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Thursday, September 16, 2010
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
FLAVORABLE FOREIGN
ANIMAL KINGDON
One of the toughest, grittiest, crime films in recent years. For almost two hours you will be breathless, clutching your seat, shutting your eyes; the tension, supreme anxiety and tightly wrought writing and directing will stay with you long after you have exited the theatre. This Australian movie written and directed by David Michod won the world cinema jury prize at Sundance; not a false or insincere moment, the reality so brutal it invades and scares the psyche.
The story is told from the perspective of Joshua, “J.” (James Frencheville), a 17-year-old whose mother has just died of a drug overdose. He is taken by his grandmother into a ‘den of iniquity”, living with hardened criminals, his uncles. This coming of age film suffers no illusions as to the outcome of this teenager.
At times the dialogue is challenging but you will be introduced to one the most creative and complex characters in the archives of film history. Jacki Weaver, as J.’s grandmother, Janice, combines the cunning of Lady Macbeth, cruelty of Mommie Dearest; she is as dark as Satan on the inside but outside exudes the syrupy sweetness of a saint, converting all she encounters to her cult. Her role and how she possesses and portrays it is the quintessential example of the intrinsic essence of acting.
THREE &1/2 STARS!!!
MESRINE: KILLER INSTINCT (PART 1)
PUBLIC ENEMY NO. 1 (PART 2)
If you love French films RUN to view four hours of the most satisfying action and acting, based on the autobiography of French gangster, Jacques Mesrine, seen since “Scarface” or “Bonnie & Clyde”. It is violent but not sensational, it does not embellish the carnage, just records it.
Vincent Cassel, as Jacques, is riveting, mesmerizing, hypnotic and captivating as the “bad guy” who is impossible to resist. His dark, lethal, smoldering gaze leaves no female heart unscathed. Jacques capitalizes on his criminality; craves the television notoritity, focusing especially on his Houdini-like jailbreaks, outrageous bank robberies, and an audacious kidnapping.
The polished and brilliant directing by Jean-Francois Ricket eliminates the supercilious, concentrates almost entirely on the “close up”; every emotion flows from the actors faces to the viewer. The audience is totally engaged and sucked into the escalating pace of the story; feeling the exhilaration of the chase, escapes; titillation of the passion, pain; satisfaction and pleasure in reveling in a true tale, well told, beautifully portrayed and casted.
FOUR STARS!!!!
SOUL KITCHEN
In today’s vernacular many are referred to as “foodies”; questing after the newest restaurants (have friends who flew to Madrid, Spain for a night just to savor the the delicacies of the hottest restaurant); celebrity chefs have mega status and world wide fans.
As much as eating and the anticipation of swallowing gastronomical sensations, it is the preparation of cuisine that sings to my soul: oh, the bliss of giving birth to the perfect soufflé, brioche, reduction; the scent of a turkey, brisket or even stuffed cabbage adds character, ethnicity, and personality to a home: sterility screams with the scent of Lysol or Pine- Sol!
One of my least favorite words is “moderation”: mundane, boring, bland, implying restraint. Whereas, “indulge”, giving in, luxuriating, wallowing, satiating, gratifying, implying endless pleasures; here is a word that resonates possibilities! Indulging and placating the desires of the taste buds is one of my ten commandments! Also I crave any film revolving around food and its preparation ranging from junk food (“Diner”) to the ultimate in haute cuisine (“Babette’s Feast”) !
“Soul Kitchen” a film made by Fatih Akin’s a German born Turkish filmmaker is a ridiculous, hilarious, romp of a farce that spills upon the audience 99 minutes of joyous laughter and escape from tedium; you do not have to think, just feel. Soul Kitchen, owned by Zinos, ( devastatingly portrayed by Adam Bousdoukos) specializes in fare a notch above a diner, food that the locals adore, basic and comforting; but like all the characters goes through a monumental metamorphosis. The audience, a willing ingredient in the recipe.
The plot jumps from one scenario to another, the successful transitions extremely appetizing. Akin’s creates a roux that entwines family relationships, love and its disenchantments, music and food, at times secondary to life’s lessons, but the “soul” of the movie.
“Soul Kitchen” rests comfortably with my favorite food films: “Mostly Martha”, “Julie & Julia”, “Chocolat”, “Big Night”, “Ratatouille”, “Dinner Rush”, “Tortilla Soup”, “Like Water for Chocolate”, “Eat Drink Man Woman”. Off to the “kitchen”…….but in my wake leave….
FOUR SCRUMPTIOUS STARS !!!!
WE ARE FAMILY
A Hindi/Bollywood remake of “Stepmom” , the 1998 Hollywood film starring Susan Sarandon, Julia Roberts and Ed Harris. This is a better version starring Kajol (Maya) “the flawless mother”; Kareena Kapoor as Shreya, the somewhat imperfect, talented, gorgeous girlfriend; and my favorite Bollywood male star, Arjun Rampal, Aman, the beleaguered ex -husband torn between two extremes, family and present amorous obligations.
The plot is redundant and needs no explanation. All the actors are superb in their depictions of love, frustrations, pyrrhic battles, with no lauded victor.
It is a lovely, tearful romantic comedy, very predictable but worth watching three stars at the pinnacle of their performing prowess. And three young actors (the children) at the commencement of their careers.
The platinum scene in the film is a song and dance number; Elvis Presley’s, “Jailhouse Rock”; Elvis, the King, could never have envisioned the enchantment, levitating emotion and motion, giddiness his music could still inspire so many years after his death. Magic.
THREE STARS!!!
For Now……………Peneflix
One of the toughest, grittiest, crime films in recent years. For almost two hours you will be breathless, clutching your seat, shutting your eyes; the tension, supreme anxiety and tightly wrought writing and directing will stay with you long after you have exited the theatre. This Australian movie written and directed by David Michod won the world cinema jury prize at Sundance; not a false or insincere moment, the reality so brutal it invades and scares the psyche.
The story is told from the perspective of Joshua, “J.” (James Frencheville), a 17-year-old whose mother has just died of a drug overdose. He is taken by his grandmother into a ‘den of iniquity”, living with hardened criminals, his uncles. This coming of age film suffers no illusions as to the outcome of this teenager.
At times the dialogue is challenging but you will be introduced to one the most creative and complex characters in the archives of film history. Jacki Weaver, as J.’s grandmother, Janice, combines the cunning of Lady Macbeth, cruelty of Mommie Dearest; she is as dark as Satan on the inside but outside exudes the syrupy sweetness of a saint, converting all she encounters to her cult. Her role and how she possesses and portrays it is the quintessential example of the intrinsic essence of acting.
THREE &1/2 STARS!!!
MESRINE: KILLER INSTINCT (PART 1)
PUBLIC ENEMY NO. 1 (PART 2)
If you love French films RUN to view four hours of the most satisfying action and acting, based on the autobiography of French gangster, Jacques Mesrine, seen since “Scarface” or “Bonnie & Clyde”. It is violent but not sensational, it does not embellish the carnage, just records it.
Vincent Cassel, as Jacques, is riveting, mesmerizing, hypnotic and captivating as the “bad guy” who is impossible to resist. His dark, lethal, smoldering gaze leaves no female heart unscathed. Jacques capitalizes on his criminality; craves the television notoritity, focusing especially on his Houdini-like jailbreaks, outrageous bank robberies, and an audacious kidnapping.
The polished and brilliant directing by Jean-Francois Ricket eliminates the supercilious, concentrates almost entirely on the “close up”; every emotion flows from the actors faces to the viewer. The audience is totally engaged and sucked into the escalating pace of the story; feeling the exhilaration of the chase, escapes; titillation of the passion, pain; satisfaction and pleasure in reveling in a true tale, well told, beautifully portrayed and casted.
FOUR STARS!!!!
SOUL KITCHEN
In today’s vernacular many are referred to as “foodies”; questing after the newest restaurants (have friends who flew to Madrid, Spain for a night just to savor the the delicacies of the hottest restaurant); celebrity chefs have mega status and world wide fans.
As much as eating and the anticipation of swallowing gastronomical sensations, it is the preparation of cuisine that sings to my soul: oh, the bliss of giving birth to the perfect soufflé, brioche, reduction; the scent of a turkey, brisket or even stuffed cabbage adds character, ethnicity, and personality to a home: sterility screams with the scent of Lysol or Pine- Sol!
One of my least favorite words is “moderation”: mundane, boring, bland, implying restraint. Whereas, “indulge”, giving in, luxuriating, wallowing, satiating, gratifying, implying endless pleasures; here is a word that resonates possibilities! Indulging and placating the desires of the taste buds is one of my ten commandments! Also I crave any film revolving around food and its preparation ranging from junk food (“Diner”) to the ultimate in haute cuisine (“Babette’s Feast”) !
“Soul Kitchen” a film made by Fatih Akin’s a German born Turkish filmmaker is a ridiculous, hilarious, romp of a farce that spills upon the audience 99 minutes of joyous laughter and escape from tedium; you do not have to think, just feel. Soul Kitchen, owned by Zinos, ( devastatingly portrayed by Adam Bousdoukos) specializes in fare a notch above a diner, food that the locals adore, basic and comforting; but like all the characters goes through a monumental metamorphosis. The audience, a willing ingredient in the recipe.
The plot jumps from one scenario to another, the successful transitions extremely appetizing. Akin’s creates a roux that entwines family relationships, love and its disenchantments, music and food, at times secondary to life’s lessons, but the “soul” of the movie.
“Soul Kitchen” rests comfortably with my favorite food films: “Mostly Martha”, “Julie & Julia”, “Chocolat”, “Big Night”, “Ratatouille”, “Dinner Rush”, “Tortilla Soup”, “Like Water for Chocolate”, “Eat Drink Man Woman”. Off to the “kitchen”…….but in my wake leave….
FOUR SCRUMPTIOUS STARS !!!!
WE ARE FAMILY
A Hindi/Bollywood remake of “Stepmom” , the 1998 Hollywood film starring Susan Sarandon, Julia Roberts and Ed Harris. This is a better version starring Kajol (Maya) “the flawless mother”; Kareena Kapoor as Shreya, the somewhat imperfect, talented, gorgeous girlfriend; and my favorite Bollywood male star, Arjun Rampal, Aman, the beleaguered ex -husband torn between two extremes, family and present amorous obligations.
The plot is redundant and needs no explanation. All the actors are superb in their depictions of love, frustrations, pyrrhic battles, with no lauded victor.
It is a lovely, tearful romantic comedy, very predictable but worth watching three stars at the pinnacle of their performing prowess. And three young actors (the children) at the commencement of their careers.
The platinum scene in the film is a song and dance number; Elvis Presley’s, “Jailhouse Rock”; Elvis, the King, could never have envisioned the enchantment, levitating emotion and motion, giddiness his music could still inspire so many years after his death. Magic.
THREE STARS!!!
For Now……………Peneflix
Friday, September 10, 2010
BOLLYWOOD: A JOURNEY YEARS IN THE MAKING
In October of 2004 I took my first of five excursions to India. Finally on this my fifth trip, I was granted THE Bollywood experience I had fervently wished for.
There is a vast difference between Hollywood and Bollywood and not just the production process. Hollywood is a destination; the gargantuan 45-foot-high, 350-feet-long sign nesting in the Santa Monica Mountains, (near Los Angeles, California,) trumpets the film world (actually is referencing Hollywood Hills,Ca.) a Universal studio tour, etc. Bollywood, based out of Mumbai is amorphous and ubiquitous; it is everywhere and nowhere; its illusiveness is difficult to categorize or contain.
Approximately six months of planning went into this “production”; working with Beyond Bombay, my tour guide and countless Indian American friends, I was able to interview the best Directors that Bollywood has to offer; the Steven Spielberg, Martin Scorsese, Quentin Tarantino, Nancy Myers of the India film industry. A plethora of writers, editors and technicians graciously consented to my probing and inquisitive questions. (I think they thought I was Barbara Walters)!
It has taken six years , approximately 200 films and a myriad of books to grasp the Bollywood aesthetic; with this knowledge, my love India and its film making prowess has increased a thousand fold.
My first interview was with Indu Mirani, the senior film critic for the Mumbai Mirror; also in the process of launching her own company! She not only had the ‘scoop” on who was doing what to whom in the star circuit but was a brilliant satirist who captivated my imagination and ignited my sense of humor! She took me to the set of the upcoming Madhur Bhandarker (“Page 3”, “Chandi Bar”) flick. Madhur, young, handsome, intelligent, with enough charm to fill the new airport in Delhi gives his female protagonists a level of depth that is revolutionary in Bollywood. An added bonus was being introduced to the dark, sensual and extremely “hot’ Ajay Devgan whose latest “Once Upon a Time in Mumbai” is a box office sensation; his wife Kajol whose flame is still intense can be seen in “We Are Family”, now on India and and world wide screens, (will review eventually)!
Later that day I spent a fascinating and edifying hour with one of Bollywood’s sensational and sought after film editors, Kuldeep Mehan. Editing can make or destroy a movie; Kuldeep for 22 years has worked with the scintillating, demanding and most precocious directors; his creation process takes place in a tiny 5X5 room. Hours lived in front of a average size computer; proving genius does not need space to thrive.
Make up! An entertaining light-hearted visit with Virginia Holmes, an English woman whose quest to make it in India, as an outsider, excluded from the main stream, is gaining notoriety and acceptance along with her partner Natasha Nischol. If you can magically make an actor look better on screen than off, your destiny is carved in granite . Her 10 years of diligence has been worth the fray, both as a woman, and artist.
My interview with Aditya Sorap, a sound engineer was certainly educational; never giving much thought to “sound” except for decibel, his lesson in the dubbing process was enlightening. Also was reminded of the expression, “behind every great man, there is a greater woman”; his mother (Rajani) is his manager and at his side at all times!
Aarti Bagdi, a 32 year old female director with Rajshri Films shared her challenges in the industry; she was half way through a film being made in Japan (she learned the language) when it was shelved. Lessons learned early in one’s career are invaluable. Her star is just commencing its ascent.
Another young, beguiling director and writer Mahesh Nair spent time over a leisurely breakfast explaining the difficulties of getting an interview with recognized and established producers and the ultimate problem that all in the business face, the financial backing, the millions of rupees needed for the conception and birth of a film. Also, unlike Hollywood, Bollywood needs the star, not the story to generate a monetary interest in the project.
The major state of the art film studio, Whistling Woods International; a teaching studio studded with ambitious neophytes and stratospheric technology was massively impressive; Sudeep Menor our guide whose encyclopedic knowledge astounded us; wanted to record his every sentence. It was here that I met and interviewed the iconic screenplay writer Sachin Bhowmick (affectionally called Dada) whose career has spanned fifty years with films “Lajwanti "(1958), “Love in Tokoyo” “An Evening in Paris”; he regaled us with tales of times and stars of the past. He is an institution and has richly earned the approbation and idolatry heaped upon him.
Subhash Ghai (“Taal, “Yaadein”) and Ravi Gupta also part of the Whistling Woods conglomerate, shared their perceptions on the viewing and attendance tactics of the Indian American audience; they hypothesized that this group prefers to see films in the privacy of their homes, with family and friends, a social event. I disagreed feeling that there is nothing that can replace the cocoon like quality that a darkened theatre sheds upon the viewer; the exclusion of reality, cast aside; replaced temporarily, by the delectable, delusional domain of fantasy! But the size of the theatre attendees is shrinking, their hypothesis could be correct and tragic.
Rakeysh Mehra. The reclusive genius, the award winning director of “Rang De Basanti”; one of the most catastrophically successful films of all time starring heartthrob, Aamir Khan ; the second viewing more powerfully potent than the initial screening. Rakeysh is a unique, mystical man, an archaic esthetic in a contemporary milieu. He is a visionary who views the world with the wisdom of the past and the prescience of the future; his philosophy so pristine, so applicable it borders on the sublime. For two hours he shared his life, his dreams of a universe devoid of strife and pestilence; of all he held dear. I left knowing that I had been in the presence of not only greatness, but goodness.
Mahesh Bhatt. (“Saaranch”) The quintessential showman; an award winning director, writer, actor. He has directed 50 films, written 24, produced 13 and acted in 5. I encouraged him to increase the number in the last category; for 45 minutes he was a whirling dervish, speaking, gesticulating, expounding with passion and fervor on a myriad of topics. He is brilliant, iconoclastic, shocking and delivers his one liners with perfect pitch. His influences range from the ordinary soul to the extraordinary heart. He feels that film makers are in essence prostitutes, selling their wares at accessible rates; movies are a cure for the “cancer” that eats society, an antibiotic that can have positive short term results. At 62 he is in his prime and turns to gold all that he touches.
Soni Razdan. Actress. Director (“Nazar”). Soni is beautiful, charismatic, graciously delightful; she invited my guide and me for tea in her stunning home. She is a woman of substance, insight, and exudes confidence and professionalism in all she endeavors. She has succeeded in a male dominated arena but still struggles with acceptance and financial support for her future projects. Her talent and energy, channeled for success, inevitably will prevail. Soni is the wife and muse of Mahesh Bhatt. He dedicated his book “A Taste of Life” to Soni, “who helped me put into words those feelings that only the heart can hear.”
My taste of Bollywood, gleaned and flavored by the kindness of these spirited and gifted individuals, will linger forever on the taste buds of my mind, heart, soul and pen. My lasting gratitude to all of you bewitching, enthralling, spellbinding people, and to those who placed them in my sphere.
Penelope Steiner
There is a vast difference between Hollywood and Bollywood and not just the production process. Hollywood is a destination; the gargantuan 45-foot-high, 350-feet-long sign nesting in the Santa Monica Mountains, (near Los Angeles, California,) trumpets the film world (actually is referencing Hollywood Hills,Ca.) a Universal studio tour, etc. Bollywood, based out of Mumbai is amorphous and ubiquitous; it is everywhere and nowhere; its illusiveness is difficult to categorize or contain.
Approximately six months of planning went into this “production”; working with Beyond Bombay, my tour guide and countless Indian American friends, I was able to interview the best Directors that Bollywood has to offer; the Steven Spielberg, Martin Scorsese, Quentin Tarantino, Nancy Myers of the India film industry. A plethora of writers, editors and technicians graciously consented to my probing and inquisitive questions. (I think they thought I was Barbara Walters)!
It has taken six years , approximately 200 films and a myriad of books to grasp the Bollywood aesthetic; with this knowledge, my love India and its film making prowess has increased a thousand fold.
My first interview was with Indu Mirani, the senior film critic for the Mumbai Mirror; also in the process of launching her own company! She not only had the ‘scoop” on who was doing what to whom in the star circuit but was a brilliant satirist who captivated my imagination and ignited my sense of humor! She took me to the set of the upcoming Madhur Bhandarker (“Page 3”, “Chandi Bar”) flick. Madhur, young, handsome, intelligent, with enough charm to fill the new airport in Delhi gives his female protagonists a level of depth that is revolutionary in Bollywood. An added bonus was being introduced to the dark, sensual and extremely “hot’ Ajay Devgan whose latest “Once Upon a Time in Mumbai” is a box office sensation; his wife Kajol whose flame is still intense can be seen in “We Are Family”, now on India and and world wide screens, (will review eventually)!
Later that day I spent a fascinating and edifying hour with one of Bollywood’s sensational and sought after film editors, Kuldeep Mehan. Editing can make or destroy a movie; Kuldeep for 22 years has worked with the scintillating, demanding and most precocious directors; his creation process takes place in a tiny 5X5 room. Hours lived in front of a average size computer; proving genius does not need space to thrive.
Make up! An entertaining light-hearted visit with Virginia Holmes, an English woman whose quest to make it in India, as an outsider, excluded from the main stream, is gaining notoriety and acceptance along with her partner Natasha Nischol. If you can magically make an actor look better on screen than off, your destiny is carved in granite . Her 10 years of diligence has been worth the fray, both as a woman, and artist.
My interview with Aditya Sorap, a sound engineer was certainly educational; never giving much thought to “sound” except for decibel, his lesson in the dubbing process was enlightening. Also was reminded of the expression, “behind every great man, there is a greater woman”; his mother (Rajani) is his manager and at his side at all times!
Aarti Bagdi, a 32 year old female director with Rajshri Films shared her challenges in the industry; she was half way through a film being made in Japan (she learned the language) when it was shelved. Lessons learned early in one’s career are invaluable. Her star is just commencing its ascent.
Another young, beguiling director and writer Mahesh Nair spent time over a leisurely breakfast explaining the difficulties of getting an interview with recognized and established producers and the ultimate problem that all in the business face, the financial backing, the millions of rupees needed for the conception and birth of a film. Also, unlike Hollywood, Bollywood needs the star, not the story to generate a monetary interest in the project.
The major state of the art film studio, Whistling Woods International; a teaching studio studded with ambitious neophytes and stratospheric technology was massively impressive; Sudeep Menor our guide whose encyclopedic knowledge astounded us; wanted to record his every sentence. It was here that I met and interviewed the iconic screenplay writer Sachin Bhowmick (affectionally called Dada) whose career has spanned fifty years with films “Lajwanti "(1958), “Love in Tokoyo” “An Evening in Paris”; he regaled us with tales of times and stars of the past. He is an institution and has richly earned the approbation and idolatry heaped upon him.
Subhash Ghai (“Taal, “Yaadein”) and Ravi Gupta also part of the Whistling Woods conglomerate, shared their perceptions on the viewing and attendance tactics of the Indian American audience; they hypothesized that this group prefers to see films in the privacy of their homes, with family and friends, a social event. I disagreed feeling that there is nothing that can replace the cocoon like quality that a darkened theatre sheds upon the viewer; the exclusion of reality, cast aside; replaced temporarily, by the delectable, delusional domain of fantasy! But the size of the theatre attendees is shrinking, their hypothesis could be correct and tragic.
Rakeysh Mehra. The reclusive genius, the award winning director of “Rang De Basanti”; one of the most catastrophically successful films of all time starring heartthrob, Aamir Khan ; the second viewing more powerfully potent than the initial screening. Rakeysh is a unique, mystical man, an archaic esthetic in a contemporary milieu. He is a visionary who views the world with the wisdom of the past and the prescience of the future; his philosophy so pristine, so applicable it borders on the sublime. For two hours he shared his life, his dreams of a universe devoid of strife and pestilence; of all he held dear. I left knowing that I had been in the presence of not only greatness, but goodness.
Mahesh Bhatt. (“Saaranch”) The quintessential showman; an award winning director, writer, actor. He has directed 50 films, written 24, produced 13 and acted in 5. I encouraged him to increase the number in the last category; for 45 minutes he was a whirling dervish, speaking, gesticulating, expounding with passion and fervor on a myriad of topics. He is brilliant, iconoclastic, shocking and delivers his one liners with perfect pitch. His influences range from the ordinary soul to the extraordinary heart. He feels that film makers are in essence prostitutes, selling their wares at accessible rates; movies are a cure for the “cancer” that eats society, an antibiotic that can have positive short term results. At 62 he is in his prime and turns to gold all that he touches.
Soni Razdan. Actress. Director (“Nazar”). Soni is beautiful, charismatic, graciously delightful; she invited my guide and me for tea in her stunning home. She is a woman of substance, insight, and exudes confidence and professionalism in all she endeavors. She has succeeded in a male dominated arena but still struggles with acceptance and financial support for her future projects. Her talent and energy, channeled for success, inevitably will prevail. Soni is the wife and muse of Mahesh Bhatt. He dedicated his book “A Taste of Life” to Soni, “who helped me put into words those feelings that only the heart can hear.”
My taste of Bollywood, gleaned and flavored by the kindness of these spirited and gifted individuals, will linger forever on the taste buds of my mind, heart, soul and pen. My lasting gratitude to all of you bewitching, enthralling, spellbinding people, and to those who placed them in my sphere.
Penelope Steiner
Thursday, September 9, 2010
CAIRO TIME; SWITCH: THE CONCERT
In the theatres also On Demand!
Sweet, lovely film involving two decent, good and interesting people accidently thrown together in the exotic, confines of Cairo, Egypt. Patricia Clarkson, with her magnetic charm plays Juliette, the stranded wife of a U.N. official. She is escorted and introduced to the mysteries and religious practices of Cairo by Tareq (Alexander Siddig, who smolders in the role).
This is a film about temptation and how one reacts to it. Are we destined for all our needs to be satiated or satisfied by one or several individuals? Are there different kinds of love and do we have a choice in whom we love?
This movie addresses those choices and succeeds in leaving the audience in a retrospective mood; not judging but questioning.
TWO & 1/2 STARS!!
SWITCH
Normally, I would have skipped this soft, cuddly movie but was persuaded to attend, by a not-so-soft but cuddly nonetheless, individual; I smiled, laughed and was vastly entertained throughout this entire joyful film. Jennifer Aniston (if only she would change her hairstyle, or part it on the side) plays the 40 year old Kassie whose biological alarm has sounded and she shares with her best friend Wally (played by the ever so adorable Jason Bateman) that she plans on having a child; the “donor” Roland ( the dynamically disarming if somewhat annoying, Patrick Wilson).
The obvious scenario, hilariously depicted, captures the audience and we embrace our captivity.
The movie sparkles with the introduction of Sebastian, played by the irresistible, beguiling, captivating, Thomas Robinson; a precocious, introspective 6 year old; the movie loses its luster with his absence. An older Sebastian is played by Bryce Robinson, the real life older sibling of Thomas!
Cameo performances by Jeff Goldblum and Juliette Lewis give substantial substance and richness to this light hearted comedy.
“Switch” off all your cares and woes, feel the highs, forget the lows;
Exit knowing you’ve experienced a THREE STAR!!! SHOW!
THE CONCERT
Go for the love of music, especially Tchaikovsky
For the love of a unique story: Russian/French connection
For the love of beauty, ethereal Melanie Laurent (“Inglorious Basterds”)
For the love of film; Radu Mihaileanu, has directed a pristinely polished gem
For the love, and the healing powers of escape
For the love of a movie deserving and receiving…….
FOUR STARS!!!!
For Now………..Peneflix
Sweet, lovely film involving two decent, good and interesting people accidently thrown together in the exotic, confines of Cairo, Egypt. Patricia Clarkson, with her magnetic charm plays Juliette, the stranded wife of a U.N. official. She is escorted and introduced to the mysteries and religious practices of Cairo by Tareq (Alexander Siddig, who smolders in the role).
This is a film about temptation and how one reacts to it. Are we destined for all our needs to be satiated or satisfied by one or several individuals? Are there different kinds of love and do we have a choice in whom we love?
This movie addresses those choices and succeeds in leaving the audience in a retrospective mood; not judging but questioning.
TWO & 1/2 STARS!!
SWITCH
Normally, I would have skipped this soft, cuddly movie but was persuaded to attend, by a not-so-soft but cuddly nonetheless, individual; I smiled, laughed and was vastly entertained throughout this entire joyful film. Jennifer Aniston (if only she would change her hairstyle, or part it on the side) plays the 40 year old Kassie whose biological alarm has sounded and she shares with her best friend Wally (played by the ever so adorable Jason Bateman) that she plans on having a child; the “donor” Roland ( the dynamically disarming if somewhat annoying, Patrick Wilson).
The obvious scenario, hilariously depicted, captures the audience and we embrace our captivity.
The movie sparkles with the introduction of Sebastian, played by the irresistible, beguiling, captivating, Thomas Robinson; a precocious, introspective 6 year old; the movie loses its luster with his absence. An older Sebastian is played by Bryce Robinson, the real life older sibling of Thomas!
Cameo performances by Jeff Goldblum and Juliette Lewis give substantial substance and richness to this light hearted comedy.
“Switch” off all your cares and woes, feel the highs, forget the lows;
Exit knowing you’ve experienced a THREE STAR!!! SHOW!
THE CONCERT
Go for the love of music, especially Tchaikovsky
For the love of a unique story: Russian/French connection
For the love of beauty, ethereal Melanie Laurent (“Inglorious Basterds”)
For the love of film; Radu Mihaileanu, has directed a pristinely polished gem
For the love, and the healing powers of escape
For the love of a movie deserving and receiving…….
FOUR STARS!!!!
For Now………..Peneflix
Sunday, September 5, 2010
THE AMERICAN
In the last few years whenever someone asks me if I have seen the latest Julia Roberts or in this instance George Clooney film, my negative kites take flight. Last night I saw “The American” and my kites are now another ring around Saturn. It is vying along with “Sex and the City 2” for first place as one of the worst films of 2010; on second thought, it ranks second; nothing could be worse than “Sex and the City 2”!
It is silent, senseless, at times sensuous but ultimately sinks into septic of sludge!
“The American” does win first prize as my briefest review; my worthy intention to save all of you!
ONE STAR! (The cinematography is luscious.)
For Now……………Peneflix
It is silent, senseless, at times sensuous but ultimately sinks into septic of sludge!
“The American” does win first prize as my briefest review; my worthy intention to save all of you!
ONE STAR! (The cinematography is luscious.)
For Now……………Peneflix
Thursday, September 2, 2010
MAO'S LAST DANCER & STEP UP 3D
MAO’S LAST DANCER
Based on a true story, this film sheds light on Chairman Mao’s cultural revolution; a revolution that eliminated personal identity and creativity; if possible the differences in male and female would have been expunged, procreation relegated to a Petri dish.
Out of this morass of sameness rises Li Cunxin (portrayed proactively and sensuously by first timer, Chi Cao); taken as a boy by the Party to be trained as a ballet dancer; a tool, a foil to be used as propaganda; one of the most painful scenes, but telling, is the bastardazation of the true meaning of the ballet into a charade and show of force representing the warped and brain- washed Chinese culture of 1966-76. A video tape of Baryshnikov’s gravity- defying feats, banned and relegated to the status of contraband.
The dance scenes are exhilarating; Chi Cao (a principal with the Birmingham Royal Ballet) flies off the screen; his portrayal as a loyal party member, ripped from the conformity of Communist China and placed as an exchange student in the Huston Ballet is joyously believable and entertaining. The ultimate display of his amazing agility is his performance in Stravinsky’s “The Rite of Spring” (Graeme Murphy’s stunning choreography); the glittering gem in a crown of gorgeous ballet sequences.
Secondary roles, especially Bruce Greenwood as Ben Stevenson, the director of the Houston Ballet and Kyle MacLachlan, playing Charles Foster, an immigration attorney are solid and rich performances by confident and seasoned actors.
For the love of classical dance and the triumph of an individual over a totalitarian society this film garnishes……
THREE & 1/2 STARS!!!
STEP UP 3D
From the classical to the contemporary, this movie with its street dancers is fun, fabulous, dazzling, and like a magnet pulls, surrounds and smothers the audience with its ebullience, and aerobic triumphs. The three dimensional technology is captivating and enhances the effects of dancing, literally with the stars, over the rooftops, through the streets, alleys and parks of New York City. 2010’s version of “Singing in the Rain”.
The plot is predictable and trite but it hardly matters. For two hours suspend belief, “go with the flow” let your ageless spirit join the corps and dance, fly, forego reality and bask in the Peter Pan magic of knowing that the competition and prize are yours!
THREE STARS!!!
For Now………….Peneflix
Based on a true story, this film sheds light on Chairman Mao’s cultural revolution; a revolution that eliminated personal identity and creativity; if possible the differences in male and female would have been expunged, procreation relegated to a Petri dish.
Out of this morass of sameness rises Li Cunxin (portrayed proactively and sensuously by first timer, Chi Cao); taken as a boy by the Party to be trained as a ballet dancer; a tool, a foil to be used as propaganda; one of the most painful scenes, but telling, is the bastardazation of the true meaning of the ballet into a charade and show of force representing the warped and brain- washed Chinese culture of 1966-76. A video tape of Baryshnikov’s gravity- defying feats, banned and relegated to the status of contraband.
The dance scenes are exhilarating; Chi Cao (a principal with the Birmingham Royal Ballet) flies off the screen; his portrayal as a loyal party member, ripped from the conformity of Communist China and placed as an exchange student in the Huston Ballet is joyously believable and entertaining. The ultimate display of his amazing agility is his performance in Stravinsky’s “The Rite of Spring” (Graeme Murphy’s stunning choreography); the glittering gem in a crown of gorgeous ballet sequences.
Secondary roles, especially Bruce Greenwood as Ben Stevenson, the director of the Houston Ballet and Kyle MacLachlan, playing Charles Foster, an immigration attorney are solid and rich performances by confident and seasoned actors.
For the love of classical dance and the triumph of an individual over a totalitarian society this film garnishes……
THREE & 1/2 STARS!!!
STEP UP 3D
From the classical to the contemporary, this movie with its street dancers is fun, fabulous, dazzling, and like a magnet pulls, surrounds and smothers the audience with its ebullience, and aerobic triumphs. The three dimensional technology is captivating and enhances the effects of dancing, literally with the stars, over the rooftops, through the streets, alleys and parks of New York City. 2010’s version of “Singing in the Rain”.
The plot is predictable and trite but it hardly matters. For two hours suspend belief, “go with the flow” let your ageless spirit join the corps and dance, fly, forego reality and bask in the Peter Pan magic of knowing that the competition and prize are yours!
THREE STARS!!!
For Now………….Peneflix
Monday, August 30, 2010
GET LOW
GET LOW
This wondrous, magical platinum finished film, with its ingenuity, elegant simplicity, creatively crafted cinematography, but primarily the wisdom and purity of its message,
spoke volumes in a whisper.
Loosely based upon a rough, tough, recluse with a linen-lined face and a laser sharp tongue, just barely existing in 1938; Felix “Bush” Breazeale residing with his constant companion, a beloved mule in rural Tennessee decides to be present at his own funeral gala; his curiosity lusting for the sermon his preacher will deliver over his decaying corpse! The idea is titillating and hilarious; everyone at times wants to know how they are spoken of when not present. Over twelve thousand showed up, greedily hoping to win the lottery; ultimately inheriting Bush’s property upon his actual death.
Aaron Schneider (2004, Academy Award for his short film “Two Soldiers”) at 40, has given birth to a masterpiece, five years in the gestation process, worth every minute of massive effort. This film does not have a false second, a moment of artifice; its’ intricately woven plot addresses the deepest, darkest, finest emotions a person can have; there is a well of passion, pain, purgatory and finally a redemption; the championing of a soul in the final round of life. Seared into memory is a man called Felix.
Felix, hypnotically played by Robert Duvall (at this point my choice for the Best Actor Award) is tortured to the point of oblivion; his pristine but sacred prison is a monument to his beloved secret; testimony to the brilliance of his performance, we do not pity his situation but have indomitable respect for his decision. Robert Duvall, with a lifetime of iconic roles has achieved a depth of such magnitude in this film, that it will be years before another “Felix” can test his or anyone else’s dramatic proficiencies.
Bill Murray, as the undertaker Frank Quinn, sinks his creative teeth into this unconventional, slyly alcoholic, wise but disillusioned man and imbues him with insurmountable dignity. Gone is the slap stick humor Mr. Murray is known for, replaced with an intellect and a quarry of knowledge that obviously years of desire and drilling went into its formation. An award winning display of his multitudinous talents.
Sissy Spacek as Maddie Darrow, is beautiful, insightful, kind and seasoned; she softens the harshness of the males, but her story is the cement that binds and holds the truth of Felix’s enforced confinement. Ms. Spacek is gifted and has always shown great discretion and astuteness in her role selections.
Lucas Black, as Buddy Robinson, Frank Quinn’s assistant is wonderful. He the perfect foil, conscience to Quinn’s acerbity and harsh realism; his youth, freshness, naivety and eventual growth added a touch of warmth, joy and humor to the evolving story.
This quiet, potent and vibrantly alive film left the audience knowing the truth and validity of the words, ‘you can’t help who you love”.
I could not help but love this film.
FOUR & 1/2 STARS!!!!
For Now…………Peneflix
This wondrous, magical platinum finished film, with its ingenuity, elegant simplicity, creatively crafted cinematography, but primarily the wisdom and purity of its message,
spoke volumes in a whisper.
Loosely based upon a rough, tough, recluse with a linen-lined face and a laser sharp tongue, just barely existing in 1938; Felix “Bush” Breazeale residing with his constant companion, a beloved mule in rural Tennessee decides to be present at his own funeral gala; his curiosity lusting for the sermon his preacher will deliver over his decaying corpse! The idea is titillating and hilarious; everyone at times wants to know how they are spoken of when not present. Over twelve thousand showed up, greedily hoping to win the lottery; ultimately inheriting Bush’s property upon his actual death.
Aaron Schneider (2004, Academy Award for his short film “Two Soldiers”) at 40, has given birth to a masterpiece, five years in the gestation process, worth every minute of massive effort. This film does not have a false second, a moment of artifice; its’ intricately woven plot addresses the deepest, darkest, finest emotions a person can have; there is a well of passion, pain, purgatory and finally a redemption; the championing of a soul in the final round of life. Seared into memory is a man called Felix.
Felix, hypnotically played by Robert Duvall (at this point my choice for the Best Actor Award) is tortured to the point of oblivion; his pristine but sacred prison is a monument to his beloved secret; testimony to the brilliance of his performance, we do not pity his situation but have indomitable respect for his decision. Robert Duvall, with a lifetime of iconic roles has achieved a depth of such magnitude in this film, that it will be years before another “Felix” can test his or anyone else’s dramatic proficiencies.
Bill Murray, as the undertaker Frank Quinn, sinks his creative teeth into this unconventional, slyly alcoholic, wise but disillusioned man and imbues him with insurmountable dignity. Gone is the slap stick humor Mr. Murray is known for, replaced with an intellect and a quarry of knowledge that obviously years of desire and drilling went into its formation. An award winning display of his multitudinous talents.
Sissy Spacek as Maddie Darrow, is beautiful, insightful, kind and seasoned; she softens the harshness of the males, but her story is the cement that binds and holds the truth of Felix’s enforced confinement. Ms. Spacek is gifted and has always shown great discretion and astuteness in her role selections.
Lucas Black, as Buddy Robinson, Frank Quinn’s assistant is wonderful. He the perfect foil, conscience to Quinn’s acerbity and harsh realism; his youth, freshness, naivety and eventual growth added a touch of warmth, joy and humor to the evolving story.
This quiet, potent and vibrantly alive film left the audience knowing the truth and validity of the words, ‘you can’t help who you love”.
I could not help but love this film.
FOUR & 1/2 STARS!!!!
For Now…………Peneflix
Sunday, August 29, 2010
EAT PRAY LOVE
EAT PRAY LOVE
(Enervating Painful Lifeless)
Being a firm advocate of capitalism I applauded the success of Elizabeth Gilbert’s novel, Eat Pray Love, a dull, narcissistic, rambling journey through the splendors of Rome, India and Bali; a quest for emotional enlightenment; a healing after a doomed marriage. This film reduces the viewer to paralyzing ennui; packed with useless drivel, thirty year old jokes, stale clichés, the ultimate boring display of “finding oneself”. Even the glories of the locations could not salvage the movie.
Julia Roberts, talented and beautiful, has reached the point where her persona is obfuscating and transcending her characters.
Special mention in the credits should be given to her dentist!
Only the male roles kept me from succumbing to jet lag and the tantalizing tug of the exit sign.
Billy Crudup, Stephen, the dumped husband; has an enchanting dance sequence, sadly far too brief.
James Franco, David, the gorgeous young actor, striving to tame the glum Liz.
Hadi Subiyanto, Ketut, a guru who could convert the most blackened spirits and obstinate souls.
Richard Jenkins (“The Visitor”) Richard, with tough love, is the catalyst for Liz’s spiritual catharsis.
Javier Bardem, Felipe, with insouciant charm, breaks the vitrine encapsulating her heart.
The performances of these men are the sole reason to bequeath this film……..
TWO STARS!!
For Now…………Peneflix
(Enervating Painful Lifeless)
Being a firm advocate of capitalism I applauded the success of Elizabeth Gilbert’s novel, Eat Pray Love, a dull, narcissistic, rambling journey through the splendors of Rome, India and Bali; a quest for emotional enlightenment; a healing after a doomed marriage. This film reduces the viewer to paralyzing ennui; packed with useless drivel, thirty year old jokes, stale clichés, the ultimate boring display of “finding oneself”. Even the glories of the locations could not salvage the movie.
Julia Roberts, talented and beautiful, has reached the point where her persona is obfuscating and transcending her characters.
Special mention in the credits should be given to her dentist!
Only the male roles kept me from succumbing to jet lag and the tantalizing tug of the exit sign.
Billy Crudup, Stephen, the dumped husband; has an enchanting dance sequence, sadly far too brief.
James Franco, David, the gorgeous young actor, striving to tame the glum Liz.
Hadi Subiyanto, Ketut, a guru who could convert the most blackened spirits and obstinate souls.
Richard Jenkins (“The Visitor”) Richard, with tough love, is the catalyst for Liz’s spiritual catharsis.
Javier Bardem, Felipe, with insouciant charm, breaks the vitrine encapsulating her heart.
The performances of these men are the sole reason to bequeath this film……..
TWO STARS!!
For Now…………Peneflix
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
A TOWN CALLED LEH: THE AFTERMATH OF THE APACALYPSE
A TOWN CALLED LEH: THE AFTERMATH OF THE APOCALYPSE
Imprisoned in the glorious splendor of the Himalayan Mountains, rests Leh, the capital of Ladakh, India. Its astounding beauty and tradition traces it roots to the third century BC; a hub of Buddhism and eventually a commercial Mecca of the Silk Route.
On Thursday, the 5th of August my guide and I arrived in what can only be described as awe inspiring; this ancient, historical and magnificent paradise, a symbol of the archaic and present; ubiquitous chortens (memorials) to the past Kings and Queens of Ladakh dotting the landscape, ranging from the sophistication and skill of master craftsmen to the modest talents of the unschooled; bazaars with sinuous, dark, scented corridors, snake for blocks through a labyrinth of wares: jewelry stores joined with butcher shops, spice venues married to shoemakers, working with tools long abandoned, replaced by modern technology, but proficient in attaining its goals. Those questing for the foreign, will be divinely saturated.
In the small hours of Friday, August 6th , disaster with Olympian magnitude struck this unsuspecting town; in seconds Zeus claimed the lives of hundreds, snuffed from existence, never to have another thought, never again to feel the ferocity of the summer’s sun, the frigidity of a winter’s moon, sentenced to oblivion, beyond knowing, beyond pain, beyond platitudes.
Homes, constructed of mud washed from their mountainous foundations, not a trace of their prior life left visible; claimed by the Indus River, destined to a watery grave; gone forever, praying not to be forgotten.
I believe that there is a karmic power, a reason why one is placed, at a determined moment in time in a preordained situation. My guide, Muneer Suri, rose to the challenge of the catastrophe and helped his friend Odpal George, save the bewildered and shocked survivors; mending bridges and gifted moral support so sorely craved.
My experience with the devastation of nature’s power over mankind has been softened by the media; the tsunami, Katrina, even the BP oil debacle, viewed in the protective custody and privacy of my home, rendered the horrors palatable; I could switch off the television, close the newspaper, turn a deaf ear to the radio and tackle the day as intended; never having to adjust my routine. In Leh, a cloud burst, altered my life; I left the confines of my electricity and internet deprived hotel and walked through the aftermath of the nightmare, without blinders I witnessed what the gods, especially Thor could accomplish at whim: homes topped with ruined cars, buses crushed to a fraction of their original size, bodies being pulled from dilapidated and unrecognizable structures. People with staggering dignity, scavenging through the detritus, for anything worthy of salvation. Wading knee deep in mud to photograph a child clutching a withered toy; that toy, more precious than any gemstone; a symbol of hope and life, the image crystallized in my consciousness, until the day I cease to be.
In conclusion, I shed tears over the myriad of shoes, all sizes, never a pair, but sculptural in their poignancy; these lovely, lonely shoes, reminiscent of the unknown feet, lost souls of their prior owners. There was a sacredness in their survival and I knew that as long as my feet tread the cosmos I had witnessed, with unprotected vision a profound and monumental tragedy, which added a depth of wisdom lacking, but now emblazoned, frozen in my heart and spirit, resting on a pedestal, never to be toppled from my mind; an ever present reminder to avoid shunning but perpetually grasp the enigmatic lessons of fate.
Penelope Steiner
Imprisoned in the glorious splendor of the Himalayan Mountains, rests Leh, the capital of Ladakh, India. Its astounding beauty and tradition traces it roots to the third century BC; a hub of Buddhism and eventually a commercial Mecca of the Silk Route.
On Thursday, the 5th of August my guide and I arrived in what can only be described as awe inspiring; this ancient, historical and magnificent paradise, a symbol of the archaic and present; ubiquitous chortens (memorials) to the past Kings and Queens of Ladakh dotting the landscape, ranging from the sophistication and skill of master craftsmen to the modest talents of the unschooled; bazaars with sinuous, dark, scented corridors, snake for blocks through a labyrinth of wares: jewelry stores joined with butcher shops, spice venues married to shoemakers, working with tools long abandoned, replaced by modern technology, but proficient in attaining its goals. Those questing for the foreign, will be divinely saturated.
In the small hours of Friday, August 6th , disaster with Olympian magnitude struck this unsuspecting town; in seconds Zeus claimed the lives of hundreds, snuffed from existence, never to have another thought, never again to feel the ferocity of the summer’s sun, the frigidity of a winter’s moon, sentenced to oblivion, beyond knowing, beyond pain, beyond platitudes.
Homes, constructed of mud washed from their mountainous foundations, not a trace of their prior life left visible; claimed by the Indus River, destined to a watery grave; gone forever, praying not to be forgotten.
I believe that there is a karmic power, a reason why one is placed, at a determined moment in time in a preordained situation. My guide, Muneer Suri, rose to the challenge of the catastrophe and helped his friend Odpal George, save the bewildered and shocked survivors; mending bridges and gifted moral support so sorely craved.
My experience with the devastation of nature’s power over mankind has been softened by the media; the tsunami, Katrina, even the BP oil debacle, viewed in the protective custody and privacy of my home, rendered the horrors palatable; I could switch off the television, close the newspaper, turn a deaf ear to the radio and tackle the day as intended; never having to adjust my routine. In Leh, a cloud burst, altered my life; I left the confines of my electricity and internet deprived hotel and walked through the aftermath of the nightmare, without blinders I witnessed what the gods, especially Thor could accomplish at whim: homes topped with ruined cars, buses crushed to a fraction of their original size, bodies being pulled from dilapidated and unrecognizable structures. People with staggering dignity, scavenging through the detritus, for anything worthy of salvation. Wading knee deep in mud to photograph a child clutching a withered toy; that toy, more precious than any gemstone; a symbol of hope and life, the image crystallized in my consciousness, until the day I cease to be.
In conclusion, I shed tears over the myriad of shoes, all sizes, never a pair, but sculptural in their poignancy; these lovely, lonely shoes, reminiscent of the unknown feet, lost souls of their prior owners. There was a sacredness in their survival and I knew that as long as my feet tread the cosmos I had witnessed, with unprotected vision a profound and monumental tragedy, which added a depth of wisdom lacking, but now emblazoned, frozen in my heart and spirit, resting on a pedestal, never to be toppled from my mind; an ever present reminder to avoid shunning but perpetually grasp the enigmatic lessons of fate.
Penelope Steiner
Saturday, July 31, 2010
The Metropolitan Opera: Live in High Definition
The Metropolitan Opera: Live in High Definition
Years ago as a student in Rome, Italy on a whim I decided to go to the Opera; a challenge, being totally uneducated and underexposed; but every taxi driver in Italy sang arias, so why shouldn’t I give it a try; although hearing people would pay me to sing “over the hill and far away”. I went, and at nineteen my life was altered; the affect of my first opera, Giacomo Puccini’s (1858-1924) La Boheme, was profound, intoxicating, mesmerizing and overwhelming. There was no English text, just the most unequivocally beautiful music I had ever experienced; each sung note toyed with my heart and tear ducts: the tears would not cease and I exulted in surrendering all control; I had never felt so perfectly vulnerable, a tool, a vacuum, a receptacle for this musical miracle. I was ambushed emotionally and have been imprisoned in divine captivity for decades; an unknown void; filled to capacity. How could this happen? Love at first sound and a happiness so tangible, it galloped from my pores.
Who was this composer? A mere mortal who in the solitude and privacy of his gifted mind could fathom such magnificence; could hear and visualize this monumental creation that would capture audiences for eternity; my faith in a god, reinforced.
The Metropolitan Opera in New York City has given the twenty-first century its greatest and most culturally artistic innovation. Anyone can now go to the Opera in a movie theatre. You can view it live, all over the world or go to a taped encore performance at a later publicized date. Erased from the elitism attached to this art form, the intimidation,
expensive ticket prices. You can attend, attired as you like in a seat you prefer, eat popcorn and expose yourself to the extraordinary magical skills of composers past and present. You may exit without embarrassment, although the final act is usually the most traumatic and scintillating.
Through the years I have concluded that there are those with an inherited Opera gene; it is part of their DNA; others can cultivate and become scholars but never have the visceral, powerful, gut-wrenching sensation when the first chords are struck. In the movie “Pretty Woman” (1990) Edward (Richard Gere) takes Vivian (Julia Roberts, the paid professional) to a performance of Verdi’s La Travita; her reaction was one of amazing joy, understanding and empathy; she was hooked, acknowledging that enchantment had struck , bowed at her feet, and grasped with musical tentacles her emancipated spirit.
Tickets go on sale the beginning of September. If you are a neophyte commence with Puccini, Verdi, Bizet, Mozart, Rossini, Massenet; save Schoenberg, Shostakovich, Strauss, Tchaikovsky, Wagner for the second season. Regardless of age, take a bite and quite possibly an appetizing addiction will develop.
For Now………..Peneflix
I will be on hiatus for almost a month; but working on my quest to satisfy my craving for Bollywood films; a week in Mumbai should serve as an entrée to this dedicated mission.
Please do not hesitate to keep me informed of movies (good, bad or ugly) that I should view and review upon my return! Thank you!
Years ago as a student in Rome, Italy on a whim I decided to go to the Opera; a challenge, being totally uneducated and underexposed; but every taxi driver in Italy sang arias, so why shouldn’t I give it a try; although hearing people would pay me to sing “over the hill and far away”. I went, and at nineteen my life was altered; the affect of my first opera, Giacomo Puccini’s (1858-1924) La Boheme, was profound, intoxicating, mesmerizing and overwhelming. There was no English text, just the most unequivocally beautiful music I had ever experienced; each sung note toyed with my heart and tear ducts: the tears would not cease and I exulted in surrendering all control; I had never felt so perfectly vulnerable, a tool, a vacuum, a receptacle for this musical miracle. I was ambushed emotionally and have been imprisoned in divine captivity for decades; an unknown void; filled to capacity. How could this happen? Love at first sound and a happiness so tangible, it galloped from my pores.
Who was this composer? A mere mortal who in the solitude and privacy of his gifted mind could fathom such magnificence; could hear and visualize this monumental creation that would capture audiences for eternity; my faith in a god, reinforced.
The Metropolitan Opera in New York City has given the twenty-first century its greatest and most culturally artistic innovation. Anyone can now go to the Opera in a movie theatre. You can view it live, all over the world or go to a taped encore performance at a later publicized date. Erased from the elitism attached to this art form, the intimidation,
expensive ticket prices. You can attend, attired as you like in a seat you prefer, eat popcorn and expose yourself to the extraordinary magical skills of composers past and present. You may exit without embarrassment, although the final act is usually the most traumatic and scintillating.
Through the years I have concluded that there are those with an inherited Opera gene; it is part of their DNA; others can cultivate and become scholars but never have the visceral, powerful, gut-wrenching sensation when the first chords are struck. In the movie “Pretty Woman” (1990) Edward (Richard Gere) takes Vivian (Julia Roberts, the paid professional) to a performance of Verdi’s La Travita; her reaction was one of amazing joy, understanding and empathy; she was hooked, acknowledging that enchantment had struck , bowed at her feet, and grasped with musical tentacles her emancipated spirit.
Tickets go on sale the beginning of September. If you are a neophyte commence with Puccini, Verdi, Bizet, Mozart, Rossini, Massenet; save Schoenberg, Shostakovich, Strauss, Tchaikovsky, Wagner for the second season. Regardless of age, take a bite and quite possibly an appetizing addiction will develop.
For Now………..Peneflix
I will be on hiatus for almost a month; but working on my quest to satisfy my craving for Bollywood films; a week in Mumbai should serve as an entrée to this dedicated mission.
Please do not hesitate to keep me informed of movies (good, bad or ugly) that I should view and review upon my return! Thank you!
Monday, July 26, 2010
SALT
SALT
When I think of summers past it is not picnics, beaches or lemonade stands that come to mind; it is the theme parks with tilt-a-whirls, parachute plunges, but primarily the roller coaster with its palpating ascent and paralyzing descent that remains a frozen memory; sitting alone (my cowardly friends watching in horror) in the front seat, the world vanished, my heart and stomach switched places, leaving only the purest sensation of losing control, flirting with fate; my destiny determined by mechanics. That fearless person has vanished and now is a pillar of seasoned, if at times flawed, discretion. But as I watched “Salt” the titillating sensation of joy and recklessness played heavenly havoc with my mind and remembrance.
“Salt” is everything a summer movie should be: mindlessly entertaining, fascinating and constantly challenging your perceptions, breathtaking to watch and gorgeously filmed.
Every second was thrilling; with its conclusion came a touch of remorse.
Angelina Jolie is Evelyn Salt; she along with the Bollywood diva, Aishwarya Rai, rank as two of the most miraculously, divinely, bewitching women in the world; at times their beauty transcends their characterizations and can be disturbingly distracting. It is testimony to their talent that they sink their perfect incisors into the psyche of the roles they inhabit and leave not a quivering doubt in the viewer’s eye that what you see lacks all artifice and is real to the core.
Evelyn Salt is a force and employed by the CIA; her agility is aerobic, acrobatic, aerial and a lethal weapon; she is Clark Kent (Superman) in female form. Tom Cruise was considered for the role (Edward Salt?) but the movie works exceptionally well with a woman proficient in skills dominated by males; oh, the exhilaration as Evelyn takes flight.
The ultimate movie fantasy would be a pairing of Evelyn Salt and Lisbeth Salander (“The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo”); two heroines, combining attributes and with unmitigated strength liquidate the dark, nefarious, empire of evil; Rambo and The Terminator replaced by the feminine mystique, with brawn.
THREE & 1/2 STARS!!!
For Now…………Peneflix
When I think of summers past it is not picnics, beaches or lemonade stands that come to mind; it is the theme parks with tilt-a-whirls, parachute plunges, but primarily the roller coaster with its palpating ascent and paralyzing descent that remains a frozen memory; sitting alone (my cowardly friends watching in horror) in the front seat, the world vanished, my heart and stomach switched places, leaving only the purest sensation of losing control, flirting with fate; my destiny determined by mechanics. That fearless person has vanished and now is a pillar of seasoned, if at times flawed, discretion. But as I watched “Salt” the titillating sensation of joy and recklessness played heavenly havoc with my mind and remembrance.
“Salt” is everything a summer movie should be: mindlessly entertaining, fascinating and constantly challenging your perceptions, breathtaking to watch and gorgeously filmed.
Every second was thrilling; with its conclusion came a touch of remorse.
Angelina Jolie is Evelyn Salt; she along with the Bollywood diva, Aishwarya Rai, rank as two of the most miraculously, divinely, bewitching women in the world; at times their beauty transcends their characterizations and can be disturbingly distracting. It is testimony to their talent that they sink their perfect incisors into the psyche of the roles they inhabit and leave not a quivering doubt in the viewer’s eye that what you see lacks all artifice and is real to the core.
Evelyn Salt is a force and employed by the CIA; her agility is aerobic, acrobatic, aerial and a lethal weapon; she is Clark Kent (Superman) in female form. Tom Cruise was considered for the role (Edward Salt?) but the movie works exceptionally well with a woman proficient in skills dominated by males; oh, the exhilaration as Evelyn takes flight.
The ultimate movie fantasy would be a pairing of Evelyn Salt and Lisbeth Salander (“The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo”); two heroines, combining attributes and with unmitigated strength liquidate the dark, nefarious, empire of evil; Rambo and The Terminator replaced by the feminine mystique, with brawn.
THREE & 1/2 STARS!!!
For Now…………Peneflix
Friday, July 23, 2010
AGORA
AGORA (A Place of Assembly)
On a recent trip to Spain I succumbed to my craving, my ambrosial addiction, and went to a movie. How pleased was I that Alejandro Amenabar’s (“The Sea Inside”, a classic favorite ) “Agora” with the enchanting Rachel Weisz had just premiered in Madrid.
Sadly, the movie fell far short of my expectations. I admired the courage and fortitude of Amenabar and Weisz in tackling one of antiquities most inimitable women, Hypatia, the beautiful and brilliant mathematician and astronomer teaching in Alexandria, Egypt in 400 A.D.
Her father Theon, a famed mathematician, supported and encouraged her intellectual precociousness. She became head of the Neo-Platonist school of philosophy in Alexandria. Her eruditeness in the field of science was feared and considered pagan by the early Christians with their intransigent mentality; she refuses to convert and thus seals her destiny.
Lusting after the spectacle; the more plagues, chariot races, sea-partings, destructions of evil empires, the more satiated my cravings. Unfortunately, contemporary technology raises its technological head and destroys the illusion, digitalization screams in all scenes except the sacking of the Alexandria library; the citadel of knowledge dies a realistic and horrific death. Crucified by the ignorant.
Religious quests and conquests: pagans murdering Christians, Christians retaliating but adding Jews to the conflagration; grew tiresome, only Hypatia’s life was riveting. She taught the keenest male minds of the period, but shunned their advances; her energies focused on the celestial and its relationship to the earth.
History and mythology have not neglected but recognized the wisdom and vision of many iconic women. The artist Anselm Kiefer in his book “Women of Antiquity” ranks Hypatia, with Lilith, Pandora and Queen Zenobia, as a prime member of this sorority.
Praise for a valiant effort but “Agora” does not ignite or inspire one’s passions for Hypatia, a woman not just of antiquity but for all ages.
TWO 1/2 STARS!!
For Now…………….Peneflix
On a recent trip to Spain I succumbed to my craving, my ambrosial addiction, and went to a movie. How pleased was I that Alejandro Amenabar’s (“The Sea Inside”, a classic favorite ) “Agora” with the enchanting Rachel Weisz had just premiered in Madrid.
Sadly, the movie fell far short of my expectations. I admired the courage and fortitude of Amenabar and Weisz in tackling one of antiquities most inimitable women, Hypatia, the beautiful and brilliant mathematician and astronomer teaching in Alexandria, Egypt in 400 A.D.
Her father Theon, a famed mathematician, supported and encouraged her intellectual precociousness. She became head of the Neo-Platonist school of philosophy in Alexandria. Her eruditeness in the field of science was feared and considered pagan by the early Christians with their intransigent mentality; she refuses to convert and thus seals her destiny.
Lusting after the spectacle; the more plagues, chariot races, sea-partings, destructions of evil empires, the more satiated my cravings. Unfortunately, contemporary technology raises its technological head and destroys the illusion, digitalization screams in all scenes except the sacking of the Alexandria library; the citadel of knowledge dies a realistic and horrific death. Crucified by the ignorant.
Religious quests and conquests: pagans murdering Christians, Christians retaliating but adding Jews to the conflagration; grew tiresome, only Hypatia’s life was riveting. She taught the keenest male minds of the period, but shunned their advances; her energies focused on the celestial and its relationship to the earth.
History and mythology have not neglected but recognized the wisdom and vision of many iconic women. The artist Anselm Kiefer in his book “Women of Antiquity” ranks Hypatia, with Lilith, Pandora and Queen Zenobia, as a prime member of this sorority.
Praise for a valiant effort but “Agora” does not ignite or inspire one’s passions for Hypatia, a woman not just of antiquity but for all ages.
TWO 1/2 STARS!!
For Now…………….Peneflix
Sunday, July 18, 2010
THE GIRL WHO PLAYED WITH FIRE & INCEPTION
THE GIRL WHO PLAYED WITH FIRE
It is surprisingly good. As a major advocate of Stieg Larsson’s trilogy I counted the days before I saw “The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo”, my expectations were met and exceeded by the film. “The Girl Who Played with Fire” is the weakest of the trilogy, so I went with limited anticipations. What a delicious surprise; like looking at something unappetizing and with the first bite realizing you are swallowing a taste of heaven.
“The Girl Who Played with Fire” is better than the novel; it is pared down, the supercilious erased, the action mesmerizing, the actors flawless in their characterizations; even the villains exude enticing evil.
The glue, cement, the major component of the plot is the concrete performance of Noomi Rapace as Lisbeth Salander; feel Larsson had her image in mind when he created the character. Her strength of body and mind; her uncompromised principles; the intensity of her desires and the single-mindedness in which she executes her missions equal a heroine of unusual and undaunted proportions. A feared inexorable force.
Michael Nyqvist as the journalist Mikael Blomkvist (loosely based on the dead novelist, Larsson) garnishes accolades for his shy and sensitive demeanor, his agility, wisdom in climbing into the psyche of Lisbeth and uncovering her location; their relationship and its vicissitudes, the yin and yang add a tremendous seductive allure to the story.
Be prepared for two and one half hours of immense entertainment.
THREE &1/2 STARS!!!
INCEPTION
The gluttonous hype of Christopher Nolan’s (“Dark Knight”) had thousands line up at theatres around the country for the 12:01 AM showing on Friday, July 16th! This critic waited for the noon viewing, a sensible and pragmatic decision.
My normal agenda is to wait a few days before putting my thoughts into print; the films and my insights manifest a defined clarity after the marinating process. In this case I had a lightening bolt epiphany. “Inception” is a movie for the video game generation; Half Life lovers will be salivating through every convoluted, senseless, inane but disturbing beautiful scene. They will immediately “take a leap of faith” (oft repeated line in the movie) and not try (as obtuse thinkers did) to decipher the difference between actuality and the dream state. After thirty frustrating minutes I joined the crowd and enjoyed watching in triplicate the gorgeous actors; three of Leonardo DiCaprio, awake, asleep or dreaming he is a constant banquet for the eyes; Marion Cotillard (Academy Award Winner, La Vie en Rose. Edith Piaf’s song resonates throughout the film) ethereally enchanting and perpetually dreamlike; Cillian Murphy’s (“ Breakfast on Pluto ) beauty is mythical and worthy of a fourth dimension; small and talented Ellen Page (Juno) still in the embryonic stages; three of her was two too many; Joseph Gordon-Levitt (500 Days of Summer) is the most aerobic and floats rhythmically in three different spheres. A future “Dancing with the Stars” candidate.
“Inception” is a 160 million dollar ambitious idea gone awry; bifurcated by the digitalized world of contemporary technology.
FOUR STARS!!!! (15-35 YEAR OLD AUDIENCE)
TWO STARS!! (36 AND BEYOND)
For Now……………..Peneflix
It is surprisingly good. As a major advocate of Stieg Larsson’s trilogy I counted the days before I saw “The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo”, my expectations were met and exceeded by the film. “The Girl Who Played with Fire” is the weakest of the trilogy, so I went with limited anticipations. What a delicious surprise; like looking at something unappetizing and with the first bite realizing you are swallowing a taste of heaven.
“The Girl Who Played with Fire” is better than the novel; it is pared down, the supercilious erased, the action mesmerizing, the actors flawless in their characterizations; even the villains exude enticing evil.
The glue, cement, the major component of the plot is the concrete performance of Noomi Rapace as Lisbeth Salander; feel Larsson had her image in mind when he created the character. Her strength of body and mind; her uncompromised principles; the intensity of her desires and the single-mindedness in which she executes her missions equal a heroine of unusual and undaunted proportions. A feared inexorable force.
Michael Nyqvist as the journalist Mikael Blomkvist (loosely based on the dead novelist, Larsson) garnishes accolades for his shy and sensitive demeanor, his agility, wisdom in climbing into the psyche of Lisbeth and uncovering her location; their relationship and its vicissitudes, the yin and yang add a tremendous seductive allure to the story.
Be prepared for two and one half hours of immense entertainment.
THREE &1/2 STARS!!!
INCEPTION
The gluttonous hype of Christopher Nolan’s (“Dark Knight”) had thousands line up at theatres around the country for the 12:01 AM showing on Friday, July 16th! This critic waited for the noon viewing, a sensible and pragmatic decision.
My normal agenda is to wait a few days before putting my thoughts into print; the films and my insights manifest a defined clarity after the marinating process. In this case I had a lightening bolt epiphany. “Inception” is a movie for the video game generation; Half Life lovers will be salivating through every convoluted, senseless, inane but disturbing beautiful scene. They will immediately “take a leap of faith” (oft repeated line in the movie) and not try (as obtuse thinkers did) to decipher the difference between actuality and the dream state. After thirty frustrating minutes I joined the crowd and enjoyed watching in triplicate the gorgeous actors; three of Leonardo DiCaprio, awake, asleep or dreaming he is a constant banquet for the eyes; Marion Cotillard (Academy Award Winner, La Vie en Rose. Edith Piaf’s song resonates throughout the film) ethereally enchanting and perpetually dreamlike; Cillian Murphy’s (“ Breakfast on Pluto ) beauty is mythical and worthy of a fourth dimension; small and talented Ellen Page (Juno) still in the embryonic stages; three of her was two too many; Joseph Gordon-Levitt (500 Days of Summer) is the most aerobic and floats rhythmically in three different spheres. A future “Dancing with the Stars” candidate.
“Inception” is a 160 million dollar ambitious idea gone awry; bifurcated by the digitalized world of contemporary technology.
FOUR STARS!!!! (15-35 YEAR OLD AUDIENCE)
TWO STARS!! (36 AND BEYOND)
For Now……………..Peneflix
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
THE KIDS ARE ALL RIGHT
THE KIDS ARE ALL RIGHT
Or “Scenes from a Contemporary Marriage”. It is timely, well-acted and I fall into the minority that found it tedious, boring, with minimal interest in any of the principals, the exception being the children. Mia Wasikowska as Joni, the soon to be college freshman captures the essence of a bright, sophisticated, mature young woman: credit has to go to the “Moms” for her development. Josh Hutcherson as Laser is more complex; the typical boy keeping his thoughts, desires and opinions primarily to himself. The successful scenes revolve around the “Moms” soliciting him to open up and share his feelings; he stoically and with a certain dismantling charm rejects their prodding. All who have raised children will relate to these frustrating, realistic moments.
Annette Bening, as Nic gives a fine and credible performance as the bread winner in the family; she is not likeable, she whines and whimpers and elicits little or no sympathy.
Julianne Moore plays Jules, the stay at home Mom who with her daughter leaving for college and her fifteen old son moving into the nebulous and inexorable teenage world, decides to tackle a new career as a landscape artist (in this scenario a euphemism for gardener). Moore, also accomplished and amazingly convincing in the role garnishes little empathy, especially with her choices. Maybe that was planned; like many who quest for professional validity that is rarely granted, grasping the ephemeral dying leaves that invade their path.
Mark Roffalo as Paul is exceptional and insatiably gobbles up the good fortune thrust upon him. He is the alchemist pivoting and transforming one family member to another, he is genuinely endearing and could cook for me any Sunday.
The children are fine; it is the parents that are teetering on the precipice of disillusionment.
TWO STARS!!
For Now……………Peneflix
Or “Scenes from a Contemporary Marriage”. It is timely, well-acted and I fall into the minority that found it tedious, boring, with minimal interest in any of the principals, the exception being the children. Mia Wasikowska as Joni, the soon to be college freshman captures the essence of a bright, sophisticated, mature young woman: credit has to go to the “Moms” for her development. Josh Hutcherson as Laser is more complex; the typical boy keeping his thoughts, desires and opinions primarily to himself. The successful scenes revolve around the “Moms” soliciting him to open up and share his feelings; he stoically and with a certain dismantling charm rejects their prodding. All who have raised children will relate to these frustrating, realistic moments.
Annette Bening, as Nic gives a fine and credible performance as the bread winner in the family; she is not likeable, she whines and whimpers and elicits little or no sympathy.
Julianne Moore plays Jules, the stay at home Mom who with her daughter leaving for college and her fifteen old son moving into the nebulous and inexorable teenage world, decides to tackle a new career as a landscape artist (in this scenario a euphemism for gardener). Moore, also accomplished and amazingly convincing in the role garnishes little empathy, especially with her choices. Maybe that was planned; like many who quest for professional validity that is rarely granted, grasping the ephemeral dying leaves that invade their path.
Mark Roffalo as Paul is exceptional and insatiably gobbles up the good fortune thrust upon him. He is the alchemist pivoting and transforming one family member to another, he is genuinely endearing and could cook for me any Sunday.
The children are fine; it is the parents that are teetering on the precipice of disillusionment.
TWO STARS!!
For Now……………Peneflix
Saturday, July 10, 2010
RESTREPO
RESTREPO
A year ago I saw, along with young physically challenged veterans, the staggeringly remarkable “The Hurt Locker” directed by Kathryn Bigelow. It concentrated on the war in Iraq but its brilliance rested it its lack of politics; no whys, if onlys, or Bush bashing; just focusing on getting the job done. I knew it was one the finest films about war that I had ever seen and the Academy validated my insights by honoring it with the Academy Award for Best Picture, 2009.
“Restrepo” a documentary, portrays the war in Afghanistan. Sebastian Junger and Tim Hetherington have created a riveting but at times flawed masterpiece. Over a two year period they lived, filmed, almost perished with Battle Company of the 173rd Airborne Brigade at the Restrepo outpost (named after Juan “Doc” Restrepo, a fun loving medic we see in the commencement of the documentary; his death haunts every member of the Brigrade) in the lethal, Taliban- infested Korengal Valley. The interviewed soldiers at times stoically, but often with debilitating emotion that gashes your heart; tell their solicited and unsolicited thoughts about their families, friends, war. They are gentle men, farmers, city boys in the prime of youth; not even knowing what they “want to be when they grow up”. They live every gun- riddled moment, knowing the future is illusive, an apparition they might never possess. Their tattooed bodies a tableau, that speak vibrant, soundless volumes of their idols, passions and fears.
Afghanistan’s image is one of evil, destruction and hell. But its beauty is rarely addressed. Kahled Hosseini”s “A Thousand Splendid Suns” quotes a seventeenth century Afgan poet, Saib-e-Tabrizi:
One could not count the moons that shimmer on her roofs
Or the thousand splendid suns that hide behind her walls.
Whether their intention or not Junger and Hetherington give credibility to these lines of sublime poetry, while depicting the nightmarish, mundane, droning, unpredictable lives of the men at Restrepo.
FOUR STARS!!!!
For Now……………..Peneflix
A year ago I saw, along with young physically challenged veterans, the staggeringly remarkable “The Hurt Locker” directed by Kathryn Bigelow. It concentrated on the war in Iraq but its brilliance rested it its lack of politics; no whys, if onlys, or Bush bashing; just focusing on getting the job done. I knew it was one the finest films about war that I had ever seen and the Academy validated my insights by honoring it with the Academy Award for Best Picture, 2009.
“Restrepo” a documentary, portrays the war in Afghanistan. Sebastian Junger and Tim Hetherington have created a riveting but at times flawed masterpiece. Over a two year period they lived, filmed, almost perished with Battle Company of the 173rd Airborne Brigade at the Restrepo outpost (named after Juan “Doc” Restrepo, a fun loving medic we see in the commencement of the documentary; his death haunts every member of the Brigrade) in the lethal, Taliban- infested Korengal Valley. The interviewed soldiers at times stoically, but often with debilitating emotion that gashes your heart; tell their solicited and unsolicited thoughts about their families, friends, war. They are gentle men, farmers, city boys in the prime of youth; not even knowing what they “want to be when they grow up”. They live every gun- riddled moment, knowing the future is illusive, an apparition they might never possess. Their tattooed bodies a tableau, that speak vibrant, soundless volumes of their idols, passions and fears.
Afghanistan’s image is one of evil, destruction and hell. But its beauty is rarely addressed. Kahled Hosseini”s “A Thousand Splendid Suns” quotes a seventeenth century Afgan poet, Saib-e-Tabrizi:
One could not count the moons that shimmer on her roofs
Or the thousand splendid suns that hide behind her walls.
Whether their intention or not Junger and Hetherington give credibility to these lines of sublime poetry, while depicting the nightmarish, mundane, droning, unpredictable lives of the men at Restrepo.
FOUR STARS!!!!
For Now……………..Peneflix
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
CYRUS
CYRUS
On a recent trip to Minneapolis John C. Reilly sat in the seat behind me: immediately recognizing him I was ginger about approaching him: many known personalities are protective of their privacy and this I respect. As I went to deplane I mentioned how much I was looking forward to seeing “Cyrus”; he was instantly gracious, asked which carry on was mine; he was so tall, he was eye to eye with my wheelie. We chatted, parted and I was left knowing that he was a genuinely nice person. I went to see “Cyrus” with a bias, I wanted to like it because of him. Any concern dissipated in seconds; the movie is thoroughly entertaining, thought provoking and at times “warm and fuzzy”!
The story revolves around John (John C. Reilly) a lost soul still in love with his ex-wife Jamie (Catherine Keener), not looking for love in any of the right places. Jamie persuades him to attend a party with her and her fiancé. After a couple of false starts he meets and connects with Molly (Marisa Tomei, the cire perdue, the lost wax mold; only she can sculpt this character); midway into a flirtatious conversation he hears the commencement of a song “Don’t You Want Me” (Human League) he takes flight, with beer in hand, sings and dances (neither too well) foolishly, until Molly and others join in the gaiety. This scene cements our rooting for and championing this man. Anyone who adores music and dance can relate to hearing the first strains of a song and no matter how intense the conversation: Einstein’s theory of relativity, quality of the Hubble telescope images, latest fall fashions; the intellect freezes and the body is empowered with the magic of movement. “Mack the Knife”, “YMCA”, all of Abba electrify my dancing gene.
Molly and John have instant chemistry; rather miraculous after a seven year romantic draught for John. Here is a prime example of “if it’s too good to be true”….. Enter the corpulent, creepily cunning Cyrus (a mesmerizing performance by Jonah Hill). He is a precocious new age composer, (the music surprisingly sophisticated and moving) a sultry man-child of twenty-one with an unnatural attachment to his mother, Molly. They live in an insular world, a bubble, containing two first class seats. John, the interloper wants initially coach but rapidly yearns for business status.
The essence and power of this ménage a trois; the sparring, one-upmanship, intriguing dialogue; a war of words denigrating into a battle of blows; herein lies the success of “Cyrus”. The Duplass brothers (Jay and Mark) display an uncanny ability to capture the emotions, complexities, defeats and triumphs of the major characters. Like a funambulist they walk a tightrope balancing the salacious and sensational with the salubrious and intelligent. This balance is integral to the integrity of the film.
John C. Reilly has made countless films but “Cyrus” elevates his gift of depicting the vulnerabilities and strengths of the common man to extraordinary heights and box office delights!
THREE&1/2 STARS!!!
For Now………….Peneflix
On a recent trip to Minneapolis John C. Reilly sat in the seat behind me: immediately recognizing him I was ginger about approaching him: many known personalities are protective of their privacy and this I respect. As I went to deplane I mentioned how much I was looking forward to seeing “Cyrus”; he was instantly gracious, asked which carry on was mine; he was so tall, he was eye to eye with my wheelie. We chatted, parted and I was left knowing that he was a genuinely nice person. I went to see “Cyrus” with a bias, I wanted to like it because of him. Any concern dissipated in seconds; the movie is thoroughly entertaining, thought provoking and at times “warm and fuzzy”!
The story revolves around John (John C. Reilly) a lost soul still in love with his ex-wife Jamie (Catherine Keener), not looking for love in any of the right places. Jamie persuades him to attend a party with her and her fiancé. After a couple of false starts he meets and connects with Molly (Marisa Tomei, the cire perdue, the lost wax mold; only she can sculpt this character); midway into a flirtatious conversation he hears the commencement of a song “Don’t You Want Me” (Human League) he takes flight, with beer in hand, sings and dances (neither too well) foolishly, until Molly and others join in the gaiety. This scene cements our rooting for and championing this man. Anyone who adores music and dance can relate to hearing the first strains of a song and no matter how intense the conversation: Einstein’s theory of relativity, quality of the Hubble telescope images, latest fall fashions; the intellect freezes and the body is empowered with the magic of movement. “Mack the Knife”, “YMCA”, all of Abba electrify my dancing gene.
Molly and John have instant chemistry; rather miraculous after a seven year romantic draught for John. Here is a prime example of “if it’s too good to be true”….. Enter the corpulent, creepily cunning Cyrus (a mesmerizing performance by Jonah Hill). He is a precocious new age composer, (the music surprisingly sophisticated and moving) a sultry man-child of twenty-one with an unnatural attachment to his mother, Molly. They live in an insular world, a bubble, containing two first class seats. John, the interloper wants initially coach but rapidly yearns for business status.
The essence and power of this ménage a trois; the sparring, one-upmanship, intriguing dialogue; a war of words denigrating into a battle of blows; herein lies the success of “Cyrus”. The Duplass brothers (Jay and Mark) display an uncanny ability to capture the emotions, complexities, defeats and triumphs of the major characters. Like a funambulist they walk a tightrope balancing the salacious and sensational with the salubrious and intelligent. This balance is integral to the integrity of the film.
John C. Reilly has made countless films but “Cyrus” elevates his gift of depicting the vulnerabilities and strengths of the common man to extraordinary heights and box office delights!
THREE&1/2 STARS!!!
For Now………….Peneflix
Friday, July 2, 2010
COCO (CHANEL) AND IGOR (STRAVINSKY)
COCO (CHANEL) AND IGOR (STRAVINSKY)
We have all heard the expression “watching paint dry”; the implication derogatory, but what I would have sacrificed to watch a Delacroix, Courbet, Renoir, Picasso, Kline, Richter, Johns, Curran whose layers and layers of paint, encaustic, varnish took days and sometimes years to loose their liquidity, solidify and dry. Pure, unadulterated ecstasy!
So on a recent trip to Los Angeles I was taken by my most fascinating friend to view “Coco and Igor” and from the onset we felt gifted, privy, in awe of the intense beauty Jan Kounen, the director, painted for us; one of the most powerful partnerships between film and painting ever viewed, and the miracle of the experience is that we the viewer became the hand and eye of the artist envisioning and finalizing the creation.
Not being a fashion aficionado but having a few friends who have accomplished and consummated the ideal relationship between couture and individuality (L.E. G. S. P. B.C.J. First initials to protect the identity, of these pivotal archetypes).
I have tired of all the Coco hype over the last few years. But this film is great: Anna Mouglalis is magnificent as Coco Chanel; she captures the drive, ambition and courage it took to crusade and challenge a male- dominated world in the early twentieth century. Jan Kounen was dauntless in casting her in the role. She was the muse and model for Karl Lagerfeld (appointed head designer for Chanel in 1982). His choice was prophetic. No one could have worn with such grace and agility, the vintage, archival Chanel wardrobe, as grounded as her personality, she is angelic, pristine poetry in motion.
Mads Mikkelsen as Igor Stravinsky is good as the tormented innovative composer whose
scores for Firebird (1910) and Petrushka (1911) ignited his initial flirtation with fame and recognition.
The film revolves around a brief and passionate interlude in the lives of these two avant- garde individuals. Commencing in 1913 with the debut in Paris of Stravinsky’s Le Sacre du Printemps (The Rite of Spring) choreographed by Nijinsky, performed by the Ballet Russe. This scene is worth the price of admission and should be seen by all Stravinsky lovers; it is the perfect depiction of what occurred, the audience’s descent into disrespectful audacity, the tenacity of the dancers under horrific abuse; but Stravinsky in this one composition envisions the devastation, the nightmare soon to be visited upon the world, the Great War. Coco Chanel was a witness and inspired by The Rite of Spring, she never left her seat.
In 1920 at a dinner hosted by the impresario Sergei Diaghilev the two icons meet and Stravinsky, a victim of the Russian Revolution, impoverished, living with his consumptive wife and four children in confined quarters, reluctantly accepts Coco’s invitation to move with his family into her villa, Bel Respino, Garches, situated outside Paris.
It is here that the major composition: symphonic, structured, painterly explodes with the evolution of each frame. It is symmetrically gorgeous and unmatched; each scene worthy of a Cindy Sherman film still. Jan Kounen envisions Piet Mondrian, at the conclusion of his march to abstraction, sculptural perfection of David Smith, engineering supremacy of Alexander Calder. The intimate scenes are refulgent in their staged and formal beauty. There is not a messy moment in this movie.
A stunning but brief hiatus in the lives of two fearless, iconic individuals who dared and succeeded in breaking the confines, rigidity; choking, smothering the early twentieth century.
FOUR STARS!!!!
For Now…………….Peneflix
We have all heard the expression “watching paint dry”; the implication derogatory, but what I would have sacrificed to watch a Delacroix, Courbet, Renoir, Picasso, Kline, Richter, Johns, Curran whose layers and layers of paint, encaustic, varnish took days and sometimes years to loose their liquidity, solidify and dry. Pure, unadulterated ecstasy!
So on a recent trip to Los Angeles I was taken by my most fascinating friend to view “Coco and Igor” and from the onset we felt gifted, privy, in awe of the intense beauty Jan Kounen, the director, painted for us; one of the most powerful partnerships between film and painting ever viewed, and the miracle of the experience is that we the viewer became the hand and eye of the artist envisioning and finalizing the creation.
Not being a fashion aficionado but having a few friends who have accomplished and consummated the ideal relationship between couture and individuality (L.E. G. S. P. B.C.J. First initials to protect the identity, of these pivotal archetypes).
I have tired of all the Coco hype over the last few years. But this film is great: Anna Mouglalis is magnificent as Coco Chanel; she captures the drive, ambition and courage it took to crusade and challenge a male- dominated world in the early twentieth century. Jan Kounen was dauntless in casting her in the role. She was the muse and model for Karl Lagerfeld (appointed head designer for Chanel in 1982). His choice was prophetic. No one could have worn with such grace and agility, the vintage, archival Chanel wardrobe, as grounded as her personality, she is angelic, pristine poetry in motion.
Mads Mikkelsen as Igor Stravinsky is good as the tormented innovative composer whose
scores for Firebird (1910) and Petrushka (1911) ignited his initial flirtation with fame and recognition.
The film revolves around a brief and passionate interlude in the lives of these two avant- garde individuals. Commencing in 1913 with the debut in Paris of Stravinsky’s Le Sacre du Printemps (The Rite of Spring) choreographed by Nijinsky, performed by the Ballet Russe. This scene is worth the price of admission and should be seen by all Stravinsky lovers; it is the perfect depiction of what occurred, the audience’s descent into disrespectful audacity, the tenacity of the dancers under horrific abuse; but Stravinsky in this one composition envisions the devastation, the nightmare soon to be visited upon the world, the Great War. Coco Chanel was a witness and inspired by The Rite of Spring, she never left her seat.
In 1920 at a dinner hosted by the impresario Sergei Diaghilev the two icons meet and Stravinsky, a victim of the Russian Revolution, impoverished, living with his consumptive wife and four children in confined quarters, reluctantly accepts Coco’s invitation to move with his family into her villa, Bel Respino, Garches, situated outside Paris.
It is here that the major composition: symphonic, structured, painterly explodes with the evolution of each frame. It is symmetrically gorgeous and unmatched; each scene worthy of a Cindy Sherman film still. Jan Kounen envisions Piet Mondrian, at the conclusion of his march to abstraction, sculptural perfection of David Smith, engineering supremacy of Alexander Calder. The intimate scenes are refulgent in their staged and formal beauty. There is not a messy moment in this movie.
A stunning but brief hiatus in the lives of two fearless, iconic individuals who dared and succeeded in breaking the confines, rigidity; choking, smothering the early twentieth century.
FOUR STARS!!!!
For Now…………….Peneflix
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
I AM LOVE
I AM LOVE……
Is flawless and the finest film I have experienced in years. It lacerated my very core leaving a crater of such magnitude, a wound, that after the pain of poignancy has evaporated the scar tissue left in its wake will leave a treasured reminder, a tattoo to be savored, and guarded for the remainder of my life.
Luca Guadagnino has created a masterpiece at the Michelangelo level: Tilda Swinton (also a producer) is his canvas. She is Emma, a Russian émigré; married into an Italian textile dynasty; the mother of three talented and ethereally beautiful children. She is detached, glacial, and floats, perfectly coiffed in designer couturiere through the magically magnificent world of wealth, refinement and privilege; she is an observer until……love shatters her pristine, crystal façade.
You rarely see a film so perfectly balanced, visually, aesthetically, musically. The camera, like Casanova strokes with tenderness and intimacy all it encounters; there is no hierarchy, every individual and object is given the same smothering, passionate embrace, reminiscent of an Andy Warhol Silkscreen.
John Adams, the minimalist composer has divined a score that will resonate forever in the sanctified halls of iconic movie soundtracks. His musical interpretation is the unspoken language, not heard but envisioned in the minds of the actors; the emotional content so chaste that one groaned with its intensity and purity.
Cuisine is the golden thread that weaves its delectable delights, the roux that binds and nourishes all the pivotal scenes, salivating with its carnality, rising as the quintessential pastry to the pinnacle of love. Guadagnino uses a Michelin starred chef to mold his “epicurean wizardry”; each tasted and swallowed morsel, sensual, personal, a metaphor for love.
We witness a love so profound, sublime that it transcends all else and the cinematography, photography, music are the match makers, complicit in the consummation, culmination of the redolent, unique recipe for a life long passion, obsession.
This film should be viewed more than once. The poet John Keats wrote:
A thing of Beauty is a joy for ever,
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness…….
“I Am Love” portrays a pairing like the Sarus Crane found in some parts of India. They meet, mate, share a soul; when one perishes the other follows, the only reason for living has passed into nothingness.
FIVE STARS!!!!!
For Now……………Peneflix
Do NOT leave the theatre until the screen is dark!
Is flawless and the finest film I have experienced in years. It lacerated my very core leaving a crater of such magnitude, a wound, that after the pain of poignancy has evaporated the scar tissue left in its wake will leave a treasured reminder, a tattoo to be savored, and guarded for the remainder of my life.
Luca Guadagnino has created a masterpiece at the Michelangelo level: Tilda Swinton (also a producer) is his canvas. She is Emma, a Russian émigré; married into an Italian textile dynasty; the mother of three talented and ethereally beautiful children. She is detached, glacial, and floats, perfectly coiffed in designer couturiere through the magically magnificent world of wealth, refinement and privilege; she is an observer until……love shatters her pristine, crystal façade.
You rarely see a film so perfectly balanced, visually, aesthetically, musically. The camera, like Casanova strokes with tenderness and intimacy all it encounters; there is no hierarchy, every individual and object is given the same smothering, passionate embrace, reminiscent of an Andy Warhol Silkscreen.
John Adams, the minimalist composer has divined a score that will resonate forever in the sanctified halls of iconic movie soundtracks. His musical interpretation is the unspoken language, not heard but envisioned in the minds of the actors; the emotional content so chaste that one groaned with its intensity and purity.
Cuisine is the golden thread that weaves its delectable delights, the roux that binds and nourishes all the pivotal scenes, salivating with its carnality, rising as the quintessential pastry to the pinnacle of love. Guadagnino uses a Michelin starred chef to mold his “epicurean wizardry”; each tasted and swallowed morsel, sensual, personal, a metaphor for love.
We witness a love so profound, sublime that it transcends all else and the cinematography, photography, music are the match makers, complicit in the consummation, culmination of the redolent, unique recipe for a life long passion, obsession.
This film should be viewed more than once. The poet John Keats wrote:
A thing of Beauty is a joy for ever,
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness…….
“I Am Love” portrays a pairing like the Sarus Crane found in some parts of India. They meet, mate, share a soul; when one perishes the other follows, the only reason for living has passed into nothingness.
FIVE STARS!!!!!
For Now……………Peneflix
Do NOT leave the theatre until the screen is dark!
Sunday, June 27, 2010
KNIGHT AND DAY
KNIGHT AND DAY
If you just want the review scroll down! I can take all sorts of license being the Founder, CEO, and CFO of Peneflix.
June is one of my favorite months: conclusion of the school year, commencement of summer and a celebration of my life. Decades ago I read that when you die you take with you the things you gave away while alive; this became my mantra; I wanted to leave this world with tankards, planes, trains following my funeral pyre. Loving the “loaves and fish” philosophy the more I receive the more I give away; a “thing” is a temporary loan, a bond and should not initiate too much sentiment or attachment.
Oh how I relish giving parties; nothing is more gratifying than having fun and sharing good times with people you care about. Fun comes in all forms so two days ago I had an event for many of my friends. A movie screening, followed by lunch. Everyone had to be at the theatre by 10:30 in the morning (a first for some); they were given popcorn, water and ballots with a “ thumbs up or thumbs down” logo; I collected the ballots after the film.
“Knight and Day” starring Tom Cruise and Cameron Diaz was incredulously hilarious; some of us laughed until the tear ducts were dry and running mascara created clown like masks on perfectly powered cheeks; others groaned with the predictability and triteness of the dialogue.
One of my tragic flaws is a weakness for Tom Cruise. Since “ Risky Business” in 1983, “Born on the 4th of July” in 1989 (one of the most devastating heart- wrenching performances in the history of film), I have admired his courage, his fearlessness in avoiding the mundane, playing vampires, homosexuals, supermen. I like looking at him, knowing he does his own stunts, I like his smile that others taunt, his Mr. America physique, his inimitable sincerity in every role he immerses himself in. It is a flaw I am comfortable living with.
The successful pairing of Cruise and Diaz saved the movie from the ordinary and strangely half way through the viewing I found myself caring about Ray and June. Diaz is remarkable in conquering comedic roles (“There is Something about Mary”); she owns the best scene as the drugged (truth serum) June walking, talking and laughing through a sea of bullets.
The lunch was in a bowling alley: pizza, turkey and veggie sandwiches, salads, chicken nuggets, chocolate chip cookies. Deliciously caloric and fraught with trans fat, my favorite energizer. As I flitted from one synergistic group to another, filling beverage desires, listening to their reviews, opinions and wallowing in the laughter, gaiety so tangible it could be packaged, I was struck and frozen by a clairvoyant bolt; with the power and vision that one has but a few times in one’s life. All my stars, universe were in perfect alignment; I looked at these platinum people of all disciplines, ages, religions and race; and my mind with a pristine clarity screamed at perfect pitch THESE ARE MY FRIENDS! My heart inflated to the size of the Good Year Blimp and these and all others not present, rendered me the most exquisite happiness, a happiness that was virginal in its completeness.
The votes are counted and interesting enough “thumbs up” won by a “nose”! We took a hiatus from the serious lives we lead and for a few brief hours basked in the sunshine of a unique moment in time.
“Knight and Day” receives:
TWO & 1/2 STARS!!
The day itself, held all the stars in the firmament.
For Now……………Peneflix
If you just want the review scroll down! I can take all sorts of license being the Founder, CEO, and CFO of Peneflix.
June is one of my favorite months: conclusion of the school year, commencement of summer and a celebration of my life. Decades ago I read that when you die you take with you the things you gave away while alive; this became my mantra; I wanted to leave this world with tankards, planes, trains following my funeral pyre. Loving the “loaves and fish” philosophy the more I receive the more I give away; a “thing” is a temporary loan, a bond and should not initiate too much sentiment or attachment.
Oh how I relish giving parties; nothing is more gratifying than having fun and sharing good times with people you care about. Fun comes in all forms so two days ago I had an event for many of my friends. A movie screening, followed by lunch. Everyone had to be at the theatre by 10:30 in the morning (a first for some); they were given popcorn, water and ballots with a “ thumbs up or thumbs down” logo; I collected the ballots after the film.
“Knight and Day” starring Tom Cruise and Cameron Diaz was incredulously hilarious; some of us laughed until the tear ducts were dry and running mascara created clown like masks on perfectly powered cheeks; others groaned with the predictability and triteness of the dialogue.
One of my tragic flaws is a weakness for Tom Cruise. Since “ Risky Business” in 1983, “Born on the 4th of July” in 1989 (one of the most devastating heart- wrenching performances in the history of film), I have admired his courage, his fearlessness in avoiding the mundane, playing vampires, homosexuals, supermen. I like looking at him, knowing he does his own stunts, I like his smile that others taunt, his Mr. America physique, his inimitable sincerity in every role he immerses himself in. It is a flaw I am comfortable living with.
The successful pairing of Cruise and Diaz saved the movie from the ordinary and strangely half way through the viewing I found myself caring about Ray and June. Diaz is remarkable in conquering comedic roles (“There is Something about Mary”); she owns the best scene as the drugged (truth serum) June walking, talking and laughing through a sea of bullets.
The lunch was in a bowling alley: pizza, turkey and veggie sandwiches, salads, chicken nuggets, chocolate chip cookies. Deliciously caloric and fraught with trans fat, my favorite energizer. As I flitted from one synergistic group to another, filling beverage desires, listening to their reviews, opinions and wallowing in the laughter, gaiety so tangible it could be packaged, I was struck and frozen by a clairvoyant bolt; with the power and vision that one has but a few times in one’s life. All my stars, universe were in perfect alignment; I looked at these platinum people of all disciplines, ages, religions and race; and my mind with a pristine clarity screamed at perfect pitch THESE ARE MY FRIENDS! My heart inflated to the size of the Good Year Blimp and these and all others not present, rendered me the most exquisite happiness, a happiness that was virginal in its completeness.
The votes are counted and interesting enough “thumbs up” won by a “nose”! We took a hiatus from the serious lives we lead and for a few brief hours basked in the sunshine of a unique moment in time.
“Knight and Day” receives:
TWO & 1/2 STARS!!
The day itself, held all the stars in the firmament.
For Now……………Peneflix
Thursday, June 24, 2010
COCO (CHANEL) AND IGOR (STRAVINSKY)
COCO (CHANEL) AND IGOR (STRAVINSKY)
We have all heard the expression “watching paint dry”; the implication derogatory, but what I would have sacrificed to watch a Delacroix, Courbet, Renoir, Picasso, Kline, Richter, Johns, Curran whose layers and layers of paint, encaustic, varnish took days and sometimes years to loose their liquidity, solidify and dry. Pure, unadulterated ecstasy!
So on a recent trip to Los Angeles I was taken by my most fascinating friend to view “Coco and Igor” and from the onset we felt gifted, privy, in awe of the intense beauty Jan Kounen, the director, painted for us; one of the most powerful partnerships between film and painting ever viewed, and the miracle of the experience is that we the viewer became the hand and eye of the artist envisioning and finalizing the creation.
Not being a fashion aficionado but having a few friends who have accomplished and consummated the ideal relationship between couture and individuality (L.E. G. S. P. B.C.J. First initials to protect the identity, of these pivotal archetypes).
I have tired of all the Coco hype over the last few years. But this film is great: Anna Mouglalis is magnificent as Coco Chanel; she captures the drive, ambition and courage it took to crusade and challenge a male- dominated world in the early twentieth century. Jan Kounen was dauntless in casting her in the role. She was the muse and model for Karl Lagerfeld (appointed head designer for Chanel in 1982). His choice was prophetic. No one could have worn with such grace and agility, the vintage, archival Chanel wardrobe, as grounded as her personality, she is angelic, pristine poetry in motion.
Mads Mikkelsen as Igor Stravinsky is good as the tormented innovative composer whose scores for Firebird (1910) and Petrushka (1911) ignited his initial flirtation with fame and recognition.
The film revolves around a brief and passionate interlude in the lives of these two avant- garde individuals. Commencing in 1913 with the debut in Paris of Stravinsky’s Le Sacre du Printemps (The Rite of Spring) choreographed by Nijinsky, performed by the Ballet Russe. This scene is worth the price of admission and should be seen by all Stravinsky lovers; it is the perfect depiction of what occurred, the audience’s descent into disrespectful audacity, the tenacity of the dancers under horrific abuse; but Stravinsky in this one composition envisions the devastation, the nightmare soon to be visited upon the world, the Great War. Coco Chanel was a witness and inspired by The Rite of Spring, she never left her seat.
In 1920 at a dinner hosted by the impresario Sergei Diaghilev the two icons meet and Stravinsky, a victim of the Russian Revolution, impoverished, living with his consumptive wife and four children in confined quarters, reluctantly accepts Coco’s invitation to move with his family into her villa, Bel Respino, Garches, situated outside Paris.
It is here that the major composition: symphonic, structured, painterly explodes with the evolution of each frame. It is symmetrically gorgeous and unmatched; each scene worthy of a Cindy Sherman film still. Jan Kounen envisions Piet Mondrian, at the conclusion of his march to abstraction, sculptural perfection of David Smith, engineering supremacy of Alexander Calder. The intimate scenes are refulgent in their staged and formal beauty. There is not a messy moment in this movie.
A stunning but brief hiatus in the lives of two fearless, iconic individuals who dared and succeeded in breaking the confines, rigidity; choking, smothering the early twentieth century.
FOUR STARS!!!!
For Now…………….Peneflix
We have all heard the expression “watching paint dry”; the implication derogatory, but what I would have sacrificed to watch a Delacroix, Courbet, Renoir, Picasso, Kline, Richter, Johns, Curran whose layers and layers of paint, encaustic, varnish took days and sometimes years to loose their liquidity, solidify and dry. Pure, unadulterated ecstasy!
So on a recent trip to Los Angeles I was taken by my most fascinating friend to view “Coco and Igor” and from the onset we felt gifted, privy, in awe of the intense beauty Jan Kounen, the director, painted for us; one of the most powerful partnerships between film and painting ever viewed, and the miracle of the experience is that we the viewer became the hand and eye of the artist envisioning and finalizing the creation.
Not being a fashion aficionado but having a few friends who have accomplished and consummated the ideal relationship between couture and individuality (L.E. G. S. P. B.C.J. First initials to protect the identity, of these pivotal archetypes).
I have tired of all the Coco hype over the last few years. But this film is great: Anna Mouglalis is magnificent as Coco Chanel; she captures the drive, ambition and courage it took to crusade and challenge a male- dominated world in the early twentieth century. Jan Kounen was dauntless in casting her in the role. She was the muse and model for Karl Lagerfeld (appointed head designer for Chanel in 1982). His choice was prophetic. No one could have worn with such grace and agility, the vintage, archival Chanel wardrobe, as grounded as her personality, she is angelic, pristine poetry in motion.
Mads Mikkelsen as Igor Stravinsky is good as the tormented innovative composer whose scores for Firebird (1910) and Petrushka (1911) ignited his initial flirtation with fame and recognition.
The film revolves around a brief and passionate interlude in the lives of these two avant- garde individuals. Commencing in 1913 with the debut in Paris of Stravinsky’s Le Sacre du Printemps (The Rite of Spring) choreographed by Nijinsky, performed by the Ballet Russe. This scene is worth the price of admission and should be seen by all Stravinsky lovers; it is the perfect depiction of what occurred, the audience’s descent into disrespectful audacity, the tenacity of the dancers under horrific abuse; but Stravinsky in this one composition envisions the devastation, the nightmare soon to be visited upon the world, the Great War. Coco Chanel was a witness and inspired by The Rite of Spring, she never left her seat.
In 1920 at a dinner hosted by the impresario Sergei Diaghilev the two icons meet and Stravinsky, a victim of the Russian Revolution, impoverished, living with his consumptive wife and four children in confined quarters, reluctantly accepts Coco’s invitation to move with his family into her villa, Bel Respino, Garches, situated outside Paris.
It is here that the major composition: symphonic, structured, painterly explodes with the evolution of each frame. It is symmetrically gorgeous and unmatched; each scene worthy of a Cindy Sherman film still. Jan Kounen envisions Piet Mondrian, at the conclusion of his march to abstraction, sculptural perfection of David Smith, engineering supremacy of Alexander Calder. The intimate scenes are refulgent in their staged and formal beauty. There is not a messy moment in this movie.
A stunning but brief hiatus in the lives of two fearless, iconic individuals who dared and succeeded in breaking the confines, rigidity; choking, smothering the early twentieth century.
FOUR STARS!!!!
For Now…………….Peneflix
Monday, June 21, 2010
WINTER'S BONE
WINTER’S BONE
It has been eons since I have experienced a more bleakly brilliant film; so brutally raw and realistic that it has a voyeuristic flavor, the viewer should not be privy to the gruesomeness and pain inflicted on the characters, especially the indomitable Ree Dolly (precociously played by Jennifer Lawrence). We must pay homage to Daniel Woodrell upon whose book this iconic film is based and to the genius of directors Debra Ganik and Anne Rosellini who nurtured it to fruition.
The plot revolves around a seventeen- year old girl, whose drug making father has jumped bail, disappeared, leaving as collateral her paltry farm nesting in the Missouri Ozarks; she is the pillar of stone and strength that keep her mother, sister and brother from starving. Her Herculean efforts to find her father, while protecting her family are gut wrenching and typify the Chinese adage “the strongest steel goes through the hottest flame”. And fire of this intensity has not been witnessed on the screen since Scarlet O’Hara, in “Gone with the Wind”.
She is aided in her endeavors by her uncle Teardrop (John Hawkes, gives a performance of such magnitude, it ranks with the elite of best performances ever portrayed in the history of film) a terrifying man with banished hope and a life wasted at the altar of addiction.
The title, so intriguing sparked a spirited conversation between a feisty, intelligent friend and me. “Winter” was obvious; the melting ice cycles, frosted breath and sterile landscape, enhanced the desperation of their plight. Also reminiscent of John Steinbeck’s 1961 “The Winter of Our Discontent” based on William Shakespeare’s Richard III (“Now is the winter of our discontent made glorious summer by this son of York”). Never has winter been so paralyzingly painted, without volumes of snow.
“Bone” is more complex in its interpretation. References to “throw a bone”, a break, a gift, a pass; “bone of contention”, disagreement, argument, an issue that must be resolved between parties; bones constitute the skeleton of mammals and humans. But the mystery of “bone” revolves around Ree. Her survival instincts and inscrutable will enable her to grapple with and conquer the most insidious impediments, all in the name of love and survival; she is godlike in her mission.
“Winter’s Bone” takes fortitude to view but you leave knowing that winter has concluded and perhaps not “summer”, but spring and hope are on the horizon for this daughter of the Ozarks.
FOUR STARS!!!!
For Now…………….Peneflix
It has been eons since I have experienced a more bleakly brilliant film; so brutally raw and realistic that it has a voyeuristic flavor, the viewer should not be privy to the gruesomeness and pain inflicted on the characters, especially the indomitable Ree Dolly (precociously played by Jennifer Lawrence). We must pay homage to Daniel Woodrell upon whose book this iconic film is based and to the genius of directors Debra Ganik and Anne Rosellini who nurtured it to fruition.
The plot revolves around a seventeen- year old girl, whose drug making father has jumped bail, disappeared, leaving as collateral her paltry farm nesting in the Missouri Ozarks; she is the pillar of stone and strength that keep her mother, sister and brother from starving. Her Herculean efforts to find her father, while protecting her family are gut wrenching and typify the Chinese adage “the strongest steel goes through the hottest flame”. And fire of this intensity has not been witnessed on the screen since Scarlet O’Hara, in “Gone with the Wind”.
She is aided in her endeavors by her uncle Teardrop (John Hawkes, gives a performance of such magnitude, it ranks with the elite of best performances ever portrayed in the history of film) a terrifying man with banished hope and a life wasted at the altar of addiction.
The title, so intriguing sparked a spirited conversation between a feisty, intelligent friend and me. “Winter” was obvious; the melting ice cycles, frosted breath and sterile landscape, enhanced the desperation of their plight. Also reminiscent of John Steinbeck’s 1961 “The Winter of Our Discontent” based on William Shakespeare’s Richard III (“Now is the winter of our discontent made glorious summer by this son of York”). Never has winter been so paralyzingly painted, without volumes of snow.
“Bone” is more complex in its interpretation. References to “throw a bone”, a break, a gift, a pass; “bone of contention”, disagreement, argument, an issue that must be resolved between parties; bones constitute the skeleton of mammals and humans. But the mystery of “bone” revolves around Ree. Her survival instincts and inscrutable will enable her to grapple with and conquer the most insidious impediments, all in the name of love and survival; she is godlike in her mission.
“Winter’s Bone” takes fortitude to view but you leave knowing that winter has concluded and perhaps not “summer”, but spring and hope are on the horizon for this daughter of the Ozarks.
FOUR STARS!!!!
For Now…………….Peneflix
Saturday, June 19, 2010
SOLITARY MAN
SOLITARY MAN
In less than a year we have had “A Serious…”, “A Single...” and now a “Solitary Man”; played with delicious debauchery by Michael Douglas (who with time, grows to resemble his father, Kirk). Mr. Douglas as Ben Kalmen is the aging Lothario who with Faustian gusto seeks youth and virility in the arms of “barely” legal girls and women. He is amoral, shameless and raises sleaziness to the celestial level. But as much as he throws caution, relationships and love by the fistfuls into the wind there is something illusive and charming about the man that defies logic and try as one might you discover yourself rooting for him. We want him to win back his integrity, his wealth and his family; to wake up and acknowledge that no one succeeds in tricking death; gods, kings, and mortals have tried; Sisyphus relished temporary victory, but inevitably the grim Reaper, grinningly remains undaunted and undefeated. Michael Douglas triumphs with this phenomenal, insightful, even poignant characterization of a man who has lost his way, but not his vision.
The secondary female roles are outstanding: Susan Sarandon, in buxom glory, is splendid and wise as the ex wife; Jenna Fisher as Susan, his long suffering and understanding daughter is remarkable as his “confessor”. She is the parent to the child her father has morphed into.
The sumptuously beautiful Imogen Poots as Allison, the eighteen year old Siren is breathtaking in her portrayal of a woman, prematurely seasoned in the mystique of Kama Sutra, like a viper she sinks her teeth into the heart of her victim, injecting its venom, and exiting with a frigid and passionless spirit. Allison’s nefarious and iconoclastic intelligence is a force to fear and shun.
There are moments of frustration but they are outweighed by the tightly and finely tuned dialogue and the insurmountable humanity depicted by the entire cast.
Leaving the theatre Emily Dickinson’s pithy poem pranced through my head:
Because I could not Stop for Death-
He Kindly Stopped for Me-
The Carriage Held but just Ourselves-
And Immortality.
Ben Kalmen’s Carriage is years from the departure date.
THREE STARS!!!
For Now………Peneflix
In less than a year we have had “A Serious…”, “A Single...” and now a “Solitary Man”; played with delicious debauchery by Michael Douglas (who with time, grows to resemble his father, Kirk). Mr. Douglas as Ben Kalmen is the aging Lothario who with Faustian gusto seeks youth and virility in the arms of “barely” legal girls and women. He is amoral, shameless and raises sleaziness to the celestial level. But as much as he throws caution, relationships and love by the fistfuls into the wind there is something illusive and charming about the man that defies logic and try as one might you discover yourself rooting for him. We want him to win back his integrity, his wealth and his family; to wake up and acknowledge that no one succeeds in tricking death; gods, kings, and mortals have tried; Sisyphus relished temporary victory, but inevitably the grim Reaper, grinningly remains undaunted and undefeated. Michael Douglas triumphs with this phenomenal, insightful, even poignant characterization of a man who has lost his way, but not his vision.
The secondary female roles are outstanding: Susan Sarandon, in buxom glory, is splendid and wise as the ex wife; Jenna Fisher as Susan, his long suffering and understanding daughter is remarkable as his “confessor”. She is the parent to the child her father has morphed into.
The sumptuously beautiful Imogen Poots as Allison, the eighteen year old Siren is breathtaking in her portrayal of a woman, prematurely seasoned in the mystique of Kama Sutra, like a viper she sinks her teeth into the heart of her victim, injecting its venom, and exiting with a frigid and passionless spirit. Allison’s nefarious and iconoclastic intelligence is a force to fear and shun.
There are moments of frustration but they are outweighed by the tightly and finely tuned dialogue and the insurmountable humanity depicted by the entire cast.
Leaving the theatre Emily Dickinson’s pithy poem pranced through my head:
Because I could not Stop for Death-
He Kindly Stopped for Me-
The Carriage Held but just Ourselves-
And Immortality.
Ben Kalmen’s Carriage is years from the departure date.
THREE STARS!!!
For Now………Peneflix
Friday, June 18, 2010
SPLICE
SPLICE
Do you remember Dolly? Not Dolly Levi from “Hello Dolly”; but darling Dolly, the sheep, born July 5th, 1996, the first mammal to be cloned from “an adult somatic cell, using the process of nuclear transfer”. Scientists Ian Wilmut, Keith Campbell and their colleagues at the Rosin Institute outside of Edinburgh, Scotland used a cell from a mammary gland and chose the name in reference to the country western singer Dolly Parton, whose pneumatic endowments are universally revered and respected.
Dolly’s sheltered environment; her pallet never savored the culinary delicacies of the Scottish countryside, imprisoned in an experimental lab, where she had six children, but regretfully was euthanized February 14th, 2003, debilitated by severe lung disease and arthritis; a bleak, depressing and morbid Valentines Day!
The concept of cloning is magnetic, powerful, and science has made colossal strides in embryo (therapeutic) and reproductive cloning. Hence the movie “Splice” has a chilling sense of reality and prophesy in its thesis.
Adrien Brody (Clive) and Sarah Polley (Elsa) are biotechnicians who splice human DNA into a preexisting genetic experiment. Dren (Delphine Chaneac) is the child of their illegal project; a female centaur, half- human half- beast. The bewitchment in the film grows from the potent bond between the “parents” and the child; the accelerated rate of her development; rapidly erasing the boundaries, hierarchies, prevalent in uncloned relationships. The three principals are credible and the special affects are a digital dream; but the viewer must take a leap of faith and suspend, overlook the incredulous, and contemplate the “what ifs”! Escape can be deliriously rejuvenating.
Do you remember the film “Multiplicity”? Serendipitously released in 1996, the year of Dolly’s birth, starring Michael Keaton whose problems are initially solved then multiply explosively with each new persona. There is a greed, a gluttonous craving for life, feeding the fascination of cloning; being in two places simultaneously: the party and the lecture, the opera and the hockey game, Mumbai and Paris. Oh the hypnotic glory of this craved (and maybe depraved) fantasy.
“Splice” will appeal to those who mourned the death of Dolly; but will not exalt in the life of Dren!
TWO &1/2 STARS!!
For Now………….Peneflix
Do you remember Dolly? Not Dolly Levi from “Hello Dolly”; but darling Dolly, the sheep, born July 5th, 1996, the first mammal to be cloned from “an adult somatic cell, using the process of nuclear transfer”. Scientists Ian Wilmut, Keith Campbell and their colleagues at the Rosin Institute outside of Edinburgh, Scotland used a cell from a mammary gland and chose the name in reference to the country western singer Dolly Parton, whose pneumatic endowments are universally revered and respected.
Dolly’s sheltered environment; her pallet never savored the culinary delicacies of the Scottish countryside, imprisoned in an experimental lab, where she had six children, but regretfully was euthanized February 14th, 2003, debilitated by severe lung disease and arthritis; a bleak, depressing and morbid Valentines Day!
The concept of cloning is magnetic, powerful, and science has made colossal strides in embryo (therapeutic) and reproductive cloning. Hence the movie “Splice” has a chilling sense of reality and prophesy in its thesis.
Adrien Brody (Clive) and Sarah Polley (Elsa) are biotechnicians who splice human DNA into a preexisting genetic experiment. Dren (Delphine Chaneac) is the child of their illegal project; a female centaur, half- human half- beast. The bewitchment in the film grows from the potent bond between the “parents” and the child; the accelerated rate of her development; rapidly erasing the boundaries, hierarchies, prevalent in uncloned relationships. The three principals are credible and the special affects are a digital dream; but the viewer must take a leap of faith and suspend, overlook the incredulous, and contemplate the “what ifs”! Escape can be deliriously rejuvenating.
Do you remember the film “Multiplicity”? Serendipitously released in 1996, the year of Dolly’s birth, starring Michael Keaton whose problems are initially solved then multiply explosively with each new persona. There is a greed, a gluttonous craving for life, feeding the fascination of cloning; being in two places simultaneously: the party and the lecture, the opera and the hockey game, Mumbai and Paris. Oh the hypnotic glory of this craved (and maybe depraved) fantasy.
“Splice” will appeal to those who mourned the death of Dolly; but will not exalt in the life of Dren!
TWO &1/2 STARS!!
For Now………….Peneflix
SPLICE
SPLICE
Do you remember Dolly? Not Dolly Levi from “Hello Dolly”; but darling Dolly, the sheep, born July 5th, 1996, the first mammal to be cloned from “an adult somatic cell, using the process of nuclear transfer”. Scientists Ian Wilmut, Keith Campbell and their colleagues at the Rosin Institute outside of Edinburgh, Scotland used a cell from a mammary gland and chose the name in reference to the country western singer Dolly Parton, whose pneumatic endowments are universally revered and respected.
Dolly’s sheltered environment; her pallet never savored the culinary delicacies of the Scottish countryside, imprisoned in an experimental lab, where she had six children, but regretfully was euthanized February 14th, 2003, debilitated by severe lung disease and arthritis; a bleak, depressing and morbid Valentines Day!
The concept of cloning is magnetic, powerful, and science has made colossal strides in embryo (therapeutic) and reproductive cloning. Hence the movie “Splice” has a chilling sense of reality and prophesy in its thesis.
Adrien Brody (Clive) and Sarah Polley (Elsa) are biotechnicians who splice human DNA into a preexisting genetic experiment. Dren (Delphine Chaneac) is the child of their illegal project; a female centaur, half- human half- beast. The bewitchment in the film grows from the potent bond between the “parents” and the child; the accelerated rate of her development; rapidly erasing the boundaries, hierarchies, prevalent in uncloned relationships. The three principals are credible and the special affects are a digital dream; but the viewer must take a leap of faith and suspend, overlook the incredulous, and contemplate the “what ifs”! Escape can be deliriously rejuvenating.
Do you remember the film “Multiplicity”? Serendipitously released in 1996, the year of Dolly’s birth, starring Michael Keaton whose problems are initially solved then multiply explosively with each new persona. There is a greed, a gluttonous craving for life, feeding the fascination of cloning; being in two places simultaneously: the party and the lecture, the opera and the hockey game, Mumbai and Paris. Oh the hypnotic glory of this craved (and maybe depraved) fantasy.
“Splice” will appeal to those who mourned the death of Dolly; but will not exalt in the life of Dren!
TWO &1/2 STARS!!
For Now………….Peneflix
Do you remember Dolly? Not Dolly Levi from “Hello Dolly”; but darling Dolly, the sheep, born July 5th, 1996, the first mammal to be cloned from “an adult somatic cell, using the process of nuclear transfer”. Scientists Ian Wilmut, Keith Campbell and their colleagues at the Rosin Institute outside of Edinburgh, Scotland used a cell from a mammary gland and chose the name in reference to the country western singer Dolly Parton, whose pneumatic endowments are universally revered and respected.
Dolly’s sheltered environment; her pallet never savored the culinary delicacies of the Scottish countryside, imprisoned in an experimental lab, where she had six children, but regretfully was euthanized February 14th, 2003, debilitated by severe lung disease and arthritis; a bleak, depressing and morbid Valentines Day!
The concept of cloning is magnetic, powerful, and science has made colossal strides in embryo (therapeutic) and reproductive cloning. Hence the movie “Splice” has a chilling sense of reality and prophesy in its thesis.
Adrien Brody (Clive) and Sarah Polley (Elsa) are biotechnicians who splice human DNA into a preexisting genetic experiment. Dren (Delphine Chaneac) is the child of their illegal project; a female centaur, half- human half- beast. The bewitchment in the film grows from the potent bond between the “parents” and the child; the accelerated rate of her development; rapidly erasing the boundaries, hierarchies, prevalent in uncloned relationships. The three principals are credible and the special affects are a digital dream; but the viewer must take a leap of faith and suspend, overlook the incredulous, and contemplate the “what ifs”! Escape can be deliriously rejuvenating.
Do you remember the film “Multiplicity”? Serendipitously released in 1996, the year of Dolly’s birth, starring Michael Keaton whose problems are initially solved then multiply explosively with each new persona. There is a greed, a gluttonous craving for life, feeding the fascination of cloning; being in two places simultaneously: the party and the lecture, the opera and the hockey game, Mumbai and Paris. Oh the hypnotic glory of this craved (and maybe depraved) fantasy.
“Splice” will appeal to those who mourned the death of Dolly; but will not exalt in the life of Dren!
TWO &1/2 STARS!!
For Now………….Peneflix
Sunday, June 6, 2010
RAAJNEETI (POLITICS)
RAAJNEETI (POLITICS)
Many of you read my recent review of “Kites” a Bollywood creation that on the whole was a disappointment. In “ Raajneeti” Bollywood’s tentacles have a firm grip on the Hollywood aesthetic. Thrilled, that in less than two weeks I can give a positive and enthusiastic “ thumbs up” to this legitimate drama.
Indians might or might not be pleased with this contemporary version of the Mahabharta.
Western audiences will immediately recognize the “The Godfather” theme but the film is also peppered with biblical references (Moses), Shakespearean intrigue (Hamlet, Richard III). But it is Mario Puzo’s brutal saga that is skillfully reproduced in “Raajneeti”.
The almost three hours of accelerated action satiated the lustful quest for blood, nerve twisting tension and romantic fantasies of the chained audience; no power could induce us to relinquish our seats.
The galvanizing and incisive performances of the established Bollywood actors captivated those familiar and unfamiliar with their esteemed abilities. Ajay Devgan (Sooraj) has a dark haunting countenance, masking incipient rage; wordlessly, he inspires terror and revulsion. Ranbir Kapoor (Samar) is wonderful as he sheds his idealism and innocence and is transformed into a hardened realist; the Al Pacino role in “The Godfather”.
His love interest Sarah (Sarah Thompson, the weakest and least defined character in the film); reminiscent of Diane Keaton’s portrayal in “The Godfather”.
At the risk of being pejorative my favorite Bollywood star of 2010 is Arjun Rampal (“Om Shanti Om”, “I See You”) ; he is startlingly beautiful, a lightening bolt, the camera covets him; in every scene he is the sun, all else, just pallid, amorphous clouds. He is the volatile Prithvi, his recklessness, a lethal weapon, the catalyst in changing the destinies of all he intertwines with.
Bollywood rears its predictable head with Indu, (Katrina Kaif); she is the pawn, chattel to be sacrificed on the alter of man’s political aspirations; she is wise, and clenches her dignity with a force of such purity that no man can tear it asunder. Katrina is a young, gifted actor; watching her talent mature will be a luxury for all her devotees.
Lest you be disappointed there is one brief dance number; the plot did not warrant a musical intervention and this in my estimation led to ………..
THREE STARS!!!
For Now……….Peneflix
Many of you read my recent review of “Kites” a Bollywood creation that on the whole was a disappointment. In “ Raajneeti” Bollywood’s tentacles have a firm grip on the Hollywood aesthetic. Thrilled, that in less than two weeks I can give a positive and enthusiastic “ thumbs up” to this legitimate drama.
Indians might or might not be pleased with this contemporary version of the Mahabharta.
Western audiences will immediately recognize the “The Godfather” theme but the film is also peppered with biblical references (Moses), Shakespearean intrigue (Hamlet, Richard III). But it is Mario Puzo’s brutal saga that is skillfully reproduced in “Raajneeti”.
The almost three hours of accelerated action satiated the lustful quest for blood, nerve twisting tension and romantic fantasies of the chained audience; no power could induce us to relinquish our seats.
The galvanizing and incisive performances of the established Bollywood actors captivated those familiar and unfamiliar with their esteemed abilities. Ajay Devgan (Sooraj) has a dark haunting countenance, masking incipient rage; wordlessly, he inspires terror and revulsion. Ranbir Kapoor (Samar) is wonderful as he sheds his idealism and innocence and is transformed into a hardened realist; the Al Pacino role in “The Godfather”.
His love interest Sarah (Sarah Thompson, the weakest and least defined character in the film); reminiscent of Diane Keaton’s portrayal in “The Godfather”.
At the risk of being pejorative my favorite Bollywood star of 2010 is Arjun Rampal (“Om Shanti Om”, “I See You”) ; he is startlingly beautiful, a lightening bolt, the camera covets him; in every scene he is the sun, all else, just pallid, amorphous clouds. He is the volatile Prithvi, his recklessness, a lethal weapon, the catalyst in changing the destinies of all he intertwines with.
Bollywood rears its predictable head with Indu, (Katrina Kaif); she is the pawn, chattel to be sacrificed on the alter of man’s political aspirations; she is wise, and clenches her dignity with a force of such purity that no man can tear it asunder. Katrina is a young, gifted actor; watching her talent mature will be a luxury for all her devotees.
Lest you be disappointed there is one brief dance number; the plot did not warrant a musical intervention and this in my estimation led to ………..
THREE STARS!!!
For Now……….Peneflix
Thursday, June 3, 2010
SEX AND THE CITY 2
SEX AND THE CITY 2
For those with a limited attention span, read no further. NO STARS for this useless piece of rubbish, that ranks as one of the worst movies of 2010; might even fall deservedly into one of the most atrocious and vainglorious films of all time.
This film is filled with volumes of sins; while the torments of purgatory were heaped mercilessly upon an audience who should have vacated the theatre ten minutes into this unmitigated travesty of nonsense.
1) You have four vapid, stupid, and superficial women who pride themselves on their New York sophistication. New York women unite, rebel and cleanse the tainted image so wrongfully painted by these insignificant aging ingénues.
2) Their atrocious designer costumes only enhance their conceited and hollow existence.
3) The dialogue so sophomorphic and idiotic one cringed with embarrassment.
4) They flaunt and succeed in insulting the mores of their host country…..Dubai.
5) Their vile language (especially Samantha) worthy of the filthiest gutter; filled with shameful sexual innuendo. They are defined by the insignificance of their limited myopic vision.
Never a fan of the popular television show; viewing this just reaffirmed my initial distaste. As this everlasting, excruciating film, plodded slowly to its conclusion; soon to be confined in the morgue of wasted celluloid, I thought of other experiences I would enjoy more: jet lag, walking barefoot in the Sahara desert, a seven hour Chinese opera, birthing quintuplets, or having to see the first “Sex and the City”!
A refund was not a possibility but I will rest peacefully knowing that I have rescued you from this horrific, despicable display of detritus!
For Now………..Peneflix
For those with a limited attention span, read no further. NO STARS for this useless piece of rubbish, that ranks as one of the worst movies of 2010; might even fall deservedly into one of the most atrocious and vainglorious films of all time.
This film is filled with volumes of sins; while the torments of purgatory were heaped mercilessly upon an audience who should have vacated the theatre ten minutes into this unmitigated travesty of nonsense.
1) You have four vapid, stupid, and superficial women who pride themselves on their New York sophistication. New York women unite, rebel and cleanse the tainted image so wrongfully painted by these insignificant aging ingénues.
2) Their atrocious designer costumes only enhance their conceited and hollow existence.
3) The dialogue so sophomorphic and idiotic one cringed with embarrassment.
4) They flaunt and succeed in insulting the mores of their host country…..Dubai.
5) Their vile language (especially Samantha) worthy of the filthiest gutter; filled with shameful sexual innuendo. They are defined by the insignificance of their limited myopic vision.
Never a fan of the popular television show; viewing this just reaffirmed my initial distaste. As this everlasting, excruciating film, plodded slowly to its conclusion; soon to be confined in the morgue of wasted celluloid, I thought of other experiences I would enjoy more: jet lag, walking barefoot in the Sahara desert, a seven hour Chinese opera, birthing quintuplets, or having to see the first “Sex and the City”!
A refund was not a possibility but I will rest peacefully knowing that I have rescued you from this horrific, despicable display of detritus!
For Now………..Peneflix
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
THE FATHER OF MY CHILDREN
THE FATHER OF MY CHILDREN
Regardless of your opinions about the French you must recognize their legacy of accomplishments in the laurels of filmmaking. “The Father of My Children” is written and directed by Mia Hansen –Love (a prodigy, at twenty-nine this is her third film) based loosely on the life of Humbert Balsan a French film producer; the title implies a biography.
The first hour is flawless. The troubled and financially strapped film maker, Gregoire (Louis- Do de Lencquesaing) dashingly handsome, and desperately trying to balance his failing business, family obligations while consuming hundreds of cigarettes; totally convincing and captivating in the role; there is a suaveness that belies his gloomy plight.
The movie dazzles in the scenes he shares with his three daughters! The oldest Clemence (Alice De Lencquesaing, his daughter in real life) captures the angst and whimsy of a teenager; every day either the best or worst of her life. The two younger daughters, Valentine (Alice Gautier) and Billie (Manelle Driss) are luminously beautiful, enchanting sprites, the screen darkens with their absence. The love, joy and comfort they exhibit, so blindingly pure and lacking in pretense or artifice. It is rare to see such unblemished happiness, so faultlessly depicted. My heart ached with its poignancy.
Then, unfortunately a malaise, like an unexpected mist or fog, creeps into the second half of the film and plays havoc with our expectations; greatness vastly diminished.
I left the theatre feeling somewhat cheated, a dissatisfaction not easily described. Still for its moments of excellence: the vicissitudes and roadblocks most directors face in the creation of a film, the choices one makes and the resulting consequences, and above all, experiencing the unique and rarely seen family dynamics I give it………
THREE STARS!!! (OUT OF FIVE)
For Now ………..Peneflix.
Regardless of your opinions about the French you must recognize their legacy of accomplishments in the laurels of filmmaking. “The Father of My Children” is written and directed by Mia Hansen –Love (a prodigy, at twenty-nine this is her third film) based loosely on the life of Humbert Balsan a French film producer; the title implies a biography.
The first hour is flawless. The troubled and financially strapped film maker, Gregoire (Louis- Do de Lencquesaing) dashingly handsome, and desperately trying to balance his failing business, family obligations while consuming hundreds of cigarettes; totally convincing and captivating in the role; there is a suaveness that belies his gloomy plight.
The movie dazzles in the scenes he shares with his three daughters! The oldest Clemence (Alice De Lencquesaing, his daughter in real life) captures the angst and whimsy of a teenager; every day either the best or worst of her life. The two younger daughters, Valentine (Alice Gautier) and Billie (Manelle Driss) are luminously beautiful, enchanting sprites, the screen darkens with their absence. The love, joy and comfort they exhibit, so blindingly pure and lacking in pretense or artifice. It is rare to see such unblemished happiness, so faultlessly depicted. My heart ached with its poignancy.
Then, unfortunately a malaise, like an unexpected mist or fog, creeps into the second half of the film and plays havoc with our expectations; greatness vastly diminished.
I left the theatre feeling somewhat cheated, a dissatisfaction not easily described. Still for its moments of excellence: the vicissitudes and roadblocks most directors face in the creation of a film, the choices one makes and the resulting consequences, and above all, experiencing the unique and rarely seen family dynamics I give it………
THREE STARS!!! (OUT OF FIVE)
For Now ………..Peneflix.
Monday, May 24, 2010
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3.) Click on any month and you will see a list of movies reviewed in that month!
1.) Visit http://peneflix.blogspot.com/
2.) On the top of the GREEN bar on the right, click the white Follow button.
3.) Either sign in using your Google, Yahoo or AOL accounts by clicking the corresponding icon, or scroll down and click Create a new Google account if you need to make a new account.
4.) Click Follow when you are completed and you will be following the blog!
Alternatively, you can just click the “subscribe to posts” button.
To find a certain movie
1.) Visit http://peneflix.blogspot.com/
2.) On the GREEN bar on the right, scroll down until you see “blog archive”
3.) Click on any month and you will see a list of movies reviewed in that month!
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Letters to Juliet
Fellow Movie Lovers
LETTERS TO JULIET
Oh, I can hear the groans of disbelief; why bother with this romantic drivel? Is the city bereft of more worthy fare? Yes it is trivial romantic fluff. Even the story revolving around distraught, devastated young women searching for solutions to their disastrous love affairs, doomed or abandoned relationships from Juliet Capulet, the Juliet starring in Shakespeare’s Romeo & Juliet, the late sixteenth century tragedy. Who in their right mind (no matter how lovesick) seeks advice from a thirteen year old girl who kills herself on her husband’s tomb? Defies logic, but love and logic can be mismatched bedfellows.
That being said I loved every syrupy preordained second! Constant sinking to the lachrymose, every tear partnered with a smile. Italy glimmers, especially Verona; the sun spawning warmth and glory on every animate and inanimate object. You smell the olive oil, cheese, wine, fresh from the oven- baked bread, and savor the indescribable flavors of Italy; permeating every taste bud, salivating with memories of past Italian feasts, lusting for future gastronomic repasts.
Amanda Seyfried (Chloe) is Sophie, the exquisite, idealistic “fact finder” for The New Yorker, who embarks on a trial honeymoon with her intended, Victor, (Gael Garcia Benal), a chef, totally miscast but competent. Amanda visits the shrine to Juliet, where forlorn young ladies leave their sanctimonious, pleading notes, stuffed between bricks, the wailing wall of Verona; and discovers a letter written fifty years ago and answers it; hence the birth of a beautiful, nostalgic journey, blossoming in a pilgrimage throughout the dazzling Italian landscape. Vanessa Redgrave (Claire), the Midas of actors, gives a twenty- four caret gold performance as the older woman seeking the magic of a lost love, vanished but remembered youth; she imbues the role with grace, passion and dignity; Camelot will always be hers, even in the hereafter.
While exiting, peacefully satiated, walking home positive that everlasting togetherness in the genre of Doris Day & Rock Hudson, Audrey Hepburn & Gary Cooper, Kathryn Hepburn & Spencer Tracy, will be eternally theirs. “The End” at the conclusion of “Letters to Juliet” finalized that a match made in Verona is sacred.
What better feeling than realizing that all your expectations were validated, the smugness legitimized, and acknowledging how much we have missed the happy endings in film and in dreams.
THREE STARS!!!
For Now……………Peneflix
LETTERS TO JULIET
Oh, I can hear the groans of disbelief; why bother with this romantic drivel? Is the city bereft of more worthy fare? Yes it is trivial romantic fluff. Even the story revolving around distraught, devastated young women searching for solutions to their disastrous love affairs, doomed or abandoned relationships from Juliet Capulet, the Juliet starring in Shakespeare’s Romeo & Juliet, the late sixteenth century tragedy. Who in their right mind (no matter how lovesick) seeks advice from a thirteen year old girl who kills herself on her husband’s tomb? Defies logic, but love and logic can be mismatched bedfellows.
That being said I loved every syrupy preordained second! Constant sinking to the lachrymose, every tear partnered with a smile. Italy glimmers, especially Verona; the sun spawning warmth and glory on every animate and inanimate object. You smell the olive oil, cheese, wine, fresh from the oven- baked bread, and savor the indescribable flavors of Italy; permeating every taste bud, salivating with memories of past Italian feasts, lusting for future gastronomic repasts.
Amanda Seyfried (Chloe) is Sophie, the exquisite, idealistic “fact finder” for The New Yorker, who embarks on a trial honeymoon with her intended, Victor, (Gael Garcia Benal), a chef, totally miscast but competent. Amanda visits the shrine to Juliet, where forlorn young ladies leave their sanctimonious, pleading notes, stuffed between bricks, the wailing wall of Verona; and discovers a letter written fifty years ago and answers it; hence the birth of a beautiful, nostalgic journey, blossoming in a pilgrimage throughout the dazzling Italian landscape. Vanessa Redgrave (Claire), the Midas of actors, gives a twenty- four caret gold performance as the older woman seeking the magic of a lost love, vanished but remembered youth; she imbues the role with grace, passion and dignity; Camelot will always be hers, even in the hereafter.
While exiting, peacefully satiated, walking home positive that everlasting togetherness in the genre of Doris Day & Rock Hudson, Audrey Hepburn & Gary Cooper, Kathryn Hepburn & Spencer Tracy, will be eternally theirs. “The End” at the conclusion of “Letters to Juliet” finalized that a match made in Verona is sacred.
What better feeling than realizing that all your expectations were validated, the smugness legitimized, and acknowledging how much we have missed the happy endings in film and in dreams.
THREE STARS!!!
For Now……………Peneflix
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Fellow Movie Lovers
Fellow Movie Lovers
THE SQUARE
“Ah, what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive”, Sir Walter Scott.
These words galloped through my mind for the entirety of this tightly wrought and brilliantly conceived Australian film. This is entanglement at its summit; breathtaking, frightening and shocking to the core.
I have not seen that many Australian films but in 2005 “ Wolf Creek” won my award for the most terrifying movie ever made, because unlike “Halloween” and “ Nightmare on Elm Street” it could have happened; the reality of it made it more horrifying, (Jason and Freddie never die). Even after five years it is permanently tattooed on my memory.
“The Square”, an upscale resort hotel in the development processes, commences with a scene that rendered the audience, after a unifying scream glued to their seats and cringing behind their popcorn.
The premise universal: Ray (David Roberts) the married project developer, his brain roaming from below the neck to above the knee, is in an illicit relationship with Carla (Claire Van Der Boom) the not so innocent beauty married to a low level mobster Greg (Anthony Hayes); his meanness slithers behind his rough exterior. .
The plot is woven tighter than an Indian braid; every centimeter of one’s concentrative powers is demanded to keep up with the tapestry that Nash Edgerton (directorial debut) has woven into this masterpiece of suspense.
There were times during the viewing that I realized that “The Square’s” bewitching intensity grew out of the simplicity of the characters; they were recognizable, average people weaving an inescapable web, a maze, a trap, that resulted in their doom or the despairing annihilation of self.
FOUR STARS !!!! (OUT OF FIVE)
For Now…………Peneflix
THE SQUARE
“Ah, what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive”, Sir Walter Scott.
These words galloped through my mind for the entirety of this tightly wrought and brilliantly conceived Australian film. This is entanglement at its summit; breathtaking, frightening and shocking to the core.
I have not seen that many Australian films but in 2005 “ Wolf Creek” won my award for the most terrifying movie ever made, because unlike “Halloween” and “ Nightmare on Elm Street” it could have happened; the reality of it made it more horrifying, (Jason and Freddie never die). Even after five years it is permanently tattooed on my memory.
“The Square”, an upscale resort hotel in the development processes, commences with a scene that rendered the audience, after a unifying scream glued to their seats and cringing behind their popcorn.
The premise universal: Ray (David Roberts) the married project developer, his brain roaming from below the neck to above the knee, is in an illicit relationship with Carla (Claire Van Der Boom) the not so innocent beauty married to a low level mobster Greg (Anthony Hayes); his meanness slithers behind his rough exterior. .
The plot is woven tighter than an Indian braid; every centimeter of one’s concentrative powers is demanded to keep up with the tapestry that Nash Edgerton (directorial debut) has woven into this masterpiece of suspense.
There were times during the viewing that I realized that “The Square’s” bewitching intensity grew out of the simplicity of the characters; they were recognizable, average people weaving an inescapable web, a maze, a trap, that resulted in their doom or the despairing annihilation of self.
FOUR STARS !!!! (OUT OF FIVE)
For Now…………Peneflix
Monday, May 17, 2010
Fellow Movie Lovers
Fellow Movie Lovers
ROBIN HOOD
If you worship at the alter of The Spectacle your prayers have been heard and answered in spades.
For those who relish the spectacular, sensational epic: “ The Ten Commandments”, “Spartacus” , “ Ben Hur”, “ Cleopatra”, whose thirst for blood and gore is insatiable, Ridley Scott’s “Robin Hood” delivers on all levels: gorgeously filmed, marvelously acted, and a thousand arrows for as many bodies. For the spectacle disciple, heavenly bliss is rained upon you.
That being said it is flawed by historic inaccuracies, a meandering plot lost in the forest and twenty minutes too long. Russell Crowe as the myth in the making creates a tough, sensitive, dynamic Robin and fills the screen with enough testosterone to satisfy the taste of any viewer. He surpasses his Robin predecessors: Douglas Fairbanks, Errol Flynn, Richard Todd, Sean Connery; but Crowe, as adroit as he is, cannot steal the crown, firmly attached to the head of Kevin Costner, the undisputed King of Sherwood Forest.
Cate Blanchett dazzles as Maid Marion; the perfect blend of Joan of Arc and Annie Oakley; she is in command of her life, body and lands. There have been some lovely Maid Marion’s: Enid Bennett, Joan Rice, Audrey Hepburn, Uma Thurman but Blanchett is Robin’s match in mettle and true grit. The screen pulsates with her fire and energy. Their courtship is the melding of two strong wills destined for a marriage greater than the sum of its parts.
Who is Robin Hood? In actuality he is a potpourri of fictional to real life outlaws, first surfacing between 1194-1400 AD: (Robert Hod, a fugitive, Robert of Wetherby, Robyn Hood, porter to King Edward II, 1324). The first literary reference can be found in B-Text of Piers Plowman (1377). He is heralded in various ballads commencing in 1450; the legend magnified and embellished with each telling.
Taking from the rich to enrich the poor has lost some of its romantic vigilantism; achieving legitimate status in many cultures. Robin Hood continues to titillate, excite and woo audiences into a fantasy world where yeoman or princes can triumph and save the day!
TWO & ½ STARS
For Now………..Peneflix
ROBIN HOOD
If you worship at the alter of The Spectacle your prayers have been heard and answered in spades.
For those who relish the spectacular, sensational epic: “ The Ten Commandments”, “Spartacus” , “ Ben Hur”, “ Cleopatra”, whose thirst for blood and gore is insatiable, Ridley Scott’s “Robin Hood” delivers on all levels: gorgeously filmed, marvelously acted, and a thousand arrows for as many bodies. For the spectacle disciple, heavenly bliss is rained upon you.
That being said it is flawed by historic inaccuracies, a meandering plot lost in the forest and twenty minutes too long. Russell Crowe as the myth in the making creates a tough, sensitive, dynamic Robin and fills the screen with enough testosterone to satisfy the taste of any viewer. He surpasses his Robin predecessors: Douglas Fairbanks, Errol Flynn, Richard Todd, Sean Connery; but Crowe, as adroit as he is, cannot steal the crown, firmly attached to the head of Kevin Costner, the undisputed King of Sherwood Forest.
Cate Blanchett dazzles as Maid Marion; the perfect blend of Joan of Arc and Annie Oakley; she is in command of her life, body and lands. There have been some lovely Maid Marion’s: Enid Bennett, Joan Rice, Audrey Hepburn, Uma Thurman but Blanchett is Robin’s match in mettle and true grit. The screen pulsates with her fire and energy. Their courtship is the melding of two strong wills destined for a marriage greater than the sum of its parts.
Who is Robin Hood? In actuality he is a potpourri of fictional to real life outlaws, first surfacing between 1194-1400 AD: (Robert Hod, a fugitive, Robert of Wetherby, Robyn Hood, porter to King Edward II, 1324). The first literary reference can be found in B-Text of Piers Plowman (1377). He is heralded in various ballads commencing in 1450; the legend magnified and embellished with each telling.
Taking from the rich to enrich the poor has lost some of its romantic vigilantism; achieving legitimate status in many cultures. Robin Hood continues to titillate, excite and woo audiences into a fantasy world where yeoman or princes can triumph and save the day!
TWO & ½ STARS
For Now………..Peneflix
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Fellow Movie Lovers
Fellow Movie Lovers
CITY ISLAND
I like Andy Garcia, I have always liked him; whether a good or bad guy; whether a good or bad movie I am always on his side. It is not just his staggering physiognomy or the timber of his voice but the depth of his characterizations; he climbs into the minds of his protagonists, inhabits their foibles and charms, and sheds, like a chrysalis his own predilections and becomes, as in this case Vince Rizzo.
We recognize Vince Rizzo, a man who loves his family and the historical City Island where the inhabitants are divided between the Clam Diggers, who are born and raised there and the Mussel Suckers, the interlopers from the outside. Vince works hard and secretly harbors a dream, a fantasy to be something other than the man reality and circumstances has molded. Jung said “the brighter the light, the darker the shadow”, Vince is the reverse, his shadow is illuminating and ebullient.
This is a movie about secrets. Vince’s wife Joyce (played convincingly by Julianna Margulies, “The Good Wife”) is a frustrated, shrewish, bored receptionist, projecting her lost ambitions on her daughter Vivian (Dominik Garcia-Lorido, the real life daughter of Andy Garcia), using subterfuge to rectify her self made secret. Vince, Jr. hilariously acted by Ezra Miller, has a fetish, so mouth watering gluttonous viewers had to be restrained from poll vaulting to the concession stand.
But secrets need catalysts to unveil and reveal themselves. The two catalysts, in male and female form are brilliantly played by Steven Strait as Tony, a convicted felon that Vince, a prison guard brings home to City Island to build a bathroom in an unused shed on his property; and Emily Mortimer (“Shutter Island”, “Lars and the Real Girl”) as the muse who ignites and instigates Vince’s eventual metamorphosis. Casting at its pinnacle!
This film, teetering on the precipice of greatness is so commandingly real, well-written, exhilaratingly acted that the viewer is unaware of the genius behind its production. But the laughter, joy and warmth it cloaks and leaves with the audience will sustain us through many a chilling film disappointments.
FOUR STARS
For Now………….Peneflix
CITY ISLAND
I like Andy Garcia, I have always liked him; whether a good or bad guy; whether a good or bad movie I am always on his side. It is not just his staggering physiognomy or the timber of his voice but the depth of his characterizations; he climbs into the minds of his protagonists, inhabits their foibles and charms, and sheds, like a chrysalis his own predilections and becomes, as in this case Vince Rizzo.
We recognize Vince Rizzo, a man who loves his family and the historical City Island where the inhabitants are divided between the Clam Diggers, who are born and raised there and the Mussel Suckers, the interlopers from the outside. Vince works hard and secretly harbors a dream, a fantasy to be something other than the man reality and circumstances has molded. Jung said “the brighter the light, the darker the shadow”, Vince is the reverse, his shadow is illuminating and ebullient.
This is a movie about secrets. Vince’s wife Joyce (played convincingly by Julianna Margulies, “The Good Wife”) is a frustrated, shrewish, bored receptionist, projecting her lost ambitions on her daughter Vivian (Dominik Garcia-Lorido, the real life daughter of Andy Garcia), using subterfuge to rectify her self made secret. Vince, Jr. hilariously acted by Ezra Miller, has a fetish, so mouth watering gluttonous viewers had to be restrained from poll vaulting to the concession stand.
But secrets need catalysts to unveil and reveal themselves. The two catalysts, in male and female form are brilliantly played by Steven Strait as Tony, a convicted felon that Vince, a prison guard brings home to City Island to build a bathroom in an unused shed on his property; and Emily Mortimer (“Shutter Island”, “Lars and the Real Girl”) as the muse who ignites and instigates Vince’s eventual metamorphosis. Casting at its pinnacle!
This film, teetering on the precipice of greatness is so commandingly real, well-written, exhilaratingly acted that the viewer is unaware of the genius behind its production. But the laughter, joy and warmth it cloaks and leaves with the audience will sustain us through many a chilling film disappointments.
FOUR STARS
For Now………….Peneflix
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Fellow Movie Lovers
A “BRIEF ENCOUNTER”, WITH “WHERE THE WILD THINGS ARE”
The English poet William Wordsworth wrote “the world is too much with us; late and soon, getting and spending, we lay waste our powers; little we see in Nature that is ours.”
Having just returned from an excursion to Zambia, Botswana, and South Africa where Wordsworth’s powerful poetry written in 1807 plummeted me with its contemporary viability; Africa robbed this urban dweller of all preconceived concepts of what was expected in the African wild. Africa laid waste to any illusions harbored before this miraculous epiphany, baptism in nature and the animal kingdom.
The single engine airplane, flew low over the dense jungle; the airstrip vivisects, slashes, like a Lucia Fontana canvas the untamed wilderness. Only constant landings and takeoffs prohibit the vegetation from consuming what is rightfully theirs, violated, raped by invaders from a technological world.
In Botswana my friend and I were taken by Land Rover, through the bush to a lush camp where we were isolated from a world perpetually peppered with communication. The isolation sang poignantly and shockingly as Mozart, Puccini, Presley, Montana, stripping one’s psyche of petty illusions, desires, energy depriving quests; each laceration gave birth to the purist insight, crystallizing, prioritizing the importance of one’s life and loves. It was so refreshingly beautiful and simple; complete happiness was mine.
African day and nighttime skies defy description; a poet is yet to be born who can portray the frightening, intoxicating, luminous beauty, the magnitude they shower on the universe. One cannot doubt the breath of a supreme being, a celestial alchemist, a Merlin, who with a shake of a wand produces a kaleidoscope of colors, never again to be replicated.
I am abashed and chagrined to admit my ignorance of the animal planet; my limited exposure confined to the Zoo. It was shocking and stunning to be exposed to the unexpected sightings of a myriad of beasts, some I had never heard of, surfacing at will. The animal hierarchy, so eminently sensible and pragmatic, they kill to thrive and survive. Watching the feeding frenzy of lions, hyenas and vultures as they devoured a kudu rendered me slacked jawed and speechless, an unknown phenomena that my friend as a reliable witness can testify to.
I loved the exotic and plentiful Impalas, the ballerinas of the plain. The monumental size of the elephants and hippopotamuses; the swiftness of the leopards and cheetahs; the aggressiveness and meanness of the hyenas and jackals; the delicious taste of the wildebeest and springbok; the wretched ugliness of the warthog, which I declined to ingest: the illusive white rhinoceros (which is black). But my heart embraced the enchanting black and white zebras and the long necked giraffes, there was a kindness, grace and elegance in their every gesture.
Africa, still in its gestation phase opened a window whose existence I was unaware of and shook me with such ferocity that it will remain unhinged and open for eternity. Genesis says “in the beginning was the word”, that word, has to be Africa!
As I left the Dark Continent, which brought illumination to my spirit and with a torn heart, again William Wordsworth’s poetry provided clarity and solace to my psyche:
Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower,
We will grieve not, rather find,
Strength in what remains behind.
Africa, like India years ago, gleaned the detritus and superfluous from my life and paved the way for a deeper strength and profound love of life and mankind.
Peneflix
Next Review…….City Island
The English poet William Wordsworth wrote “the world is too much with us; late and soon, getting and spending, we lay waste our powers; little we see in Nature that is ours.”
Having just returned from an excursion to Zambia, Botswana, and South Africa where Wordsworth’s powerful poetry written in 1807 plummeted me with its contemporary viability; Africa robbed this urban dweller of all preconceived concepts of what was expected in the African wild. Africa laid waste to any illusions harbored before this miraculous epiphany, baptism in nature and the animal kingdom.
The single engine airplane, flew low over the dense jungle; the airstrip vivisects, slashes, like a Lucia Fontana canvas the untamed wilderness. Only constant landings and takeoffs prohibit the vegetation from consuming what is rightfully theirs, violated, raped by invaders from a technological world.
In Botswana my friend and I were taken by Land Rover, through the bush to a lush camp where we were isolated from a world perpetually peppered with communication. The isolation sang poignantly and shockingly as Mozart, Puccini, Presley, Montana, stripping one’s psyche of petty illusions, desires, energy depriving quests; each laceration gave birth to the purist insight, crystallizing, prioritizing the importance of one’s life and loves. It was so refreshingly beautiful and simple; complete happiness was mine.
African day and nighttime skies defy description; a poet is yet to be born who can portray the frightening, intoxicating, luminous beauty, the magnitude they shower on the universe. One cannot doubt the breath of a supreme being, a celestial alchemist, a Merlin, who with a shake of a wand produces a kaleidoscope of colors, never again to be replicated.
I am abashed and chagrined to admit my ignorance of the animal planet; my limited exposure confined to the Zoo. It was shocking and stunning to be exposed to the unexpected sightings of a myriad of beasts, some I had never heard of, surfacing at will. The animal hierarchy, so eminently sensible and pragmatic, they kill to thrive and survive. Watching the feeding frenzy of lions, hyenas and vultures as they devoured a kudu rendered me slacked jawed and speechless, an unknown phenomena that my friend as a reliable witness can testify to.
I loved the exotic and plentiful Impalas, the ballerinas of the plain. The monumental size of the elephants and hippopotamuses; the swiftness of the leopards and cheetahs; the aggressiveness and meanness of the hyenas and jackals; the delicious taste of the wildebeest and springbok; the wretched ugliness of the warthog, which I declined to ingest: the illusive white rhinoceros (which is black). But my heart embraced the enchanting black and white zebras and the long necked giraffes, there was a kindness, grace and elegance in their every gesture.
Africa, still in its gestation phase opened a window whose existence I was unaware of and shook me with such ferocity that it will remain unhinged and open for eternity. Genesis says “in the beginning was the word”, that word, has to be Africa!
As I left the Dark Continent, which brought illumination to my spirit and with a torn heart, again William Wordsworth’s poetry provided clarity and solace to my psyche:
Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower,
We will grieve not, rather find,
Strength in what remains behind.
Africa, like India years ago, gleaned the detritus and superfluous from my life and paved the way for a deeper strength and profound love of life and mankind.
Peneflix
Next Review…….City Island
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Fellow Movie Lovers
Fellow Movie Lovers
IRON MAN 2
Sequels or seconds rarely surpass or measure up to the original; not just in movies but in life. We have all revisited a place where the memories are so vibrant and sacred, chiseled, like granite, in the temple of our consciousness that revisiting those sites rarely ignites the same passion. Thomas Wolfe says we can not go home again; this same holds true for sequels.
Robert Downey, Jr. plays the quixotic, brilliant, innovative Tony Stark, aka the Iron Man. He is good but somehow lacks the flame of creativity , stunningly prevalent in the 2008 version; his performance is so staged and effortless that I had the feeling he was not really there; he was making his “to do list” while prancing around in his costume.
Gwyneth Paltrow (Pepper) and Scarlett Johansson (Natalie) two super beauties in two supercilious roles; their dialogue so trite and vacuous that I was embarrassed for them.
Whenever I reach the looking at my watch or clandestinely checking my Blackberry stage I either have to leave or focus on other aspects of the film. There were two roles that I found riveting and saved me from the mindless purgatory I was quickly being subjected to.
Mickey Rouke (“Diner”, “The Wrestler”) was perfectly cast as the Russian, Whiplash; the evil scientific equivalent to “ the messiah”, Tony Stark. He plays the deleterious genius with such alacrity that the screen dulled with his absence.
And Sam Rockwell as the obsequious politician, Justin Hammer, imbues his character with a slippery, sinuous, deliciously evil charm that is intoxicating to watch; he is amoral to the core and try as we may, would not have him any other way.
“Iron Man 2”, is no exception to the second malaise; in film history the only sequels that outdid the original were “The Godfather” series, so rent those and wait for “Iron Man 2” to appear in DVD form; the wait will not be long!
TWO STARS!
For Now………..Peneflix
IRON MAN 2
Sequels or seconds rarely surpass or measure up to the original; not just in movies but in life. We have all revisited a place where the memories are so vibrant and sacred, chiseled, like granite, in the temple of our consciousness that revisiting those sites rarely ignites the same passion. Thomas Wolfe says we can not go home again; this same holds true for sequels.
Robert Downey, Jr. plays the quixotic, brilliant, innovative Tony Stark, aka the Iron Man. He is good but somehow lacks the flame of creativity , stunningly prevalent in the 2008 version; his performance is so staged and effortless that I had the feeling he was not really there; he was making his “to do list” while prancing around in his costume.
Gwyneth Paltrow (Pepper) and Scarlett Johansson (Natalie) two super beauties in two supercilious roles; their dialogue so trite and vacuous that I was embarrassed for them.
Whenever I reach the looking at my watch or clandestinely checking my Blackberry stage I either have to leave or focus on other aspects of the film. There were two roles that I found riveting and saved me from the mindless purgatory I was quickly being subjected to.
Mickey Rouke (“Diner”, “The Wrestler”) was perfectly cast as the Russian, Whiplash; the evil scientific equivalent to “ the messiah”, Tony Stark. He plays the deleterious genius with such alacrity that the screen dulled with his absence.
And Sam Rockwell as the obsequious politician, Justin Hammer, imbues his character with a slippery, sinuous, deliciously evil charm that is intoxicating to watch; he is amoral to the core and try as we may, would not have him any other way.
“Iron Man 2”, is no exception to the second malaise; in film history the only sequels that outdid the original were “The Godfather” series, so rent those and wait for “Iron Man 2” to appear in DVD form; the wait will not be long!
TWO STARS!
For Now………..Peneflix
Monday, May 10, 2010
Fellow Movie Lovers
Fellow Movie Lovers
PLEASE GIVE
A vastly anticipated film by the talented Nicole Holofcener fell far short of expectations for this film devotee; even the title lacked credibility.
There are solid but predictable performances by Catherine Keener, Oliver Platt, Amanda Peet. But two characters played by Rebecca Hall (“Vicky Christina Barcelona”) and Sarah Steele were worth focusing on and salvaged the film from total tedium.
The title implies a plea for a charitable contribution; living in a major metropolis, where it is easy to develop a relationship with some of the indigents; they “rent” their corners or steps, become part of our visual landscape, and are religious in protecting their turf. There is a guilt that some of the fortunate feel for the less endowed or financially deprived and those soliciting capitalize on that guilt. This is fair; it is a tough way to survive and one of my favorites is a man who is “blind” but is an actor of sorts because his blindness is a ruse and my guilt lies in the fact that I know he sees me and would be hurt if I did not give; so I have helped support him over the years and it is a relationship that has been mutually beneficial to both.
In “Please Give” Kate (Catherine Keener) and her husband Alex (Oliver Platt) sell used furniture purchased from “dead peoples children”. They live next door to Andra, a cantankerous woman (delightfully depicted by Ann Morgan Giulbert) approaching her ninety- first birthday and have made it obvious that her demise would be gleefully welcomed, precipitating their planned expansion of their home, which they share with their caustic, attractively disadvantaged teenaged daughter Abby (Sarah Steele, a gifted talent in the embryonic stages).
Kate and Alex are at a stalemate in their marriage, or maybe the partnership, devoid of passion, is just stale. She tries to purchase from those less endowed her salvation and he, bereft of literary curiosity, seeks stimulation from television personalities or the obvious, mundane male diversion.
An unlikely friendship develops between Andra’s caring granddaughter Rebecca (sensitively played by Rebecca Hall) and Abby; they are analytic, intelligent and insightful young adults and rescue the film from the banality which surrounds them.
Leaving the theatre I was approached by two young women who asked me what the message or moral of the film was; after a twenty- four hour marination process I have concluded two things. Primarily Kate, looking to the homeless, physically or mentally challenged to fill the vacant canyon in her soul would be better served by several sessions on a psychologist’s couch.
Secondly, if you are a fifteen year old with bad skin feel free to verbally attack the parent who gifted you the affliction.
I can barely “give” “Please Give”,
TWO STARS!
For Now…………Peneflix
Caveat. Your movie appetite would be satisfying satiated by seeing “The Secret in Their Eyes”; winner of the Academy Award for best Foreign Film.
PLEASE GIVE
A vastly anticipated film by the talented Nicole Holofcener fell far short of expectations for this film devotee; even the title lacked credibility.
There are solid but predictable performances by Catherine Keener, Oliver Platt, Amanda Peet. But two characters played by Rebecca Hall (“Vicky Christina Barcelona”) and Sarah Steele were worth focusing on and salvaged the film from total tedium.
The title implies a plea for a charitable contribution; living in a major metropolis, where it is easy to develop a relationship with some of the indigents; they “rent” their corners or steps, become part of our visual landscape, and are religious in protecting their turf. There is a guilt that some of the fortunate feel for the less endowed or financially deprived and those soliciting capitalize on that guilt. This is fair; it is a tough way to survive and one of my favorites is a man who is “blind” but is an actor of sorts because his blindness is a ruse and my guilt lies in the fact that I know he sees me and would be hurt if I did not give; so I have helped support him over the years and it is a relationship that has been mutually beneficial to both.
In “Please Give” Kate (Catherine Keener) and her husband Alex (Oliver Platt) sell used furniture purchased from “dead peoples children”. They live next door to Andra, a cantankerous woman (delightfully depicted by Ann Morgan Giulbert) approaching her ninety- first birthday and have made it obvious that her demise would be gleefully welcomed, precipitating their planned expansion of their home, which they share with their caustic, attractively disadvantaged teenaged daughter Abby (Sarah Steele, a gifted talent in the embryonic stages).
Kate and Alex are at a stalemate in their marriage, or maybe the partnership, devoid of passion, is just stale. She tries to purchase from those less endowed her salvation and he, bereft of literary curiosity, seeks stimulation from television personalities or the obvious, mundane male diversion.
An unlikely friendship develops between Andra’s caring granddaughter Rebecca (sensitively played by Rebecca Hall) and Abby; they are analytic, intelligent and insightful young adults and rescue the film from the banality which surrounds them.
Leaving the theatre I was approached by two young women who asked me what the message or moral of the film was; after a twenty- four hour marination process I have concluded two things. Primarily Kate, looking to the homeless, physically or mentally challenged to fill the vacant canyon in her soul would be better served by several sessions on a psychologist’s couch.
Secondly, if you are a fifteen year old with bad skin feel free to verbally attack the parent who gifted you the affliction.
I can barely “give” “Please Give”,
TWO STARS!
For Now…………Peneflix
Caveat. Your movie appetite would be satisfying satiated by seeing “The Secret in Their Eyes”; winner of the Academy Award for best Foreign Film.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Fellow Movie Lovers
Fellow Movie Lovers
For over six months you’ve been bright and avid readers,
And now with some regret I am gifting you a breather!
It is with great expectation and some trepidation,
That I venture forth on this wild, exotic vacation.
My friend and I no longer too young,
Will tackle the bush and avoid the sun.
With copious sightings of untamed beasts,
We pray, not yearning for an American feast.
For almost four weeks no film will I view,
But expect from YOU as to what to review!
For Now………….Peneflix
For over six months you’ve been bright and avid readers,
And now with some regret I am gifting you a breather!
It is with great expectation and some trepidation,
That I venture forth on this wild, exotic vacation.
My friend and I no longer too young,
Will tackle the bush and avoid the sun.
With copious sightings of untamed beasts,
We pray, not yearning for an American feast.
For almost four weeks no film will I view,
But expect from YOU as to what to review!
For Now………….Peneflix
Monday, April 5, 2010
Fellow Movie Lovers
Fellow Movie Lovers
THE DIARY OF ANNE FRANK (Sunday, April 11, 2010 at 9 PM on PBS)
How many times have we read, seen and anguished over the fate of the doomed Anne?
No matter how often, our nature prays for a different ending, a joyful conclusion, where the Franks and their neighbors emerge from their self- imposed imprisonment into a world purged of evil, a world where goodness takes it rightful place on the throne of humanity.
Let us imagine an adult Anne (she would be approaching her eighty-first birthday) an accomplished Anne, a writer, a doctor, wife, mother, grandmother? She would be lined, arthritic, but like the finest steel, strong of mind and character because of her wartime experiences. Maybe she would have been recruited by Jewish Organizations to speak world wide about her travails or maybe her Diary would have remained buried, waiting for a Lily Koppel (The Red Leather Diary) to resurrect its author and breathe life into its long comatose pages. These fanciful speculations, are simply whimsical, wishful hopes; “if onlys”, slaughtered by reality.
This PBS production of “The Diary of Anne Frank” should be seen by all. Anne (perfectly portrayed by Ellie Kendrick) is a modern young woman; she embraces the diary she receives on her thirteenth birthday, days before her family’s clandestine exile in the attic of a commercial building in Amsterdam; she names her diary Kitty a homage to her beloved cat left behind. The year is 1942, she has less than three years to live, but live she does and records every meaningful moment. Anne is universal, like all thirteen year olds she feels the frustrations of puberty, patronizing adults, confinement; striving for individuality amongst those barricaded in the memory of the life they have been excommunicated from, clairvoyance terrifying!
Socrates said “an unexamined life is not worth living” and Anne dissects her microscopic universe and its inhabitants with wisdom and understanding far surpassing her youth. Through bombings and daily fear of betrayal she fills her diary with hope, love and a feisty fight for her keen sense of individuality.
This production, so different from the 1959 version (Millie Perkins) lacks sentimentality therefore is more contemporary in its approach. Watching these caged people who strive religiously to maintain their dignity (the men donned ties and jackets everyday) and knowing their dismal future is brutally poignant.
Anne dies of typhus in Bergen Belsen concentration camp in March 1945, three months shy of her sixteenth birthday. In questioning why, I have concluded that we all live as long as ordained by the gods or fate. Anne in her miniscule minute on this earth has gifted mankind a treasure of infinitesimal proportions; she is the icon, the patron saint of survival, courage and beauty in a world where light was anathema and bleakness prevailed. She fulfilled in fifteen years her destiny!
PBS is to be lauded and applauded for bringing Anne back to life!
FOUR STARS!
FOR Now………..Peneflix
THE DIARY OF ANNE FRANK (Sunday, April 11, 2010 at 9 PM on PBS)
How many times have we read, seen and anguished over the fate of the doomed Anne?
No matter how often, our nature prays for a different ending, a joyful conclusion, where the Franks and their neighbors emerge from their self- imposed imprisonment into a world purged of evil, a world where goodness takes it rightful place on the throne of humanity.
Let us imagine an adult Anne (she would be approaching her eighty-first birthday) an accomplished Anne, a writer, a doctor, wife, mother, grandmother? She would be lined, arthritic, but like the finest steel, strong of mind and character because of her wartime experiences. Maybe she would have been recruited by Jewish Organizations to speak world wide about her travails or maybe her Diary would have remained buried, waiting for a Lily Koppel (The Red Leather Diary) to resurrect its author and breathe life into its long comatose pages. These fanciful speculations, are simply whimsical, wishful hopes; “if onlys”, slaughtered by reality.
This PBS production of “The Diary of Anne Frank” should be seen by all. Anne (perfectly portrayed by Ellie Kendrick) is a modern young woman; she embraces the diary she receives on her thirteenth birthday, days before her family’s clandestine exile in the attic of a commercial building in Amsterdam; she names her diary Kitty a homage to her beloved cat left behind. The year is 1942, she has less than three years to live, but live she does and records every meaningful moment. Anne is universal, like all thirteen year olds she feels the frustrations of puberty, patronizing adults, confinement; striving for individuality amongst those barricaded in the memory of the life they have been excommunicated from, clairvoyance terrifying!
Socrates said “an unexamined life is not worth living” and Anne dissects her microscopic universe and its inhabitants with wisdom and understanding far surpassing her youth. Through bombings and daily fear of betrayal she fills her diary with hope, love and a feisty fight for her keen sense of individuality.
This production, so different from the 1959 version (Millie Perkins) lacks sentimentality therefore is more contemporary in its approach. Watching these caged people who strive religiously to maintain their dignity (the men donned ties and jackets everyday) and knowing their dismal future is brutally poignant.
Anne dies of typhus in Bergen Belsen concentration camp in March 1945, three months shy of her sixteenth birthday. In questioning why, I have concluded that we all live as long as ordained by the gods or fate. Anne in her miniscule minute on this earth has gifted mankind a treasure of infinitesimal proportions; she is the icon, the patron saint of survival, courage and beauty in a world where light was anathema and bleakness prevailed. She fulfilled in fifteen years her destiny!
PBS is to be lauded and applauded for bringing Anne back to life!
FOUR STARS!
FOR Now………..Peneflix
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