One of the most curious and difficult things about growing up just may be the collision of reality and preconceived notions. Our worldview is shaped by our experiences as children, from the education we receive, to the friends we keep, to the way we are treated by others. These things form the way we see the world, or, more importantly, the way we want to see the world. As we grow older and enter the proverbial “real world,” these views we’ve shaped growing up clash with the views the rest of the world operates under. This is at the heart of writer and director Kenneth Lonergan’s latest film, Margaret.

Starring Anna Paquin as a young woman named Lisa Cohen, Margaret is about the collision of Lisa’s young ideology of the world and the world as it really is. Lisa is a college student who lives with her mother and younger brother in New York. Lisa goes to school downtown and is a normal part of the hustle and bustle of a city that never sleeps. She is at school partially because of a scholarship and partially because of her seemingly rich father, who is divorced from Lisa’s mom and lives in southern California. Lisa has friends and, like most people in their early twenties, is experiencing aspects of dating that are entirely new. Most importantly, Lisa has opinions, and a very firm idea of what she believes the world is about and exactly how it operates. One day while shopping for a hat, Lisa is drawn to that of a bus driver, and in an attempt to ask him about the hat, inadvertently causes an accident in which a woman is hit by the bus while crossing the street.

As the woman who is hit lies dying, Lisa consoles her. The moment is abrupt and brutal. The tone of the film suddenly shifts without changing direction—a feat the director and the film’s editors, including the likes of Martin Scorsese and Thelma Schoonmaker, are owed much credit for. Lisa is then left with the aftereffects of such an ordeal to process. As one life ends, Lisa’s life goes on, and in so doing becomes a search and a struggle for a notion of what life may or may not be all about. In an attempt to discern this newly-found uncertainty, Lisa searches for a way to take responsibility for the guilt she harbors over the accident, which manifests itself in an effort to bring consequences down upon the bus driver, Maretti (Mark Ruffalo).

Lisa is a complex character in many regards, and as such is a difficult character to ever fully like. Her opinions are arrogant and misconceived at times; she is very conceited about her view on life and her social station amongst her peers. At times, Lisa is an almost downright despicable person when it comes to her actions towards others. As the film begins, we simply follow Lisa from house to classroom to hanging out with friends, and along the way we learn about Lisa’s firm grasp on what she feels is reality. After the tragic accident, we play witness to the way her ideologies clash with the order of the society she lives in. This clash is harsh; Lisa does not have an easy go of things for herself, but what’s most interesting is the fact that these clashes are of Lisa’s doing. Her views and opinions are what cause her hardships as she ventures forth into an existence that’s more fragile and yet bureaucratic than what she believed.

Many scenes in the film take place in Lisa’s classes, where we see her concepts of the world in contrast to her classmates and even her teachers. Several of the film’s most telling scenes take place as one of her teachers, John (Matthew Broderick), is teaching Shakespeare’s King Lear. John reads a passage and the class then discusses how the things King Lear was saying were not in alignment with what it is believed that Shakespeare himself held truth to. It is a moment of acknowledgement that an author’s characters are not necessarily a mouthpiece for the author’s direct opinions. Lisa may be a character of lesser admirable qualities, but that’s the point; it is an interesting and daring thing for a storyteller to do. Most times, a main character is the conduit for the audience to experience the story through—a person whose place we can put ourselves in to share an experience that is not uniquely ours. When the main character is contradictory to empathy and no longer acts as a conduit, they become a portrait—something to observe, like a specimen, or study.

Anna Paquin is perhaps at her best in the role of Lisa, varying between sympathetic and despicable with such ease that while we may at times hate Lisa’s behavior, we are never pushed too far away from empathizing with a person growing up who believes they are doing their best. Lisa’s mom, Joan (J. Smith-Cameron), cross-cuts Lisa’s story and follows her as a stage actress in New York who meets a foreign man, Ramon (Jean Reno). By adding this parallel story of Joan, the movie becomes more of a cinematic novel, which is where the problems come into play. As beautiful of a film as Margaret is, it also feels like a film that’s unsure sometimes of exactly how it wants to get to the finishing point where it knows it needs to go. Originally filmed in 2005, the movie met difficulties in post-production when Kenneth Lonergan failed to turn in an edit for the film that was an appropriate length. It then went on to meet legal opposition for a few years until through some extra financing Lonergan was able to finish the edit of the film with the help of Scorsese and Schoonmaker. Unfortunately, this result is felt at times in the film’s latter half.

Lonergan is a gifted filmmaker, with a great sense of character and dialogue. He knows exactly what a scene needs to draw the most from all the film’s elements; giving the actors enough space with longer, steady cuts, he interweaves interesting and yet mundane shots of the environment the characters inhabit (in this case, New York City). The score is simple and beautiful, accentuating acoustic strings, and plays to an aspect of melodrama that is complimentary to Lisa’s view of her life—which, as another character points out, is that of an opera. Featuring a great supporting cast, which also includes Matt Damon as one of Lisa’s teachers, Margaret is an interesting, different, and special film to behold. It confronts emotions and ideas of life that most stories sugar coat and dance around. It’s unabashedly honest, which can be uncomfortable to some, but despite its extensive running time (150 minutes), it, like any great film, is a ride as well as a growing experience.

Margaret begins a one-week run at SIFF Cinema at the Uptown today.

Final Grade: A

When you have Tilda Swinton’s face available to you for use as a storytelling tool, you employ it for all that it’s worth. Lynne Ramsay, in her new film We Need to Talk About Kevin, finally opening in the U.S. today, understands this truth. Swinton is Eva Khatchadourian, a woman who has been through some type of terrible trauma that the film takes its time spelling out. She wakes up alone on the couch in her small, untidy house, seemingly hungover, with the definite aura of someone for whom this is not an uncommon occurrence. Something in the light in the room is off; it dawns that this is because the sunlight streams through windows that have been splattered with red paint. The marks of a community lashing out against a pariah. And in Swinton’s face, weariness.

When Eva visits her teenage son, Kevin (Ezra Miller), in prison, and we see how the people she runs into going about her daily business feel entitled to abuse her, we start to piece things together. It begins to become clear that Kevin did something horrible, and that his mother is perceived to shoulder the blame. This is what the film is about, really: the existence of a mother who has failed in the eyes of society, whose only emotions should now be guilt and shame. Through flashbacks of the life before this shattering act of Kevin’s, the viewer can form their own opinion of Eva’s culpability, if any. Once, she had a husband, Franklin (John C. Reilly). They loved each other. They had a son, and then they had a daughter. They had the big house with the big yard that everyone is supposed to want. What demons did that world hold that led to this? And could its loss have been prevented somehow?

In the present timeline, many scenes represent a kind of heightened reality. We are in Eva’s living nightmare, as kids banging at the door on Halloween seem like hostile forces ready to break in, or the corner of a rumpled travel poster blowing in the breeze from a fan brings back memories of her own, long-past travels—another lost reality. As the timeline of the flashbacks grows closer to meeting up with the present, dread and tension build. There’s no avoiding the day when everything changes; as much as we would like the characters to have the kind of prescience that the film’s structure gives to the audience, they cannot. And yet, after the fact—the guilt comes anyway.

I watched the film from the perspective of someone who is a great fan of Lionel Shriver’s novel, which is 400 pages of Eva re-telling the events of the story in chronological order via multiple letters to one person, as she tries to explain herself. The reader hears everything from her, is subject to only her thoughts—and extremely detailed ones—about her life with Franklin before and after Kevin came along. The film, obviously, cannot go into the amount of detail that the novel does about Kevin’s childhood, Eva’s relationship with him, and her conflicting feelings about being a mother even before she ever was one. Ramsay’s bold approach to the source material dismantles it and presents its core emotions with incredible succinctness. I was surprised, and a bit impressed, that the film does not use voiceover to include more of the main character’s thought process from the novel. Though at times I wanted to see more of certain interactions, to go a little deeper, the spare approach works. In Swinton, Ramsay has an actor who conveys depths of character without needing exposition to spell it out. Miller, too, needs little help in putting forth the image of the inscrutable Kevin. Both actors are adept at seeming just slightly incongruous with their surroundings, carrying a bit of tension or bristling against things in a way others don’t. Ramsay displays her actors well while embracing a tone that puts the viewer on edge, everything uneasy and with little guidance as to what the next scene will hold. Bright pop music on the soundtrack often helps to push things further to that edge. We are simply never comfortable during this film.

There’s been some warranted anger that Lynne Ramsay was never seriously considered as a contender for a nomination for Best Director in the run-up to Oscar season. Some of that may be due to the, in my opinion, bizarrely stupid release schedule that kept the film from being available to audiences (except for a brief New York/LA Oscar-qualifying run) until after the nominees were announced. Granted, this film was not going to be a box office sensation no matter what, but offering no chance for it to enter the bigger conversation outside of those who got to it in their pile of awards season screeners makes no sense. In the UK, where the film opened in late October, it received BAFTA nominations for best director, lead actress, and British film; Ramsay also won the award for best director at the British Independent Film Awards, where the film had multiple other nominations. It received no Oscar nominations at all.

This is a challenging film, far more so than most of those whose directors were nominated for Oscars (with the exception of The Tree of Life). The controlled but heightened tone, with just a twinge of derangement, is unfortunately not the type of work the Academy seemed interested in rewarding, especially for 2011, The Year of Grandiose Nostalgia. It is, however, at the very least more impressive than Woody Allen shooting his actors playing dress-up. (Oh, he also had to valiantly strive to make Paris look beautiful. That’s right. Yeah, he deserves a nomination for that.) Though I personally wanted to see a bit more of the story play out on screen, that is my fan-of-book bias talking and an issue solely with the screenplay (co-written by Ramsay and Rory Kinnear). The direction of said screenplay is impeccable. Ramsay’s ability to invoke emotion visually represents exactly the type of film direction I firmly believe we should be rewarding, not ignoring. Here’s hoping her next project finds a more open-minded Academy.

Final Grade: A-

Michael Haneke’s Funny Games (1997) is a film about a family enjoying their vacation lake home. They get set up in their home for a short stay and some friends of the neighbor’s come to visit. Things go south quickly.

The film starts out with a German family driving through the country pulling a sailboat. Anna, Georg (Ulrich Mühe from The Lives of Others), little Georg, and Rolfi the dog. They’re playing a game where you guess which song the other is playing on the CD player in the car. It’s mainly classical music, but when they roll the opening credits, there’s this insane screamy metal playing. Very weird opening to a movie.

The family drives past their uncle’s house and yells for help with the sailboat in a few minutes. Their vacation home is right next door to their uncle’s house, so it isn’t a huge deal. Uncle Fred is acting a bit strange when he arrives to help put the sailboat in the water. Uncle Fred is acting REALLY weird when he shows up at the family’s house with an equally weird boy to help with the boat. The weird boy is wearing white gloves that don’t get explained. Even the son asks why uncle Fred is acting so weird. And Rolfi keeps barking at all of them—the dog is clearly feeling something’s off.

Then, out of the blue, another creepy weird boy shows up from Uncle Fred’s house to ask for eggs; this is Peter. He’s super creepy and also wearing white gloves. The kid drops the eggs he is borrowing and the mom cleans up the mess while he looks around the house all shifty-like. Then the kid “accidentally” knocks the house phone into the sink of water, knocking it out of commission. Paul shows up and asks if he can try out the Georg’s golf club. Paul disappears with the golf club and the dog is going crazy, then suddenly, the dog isn’t barking. Paul tells Anna to give the eggs to Tom—the wrong name. Paul then smacks Georg with the golf club. Oh buddy, it is ON. The two creepy boys are playing a game with the family and it isn’t a fun one (well, it isn’t fun for the family, anyway).

The shifty boys decide to bet with the family. Peter and Paul are betting the family will be dead in 12 hours—Anna and Georg are betting they’ll be alive in 12 hours. Peter and Paul grab the little boy and put a pillowcase over his head and get the mom to strip. This game is going poorly for the family, if you hadn’t noticed. The kid tries to escape but Paul captures him again, along with a shotgun. Things get really messy here. A lot of the action appears off camera, so you’re only hearing crashing and screams and such. But you can tell things are not going well for the family.

The whole time, Pater and Paul remain extremely calm and matter of fact. They’re having fun, but it’s a very subdued kind of fun, since they apparently excel at head games and terrorism. The whole movie is really dark—both lighting and plot. Nothing good is coming from these two painfully prim and proper boys visiitng the neighbor’s house. It’s a nightmare. The movie is generally pretty intense; however, when Paul looks at the camera and actually talks to the audience—asking them if they’ve had enough and then winking—it ruins the whole feel of the scene.

The movie is really long and probably even feels longer than it is. Parts of it are good, but the flow is off. About halfway through the movie, I thought it was all over with, but realized it was less than an hour in, so it wasn’t going to be over anytime soon. The intensity and peaks and valleys seemed a bit off, even for a German film. Right at the end of the movie, it becomes a stupid Adam Sandler movie. I’d love to ruin the ending of this movie for you, but the movie sort of ruins itself. If you are brave enough to watch this movie, you’ll know what I’m talking about. It’s asinine. Don’t waste your time (like I did).

Final Grade: D

In this latest art house action thriller, Haywire, director Steven Soderbergh returns to some familiar stylistic territory while simultaneously adding to a growing subgenre. The story is rather basic when it comes to the plot; a black-ops special agent for a private security firm is double-crossed after pulling a job and seeks out revenge. Since Soderbergh is such an interesting and dynamic filmmaker, he takes a rather tired plotline and revitalizes it with style and character. Last year director, Nicolas Winding Refn did a similar (and even better) job of stylizing a retro concept with the film Drive, and pumped life into a seldom-sought-after genre of the art house action thriller, especially in a time of mega-budgeted, fantastical epics such as superheroes, transforming robots, and kung-fu-ing sleuths of Scotland Yard—all of which provide many grandiose explosions.

Haywire taps into a similar thematic vein as that which Soderbergh approached in his films Out of Sight and, especially, The Limey. Using non-linear editing, we begin in the classic crime story position of about three-quarters of the way through the story, flashback to how the characters reached this point, and the rest unfolds from there. While the editing sure helps to keep the film feeling fresh, the score by David Holmes works equally alongside it, employing snappy, be-bop hooks. On top of this are Soderbergh’s unusual and engaging cinematography techniques. Taking a credit under the name Peter Andrews, Soderbergh loves getting hands-on with the cameras and has done so on several of his previous films, including Traffic, Contagion, and the Ocean’s films. His framing and camera movements are much more aligned classically than what we typically see in action films these days.

Playing the role of the special agent who gets betrayed—only referred to as Mallory—is professional athlete and MMA champion Gina Carano. Physically, Carano is both beautiful and menacing. Her looks are charming and seductive, but her fighting style is much more matter of fact: quick, brutal, and yet still graceful. While she doesn’t quite move with the fluidity of the likes of Jet Li, her fighting technique is much more working class. The movie is conscious of audience expectations, especially concerning a woman in an action film, and plays to those perceptions. Twice in the film we’re given situations where violence is unexpectedly delivered upon Carano, only to then watch her turn the tables. What’s great here is not the play on expectations, but the way her character has to work for the fight, much in the same way Bond or Indiana Jones always does. We know this person we’re watching is the hero, but the wins don’t come easy. However a fight scene may play out, Carano is always the one on top of her game, presenting an attitude of assurance and suavity.

The rest of the cast is rounded out with otherwise stellar A-list actors, including Ewan McGregor, Michael Fassbender, Antonio Banderas, Bill Paxton, and Michael Douglas. McGregor plays Kenneth, Mallory’s boss at the private security firm. He’s both charming and slimy, and does both with the panache that has made McGregor the movie star he is. Fassbender, who apparently is in every other film these days, has a relatively small amount of screen time. However, a certain amount of respect is due to Fassbender, who goes toe to toe with Carano’s Mallory and does a fine job of holding his own despite the clear confidence Carano exudes, while we can see Fassbender sweating it out a bit. The scene is especially effective and helps make a case for Fassbender due to Soderbergh’s camerawork and editing, which works to keep true to the classical sense of a fight scene as originally presented in kung fu films from China and Japan: steady and even. The camera does not parry motions, or opt for quick editing in place of jabs; instead, it stays even, out of the way, allowing both players to remain on screen, displaying their physical attributes.

In fact, it’s the action scenes that really make the film interesting and exhilarating—as they should. There are many times when instead of putting the camera and the audience in the forefront of the action—under someone firing a gun, or directly in the middle of two bodies exchanging blows—the camera stays back, framing both sides of a gun battle firing at each other at the same time. In one such shootout, the camera, on a crane, pulls up and away from the exchange of gunfire; as the scene intensifies we are further away and able to take in the full account of the situation. Because of good sound design and high stakes, the scene is every bit as engaging, and even more so, than what we’d see in a Michael Bay film.

What’s slightly disappointing about Haywire is the way it treats these interesting and exciting action scenes as almost incidental between the rest of the story, which takes more of a front-and-center position than the action itself. As I mentioned before, the film works to keep the story engaging and fresh, but it also is predictable. Surprises are not really surprising, and while that in itself is fine, the movie presents these things as moments of revelation to the audience. Instead, they feel a bit lackluster, especially when accented by such great moments of action, and the action is subdued by what’s supposed to be more of a character-driven pulp crime tale.

Overall, though, Haywire is fresh, entertaining, and a bit more meditative than most action thriller these days. With other films like Drive, Attack the Block, and A Lonely Place to Die, hopefully we’re seeing the immersion of the subgenre of art house action thriller making its mark on modern cinema and the public conscious.

Final Grade: B+

One of the reasons I am so passionate about film is because of the emotional experience the medium can provide. This is true as well of other types of stories and media; the narratives and images we are fed have incredible power. Obviously, this is also why they can be dangerous. As a person who is tuned into the media and who is also a feminist (let me tell you some other time why all of us who believe in gender equality should be comfortable saying we’re feminists), I am frequently distraught by images and depictions of women that permeate popular culture. The bad far outweighs the good, and progress sometimes feels non-existent.

This is the subject of the documentary Miss Representation, from actress and first-time director Jennifer Seibel Newsom. Through discussions with prominent scholars and media figures about the common portrayals of females in our society’s media, and how these portrayals have real, spiraling consequences in other realms, Newsom creates a compelling argument for why we all need to demand better. Especially if you know a young girl whom you want to consider all options for herself without being brainwashed as to what those options are, it is your responsibility to demand better.

To be honest, as someone who pays attention and talks about this stuff all the time, this film didn’t have a lot “new” to tell me. I notice these ridiculous depictions of females every day, everywhere. I see the way shorthand for a guy being “cool” is having multiple nameless “hot” women in his entourage. I see the Kardashians being set up as role models for our youth. I notice every single time someone calls Hillary Clinton “Mrs. Clinton” rather than “Secretary Clinton,” as she damn well should be addressed. These are all things I think about frequently. But it’s still effective and motivating to see the many examples strung together, and inspiring to hear such a large variety of people—Rachel Maddow; Katie Couric; Margaret Cho; Senator Dianne Feinstein; Newark mayor Cory Booker; former Secretary of State Condoleeza Rice; Senator Nancy Pelosi; writer/director Paul Haggis; CEO of Common Sense Media Jim Steyer; director Catherine Hardwicke; mothereffing Gloria Steinem; actresses such as Daphne Zuniga, Rosario Dawson, Jane Fonda and GEENA DAVIS (I really like Geena Davis); others I am forgetting in this moment—talk frankly about the issue. It’s infuriating to be succinctly reminded how swift progress in the women’s equality movement was slammed back, with purpose, by the conservative government of the 1980s. It is an excellent reminder to hear it stated that those who spout “family values” in their political campaigns are the same people who support deregulation of the media, which results in the corporate conglomerate mess that feeds us the trashiest reality TV and stifles independent voices.

If that last paragraph feels ranty, it’s because that’s what this film is—a well-reasoned, well-argued rant. And anger is what it should inspire in anyone who watches it. Newsom’s argument is one we should be able to put together for ourselves—that without proper role models and respect for women’s accomplishments shown in the media, young women are at a disadvantage to attain their own positions of leadership and power as they grow up. The emphasis on youth, beauty, sexuality and the body over education and ambition is crushing, and the way powerful females are treated by the media versus their male counterparts is deeply problematic. But to see it all laid out in montage is stunning. Women still make up a depressingly small percentage of politicians, CEOs, and media leaders. And the numbers are just not improving. In order for young women to grow up with the tools to fill the gap, they need to be told that it’s possible. The current media climate isn’t doing its job in that regard, as the film lets real teens discuss.

While this film is powerful, and I’d love to show it to every teen I know (and a few adults who need a reminder as to why these things are important to talk about), it’s not perfect. Newsom does very little to state the sources of much of the statistical information she presents, and some moments made me wish for this. For example, if you’re going to make a bold statement such as that 65% of women and girls have an eating disorder, you’d better cite a source or at least define what you mean by “eating disorder.” (A Google search for statistics from reputable organizations leads me to wonder if Newsom saw a single survey’s results about the prevalence of disordered eating behaviors—not the same as actual eating disorders, confusing as that might be—and took the info too far.) There are also several moments of awkward transition as Newsom slows the momentum of the film to discuss her own life, a story thread that could have been woven in more deftly. Though her overall message is strong, Newsom’s inexperience in the area of documentary filmmaking often shows.

Despite flaws, Miss Representation presents a great summary of the problems with representations of women in the media today, and is very worth watching. Newsom is using the documentary as a calling card for a larger, fascinating project called the Represent Pledge, an effort to get consumers not to buy products that use sexist imagery in advertising or otherwise support marginalizing attitudes toward women, and to call these companies out on Twitter using the hashtag #notbuyingit. After the anger the film stirs up, you will want to join this call to action.

Miss Representation begins a week-long run at SIFF Cinema at the Film Center today.

Final Grades:
The film: B
The cause: A+

Nostalgia has been a major theme this year in films. With Midnight in Paris, about a man who thinks culture was at its peak in the 1940s, and Hugo and its honoring of an early filmmaker, this is the year of recognizing the past. Now there is The Artist, a silent film in black and white, about the silent age of film and what the onset of talkies did to those who did their best work in silent pictures. While it is a homage to silent films, it is also a reintroduction to how silent movies can work as a medium.

George Valentin (Jean Dujardin) is the king of the silent screen and within minutes of the film starting, we already know many of his traits. He is a bit arrogant about himself and his abilities, but he is a fun-loving sort who delights in the joy his films bring the audience. He also loves to interact with the audience, bringing out his faithful dog that is in all his movies to do bits for them. So when a young girl, Peppy Miller (Bérénice Bejo), accidentally bumps into him when he is posing for the press at his movie premiere, he doesn’t get angry; he delights in the humor of it and has her pose for the cameras. Then when she shows up to work as an extra and George’s manager, Al Zimmer (John Goodman), gets upset that she stole publicity from the movie premiere, he pushes for her to stay and there are small sparks that start to fly between them.

Then the changes come to the film industry. With the introduction of sound, George scoffs at the idea that sound is necessary for film to work. While Peppy, moving up from small roles, easily fits into the new and younger faces that audiences want from talkies and her star rises, George starts to lose his prominence. These two are at the center of everything that happens after that, and they have a gift for expression. Dujardin gets the task of having the “overacting” looks of a silent star when in a movie within a movie, but outside of that he still is very expressionistic. In fact, he is actually more expressionistic when he is subdued; we feel his joy or pain without it being as blatant. You get a chance to take it in and really feel for his situation. Bejo gets less time on screen, but she sells herself just as much as Dujardin. Her face shows her emotions and feelings so vividly that you forget that there is no dialogue. There is a beautiful scene where Peppy goes to thank George for letting her stay on the set and she starts to interact with his coat rack as though it was him; through that we see her feelings, but also she sells what it is that silent films can do when sound is not involved, with just the actor and a simple prop.

The second half of the film focuses more on George as he deals with his losses. He falls into a depression, unable to get out due to his his own stubbornness to take help, but also because he is abandoned by others who think he is no longer a talent. The descent is caused by himself and events beyond his control, which gives it a great level of realism. While this is a major arc for the character, it does start to go on for longer then is necessary. Though with no people around, we are given surprisingly strong moments with George and his dog. It sounds silly, but the dog is the most loyal and constant companion he has had for the entire film, from being there when he is a star and helping him in his movies to being the one who is with him throughout his situation with the same level of devotion. It could be said that it is easy, because he is an animal, but he is so every present and is so loyal we know of his importance and his ability on the screen makes him, in many ways, the third star of the film.

Yet, throughout his sadness, there is always Peppy in the background, trying to get into George’s life and help. Having never let go of her original feelings and how he helped her, she shares in his sadness. While believable, with the intensity that developed in the first half forming their relationship, some more time spent together with them could have made the development feel a bit more natural. They work so well off each other and bring out some of the most touching and funny moments; you just want more.

The greatest feat the film accomplishes is in showing how much human expression and feeling can come from just the looks and movements of the characters. While the leads are uniformly good, being actors that are less known in the States, it was easier to imagine them in a silent movie. So the success of the film is managed even more so in the work of John Goodman and James Cromwell, who, while supporting players, show just as much dedication to the silent world as the leads giving the expressive performances. They make you believe that they could come from the silent world. These characters are so expressive that the “gimmick” of being silent is worn away quite quickly and there actually are some moments of noise that are there to express how the characters are adapting to the new world. It is actually jarring when it happens because you are expecting silence and actually getting used to the silence of the film.

If another silent movie could be made after this one, it would be difficult to make it work. What makes this work is the “newness” of the movie. The idea that someone could capture that effect again would be very hard to attain. It would be like someone trying to make another Avatar; the effects of being the first one out is what defines much of what makes the movie work, and the same concept applies here. This will be the definitive silent movie for some time to come.

Final Grade: A-

Tell me if this sounds familiar to you. A master criminal who is out of the game is drawn back into one last caper to protect his family. Not surprisingly, things don’t go as planned, some twists occur, but good overcomes evil in the end. Yeah, pretty generic, eh? Well that is what you get in Contraband.

Contraband is the story of former smuggler Chris Farraday (Mark Wahlberg), who, despite his love of the caper, has cleaned up his life for the safety of his wife Kate (Kate Beckinsale) and their two young boys. After his brother-in-law Andy (Caleb Landry Jones) botches a drug run for Tim Briggs (Giovanni Ribisi), Chris is forced into one last smuggle to save Andy and protect his family. This involves traveling all the way to Panama City aboard a ship to smuggle currency. The film is a remake of the Icelandic film Reykjavík-Rotterdam, which was produced by Baltasar Kormákur, who is the director of the remake. I guess they earn points by keeping it connected to the original filmmakers, if that is worth something.

Let me start by saying this film isn’t unwatchable. It isn’t great, but it is a familiar enough formula that it is almost like comfort food. You probably won’t come out of the theater angry, but you will have already forgotten about the movie the next day. The most impressive (and somewhat mystifying) thing is the solid cast they recruited to be in this movie. I want to go back and check out the original source material or see the chopping room floor, because there had to have been some reason all these people agreed to be part of it.

As a lead actor, Mark Wahlberg is serviceable. He’s charming enough that you believe in him, and he has proven to be a respectable action star over time. Given his success critically in films such as The Fighter, and as a producer on projects such as Entourage, it is somewhat surprising that he spends his time acting in (and producing) a film like Contraband. His character is filled with equal parts criminal mastermind and illogical dumb luck.

The biggest problem with this film is the supporting cast. It is full of characters who are completely two-dimensional that we learn nothing about. Not only that, but in a lot of cases their performances are bad. In particular I was frustrated by Giovanni Ribisi. I have long been a fan of Ribisi; I have liked him in many projects: Boiler Room, The Dog Problem, and Friends, to name a few. But he increasingly makes me question his ability with an equally long list of bad performances (Flight of the Phoenix, Avatar, The Gift). His work in Contraband is some of his worst. His character feels like a caricature of a stupid criminal. He is both incompetent and stupid, making him seem not really all that menacing. Likewise, I was surprised to be underwhelmed by Ben Foster. He usually does a great job of picking characters who are complicated and interesting; I don’t know why he signed up for the project. On the plus side, besides Mark Wahlberg’s, his character is the most charismatic. Similarly, I guess his character experiences some of the most development, but it is clichéd and fairly predictable. It feels like there must have been something cut out, since they went to so much trouble to set up his character as a recovering alcoholic. This is ignoring people like Kate Beckinsale, who really aren’t given any development beyond “scared but loving wife.”

On the surface, this film is pretty generic and straightforward, but as you look more and more at the flaws, it becoming increasingly confusing. A lot of the film is left for the viewer to fill in the gaps. For example, why does Mark Wahlberg have such an aversion to smuggling drugs when it seems like a much easier solution than smuggling currency? And why are the villains so obsessed with getting them to smuggle drugs (as opposed to just being interested in getting their money)? These are just a few of the many questions that are glossed over. I’ll save you from diving into many of the others ones, because they might be deemed “spoilers.”

The smuggling process itself is fairly clever, but the majority of the time as part of the caper is spent adapting to people screwing up. With the exception of Mark Wahlberg, essentially everyone in this film feels incompetent on some level. Additionally, his brother-in-law Andy isn’t necessarily a bad guy, but his constant screw-ups make it really difficult to be sympathetic to the character. But it goes beyond just him—the majority of the challenges the characters face in this movie are ones that could be resolved if people just acted reasonably logically.

If you are looking for a simple action movie to kill some time, this might be okay, but there are so many better caper films out there I think you can do better. Of all the things I take away from this movie, it is that Panama City, despite some pretty horrendous crime, looks like a pretty cool place, and with the exception of maybe the tourism department of Panama, I don’t think anyone involved would be happy about that.

Final Grade: C-

I watched Trouble in Paradise (1932) for the first time at the Grand Illusion Cinema the other night, and now I can’t stop thinking about it or the director Ernst Lubitsch. He’s beloved around my house; my husband loves The Shop Around the Corner and my favorite is To Be or Not To Be. (I have a life-long obsession with Jack Benny. At age five I could do two impressions: Mae West and Jack Benny. Yes, I was bullied.) A lot gets bandied about regarding “The Lubitsch Touch” and what that is. For me, it’s where what you don’t see is just as important as what you do. He is never so crass as to show you everything that is going on; he gives you the framing pieces of the puzzle, but it is up to you to fill in the rest. While other directors will show you a couple making love, Lubitsch will have the butler knock on his lady’s door, but have her open the door down the hall—the door to her male secretary’s room. The audience hasn’t seen anything really, but now they, and the butler, know that something is going on.

Trouble in Paradise starts in Vienna with a baron (Herbert Marshall) and a countess (Miriam Hopkins) having a clandestine meeting over dinner. She is reticent; he is a most persuasive seducer. As they come closer together, he gently convinces her of her beauty and desirability. She robs him blind; he manages to steal the brooch from her décolletage without her noticing. Neither are what they seem. He is Gaston Monescu, the great thief, and she is Lily, his larcenous match. As is fitting in a Lubitsch movie, they fall in love and travel to Paris.

While in Paris, Monescu steals the purse of perfumer Madame Colet (Kay Francis). He soon realizes that the reward for the purse is more than what he could hock it for, so he returns it to her and charms her so much she offers him a job as her personal secretary. His goal is to steal money from her safe; her goal is his heart. As Monescu becomes more and more entrenched in his plans, his heart opens to Madame Colet and he begins to long for something more than what he has. Being in no way stupid, Lily picks up on this and decides to force his hand by stealing the money herself. How will this all work out? Which woman will he choose, and will his choice accept him back? Ah, the complexities of love.

And this movie is all about love. And sex. This movie was made before the Hays Code was enforced, and there is sex all over the place. Or rather, because this is a Lubitsch film, it is everywhere, but seen not at all. He would never be so vulgar. But there are too many closed doors, do not disturb signs, and reading the paper together in the morning scenes to mistake what is going on. This film is full of sex, but modern viewers used to more blatant displays might miss the naughtiness of it all. Monescu and Lily are a matched set, but they are not married. Had he been married, Monescu’s feelings for Madame Colet might have appeared more sordid and that would have been a different type of movie altogether. As it is, this is a light, sophisticated film about the vagaries of the heart.

In addition to the sure-handed direction, the performances of the actors help to make this film so wonderful. Herbert Marshall is perfect as Monescu. His manners and presentation are beautiful; it is no surprise that his character is able to move undetected among the titled. Marshall’s comic timing is spot on, and makes me wish he had done more funny movies. (As a point of interest, he lost one of his legs in World War I, but nobody could ever tell on the screen. I certainly couldn’t.) Miriam Hopkins and Kay Francis are perfectly cast in their roles as well. Hopkins is as light as air in her role as Lily. She does not quite float through her scenes, but it almost feels like it. She’s a ham, but a delightful ham, and I enjoyed her more than I ever have before. As Madame Colet, Kay Francis is lovely. As dark as Miriam Hopkins is fair, her presence is more grounded. She also wants more than what she has, but doesn’t know how to answer that longing except for buying more things.

Let me take a moment to write about Madame Colet’s two suitors. Charles Ruggles as the Major and Edward Everett Horton as François Filiba are fabulous as the two men who are vying for Madame Colet’s heart, even though she has no real interest in either of them. There is one scene where The Major invites Filiba to a party and insults him by asking if he has a dinner jacket. (Of course he does, they are both very rich men.) Ok, maybe I was the only one who laughed, but it is these small throwaway lines and attention to detail that make this film so wonderful. I kept marveling while watching the film, that Lubitsch could focus so much on the details and not lose control of the film as a whole. But no, it holds together beautifully.

Trouble in Paradise is one of the great 1930s films: a beautiful distraction from the hardest of times. Madame Colet does not wear gowns, she wears GOWNS, and the luxuriousness of her surroundings is over the top. In the end, this movie is a perfect pink frothy confection that tastes as good as it looks. I was talking to my daughter about this, and she mentioned that we have plenty of directors now that can make a great serious film, but there aren’t that many out there who can make a truly delightful light romantic comedy. I agree with her wholeheartedly. I want more Lubitsches. Especially in hard economic times, I think maybe we could use more deliciously light entertainment. But there is always Lubitsch to go back to, and I recommend going back as often as you can.

Final Grade: A

Sometimes, the beauty of smaller or independent films is that they are populated by characters that feel more tangible than those of big Hollywood films. The achievement of Dee Rees’s film Pariah (2012) is through the believability of its main character. Adepero Oduye, who plays Alike (Ah-Lee-Kay), is so tender and sincere with her performance that it seems as though she were picked up right off the streets and placed in front of the camera. She is so natural here, never gesturing towards the audience or making it known that what we are watching is an “act.” Instead, she breathes and lives her character with an element of truth; not at any moment did I feel any kind of falsehood. Too many lesser actors would strain—trying too hard to gain an effect from the viewer. Oduye doesn’t do that with Alike, she just…is.

Alike is a high school teenager living in Brooklyn, New York. Her life is not unlike other kids her age. She’s shy, nervous, and self-conscious. She likes to go out with friends often but is aware to stay out of trouble. At school, she’s a promising student, getting As on tests and having a taste for poetry. After class, she visits her teacher to help her develop her writing skills. There seems to be a lot of bright things ahead for this young person, but one thing keeps her down with a fear that it could lead to her life falling apart. The secret Alike tries to hide is the fact that she’s a lesbian. Although, it seems as though this “secret” is known to just about everyone, including her friends and family. When she goes out, Alike likes to dress in boys’ clothes, with a cap fitted neatly on her head. On some nights, she goes out to an all-female strip club with her friend Laura (Pernal Walker), who is also a lesbian. When she is away from her family is when Alike feels most like herself, but when she comes home she has to sneak in and quickly change to more “feminine” attire before her parents catch her.

What a difficult thing it must be, to hide your true self not from your friends and classmates, but from the very people you call your family. I couldn’t possibly guess the kind of courage it takes for one to out themselves, and it’s clear that that fear resides heavily with Alike. This is partly to do with the fact that her mother, Audrey (Kim Wayans), stubbornly tries to force her to become more of what she thinks is a proper “woman”—dresses, pink-colored clothing, and so on. Audrey even goes to the point of checking up on Alike and having her interact with friends who are straight, as if their sexual orientation will somehow rub off on her. I don’t think Audrey to be a terrible person, though—just very confused. I believe it’s clear that Audrey cares about Alike and wants the best for her; she isn’t a cruel mother. In fact, the film goes to a certain length to show that she is a hardworking nurse who wants the best for her family; she just doesn’t know where Alike is coming from or how to handle it.

Alike and Audrey are two examples of how this film attempts to portray real people instead of archetypes. With a drama such as this, it would be very easy for some characters to fall into certain stereotypes (and there are a few here), but I liked how Rees (who also wrote the film) tries to round out their characterizations. Alike’s father Arthur (Charles Parnell) could have easily fallen into the “tough as nails/always out working/possibly sneaking around” type of figure, but he feels more than that. He’s a tough, weather-worn police officer, but not because he was simply written to be that way. Arthur obviously has issues with Audrey that aren’t specifically spelled out, but we sense that he is a good (although flawed) man who loves his children, even when one’s apparent sexuality draws sneers from the locals.

Another character that stands out is Alike’s best friend, Laura. Being a lesbian as well, Laura has gone through the same emotional journey that Alike currently goes through. To build upon that, I would have liked to see more of Laura’s story built up, because I found her to be just has fascinating as our protagonist. Laura has run away from home and left school to work and make money. She lives with and cares for her sister, who is also working to become a nurse. Laura doesn’t fall into the framework of what we would assume a college dropout to be—she didn’t do it because she hates school or is lazy, but because of her circumstances she does what she needs to do simply to survive. And like Alike fears, Laura’s lifestyle has drawn resentment from her family, and in one of the best scenes of the film, Laura has an encounter with her mother on her family’s doorstep. This is a very well acted and directed scene, minimal in what is actually said but extensive in what it conveys.

While the film has many good things going for it, I did feel that there were a few stumbling blocks. Some of them are minor—I wish the cinematography didn’t have the usual small budget/indie film/handheld style. There were moments where the frame shook so badly that I couldn’t see the performances of the actors. A few issues were more apparent, and I believe this was mostly due to the writing. For a drama such as this, there was the risk of it moving to a melodrama of the bad sort, and I did feel it went dangerously too close to that line. There were times were choices and character motivations suddenly shifted, which to me felt as though they were written in such a way as to manipulate an emotional reaction from the viewer. I don’t mind a certain kind of manipulation in a film if the context is appropriate, but in a movie where the characters are supposed to feel real, particular choices felt as though they were reaching when they didn’t have to. Two specific elements involve Bina (Aasha Davis), a fellow classmate Alike is introduced to and starts to develop feelings toward, and Audrey herself. For Bina, we are led to believe that she is a specific kind of character with a specific kind of connection with Alike, but her motivations change drastically without any kind of discernible transition.

In the case of Audrey, for the entire length of the movie she is presented as a character with negative characteristics but also worth a good amount of sympathy. But then she shifts with actions I don’t find to be believable. I just don’t see her choices to be truthful or realistic to her character, and that they were only put in to illicit a reaction. That’s not to say that what happens doesn’t happen in real life, because it does. However, Audrey’s character development does not seem fluid. To me, I feel that result is due to her being written in an unfair way—she was at first seen to be a well-rounded character but then refutes her initial set-up in the final act. Take the dynamic between her and Alike and compare to Laura and her mother, and judge for yourself which you feel is more effective.

But with those issues aside, the aspects that make Pariah good are very well handled and executed. There’s no denying the fact that Adepero Oduye gives a very fine performance, hopefully this will help her see bigger roles in the future. For Dee Rees, this is her feature length film debut, and though I think that shows a little bit in the finished product, I think she has a promising career ahead of her as a filmmaker. In the end, I appreciated the fact that this is a film that examined a group of minorities without being just about minorities. Too many films about people of color tend to restrict themselves to cultural pigeonholes; this one breaks through those walls and makes it about this person, amongst these people, in this place.

Final Grade: B

A truly great child actor can illicit emotion from the viewer in ways that dissolve once the barriers to adulthood begin to be crossed. Perhaps this is because seeing a child invoke that kind of emotion reminds us that they feel as deeply as we “grown-ups” do, and that our own pain was never silly, like we might now think of it. Perhaps it is because of the inherent helplessness of childhood, where you must face your problems in ways that others determine for you, and the audience cannot judge the character and say “this is what I would have done.” Or perhaps we just enjoy marveling at talent that comes so young. Whatever the case, the pull is there, and I felt it to an amazing degree while watching the star of Tomboy (2011).

Zoé Héran is so good that it is hard for me to believe that writer/director Céline Sciamma didn’t craft the lead role with her already in mind. (IMDb, for what its worth, states that Héran was found on the first day of casting.) Playing a child struggling with a gender identity that doesn’t conform to social norms, she displays a range that goes from simple, playful joy to deep agony, fear and confusion. Laure is a 10-year-old biological female, but sports a short hair cut, dresses a long, lanky body in boys’ clothes, and generally physically puts forth a visual image that reads “boy.” New in the apartment complex after a family move, a neighbor girl identifies Laure as a boy, and the moment passes uncorrected—in fact, when prompted, Laure gives a boy’s name. And so Mikael is born.

You may notice that I’m avoiding using gendered pronouns to refer to Laure/Mikael. This is the point where my urge to derail my own review into a conversation about transgender issues, and transgender children in particular, can barely be contained. I am in no way an expert, but I care and pay attention, and it’s hard for me not to pull out my “gender is a construct” vocabulary and go off on a rant that would probably end with just typing “let your kids be who they are!” over and over and over again. But in all caps. Definitely in all caps.

In any case, the fictional child in question lives in a world where either you are a girl, or you are a boy, and the answer is between your legs. This is not to say that Mom and Dad are bad people. The family is obviously happy, and they have no issue with the boys’ clothes or short hair or soccer or playing in the woods—they just won’t let it go any further. They feel they can’t, that there’s no mechanism even to do so. There is only so long that Laure can be Mikael, with a pregnant mom mostly on bed rest, a dad busy with a new job, and a little sister who plays along with the game for the other kids. Soon someone else will find out, and if not…school will start, and the nametag will not say “Mikael.”

Tomboy is strong on all fronts. Besides Héran, the other child actors here are splendid, particularly Jeanne Dison as Lisa, who has a crush on Mikael, and little Malonn Lévanna as the sister who obviously adores her older sibling no matter what. The film takes its time with each scene, creating a leisurely pace, but tells the story succinctly, coming in at only 82 minutes. Beyond the performances and the writing, it is beautifully shot, often emphasizing human bodies against the varied physical backdrops of our lives: flowered wallpaper; bathroom porcelain; rough bark; tall grass. Many different backgrounds for the one body that contains a single person.

This is a film that was in so many ways lovely, filled with depictions of breathless childhood friendships and the freedom of summer. But I dreaded all along the way the inevitable moment when it had to come crashing down. I felt a profound sadness for this character, and for many, many real children who are viewed and treated in a similar way. The film doesn’t go so far as to confirm that this is a permanent situation for Laure; indeed, the very title contradicts it—a “tomboy” is something that only a girl can be. But what I see in that character’s instinct and determination and pain is not a girl, but a boy who was unlucky enough to be born in a biologically female body, and what I wanted was for the film to push further with that message. Perhaps that is presumptuous or unfair of me. Either way, it’s still one of the best films I’ve ever seen to address this kind of issue.

Tomboy opens today at SIFF Cinema at the Uptown.

Final Grade: A-