Simultaneously straightforward and thought-provoking in its dissection of the contemporary family patriarch, Force Majeure examines the fallout stemming from a thoughtless father’s actions – or lack thereof. While vacationing in the French Alps, a Swedish family’s safety is threatened by a controlled avalanche gone potentially haywire. As surrounding fellow tourists flee the scene, one Tomas (Johannes Kuhnke) leaves his own family behind without as much as a fleeting glance. Stunned by her husband’s cowardice and subsequent denial of the truth, wife Ebba (Lisa Loven Kongsli) rightfully lambastes him as the fabric of their relationship steadily unravels.
Although nuanced, slight even, in terms of presenting and prolonging its core conflict, the proceedings emanate a corresponding air of authenticity that speaks to both the central family and viewers’ nearly unavoidable empathy. It’s able to competently beset an agreeably bleak scenario with both humor and a satirical incisiveness that’s rarely if ever overbearing, even as it navigates stilted sub-thematic trappings. Whether it’s staying together for the kids or the obvious repercussions of Tomas’ less-than-paternal fight-or-flight instincts, Östlund’s penchant for on-the-nose commentary is forgivable thanks to sheer engagement.
Refreshingly unconvoluted amid its remarkable aesthetic flair, Force Majeure is assuredly a benchmark in 2014’s repertoire. The script’s keen portrayal of its core family’s plight isn’t entirely groundbreaking, yet the gusto with which it progresses is hard to ignore in relation to comparable family dramas. Laughs are had and discomfort is appropriately palpable as masculine conventions are tackled and torn down amid very few hindrances – a statement that remains true despite my mere enjoyment of writer/director Ruben Östlund’s latest.
There’s a line that exists between deftly borrowed and embarrassingly contrived. Lynn Shelton’s Laggies seems as if its trying to crushingly reinvent the latter, what with poorly realized key components doing very little to evoke even a lone positive emotion. Documenting twentysomething Megan’s (Keira Knightley) breakdown triggered by her boyfriend’s marriage proposal, the permanent adolescent inexplicably shacks up with teenage Annika (Chloe Grace Moretz) for a week to collect herself and avoid responsibility. Worrying everyone in the process and making increasingly poor decisions a grown woman never should, Megan’s possible self-realization remains in foreseeable limbo.
Prolonged adolescence in cinema at its best resides within Jason Reitman’s Young Adult – a darkly comedic character study that handled corresponding themes with poise despite Diablo Cody’s overtly pithy writing style. Laggies, on the other hand, is the light version of such a film; an effort that overshadows the weighty commentary on not growing up with lowbrow comedy and nigh-unbelievable silliness.
Surrounded by loved ones that love her in equal measure, Megan’s handling of her personal relationships is horrid. Even despite what Megan witnesses at a friend’s wedding, her decision to simply go A.W.O.L. is conceptually bizarre and handled with zero regard for others. Do these people deserve to be left entirely in the dark? Not really, and it’s a shame that Laggies continually cheers Megan on, specifically in the “You go, girl!” sense that defends her decision-making skills or lack thereof.
Finding but a semblance of solace in Knightley and Rockwell’s talents, Laggies is one head-scratcher of an R-rated comedy that feels like a teenager’s misguided perception of adulthood. The conflict presented, although present, is waved away almost as soon as its presented, thus transforming the film from potentially affecting to one-dimensional and hamstrung by questionable writing. While at least partially humorous and laced with chemistry between leads, Laggies can’t make up for its naive illustration of familiar subjectivity and themes.
I find it hard to recommend certain films to people on the basis of their potential inaccessibility. Alex Ross Perry’s preceding effort The Color Wheel just so happens to fit this mold, what with an unwavering focus on two narcissistic siblings serving to either woo or alienate. The writer/director’s latest further accentuates his proclivity for intelligent humor and mold-breaking comedic narrative, this time focusing on Jason Schwartzman as an established author intent on vaporizing the scarce, already tenuous bonds with everyone he knows and (possibly) loves.
Purposefully unlikable amid one snappy exchange after another, Schwartzman’s Philip is schadenfreude perfection as he delightfully navigates his self-inflicted existential crisis. Befriending fellow author and narcissist Ike Zimmerman (Jonathan Pryce), the ensuing relationship effectively squashes Philip’s remaining iota of responsibility regarding others, thus setting the stage for frequently hilarious proceedings. Whether it’s the helpfully narrated dissection of Philip’s behavior or a rudimentary walk in the park with a former flame, Ross Perry’s assured and unique brand of storytelling does wonders for it all.
In terms of Philip as a human-being, sure, he’s unbearable. Then again, Listen Up Philip wouldn’t be itself if it weren’t for an unconvoluted chronicling of the character’s irreparably toxic persona. As the film certainly thrives during focal shifts between Philip and those closest to him, we’re offered a uniquely realized character study that’s bold in committing to its distasteful subject.
As he wears his voluminous flaws on his sleeve, Philip still isn’t particularly crass or lurid – he’s just a textbook narcissist hellbent on achieving what he sets out to. While not admirable by way of intention, Listen Up Philip‘s titular protagonist scores points for how deftly he and his exploits are illustrated. Ross Perry’s assured production of material this presumably personal is ballsy to say the least, and I for one laud its biting wit and oddly uplifting, moreover gratifying conclusion. To piggyback my opening statement, this particular film is firmly divisive in scope, however those familiar with Ross Perry’s 2011 effort and his inspirations will find something to like or even love.
A mildly incisive deconstruction of an aging actress, Clouds of Sils Maria follows Maria Enders (Juliette Binoche) as she reluctantly assumes the role of her career breakout character’s foil in an onstage production of Maloja Snake. Starring alongside a troubled upstart decades her junior, Maria and assistant Valentine (Kristen Stewart) navigate the days and weeks leading up to opening night, all the while confronted with a considerable amount of existential hurdles. Cross-generational discord soon rears its ugly head, what with Maria’s unending cynicism straining her bond with Valentine and general sense of self.
Set primarily in and around the titular Alps retreat, Clouds builds an apt enough parallel to our celebrity-saturated culture with ease, if only to intermittently offer valuable insight beyond what we’re already familiar with. The picture of seasoned elegance on one hand, the drug-obsessed byproduct of the post-adolescent A-List on the other – the line between them is bluntly drawn as the former’s criticisms of the latter remain unavoidably banal. Regardless, Assayas incorporates such an element to merely aid in Maria’s slow burning catharsis to varying degrees of effectiveness.
On the contrary, the interplay between Maria and Stewart’s Valentine is what rings most perceptive despite the film’s lax structure. Through repeated line readings, exchanges of opinion and the like, Maria’s worsening identity crisis in the face of personal loss and Hollywood’s decline becomes reasonably involving. Unfortunately, said dialogue-heavy ruminations run their course as thematic redundancy detracts from the film’s minimal strong suits.
With this in mind, Clouds of Sils Maria is steadfast only in the realm of presentation, what with a wholly unique setting lending itself wonderfully to an often arresting visual prowess. While its central character’s struggle is timely and evokes a mere semblance of empathy, Assayas’ latest ends up feeling a bit long-winded and ineffectual as Maria’s waning, all-encompassing complacency takes too long in amounting to an appropriate if predictable crux. Familiar and pseudo-poetic in scope, Clouds of Sils Maria boasts excellent performances and above average intuition despite its oppressively plodding framework.
Although I’m entirely (and ashamedly) unfamiliar with the Dardennes’ reputable body of work, it’s to my understanding that their filmography is an amassed masterclass in humanism. Without missing a beat, Two Days, One Night fits the mold as you’d expect it would in its illustration of one Sandra’s (Marion Cotillard) weekend-long struggle to keep her job. Chosen by coworkers to be laid off in favor of their sizable bonuses, it becomes harder and harder for Sandra to remain strong amid adversity given her depression-addled past and ever-weakening resolve.
Wholly speaking, the film in question is a purposefully nuanced exercise that prefers to emulate timely authenticity over anything else and frankly, it rarely fails to succeed. While procedural in scope, it’s clear that the narrative’s aim is to convincingly convey Cotillard’s Sandra’s struggle in a relatable manner that’s impossible not to sympathize with, especially in this economically trying day and age. Everything ranging from her worsening relapse into depression to her concerns regarding her work environment should she be rehired is spot-on and, frankly, I’m hard-pressed to mention a comparable effort this assured and well-rounded.
Even though we’re faced with potentially alienating repetition regarding Sandra’s explanation of her predicament, the film’s presentation remains admirably adroit as individuals’ responses are logical and poised amid our protagonist’s tribulations. Sympathy isn’t forced despite the proceedings’ focus as it nonoppressively illustrates the harsh realities at hand, of which is a refreshingly honest approach to a formula frequently steeped in melodrama.
Remaining entirely adept in its chronicling of the titular time frame, Two Days, One Night is an agreeably simplistic but masterfully orchestrated look behind the curtain of an individual’s relatable hardships. Its rudimentary procedural essence becomes forgivable as emotionality trumps familiarity, not to mention the sheer experience of viewing something so steadfastly authentic in this day and age remaings refreshing beyond words. As it quietly but assuredly crushes you, the Dardennes’ latest is – as far as I’ve deduced – an accessible if particularly characteristic benchmark in their palpably unique body of work.
In returning to his subjective roots, Xavier Dolan’s latest focuses on a single mother’s reacquisition of her wayward teenage son following the latter’s expulsion from a detention facility. Left with zero alternatives, one Diane ‘Die’ Després (Anne Dorval) struggles to coexist with her emotionally unstable son amid hardships of her own. As stress mounts within the increasingly dysfunctional Després household, along comes the pair’s soft-spoken neighbor to unknowingly usher in a familial epiphany.
As an opening several-minute exchange very frankly sets the stage for Dolan’s most accessible feature to date, Mommy remains a bit of an odd duck by way of narrative and tone, what with sensationalist tendencies lacing the film’s stab at dynamic human drama. Given young Steve’s frighteningly unpredictable vitriol, the film’s sense of humor is surprisingly as effective as conflict is unflinching, however the tonal shifts procured by these moments are as subtle as a meteor shower. While agreeably affecting in terms of scope, it’s hard to deny the film’s oppressively cloying sensibilities as certain situations ring a bit too over-the-top and on-the-nose regarding its themes.
Regarding Dolan’s now-trademark technical proficiency, it’s safe to say that the man certainly knows how to work a camera and an audience. It’s hard to deny how ballsy an employed aspect ratio flip-flop is and, although cheesy in the grand scheme, the soundtrack choices and often-accompanying slow-motion shots manage to evoke more sympathy than disinterest. Some may roll their eyes at the unveiling of the former during a key narrative catharsis, however Mommy‘s intentions are abundantly clear and confident throughout an outrageous 140-minute run time.
It’s not that I openly disliked Mommy on the basis of its simplicity. In fact, I applaud Dolan for producing something this (presumably) personal and throwing thematic familiarity to the wind, it’s just a shame that the proceedings are so… loud. Regarding emotionality in this sense, the film more or less succeeds as light and dark are illustrated in equal measure, what with a fictional wraparound amendment to the Canadian constitution keeping viewers in limbo regarding eventual resolution. It’s a story about a tenuous bond struggling to survive amid hardship after hardship that’s bolstered by Dolan’s singular capabilities as a filmmaker, plain and simple.
Hi! Nothing special to report on as this post is meant to merely announce my finalized PFF23 schedule. After saving an exorbitant amount of money on account of, you know, not driving or flying to Canada (despite the superior experience), I was even more relieved upon the tardy unearthing of Philly’s festival lineup. Benchmarked by a lot of much-buzzed-about titles, I can’t wait to attend each and every screening. Expect write-ups detailing my thoughts on each of the films below in a (more or less) timely fashion.
As it stylistically echoes the highest highs of Fincher’s illustrious career, Gone Girl effortlessly transcends tropes thanks to many a merit. At-first unfolding as a typical whodunnit, one Nick Dunne (Ben Affleck) is on his way to the chopping block following his wife Amy’s (Rosamund Pike) disappearance. Alternately examining the couple’s golden years in contrast to what did or didn’t lead Nick to kill, the film evolves into one hell of a well-woven exercise in toying with both expectation and sympathy.
For as laudably ever-present Fincher’s flair is, Gone Girl is nearly impossible to critique at length without spoiling one of many narrative game changers. Much like his needless if agreeably superior Girl with the Dragon Tattoo retread, this film thrives on the basis of long-winded complexity and unpredictability. Flynn’s script – self-adapted from the titular novel – does well in procuring a slow burn consistent with genre trappings until the rug is unceremoniously yanked out from under us. Generally speaking, what once was certain becomes irrevocably muddled amid twist after twist (after twist).
In fact, it’s this haywire progression that functions as a lone weak point, what with said twists purposefully existing to subvert predictability over and over again. Cheap, maybe, however it all functions so well as certain elements are expertly illustrated, including but certainly not limited to the overarching, media-driven influence on the entire case at hand. All things considered, it’s hard to not appreciate how events unfold from scene to scene as a ravenous desire for the truth develops and persists.
While I wouldn’t rank it among Fincher’s must-sees, there still hardly exists a negative aspect of Gone Girl. Relishing in its uprooting of whodunnit procedural tropes, the director’s effective presentational panache compliments the proceedings wonderfully. Despite the absurdity lacing the aforementioned onslaught of twists and turns, the film rarely ceases to engage as impatience regarding inevitable finality rears its ugly head. The commentary on modern media and marriage aside, Gone Girl is still assuredly one of the most deftly recreated literary adaptations to come along since, well, Fincher’s last go-round with the medium.
As the Philadelphia Film Festival approaches and 2014 inevitably dwindles, I’ve decided to employ the notes I’ve taken whilst catching up with my backlog of this year’s offerings. Slightly varying in terms of quality, these entries predictably dwarf that of bigger-budgeted mainstream schlock that I was tempted to but didn’t spend money to suffer through in theaters. Only time will tell if I’ll enjoy or loathe the likes of Dawn of the Planet of the Apes and similar fare but, in the meantime, I hope you enjoy my brief musings pertaining to the five films featured below. As always, comments are certainly welcome and encouraged as conversation ’round these parts is scarce nowadays.