A Mighty Wind (IMDB) (Netflix)
A fix for those of you impatiently awaiting the next PBS pledge drive. Mockumentarians Christopher Guest, Eugene Levy and pals (This Is Spinal Tap, Best in Show and Waiting for Guffman) have their satirical way with folk music, the device being a hastily arranged live reunion concert of washed-up groups from the 60s. Kindof a "we're gettin' the band back together," three times over.
Success in this genre-ette requires balancing exaggeration with verisimilitude, ridicule with affection, and objectivity with thematic punch. And while it doesn't break much ground in the process, "Wind" achieves these happy media quite gracefully, amid sweater vests, dickies, balding pates and over-compensatory facial hair. Levy is the standout as troubled sweet soul Mitch Cohen of Mitch & Micky fame, closely followed by Fred Willard as the shamelessly crass promoter, shamelessly reprising his shamelessly crass commentator moves from "Best in Show." Just what the psychiatrist might have ordered.
Friday, April 11, 2003
The Good Thief (IMDB) (Netflix)
Nick Nolte is the title character, Bob, a washed-up junkie with a gambling habit (no, this isn't Nolte's life story). After losing big at the track, he's seduced by the opportunity for a big score in Monte Carlo, and befriends an oh-so-precocious girl of loose morals (introducing the devastating Nutsa Kukhianidze). It's a complicated scam, with a multitude of feints and misdirection thrown at the cops, who seem to be more interested in preventing the heist than putting Nolte in jail because, you see, he may be a crook, but they've grown accustomed to his craggy face. Think "Ocean's Eleven: The Noir."
And a stylish and stylized one it is, acknowledging the genre without being formulaic, juiced with plenty of snappy throwaway dialogue. Kukhianidze's lines are wise too far beyond her years, but she's got a presence that almost pulls them off. Director Neil Jordan, best known for The Crying Game, has remade Bob Le Flambeur as a Hollywood feel-good piece disguised under a gritty, sensual shell. There's no small amount of deus ex machina in the plotting, but done with enough humor that you really don't mind, and the score bounces things along (the Leonard Cohen songs evoke a Nolte-with-voice-lessons feel). Fellow watcher Janet says "competent," I say "lotta fun."
Nick Nolte is the title character, Bob, a washed-up junkie with a gambling habit (no, this isn't Nolte's life story). After losing big at the track, he's seduced by the opportunity for a big score in Monte Carlo, and befriends an oh-so-precocious girl of loose morals (introducing the devastating Nutsa Kukhianidze). It's a complicated scam, with a multitude of feints and misdirection thrown at the cops, who seem to be more interested in preventing the heist than putting Nolte in jail because, you see, he may be a crook, but they've grown accustomed to his craggy face. Think "Ocean's Eleven: The Noir."
And a stylish and stylized one it is, acknowledging the genre without being formulaic, juiced with plenty of snappy throwaway dialogue. Kukhianidze's lines are wise too far beyond her years, but she's got a presence that almost pulls them off. Director Neil Jordan, best known for The Crying Game, has remade Bob Le Flambeur as a Hollywood feel-good piece disguised under a gritty, sensual shell. There's no small amount of deus ex machina in the plotting, but done with enough humor that you really don't mind, and the score bounces things along (the Leonard Cohen songs evoke a Nolte-with-voice-lessons feel). Fellow watcher Janet says "competent," I say "lotta fun."
Tuesday, April 08, 2003
Phone Booth (IMDB) (Netflix)
Nothing good ever came from answering a public phone; it's a no-good-deed-goes-unpunished phenomenon. Colin Farrell does just that, however, and he's going to have a very bad day, provided by Kiefer Sutherland, the voice on the other end. A public relations flack of the lowest order, Farrell covets other women and manipulates clients, media types and employees with equal disdain. Sutherland is a wrathful avenger who also can play the game, and he's got Farrell in his sights—literally—as his next morality remediation project.
This flick is a delayed showcase for Farrell, 9/11 having made the idea of a Manhattan street being terrorized a little too painful. He proves here that he can act his way out of a phone booth (sorry), if only the length of the receiver cord (apparently constraints do indeed set you free). We only get to hear Sutherland, who uses those deep, voiceover-friendly tones to menace Farrell mercilessly toward humiliation and possible redemption. In addition to the taut, streamlined plot, there are decent-but-unmemorable supporting performances by Forest Whitaker as the unusually perceptive police captain, Rahda Mitchell as the wife and Katie Holmes as the covetee, and some bad writing for the "lets just shoot him" role. Given the narrow focus of the piece, the crisp 80-minute run time is both wise and appreciated, and perhaps the start of a well-needed trend.
Nothing good ever came from answering a public phone; it's a no-good-deed-goes-unpunished phenomenon. Colin Farrell does just that, however, and he's going to have a very bad day, provided by Kiefer Sutherland, the voice on the other end. A public relations flack of the lowest order, Farrell covets other women and manipulates clients, media types and employees with equal disdain. Sutherland is a wrathful avenger who also can play the game, and he's got Farrell in his sights—literally—as his next morality remediation project.
This flick is a delayed showcase for Farrell, 9/11 having made the idea of a Manhattan street being terrorized a little too painful. He proves here that he can act his way out of a phone booth (sorry), if only the length of the receiver cord (apparently constraints do indeed set you free). We only get to hear Sutherland, who uses those deep, voiceover-friendly tones to menace Farrell mercilessly toward humiliation and possible redemption. In addition to the taut, streamlined plot, there are decent-but-unmemorable supporting performances by Forest Whitaker as the unusually perceptive police captain, Rahda Mitchell as the wife and Katie Holmes as the covetee, and some bad writing for the "lets just shoot him" role. Given the narrow focus of the piece, the crisp 80-minute run time is both wise and appreciated, and perhaps the start of a well-needed trend.
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