127 Hours in 94 Riveting Minutes

The other night I had a dream, or rather a nightmare, that our cat was trapped in an unplugged microwave for three days until I was able to break the door open and rescue her. Her eyes were bloodshot and her tired, sweaty body was bruised and bloodied in a few spots; her right hind leg was stripped of flesh and fur almost to the bone. As I woke up in a hazy state, it didn't take long for me to peg 127 Hours as the inspiration for my subconscious. Thankfully I don't have dreams like this often, and our cat is just fine, but this movie has haunted my mind for a week not only because of the nightmarish, climactic battle between mind and body, but also because of the questions this incredibly simple story raised about relationships, independence, family, regret, determination, and even technology.

Much more than the nerve-wracking "thriller" I expected, 127 Hours is a tender, even beautiful tribute to the resiliency of the human spirit. It's a film that jars you awake from the tedious monotony of the cinematic landscape, engaging instead of entertaining and not compromising for the sake of your viewing comfort. So does the Saw franchise, one could argue, but while I've never seen any of those movies, I've also never been under the impression that they have the artistic, acting, or even comic merit exhibited in 127 Hours.

300 Words About: Howl

Hmm...people had a hard time understanding my poetry...how will they understand this film?

To be perfectly honest, I went into Howl at a distinct disadvantage: I've never connected much with the Beat Generation, and I find a lot of poetry just plain bewildering. Put it to music or use imagery that I understand and I'm good, but meditate on "peyote solidities of halls, backyard green tree cemetery dawns", as Allen Ginsberg does in his infamous poem, "Howl", and I'm lost.

Call me culturally illiterate, but I'm afraid that while I understand the social significance of the poem in its time (both as a cathartic statement and as a legal precedent), it just has no emotional resonance for me at all. Should this have affected my viewing of Howl? Probably, but since much of the film is animated I didn't have to do much heavy lifting anyway. The metaphors and raw passion were brought to life for me, so all I had to do was try and understand, which I did with infrequent success.

In theory I love the idea of bringing poetry to cinematic life for the very reasons I've mentioned: it helps me make some sense of the underlying meaning. But "Howl", with its huge cultural and historic significance, may not have been the best poem to explore in this way. The entire film should have been animated, or the entire film should have been a legal drama about obscenity and censorship in the 1950's, or the entire film should have been a biopic of Ginsberg (heck, maybe it just should have been a documentary).

Instead, Howl is all three, and suffers because of it (even if I admire the fact that none of the dialogue was scripted). I was tossed around from the courtroom to a living room to a coffeehouse to an animated nightmare. It was disorienting and, apart from James Franco's committed performance, it made disappointingly little use of a terrific cast featuring Jeff Daniels, Jon Hamm, and David Strathairn.

The end of the film is much tidier than the rest of it, and underscores, at least to me, that directors Rob Epstein and Jeffrey Friedman were more interested in telling the story of the poem than exploring the poem in the story, as if the meaning of the lines in "Howl" should be obvious to anyone who reads them (in a Q & A after the screening I attended, the directors talked almost exclusively about the technical aspects of making the film). Well, consider this viewer a little more enlightened about why "Howl" received so much attention, but still pretty much in the dark about what half of it actually means.

REVIEW: Milk (B+)

For the second time this year, I've found myself reliving a history that I wasn't alive for: specifically, an inspiring event in the U.S. in the 70's. In 1974, Philippe Petit defied gravity for the simple reason that he could; in 1978, Harvey Milk ran for public office for the simple reason that he couldn't. Both men captured the attention of a city while inspiring a generation of people to reexamine their purpose in life.

I find it surprisingly easy to compare Man on Wire and Milk, maybe because the former was so unlike a documentary and the latter was so much like a documentary. A similarity through differences, if that makes sense. And then there's this trait that both share: while excellent films about important issues, neither moved me emotionally in the way I expected.

Milk, for all its painstaking work in illustrating eight years in the life of the gay rights activist-turned-politician Harvey Milk, still didn't quite succeed in connecting me with the man - and it's not because I'm straight. It's because I didn't feel as if I got to know who he was, where he came from and what he wanted in life. Of course I understand what he was fighting for, but you didn't have to make a movie to show me that. I mean I don't think I know who Harvey Milk was. It says something about the limitations of a biopic (and a life tragically cut short), I suppose, and it's made me rethink my own campaign for a film about the life of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Can a movie do justice to these stories about larger-than-life figures? In any case, Milk tells us more about the a movement than it does about a man - not a missed opportunity, just not the angle I was looking for.

Gus Van Sant (who directed Paranoid Park just last spring) does as much as he can with the by-the-book screenplay by Dustin Lance Black (the life-story-on-tape did nothing for me), and he fortunately has a dream of a cast at his disposal. James Franco (Pineapple Express) and Emile Hirsch (Speed Racer) excel in their respective roles, fully committing themselves to characters that I can only imagine are a far cry from their own identities. I suppose the same could be said for Diego Luna (most recently seen as Michael Jackson in Mister Lonely - don't ask), but his character is so annoying that you find yourself waiting for him to get off the screen. Josh Brolin (W.) continues to establish himself as a rising dramatic star, but we don't get enough time with him on his own to explore the depths of his character, either.

As the namesake of the film, Sean Penn delivers as expected, imbuing the hero with fiery emotion and a playful self-awareness. Clearly this was a role that Penn cared a great deal about, and his inevitable Oscar nomination can hardly be disputed. Part of me feels like I'm seeing him in the same roles over and over, but then again I'm someone who liked him in both All the King's Men and The Assassination of Richard Nixon, both of which were roundly panned (and I wonder if the criticism isn't what drove him to disappear behind the camera last year instead). There's no question that he's one of the greatest actors of his generation, and if he continues to seek out challenging roles he'll solidify his place as a Hollywood legend.

Sean Penn practices his Oscar acceptance speech - just in case...

Judging by the sniffling and cheering in the theater around me, it's clear that Milk has hit a cultural nerve in this country at this time, no doubt influenced by the recent Prop 8 vote in California. It's a movie that will educate a generation about a time that they may have either forgotten or simply been unaware of, and to that end it's a grand success. But it left me wanting more of Harvey Milk, and I still have a lingering feeling that it would take a documentary or (get this) a book for me to understand his motivations and the source of his courage. Carried by its outstanding ensemble cast, Milk will no doubt continue to receive attention during this awards season. If you're moved by it more than I was, I imagine it will be one of the most affecting movies you'll see all year.

Grade:
Writing - 7/10
Acting - 10/10
Production - 9/10
Emotional Impact - 8/10
Music - 5/5
Social Significance - 5/5

Total: 44/50= 88% = B+

300 Words About: Pineapple Express

Killing time, waiting for a funnier movie...

If not for these languid summer months, would we even have stoner comedies like Pineapple Express? Elsewhere in the year they would get lost (see Harold and Kumar Escape From Guantanamo Bay), but in August they exist not only to provide a brief respite from the heat, but to ensure that any remaining brain cells we have are thoroughly eliminated before Oscar season (and for some people, school) starts again in the fall.

Unfortunately, the Judd Apatow-produced Pineapple Express is too busy killing its own brain cells to do any damage to ours. Hardly written and awkwardly edited, it's an altogether disappointingly dumb movie, made worse by the fact that we know everybody involved has done better. I didn't say it wasn't funny - James Franco and especially Danny McBride (star of this year's The Foot Fist Way) are terrific in their roles as ditzy dealers, and Seth Rogen essentially channels himself as Ben Stone from Knocked Up. Seemingly every other line is ad-libbed and there's plenty of violent action to keep the momentum going. Boys 12 and under will love it.

So why isn't Pineapple Express a better movie? Three reasons: 1.) We're missing Paul Rudd and Jonah Hill; 2.) Apatow traditionally inserts a female outlier into each of his casts, (Christina Applegate in Anchorman, Catherine Keener in The 40 Year-Old Virgin, Katherine Heigl in Knocked Up, Mila Kunis in Forgetting Sarah Marshall), but this being one of the most macho Apatow movies yet, there is no such female presence, and the movie aches for someone to not only balance out the testosterone, but to bounce the best jokes off of; and 3.) Indie-drama director David Gordon Green (Snow Angels) is handcuffed by a moronic story and a skeleton script. His precious idea that he did a movie like Pineapple Express "to switch gears" is made meaningless by the fact that his involvement (at least appears to be) so limited. Can anyone point out for me the definitively Green aspects of this movie? Either way, any genuine attempt at making this movie something other than juvenile shenanigans would be yet another strike against Pineapple Express.

I'm fully aware that most people's expectations for Pineapple Express will result in a self-fulfilling prophecy; many will consider it the funniest movie of the year so far. But you'll have a hard time convincing me the movie is better than the trailer, or that our standards for blockbuster comedies are not still way too low.