Thursday, January 28, 2010

Adoration

It seems we’ll have to wait a bit longer for Atom Egoyan’s best work. Egoyan has promised so much with his earlier films, such as The Sweet Hereafter and Exotica; both of them fine films, but always struck me as the work of a director who could go that little bit further and create a really great film. Adoration isn’t even close to that. Nevertheless, it is an interesting piece of cinema that provokes issues of identity, perception, grief and loss among more obvious themes. It doesn’t deal with them in a satisfactory way – but I don’t think that was Egoyan’s point.

Adoration tells the story of Simon (Devon Bostick), who is encouraged by one of his teachers, Sabine (Arsinee Khanjian), to develop a classroom written exercise into an autobiographical performance. Simon lives with his Uncle, Tom (Scott Speedman), who has been guardian to the boy since a dramatic incident involving his parents. We are introduced to this incident in the film’s opening private scene between Simon and his grandfather on his deathbed relating the details of the event. It is this incident that Simon expresses in a very public way: first in front of his classmates, which then extends and spreads virally outwards to an Internet audience.

As always with Egoyan the truth is much more than in the telling, the viewer becomes implicit in the misleading stories as the structure of the film prods the audience into making false assumptions. Egoyan’s strategic withholding of information is not simply a means of creating cinematic tension and a way of justifying the ends of narrative revelation; it’s more a case of allowing the story to untwine in its own particular way. As a result, it’s best not to approach the film seeking some sort of conventional narrative structure; but rather take it for what it is, warts and all.

The film itself is very much a game of two halves as it shifts from its initial external preoccupation with technology to its final internal preoccupation with emotion as Simon (and those around him) ventures out on a physical journey of self-discovery. This works dramatically, but is frustrating as it prohibits any real exploration of themes that are established, and are then abandoned.

The film’s lack of narrative drive and strained coincidences that upset the norms of storytelling do prove frustrating and the plot gets caught up in its own convoluted web. The film is not a story that opens itself up and then offers closure in the traditional sense of mainstream cinema. Egoyan throws so many ideas into the space of one and a bit hours and doesn’t drive them home – suggesting them rather than seeking to explore them. Although the film never reaches the height of its ambition; if you are able to control your annoyance at the film’s sense of self-importance, take wince-inducing dialogue, suspend all disbelief, and accept how certain things connect (!), you’ll find something of interest in this film. Irritating as it is at times, it is an oddly compelling experience. And there is a funny scene involving sandwich-induced rage – always a good thing.

Adoration is an intriguing (and beautifully photographed), if flawed piece of cinema. And, as is often the case with Egoyan, it’s difficult to imagine any other director making this kind of film. Whether that’s a good thing or not is up to you…

Friday, January 22, 2010

Friday, January 8, 2010

It Might Get Loud


It Might Get Loud is a rockumentary that brings together 3 generations of iconic axe-wielding poster boys.

There is Jimmy Page, who banged out vicious riffs with the then cock-strutting Tolkien warbling of Robert Plant, the groove crunching bass manoeuvring of John Paul Jones, all revved up by the immaculate power drumming of John Bonham, in what was the monolithic Led Zeppelin.

Then there is The Edge (played by David Evans), who has created a brand of sonic timbre-loving delayed guitar playing, along with the homunculur, phalacrophobic prophet The Bono (Paul Hewson), master of fills and drum rolls Larry Mullen, and Adam Clayton, in what is the soundtrack-to-RTÉ’s
Reeling In The Years band U2.

And finally, there is Jack White, the troubled Zero Coke-advertising highfaluterer along with his sister Meg playing the drums like the offspring of T. Rex’s drummer MickeyFinn and
The Muppets’ Animal, in what is every indie kid’s dream pop-combo, The White Stripes.

All three are brought together to offer their various opinions and personal histories of the guitar. As they each begin to describe what the guitar means to them, it becomes obvious how each of their own particular styles of play developed. Page wants to make love to it; White wants to fight it; and The Edge wants to splash it with make-up and dress it up right fancy.

White and The Edge come from opposing corners – White berating technology for killing the soul of music, The Edge embracing it in an effort to see how far he can push music. Page lies in the middle and comes from that school of thought that there are only two types of music: good and bad. The heart of the film is really their individual stories and the point of the film (i.e. bringing them together) is surprisingly quite muted and makes for the dullest sections. But, despite their differences, there’s no doubting the mutual respect they have for one another as guitarists and (probably to the detriment of the film) they don’t come to blows. I’d say The Edge would surprise you here and kick seven shades of shite out of the other two.

During the course of the film, there are individual moments of reflection on the guitarists’ memories of music. There’s a great moment where Page goes through his vinyl collection and the camera catches his unfettered pleasure as he puts on Link Wray’s 1958 blues instrumental ‘Rumble’ – you see his passion for the guitar as he can’t stop smiling as the distortion and feedback kick in and build. Beyond being a musician, he is first and foremost a lover of music. White comes alive talking about the blues musician Son House; and anyone familiar with him knows exactly where White is coming from.

The Edge’s best scene is where he strips himself of all the technology and shows you exactly what he’s playing that gets that amazing sound when its sent through the myriad of effects. I warmed much more to the man at this point. His sense of humour deserves more exposure. It’s always admirable when an Emperor is comfortable in his nakedness.

As a piece of cinema, the film lacks a coherent narrative and suffers from a rather superficial examination of its subject. Nevertheless,
It Might Get Loud serves its purpose well enough. There's enough moments to make this a worthwhile piece, and it’s good to see this type of documentary extend its scope to cinema. Guggenheim, its director, avoids falling into too much of the muso trap, so there’s enough good stuff here for the layperson to enjoy as well. Yet, throughout it all, although it is interesting to hear them talk; rather like the FatherTed ‘Song For Europe’ episode, you keep finding yourself roaring, ‘Just play the fucking note…play the fucking note.’

Thursday, January 7, 2010

It’s Complicated


Nancy Meyers is not your typical Hollywood director, i.e. male churning out pre-pubescent fodder for overindulged mall malingerers. Meyers makes mature fodder for groups of overindulged mall consumers. Her romantic comedies involve the lifestyles of the rich and embrace that tired cliché of a woman endeavouring to find completion (i.e. a man) in her life.

In 2000, Meyers, gave us What Women Want. In 2006, it was Something's Gotta Give. Now in 2010, Meyer’s has It's Complicated, a romantic comedy featuring Meryl Streep and Alec Baldwin.

Streep plays Jane Adler, a divorced 60ish restaurant owner, who, after a few drinks, hops in the sack with Jake, her ex (Baldwin) and rediscovers her mojo. They flirt with each other and with the idea of reconciliation. The trouble is, there’s a few stereotypes on the periphery. Jake’s now married to a thirtysomething loot-foraging ballbreaker (Lake Bell) and Jane’s in the throes of dating Mr. Nice Guy (Steve Martin). You guessed it – it’s complicated. Surely she won’t lose her chance to find future love by boozing her way to former lust?

Obviously it is to Meyer’s credit that she is making films for a certain demographic, but this could have been so much more than the anaemic, anodyne effort it is. There are some half-decent one-liners along the way, some playful banter and a few laughs provided by Baldwin hamming it up. There was always something about Alec Baldwin that made me think of him as a natural candidate for comedy. Streep has always shone in comic roles but is limited by the fatuous whimsy she’s given here. And her character never extends beyond being defined by the men in her life. Depressingly, Steve Martin again plays his post-career role of the emasculated lackey. I don’t know what’s happened to him; but his eyes seem to have disappeared. Perhaps some Faustian deal – ‘you give me money for old rope and I give you my eyes…’

Meyer’s one-track writing of well-to-do fantasy females searching for love in a lavishly constructed ideal of suburban America fails to rise up above the flashes of potential Streep and Baldwin provide. Meyer’s script takes no risks and plods along eventually disappearing up its own botoxed backside.

And yet, there’s a deeper-lying problem at work here.

Manohla Dargis, the NY Times film critic, recently said of Mamma Miathat ‘it’s a terrible movie…but women are starved for representation of themselves.’ Dargis argues that the Hollywood system is a ‘no win situation for women filmmakers.’

There aren’t enough fingers on your hand to list the female directors working in Hollywood, despite their ‘resurgence’ in 2009. Bigelow is one of the most interesting and, of course, the major exception in that she directs action movies. Meyers exists solely in that comfort zone of romantic comedy. Hell, it’s even a genre that the men rule the roost in nowadays with the likes of Judd Apatow’s perverse reimagining of them for men to embrace. So there’s something rotten in the state of Hollywood. And sadly Meyers, and It’s Complicated, is part of the problem rather than the solution.