5/4/16: Art Imitating Strife

Tags

Alexandre Desplat, based on a play, Beau Willimon, campaign manager, cheating husbands, cinema, co-writers, dramas, Evan Rachel Wood, extramarital affairs, film reviews, films, George Clooney, Grant Heslov, Gregory Itzin, House of Cards, Jeffrey Wright, Jennifer Ehle, Marisa Tomei, Max Minghella, Michael Mantell, Movies, multiple writers, Paul Giamatti, Phedon Papamichael, Philip Seymour Hoffman, political campain, political scandals, political thriller, Presidential campaign, Ryan Gosling, U.S. politics, writer-director-actor

If you really think about it, apple pie and baseball aren’t the things that most folks would readily associate with the good old U.S. of A…at least, not for the past forty years or so. Truth be told, I’m not sure that either of those oldies-but-goodies would even make the top ten list these days. There is one thing, however, that I’m willing to wager would make just about everyone’s list, one particular aspect of this country that has come to define us for the past few decades more than any others: we are a nation living under the shadow of an absolutely insatiable political machine.

This is not, of course, to make the case for the United States being the most politically savvy country on this particular interstellar ball of rock, water and gas. Not at all. Rather, we are a country completely obsessed with the notion of politics not as a great unifier but as the ultimate divider. Americans have developed an “us against them” mentality that has turned political parties into virtual religions, each with their own zealous acolytes dedicated to spreading the “good word” and stomping out all rivals.  Politics and political campaigning have become such a part of our cultural DNA that they no longer have their own “seasons”: we seem to be inundated with political information, via the 24-hour-news-cycle, on a daily basis. Nowadays, we don’t have presidential election campaigns every four years: we have one, constant, political campaign that’s been running non-stop since the early ’80s.

As we find ourselves in the midst of one of the nastiest, most contentious, presidential campaigns that the country has ever known (by comparison, the George W. era almost seems quaint), it’s hard to turn in any particular direction without getting smacked in the face with some sort of hard-line rhetoric, political scandal or screaming pundit. As with any big societal issue, however, one expects pop culture to spring back with its own rejoinder, add its voice to the conversation. Where, then, are the big political films about this chaotic era? Where is the multiplex fare that makes voters go “hmm”?

Turns out, one of the better, more incisive and cutting films about this current mess we call American political campaigning already came out…back in 2011. With the foresight of a modern-day Nostradamus, House of Cards creator Beau Willimon (who had extensive experience working on Democratic political campaigns, including Howard Dean’s 2004 run for the White House) wrote a play, back in 2008, entitled Farragut North. Several years down the road, Farragut North would be adapted by Willimon and co-writer/director George Clooney as The Ides of March (2011). In the process, they would craft a political thriller that manages to be more prescient five years down the line than it was at the time it was actually released. How’s that for a neat card trick?

Governor Mike Morris (George Clooney) is the kind of golden-boy politician who says all the right things, flashes a million-dollar-grin at the plebes and seems as far-removed from most career scumbags as humanly possible. He comes across as a pie-in-the-sky idealist (shades of ol’ Bernie) but that’s just the kind of difference that’s currently setting him up as the Democratic front-runner for the current primary season. You see, Morris’ only serious challenger, Senator Pullman (Michael Mantell), is one of those “business-as-usual” types (shades of ol’ Hillary) and it seems that the Democratic voter base is primed for a system overhaul. Public popularity aside, however, DNC management just doesn’t see the idealistic Morris as a viable alternative against whatever Republican gets the nomination: they’re rather go with the tried and tested Pullman rather than easy-target Morris (sound familiar?).

Despite his own party’s power games, however, Gov. Morris seems to be fairly well-regarded by all. Perhaps no one person idolizes him more, however, than his second-in-command staffer, Stephen Meyers (Ryan Gosling). To Stephen, Morris isn’t just his latest employer: he’s a force for good, an agent of change that will wipe all the bullshit away and start us out with a clean slate. Paul (the late Philip Seymour Hoffman) might be Morris’ campaign manager but no one is more of a zealous booster than ruthlessly loyal Stephen.

After a series of big wins (most instigated by Stephen’s sly political maneuvering and pitbull-with-lockjaw tenacity), Morris is looking increasingly like the shoe-in. When a misguided attempt to reach out to another senator (Jeffrey Wright) with a large delegate base ends up producing the exact opposite result, however, Stephen and Paul have to go into crisis-control mode. Senator Pullman’s sleazy campaign manager, Tom Duffy (Paul Giamatti), makes overtures towards Stephen once it seems that the Morris campaign boat is headed straight for an iceberg: imagine a large rock sailing towards a pristine, crystal-clear picture window and you have the basic idea.

Besieged by all sides, both “friend” and “foe,” Stephen only has one clear compass left: his unwavering belief in and support of Morris and his campaign. When Stephen finds out something scandalous about Morris, however, something that threatens to tank his worship of the man in an instant, his whole world threatens to crumble around him. Will Stephen be able to separate the man from the message or is this just cosmic proof that every politician, at heart, is really a self-serving scumbag?

Right off the bat, The Ides of March should be instantly familiar to anyone who’s happened to catch any of Willimon’s House of Cards series. In tone, style, intent and message, there’s a whole lot of crossover here: hell, they even both deal with politics as filtered through the Democratic Party, a further similarity that’s too glaring to miss. Where House of Cards often falls into the trap of upping the melodrama to almost Shakespearian levels, however, The Ides of March is consistently more grounded and level-headed.

Like House of Cards, The Ides of March is a brisk, busy piece of work, stuffed to the brim with political minutae, realistic Machiavellian scheming and plenty of sturdy, if not overly showy, performances. There’s a sense of verisimilitude here that certainly speaks to Willimon’s extensive political background: like the best police or medical procedurals, you get the idea that Willimon knows what he’s talking about and that kind of trust goes a long way towards keeping you in the film’s clutches.

As usual, Clooney is a thoroughly charming, disarming presence: appropriately serious and imminently “presidential,” yet possessed of the ability to slip effortlessly into cold, reptilian evil, it’s a role that fits his style to a tee. For his part, Gosling does what he does best: cold, unemotional detachment broken, ever so often, by jagged spikes of pure, steely focus. While Gosling’s style tends to dampen nearly all of his big emotional moments (like it usually does), his performance is consistent, strong and essential to the film’s inner dynamic.

On the support side, we get something of a smorgasbord of small, indelible performances. Marisa Tomei is pitch-perfect as the journalist who considers loyalty to be a four-letter word. Hoffman and Giamatti don’t do much that we haven’t seen before but each actor manages to imbue a role that could’ve been nothing more than plot device with an underlying sense of sadness that’s both striking and subtle. Evan Rachel Wood’s Molly might be a bit of a thankless character (as are most of the female characters that aren’t played by Tomei, to be honest) but she brings a perfect blend of naivety and ambition to the role that helps to balance out the almost feral machinations of everyone around her.

In many ways, The Ides of March strikes me as a much better version of another recent political thriller, Austin Stark’s The Runner (2015). Where The Runner tended to wallow in the worst aspects of shows like House of Cards and Boss, however, The Ides of March takes a much calmer, more nuanced approach. It’s the difference between fire and ice, between a long, overwrought speech and a quick, cutting glance.

From a film-making perspective, The Ides of March is as sturdy as its performances. The script is strong, Clooney’s direction is typically self-assured and the film has a rich, burnished quality, thanks to cinematographer Phedon Papamichael’s stellar camerawork. If the score can, at times, get a little overblown (this is Alexandre Desplat, after all), it just as often falls away to complete silence, an impressive detail in a cinematic world where leading musical cues are as common-place as product placement. The name of the game here is “subtlety”: Clooney and Willimon aren’t as interested in spoon-feeding you the info as they are in handing you a fork and telling you to dig in.

Thematically, there’s a lot to process here but the basic take-away is actually pretty simple: be careful who you choose to elevate to godhood. No human is infallible and people, by their very nature, will let you down. Fall in love with a politician’s policies, with their strategies and their plans for the future. Believe wholeheartedly in the message but be very, very careful about the messenger. As the old saying goes, “absolute power corrupts absolutely.” The unspoken notion, of course, is that any and all power will corrupt, to some extent. As poor Stephen finds out, we’re all only human, when all is said and done, and humans have been doing some pretty terrible things ever since we climbed out of the primordial ooze. Spend a day watching campaign ads and you’ll realize that we’re still up to the same tricks.

2/2/14: The Brutality and the Beauty (Oscar Bait, Part 4)

Tags

12 Years a Slave, 1840s, Academy Award Nominee, Academy Awards, Alfre Woodard, American Civil War, antebellum South, based on a book, Brad Pitt, Chiwetel Ejiofor, cinema, dignity, emancipation, emotional films, Film, forced captivity, freedman, historical drama, Hunger, kidnapped, Lupita Nyong'o, Michael Fassbinder, Movies, Oscar nominee, overseers, Paul Giamatti, plantations, Shame, slavery, slaves, Steve McQueen, uplifting films

My Oscar nominee exploration continues with the second Best Picture nominee that I’ve seen, thus far: 12 Years a Slave.

There can be no greater pain, no more terrible turmoil, than to be torn away from family and friends, taken far from their loving arms. I can’t imagine anything worse than waking up in unfamiliar climes, fully aware that somewhere, some immeasurably far distance away, your old life waits for you…that your family and friends wait for you, not knowing your fate. Unless, that is, you were taken from your family and sold into slavery. This, of course, is the central premise of Steve McQueen’s powerful historical drama, 12 Years a Slave.

Based on the memoirs of Solomon Northup, a free black musician living in New York in 1841, 12 Years a Slave details his struggle to maintain his dignity and sense of self in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds. Bounced between several different plantations during his twelve years of forced slavery, Solomon (Chiwetel Ejiofor) must use his considerable wits and courage, as well as his amiable nature, to keep himself alive and ever vigilant for any chance at freedom. Along the way, he meets a host of people: slave-owner and slave, plantation owner and brutal overseer,  emancipationist and lynch mob. Most of the people he meets will conspire to either use him for their own ends or will abuse and degrade him as they see fit, although he will also find a few kindred souls along the way like Patsey (Lupita Nyong’O), the fiery female slave that can pick four times the cotton that any man can and Bass (Brad Pitt), the emancipationist who, ultimately, leads to Solomon’s freedom.

12 Years a Slave is one of those rare films that is both unremittingly brutal and grim, yet simultaneously beautiful and hopeful. I’m tempted to compare the film, at least aesthetically, to Braveheart, in that both movies have a way of making epic imagery out of grimy, downtrodden humanity. 12 Years is a much more subtle film, of course, freed of the grandiosity and vengeance tropes that gave Braveheart the veneer of a popcorn film, despite its melancholy subject matter. Here, McQueen distills the horrible legacy of slavery down into one character’s personal journey, making a very large story much more compact, while allowing Solomon to be our guide through this pre-Civil War-era.

From a technical standpoint, 12 Years a Slave is quite beautiful, thanks in no small part to its evocative cinematography. Sean Bobbitt, the director of photography behind McQueen’s previous films Hunger and Shame, as well as Neil Jordan’s Byzantium, has a way of shooting even the ugliest events that highlights the beauty of the surrounding countryside, using lighting in such a way as to make everything positively glow. Shot-wise, McQueen and Bobbitt have a tendency to favor close-ups, especially where Solomon is concerned but that ends up being a pretty wise-move: Ejiofor is an absolutely amazing actor, a performer who can say so much with just a quivering lip and tear-filled eye.

Which leads us, of course, to the stellar ensemble cast. As befits a modern historical drama, 12 Years a Slave is packed to the rafters with top-shelf star talent and more “Oh-that-guy!” pointing than a Woody Allen film. There’s SNL-regular Taran Killam as one of the connivers who kidnaps Solomon; Paul Giamatti as a mean-spirited slavery broker; Benedict “Sherlock” Cumberbatch as a plantation owner that’s just about as “nice” and “fair” as Solomon ever finds; Paul Dano as Ford’s ridiculously venomous overseer, Tibeats (the scene where Solomon whips the shit out of Tibeats has to be one of the single most uplifting moments in the history of moving pictures); Michael Fassbinder (picking up a Best Supporting Actor nod) as the vicious Mr. Epps; American Horror Story’s Sarah Paulson as the equally vicious Mrs. Epps; Alfre Woodard as the slave “wife” of another plantation owner; Raising Hope’s Garrett Dillahunt as the treacherous Armsby and the aforementioned Mr. Pitt as Bass, Solomon’s eventual savior.

The acting, across the board, is exceptionally good, but Ejiofar is a complete revelation as Solomon Northup. He is such a visually expressive actor, particularly those big, emotional eyes of his and he conveys a world of character with just a smile, here, or a tear, there. The scene where the camera focuses on Solomon’s face as he sings a spiritual, Ejiofor cycling through more emotion in a few moments than most actors do in an entire film, is amazing.  Thus far, I’ve only seen one other Best Actor performance, Christian Bale in American Hustle, and Ejiofor resoundingly mops up the floor with him. This is the kind of performance that not only deserves an Oscar nomination but the actual award, itself. When Solomon finally looks on his family after his time in captivity and says, simply, “I apologize for my appearance but I’ve had a difficult time these past several years,” it’s impossible not to be completely and utterly destroyed: another actor might have made the moment too cloying, too precious. Ejiofor makes each syllable sting with so much pain, sorrow, joy and dignity that they become knives, cutting as much as they comfort.

In fact, Ejiofor’s portrayal of Solomon is so towering, so absolute, that other worthy performances tend to get a bit lost in the shuffle. Newcomer Nyong’o is perfect as Patsey, radiating a complex mix of sensuality, fear, anger and pride. If anything, I really wish that her character had more screentime: folding the Eliza character into Patsey would have given Nyong’o more screentime and given the film, in general, a stronger female presence. As it is, it’s quite telling that there wasn’t really a leading actress role to give a nomination to. Cumberbatch is excellent as the nicer-than-most slave-owner: there was quite a bit of nuance to his performance, proving that Cumberbatch’s stuffy eccentricities play out quite well on the big screen.

Much has been made of Fassbinder’s portrayal of the slimy Edwin Epps but, for my money, his was mostly a serviceable performance, too given to the kind of odd tics and quirks that Joaquin Phoenix usually uses to better effect. I thought there was much too much flash and a near constant attempt to “show” us the things that Epps was feeling. Ejiofor’s performance is almost completely internal, seeping into his mannerisms and expressions in a very organic manner. Fassbinder, on the other hand, comes across as much more “actorly” and presentational: his performance never seems to truly penetrate through to the character’s soul.

Ultimately, as with any other film (especially any awards nominee), I find myself asking the same questions: Is this really that good? Is this film worth the hype? Will we even remember it in 10-15 years? In the case of 12 Years a Slave, I’m leaning towards “yes” for all of those. McQueen has fashioned a real monster of a film, subtle but powerful, beautiful yet constantly grim and ugly. There are two scenes in the film, in particular, that strike me as being the kind of thing that proves the intrinsic quality and subtly of the film. One scene is the edge-of-the-seat moment where Solomon is hung from the neck in a muddy courtyard and must shift from foot to foot, side to side, for at least an entire day: one false move and he’ll effectively hang himself. The scene is absolutely perfect, nearly Hitchcockian in its perfect marriage of suspense and irony.

The second moment comes from the parallelism of Solomon joyously playing music for the white party at the beginning of the film, as a free man, versus him playing music for another white party, later on, as a slave. We see the difference in Solomon, of course, in his posture and his face, even in the slightly mournful cast to his trademark fiddle. McQueen is also careful, however, to let us see the difference in the very atmosphere, modulating the music so that it becomes not so much a product of Solomon (as in the beginning) but a part of the soundtrack: background music, if you will. Just as Solomon has lost his individuality and become part of the faceless, voiceless horror of slavery, so too has his music been subsumed, made a part of the machinery.

12 Years a Slave is not an easy film to sit through: the brutality, degradation and suffering on display is not sugar-coated, nor is it presented with anything less than the fact-of-live mundanity that slavery, unfortunately, was for many people. Despite everything that the world throws at him, however, Solomon Northup never once loses his personal sense of honor and dignity. He knows that they can take anything away from you – your livelihood, your freedom, even your name – but they can never take your humanity away from you…unless you let them.

Solomon never lets the slavers take away his dignity and it’s to Steve McQueen’s great credit that he never lets the film take it away, either. I’m not sure if 12 Years a Slave really is the best film of 2013 but I can wholeheartedly say that it’s certainly one of them.