Movie Review: The Revenant

The Revenant
Directed by: Alejandro G. Iñárritu.
Written by:  Mark L. Smith & Alejandro González Iñárritu based in part on the novel by Michael Punke.
Starring: Leonardo DiCaprio (Hugh Glass), Tom Hardy (John Fitzgerald), Domhnall Gleeson (Captain Andrew Henry), Will Poulter (Bridger), Forrest Goodluck (Hawk), Paul Anderson (Anderson), Kristoffer Joner (Murphy), Joshua Burge (Stubby Bill), Duane Howard (Elk Dog), Melaw Nakehk'o (Powaqa), Fabrice Adde (Toussaint), Arthur RedCloud  (Hikuc), Christopher Rosamond (Boone), Robert Moloney (Dave Stomach Wound), Lukas Haas (Jones), Brendan Fletcher (Fryman), Tyson Wood (Weston), McCaleb Burnett (Beckett). 

The Revenant is a brutal and bloody – a film that works best when it sticks to its genre roots, as a violent revenge saga, and stumbles when it tries to be about more than that. The director is Alejandro G. Innaritu, whose filmography may just be the most miserable of any director working today – I don’t mean that his films are bad, just that his view of life seems to be that’s its just one horrible thing after another. His debut, Amores Perros, is probably his best – it’s as dark as the rest, but has more energy – and seems to embrace its own ridicilousness. From there, things got more dire with 21 Grams, Babel and Biutiful – even last year’s Birdman, a comedy, was once again about the horribleness of life – something that only brave artists (like say Innaritu) are able to explore. Yes, it was pretentious – but damn it, if the film wasn’t a visual marvel – and a brilliantly acted on at that, so it’s easy to forgive its excesses. The story in The Revenant is a relatively simple one –man gets wronged and goes to great lengths to get revenge. But in the hands of Innaritu the film becomes an epic of survival, and a confused examination of the white man’s relationship and exploitation with Native Americans. It is one of the best looking movies of the year – with amazing cinematography – and a film that has moments as great as anything you will see at the movies – and demands to be seen on the big screen – yet is also way overlong, muddled and confused – a movie that adds up to much less than the sum of its parts.

The film stars Leonardo DiCaprio as Hugh Glass – who is working with a group of fur traders on the American frontier in the early 1800s alongside his son, Hawk (Forrest Goodluck), a “half breed” – a product of Glass’ tragically short lived marriage to a Pawnee woman, seen only in flashbacks that strain for Terrence Malick like dreamscapes. Things look beautiful for all of about 3 minutes, before the Arikara Indiains attack them, in a brilliantly executed, bloody as hell battle sequence – that kills many of the white men, and send the rest of them running. To make matters worse for Glass, he is soon mauled by a bear (another brilliant, bloody sequence – although this one probably goes on too long) – and is eventually left behind by the rest of the group in the hands of Fitzgerald (Tom Hardy), who already hates Glass and a cowardly kid (Will Poulter) – alongside Hawk. Needless to say, things get even worse – but Glass refuses to die, not matter how sensible it would be for him to do so – and is instead hell-bent on revenge on Fitzgerald.

The film is based on the historical novel by Michael Punke, but certainly takes liberties with the novel – Hawk for example was not in novel. By giving Glass a son, the movie makes him an even more sympathetic character, which is somewhat understandable, but also makes him a proxy stand-in for the evils the white man did to the Native Americans, which is less forgivable. This is a movie that pays lip service to the plight of the Native Americans – but that doesn’t extend to making any of them a three-dimensional character. To be fair though, DiCaprio’s Glass isn’t much of a three-dimensional character either. His performance is essentially one misery after another after another – he spends almost the entire movie by himself, saying little, and surviving one damn thing after another that should kill him. DiCaprio gives a committed, physical performance to be sure – but it’s kind of sad to think that one of the great actors of our time – who has delivered many legitimately great performances (Catch Me If You Can, The Aviator, The Departed, Revolutionary Road, Shutter Island, Django Unchained, The Wolf of Wall Street, etc) is probably going to win an Oscar for one his least complex performances. The best performance in the movie is clearly by Tom Hardy, who embraces the racism and violence of Fitzgerald – who is the only character I feel the audience really gets to know and understand by the end of the film.

I have problems with The Revenant to be sure. The film adds some magical realism to the mix, and is prone to blowing up little moments into the grandiose moments that don’t really add much to the film. The film runs nearly three hours, and not a whole lot happens in it. Yet, there are moments are great as anything you will see this year – and the cinematography by the great Emmanuel Lubezki truly is stunning – favoring long tracking shots that often remain close to the characters face, it truly is amazing. Yet, when the film goes grandiose and strains for larger meaning, it loses its way. The presence of Lubezki cannot help but recall another movie about the White Man and Native Americans – Terrence Malick’s brilliant The New World (2005), which earns its larger themes because it takes them seriously. Innaritu has grafted them onto a simple revenge story that cannot support it.

I still think you should see The Revenant – especially on the big screen, where the best moments will work better than on even the best home theater system. The film is hugely ambitious, and though it comes up far short of those ambitions, and at times can be a difficult slog to get through, what works about the film makes up for what doesn’t. A little helpful hint though – leave with a couple minutes left in the film – the final shot in the movie is so ridiculous, I couldn’t help but laugh. That isn’t precisely the note the film was going for.

Movie Review: Birdman or (the Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance)

Birdman or (the Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance)
Directed by: Alejandro González Iñárritu.
Written by: Alejandro González Iñárritu and Nicolás Giacobone and Alexander Dinelaris and Armando Bo.
Starring: Michael Keaton  (Riggan), Edward Norton (Mike), Emma Stone (Sam), Zach Galifianakis (Jake), Naomi Watts (Lesley), Andrea Riseborough (Laura), Amy Ryan (Sylvia), Lindsay Duncan (Tabitha), Jeremy Shamos (Ralph), Merritt Wever (Annie).

There has been a law of diminishing returns with the first four movies by Mexican director Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu. As the films moved from Amores Perros (2000) to 21 Grams (2003) to Babel (2006) to Biutiful (2010), so did Inarritu’s ambitions – and the sense that he felt he was making VERY IMPORTANT art that had to be taken very, very seriously. The movies became an increasing parade of misery, that were mainly redeemed by the fact that Inarritu is a talented visual filmmaker, and is capable of getting some great performances from his actors (while no one has won an Oscar yet for his films, there have been five nominations between them). His latest film, Birdman, is his first comedy – and if that’s not a welcome enough change, the fact that it is a comedy about a number of artists who take themselves too seriously shows that Inarritu may in fact have a sense of humor about himself – and how he is perceived. Either that or Birdman is little more than a bitter rant by an artist who despite a lot of success, is still angry that some don’t take him and his work as seriously as he takes it. But I’ll give Inarritu the benefit of the doubt on that one.

The film stars Michael Keaton as Riggan Thomsen, who 20 years ago was a huge movie star in a series of comic films – entitled Birdman. But he walked away from that stardom, and in the interim doesn’t seem to have done very much (or at least anything the movie lets us know). He is now about to make his Broadway debut – having adapted Raymond Carver’s What We Talk About When We Talk About Love for the stage, as well as directing the play, and playing the lead character. His life is in chaos – his latest girlfriend, and co-star Laura (Andrea Riseborough) thinks she’s pregnant. His recovering drug addict daughter Sam (Emma Stone) is working as his assistant. One of the key actors in his play is horrible, but when he gets hit in the head by a falling light, he has a chance to recast the roll – only to discover that all the actors he wants to cast are making superhero movies. He finally settles on Mike (Edward Norton), a committed method actor, who is a mess offstage, but brilliant on it. This is even more complicated since he is dating co-star Lesley (Naomi Watts), and hitting on Sam. The previews are about to start the next day, and Riggan, along with his partner/lawyer/producer Jake (Zach Galifianakis) are trying desperately to hold everything together – even as he mentally falls apart. He hears the voice of Birdman (also Keaton, but made to sound like Christian Bale in the Nolan Batman movies) in his head telling him he’s worthless – and he’s starting to think he may well be right.

Birdman works best when it’s at its broadest – which thankfully is most of the time. The movie doesn’t really have any particularly original to say – it’s insights into the shallowness of fame and superhero obsessed culture, where “twitter is a real thing” isn’t really all that profound, and doesn’t really go very deep (then again perhaps the shallowness of that culture doesn’t deserve very deep treatment). Neither is the movies insight into how hard being an artist can be. Everyone in the movie is a caricature – from Keaton’s has been star trying to be relevant to Norton’s method actor insanity to Riseborough and Watts as insecure, aging actress (seriously, we didn’t need two of them – and Watts in particular shows she could have done so much more than the movie gives her to do), to Stone’s entitled daughter, blaming her daddy for all her issues, to Amy Ryan, as the perfect ex-wife who got away, to Lindsay Duncan as a New York Times critic who wields an unrealistic amount of power, and relishes it to insane degrees – no one is above Inarittu’s scorn, although some more lovingly than others.

To a certain extent, Birdman feels like nothing more than Inaritu and his collaborators showing off for two hours – which may sound insufferable, except for the fact that they are so good at it. The cinematography by Emmanuel Lubezki outdoes the long takes he did in such movies as Alfonso Cuaron’s Children of Men (2006) or Gravity (2013). Although the movie takes place over the span of a few days, the entire film is made up of a series of very long tracking shots, nearly seamlessly cut together to make it all look like one continuous shot. It is all ridiculously complex, and requires perfect timing from all involved – and they make it look effortlessly. The performances in the film are all wonderful. Keaton has to bounce from one extreme emotion to the next, often in the same scene and he makes it all seem to make sense. It’s tempting to say he’s playing a version of himself, since like Riggan, he was one of the first superhero movie stars, who turned down a sequel, and has never recaptured that star again. But that’s not really true – as Keaton has always seemed like the type of actor who doesn’t really give a shit about stardom, and has simply done whatever the hell he wants. This may well be the best work of his career. Even better is Norton, as Mike, the egotistical method actor – also brilliantly playing off his own image as an egomaniac who is impossible to work with, but delivers greatness onscreen. He shares some real chemistry with Stone in their scenes together – who is also doing career best work as the damaged daughter. The rest of the cast is in fine form – but these three are great.

Birdman isn’t quite the masterpiece that some have made it out to be – at least not to me. It’s fun from beginning to end, with great cinematography, direction and performances. But I do wish it had gone a little bit deeper – and pushed a little bit further. Yes, being an artist is hard, and the culture around it is rather shallow. Inaritu is perhaps a little too enamored with Riggan – and doesn’t go far enough in examining him. Perhaps being an artist is so hard for Riggan because he just isn’t very good at it. Is it just me, or does the play he’s working on look horrible?

Movie Review: Biutiful

Biutiful *** ½
Directed by: Alejandro González Iñárritu.
Written By: Alejandro González Iñárritu & Armando Bo & Nicolás Giacobone.
Starring: Javier Bardem (Uxbal), Maricel Álvarez (Marambra), Hanaa Bouchaib (Ana), Guillermo Estrella (Mateo), Eduard Fernández (Tito), Cheikh Ndiaye (Ekweme), Diaryatou Daff (Ige), Cheng Tai Shen (Hai), Luo Jin (Liwei), George Chibuikwem Chukwuma (Samuel), Lang Sofia Lin (Li), Yodian Yang (Chino Obeso).

If there is one weakness in the films of Alejandro Gonzalez Inartitu it is that he tries too hard to cram everything he wants to say in to each and every one. His best film remains his first – Amores Perros – because it is the one film he has made that seemed unencumbered by his need for his films to be “important”. I am an admirer of 21 Grams and Babel as well, despite their melodrama, and the fact that if you wanted to you could compare them to something like Paul Haggis’ overrated Crash – just directed with much more style – because despite the melodrama, and the sense that he has something really important to say that we all must hear (which can wear thin at times), there are moments of such startlingly honesty and power that they make up for them. His new film, Biutiful, is his most problematic, and yet the same thing can be said for it. When Biutiful works, and for much of its running time it does, it is one of the best of the year.

Javier Bardem gives one of his best performances ever as Uxbal, a Spanish man, who is not gainfully employed, but spends nearly all day every day hustling. He acts as a go between between Chinese immigrants, and the sweatshop owners who exploit them to make cheap handbags – and then as the go between for those same sweatshop owners, and the African immigrants who sell those handbags on the streets. He also sells his services as a psychic – seeing the recently deceased and passing on messages to those they have left behind. Unlike Clint Eastwood’s latest Hereafter, where Matt Damon quite clearly had psychic abilities, Biutiful leaves the question unanswered – perhaps he does have real abilities, or perhaps he is just telling the families what they want to hear.

Uxbal does all of this to support his two children. He is married, but separated from their mother Marambra (Maricel Alvarez), because she is bi-polar and cannot be trusted with her own children. At times, she is a loving wife and mother, at other times she can be abusive, and still at other times, she simply gets drunk and neglects to come home at all.

Uxbal’s world is thrown into chaos when he is diagnosed with cancer. He waited too long to go to the doctor when the symptoms showed up, and now there is little they can do for him. In a few months, he will be dead. His lost his father before he was even born, and his mother as a child. He has a brother, Tito (Eduard Fernandez) – but he really cannot be trusted. He still parties all the time, and isn’t above sleeping with his brother’s wife. Uxbal denies that he is dying, because he cannot die – there will be no one there to raise his children. He cannot die, because his children won’t remember him, much like he never knew his father, and can barely remember his mother. Quite simply, he cannot die, and yet like everyone, when it is your time to go, you cannot get out of it.

If Gonzalez Innaritu had simply told Uxbal’s story is a straightforward way, it could have been among the most powerful films of the year. What Bardem is reaching for here is something that few actors would even attempt, and even fewer could possibly pull off – which is odd because his fears are so universal. It is truly a remarkable performance, and every bit deserving of his Best Actor win at last year’s Cannes Film Festival and his recent, rather shocking, Oscar nomination. He anchors the movie, and grounds it in a reality that is painful and heartbreakingly real.

And the filmmaking is also top notch, as it usually is in a film by Gonzalez Innarritu. There is a chaotic feel to the film’s opening scenes, with the sound be almost overwhelming. Uxbal never has a quiet moment – there is always a TV or music blaring in the background, crying children, traffic noise, etc. overwhelming everything. As the movie progresses, it does become much quieter, as Uxbal goes deeper into himself. It should be noted that he isn’t exactly a “good man”, whatever that means. He may care more about the Chinese and African immigrants than most in his position would, but he is still exploiting them just the same. And he is taking advantage of grieving families to try and make a quick buck. But because he seems too real, and he is driven by a need that we can all understand, we forgive him his sins – much easier than he can forgive them anyway.

Yet the problem with the movie is that once again Gonzalez Innarritu tries to cram too much into his film – he wants the film to be “important”, and apparently the story of a dying man didn’t have that weight that he desired (he should have watched Akira Kurosawa’s Ikiru a few more times, a film that is an obvious impersonation for this one, and was a simple, quiet film about a dying Japanese bureaucrat, who just wanted to accomplish one thing in his life before he died). I didn’t need the morality lesson that is tacked onto Biutiful about the working conditions of sweatshop workers, and certainly didn’t need the horrible way in which that story thread ended, which rings completely false. Or the subplot involving the Chinese factory owner, and his cruel gay lover, who exploit the workers, or the one involving Bardem’s babysitter, who happens to be one of those factory workers. Or the story the of the African immigrants either. I understand why they are there – Gonzalez Innaritu wants to show the universality of his story, who everyone shares the same hopes and dreams, as well as fears, as Uxbal. But it wasn’t necessary – he would see that even without these phony subplots that detract for the parts of the movie that do work. And all of them involve Bardem – the rest of the characters in the movie are not all that well defined, but they don’t need to be. This is Uxbal’s story, and no matter how far away the rest of us are from his immediate reality, we can all relate.