Category: Oscar Winners

THE HEIRESS (1949)

by Miguel E. Rodriguez

DIRECTOR: William Wyler
CAST: Olivia de Havilland, Montgomery Clift, Ralph Richardson, Miriam Hopkins
MY RATING: 10/10
ROTTEN TOMATOMETER: 100% Fresh

PLOT: In the mid-1800s, a naïve young woman falls for a handsome young rogue whom her emotionally abusive father suspects is the male version of a gold-digger.


[Author’s note: If you have not seen this film, but intend to do so, I urge you not to seek out spoilers.  The final resolution of this movie deserves to be seen in a vacuum, if you know what I mean.]

The AFI’s list of the 50 Greatest Villains in American film does not include Dr. Austin Sloper, played with indifferent cruelty by the great Ralph Richardson in William Wyler’s The Heiress.  This is a miscarriage of justice, as Dr. Sloper is one of the most ruthlessly harsh characters I’ve seen in a movie in many years.  The fact that he is successfully upstaged by Olivia de Havilland as his daughter, Catherine, is a triumph of screenwriting, directing, and pitch-perfect acting from both performers.  The fact that both performances nearly overshadow a charismatic young Montgomery Clift is something that must be seen to be believed.

The film starts in the mid-1800s in the Washington Square area of New York City.  It’s a time of horse-drawn carriages, corsets, and garden parties.  Catherine Sloper is a very plain, very shy, single woman who lives in a three-story brownstone with her widowed aunt, Lavinia (Miriam Hopkins), and her father, a financially successful doctor who will bequeath a $30,000-a-year inheritance to Catherine upon his death.  In addition to the $10,000-a-year she already receives from her mother’s inheritance, Catherine will be financially comfortable for the rest of her life.  Alas, her social graces are virtually nonexistent, and she is quite plain when compared to her late mother…as Dr. Sloper casually mentions from time to time, utterly oblivious to the effect this has on Catherine.

At a garden party, during which Catherine is socially humiliated by a thoughtless gentleman, she meets the well-dressed, well-behaved, and nearly penniless Morris Townsend (Clift), who makes it clear that he is utterly taken with her and would like nothing more than to spend the rest of the evening talking or dancing with her and no one else.  Her aunt Lavinia is ecstatic the next day, but Dr. Sloper is skeptical.  In his mind, no gentleman in his right mind would express romantic intentions towards his socially unsuitable daughter unless he simply wanted the money that comes with her, and he says as much to Mr. Townsend AND to Catherine.  The callousness of Dr. Sloper’s behavior is abhorrent, and I found myself thinking, “If this guy were drawn and quartered by the end of the movie, that would still be too good for him.”

The brilliance of the screenplay becomes apparent when Morris boldly announces his love for Catherine, to her complete stupefaction.  And when he actually proposes, that pushes her over the edge, and she falls head over heels in love with him, because he’s the first man who has ever shown anything more than polite tolerance towards her…including her father.  Dr. Sloper lays out his case for what he believes Townsend’s true intentions are: to take control of or squander her inheritance after they marry.

Dr. Sloper’s brutality knows no bounds…but you find yourself thinking: what if he’s right?  Certainly, Townsend is completely genuine in his love for Catherine, or at least seems to be.  He knows exactly what to say, and when and how to say it.  Is it an act?  He’s handsome enough to be an eligible catch for any number of society women in the city, so why waste his time on such a plain-Jane girl as Catherine?

This conflict occupies the main thrust of at least the first half of the film.  What transpires and how and when, I will not say.  I will say that the story led me in one well-traveled direction, took a left turn, then took another unexpected turn that left me kind of breathless at its audacity.  The movie as a whole has been compared in some circles to Scorsese’s The Age of Innocence (1993), and deservedly so.

Olivia de Havilland’s performance as Catherine is one of the greatest performances I’ve seen in any film of that era.  It trumps even her powerful turn in The Snake Pit a year earlier.  Clearly, de Havilland was anything but plain and awkward in real life, but careful makeup and performance nuances helped her bring off one of the most commanding roles of her career.  There is an emotional transformation that occurs at one point where she is able to affect a complete one-eighty in her character, and it never once feels histrionic or gimmicky.  She shares a scene with her father in which she has “found [her] tongue at last,” as he puts it, that I would rank as one of the greatest two-handed scenes I’ve ever watched.  The surgical application of language to inflict harm on another person is breathtaking.  Neil LaBute or David Mamet couldn’t have written it any better.

The Heiress left me feeling a little wrung out at the final credits.  I remember watching this movie many years ago, but nothing stuck with me except that ending.  Despite this foreknowledge, the movie still worked its spell on me, leaving me with a dropped jaw and a blown mind.  The ending is somehow definite and ambiguous at the same time, a screenwriting miracle.  (And I don’t mean in a Sopranos kind of way, either.)  The Heiress is officially one of my new favorite films.

MY COUSIN VINNY

By Marc S. Sanders

The American Bar Association’s publication, The ABA Journal, ranked My Cousin Vinny #3 on its list of the “25 Greatest Legal Movies.”  Surprised?  You really shouldn’t be.  

This “fish out of water” film follows a goodfella who did not pass the bar exam until his sixth try.  Now he’s defending his cousin and another UCLA college kid in an Alabama courtroom.  It’s Vinny’s first murder trial.  So he’s gotta learn the ropes of how to dress properly for court all the way up to discrediting material witnesses and demonstrating reasonable doubt to get his clients exonerated.  It’s a great courtroom picture because within the dense slapstick comedy there are authentic lessons to learn about being a member of the Bar and having confidence in yourself.

Bill and Stan (Ralph Macchio, Mitchell Whitfield) are roadtripping through southern America, en route to UCLA, when they get pulled over and framed for the murder of a convenience store clerk.  With no money or hope of retaining a reliable public defender, the young men turn to Bill’s cousin Vinny.  

Straight out of the five boroughs of New York wearing a black leather jacket, black boots and a slick pompadour, Vinny Mancini arrives in small town Alabama.  You know something?  If I didn’t know any better I’d say he looks and acts a lot like Joe Pesci.  With him is his long time fiancée, Mona Lisa Vito (Marisa Tomei, in her very well remembered Oscar winning role). Mona Lisa Vito!  I love when there’s some thought put into a character’s name.

The future looks grim for the accused as Vinny doesn’t know where to begin.  The iron horse Judge Chamberlain Haller (Fred Gwynne) habitually holds the guy in contempt because Vinny can’t shed his New York ways either in wardrobe or proper decorum. The prosecutor played by Lane Smith really doesn’t have to try hard at all.  Though he deliberately gets all Southern showy each time he faces the jury, made up of friendly locals.  In an unexpected and tender moment, the tough guy, Vinny, admits to Lisa that he’s “a-scared.”

I never cared for My Cousin Vinny since I had seen it in theaters.  However, there’s much I appreciated on only my second viewing of this film directed by Jonathan Lynn, an actual law scholar.  Lynn is always striving for an authenticity within the courtroom.  His protagonist might not know anything about being a litigator, but the director ensures that a genuine regiment of customary courtroom behavior, procedure, and theatrics will be upheld even if this is only a silly, little comedy flick.  

Outside the courtroom, there’s primarily an updated George and Gracie situational comedy at play.  Marisa Tomei is of cinema’s great scene stealers.  Mona Lisa Vito might look like an overly familiar character, but the actress’ performance is entirely unique.  She never plays Lisa as a dumb side character to her boyfriend who will not commit to marriage.  Lisa comes off generous, always offering to assist Vinny despite his rejections.  She’s also positively smart as a whip with her extensive knowledge of automotive repairs, and she’s a quick study of Alabama law.  When she gets put on the witness stand it hardly matters what she’s saying.  Marisa Tomei owns the expertise and defiance of Lisa.  Turn the scene on mute to watch her doing some of her best work would be equally effective.

Go look at Silver Linings Playbook when Jennifer Lawrence rhythmically dictates numeric football statistics at Robert DeNiro.  Both actresses won Oscars for these respective roles.  These performances stand apart from so many other second, third and fourth billed actresses because they are written with immense intelligence.  That’s what Tomei and Lawrence normally embrace first, ahead of costume and makeup.  The confidence from these actors is uncanny.  More women need to be cast in roles like these.  

Joe Pesci is doing his reliable, familiar schtick from Goodfellas, Raging Bull and Easy Money.  He’s in a what if scenario though.  What if there’s a movie with Jersey Boy Joe Pesci, but he’s put in Alabama country with roosters crowing and trains chugging into town at five in the morning? There can even be a communication gap between the Judge and Vinny for some padded laughs.  “What is a yoot?”

I was bored with this movie the first time I saw it.  I just didn’t think the humor was funny even if I recognized the attempts.  Over thirty years later, what I appreciate is the heart that feels much more apparent.  The hero feels weak and at a loss.  Only when he is given strength and support from a wisecracking, sexually frustrated girlfriend does he get the drive to behave like a lawyer he’s licensed to become.  I like Vinny.  I like Lisa.  Therefore, now I can laugh at their unfortunate dilemmas as they work towards an end goal – getting him to do his best at becoming a courtroom lawyer and hopefully reaching a not guilty verdict. 

I gotta give a shout out to the supporting cast.  Bruce McGill plays a familiar sheriff that we’ve seen before, but so what.  It’s the way he carries himself that I’m always welcome to see him in a movie.  Same goes for Lane Smith.  These guys are sophisticated Dukes Of Hazzard.  Fred Gwynne, most famously known as Herman Munster, was always a brilliant character actor.  He has the ability to be goofy and intimidating all in the same scene.  To place his towering stature against little Joe Pesci? Who needs dialogue? Watch Fred Gwynne’s moments in My Cousin Vinny.  He could’ve been Oscar nominated, and I would not have complained.  While Ralph Macchio is doing his typical routines (same things we saw in The Karate Kid, The Outsiders and so on), it’s Mitchell Whitfield playing his buddy who really stands out.  This is a nothing role but it’s as if this guy fell out of a Woody Allen or Neil Simon picture to claim his own territory among an outstanding cast.

My Cousin Vinny is one of those comfort films to put on when the stress is becoming too much in real life.  Everyone is so likable here.  There isn’t a villain to dual against.  Instead, it’s a conflict of cultures who must work together to uncover truths within a murder trial while also learning about what any one of us is actually capable of accomplishing. 

Vinny from da Bronx is a lawya???? 

FUGGETABOUTIT!!!!!

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.

M*A*S*H

By Marc S. Sanders

Forgive me.  I’m not sure my position on Robert Altman’s film will be fair.  All my life, I think I deliberately eluded seeing the motion picture of M*A*S*H as I have been so accustomed to the classic television show that ran for eleven seasons on CBS.  As I expected the two properties couldn’t be further apart from one another.

Altman’s movie still carries a zippy kind of perspective to the horrors of war.  With their hands and surgical scrubs in the thick of gory, blood red surgery, the characters are so much more apathetic to the turnaround of wounded that arrive at the 4077th American mobile army hospital, located three miles from the explosive front lines of the bloody Korean War.  The well-known characters were first given live action roles here following the published novel by Richard Hooker.  

Most surprising is near the end of the film when two doctors realize they are being sent home. One surgeon who is in the midst of operating on a head injury actually instructs a colleague to take over.  This guy has his hands covered in brains and blood and chooses not to finish saving his patient’s life.  Alan Alda of the television show, as a writer, director or while portraying Hawkeye Pierce, would never respond in such a manner. Yet, this is the approach that Robert Altman chose to follow, having infamously always despised the TV series that eclipsed his film in popularity.

Altman’s movie is a slap in the face to the famed oxymoron called “military intelligence.” In 1970, we say bravo for finally saying something frank and honest while a Vietnam War has carried on far too long for not necessarily any of the right reasons.  It’s not so simple to declare war is hell.  It’s much more complicated and horrifying than that.

The film’s opening bylines are quotes by celebrated military leaders of the time, like MacArthur and Eisenhower.  However, these championed commanders are lampooned as we watch shlubby Hawkeye Pierce (Donald Sutherland) arriving in Korea.  He heads directly towards a General’s jeep and steals it, plain as day.  From there on, M*A*S*H operates like a precursor to Animal House with a series of hijinks and a lack of care for military leadership or the U.S.’s purpose in this conflict.  

About the only time, there is any care or forthright anger from anyone is when the jerky Major Frank Burns (Robert Duvall) chastises an underling.  Trapper (Elliot Gould) and Hawkeye punch his lights out and the schmuck ends up in a straightjacket.  Nonetheless, these guys could care less about criticizing and exposing the truth about the institution they have been drafted to serve.  Their purpose is not to make an ironic statement like a Doonesbury comic strip.  They just punch the commanding officer in the face and drink.  The TV show was at its strongest when it relied on the wit and delivery.  Trapper and Hawkeye never use irony or intelligence to belittle a buffoon.  They punch, or they embarrass an authority who’s taking a shower. Regretfully, it’s the dialogue that’s lacking. Robert Altman encouraged much improv on the set and overlayered conversations within his scenes. He found nothing organized or neat and pretty about war, including daily functioning. Chaos did not only reign on a battlefield.

The pace of M*A*S*H moves episodically, and it is likely what led to the idea of a half hour TV show that dominated the airwaves for the better part of eleven years.  A character called Painless contemplates suicide and so a Last Supper reenactment before he sends himself off is inserted. It’s a funny caption from these halfwits, but a storyline focused on deliberately ending a life does not connect with me in a humorous way here. Burt Reynolds, the dark comedy Heathers, and even more recently Tom Hanks toed the line of humor to be found in death by suicide. I think it worked better in those examples. With the somber, well known theme song of “Suicide Is Painless” that is forever linked with M*A*S*H, I just could not muster the laughs for this bit.

There’s also time to build comedy against another regular army brat like Major “Hot Lips” Houlihan (Sally Kellerman, also the best and most memorable of the cast).  The iterations of shower hijinks has been duplicated so often since the release of this picture. Therefore, this gag is dried up. It does not hold its impact fifty years later after dozens Porky’s movies. As well, there’s golfing off the helicopter pad, heavy drinking and a long, drawn-out final act of an overstayed football competition which leads to one of the first times the F-word was used in a mainstream American film.  

In 1970, Robert Altman delivered a bold, risky and daring film to counteract against a losing Vietnam War and the heroism of John Wayne’s bravado in war pictures.  The chutzpah to lash out against American politics likely felt relatable to many who saw different and more realistic images when they understood their young sons and daughters were not coming home and were thus forever changed.  Richard Hooker’s properties and stories lent an understanding to the animosity of those who forced the war on America’s children and loved ones.  War has never been consistent with the short film propaganda asking you to buy war bonds. M*A*S*H negated the heroism of Hollywood sensationalism found in machine gun fare and overtaking a hill while draped in green fatigues with shiny bronze ammunition hanging off their shoulders. These soldiers of war deserve our country’s utmost respect, but they did so much more than what John Wayne demonstrated. They offered up parts of themselves they would never get back.

M*A*S*H deliberately left out the heroes.  However, seeing the film for the first time, over fifty years later, I wish that at least we could follow the escapades of doctors who also directed a bed side manner to the pawns who were dying while upholding their leaders’ cause.  The doctors of Robert Altman’s interpretation hardly emulate a reason to care. 

The film interpretation of M*A*S*H is outdated of its time of release and the period in which it takes place.  I like to think we live more humanely than not just how our military leaders functioned.  I wished these physicians used their scalpels with a much less obtuse absence of empathy.  Hate the puppet masters, yes. Yet would it kill these guys to still care about the puppets? 

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.

ANORA

By Marc S. Sanders

Anora, or Ani as she prefers to be called, had to have been a character that writer/director Sean Baker always intended on loving.  Not in an intimate way though.  Sean Baker had to deeply care about this twenty-three-year-old girl who has no connections or family or solid friendships or kinships.  Baker wrote about Anora, wanting her to be appreciated by someone who would finally embrace her. 

Anora—sorry…Ani…has a good heart.  She may be an exotic dancer at a New York City strip club, but she is someone who has every right to be respected and valued. If you choose to watch the film you’ll know why, as a pertinent prop referenced earlier in the picture suddenly resurfaces when you least expect it.  A minute or two later the closing credits appear amid the sound of flapping windshield wipers and there is no music to cue your emotional response.  You likely will have spent the last two and a half hours laughing loudly, dropping your jaw, and gasping in shock at what unfolds for Ani. In the end though, you’ll realize that you want the best for her, like her creator did when he originally drafted this script and shot the film about Ani’s episodic escapades.

Sean Baker’s film is eye opening right from the start.  Club music blares within the HQ, the name of Ani’s strip joint where she collects an exorbitant amount of dollar bills while she strategically flirts with middle-aged men and frat boys looking for an evening of debauchery.  She has a talent for one on one charm with any customer, as she repeatedly bares her chest and reveals her thong, but she also delivers a very satisfying service.  A young man named Ivan, sometimes it’s Vanya (Mark Eydelshteyn), specifically requests a girl who speaks Russian to cater to his needs.  Ani is the only one who can comply.  Ani and Ivan get to talking, mostly in Russian but limited English too.  She gets invited to his private, deco mansion, which is really owned by his Russian aristocratic parents, and a slap happy relationship of sex and more sex, and money, and drugs and drinking and partying and New Year’s Eve partying and money, and clothes and expensive coats, and travels to Las Vegas ensue.  (Yes! I know that was a run on sentence.  My elaborate text does not even come close to what these twenty-somethings indulge in though.  It must be seen to be believed.)

Anyway, since they’re in Vegas, why not get married?  Vows are taken, the bride is kissed and Ani is emptying her locker at HQ for a promising future of being a spoiled, but loved, aristocratic wife.

In the few times that Ivan calms down, he is only engrossed in his online video games while Anora lies on his chest with an expression of wanting more than to come in second to Call Of Duty. Baker focuses on Ivan’s childish habit a few times.  So be sure to observe how Ani sadly looks upon an inattentive Ivan.

A problem occurs though that neither character could ever expect.  The tabloids have reported that Vanya, this spoiled brat son of a Russian oligarch, has up and married a prostitute. Now the family image is at risk of being shamed.  Mom and dad are on their way back to the states and have summoned Toros (Karren Karagulian), an Armenian Catholic priest and the son’s Godfather, to round up Vanya and the so-called whore to get the marriage annulled immediately.  Not divorced!  Divorce does not happen within the legacy of this family.  An annulment is what is needed. 

Toros rounds up Igor and Nick (Yura Borisov, Paul Weissman) to get over to the house right away, get the marriage license and bring the kids in for the quick annulment at the courthouse.  If only it were that simple.

Watching Anora allowed me to reminisce about other films that catered to outrageous debauchery and led to a domino effect of problems.  Doug Liman’s Go for example, or True Romance written by Quentin Tarantino, or even a super ridiculous comedy known as Very Bad Things with Christian Slater and Cameron Diaz.  The first two examples are very good films because the dialogue is sharp with eclectic casts who elevated simplistic material.  Let’s not talk about the third one, but I will say it is delicious junk food.  With Anora though, just when you think you know where this story should be going it doesn’t.  You think it will turn right, but then it makes a sharp left and Sean Baker knows he just needs to keep the fighting and the screaming and the cursing at an organic natural level.  What do you do when the wards you are put in charge of will not cooperate?  What if one of them goes missing and simply won’t answer his cell phone?

Well, on a cold winter night you may get a broken nose, car sick, and your car might get towed.   Anora is not about big stunts or gratuitous violence.  It’s not mobster movie material either.  Anora works naturally for people in desperate situations, from a handful of different perspectives.

Oh yeah.  Anora—sorry Ani, is played by Mikey Madison and she is bound for marquee attraction over the next twenty or thirty years.  This performance is so concentrated in moments of natural glee, anger, and maybe despair and sadness.  You applaud her character’s strength.  Ani talks like an updated version of Judy Holliday from Born Yesterday, but she’s no dummy and she never succumbs to intimidation.  I’ll confess it right here.  If two hulking Armenian thugs approach me, I’ll do whatever they want me to do. Ani gets all my props though.  She will never settle.  She’s a married woman and no one will deny her of her rights.

Mikey Madison has such wonderous chemistry with Sean Baker’s camera.  There must be over a hundred and fifty close-ups on this young actor and each one is unique.  I was sad for Anora when Ivan would not give her attention.  I was cheerful when the two were overindulging in carefree sex and sin city fun.  I was on Anora’s side when she was restrained. I was admirable of her giving a good fight to the giants that enter her space.  I was exhausted with her as she was forced to sit in Toros’ car while brainstorming where her husband could be.  I was supportive when she makes appeals with the family to offer a good first impression.  She hates her name, but she introduces herself as Anora to Vanya’s steely mother. Ani is willing to make all of this work. Finally, I was angry—very angry–alongside of her whenever she was unfairly treated like garbage. 

Amid all of the chaos that ensues, Sean Baker works like the eyes of the film’s audience. We keep guard over Ani’s condition and state of mind as she’s coerced into looking all over Brooklyn and Coney Island for her new husband that the Armenians need to find before the boy’s parents arrive by noon the next day. 

None of the dialogue is crafty like Quentin Tarantino’s or Neil Simon’s.  I could not quote a single line.  The yelling and conversations and overtalking and interruptions are natural and raw.  Sometimes, the exchanges feel pointless until you arrive at another scene that demonstrates with brilliant insight why certain throwaway moments are preserved in the final print of the film.  It makes complete sense that Sean Baker did not just write, produce and direct this film.  He edited it as well. 

The whole way through the picture I kept wondering how this story would end.  I spelled out variations of doom for any one of the characters.  I considered gratuitous violence or swashbuckling adventure and daring escapes.  Man o’ man, have I become cliché.  Because just as you arrive at the picture’s conclusion, a meaningful prop puts the period at the end of the story and the last audible expression before the picture goes to black comes from Anora. You now realize that this girl, who is as self-reliant as many exotic dancers must be, has feelings too.  As defiant as Anora can be, she can also get pricked and bleed and the big laughs you responded to for most of the film are distant memories. Anora can feel pain like any of us.

When I drove home, I was hurting.  I was hurting for Anora, and my one wish is that I hope Anora will be okay.

Roger Ebert once gave a seminar that lasted for eleven hours as he commented on practically every shot and piece of dialogue in Tarantino’s Pulp Fiction.  My long shot wish is that on a subsequent viewing of Anora, I can deliver a similar kind of observational lecture to others who had already seen the film too.  I believe I could reveal sincerity and perception related to every close up, every chaos-stricken scene of panic or decadence, and especially when that one prop reappears. I’d likely spend a half hour simply discussing the value that this prop carries and what it means to Sean Baker’s film, and especially to Ani.

As messy and gritty as Anora may appear, it is also one of the most adoring and perceptive films to be released in a long time. 

Anora must be in my top five favorite films of 2024.  It might just be my favorite.  There are a few other candidates, but I left feeling so satisfied with Mikey Madison’s performance and Sean Baker’s sloppy, yet astute, little film. 

This is superb filmmaking.

MRS. MINIVER

By Marc S. Sanders

To watch a classic film, usually reserved for Turner Classic Movies, is to get a history lesson while realizing that people’s perceptions have hardly changed.    In the early 1940s as World War II was occurring, happiness in many corners of the world was still moving forward.  Presently, I believe that happens today.  For example, Israeli hostages are only now being released from Hamas.  Until the conflict is over though, a childhood friend of mine chooses to run every Sunday morning.  He declares that he runs because they can’t.  This friend is not a soldier bearing arms.  He is acknowledging a violent and frightening conflict that persists.  On the side, he’s a devoted New York Yankees fan.  In 1942, when William Wyler’s Oscar winning film Mrs. Miniver was released, the well to do characters were performing comparably as Europe was in the thick of staving off the Nazi militia.

Mrs. Miniver opens on a bustling metropolitan district in England.  The title character, Kay Miniver (Greer Garson), is in a mad rush for something.  She hops on and off the double decker bus and weaves her way through the crowd.  Finally, she arrives at the destination.  The glamorous hat she’s had her eye on is still available to purchase.  Her only dilemma now is what will her husband think when he learns of the extravagant purchase.

Upon her arrival home, Clem Miniver (Walter Pidgeon) hides from his wife in a brand new convertible.  When she goes in the house, he makes a decision.  It’s expensive, but he must have the car and so he buys it.

In this tranquil part of England, the most immediate concern among these well to do people is deciding whether or not to treat themselves to gifts that will bring them joy.  Talk of a German invasion seems like a possibility, but the Minivers, with their two young children and their twenty-year-old son at Oxford, insist on living comfortably and happily.

Lady Beldon (May Whitty) is the elderly and intimidating aristocrat who suffers a terrible dilemma.  It seems the bell ringer, Mr. Ballard (Henry Travers), has grown a beautiful rose that looks like no other.  He cherishes it so much that he names the flower “Mrs. Miniver.”  The real person is honored for the personal recognition.  Yet, Lady Beldon’s concern is her yellow rose will not win this year’s prize trophy cup at the village flower festival.  Her granddaughter Carol (Teresa Wright) gracefully asks Kay if she’ll convince Mr. Ballard to withdraw his entry so that her grandmother can win once again.  She’s elderly, she’s accustomed to winning each year, and it would mean the world to her.

This request will also lead to a romance for Carol with the Minivers’ son Vin (Richard Ney), who has just enlisted in the Royal Air Force so he’s ready to fight the Axis forces of World War II.

All of this seems frivolous during the first half of Mrs. Miniver.  These people live comfortably but gradually grow a little more unsettled as they soon hear planes flying overhead their homes while the sounds of battle play off in the distance.   The possibilities of war coming to their front door seems to be an unlikely scenario.  The battles and bloodshed are out of sight, but only partially out of mind. 

I appreciate the editing of this film.  Clem is woken in the middle of the night to join the other neighboring husbands at the local saloon.  They are being requested to join the historic small boat rescue at the battle of Dunkirk.  The men down a drink and sail off without hesitation.  No one gives protest or stands behind their wealth or stature.

Midway through the picture, Kay is reading a bedtime story to her children in a dimly lit room.  We never see the entirety of this cramped space.  The scene simply begins with no transition.  The walls appear to be made of aluminum and then I realize the Minivers have taken shelter in an underground bunker.  Soon, they will be living through one unimaginable night of shelling and bomb dropping. Director William Wyler never turns off the camera through the extended sequence.  The bunker shakes and rattles.  The children cry in fear.  Dirt rains down them.  Books and belongings fall among the family. The pounding explosions carry on outside.  It seems to never end and the concern over a lady’s fashion hat or a beautiful new automobile are distant memories.

When Vin and Carol arrive home from a honeymoon, the Minivers home is wrecked.  So is Clem’s boat following the Dunkirk incident.  However, they happily remain living there with the youngest child playing a welcoming number on the piano.  

Amid all of these episodes, the people of this small English town uphold their positivity, but they never lose sight of what is nearby.  It’s just a house.  The Minivers are surviving and remain together.  Their biggest concern is that one day Vin won’t return from battle. Yet, time and again he does with hugs and kisses for everyone.

I’ve provided a lot of what occurs in Mrs. Miniver because I was not entirely sure of the purpose of all of these happenings until the final act is served and surprising outcomes arrive.  For much of the film, William Wyler delivers an impression of life away from the front lines.  These people live with a devotion to help their country and abandon comfort when necessary. Flower festivals, gleeful children, young romance and materialistic tranquility will carry on regardless of terrible interruptions of war.

Amid turmoil in our present state with political divides, unjust prejudice, natural disasters, and a resurgence of Cold War threats, I can’t help but wonder if many of us live like this family.  I believe we do, and I see nothing wrong with that.  We have to escape and live happily no matter what terrible future might befall us because otherwise what is the purpose of living?  Still, we choose to remain alert and especially empathetic and ready to aid our fellow neighbors when the need arises.

Visually, a shocking set design for the final scene of Mrs. Miniver sends a message that is only enhanced by a sermon delivered by the town minister.  I learned later that this speech was written at the last second by William Wyler and the actor portraying the minister (Henry Wilcoxon).  It perfectly demonstrates the overall purpose of the entire film.  Mrs. Miniver is the story of a fight for ongoing freedom; an independence to live and to treat oneself happily and lovingly.  People perish during the course of the picture.  The minister explains with convincing validity why they had to die so undeservedly and unexpectedly.  It’s an ending that really touched me, and upon the movie’s conclusion a message appears urging Americans to buy war bonds.  

This speech had such an impact at the time that it circulated in propaganda films and on radio airwaves as a means to deliver a shared triumph among the Allied masses.  It reminded people that simply because you live at home, does not mean you are exonerated of the fight for continued freedom.  The fight is not exclusive to hoisting a rifle or dropping bombs from planes.  A unified front of country must be upheld.  

Mrs. Miniver begins as a romanticized film of people living glamorously and happily but it effectively segues to a reality of uncertain times.  I went from questioning what is its purpose to an understanding of a reason to live and to strive.  

EMILIA PEREZ (FRANCE)

By Marc S. Sanders

I never watched a telenovela from start to finish.  At best, the only footage I’ve seen are on GIF scenes that tease at the over exasperated expressions (bulging eyes, big teeth, big hairstyles, lots of lipstick) of the actors and the characters they are portraying.  The Funny Or Die You Tube clips draw their comedy by having the straightest voiceover summarize a season of these miniseries. The stories were not meant for humor, but on the surface, I can’t help but think they are operating with a Naked Gun tongue firmly in an Airplane! cheek. 

Emilia Pérez looks like a telenovela compiled into a two-hour film, but as outrageous as the storyline and the sequence of events play out it’s anything but silly.  I held an appreciation for the circumstances that writer/director Jacques Audiard set up so that the insurmountable conflicts appeared convincing, and most especially overwhelming.  Emilia Pérez performs like an episode of Three’s Company – the one with the misunderstanding – but there are complications that border on bloody violence, life, and death.

Zoe Saldana portrays Rita, a defense attorney for Mexico’s worst criminals, and she despises the purpose she serves for the murderous scum she represents as she assists in getting one thug exonerated after another.  Early on in the picture, Saldana espouses her remorse through song and dance all within the middle of a courtroom, because as you quickly learn Audiard’s film is a movie musical. 

Shortly after the opening number Rita is summoned by Manitas, the most powerful head of the Mexican drug cartel.  He has unlimited resources and cash, and he hires Rita to do a worldwide search for the finest physicians to complete his sex change operation.  Once that is complete, the two will arrange the publicly known death of Manitas, send his wife Jessi (Selena Gomez) and their two children off to hiding in Switzerland, and the drug czar will be replaced by the woman Emilia Pérez.  Emilia and Manitas are portrayed by real life trans actress Karla Sofía Gascón.

Four years jump by, and Emilia catches up with Rita, who remains the only person to know of the ruse that took place.  Emilia wants Rita to deliver Jessi and the children back to her.  The former father will now pose as the wealthy aunt and they will live together in Mexico, going forward. 

Rita discovers a new kind of respect for Emilia as the bloody past of this individual have ceased since her sex change.  As such, Emilia recalls that her former self was responsible for countless murders and kidnappings, many of which took place under her command.  Now she seeks redemption by making herself public with a well-funded campaign that will focus on the recovery of missing people and set up proper burial arrangements so next of kin can have closure.  Emilia reveals a common burial site where hundreds of bodies were secretly laid to rest.  No one questions how she knows of this area.  Yet, she becomes a philanthropic woman who has earned the respect of millions within Mexico.  The irony is that she recruits other cartel lords to make sizable donations to this cause.  If anything, it makes them look more noble in a public eye.

Elsewhere, simplicity does not hold for her relationship with Jessi.  I won’t reveal what occurs because it lends to an ending you might expect.  All three leads embrace different perspectives of this storyline, and it only heightens the complexities of the film.

Jacques Audiard is of French descent, and after seeing the film I learned that many have taken issue with him overseeing this project.  He does not speak Spanish, has no Mexican heritage and according to many has not embraced a true account of Mexican culture or activity.  The movie was also submitted for Oscar contention as the French candidate in the Best Foreign Film category. I’m glad I did not learn of these objections until after seeing Audiard’s film, though.  It did not interfere with my take on the picture, and I believe it should not cloud your viewpoint if you intend to see it.  (It’s currently showing on Netflix.)  There were moments in the film that I predicted would occur such as where a boy on a bicycle is heading with a plastic shopping bag in tow.  By that moment, I knew what was to be revealed inside the bag. 

The film is soap opera like, especially with the musical numbers that are included.  I’d think the songs were composed by Lin Manuel Miranda if I didn’t know better because the lyrics work like dialogue much like you would see in Hamilton or In The Heights.  I was taken with the singing performances of Saldana, Gascón, and of course Gomez who works part time as a professional singer anyway.  It’s almost operatic how they and other cast members express their conflicting feelings in character.  Out of context of the film, I don’t think any of these songs work or would draw an attraction to leave the radio tuned in.  The songs are storytelling, but not memorable or catchy with chorus versus.

While I did not mind the song portions, I never missed them when scripted dialogue, primarily in Spanish with English subtitles, was being played.  I guess you could say the music makes the film different.  A different kind of telenovela, a different kind of crime drama, a different kind of soap opera, and certainly a different kind of musical.  Whether you take to the assembly of the film or not, you cannot deny that Emilia Pérez stands out within any one of these categories.

The film is up for the most Oscar nominations in the year 2024, thirteen in total.  One thing that is odd though is that Zoe Saldana is competing in the Best Supporting Actress race while Karla Sofía Gascón is up for Best Actress.  Even though Gascón plays the title character, I insist it should be the other way around. Saldana occupies most of the running time of the film and as complicated as the character Emilia Pérez is, I found Saldana to be more conflicted as Rita, the outsider looking in with all the secrets held tight in her subconscious.  The best way to share her struggles with the audience is to sing them aloud.  The long-time action movie star (Guardians Of The Galaxy, Avatar) sets the stage for the whole movie, as soon as the five hundred million studio logos get their street cred at the beginning of the film.  (I empathize with Peter Griffin on Family Guy.) Saldana is marvelous in this picture.  A stunning performance.

As Emilia Pérez, Karla Sofía Gascón pulls off an intricate stretch as she convincingly plays two very different roles.  Had the film not told me, her character could have easily been the second coming of The Crying Game. Unlike Saldana though, once Emilia is brought into the film I didn’t so much see a performance as I heard the problematic narrative that came from the script.  I don’t recall any special moments or scenes that wowed me to the point of an Oscar nomination.  It’s certainly one of the most unique roles to come along in films lately.  So I guess that’s where the justification for special recognition stems from.

Selena Gomez is a powerhouse in her role.  She was worthy of a nomination that regrettably did not come.  As I understand she cannot speak Spanish fluently and was challenged at times with the dialogue and the singing involved.  Beyond Saldana’s introductory number, Gomez has the standout song with her portion of El Trio.  Gomez has so many dimensions to this character, as the bubbly airheaded and spoiled wife of the drug czar, who then transitions to a sorrowful and cold caricature after time has passed since her husband has been killed, and later she is vengefully outraged.  This is such a standout performance from her lighter material found in Disney programming and Only Murders In The Building.  She’s quite fierce.

I liked Emilia Pérez.  Artistically speaking, I question the worthiness of some of the recognition though.  It’s up for Best Cinematography.  Often the picture is grainy, which I believe was deliberate, but intent does not imply the highest order of artistic measure.  Maybe it is earning praise due to the transitions during the musical numbers.  Nevertheless, this film does not look as sharp as Dune, Alien: Romulus or The Brutalist. 

As well, I did not find anything special for its nomination in Sound.  Perhaps the sound lends to the music embedded throughout the film.  I don’t know.  I can’t figure what was merited here, when there are arguably dozens of other films that likely deserved more recognition. 

The creative licenses are where the strengths lie in Emilia Pérez.  The editing and directing are good with expansive footage of Mexican locales, and transitioning film work during the song and dance portions.  It has a screenplay that grabbed me right away.  The compounded conflicts that arise feel fresh as one new development introduces itself after another. None of the material is so much for shock value like you would find in a telenovela.  The crises all seem to make sense. 

It’s not easy once a gender transition is complete, especially for a murderous drug lord.  Likewise, it’s not going to be easy for the immediate family or the one person who carries all the secrets that no one else does.  Regardless of his background, Jacques Audiard’s film lays enough groundwork and attention for each of these women’s perspectives.  He’s simply a storyteller who triumphs with impressionable tales to unfold. 

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.

A REAL PAIN

By Marc S. Sanders

Sometimes I take notice of how the title and credits appear in a film.  The director or the title supervisor had to put some thought into how the font and lettering appears on the screen at the start of a film.  Woody Allen was always very simple with his basic white lettering centered on a black screen.  Star Wars jumps at you across a galaxy of stars and then zooms away from you.  The Godfather appears with that hand grasping strings of a marionette.  I imagine writer/director Jesse Eisenberg opted to put the words A Real Pain to the left of Kieren Culkin’s closeup shot as the film begins.  When it concludes, the title again appears but now it is to right of a nearly identical pose of the actor.  During a five-day guided tour through Poland, we are accompanying the two leads, and we will uncover what defines a real pain all the way from left to right.

Eisenberg and Culkin portray Jewish cousins, David and Benji, who are reconnecting during their adulthood by joining a tour group in Poland that is focusing on historical locations related to the Holocaust.  Their grandmother recently passed away and earmarked monies for them to take this trip and visit her childhood home that she lived in before the Nazis took over and erected the Warsaw Ghetto along with concentration camps that killed millions of Jews and Europeans by the command of Adolf Hitler. Their tour guide promises an informative but likely triggering experience for the men and the four others who are accompanying them.  What becomes concerning though is that Benji wildly expresses himself during unexpected and inconvenient moments.

Even if David is uncomfortable with his cousin’s behavior, Benji is at least funny at first as he upstages James the tour guide (Will Sharpe) and gains a quick influence over the group.  Later though, Benji will alarm and frustrate everyone.  His grandmother was the most treasured person in his life.  Now that she’s gone, there’s a deep void left for him, and he has been exceedingly hyperactive and perhaps harmful to himself.  A train ride in the first class section is declared inappropriate to Benji as he reminds everyone of the purpose of this little vacation and journey into the dark times of Polish history.  Should they be able to live so comfortably, eating the finest delicacies as they journey to places mired in deep suffering from a horrible past?  David will eventually share what truly disturbs him personally, when he thinks about his cousin.  

Kieren Culkin delivers one of the best performances you’ll find anywhere in 2024.  His timing is so rhythmic even if you cannot predict when Benji is going to detract focus from the tour, and over towards what tremendously irks him.  The comedy he delivers, from Eisenberg’s very intuitive and sensitive script, is quite amusing but it all stems from an anger and sadness that the character cannot contain.  I can’t think of many actors who could play this kind of part.  It’s like watching Robert DeNiro in one of his manic roles that he performed under Martin Scorsese, like in The King Of Comedy or Taxi Driver.

Jesse Eisenberg is worthy of accolades as well.  He directs a heartbreaking monologue of his character trying to explain his cousin’s unhinged behavior.  His focused composure eventually is shaken as he directs his camera to zoom in closer and closer to him, across a dinner table.  David may have a sustained foundation of life with a loving wife and child back home, but he carries a pain that resides within his first cousin.  Eisenberg’s script compliments his well-planned direction, and he handles every perfect beat of the man he plays from the schlubby way he dresses to the baseball cap he wears over his bushy hair.  Despite their thirty-something ages, David and Benji connected as kids with their grandmother there for them.  Now that she’s gone, the sorrow normally found in a kid does not live as comfortably well in an adult body.

A Real Pain will motivate you to book a flight to Poland.  Eisenberg’s film works like a vivid travelogue and every backdrop is rich in color and restored history. That is until the tour group arrives at the Majdenak Concentration Camp.  The horrors that played out here are preserved so that visitors will realize the most absolute cruelty that man is capable of.  Other than the footsteps of the actors and the whisper of green nature on a sun-drenched day, no one speaks other than a few comments from James.  We see a caged collection of old shoes that belonged to men, women and children who were imprisoned and died at this location.  Eisenberg shows us the showers that gassed so many people to death.  The walls are splotched in blue smears.  Watch the film and you will discover their significance.  Life size ovens are also on display.  It’s terribly overwhelming.

What you may believe was a real pain in Benji no longer compares when the film arrives at the camp.  It’s not so much that Benji is a pain.  He only carries the pain that his grandmother and ancestors endured and witnessed.  

Reader, just writing this out leaves me shaken, quite frankly.

There’s a wholesome feeling when the boys, who are now men, arrive at their grandmother’s childhood home.  A spirit seems to talk to the pair and they share some dialogue but Jessie Eisenberg’s film also seeks some closure for his characters.  I will not reveal what they do at the front door. Once I finished watching the picture, I read an insightful quote from Jesse Eisenberg regarding this scene.  He says he was looking for David and Benji to do something that might have been most appropriate during a time when their grandmother lived here as a child, but now, nearly ninety years later, the gesture only serves as an inconvenience or a hazard.  I could relate.  History changes the course of how we live and abide. What seemed right to do at one point in life can no longer be accommodating at another time, regardless of if the sentiment was meant with noblest intention.

A Real Pain could be considered a coming-of-age film.  The characters resort to sneaking on to rooftops to smoke pot or hitch a train ride without paying, or travel with the most basic duffel bags for a European trip.  They dress like high school or college kids.  One dresses primarily in blue and the other in red until a well-timed turn of events has the characters switch colors. Benji speaks with what appears to be a lack of respect for his elders, despite the intelligence and sensitivity in the points he makes.  This trip allows the former boys to grow up, according to their grandmother’s design, long after her death.

Some people have told me they were unsatisfied with the open-ended conclusion to A Real Pain.  Not me.  Like the positioning of the film’s title at the beginning and end, I feel like I went on a journey from point A to point B; from left to right.  I looked back in history and for a short while lived among a present period, in a different part of the world.  These experiences are with me now.  Yet, for a guy like Benji, he should not be less lonely or less melancholy or less of whatever he feels on any given day.  His pain has not subsided.  Maybe though, it feels more reasonable and accepting.  I still carry empty places in my heart now that my parents are gone, and I’ve had to accept the surprising loss of a close friend. The way Benji or any of us learn to carry on is to find a justice for the pain and sorrow we carry under a new kind of normal. 

David returns to the loving welcome of his wife and child.  Only now, he has a better understanding of the real pain his cousin is experiencing and what his grandmother survived.

A Real Pain is worthy of more than just the two Oscar nominations it received (for Culkin’s performance and Eisenberg’s screenplay).  It is one of best and most engaging films of the last few years.  A triumph in natural dialogue and thought, while serving as a visual masterpiece in silent anger, sadness, and sensitivity.

What is especially evident is that Jesse Eisenberg is an accomplished director, and an even better writer. In addition, Kieran Culkin is a blazing dynamo of both comedic and dramatic talent. In A Real Pain, he wears both masks exceptionally well.