Adult World

ADULT WORLD        C+                 

USA  (97 mi)  2013  d:  Scott Coffey

Another film about the Me Generation, the children of privilege, an entire generation that feels something is owed to them simply because they think they deserve it, not because they’ve done anything to earn it.  Here we see a whiny Emma Roberts as Amy, a fiercely driven young girl (there isn’t an ounce of grown up woman about her) just out of college who is so positive she has the makings of a poet that she invests everything she has, much to her parent’s dismay, in sending off packages of poems to publishers, and then feels disappointed when her parents can’t afford to subsidize her poetry career anymore.  In her eyes, it’s an investment in her future, while her parents think she ought to go out and get a real job.  A girl that sleeps with a poster of Sylvia Plath over her bed, in the opening scene, she replicates Plath’s suicide, plotting out exactly how she would asphyxiate herself from her gas oven, actually going through the motions, yet the tone of the film is an absurd comedy, so right off the bat we realize this is going for demented territory.  The film backtracks one year earlier when she’s in bed with a sleazeball about to have sex with a guy who’s obviously only interested in himself, yet tells her all the things he thinks a girl wants to hear, only to discover a film crew hiding in the closet shooting the whole thing, eventually running out of there in a state of undress and abject humiliation.  A closer inspection reveals Amy is a broken record, a walking advertisement for herself, continually spewing the same mantra of how it’s only a matter of time before she gets published, how she’s so close and on the verge, reminding everyone how her career is about to take off, yet at present, she has nothing to show for it.  Driven to desperation, she relies upon fate, and a Help Wanted sign in a window, where she walks in brimming with confidence and is all smiles until she realizes it’s an adult porn store, running out in a state of panic and hysteria, as if she’d been attacked by a swarm of killer bees.  Apparently, after the unpleasant incident, she still has a near psychotic aversion to sex.       

With her tail between her legs, she sheepishly returns back to the store, discovering it’s run by an old couple still madly in love (Cloris Leachman and John Cullum), where they’re not the least bit ashamed to use the names of sex toys and adult store vernacular in completed sentences, something she finds terrifying and revolting at the same time, so she’s a perfect fit for the store.  The store manager, Evan Peters as Alex (the real life fiancé of Emma Roberts), couldn’t be more friendly and helpful at every turn, yet he’s zeroville in her eyes, as she’s only slumming before the day of the big publishing event.  Roberts appears schooled in the Rosanna Arquette style of comedy, appearing to be one and the same at times, except she’s younger, more girlish, more of an airhead, despite her repeated claims that she was a straight A student, and much more aggravating.  While she’s cute and has a flair for humor, her wretched need to put herself first all the time in a continuous “look at me” syndrome reveals the surface level of superficiality where she operates, never having a reflective moment, which makes the premise of being a writer so absurdly ridiculous.  Yet she perseveres, butting to the front of the line of a book signing of her chosen poet du jour, Rat Billings (John Cusack), something of a washed up has been, a former punk poet who is in town to teach a course at the local university.  While he quickly escapes her outright stalking maneuvers, she finds out where he lives and plants herself on his doorstep, demanding that he read some of her poetry and offer criticism poet to poet.  Her credentials are that she “really feels a lot” and “wants to speak for all the people that suffer.”  Ingratiating herself to him, she’s willing to provide unpaid maid service while calling herself a protégé to her poet mentor.  While nobody really buys any of this, yet she continues to delude herself in a mad rush of youthful exhilaration that she identifies as budding genius. 

Cusack channels Bill Murray in his downbeat sarcasm, underplaying every scene, hoping for a moment of sanity in the enveloping madness, with Alex continually gushing that his work “speaks to an entire generation,” to which he can only answer “No, no it doesn’t.  That doesn’t mean anything.”  While initially he playfully and somewhat scornfully calls her “Suburbia,” by the end he’s describing her as “this generation’s Black Plague,” where he’s forced to  remind her “not everyone is talented.”  In a movie like this, the focus would have to be on a character named Rat, where Cusack does all he can with the role, much of which seems to resemble himself, as if he’s used to fending off the adulation of complete strangers who are positively bonkers in their outright expressed enthusiasm.  The film throws in handfuls of secondary characters, mostly for comic relief, but all of them are mere stops on the road of her meandering journey to success and fame.  While much of this resembles the more impressive work of Terry Zwigoff’s Ghost World (2001) or David Chase’s Not Fade Away (2012), this film doesn’t belong in the same category, as it’s more of a cheap, comedic imitator, a pretender to something it’s not, which is social relevancy.  Other than the obvious, where the film attempts to comment upon the privileged and the entitled, the film shows little insight, where writers like Whit Stillman’s Damsels in Distress (2011) or Noah Baumbach’s Frances Ha (2012) have their pulse on middle class disillusionment, using more realistic characters to reflect the unique problems dealing with the emptiness and boredom.  This film has a few laughs and a few comic barbs, but Emma Roberts is such a loathsome, self-centered character that it’s easier to laugh at her rather than identify with her and the culture she represents, suggesting that tonally the director has mostly missed the mark, unless he simply wanted to make a goofy movie that will ultimately be forgettable.      

The Bling Ring

THE BLING RING      C+                  

USA  (90 mi)  2013  d:  Sofia Coppola 

Super rich kids with nothing but fake friends.             

—Frank Ocean, “Super Rich Kids” Frank Ocean - Super Rich Kids on Vimeo YouTube (5:05)

Once again, Sofia Coppola zeroes in on the vacuous and empty-headed lives of spoiled and pampered, overly rich white kids from Hollywood whose parents are nearly absent from their lives, so they are literally consumed by the very public lives of the fabulously wealthy, impressed by their jewelry, fashion taste, magazine spreads, celebrity television and movie appearances, and how they love to party in the upscale club scene, constantly seeing the faces of other young stars in all the tabloids and magazines, continually wondering why it can’t be them?  Adapted by the director from real life occurrences that were reported in an article “The Suspects Wore Louboutins,”  by Nancy Jo Sales from Vanity Fair, March 2010 about a group of Hollywood teens who burglarized the homes of their idols, stealing their clothes and jewellery, not to mention large wads of cash, while spending their money at the same clubs where their favorite stars hung out.  Surprised that the homes were so easy to break into, as usually sliding glass doors were left open, or keys left under the doormat, it was easy to Google their addresses and find out what celebrities were out of town for a special event, leaving their homes vacant.  While stealing over $3 million worth of jewelry, high end clothes, Rolex watches, fashionable shoes, perfume, makeup, artworks, and stashes of various social drugs and cash from the homes of Paris Hilton, Lindsay Lohan, Orlando Bloom, Megan Fox, Rachel Bilson, and Audrina Patridge, their favorite house turned out to be Paris Hilton, returning repeatedly, stealing $2 million dollars alone from the stuff taken from her home.  Paris Hilton wasn’t even aware anything was missing until months later, as the group’s undoing came by foolishly posting photos of themselves on Facebook wearing these newly acquired items, which served as easy evidence of stolen merchandise for the police once they caught on. 

While Coppola has an appealing experimental style that works best in a non-narrative, stream-of-conscious style, the very lack of definition suits her highly impressionist form, as her use of music to help fill empty spaces is usually nothing less than superb.  Using the talent of ace cinematographer Harris Savides in his final film (dedicated to his memory), they combine to show what architectural beauty can be expressed by shooting a robbery in progress through a glass house, where the perpetrators are seen as little more than a movement of shadows, but visually it’s a captivating moment.  Coppola is hampered here by the repetitive storyline, reflecting the bored lives of the typically screwed up teenagers who continually return to the same activity like a drug, often seen bragging about their exploits afterwards in upscale clubs, obviously trying to impress others, where they are seen as little more than opportunists in waiting.  Inflating one’s view of oneself is a constant in this film, reflecting the adoring approval received by their parents who wouldn’t think of reprimanding them, allowing them to do whatever they want, as these kids are continually taking photos of themselves with their phones and posting them on their Facebook pages.  This dysfunctional group includes Katie Chang as Rebecca, something of the ringleader, and her adoring follower Marc, Israel Broussard, a not so great looking guy that loves fashion design, so fits right into this culture.  Their best friends include sisters Nicki (Emma Watson) and Sam (Taissa Farmiga with a leopard-skin infatuation), both home-schooled by their clueless mother on how to look their best and think positively, given Adderall every morning for God knows how long, while they’re best friends with the more stoic Chloe (Claire Julien).  All they ever talk about is what people are wearing, as that’s all that seems to matter to them.  This film pales in comparison to Not Fade Away (2012), for instance, a much better written David Chase film featuring teenagers from the 60’s that just knew they would eventually be discovered as rock stars, as they were only waiting for someone to discover them.  Similarly, this group already thinks of themselves as stars simply because they so completely identify with the Hollywood culture of attractiveness and glamour, getting their faces plastered over all the tabloids, and then using that to build a career.  It’s interesting that the choices of who to rob comes from the faces they routinely see in the tabloids and celebrity news TV programs.  

Celebrity worship is nothing new, but this may be the first time kids feel so entitled to be included among the celebrities simply because they can copy their fashion sense and be seen in the same public places.  It’s hard to fathom, but this group has delusions of grandeur, where they feel as if it’s their right to steal clothes from the stars, as emulating their lifestyle is how they’ll be discovered.  What’s missing is any likeable person among the bunch, as all are so hung up on themselves that nobody else matters.  In truth, these are thoroughly detestable people that haven’t a clue what matters in life, as all they’ve learned is to think exclusively about themselves. They have such a high opinion of themselves that their egos take the place of sex, which is also missing in these young kid’s lives.  The idea of communicating with others doesn’t even occur to them, as all they want to do is see themselves in the mirror.  This human contempt grows tiresome after awhile, as there’s little reason why anyone should care about any of the subjects in this film, a similar reaction to Coppola’s earlier candy-colored walk through history with a young empty-headed MARIE ANTOINETTE (2006).  The character of Nicki is actually based upon Alexis Neiers, her younger sister Gabby, and an adopted sister Tess Taylor, all pursuing modeling careers managed by their mother, Andrea Arlington, a former Playboy playmate who claims she modeled lingerie with Cindy Crawford in the 80’s.  They were all subjects of a short-lived Reality TV show Pretty Wild, which aired for two months on the E! Network in the spring of 2010.  Unfortunately, Alexis was arrested by the first episode, becoming a convicted felon, where her melodramatic Diva Queen personality was so overly self-indulgent that its claim to fame may be that it challenges for the worst show to ever air on TV (Pretty Wild Might Be the Worst Television Show Ever Made - Gawker).  Why all of this should appeal to the director, or a viewing audience, is an open question, as whatever satiric slant may have been intended runs thin, where it plays out more as an absurdist caricature of people that just don’t care, where it appears that celebrity culture is already too over-exposed and doesn’t need any more public screen time, as their lives are simply too pathetically empty to be taken seriously.  The question is:  does this film raise a larger issue?  If this is supposed to represent a cultural phenomenon about narcissistic kids growing up today who are simply too infatuated with themselves, showing no interest in the lives of others, there is too much evidence to suggest otherwise, as students and the youth vote played a large part in electing and re-electing the first black President Barack Obama, while children of the elite comprise much of the Occupy Wall Street Movement.  Coppola has always sympathized with kids, much like herself, raised in a bubble who are simply too bored to care, emblematic of their celebrity heroes that show the same vacuous superficiality, but this time she’s hit a wall, never unlocking any revelatory secrets or exposing a social critique that actually matters.

Not Fade Away

NOT FADE AWAY           B+  
USA  (112 mi)  2012  d:  David Chase             Official site

They say good things come in small packages, and this is the latest from The Sopranos (1999 – 2007) writer/director David Chase, where you’d expect plenty of advance publicity, but this little film flies under the radar.  Set in the early 60’s paralleling a well-known story of when childhood friends Keith Richards and Mick Jagger met at a railway station in 1960, where the Muddy Waters and Chuck Berry records Jagger was carrying caught Richard’s eye, claiming he could already play some of those tunes on the guitar, and thus a band (with the help of fellow artist Brian Jones) named The Rolling Stones was born.  Narrated at both the beginning and end by an unseen young girl (who turns out to be the lead character’s barely seen younger sister, Meg Guzulescu), she suggests this story concerns another band that no one’s ever heard of, similarly formed about the same time.  This eerie voice is reminiscent of the rich, descriptive detail described by a collective Greek chorus narrative in the 1993 novel The Virgin Suicides, which turns out to be neighborhood boys recalling a family of gorgeously attractive young girls across the street during the 1970’s.  Much like the director’s own life, this story concerns a group of young teenage boys from suburban New Jersey in the 1960’s, led by Douglas (John Magaro), the drummer and eventual lead singer of a rock band that he forms with a couple friends, temperamental lead guitarist Eugene (Jack Huston) and childhood best friend Wells (Will Brill), playing covers of bands admired by the Stones, giving this movie a killer soundtrack assembled by E Street Band member Steven Van Zandt.  While all these guys talk about is music and their band, just waiting for the day when they get discovered, building their lives for that inevitability, they also all vie for the attention of a beautiful young girl who takes an interest in their music, Grace (Bella Heathcote), who adds a luminous Marianne Faithfull aura of mystique.  What’s apparent from the outset is this is about more than the music, which is heard continuously throughout the film, becoming a strangely evocative period piece of the early 60’s.

Of interest, this film tells the story with jagged edges, as it never advances in a straight line, providing novelesque detail to what amounts to a short story, always adding more than the viewer needs, giving the film a poetic lyricism, becoming less about their individual lives and more about the time they’re living in.  If viewers get hung up on the narrative of what’s happening, which includes plenty of plot meanderings, they may miss much of the period embellishment that is an essential ingredient to the film, actually becoming the central focus of the film, beautifully capturing the era’s conflicting attitudes.  The band continuously gets bogged down in minor disputes and disagreements, eventually having to deal with the melodramatic, self-destructive outbursts of Eugene, where they are continuously in a state of flux, always becoming something they have yet to achieve.  Meanwhile, life goes on, where Douglas’s Dad, none other than James Gandolfini (priceless, as always), gives him plenty of generation gap grief, “my son dresses like a queer,” where Dad’s upset by his Dylanesque hair and artsy fartsy plans, none of which pay the bills, waiting for him to get real and develop a legitimate career instead of throwing his life away on a stupid dream that will never amount to anything.  But Douglas is a product of the times, keying into the bohemian subculture where art and music have a mystical ability to transcend ordinary, everyday routines.  In this way, the film is a kissing cousin to Olivier Assayas’s similarly autobiographical account of his own turbulent life in the 60’s, Something in the Air (Après mai) (2012), though a few years before the Parisian student demonstrations in May ’68.  One of the more amusing scenes is witnessing Douglas and Grace in a movie theater watching Antonioni’s BLOW-UP (1966), where Douglas is struck by lengthy scenes of silence in a public park where “nothing is happening” and there are no musical cues to evoke mood.  Grace, however, has the good sense to recognize that “the trees are the music.”    

Early in the film, the band, produced and assisted by Van Zandt (who interestingly also plays Silvio Dante, the behind-the-scenes consigliere to the Soprano family), spends plenty of time playing covers of familiar radio music, always searching for that ever elusive music contract, where by the time they finally discover an agent, Brad Garrett, he lays it out straight, giving them the facts of life, suggesting the music business is “10% inspiration and 90% perspiration,” instructing them to pay their dues and develop a loyal fanbase in local bar scenes, much like the Beatles did in Hamburg, Germany or the Ramones in New York’s CBGB.  But in the changing times, Douglas wants to get away from Jersey with Grace and head to Los Angeles, parting company with the band.  Once that part of the story ends, the final sequences are among the more poetically ambiguous of any film seen this year, as their coming-of age lives simply evolve.  The transition from East coast to West coast is mesmerizing, especially the sadness etched on his Dad’s face watching his own dreams drive away in the form of his son, where in LA he may as well be a stranger in a strange land, as the West coast has a rapidly developing counterculture movement while he’s still dressing with the straight crowd wearing sport jackets.  Having always defined himself as an artist fronting a band, he suddenly finds himself without a purpose or meaning in life, stripped naked, just a solitary soul, where there may be hundreds of thousands or more just like him, discovering he’s not so unique.  This revelation is chilling, but one that personifies the 60’s, where the Baby Boomer’s sober up and come of age only to discover they’re just like everybody else, defined by their own mediocrity and routine.  There’s a beautifully written scene where Douglas is aimlessly hitchhiking into the unknown, with no particular destination, a Jack Nicholson moment right out of FIVE EASY PIECES (1970), and someone dressed like one of the mimes in Antonioni’s BLOW-UP stops to pick him up, but he’s not yet ready to go there, into the empty spaces between what’s real and what’s only imagined, into the quiet rustle of Antonioni’s trees.  It’s an open question whether cinema can replace music as the new obsession in Douglas’s life, or drugs, or the protest movement, becoming something of an unanswered reverie expressed only through a curious final abstraction. 

‘Not Fade Away’ Soundtrack Track Listing

‘There Was a Time’ – James Brown
‘Tell Me’ – the Rolling Stones
‘Ride On Baby’ – the Twylight Zones*
‘Bo Diddley’ – Bo Diddley
‘Bo Diddley’ – the Twylight Zones*
‘Subterranean Homesick Blues’ – the Twylight Zones*
‘Parachute Woman’ – the Rolling Stones
‘Go Now’ – the Moody Blues
‘Time Is on My Side’ – the Twylight Zones*
‘Dust My Broom’ – Elmore James
‘I Ain’t Gonna Eat Out My Heart’ – the Rascals
‘Good Morning Blues’ – Leadbelly
‘Train Kept A Rollin’’ – Johnny Burnette & the Rock N’ Roll Trio
‘Train Kept A Rollin’’ – the Twylight Zones*
‘Pretty Ballerina’ – the Left Banke
‘Down So Low’ – Mother Earth
‘Itchycoo Park’ – the Small Faces
‘Me and the Devil Blues’ – Robert Johnson
‘The St. Valentine’s Day Massacre’ – the Twylight Zones*
‘T.B. Sheets’ – Van Morrison
‘Some Velvet Morning’ – Nancy Sinatra & Lee Hazelwood
‘Bali Ha’i’ (From South Pacific) – Original Motion Picture Cast
‘Road Runner’ – the Sex Pistols
‘Pipeline’ – the Twylight Zones*
‘She Belongs To Me’ – Bob Dylan
Digital Bonus Track: ‘Surgical Supply Jingle’

*Includes seven songs by the fictional band the Twylight Zones, with stars John Magaro and Jack Huston contributing their own vocals to the tracks, which were produced by Steven Van Zandt. The music was performed by Van Zandt and fellow E Street Band members Max Weinberg and Garry Tallent, with their old friend Bobby Bandiera of Southside Johnny and the Asbury Jukes.