187 / 365: Wait Until Dark (1967)
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| © Warner Bros. |
This is an intricately set-up film with compelling opening images. Like any good thriller, though, you have to pay attention. Our villains explain everything—you may not know you need to know it, but it's all important. Originally a play that debuted on Broadway in 1966, this is an intimate and claustrophobic story that is tailor-made for the screen.
Roat (Alan Arkin), a cruel heroine smuggler, is betrayed by his mule when she purposefully drops a vintage doll full of drugs into the arms of an unassuming photographer at the airport. When Roat comes in search of the doll, he enlists a corrupt detective and a suave con-artist to scout the photographer's Greenwich Village home for it while the man's out of town, with only his blind wife, Susie (Audrey Hepburn), left at home. Over the course of the night, the men create an elaborate play, finding ways to invite themselves into Susie's home by creating doubt in her mind about what is true and what is false.
No one is more unassuming, more in the wrong place at the wrong time, than Hepburn's Susie. It's hard not to cry out "Lock your damn door, girl!" but at that point, it's too late. She's conned and manipulated, and to watch it dawn on her over the course of the film is heartbreaking. The feeling of helplessness overwhelms even us, because what can she do? Turns out, she's not as incapable as she might have appeared. Ingeniously following the clues that her heightened hearing allowed only her to notice, she fights for her survival in the darkness of her basement apartment.
The final 15 minutes of the movie aren't just thrilling, they're stunning. Visually, Hepburn is a delicate flower; but she proves in this film just how strong a performer she is, balancing Susie's terror with her survival instinct. So many things about her role could have been infuriating, which is bound to happen when your protagonist is being grossly taken advantage of before your eyes. Frustrating doesn't even begin to cover it. But it doesn't get to that place, because she's consistently putting the pieces together, and in the end, makes exactly the right decisions. A perfect thriller in the vein of the old classic noirs. A must-see.
Rating: ★★★★½ / 5 stars
Watched: TV / Turner Classic Movies
Seen Before: Yes
188 / 365: What Happened, Miss Simone? (2015)
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| © Netflix |
This "Behind the Music"-esque documentary chronicles the life and art of brilliant jazz musician and activist Nina Simone, and her vital transition from a rising blues star to an activist voice. Pooling never-before-seen interviews and private footage, we're granted access into a world of music, intellectualism, and turbulent personal struggles.
Directed by Liz Garbus, there is a delicate line that we cross over, back and forth, and back and forth. This line is the divide between the story of a magnificent, vivacious personality and talent... and an angry, hateful tempered woman who became lost in her desire for Black justice in a nation that she never felt she belonged to. This dance that Garbus plays with this line is key to the film's success. Too far over—or settled too long—on one side could easily have pushed Simone's story into that of either frivolous celebrity or racial stereotype, but the balance is expertly executed. The resulting story is a picture of Simone that is far more complex and unexpectedly tragic.
The most effective interviews about the performer's life behind closed doors come from her daughter, Lisa Celeste Stroud. Stories of love and abuse paint a terrifying picture of Simone that is juxtaposed with footage of the woman that she allowed the world to see: one with the gift of song and an emotional range that could captivate an audience. A representation that, it becomes clear, was a struggle for Simone to maintain, with feelings of rage impossible to suppress.
As a newcomer to both Nina Simone's music and life, I found her to be a confounding figure. This is a surefire recipe to further one's curiosity, and while I was left feeling like I wanted to know more, I got the sense that not much was missing. Garbus made no effort to paint Simone as someone she wasn't. Her talent was only matched by her troubled mind, and this film does an excellent job representing that truth.
Rating: ★★★★ / 5 stars
Watched: Netflix
Seen Before: No
189 / 365: The Man from U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
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| © Warner Bros. |
New movie release, reviewed previously on Through the Reels. Read the full review here.
Rating: ★★★½ / 5 stars
Watched: Theater
Seen Before: No
190 / 365: American Ultra (2015)
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| © Lionsgate |
New movie release, reviewed previously on Through the Reels. Read the full review here.
Rating: ★★½ / 5 stars
Watched: Theater
Seen Before: No
191 / 365: Waiting for Guffman (1996)
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| © Sony Pictures Classics |
I mentioned Waiting for Guffman briefly in my My Dinner with Andre review. Mainly because this comedy was the first time I'd heard of the two-man feature, and one of the best jokes in the script is centered around the concept of My Dinner with Andre action figures. That's the kind of dry, ridiculous humor that can be expected from this mockumentary, written and directed by Christopher Guest, that focuses on a small-town, amateur musical production. A truly transcendent film for anyone who has ever done—or wanted to do—theater.
Eccentric Corky St. Clair (played by Guest) is about as 'big city' as the small town of Blaine, Missouri—the stool capital of the world—gets. Dejected and beaten down by the New York theater scene, Corky's brought his dreams of the stage to the people of Blaine, whose more delusional residents are more than happy to participate in any show Corky directs. When the town plans its 150th anniversary celebration, Corky writes his most ambitious show to date, a musical about the town's history titled Red, White, and Blaine. The cast is headed by married, narcissistic travel agents who've never left Missouri, Ron and Sheila Albertson (Fred Willard and Catherine O'Hara), as well as a handful of other buffoons who believe Corky when he tells them that New York theater producer Mort Guffman plans to attend their production—which could mean a transfer to Broadway if they don't f*ck it up.
The dialogue is unforgettable, which is more incredible once you learn that everyone is making it up as they go along. It's obvious when you watch it, because there's almost no way you could plan the random exchanges that occur between these characters. Every interaction is organic and absurd, and the actors brilliantly inhabit these completely oblivious people. Parker Posey as Dairy Queen server turned starlet, Libby Mae Brown, is a personal favorite. Her monologue about the different kinds of Blizzards is a masterpiece of improvisation. Eugene Levy as a cross-eyed dentist comes in at a close second.
The best, and scariest, part of this movie is how real it is. These people exist, anyone who's done theater in any form can tell you that. Watching it through the lens of Christopher Guest (who can make even the most mundane, common situations funny—think Best in Show) is what raises it to a whole other level of comedy. Wonderful movie from the mind of a very talented man.
Rating: ★★★★ / 5 stars
Watched: DVD
Seen Before: Yes
192 / 365: Welcome to Me (2014)
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| © Alchemy |
A mentally unstable woman, Alice Klieg (Kristen Wiig), wins $86 million in the lottery, throwing a very welcome wrench into her routine of obsessive behaviors (usually revolving around swans or watching and reciting old episodes of The Oprah Winfrey Show). Balancing just on the edge of sanity thanks only to her parents and supportive friends (Alan Tudyk and Linda Cardellini), Alice takes a dive off the deep end when she approaches the producer of a public access TV show, Rich Ruskin (James Marsden), about starting her own talk show. The subject? Her. Nothing but her, and she'll write the check to fund the whole thing today.
It shouldn't come as a surprise when I say that Alice and her self-centric show "Welcome to Me" are damn trainwrecks. It's literally unbearable to endure, but you can't look away. As a result, it isn't funny at all, because it is such a tragedy. She's absolutely psychotic, and it's hard not to resent all the people who call themselves her friends and family for allowing her free reign to do this, mega-millions or not. Even worse, that they actually want to be part of her life. Watching it all unravel, with her friends and family abandoning her, begs the question, why didn't this all happen sooner?
The cast is distractingly good. Thank god, too, because the story isn't. It's clear what the filmmakers were attempting to do here, and they brought in the very best people in an attempt to humanize this story. But the tone is all wrong. It doesn't know whether it wants to be funny or make a statement about mental illness, and it ends up struggling to do either. The only moment that felt genuinely human is the moment that Alice realizes she's won the lottery. I think everyone can imagine what they'd do in that moment, so even then, it's hardly revelatory.
Skip this movie. It's not worth the anxiety that comes with watching it.
Rating: ★½ / 5 stars
Watched: Netflix
Seen Before: No
193 / 365: Frances Ha (2012)
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| © IFC Films |
Since the moment this movie was released, I had friends from all sides telling me that I needed to see it. I even have a friend who saw it seven times in the theater. Usually the recommendations came with a bit a warning; an acknowledgement that the feels might be a bit overwhelming in their familiarity. So naturally, I avoided seeing it completely until now. Call it self-preservation.
A young dancer named Frances (Greta Gerwig) living in New York City gives up a romantic relationship over commitment to her best friend, Sophie (Mickey Sumner)—a decision she relishes in until Sophie doesn't give up the same for her. As their lives go in different directions, Frances struggles to discover who she is without her partner for life, especially when one of them is growing up—and one of them isn't.
Gerwig is awkwardly brilliant in this role, her tragic obliviousness as she grasps onto "the story of us," and the idea that she and her best friend will always be on parallel paths. The "my person" monologue is beautiful and heart-breaking and it hurt my soul. Director Noah Baumbach creates the simplest visual style with the black and white, it really lets the script shine. The editing is impatient. To say that mimics Frances is so obvious, but the movie doesn't pull any punches.
Her ego is insufferable, a reflection of all of our immaturities, I guess. Maturity comes on unexpectedly, prompting outbursts like "I can't believe that 'pregnant' is no longer crazy" and some-such adult nonsense. The twenties are hard; we reject parts of ourselves to be what we think we're supposed to be. It takes awhile to figure out that growing up isn't devastating; it can be freeing.
I used to have a friend like this, my person, and life carried us down different paths. This movie made me miss my friend. The way you talk about them, bring up their name in casual conversation to other people, even though you know things aren't the same as they once were. Frances Ha has an innate power to bring out emotions you try to suppress, but that can bring about a certain catharsis if you let it. It's poignant and intelligent, and whether you're a Sophie or a Frances or a little bit of both (guilty), this movie is bound to feel like it was made just for you.
Rating: ★★★★½ / 5 stars
Watched: Netflix
Seen Before: Yes
194 / 365: Pariah (2011)
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| © Focus Features |
As filmmakers approach stories written about characters within minority communities— something still hugely under-represented in Hollywood—it becomes ever-more important to incorporate those who stand at the center of more than one. That is what Pariah does with near perfection. A tale about how to survive a remarkably difficult and emotional time when the world tells you who you are well before you know it yourself.
Alike (Adepero Oduye) is a Brooklyn teenager straddling different and, she thinks, incompatible worlds. Enjoying a secret freedom of being openly gay through the encouragement of her best friend and fellow lesbian, Laura (Pernell Walker), Alike sheds her true self every time she walks through her front door to face her very Christian mother and ambivalent police officer father. Fear of being found out influences her hesitance in pursuing a relationship, until she meets the curious daughter of her mom's church friend, Bina (Aasha Davis). A hopeful naiveté leads Alike to take a chance and discover what it means to be not only an intelligent, African American lesbian, but her unique, uncompromising self.
I adored this movie. It's small and intimate, and Oduye is a spectacular young performer. Alike is a perfect protagonist in the sense that, at the start of the movie, she's completely unformed. She has an idea of who she is, or who she wants to be, but she's nowhere near embodying it. Her evolution to a greater understanding of herself within the confines of this short film is inspiring. And the journey is hardly a simple one. Kim Wayans' turn as Alike's strict and fearful mother, Audrey, is brutally honest, and scene-stealing at that. Not a single character wastes space on screen. I don't know that last time I was able to say that.
The film does have some limitations, mainly due to its small scope—a symptom of an independent budget. While the world presented is a bit small, that feels just about right for these characters. Even within the drama of Alike's story, we are still granted a glimpse into Laura and Bina's, to offer new perspectives. Writer/director Dee Rees gives everyone their time, and it results in a well-rounded, personal story. Too few people have seen this movie, but it's worth your time to track down.
Rating: ★★★★ / 5 stars
Watched: Netflix
Seen Before: Yes
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