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War of the Words
The Best of Enemies
by George Wolf
It was the insult heard ’round the world, and it just might have given birth to an entire industry of blowhard political pundits, talking loud and saying nothing.
Which is ironic, because Gore Vidal and William F. Buckley, Jr. did neither. Both seasoned intellectuals who proudly sat poles apart on the political spectrum, they came together during the presidential campaign of 1968 for a series of legendary, highly volatile debates.
Best of Enemies, a rich and entertaining documentary from directors Robert Gordon and Morgan Neville, gets inside the battles and studies their lasting effects on politics, the media and the men themselves.
In ’68, last-place ABC needed a spark for their coverage of both the Republican and Democratic conventions. They turned to Buckley, the conservative hero, and Vidal, the liberal champion, to end each day’s coverage with a spirited tête-à-tête.
“Spirited” was being polite, as the wordplay escalated to name-calling and a shocking (for the times) moment on live TV that Buckley regretted the rest of his life.
No less a TV icon than Dick Cavett sums it up succinctly: “The network nearly shat.”
Regardless of your political leanings, you can’t help but be impressed by what each man brings to the skirmish. Intelligence, wit, biting humor and thinly veiled disgust are all on display, conveyed with such a beautiful command of the language you can’t help but smile in the midst of their blood sport.
The debates, of course, were a ratings winner for ABC, instantly revealing the insatiable American appetite for argument.
Perhaps the most striking aspect of Best of Enemies is how little those arguments, and the divisiveness surrounding them, have changed. We have these same debates today, with sides that are just as clearly drawn.
The rulebook? That’s another story.
Best of Enemies lives in a time before you could “ignore the other side and live in your own world.”
If only for 87 minutes, it’s a welcome bit of time travel.
Identity Thief
Phoenix
by George Wolf
Get some footing on a solid piece of ground, because this one might buckle your knees.
Phoenix is a gripping story of loss, hope, regret and resignation, told in a subtly devastating manner by director Christian Petzold.
Based on Hubert Monteilhet’s novel “Le Retour des cendres,” Phoenix takes us to Germany, not long after the Nazi surrender. Nelly (Nina Hoss) has miraculously survived the concentration camps, but the brutality left her disfigured. Longing to regain her looks and reunite with her husband Johnny (Ronald Zehrfeld), Nelly relies on social worker Lena (Nina Kunzendorf) to help reclaim her life.
After facial reconstruction surgery, Nelly searches the underbelly of postwar Berlin to find her beloved husband, despite Lena’s claim that it was he who betrayed her to the Nazis. Johnny is certain his wife is dead, but is struck by how much this mysterious new acquaintance looks like her, and he hatches a plan.
Petzold also co-wrote the script, and he employs a tantalizing “rope a dope” strategy for much of the film. Though he dutifully delivers all the elements for a polished, effective film, there’s no unique identity to stand out in the crowded field of holocaust-based dramas.
But, as Ali did with Foreman in 1974, Petzold has you where he wants you the entire time. He drops the plot’s first hammer in an almost casual manner, much like Llewelyn’s death in No Country for Old Men, and the result is all the more powerful.
The entire film instantly takes on a greater level of gravitas, and it continues on its determined path even as you’re dizzy from the sudden new level of emotion. Hoss, Zehrfeld and Kunzendorf all give deeply affecting performances, keeping you riveted until the inevitable, shattering conclusion.
Though the film’s title tips the hand of its postwar metaphor, the way Petzold weaves it into themes of identity and intrigue is downright masterful, and it renders Phoenix an experience of simmering emotional power.
Into the Woods
A Walk in the Woods
by Hope Madden
In 1998, Bill Bryson published the funny human adventure A Walk in the Woods – the tale of a man grappling with his morality by walking the Appalachian Trail. To stave off boredom he invites (perhaps mistakenly) a friend. Though it lumbers at times, the book is a fun odd couple account of human frailty and the vastness of the natural world.
It’s 2015, and Robert Redford has released a broad, uninspired treatment/vanity project. Redford plays Bryson, the travel writer bristling against age and stagnation. Nick Nolte is Stephen Katz, the overweight, gimpy recovering alcoholic eager to accompany him on his journey.
It’s hard to understand what made Redford want to create this wisp of a comedy road trip after last year’s gripping The Wild, a film that treads very similar ground. But where Reese Witherspoon’s Oscar nominated flick illustrated personal exploration and the redemptive power of nature, Redford’s is content with lazy gags and hollow attempts at profundity.
Redford and Nolte lack chemistry, and while Nolte entertains in several humorous moments, Redford’s utter lack of comic timing is itself kind of awe inspiring.
It’s also absurd casting, given that Bryson – in his 40s when he attempted the trail – was facing a midlife crisis, yet feared he may be too old to make the trip. Nick Nolte is 71 and Robert Redford is 79, for lord’s sake.
At least you can expect a breathtaking view, though, right? Wrong. Director Ken Kwapis misses every opportunity to exploit the sheer gorgeousness of the AT, providing no more than 3 lovely, if brief, images of natural beauty. Nor can he authentically express the passage of time, articulate the grueling nature of the journey, or build tension, and he and his writers (Rick Kerb and Bill Holderman) utterly abandon the enjoyably creepy representation of the South you’ll find in Bryson’s text.
An early draft of the script came from Michael Arndt, whose work on Little Miss Sunshine and Toy Story 3 suggests the kind of playful humor and storytelling skill the project deserved. Unfortunately, the end product came from the keystrokes of Redford’s regular contributor Holderman, which may be why Redford so rarely makes decent movies anymore.
Fright Club: Best Medical Horror
Where are you most vulnerable, if not in the hands of doctors? You don’t know what they’re doing. It’s likely to hurt. There are needles, saws maybe. Suturs. Staples. Blood. Is there more fertile, gory ground for horror? We say no, and today we celebrate the very best there is in medical horror.
5. American Mary (2012)
Twin sisters, Canadians and badasses Jen and Sylvia Soska have written and directed a smart, twisted tale of cosmetic surgery – both elective and involuntary.
Katharine Isabelle (Ginger Snaps) stars as med student Mary Mason, a bright and eerily dedicated future surgeon who’s having some trouble paying the bills. She falls in with an unusual crowd, develops some skills, and becomes a person you want to keep on your good side.
Were it not for all those amputations and mutilations, this wouldn’t be a horror film at all. It’s a bit like a noir turned inside out, where we share the point of view of the raven haired dame who’s nothin’ but trouble. It’s a unique and refreshing approach that pays off.
4. Re-Animator (1986)
Stuart Gordon’s Re-Animator reinvigorated the Frankenstein storyline in a decade glutted with vampire films. Based, as so many fantasy/horror films are, on the work of H. P. Lovecraft, Re-Animator boasts a good mix of comedy and horror, some highly subversive ideas, and one really outstanding villain.
Jeffrey Combs, with his intense gaze and pout, his ability to mix comic timing with epic self righteousness without turning to caricature, carries the film beginning to end. His Dr. Herbert West has developed a day-glo serum that reanimates dead tissue, but a minor foul up with his experimentations – some might call it murder – sees him taking his studies to the New England medical school Miskatonic University. There he rents a room and basement laboratory from handsome med student Dan Caine (Bruce Abbott).
They’re not just evil scientists. They’re also really bad doctors.
Re-Animator is fresh. It’s funny and shocking, and though most performances are flat at best, those that are strong more than make up for it. First-time director Gordon’s effort is superb. He glories in the macabre fun of his scenes, pushing envelopes and dumping gallons of blood and gore. He balances anxiety with comedy, mines scenes for all they have to give, and takes you places you haven’t been.
3. Dead Ringers (1988)
This film is about separation anxiety, with the effortlessly melancholy Jeremy Irons playing a set of gynecologist twins on a downward spiral. Writer/director David Cronenberg doesn’t consider this a horror film at all. Truth is, because the twin brothers facing emotional and mental collapse are gynecologists, Cronenberg is wrong.
Take, for instance, the scene with the middle aged woman in stirrups, camera on her face, which is distorted with discomfort. Irons’s back is to the screen, her bare foot to his left side. Clicking noises distract you as the doctor works away. We pan right to a tray displaying the now-clearly-unstable doctor’s set of hand-fashioned medical instruments. Yikes.
Irons is brilliant, bringing such flair and, eventually, childlike charm to the performances you feel almost grateful. The film’s pace is slow and its horror subtle, but the uncomfortable moments are peculiarly, artfully Cronenberg.
2. The Skin I Live In (2011)
In 2011, the great Pedro Almodovar created something like a cross between Eyes Without a Face and Lucky McGee’s The Woman, with all the breathtaking visual imagery and homosexual overtones you can expect from an Almodovar project.
The film begs for the least amount of summarization because every slow reveal is placed so perfectly within the film, and to share it in advance is to rob you of the joy of watching. Antonio Banderas gives a lovely, restrained performance as Dr. Robert Ledgard, and Elena Anaya and Marisa Paredes are spectacular.
Not a frame is wasted, not a single visual is placed unconsciously. Dripping with symbolism, the film takes a pulpy and ridiculous story line and twists it into something marvelous to behold. Don’t dismiss this as a medical horror film. Pay attention – not just to catch the clues as the story unfolds, but more importantly, to catch the bigger picture Almodovar is creating.
1. Frankenstein (1931)
Obviously, any exploration of medicine in horror cinema – no matter how amateurish that exploration – must begin with Frankenstein.
James Whale’s genius was in finding the monster fascinating, rather than the doctor. Nearly every other Frankenstein made before or since has been preoccupied with the doctor, but Whale understood that it was this unique beast, baby and man, evil and innocent, that should compel our interest. Who cares about one more doctor with a god complex?
Luckily for Whale, he had Boris Karloff. Karloff’s gift was in seeing the monster as a neglected child. His monster is sweet and tragic, characterized by the terrible freedom of a loosed child full of fear, unbridled excitement, and shame. Karloff nails this childlike energy and ignorance married to a grown man’s strength in a way that no other actor truly has.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=McUce_xwxeA
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A Beacon of Hope for Lesser People
Mistress America
by George Wolf
If you thought director Noah Baumbach was turning all populist after While We’re Young, take heart! At my recent screening of Mistress America, five people walked out within the first twenty minutes, apparently put off by hilariously flawed characters who talk to themselves, but at each other, without mercy.
Their loss.
It’s a charming, wonderfully offbeat, fast-paced dialogue fest, and a perfect vehicle for Greta Gerwig, who co-wrote the script with Baumbach.
Gerwig stars as Brooke, a busy New Yorker who seems happy to get a visit from her soon-to-be stepsister Tracy (Lola Kirke – impressive), an 18 year-old student at a nearby college. Brooke bombards Tracy with stories of her exciting life and social calendar (“He’s the kind of person I hate – except I’m in love with him!”), instantly gaining an admirer. Tracy’s reserved demeanor is no match for hurricane Brooke, and soon Tracy and two friends are joining Brooke on a mission to persuade her rich old boyfriend Dylan (Michael Chernus) into bankrolling her plan for a new restaurant/hair salon/cool place to be combo.
The gang ends up crashing a party hosted by Dylan’s wife (loves these names) Mamie-Claire (Heather Lind). Mamie-Claire may or may not have stolen Brooke’s idea for a line of t-shirts, and the visit descends into a madcap frenzy of incidents and allegations. As characters move throughout the rooms of Dylan’s lavish house, Baumbach stages it to perfection, much like a high school play directed by a coked-up Woody Allen.
Underneath the inspired insanity, though, lies a love letter to the written word. Tracy desperately wants to join her school’s literary club, and she uses Brooke as the basis for a short story that she hopes will be accepted into their magazine.
As the characters’ continue their rapid fire, often non-sequitur dialogue, it’s offset with Tracy’s voiceover reading of the measured, wonderfully flowing prose of her short story. This not only puts a spotlight on the art of writing, it cleverly reinforces the film’s undercurrent of self-delusion.
Brooke lives to define herself, as Tracy so eloquently puts it, as “a beacon of hope for lesser people,” regardless of how well her definition aligns with reality. “Lesser” people’s descriptions aren’t as welcome, a fact beautifully illustrated by a scene where Brooke is recognized by an old high school classmate. Gerwig is a true wonder in the role, combining comic timing with the depth needed to make Brooke sympathetic no matter how much you want to dislike her.
Will Mistress America be the movie where the masses (minus those five party poopers from my screening) get hip to Gerwig’s unique talents?
Let’s hope so.
