A Royal Year

You didn't think I'd not seen it, did you? Five times--and counting--as of yesterday. These are the thoughts I shared with Peggy last October--I all but ran to Regal South Beach, and did the extraordinary (even for me): I saw it twice in one day!

Blame it on my paternal great-grandmother, Charlotte, who--according to my mother--assiduously followed the Almanack of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha:

...saw The Queen twice! You know I'm a die-hard Royalist, P. Can't say enough about it, except that there must be some truth behind it, if Ingrid Seward (Editor, Majesty Magazine) & Robert Lacey (Royal biographer) were listed in the credits. Steven Frears (My Beautiful Laundrette; most recently, Mrs. Henderson Presents) directed this "pseudo" documentary/biopic about one of the pivotal triangles in modern British Royal history: Diana; Tony Blair; and...The Queen. "Can we save these people from themselves?" wails the Prime Minister at one point. According to the movie, he did an interesting turn-around, ending up in awe of the monarchy, as his wife, Cherie, pointedly remarks all Labor Prime Ministers have done. This is due, in no small measure, to...The Queen. And as Helen Mirren portrays her...Ms. Mirren also portrayed Elizabeth I in a highly-acclaimed HBO miniseries this past season that garnered its fair share of Emmys. Will she now add Oscar to her shelf? I think she stands more than a fighting chance.

As you can well imagine, I could have gone on and on, minutely dissecting the whole thing, separating fact from fiction (or attempting to do so, anyway). It was extraordinary: I couldn't leave South Beach without seeing it again. In between, though, I did see Catch A Fire, about a freedom fighter in South Africa; the Boer who catches him; and how justice is ultimately served, just this side of revenge. More understated--and restrained--than The Last King of Scotland. Royals; freedom movements, both botched and successful, in Africa (add a third, in the form of Blood Diamond); and unsolved Hollywood mysteries (Hollywoodland; The Black Dahlia): everything seems to come in twos, during this, the cinematic Noah's Ark of 2006.

New, wide-awake thoughts, as of yesterday: given that Peter Morgan (the screenwriter) so publicly berated Her Majesty during the Globes; given the telling (?) body language, let alone the dialogue--which, even to my novice cinematic-savvy mind--implied that Morgan and Frears worked in tandem...Well, dare I assume that they're as torn as the Prime Minister in their wavering affections toward their sovereign?

I tried to find if I wrote any more about Forest Whitaker's portrayal of Idi Amin in The Last King of Scotland--as you can tell by now, my "reviews" this past year were sometimes sketchy, at best. It was riveting; compelling; and gruesome, all rolled up into one. Not overly keen on international affairs in my early twenties, I, nonetheless, found him fascinating, and repulsive: perhaps he struck a Caribbean-related chord in my more often than not Cuban heart? Just as Jamie Foxx with Ray; and Eddie Murphy with James Brown; Forest Whitaker "channeled" Idi Amin. As for what Helen Mirren did with both Elizabeths? Nothing short of extraordinary.
Both the Globe--and the Oscar--for both of them, I strongly predict.

I'm so proud of myself...

...much more to come regarding the Oscars, but Mark Wahlberg's nomination this morning in the Best Supporting Actor category for his role in The Departed made me especially happy, as...I predicted it!

After yesterday's runaround, I wound up at the Cobb Theaters in Miami Lakes. I just had to see The Departed! He's...ba-a-a-ck! Marty Scorsese elicited great performances from everyone: Leo's getting better and better; Matt played a good villain; Jack was...Jack: serious; funny; tragic; Martin (Sheen) had a low-key, but important, role; Alec (Baldwin) hammed it up within a serious context: it's a given that he's a very versatile performer; and the "sleeper" role went to...Mark Wahlberg (I won't give it away). I get the distinct impression that he picks and chooses his parts very, very carefully, following his career as I have since his Boogie Nights days. Slam-bang! Rene gave it four stars--I heartily concur!

I guess the above constituted a review. You know I'm not keen on blood and guts, P, but when a master is at work--and back on top--I didn't even look away, knowing, all the while, that every spurt, every punch, was there for a reason. It was cops and robbers--or, should I say, cops and mobsters--good. Bravo!

(From an email to Peggy Fisher on Saturday, October 7, 2006.)

Unearthed Treasures?

In preparation to write at least a mini about Letters From Iwo Jima, I had to unearth what I wrote about its mirror image, Flags of Our Fathers, last fall. In the process, I discovered two other treasures (!?) I contributed to Peggy's Seaside Scoop:

Marie Antoinette: Sofia Coppola's parable to try to teach 21st Century Gilded Ones a lesson. Lots of cake; lots of shoes; lots of dogs (sorry, P); exquisite costumes. Sofia has her own pacing: a tad reminiscent of what she did with Lost In Translation. Kirsten Dunst was perfectly cast as the teenaged youngest daughter of Maria Teresa of Austria, who was shipped off to France to marry the Dauphin (and, thus, ensure amicable relations between the two countries). The movie as a whole was mesmerizing; I found Antoinette's "indoctrination" into the French Court particularly fascinating. The movie theater was more or less packed with teenagers, at least some of whom seemed totally oblivious to the historical import...but in a refreshingly naive way. "Why didn't they leave?" I heard one young soul plaintively remark, when the rest of the royal family prepared to leave France in the aftermath of the storming of the Bastille. Why, indeed. To have captured Marie Antoinette's persona in its entirety would have been a formidable feat under any circumstances--Sofia Coppola was brave, bold, and bright enough to effectively narrow her focus.

The Prestige: If you liked The Illusionist, you'll love The Prestige. Deliciously--and devilishly--hard to follow, especially at the end (which is why a Prestige--the third part of a magician's act--is, precisely, that). Both Hugh Jackman and Christian Bale played their bad guy-good guy-oops, which is which? roles to the hilt. Not surprisingly, one of them--namely, Christian Bale--was no stranger to the movie's director: Christopher Nolan, who directed him in Batman Begins. (Nolan also directed the circuitously marvelous Memento.) The great Michael Caine, Scarlett Johansson, and David Bowie--yes, that David Bowie--round out the impressive cast. It's Jackman's and Bale's duel, though, to the end, a feat that they accomplish...brilliantly. One of the year's best.

(And here's all I'd written re: The Illusionist: final "dream" sequence, indeed, especially rewarding: better said w/pictures than w/words. I actually had to see it a second time to fully "get it"--must have been more wide-awake when I saw The Prestige...)

Flags of Our Fathers: Clint Eastwood teamed up with Steven Spielberg to tell the true story of what happened to the soldiers who happened to raise the flag at Iwo Jima at the historical moment that a fellow Marine photographer took their picture. This is a graphic (extremely)--yet subtle--movie that raises questions at the same time that it answers them. Eastwood treats the topic with respect; the ensemble cast--as a whole--acts as they should, including Ryan Philippe as the Navy "Doc" through whose eyes the story is more or less told. I cannot deny that the movie made me feel very sad, at levels that reverberate even in modern times--I wonder if that was Eastwood's (and Spielberg's) ultimate intent?

Letters from Iwo Jima: Clint Eastwood has exquisitely and sensitively captured the essence of "the other"--that is, the Japanese perspective of the circumstances leading up to, including, and the aftermath of the horrific battle of Iwo Jima. Only the cosmopolitan commandant (Ken Watanabe), who'd been presented with a Colt 45 during a farewell dinner held in his honor in the States during the 1930's; as well as a young American soldier captured by his equally young Japanese counterparts, speak in English--the rest of the movie is subtitled. The letters that give the movie its name include not only those unearthed at the end of the movie, when a Japanese war veteran--the "reluctant baker" who, nonetheless, had known it was his duty to defend his homeland and his Emperor--recovers them from their hiding place; but also, the young American soldier's letter from his mother, which Watanabe translates for his soon-to-be-vanquished men. These letters--subtle; poignant in their mundaneness--their...humanity--speak volumes about who--and what--soldiers of all nationalities, in all wars, are: loved ones for those who love them. Bravo, bravo to Clint Eastwood: Ninina needs four popcorn boxes!

What saddened me at the movie theater, during both showings, was the scarcity of people in the audience. Fathers with their sons during Flags; Vietnam-era vets, at least one of whom I noticed had shed a tear or two when we emerged. Elderly couples; the men, perhaps, having been World War II and/or Korean War vets? And one elderly chap who entered and exited with his walker, both times: there must be something about the 4 p.m. show...

Capturing the Essence

Four post-Christmas goodies arrived on our South Florida doorstep this past weekend. (And, from what I've heard, we'll have several more 2006 packages to unwrap before too long.) So much absorption, so little time: Ninina's known for having a nose--let me try to...capture the essence:

The Painted Veil, based on W. Somerset Maugham's novel of the same name, takes place in 1920's China (and was gorgeously shot in southern China's Guangxi Province, with some flashbacks in Shanghai and London). A bacteriologist, archly portrayed with a dark intensity by Edward Norton, decides to undertake a mission to study a cholera outbreak in the mountains...and insists that his flighty, cheating wife, as played by Naomi Watts (in a role that, as Norton's, deftly peels away the layers of the actor's craft), accompany him, or else face the disgrace of being named the culpable party in a divorce suit. We get to see them grow as individuals, at their own pace: Walter eventually thaws out, and is caught off-guard--charmed, actually--by Kitty's humanity. Liev Schreiber portrays Charlie Townsend, the slick diplomat who ensnares the blase Kitty, just right. Toby Jones, who recently so colorfully portrayed Truman Capote in Infamous, plays the neighborly expatriate who unobtrusively observes their ups and downs. The cholera cannot be totally contained, but the human metamorphoses are, indeed, a joy to behold. John Curran (We Don't Live Here Anymore, which also deals with the underpinnings of adulterous relationships, and which also stars Naomi Watts) directed; Norton and Watts were the producers. An exquisite movie. Ninina needs four popcorn boxes.

Alfonso Cuaron's Children of Men is based on P.D. James' book: a post-apocalyptic world view in which geographic boundaries no longer exist, with the exception of a very gray, very dreary, bomb-weary United Kingdom--a Commonwealth-wide Belfast, as it were. Illegal aliens are tightly crammed into cages; police are everywhere, as are rebels, sympathizers, outcasts--you name it--and a think tank named The Human Project. The plot focuses on Theo (a ravaged-looking Clive Owen), a protester turned government drone turned rebel, who reunites with his former flame turned rebel leader, Julian (Julianne Moore), just in time to be handed the guardianship of a young woman, Kee (Claire-Hope Ashitey), who is in a position to renew hope and faith throughout the earth: she alone is pregnant in a world in which women have been rendered sterile over the course of the past 18 years. It is Theo's job to get Kee to The Human Project, to help determine how this miracle occurred. Vivid (yes, in the midst of all this drabness) moments of action, of drama, of betrayal--and, indeed, of tender love, as when Theo's longtime hippie friend, Jasper (played beautifully and with obvious relish by Michael Caine), helps to end his companion's misery by administering a dose of a lethal drug called, Quietus, that the elderly are encouraged to take at the "appropriate" moment in their lives--follow Theo and Kee through their dogged journey to connect with The Human Project. The drabness is scary and oh so real...especially given that the story is set in 2027. Cuaron (of Y Tu Mama Tambien) not only directed, but also co-wrote the screenplay based on James' book. A highly thought-provoking vehicle full of numerous nuances and metaphors. I found the ending to be a bit abrupt, though--just who/what/where is The Human Project, we are left to wonder. At least we know the "why." Ninina needs 3.5 popcorn boxes.

Essence: Tom Tykwer (Run, Lola, Run; also known as a music performer and producer, much along the same lines as McG, the director of the recently released We Are Marshall) has, with the help of two other screenwriters, turned Peter Suskind's bestselling Perfume: The Story of a Murderer into a lengthy, sensual, visual--nay, olfactory--cinematic experience that encompasses both the best and the worst that mankind has to offer. Born under his mother's stall in a fish market, left for dead, the foundling Jean-Baptiste Grenouille proves from the very beginning that he is on this earth for a reason: he has an extraordinary sense of smell. Not only is he born amidst squalor: he continues to dwell in it; to suffer the indignities befitting a poor orphan in 18th century Paris; and to endure grueling hours in a tannery before he gets his first whiff of purity in the form of a redheaded girl who's selling plums. He can never forget her--nor forgive himself--for the rest of his life, which he devotes to the elusive quest of that which he found, and subsequently lost...and that, of course, is love. This European-based production was filmed entirely on location, including in the area surrounding and including Grasse, in France. English-born Ben Whishaw plays the pathetically innocent young man blessed--or is it, cursed?--with such a prodigious nose. Dustin Hoffman has a long cameo as Monsieur Baldini, the perfumier whose glory Jean-Baptiste helps to renew. Alan Rickman plays the role of Antoine Richis, a rich businessman in Grasse who joins in the increasingly frustrating manhunt to catch the serial killer, with a steely determination (until he himself falls victim to Jean-Baptiste's wiles). Everyone in the town is ultimately involved--you have to experience this for yourselves. It is the sacrifice of Laura Richis' (Rachel Hurd-Wood) beauty and purity that closes the circle: Tykwer and his cinematographer leave no room for error. At the end, Jean-Baptiste returns whence he emerged: the fish market. What happens then, is anyone's guess. Enthralling; revolting; gripping. A murder mystery that will have you hanging from the edge of your seat (even if you have to avert your eyes several times). Ninina shudders, but needs, four popcorn boxes.

Notes on a Scandal has to do with loneliness at both ends of the spectrum, and with betrayal at different points along the time continuum of that self-same loneliness. The art teacher, Sheba, innocently--and yet defiantly--portrayed by Cate Blanchett, "has it all": the youth; the looks; the husband; the family. Not that any scenario can be perfect: her husband (played by Bill Nighy with just the right amount of fire when he needs to put it out there) is old enough to have been her teacher (which he was); they have a Down's syndrome child. However--and/or, should I say, because of it--she's drawn to one of her students, a beguiling sixteen-year-old with whom she engages in a torrid affair. New at the school, Sheba quickly befriends Barbara, the curmudgeonly spinster history teacher who lives with her cat and writes endlessly in journals she's kept for many years. Barbara listens to Sheba; learns her dirty secret; gets to know her family; becomes entangled in her web--and vice versa. For she has an agenda of her own...Judi Dench's portrayal of a woman so consumed with destroying someone else's life, just because she does not have a life of her own, is both enthralling and chilling to behold. Sir Richard Eyre (Iris) directed; Patrick Marber (who wrote both the play and the screenplay for Closer) wrote the screenplay, based on Zoe Heller's book. A gripping watch, especially considering the formidable talents of the two leading ladies. Ninina needs 3.75 popcorn boxes.