Sigmund Freud, that veritable master of the mind and erstwhile liaison betwixt the dream world and our own (is there really such a hard distinction between the two?), said, “Dreams are often most profound when they seem the most crazy.” In a world where dreams are entered into volitionally, like remarkable virtual reality chambers, anything is possible, including theft, and its opposite, what the film calls Inception, a beginning and an end in which both are simultaneously evident and obscured.

Cobb (Leo) is a master of this soi-disant “inception”, a criminal of sorts, on the run from authorities and, in more ways than one, from himself, from his past, from the memories that haunt his waking and dreaming life, an admixture he can’t seem to separate clearly, as if his internal centrifuge has gone horribly wrong.

Along with his cast of oneiric bandits, played by a cast of top-notch actors, some familiar faces (Caine, Murphy, and Watanabe) and others new to the Nolan regime (Gordon-Levitt, Page, and Cotillard), Cobb seeks to infiltrate people’s minds through their dreams, colluding in and amongst their projected lives.

As we have to come expect, Leo is fantastic. His ability to draw on the melodramatic styles of his directors, to inhabit the characters he plays, and to simply speak the truth of the scene, is captivating, if not intoxicating. Christopher Nolan, the director, has surrounded Leo with a cast that both highlights the film and punctuates its very calculated movements with panache and a sense of jeu d’esprit, which is only one side to Nolan’s coin, with a backside as insidious as it is immaculately acerbic.

Dreams have a life of their own, the film seems to tell us, while reminding us that we are the authors of those selfsame dreamings: the creator and the created, enfolding on itself in an open and mysterious loop. That is the meaning of inception, after all – both a beginning and an end, at times one and the same, of a thought or feeling or desire whose provenance is lost in the labyrinthine hedges of our minds.

The film instills a sense of wonder at the world of dreams, of our dreams and the dreams of others, of another world in and of itself, a created cosmos, in which the rules may have changed, and in which the playful musings of the spirit are made manifest alongside the penumbral magic of the other side of our lunar souls. In a word: Art. All art is essentially volitional dreaming of sorts, entering into another place and time, created either by ourselves or by others, sometimes simultaneously.

Art, like dreaming, may seem, at times, to lack meaning, to be obfuscated by a misleading artist or, simply, by postmodernism, an absconding racket. Inception is neither. Inception is a work of art, discernible and impenetrable, a dream incarnate on the silver screen, and, though not quite perfect, still the best picture of the year thus far.

A quote comes to mind, something said by Luis Buñuel, another filmmaker, both enlightening and amusing, its truth apropos to Inception, and, indeed, to all art, and to all artists: “If someone were to tell me I had twenty years left, and ask me how I’d like to spend them, I’d reply ‘Give me two hours a day of activity, and I’ll take the other twenty-two in dreams.’” I think Nolan understands this as well as anyone. And I most certainly agree.

Rating: 4/4 Stars

If it’s true that superheroes and their stories are the epic tales of our time, then Iron Man (and Iron Man 2) fit the bill. With such obvious Greek elements (not to mention Greek words) as hamartia and hubris, superheroes possess some requisite characteristics suited to telling the engrossing story of a lone man on a mission, fated for greatness against all odds. Conflating these ancient measures with the Medieval distressed damsel, our heroes must also get the girl. And, if that wasn’t enough, some, at least peripheral, social commentary becomes necessary in this current epoch.

Tony Stark and his alter-ego, Iron Man, are not only suited to this type of story, they excel at it, culminating in a trilogy in the making, a story of epic proportions. The triadic structure of the epic in current filmmaking suits the comic book, as its heroes have multiple adversaries, a textured and variegated history (or back story), and a depth of character that extends beyond a two hour departure. Here, Stark is confronted with a number of opponents, not the least of which is himself. Battling Pepper, Col. Rhodes, his late father, Justin Hammer, Ivan Vanko, the government, his own body, and, naturally, his ego, he has his work cut out for him.

Amidst all the conflating plot lines, however, is Stark the man, a product of democracy, consumerism, the arms race, and the American Dream, and Jon Favreau, having directed the original film in this series, has a firm grip on this man and his story. He and Justin Theroux (who penned this one) effortlessly draw together numerous story lines into a coherent whole with surprisingly fluid dialogue, while Downey, Jr., Cheadle, Rockwell and Rourke (who might as well have stolen the show), and Paltrow perform their roles superbly (Johansson and Jackson, on the other hand, ultimately come across as a touch silly).

An ensemble cast surrounds the nucleus of the film, weaving meaningful narratives both through and without the protagonist. Strong visuals and expert CG fill out the rest in sequences of explosive and much needed eye candy. The final hoorah lacks a bit of the charge and exhilaration expected at such a crescendo, but it is certainly entertaining.

It isn’t a perfect film, but it does precisely what it aims to do. Nothing more. It sells itself as an enjoyable, action-packed joy ride in the superhero universe, and it delivers on nearly all counts. Compared to other contemporaneous films in the superhero genre, such as Batman Begins/The Dark Knight, Spiderman (1-3), and Hellboy, to name just a few, the Iron Man saga is near the top, excelling in nearly every area we’ve come to expect from these modern epics.

If Favreau and Downey can stay on board and on track, this series may ultimately pass with flying colors the test that all works of art or popular culture must withstand: time. One can only hope that the third and final installment of this series will be as entertaining, as humorous, and, above all, as engaging as the first two. Only time will tell.

Rating: 3/4 Stars

Like any twentieth-century decade worth its muster, the eighties carved out an oversized niche for itself in American popular culture. The ubiquity of neon and the advent of portable music ushered into Americana a near constant stream of things we’d rather forget, like Men at Work and Gremlins, and a few we wish had stayed around for a while longer, like American Gladiators and Baywatch. This film chronicles the decade that created the current twenty-somethings, though its appeal is to a slightly older age group, the thirty-somethings, the people with families and steady jobs as MBA’s and veterinarians. But, just 20 or so years ago, they were rockin’ it hardcore in hot tubs. Or something similar, anyway.

John Cusack, Craig Robinson, and Rob Corddry relive the eighties. Quite literally. Having traveled back to a long-lost haunt, they proceed to waste no time in traveling back in time. They find themselves in their older bodies and spirit, but with an apparently new lease on the past, their own past. They find themselves in the midst of making new decisions in old situations, questioning fate itself in an attempt to ‘get it right this time.’ Facing their old demons, these three (and Clark Duke) begin again, recreating his own story with the knowledge of what the potential future holds.

Self-aware and tongue-in-cheek, this film is one constant throwback, a somewhat new look at the vintage icons of the 1980’s. Crude yet sincere, the story of these three men is oddly compelling. We are always making decisions, for better or worse, and we find, time and again, that, had we known better, we would have acted differently. Or so we say. Just what and how we might act in accordance with particular knowledge of future events is a philosophical quandary of which this film makes light at every turn, but not without a healthy dose of that philosophical temper any intoxicated individual might experience attempting to solve all the riddles of time and physics in a single night.

Producing enough laughs to be called a comedy, Hot Tub Time Machine is an enjoyable film. With less heart than crudity, however, it fails to stimulate in any meaningful way. The gags have mostly been done before, and Chevy Chase just looks old, a has-been with little left to offer. To those in the requisite age group, this movie may find more enjoyment, if not more appreciation. At the end of the day, though, movies ought to inspire and/or entertain, and this one doesn’t have enough of either to be worth anything more than a rental at the local RedBox.

Rating: 2.5/4 Stars

Despite the misnomer of a title and at least one misleading trailer, this film is not a pleasant, idyllic look at a significant man’s relationship with his daughter. It is, in fact, a full-fledged biopic, at times a compelling and disheartening tale of an individual whose life’s work would indefinitely change the fields of science. That man, of course, is Charles Darwin. At times quasi-expressionistic and even borderline documentary, Creation attempts to pull back the veil on a man whose whose surname has taken on epic manifestations. Yet his name is known far better than he is, and this film tries (key word) to disabuse us of any misconceptions we may have, but, more so, to humanize this now deified figure of human history.

Darwin’s life seems to have been spent in pursuit of the truth, whatever that may be, following wherever it led, regardless of the repercussions. After decades of research, he discovered what he perceived to be the truth – common descent through variation by natural selection – what we call today “evolution”. He was certainly not alone. Alfred Russell Wallace  came to the same conclusion on his own, much like Leibniz and Newton each discovered calculus, with no ostensible help from the other – this seems to recur throughout history: individuals, working on their own, uncovering the same principle or idea at the same time. It seems that some ideas’ have waited for too long – their time has come. Regardless of its veracity, the idea of evolution seems to be no different. Having realized the import of his finding, Darwin struggled psychologically and emotionally for, it seems, quite a long time. His wife and community apparently considered him a heathen, and they clearly said so in no uncertain terms. Alone and delusional, Darwin set out to write his treatise, his magnum opus.

Played expertly – under the circumstances – by Paul Bettany, Darwin becomes a man. In Creation, he is a man plagued by all the uncertainty and existential angst of a Hamlet. In a lab coat. His burden was a heavy one, and he shouldered it as best he could, swimming through years of psychological torment and hallucinations of his deceased daughter (though I can’t find any corroboration on this). Unfortunately, the film plods on and on and hits the same note over and over, somewhat like Aviator did with Leo several years ago. Brooding and malaise fill the screen time and again, but a certain sense may pervade audiences that this dead horse has perhaps been beaten enough. The supporting cast is fitting, including a momentarily compelling performance from Jennifer Connelly as Emma, Darwin’s wife.

Throughout it all, one can’t help but be thankful that a film has finally humanized Darwin, to some extent, anyway. Bettany’s Darwin does struggle, and he learns that he must follow the truth wherever it leads. But, his Herculean montaged triumph near the end is a bit overwrought and sentimental. Kitsch aside, the film isn’t bad. Jon Amiel (The Tudors, Entrapment) unfortunately allows (if not welcomes) the comparison to Hamlet, and it simply doesn’t work. Darwin certainly grappled with the truth and with his understanding of it as it related to the religious tones of his day (Huxley tells Darwin, “You have killed God.”), but he was no Prince of Denmark. Had it been more straight-laced and less ruminative, it would have improved drastically, and, concomitantly, found itself to be more compelling. A strong effort that ultimately comes up a bit short, Creation is a peculiar biopic that is worth seeing – but, as a caveat: don’t take all of it at face value.

Rating: 2.5/4 Stars

Metaphors often work for their ability to succinctly capture and elucidate a complex idea, employing more accessible terminology and concepts than their perhaps obscure counterparts for which they stand. Too stretch a metaphor to its logical conclusion might come across as tedious or, worse, a dead horse beating contest. The inquisitive conceit of Cold Souls is a rather simple one, yet it has far-reaching applications: what is the soul? Is the soul a physical entity? Is the soul itself a metaphor? Sophie Barthes asks these questions as she writes and directs this film, and in so doing, leaves few stones unturned. Witty, charming, and, above all, enlightening, Cold Souls is a film that asks hard questions with a smirk hiding in the corner of its mouth.

Paul Giamatti (Paul Giamatti) plays himself as himself. During rehearsals for Chekhov’s play Uncle Vanya, he finds that he can’t quite separate himself from the character, and he feels his life sinking further into a mire of hopelessness. To alleviate his pain, his agent recommends he consider having his soul removed. And he’s serious, too. So, taking his advice, Paul played by Paul as Paul goes to the Soul Storage Company to investigate this new technological wonder. After deciding to go through with it, he finds himself worse off than before. He returns to get his soul back – but there’s a problem: his soul has been stolen. And, with one of the best lines of the entire film, the contrived, thinly disguised plot really gets going: “What is my soul doing in Russia?!”

Giamatti, ironically enough, turns in what may be his best performance to date. His simplicity and honesty rival anything he’s accomplished heretofore. His character (himself) is an actor at odds with himself, and Giamatti brilliantly plays the role of a lifetime, what Camus called the role each person must play, what Stanislavski referred to as the most interesting thing in the world: himself. Emily Watson plays his wife (Red Dragon; Synecdoche, New York), a woman unable to understand fully her husband’s trauma, even after he reveals the truth. Ultimately, this story is a tale of questions, at turns tearfully inspired and guffaw-inducing funny, as Giamatti captures the essence of a man truly grappling with his own soul in a palpable, moving performance.

Like many teachers, this film never truly answers the questions that it asks. In fact, at times, it admits openly that it doesn’t know the answers. What happens to the soul after death? The doctor (played by David Strathairn) states unequivocally that he has absolutely no idea. What is the essence of a human being? Ultimately, what separates us from the rest of the animal kingdom? And, simply, who are we? These questions are ubiquitous, finding manifestations throughout every culture since we hopped up on our hind legs. A genuine, droll, and affecting film, Cold Souls explores these age-old inquiries with aplomb and poignance, under a new light, both literally and emblematic of something much larger than itself. And, in the end, we learn that, with all its deformities and imperfections, our soul, this unbearable lightness, is truly what makes life worth living.

Rating: 3.5/4 Stars

Idiosyncratic, eccentric, and unconventional? Perhaps. Enjoyable, charming, and timeless? Absolutely. This newest take on the enchanting Alice in Wonderland/Through the Looking Glass stories by Lewis Carroll is an endearing film, full of delightful characters, equal parts nostalgia and originality, and another beguiling performance from Johnny Depp. The combination of vibrant visuals and a timeless story of a seeming loss of artless childhood, the limitless power of imagination, and the wellsprings of creative life, Alice in Wonderland succeeds.

The story is known well, to say the least. Alice slips into a hole and into another world, with size-altering potions and cakes, talking rabbits, and a disappearing cat with a very large grin. In this film, Burton’s Alice returns to Underland, or Wonderland, only to think herself in another of a series of elaborate fantasies, repeatedly musing aloud that she is just dreaming. We follow her as she discovers the world of Wonderland to be all-too-real, a fascinating land of adventure where she plays the heroine. Or she’s supposed to anyway. She thinks. Maybe. Meeting the Mad Hatter (Depp) and the Queens (Helena Bonham Carter and Anne Hathaway) along the way, Alice finds herself in the midst of one fateful encounter after another. In the end, she will have to face herself and her fears and “believe in impossible things.” (Something her father did six times before breakfast, and we could all do well to learn from his example.)

That great storyteller and thinker C.S. Lewis once wrote, “Sometimes fairy tales say best what needs to be said.” In Alice’s case, what needs to be said? Well, for starters, the truth of the land of imagination. We create and inhabit and learn from the universes we call into existence, and we are hopefully better for it. Alice inhabits a world in which the impossible occurs quite frequently. We soon discover this world is no dream; it is as real as she is, and lives are at stake.

Tim Burton clearly understands the power of the imagination, that faculty of inspired creation, and in this film we are privy to his ability to transform the screen into another world, and to transport us as well. Alice is played simply and sensibly with the guileless guile of a girl coming of age by Mia Wasikows (Defiance). And with the help of faithful Burton companions Depp and Bonham Carter, the other-wordly aspects of Wonderland are magically brought to life before our eyes. Geared towards children, Burton at times leans too heavily on stereotypes here, and the finale could have used more oomph, more complexity, if not more uncertainty. On the whole, though, this film is another wonderful reprise of Alice’s enviable adventures.

This film is certainly catered to a younger audience in many ways, but, to some extent, the beauty of the story is its ability to shine through for exactly this reason. In his dedication to The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, C.S. Lewis wrote to Lucy Barfield, to whom he was Godfather, “Someday you will be old enough to start reading fairy tales again.” If you are old enough, then see this film. If not, wait a few years, “take it down from some upper shelf, dust it, and tell me what you think.”

Rating: 3/4 Stars

This is my one post per year (more or less) on this site that is not a review. And I get pretty excited about it.

And, without further adieu, here are my predictions (what I think will win) and my selections (what I think should win). As a caveat: I did not see all the films in FOREIGN LANGUAGE, DOC FEATURE, or DOC SHORT. I saw all the others.

My predictions are in BLUE, and my selections are in RED.

Click to enlarge.

The Coen Brothers are a truly dynamic duo. Wielding wit, charisma, and an invigorating spirit, they deftly create films in which the story often unfolds both dramatically and comically, revealing the dual nature of existence. A Serious Man tells the tragically comic story of Larry Gopnik, a professor whose life, at times both enviable and its opposite, quickly takes several turns for the worse. Joel and Ethan Coen take Larry’s life and unveil the horror lying just beneath the surface.

Larry Gopnik is Jewish, married (kind of), with a handful of rebellious teenaged kids, and he teaches physics at a nearby college. Even his subject of expertise is fraught with varying levels of uncertainty. Larry soon feels as if he has no idea what to do with his life, as his wife leaves him, his son who is supposed to be preparing for Bar Mitzvah makes purchases behind his back, and his Jewish faith is a shambles. Seeking the guidance of Jewish rabbis of increasing levels of rank, he attempts to reconcile the chaos of crisis with the constancy of his religious beliefs. The answers he receives are intentionally vague, seemingly leaving something unsaid, and to him, certainly not very helpful. He even resorts to asking his lawyer for help in what turns into a kind of therapy session – to no avail. The unknown surrounds Larry. In the end, he is forced to come face to face to with simply not having all the answers. Much easier said than done, of course.

Shot as a horror film, the Coens manage to delve deeper and deeper into the psychological horror of Larry’s all-too-normal life. Because he’s Jewish and his life seems rough, it may at times it seem like a page out of the Biblical story of Job, but A Serious Man isn’t about coming full circle. It isn’t about getting everything back that he once lost. Larry loses his grip on reality. His problems are quite normal in many respects, and, ultimately, nothing too special. His wife wants a divorce; his teenagers are healthy and stubborn; his job is secure. He hasn’t lost many things, but he has lost a sense of purpose. He’s lost the stability of stasis. He feels like he’s losing his mind. Larry may get his grip back, but Job lost every familial and material possession he had. Larry has lost a guiding sense of meaning, which more or less ebbs and flows throughout life. We feel secure, then lost, then confused, then stable. Sometimes we don’t know what we feel.

So, in some ways, this film resembles Job’s, but this isn’t a Biblical allegory. To think so would be to miss the point of the film entirely. Each person’s life is a horror story lingering below the veil of reality, and when it rises to the surface we feel the panic of uncertainty, what Camus called coming face to face with the absurdity of existence. When this happens, all feels lost, all seems to be in ruins, though that may not actually be the case. It might. But it might not.

The Coens are brilliant filmmakers. With wonderful casting and a number of fantastic performances from Michael Stuhlbarg (as Larry) and Richard Kind (as his brother), they create a horrifying cinematic experience, in which things aren’t as they seem, and certainty is just out of arm’s reach. At turns both dismal and absurd, this film takes its spot near the top of the Coen Canon, and certainly one of the best films of the year – if not the decade.

Rating: 4/4 Stars

Before anybody became somebody, they were practically a nobody. That’s the understanding, anyway, and Coco Before Chanel is an extended case-in-point. However, if it exemplifies the previous adage, it also stands testament to the power of two things, unrelated but connected: benefactors and femininity. Though “everyone must start somewhere,” it helps to have someone eventually give you money, and it may expedite that process if one is an attractive woman. This film illuminates both with grace and subtlety.

The young Gabrielle, or “Coco,” played expertly by Audrey Tautou (The Da Vinci Code), works as a seamstress. Earlier still, she lived in an orphanage. At night, Coco and her sister perform and sing at clubs. She catches the eye of a wealthy aristocrat, Étienne Balsan, a man who attempts to give her a shot at a bigger spotlight. Soon, however, he leaves for his large “castle” in the country. Coco, who is now seemingly destitute without her older sister, travels to his home and requests to stay on for a while. “A while” evolves into days, and, eventually, days into years. Creating a strong but odd relationship, Coco and Balsan seem to live happily. When Arthur ‘Boy’ Capel shows up, however, things change, and Coco’s life, as so often seems to be the case with her, will never be the same.

One might guess that a woman who would eventually become the famous “Chanel” would be a tireless worker, an indefatigable individual with an indomitable spirit, working until the job is done, trying harder and harder to achieve her dreams. According to this particular film, that is not quite the case. Anne Fontaine, the writer/director, crafts a story  that seems to depict Coco as a stubborn, at times impetuous, and all around lazy individual. She desires nothing more than “to work,” but it seems only to rid herself of the social constructions of a male dominated society, not because she is such an ideal “hard worker.” On the contrary, she customarily refuses to entertain guests, leaves her suitors and benefactors, and even declines to act in a socially acceptable manner at times.

All this being known, she still succeeded. She was a chic, quirky spirit, whose talent could not be hidden, and Tautou is brilliant, playing her with simplicity, poise, and elegance. The acting is good on all accounts, and the writing (not to mention the beautiful costumes, for which it received an Oscar nomination) complements it well. Fontaine seems to direct with great confidence, gently allowing the story to unfold, slowly but surely, as we grow with Coco, think with her, and aspire with her to autonomy, importance, and celebrity.

Ultimately, we know the ending. Many times, true stories or “Based on a True Story” stories aren’t about the ending so much as they are about the journey, the process, the path taken by a seemingly ordinary person destined for greatness. Coco Before Chanel takes the most famous name in all of fashion, Chanel, and returns to its roots, from the orphanage to the castle, from the castle to the limelight. From here, Chanel, a lowly orphan with an incredible gift, became the Queen of Fashion. This film portrays her lucidly and effectively. Even if you couldn’t care less about the world of fashion, this film, like The Devil Wears Prada, is almost certainly worth it.

Rating: 3.5/4 Stars

It’s said that the worst possible trauma a parent can experience is outliving their children, and, therefore, burying them, mourning their loss, and living out the rest of their lives with a gaping emotional wound, wrapped with new tourniquets each day, never completely healing, never fully returning to that approximation of wholeness towards which we strive. Stasis is broken, and the psychological anguish never quite subsides, like a vengeful tide bent on wreaking havoc on the unsuspecting shore. This film tells this story, replete with all the vulnerability and instability that such trauma leaves behind it. More or less one film split into two hour-long segments, Antichrist succeeds in spades for the initial half, then unfortunately devolves into a series of painful sadomasochism.

A couple loses their child while they make love (in the first of several truly pornographic sex scenes). In the midst of an orgasmic experience, their toddler son makes a fateful descent, ending whatever semblance of normalcy that may have existed for this disturbing couple. Willem Defoe plays the husband, a therapist who turns his work on his wife (played unsettlingly well by Charlotte Gainsbourg), a woman struggling with the loss of her son and, essentially, her own sanity. This story is constructed in successive chapters, each taking its name from successive levels of grief coping mechanisms. By the close of the credits, as a fox says during the film (oddly, the only anthropomorphized animal in the film), “Chaos reigns.” At times, it seems, quite literally.

The director, Lars Von Trier, was apparently struggling with bouts of severe depression during the creation of this film, and it could not be much more evident. The woman evolves from a seemingly normal individual coping with the loss of her son into a sadomasochistic being, like Jekyll permanently becoming Hyde. Von Trier creates a surreal, subtle world in which these two (and only two) characters swim through the sea of grief that has swallowed their lives. With hints of expressionism, he forms a fairly brilliant series of scenes with pitch-perfect dialogue. During the first half.

The second half of the film continues the trend of the preceding hour momentarily, before running as far from subtlety as possible, in a sequence of events that are as painfully unnatural as they are unnaturally painful, a convoluted cycle of torment and mutilation. Though almost certainly intentional, this retreat from subtlety and nuance is also a retreat from the art created in the first hour of the film, ending in blatant exhibitionism, a form of psychological and emotional public masturbation.

If the film had maintained the coherence and form of the first half, Von Trier would have created one of the best films of the year, a psychological film, with equal parts tragedy, thriller, and expressionism. Unfortunately, he takes a tragic story with fantastic performances and wonderful cinematography and twists it into an indulgent example of performance art gone horribly wrong. The excellent first half is the only aspect that makes this film worth watching; after that, it’s best to turn it off and leave the film at its best. A kind of tragedy in and of itself.

Rating: 3/4 Stars