fights against standards.  The well-known diner scene (one of my favorites in all of movies) has him revolting against a server’s adherence to menu policy with a crass comment directed at her followed by a chaotic clearance of the drinking glasses on the table.  This man can’t decide what makes him happy, but he also cannot endure the tolerance of how others live in this world.  Nothing offers salvation for him.

At the Washington home, he comes across a student named Catherine (Susan Anspach) who is married to a dweebish fellow – a violinist with a sprained neck.  Catherine appreciates Bobby’s calm interpretation of playing Chopin, but she knows she cannot go further than that with him.  Bobby can’t confound her reasoning.  The answer for Bobby has always been to leave everything behind.  Why can’t Catherine do the same?

He also can’t find a way to connect with his father.  His sister assures him that dad can hear him, but the bearded expression stays the same and the best that Bobby can do is say he can’t stay in anything he’s at.  The monologue that Jack Nicholson performs to his mute father is such a departure from so many of his other crazed roles peppered within his body of work.  This is a weak man; a man who can deliver an endless number of communicative notes on the piano but cannot find the words to express himself, because he’s at a loss of what to say and uncover what he wants. His devices leave him to either rage or let it be, or maybe it’s best if he leaves.

Bob Rafelson’s choices for this film must be praised.  For a film about a pianist, there’s more selections from the twangy tunes of Tammy Wynette than there are from the piano.  Quite a contrast of Midwest country music against the eloquence of classical pieces that the main character was raised on.  

When Bobby finally sits to play Chopin for Catherine, you never actually see Nicholson play the piano.  Rafelson turns his camera away from Nicholson to pan over the various photographs hanging on the walls of the room. The long ancestry of the Dupea family is shown.  Yet, because there is no passion from Bobby, there is nothing to see. Rafelson never shows Bobby’s hands touching the keys.  When he boards that truck to play while sitting in traffic, Rafelson shoots Nicholson from the car positioned behind the truck.  The camera never boards the truck with Bobby.  I don’t recall ever seeing even a glimpse of eighty-eight keys during the entirety of the film.  The piano haunts Bobby Dupea.  It never compliments him.

Five Easy Pieces arrived after Jack Nicholson’s scene stealing comedy in Easy Rider demonstrated how well the famed actor could carry a picture.  This guy was a dynamo.  He could be loud and brash on the back of a motorcycle, or he could evoke crazed lunacy through outbursts or torturous, quiet solitude.  Nicholson’s performances are magnetic because he uses his fellow actors to enhance his characterizations.  Actors like Karen Black, Billy Green Bush and Susan Anspaugh serve as sounding boards for Bobby’s struggles.  Other than the monologued confession that he delivers to his father, all others aid Nicholson to convey his assortment of frustrations in scene after scene.  

With an astute vision from Bob Rafelson, the director effectively shares how Jack Nicholson’s Bobby Dupea knows nothing is as simple as the five easy pieces beginners use to learn to play the piano.  

Once a master, but always enslaved.

MOONLIGHT

By Marc S. Sanders

Within one of the most crime ridden and destitute neighborhoods of Miami, Florida a black youth named Chiron does his best to survive bullies while evading the drug fueled temper of his mother, Paula.  Barry Jenkins shot his Best Picture Oscar winner in twenty-five days.  The film’s pace is sluggish, but the sum of its three acts is very effective.

Chiron is portrayed by three actors, each depicted on the marquee poster for the film as a combined amalgamation of one face – truly one of the best ever designed still photo ads for a film in recent memory.  You have to take a beat to study the crafted image before you realize it is three different generations staring back at you.

As a pre-teen, the character is identified as “Little” played with calm astuteness by Alex R. Hibbert.  This boy is defined more by his blue backpack, neat haircut and conservative clothes than any of the few words he has to say.  The environment he roams on an everyday basis identifies him more accurately.  Little is always running and hiding from bullies while also being teased.  He doesn’t seek support, but a drug dealer named Juan (Mahershala Ali, in his first of two Oscar winning performances) welcomes Little into the home he shares with Teresa (Janelle Monáe, truly the most underrated member of this cast).  

There’s only a minimal amount of information to learn about the central character and what’s most important is during one of few moments he speaks.  Shortly after Little participates in a silly group comparison of young boys who reveal their privates, he asks Juan and Teresa what does the word faggot mean?  I won’t share the response, but I certainly approve of Juan’s simplistic description. There little dimension to such an ugly word.

Sadly, life is rightfully confusing for Little.  Paula worries about her son only when she returns from an overnight stupor when he hasn’t come home because Teresa prepared a supper and bed for him to stay overnight.  

A terrible irony is that there is a small degree of common separation between Juan and Paula.  I’d argue Little never experiences disappointment with his mother because how she carries herself is never unchanged.  Rather, it is regretful to learn what is realized about Juan – his mentor, who has fed him, taught him to swim and assured him that any confusion he might have with personal identity is nothing to be ashamed about.    It’s hard to trust someone who seemingly offers affection when an ugly accuracy accompanies the image.

In his teens, Little goes by Chiron (Ashton Sanders, who delivers the most heartbreaking performance of the three actors in the role).  The backpack is now grey, not blue, and school and life at home are twice as harsh.  Paula is completely undone with addiction that torments her son for whatever scrapes of money he has in his pockets.  From the beginning Naomie Harris plays Paula, which is an entirely unidentifiable character from her Moneypenny iteration in the James Bond films.  She’s erratic and physically bathed in sweat as she yearns for a fix. Apparently, Harris shot all of her scenes in just three days during a tight promotion schedule for SPECTRE. Her work is astonishing.  

One less positive influence is absent from his teenage life which is never explained.  Likely, Jenkins wants to demonstrate how quickly people are expelled from a survival of the fittest contest located in the run-down projects of broken homes and crime.  What Chiron experiences in just the two short days of this middle section is tender and trusting one moment, but unforgiving following the next sunrise.  

Chiron’s sexuality becomes more tangible with Kevin, his childhood best friend (Jharell Jerome).  Loyalty is tested later on followed by Chiron’s level of tolerance to be a victim.  I’d argue that violence usually stems from purpose.  It’s fortunate that Barry Jenkins offers enough of a back story before we see a brutal attack occur to close out this chapter.  Jhraell Jerome demonstrates a breaking point for a boy who’s not yet a man.  His silence is consistent with that of Alex Hibbert’s portrayal.  However, tears, hand holding, a quiet, homeless night on the beach, and eventually rage say more than enough.

The final act is when Chiron goes by the name of Black in his early twenties.  He’s portrayed by Trevante Rhodes.  His behavior is mostly consistent with the other two interpretations.  Still, by no fault of the actors, I find this portion to be significantly weaker than the other two. Black reunites with Kevin, following both men serving time.  Kevin is now played by André Holland.  He manages a diner near Atlanta.  

I do not believe Black (or Chiron) makes peace with his past demons.  I do not believe Barry Jenkins ever aimed for a resolve.  He’s staying physically fit while being independent and adopting a similar appearance to Juan.  I was not clear on it, but I believe he follows Juan’s unfortunate career path as well. Is that good, or worse than ever?  As well, an encounter with Kevin before the film comes to a close could leave you feeling unsure about Chiron’s future.  Yet, there is no promise of a future in this world.  

Rhodes and Holland are fine actors. I simply found their conversations to be stale and uninteresting. Holland owns the most dialogue and unfortunately Trevante Rhodes upholds Chiron’s minimal expression. That grows tired by this point. He’s a damaged individual, but to offer this small slice of his early adulthood should have had more to say than just a slow-moving conversation in a diner booth. Still, one of Chiron’s last lines of dialogue says so much. It just takes a little too long to get there.

Moonlight is a complex watch, broken up into three short one act plays focusing on one person’s torrent youth.  The world he’s beholden to is always challenging and devoid of relief.  It’s not easy to watch a child endure these conditions where your positive influence is a criminal and your best friend must use you as an expense for his own survival, regardless of any affection he can offer.  

The cast is exceptional.  However, as impactful as Marhersha Ali is during his twenty minutes of screen time, I never felt like he provided enough for the widespread acclaim that followed this film’s release.  I think the script shortchanges his character. His role is quite significant to the central character, but his presence feels insufficient.  

The supporting work of Janelle Monáe and Naomie Harris are the standouts.  I actually wish their maternal roles were further explored.  Both women are short on tolerance for pity. Neither will weep for Chiron’s anguish. One operates with an affectionate purpose and the other is wired for impatience and abuse.  

Moonlight certainly belongs to the three men who play Little, Chiron and Black.  Barry Jenkins would not allow the actors to meet in person on set.  He wanted the performance of the respective episodes of this boy’s life to play without any outer influence beyond the script and his personal direction.  Wise move.  Nothing is mimicked.  Yet, the responses and behaviors of Chiron add up sensibly as the young man experiences a rough adolescence. Chiron gets chased, pushed, punched and verbally abused.  However, when he finally fights back, it’s not in a similar kind of method with fists and name calling.  Chiron goes a step further.

Moonlight is a very special film that explores how a boy can ever be expected to survive when the nature to be a criminal appears to be his only destiny and his sexual orientation is unaccepted.  The odds of just feeling content are not favorable for some that reside under a moonlight amidst isolation or with limited companionship.  By the time the film concludes perhaps it’s at least positive that a quiet, young man from the projects can offer up a sad truth about himself beyond what shows on the surface.

CHANGING LANES

By Marc S. Sanders

The title is not meant to just be taken literally.  Roger Michell’s film shot on location in New York City pull the fulcrums which alter the destructive paths of two very different men.  The script beckons them to pave each other’s roads they will follow from here on out.  Their destinations can lead to hope or despair.

Doyle Gipson (Samuel L Jackson) is a recovering alcoholic who is ready to close on a house in Queens that his estranged wife Valerie (Kim Staunton) and two young sons can move into.  Finally, the insurance telemarketer seems to be on the straight and narrow.  He doesn’t want a glass of champagne.  He feels like champagne, bubbly and alive.  His AA sponsor doesn’t rejoice in that comment.  Doyle just has to get to family court and demonstrate that he’s a devoted and loving father and ask the judge to decline Valerie’s plan to relocate to Oregon with the boys.

Gavin Banek (Ben Affleck), the son in law and young law partner of Stephan Delano (Sydney Pollack) just has to make a quick appearance in court to undoubtedly prove that his now deceased client intentionally signed off on dismantling his multi-million-dollar trust leaving the proceeds for the law firm to collect.  The client’s granddaughter argues that her grandfather was mentally incapacitated and therefore the agreement carries no merit.  Gavin has all the documents lined up with clear and original signatures from the client.  This should be a slam dunk.

Car accidents never happen at a convenient time. On one rainy day in the city, Doyle and Gavin meet following a sideswipe collision.  Doyle wants to exchange information.  Gavin is good with giving over a blank check and being on his way. Thus, leaving the scene of an accident. 

In the rush of things though, Gavin has dropped the power of attorney file, glaringly noticeable in an orange binder.  Doyle collects it while being left stranded on the freeway.  Being twenty minutes late works against him, and Valerie is granted permission to leave the state.  

Without that orange file, Gavin is short of proving his argument in court.  He has until 5 o’clock on Good Friday to deliver the document to the opposing council and judge or the granddaughter can file a malpractice suit with claims of fraud and possible jail time for Gavin, Stephan and another partner, Walter (Richard Jenkins).

Two separate stories are at play here, running parallel against each other until the lines collide once, then separate and then collide again and again by the hands of the two men working against each other to get ahead.  

Changing Lanes is a study of willpower for Doyle.  Samuel L Jackson is giving one of his best performances.  He’s continuously being tested.  He can have a temper when he’s in the midst of chaos but as his AA sponsor (William Hurt) will remind him outbursts of anger are not substitutes for the bottle.  So you didn’t have a drink!! You can’t exonerate or excuse however else you behave irrationally.

Changing Lanes is morality piece for Gavin.  He has money and power and resources to fix any kind of scenario and circumvent the boundaries of law to Stephan, Walter and his own advantage.  The question is if he should follow through on what’s in front of him.  His code of ethics is tested and other than Michelle, an associate at the firm (Toni Collette), all are telling him what needs to be done. Not what should be done. Including his wife and Stephan’s silver spooned daughter, Cynthia, played with attractive deviousness by Amanda Peet.  A magnificent piece of dialogue that lends justification to commit to what’s not right and sound may be the actress’ best scene of her career.  A gentle, yet direct Lady MacBeth.

Actually, even Michelle, (Toni Collette lending a catalog of subtle expressions) who’s also Gavin’s mistress and in the “I told you so” position, has ideas that triggers a lot of unwanted turmoil for the men.  Changing Lanes truly puts the corrupt in the driver’s seat while leaving the innocents in the wreckage left behind.  What does that say about us as a society?  I guess I’ll need to atone for a lot more than I thought on Yom Kippur, this year.

The men quickly find ways to locate one another and cause harm and setbacks by their antagonism. Some of these scenarios are definitely convenient over the course of an eight-hour day, especially in a populated New York City.  However, the circumstances are at least sensible.  The plausibility should not be questioned however because the script by Chap Taylor and Michael Tolkin is very insightful and reflective.

There’s a million ways Changing Lanes could have ended.  There’s certainly a button well in place on its finality but what remains are the transformations of these two men.  On the surface, in any kind of setting, Affleck and Jackson come from different cloths and it serves the picture very well, because New York is always the battleground for a variety of walks of life.  Watch how the actors argue with each other.  They might as well be speaking different languages because too often people of different backgrounds fail to see what their neighbors are going through.  Doyle and Gavin must go through a lot of pains before they can see a clear sky on a stormy day.

The trailer for Changing Lanes is thrilling but terribly deceptive.  It’ll make you believe this is a kind road rage action picture, complete with Jackson’s signature temper tantrum that’s found in a number of his films.  Maybe the preview convinces you that Affleck looks like the victimized white guy, and that is entirely unfair to an audience and both actors, as well as the writers and directors.  

I’m bold enough to declare that my write up is a much more transparent offering of what to expect from this fine, forgotten film – a highlight for the resumes of every actor here.  Changing Lanes leaves you thinking about what’s just and what can be done right when temptations and tempers do not collide accordingly with our day.

GOOD WILL HUNTING

By Marc S. Sanders


I went to a prestigious private high school.  I was never a genius but I primarily got As and Bs.  However, when I reflect on my four years there, I believe I always had to bust my ass for those grades simply to keep up with the rest of the class, comprised of sixty students.  The majority of my classmates never looked like they overexerted themselves.  With my dad hammering at me to turn a 96 into a 100, disguised as sarcasm that painfully bit me every time, I was a very insecure kid among this community of students primed for Ivy League.  One student could look at the page of a book for seven seconds and absorb all of the information in print. There’s a quick transitional moment where Will Hunting, Good Will Hunting, exponentially accomplishes such a feat.  Only difference is he reads a renowned therapist’s best selling book from cover to cover in minutes.  Thereafter, he’s able to conclude that the author likely conceals his homosexuality due to shame.  Will Hunting has one of the most gifted minds in history, but hides it beneath what he says with his fists in the Southie schoolyards of Boston accompanied with a brutal vernacular, telling anyone who challenges him to “f’ack off.”

The title character is magnificently played by Matt Damon, who co-wrote this script with his childhood best friend and Harvard classmate, Ben Affleck.  The film was directed by Gus Van Sant and went on to earn Oscars for the original screenplay, and for Robin Williams in a supporting role.  Seven other nominations were also applauded for the film.  

In the year that Titanic ruled the box office, it was Damon and Affleck’s little project that stayed afloat with $220 million in worldwide revenues on a $10 million dollar budget.  I consider their achievements as great as what Sylvester Stallone accomplished when he sold his script for Rocky.  Collectively, they have at least inspired me to follow through with writing my own original plays.

Will is an orphaned twenty-year-old janitor who mops the floors of the mathematics building at M.I.T.  The esteemed and self-confident Professor Gerald “Gerry” Lambeau (Stellan Skarsgård) posts an extremely complex math problem on the hallway blackboard allowing his students the opportunity for “greatness” if any of them can solve it before the end of the semester.  Overnight, it has been solved but no one takes credit for it.  It’s only later when Gerry and his faithful assistant Tom (Tom & Jerry!  HA!) realize that Will, the foul-mouthed janitor, is the kid with all the answers.  Amazingly though, he’s serving time for assaulting a police officer while starting a neighborhood gang brawl.  

Gerry has to groom this kid and shape him so that he can take credit for sharing Will’s brilliance with the world.  A judge agrees to release Will under the condition that he routinely meets with a therapist to deal with his anger issues.  Gerry eventually turns to his estranged friend and college roommate Sean (Robin Williams) who grew up in the same neighborhood as Will. Will might discover that he has more in common with Sean than he realizes.

No matter how many times I watch Good Will Hunting, I visualize a strong structure to its character make up, and that gives enforcement to the story.  In the center of this nucleus is Will.  Lines are connected to people who have a concern for him and his future.  

First, there is his pal Chuckie (Affleck).  With their buddies Morgan and Billy (Casey Affleck, Cole Hauser), the guys routinely drive around all day into the night drinking, smoking, and hanging around batting cages and bars.  Eventually, Chuckie will not be able to hold his tongue anymore and will have to lay out what Will should be doing beyond the nowhere life he leads now.

Next is Skylar played by Minnie Driver in a career turning portrayal as a sweet, sensitive and fun Harvard medical student. She shares a love story with Damon’s character that stands apart from so many other movies.  Their relationship builds as Skylar tries to understand all that Will is capable of while he hides behind the biggest of lies, like expecting her to believe that he has twelve older brothers, three of whom he currently lives with. He’s not proud of his super intelligence.  So, he resorts to making up what she might find impressive and unique about him.  

Gerry is proudly pompous as he carries his award-winning mathematical accolades with his designer scarves and sports coats, ensuring that Tom is always his follower, literally pacing a step behind.  Gerry may have Will’s best interests at heart, but it’s only because of his fascination with grooming the next Albert Einstein located within his own town.  As long as he can lay claim to the success of Will, then Gerry wants what is best for his discovery.  The question is whether Will wants what Gerry pursues.

Lastly, maybe the most important connection belongs to Sean.  A therapist and professor at Bunker Hill Community College who still mourns the death of his wife following an agonizing eight-year illness. Following an introduction where Will completely disarms Sean by examining a watercolor painting, Sean realizes that he must find a way to taper the patient’s super powered aptitude.  Will knows everything.  However, Sean must remind Will that he hasn’t experienced anything. Namely, love, responsibility and purpose.  Will’s weakness though is his “what-if” response to any opportunity that comes his way.  That weakness stems from his ability to foreshadow possibilities that he’d rather not face and overcome.  His nature is to see thirty steps ahead where everything derails for him and therefore undoes Will with opportunities for success and love.

Affleck and Damon carved a fully realized subject in their title character.  Their script runs episodically for Will with a different person in nearly every scene.  If Will is physically not in a scene, at the very least the moment still has something specifically to do with him.  In the second half of the movie, Gerry and Sean share moments where they debate and insist upon what they think is best for the prodigy.  Yet, the argument stems from their personal history together long before this kid entered their lives.  There’s a lot of deep thought and sensitivity written for Stellan Skarsgård and Robin Williams to rely upon for their performances.  

Apparently, the role of Skylar was not supposed to be British.  Yet, Minnie Driver delivers an Oscar nominated role by using her native tongue.  I like it because it shows Will encountering someone right for him who originates from outside of Boston, which is all he truly knows beyond the books he quickly skims through.  Skylar is an instinctual person.  She’d have to be to attend Harvard, but unlike Will with the untrained genius capabilities, she wants to learn about people who enter her life. Afar of therapy, mathematics and getting drunk with his buddies, Skylar is a pure, non-judgmental person for Will to share in his life.  He must figure out if he’s ready to take the gamble that she’s up for.  More importantly, as Sean will remind him, Skylar is not perfect and neither is Will.  

Chuckie may just be who Will has to sacrifice for any means of a promising future. I never thought Affleck was given much to do with his role until a concluding scene arrives in the third act.  He and Damon share a magnificent moment that seals the success of their script when the partnered screenwriters finally have to deliver an epiphany to their genius creation who carries a wealth of faults and personal demons. I like to think the context of this scene relies upon the real-life history of the two actors.  Harvey Weinstein, the producer, wanted Brad Pitt and Leonardo DiCaprio in these roles.  Tell me, do you think that would have worked as effectively?

Good Will Hunting allows for so much to think about.  Will is portrayed more of a curse to himself and the world than anything else.  The role of Tom played by a real mathematician, John Mighton, has at best ten to fifteen lines in the whole picture, but it’s his presence and disapproving response to Will’s behavior that say so much about the overachievers who attend schools like M.I.T. and Harvard.  

One of my favorite parts occurs when an accomplished professor insists to Gerry that a problem cannot be resolved.  Will bellows the answer as easy as breathing and the middle-aged professor is destroyed instantly.  Tom tries to console the poor man before he storms out of the room in unnerving frustration.  As well, Stellan Skarsgård’s character operates with earned conceit but gradually crumbles as his newfound apprentice minimizes all that he’s acquired over his lifetime.  

The only one who can overcome Will’s involuntary penchant for personal destruction is Robin Williams’ Sean who knows that academia and knowledge must not be what truly defines Will Hunting.  Compared to Will’s background, Sean has experienced similar childhood trauma. Chuckie stems from a similar environment.  So, it’s just as well that both Sean and Chuckie are likely the most appropriate to guide Will in the best, most appropriate direction.

Wait!!!! Look at me!!!! 

I’m dissecting the characters of Good Will Hunting and I’ve hardly critiqued the picture.  I’m sorry.  I guess the film does not invite much criticism when it covers so many dimensions related to mentality and environment, strengths and talents, and the side effects which spawn weakness.

Good Will Hunting is not a perfect movie. One particular moment irritates me to no end.  If you’ve seen the film, then maybe you feel the same as I do with the “Retainer!” scene.  Chuckie dons a ridiculous three-piece suit and goes as Will to a prestigious job interview where he capably corners the interviewers into a bribe.  I cannot fathom why this part made the final cut.  It comes off entirely silly and unrealistic and it pulls me out of the movie every time I watch it.  What interviewers for a prestigious firm would literally take cash out of their wallets and lay it dumbfounded on the table for a kid to collect?  I passionately hate this scene because, by comparison, I love the rest of the movie so much.

Anyway…

Robin Williams demonstrates how effective he is with drama and pain.  Perhaps his own personal hurt lent to his performance.  Watch the first scene when Sean meets Will.  The conversation moves from small talk sarcasm to unexpected anger that gets physical.  Watch how seamlessly Williams diverts from broad range describing a World Series game and then into something that his character treasures personally a watercolor painting.  Most importantly, take in his nearly five-minute monologue where Sean evaluates Will on a park bench and deflates the ego that comes with the boy’s natural talent.   He talks about the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel and being in love and later mourning a loss.  Williams, with Affleck and Damon’s words, paints one picture after another to demonstrate what Will has no business discussing at all.  Not yet at least. (My wife and I sat on that bench in Boston.  Just to be there in that spot was exhilarating for us.)

Matt Damon delivered the third of a trifecta of super talented young characters who had to mold their best traits.  See Rounders and The Rainmaker.  This leading performance sealed the success of his outstanding career.  Think about it though.  Matt Damon is such a wise, studious actor.  He learns the unique languages and behaviors of his characters.  Look at these movies, but also look back on his portrayal of super spy Jason Bourne, another kind of savant with extraordinary talents that get beyond his personal control.  Parts like these seemed catered for Damon, not fellow actors like DiCaprio, Wahlberg, or Affleck.  Damon’s characters go through similar arcs, but each is entirely unique.

Good Will Hunting was a new kind of coming-of-age film, far ahead of the James Dean and John Hughes fare from prior decades.  For the film to effectively work, its script had to speak as smart as its characters.  Gus Van Sant recognized the insight and internal conflicts of guys like Sean, Gerry and Will.  All three men are incredibly smart, but they never found a way to live with each other nor had they yet to uncover inner peace.  By the end of this movie, perhaps you’ll agree they all have, especially good Will Hunting.