Even though it is about talking animals, it’s animated and it’s rated PG, “Fantastic Mr. Fox” isn’t really a movie for children.
Adults, however, will find it delightful and enchanting -- almost effervescent.
The humor is not risqué, offensive or otherwise improper for children; it’s just that 90 percent of it will be over their heads. The jokes are sophisticated and urbane in precisely the way that children aren’t.
For the last several years, director Wes Anderson’s movies have mostly been about how fabulous and quirky Wes Anderson is (“The Darjeeling Limited,” “The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou”). But this time out he is working from a book by the preternaturally odd English writer Roald Dahl, and Anderson is helped immeasurably by having an actual story to follow.
This story follows the Fox family and their anthropomorphic wildlife friends as they become embroiled in a war against three mean and powerful farmers. Mr. Fox, who has the voice of George Clooney, is charming and loquacious, a natural leader. Though he is a newspaper columnist and the proud owner of a fancy new hollow tree, part of him still yearns to steal the occasional chicken from a chicken coop -- one of the actions that start the war.
His wife disapproves (Meryl Streep with a fox accent) and gently urges him toward safer paths. Their son Ash (voice by Jason Schwartzman) is considered “different” by other foxes and only wants to be accepted by his father. The father, however, is fonder and more impressed by his athletic nephew Kristofferson, whose voice is courtesy of Eric Anderson. Aware of the rivalry between the younger foxes, the father will eventually try to bond with his son.
Yes, it’s that tired, old, threadbare subplot, trotted out yet again; the subplot filmmakers turn to whenever they want to give their otherwise lacking story a quick dose of feel-good emotion. Reportedly, Anderson and his co-writer Noah Baumbach changed some parts of Dahl’s book and added others -- anyone wanna bet the father-bonding-with-son plot was one of their inventions?
Still, Anderson and Baumbach provide plenty of wit, from using the word “cuss” as an all-purpose cuss word (it even appears as graffiti in one background) to imagining a law firm called Badger, Beaver and Beaver (Mr. Badger is a badger; we don’t meet the Beavers) to having a mole, which is nocturnal, play a swanky version of “Night and Day” on the piano.
And all of this is played out in the difficult and extraordinarily time-consuming medium of stop-motion animation. Using puppets and three-dimensional sets, the crew shot the entire movie two frames at a time, moving the figures ever so slightly between the photographs.
It’s a huge amount of work and it results in animation that is lifelike, yet vaguely surreal. But it was worth it. “Fantastic Mr. Fox” is fun, amusing and enchanting.
You can even bring kids to it. But you’ll enjoy it more than they will.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Monday, November 23, 2009
'Precious' and few
“Precious: Based on the Novel ‘Push’ By Sapphire” takes a reverse three-and-a-half somersault dive into a deep pool of squalor. But it looks so pretty on the way down.
The movie’s point appears to be that no matter how badly off we may be or how low we may feel, our lives are blessed compared to what we see on the screen. The film imagines the worst life possible, and then imagines some more bad things happening to it. All of this is so we can feel better about ourselves -- “At least we aren’t leading the life of Precious,” we think, “even if she is based on the novel ‘Push,” by Sapphire.”
The story may be squalid, but it is made surprisingly well. Although the story tends to ramble toward the end, and has little focus at the beginning, the acting, directing and script are strong enough to make the film almost as good as its high-level buzz.
Gabourey Sidibe makes a striking debut as Precious, an illiterate, morbidly obese 16-year-old mother of a Down Syndrome child. Her abusive, vicious, worthless, welfare-scamming mother (a heartbreaking performance by Mo’Nique) treats her like a slave, assures that she has no self-esteem, knocks her out with heavy objects and on at least one occasion tries to kill her.
At the film’s beginning, Precious is pregnant again, and the father is once again her own father, who casually rapes her.
For too much of Geoffrey Fletcher’s script, this exposition is mistaken for story. Rather than showing us what Precious does, or what happens to her, the picture is content merely to pile on the suffering. Only in its latter stages does the film break free from being a compendium of misery. As it must, the story follows one of two trajectories -- either Precious survives against the odds or she is swallowed by her horrific circumstances.
Paula Patton makes a strong impression as a saintly teacher at Precious’ new school, and Mariah Carey turns on her native New York accent as a welfare caseworker with a heart. And a number of actresses enliven the classroom scenes with a spontaneity and vitality that seems real and unforced.
It is largely due to these classmates that the suffering is not entirely unrelieved. In the second half, the filmmakers remember that teen-age kids are funny. Even Precious manages a smile once when joshing with her new friends, and she becomes so bold as to tell us a clever joke in narration: When observing two educated women, she says, “They talk like TV channels I don’t watch.”
Director Lee Daniels produced “Monster’s Ball” and directed the underrated “Shadowboxer,” so he is no stranger to making bold cinematic statements. He may be a little prone to unnecessarily zooming the camera, but “Precious: Based on the Novel ‘Push’ by Sapphire” is compellingly filmed and acted.
It’s a different kind of feel-good movie. You feel good, knowing that you don’t feel that bad.
The movie’s point appears to be that no matter how badly off we may be or how low we may feel, our lives are blessed compared to what we see on the screen. The film imagines the worst life possible, and then imagines some more bad things happening to it. All of this is so we can feel better about ourselves -- “At least we aren’t leading the life of Precious,” we think, “even if she is based on the novel ‘Push,” by Sapphire.”
The story may be squalid, but it is made surprisingly well. Although the story tends to ramble toward the end, and has little focus at the beginning, the acting, directing and script are strong enough to make the film almost as good as its high-level buzz.
Gabourey Sidibe makes a striking debut as Precious, an illiterate, morbidly obese 16-year-old mother of a Down Syndrome child. Her abusive, vicious, worthless, welfare-scamming mother (a heartbreaking performance by Mo’Nique) treats her like a slave, assures that she has no self-esteem, knocks her out with heavy objects and on at least one occasion tries to kill her.
At the film’s beginning, Precious is pregnant again, and the father is once again her own father, who casually rapes her.
For too much of Geoffrey Fletcher’s script, this exposition is mistaken for story. Rather than showing us what Precious does, or what happens to her, the picture is content merely to pile on the suffering. Only in its latter stages does the film break free from being a compendium of misery. As it must, the story follows one of two trajectories -- either Precious survives against the odds or she is swallowed by her horrific circumstances.
Paula Patton makes a strong impression as a saintly teacher at Precious’ new school, and Mariah Carey turns on her native New York accent as a welfare caseworker with a heart. And a number of actresses enliven the classroom scenes with a spontaneity and vitality that seems real and unforced.
It is largely due to these classmates that the suffering is not entirely unrelieved. In the second half, the filmmakers remember that teen-age kids are funny. Even Precious manages a smile once when joshing with her new friends, and she becomes so bold as to tell us a clever joke in narration: When observing two educated women, she says, “They talk like TV channels I don’t watch.”
Director Lee Daniels produced “Monster’s Ball” and directed the underrated “Shadowboxer,” so he is no stranger to making bold cinematic statements. He may be a little prone to unnecessarily zooming the camera, but “Precious: Based on the Novel ‘Push’ by Sapphire” is compellingly filmed and acted.
It’s a different kind of feel-good movie. You feel good, knowing that you don’t feel that bad.
Friday, November 20, 2009
Less true than 'True Blood'
My review to "New Moon" is up; you can find it at: http://boomerlifemagazine.com/ver2/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=348:the-twilight-saga-new-moon&catid=74:movie-rev
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Ambivalence
“Blind Side” would be better if so much of it weren’t so bad.
Overall, the scales still tip to worthwhile viewing. The movie easily has more strong scenes than squishy ones, but it would be foolhardy to overlook completely the squish factor.
The film is based on a true story, but unless Michael Oher’s life has been nothing but a parade of Hollywood clichés, the filmmakers have imposed a formulaic structure on it. The result is an enjoyable movie, but one in which everything is predictable and nothing is a surprise.
Oher, played not without affect by Quinton Aaron, is an enormous teen with an equally enormous heart. But he has never had a break -- he grew up in poverty (he never even had a bed), the son of a drug-addict mother and an absent father. Shifted from foster parent to foster parent and school to school, he lands at a wealthy private school, largely because the coach wants him on the football team.
As practically the only black student on campus, and showing no apparent ability to read, he is shunned by the students and teachers alike. But one mother of a student shows him a kindness, giving him a place to sleep on a cold night. Moved by his gentle nature, she begins to show him more kindness on a truly remarkable level.
For the entire film, we expect to be put off by the sight of a well-off white woman swooping in to turn around the life of a disadvantaged black youth, but it never feels condescending. And that is the movie’s greatest success.
In one of her most emotionally true roles, Sandra Bullock plays the woman -- very blonde, very rich and with a heart as big as Oher’s. She’s a no-nonsense, type-A, Memphis gal who is determined to get what she wants, particularly when she is doing the right thing. Her husband is played by Tim McGraw, a likable enough performance of a likable enough character, but he is overshadowed by Bullock.
But the supporting characters tend to trip up the film. The worst offender is the ridiculously precocious young son of Bullock’s character; he’s like a sitcom kid, witty and wise and glib. In an atrocious idea that is carried on too long, it is this boy, at perhaps 10 years old, who helps serves as Oher’s conditioning coach and teaches him the fundamentals of football. Kathy Bates has one great moments as a tutor but is otherwise awash in cliché, and the filmmakers trot out a series of college coaches to play themselves.
One of the unconvincing acting performances you will ever see is Nick Saban playing himself.
John Lee Hancock writes and directs, and the film is uneven exactly where he is uneven. Many lines are funny, a tribute to the wit with which he embellished the script. But all of the oppressively predictable parts are due to his script, too. And while the emotionally satisfying scenes resonate because of his direction, it is this same bald, unnuanced direction that makes the movie feel immature.
Of course, part of the problem stems from real life. In high school, Oher played offensive left tackle. They may try awfully hard -- a little too hard, maybe -- but it is impossible to make football footage seem exciting when focusing on an offensive lineman. Yes, they’re critical to a team’s success, but no, what they do is not dramatic.
“Blind Side” is remarkably ambitious, and it does score. But it’s just a field goal.
Overall, the scales still tip to worthwhile viewing. The movie easily has more strong scenes than squishy ones, but it would be foolhardy to overlook completely the squish factor.
The film is based on a true story, but unless Michael Oher’s life has been nothing but a parade of Hollywood clichés, the filmmakers have imposed a formulaic structure on it. The result is an enjoyable movie, but one in which everything is predictable and nothing is a surprise.
Oher, played not without affect by Quinton Aaron, is an enormous teen with an equally enormous heart. But he has never had a break -- he grew up in poverty (he never even had a bed), the son of a drug-addict mother and an absent father. Shifted from foster parent to foster parent and school to school, he lands at a wealthy private school, largely because the coach wants him on the football team.
As practically the only black student on campus, and showing no apparent ability to read, he is shunned by the students and teachers alike. But one mother of a student shows him a kindness, giving him a place to sleep on a cold night. Moved by his gentle nature, she begins to show him more kindness on a truly remarkable level.
For the entire film, we expect to be put off by the sight of a well-off white woman swooping in to turn around the life of a disadvantaged black youth, but it never feels condescending. And that is the movie’s greatest success.
In one of her most emotionally true roles, Sandra Bullock plays the woman -- very blonde, very rich and with a heart as big as Oher’s. She’s a no-nonsense, type-A, Memphis gal who is determined to get what she wants, particularly when she is doing the right thing. Her husband is played by Tim McGraw, a likable enough performance of a likable enough character, but he is overshadowed by Bullock.
But the supporting characters tend to trip up the film. The worst offender is the ridiculously precocious young son of Bullock’s character; he’s like a sitcom kid, witty and wise and glib. In an atrocious idea that is carried on too long, it is this boy, at perhaps 10 years old, who helps serves as Oher’s conditioning coach and teaches him the fundamentals of football. Kathy Bates has one great moments as a tutor but is otherwise awash in cliché, and the filmmakers trot out a series of college coaches to play themselves.
One of the unconvincing acting performances you will ever see is Nick Saban playing himself.
John Lee Hancock writes and directs, and the film is uneven exactly where he is uneven. Many lines are funny, a tribute to the wit with which he embellished the script. But all of the oppressively predictable parts are due to his script, too. And while the emotionally satisfying scenes resonate because of his direction, it is this same bald, unnuanced direction that makes the movie feel immature.
Of course, part of the problem stems from real life. In high school, Oher played offensive left tackle. They may try awfully hard -- a little too hard, maybe -- but it is impossible to make football footage seem exciting when focusing on an offensive lineman. Yes, they’re critical to a team’s success, but no, what they do is not dramatic.
“Blind Side” is remarkably ambitious, and it does score. But it’s just a field goal.
Friday, November 13, 2009
Not in a whimper, not in a bang, but in a blah
It’s the end of the world as we know it, and I feel bored.
“2012” is a disaster film about the biggest disaster of all, the end of virtually all life on the face of the Earth. That’s the sort of thing you would think it would be impossible to make too big.
Meet schlockmeister director Roland Emmerich, who covered much the same territory in his 1996 apocalyptic disaster film “Independence Day” and his 2004 apocalyptic disaster film “The Day After Tomorrow.” For his third try at the exact same story, Emmerich leans heavily on the greatly improved special effects to make his movie bigger than big. And not coincidentally, longer than long.
“2012” is so big and so long (and so clichéd and so predictable and so cheesy) that it becomes quite dull. There are only so many special effects a fellow can take, especially since it is the same two or three effects repeated over and over, and so much pounding music.
At no point in this film is there any doubt about who will survive the apocalypse, and who will die. Seven billion people will die. The cute little dog will survive.
One of Emmerich’s many problems is that he shows us far too many of the seven billion, scattered in too many places around the globe. We have John Cusack as a writer and Amanda Peet as his estranged wife and the mother of his two children in Los Angeles (anyone want to take bets on whether they reconcile?). We have Danny Glover as the thoughtful and noble president in Washington, Thandie Newton as his daughter and Oliver Platt as a high-ranking official.
We have astrophysicists in India, a welder and his Buddhist brother in China, and two old codger musicians (including George Segal) wistfully noting the passage of time on a cruise ship in the Pacific. We have Woody Harrelson as a nutcase ex machina in Yellowstone National Park, and Chiwetel Ejiofer as a scientist pretty much everywhere. We have a Russian billionaire with a blonde girlfriend and twin sons in Las Vegas, and some generic Arab sheik in some room somewhere.
It gets to the point that when we see the Indian astrophysicist late in the film, we think, “Oh, yeah, I forgot he was in this movie.”
The main characters who do not make it to the end are generally all given the chance to make a noble speech, or at least share a tearful goodbye. As for the potential survivors on whom we focus the most, we are not worried about them because they have a statistically improbable ability to outrace whatever disaster is immediately behind them, no matter how fast it is closing.
At one point, Cusack is even able to run and catch up to a plane that is in the process of taking off. That’s some mighty fast running.
The catching-up-to-the-plane scene might well be the movie’s most ridiculous, but it has plenty of competition. About half of the time that we laugh at this movie, it is at something that is intentionally humorous. The other half is at things that are just…so…stupid.
The point of movies such as this is to see special-effect destruction on a massive scale, and many of the effects here are indeed fairly spectacular. Others, especially when several things are happening at once, tend to look flat, badly animated or silly. But even when the effects are good, what is missing from them is the sense of fun. If you see one landmark being destroyed (as Emmerich did with the U.S. Capitol in “Independence Day”), it can be enjoyably cathartic. But a dozen or more landmarks crashing into the earth results only in apathy born of repetition.
“2012” is so big because it wants to be the end-of-the-world movie to end all end-of-the-world movies.
We can only hope.
“2012” is a disaster film about the biggest disaster of all, the end of virtually all life on the face of the Earth. That’s the sort of thing you would think it would be impossible to make too big.
Meet schlockmeister director Roland Emmerich, who covered much the same territory in his 1996 apocalyptic disaster film “Independence Day” and his 2004 apocalyptic disaster film “The Day After Tomorrow.” For his third try at the exact same story, Emmerich leans heavily on the greatly improved special effects to make his movie bigger than big. And not coincidentally, longer than long.
“2012” is so big and so long (and so clichéd and so predictable and so cheesy) that it becomes quite dull. There are only so many special effects a fellow can take, especially since it is the same two or three effects repeated over and over, and so much pounding music.
At no point in this film is there any doubt about who will survive the apocalypse, and who will die. Seven billion people will die. The cute little dog will survive.
One of Emmerich’s many problems is that he shows us far too many of the seven billion, scattered in too many places around the globe. We have John Cusack as a writer and Amanda Peet as his estranged wife and the mother of his two children in Los Angeles (anyone want to take bets on whether they reconcile?). We have Danny Glover as the thoughtful and noble president in Washington, Thandie Newton as his daughter and Oliver Platt as a high-ranking official.
We have astrophysicists in India, a welder and his Buddhist brother in China, and two old codger musicians (including George Segal) wistfully noting the passage of time on a cruise ship in the Pacific. We have Woody Harrelson as a nutcase ex machina in Yellowstone National Park, and Chiwetel Ejiofer as a scientist pretty much everywhere. We have a Russian billionaire with a blonde girlfriend and twin sons in Las Vegas, and some generic Arab sheik in some room somewhere.
It gets to the point that when we see the Indian astrophysicist late in the film, we think, “Oh, yeah, I forgot he was in this movie.”
The main characters who do not make it to the end are generally all given the chance to make a noble speech, or at least share a tearful goodbye. As for the potential survivors on whom we focus the most, we are not worried about them because they have a statistically improbable ability to outrace whatever disaster is immediately behind them, no matter how fast it is closing.
At one point, Cusack is even able to run and catch up to a plane that is in the process of taking off. That’s some mighty fast running.
The catching-up-to-the-plane scene might well be the movie’s most ridiculous, but it has plenty of competition. About half of the time that we laugh at this movie, it is at something that is intentionally humorous. The other half is at things that are just…so…stupid.
The point of movies such as this is to see special-effect destruction on a massive scale, and many of the effects here are indeed fairly spectacular. Others, especially when several things are happening at once, tend to look flat, badly animated or silly. But even when the effects are good, what is missing from them is the sense of fun. If you see one landmark being destroyed (as Emmerich did with the U.S. Capitol in “Independence Day”), it can be enjoyably cathartic. But a dozen or more landmarks crashing into the earth results only in apathy born of repetition.
“2012” is so big because it wants to be the end-of-the-world movie to end all end-of-the-world movies.
We can only hope.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
We love you Leeds! Leeds! Leeds!
An overblown, detrimental sports rivalry in “The Damned United” is revealed to be caused by two coaches who are petty and childish.
Do you, like me, secretly suspect that a lot of coaches are like that?
“The Damned United” tells of the rise and fall of English soccer manager Brian Clough, a man probably completely unknown to the vast majority of Americans. That the film is so enjoyable in this country, and enlightening, is a testament to its universal truths: Some talented people are jerks, and their personalities can get in the way of their successes.
A considerably fictionalized true story, the film bounces back and forth in time between 1974 and 1968, in that order. In 1974, the brash, young Clough replaces the greatly beloved Don Revie as manager of the fearsome Leeds United football team. In 1968, we witness a match between what was then Revie’s Leeds United team and the little heralded team headed by Clough. Leeds plays dirty and Revie snubs the previously adoring Clough, leading to the unhealthy, long-lasting rivalry.
“I’m just going to have to beat him, Pete,” Clough says. “Beat him if it’s the last thing I do.”
The Pete in that quote is Pete Taylor, Clough’s longtime assistant coach. He is an integral part of Clough’s success, but the film never makes clear what it is that he does, other than recommend that Clough hire expensive, but able, older former players.
If that is a flaw, the filmmakers get the rest of the film right, starting with the casting. The extraordinary Michael Sheen stars as Clough, and once again he disappears into his role, as he has done in “The Queen,” “Frost/Nixon” and a host of other films. His version of the coach is cocky and cheeky, too high strung and loose-lipped for his own good.
“I wouldn’t say I’m the best manager in England, but I’m in the top one,” he jokes.
Revie is played by Colm Meaney, whose personification of the part extends to an extraordinary resemblance to the real coach -- kudos to the first-rated makeup staff. Among the other familiar faces (hello, Jim Broadbent!) is Timothy Spall of “Enchanted,” the Harry Potter movies and many other pictures.
Peter Morgan is the writer, from David Peace’s popular (in England) novel. Morgan created complex characters, but well-defined and real. Not only do we believe what is on the surface of the characters, we buy what they hide, their motivations and secret desires.
Morgan and the actors are helped in their quest by director Tom Hooper, who spent considerable time in Virginia directing the “John Adams” mini-series. He makes the story accessible even to people who don’t much care about soccer by focusing on the personalities and their conflicts.
A few of his camera angles are a little strange. But otherwise, “The Damned United” is an admirable and often fascinating work.
Do you, like me, secretly suspect that a lot of coaches are like that?
“The Damned United” tells of the rise and fall of English soccer manager Brian Clough, a man probably completely unknown to the vast majority of Americans. That the film is so enjoyable in this country, and enlightening, is a testament to its universal truths: Some talented people are jerks, and their personalities can get in the way of their successes.
A considerably fictionalized true story, the film bounces back and forth in time between 1974 and 1968, in that order. In 1974, the brash, young Clough replaces the greatly beloved Don Revie as manager of the fearsome Leeds United football team. In 1968, we witness a match between what was then Revie’s Leeds United team and the little heralded team headed by Clough. Leeds plays dirty and Revie snubs the previously adoring Clough, leading to the unhealthy, long-lasting rivalry.
“I’m just going to have to beat him, Pete,” Clough says. “Beat him if it’s the last thing I do.”
The Pete in that quote is Pete Taylor, Clough’s longtime assistant coach. He is an integral part of Clough’s success, but the film never makes clear what it is that he does, other than recommend that Clough hire expensive, but able, older former players.
If that is a flaw, the filmmakers get the rest of the film right, starting with the casting. The extraordinary Michael Sheen stars as Clough, and once again he disappears into his role, as he has done in “The Queen,” “Frost/Nixon” and a host of other films. His version of the coach is cocky and cheeky, too high strung and loose-lipped for his own good.
“I wouldn’t say I’m the best manager in England, but I’m in the top one,” he jokes.
Revie is played by Colm Meaney, whose personification of the part extends to an extraordinary resemblance to the real coach -- kudos to the first-rated makeup staff. Among the other familiar faces (hello, Jim Broadbent!) is Timothy Spall of “Enchanted,” the Harry Potter movies and many other pictures.
Peter Morgan is the writer, from David Peace’s popular (in England) novel. Morgan created complex characters, but well-defined and real. Not only do we believe what is on the surface of the characters, we buy what they hide, their motivations and secret desires.
Morgan and the actors are helped in their quest by director Tom Hooper, who spent considerable time in Virginia directing the “John Adams” mini-series. He makes the story accessible even to people who don’t much care about soccer by focusing on the personalities and their conflicts.
A few of his camera angles are a little strange. But otherwise, “The Damned United” is an admirable and often fascinating work.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Goats staring back
Somewhere in "The Men Who Stare At Goats" is a great comedy straining to get out. I know, I know -- somewhere in my review is a great review straining to do the same. You can find it at: http://boomerlifemagazine.com/ver2/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=343:the-men-who-stare-at-goats&catid=74:movie-reviews
Monday, November 2, 2009
Tepid 'Coco'
It is the little moments in “Coco Before Chanel” that are supposed to enthrall us. But they do not, unless you’re captivated by advancements in fashion, and maybe not even then.
The life of Coco Chanel before she became famous is not by itself fascinating enough to command our attention. So director and co-writer Anne Fontaine seeks to enliven the picture with dangling little pretty baubles of recognition. When the pre-famous Coco makes a Halloween costume to look like an orphan’s uniform, we are to recognize the collar that will become the iconic Chanel collar. When she admires a fabric that turns out to be jersey, we are to understand that that is a fabric that will help define her style. When she goes to the shore and sees fishermen in their striped sweaters, we are instantly to glean something or other.
Beats me what it is. I’m not captivated by advancements in fashion.
The story, which is taken from a book, is simple and not unfamiliar: She falls for the wrong man, and then she falls for the right one.
Audrey Tautou stars as Gabrielle Chanel, whose nickname comes from a popular song she sings at what appears to be a combination music hall/brothel. Her sister introduces her to the wealthy Etienne Balsan (Benoit Poelvoorde), and she soon gives up a life of entertainment for a life as a kept woman. But she is moody and unhappy with him, so she becomes attracted to his equally wealthy English friend, Arthur “Boy” Kapel (Alessandro Nivola).
Tautou plays the character as enigmatic, which does add a whiff of mystery to the role, but it also makes her hard to get to know. We develop little empathy or passion for her, and only rarely care what happens to her. The film’s best scene stands out for his very reason -- it is the only one with any emotional heft. The scene comes when Etienne forces Coco to sing for his party guests; it is heartbreaking and, alas, singular.
As is perhaps not surprising for a movie about fashion (even when it pretends not to be about fashion), the picture is most successful in its visual presentation. The sets are sumptuous, the costumes crisp and evocative. And the composition within the frames is, at times, a marvel. An image endures of Coco alone outside on a vast estate, another showing her lying among (artfully arranged) leaves. Best of all is a scene at the sea, where everyone else is dressed in shades of cream, while she wears a dark plaid.
The meaning is obvious -- she stands apart from the rest of the world in her attitudes and ideas as well as her fashion sense.
True enough, perhaps. But it doesn’t seem to be enough for an entire movie.
The life of Coco Chanel before she became famous is not by itself fascinating enough to command our attention. So director and co-writer Anne Fontaine seeks to enliven the picture with dangling little pretty baubles of recognition. When the pre-famous Coco makes a Halloween costume to look like an orphan’s uniform, we are to recognize the collar that will become the iconic Chanel collar. When she admires a fabric that turns out to be jersey, we are to understand that that is a fabric that will help define her style. When she goes to the shore and sees fishermen in their striped sweaters, we are instantly to glean something or other.
Beats me what it is. I’m not captivated by advancements in fashion.
The story, which is taken from a book, is simple and not unfamiliar: She falls for the wrong man, and then she falls for the right one.
Audrey Tautou stars as Gabrielle Chanel, whose nickname comes from a popular song she sings at what appears to be a combination music hall/brothel. Her sister introduces her to the wealthy Etienne Balsan (Benoit Poelvoorde), and she soon gives up a life of entertainment for a life as a kept woman. But she is moody and unhappy with him, so she becomes attracted to his equally wealthy English friend, Arthur “Boy” Kapel (Alessandro Nivola).
Tautou plays the character as enigmatic, which does add a whiff of mystery to the role, but it also makes her hard to get to know. We develop little empathy or passion for her, and only rarely care what happens to her. The film’s best scene stands out for his very reason -- it is the only one with any emotional heft. The scene comes when Etienne forces Coco to sing for his party guests; it is heartbreaking and, alas, singular.
As is perhaps not surprising for a movie about fashion (even when it pretends not to be about fashion), the picture is most successful in its visual presentation. The sets are sumptuous, the costumes crisp and evocative. And the composition within the frames is, at times, a marvel. An image endures of Coco alone outside on a vast estate, another showing her lying among (artfully arranged) leaves. Best of all is a scene at the sea, where everyone else is dressed in shades of cream, while she wears a dark plaid.
The meaning is obvious -- she stands apart from the rest of the world in her attitudes and ideas as well as her fashion sense.
True enough, perhaps. But it doesn’t seem to be enough for an entire movie.
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