The Proposal (2009)

While I champion originality and constantly call filmmakers to task for stealing too heavily from the ideas of past films to get a laugh (see my review of "The Hangover" for an example), I also believe that there are formulas in the world of film and that, if the pieces are right, can work, no matter how familiar. Such is the case, I felt, with THE PROPOSAL.

Lest you think I'm a total movie snob, I'm here to confess two things about THE PROPOSAL. The first would be the obvious one, and that is the fact that I could see every narrative turn of this paint-by-numbers plot coming at me from a mile away. If you had given me a pen and paper at the beginning and then hit pause on the movie 15 minutes in and asked me to write the rest of the script, I would have come damn close to what really unfolds. THE PROPOSAL is as original as a jello mold, and anyone who takes me seriously as a film reviewer would expect me to say it.

But on to my second point, and my real confession...I very much enjoyed this movie. I'm nervous to say I "loved" it because a guy has to maintain some dignity here. But I very much enjoyed it. And I'm going to focus this post on the two main reasons why despite the fact that everything points to THE PROPOSAL as recycled rom-com Hollywood drivel, I was charmed by it, even though most major critics nationwide - all of them sensible - dismissed the film for what it is.

1. Lesson #1: A great cast can transcend a basic script.

What a year for Sandra Bullock! I haven't had much of an opinion about her one way or the other, and movies like this are right in her wheelhouse, so this Golden Globe-nominated performance is hardly a stretch. But she has become acting comfort food to audiences just as the familiar plot here gives the average filmgoer just what they're looking for. Then you add in Ryan Reynolds, who was almost single-handedly the reason why I loved "Van Wilder," a film a man of my tastes has no business admitting to liking. He is boy-next-door charming but, lest you take that for granted, also possesses a natural sarcastic wit. Reynolds and Bullock play together here like a classic Hollywood screen couple. THE PROPOSAL not only benefits from these two leads, but from great support work from Mary Steenburgen, Craig T. Nelson and, most noticably, the unsinkable Betty White, who essentially steals scenes as the grandma. No matter how many times you've seen it all before, if the right actors are taking you back down Familiar Lane, you'll go willingly.

2. Lesson #2: Familiarity often breeds satisfaction.

When I teach my film class each year, I teach my students to understand the conventions of genres. What makes a genre a genre IS its repeated elements and characteristics. The romantic comedy certainly has its own elements. And while we spend a lot of time being critical of films that do nothing creative with the genre elements it chooses to play by, sometimes we overlook the fact that mainstream American audiences go to a film to see those exact, familiar elements play out just as they would expect them to. For the average person, severe genre deviations are a disappointment. "Fresh," for them, is defined by a new set-up and different actors, while everything else is the same. Don't get me wrong - I'm not that guy. That's not typically good enough for me. But I can also acknowledge that there are things that just work. And one of them is a love story that seems doomed to fail, one that is not easy. Because the payoff, no matter how telegraphed (and boy, is it ever here), is still satisfying on a gut, emotional level. Boy and girl hate each other at the beginning. There's no movie unless that changes by the end. Sometimes we judge the success on the movie based on how faithfully it adheres to conventions. Well, maybe not me, but that seems to be the criteria of the mass population, doesn't it?

I could spend just as much time picking apart THE PROPOSAL as I can telling you how much I like it. I could mention that the comedy in the second half of the film becomes much more ridiculous and broad that than more sly, dry comic moments of the film's first half. I could tell you that the director, Anne Fletcher, had nowhere to go but up after her piece of shit last film, "27 Dresses," one of the worst romantic comedies I have ever seen.

But it always comes down to the way the audience feels about the characters. And while in "27 Dresses" it was virtually impossible to like the lead female character, it wasn't as difficult here. Though Bullock's Margaret tries hard to be unlikeable, she has a heart - and we get to see it. We're okay with rooting for her. For all that is completely standard - or even sub-standard - about THE PROPOSAL, it hit me at the most basic level. I liked the people in it. And the rest, at least at the time that I watched it, was forgiveable.

3.0 out of 4

Das weisse Band (The White Ribbon) (2009)

German director Michael Haneke made "Cache" in 2005, a film that was lauded by critics and made many best of the 2000s film lists, even topping one that I found online. I regret to say that I have yet to see "Cache," though it's been sitting in my Netflix queue for a few years now, sinking lower and lower on the list as more newly-available titles catch my eye.

That's a problem I will need to rectify soon, after having seen THE WHITE RIBBON (Das weisse Band). A Golden Globe nominee for best Foreign Lanuage Film, THE WHITE RIBBON is a meticulously photographed and mysterious film with a super-slow pace and a fascinating story to tell.

Shot in gorgeous, antique black and white, the cinematography and mise-en-scene are the stars of THE WHITE RIBBON. Set just before the outbreak of World War I - with the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand shocking the locals toward the end of the film - THE WHITE RIBBON is set in a small German town where strange things have been happening. It is a town where repression is all but absolute; the adults, let by a few in particular, don't seem to allow their children to do anything. The town minister goes so far as to tie white ribbons to his children. A reminder, he tells them, of purity.

Despite the stifling control over the children demonstrated by most of the adults, several key items begin to indicate that trouble is brewing. Some acts of parental dictatorship cross the line into physical, emotional and even sexual abuse. And townsfolk become the victims of random acts of shocking violence that stand to tear families apart. A doctor is seriously injured. A barn is burned. A child with disabilities is tortured. And this is not all.

The action is narrated by the town's school teacher, the one who starts to figure out what is happening here. And thought I doubt that many will see this film, I don't want to spoil his revelation by revealing what he believes.

As I mentioned before, the camera work in THE WHITE RIBBON is fantastic. Haneke very frequently keeps the frames static in sumptuous medium-long shots and has his actors create the movement within the frames. This allows for a slow-moving pace, which will not be to everyone's liking. I must admit that the two-hour film felt much longer, even for me. But it seems to fit what is happening here. Even the director is exerting the tight control that the adults in his film force upon the village children.

Ultimately, THE WHITE RIBBON is about the dangers of enforcing innocence. It's about being overbearing and overprotective. It's about adults holding children accountable but not themselves. It is an interesting, if not quite emotionally satisfying, film.

3.0 out of 4

The Soloist (2009)

It just dawned on me that I forgot to post a review for THE SOLOIST, a film that I watched many weeks ago but forgot to write about. But don't worry, it's not much to write about. Sadly, THE SOLOIST takes some wind out of the sails of Joe Wright, a director who had just made two four-star films prior to this one in "Pride & Prejudice" and "Atonement." Maybe he does better work in England?

Based on a true story, THE SOLOIST centers around L.A. Times journalist Steve Lopez, who, in the aftermath of an accident that has left him with significant (but recoverable) injuries, happens upon a street musician by the name of Nathanial Ayers. Played by Jamie Foxx, Ayers is a raggedy, slightly-frightening looking guy who quickly diffuses any fear one would have of him with his sentimental violin playing. Lopez is intrigued. Maybe he has a column idea there...some story to tell.

Upon closer inspection and conversation with the not-quite-there Ayers, Lopez learns that Ayers was once enrolled at Julliard. A gifted cellist, he traded his instrument for the much more portable violin when he took to the streets later in his life. Now homeless, Ayers is mostly ignored by his family, and by the people walking by. Lopez sees the beauty through the ugliness of Ayers' appearance and the venues in which he plays, such as the undersides of viaducts.

When Lopez brings Ayers a cello as a gift from a reader who has read his column, a bond develops between the two men. But the bond is never fully realized in the film. Despite the formitable talents of Foxx and Robert Downey Jr. (one of my all-time favorites) as Lopez, we're never fully made to understand Ayers' debilitating mental state. Nor do we ever fully figure out just what draws Lopez to Ayers in friendship. At one point, Downey delivers a line to the effect of "I've never loved anything as much as he loves music," much to chagrin of the woman sitting next to him, played thanklessly by the excellent Catherine Keener. I guess this is supposed to be the point of the movie, but little comes of it.

In theory, THE SOLOIST had all the trappings of what I love in a movie and in life, and as such it adds up to one of the biggest disappointments of the year for me. I love the actors in the film. I am passionate about music and believe in its transcending and healing power. I love a story of inspiration. I love stories of friendships that transcend demographics and transform lives. So what happened?

Wright misfires in spots. In one scene, when Lopez takes Ayers to the symphony, we "see" colors swirling around: Ayers' interpretation of what he is hearing. His feeling of the music is great in theory but cinematically lousy. So, too, (sadly) is Foxx as a violin player. Kudos to method acting - Foxx really plays. But not well enough to make a stranger suspect that he might have been Julliard-trained.

There are some interesting side-tracks involving a homeless shelter where Ayers is forced to go to play the stationary cello, and late-in-the-film scenes where Lopez brings in a professional musician to attest to Ayers' greatness and a family member to confront his homelessness. It all falls surprisingly flat. In the end, I cared far less about all of these people than I had a right to, and I was as perplexed about Ayers' mental state as I was upon first being introduced to him.

THE SOLOIST just didn't work for me. And that's sad. Because on paper, it looked like beautiful music.

1.5 out 4

Julie & Julia (2009)

There's an old film critics' saying that it's very difficult to make an interesting movie about a writer. Think about that one for a second. How cinematically dramatic is the act of writing? It stands to reason, then, that Nora Ephron's JULIE & JULIA is doubly cursed, as it features the real-life stories of not one but two writers. And, for me, this cautionary warning about a film's subject matter is reinforced here.

I'll skip all of the discussion about how wonderful Meryl Streep is here as the famous chef Julia Child. Of course she's wonderful. Some have said that she alone is reason enough to see JULIE & JULIA, and while I could support that claim, that can be said of a half-dozen other Meryl Streep films or more. Not to belittle her sublime brilliance as an actress, but I have a theory that the most honored acting performances often come from mediocre films because the fantastic work of the actor sticks out like a sore thumb. Streep has been been in only a small handful of true cinematic masterpieces or anything that comes close. So naturally, her presence is a redeeming value in any film.

Here, as Child, Streep is having as much fun as she seems to have had in recent work like "Mamma Mia!," flipping that signature Child sing-song vocal pattern and towering over Stanley Tucci as Julia's loving but slightly enigmatic husband, Paul. Yes, give her an Oscar nomination. Maybe even give her the trophy; how is it that our greatest actress only possesses two statues?

Amy Adams, one of my current favorite actresses (herself already nominated twice for Oscars so early in her career), comes off less successfully as Juile Powell, a melancholy New York City woman with a puppy dog husband who will put up with just about anything, a lousy job holding the families of 9/11 victims looking for insurance payouts at bay, and a desire to make her life matter, if only she could figure out how. Her odd decision: to cook her way through Julie Child's "Mastering the Art of French Cooking" in a year. Oh, and she'll blog about it. In the process, Adams' character comes off as snotty and hard to live with. It's amazing that the always likeable Adams is almost unlikeable here.

What's interesting about all of this is that Ephron's screenplay actually gives the Powell half of the story the much more dramatically interesting arc. Nevermind what the other critics have said, that the Julia Child portion is the "better" portion and that Ephron could have done away with the Julie Powell portion. I read those reviews before I saw the film. And I disagree. I think people are so blindsided by Meryl's transcending presence that they are forgetting that her entire half of the movie, from a dramatic perspective, involves little more than Child's collaboration with two other women on that cookbook. The film does not cover any other aspects of her personal life. True, her marriage is surprisingly rich with love and warmth -- surprising because Child's TV personality was always slightly formal and hoity-toity. But Ephron botches many dramatic opportunities, such as her husband's brush with McCarthyism, in favor of the more banal pursuit of will-she-or-won't-she-get-her-cookbook-finished. Which, of course, she does.

Powell's life, by contrast, is structured around more inherent conflict, though Ephron remains in the shallow end of the pool for her story as well. Julie's job, by all accounts, is horrible. Her decision to find purpose by becoming the Carrie Bradshaw of cooking by recreating all of Child's recipies and blogging about it is quirky but interesting. Nevermind the fact that we are never asked to believe how she and her husband can afford the groceries. The charm, I guess, is seeing her put together these formal recipies in the dive kitchen of a small apartment. But her obsession causes her to be destructive in her relationships, and she becomes so unlikeable that Ephron throws in one lunch scene where Powell is seated with three friends who are exponentially less likeable and more self-centered so that the audience can forgive Powell for her own selfishness.

Neither storyline does enough to develop the husband characters. One comes off as inexplicably loving and sweet and the other is, by all accounts, a doormat. When Julie's husband leaves her briefly (and suddenly, in terms of the film's narrative development), the reconcilliation of the marriage that occurs a few scenes later with him asking her "what's for dinner?" Shame on you, Nora Ephron!

I wish we could have known more about Julie Child: how she got to where she was and what happened after her book was finally published. Because just waiting for her to get a book deal was, frankly, boring. And the film's one true moment of cinematic tension, which comes when the stories of the two women intersect via a phone call detailing Child's reaction to Powell's blog experiment, is glossed over in that Ephron-y, "Sleepless in Seattle" sort of way. It's a cop out and is resolved in a way that makes me appreciate Powell even less.

In the end, JULIE & JULIA attempts to entertain the audience with duelling stories about one woman who is writing a book in the mid 20th Century with pen, paper and a typewriter, and another woman who is writing a book (well, the blog becomes one) in the early 21st Century at a computer screen. And if that sounds interesting to you, you'll love JULIE & JULIA. Because that's all you'll get.

2.0 out of 4

Inglorious Basterds (2009)

I get annoyed by the rabid fanbase for Quentin Tarantino and the film snob in me feels like it's too soon to be lauding him as the one of the greatest film directors of modern times. Maybe it's his punk attitude when giving interviews, or his genre-blurring narrative incoherence, or maybe it's just the fact that folks who worship at the altar of Tarantino usually lack the film history background to understand where his ideas are coming from.

With that in mind, I watched INGLORIOUS BASTERDS with every intention of hating it. Not only was I expecting Tarantino to mess with history, but I fully expected to find aspects of his treatment of a sensitive subject (the persecution of the Jews by the Nazis) to be offensive, and I anticipated visual delights with no real emotional attachments.

I got all of that.

I also got something else: the feeling that if you truly love the movies, you almost have to love INGLORIOUS BASTERDS, if not Tarantino himself. I have not had this much fun watching a film in quite some time, and there are a few scenes in particular that stand for me among the best I've seen this year.

Rather than writing a coherent review, I'm going to talk about this one Tarantino-style to explain what I enjoyed about the movie:

1. THE ACTING. Tarantino has a knack for working his actors into intense, comedy-tinged performances that border on vaudeville without quite slathering on the blackface. Characters such as Brad Pitt's Aldo Raine are absurd. You can't tell if Pitt is giving one of his best performances or one of his worst. The ridiculously brilliant Christoph Waltz (my pick for Best Supporting Actor so far) veers from the intense control of an A-list dramatic actor to moments of camp that border on the Mike Myers-esque. Clever segue there, too, because Tarantino had the cajones to actually cast Mike Myers in a completely straight role; he's virtually unrecognizable and reeled in more than Robin Williams was for "Good Will Hunting." The two lead female performances, Melanie Laurent as a Jew who escapes the film's opening massacre only to plot her revenge and, even better, Diane Kruger as a smokin', Veronica Lake-styled actress, are fantastic and award-worthy themselves. Hell, even film director Eli Roth, as bad as his acting is, fits right in. You have to give Tarantino credit. He gets everyone to buy into it. Actors with one scene in the movie are as memorable as the leads.

2. THE TAVERN SCENE. About halfway through the film, Tarantino stages a scene at a tavern that lasts for about a fifth of the entire film's running time. That might sound like a scene that lasts too long for many modern filmgoers, but to me, it was an exemplar sample of pace, timing and story development. In the scene, a few men affiliated with the Basterds are to rendezvous with the actress (and spy) Bridget von Hammersmark. The scene opens in classic Tarantino fashion with von Hammersmark holding court amidst a group of rowdy, drunken SS privates, all passionately engaged in a guessing game involving writing down the name of a celebrity and sticking that name on one's forehead so that everyone but the person with the card can see it and then engaging in a game similar to "20 questions." Did that game exist back in the 1940s? Shit, no. In fact, most viewers will most likely think of the now-famous episode of "The Office" that centers around the same game. But that's why it's brilliant here. Because Tarantino makes it fit in like it belongs there. I won't spoil the scene if you haven't seen the movie yet, but it evolves from this opening to intense, slow conversations of suspicion and, before it's over, employs not one but two Mexican standoffs (one of Tarantino's auteur touches) and a spray of bullets and blood (another). If I was a professional film critic, I'd have written three stars down as soon as that scene ended. That scene alone is worthy of it.

3. THE HOMAGES. Watching INGLORIOUS BASTERDS, I heard Ennio Morricone. I saw Leni Riefenstahl-inspired propaganda film footage (meticulously recreated by Tarantino himself). The film is a spaghetti Western disguised as a World War II film, with classic touches thrown in, such as an iconic through-the-doorframe shot lifted right from John Ford's "The Searchers." The plot is less non-linear than other Tarantino films like "Pulp Fiction," and yet just as "classic Tarantino": trippy, screwy, audacious, ridiculous. And perhaps the greatest tribute Tarantino pays here is to the movies themselves. Now famous as the guy who learned how to make movies by watching too many of them as a video store employee, Tarantino has certainly cemented his perfection of his own, loving blend of the classics. How can you love movies and not enjoy sifting through his final products to identify their ingredients? The fact that this particular film ends in a movie theatre and that, if you put the proper spin on it, the cinema itself (in Tarantino's rewrite of history) is what ends the terror reign of the Third Reich, is a crazy poetic justice. Even the moments where we see old fashioned film editing and how celluloid reels are operated are a joy for true movie lovers.

Now, with all of this said, you might assume that I have completely changed my opinion about Tarantino...that I've let down my guard and now finally embrace him as the master that he's gunning to be. And despite all of my foaming at the mouth about INGLORIOUS BASTERDS, which might just be my favorite Tarantino film now (though I need more time to process), it still holds the one fundamental flaw that all Tarantino films hold...the thing that keeps any of them from being true masterpieces in my mind. And that is the fact that, when it's all said and done, I have thoroughly enjoyed watching the film but never - at any time - cared what happened to any of its characters.

For as clever as Tarantino is at doing all of the things I've talked about here, he has yet to make me truly feel for a character. He seems uncapable of forging a genuine emotional connection. I think he tries. He just doesn't succeed. Yes, the girl who goes for revenge here escapes a family massacre. We can surely feel bad for her about that. But she runs out of the film at the beginning and shows up later for her revenge. None of the Basterds, as great as they are, are grounded with human backstories. The best characters are simply the most entertaining. No emotional connections are needed with Tarantino films because Tarantino seems preoccupied with demonstrating how clever he is. And he is.

All of this said, I can and will watch INGLORIOUS BASTERDS multiple times. And it takes a master of movie-making to make a film this long (over 2 1/2 hours) worth repeat viewings. And since Tarantino does this, I'd better start elevating him to the status I've denied him thus far.

3.5 out of 4

The Hangover (2009)

Director Todd Phillips was at the forefront of this past decade's trend of the grown-men-acting-like-sophomore-boys film when, in 2003, he tapped Will Ferrell and company to make "Old School." To some degree, the problem that plagues his latest, THE HANGOVER, is the fact that this genre has been so beaten down in the past few years that it's hard to do anything fresh with it.

If you are entertained by grown men swearing a lot and having random and inexplicable things happen to them, you'll likely love THE HANGOVER. I'd be lying if I said I didn't laugh gymnastically at a good half dozen scenes in the film. And yet the entire time, I kept thinking to myself that this was just "Superbad" with guys who were 20 years older. In both cases, the entire film serves, in a sense, as one continuous trajectory gag. The boys of "Superbad" want to attend a rocking party where they feel they can lose their virginity. The boy-men of THE HANGOVER want to go to Vegas for a batchelor party and have the time of their lives.

There are things about THE HANGOVER that work very well. Most successfully, the plot calls for a loss of memory that we've not seen on film at this scale since "Memento." It's a simple plot construct that makes the film more interesting; we begin toward the end of the story and, like the characters, are exposed to random oddities that no one can explain. Why is there a baby in the hotel suite? Why is there a tiger? How did one of the groomsmen marry a stripper? What happens in Vegas, as they say. But in this case, the guys have no choice. None of them remember themselves! Oh, and the groom is missing.

The core cast of Bradley Cooper, Ed Helms, Zach Galifianakis and Justin Bartha are great as the wayward partiers, and clever surprise cameos and small character roles make the film funny straight through the closing credits (literally).

And yet while this film was certainly very funny, I think the clever nature of the story's construct, which has the audience coming to understand what has been happening just as the guys figure it out, is about the only thing that's fresh here. Virtually everything else feels used, borrowed or stolen! The wedding singer who performs inappropriate songs? See "Forgetting Sarah Marshall." The geek who gets the girl? See a dozen other movies. And it's hard not to watch THE HANGOVER without feeling that more than just a few moments were stolen from "Harold and Kumar," among other substance-altered, road-tripping buddies.

In the end, I have to admit to being more than just a little enterained by THE HANGOVER. I am grounded enough, however, to see how derivitave it is. Funny, solid, average. Good, but not great.

3.0 out of 4

The Hurt Locker (2009)

With a suspenseful intensity that creates some of the most visceral memories of any film this year, THE HURT LOCKER is one of those movies that people couldn't be bothered with at the time of its release. Folks who missed it-myself included-will soon be clammoring to see what turns out to be one of the finest war films of the almost-finished decade, especially as THE HURT LOCKER begins to create the profile it never had this summer, thanks to a steady stream of awards and accolades.

The current conflict in Iraq has been the subject of some fantastic documentary films in the past few years, such as "Standard Operating Procedure," "Iraq in Fragments" and "No End in Sight," but fictional films on the subject have been mostly limited to homefront conflicts, such as "In the Valley of Elah." Not that I've seen every film made about the current military conflict, but I'd say that THE HURT LOCKER is easily one of the best war films of the decade. It's certainly the best about this military conflict, and joins "Black Hawk Down" and "Three Kings" as a time capsule to represent America's war efforts in the last 25 years.

Perhaps it might surprise some that behind the lens of this intense, suspenseful war film is a woman. Kathryn Bigelow, though, is an action film director, and one used to playing with the boys. Her hits like "Point Break" and "Strange Days" have not been awards fare, but that will change this year. I expect Bigelow to join the very elite club of Oscar-nominated female directors.

But enough about the background perspective...why should you see THE HURT LOCKER? For one thing, it contains a fantastic lead performance by Jeremy Renner, a virtual no-name starring as a specialist who diffuses bombs. He's brought in after the previous man on the job meets the fate that one would expect men in this position to be all too prone to, and this guy almost gives you the impression that his work and situation is fun.

So cocky is Staff Sgt. James (Renner) in his job that he defies orders, disconnects personal communication devices and fights his fellow soldiers for enjoyment. He'd be the loose cannon cop in a buddy movie (like Mel Gibson in "Lethal Weapon") if he wasn't also fully-aware of his situation - and good at it. James might be hard to relate to on some levels, but you know you want him by your side.

There are at least three sequences in the film (one at the beginning, one about a half-hour in and one near the end) that are heart-pounding, and Bigelow relies on the normally motion sickness-inducing and slightly cliched (for war films) tactic of shaky handheld camera work to add to the gravitas of what we're seeing. But Bigelow avoids MTV-style edits and camera trickery. In one very steady and memory-burning moment, she simply pulls the camera back to an overhead shot while James discovers that the wire he's tugging on is attached to not just one bomb, but many, each bomb ominously rising from the sand in unison around him at the urging of his steady and gentle pulling of the wire. It's a terrifying moment.

THE HURT LOCKER has a number of terrifying moments, from the off-putting way that Iraqi civilians (or maybe self-sacrificing terrorists) stand in plain view as the military bomb squad works, to the side-story investigation of the demise of a local boy to whom James has become attached. And to cement the sloppiness of this war and its unfinished business, the film's penultimate scene on the home front is note-perfect in its demonstration of how a soldier like James is actually more in his element at war than in the cereal aisle at the grocery store.

The world of film has done so much to capture some of the famous miltary conflicts in U.S. history. Bet on THE HURT LOCKER to join this list. It's intense.

4.0 out of 4