Loosey Gucci and Our Lady of Perpetual Drama: "House of Gucci"

 House of Gucci
directed by Ridley Scott
starring Lady Gaga, Adam Driver, Al Pacino, Jeremy Irons, Jared Leto 

Oh! to be a gold digger, a social climber, an arriviste with a taste for the finer things. To possess such a burning sense of entitlement that it fuels the ability to manipulate others and bend them to your will. I wasn't born with those genes, apparently. But for Patrizia Reggiani, a truck driver's daughter who married Maurizio, the scion of the Gucci fashion house in 1979, these attributes came all too naturally and proved to be her Achilles heel. 

House of Gucci is (purportedly) a true story, a sad story, but not an altogether unfamiliar story. The somewhat naive young man of means (Maurizo Gucci, played by Adam Driver) falls in love with a brash young girl from the working class (Lady Gaga). They marry over the father's objections, and now the ambitious young wife pushes her husband into grabbing more and more power within the family business -- through both legal and below-board means involving the sale and ownership of shares. With the husband's success come inevitable resentments and recriminations: His once beloved family members -- most notably his uncle (Al Pacino) and cousin (Jared Leto, in heavy prosthetics), as well as his father (Jeremy Irons) -- are betrayed, estranged and ultimately disenfranchised. The husband, who does elevate the brand with new style and new energy, bringing in designer Tom Ford, becomes drunk with power and goes on a spending spree that imperils the financial wellbeing of the company. 

The husband also indulges in a blonde mistress, who is nothing like The Missus, who has evolved into a nagging, jealous, manipulative, emotionally volatile problem whom he has come to disdain. A ski lodge scene where he mildly but pointedly belittles her in front of his bourgeois friends seems the beginning of the end. In a stunningly matter-of-fact and unanticipated move that may be common to the elite, Maurizio leaves for a business trip and simply never returns. 

Oh Italy, land of passion and Amore, Amore! Of chest-pounding operatic declarations and the deep-seated dark traditions of vendettas! Patrizia is Italian to her core and Drama is her middle name. Now a mother, she will not be forgotten, dismissed, or disregarded (I'm not going to be IGNORED, Dan!). Despite the fact that Maurizio is willing to make a clean break and give her financial support, Patrizia is of the "If I Can't Have Him, No One Will" school. In a heartrending scene where she follows Maurizio to his apartment with an album of family photos and begs him to return to her, a cold Maurizio refuses to engage and closes the door in her face. 

In these moments, an Italian diva wife's thoughts turn, naturally, to ... murder for hire. Through her friendship with a popular TV psychic and fortune teller, played by Salma Hayek, Patrizia orders up a hit as though ordering delivery pizza. The Sicilian hitmen prove more capable than they appear, and the rest, as they say, is history.  

Lady Gaga does wonders with this role, letting us see the insecurity and vulnerability driving Patrizia's desire for more power, more status, and more love. And as scheming a character as she is, Gaga also gives her a well of childish naivete, as in her belief that the fairy tale should rightfully be hers. There's a fearlessness to her ability to embody this woman, so that when she loves, we feel her joy, when she smolders, we feel her sting, and when she is threatened, we feel the enormity and inherent danger of her desperation. On the surface, Patrizia is beautiful, sharp, and engaging; Gaga's charm works so we see how easily but stealthily she insinuates herself into the confidence of Maurizio's uncle Aldo, co-founding partner of the Gucci empire, and his son, frustrated designer Paolo, before getting her husband to stab them in the back. 

I love Adam Driver as an actor, and he looks damn good in the 1970s feathered hair, designer suits, and squared off aviator glasses, but Maurizio is a coddled, mild-mannered, self-centered character in director Ridley Scott's version of things, so his performance is mostly low-key. The other cast members revel in their chance to employ florid Italian accents and talk with their hands. Jared Leto, almost unrecognizable under makeup and a frizzy half-bald pate, seems to be in another movie altogether, taking his character's lunkheadedness and whining self-pity to parodic levels. 

As a film, this is a standard tale of love gone wrong at the highest level of society, nothing more than a Milanese-set episode of "Snapped." I wouldn't call it a Must See movie, but it's not bad, more notable for reviving a famous murder case and stirring up bad feelings among the remaining Guccis and others who say that the film is far from accurate. 

Accurate or not, House of Gucci is really House of Gaga -- a showcase for Stephanie Germanotta's prodigious talents as a screen actress. And I say: Brava, Gaga! 

The French Dispatch: Topics in Faux Lit and French Letters*

Directed by Wes Anderson Starring Bill Murray, Tilda Swinton, Benicio Del Toro, Frances McDormand, Timothee Chalamet, Jeffrey Wright et al

 

(*extra credit if you know what a French letter is. Hardy har.) 

 As a writer, I'm familiar with the history of several literary-leaning magazines and writers whose work has become part of the canon. But I say "familiar" as in "I've heard of"; I'm no expert. I have never subscribed to The New Yorker magazine, though I have read a few articles over the years and respect its reputation for longform literary reporting. 

 In my opinion, you need to have more than a passing acquaintance with the heyday of The New Yorker Magazine and its merry band of 1950s and 60s writing luminaries, not to mention some knowledge of the inner workings of a publication, to fully appreciate the over-the-top storytelling, arch satire, and numerous inside jokes bulging from director Wes Anderson's towering tribute The French Dispatch.

 What brought me to The French Dispatch is an appreciation for the storybook framing and mildly-to-wildly comic tone of his previous films, such as The Grand Budapest Hotel, Moonrise Kingdom, The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou, The Royal Tenenbaums, Rushmore, and Bottle Rocket (I missed The Darjeeling Limited), and animated features The Isle of Dogs and The Fantastic Mr. Fox. It seems that with each new film, Anderson ups the ante on everything he's become known for as a filmmaker, and The French Dispatch is Anderson at his most Anderson: The incredibly detailed sets, the use of color, the number of characters and the high-profile casting, the intricate plot(s), the rapid pace and often matter-of-fact delivery of dialog, the frequently wide and static camera shots. In this film, more is ... more. 

 A viewer who has no knowledge of the film's paean to a past literary age can view it on its own terms, a rapidfire succession of oddball personalities doing oddball things. The plot is difficult to describe. It centers on a weekly newspaper insert of the Liberty, Kansas Evening Sun that covers world politics, art, and lifestyle. Based in France, in the fictional city of Ennui-Sur-Blase (a name that guarantees giggles), the paper was founded and published by an American trailblazer played by Anderson regular Bill Murray (feel free to look up who the publisher and his staff are inspired by in real life, it's too exhausting to fully describe here). 

The film begins with an Anjelica Huston voiceover describing the magazine's history and the fact that its publisher has died and decreed that the magazine end publication upon his death. And thus, we are privy to anthology of the very last issue, which includes a prologue and three stories from the paper's previous issues. The French Dispatch begins with a profile of the town of Ennui, a hilarious bit of dark reporting from Owen Wilson on a bicycle. The film then proceeds to three main stories. 

 The first is the best, in my opinion. The magnificent Benicio Del Toro plays a taciturn psychotic murderer confined to a French prison, who develops a talent for art, inspired by his muse and eventual lover, a frosty prison guard played by Lea Seydoux (who doesn't mind being fully nude on film). His paintings come to the attention of fellow prisoner and art dealer (Adrien Brody) desperate to find and exploit a new talent. Released from prison, the dealer ultimately convinces the recalcitrant artist to create a major masterpiece to unveil before a reception of rich international investors and art critics -- at the prison. The story includes sex, violence, near suicide, electrocution, a prison break, and a spectacular brawl frozen mid-action and photographed as a still tableau. Along the way, the dialog pillories the art world and its inhabitants. 

The second chapter is less interesting but no less frenetic. It revolves around a journalist played by Oscar winner Frances McDormand who covers a university student protest (much as real-life New Yorker writer Mavis Gallant covered the student uprisings in 1968 Paris). She interviews one of its young leaders (Timothee Chalamet, looking not unlike a bladeless Edward Scissorhands) and is soon embedded (and in bed) with the movement. This chapter's flavor is inspired by the French New Wave and the European ideal of older women priming younger men for romance, as the young revolutionary ultimately zooms off with a young lady on the back of his motorbike. (This is the chapter that made me consider leaving the theater in the middle of the flick, something I rarely do).

The last chapter is more engaging, but also with a complicated plot. It begins with French Dispatch food writer Roebuck Wright, played by a James Baldwin-esque Jeffrey Wright, being interviewed on a talk show (the host played by an unctious Lieb Schreiber). While on the show, Wright demonstrates to the studio audience his ability to recount, word for word, his most famous Dispatch article -- which is then reenacted in live action and eventually animation. The piece covers his quest to interview Lt. Nescoffier, a brilliant chef who creates ingenious meals for the police elite. Just as Wright sits down to sample the culinary skills at an exclusive precinct meal, the police commissioner is informed that his young son has been kidnapped. The story ramps up into the effort to rescue Junior from the clutches of a desperate gang and how the chef himself (Steve Park) makes the ultimately sacrifice to save the boy. There are two poignant moments in this tale: Wright recalls when he was arrested for being homosexual, and the publisher of The French Dispatch bailed him out and gave him a job; and when Wright and the Asian chef briefly comment on being foreigners in French society. 

The film is stuffed with clever banter, literary allusions, visual jokes, and beautifully detailed set design. For those who don't get all the jokes, this is still an incredible viewing experience. In addition to those mentioned, the cast includes Tilda Swinton, Willem Dafoe, Bob Balaban, Fisher Stevens, Griffin Dunne, Christoph Waltz, Jason Schwartzman, Elisabeth Moss, Henry Winkler, and Lois Smith. Some of these folks are only on screen for a few minutes. 

 The French Dispatch is really designed for a very distinct and discriminating audience, which is to say that it's definitely not everyone's cup of tea. Those who love Wes Anderson and truly get his intention, which was to create "a love letter to journalism," will adore this movie. It is an incredible piece of filmmaking. My appreciation of it is more aesthetic at this point; perhaps subsequent viewings (which the piece seems to demand) will reveal more of its charms. But among a series of Anderson films that have often been called "twee," "fey," "precious," and "outlandish," this one tops them all.

Cry Uncle! "The Many Saints of Newark"

The Many Saints of Newark
directed by Alan Taylor
written by David Chase and Lawrence Konner

I just watched The Many Saints of Newark, the prequel to The Sopranos, and while it had its moments, I'm not sure it really needed to be made. It's not exactly an origin story, but it's in The Sopranos Universe.

As a fan of that the long-running HBO series about the modern-day New Jersey mob capo who tried to manage family, love, and the often murderous flow of criminal business by visiting a shrink, I was interested in this film. I thought I would be seeing how the young and at one point presumably innocent Tony Soprano became big smart sexy scary sinister screwed-up Tony Soprano. But that's not what this film is about.

The clue that the film is about the many moral failings of Tony's psochopathic uncle Dickie Moltisanti is in the title: Moltisanti means "many saints" in Italian. This is explained in the early voiceover from beyond the grave by murdered Sopranos character Christopher Moltisanti, voiced once more by The Sopranos star Michael Imperioli (in a narrative nod to such films as Sunset Boulevard, where the narrator is already dead when the film begins).

It takes a while for the story to settle in after reacquainting us with the Molitsantis, Sopranos, and the others who frequent Satriale's Pork Store in 1960s Newark. Handsome and charismatic Dickie Moltisanti (Alessandro Nivola) is the boss, running a profitable numbers game in the hood with the help of Harold McBrayer (Leslie Odom, Jr.) with whom he went to high school. But racial tensions run high during that era, as civil rights legislation may have been enacted but holds no sway among the bigoted working-class Italians who remain in the city even as white flight has turned Newark into a largely black city. Tensions escalate when Harold decides he's had enough of being Dickie's errand boy and wants to run things himself, while simultaneously the streets erupt with protests then four days of rioting, looting, and burning in the historic 1967 Newark Riots, after a black cab driver is beaten and believed killed by the police. The riots give Dickie a cover for his own ghastly and impulsive act of violence.

Actor Alessandro Nivola looks the part, but he never really finds a rhythm as Dickie Moltisanti, who cycles between good intentions, criminal activity, family devotion, murder, and repentance. He's a seemingly good guy with some serious emotional issues. But do we root for him?
As Tony Soprano, the late actor James Gandolfini had several seasons in which to build an intensely compelling character who was both sympathetic and repellant; in this one-off prequel, Nivola doesn't get to dig as deep, so I found myself not really caring what becomes of him. (Not to mention the fact that to me, he looks a lot like Milo Ventimiglia, the good guy dad from TV's This Is Us). Maybe we're not supposed to care.

Actor Leslie Odom Jr., who portrays Harold McBrayer, Dickie's flunky-turned-adversary, fares far better in the narrative, having no equivalent in the Sopranos series and demonstrating the Black Power ethos of the era. One of the strengths of the film is that it gives so much attention, historically and culturally, to the considerable racial tensions from a ground-level point of view, without painting African Americans in a negative light. That's quite a trick, considering that Harold proves to be as cunning, dangerous, and quick on the trigger as Dickie.

The women in this film get short shrift. We don't get to see how Livia (Vera Farmiga) turns into the monster mother of adult Tony's nightmares, but we get a glimmer. But from the moment Dickie's father, Hollywood Dick, brings home Giuseppina (Michela de Rossi), his prized soon-to-be trophy wife from Italy, we know she will be the femme fatale of the piece. Looking like an Italian Penelope Cruz, Giuseppina is the very attractive fly in the ointment, the naive undoing of everyone around her.

Though we do see younger versions of familiar figures from The Sopranos universe, including Tony's lunkhead father Johnny, sister Janice, and narcissist mother Livia; soldier Paulie and consigliere Silvio; an arch and vindictive Uncle Junior (Corey Stoll); and fleeting looks at a young Carmela and a young Christopher, they are mere ciphers. In this plot, teenaged Tony's character is there to react as his favorite uncle Dickie at first grooms and counsels him, then emotionally and ultimately physically abandons him. Played by Michael Gandolfini, the lookalike son of James Gandolfini, young Tony Soprano loves rock music, wants to play football, and only has vague ideas of what his father and other relatives are really up to in the wee hours of the night. Losing Uncle Dickie is one of Tony Soprano's steps toward understanding the high price of "this thing of ours."

Given the ending, which offers something of a twist, I couldn't help noticing the film's zigzag pattern of uncles and their roles in this extended web of mob families. Unseen but shadowing the entire tale is the bitterness of the deceased Christopher Moltisanti, who bears a justifiable grudge against his "uncle" Tony Soprano for deeds that will come decades later; after the death of his father, Dickie Moltisanti seeks counsel and a kind of moral benediction from his imprisoned uncle, Sally (Ray Liotta, who also plays Dickie's father), to whom he nevertheless lies about his misdeeds; teenaged Tony is hurt and angry about being inexplicably snubbed by his uncle Dickie; and Uncle Junior ...? Well, though we don't see much of him in this film, we're abruptly reminded that he's the same touchy, merciless sociopath he's always been.

Maybe it should have been called "The Many Uncles of Newark."

Though the story created by The Sopranos originator David Chase can stand on its own, The Many Saints of Newark suffers from its comparison to The Sopranos. Were you really expecting a Mafia psychodrama that reaches the same heights as the beloved HBO series? Fuhggeddaboutit.

Movies Amid the Madness: I'm Ready to Share More Words On Flicks

In May 2019, I stopped doing my Words On Flicks podcast. This was partially beause of changes in my hosting platform and partly because ... I was tired. I was doing a live podcast every week, scripting it out for the most part because I'm not really that spontaneous, and working on getting guests.

When the podcast ended, I also slacked on writing any reviews on the Words On Flicks blog. Though there were still marvelous films being produced and released, I felt that I couldn't keep up with everything. I started to feel that I was one small voice in a maelstrom of bigger, louder voices of film analysis and film criticism, one tiny blip if old-fashioned radio talk in a world of tech bells and whistles, and few people were listening. This was partly due to the fact that I have never been a tech wizard and am certainly not the best at promoting myself.

Then 2020 began. We had aleady begun a reckoning in the cultural and political landscape as our maniac president was impeached but avoided conviction. Basketball hero Kobe Bryant was killed. Then by summer we rallied around #BlackLivesMatter, watching in horror as agaim and again, innocent people of color were killed for no reason. The coronavirus pandemic swooped in with a vengeance in March, shutting down large swaths of the country and beginning to fill hospital wards and, terrifyingly, funeral parlors. The West Coast was consumed by raging wildfires. A major explosion that could have been avoided tore through Beirut, killing hundreds and exposing Lebanon's faulty infrastructure. Hurricanes and tornadoes tore up oarts of the country. In the meantime, Covid 19 raged on, with officials ordering us to stay home and stay distanced, keeping us from our loved ones, limiting plans for socializing and travel, altering our work or taking it away altogether, forcing us to educate and entertain children who would have been in school, and challenging us to contemplate the fact that a random lapse in caution could lead to a death: ours or that of someone close to us. That is A LOT.

So I felt a bit burnt out and uninspired. In the midst of all of this, I wondered, do we still care about movies? Other than being mindless entertainment to divert us from these horrors, inconveniences, and conundrums, are movies important enough to continue to enjoy and discuss? These were my thoughts as I let 2020 slip by with no blog posts and the podcast buried.
Now it's 2021. Things are not much better; though we have elected a new president and the first female vice president of color, I would venture to say that the climate is not much changed otherwise. We're still mostly homebound. Our president is being impeached AGAIN. We just saw our Capitol mobbed and ransacked.

However, movies are still happening. Movies continue to be produced and enjoyed. Good movies! Now as ever before, movies are our comfort food, whether we watch them for the first time or for the hundredth time. Movies carry subtle and not so subtle messages, about our humanity, our resilience, our values, our dreams. Filmed stories influence our thinking, provide share experience, contain clues about how we behave and how we should or should not behave. They educate us about corners of history we didn't previously know (though often from a biased point of view); the propose previously unimagined scenarios and challenge our thinking about them. And yes, they divert and entertain us when the real world gets touch to cope with. That's a good thing, a hopeful thing. We can still enjoy them. And in doing so, we support new films and therefore support the people and the industry who make them.

So I have decided that this year, I am reviving Words On Flicks and I hope you will come along on the journey to share your thoughts, ideas, and opinions. The Words On Flicks podcast will launch in its second iteration sometime next month. I'll keep you posted.

WoF Top 10 Favorites From The Big Screen in 2019

Obviously I didn't see everything released in theaters this year. And, honestly, I was blown away by only a small percentage of what I did see. Here is my list of my personal favorites among what I saw at the movies in 2019 (no streamed projects).

1. Parasite
directed by Bong Joon-Ho

I started hearing buzz about this film early on, but had to wait until it rolled into theaters in my area. I had a dim idea of what the story was about, but man! My mind was blown. I love films that give me something I have never seen before, and Parasite delivered on every level. Beginning as a kind of dark comedy about class differences in South Korea, the film offers sly commentary on Eastern and Western culture, technology, privilege, economic survival and family relationships through truly impeccable acting, gorgeous set designs, and brilliant cinematography. Four members of the impoverished, live-by-their-wits Kim family slowly con and trick their way into service jobs within the household of the wealthy Parks. But their machinations have unforeseen consequences. The story contains an edge of suspense that steadily increases until the third act plot twist that catapults the film into a whole other level of jaw-dropping events. I really enjoyed the work of actor Song Kang-Ho, who plays the Kims' patriarch, Ki-taek; Song was also featured in director Bong's English-language thriller Snowpiercer. Parasite has to be seen to be believed, and then seen again. My favorite of the year.

2. Queen & Slim
directed by Malina Matsoukas
starring Jodie Turner-Smith, Daniel Kaluuya

This film has been controversial for its subject matter and its brutal ending. But I totally loved the journey of these two characters, out on a first date that isn't going well and then forced by circumstance to go on the run together. We know it's foolhardy of them to think they can outrun the law, but we root for them anyway. Along their journey, we see the layers of their personalities peel away as the characters -- who are not named Queen and Slim but whose real names are only revealed at the end -- learn not only to work together but to love together. The film is also a visual feast, a mid-American road trip that highlights the beauty of the landscape, the humanity of its citizens, and the ugliness of our culture. I loved the performances by newcomer Jodie Turner-Smith as a prosecutor weary of seeing justice distorted, and Get Out star Daniel Kaluuya as a warm-hearted, conscious brother shocked to find himself on the wrong side of the law. Bokeem Woodbine also stands out with another bravura performance, and I loved seeing transgender performer Indya Moore in a movie role. One film critic described Queen & Slim as one of the most honest portrayals of black life, and that may be so. Intricate family relationships, levels of education, the politicization of black lives, how acts of terror and defiance against the powers that be can be commodified and raised to legend.

3. The Last Black Man in San Francisco
directed by Joe Talbot, written by and starring Jimmie Fails

This is a beautiful, elegiac, often surrealist story of a young man clinging to his past to stave off his fear of an empty future. The cinematic imagery and pacing of this brokenhearted valentine to San Francisco is nothing short of stunning. As the film opens a young girl skips along in a childhood game, passing men in HazMat suits picking up trash while a roadside preacher delivers a blistering sermon against the city's neglect and decline. The film comments upon a once vibrant black community inexorably being altered by gentrification and greed as seen through the eyes of Jimmie, who clings to a myth that glorifies and elevates the city's distant golden age and his own fractured family history. It's also about the power of friendship and what it means to be a black man. Raised in foster care because his parents struggled with drug addition, Jimmie is crashing with his best friend Mont and Mont's blind grandfather (SF native Danny Glover). Jimmie is obsessed with the gorgeous and crumbling Victorian house he once shared with his parents before things went radically wrong. Though a white couple occupies it, Jimmie can't stay away, continuing to work on its upkeep even as the couple shoo him away and threaten to call the police. When the couple have to vacate, Jimmie and Mont become squatters, with Jimmie reclaiming what he feels is his birthright. But his world is shattered when the truth about the house's history is revealed. This film feels like a fever dream, a tone poem, a comic tragedy of Shakespearean proportions. Fails' performance tugs at the heart.

4. The Farewell
directed by Lulu Wang, starring Awkwafina

I was moved by this story of a Chinese-American woman with an uncertain future who joins her family on a trip back to China that is ostensibly about attending a wedding, but is really undertaken as a final visit with her ailing grandmother. Per tradition, everyone in the family knows that Grandma has cancer except Grandma herself. Star Awkwafina, who has shown herself to be an adeptly comic scene stealer in Ocean's 8 and Crazy Rich Asians, turns in a quiet, thoughtful performance that pulls the viewer into her deep sadness at losing her beloved grandmother, as well as her confusion over her identity and her future, Equally sad and funny, The Farewell examines also how immigrants are forced to straddle to very different cultures.

5. Rocketman
directed by Dexter Fletcher, starring Taron Edgerton
Though the Freddie Mercury paint-by-numbers biopic Bohemian Rhapsody seemed to get the lion's share of accolades earlier this year, I was more captivated by the imaginative structure of this biographical jukebox musical fantasy about Elton John (I confess, he was one of my favorite artists growing up). The film follows the benchmarks of his story, from chubby wannabe to piano wiz to his momentous partnership with composer Bernie Taupin, through his exploding fame, struggle with drug addiction and recovery, using his distinct discography as a springboard to flights of fantasy, as when the power of his performance causes Elton and the audience at Hollywood's Troubadour to levitate, and full-on musical theater-style production numbers, as with "Saturday Night's All Right." The songs were as often used to convey character and mood as they were to recreate pivotal concert performances. Taron Edgerton does his own singing, and he is truly amazing. The movie is as imaginative, whimsical, and dramatic as John himself, and I loved every minute.

6. Bolden
directed by Dan Pritzker, starring Gary Carr

A portrait of tortured genius during a tortured time in American racial history, the early 1900s, Bolden attempts to tell the story of legendary New Orleans trumpeter Buddy Bolden, who was credited as the father of American jazz. Unfortunately, there are few records of Bolden's existence and fewer recordings of his musical genius. Thus, as a film cobbled together from legend, a few recordings, and faint memories, the film is often dreamlike and foreboding, alternately joyous when Bolden's music is played, and hopeless as when Bolden is exploited and victimized by business partners, white racists, and hubris, and falls into alcoholism and ultimately mental illness. The film begins with a middle-aged Bolden confined to a sanitarium; when he catches the sound of the radio playing his music, he goes into a reverie in which he relives memories of his beginnings on the trumpet through his years astonishing audiences with his syncopated improvisations, then through his decline. As played by the marvelously expressive Gary Carr (a Brit who so deliciously played pimp C.C. in HBO's The Deuce), Buddy Bolden doesn't actually speak until 20 minutes into the film, but through the film's expressive imagery -- including a dreamlike sequence where we see how he learned complex rhythms as a child in the garment factory where his mother works -- give us a window in which to glimpse his spirit.

7. Harriet
directed by Kasi Lemmons, starring Cynthia Erivo

Cynthia Erivo is a riveting screen presence, no matter how you slice it. Here, she makes us understand the pure spinal steel of religious conviction and survival instinct that made real-life she-ro Harriet Tubman an indomitable leader and abolitionist crusader. A movie needed to be made about this singular personality, a woman born into slavery who defied all fugitive slave laws of the land, not to mention braving the elements and risking her life to find freedom not only for herself but dozens of other enslaved people. Still, the film feels slick and contemporized in a movie-of-the-week way. This is not to take away from the achievement of bringing this to the screen, and I enjoyed the performances of Janelle Monae, veteran actors Clarke Peters and Vondie Curtis-Hall, and Hamilton alum Leslie Odum Jr. in supporting roles. I was expecting a bit more from the story, but as a cinema primer for those who were not familiar or had forgotten the legend of Tubman, this is just fine.

8. Once Upon A Time in Hollywood
directed by Quentin Tarantino, starring Leonardo DiCaprio, Brad Pitt, Margot Robbie

Not among my favorite Tarantino works, but still a fascinating meditation on a more innocent era of Hollywood, and how the prospect of war, television, politics, and violence wrought havoc on those ideals. DiCaprio gives a layered performance, showing the insecurities of a complicated persona caught at a crossroads in his career, while Brad Pitt plays it laconic as his longtime friend and factotum. I found the Sharon Tate storyline confusing, as Tarantino reimagines history, but this film leaves a lot to chew on and has plenty of great acting moments.

9. The Good Liar
directed by Bill Condon
starring Ian McKellen, Helen Mirren

The Brits have a way of using the English language with whip-cracking accuracy and archness, something that only a handful of American actors can do with the same fluency. In Ian McKellen you have one of the masters of British acting, and Helen Mirren is no slouch. Far from being a geezer flick (like the dreadful Poms with Diane Keaton), The Good Liar is a twisted tale of an aging English con man deciding to do one last job, swindling a rich widow out of her holdings. But since that widow is Helen Mirren, we know that things will not go according to plan. Adapted from a book that I haven't read, the plot featured this elaborate WWII-era back story from Nazi occupied Austria involving teen rape, espionage, swapped identities, and thwarted love that seemed both way too complicated and way too convenient. Mirren gets her revenge, but her machinations leave you wondering how she kept focus after so many decades and got so much information at just the right time. And of course, any sort of battle scene between seniors is bound to give the audience visions of broken hips, lost dentures, and heart attack. Still, it's a sly film and worth it to see McKellen slip, slide, and give great line readings.

10. Us
written and directed by Jordan Peele
Starring Lupita N'yongo, Winston Duke

Jordan Peele's unique sensibilities -- infusing the horror genre with social commentary, existential paranoia, and racial fears -- has struck a chord with the viewing public. But, while I'm not a fan of psychological thrillers or horror, I nevertheless appreciate the achievement represented by this film, which reveals more of its unique brilliance upon repeated viewings. US is more of a psychological thriller that a straight horror film, especially once you get over the visual shocks of hollow-eyed, mechanical doppelgangers threatening to kill their mirror images. And yes, there is an element of the slasher film, in which the body count multiplies as victims fall prey to stabbings, bludgeonings, deliberate car attacks, immolation, and more. US provides constant dread, anxiety, tension, and small shocks as the killers keep popping up and doing their worst. When the elaborate explanation for all these goings-on is finally revealed, I really had to suspend all belief in a rational reality. So is it scary? It depends on your perspective. The best films are able to have you, the viewer, identify so closely with the protagonist, that you feel personally menaced by any physical threat to them. And we definitely root for plucky Lupita to get to the bottom of this and survive. A rollercoaster thrill ride.

Honorable Mentions for the actors:
"Gloria Bell" by Julianne Moore; "Judy" by Renee Zellweger; "Uncut Gems" by Adam Sandler; and "Hustlers" by Jennifer Lopez; and "Miss Bala" for Gina Rodriguez.

Great Documentary: "Toni Morrison: The Pieces I Am"

Thanks for supporting Words On Flicks and I will see you in 2020. - Janine

This "Cats" Could Have Been Saved

CATS
directed by Tom Hooper
starring James Corden, Judi Dench, Jason Derulo, Idris Elba, Jennifer Hudson, Ian McKellen, Taylor Swift, Rebel Wilson, and introducing Francesca Hayward

No surprises here: Cats is a bad kitty.

I've read many of the reviews excoriating the film as beyond bad, but as a fan of musicals I felt I had to see it for myself and form my own opinion. I also have the (questionable) advantage of having seen the original musical on Broadway, and of reading the source material, poet T.S. Eliot's whimsical "Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats." In truth, I wasn't a big fan of the musical (I thought the costumes were weird then), though I am fond of the original book, as it is a truly imaginative collection of poems that describe a variety of cats as having human traits, to humorous effect. However, the collected poems are very British and were first published in 1939 -- 80 years ago! Composer Andrew Lloyd Webber's NYC stage adaptation premiered in 1980, which is also quite a while back.

Why It's Bad
1. It's out of its time:
The time lapse is a large part of the problem. The material is significantly dated. Why the producers thought they could take this ancient monstrosity, which was an oddity in its time, and transfer it largely untouched to the screen is a mystery. In our high-tech, short-attention span, Disney-fied, action world, this kind of old-fashioned show fails miserably. Despite the efforts of an Oscar winning director, stunt casting, a couple of new songs, a lot of choreography, and CGI effects, the film is mostly dull, ugly and weird.

2. The cats are frightful:
I think of cats as elegant, attractive animals. These humans looked like something from the Island of Dr. Moreau, or from Dante's Inferno. They were mostly a repulsive-looking bunch other than the angelic young ballerina cat (Heyward) who wants to be a Jellicle. Jennifer Hudson looks like she'd been dragged over the streets on her face. Judi Dench seems to have been mummified. The venerable Ian McKellen appears to have been electrocuted. Idris Elba looks like the devil, both literally and figuratively, in a shiny dark leotard and tail, ice blue contact lenses, and ears set like horns -- in a way that skirts both taste and racial sensitivity. They don't really look like cats. There have been many musicals that cast humans as animal characters (The Wizard of Oz/The Wiz's Cowardly Lion, Johnny Depp as the Big Bad Wolf in Into The Woods, every other contestant on TV's "The Masked Singer"), and none of them looked this freakish.

3. The music is bad:
To me, the most unforgivable part of this film musical is the music itself. Other than "Memory," the songs are universally awful and what's worse, they are badly produced. Many a half-baked screen musical has been elevated in my mind because the soundtrack production was so fantastic (the Bee Gees' Beatles fantasia Sgt. Pepper, Andrew Lloyd Webber's superior Evita, even the recent The Greatest Showman). The minute I heard those cheesy synthesizers (unfortunately, synth is an apparent signature sound that imitates the mewling of the cats) and bubbling pseudo-disco basslines -- so emblematic of early 80s music -- my heart sank. Not-great songs can be updated, adapted, and produced to enhance their appeal and timeliness for modern audiences, but in Cats, nobody bothered. Andrew Lloyd Webber himself produced the music, and I can only imagine that he was either too married to the original arrangements, or he didn't have the time or money to reimagine them.

4. Bad songs/bad singing/ho-hum dancing:
Further, as a sung-through musical with literally no spoken dialogue, the singing is woefully second-rate. Rebel Wilson as Jennyanydots and James Corden as Bustopher Jones play it for laughs, and they seem to be in a completely different movie. The other characters should have taken a page from them. Taylor Swift does a sexy "Macavity," but it's unclear to me why Idris Elba's Macavity isn't singing his own song. Jennifer Hudson over-cries and over-sings her setpiece "Memory." Jason Derulo as Rum Tum Tugger tries to inject some soul into a corny uptempo number, but you can hardly understand his lyrics. Judi Dench doesn't even try to sing, nor does Ian McKellen, whose spotlight number is a snoozy dead spot. And speaking of Cats' lyrics, since they are adapted from poems, there are either too many words (as the Skimbleshanks the Railway Cat, Bustopher Jones, or Mungojerrie & Rumpleteazer) or simple phrases repeated ad infinitum (as with Mr. Mistoffelees). Specific references to London locales and British colloquialisms also go over the heads of most Americans. As for the dancing, its is ... unremarkable. A lot of cat writhing that is overwhelmed by the large-scale sets they take place in. There have been complaints that the dancing is oversexualized, but I didn't feel that. Have you ever watched cats move? They're slinky, sensual, seductive creatures. It never occurred to me that they were horny.

5. Not enough character development.
A lot of the cat characters aren't named in the film, but apparently they all have names and relationships. I didn't even know that the main tomcat's name was Munkustrap or that TaySwif was Bombalurina until the credits. Indeed, the plot is very thin; much like A Chorus Line, you meet all the characters in a kind of "I Hope I Get It" audition line, with the cats hoping to get picked to go to the Heaviside Layer, which I assume is the next life in their nine-lives cycle, though that is never explained.

I don't want to just pile on, though. I love musical theater. So could anything have been done to make it palatable for contemporary audiences? I think so.

How I Would Have Fixed It

How could Cats have been saved for 2019? Put it through a contemporary lens. Think of the framing of The Princess Bride, for example.

I would have made Judi Dench a kindly, modern-day grandma with a house full of cats that her young granddaughter comes to visit. Grandma keeps a copy of "Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats" and shares it with her granddaughter, telling her that every cat in her house and the neighborhood is a Jellicle cat with a story. They go to the market, passing the junkyard, the theater, the railway station, a garbage dump, and Grandma points out all the cats. The perspective could then shift to the cat-ified human personifications singing and acting out their theme songs. And if these characters are identified as cats, they don't have to be drowned in makeup and fake fur for us to understand they are cats!

Back in modern times, Grandma tells the girl that there will be a full moon, a Jellicle Moon, and that it's a special night for the cats. Then the movie can shift back to the cat characters and their Jellicle Ball, Dench can still show up as Old Deuteronomy, Macavity can still be evil, and Grizabella can still ascend. Back in real time, Grandma sings about how to address cats and treat them with respect. They hear meowing at the back door, and it's a tiny multicolored kitten. "Hello, Grizabella," says Grandma. "Welcome to the Heaviside Layer." THE END.

Yes, some of the cats' song and dance numbers would have to be trimmed quite a bit, but I don't think that would be a loss, since so much of the movie is a slog. So what do you think of my fix?

Thoughts On Tarantino's "'Once Upon A Time ... In Hollywood"

Once Upon A Time ... In Hollywood (2019)
written and directed by Quentin Tarantino

I consider myself a fan of Quentin Tarantino, so I was really anticipating this one. I have to say, though, that I haven't always liked his output. This new one is touted as the director's ninth screen outing as writer/director. So let's see:
1. Reservoir Dogs. Saw it on video years after release. Enjoyed it.
2. Pulp Fiction. Saw it opening night at the Chinese Theater in Hollywood. Loved it.
3. Jackie Brown. This may be my favorite.
4. Kill Bill, Vol. 1 & 2. Loved it.
5. Death Proof. Have yet to see it all the way through, so no opinion.
6. Inglorious Basterds. Seen it. Was left cold.
7. Django Unchained. Liked it until the last quarter. Not anxious to see it again.
8. The Hateful Eight. Can take it or leave it. A slog that delivers its payoffs at a glacial pace.
And now
9. Once Upon A Time ... In Hollywood.
While critics and folks whose film opinions I value have raves for it, I've been having trouble processing it.

The film took my expectations of what a Tarantino film is -- fast, witty, hip, and violent -- and didn't so much defy them but twist, thwart, and sidestep them. While still managing to be witty, hip, and violent. It's simply that the story is rendered at a different pace; the tale of how middling actor Rick Dalton (Leonardo DiCaprio) and his stunt double turned friend and factotum Cliff Booth (Brad Pitt) spend their days and nights in 1969 L.A. and ultimately cross paths with real-life starlet Sharon Tate (Margot Robbie) unspools in an episodic fashion, though -- unlike in Pulp Fiction -- Tarantino doesn't scramble the timelines.

See, our awareness of the timeline is pivotal in this picture. The previews for the film don't shy away from showing that these affable bros and their ethereally gorgeous neighbor are impacted by followers of infamous "Helter Skelter" psycho Charles Manson. Anyone who knows history is familiar with the gruesome Tate-LaBianca murders that horrified the country and cast a pall over the freewheeling Hollywood lifestyle that Tarantino so lovingly recreates here. Because of that, I spent my entire watch time at attention, waiting for the inevitable to happen, and of course, it does -- or does it? The conclusion left me emotionally exhausted and mentally confused. Also confusing to me was the intermittent use of a narrator. Was it an omniscient narrator? Or was the narration from a character in the story, because it sounded a lot like Kurt Russell (who plays a role) to me.

Once Upon A Time does offer numerous notable episodes, classic dialogues, monologues, moments of tension and chuckles along the way, as Dalton scrambles to keep himself from sliding into alcoholism and keep his acting career on a forward trajectory, while Booth is satisfied to run Dalton's errands and get his kicks stunt driving around L.A's sun dappled neighborhoods with the radio blasting the latest groovy pop rock hits (in classic QT style, the soundtrack is filled with gems from the Mama & the Papas, Paul Revere & the Raiders, the Rolling Stones, Jose Feliciano, Deep Purple, Neil Diamond, and many others).

It's an era of spaghetti westerns and swinging 60s pseudo private eye stories, of flower power and political assassinations. Though it's a tale about the Hollywood lifestyle, and the film studio system that birthed it, the story is as much a tribute to the then-seminal medium of television as it is to movies. The film is crammed with details and homages, to goofy TV variety shows, the kind of Wolfman Jack radio DJs, inane radio jingles, the stern TV westerns and crime procedurals, the TV producer screen signatures, the Hollywood landmarks and institutions from Musso & Frank;s, the Brown Derby, Schwab's, El Coyote, the Cinerama Dome, the Pantages Theatre, the Capitol Building. Viewers who don't know the city may not get all of the references, including how far it is from Hollywood & Vine out to the abandoned film studio in Chatsworth where Manson's followers have taken up residence. It's fun to see how many real-life characters (Bruce Lee, Steve McQueen, Michelle Phillips, Mama Cass, Roman Polanski) and cameo appearances (Kurt Russell, Clu Gallagher, Dakota Fanning, Al Pacino, Luke Perry. Michael Madsen, Bruce Dern, Rumer Willis, Lena Dunham) are crammed into the flick.

As we watch their days unspool, we learn that Dalton is volatile, emotional, insecure, and often clueless; Booth is laconic, laidback, philosophical, and capable of explosive violence. They make a perfect odd couple, and it's a treat to see two men easily enjoy each other's company and not fret about their employer/employee status. Meanwhile, Tarantino gives a lighter touch to Tate, who after all was a real-life figure whose existence was cut short, so she does little but prance around the city looking beatific, as though she is a symbol of angelic purity in THE City of Angels. (<--- edited)

DiCaprio and Pitt have earned raves for their performances in this flick. DiCaprio is universally acknowledged as one of the greatest actors of his generation with an impressive number of roles under his belt, except I personally don't find him all that accessible as an actor. It's that little something that makes the audience identify with the actor as they take on the role; it's a quality that Denzel Washington and particularly Tom Hanks have in droves. It's a quality of magical engagement -- or charm, if you will. For all DiCaprio's skill, he leaves me cold.

Pitt, who has impressed me over the years as he's grown from a pretty face to an actor with some depth (Kalifornia, Moneyball, Snatch, Thelma & Louise, Fight Club) is far more engaging in my book. But truth be told, Pitt has done too many roles where he is called on to be the pretty, mysterious/sad brooder (Benjamin Button, Babel, Interview with A Vampire, A River Runs Through It, Meet Joe Black, the Ocean flicks).

If I had my druthers, I would have cast 50something Pitt as challenged actor Rick Dalton and made 40something DiCaprio play the iron-fist-in-a-velvet-glove Cliff Booth -- imagine the creative possibilities of that! Brad, world-weary, weepy and insecure, and Leo, caged fury with a smile.

As one of my movie compadres and I repeated to each other as we hashed it over, it's not that I don't like the film, exactly. I just may have to do a re-set on my expectations and watch again.