5/10/15: A Real Wild Child

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2015 Academy Awards, 87th Annual Academy Awards, abusive childhood, Art Alexakis, based on a book, based on a true story, Best Actress nominee, Best Supporting Actress nominee, brother-sister relationships, casual sex, Cathryn de Prume, Cheryl Strayed, cinema, Dallas Buyers Club, dead mother, director-editor, dramas, drug addiction, dysfunctional marriage, film reviews, films, flashback narrative, flashbacks, Gaby Hoffmann, grief, hiking, infidelity, isolation, Jean-Marc Vallee, Keene McRae, Kevin Rankin, Laura Dern, Martin Pensa, memoir, mother-daughter relationships, Movies, multiple editors, Nick Hornby, Oscar nominee, overcoming adversity, Pacific Crest Trail, Reese Witherspoon, self-discovery, self-help, self-improvement, set in 1990s, sex addiction, Wild, Yves Bélanger

Author C.S. Lewis once described grief as “like a long valley, a winding valley where any bend may reveal a totally new landscape.” While this is certainly a poetic and serene way to look at it, I’ve always equated the emotion with something older and a bit more mythological, personally. As far as I’m concerned, grief is a hydra: cut off one head and numerous ones sprout up to take its place. In order to truly overcome grief, one needs to get right to the heart of the matter…trying to tackle each individual feeling, each moment of pain, sorrow and heartbreak is as pointless a task as Hercules trying to sever each individual head, only for two more to grow back. In order to truly overcome grief, one must confront the inciting incident head on: emotional honesty, no matter how painful, is the only true way out.

When Cheryl Strayed started out on her 1,100-mile trek down the Pacific Crest Trail, from Mexico to Canada, she was motivated by grief: after losing her beloved mother to cancer, Strayed spiraled into a mess of drug addiction, marital infidelity and self-destructive behavior, culminating in the realization that she either had to get better or risk a complete and total meltdown. Her intensely arduous undertaking (difficult for an expert hiker, all but impossible for a complete novice like Cheryl) would begin as a way to find some sort of peace in her life but would end with her finding something more important: herself. In the hands of French filmmaker Jean-Marc Vallee, Strayed’s journey comes to vivid life with Wild (2014), based on her memoir of he experience. While the story is an interesting rumination on grief, the film ends up being disjointed and rather rote, a decided step down from Vallee’s previous effort, the similarly Oscar-nominated Dallas Buyers Club (2013).

Employing a flashback structure, Wild starts us in the “present day” (June 1995), as Cheryl (Reese Witherspoon) is just beginning her incredibly long hike, before jumping us backwards to get a sense of the events that led up to her decision. We see her relationship with her hard-working, single mother, Bobbi (Laura Dern) and younger brother, Leif (Keene McRae)…we see Cheryl and Bobbi taking college classes together…we see Bobbi diagnosed with a particularly vicious form of cancer…and, of course, we see Cheryl’s life collapse around her after the death of her mother. Falling into a toxic combo of drug addiction (first smoking, then snorting, finally shooting smack), casual sex with strangers (particularly troublesome given her current married status) and self-hatred, Cheryl seems doomed, burning alive by the intense heat of her own grief.

After hitting rock bottom, Cheryl makes the spur of the moment decision that would end up changing her entire life: she decides to hike all 1,000+miles of the Pacific Crest Trail, alone, with no previous hiking experience. Her (now ex-) husband, Paul (Thomas Sadoski), is cautiously supportive. Her best friend, Aimee (Gaby Hoffmann) thinks she’s nuts. Regardless, Cheryl sets out on her journey with no idea of what she’s doing, a pack that’s at least five times heavier than it should be and more determination than a small city. Along the way, Cheryl will see plenty of natural beauty, run into a few natural hazards and meet lots of interesting folks, including fellow hikers, a kindly farmer, a reporter for the “Hobo Times,” sinister hunters and a Grateful Dead cover band. She’ll learn to rely on herself and the kindness of strangers but she’ll also learn an even more important lesson: no matter how white-hot the pain of grief may be, life does, in fact, go on. Sometimes, all we can do is go along for the ride and see where it takes us.

As a story, Wild has an almost irresistible pull: there’s something primal and inherently satisfying about watching a damaged, fractured human being take a healing journey, especially when the backdrop is the awe-inspiring beauty of the great outdoors. Witherspoon does a great job bringing Cheryl to life, making the cinematic version feel like a real, flesh-and-blood person as opposed to just a character. As usual, Witherspoon is an all-in performer: in order to fully appreciate Cheryl’s redemption, we need to see her degradation and Witherspoon holds nothing back, whatsoever, resulting in one of her rawest roles since Freeway (1996). While I didn’t think that her performance in Wild was the very best of last year, it certainly deserved the Oscar nomination and proves, if nothing else, that she continues to defy the expectations imposed on “mainstream” Hollywood starlets by the industry, as a whole.

While Witherspoon’s performance is typically strong, however, the film is a lot more problematic, in general. My biggest complaint comes via Vallee’s flashback structure, which ends up doing two things, neither of which seems desired: it tends to make the narrative unnecessarily confusing (in particular, the timeline seems all over the place) and makes the film feel like more of a series of vignettes than a cohesive whole. For the most part, the film breaks down thusly: Cheryl walks around, flashes back to drug use and orgies, meets interesting folks, lather, rinse, repeat. In short order, Wild begins to seem distressingly formulaic, which certainly robs the film of much of its tension: even during presumably high-stakes moments like the redneck hunters, Wild seems constrained by its structure.

There’s a sparse, spare quality to much of the film that’s both lovely and thematically important (Cheryl is, after all, desperately searching for some sort of stillness within herself, the same stillness echoed by the natural landscape) but this spare quality is constantly dashed by the endless flashbacks. Perhaps if the peeks into the past had felt more organic and motivated, as opposed to part of a regimented structure, they would have retained more impact and had less (negative) effect on the film’s tone. As it stands, however, Wild ends up feeling more disjointed and piecemeal than it does cohesive.

I also had a problem with the relationship between Cheryl and her mother, at least as depicted in the film. While I’m not familiar with Strayed’s actual memoir, I have to assume that the intense connection between her and her mom is better delineated on the page than it is on the screen. As depicted, however, we really don’t get a clear sense of this devotion: Bobbi seems quirky, positive and fun-minded, sure, but the flashbacks to her and Cheryl don’t seem to hint at an on-screen relationship that’s any more intense than any other cinematic mother-daughter pairing. Losing her mother seems to be the catalyst for Cheryl’s spiral into a drug and sex-fueled hell but, prior to her death, the pair just seem to get along okay: for me, at least, this ended up being a bit of a disconnect from the film.

Acting-wise, Wild is full of good performances, although the vast majority end up being short, bite-sized little bits as opposed to more substantial scenes: this is very much the story of Strayed and Witherspoon is, for the most part, always the focal point. Despite garnering a Best Supporting Actress nomination, I wasn’t particularly impressed by Dern’s performance as the doomed Bobbi: despite being a big fan, her transition from happy-go-lucky to hair-pulling felt too abrupt and nothing really stuck out for me. Ditto for Gaby Hoffmann, who ends up with a few minutes of screen time as Cheryl’s friend, which seems a bit of a waste given Hoffmann’s ability to handily steal focus. Kevin Rankine is personable as Greg, the hiker that Cheryl keeps bumping into on the trail, but Keene McRae is fairly awful as brother Leif…it’s a real “six of one, half-dozen of the other” scenario.

Ultimately, I enjoyed Wild but was never blown away: considering how great I thought Dallas Buyers Club was, this definitely struck me as a bit of a disappointment. While I think the core story is a fascinating one (if the notion of a complete novice hiking over a thousand miles to “find” herself doesn’t strike you as fascinating, the core issue definitely doesn’t reside with the movie), the actual film never really clicked for me. To each their own, of course: while the actual film ended up being a bit of a let-down, Strayed’s story is interesting enough to make this worth a watch, even if it’s decidedly more run-of-the-mill than it could have been.

1/7/14: Feuding Families, Freaky Economics and Say Ahh!

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'80s action films, Canon, Charles Bronson, dark comedies, documentaries, films, Freakonomics, Helena Bonham Carter, Laura Dern, Messenger of Death, nostalgia, Novocaine, quirky, Scott Caan, Steve Martin

Our campaign of catching up continues as we take a look at Tuesday’s viewings. There were a few old ones in there (albeit one that I couldn’t really recall) as well as a documentary that I’ve been meaning to watch for some time. Now, on to the show!

Growing up, there were few things in my life as absolute as my father’s complete and total respect for rugged individuals who did their own thing. Dad didn’t respect authority figures, politicians, cops, etc but he swore by a few people: Steve McQueen, Clint Eastwood and Charles Bronson. I can’t recall how many times the two of us would sit down to re-watch the same Eastwood western again or catch the umpteenth viewing of Bullitt. I don’t think that mom was always happy about that (for some reason, my father never viewed gun violence in films as anything to worry about. He resolutely hated horror films, however.) but these are definitely some of the defining moments in who I currently am.

Back in the day, I’m pretty sure that I saw every film by all of these men at least twice, if not a hundred times. Some films (The Good, The Bad and The Ugly; Bullitt; Breakheart Pass) are such a part of my DNA that I could probably recite all of the dialogue. Other films, however, have sort of slipped into that foggy no-man’s-land of misremembered memories. After all, just these three actors, alone, made a lot of films, not even counting others like Lee van Cleef and John Wayne that were always in the mix. Whenever I encounter any of these older films that I can’t quite recall, I like to give them a spin and reacquaint myself with my youth. The most recent one? Bronson’s Messenger of Death.

For my money, Bronson was always at his best when he played the world-weary cop, out to do the dirty work that no one else wanted to muddy their hands on. He played a pretty wide variety of parts (at least for someone who was, primarily, an action star), however, stepping into the shoes of everyone from journalists to government agents and photographers (his ’50s TV show Man with a Camera is well worth hunting down). I would never call Bronson the most versatile actor out there (from the right angle, he’s more granite than Mount Rushmore) but he always brought a particular brand of toughness and vulnerability to his roles that was pretty much unmatched.

As Bronson flicks go, Messenger of Death is good, but not great. Part of his late ’80s work with Canon, the film is distinguished not so much by its story (which manages to combine armed, feuding Mormon fundamentalist families with Chinatown) but more for its relative restraint. Messenger of Death came just five years after what many consider to be Bronson’s most violent era (Death Wish 2, The Evil That Men Do, 10 to Midnight), yet this is (perhaps) one of his least violent films. For much of the movie, Bronson plays the role of investigator, spending more time looking for clues than shooting or fighting. Since Bronson would retire from films a scant six years after this film was released, I think a good case can be made that this was right about the time when he decided to wind things down.

When compared to the rest of Bronson’s work, this is definitely middle of the road stuff. The actual reveal of the villain has a bit of a Scooby Doo feel to it and the film’s depiction of Mormon fundamentalists is…well, let’s say it’s very 1980’s and leave it at that. For my money, however, any Bronson flick is better than a lot of other film combined, so this was sill a pleasant diversion. I have a feeling, however, that this will be one of those films I revisit in a few years because I can’t recall if I’ve actually seen it or not.

I remember when the actual Freakonomics book came out and became a huge phenomena. I was working in a bookstore at the time (may it rest in hell forever) and I figured this was just another fad-thing like Rich Dad, Poor Dad. As such, I didn’t give it a second thought and went about the rest of my life.

Fast forward almost a decade and I found myself curious anew after the film based on the book became available on Netflix. A film based on an economics book? Surely this would be the sleeping aid I’ve been seeking! As it turns out, I found myself enthralled from the first scene to the last.

The easiest way to describe the film version of Freakonomics is to say that it’s like a really fascinating series of TEDTalks. Not the boring ones that folks actually pretend to be interested in, mind you, but the actual interesting stuff like the correct way to tie your shoes. Several different documentary directors (including Super Size Me’s Morgan Spurlock) each take a shot at one chapter from the book, recreating them in everything from live action to animation. While the results aren’t always even, there’s more than enough interesting material to go around.

Ostensibly, the film (and book, I’m assuming) deal with the hidden side of economics: all of the little things that come together to actually form our entire financial system. The film tackles these things on small, personal level, however, so this isn’t the Intro to Econ class that everyone skipped in college. Exploring everything from the economics of choosing a baby name to the best time to sell your house, Freakonomics makes these issues not only interesting but rather fun. The book’s authors, Stephen J. Dubner and Steven D. Levitt, serve as moderators/hosts and the two have an easy-going, fun rapport that makes it much easier to pay attention. If you’re in the mood for a little learning along with your entertainment, give this a shot. I ended up being so interested that I might finally read that book: I like to be fashionably late.

I remember seeing Novocaine in the theaters when it first came out. I’ve always been a big Steve Martin fan, even if he’s had an incredibly uneven, frustrating career as of late. Falling into the “Eddie Murphy trap,” Martin seemed doomed to spin his wheels in family-friendly fare forever, a sad state of affairs for the genius who gave us The Jerk. In 1999, however, Martin bounced back a bit with Bowfinger (ironically, co-starring Eddie Murphy). This was a decidedly darker, more adult film, even if it was still a goofy screwball comedy. Two years later, Martin followed that up with Novocaine, even darker still.

Martin plays nebbishy dentist Frank Sangster. He has a thriving practice, dental hygienist fiancée (Laura Dern, so quirky that she seems nuts) and a strong moral compass. Enter a sultry new patient, played by Helena Bonham Carter, however,  and things go to hell faster than you can say “Ahh.” Throw in her batshit crazy, obnoxious brother (played by Scott Caan, channeling only the most over-the-top beats from his dad’s Sonny Corleone) and the dentist’s equally worthless brother and you’ve got a truly toxic stew. The whole thing leads to sex, drug thefts, multiple murders and a teddy bear with an impressive set of choppers. Will Frank be able to stay one step ahead of trouble? Can he trust anyone, including his brother? Is it true that nice guys always finish last?

All in all, Novocaine is a pretty enjoyable film. The score is great (Oingo Boingo’s Steve Bartek did the score, while Danny Elfman performed the theme. As such, that’s just about as close to an Oingo Boingo reunion as I’ll likely get.), Martin is excellent as the fish-out-of-water and Laura Dern provides some nice moments as his neurotic fiancée. More problematic were Helena Bonham Carter and Scott Caan. The two chewed so much scenery that there was precious little for the rest of the cast to graze on. In particular, Caan’s performance is so vein-poppingly over-the-top that I took an instant dislike to him. Carter doesn’t fare much better but at least she gets to play off of Martin. Poor Scott just gets to shout obscenities and rage like a steroid-pumped bro-dog. I was also less than fond of the frequent X-ray image transitions. A few times, here and there, were fine. After the millionth or so, however, the gimmick had long outworn its welcome. We get it: this is a film about a dentist and dentists use X-rays. Move on.

If you like Steve Martin or are looking for a good, quirky, comedy/crime/romance, you could probably do worse than Novocaine. It’s a decent enough film which builds to a truly gonzo ending before leaving us with the more traditional Hollywood wine and roses. Looking back from the Little Shop of Horrors, I think Martin would approve.