A Romance That'll Drive You 'Crazy'

by Brett Parker

Like Crazy purports to be an honest look at genuine love pummeled by the hardships of life, but from where I sit, its about a miserable dude who doesn’t know what he wants in life and puts not one, but two beautiful women through emotional hell because of it. And since the one girl poised to be the love of his life is as close to a modern-day Audrey Hepburn as you’re most likely to find, you wonder what the hell his problem is. Perhaps he holds some of the same issues Clint Eastwood highlighted in J. Edgar Hoover? Here’s a movie that wants to hold the final word on young romance in a post-millennial world, yet finding out what exactly that word is turns pretty befuddling pretty fast.

The film tells the story of Anna (Felicity Jones) and Jacob (Anton Yelchin), college students who first meet in Los Angeles. Anna is a British exchange student studying journalism in the states. Jacob is a design student who hopes to design chairs one day. After encountering him in one of her classes, Anna gives Jacob her phone number and the two begin a courtship of infatuation which consists of conversations over coffee, montages at the beach, and plenty of pillow talk. Anna falls so hard for Jacob that she decides to overstay her visa and spend the summer with him before returning to the U.K.

This decision turns out to bring serious consequences to their relationship. Overstaying your visa is a big no-no with immigration officials, so when Anna returns months later to visit Jacob, she is denied entry into the U.S. Anna is so in love with Jacob that she’s determined to find a way for them to be together. So Jacob visits her in England, but seems reluctant to move his entire life over to another country. Jacob tries marrying her into America, but immigration rules don’t exactly make it that simple. Fate keeps tearing these youngsters apart, and the fact that they occasionally fall into the arms of other lovers doesn’t exactly help matters either. Both parties wonder (and so does the audience) if this delicate love is meant to last in the real world.

There are some movies that are such realistic slices-of-life that you wonder why they even bother being movies in the first place. Director Drake Doremus wishes to strip a young romance down to such a nitty-gritty, naturalistic style that you wonder why he just didn’t hire a documentary crew to follow a real-life couple around. Even then, he’d probably get more livelier dialogue out of that couple instead of the one he’s got here. Jones and Yelchin reportedly improvised their own dialogue based on broad outlines, but nothing they say reveals any true wit or imagination. The result is like endlessly watching that lovey-dovey couple you used to hang with in college, and how entertaining is that? The film lacks the finesse and inventiveness of smart romantic fiction.

So the set-up is True Love facing difficult obstacles, but the uneasy realization that Jacob may not be fully-invested in the relationship harmfully contradicts the initial tone of the film, and not in a terribly insightful way either. Jacob is curiously reluctant to say “i love you” back to Anna for reasons that are never made clear. There’s really no tangible reason why Jacob can’t move to the U.K. so they can live happily ever after, yet he quietly dismisses such an idea. Even after getting married doesn’t get Anna into America, Jacob instantly goes running back to his blonde and leggy ex-girlfriend (Jennifer Lawrence) he went to the last time Anna and him were having issues.

The film leaves us clueless as to what makes Jacob so special in the first place. He’s a self-absorbed mope who doesn’t know what he truly wants and doesn’t have the courtesy to inform the women in his life about this realization. He holds no wit, minimal charm, and no emotional stability. The only thing he’s passionate about is his chair-making business, but even that seems like a contrived trait cooked up by desperate screenwriters. The film makes it very clear that Anna is the pursuer in this relationship, but we can’t figure out for the life of us what she sees in this guy. The biggest mystery within the film is how such a humorless downer of a man could pull both Felicity Jones and Jennifer Lawrence into his orbit (life must be so tough, right?). I have nothing against Yelchin, but not even Paul Newman could act like this with women and expect to get away with it.

At least the performances are spot on though, and not even ill-conceived characters can bring these performers down. Felicity Jones proves to be a real treasure here. With a winning smile and a fragile beauty, you can see why any man would cross an ocean for her. In a time when phony screen-love can be dangerous for any action, she completely sells us on deep romantic-yearning, even if the guy she’s yearning for isn’t worth a damn. A scene where she empties her emotions on a phone-call to Jacob, proclaiming how desperately she needs him, truly is gut-wrenching and touching. And for as useless as I found the Jacob character, I must say that Anton Yelchin is more relaxed here than he is in most films. Yelchin has always come packed with a built-in sensitivity that makes it hard not to like the everyman characters he typically inhabits. I must admit that his gifts here make Jacob less insufferable than he probably deserves to be.

Aside from the performances, and some impressive editing by Jonathan Alberts, theres really nothing of any true substance to take away from this film. There are certain arthouse zealots who reject any traces of commerciality in their art and think that true cinema is films that are as realistic as humanly possible without any technical bells and whistles at all (which is sort of a contradiction when you think about it, for movies inherently can never be real life, ya know?). Those people will probably find much pleasure in this film, although Blue Valentine, a more realized and intelligent flick on the same idea, is actually the movie they’re looking for. Believe me, I can appreciate a film that observes the downside of relationships, but when the characters’ actions defy reason, empathy, and true heart, things can be more baffling than insightful.

Getting to Know 'Marilyn'

by Brett Parker

Its not difficult to see how perhaps Colin Clark lionized one of the most noteworthy passages of his entire life. In two of his memoirs, he claimed to have an affair with Marilyn Monroe while working as an assistant on her film, The Prince and the Showgirl. A glamourous movie star cozying up to a low-level assistant is the kind of fantasy only a rabid romantic could conceive of, or perhaps even a Hollywood screenwriter (which can be the same thing sometimes). Watching My Week with Marilyn, the film adaptation of Clark’s memoirs, one realizes that it doesn’t really matter how true his story is or not. For he arrives at the very same conclusions about Monroe that most modern cinephiles have: she was a breathtaking bombshell who concealed a quiet dignity, a crushing vulnerability, and an enigmatic inner-life.

The film follows the events that took place during the 1956 summer filming of The Prince and the Showgirl, a Studio concotion produced, directed, and starring Sir Laurence Olivier (Kenneth Branagh). Colin Clark (Eddie Redmayne), a privileged young chap with a love for the movies, finds his way onto the film’s set as a glorified errand boy, thrilled to be working on a major studio picture. Through his eyes, we see how him and everyone else on the set was entranced by the film’s dazzling star, Marilyn Monroe (Michelle Williams). With her sex-kitten mystique and bouncy charms, its not hard to see how anyone on that set could resist falling in love with her. Yet tensions arrive as Olivier grows frustrated with Marilyn’s notorious flakiness with lines and tardiness. While she undoubtedly held an electrifying screen presence, Monroe wasn’t the most secure with herself as a serious actress and felt intimidated in the presence of an acting legend such as Olivier.

In the midst of Monroe’s increasing vulnerability, Clark finds himself striking up a curious friendship with the movie star. Marilyn frequently begins requesting his presence whenever she’s feeling down, and pretty soon she's whisking him away to her countryside cottage for a getaway. After heavy flirtation and a bout of skinny dipping, Clark starts to convince himself that he just might be the guy Marilyn’s been looking for, in spite of her famous husband, Arthur Miller (Dougray Scott). But pretty soon, the rest of the cast and crew catches on and warns Clark relentlessly that such a movie star will only break his heart. Clark himself also sees the crushing anguish and severe depression that lurks beneath Monroe’s beauty, not helped much by her constant pill-popping. How far can their “courtship” realistically go? Does Clark have what it takes to reach Marilyn as a person?

In telling the story of how a classical Monroe picture was made, My Week with Marilyn slightly takes on a classical Hollywood tone itself. Although showbiz stories can have a certain stuffiness about them, Director Simon Curtis pours a wide-eyed innocence into the tone, completely turning the camera’s gaze into Clark’s giddy own. This heart-bursting romanticism may come as a jolt to an era that knows nearly all of Hollywood’s inside dope, but it sure keeps the plot breezy and snappy. We quickly realize that a more sobering tone could make this seemingly tall-tale more insufferable and take the air right out of Clark’s claims. His sunny optimism absorbs the film’s membrane so much that even if you don’t believe he romanced Monroe, you believe that his situation was spellbinding enough to inspire two memoirs.

Its easy to see how Clark’s gaga naivety could grow corny on a modern audience that knows well enough not to trust a movie star at first sight, so its rather impressive that Eddie Redmayne sells us so much on the character. With a strapping joy that avoids being pathetic, Redmayne brings as much sensibility to Clark’s wild desires as possible, gaining a surprising sympathy as he tries to convince Marilyn, and himself really, that they can run off and be happy together. Another welcome surprise is Branagh’s performance as Olivier, one that superbly showcases the humility and inadequacies within the thespian-god image we remember him for.

Playing Marilyn Monroe seems like such an impossible task because she was such a one-of-a-kind creature (in spite of Tony Curtis’ claims). To dismiss Monroe as a simple blonde is to admit that you’ve been worked over by a magician without noticing any slight-of-hand tricks. She had the curvaceous come-on of a sex object yet possessed an unmistakable feminine independence. She had a bubbly comic persona paired with a self-contained intelligence. Very few actresses with a pin-up body had such precise calculation and exuberant command of the screen. So its some kind of miracle that Michelle Williams embodies Marilyn so flawlessly. Not only does she bear an erie resemblance to the icon, but she nails every single mannerism we remember from her screen image, all while masterfully hinting at the undercurrents of depression that plagued her heart. The beauty here is that you quit that biopic habit of grading the performance with a red pen and just fully accept that you’re staring at Marilyn. Even the most die-hard of Monroe obsessives have to admit that Williams delivers all the goods you could possibly hope for.

Whats ironical here is that watching men fall head-over-heels for Marilyn hints at why most men never really understand most women in the first place. With Monroe, men projected onto her their hopes, desires, and fantasies without really stopping to regard the true human being underneath it all. When you project idealism onto a person, its more a reflection of your needs for the person instead of what that individual actually wants for themselves. Even Clark, who passionately believes he loves Marilyn, maybe more concerned with the idea of being her romantic hero than digging into the depths of her troubled soul. The biggest insight the film delivers is how men so desperately wanted to see Marilyn as a movie star, a sex fantasy, a business product, and a romantic ideal instead of the lost, helpless woman she truly was.

If you consider yourself something of a dedicated Marilyn Monroe scholar, you’ll probably know more about her than the film reveals here. But you can’t help but notice how phenomenal Williams’ performance is and how tactfully the script handles Monroe’s legacy. For average moviegoers, the jolly behind-the-scenes peak at classical studio filmmaking will be damn near irresistible to them. Especially considering how limiting and tiresome a showbiz-weary cynical version of the same story would be. There are virtually no bad reasons to simply regard Marilyn Monroe, a fact Michelle Williams all too wonderfully reminds us of.

A Boneheaded 'Heist'

by Brett Parker

While no one will ever mistake Brett Ratner for Orson Welles, I must admit that I have a certain fondness for the man’s films. The major crimes he’s been charged with by most cinephiles is his broad tastes for commercial formulas and the lack of any depth, or even focus, in his execution. But I find that in his sloppiness, a certain liveliness and color comes shining through in a way that a more serious director would be too self-reserved to let loose. While his empty romps are predictable from start-to-finish, that usually doesn’t stop him from dishing out nifty character bits, outrageous gags, and inspired uses of pop music. With formulaic trash, you have to find the fun wherever you can, and Ratner isn’t without a few treats in his bag.

His latest film, Tower Heist, reeks with crowd-pleasing studio calculation. We’re talking big stars in a big heist film, with a New York City backdrop and working-class timeliness to burn. In this time we call the Great Recession, with working-class protestors occupying Wall Street, Ratner is clearly hoping to dish out a blue collar Ocean’s Eleven, with a big entertainment that speaks to the hardships of the masses. Yet in trying to nail a sociological empathy, I’m afraid Ratner ends up limiting Tower Heist from the cockeyed fun he’s typically at ease with. The film is seriously lacking in comic inspiration and it doesn’t help matters that the film’s big heist is too clumsy and preposterous to stand on its own feet. Of course asking for clever wittiness in a Brett Ratner flick is like asking for no violence in a Quentin Tarantino film, but given Ratner’s adolescent need to please, as well as the fact that the screenwriters here were responsible for some of the finest crime capers to ever grace the screen, we expected a little more than what we’re ultimately given.

The film takes place in “the Tower,” a luxury high-rise residence that bears a thinly-veiled resemblance to the real life Trump Tower. Josh Kovacs (Ben Stiller) is the building manager who looks after all of the staff and rich residents who make up the Tower. The wealthiest resident is Arthur Shaw (Alan Alda), a Wall Street businessman who once helped Josh put his staff’s pension plan into a lucrative investment opportunity. This proves to be a troublesome decision the day its revealed by FBI Agent Claire Dunham (Tea Leoni) that Shaw is being investigated for a Ponzi scheme and all of the Staff’s investments are perhaps lost for good.

Depressed and devastated by his mistaken judgement, Josh grows desperate for a way to make things right for his staff. Agent Dunham lets it slip that Shaw may have millions of dollars secretly stashed away in his apartment. This allows Josh to hatch a plan: he’ll enlist the aid of his disgruntled staff, which includes his brother-in-law (Casey Affleck), the bellhop (Michael Pena), the Jamaican maid (Gabourey Sidibe), and a bankrupted squatter (Matthew Broderick), to help rob Shaw’s apartment. Since Josh’s crew appears to be incompetent as criminal masterminds, he also enlists the aid of a neighborhood criminal (Eddie Murphy) to help teach his staff the art of the steal. With this ragtag group of would-be thieves, Josh dives headfirst into a plot to rob Shaw’s penthouse, yielding outrageous and life-threatening results.

Its obvious this film wants to play on the working class stresses of most moviegoers, as well as the duped enragement of Bernie Madoff victims, to deliver a wish-fulfillment fantasy of sticking it to greedy big wigs. The problem is that the filmmakers play all this up without any insight whatsoever. They keep highlighting blue collar grievances without articulating the mechanisms or personal afflictions that come with such a situation. Nor is any of the characters’ hardships used for significant laughs. Little-people scrappiness and yearnings for revenge can be aptly harnessed for hilarious laughs, but the film does very little to even get a snicker out of this angle.

We at least look forward to the climactic heist scene being a complicated spectacle, but it turns out to be one of the sloppiest and dumbest heist scenes I can remember. Most cinematic swindles are preposterous by definition, since rarely could they actually happen in the real world, but at least most filmmakers create their own precise logic and shrewd calculation to make them feel involving. The big heist here is completely useless, skirting between tired slapstick and vapid burlesque. The details of the heist prove highly vague and implausible, and the main characters, except for one, don’t appear to have any visible skills or humorous personality traits that would serve them in a giant scheme. Of course the film is trying to (ineptly) poke fun at well-calculated heist flicks, but considering that Ted Griffin wrote Ocean’s Eleven, one of the finest heist films ever made, and Jeff Nathanson wrote Catch Me If You Can, one of the finest con capers in film history, its shocking how little brain power they show when they wrote this script together.

The big news with this film is the return of Eddie Murphy in a role that can showcase his edgy humor and allow him to, you know, swear quite a bit. Unfortunately, Murphy’s outing proves to be mediocre at best. His role is a victim of diminished screen time-a lot smaller than advertised-and a lack of powerhouse one-liners. Aside from a hilarious bit about lesbians, Murphy’s role doesn’t deliver the big laughs we expected. I think the problem is that Murphy’s street-wise criminal is made into too much of a zany weirdo where as most of Murphy’s best material pits him as the Smartest Man in the Room who has the stones and resourcefulness to tell off the bozos surrounding him.

Although Murphy fumbles, the rest of the cast skillfully conveys a delicate balance between working world anxiety and comfortable comic charm. Stiller brings a nice tension and weight to his usual shtick of a befuddled fool, although I wish his unhinged zaniness busted out here a lot more. Of course Alan Alda could teach a master class on loathsome condensation and pretty much does so here. Matthew Broderick does his best work in years as a canned-and-penniless Wall Street Insider who masks a lived-in intelligence under a shell-shocked self-pity. Tea Leoni is surprisingly lively as an FBI Agent, proving that she's at her most fun when she works with Ratner. And it must be said that Michael Pena playing a lovable goofball here gets more laughs than Murphy does.

Since Ratner has indulged in a bromance (Rush Hour), a crime procedural (Red Dragon), a star-wattage ensemble (X-Men: the Last Stand), a silly romp (Money Talks), and a heist flick (After the Sunset), even the most bitter cynics could hope that Ratner has grown as a filmmaker and could put everything he’s garnered into Tower Heist and make it an absolute blast. But even a casual fan like myself, who fully braced himself for a mindless romp, can’t help but notice what an empty experience this flick turns out to be. While most audience members may take some pleasure in the sticking-it-to-corporate-greed subtext, too many moviegoers will be rolling their eyes over the action and yearning desperately for more laughs.