Left to right: Steve Coogan as Stan Laurel, John C. Reilly as Oliver Hardy, Photo by Nick Wall, Courtesy of Sony Pictures Classics
In Stan & Ollie, Steve Coogan as Stan Laurel and John C. Reilly as Oliver Hardy deliver remarkable portraits of a partnership facing the inevitability of showbiz decline. An iconic movie comedy team, Laurel and Hardy made 107 films, including 23 features. Their run started in 1926 and made the transition into the sound era more successfully than their peers in silent comedy. But by 1945, their popularity was over, and most of Stan & Ollie is set in 1951, when they are trying to rekindle their careers with a British live tour.
Coogan and Reilly’s impersonations (and Reilly’s makeup) are impressive. However, the most interesting aspect to Stan & Ollie is the depiction of the partnership, which like any partnership, is unequal and complementary; each individual has a different personality and a different role. Together, their act was so seamless that we forget that the two, one English and the other from Georgia, were veteran professionals already in their mid-thirties when they hooked up. Hardy was bossy on-screen, but Laurel was the business and creative leader of the team.
In a flashback (during the 1937 filming of Way Out West), we see the two at the height of their career arc. That sets us up to watch the two manage struggle and disappointment later on.
The technical highlight of the Coogan and Reilly performances is a dead-on re-creation of Stan and Ollie’s dance in front of an Old West saloon in Way Out West, a dance which is comic perfection; it’s worth finding Way Out West for the original version of the dance, which is much longer. My own favorite Laurel & Hardy film is the 1933 Pre-Code Sons of the Desert, where the duo mislead their wives to sneak off to the rowdy convention/drinkfest of the titular fraternal organization.
As usual I’ve embedded the trailer for you, but I recommend not watching it if you’re going to see Stan & Ollie – it gives too much away.
In the sweeping romantic tragedy Cold War, Wiktor (Tomasa Kot) is a talented musician/arranger in post-War Poland and an archivist of folk music. He becomes the musical director of a communist state-sponsored folk music revue, and falls for the ensemble’s comely and spirited lead Zula (Joanna Kulig), despite her being a bit of a brat. This being the Cold War, the question is whether the couple can flee Poland to freedom, artistic and otherwise. Zula is so unreliable that this is not cut and dried. Instead, the story spans a decade and four European countries as writer-director Pawel Pawlikowski explores the depths of sacrifice that humans will make for love.
The story in Cold War is inspired by that of Pawlikowski‘s own parents. Cold War is not as compelling as his recent masterpiece Ida. Virtually every shot in Ida could be hung in a gallery, which is not the case in Cold War although there are many beautifully filmed sequences. Both Ida and Cold War are shot in exquisite black-and-white and in a boxy aspect.
Joanna Kulig’s appearance changes dramatically depending on her makeup – to an unusual extent. The Wife suggested that this reflected a chameleon-like aspect to the character of Zula.
I enjoyed the character of the slime ball toadie Kaczmerak (Boris Szyc), the administrative manager of the folk music group. Kaczermak is so accepting of the corruption in Cold War communist society, that he greets every development with tranquil aplomb.
Fans of Ida will recognize Agata Kulesza, who played Ida’s aunt, as Wiktor’s musical partner Irena.
I saw Cold War at the Mill Valley Film Festival in October. It releases in theaters on December 21 and, having been financed by Amazon Studios, will be streamable from Amazon.
Set in 1962, Green Book is the story of Tony Lip (a burly Viggo Mortensen), an Italian-American bouncer at the Copacabana, who is enlisted to accompany a highbrow African-American musician Don Shirley (Mahershala Ali) on a concert tour of the American South. The title refers to the pamphlet that listed African-American-friendly accommodations in the segregated South.
These guys are an odd couple – one culturally refined and intellectually curious, the other decidedly not. Tony uses his imposing physical presence, comfort with violence and uncommon chutzpah to navigate life. Not surprisingly, given his Bronx working class background, he is racist by today’s standard. Shirley, on the other hand, is a sometimes fastidious Renaissance Man. Each underestimates the other UNTIL …
Green Book is a great movie because it transcends the odd couple movie formula by probing the depths of these characters. Tony is irascible and enjoys disregarding the niceties of rules; early in Green Book, he see him park his car next to a fire hydrant, dump out the contents of a garbage can and then use the can to hood the hydrant. He knows his way around the world of Wise Guys. His appetite for his favorite foods (even in mass quantities) is admirable. He is comfortable in his own skin and resists self-improvement (until he needs some help with romantic letters to his wife). In Green Book, Tony Lip is not impressed by ANYTHING until he hears Don Shirley play piano.
The hyper-achiever Shirley, in contrast, is decidedly not comfortable in his own skin. He is isolated from whites by racism and isolated from most blacks culturally. Shirley is moody – there are multiple roots to his dissatisfaction and unhappiness – and one particular root is revealed later in the film. Ali’s Shirley flashes an insincere showbiz smile to accept an audience’s applause, but is otherwise obsessed with always maintaining his dignity on his terms.
To their surprise, both men are affected by the other. As inhabited by Mortensen and Ali, these are two of the most compelling characters in any odd couple movie, road trip movie or civil rights movie.
An early title says that Green Book is “inspired by true story”, and the closing credits show us the real people who are portrayed. Peter Farrelly deserves massive praise for having snagged the rights to this story and recognizing what could be done with it. Tony Lip is a marvelous character, and Viggo Mortensen’s performance in Green Book is one of the great pleasures of this year in the movies.
Great performances by three great actresses, sex and political intrigue were not enough; the critically praised The Favourite, didn’t work for me. The Favourite is director Yorgos Lanthimos’ version of the reign of Queen Anne, the British monarch from 1705 to 1714. Anne (Olivia Colman), beleaguered by her chronic health problems and perhaps the most heartbreaking childbearing history ever, was easily manipulated by her childhood friend Sarah, Lady Churchill (Rachel Weisz), the wife of England’s greatest general. At some point, Sarah’s unfortunate relation Abigail (Emma Stone) arrives to help at the palace, and begins her own ruthless climb to supplant Sarah.
Colman (especially), Weisz and Stone are quite brilliant here. Colman captures Anne’s neediness, weakness and occasional capriciousness.
Lanthimos is a very witty filmmaker, and he specializes in absurdity, of which there are many touches in The Favourite. Of course, hereditary monarchy, which bestows absolute power upon even the most ill-equipped by the accident of birth, is inherently absurd.
With the exception of Anne’s sex life after the death of her husband, which is imagined (and could be true for all I know – there’s just no evidence for it), the story faithfully follows the arc of history.
I surmise that the problem here is that Lanthimos is too in love with his own wit, and, lingering over his own funny bits, lets the interest drain out of them. I liked his Greek indie Dogtooth, but not his more recent work, particularly The Lobster. And not The Favourite.
In the gripping drama, Rieke (Susanne Wolff) is a woman who intends to pilot her sailboat on a solo voyage from Europe to Ascension Island off the coast of Africa. That’s one woman, all alone on her boat for 3,000 miles of open ocean.
Oozing matter of fact confidence, Rieke seems well-equipped for the adventure. She is fit, highly skilled, an experienced sailor and provisioned up with top quality gear and supplies. Rieke’s day job is as an emergency physician, and we see that no crisis situation seems to faze her.
In the first part of Styx, we think we’re watching a survival tale – woman against nature. But when a dramatic storm hits, we’re afraid for her but she’s not.
After the storm, she faces the first situation that she can’t handle on her own – one of life-and-death that has been spawned by a humanitarian crisis bigger than any individual. Frustratingly, she knows exactly what must be done, but she can’t do it herself; she must rely on civilized nations behaving according to expected norms. But are those expected norms available to everyone? And will it come?
Rieke’s persona is based on acting to solve every problem. But here, there are no good choices.
This is a German film about a German character, but almost all the dialogue is in English, the international language of navigation.
The second feature for director Wolfgang Fischer, Styx has won film festival awards, including at the Berlin International Film Festival. I saw Styx before its release at Silicon Valley’s Cinema Club. I’ll let you know when it becomes widely available.
Orson Welles’ The Other Side of the Wind, finally completed and released thirty years after Welles’ death, centers on the fictional cinema auteur Jake Hannaford (John Huston). Not unlike Welles himself, Hannaford is widely recognized as brilliant and self-indulgent, as both a genius and impossible to work with, having a lifetime of relationship carnage strewn behind him. For the zillionth time, Hannaford is broke and needs to find money to finish his latest movie. He holds a screening party in hopes of snaring financial support from his now more successful protégé Brooks Otterlake (Peter Bogdanovich).
The backdrop is the sort of 1970s Hollywood hedonism where the party includes naked models, midgets (“The midgets broke into the wine cellar and got their tiny hands on the fireworks”) and female manikins for target practice. And, oh, they invited the mid-70s version of Dennis Hopper.
Peter Bogdanovich and John Huston in Orson Wells’ THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WIND
Hannaford is surrounded by his own posse of collaborators and hangers-on, and a cynical bunch they are. That rampant and matter-of-fact cynicism is very witty, and things are funniest when things go badly – the money pitch is prematurely exposed and the screening of an art film has to be re-located to a drive-in!
John Huston’s performance is wonderful, especially when Hannaford is not suffering fools gladly. Hannaford’s team of scoundrels is played by Mercedes McCambridge, Tonio Selwirt as the Baron, Gregory Sierra, Paul Stewart and Edmond O’Brien, with Lili Palmer as an ex and Susan Strasberg as a provocateur of the press. In fact, virtually every actor delivers an excellent performance, except for Cameron Mitchell with his odd, apparently Southern, accent.
I was surprised by brilliance of Norman Foster’s performance as Hannaford’s gofer Billy, loyal, weary and crapped-upon; Foster is known for 57 screen credits as a director, but he also acted, supporting Walter Huston in one of the first talkies in 1929.
Norman Foster in THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WIND
And then there’s the surreal film-within-the-film – the unfinished Hannaford movie that is being screened at the party. The star of that film is Welles’ real-life girlfriend, the Croatian actress Oja Kodar, who co-wrote The Other Side of the Wind. Kodar’s character strides around empty vistas naked and dominates the pretty boy leading man (Robert Random). This film is pure eye candy, with the most vivid colors and the most dramatic camera angles. Kodar’s almost silent performance is exceptional – she has the gaze of a predator, always direct and in command. She looks great naked, and her sex scene in a moving car is exceptionally erotic.
Some critical comment suggests that the film-within-the-film is Welles’ satire on European art films. But, to my eyes, it’s consistent with a good art film of the 1970s, too. Either way, you can’t stop watching it.
Oja Kodar in THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WIND
The Other Side of the Wind has been famous for decades as a Lost Film (and now as a recovered film). But it’s best viewed without that baggage – by just absorbing what’s up on the screen.
Not everyone will like The Other Side of the Wind, especially those who like their movies to be linear. Is The Other Side of the Wind a mess, as some have described it? I don’t think so because the party scenes are SUPPOSED to be frenetic – Welles dips deeply into chaos and ambivalence and obscurity with intentionality.
The Other Side of the Wind is Welles’ unsparing glimpse into his own personality – a personality that self-sabotages his art and cruelly mistreats those closest and most necessary to him. The question he seems to ask himself is whether the self-created tumult is a REQUISITE for his art or an IMPEDIMENT?
In each of four decades Orson Welles produced unforgettable works of art. Citizen Kane is an undisputed masterpiece, and I consider A Touch of Evil and Chimes at Midnight to be great movies. The Other Side of the Wind is in that class. Thirty-three years after it’s creator’s death, it’s one of the best movies of 2018.
John Huston, Orson Welles and Peter Bogdanovich in THEY’LL LOVE ME WHEN I’M DEAD
The release of The Other Side of the Wind is accompanied by two documentaries on Orson Welles and his final movie: They’ll Love Me When I’m Dead and A Final Cut for Orson: Forty Years in the Making. And they’re both available to stream on Netflix.
They’ll Love Me When I’m Dead is a feature-length documentary. We hear from the two guys involved with The Other Side of the Wind during its forty-year journey. Producer Frank Marshall was one of the four-person crew during the four years of shooting, along with Orson Welles, co-writer and star Oja Kodar and cinematographer Gary Graver. Director Peter Bogdanovich began acting in one role and shifted to another during the shoot – and then played a pivotal off-camera role in the film’s completion.
Here’s what They’ll Love Me When I’m Dead helps you understand about The Other Side of the Wind:
How essential director of photography Gary Graver was to the project, one of the few non-porn flicks in his filmography.
Why impressionist Rich Little oddly shows up in the party in The Other Side of the Wind and what was his original role in the film;
How Welles treated his confidant Bogdanovich in real life, which gives a major insight into The Other Side of the Wind.
What The Other Side of the Wind insiders think is the intended meaning of the movie.
Just how charismatic and witty Welles was in real life – even more quick and refreshing than on his talk show appearances.
You can stream They’ll Love Me When I’m Dead on Netflix.
A Final Cut for Orson: Forty Years in the Making is a 38-minute “Making Of’ doc about the restoration and completion of The Other Side of the Wind. It’s a procedural that offers insight into all aspects of the final cut, including the editing and the music. A highlight is actor Danny Huston describing the looping of his father’s voice. The story of rescuing the actual cans of film is a helluva detective story in itself.
Netflix offers A Final Cut for Orson: Forty Years in the Making, but makes it unnecessarily tough to find. Instead of using the Netflix SEARCH feature, go right to The Other Side of the Wind and scroll down and click on MORE TRAILERS.
Frank Marshall, Oja Kodar and Orson Welles in A FINAL CUT FOR ORSON: FORTY YEARS IN THE MAKING
The protagonist of Zama is a colonial magistrate in the late 1700s, a low-level functionary of the Spanish crown in a remote backwater of South America. A pretty decent guy for a colonizer who enslaves other humans, Diego de Zama (Daniel Giménez-Cacho) has been loyally performing his duties, and his sole ambition is to get a transfer and return to his family.
But his bosses just won’t give him that transfer, even when he performs a morally painful task. Worse than that, his life is an unending sequence of indignities. While de Zama can’t get relieved, the underling who has been fired for insubordination gets the assignment of his choice; de Zama lusts for the Spanish colonial woman who teases him, but she only will bed the same insubordinate underling. De Zama can’t even get his indigenous mistress to wash his shirt.
The Wiley Coyote of Spanish colonialism, De Zama is frustrated, humiliated – and finally, far worse. Zama’s descent leads to his final act of refusing to give what he sees as false hope to even his tormentors. As the indignities pile up on Zama, the absurdity becomes wry; I kept thinking of the Job-like misfortunes of the protagonist in the Coen brothers’ A Serious Man, which is funny as hell, unlike Zama.
The finest screen actors are best when they are silently watching, observing and assessing their own situations. The Spanish-born Mexican actor Giménez-Cacho is particularly adept at this, and throughout the film we see “I am so screwed” in his eyes.
This is all meant to show us the fundamental corruption of colonialism, and that colonialism ultimately destroys the colonizer as well as the colonized. (Yes, this really hasn’t been controversial for the past 50 years.)
This is a one-note movie. Zama has a score of 89 from Metacritic and is beloved by many admirable critics, including the great Manohla Dargis. But the repetitive tedium and the Message worn on its sleeve didn’t pay off for me. You can stream it if you insist.
Bitter Melon is H.P. Mendoza’s dark indie comedy on an issue that a Bay Area family must finally face. The dad has long abandoned the family, and it’s almost like he has moved to a different city (but he hasn’t). Two of the adult sons have moved to New York City and Philadelphia. The third son, Troy, lives in the mom’s family home with his wife and kid – and this guy is a nightmare. Troy (Patrick Epino) has a delusional self-image that he is somehow super-talented, even though he is unemployed and living off his wife and mom; worse, he has an anger management problem, and the entire family tiptoes around on eggshells – trying to avoid any disagreement with him.
It should be no surprise that Troy, who thinks he is entitled to his way all of the time, also beats his wife. The wife is too traumatized to seek help, Troy’s mom is in denial and the siblings, having put the family’s day-to-day life in their rearview mirrors, all combine to enable the abuse. When the two brothers return for the Christmas Holiday, the situation becomes unbearable and the family members decide that they must take an extreme step to deal with Troy.
I’ve just described a pretty grim story line, but Bitter Melon is very funny.
Bitter Melon invites us into a Filipino-American family, which is a welcome look at an underrepresented subject. But Bitter Melon is much more than cultural tourism – the characters and story here are universal, from the adult kids coming back to sleep in their childhood rooms for the holidays, the differences between first and second generation immigrants and the family issues of abuse and denial.
H.P. Mendoza is a Bay Area treasure, having written the screenplay and music for the rollicking and refreshing comedy Colma: The Musical and written and directed the genre-bending art film I Am a Ghost. I recommend the delightful Colma: The Musical for anyone, especially Bay Area residents; you can stream it from Vudu, YouTube and Google Play.
Bitter Melon begins a Bay Area theatrical run tomorrow.
The biodoc Divide and Conquer: The Story of Roger Ailes provides insight into the life of the man who, by founding Fox News, created what was once entirely unthinkable, the defiling of the American body politic and our venerable nation’s descent into Trump’s America. Fox News has stripped from American civil society our shared acceptance of fact. You just can’t debate the goals and means of governing with people who devoutly believe things that just are not empirically accurate – that Obama founded Isis, that Hilary murdered Vince Foster and the like. That is the legacy and stain of Ailes and his Fox News.
Divide and Conquer: The Story of Roger Ailes tells that story, and precedes it with some nuggets about Ailes’ childhood (including a significant medical condition), his ambitious clambering up the career ladder and his worship of Richard Nixon. The most surprising talking head (in terms of the content of his remarks) is Glenn Beck.
Of course, Ailes met his downfall when his decades-long sexual harassment was exposed. The disgustingly naked quid pro quo character of his serial sexual predation is startling – even among the worst we’ve seen in this #MeToo period.
Divide and Conquer: The Story of Roger Ailes opens this week in Bay Area theaters.
