Category: Best Actor

WALL STREET

By Marc S. Sanders

Oliver Stone is a very good director at providing the evidence of cynicism within the worlds he films.  JFK covered a clandestine, conspiring environment oozing out of the columns of government.  Platoon not only depicted the horrors of war, but also the cancer that poisons the mentality of soldiers expected to protect one another.  Wall Street explores the temptations to cheat the stock market for grand prizes in wealth.  Gordon Gekko is the 1980s tycoon who never knows the meaning of enough.

The well-dressed yuppie lizard, Gordon Gekko, is memorably played by Michael Douglas in his only Oscar winning role; regarded as one of the most villainous characters of the last fifty years.  It’s not a modest part, and Douglas’ performance is therefore electrifying.  With slicked back hair, the signature crackle of a voice inherited by his father Kirk, and the newest 80s innovation, a brick size cellular phone, the power to earn money and crush corporate enemies is done with ease.  Gekko relies on obtaining inside information (a federal crime) to find the next chest of treasures.  It might be an illegal practice but the best of the best at making mountains of money do it, and if you keep your process on the down low, nobody will catch wind of what you’re up to.  Gordon Gekko is an absolute genius, and he’s awarded a script of fast talking, slick monologues that justify his sins.

Bud Fox (Charlie Sheen) is the kid on the ground, way below Gordon’s high-rise office, desperately trying to get five minutes with the guy.  A whole day’s wait in the lobby and a birthday gift of Cuban cigars does the trick.  Now the lizard has the fox ensnared in his money-making schemes of deception and pursuits for unlimited greed.

Oliver Stone writes Sheen’s character as virginal when it comes to stock trading.  The kid is dying to get laid with the big boys while getting away from the cold calling hang ups of promising uncertain futures in stocks and bonds.  A subtle and effective angle is to give Bud a mentor.  Hal Holbrook enters the screen from left or right on many occasions to put his hand on Bud’s shoulder and give him his own twist of Confucius philosophy.  Then he exits out of frame towards the opposite direction he enters, leaving Bud to follow the questionable paths that Gordon paves.  Holbrook’s contribution to Wall Street has never been celebrated enough over the years.

Michael Douglas and Charlie Sheen are an outstanding pair of devilish mentorship against innocence lost.  Gekko preaches his passion for wealth on top of more wealth and why nothing should stand in his way, especially the law or the cost of others’ livelihoods.  Bud Fox emulates him as a master of the universe.  Charlie Sheen is great at being the biggest fan in Michael Douglas’ concerts of monologues. Watch how Sheen listens when Douglas has the floor. 

Martin Sheen extends his paternal role to Charlie within Stone’s film.  As Gordon sets designs on taking stock ownership of the small airline company that the father works for, the father/son relationship is tested, and Bud becomes blurred between what is right and wrong.  The Sheens have good debates and heightened dramatic moments.  I wish they were given more to do together though.  Perhaps even showing the wedge of the mother role within this family.

Additionally, Oliver Stone writes dynamics for Bud in a worker relationship with a fellow trader colleague (John C McGinley). There’s a former college pal/now lawyer (James Spader) that Bud tries to squeeze at the behest of Gordon’s demands.  Bud is also covered doing his own tricks of the trade such as dressing as a janitor to dig for what’s forbidden.

Why bring up all of these storylines?  Well, there’s a wealth of great material in Wall Street that’s relevant to the practice of insider trading and corporate overhaul.  Somehow though, Oliver Stone is responsible for writing one of the most unnecessary characters in film history.

Daryl Hannah just had to be cast as the buxom blond love interest for Bud Fox.  She’s never believable as a New York City interior designer and the chemistry between Hannah and Sheen is as thin as water.  Her name is Darien (a 1980s name) and one scene between Michael Douglas and her bustling the streets of Manhattan goes nowhere.  Wall Street is simply not the superb film it could have been because of the amount of time devoted to Daryl Hannah’s character.  Every moment she occupies is cutting room floor material.  When Darien exits the picture she’s never mentioned again.  The history she has with Gordon is never revealed to Bud.  Regrettably, it’s all meaningless.

What’s frustrating with Wall Street is its promise is never fully committed.  The roles awarded to Spader, McGinley, Holbrook and even Saul Rubinek in an early role as Gordon’s nerdy lawyer could have been even more fleshed out in lieu of what is covered with Daryl Hannah’s part.  More moments with Martin and Charlie Sheen would have better served the film.  A competitor tycoon played by Terence Stamp is very interesting and worthy of a larger presence.  Sadly, I imagine a studio producer or even Stone insisted on having a love interest that serves no purpose here except to put a glamorous actress above the title in the credits.  

Nonetheless, Oliver Stone built an authenticity to the hysteria of stock trading and corporate underhandedness.  When he shoots the scenes occupied by Bud and Gordon, he does handheld shaky camera work to emulate that nothing feels sturdy and balanced.  In moments that Bud’s father is at the center, the director shoots with a locked in position, bearing the character’s assured apprehension to trust his son or this prophet of greed.

I especially like the scene where Michael Douglas delivers his famous “Greed…is good!” speech at a shareholders’ annual meeting.  Stone glosses over all the company vice presidents and officers as well as the fat cat suits who carry stakes in the company.  Yet, the filmmaker also takes the time to show that little old lady with the pocketbook who finds her entitled seat to see how the value of her small ownership share is being treated.  Remember, if you own stock like Disney or IBM, you get that invitation in the mail to attend these meetings, and you have just as much a right to attend as all the Gordon Gekkos of the world.

Wall Street serves an important reflection of 1980s capitalism, while taking place in 1985, two years ahead of the infamous market crash of 1987 (the year the film was released).  Guys like Bud Fox had the Charlie Sheen image. Boyish men who got rich quick with little imagination to create and build.  They stood next to tall wealth and learned, but they never gained the knowledge to prepare for quick falls and disheartening sacrifice.  Most importantly, they took their own sense of morale for granted.  These are the best parts of Wall Street.

MYSTIC RIVER

By Marc S. Sanders

Two crimes, thirty years apart, pave the destiny for three childhood friends during their adulthood, while residing in the same Irish neighborhood of Boston.  Sean Penn is Jimmy, a former criminal.  Kevin Bacon is Sean, a police detective.  Tim Robbins is Davey, who was held captive and molested for four days following an afternoon when the guys were playing street hockey together.  Naturally, Davey was never the same but over the course of events in Clint Eastwood’s psychological crime drama, Mystic River, we learn that Jimmy and Sean likely changed too.

Jimmy’s daughter, Katie (Emmy Rossum), is found brutally murdered following an evening of bar hopping with girlfriends.  Sean and his partner Whitey (Laurence Fishburne) head up the investigation.  While the magnetic screenplay written by Brian Helgeland, based upon the novel by Dennis Lehane, relies on a who done it track, that seems to be less a priority as details unfold for the trio of men.  Jimmy and Davey’s wives (Laura Linney, Marcia Gay Harden) may be hiding some information.  A possible murder weapon invites some curious questions. There’s reason to question Katie’s boyfriend, and Davey’s odd behavior combined with his childhood trauma raises eyebrows as he was one of the last men to see Katie alive.

The less you know about Mystic River the better, but this engrossing cast which earned Oscars for Penn and Robbins, plus a nomination for Harden, is not the only stand out feature.  This film is one of Clint Eastwood’s best directing efforts; definitely one of my favorites.  

First, Eastwood hides many of his characters in dark shadows so the viewer never forgets that all these people have pasts they regret or would rather not resurface.  Sometimes, you hauntingly recognize the silhouettes of Sean Penn and Tim Robbins, each for different and unnerving reasons. Eastwood notably shoots himself this way often when he’s in front of his camera (Unforgiven, Sudden Impact, Million Dollar Baby).  It’s a brilliant photographic strategy that will make you fear or empathize with his flawed protagonists.

Second, Clint Eastwood shoots much of the Boston neighborhood with wide overhead shots in the daytime.  Interiors offer little light no matter the time of day.  Exteriors present the multi floor homes which are easy to see and showcase a labyrinth of crevices, yards and blocks where activity occurs.  

While the title of Lehane’s mystery is hardly spoken until a series of shocking revelations occur at the end, Eastwood ensures the setting of this Boston Irish populace is given much attention.  The more closely located these homes are up against one another, the less apt that any of the residents can truly see what’s going on under their nose.  These people live on top of each other with no room to spread out.  Their nearsightedness is practically blinding.

Furthermore, Eastwood composed the morose soundtrack for this piece. The director seems to speak to the audience because nothing good will likely arrive for any of these folks who grew up together like the generations before them.  Even a colorful Red Sox cap worn by Davey does not offer much cheer or Boston pride.  Eastwood’s musical compositions paint a modern-day setting encased in unimaginable heartache.  

Mystic River is not an easy film to watch.  Yet it’s not gory.  It’s not scary.  It’s the internal struggles of these characters that’s hard to imagine or observe. On the surface Lehane’s story seems reminiscent of most any other crime drama or Law & Order episode of the week.  The challenge is to watch these masterful performances, especially from Sean Penn, Tim Robbins and Marcia Gay Harden.  

We’ve seen moments where the father comes upon the crime scene of a murdered child.  However, Sean Penn delivers this staple with raw, unbearable heartache.  This actor invests his soul into the moment and reminds any one of us, whether we are a parent or child, of how wrenching it is to even imagine losing a loved one to senseless violence.  If I had to ever experience an episode like this, it might just take the entire police force to hold me down too.

Robbins and Harden are husband and wife, who get in over their heads when incidents of surprise occur.  Harden is especially ripped apart with what she knows and what she suspects.  Robbins embraces an inner child who has never outgrown a trauma that stubbornly stays attached to him, even if he’s a loving father.

As difficult as Mystic River is to watch, I’ll return to it on repeat because this cast and crew are at the top of their game.  Dennis Lehane has written other Boston crime stories (Gone Baby Gone with the film adaptation directed by Ben Affleck), particularly involving children, and he recycles his characters for future tales.  To my knowledge, I do not believe he’s ever written a sequel to Mystic River, but I’d love to see what happens to these people after the events of this film unfolded.  

Everything is revealed in Mystic River, except what happens next and I’m dying to know.  

AMERICAN BEAUTY

By Marc S. Sanders

Lester Burnham declares in less than a year he’ll be dead.  When we meet him, he’s masturbating in the shower, sleeping in the back of the family vehicle on the way to work, and declaring that his wife Carolyn used to be lovely.  Heck, he’s acting like he’s dead already.  His life has nothing new or exciting to pursue.  His daughter, Jane, doesn’t give him the time of day.  He’s threatened with being laid off from his magazine call center job that he’s held on to for nearly twenty-five years.  What’s to live for anymore? 

I guess what’s complimentary about poor Lester is that at least he’s honest with himself.  All the other neighbors, except for the gay couple known as Jim & Jim, are just as unhappy it seems and might as well be dead too.  A common theme running through the suburban landscape of American Beauty centers on a sense of mental awakening. Who revives sad, lost folks like Lester and Carolyn?  Perhaps it’s the generation sneaking up behind them, who are on the cusp of taking their place in young adulthood. 

Lester is played by Kevin Spacey, in his second Oscar winning performance.  Carolyn is portrayed by Annette Bening who is way overdue for a trophy.  Jane the daughter is played by Thora Birch.  The headliners of this cast are outstanding in how different and disagreeable they portray a broken family that is forced to live in an unstimulating home while trudging through a lifeless marriage.  Look at the set designs within this film.  There’s an endless amount of blank walls within the interiors of the homes.  Almost no artwork or pictures are to be found. 

Lester pines and fantasizes about Jane’s best friend Angela (Mena Suvari) getting rained on with red rose petals while she lies naked in a pure white bathtub.  Carolyn, the real estate agent who can’t make a sale, sidles up to the dashing Buddy Kane (Peter Gallagher), her competition. Next door is Chris Cooper in a hospital cornered role as retired Marine Colonel Frank Fitts, with his near comatose wife Barbara played by Allison Janey, and their eighteen-year-old resourceful drug dealing son, Ricky (Wes Bentley). He takes advantage of his camcorder at any opportunity to collect the beautiful images found within the world he occupies and observes.  That could mean he’s capturing Jane in her bedroom window which faces his own.  Later, he’ll show you the freedom of a plastic shopping bag dancing within an autumn breeze.  An old shopping bag has more life among a breeze and brown leaves than Lester, Carolyn, Frank or Barbara.

There is a mystery to American Beauty that seems quite odd.  We know that Lester will die soon, but how and why? Maybe there’s a twist, because that outcome seems more and more impossible as we see Lester discover a spirited mindset to go after what he wants, when he wants and declare that he’s not going to allow himself to take shit from anyone particularly in his boring dead end job or from his unaffectionate wife.  Ricky, the kid with tons of money and electronics equipment, has nothing to lose because he’s not committed to anything at age eighteen and he can just quit an ordinary table-waiting job at any given moment.  Why didn’t Lester have the gumption to ever be like Ricky?   It seems so simple.

There’s a blink and miss it sign hidden in plain sight.  Pinned to the wall of Lester’s work cubicle is the message “Look Closer.”  Director Sam Mendes and writer Alan Ball gives the audience a subtle wink to dig within the cracks of suburban life sidewalks.  These homes may appear perfect on the outside, with neighborly neighbors, but if you watch with a more critical eye you’ll find an emptiness that has been unfilled for too long.  The filmmakers make it easy for you to uncover what eats away at the upper middle-class way of living.  Dinner with Lawrence Welk playing in the background is anything but uplifting.  It’s imprisoning.

When one member of this community opts to seize his moment, no matter if he’s motivated by a kid’s rebelliousness and the drugs he buys off of him, or the fact that he thinks a beautiful teenage blonde has the hots for him, he sets out to change.  He exercises and builds up his body, buys the dream sports car he’s always wanted, quits his job and grows to not caring how this may disturb his unloving wife. 

American Beauty seems to remind us how alive we can be when we are younger and not as restrained by the commitments it takes to live like adults with debts and parenthood and jobs and marriage.  Look closer though because couldn’t we live as well or more aggressively when middle age arrives?

The irony of Alan Ball’s script is that a boring guy like Lester Burnham discovers exciting things about himself just as the end of his life is approaching.  All he needed was stimulation.  He never saw his death coming, and you might forget he told you he will soon be dead, but American Beauty works to show how necessary it is to live each day to the fullest. 

I sound hokey.  I know.  Yet, that’s the direction of this film’s trajectory.  On the side, you observe those people who do not pursue what will fulfill their own lives and desperately need a modification.  Lester was limited to branch out. So is Colonel Fitts and his very sad wife.  So is Carolyn, and Jane and Angela, and maybe so is Ricky.  All of these people uphold facades about themselves to preserve a happiness on the outside when they really feel worse within. 

Sam Mendes is brilliant at drawing upon the subtle messages and insecurities of Alan Ball’s neighborhood characters.   About the only people that Sam and Alan do not dig deeper with is the gay couple.  I guess since they are happily out of the closet, what is left for them to conceal?

I could not help but compare Mendes’ Oscar winning film to Robert Redford’s.  American Beauty is more forthright than Ordinary People. Redford’s film draws out the ugly honesty of the family nucleus when an unexpected tragedy interferes.  Then it takes the entire film before the spouses take off their masks and truly declare how they regard each other.  It’s crushing to realize a sad truth. 

American Beauty rips off the layer right at the beginning, though.  A tragedy does not awaken these people to the natures that embarrass them.  Simply a hellbent, fed up mindset gets one guy going, and if that one member opens his eyes, then so will others because a simple disruption in ordinary life is next to impossible to live with.  Both films are so wise in how they criticize the very people these films were likely catered for.

What do these two Oscar winners say?  They tell the middle class, middle age American to simply look closer.

IT HAPPENED ONE NIGHT

By Marc S. Sanders

If you want to stay on top of how the world of American cinema evolved over the last hundred years, within all its categories, you must find time to watch the one film that paved the way for the romantic comedy, as well as the travel comedy.  Frank Capra’s Oscar winning picture, It Happened One Night, is the first of three films to win Oscars for every major category: Best Picture, Director, Screenplay, Actor and Actress. Nearly a hundred years later, the accolades still feel worthy.

Claudette Colbert is wealthy heiress Ellie Andrews who dives off and swims away from the captivity of her father’s yacht and buses from Miami to New York to reunite with her new husband, King Westly (Jameson Thomas).  Her father, Alexander Andrews (Walter Connolly), never approved of this marriage and insists his spoiled daughter get it annulled once she is found.  A ten-thousand-dollar reward is up for grabs to the person who finds her.

Along the way, a rogue reporter, Peter Warne (Clark Gable) ends up next to this young lady on the bus.  Complications ensue where their money gets lost, bags are stolen, buses are missed, and buses get stuck.  Then this trip becomes a walking experience.  Ellie has agreed to stay by Peter’s side though.  He promises to get her to New York as long as he gets to write about her story firsthand amid the constant headlines that recount Alexander’s desperation to get his daughter back.

It’d be easy enough if only Peter and Ellie were not falling for one another.

Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?  Any Nora Ephron script has the elements of It Happened One Night.  Screwball comedies with Cary Grant and Katharine Hepburn seemed to follow a similar blueprint.  To the best of my knowledge, Frank Capra’s film was first though.  

A famous scene has Colbert and Gable on the side of the road trying to hitch a ride.  Colbert’s bare leg does the trick that Gable’s outstretched thumb could not.  Eventually, this scene for the ages evolved into Meg Ryan and Billy Crystal daring to fake an orgasm effectively while dining at Katz’s Delicatessen.

When Harry Met Sally… is what easily comes to mind while watching It Happened One Night.  Peter will tease this spoiled rich girl. Yet, he will also be gentlemanly enough to put up a blanket to divide a cabin room he shares with Ellie, allowing for some privacy.  In the middle of the night though, the two will stay up chatting from either side of their blanket wall, as both acknowledge sad voids within their personal lives.  It’s parallel to how Harry and Sally would chat on the phone from their respective apartment bedrooms while discussing their newly evolving friendship with Casablanca on TV.  

Ellie and Peter become relaxed as their sojourn continues.  They could be left in the middle of nowhere with no money or food, but Gable and Colbert’s chemistry show an easy comfort to each other.  That is what’s expected of any troubled travel film.  At first Ellie does not want to share a rear bench on the bus with Peter.  She’s married to King and the purpose of this runaway trip is to be back in her new husband’s arms.  Plus, this odd fellow on the bus feels unseemly.  His charm is overbearing to the socialite’s proper petiteness.  He’ll resort to munching on a carrot he finds in a patch. She can’t find the appetite for it. Time together breaks down barriers though, just as movies in later decades eventually accomplished with films like Midnight Run and Planes, Trains & Automobiles.  This kind of formula, with ongoing new settings and circumstances, is almost guaranteed to end in positivity once the mutual antagonism is behind the pair.  

For 1934, It Happened One Night was bold in its content, ahead of an eventual ratings system intent on upholding an acceptable level of conservatism.  Colbert’s leg is the most unforgettable.  Later, Peter feels it necessary to spank Ellie.  Then there is the fact that the two share a room together.  Comedic circumstances and shock lend to the humor of this scenario.  Plus, there’s Claudette Colbert undressing down to her slip while a bare-chested Clark Gable is only one side of a blanket away from her.  

Would It Happened One Night endure an endless admiration if moments like these were contained? I doubt it.  Frank Capra’s film hinges on sexual appeal that feels naughty and rebellious.  

The dialogue remains witty.  Clark Gable’s introduction in the film while on the phone with his editor is a precursor to what an outlandish Bill Murray might have done with the script. The material is sometimes quite brash, and the ending, which has been duplicated hundreds of times since, is a perfect example of romantic escapism.  

Over ninety years have passed but unexpected romance is what remains treasured.  When two people with nothing in common begin an unwelcome journey together, it’s still easy to hope they find a way to like each other.  They have to like one another first before they can even concern themselves with falling in love.  The progress of this east coast bus ride allows for the stages to develop naturally.  Frank Capra, Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert were the first to give it a shot and it works brilliantly and beautifully.

THE BRUTALIST (2024)

by Miguel E. Rodriguez

DIRECTOR: Brady Corbet
CAST: Adrien Brody, Felicity Jones, Guy Pearce, Joe Alwyn, Raffey Cassidy
MY RATING: 7/10
ROTTEN TOMATOMETER: 93% Certified Fresh

PLOT: When a visionary architect and his wife flee post-war Europe, their lives are changed forever by a wealthy client.


Maybe I’m a victim of too much hype.  Maybe that’s partly my fault, too, as I waited to see Brady Corbet’s The Brutalist until after it had been nominated for a whopping ten Oscars, including the so-called “Big Five:” Best Picture, Director, Actor, Actress, and Screenplay.  As a result, my expectations were possibly a little too high.  I admit it.  However, even if my expectations hadn’t been inflated, I don’t believe The Brutalist would have affected me any differently.  It never lost my interest during its 3.5-hour running time, but it never achieved the kind of liftoff I felt I was being prepped for.  At the end, I was left with more questions than answers, which can be acceptable for some films, but for this one, I felt like I was left out of the loop.

In 1947, László Tóth (Adrien Brody), an Austro-Hungarian Jew, successfully emigrates to America, fleeing intolerable conditions at home, but is forced to leave behind his wife, Erzsébet (Felicity Jones), and his mute niece, Zsófia (Raffey Cassidy).  He was a respected architect in his home country, but now he is part of the huddled masses, represented in a sensational shot as his ship sails past Lady Liberty, the camera tilting so she is upside-down and cattywampus in the frame.  That really got my attention, for some reason.  If you want to really drill down, it could be visual foreshadowing for how László’s American experience will not be quite as stable as he had hoped.  Or maybe director Corbet just liked how it looked.  Either way.

Although László’s overriding priority is to somehow get his wife and niece to America, he must first get a job (after first engaging in a surprisingly frank and raunchy sex scene with a prostitute).  His first safe harbor is with his Americanized cousin, Attila (Alessandro Nivola), who runs a custom furniture company with his shiksa wife, Audrey.  It’s through this job that László meets American millionaire Harrison Lee Van Buren Sr. (Guy Pearce), a man who will unwittingly shape László’s life for the next several years.  Harrison has a son, Harry (Joe Alwyn), who looks like a distant relative of the Hemsworth clan and is a condescending racist, let us not mince words, but who, in his own words, tolerates László’s presence because of his architectural skills.  (Harrison wants László to design a community center in honor of his late mother.)

This is all just in the first act of the movie, before the intermission.  The Brutalist moves with a deliberate calmness, in spite of its thriller-esque title.  I was reminded of Doctor Zhivago [1965], as it covers large swatches of László’s life with nice attention to detail, never hurrying, but never losing my interest.  The second act finally introduces Erzsébet, László’s wife, for the first time in two hours (hope that’s not too much of a spoiler).  The plot spins out for the rest of the film as a series of conflicts between László, his wife, Harrison and his son, and the crew building the community center that László has designed.  László becomes more irascible as changes are proposed and approved without his knowledge, plus he must deal with a change in his wife’s condition.  There is a detour to Italy where László and Harrison must decide on which marble to use for the center’s, er, centerpiece, and it’s here where an act is committed that, although it feels like it came out of left field, does not seem too surprising considering the behavior of the perpetrator during the first couple of hours.

As I was watching The Brutalist play out, I was repeatedly reminded of another film, featuring another madman with a single-minded focus, also played out in an earlier era of American history, though it takes place decades earlier than The Brutalist: Paul Thomas Anderson’s There Will Be Blood [2007].  Both films have the same deliberate pacing, the same focus on men of industry, their familial and professional challenges, even the same kind of jarring, atonal score playing in the background during key scenes.  But while The Brutalist is at least equally as well made as There Will Be Blood, the latter movie reached out and grabbed me by the lapels and didn’t let go until the final scene, ending with a bang and not a whimper.  I cannot say the same about The Brutalist.  I give props to the craft of the film, to the filmmakers who clearly had a lot to say and needed the time to say it.  The editors knitted everything together and gave the film a very specific voice.  But as the film’s epilogue played out, and I realized how it was about to end, I sank a little lower in my seat and thought to myself, “Well, this is mildly disappointing.”

Sidney Lumet once wrote words to the effect of, “If your movie is over two hours long, you’d better have a lot to say.”  The Brutalist does have a lot to say about the Jewish experience in post-war America, about the single mindedness of gifted artists, about the casual racism embedded in white America that persists even today.  But I couldn’t get away from the feeling that it could have said it in a movie that wasn’t long enough to require an intermission, that didn’t answer questions that were left unanswered (how and when did Zsófia suddenly start speaking?  where did Harrison go??  what exactly happened on that stream bank between Harry and Zsófia???), and that didn’t leave me feeling as if I’d watched a correspondence course video on American architecture instead of a movie.  Again, it’s well-made and occasionally beautiful to look at.  It’s not a BAD movie.  It’s just not a GREAT one.

THE BRUTALIST

By Marc S. Sanders

Before I started writing this article, I had to marinate on my impression of Brady Corbet’s magnum opus film, The Brutalist.  It has the makings of a biography but it’s fiction.  It indulges practically every inch of a Holocaust survivor’s life after immigrating to America.  It takes daring approaches in its photography particularly since it was filmed using an antiquated 35 mm print in Vista Vision. (The director found it appropriate to use the filming methods that were available during the mid-century decades when most of the film takes place. Wise and insightful choice.) Despite using questionable AI techniques, two of the leads use impressive dialects and fluently speak in Hungarian and Hebrew as well.  Set designs, score, sound, visuals.  It’s all here.  Yet, I don’t feel I wholeheartedly enjoyed the experience of watching the picture, and this is coming from a guy who had the entire AMC auditorium #16 to himself on a chilly Thursday afternoon at 4:45pm.  Not a cell phone lit in my line of sight or a crying baby within earshot.  The theater was my oyster.  The Brutalist was not.

Adrien Brody won his first Oscar at age 29 for Roman Polanski’s The Pianist.  He earned his accolades for a heartbreaking performance.  He arguably works even harder as a visionary architect named László Tóth.  This nuanced creation from Brady Corbet is a most convincing historical character…of fiction, that is.  

László arrives on Ellis Island, separated from his wife and niece by concentration camp assignments during the war.  The ladies remain in captivity while he reunites with his brother, Atilla (Alessandro Nicola) and Christian sister-in-law who reside in Philadelphia, operating a custom furniture and carpentry shop.

Enter a raving mad and wealthy industrialist named Harrison Lee Van Buren (Guy Pearce) who arrives home to find out his son Harry Lee (Joe Alwyn) has hired the carpenters to redo a library as a big surprise.  Harrison is outraged at the finished product and denies payment for the job, thus causing a permanent rift between László and Atilla.  László is kicked out of his brother’s home following an accusation of making a pass at the wife, and he can only find refuge within a church shelter.  

Harrison has a change of heart however when his socialite friends take a special liking to the new room.  He tracks László down, pays him for the work, invites him to a Christmas party and subsequently insists he stay on the property while also connecting the Hungarian with an attorney who will make efforts to reunite him with his wife and niece who remain overseas.  

Meanwhile, an ambitious Harrison conjures up big plans right off the top of his head.  He wants to commission László to design an enormous building consisting of a library, a gymnasium, theatre and a chapel on a wide expanse of Pennsylvania land nearby his grand estate.  The building will be erected in honor of his loving mother’s memory.  A humble László accepts the assignment though he’s funding a heroin addiction with the monies given to him by Harrison.  

Though The Brutalist is fiction, I believe it should still be considered a lesson in north eastern American history.  As building gets underway, a perfectly timed intermission in the middle of the film arrives when we learn of Pennsylvania state’s aggressive campaign to manufacture and build with the precious commodity of US steel.  Fictionally speaking, we have Harrison Lee Van Buren and László Tóth to thank for these newly created jobs of construction and commodity developments.

There is a whole lot of story to tell in this three-and-a-half-hour picture that traverses through decades.  Brady Corbet’s depiction of his main character, László, runs the gamut of so many circumstances.  He’s a stranger in a strange land, even towards his newly Americanized brother who has shed his Jewish identity for prosperity.  The Anglo Christian mentality of Harrison Lee Van Buren, along with his family and fellow socialites, curiously study László as the alienated man he appears to be.  Loneliness is not a direct message that Corbet offers in the film, but how can László not feel lonely in this new land without the sensibilities of a wife to help him mind his boundaries and stay away from the poisons of heroin or personal betrayals that will challenge him?

The second half of The Brutalist oversees László growing accustomed to reuniting with his wife, Erzsébet (Felicity Jones), who has drastically changed in her physicality since they were last together.  Their primarily mute niece, Zsófia (Raffey Cassidy), has arrived as well.  The problem is that László has had opportunity to shed his weakness of being a Holocaust prisoner while taking charge of his most mesmerizing architectural design yet. His family’s arrival does not feel conducive with his new way of life, both intimately and religiously. The Brutalist covers a lot of conflicts while also showing massive progress for Harrison’s grand investment and László’s treasured work.  

After providing all of this exposition for the film, I think I’m ready to deliver my point.  It’s too much.  There’s so much story here that some of it feels unwelcome.  László’s heroin addiction never seems to add up or intrude effectively enough.  Because of the long running time of the movie, there are long sections where any reference to his yearning for heroin feels neglected.  This man of energetic and artistic passion is hardly ever weighed down by his vice and I questioned just how important it was for the drug addiction to be included in the film.  The script goes in so many different directions at times, it feels like it forgot about this important monkey that should be on László’s back.

László also gets challenged by Harrison’s American business and architectural partners which is one more conflict.  Unexpected fallbacks also occur that affect both László and Harrison’s years-in-the-making plans.  Then there is László’s friendship with an assistant who started as a fellow drug addict.  Finally, there is László and Erzsébet and the problems they face intimately and as common partners. The reunification of the married couple has new, unexpected dynamics to face.

It’s a lot.  While I never minded the running time of The Brutalist, all of these layers of storytelling become exhausting.  

Guy Pearce actually impressed me the most.  I loved his character and the shrewdness he exhibits to everyone he shares a scene with.  His gruff dialect with a pencil thin mustache, slicked back hair and perfectly tailored suits are distinct, but his presence in a room is always felt even when the camera is not on him or if he has nothing to say.  His stature gave me an impression of Rockefeller, a man with the appropriate and seemingly out of reach dreams that will deliver a future of advanced American building and development.  I may have loved Harrison Lee Van Buren’s story more than László Tóth’s.

However, I got angry with the film as the story was beginning its descent towards the end. Harrison commits a truly unexpected and heinous act that arrives out of nowhere.  This is a fictional story. So, I feel comfortable with my stance that what Brady Corbet opts for Pearce’s character seems wrong and unjust; a downright inappropriate take that did not add up for me.  Guy Pearce is giving a career high performance, but I did not care for how his character’s trajectory concluded.

Felicity Jones is a powerhouse actress as Erzsébet.  She appears so confident within the skin of her character as a defiant woman, unhinged by any sort of attempted intimidation from her husband or the Van Burens.  

Adrien Brody is the sure front runner to win a Best Actor Oscar, though I wish Ralph Fiennes would finally get his due recognition for Conclave.  There are so many directions that László Tóth is pulled in.  This is a very challenging personification for an actor to belabor.  For this one character alone, The Brutalist feels like five different movies are being played at once.  If you have read my reviews before then you may know that I’m a big admirer of multi-dimensional characters.  It’s hard to find a character this nuanced.  Michael Corleone is a comparison that comes to mind.  As I write this review, it astounds me how much depth I’m reflecting on within Corbet’s script and Brody’s performance.

I told a friend who has also seen the film that The Brutalist feels like a marriage between Paul Thomas Anderson’s There Will Be Blood and Milos Foreman’s Amadeus.  While these characters are considered audacious, great artists beyond comparable realms, they are never the most powerful people in the room.  The power belongs to those with the resources of wealth and those who proudly carry the rank and titles bestowed upon them.  For the artists, men of power stand in the way of the achievements they strive for, forcing them to vent their frustrations with self-harm and abuse towards the ones closest to them.

Everything I saw in Brady Corbet’s film is interesting.  Beginning with the arrival on Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty towering over a lost László, all the way to a visit at the seemingly unreachable mountains of Italy where beautiful, white porcelain exists in the highest reaches of nature.  You feel like you have traveled to places uncharted by most people of this Earth.  It’s breathtaking.  

The Brutalist follows the trajectory of a man arriving in America to accomplish his dreams and obtain a destiny he feels worthy of.  Only there are obstacles that will divert his path and thus a different outcome may arrive. 

Visually and with Brady Corbet’s ambition for this picture, The Brutalist is often astonishing to absorb.  Still, at least on my one and only viewing thus far, the film was overwhelmingly abundant, and I could not feel comfortable with all of it coming at me once.  Then again, that is likely how László and Erzsébet Tóth felt upon their arrival in the land of the free.

ON THE WATERFRONT

By Marc S. Sanders

Terry Malloy innocently calls up to his friend Joe’s window and tells him to go to the roof of his apartment building to check on the pigeons.  Only what happens to Joe when he gets there is not what Terry expected setting off a complex dilemma of morality and preservation of life.

In one of Marlon Brando’s most famous roles, Terry Malloy is an ex-prize fighter who now carries out menial tasks for the New Jersey mob bosses that have a foothold over the longshoremen and their union contracts.  Terry listens to what his mobster brother Charley (Rod Steiger) tells him to do.  As long as he keeps his mouth shut, he’ll be selected each day on the dock for work and he’ll never have to lift a finger.  Just let things be and keep quiet.

Charley’s boss is Johnny Friendly (Lee J Cobb), who is ruthless with his control over the area. The guys have to surrender to the demands of Johnny and his toughies because it is no secret what really happened to Joe and who was responsible.  The cops can investigate and ask questions, but they’ll get nowhere.  It’s up to Father Barry (Karl Malden) to talk some sense into the fellas, and considering Terry was one of the last guys to see Joe alive, he’s the best option to overthrow Johnny’s reign.  If Terry shows up for a subpoena, it could put Johnny and his goons out of business.

Another conflict of interest for Terry is that he has taken to Joe’s sister Edie (Eva Marie Saint) who also knows of Johnny’s corruption.  She just has not realized that Terry might have been indirectly responsible.

Marlon Brando looks everything like a movie star should.  His slicked back hair and dark eyes shadowed by his thin eyebrows and the way he carries himself in a plaid winter coat is held in a permanent memory just as James Dean and later pop culture figures like Fonzie, or Tom Cruise and Brad Pitt evolved.  It sounds silly but there’s a reason Madonna lends recognition to the classic actor in her club song Vogue, and this is one of many films in his early career to reference for the honor. 

Eva Marie Saint is wonderful as the young woman in pain and confusion following the death of her brother.  Edie is as least as conflicted as Terry due to her immediate attraction to the tough guy’s charms while still bent on discovering who had her kind brother killed and why.  Brando and Saint have a magnificent scene together when the truth comes out and Leonard Bernstein’s music comes to a halt of silence.

On The Waterfront has an irony of life imitating art.  Mind you, I’m not here to provide a history lesson and wallow in political divisions.  I find it interesting that Terry Malloy’s dilemma is whistle blowing the corruption that occurs, while also being intimidated to keep quiet.  Patterned similarly is what director Elia Kazan infamously became known for when he testified during the Joseph McCarthy hearings against people in Hollywood suspected of having communist ties.  A Union community is designed to protect its members, but sometimes the dynamics lead to just one who is singled out to expose what is not cooperating legally and accordingly.  (Some of the actors were against working on this film because of what Kazan committed but they were bound by studio contracts.)

I am aware of how much On The Waterfront is hailed as a perennial classic.  The cast is an outstanding collection of actors beginning of course with Brando, Malden, Steiger and Cobb.  Following television appearances, this was Eva Marie Saint’s first film, and there are other uncredited actors who had not made their mark yet including Martin Balsam, Michael V Gazzo, and Fred Gwynne.  The film boasts Oscar nominations for five actors (two wins, for Brando and Saint respectively) as well as wins for Best Picture, Director and Screenplay.  All that being said and yet I cannot say I felt invested in the film. 

The characters’ plights and pains simply did not connect with me.  Actually, while I believe I’m expected to yearn for Terry Malloy’s pain and regret where he declares he “…coulda been a contender…,” I felt sorrier for his brother Charley. 

In that well-known scene between the two brothers in the back of the cab, it is Charley who is really torn.  Charley is tied to his mob boss, Johnny Friendly, but he has to convince his brother to do what is best to protect the mob he’s committed to, or it could get both of them killed.  That famous scene is owned more by Steiger than Brando.  An interesting fact is that Rod Steiger had to perform most of that scene without Marlon Brando there.  The lead actor would leave the set at 4pm sharp each day, leaving Steiger to do his half of the scene with a stand in reading Brando’s lines.  It caused a bitter rift between the two actors.  Yet, the next time you catch the film, have a look at who is really doing the heavy lifting.

I might have gotten trapped trying to understand the way the union operates and how the mob manipulates everything to their advantage.  I’m lost in some of the early dialogue and how people go about doing what they do.  Maybe what I should have done is relax my train of thought and take in how the protagonist is pulled in many different ways, none of which seem like a winning solution. 

Out of context there is a selection of great scenes on display.  Karl Malden is magnificent when he urges the longshoremen to stand up to the brutality and intimidation they are under.  His concentration is amazing as he is pelted with trash while holding his composure.  This scene won him his Oscar nomination.

Lee J Cobb is a memorable antagonist. The concluding scene between his Johnny Friendly and Terry stands as a final battle between hero and villain and the residual effects of what was shot of that bout have been honorably repeated in many films thereafter. 

There’s an obvious influence that stemmed from On The Waterfront.  Clearly, much of the material had an enormous influence on future filmmakers like Lumet, Scorsese and Coppola.  Perhaps that’s the reason it did not grab me.  Those future directors turned the motifs that Kazan provided into flashier segments of color and trick camera work.  Even the inclusion of harsh language in those grittier, later films left me with a more convincing authenticity.  Then again, I was shocked to see Terry Malloy tell Father Barry to go to hell.  Pretty bold for 1954, and still somewhat shocking within the context of the piece.

On The Waterfront is actually based on fact from happenings at the docks off of Hoboken, NJ where most of the film was shot.  To watch it today is to look back at what high stakes dramatization and dilemmas of ethics surrounded by death and crime must have looked like.  It does feel outdated to me, showing a period that is long past, but it paints its truth very, very well. 

MY LEFT FOOT (Ireland, 1989)

by Miguel E. Rodriguez

DIRECTOR: Jim Sheridan
CAST: Daniel Day-Lewis, Brenda Fricker, Fiona Shaw
MY RATING: 10/10
ROTTEN TOMATOMETER: 98% Certified Fresh

PLOT: Christy Brown, born in 1932 with cerebral palsy, learns to paint and write with the only limb under his full control – his left foot.


For so many years, I have admired Daniel Day-Lewis as an actor, especially his performance in There Will Be Blood, which is the only performance I’ve seen on screen that has ever really motivated me to be a better actor myself.  However, I never got around to seeing his breakout movie, My Left Foot, until just recently.  All I can say is: WOW.  I had always assumed (big mistake) that this film would be a long, dark journey of the soul leading finally to an uplifting climax, but not after a lot of scenes of heartbreak and pathos and general gloom.  I could not have been more wrong.  There is as much heartwarming joy in My Left Foot as it’s possible to contain in any film, and it’s balanced by acknowledgement of Christy Brown’s condition and his down days and his struggles.  It’s a brilliant high-wire act, flawlessly performed both in front of and behind the camera.

Christy Brown is born with cerebral palsy in Ireland in 1932 to a Catholic family that grows in number almost through the entire film.  In a day and age that was simply not equipped to handle disabled children, Christy’s father is blunt: “He’ll go in a coffin before any son of mine will go in a home.”  While his motives were probably more about saving face in his community than anything altruistic, it’s this attitude that most likely saved Christy’s life.  Christy is brought home where his parents and his many sisters and brothers acknowledge and learn to work around his condition, but they refuse to treat him as anything other than a “normal” playmate and sibling.  Some of the happiest scenes in the film are when the children push Christy around in a wheelbarrow, racing up and down their street, as much for his enjoyment as for theirs.

Christy’s mother (Oscar-winner Brenda Fricker) patiently learns how to interpret young Christy’s unintelligible grunts and constantly shifting facial expressions, so it seems as if they’re communicating with each other in a secret language.  When young Christy shocks the family by picking up a piece of chalk with his left foot and writing “MOTHER” on the floor, the father’s response made me smile and smile: he carries Christy to the local pub and announces, “This is Christy Brown!  My son!  Genius!”  If this didn’t happen in real life, it bloody well should have.

(I also loved the bit where the older Christy plays soccer with his friends.  As a very capable goalie, no less.  When the time comes to take a penalty kick, his brothers line him up carefully on the ground so he can use his deadly left foot to rip the back of the net.  Or storage shed, whatever.)

I mention all these moments and interactions between Christy and his family because they are at the core of what makes this movie special.  Yes, Day-Lewis’s performance is the stuff of legend, there’s no denying that.  But the screenwriters are very careful to let us see that, despite his literally crippling affliction, Christy never lacked an unshakeable support structure.  I found myself wondering if I had the kind of fortitude, not to persevere like Christy, but to go all in on supporting a sibling or any loved one, loving them, and always being there for them.  It’s easy enough to say I am willing to do things like that.  I only hope, if I were ever faced with that kind of challenge, that I would meet it with the same kind of unconditional grace and love exhibited by the family of Christy Brown.  Here endeth the introspective portion of this review.

I can’t tell you enough how enthralling and well-balanced this film is.  In my experience, most movies about characters with terminal illnesses tend to wallow too deeply in the grief and sorrow associated with that illness.  My Left Foot makes a conscious decision to establish the illness, lay down the boundaries, and then move forward as if the main character weren’t ill at all.  In a sense, that is the case with Christy Brown in the first place.  As brilliantly portrayed by Day-Lewis, you can always see the mind at work behind the uncontrollable gestures.  There is nothing at all wrong with his mind, only his body, which betrays him and frustrates him.

There is one specific scene that seems to stick in the mind of everyone who sees the film.  Christy has been taken under the wing of a doctor, Eileen Cole (Fiona Shaw) who specializes in treating his condition.  His speech improves, his painting improves.  He falls in love with her.  In an agonizing scene, he confesses his love to her in a restaurant while several other associates look on.  She mistakes his declaration of affection and informs him of her engagement to another man at the table.  After a stunned silence, Christy uses his loudest speaking voice and carefully and very slowly says, “Congratulations.”  Director Jim Sheridan points the camera, not at Christy, but at the horrified and embarrassed dinner guests at the table, and at the other restaurant patrons who stop and stare in disbelief at the noises Christy is forcing into the air.  He has some other choice words regarding platonic love, and the scene ends with him pulling the tablecloth off the table with his teeth.

The emotions on display in this scene were so raw and honest and painful that I found myself covering my eyes a bit.  I felt every bit as embarrassed as those dinner guests.  But I also felt enormous empathy for Christy.  He is raging, not only at Dr. Cole and her rejection of his affection, but at the fates that locked his soul away in a body that was a constant reminder of his “differentness.”  Later scenes show us that he was able to make peace to a much greater degree in later life, but these scenes and others reveal the unimaginable conflict in his sharp mind.

I’m rambling, I think.  I don’t feel I have successfully conveyed how joyous My Left Foot truly is.  I had a goofy smile on my face for the first half hour of the movie.  I laughed out loud many times, especially at Christy’s father’s wake, a scene I vividly remember seeing at the Oscars that year.  Christy Brown was not a perfect man, and the movie does not pretend that he is.  But the movie does end on a wonderful high note that would be crushingly melodramatic in almost any other film.  My Left Foot earns it by showing us his journey, completely, concisely, and with enormous understanding.

THE BRIDGE ON THE RIVER KWAI

By Marc S. Sanders

David Lean’s The Bridge On The River Kwai commits to a common theme.  The purpose of war means nothing to the pawns assigned to execute its actions.

The film primarily takes place in Japanese occupied Burma during World War II.  A prison has just acquired a British platoon of soldiers, and the Japanese have mandated this squad to construct a railway bridge that will run over the Kwai river benefiting the Axis efforts in the war.  Colonel Nicholson (Alec Guinness, in a celebrated early career role) respects the rules of war that come with his battalion being held as prisoners of the Japanese enemy, and he is prepared to have his men begin construction.  However, as his copy of the Geneva Convention Agreement dictates, his officers are not obliged to join in the assignment.  

This is a far off deserted jungle however, that does not even need to be fenced off because an attempted trek to escape is bound to fail.  Therefore, the Geneva Convention Agreement has no value of authority out here in this bug infested, stilted and sweltering heat with minimal resources of food, clothing or medicine.  The Japanese commander Colonel Saito (Sessue Hayakawa) does not hesitate to swat Nicholson’s copy in the Englishman’s face.  Now, since the politics of war are no longer a factor, the stamina of these two men are what’s at stake.

Saito forces Nicholson into a cramped, isolated hot box with next to no food or water.  He’s lucky because his remaining officers are forced to share the other box together.  Saito will force them to comply, or he may just have to kill himself.

The Bridge On The River Kwai explores how productivity, leadership and endurance thrive, but at a startling cost of madness.  Before you realize it, none of these characters are speaking of their respective war efforts or even the mandates of war.  As Nicholson persists in his stance as a defiant leader, a remarkable tide turns within this prison camp.  Soon, the question arises as to who is running this camp and overseeing this bridge project. The enforcers or the prisoners? 

A separate storyline involves an American prisoner named Shears (William Holden) – one of the last men in his platoon to survive, and now only here to bury his fallen comrades.  He’s introduced to describe the harsh reality of what Nicholson and his men can expect.  Yet once Shears escapes the camp, he is caught in a twisted irony, being forced to return to the prison camp where he must destroy the bridge under the command of a British special forces leader named Warden (Jack Hawkins).  Warden goes through his own form of madness.  A badly injured foot becomes something worse than a bloody stump and still he insists on leading his small brigade into the jungle.  

Meanwhile, as Nicholson develops more control over the camp, with Saito realizing his own pitiful ineptitude, a faction of the British are now likely to engage with Nicholson’s newfound achievement as a leader over his own squad, as well as the human Japanese resources he’s also recruited to complete this solid foundation.

David Lean had a reputation for never settling for less on his pictures and The Bridge On The River Kwai is a perfect example.  I recently watched the film, for a second time, with my fellow Cinemaniacs.  Thomas and Miguel assuredly pointed out that one less than sturdy bridge was constructed by Lean’s crew to demonstrate its weaknesses and the lack of engineering the Japanese possess, before Nicholson fully takes over.  That structure collapses on film and thus lends to the next plight in the story, when Nicholson proves to Saito that he is more capable than his enemy counterpart.

Later, the actual bridge is finished leading to a nail biting ending that elevates in suspense as an oncoming Japanese train is heard approaching with its signature whistle and chugging overheard as Colonel Nicholson proudly walks across his success, newly minted with a plaque carved with his name.  Elsewhere in the area are Stearns and Hawkins.  What began with Japanese antagonism has shifted to one side likely to do battle with itself.  

Who is fighting who?  More importantly, what are they fighting for?  War or persistent, delusional madness?

The Bridge On The River Kwai is a magnificent adventure produced with sensational filmmaking.  The investment and risk that David Lean took to assemble this picture is astounding.  It was filmed within the actual jungles.  (Miguel said somewhere around Sri Lanka.) The costumes worn by the thousands of extras are tattered dirty scraps that certainly does not invite the sex appeal you’d expect in a modern film of this kind.  Moreover, the audacity of the filmmaker at least matches the nerve of the story’s cast of characters.  

The cast is marvelous, but it is Sessue Hayakawa and Alec Guinness who serve the impact of Lean’s film.  The movie comes close to a three-hour running time.  The first half of the film has Hayakawa positioned as the leading antagonist, but the second half has Guinness filling that spot.  They almost seem to mirror one another as their character arcs move in parallel but opposite directions working to accomplish their goals, while shedding any kind of humane concern for their underlings or the countries they serve.  

I consider this film to be groundbreaking.  It’s a spectacle, but it allows much to be examined in mental acuity, military allegiance and endurance.  The Bridge On The River Kwai tests how effective war can be for any side that participates.  My Cinemaniac comrade, Thomas,  informed me that the story, adapted from a novel by Pierre Boulle, is entirely fictional.  Still, I believe it garners an important message.  Are we supposed to truly embrace “rules of war?”  This is not Risk the board game.

These men might carry the titles and rankings issued to them by their governments. However, isolate them in the middle of nowhere and who is going to uphold any semblance of regulation?  War functions on efforts of violence.  When was the last time anyone had respect for violence?

GLADIATOR

By Marc S. Sanders

Ridley Scott’s Gladiator is a terrifically sweeping sword and sandal epic adventure.  It contains well drawn characterizations of its heroes and its one tyrannical villain, along with superbly bloody hack n chop violence and action that live up to its title. 

Rome has finally finished its campaign of conquer throughout at least one quarter of the world.  General Maximus (Russell Crowe) is ready to return to his wife and son to live out the rest of his days as a farmer and family man.  However, the dying Emperor Marcus Aurelius (Richard Harris) begs him to take over his position so the Roman Empire may carry forth with prosperity.  If Maximus does not take over, the empire is at risk of being inherited by Marcus’ spoiled son Commodus (Joaquin Phoenix).  While Maximus ponders the request, Marcus dies and Commodus quickly takes over, and orders the immediate deaths of the celebrated General and his family.  Maximus and Commodus will eventually circle back with one another, however.

Gladiator feels like an epic film in the vein of a David Lean picture that would require time and work to follow through its various developments.  Maximus certainly goes through a widespread arc.  One of the advertising bylines described it as the man who was General, who became a slave, who became a gladiator. Russell Crowe is right for this role.  Not only is he lean and built for the part, but he brings a empathetic approach to the character.  Maximus is loyal to his country, but he also carries pain and longing for his family and when he is wronged, Crowe does very well at displaying his character’s plot of  vengeance against Commodus with strategy and skill.

Joaquin Phoenix rightly earned his first Oscar nomination as a wonderful villain.  The screenplay from David Franzoni, John Logan and William Nicholson offer memorable pieces of dialogue for the bratty son.  “I feel vexed. I am very vexed.”  – a line that sounds so minimal and yet when Phoenix delivers it, it’s only more terrifying.  This little monster captured in an adult body can respond to anything that slightly irks him.

The battle between Commodus and Maximus is hardly physical.  Maximus realizes through his companions that a better and wiser form of revenge is to win Rome’s admiration away from its ruler.  Commodus lives off his ego.  So, when Maximus is encouraged by his slave owner to “win the crowd” amid the games performed in the famed coliseum, it not only lends to the gladiator’s ongoing survival, but it tears away at Commodus’ rule.  A great subplot is included focusing on the ruler’s nephew, Lucius (Spencer Treat Clark).  The expression on Joaquin Phoenix’ face when young Lucius role plays as the great Maximus works like a frozen moment in time.  Imagine a famed quarterback’s child cheering for the defensemen who performs an unforgivable sack during the final ten seconds of a game.  It’s terribly bruising.

When Gladiator was first released in theaters, I found the CGI to lack texture and it appeared very dark like a bad 3D film.  It looked too animated.  This most recent viewing was on a restored 4K transfer and the picture quality is astounding.  Every element of the broad landscapes within the battlefields and especially in the gold sheen photography of the coliseum battles blend perfectly.  If you still don’t understand the importance of 4K, turn to this film to uphold the argument. 

Ridley Scott does not waste a shot in this picture.  Reactionary sequences are just as effective as the cuts to the action.  Blades and barbaric weapons shed gorgeous splashes of blood. Every thrust and parry are easy to see. I’ve never forgotten when a chariot rider is cut in half at the torso from an oncoming blade attached to rolling wheel.  The choreography and editing of the battles are thrilling with sound editing that compliments the moments. 

Beyond Russell Crowe and Joaquin Phoenix, the cast is wonderful.  I’ve always admired Richard Harris’ quiet approach in the twilight years of his career.  He never had to do much to offer a presence.  Connie Nielsen portrays Lucilla, Commodus’ sister who he has affections for.  Her subtle resistance allows Joaquin Phoenix more opportunities to feel “vexed.”  Oliver Reed passed away during the making of this film. Fortunately, Ridley Scott and company did not opt to cut out his role as the gladiator/slave trader, Proximo.  He works well as a kind of mentor to Maximus and the band of other warriors, coaching them on how to stay alive and rise above Commodus’ monarchy.  “Win the crowd and you win your freedom.”  Djimon Hounsou is a loyal sidekick to Crowe’s character. Derek Jacobi is once again that guy you have seen before allowing his expert craft in Shakespearean performance to flesh out the political angle of the story among the Senators.  Every actor serves a valuable purpose in the film.  None of these performances feel like walk on roles.  So, the overall casting of the picture must be commended.

Gladiator is a crowd-pleasing film. Though it is based in ancient history, there remains a fantasy element to the movie when you look at grand designs of the settings, costumes, and dialogue.  Storylines of politics and tyranny hold relatable to modern current events.  What can occur when one man takes over everything for his selfish purposes?  Pointless displays of theatrics can occur at the behest of others who were once heroes, instrumental in placing a despot atop a throne.  I presume Ridley Scott’s film is just one more example of the inherent nature found in humans.  Some of us are destined to rule and control.  That alone is cruel and selfish.  It is even worse when this totalitarian mindset is unleased upon those that put these rulers in their place.  History and especially modern times demonstrate that loyalty is only fleeting.  The ability to possess totalitarian control, however, is hopefully even more short-lived.