11/11/15 (Part Two): Mr. Cage Goes to Washington

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Austin Stark, based on true events, BP, Bryan Batt, cheating husbands, Christopher Berry, Ciera Payton, cinema, Connie Nielsen, crooked politicians, directorial debut, extramarital affairs, film reviews, films, husband-wife relationship, Kerry Cahill, Movies, Nicholas Cage, oil spills, Peter Fonda, Sarah Paulson, set in 2010, sex scandals, The Runner, Wendell Pierce, writer-director

Is the phrase “honest, self-effacing politician” equitable to “jumbo shrimp” or “deafening silence”? Is it actually possible for someone who makes their living brokering deals, securing power structures, rewarding patronage and constantly campaigning to do what they’ve been elected to do and serve the average, every-day citizenry? Sure, there are plenty of examples of good, necessary actions taken by politicians stretching all the way back to the dawn of our political system: the concept of absolute evil is convenient for pop culture and entertainment but rarely plays out that way in real life. Even the very worst, most self-serving and vilely corrupt glad-hander out there is still capable of doing good…provided, of course, that it also benefits their bottom line.

Is there really such a thing as an incorruptible, sincere and tireless proponent for the average tax-payer, however? Are there really politicians who see their choice of career as a personal calling and chance for advocacy rather than a convenient way to achieve power, influence and wealth? The answer, at least based on writer-director Austin Stark’s The Runner (2015), is a resounding, firm “yes and no.”

We begin with Rep. Colin Pryce (Nicolas Cage), from Louisiana, and his passionate, fiery condemnation of “Big Oil” in the aftermath of the BP oil spill of 2010. There’s definitely a lot of Mr. Deeds in Pryce, especially as portrayed by Cage, whose intense earnestness has been a sort of cottage industry for the past few decades. There’s no denying that Pryce wants the best for the fishermen and blue-collar workers that compromise the electorate in his predominately African-American precinct: his speeches before the House and to the locals bespeak commitment and conviction far more than carefully planned rhetoric.

While Pryce might have all the best intentions as a political representative, however, it turns out that his personal life is much more of a shambles. The son of an alcoholic, philandering, former mayor who was known as a public mess as much as a civil rights pioneer (Peter Fonda, doing solid support work), Pryce shares a few too many genes with his daddy for comfort: chief being, of course, that he’s currently shtupping Lucy (Ciera Payton), the wife of one of the local fishermen that he’s supposed to be advocating for. Doh! Even better, Pryce is also married (Connie Nielsen, essentially reprising her role from the TV show Boss), which means that the whole situation is a powder-keg just waiting for an appropriate match.

That match ends up coming in the form of one whopper of a political scandal, the fall-out of which promises to thoroughly thrash whatever remains of Pryce’s career. As Pryce scurries around, attempting whatever measure of damage control he can, he finds that his proposed good deeds have become eclipsed by the mountain of negative press that surrounds him. Once “Big Oil” comes sniffing around the mortally-wounded Pryce, will he be able to hold on to what little values he has left or will he sell out the people who believe in him (along with his own soul) in order for one, last desperate chance to stay in the game?

Earnest, focused, deadly serious and, unfortunately, more than a little dull, Stark’s directorial debut (after serving as a producer for several years) doesn’t make a lot of obvious mistakes but also never rises above anything more than a passable time-waster. The story’s beats are overly familiar, by this point, much more capably echoed in TV shows like House of Cards or the aforementioned Boss: in fact, there were so many points during the film’s 90-minute run-time that directly reminded me of not only House of Card’s plot points but also its characters, cinematography and sound design that the film often felt like some sort of indirect homage to the series.

While the infidelity angle comes across as over-heated and melodramatic (Stark lacks the finesse to paint these scenes with anything less than the broadest brush strokes), the political machinations pack a little more punch, even if they’re given rather short shrift overall. Mad Men’s Bryan Batt turns in a great performance as a gently slimy BP executive whose attempts to court Pryce have the subtlety that too much of the rest of the film lacks.

It’s this schism, in the end, that probably does more to harm The Runner than any of the myriad minor issues that plague it: by splitting the focus between the scandal and the political maneuvering, neither aspect is explored to its fullest potential. There are some nice bits involving the apple not falling far from the tree, as far as Fonda’s character is concerned, and some generic “dark night of the soul” stuff from Cage (who pretty much specializes in that) but none of its interesting or novel enough to keep audience attention from wavering.

Ultimately, that’s kind of a shame: buried beneath the stereotypical sex scandal aspect, it’s clear that Stark’s film does, indeed, have something to say. While the story of a well-intentioned, but flawed, politician attempting to atone for his past transgressions is certainly nothing new under the cinematic sun, it’s not like that particular tale ever goes out of fashion, especially during our current political climate.

Craftwise, The Runner does what it needs to do in fairly unspectacular fashion: it looks and sounds fine and the large cast turns out a collection of performances that run the gamut from “getting the job done” (Nielsen, Payton, Wendell Pierce) to “fully invested” (Cage, Fonda, Batt, American Horror Story’s Sarah Paulson). The biggest problem, at the end, is that the whole thing is so predictable that it never subverts, tweaks or upends our expectations: if you’ve seen one film like The Runner you have, quite probably, seen much of what’s being offered here. Even Cage, widely recognized as the “wild card” of mainstream film, turns in the kind of subdued, middle-of-the-road performance that will, undoubtedly, remind one of at least half-a-dozen other, similar performances.

With little individual identity, The Runner manages to go the distance, yet never separates itself from the rest of the pack. We might remember the folks who are the first to cross the finish line…hell, we’ll probably remember the folks who are the last to cross it, too. All the other ones clustered in the middle, however? Just like in real life, it’s kind of hard to tell them apart.

5/17/14: It’s Always the Quiet Guys

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Alaska, based on a true story, Bob Hansen, Cindy Paulson, cinema, Curtis "50 Cent" Jackson, Dean Norris, directorial debut, feature-film debut, film reviews, films, hunting humans, Jack Halcombe, John Cusack, Movies, murdered prostitutes, Nicholas Cage, period-piece, police procedural, Scott Walker, serial killer, set in the 1980's, state troopers, Summer of Sam, The Frozen Ground, torture, Vanessa Hudgens, writer-director, Zodiac

Although I have a tendency to rail on (and on…and on…) about how much I dislike unoriginal films, there’s certainly something to be said for a no-frills, back-to-basics movie that just wants to tell a story. In particular, I tend to have a weakness for scrappy little police procedurals, especially ones that feature a determined cop squaring off against a cagey, ruthless serial killer. These films are often nothing extraordinary but, when done well, can be just as tense and illuminating as something for original or mind-bending. In recent times, Spike Lee’s Summer of Sam (1999) and David Fincher’s Zodiac (2007) both fit the bill pretty well: while neither one blew me away, they were both solid, respectable and consistently watchable films that were full of incredibly solid performances. The newest member of this particular club would have to be first-time writer-director Scott Walker’s The Frozen Ground (2013), based on a true story about a serial killer who stalked the Alaskan wilds in the ’80s. Although there’s nothing spectacular here, The Frozen Ground ends up being a solid, well-acted and, occasionally, quite powerful little film.

Beginning with a quote from Matthew 10:16 (“Behold, I send you forth as sheep in the midst of wolves”) and a stunning aerial view of the dark, slightly sinister Alaskan wilderness, The Frozen Ground wastes no time in throwing us into the story. It’s 1983 and the police have just raided an apartment where they’ve found a bloody young lady (Vanessa Hudgens) handcuffed in a bathroom. She tells the police that her abductor planned to put her in a plane and take her to his remote cabin. They don’t buy her story, however, which leads us to the “chase” proper. Jack Halcombe (Nicholas Cage) is an Alaskan State Trooper who’s determined to track down the madman responsible for killing prostitutes and dumping them in the middle of nowhere. Halcombe suspects Bob Hansen (John Cusack), a well-liked local businessman who seems the very picture of small-town celebrity: whenever he walks into a place, it’s like Norm walking into Cheers. No one, of course, is willing to admit that there might be a dark side to this beaming pillar of the local business community.

But they should, of course, because Bob is batshit crazy. This isn’t much of a secret, to be honest: the film never makes any bones about Hansen being the baddie and Halcombe is always suspicious of him. Like real-life cases, however, figuring it out is only part of the puzzle: the bigger issue is proving it. To that end, Halcombe will need to track down Cindy Paulson (Vanessa Hudgens), the only known survivor of the killer. Problem is, Cindy is a notorious drug abuser and still hooks, making her a little difficult to track down. With the help of Sgt. Lyle Haugsven (Breaking Bad’s Dean Norris), Halcombe gets to tracking down Cindy. Time is running out, however, because Bob has decided that it’s time to tie up loose ends and Cindy is the first name on the list.

While there’s nothing extraordinary or surprising about The Frozen Ground, there’s also nothing particularly wrong with it, either. The story hits all of the familiar beats that you’d expect in something like this, the cinematography is suitably dark and foreboding (when it needs to be) and the acting, for the most part, is pretty high-caliber. In particular, Nicholas Cage does a phenomenal job as the determined State Trooper, reigning in all of his over-the-top tendencies to create a character that feels completely and wholly real. I really like Cage: he seems like a really cool, self-aware dude and somebody who’d probably be a blast to joyride with. As an actor, however, I find him to be in the same basic boat as Gary Busey: for the most part, he just seems to play variations of himself in everything. While this may work in purposefully OTT productions like the awful Ghost Rider movies or that risible remake of The Wicker Man (2006), it’s much more problematic in films that require more low-key, realistic performances. Cage’s turn in The Frozen Ground, for the most part, is completely restrained and, as a result, is probably my favorite performance of his since Matchstick Men (2003). The best compliment I can pay him, regarding this performance, is that he never once took me out of the film: at no point did I go from watching “Jack Halcombe” to “Nic Cage,” unlike pretty much anything from the last 10-15 years. He’s completely excellent here and the film is worth a watch if for nothing else than an opportunity to see Cage under-act, for a change.

Cusack, on the other hand, has always been a more problematic actor for me. I really enjoyed him, up to a point, but it seems like he’s been spinning his wheels for years, playing variations on the exact same character in everything he does. While he’s not quite that anonymous in The Frozen Ground, he’s also not particularly note-worthy, save for one exceptionally unpleasant scene where he mentally tortures one of his victims. If any, Cusack seems a little checked out here, although there’s nothing overtly wrong with the performance: it just seems a bit perfunctory. Curtis “50 Cent” Jackson appears as Cindy’s pimp and he’s not bad, although it took me a while to recognize him under one of the silliest long-hair wigs I’ve ever seen. Dean Norris is predictably solid as Halcombe’s sort-of partner but I wish he had more screen time: Norris is one of those actors who’s always doing interesting things with his face and body language yet seems doomed to play character roles for the rest of his life. I really hope this isn’t the case: it would be nice to see him carry a film, one day, rather than providing able backup.

The one sore point in the film, if there could really be said to be one, would definitely have to be Hudgens’ performance. I will admit that I’m not a fan of her’s in the slightest but I was still willing to give her the benefit of the doubt: after all, who could’da thunk that David Bowie would turn out to be such a great actor? Alas, Hudgens is no Bowie (this would make a great T-shirt, by the way) and her performance as Cindy indicates that she’s not much of a thespian, either. All weird tics, awkward line delivery and uncontrolled emotion, Hudgens didn’t work for me at all. This, of course, is a little worrisome in a film where her character is supposed to serve as the emotional core. As such, the film seems to exist around her but she’s never fully integrated into anything. It’s the equivalent of grabbing an audience member to sub for a sick Broadway performer: the show might go on but it won’t feel quite right.

On the whole, fans of these kinds of movies will find plenty to appreciate in The Frozen Ground. While the story is far from original and is precipitated on one of those Matlock-esque “I shoulda killed you when I got the chance!” outbursts, it’s frequently tense, extremely well-shot and moves purposefully towards its conclusion. In a way, it’s kind of refreshing to watch a film like this that just tells a linear A-B story, without the need to muddy things up with extraneous flashbacks, flashforwards, voice-over narration or excessive emotion. If The Frozen Ground were a mid-term, it would probably get a B. If you were a particularly lenient instructor, however, I see no reason why that B couldn’t be upped to a B+. Just don’t go into this expecting Hurricane Nic: in this instance, Cage left the persona at home and just brought himself to the party.

2/28/14: This Pain Will Help You (Oscar Bait, Part 11)

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2013 Academy Awards, 86th, 8MM, Alex Jones, Best Cinematography nominee, cinema, dark films, Denis Villeneuve, Detective Loki, drama, film reviews, films, Hugh Jackman, Jake Gyllenhaal, kidnapped, Maria Bello, Melissa Leo, missing child, Movies, Nicholas Cage, Oscar nominee, Oscars, Paul Dano, Prisoners, race against time, rainy films, Roger Deakins, Seven, snubbed at the Oscars, Taxi Driver, Terrence Howard, The Hunt, torture, Viola Davis

Movies have a marvelous way of presenting the most wretched, bleak situations possible in a truly hopeful light. Through the power of film, no obstacle is too great to overcome, no adversity too dire to best. Genocide, slavery, Holocaust, world hunger, extinction, climate change, death: all it takes is the right person (or group of persons) to change even the most stubborn of societal ill. On the flip side, however, films also have a particular way of sucking all of the air from a room and showing us how terrible insignificant we really are. The right film, at the right angle, for the right person, can be the most bleak situation imaginable.  Think back to the rain-drenched, under-lit atrocities of Seven and 8MM…the relentless march to oblivion that is Taxi Driver or Old Boy…the parental anguish of Hardcore…some films exist not so much to make us feel better about the world but to remind us of how terrible it really is. Some films, like Martyrs, are not so much entertainment as painful open wounds, viscera thrown straight into our brains. And some films, like Denis Villeneuve’s Prisoners, exist to remind us that the first place we should always look for evil is in ourselves.

Keller Dover (Hugh Jackman)’s young daughter and her friend have gone missing and the police have a suspect in custody: Alex Jones (Paul Dano). Alex seems to be a truly weird, creepy guy and the beat-up RV he tools around in does seem fairly suspicious, but suspicions aren’t quite good enough for the legal system. Detective Loki (Jake Gyllenhaal, chewing up scenery and spitting out shrapnel) is forced to cut Alex loose, which just doesn’t sit well with survivalist papa Keller. With the unsteady assistance of Franklin (Terrence Howard), the father of the other missing girl, Keller kidnaps and tortures Alex, trying desperately to find the missing girls. As the case becomes more complicated and Loki continues to dig up new leads, such as Alex’s strange aunt Holly (Melissa Leo), a mysterious body in a cellar and a homicidal priest, it becomes less and less certain that Alex is actually guilty. As the clock ticks down, Keller is faced with the agonizing possibility that the bloody, terrified man before him might actually be innocent…and that the real villain might still be out there.

On its face, Prisoners has quite a bit going for it and seems to compare well to similar fare such as Seven. The film is beautifully shot, featuring some truly gorgeous camera-work by legendary DP Roger Deakins, which also earned the film its sole Oscar nomination (Best Cinematography). The score is moody and oppressive, which aids ably in smothering the film in the same sort of atmosphere that cloaked films like Seven and 8MM and the script, while not completely original, nonetheless provides enough twists and turns to keep things interesting. Towards the end, the twists begin to spring up so fast that the film threatens to spring a leak, however, and there’s at least one moment that still has me profoundly confused. Nonetheless, the film looks and sounds great.

Unfortunately, there are two critical issues that threaten to pitch the whole affair upside-down: the over-the-top acting and the film’s general bloat. Although there are some nicely understated roles in the film (Dano is excellent as Alex and Viola Davis is very good as Franklin’s wife, Nancy) and one particularly juicy broader one (Melissa Leo is simply marvelous as Alex’s aunt and was criminally overlooked in the Best Supporting Actress category), the majority of the actors are almost ridiculously over-the-top, playing so broad as if to be shouting to the rafters. Gyllenhaal, in particular, is mercilessly teeth-gnashing, playing Loki (so named because Max Powers was too silly?) as the kind of sneering, desk-pounding, perp-bashing super-cop that was a cliché by the ’70s. He’s a good actor attempting to mimic Nicholas Cage at his most out-of-control and the effect is head-scratching: what was the point? Rather than coming off as a badass, Detective Loki is sort of like a whiny, highly ineffectual but endlessly bragging Harry Callahan. He receives perfect support from Jackman, however, who seems to greet any trial or adversity by howling in pain and punching it. Between the two of them and Howard’s skittish, constantly shouting Franklin, the film often feels like we’ve walked into the middle of a particularly nasty argument between complete strangers. Maria Bello is criminally wasted as Grace, Keller’s wife, suffering from the lethal combo of being as broad as the other actors but with less screen-time to smooth it out.

The fact that any character receives too little screen time is a bit of a minor miracle, however, since Prisoners worst flaw, by far, is its rather unbelievable 2.5 hour run-time. Since the film tells such a simple, contained story and never expands much past the immediate surroundings, it seems rather criminal for things to stretch past the 90 minutes mark, much less the two-hour mark. The film ends up being relentless but not in a good way: we end up getting bludgeoned into submission by one extended torture scene after another followed by one Loki tsunami after another followed by one Keller freak-out and so on and on. The Hunt managed to explore the horror and pain of small-town suspicion gone amok in a much more succinct fashion, while Saw and Wolf Creek managed to do likewise with the torture genre. Prisoners manages to mash both together yet, rather than co-mix them, seems content to merely stitch them side by side. The investigation portion of the film, alone, would make a full film, as would the largely gratuitous torture scenes. Together, it’s all too much. I found myself fatigued and wanting to tap out way before the extended 40-minute or so finale introduced another handful of twists.

It’s a shame that Prisoners hobbles itself in some pretty fundamental ways because it has so much going for it. Deakins, the master behind the lens of films like Fargo and The Big Lebowski, does some fantastic work here, presenting certain shots that are pretty enough to frame. There’s an easy fluidity to everything that makes the film effortlessly watchable, even during the torture sequences, which is a necessary counterpoint to the film’s bloat. You can see the hint of something truly exceptional and powerful gleaming deep in the clogged excesses of Prisoners: if the film were only an hour shorter, maybe that light would be a little easier to see.

1/31/14: Home is Where the Hearts Are (Oscar Bait, Part 3)

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Academy Award Nominee, Academy Awards, adventures, animated films, auteur theory, bad movies, Blackenstein, Blacula, blaxploitation films, box-office flops, Catherine Keener, cavemen, Chris Sanders, cinema, Cloris Leachman, couples, cute sloths, Dr. Stein, Dreamworks Animation, Emma Stone, fear of the unknown, Film auteurs, films, Francis Ford Coppola, Frederic Forrest, Harry Dean Stanton, Kirk Demicco, Lainie Kazan, Las Vegas, Movies, musical, Nastassja Kinski, Nicholas Cage, One From the Heart, pets, Raul Julia, relationships on the rocks, romance, Ryan Reynolds, searching for a new home, strange families, tar pits, Teri Garr, terrible films, The Croods, Tom Waits, William A. Levey

Our cinematic journey continues with last Friday’s viewings: we screened an abysmal Z-grade horror flick, an odd musical and another of this year’s contenders for Oscar gold.

Ugh…Blackenstein is proof positive that not all blaxploitation films were equally worthy of consideration. My original intention was to watch this as a double-feature with Blacula but that didn’t quite work as planned. As such, it ended up on a crammed Friday-bill where it really didn’t stand a chance. To be honest, this film wouldn’t have stood a chance no matter where I programmed it: Blackenstein is one colossal flop from the first frame to the last.

Plot (not that it matters) is fairly minimal: Dr. Winifred Walker (Ivory Stone) has come to see Dr. Stein (John Hart, in a friendly, jovial turn that is completely out of place in the story) in order to have him help her fiancee, Eddie (Joe de Sue, who has obviously never acted). You see, Eddie lost both arms and legs in Vietnam and Dr. Stein has been “working in the field of replacing limbs.” Sounds like a match made in heaven! Until, of course, Dr. Stein’s creepy assistant Malcomb (Roosevelt Jackson, who’s actually not bad) takes a shine to Winifred and sabotages Eddie’s treatments in order to get him out of the picture. Eddie head swells up, he gets angry and proceeds to rampage about the city, pulling the guts out of various women along the way. Winifred finally figures out what’s going on and Eddie saves her from Malcomb’s slimy clutches before getting devoured by police dogs.

There’s an awful lot wrong with Blackenstein, issues that pretty much cripple the film and prevent it from even rising to “so-bad-it’s-good-levels.” On a purely technical level, the transfer is absolutely awful: it looks like it was dubbed from TV to VHS. The sound keeps cutting out which, to be honest, isn’t a huge issue since the dialogue is so bad. Filmmaking basics are pretty non-existent: the cinematography is ugly, cuts are jarring, coverage is weird (lots of odd zooms on legs, feet, sidewalks, empty spaces and car doors), the music never fits with any given scene (chief offender being the scene where Winifred waits calmly for Dr. Stein as the soundtrack proceeds to out-Psycho Herrmann’s famous score) and the camera angles are often off-putting. Most of the sets appear to be made of cardboard, although that’s probably being generous, and the gore is about five solid steps back from Herschell Gordon Lewis’ heyday, featuring some of the most ludicrous gut-tossin’ you’ll (probably) ever see.

It goes without saying that the acting is completely wooden and terrible, as if everyone were trying to remember their lines. At one point during the middle of a big “speech,” Winifred proceeds to look down, off-camera: it’s pretty damn obvious that she reads the rest off a hidden script. Eddie is so unemotional that he delivers every last line with a sort of “Eh…what’re you gonna do?” shrug that drove me crazy after a few minutes. The piece de resistance, however, definitely comes from the hospital attendant (John Dennis). He begins by bullying the bed-ridden Eddie before launching into a jaw-droppingly over-the-top “monologue” about how he was kept from serving in Vietnam due to his physical condition. I’m not sure what we’re supposed to garner from this scene but it keeps going and going and going, an Energizer Bunny on crack.

Compared to Blacula, Blackenstein’s faults become even more glaring. Whereas Blacula featured an almost entirely black cast and possessed quite a bit of dignity, Blackenstein only features a couple of black actors and puts them in some pretty humiliating situations. We don’t even get the awesome funky music that powered Blacula: instead, we get two tepid soul songs sprinkled throughout the film, while the rest of the soundtrack consists of weak “Hammer-lite” instrumentals. There’s a niteclub scene, as in Blacula, but it mostly features a comedian telling jokes and lasts for way too long. It’s obvious that the filmmakers envisioned this as more of a Hammer/Euro-trash film than a blaxploitation film but the whole thing has such a confused sense of identity that none of it works.

Like any film made to jump on a hot trend, Blackenstein is pretty bankrupt of anything resembling imagination, innovation or intelligence. Avoid this like the plague.

If you think about it, anticipation for One From the Heart must’ve been through the roof when it first came out in 1982. For one thing, it was Francis Ford Coppola’s first film since his iconic Apocalypse Now (1979) and the latest in an unbeatable string that included The Godfather (1972), The Conversation (1974) and The Godfather Two (1974). Audiences had no reason to expect anything less sensational than his previous four films, after all, particularly with that lethal Godfather Two/Apocalypse Now combo. For another thing, musicals were extremely popular box office fare at that time. After all, Annie had come out a scant three months before and would become the 10th highest grossest film of 1982. This was the era of The Blues Brothers (1980), The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas (1982), Victor/Victoria (1982, nominated for seven Oscars) and Monty Python’s The Meaning of Life (1983): a big-screen musical from Francis Ford Coppola must have seemed like a surefire hit.

What actually happened, unfortunately, was a bit more akin to the sinking of the Titanic (the actual event, not the James Cameron money-maker): One From the Heart tanked at the box office, taking in just over a half-million in profits, although the film cost upwards of $20 million to make. Coppola declared bankruptcy and would (according to his own accounts) spend the next two decades making films in order to pay back the loss. Although this would result in The Outsiders and Rumblefish (both 1983), Peggy Sue Got Married (1986) and Dracula (1992), it would also result in Gardens of Stone (1987), The Godfather Part III (1990), Jack (1996) and The Rainmaker (1997). So, technically, a complete wash.

So, after all the dust has cleared, how does One From the Heart hold up thirty years later? While nowhere near a classic and a decidedly odd follow-up to Apocalypse Now, One From the Heart certainly has its merits. The film involves the adventures of Hank (Frederic Forrest) and Frannie (Teri Garr), a couple living in Las Vegas and about to celebrate their fifth year together. As will often happen, things are less than ideal: Frannie wants excitement, Hank just wants to chill and Sin City is calling them both to its neon embrace. Before long, Frannie has left and found excitement with a singing waiter (Raul Julia), Hank is tripping the light fantastic with a comely young dancer (Nastassja Kinski) and their poor, put-upon best friends (Harry Dean Stanton and Lainie Kazan, in supporting roles that easily steal the film from every other actor) are trying to help pick up the pieces. Before long, Frannie and Hank will come to realize one important thing: being in love may not be easy but it sure as hell beats the alternative.

First of all, One From the Heart has a pretty unbeatable soundtrack, courtesy of the inimitable Tom Waits. This marked the tail-end of Waits’ drunken troubadour phase, as 1983’s Swordfishtrombones would mark his first full foray into the experimental blues stomps that would characterize the rest of his career. Here, Waits and duet-partner Crystal Gayle are at their loveliest, wrapping the action in the kid of melancholy drinkers’ ballads that could be found on classics like Blue Valentine and Small Change. The score is a perfect accompaniment to the bruised-heart story and is responsible for quite a bit of my goodwill towards the film.

The film also a pretty cool artificial look to it, which makes sense considering Coppola built his version of Las Vegas entirely on soundstages at his new American Zoetrope Studios. While other might disagree (and the extensive sets were certainly one of the reasons why the film went so far over budget), I really liked the look, especially in any of the scenes involving the sign/mascot “graveyard.” As mentioned earlier, Stanton (two years before Repo Man) and Kazan (a few years away from Lust in the Dust) are pretty great in the film: I wish they had at least twice the screen-time, if not more.

What didn’t work for me? Lots of the acting, to be honest, especially from Forrest, Garr, Julia and Kinski. Julia isn’t bad but Kinski is super-obnoxious, reminding me of nothing so much as the “manic-pixie-girls” that currently glut indie-romantic cinema. Forrest and Garr are fairly generic: we don’t necessarily buy them as being in  love, which makes everything else in the film seem sort of silly. As befits the style, much of the film tends to be very theatrical and at least one of the big song-and-dance sequences (a routine that manages to mix Saturday Night Fever with the Vegas Strip) is head-smackingly dumb.

For all of these faults, however, One From the Heart is still a pretty amiable film. At times (although not often), the film is even quite beautiful, reminding me of some of Jeunet’s early work. As mentioned earlier, the music is pretty magical and it’s always great to see Harry Dean Stanton and Lainie Kazan in anything. Did this deserve to tank Coppola’s career and introduce the world to Jack? Absolutely not. Was this a worthy follow-up to Apocalypse Now? Magic 8-Ball says “Very doubtful.”

And then, of course, it was time for me to be really surprised. While I’m a huge animation fan, I must admit that modern big-budget animated features do very little for me. As a rule, I find them to be too crude, self-referential and filled with disposable pop culture minutiae, the cartoon equivalent of those loathsome “Scary/Disaster/Whatever” film “parodies” that continue to crop up like weeds. Nevertheless, it is Oscar season and I’m committed to seeing as many of the nominees as humanly possible. Since Dreamworks’ The Croods was nominated for Best Animated Feature, I figured I might as well sit through it. After all, it had to be more entertaining than Dirty Wars or American Hustle, right?

And how! Without hyperbole, I can honestly say that I fell in love with this pretty quickly and stayed in love for the entire running time. Similar to The Castle, this is a film about family, first and foremost, and their take on this is decidedly less snarky and screeching than most. With Nicholas “The Fury” Cage playing patriarch Grug, I was worried that this would end up being an over-the-top affair like Shrek. As luck would have it, however, this was Cage with a modicum of restraint and a maximum of charm: not only is his character perfectly lovable, he’s also perfectly realized as the overly protective father/husband/cave-man. The rest of the voice talent is equally great: Emma Stone projects the right blend of defiance and naiety as Eep; Catherine Keener is always great and she’s no less so as mother Ugga; Ryan Reynolds is actually very likeable as Guy; and Cloris Leachman, essentially, reprises her role from Raising Grace, to great effect.

There are plenty of good life lessons to be found here, none of which are delivered with a particularly heavy hand. At heart, The Croods is about the importance of family and the need to face your fears rather than giving in to them. When their cave is destroyed by an earthquake, The Croods must travel across uncharted territory in order to find a new place to live. Along the way, they meet Guy and his delightful sloth friend Belt (quite possibly one of the cutest critters in a long line of animated sidekicks), a ravenous sabre-toothed tiger (which becomes Grug’s pet in one of the sweetest, heartwarming scenes in the whole film) and discover lots of new creatures.

Their discovery of the new creatures is, in my opinion, one of the best aspects of The Croods. There were two ways that the filmmakers could have gone about the Croods discovering their new world. On the one hand, we could be shown creatures that are old to us (dinosaurs, big mammals, etc…) but new to the Croods. There’s nothing wrong with this tact, although it certainly makes it a little more difficult for an audience to feel the same sense of wonder. On the other hand, the filmmakers could attempt to find a way to make the discoveries new to us, as well, so that we can experience the Croods new world with the same sense of wonder and excitement that they do. To my great delight, they chose option number 2.

To this end, the filmmakers unleash their imaginations and go hog-wild with some incredibly clever animal-hybrids: we get flying turtle-parrots, land-walking whale-elephants, ferocious owl-cats and multi-colored bird-tigers. In fact, there doesn’t appear to be a “regular” animal anywhere in the film, unless one counts the versatile Belt. There’s so much stuff happening in the margins of the screen that I’m assuming multiple views are necessary to really see everything. Couple this with some truly gorgeous animation (the first time they see the night sky is nothing short of magical), some really suspenseful action scenes (the bit where Guy and Grug are trapped in tar is pretty great) and some truly funny dialogue (“He’s riding the sun!…But not very well.”), and the replay factor for The Croods is pretty high.

Ultimately, The Croods was a film that surprised me early and often. I went into it expecting to see some slick, well-produced but ultimately soulless piece of Hollywood animation. What I got, however, was a gorgeous film with tons of imagination, heart and spirit, a movie that hearkened back to the glory days of animation with none of the needless self-reference of today (if there were any allusions or nods to current pop culture trends/issues in the film, they must have gone largely over my head).

As I’ve done with every Oscar-nominated film, thus far, I’ve asked myself the same question: did this film deserve to get nominated and can it actually win the prize? In this instance? Yes and yes.