Appreciating Eartha: "Anna Lucasta" (1958)

It's all about Eartha.

I love me some Eartha Kitt. Like others my age I was first exposed to her voice during the holidays, seductively whining to St. Nick about what she'd like to receive for Christmas in the 1953 recording "Santa Baby." Even without a visual, her voice sounded sublimely seductive and tigerish. Unlike people who have covered it since, who treat the song as if it were just a cute little novelty wish list ("ha ha, yes we would all like a duplex and checks, isn't that funny?"), Eartha sang it from the perspective of a woman already well kept and pampered by the men in her life who fully expects to receive what she's asking for or there will be hell to pay. It's a list of demands delivered with a wink and a hike of her skirt. Powerful stuff.

And then there was the Eartha Kitt who played Catwoman on "Batman." Did flames not erupt from the screen whenever she was on it, purring and vamping, one of the first black women in a role of any import on TV in the '60s? Eartha hit the "Batman" scene in '67, overlapping with Diahann Carroll in "Julia" by '68, but as groundbreaking as Julia was, it wasn't nearly as much fun to watch as "Batman." Plus, Diahann was all covered up in her nurse's whites and tasteful dresses, while Eartha was tricked out in skintight leather, a mask, and talons!

Eartha fascinated me. People told my mother that she resembled the actress, which further fueled my fascination. Also, Eartha's unplaceable, unique style of speaking had many wondering where she came from. She looked and sounded too exotic to have been from South Carolina, which is exactly where she was born.

Anyway, I didn't get an opportunity to see much more of Ms. Kitt apart from guest appearances on the ubiquitous '70s variety shows. I hadn't seen many of her films from the early days. Recently, I saw Anna Lucasta. At first I thought this was a remake of the Greta Garbo film Anna Christie, but I have to watch that flick again to be sure. ** Aha! It is a remake of a 1949 film with Paulette Goddard as Anna.

While times have certainly changed since the 1950s, narrative standards haven't changed much: the story of the bad girl -- the fallen woman who tries to make good -- is as perennial now as it was back then (Cinderella Liberty, Mona Lisa, Pretty Woman, the list goes on). It's also a role that often proves the mettle of an actress. Anna Lucasta was Eartha's turn, and she is quite good in the film, as is Sammy Davis Jr. The drama has some overtly comedic moments, and it also has a natural rhythm of showing the life and values of a real black middle class family of the era. But Rex Ingram, who plays the family patriarch, overdoes his role, chews up all the scenery, and nearly ruins the picture.

The Plot: Anna is a San Diego dockside prostitute, a good time girl whose father threw her out of the house years before, so she had nowhere to go but down. Later we discover that Anna was her father's favorite, but when he found her sitting too close to her high school boyfriend, he labeled her a slut and forced her from their home. It's hard to read between the lines of the dialog and '50s standards whether there is actually more to the incident -- it doesn't appear that Anna and her beau were doing anything that illicit, and one wonders whether Mr. Lucasta, represented as an extremely religious man with a drinking problem, bore an unhealthy fondness for his own daughter that led him to this extreme reaction. But now his son's antiques/junk business is foundering, and an old army friend from Alabama has written to ask that the family find a wife for his son, who is coming for a visit. The son is coming bearing gifts, a lump sum of $5,000, and suddenly the whole extended family is scheming on ways to get the money from what they assume will be a dimwitted country bumpkin. Improbably, they plan to pass off Anna as an acceptable wife, if only Mr. Lucasta will fetch her. It seems a highly immoral plan. The old man is having none of it, but his wife, two sons and two daughters-in-law keep at him until he agrees.

Meanwhile, Anna scrounges drinks and cigarettes in the dockside bar, and brushes off a sailor who shows some interest. When Sammy Davis as Danny, another sailor on leave, blows in, it's obvious that Anna has been waiting for him. They dance, kiss, lush it up, and make plans to paint the town red until, da da DA, Mr. Lucasta appears at the door, begging her to come home. Gratified that the father whose approval she desperately wants has come to call, she agrees.

Back at the Lucasta house, Anna has been apprised of the family's plans and has been cleaned up and coached to ensnare the visitor. But Rudolph, when he arrives, is no country bumpkin. He's an upstanding, handsome agricultural college grad who is smitten the minute he lays eyes on Anna. The two court and coo, and Anna actually falls for Rudolph and realizes she cannot go through with the scheme. She tells Rudolph that she can't marry him and tearfully tells him why. Goodhearted Rudolph says that none of it matters, he loves her anyway. The wedding date is set, Rudolph lines up a great job teaching at a nearby college, and the family is ecstatic.

Except for Dad. Somehow he cannot bear to see his daughter happy. As Anna and Rudy say I do, Mr. Lucasta pays a call to the dean's office of the college where Rudy plans to teach, telling them they shouldn't hire a man whose wife is of low morals. After the wedding, Anna comes home to get ready for the reception and who should show up? Danny, now on leave once more. Though Anna tries to shoo him away, Danny convinces her that she can never live her life "on the square," and she's better off with him, living it up. Anna resists. Danny leaves, but when her father shows up, drunk, and reveals that he has ruined the new couple's reputation, Anna runs after Danny. That age-old adage, "once a 'ho, always a 'ho." Everyone else believes it, so why shouldn't Anna?

Well. improbably, there is a happy ending. Once Anna and Danny have spent all their cash on booze and clubs, they come back to the Lucasta house so Anna can swipe more dough from a hiding place while the family is at church. As fate would have it, her father is in the house, dying in bed, and Anna again tries to appeal to him before he passes. She is too late. The rest of the family comes home and Rudolph sees that Danny has ducked out and rushes to the house to be reunited with Anna.

This is Eartha Kitt at her earth-iest -- pun intended -- and a good look at the fire of young Sammy Davis Jr. as well. Not a perfect film, but a perfect piece of African American film history, alongside 1958's St. Louis Blues, which also featured Eartha as a nightclub singer.

"Pitch Perfect" (2012)

Anna Kendrick, Brittany Snow, Rebel Wilson

*written in August 2012*

This past summer I went to this film because I needed a break. Reality was sucking a bit more than usual, and I was mentally going down for the count. Sometimes a film intensifies the gloom for me, but I thought this piece of gossamer fluff could only refresh like a dip in a pool on a summer's day. In that sense, it did not disappoint. There's no mental heavy lifting here.

First disclosure -- I was an immediate fan of TV's "Glee" in its earliest days. (I cannot bear to watch it now because 1, I bore easily and 2, watching the young adults navigate their careers outside of high school bears too much resemblance to my own midlife career struggles). I've been a music and musical theater geek for a long time, singing Anita in church teen production of West Side Story and taking part in chorus and band during my own formative years. I went to Pitch Perfect expecting a bit of Glee Goes To College on the Big Screen. (Or Bring It On with Song.) And that's pretty much what it was. It's pablum, but it's harmless.

Wanna-be DJ/remixer Beca (Anna Kendrick)arrives at college against her wishes, but her Dad wants her to get her degree before launching a music career. She gets suckered into participating in the on-campus a cappella girl group, The Bellas, whose prissy leader is stuck in the past. (They keep singing Ace of Base's "I Saw The Sign," which unfortunately always reminds me of the uncomfortable 8 months I spent working for Arista Records, which was relentlessly promoting that song at the time.) After loads of character development, backstory, a flirtation with a fellow student, and some bad performances, Beca and her fellow Bellas must hunker down for the inevitable Big Competition, where it is Beca's talent for remixing and mashups that finally gets the girls their propers.

Thusly described, this sounds like a massive yawn. But the film struck all the right notes. It didn't take itself too seriously, it had a little romance built in, the lead character wasn't too cutesy-poo nor too goth in disposition. The characters and the music are fun. It had a simple plot, some obvious sit-com humor, and silly sight gags. The film has some twisted obsession with "The Breakfast Club." But I laughed, folks! Yes I did.

As a former urban music journalist, I am torn about the fact that urban music has become widely popular (yay!!); so much so, that young Caucasians have no compunction about co-opting it (ummmm...). I felt a pang of discomfort watching these pale suburbanites who were barely born when the song first hit break out into Blackstreet's 1996 "No Diggity" in a free-for-all facedown. But in the spirit of equal-opportunity archive-raiding, this was OK.

But the real fun of the flick can be embodied in two words: Rebel Wilson. I am in love with her.

Rebel Wilson is so wrong she's right. This Aussie comic actress with the near-albino look is unusual, awkward, lumpen, refreshingly unselfconscious yet deliciously self-aware. Her comic timing is spot on. (The few moments she is onscreen in Bridesmaids are brilliant.) As Fat Amy, she pokes fun at herself, while at the same time showing us how ridiculous and wrong we are for ever thinking that we should poke fun at her. She is unafraid -- and that is the most awesome thing about her. Rock on, Rebel.

(a year later, Rebel's schtick has worn out its welcome, thanks to the dull and tasteless sitcom "Super Fun Night")

Pitch Perfect is a bit of silliness. Anybody expecting it to be a serious examination of college life or a display of spectacular musical artistry are bound to be disappointed. If you need a smile, this could be your prescription.

Oscar Time Again...

The Oscar nominations were revealed this week. I can't really comment much on the choices, other than to note that award nominations are truly the result of politicking, networking, and how culturally aware the academy of nominating members actually are. I think awards involve an interesting process, but it's not always completely balanced or inclusive. I don't see how one body can possibly pay tribute to all of the worthy films that get released in the course of a year.

Glad to see noms for 12 Years A Slave, including the key actors, director, writing and editing. Also recognition for first-timer Barkhad Abdi, who appears in Captain Phillips. And of course the documentary 20 Feet From Stardom, featuring some ladies whose voices have helped make pop music what it is (I've been fortunate to meet Lisa Fischer, Tata Vega, and Janice Pendarvis during the course of my music biz career.)

Certainly I am disappointed that The Butler did not receive any recognition for its actors, writer, and director. I thought the film was a fascinating pageant of American history, with beautiful performances from the principals (though some of the cameo players portraying the occupants of the White House were a bit strange). It served as a visual reminder of how far the country has come in its treatment of African Americans, over such a long period of time. We may not be where we should be in terms of racial politics, but thank God we're not where we were. And the character of the Butler, whose mission it is to serve in the most perfect way he can, is an example of someone trying to bloom where they are planted, to invest with dignity and integrity a position that some might have seen as undignified and servile.

I would have been gratified to see those involved with Fruitvale Station get recognized. This wonderful small film showed us a day in the life of a good brother with a good heart, whose path was abruptly ended for no good reason. This was a little gem, with naturalistic performances from all, so it's sad that at Oscar time it was eclipsed and overlooked.

2013 was an up and down year for me, so I didn't get to the theater as often as a movie fanatic like me really should. I haven't seen all of the nominated pictures. And therefore I am reserving judgment. When the March 2nd Academy Awards telecast rolls around I will arm myself with popcorn and martinis, dish on what the nominees wear on the red carpet, and prepare to see how things shake out.

Here's the main nominees list: http://oscar.go.com/mypicks

"Looper" (2011)

*** SPOILERS ***

Caught this one on cable recently. I’d been wanting to see it and found it alternately fascinating and impenetrable. Good premise, bad execution, too much going on to be linear. Get ready, sci-fi fans.

Fave Joseph Gordon-Levitt plays Joe, a member of an elite crew of live-for-today 2044 hooligans called Loopers. This assassin ring kills crime world targets from 2074, delivered back over the years via an outlawed time machine. He is given an appointed time and place of delivery, and as soon as the victim appears, bagged and tagged with his pay in silver bars attached via straitjacket, he executes them and disposes of the body. Oddly they use a giant weapon of old, the messy hand cannon of the 1700s known as a blunderbuss. Unfortunately being a “looper” comes with the “proviso” that they only get 30 years to serve until they too get looped back for execution. In the meantime it’s all rock’n’roll, fast cars, a jump in the number of people with telekinesis, and some sort of eye-drop-delivered drug amid a dystopian city backdrop of beggars, burnouts, and thugs. Hell breaks loose when Joe is faced with closing his own loop, aka executing his 30-years-gone self, played by Bruce Willis. Old Joe is a fighter, and after a brawl Young Joe lets the quarry escape.

See, in 2074 Willis is nabbed in China and watches as the ganglanders kill his wife; he overtakes his captors then leaps into the time machine back to 2044 determined to nip in the bud the scary overlord known as Rainmaker who is mowing down all the loopers at one time and making life hell in the future. In other words, Willis wants to kill the monster as a child, and save the life of his bride. He’s gleaned some identifying info to track the tyke, but has to keep his younger self and the rest of the executioner squad off his back. At the same time, he has to safeguard Young Joe or there won’t be any Old Joe. The future can change in an instant.

The trail leads to Emily Blunt, wielding a convincing Okie accent and a mean axe stroke, who is raising up a boy on an isolated farm. As it happens, this youngster has gargantuan telekinetic powers that can spark fires, twirl the furnishings, churn up hurricanes and uh, kill people if he gets riled. At 6 he’s formidable, so we can only imagine the horrors he will be capable of 30 years down the line as the Rainmaker. Just as Young Joe tracked down Blunt, Old Joe arrives soon after, and Young Joe finds himself conflicted: Should he protect an innocent boy and his mother figure, who loves the kid unconditionally and just may keep him from being a monster, or let his older self, Willis, squash the kid like a bug in order to protect one possible salvaged future in China? As Willis shoots at the kindergartner, Young Joe, an orphan who has yet to experience the redemptive love of a Chinese wife, ultimately puts the blunderbuss into his own mouth, saving the kid and wiping out Willis’ existence.

OK, maybe I like the flick a little better in retrospect. Still-- Piper Perabo shows her boobs for no reason, Jeffrey Daniel grows facial hair and tries to be hardcore as a mob boss (please Jeff), and the intense Paul Dano (There Will Be Blood) and his crooked nose are wasted.

The watching was at times uncomfortable. I didn’t get excited until this chilling kid showed up with his impressive tot acting and the scripted ability to turn the world upside down with his singular abilities.

12 Years A Slave (2013)

Chiwetel Ejiofor, Lupita Nyong'o, Michael Fassbender, Benedict Cumberbatch, Paul Dano, Brad Pitt

I did not see 12 Years a Slave when first released because life just got in the way. I usually jump on flicks during opening weekend, but I just couldn't get to the theater. It was not a case of not wanting to see it -- I knew I HAD to see it. Because I didn't view it right away, my writing about it also got lost in the holiday shuffle. But I was actually shocked to hear people in my acquaintance declaring that they would never see it, because they did not want to become angry. (Ditto on The Butler, which I also recommend.) At some point the refusal to view the film and the potential threat -- "don't make me angry!" -- among folks approached competitive proportions, with refuseniks seeking some kind of badge of honor for who can harbor the most racial outrage.

On one level, I understand that seeing a visual interpretation of the horrors and injustice our ancestors endured (or perpetrated) during slavery is difficult to deal with. There is no question that the institution of slavery and subsequent years of racial bigotry and discrimination are all things to be furious about. But on another level, I think the choice not to see 12 Years A Slave is shortsighted, a bit immature, and ultimately self-defeating.

This movie is powerful, spellbinding, heartbreaking, and horrifying, but it is also beautifully shot and beautifully told. It is about one man's victory. Yes. Solomon Northup is born free, and after enduring 12 brutal years in slavery, is returned to freedom. He survives to tell the tale, to bear public witness to the raw day-to-day realities and practices of a system that many whites -- and blacks -- would like to see swept under the rug and forgotten. At a time when it was illegal for slaves to read or write, Solomon -- like Frederick Douglass, Harriet Tubman, Olaudah Equiano and others -- created a slave narrative (published in 1853) that was a powerful tool in the swelling American abolitionist movement leading up to the Civil War. Yes, he left behind hundreds of thousands of fellow slaves when he was rescued by a white attorney of his acquaintance, but he could have returned to his old life and never sought to share what he saw through his best-selling book.

12 Years A Slave the movie is affecting, because the "peculiar institution" of slavery is made all the more chilling and dehumanizing seen through the eyes of Solomon, a freeborn, educated man of color who had a family, a home, and career. While the southern states brutalized Africans in servitude, Solomon's insulated life in upstate New York is not touched by the experience of slavery until he himself is cruelly kidnapped by unscrupulous slave traders and shipped off to Louisiana. The film is also powerful in the way it contrasts the debauchery and inhumanity of slavery with the sheer beauty of a young country. It's that irony that further shakes us: this happened in the "O beautiful for spacious skies" America, the America of liberty, of rolling green hills and rich foliage, gorgeous sunsets, mighty rivers, idyllic glens, soaring flocks of birds and the sweet night music of frogs and insects -- continually sullied by human atrocities. Amid so much sylvan beauty, there is blood on the leaves.

As such, 12 Years A Slave does not shrink away from the material. (Armond White of CityPages called it "torture porn.") There are insults, lies, taunts, vicious whippings, bloody beatings, violent rapes, betrayals, the stripping away of family units, clothing, and all semblance of dignity or humanity. There is near-starvation, sleep deprivation, back breaking labor, amd the loss of hope. These towering injustices have been depicted on screen many times before, but perhaps not in such agonizing detail; Ejiofor's expressive eyes and dignified presence drive home his disgust, dismay, and despair. Lupita Nyong'o's portrayal of a young woman who bears the brunt of Missy's ire and Massa's desire will tear your heart out. At the same time, it's not a perfect film, nor can it begin to approach what slavery must really have been like.

Yes, all of this is tough going. But you must see it. It is a measure of truth. One version of what indeed happened to our country. If we refuse to look because it disquiets us, we contribute to the kind of cultural amnesia that creates a climate for these atrocities to happen again. We contribute to a national sleep of collective ignorance from which some factions hope we never wake.

As to anger: Get angry. Fine. Art is supposed to evoke emotion. But we are no longer children who cannot control our emotional responses, we are thinking adults. We can talk about our history. We can channel our righteous anger into good works, into fighting for the continued rights of oppressed peoples, and into crusades to free people who are enslaved everywhere.

Further, we must support artists of color like director Steve McQueen, whose commitment to bringing this film to the screen is an act of courage as well as creativity. The actors -- both black and white -- must be applauded for their daring and fortitude. If we don't support films like 12 Years A Slave, which keep our stories alive, they won't get made.

Finally, I don't understand how 12 Years A Slave -- a finely crafted film of historical significance in all senses of the phrase -- makes people angry, while a whole series of films where a black man dons a wig and a dress, waves a gun, and drops ghetto malapropisms that keep harmful stereotypes alive and well doesn't make anybody remotely pissed. (Not mad at brother Perry, who has provided creative jobs for a whole bunch of people.) Let's keep things in proper perspective.

As others have noted: Some of our ancestors survived way more than 12 years in slavery; you can surely survive 120 minutes of a film depiction.

If you missed your chance to see 12 Years in theaters, it will be available soon enough on DVD. Please open your eyes to it.

Her (2013)

Joaquin Phoenix, Amy Adams, the voice of Scarlett Johanssen

"That was weird," pronounced my movie mate after viewing Her on Sunday.

"Yes, but also strangely compelling," I said.

Whether you think Her is weird or compelling or both depends on your attitude toward technology, relationships, and/or long close-ups of Joaquin Phoenix's mustachioed mug. Writer/Director Spike Jonze, who specializes in The Weird And Compelling (Adaptation, Being John Malkovich, Where The Wild Things Are), has created a brilliant meditation on what constitutes "relationship" as well as the inevitable collision of humanity and technology. But unlike such tech-gone-rogue cautionary tales as I-Robot, Artificial Intelligence, The Terminator, or (fill in the name of your favorite Sci-Fi "it's learned to think!" flick), the damage is less violent but no less impactful.

I was curious to see this thought-provoking film, set in a pleasant, near-future Los Angeles where technology has advanced significantly enough to where humans can fall in love with their highly-evolved, talking computers. (It's also a future where apparently the waistlines of pants have been raised to new heights and a sort of washed-out, kindergarten yellow-orange-blue color palette has taken over fashion and design). For me, the film is a commentary on the increasing separation and isolation people feel in an increasingly digitized world, and how human connection becomes that much harder to accomplish. At the same time, Her is deeply romantic, where technology is simply the latest tool by which we express all-too-human longings and needs that require another human to satisfy. Still, whether relationships involve humans or machines, the outcome seems predictable.

By now, you know the setup: Mild-mannered writer Theodore Twombley mopes through his solitary routine, unhinged by the fact that his childhood friend-turned-wife (Rooney Mara) is now divorcing him. On a whim, he downloads a brand-new artificially intelligent OS1 operating system that promises to attune itself to his every need and thought. "Samantha," voiced with throaty enthusiasm by Scarlett Johanssen, not only manages the details of Twombley's external life, but her refreshing candor and curiosity also gain her entry into his internal life as well. When she inquires about the cause of his marriage's demise, Twombley says, "I hid myself away in the relationship." It's a line that any insecure, commitment-phobic, life-distracted person can relate to. It becomes easier, therefore, for Twombley to open up to a consciousness and personality that is always accepting, always supportive, and always there -- until, of course, she's not.

So much of filmmaking wisdom is of the "show, don't tell" variety, but Jonze's script allows the conversations and discoveries between Theodore and Samantha to roll out in organic fashion. These are the kind of getting-to-know-you moments of information, teasing, inside jokes, confession, and dream sharing that can be the foundations of love. Too many movies have characters exchange names and then fall into bed, so this kind of back and forth feels refreshing for a while. Until it goes on too long and starts to feel way too precious and we grow tired of staring at Joaquin's lip fur as he listens to Samantha purr.

There are some truly funny moments in Her, first having to do with the nature of his writing job, then with the 3-D video game he diverts himself with in the evenings (director Jonze voices the impertinent "Alien Child") as well as the "Perfect Mom" video game Theodore's pal Amy (Amy Adams) is programming. The shot of Theodore walking outside, deep in conversation with his OS device, which widens to show that everyone on the street is similarly engaged, is thoroughly ironic. There are also some awkward moments, mostly having to do with sex. "You're a creepy man," accuses a drunken blind date (Olivia Wilde), who only moments before had been engaging Theodore in French kisses and pleas for commitment. And Samantha's plan to utilize a human surrogate in her relationship with Theodore is painful to watch.

Ultimately, though, Her made me want to cry. You will no doubt be thinking, "Why, for heaven's sake?" Some see this film as being hopeful about love. I -- the repressed romantic -- see it as hopeless. With technology becoming more and more complicated and advanced, and more of the world being sucked into its embrace, Her seems less like a cautionary tale and more like a Coming Attractions reel for the future.

FYI: Jonze picked up a Best Screenplay honor for Her at the Golden Globe on Jan. 12.

"Now You See Me" (2013)

I enjoyed this thoroughly as a piece of pure movie entertainment. As the perennial Grumpy Critic, I wanted to resist its numerous charms and focus on its flaws, of which there are a few. But the flick won me over with the cleverness of its premise, the input of its dynamic cast, the gritty veracity of its locations (Vegas, New York, New Orleans, Paris), and its utter commitment (to quote Family Guy: “It insists upon itself”). With so much sheer momentum it’s tough not to get swept along, and the film dares you not to like it. As a breezy meditation on what constitutes magic and the faith required to pull off an illusion, director Louis Leterrier (the Transporter franchise, The Hulk, Clash of the Titans) does his own bit of cinema prestidigitation, pulling the wool over our eyes with panache and making us feel grateful for the experience.

There is some crackling acting done by Jesse Eisenberg, fave Mark Ruffalo, and now-veteran character actor Woody Harrelson. Isla Fisher’s flowing red hair and Dave Franco (baby bro to James) and his familial killer grin are just along for the ride, but Morgan Freeman—whose best screen work is now safely behind him – looks a little worse for wear as he tries valiantly to inject some enthusiasm into his role as agent provocateur. Also happy to be collecting yet another check is Michael Caine, who has precious few choice lines as a multi-millionaire investor with a giant ego and a mean streak. French actress Melanie Laurent (Inglorious Basterds) bats her baby blues, models her considerable proboscis, and mangles the English language as a mysterious Interpol agent who helps FBI agent Ruffalo track the magicians known as the Four Horsemen as they commit bank heists for mass entertainment as some sort of Initiation Rite. Why rapper and actor Common is even in this flick is as much a mystery as how the magic tricks are done, since he is wasted as a member of the FBI investigational team, when his coolness factor could have added exponentially to the fun of the proceedings.

AS the film opens we are shown how this diverse collection of individual magic practitioners manages to swindle their audiences with acts of illusion ranging from the petty (card tricks and sleights of hand on the street by Eisenberg and a bait-and-switch underwater escape by Fisher) to the criminal (a spoon bending robbery by semi-newcomer Franco and a cheap hypnosis hustle by Harrelson). They are brought together for a common cause by a mysterious stranger who challenges them in the name of joining the Illuminati, er, the Ultimate Magic Fraternity aka The Eye. Semi-strangers at first, within a year they have put together a stage act that is drawing patrons like gangbusters to watch some of the most unique illusions ever committed in public, essentially robbing the rich and paying the poor. But the quartet is not a band of noble Robin Hoods – their magic acts are part of a vengeful scheme ordered by an unknown mastermind for reasons not revealed until the final moments of the film.

Some of the best bits in the film have to do with Eisenberg’s arrogant rat-a-tat line recitations, besting the feds who would see the magicians thrown in the pokey for seeming high crimes that can’t be explained. I laughed out loud at the plot payoffs, mostly having to do with the after-effects of mentalist Harrelson’s hypnotic suggestions on innocent audience members reacting to trigger words at just the right times. A car chase staged in lower Manhattan and then over the Brooklyn Bridge is utterly thrilling, and the huge magic show setpieces are captured by cameras that glide and swoop around and over the stage and its inhabitants.

What is interesting about Now You See Me is the idea of how much we the audience are essential to the success of any illusionist’s craft. Singers can sing whether there is an audience or not; dancers leap around in their basement or a rehearsal studio and their abilities are intact. But somehow the world of magic, perfected through hours and hours of diligent practice, is only successful when performed before an observer whose power of belief makes things so. Illusionists use our humanity – our five senses and our willingness, nay our sheer need to believe – against us. To what degree we feel sheer amazement and delight – or resentment at having been duped – depends entirely on our expectations.