Knives Out

Director Rian Johnson

Director Rian Johnson (right) with actors Chris Evans and Ana de Armas on the set

KNIVES OUT            B-                   

USA  (130 mi)  2019  d: Rian Johnson                       Official site

When people get desperate, the knives come out.

―tagline for the film

A terrific story does not necessarily translate to a terrific film, as this is easily one of the uglier digitalized film looks in over a decade, resembling some of the earliest efforts with the technology, overly dark, featuring plenty of troublesome empty shadows, while the facial crevices in the multitude of close-ups are just horrific, the likes of which we haven’t seen since the dreary, colorless palette of Michael Mann’s PUBLIC ENEMIES (2009).  From the maker of BRICK (2005), still his most original feature, THE BROTHERS BLOOM (2008), and Looper (2012), this is a satiric, modern era update of the classical Agatha Christie thriller where a ghastly murder takes place in a Gothic mansion, yet no one is allowed to leave the premises until police can interrogate all the suspects, where a clever detective has a way of unleashing all the hidden family secrets, often pitting one suspect against another, where money is always a motive as insurmountable clues mount up, yet audiences relish the idea of playing along, making a collective game out of solving the crime.  This is old-fashioned homage entertainment, turning a house into a board game of Clue (which apparently grew out of the British popularity of Agatha Christie novels, writing 66 of them during her lifetime, devising all manner of novel ways to kill someone), given a modern era twist that lightheartedly pokes fun at the Trump administration’s xenophobic views on immigrants, subverting expectations by making a lesser character (an immigrant caretaker who is viewed as little more than hired help) the smartest person in the room, befuddling all the rich white folks who are screwed out of their inheritance by some vengeful trickery, quickly blaming the outsider, but it’s the family’s own avarice and malicious intent that ultimately does them in, every single one a freeloader, yet they’re left to bitch and moan about how they were cheated out of what was rightfully theirs, while they gleefully support the idea they are self-made success stories (despite receiving a generous million dollar loan to start their business), leading lives of privilege, always identifying with the upper class, continually blaming others for their own shortcomings.  While no one really distinguishes themselves here, no standout performances, you’d like to think there’s some sardonic Buñuelian wit about it, but that’s not the case either, as instead the model seems to be the Joseph Mankiewicz film SLEUTH (1972) based upon the wildly popular play by British playwright Anthony Shaffer, where a famous upper class author of detective novels is pitted against the unorthodox tactics of his lower class rival, each trying to outwit the other, yet the author’s supreme arrogance allows him to presume victory, where his expectations are masterfully subverted, slowly turning the tables, where that smug air of hubris finally gets its comeuppance.  That original source is lightyears better than this material, which feels so middle of the road.   

 

While it’s an unconventional but likeable enough ensemble cast of familiar faces, some absent from the screen for a while, as Johnson creates a pleasant atmosphere of murky suspense, where the viewing audience feels comfortable spending time with this group, much like Tarantino does with his casts.  At the center is the aging patriarch, successful crime novelist Harlan Thrombey (Christopher Plummer), who is happily celebrating his 85th birthday, surrounded by his family, but winds up dead before the night is done, apparently slitting his own throat, which his family finds incomprehensible, thinking it must be murder.  Police detectives arrive in the form of Lakeith Stanfield as Detective Elliot and his underling Trooper Wagner (Noah Segan), who is thrilled to be there, a huge fan, having read every one of Harlan’s books, offering commentary along the way, explaining how it resembles the plots from various books.  Sitting in the background is Benoit Blanc, (Daniel Craig), reprising that southern accent he used in Soderbergh’s Logan Lucky (2017), an overly polite Southern gentleman acknowledged to be a hired detective, though it remains a mystery just who exactly hired him, yet he announces from the outset he suspects foul play.  Losing patience with the dull police routine, he eventually asserts himself as the sleuth mastermind, taking a lead role in the questioning, though at times his grandiloquent verbiage is so charmingly quaint that it feels he’s intentionally pleasing himself, adding a bit of color to the proceedings.  Jamie Lee Curtis is Harlan’s daughter Linda, a successful real estate mogul married to a deadbeat husband, Don Johnson as Richard, an opinionated oaf with decidedly racist leanings.  Harlan put his son Walt (Michael Shannon, always in bulky sweaters) in charge of his own publishing house, with strict instructions never to do adaptations for movies or television, which would make big bucks, but dilute the stories (exactly as this film does).  Joni (Toni Collette) is widowed from a deceased son, yet continues to be married to the lifestyle, while the black sheep of the family is the overly smug Chris Evans as Ransom (the offspring of Linda and Richard), who lavishly spends money like its growing on trees, viewed as a pompous ass, an object of derision by the rest of the family.  The nurse caretaker is Marta (Ana de Armas), who provides the needed medicine for Harlan, and seems to be the one person he could openly talk to, who at some point in the film is from either Uruguay, Brazil, Cuba, Paraguay, or Ecuador, though may in fact have been born in the United States, but her mother is undocumented.  Nonetheless, while professing sanctimonious appreciation for her services, she is largely viewed as undocumented herself, as if the family has done her a huge favor by hiring her.  

The beauty in films like this is in the back and forth banter between characters, where Johnson takes great relish in providing theatrically fun dialogue that moves along at a crisp pace, while unearthed clues and various backstory reveals add to a tautly connected storyline that continually develops over time, moving from one family member to another, where it has the feel as if the dead Harlan is actually pulling the strings behind the scenes, unraveling like one of his books, as so much of the story is generated through his character.  Each family member has a private conference with him on the day he died, the contents of which might provide an alibi for murder, yet each professes perfect innocence to the police, covering up any hint of suspicion, which, of course, arouses suspicion.  Blanc quickly discovers the key to resolving this matter, as Marta has a medical condition where she vomits if she tells a lie, which is like having a polygraph machine for all her testimony.  Rerouting all the witness testimony through her is a new angle, as if under a witness protection program by the police, who avail themselves of her resources, quickly determining that all the Thrombey children have lied to authorities and covered up what was really said behind closed doors, as the brunt of the film is to get to the heart of the matter, weaving its way through a circuitous path of lies and subterfuge.  The double crosses here are fast and furious, as what is presumed as the truth may later come undone, continually unraveling new information, where some of the most effective asides incorporate movie or TV reports about horrendous murders, with viewers intensely riveted by the material, including Marta’s mother, seen viewing a TV episode of Murder, She Wrote in Spanish.  The house itself plays out like a haunted house, protected by an iron gate and an elaborate security system, with two Doberman guard dogs, while the inside is filled with items Harlan loved, including masks, laughing clown or sailor faces (some identical replicas from the set of SLEUTH), with items crammed in every corner, where he was a lover of games of all sorts, spending much of his free time engaged in clever musings.  The film carries that same esprit de corps with each building mystery, as flashbacks, recounted testimony, or new revelations prevent any easy resolution, growing ever more complicated, where there are stories within stories within stories that may leave viewers confused, but that’s the beauty of the detective mystery.  What’s perhaps most surprising is the amount of screen time for Marta, a daughter of immigrants who thoroughly outworks the bluebloods, earnest and apparently sincere, the moral center of a surrounding cesspool, who was initially thought to have nothing to do with it, but may have everything to do with it, but she couldn’t be more distinctly different (though bland) than the vengefully manipulative family members who think only of themselves, where the reading of the will is a hilarious indictment of their true character, each one more detestable than the next, hanging themselves by their own self-centered testimony, eventually falling like a house of cards, coinciding with Blanc’s ultimate epiphany of truth, an indictment that spares no one, creating a topsy turvy world where nothing is real and fleeting perceptions can change in an instant.     

Enough Said

ENOUGH SAID          B   
USA  (93 mi)  2013  d:  Nicole Holofcener             Official site

What’s perhaps most interesting about the film are the circumstances surrounding the making of the film, as who would have ever thought that Julia Louis-Dreyfus, the only female lead character from the infamous TV comedy sitcom Seinfeld (1989 – 1998), a show that for all practical purposes was about nothing, would somehow be starring in a movie opposite James Gandolfini from The Sopranos (1999 – 2007, the cable TV show that ranks among the greatest ever, a mob crime boss with a hair-trigger temper whose anger issues are notorious, and who personally executes about a dozen people on the show.  Louis-Dreyfus hasn’t made a movie since Woody Allen’s DECONSTRUCTING HARRY (1997), so the likelihood of these two crossing paths was highly unlikely, yet here they are starring opposite one another, and it happens to be the final film of Gandolfini’s career due to his premature death.  Brilliant as he was in Zero Dark Thirty (2012), Not Fade Away (2012), and Killing Them Softly (2012), Gandolfini is often at his best when showing a tender and vulnerable side, where he’s a gentle giant of a man capable of genuine sweetness that can sweep you off your feet.  Despite a formidable screen prominence throughout the film, one gets the feeling that it’s not enough, that we wish there could be more, where it’s hard to believe that this is the end.  But it’s a very classy role that Gandolfini fits to a T, as he’s a perfect fit for the part of Albert, a divorced husband living alone in a modest home while his ex-wife Marianne (Catherine Keener) and beautiful teenage daughter Tess (Eve Hewson, Bono’s daughter) live in a luxurious estate in Santa Monica overlooking the ocean.  He allows them to indulge in all the luxury, which they most certainly do, while he lives a completely unpretentious life.  The film, however, is seen through the eyes of Eva (Louis-Dreyfus), another divorced single parent who works as a masseuse, whose most distinctive characteristic is the ability to quietly listen to the endless gripes and moans of her customers complaining about their banal lives without so much as uttering a peep in response. 

The rhythm of the film is established by Eva’s routine of visiting her various clients, each with a distinct personality that includes something that usually grates on her nerves but she never speaks of it, where we see her endlessly lugging around her portable table before arriving back home to her daughter Ellen (Tracey Fairaway), who’s on the verge of leaving home for Sarah Lawrence University.  While Eva has a close relationship with her daughter, who often appears more grounded and stable than her mother, she has issues about being alone afterwards, as if she’s supposed to have “found herself,” instead of feeling restless about her all but uncertain future.  At a party, she meets a new guy, Albert, though at the time she claims there are no attractive men at the party, and feels, at least initially, like he’s fat and overweight, as if he doesn’t take care of himself, but he’s also funny and really easy to get along with.  At the same time, she also meets an interesting writer, Marianne, who lives in a fabulously upscale home where everything is perfectly in place, where it’s like the ideal dream home for Eva, as it’s unbelievably comfortable for the masseuse as well.  Eva quickly becomes fast friends with both, initially not sure about Albert, but their quick wit quickly escalates into a romantic affair, while everything about finding Marianne is like she hit the motherlode.  In addition, Eva latches onto her daughter’s best friend Chloe (Tavi Gevinson), who really dreads her own homelife and basically never goes home, where Chloe’s more straightforward and emotionally communicative than her own daughter, all of which gives Eva a certain stature, as if she’s a strong and stable force, yet Louis-Dreyfus has made a living doing insecure comedy, where her character usually unravels in a spectacular meltdown of sorts, yet here, despite her most anxious fears, she holds her own and easily carries the picture. 

While Eva and Albert have plenty in common, divorcées with intelligent daughters that are about to leave for prestigious universities, each unable to fathom what they ever found in their ex-spouses, as they have so little in common with them today, completely at odds in parenting techniques which led to most of the endless marital arguments.   Unbeknownst to Eva, Marianna and Albert were once married, and the guy she continually rails against during her masseuse sessions is Albert, which puts him at a distinct disadvantage and in an entirely different light, as he’s not there to defend himself.  In fact, like all the other problems and complaints she hears, Eva listens but says nothing, irregardless of potential consequences.  While all the actors have a natural affinity for authenticity, including Toni Collette as Eva’s best friend, who even retains her Australian accent, the movie also hits all the narrative notes of impending middle age, where one has had to rebound from past mistakes, where friends are few as relationships didn’t turn out the way they expected, and one has had to navigate their way through an unpleasant divorce while sharing the job of raising children.  Sexual relations have imploded, where marriage seems to be a place where sex literally goes to die, and there’s plenty of bitter sarcasm in its place.  Throughout these mainstream perceptions that are fodder for any number of television shows and movies, this well written but overly conventional film doesn’t really reach for more, but settles for easy going laughs, a few moments of comic wit, and plenty of awkward sequences that are meant to show how relentlessly unforgiving people can be, especially at middle age when they have been through all this before, and the idea of being undermined or hurt again simply doesn’t sit well as one’s idea of a healthy relationship.  Due to the quality of the performances, even when underwritten, the actors carry it off, especially Gandolfini and Louis-Dreyfus, as their screen presence is so appealing.  It does feel bittersweet seeing someone's last and final performance, especially one where the actor seems so perfectly comfortable in the role, which adds a heightened poignancy to his character, as in every screen or theatrical performance, whether full throttle male macho or the most tender moments, Gandolfini exhibits an indomitable spirit that leaves the audience wishing for more.        

Hitchcock

HITCHCOCK             B                     

USA  (98 mi)  2012  ‘Scope  d:  Sacha Gervasi            Official site

Interesting that a film about Alfred Hitchcock, cinema’s most legendary director, would be made by a director nobody’s ever heard of—not exactly the kind of ringing endorsement that would raise the dead from their slumbers.  Known for making a heavy metal rock ‘n’ roll documentary entitled ANVIL:  THE STORY OF ANVIL (2008), something of an offshoot of THIS IS SPINAL TAP (1984), this is quite a jump to a portrait of the Master of Suspense.  Adapted by John J. McLaughlin from Stephen Rebello’s 1990 book Alfred Hitchcock and the Making of Psycho, where he interviews virtually all surviving cast and crew members, the film is a behind-the-scenes look at Hitchcock’s personal life with his wife Alma on the making of PSYCHO (1960), a radical departure from his typical selection of sophisticated espionage or suspense stories, choosing instead to make a black and white, B-movie horror film based upon such crude and offensive material that all the other film studios had already rejected the story.  Working for Paramount Studios, his last film working with them was VERTIGO (1958), a box office flop, considered too downbeat and difficult for the viewing public, though ironically now a half a century later, the film has overtaken CITIZEN KANE (1941) as the greatest film of all time, a position KANE held for 60 years, according to a British film magazine poll of over 800 film critics polled once a decade, Sight & Sound 2012 Polls | BFI | British Film Institute, while NORTH BY NORTHWEST (1959) was a smash hit while Hitchcock was on loan to MGM Studios.  Paramount was looking to recoup their losses from Hitchcock, and when they discovered the crude source material for the film he wanted to make, they balked, refusing to finance his film.  Hitchcock was forced to borrow against his own home and finance the film himself (for about $850,000), putting his career and marriage at great risk, leaving him emotionally and financially spent, considering the continual pressure he was under to deliver a hit.

Hollywood loves these kinds of spoofs on real life, using actors that bear surprising physical resemblances to the real thing, where all one has to do is look at the Best Actor Awards of the last decade, Sean Penn as Harvey Milk in MILK (2008), Forest Whitaker as Idi Amin in THE LAST KING OF SCOTLAND (2006), Philip Seymour Hoffman as Truman Capote in CAPOTE (2005), Jamie Foxx as Ray Charles in RAY (2004), or the more recent attempt by Michelle Williams to play Marilyn Monroe in My Week with Marilyn (2011).  Unlike all of those movies, what makes this one different is the tongue-in-cheek humor expressed throughout, so it’s not so devastatingly serious all the time.  Since Hitchcock himself was possessed with such a delicious wit, this character trait seems to override all his other flaws, which are certainly on display, from the maniacal director who controls every aspect of each shot, to the over-controlling husband who suspects his wife is having an affair, to elements of psychological obsession and absurdity, as Hitchcock is a born sucker for that icy blond that continually eludes him, yet when he’s attempting to grasp how best to shoot his movie, the film literally inhabits him, like ghosts visiting Scrooge, where he often succumbs to an unhealthy dialogue with phantom spirits from his movies.  One might think Hitchcock was in touch with his subconscious, as that’s often such a prominent theme of his films, but with PSYCHO, he was playing with fire, where the devil often got the best of him.  Anthony Hopkins has no problem whatsoever making the transition from Hannibal Lecter to Hitchcock (“Just Hitch, hold the cock”), apparently relishing the perfect enunciation of every syllable, while the blunt outspokenness of Helen Mirren (never shy) is likely nothing at all like the real Alma Reville, Hitchcock’s more reclusive wife who almost always remained publicly behind the scenes, but her ability to match wits and hold the floor with her husband is a nice twist, especially the way she continually tried keeping him on a vegetable diet.  She was, apparently, Hitchcock’s boss when they first met in the London film studios of the 1920’s, with a sharp eye for finding mistakes and inconsistencies in the frame, an expert in both editing and writing, collaborating throughout her lifetime with her husband, though rarely receiving any credit.  

Hitchcock believes the mainstream popularity of his TV show Alfred Hitchcock Presents (1955 – 62) has straightjacketed him into making films that the public expects instead of the kinds of films he wants to make.  One of the more questionable, but amusing aspects of the film is Hitchcock’s interaction with Ed Gein, the notoriously grisly killer upon which PSYCHO, as well as SILENCE OF THE LAMBS (1991), is based, whose continual reappearance suggests Hitchcock’s volatile interior psyche is spilling out onto the surface, where his own insecurities often get the best of him.  Nonetheless, it’s interesting to see how Gein’s mama’s boy personality manifests itself in the squirrelly nature of Anthony Perkins (James D’Arcy).  Scarlett Johansson plays Janet Leigh, apparently grateful to be working with someone other than the equally tyrannical Orson Welles in TOUCH OF EVIL (1958), where Welles put her through Hell, actually breaking her arm during the rehearsals but going ahead with the entire shoot anyway, only to discover she’s getting killed off at about the 45 minute mark in PSYCHO, something unheard of at the time for a lead character.  Johansson is a gamer and maintains her wits about her as another notorious Hitchcock blond, the object of his subconscious desires, where it’s suggested that Jimmy Stewart’s dark psychological disturbance in VERTIGO is the closest one comes to the real life Hitchcock persona.  He was adamantly unforgiving of Vera Miles (Jessica Biel), targeting her as his next star in the lead role in VERTIGO until her pregnancy put an end to that idea, still fuming over the subsequent delays in production costs, treating her coolly on the set, giving her “a thankless role for an utterly thankless girl.”  Toni Collette is almost unrecognizable as Hitchcock’s loyal secretary, and of course the overbearing Paramount producers are seen as the moral hypocrites and cowardly backstabbers that they are.  While the underlying humor is easily the best part, which is something this young director apparently brought to the film, but like most of these biographical portraits, there are flaws galore, like a needless side story with Mirren and Danny Huston that goes nowhere, and a wrongheaded suggestion that the shower scene was somehow saved in the editing room (it wasn’t—give Hitchcock credit for knowing how to shoot a scene), but while somewhat light on substance, it’s entertaining throughout and casts a glow on Hitchcock’s illustrious career, as the picture was enormously successful and instantly changed the face of horror films forever.