Reviews

The eighty minutes it takes to watch this film will seem like the longest day of your life. Kelly Reichardt's screenplay focuses on a young Indiana woman whose dream of a better life in Alaska is derailed when her car breaks down in Oregon and the cost to repair it is more than the car is worth. Reichardt would have us believe Wendy is methodical and well-organized - her route is highlighted on a road map and she keeps track of all her expenses in a journal. Then we learn she was advised of serious problems with her engine back in Salt Lake City but continued to drive anyway, and then she opts to shoplift a pricey upscale brand rather than purchase an inexpensive can of generic brand food for her dog Lucy, so clearly she is more irresponsible than sensible. Her actions lead her to being apprehended, and while she is in police custody Lucy disappears. The balance of the film charts Wendy's efforts to find her beloved pet.

As written by Reichardt and portrayed by Michelle Williams, the character of Wendy is maddeningly complacent about her situation. Instead of creating a fuss about leaving Lucy behind immediately upon arriving at the police station, she meekly undergoes processing and then waits for hours before finally being released. To no one's surprise, Lucy no longer is tied up outside the market where Wendy was caught. The woman wanders around the neighborhood, visits the local pound, and occasionally makes contact with an aging Walgreen's security guard before she finally learns Lucy was found and is safe in a foster home. After visiting her there, Wendy decides to gather together her belongings and hop a freight train, but not before promising Lucy she'll be back. No one for a minute will believe this will happen.

If Reichardt had a reason for writing/directing this film or a message she hoped to impart, both escaped me completely. I'm a fan of independent films, but this one is so excruciatingly boring it nearly lulled me to sleep. Wendy's abandonment of Lucy should have had me in tears, but instead I was grateful the poor animal was out of the idiot's clutches. Lucy gives the best performance in the film, but she has too little screen time to make this film worth watching.

This heartwarming saga of the most incorrigible dog ever captured on film is excellent family entertainment, although parents should keep in mind very young children may be disturbed by the heartbreaking ending, which had grown men - myself included - sobbing out loud after laughing hysterically for 90 minutes. Jennifer Aniston is as charming as ever, and Owen Wilson manages to subdue his frequently snide and wise-alecky persona long enough to offer an outstanding performance. This isn't just the story of a dog with behavior problems; it's a charming portrait of a marriage as the couple navigates their way through life while dealing with tragedy, financial difficulties, and the joys and frustrations of parenthood, in addition to that very energetic and lovable yellow Lab.

I'm usually a sucker for films about lost love, joyful reunions, and impossible dreams fulfilled, with everyone living happily ever after as the final credits roll. But the premise here is so preposterous I actually laughed at the sappy ending, a culmination of so many unlikely coincidences it was totally unbelievable. Freddie Highmore is charmingly earnest as the titular character, a young boy who feels mystically drawn to the parents he never knew, from whom he supposedly inherited a musical genius that allows him to play instruments flawlessly the first time he touches them and write a majestic classical symphony after taking a few classes at Julliard. Robin Williams, in a typically manic performance, is the Fagin-like character who welcomes August into the lair of lost boys he sends out to perform as street musicians and whose contributions he collects at the end of the day. If you're willing to believe a twelve-year-old would be called upon to conduct the New York Philharmonic in Central Park, and his long-lost parents magically would find each other in an audience of thousands sprawled across the vast Sheep Meadow, then this malarkey should delight you to no end.

There is nothing terribly wrong with this film, other than a couple of serious gaffes committed by writer/director Sarah Polley that prevent it from being elevated to the level of great drama. In her commentary in the DVD release, she defends her deletion of scenes that take place prior to Alzheimer's patient Fiona Anderson's admittance into a health facility as necessary in order to reduce the film's length, but their elimination leaves us wondering why a seemingly capable and still fairly lucid woman would need to leave the comfort of her own home so early in the stages of the disease. Had Polley left those scenes intact we would have realized Fiona's grip on reality was more fragile than it seems without them. Additionally, as a writer she made the unfortunate decision to allow Fiona's husband Grant to drift into a physical affair with Marian, the wife of the man Fiona has befriended in the home. This action severely dilutes his seemingly noble effort to ensure his wife's happiness by reuniting her with Aubrey, who has returned to his own home and Marian's care due to financial concerns. His departure from the facility has left Fiona grief-stricken, and while Grant has resented the attention she has bestowed upon Aubrey rather than himself, he seems to understand her happiness is more important than his - until that tumble into bed with Marian. Could it be Grant sees a potential relationship with her as a substitute for the loss of Fiona's affections, and his urging Marian to readmit Aubrey to the home a way of freeing her for him? Better Polley should have allowed Grant to remain a doting husband whose main concern is his wife's welfare rather than his own physical and emotional needs by including these scenes that bring into question his real intent.

All the performances here are good, although I personally don't think Julie Christie's SAG Award win or Oscar nomination were justified. She maintains a steady quiet calm throughout the film - there are no scenes of her raging against the disease that is claiming her mind, although anger or dismay seem natural reactions for someone in her position. This of course is another fault in Polley's writing. Was she attempting to avoid a cliché, even if that so-called cliché would have been a more accurate depiction? In any event, I can think of several 2007 female performances - among them Keri Russell in "Waitress" and Angelina Jolie" in "A Mighty Heart" - that were far more impressive.

In the end, "Away from Her" failed to stir my emotions, although I am not only someone who easily is moved by a Hallmark commercial, but a person who has witnessed Alzheimer's destroy several relatives. My firsthand experience left me feeling Polley failed to capture fully the devastation to both patient and family. Her work shows promise, but it is not fulfilled with this film.

"The Card" (released as "The Promoter" in the United States) is rightly considered by many critics to be a minor classic of British cinema. This 1952 production, adapted from the novel by Alan Bennett, was well-written by Eric Ambler, superbly cast, and helmed by notable director Ronald Neame. Its plot centers on Denry Machin (Alec Guinness), a washerwoman's son who, from an early age, discovers guile, wits, and personality will lead to success and enable him to rise in social rank, finally achieving the position of mayor.

Guinness, in one of his first romantic leads, offers a beguiling performance and is well-supported by Valerie Hobson, as his patron, and Glynis Johns, as a scheming fortune hunter. The true standout here is Petula Clark in one of her first adult roles, before her singing career moved into high gear. As sweetly innocent Nellie Cotterill, she more than holds her own opposite the more-experienced Guinness with a performance so charming that she wins the viewer's heart as much as she captures Denry's. Although the role makes no major demands on her acting talents, Clark does have several moments that allow her range and depth to show. "Kidnapped" by Denry from a ship about to take her and her parents to Canada, she's totally mystified by his actions, and as they head off in a cab, she plaintively asks, "What will you do with me?," upon which he matter-of-factly responds, "Why, marry you, of course," and firmly taking her in his arms, gives her a passionate kiss. Within that brief moment, Nellie's expression goes from naive to stunned to delighted so subtly that the transition is barely noticeable, a sign of truly fine acting. How unfortunate that Clark and Guinness never paired again on-screen. Their performances here provide the backbone for an intelligent comedy rich with the atmosphere of both the working and aristocratic classes of England. A Merchant-Ivory production couldn't have done it better.

The exclamation point following the title in "Moulin Rouge!" is justly deserved, but barely begins to convey the level of excitement achieved in this film. Viewers seem to be evenly divided into two camps (with no middle ground) - those who dismiss it as a loud, excessive exercise in over-the-top movie-making, and the rest - like myself - who embrace it for its style, its imagination, its movement, its passion. Like a three-ring circus, it presents an overabundance of frenetic action that's impossible to absorb in one sitting. If ever a film demanded multiple viewings in order to appreciate it fully, "Moulin Rouge!" is it.

Screenwriters Craig Pearce and Buz Luhrmann - who also directed - previously teamed for "Strictly Ballroom" and "Romeo + Juliet," both cult favorites in their own right. Here they have selected the famed Paris nightspot, synonymous with extravagant entertainment and unbridled debauchery, to serve as the backdrop for what is, in essence, a simple love story. At the turn of the century - 19th rolling over into 20th - Christian, a penniless poet, arrives in Paris determined to establish himself as a writer. At first glance he is mesmerized by Satine, an elegant courtesan and leading attraction at the Moulin Rouge, who wants nothing more than to be a "real actress." Duc de Monroth, more familiarly known as the Duke, appears to be the wealthy means by which she can fulfill her dream, but at a price higher than she may be willing to pay. She initially scoffs at the attentions of the young writer, reminding him he can ill afford her, but she finds the pure love he offers to be more attractive than the success she could find in the arms of the lecherous nobleman. Ultimately, she will have little say in her fate, as consumption slowly saps her strength and illness invades her fragile body.

In fleshing out their tale, Pearce and Luhrmann have borrowed from a grab bag of eclectic storytelling traditions. Their script embraces the pathos of Puccini's grand operas, the cases of mistaken identity found in Shakespeare's comedies of errors, and turns to more contemporary influences such as the madcap adventures of the Marx Brothers, Lucy and Ethel's convoluted plotting, and the spectacle of Bollywood musicals. All of this is highlighted by a score of 20th Century music from talents as diverse as Rodgers and Hammerstein, Paul McCartney, Madonna, and the Pointer Sisters. Christian and Satine's duet of a medley of popular love songs on the roof of the nightclub is pure magic.

Magic is the keyword here. Everything seems to have sprung from a giddily gaudy land of make-believe where anything can happen, and often does. Satine's first entrance at the Moulin Rouge is seen through the eyes of Christian and his newly-found cohorts, all of them mind-tripping after consuming absinthe, and the spectacle is a dazzling array of sound and color and feverish movement as the camera spins through the crowd to capture every corner of the room and every person inhabiting it. At their first meeting in Satine's dressing room, she mistakenly believes Christian's wish to recite poetry is an unusual prelude to sex, and she writhes and moans in a faked display of passion until he, totally perplexed, blurts out the opening lines of Elton John's "Your Song." What follows is an exquisite rendition of the song that takes them out the window and into the night sky of Paris, where they dance among the clouds and waltz around the top of the Eiffel Tower. The camera-work here and throughout is spectacular. Much credit is due the film editors and special effects team, as well, for their often dizzying but never dull contributions that keep the film in a state of perpetual motion, and to the costume and set designer and art director for filling every scene with a visual smörgåsbord to delight the senses.

Nicole Kidman previously had proved her worth as an actress in the delicious "To Die For," but here her performance as Satine establishes her as a full-fledged STAR. Finally fully dashing out of the shadows long cast on her by husband Tom Cruise, she illuminates the screen with both her beauty and unmistakable talents for comedy, drama, and music. As remarkable as she was in the following year's "The Hours," her Academy Award-worthy performance is the one she offers here. Ewan McGregor is delightfully surprising as Christian, proving himself to be a charming romantic lead and a very capable singer. Kudos also to John Leguizamo, who endows the diminutive Henri Toulouse-Lautrec with a deep sadness hidden behind his live-for-life demeanor; Jim Broadbent, for his no-holds-barred portrayal of the heart and soul of the Moulin Rouge, the impresario for whom belief in true love ultimately overshadows a need for financial gain; and Richard Roxburgh, whose finely-etched performance of the Duke allows him to fumble his way through a myriad of emotions as his unrequited passion for Satine slowly evolves into a realization that he's been made the fool.

I have found it impossible to convince those who failed to appreciate "Moulin Rouge!" to give it another chance, but those of us who have returned to it multiple times tend to discover a previously unnoticed bit of business as we try to keep pace with the frenetically moving camera. This is that rare film that grows richer with each viewing, one that set a standard to which all future movie musicals should be held.

"Stella Dallas" is, by reputation, a classic of 1930s film-making, but in 2005 it's beginning to show its age in a less than flattering way. Bette Midler's 1990 remake, titled simply "Stella," was at least camp enough to make its multitude of sins palatable. This 1937 version, itself a remake of a silent film, is earnest in the way most weepy melodramas of the decade were, a soap opera punctuated by overacting of the sort seen in early Bette Davis films, when Davis was still blonde, big-eyed, and prone to make everything bigger than life. There are times, in fact, when Barbara Stanwyck (in the title role) resembles Davis from those days, both physically and in her emoting, and that's not necessarily a compliment.

Stella is a simple girl from a working class family, living in a mill town where there are few prospects of bettering herself. She sets her sights on Stephen Dallas, who works in an office instead of on the assembly line, and therefore supposedly represents the finer things in life. After two dates, they impulsively wed, and soon find themselves the parents of a daughter to whom Stella unselfishly devotes herself. Stephen relocates to New York for business reasons, Stella and child stay behind for reasons unclear, he meets a former sweetheart now widowed, the marriage falters, and throughout it all Stella strives to provide her daughter with everything she never had herself, finally making the ultimate sacrifice to ensure the girl's happiness and a bright future.

Stanwyck was Oscar-nominated for a performance that is surprisingly inconsistent. Early on, she appears to be fairly refined despite her working class background, yet later in the film she's more a dese-dem-and-dose kind of gal, complete with an outrageous wardrobe. How did she progress from a sweet and simply dressed girl to an uncouth floozy, instead of vice versa, given her improved status in life? Stella's manner of speech fluctuates from semi-cultured soft tones to a loud and brassy destruction of the Queen's English from scene to scene, bouncing back and forth for no discernible reason. The transition is jarring, to say the least. Perhaps the differences weren't as pronounced during filming, but once the scenes were edited and assembled, they should have been painfully clear to director King Vidor.

I'm a sucker for a tearjerker of an ending, but the finale here left me cold and unmoved. If you need a dose of "Stella Dallas," give the Midler version a try - it, too, has its faults, but at least the unintended laughs will make them less noticeable.