Hmm.

I’ve deleted several sentences right out of the gate this morning. Talking about this film is like spooning up mercury, or herding cats. First, let me tell you what type of movie this is not:

• a date movie
• linear in its narrative
• “feel-good”
• transparent; without deep symbolism
• for the easily bored or impatient viewer

Au contraire, mon frère. This movie takes work. With a 2.5-hour runtime — some scenes going as long as 10 minutes with no dialogue — and a seriously convoluted plot presentation, one has to pay attention. Bigtime.

Amidst back-and-forth scenes from the late 1950s to the present day, we’re shown the troubled life of a man named Jack (Sean Penn), who, while now in his mid-50s, still struggles to reconcile the death of his brother (we’re led to believe during the Viet Nam War) at age 19. Through Malick’s eyes, we see Jack’s choices in life as a comparison to the ins and outs of basic survival from the beginnings of time.

No, really — he shows us stuff from the beginnings of time:  a dinosaur conflict (one dinosaur emerges from a thicket to find another on the shoreline, wounded and unable to defend itself), exploding nebulae, the dawn of the universe, a giant asteroid hitting Earth, the seas forming, prehistoric ocean creatures…he runs the gamut. For a while (during the first extended period of wordless scenes), I thought I was watching a tribute to 2001: A Space Odyssey. Kubrick-like images like this, this and this took over the screen for lengths of time that seemed to push the edge of what the average moviegoer would tolerate. After a while, I became a bit suspicious. Was this going to be one of those pretentious outings by a reeeeeally serious director who just likes to hear himself talk about abstract concepts? Is it one of those movies that’s so weird, people will automatically ooh and ahh and call it art and nominate it for Best Picture? It also won the Cannes Film Festival’s top honor, by the way.

Fortunately, the acting of Brad Pitt saved me from jumping to that conclusion. As Jack’s strict, inventor father, Pitt gathers the pieces together for us. Tragically frustrated (he chose, out of necessity, to be an engineer rather than pursue his love of music), Pitt delivers the perfect picture of a man so driven by his failures, he is determined beyond all else to see that his sons don’t repeat history. The effect on his eldest son (Penn) is profound and long-lasting — as things like this usually are.

So after all these words, I’m still not to the core of the thing. And as it’s 5:54 and I’m running out of time, I won’t get there today. Suffice it to say that if you watch this film, open up your mind and forsake all preconceived notions of storytelling. Enjoy the stellar performances by Brad Pitt and Jessica Chastain, and let other chips fall where they may.

On the Rat-O-Meter scale of five cheeses, I give The Tree of Life:

Intrigue, suspense, betrayal, revenge: all in a day’s work in the political world. But it was done with great flourish in The Ides of March.

I’m not a great George Clooney fan (except of his face); nor do I think Ryan Gosling or Evan Rachel Wood are actors I’d count among Hollywood’s “beautiful people.” In fact, their faces kind of bother me. (Does that make me a bad person?) Still, they gave what I thought were honest and completely believable performances. And Clooney wasn’t really the star; that job fell to Gosling, playing a hard-working assistant presidential campaign manager who truly believes in the cause of the candidate (Clooney).

Early on, Gosling is told by a New York Times reporter/friend, “Don’t believe in politicians. They will eventually let you down.” He vehemently disagreed. He shouldn’t have.

Political films sometimes drag, but this one slaps your face at every corner. And I haven’t even gotten to the best part yet: Philip Seymour Hoffman and Paul Giamatti, playing rival campaign managers. They can steal a scene by simply walking in and looking around the room. I make it a point to see every movie they’re in. Flawless.

Much of the film leaves you wondering what’s going to happen next. You end up in a constant state of analysis — coming up with “if/thens” and “I’ll bets.” When the final intent is at last revealed, it’s a whole new game, but you’re not sure if you want to root for the same people or not. Uncertainty, curiosity, commiseration, pulling for the underdog:  all in Clooney’s plan to string you along to the end.

Speaking of the end…it could have used some work, in my opinion. I think George settled for the tried-and-true as opposed to the let’s-kick-’em-in-the-gut-then-roll-credits approach. Still and all, a great Friday night treat. And the (very smart) inclusion of Giamatti and Hoffman in the cast was a most excellent bonus.

On the Rat-O-Meter scale of five cheeses, I give The Ides of March:

Novel, great. Movie, mehhhh…jury’s still out.

Having read Bag of Bones years ago (1998), I thought the film adaptation would blow me away. Yet, there were little niggling things that just kind of spoiled it for me.

First, the good: the kid who played Ky (seen at left) was fun to watch. A little too much “I’m a kid with a great big smile and not a care in the world” sometimes, but a good little actor, especially when it came to showing fear. Often, child actors show fear in their actions and voices, but not behind their eyes. This girl nailed it.

The jump-out-and-scare-you moments were well done. The ooky factor (like, when magnets moved on the fridge to spell words, and when the main character’s dead wife would “communicate” with him through cell phones and a bell) was tasteful as well. But two things (among others) really bugged the Thriller and me.

1. Pierce Brosnan never made an effort to Americanize his heavy British accent. Why cast him as born and raised in Maine if he can’t pull it off? Matt Frewer (an American, raised in Canada) played Brosnan’s brother, and they no more sounded like siblings than Julie Andrews and me.

2. Just after Brosnan’s wife died, he revealed to his brother that she was pregnant — even though it had long been known that he could not father a child. Frewer immediately looked away, a pained, guilty expression on his face. This was never addressed in the remaining storyline. How could she have been pregnant if Brosnan’s character was sterile? We never found out, and I cannot for the life of me remember how (or even if) it was addressed in the book. Guess I need to read it again.

All in all, it was a decent story. Not something I’d watch over and over, but OK for a post-concert diversion on two separate nights. It was the little things that bugged me; too many loose ends.

On the Rat-O-Meter scale of five cheeses, I give Bag of Bones:

Talk about unexpected.

Yesterday, good fiend Tom Hanks and I went to see the new Martin Scorsese film, Hugo.

Based on the children’s book The Invention of Hugo Cabret, the story centers around an orphaned son of a clock maker who lives secretly within the walls of the clock towers in a busy 1930s Paris train station. He keeps the clocks running during the day, and by night, works to solve a mystery — one directly tied to the father he misses so much — locked inside a non-functioning automaton his dad found rotting in a museum.

This is not a children’s film, in that there are no blazing special effects (although the CG and 3D were masterfully done), and actually very little extended dialogue. Things are left for the viewer to discover; to experience; to pull from the tale’s framework. It is a touching, moving and tender story of a sad little boy with a heart full of love and a penchant for adventure, and no one to share it with, until that one day…

The casting, typical of Scorsese, is flawless. The child actors are completely effective: no pandering or becoming tiresome. The somewhat sparse script, while a bit slow to start, wastes not a single word. Ben Kingsley, Sacha Baron Cohen and Christopher Lee are brilliantly believable. The colors in the cinematography are not to be believed, however. Seriously, the photography will knock you out. The only way to drive that point home is to provide some stills, taken from the movie’s website:

~

You simply must see this film. Not only is it cinegraphically (is that a word?) and verbally beautiful, but there’s a fantastic side-story surprise buried about halfway through, in the form of a delightfully entertaining, visually stunning history of filmmaking and film preservation — a subject near and dear to Scorsese’s heart.

On the Rat-O-Meter scale of five cheeses, I give Hugo:

Great movie, great company, great afternoon. Done and done.

Now it’s on to the insanity of the next 72 hours. We shall overcome……………………..

FO

What an awesome evening.

Wednesday night, BFF Kay and I went to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame for the world premiere of Women Who Rock, a PBS documentary chronicling the influence of women rockers from the pre-Delta blues juke-joint days to the present. Excellent montage. The show coincides in great part with the exhibit at the Rock Hall, dealing with the same subject. After the presentation, we got exclusive, after-hours access to the exhibit, which features the actual boots Michelle Phillips wore in the Ms & Ps bathtub album cover, Aretha Franklin’s 1981 appointment book, Mother Maybelle Carter’s guitar, Madonna’s hand-written notes and lyrics, and hundreds of other items. So incredibly interesting.

The docu premieres tonight, Friday, 18 November on PBS, and it’s worth watching. Possibly the most amazing fact about the 52-minute show is how they narrowed down the choices (there are no Canadian, European or Latina women in the movie), but time prohibits me this morning. The two filmmakers were there for the premiere Wednesday, and held a very informative panel discussion and Q & A session, along with the CEO of PBS. So interesting and fun. We both loved it. And yes, I was a total dork and bought a coffee mug from the gift shop.

But of course, the best part was spending some much-needed time with Kay. Starting at around 4:15 when I arrived, through dinner at Macaroni Grill, to finally getting back to her house around 11 p.m., it was the longest we’d spent together in, sadly, many months. Can’t have that.

On the Rat-O-Meter scale of five cheeses, I give Women Who Rock:

So today is Finkday, and all secondary music teachers are thinking about the big push awaiting them after Thanksgiving. Yippy. And away we go…enjoy your weekend!