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Best Picture Movie Marathon, Part 89

Part 89: 2012


MOVIES:

  • Moneyball (hidden gem)

  • Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close

  • The Descendents

  • Hugo

  • The Artist (winner)

  • The Help

  • War Horse

  • Midnight in Paris

Moneyball

Director: Bennett Miller

Starring: Brad Pitt, Jonah Hill, Philip Seymour Hoffman, Robin Wright, Chris Pratt, Stephen Bishop, Reed Diamond, Brent Jennings, Ken Medlock, Jack McGee, Vyto Ruginis, Nick Searcy, Glenn Morshower, Casey Bond, Nick Porrazzo, Kerris Dorsey, Arliss Howard, Derrin Ebert, Miguel Mendoza, Adrian Bellani, Art Ortiz, Royce Clayton, Bobby Kotick

Oscar Wins: No wins.

Other Nominations: Best Actor (Brad Pitt), Best Supporting Actor (Jonah Hill), Best Film Editing, Best Sound Mixing, Best Writing (Adapted Screenplay), Best Picture

 

Every movie about America’s favorite pastime has one thing in common: a headstrong dreamer. Almost every baseball movie I’ve ever seen has a guy willing to give up pretty much everything - including his pride, his family, or his backyard - for the love of the game.

 

The dreamer at the center of Moneyball is Billy Beane (Brad Pitt), a once promising rookie-turned-washout who is driven solely by his hatred of losing. In his previous season as general manager of the Oakland Athletics, he led the team to the Division Championship games, only to have them lose against the New York Yankees in the final game of the series. Worse still, they lost their three best players to wealthier ball clubs.

Faced with rebuilding a team on a tight budget, Beane finds a solution in a stout nerd named Peter Brand (Jonah Hill), a recent Yale graduate who never played a game of baseball in his life yet has radical ideas about evaluating players. With the help of statistics, Brand’s theory uses an algorithm to highlight undervalued players. These guys may not look the part, but they score runs. By ignoring everything he’s been taught about the game, Beane quickly transforms one of the poorest teams in baseball into serious competition for the wealthiest franchises, all with the help of Excel.

 

Of course, not everyone sees the big picture here. Talent scouts aren’t too keen about this new tactic. Over tables filled with cups of tobacco spit, these men lay into Beane and his new methods. These old-timers know what works – pretty boys with plenty of confidence. They need to spend the money to bring in the big guns, so to speak…but Beane doesn’t think so. His plan involves targeting rookies and low-paying players who are good at scoring runs, not chicks. If all goes well, it just might be the curveball the Athletics need to finally make it to the World Series.

Unlike Field of Dreams or Pride of the Yankees, Moneyball is best when it’s not on the field. The best scenes take place in boardrooms, not on baseball diamonds. It’s a film that reminds us that sports teams are, first and foremost, a business. Players being traded like baseball cards is especially hard when we’re witness to the stoic faces that sit in room after room, listening to the same refrain of “it’s not personal…it’s just business.” These decisions to keep or ditch players are made at the drop of a hat, or with a sporadic phone call to another GM at 4:30 pm on a Wednesday. Through it all, players are expected to go along with it because – as we all know – there’s no crying in baseball, but we’re witness to the pain on their faces here, and those are some powerful, heartbreaking scenes.

 

But Moneyball isn’t all sad…in fact, most of it is actually quite funny. As Billy Beane, Brad Pitt offers one of his best performances, complete with his trademark wit and charm. Watching him square off against the veteran talent scouts or play against Jonah Hill’s stiff accountant-type are reminders that Brad is best when he’s playing himself. It also helps that he looks like an athlete here – or someone who used to be one – which suits Beane perfectly.

The story of Moneyball proves the importance of both big data and big ideas. Over the years, the theory that Beane and Brand developed would come to have a lasting legacy in baseball, allowing teams with significantly lower budgets to choose players that would allow them to successfully compete against big-market teams. Even the Red Sox, who offered Billy Beane a $12.5 million salary to come work for them (which he turned down), used the model to win the World Series two years later.

 

Though Moneyball isn’t a sports movie in the traditional sense, it offers us all the same ingredients: clever dialogue, heartfelt moments, and a classic underdog you can’t help but love. It may not take us to the field, but it still hits a home run.

 

The Tree of Life

Director: Terrence Malick

Starring: Brad Pitt, Jessica Chastain, Sean Penn, Hunter McCracken, Finnegan Williams, Michael Koeth, Laramie Eppler, John Howell, Tye Sheridan, Kari Matchett, Joanna Going, Michael Showers, Kimberly Whalen, Jackson Hurst, Fiona Shaw, Crystal Mantecon, Tamara Jolaine, Dustin Allen, Tommy Hollis

Oscar Wins: No wins.

Other Nominations: Best Cinematography, Best Director, Best Picture

 

To say The Tree of Life starts at the beginning would be an understatement. It’s a film of vast ambition and humility, one that attempts to encompass all of life’s existence and view it through the prism of a family growing up in 1950’s Texas. Directed by the artsiest of all artsy directors, Terrence Malick, this film is not your traditional point A to point B commercial success story. This is a film meant to be hung in an art museum, one you stare at until you arrive at the hidden meaning that lies within its canvas.

The main plot, if you can even call it that, centers around the O’Brien’s, made up of dad (Brad Pitt), mom (Jessica Chastain), and their three boys Jack (Hunter McCracken), R.L. (Laramie Eppler) and Steve (Tye Sheridan). Though these characters are rarely mentioned by name, they’re all recognizable. We see ourselves in them, or our parents, or our parents’ parents. These scenes portray what childhood was like in a town in the American midlands, where life flew in and out through open windows, houses were never locked, dads mowed lawns in dress pants, and the skin of children was kissed by the sun and scuffed by play.

 

The film’s take on everyday life – which was inspired by Malick’s own memories of his hometown in Waco, Texas – is united by two immense ideas: one of space and time, and the other of spirituality. The Tree of Life has awe-inspiring visuals of the expansion of the universe interwoven between shots of the O’Brien family living their everyday lives. These scenes of life on a microscopic level and the evolution of species leads to the present moment – to all of us. They’re shot in a way that seems new, like we’re seeing a tree, a river, a cloud for the first time…asking ourselves why these things exist. Why does anything exist at all? And, maybe the biggest question of all, what comes after?

In whispered words near the beginning of The Tree of Life, “nature” and “grace” are heard. They dance together throughout the film and are brought to life through the parents, Mr. and Mrs. O’Brien.

 

Mr. O’Brien is nature – a strict disciplinarian who presides over his children like a pained tyrant, trying to force them to appreciate music, yet also challenging them to toughen up, demanding they punch him in the face in sparring sessions in the front yard. Is he strict? Sure, but he’s only doing what he thinks is right, as he was reared. We see the influence of his parenting through an older Jack (Sean Penn), who struggles with his own mental health as he approaches middle age.

Mrs. O’Brien is grace – a gentle, religious soul who asks her sons to follow the way of spirituality, rather than be content to thrive as natural beings. She’s always shot in an ethereal light, bathed in sunshine and surrounded by butterflies that land on her hand. She’s the one who tells us that “…there are two ways in life: the way of nature and the way of grace” and the film’s purpose is to determine what those choices mean and if there’s anything out there beyond the known universe, guiding us toward one or the other.

 

The best way to describe The Tree of Life is that it’s like watching a poem. And, as with poetry, we cannot hope to comprehend every concept that’s thrown at us – and there are a lot of them – nor will we likely ever understand Malick’s true message. Yet, in it we see things we all recognize – a rushing waterfall, the celebration of new life, the gleeful screams of children soaking up every second of their summer – if not in a new way. It all happens in the blink of a lifetime, surrounded by the realms of unimaginable time and space.

 

Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close

Director: Stephen Daldry

Starring: Thomas Horn, Max von Sydow, Sandra Bullock, Tom Hanks, Viola Davis, Madison Arnold, John Goodman, Jeffrey Wright, Zoe Caldwell, Hazelle Goodman, Adrian Martinez, Stephen Henderson, Stephanie Kurtzuba, Catherine Curtin

Oscar Wins: No wins.

Other Nominations: Best Supporting Actor (Max von Sydow), Best Picture

 

Losing a loved one is heart-wrenching, particularly when it’s unexpected. For 11-year-old Oskar Schell (Thomas Horn), who lost his father Thomas (Tom Hanks) in the 9/11 attacks on the World Trade Center, understanding his death is just as hard, if not harder, than coping with it.

 

As a father, Thomas was a paragon, involving Oskar in mind games, puzzles and scavenger hunts to force him into the world. Perhaps he suspected what Oskar now tells us about himself: He may have Asperger’s syndrome, or – at the very least – autism. With little to no social skills, but still highly intelligent, Oskar needed that kind of encouragement and motivation to get out of the house and talk to people – and his dad’s challenges were compelling.

One year after Thomas’s death, Oskar continues to relive memories of “The Worst Day”, as he calls it. In his bedroom, he has a secret shrine to his father, filled with meaningful items, including an answering machine containing the last voicemails his dad left before the towers collapsed. Carrying the shame and guilt of not answering the phone that day, Oskar alienates his grieving mother, Linda (Sandra Bullock) and tries to process a new normal the only way he knows how: by searching for clues.

 

While exploring his father’s closet, Oskar accidently knocks over a vase, revealing a small envelope with the word “Black” on it. Inside is a key. Oskar immediately assumes that his father planned this all out. The key becomes the catalyst for a scavenger hunt and narrative that Oskar creates in his head to help him make sense of everything. This discovery awakens a sense of purpose in him – if he could find the lock to this key, he might be able to unearth something about his father, drawing him closer to his fading memory.

Assuming “Black” is a name, Oskar sets out to visit everyone in New York named Black, which equates to about 472 people. Equipped with a notebook, a camera, a copy of A Brief History of Time (because we’re not pretentious enough), and his tambourine, Oskar sets out on foot to explore all of New York’s burrows, one at a time.

 

The idea of an 11-year-old walking from the Upper West Side to Brooklyn (all while not going to school, apparently) gives this story an almost fairy tale-like quality. During his excursions, he meets a multitude of men and women who greet him with smiles, tears, hugs and prayers – almost as if he’s this holy child who was the only one who lost someone during 9/11.

 

Yet, Oskar is honestly kind of a jerk. His personality and treatment of other people is difficult to sit through for a few minutes, let alone 129 of them. Though I’m not discrediting the fact that he might have a personality disorder (it’s never confirmed or denied), his negative attitude towards the doorman (John Goodman) seems unwarranted and his harshness to his mother is just plain mean. I can forgive the anger felt in losing a parent, but some of the things he says to people are straight daggers to the heart. Hard to feel for a kid with that much hatred inside him.

There’s also a side-story involving an old man called The Renter (Max von Sydow) who can’t, or won’t, talk. Instead, he uses hand-written notes to talk to others. His involvement with Oskar is barely explored, and his potentially interesting backstory is given background treatment. In the end, it seems his involvement hardly even mattered at all.

 

But my biggest issue with Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close involves its use of 9/11. This movie tries to make us feel that Oskar’s tragedy is somehow heightened by the fact that 9/11 is what took his dad from him, not the actual loss itself. It’s like it HAD to be 9/11 in order to increase the legitimacy of the tragedy…and Oskar is keen to mention that his dad died in the towers at least 10 times. Like Oskar wouldn’t be just as hurt if Thomas died from cancer? Or a car accident? Or a heart attack? The film capitalizes on 9/11 in a way that feels dirty – like you should like the movie because “it’s about 9/11” and if you don’t, well, what does that say about you? Yeah, no thanks.

I would have had more respect for this movie if it actually capitalized on that fairy tale aspect instead. Tell the story from Oskar’s perspective. Take us into that amazing journal he made that we only see a snippet of in the last freaking scene of the movie. Show us how a kid like Oskar uses his imagination not only as a way to escape, but as a way to heal.


Throughout the film we see so many teeny tiny nods to Oskar’s creativity and cleverness, yet the film mainly focuses on his aggression. I think in the hands of a more sympathetic, child-like director (I’m looking at you, Wes Anderson), this may have been a much better, more heart-felt, more relatable film that not only explored the heartbreak of losing someone, but how we use our imagination and our memories to find them again.

 

The Descendants

Director: Alexander Payne

Starring: George Clooney, Shailene Woodley, Amara Miller, Nick Krause, Beau Bridges, Judy Greer, Matthew Lillard, Robert Forster, Patricia Hastie, Mary Birdsong, Rob Huebel, Milt Kogan, Laird Hamilton, Michael Ontkean, Matt Corboy

Oscar Wins: Best Writing (Adapted Screenplay)

Other Nominations: Best Actor (George Clooney), Best Director, Best Film Editing, Best Picture

 

“Paradise can go fuck itself,” says Matt King (George Clooney) in the voice-over that opens The Descendants. He’s grumbling about friends who think that just because he lives in Hawaii, he doesn’t have any real problems.

 

As it happens, Matt is dealing with a lot at the moment. Just as the 25,000 unspoiled acres his family has owned for generations are about to be auctioned off to golf-course developers, his wife Elizabeth (Patricia Hastie) is thrown from a speeding motorboat and winds up in a coma. Suddenly rocked from “backup parent” to single parent, Matt has to learn to navigate his business, his wife’s dying wishes, his overbearing in-laws, and his two temperamental daughters – Alexandra (Shailene Woodley) and Scottie (Amara Miller) – all on his own.

The land deal, which is forefront on Matt’s mind at the beginning of the film, is big business…emotionally and financially. Just because everyone comes to the family meeting in Hawaiian shirts doesn’t make them saps. Most of Matt’s cousins, including the main ringleader, Hugh (Beau Bridges), want him to sell. However, Matt’s daughters want to keep the land, as it holds memories of their childhoods and time spent with their mom.

 

Before Elizabeth’s accident, Matt was leaning towards selling – but now everything is in upheaval. In a subtle undercurrent, the film suggests that Matt may have lost touch with his wife and daughters after first losing touch with the land he came from – now that all of that is in jeopardy, Matt has no where to turn. Things get even more complicated when Matt learns from an unexpected source that his dying wife was having an affair and was planning on leaving him anyway.

The first time I saw The Descendants, I didn’t care for it. It was my first Alexender Payne film and I found the whole thing just sad and depressing. Now, having lost both of my parents, I see the film much differently. This is an honest portrayal of grief and acceptance, of the anger and hurt that comes with not only losing someone you love, but realizing they may not have been who you thought they were. Is Matt just expected to forgive Elizabeth for cheating on him because she’s on her death bed? Does that make her actions hurt any less? Does the fact that she’s dying mean Matt can’t grieve or lash out at her like he would if she were alive?

 

Many of these exchanges between Matt and his comatose wife, as well as Matt and his daughters, and Matt and the man Elizabeth was sleeping with (Matthew Lillard), are constantly teetering on the brink of hostility. They’re messy and clumsy, and their exchanges lead to moments we feel bad laughing at…

But we laugh anyway. The Descendants would be unbearable if it was played straight. This is a movie that understands that people often use humor to diffuse the worst moments of their lives, whether appropriate or not.

 

Throughout his long career, George Clooney has been a solid and reliable actor – but he rarely tests himself. When he’s not playing a thinly veiled version of “George Clooney”, he’s some kind of goofball which, if you know about Clooney’s antics on set, is also very close to his normal behavior. But here, Clooney embodies a tired, middle-aged man with the weight of the world on his shoulders. His hair is gray and messy. When he runs, his little gut bounces up and down. He’s not romantic, charming, or charismatic. It’s a role that requires him to strip down and stand, imperfectly, before the camera (metaphorically, not physically – calm down 😉) and remains one of his truest, most honest performances to date.

 

Dealing with grief is…complicated. How you grieve for your pet is different than how you grieve for your dad which is different than how you grieve for your grandparent. In the grand scheme of things, it’s nice to think that we can forgive and forget when we’re with a loved one on their death bed, but the truth is it’s not that simple. The Descendants reminds us that sometimes, things are left unsaid, unfulfilled, unforgiven…and we may not get that closure we need. But we can do our best to move on, to continue living and loving, and to remind ourselves that those we lost were not perfect, but we loved them anyway…and to remember them that way as well.

 

Hugo

Director: Martin Scorsese

Starring: Asa Butterfield, Chloe Grace Moretz, Ben Kingsley, Sacha Baron Cohen, Ray Winstone, Emily Mortimer, Jude Law, Helen McCrory, Michael Stuhlbarg, Christopher Lee, Frances de la Tour, Richard Griffiths, Kevin Eldon, Gulliver McGrath, Angus Barnett, Ben Addis, Emil Lager, Robert Gill, Marco Aponte, Michael Pitt, Martin Scorsese, Brian Selznick

Oscar Wins: Best Sound Editing, Best Art Direction, Best Visual Effects, Best Cinematography, Best Sound Mixing

Other Nominations: Best Music (Original Score), Best Director, Best Costume Design, Best Writing (Adapted Screenplay), Best Film Editing, Best Picture

 

The only family front and center in most of Marin Scorsese’s movies is THE Family. Usually rated R for violence, obscenity and nudity, his films are often critical darlings, but inaccessible to family audiences.

 

So, what happens when the guy who brought us Taxi Driver, Raging Bull, Goodfellas and The Departed decides to make a movie not starring the family, but for the family? Well, what happens is something quite mesmerizing.

 

Hugo Cabret (Asa Butterfield) has inherited a love of tinkering with machinery from his late father (Jude Law) and has recently taken over the job of managing the clocks at Gare Montparnasse, one of the largest train stations in Paris.

Not only does he work in the train station, but he also lives there, hiding himself in the maze of ladders, catwalks, passages and gears of the clockworks themselves. He’s actually quite the crafty Dickensian orphan, stealing croissants when he’s hungry, avoiding the bumbling station inspector (Sacha Baron Cohen), and nabbing tools and mechanical parts from a toy store in the station so he can work on fixing his father’s unfinished automaton.

 

Soon fate draws him into the orbit of the querulous old toy shop owner, Georges (Ben Kingsley), who runs his business with the assistance of his 12-year-old goddaughter, Isabelle (Chloe Grace Moretz). Hugo and Isabelle bond over their love of stories – movies for him, books for her. When Hugo learns that Isabelle has never seen a film, he takes her on a great “adventure”, a visit to the lost world of silent movies. She is overwhelmed.

As their friendship blossoms, Hugo invites Isabelle up to see his automaton and – wouldn’t you know it – she has just the piece he needs to fix it! As they work together to solve the mystery of the automaton and what it’s trying to tell them, they stumble into an adventure that will unlock a closely guarded secret – and bring renewed hope and meaning to more people than just Hugo.

 

Like most of Scorsese’s films, Hugo is a long, winding tale that’s exciting in some parts and slow in others. It’s a beautiful movie to watch, with bright colors, sharp lines, and stunning CGI…but sometimes it gets in its own way. There are a lot of storylines going on here, and there’s a lot of cinematic history packed into the gaps. Though it was marketed as a family film, chances are most 10-year-olds won’t really care about the origins of 19th century cinema or the career of George Melies…but Scorsese doesn’t care. He didn’t make the film for them. He made it for himself.

Hugo is a movie for people who love movies. Though it takes place in a real time in a real place, the movie isn’t going for realism. In this world, the focus is on the theatrical. The costumes are brighter, the hair is bigger, the sets and props are designed to look like sets and props. This isn’t a real world, this is a movie world…and it does a wonderful job of paying homage to those films, those directors, those ideas, that have turned Hollywood into what it is today.

 

Moving, funny and imaginative, Hugo is an interactive history lesson in the form of a detective story. It’s a great defense of the cinema as a world all its own, rejecting the sneers of those who view movies simply as an escape from reality. Movies are so much more than that. They are where dreams are made of.

 

The Artist

Director: Michel Hazanavicius

Starring: Jean Dujardin, Berenice Bejo, Uggie the Dog, John Goodman, James Cromwell, Missi Pyle, Penelope Ann Miller, Malcolm McDowell, Bitsie Tulloch, Beth Grant, Ed Lauter, Joel Murray, Ken Davitian, Jen Lilley, Nina Siemaszko, Jewel Shepard, Basil Hoffman, Ben Kurland, Bill Fagerbakke, Adria Tennor

Oscar Wins: Best Actor (Jean Dujardin), Best Music (Original Score), Best Costume Design, Best Director, Best Picture

Other Nominations: Best Supporting Actress (Berenice Bejo), Best Film Editing, Best Cinematography, Best Art Direction, Best Writing (Original Screenplay)

 

How much do you love movies? That’s the question you should probably be asking yourself before seeing a movie like The Artist. Though it’s not a guarantee, I’d venture a guess that your enjoyment of The Artist will fluctuate in relation to how much of a movie buff you are. Why? Because The Artist is one of two films this year (the other being Hugo) that is entirely devoted to the art of filmmaking.


Filled with cheeky references to both silent films and classic Hollywood productions like A Star is Born, Citizen Kane and Singing in the Rain, The Artist tells the story of George Valentin (Jean Dujardin), a suave, debonair silent film star who’s a healthy combination of Gene Kelly and Maurice Chevalier. With great comedic timing and theatrical body language (including a set of eyebrows and a moustache that won’t quit!), Dujardin looks like he might have been, well, a silent movie star.

As an actor at the top of his game, George has it all: a co-star who idolizes him (Uggie the dog – what a delight!), a chauffeur who will do anything for him (James Cromwell), and a fanbase that loves and supports him.


When we first meet George, it’s at the opening of his film, A Russian Affair – a story in which he appears to be playing a soldier battling for Georgian independence. The Russians are seen torturing his character in the opening scene, trying to get him to talk, but he won’t. This, dear friends, is what we in the biz call foreshadowing…


After the film, a fan named Peppy Miller (Berenice Bejo) gives George a little peck on the cheek, driving the press and the photographers outside the premier crazy. The next day, their photo is splashed across the front page. “WHO’S THAT GIRL?” reads the headlines. Everyone, including Valentin, is obsessed with her, and their flirtation – and her infatuation with him – earns Peppy a break in the movies.

From here, it’s your average A Star is Born formula. As Peppy succeeds in impressing George’s producer Al Zimmer (John Goodman) and embracing the new technology of “talkies”, George grumpily rejects them as a mere fad. “If [talkies] are the future, I want no part of it,” he says. She is on the upward escalator of success, passing George on his way down – yesterday’s man.


George’s refusal to talk runs through the entire plot. His character refuses to talk in the film, A Russian Affair; he refuses to participate in any film that includes sound or talking; he even refuses to talk to his wife about his failing career and their crumbling marriage. While his pride is certainly a factor here, it’s not the only reason George refuses to open his mouth…


George, in his hot-headed way, believes talkies are crass. George is an artist…and silence is art. The movie itself takes George’s side by being (mostly) silent until George inevitably strikes bottom and has to embrace change or move on.

From a technical standpoint, The Artist is very well done. The sound design, for example, is masterful. It may seem odd to highlight sound in a mostly silent film, but the lack of sound – then the application of it in crucial instances – helps make The Artist a technical achievement. It also looks great, even for a black and white movie. The costumes and sets still pop, even with a dull color palette…and it’s slightly ironic that we can see how amazing black and white pictures look today with the right technology.


The cast is also great. Both Jean Dujardin and Berenice Bejo have that classic Hollywood glamour that would certainly appeal to casting agents of yesteryear. John Goodman in particular seems to be having a hell of a good time here, communicating loudly, yet silently, with every part of his anatomy.


But overall, I don’t subscribe to the notion that The Artist was deserving of all the praise it got. The plot wasn’t anything new, the story wasn’t all that entertaining, even the music was borrowed from Vertigo. The whole thing felt gimmicky and not in a good way. It’s a film that feels like a slave to its references, and its reliance on the ability to showcase a love for classic Hollywood got in the way of its effectiveness.

 

The Help

Director: Tate Taylor

Starring: Emma Stone, Viola Davis, Octavia Spencer, Jessica Chastain, Bryce Dallas Howard, Allison Janney, Ahna O'Reilly, Emma Henry, Eleanor Henry, Sissy Spacek, Chris Lowell, Mike Vogel, Wes Chatham, Cicely Tyson, Anna Camp, Ashley Johnson, Brian Kerwin, Aunjanue Ellis, Mary Steenburgen, Leslie Jordan, David Oyelowo, Dana Ivey, Shane McRae, Carol Sutton, Nelsan Ellis, LaChanze

Oscar Wins: Best Supporting Actress (Octavia Spencer)

Other Nominations: Best Actress (Viola Davis), Best Supporting Actress (Jessica Chastain), Best Picture

 

“This isn’t about me,” aspiring journalist Skeeter Phelan (Emma Stone) assures housemaid Aibileen Clark (Viola Davis) as they sit together in Aibileen’s kitchen. By “this”, Skeeter means the book she’s writing, based on the testimonials of black housemaids. Her book is called “The Help”, and it aims to showcase what it’s like to be a black woman in Jackson, Mississippi in the early 1960s.

 

Skeeter – a brainy, outgoing woman freshly graduated from Ole Miss – eventually convinces Aibileen to tell her story…and together they produce an oral history scandalous enough to turn Jackson’s Junior League on its ear. But we’re never quite sure if we should believe Skeeter’s claim or not – because, after all, this movie is about her. The Help is yet another feel-good fable in which institutional racism takes a backseat to the personal enlightenment of one white character.

Skeeter’s idea for a book begins to take shape when her friend, Hilly Holbrook (Bryce Dallas Howard) starts a campaign to pass a bill requiring separate “colored” bathrooms for houses with domestic help. When Hilly’s maid Milly (Octavia Spencer) defiantly uses her boss’s bathroom, Hilly fires her and Minny (after taking obnoxious revenge on Hilly) goes to work for Celia Foote (Jessica Chastain), a ditzy newlywed whom Hilly has chosen as her sworn enemy.

 

While Hilly and her cronies spar over social status, bridge clubs and charity fundraisers, the town’s black maids, who are bused in each morning from the poorer side of town, struggle to make a living and send their children to school. Skeeter is one of the few who see these black women as more than hired help…and she decides to write a book about what it’s like for black women to raise white babies at the expense of their own families.

 

At first Skeeter struggles to find women willing to be interviewed…but once Aibileen and Milly come on board, her book begins to take shape.

Like most movies about the Jim Crow South, many of our characters are stereotypical at best. The white people in this movie are either pure-of-heart crusaders or sneering bigots. Similarly, the black characters portray stereotypes from a sentimental abolitionist-era novel. While these characteristics make for good melodrama, they also make racism seem like a quaint bygone artifact of the days when white people “just didn’t know any better”. If The Help contained more moments in which Skeeter’s good will wasn’t enough – moments when she blundered by unintentionally patronizing one of her subjects and had to confront her own received ideas about race – then contemporary viewers might recognize a moment we’ve actually lived through, rather than encouraging ourselves to pat each other on the back for how far we’ve come.

 

By the film’s third act, Skeeter’s book is released with no direct mention of how the proceeds will be shared – if at all – with the black female voices who provided her with all the content...and it's Skeeter who leverages her success from the book into a writing career in New York City.

As for Aibileen and Milly, they’re stuck right where they were at the beginning…in maid uniforms. Sure they now have the confidence to dish a few blows to their white overlords, but they get nothing compared to Skeeter’s new job at a liberal book publisher. It’s a shame, quite honestly.

 

All in all, The Help is mostly a movie for white audiences. I can’t imagine black viewers would look at this film as anything but condescending and insulting. While it has its sweet moments, after a while all the emotional dexterity starts to feel like emotional manipulation. It’s frankly a Barbie Band-Aid on the gaping wound that is race relations in America.

 

War Horse

Director: Steven Spielberg

Starring: Jeremy Irvine, Peter Mullan, Emily Watson, Niels Arestrup, Tom Hiddleston, Benedict Cumberbatch, David Thewlis, Celine Buckens, Toby Kebbell, Patrick Kennedy, Leonard Carow, David Kross, Matt Milne, Robert Emms, Eddie Marsan, Nicolas Bro, Rainer Bock, Hinnerk Schonemann, Gary Lydon, Geoff Bell, Liam Cunningham, Sebastian Hulk, Gerard McSorley, Tony Pitts, Pip Torrens, Philippe Nahon, Jean-Claude Lecas, Julian Wadham, David Dencik, Edward Bennett, Johnny Harris, Tam Dean Burn, Maximilian Bruckner, Michael Ryan, Maggie Ollerenshaw

Oscar Wins: No wins.

Other Nominations: Best Sound Mixing, Best Cinematography, Best Music (Original Score), Best Art Direction, Best Sound Editing, Best Picture

 

If War Horse were in black and white, you may think you’re watching a John Ford movie. Sweeping landscapes, shots of horses galloping through meadows, horizons that are either in the top or bottom of the shot (never in the middle!). It’s a beautiful film to look at – and it’s a shame that it’s such a boring movie to watch.

 

We begin with a young boy named Albert (Jeremy Irvine) witnessing the birth of a feisty foal. From the moment he sees this young horse enter the world, he’s completely taken by him. When his father decides to purchase the horse, Albert names him Joey and begins training him to work on the family farm.

These early scenes are long and drawn out – with no stone left unturned, so to speak. We get it all, from Joey’s purchase, to his training, to the financial problems on the farm, to the dramatic ploughing of the stony top field. This whole first act feels like “Farming: The Movie” and, sadly, isn’t quite as invigorating as Spielberg would have us believe.

 

Then, to quote a line that’s used several times in the film, the war takes everything from everyone. As World War I rages throughout Europe, Joey is sold to a cavalry captain (Tom Hiddleston), who takes pity on Albert’s tearful goodbye and promises to return the horse safe and sound when the war is over.

And so Joey’s odyssey begins. For the rest of the movie, this horse ventures through four years of World War I, traveling in and out of the lives of a multitude of people across the war-torn countryside.

 

Meanwhile, Albert enlists in the war, hoping to track down his horse and bring him home. These scenes, which focus heavily on trench warfare, are nowhere NEAR as gruesome as Saving Private Ryan, but still are intense enough to show the senseless butchery of real-life battle.

 

Between these shots of the actual war, we revisit Joey on his seemingly never-ending mission to return home. He makes it through so many trials (including a truly horrifying, yet stunningly filmed barbed wire sequence) that it doesn’t take long for us to realize that this is SOME HORSE…even if he doesn’t have a clever little spider singing his praises.

 

One thing I did like about War Horse was its focus on horses in the war – now I know that seems stupid but think about every pre-Vietnam war movie you’ve seen and how many horses are on those fields – how soldiers depended on them pretty much exclusively not only for transportation, but as a weapon. These horses were often the unsung heroes and, more often than not, paid a heavy price for it. For as confused and terrified as humans were on the battlefields of war, the horses were probably even more stressed, often driven mad by the constant running and loud noises. This is shown quite beautifully in War Horse and may even elicit some tears in an otherwise pretty bland war drama.

The rest of the movie, particularly those scenes that just involve Albert, can’t quite compare. As Albert, Jeremy Irvine gives an over-the-top performance that frankly comes off as kind of annoying. I honestly forgot Albert was even a thing once Joey was sold into the war effort…and I found myself enjoying those moments when Albert’s story took a back seat.

 

And for those of you worried about Joey’s fate, let me remind you that this is a Spielberg movie…so I wouldn’t be too concerned about it. In a glorious final shot with one of the grandest sunsets since Scarlett O’Hara told us that “tomorrow is another day” in Gone with the Wind, Joey turns his large, brown snout to the horizon – the scars of war visible on the lines of his face. It’s honestly a beautiful ending and I wish the movie was more deserving of it.

 

Midnight in Paris

Director: Woody Allen

Starring: Owen Wilson, Rachel McAdams, Marion Cotillard, Tom Hiddleston, Alison Pill, Corey Stoll, Adrien Brody, Kathy Bates, Michael Sheen, Nina Arianda, Carla Bruni, Kurt Fuller, Mimi Kennedy, Lea Seydoux, Yves Heck, Sonia Rolland, Daniel Lundh, Therese Bourou-Rubinsztein, Marcial Di Fonzo Bo, Emmanuelle Uzan, Tom Cordier, Adrien de Van, Serge Bagdassarian, Gad Elmaleh, David Lowe, Yves-Antoine Spoto, Laurent Claret, Vincent Menjou Cortes, Olivier Rabourdin, Francois Rostain, Karine Vanasse, Michel Vuillermoz, Catherine Benguigui, Audrey Fleurot, Guillaume Gouix

Oscar Wins: Best Writing (Original Screenplay)

Other Nominations: Best Art Direction, Best Director, Best Picture

 

Even if you’ve never been to Paris, you’ll feel like you’ve seen the best the city has to offer after watching the first three minutes of Midnight in Paris. Gracefully moving from landmarks to cafes, the opening shots of this film set up The City of Lights as a central character, highlighting the enchanting force it’s had on writers, artists, and performers for decades. In many ways, Woody Allen’s film is a celebration of Paris. He wants us to love the city and appreciate the mystique of its rich history just as much as our main character does…and it works. I was instantly wonderstruck and found myself clicking my shoes three times, hoping I’d magically end up there.

 

It doesn’t take long to realize that we’re seeing Paris through the eyes of Gil Pender (Owen Wilson), a hack Hollywood screenwriter-turned novelist who is visiting the city with his fiancée Inez (Rachel McAdams) and her parents. Gil loves everything about Paris and regrets not moving there when he had the chance several years ago. Now he’s returned, hoping to write a novel and join the pantheon of American writers whose ghosts seem to linger in the very air he breathes.

Inez, a spoiled rich girl who spends more time insulting Gil than supporting him, thinks he’s wasting his time. She’d rather spend her time with Paul (Michael Sheen), an old friend and self-proclaimed expert in everything from art to French culture and fine wines. Inez is infatuated with Paul’s knowledge, regardless of how many facts he gets wrong in his efforts to impress everyone around him.

 

Gil, on the other hand, sees him for the fake he is. Needing to get away from the dry discussions about art and wine, Gil takes a late-night walk along the cobblestone streets of Paris. After getting lost, he’s picked up by a group of party-goers in an old classic car. They invite him to join their party.

Suddenly Gil finds himself in 1920s Paris, where he’s joined by the likes of F. Scott Fitzgerald (Tom Hiddleston) and his wife, Zelda (Alison Pill), as well as Ernest Hemingway (Corey Stoll), Picasso (Marcial Di Fonzo Bo), Dali (Adrien Brody), Cole Porter (Yves Heck) and Gertrude Stein (Kathy Bates). He also meets the lovely Adriana (Marion Cotillard), who he grows more attracted to with each midnight visit to this alternate reality.

 

From a logical perspective, I liked how Allen made no effort to try to explain the time travel element. None is needed. Nor do we have any idea as to whether all of this is real or imaginary. Maybe Gil did get into some magic Delorian back to the golden age of Paris – or maybe all of this is imaginative work for his book, lost in the time and place he’s most nostalgic for.

 

But it’s not all peaches and cream – or coffee and croissants – or whatever the French equivalent is. Every interaction Gil has with one of his literary heroes is superficial at best. Each meeting ends with him uttering a different version of the same line, “Wow, [person], I can’t believe it! I love your work!” He says nothing of interest, offers no insight into his or their own work and seems completely out of place. He is a tourist in every sense of the word and is the embodiment of the pseudo-intellectualism he claims to hate.

Like most movies about “Gay Par-ee”, Midnight in Paris puts everyone in two camps – the intellectuals and the artists. Unsurprisingly, it makes the case for the artist. We’re supposed to hate Paul and the way he seems to wear his pseudo-intellectualism on his sleeve – yet, Midnight in Paris is the embodiment of the kind of pretentiousness it claims to be against. These literary masters aren’t given any real depth. We don’t learn anything about them that we didn’t already know. If this whole movie is a figment of Gil’s imagination, he seems to know just as much about Hemingway as Paul claims to know about Picasso.

 

But, I digress – because Midnight in Paris does require the audience to just buy into its fantasy angle…and if you struggle with that, you may struggle with this movie. Ultimately, it seems the point Allen is trying to make here is that we are always going to be discontent with our present realities because the present, whatever that is for us, is boring. Gil loves the magic of the 1920s, but Adriana longs for the magic of the 1890s. Even though Gil tries to convince her that the 20s are the Golden Age, the 20s are her present, and she is nostalgic for something different, something older, classier, brighter.

 

As any traveler will tell you, it’s all about the journey, not the destination – and the journey is the thing in Midnight in Paris. Does it make sense? No, not at all. But sometimes all we can do is sit back and just enjoy the ride.

 

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