Stand Up Guys (2013)

Al Pacino. Christopher Walken. Alan Arkin. Starring as aging mobsters. What more do you need? Even if this film didn't have terrific writing (which it does), and patient directing (by Fisher Stevens), seeing these three inimitable pros onscreen together would still almost certainly be entertaining, right?

Stand-Up Guys is a buddy film, set in a world of mostly-retired, small-time gangsters. It opens with a fairly stock scene of Doc (Walken) leaning against his car outside a prison, waiting to pick up Pacino's Valentine ("Val" to his friends), who's just been released. They are literally sights for each other's sore eyes. As Val walks free, they trade friendly ball busting ("...you look like shit;" "you look worse...") and an awkward hug ("was that weird?"). After 28 years in the joint, Val is "ready to party." Doc's not so sure, but is eventually convinced to show his old pal a celebratory night on the town. By morning, each man will learn much about himself, as well as the bonds of friendship. 

Look at what age has wrought in these two men: Doc is tired. He lives alone, in a well-worn apartment that Val says is worse than prison. He paints sunsets and bridges, and watches cable tv. He drives an enormous relic of a car, and needs medication for hypertension, cataracts, and a stomach ulcer. Aside from the gun tucked in his trousers, his probably looks like the retirement of many men his age. 

Val, in contrast, isn't so eager to slow down. Just out of prison, he's back-and-better-than-ever. Away so long he doesn't understand newfangled car keys, modern music, or Viagra, he still shares a taste for fast cars, and the company of beautiful, hopefully easy-women. He convinces Doc to take him to a cozy brothel. With a limited (and impossibly beautiful) staff, and a manager who's slightly off (Lucy Punch), the place is as dated as they are. After an unfortunately abbreviated session, Val's surprised to discover his desire and ability don't always coincide. 

From there they head to a nearby greasy spoon. It's all dark wood, shadows and deep booths. The kind of place that serves steak and a rootbeer float. A cute, cheerful waitress called Alex (newcomer Addison Timlin) knows Doc as a regular. While Val digs into a hearty surf-and-turf, Doc excuses himself to make an urgent phone call to his boss. When he returns, visibly distracted, they talk about prison, their criminal pasts, and what the future might hold. Refueled and ready-to-go, Val suggests they forge on to a bar. For him, the night's just getting started. 

At the bar, Val approaches a group of much, much younger, attractive women, and crudely propositions them all. With disastrous results.  

Watch how Pacino plays this scene. Though eager and shamelessly lustful, Val is more Donnie Brasco than Michael Corleone. Despite initial rejection, he is undaunted. He realizes his mistake, isn't embarrassed, and instead takes a different tack. He returns to the table and, without being obnoxious this time, simply asks one woman to dance. "Just one dance. After it's over, you'll never see, or hear from me, again." Rather than talking at the women, he talks to them. What follows is one of the film's most magical moments, one that made me smile.

As the hours pass, the pair decide to rescue their former third partner-in-crime (Hirsch, played by Arkin, in little more than a cameo) from the mundane confines of his retirement home. They discover him sitting quietly in his dimly-lit room, wearing a robe and slippers, hooked to an oxygen tank. Hirsch was the group's getaway driver. Given the keys (or rather "button") to a stolen, modern, muscle car, Hirsch shows hasn't lost his touch. The trio speed through empty, dark streets like high-school kids out-too-late in daddy's car. They talk about the old days, and are happy to be back together.

Through the it all, Doc seems to be carrying an unseen weight. Though glad to see his old pals, he's also troubled at where their reunion might lead. Val senses this, too, though the obvious discord goes unmentioned. 

Pacino and Walken are terrific. Look closely at these two men. Witness their ragged hair, tired, sunken eyes, stooped backs, and slow gestures. Has either ever appeared so world weary? We can practically hear creaking as they walk. Without employing elaborate Hollywood make-up, or tired "old-people" cliches, both actors appear significantly older than their true age. This is a brave move for two cinematic leading men. Their characters have simply seen too much of life's harsh realities, are worn down from the lives they've led, and regret many of their choices. 

But they are also proud men, who believe in honor-among-thieves. They see egregious wrongs, and try to right them. Admittedly old-school, Val and Doc lament the unnecessary violence of contemporary crooks. Instead, theirs is somehow rationalized as a higher, more-respectable type of crime. Val weighs his sins and virtues in a brilliantly funny, Catholic-confessional scene, late in the film. Like the film's fantastically creative poster, these men are of another time. 

Across the board, the acting is strong and believable. Even minor characters are memorable and effecting, especially Timlin's waitress Alex. However, the film's strength derives from the performances of its two leads. Pacino and Walken have rare chemistry. Doc and Val possess an easy familiarity, that suggests deep friendship. Over the course of the night they quarrel about minor differences like a long-married couple, while at the same time sharing an undeniable fondness. Much of this is funny, to them and to us. We believe they've honestly come by their war stories through years of criminal misadventures.   

Several times while watching "Stand-Up Guys," I was reminded of the terrific 2008 film "In Bruges." Both are gangster films, that feature an insightful pair of articulate, lovable villains. Both are very funny, but also contain scenes that are surprisingly heartfelt. Amidst all the grumbling, implied menace, and occasional violence, these touching scenes sneak up on you, maybe because of all the requisite gangster trappings?

Like a play, the film has few settings, and even fewer characters. Pacino's Val is mostly energy, contrasting sharply with Doc's quiet, contemplative regret. All will be reveled by morning. Can each man reconcile what they've done with who they like to believe they are? Though nostalgic and wistful for their younger years, like the actors who portray them, Val and Doc refuse to believe their best days are behind them. 

Zero Dark Thirty (2012)

Jessica Chastain as Maya

Katharine Bigelow's Zero Dark Thirty is mainly a story about one woman's relentless pursuit of Osama Bin Laden. Jessica Chastain plays CIA agent known only as Maya. Maya is singular of task, and unwavering. She is diligent, and supremely confident in her abilities. She displays little life outside her job. Without her, we're lead to believe, the world's most-wanted man might still be at large.

As the movie opens, the screen is dark, with audio-only phone calls from 9/11 providing context. Immediately after, Maya is led into a large, barren, dark building, on a military base, clearly not in America, someplace remote. As her (and our) eyes adjust to the darkness, she sees a man, tied at his wrists, at the mercy of his captors. He's asked questions, which he refuses to answer. Though he tries to resist, he's beaten, and informed by another CIA operative that resistance is futile; simple biology dictates that ultimately and inevitably, he'll break. Suffering further assaults, and worse, it's not long before the prisoner's demeanor converts from firm resolve, to one of utter desperation. Pain and hopelessness have that effect.

An indeterminate amount of time later, after suffering who knows how much at the hands of his captors, the prisoner is seen talking with the lead interrogators under a tent, outside the building. They offer him a cigarette, and begin talking with him in softer tones. He reciprocates, offering the name of someone possibly tied to al Qaida. It is the crucial clue that begins Maya's quest. 

Maya is sent to Afghanistan, to join a small group of CIA members relentlessly tracking Bin Laden. At first, she's seen skeptically by existing members. They dismiss her assertions as naive, and see her as inexperienced. Undaunted, she earns respect by displaying fierce resolve, speaking up forcefully, refusing to back down to their bullying. Impressed, they begin to accept her as one of their own. Using sophisticated electronic surveillance, sources on the ground, keen insight, and sheer determination, the group is dogged in their pursuit of a courier they believe may have ties to Bin Laden. 

As mentioned, the bulk of the film involves Maya's singular pursuit of even the smallest details. There are promising leads, and dead ends. Possible break-throughs, and frustrating failures. Through it all, Maya does not flinch.

After a dizzying connection of clues, Maya's becomes certain she knows the specific location where the terrorist leader is hiding, in Pakistan. Frustrated at the agency's lack of urgency, she brazenly challenges not only her boss, but the head of the entire organization, saying she's 100-...no 95-percent sure Bin Laden's where she says he is (certainty being beyond the comprehension of higher-ups). Unsure she's right, cabinet-level leaders show doubt and ambivalence. Maya can't believe that, after all the effort she and her team have exerted, after all they've been through, the government won't act. Her passion shifts from finding a needle in a haystack, to convincing her superiors that she has, miraculously, located said needle.

I won't spoil anything by disclosing that the final segment of the film involves Seal Team 6's assault on the infamous compound in Abbottabad. These re-creations were shot from a first-person perspective, and are realistic, gripping, and believable. Though I knew the result, it was still tense. Both the look and feel of the attack—from the stealth helicopters, to the storming of the pitch-black building by the soldiers in night-vision goggles—exceeded expectations. For most who see the movie, these will be the images they remember. 

While successful, the film has flaws. In parts, given all the similar-sounding Arabic names being dropped by captors and captives, the film can be confusing and hard to follow. Were it not for the fact that I knew the basic gist going in, I might've spent time wondering who said what, to whom, and how they relate to one another. As it was, I resigned myself to not knowing Ammar from Hassan, from Abu Ahmed to Zied, and trusted that it would all play out in the end. Which it did.  

Again, to its credit (like Cameron's "Titanic" before it) Zero Dark Thirty is able to conjure genuine suspense, despite the fact that we all know the outcome. No easy task, that. As such, Bigelow and  writer Mark Boal, as well as the entire cast and crew (especially photographer Greig Fraser) are to be commended.

Finally, it's impossible to review this movie without acknowledging that it has been criticized roundly for showing graphic scenes of torture, as well as mainly claiming torture led to gathering evidence crucial to finding Bin Laden. 

These scenes are harrowing, without question. I felt uncomfortable watching them. That one person could treat another as such is unimaginable and, even in the name of protecting one's country, I believe inhumane. We can't at once claim moral high ground (spouting the cliched "they'll murder innocent American because they hate us for our freedom"), while at the same time lowering ourselves to such unspeakable acts. I've felt similarly when seeing images from Abu Graib prison, heard former interrogators interviewed on 60 Minutes, or seen comparable stories recalled in documentaries such as Taxi to the Dark Side. When Dick Cheney and Donald Rumsfeld infamously asserted the US had to work in the "dark side" to reach its goals, insinuating that that the US government might resort to less-than-legal methods, their words conjured similar notions. The scenes in Zero Dark Thirty reflect this unconscionable sensibility. In light of all this, the scenes didn't feel artificial, or trumped up for dramatic purposes. Perhaps I'm cynical, but the scenes felt in-line with what US leaders of the time were all but admitting was likely occurring. Back before Abu Graib, Black Sites, rendition, and Wiki Leaks were all common knowledge. 

That the film's protagonist goes from an initial feeling of reluctance at witnessing torture, to managing similar interrogations herself is, I believe, as much a realistic statement about that very human desire for revenge, and Maya's single-minded approach to achieving that goal, as it is one about the film makers' reveling in blood-thirsty sadism, their lack of empathy, exploiting torture for entertainment, or  advocating of torture as a means-to-an-end. 

Having said that, hearing such disparate sources as John McCain, Diane Feinstein, and Carl Levin claim scenes of torture did not, in fact, lead to critical information in finding Bin Laden, I'm inclined to believe them, more than Hollywood. They regularly attend classified-level briefings, and are in a better position to know. I suppose I went in with the notion that "the torture scenes will be bullshit." If the filmmakers invented this entire sequence simply to forward the plot, while at the same time claiming their work is an accurate portrayal of what actually happened, this is not only dishonest, but also unnecessary. Omission of the torture scenes would not greatly affect the overall message, or entertainment value, of the film.  Does the film glorify torture, using suffering as entertainment? Perhaps. However, as Martin Sheen recently stated (I'm paraphrasing), showing such brutality makes it impossible to defend similar treatment of prisoners in the future. The cat's now wholly out of the bag. Thus, while maybe at once using torture as entertainment, the film might simultaneously be seen as laying bare the indefensible indiscretions of so-called "enhanced interrogation." As such, Bigelow has her torture, and eats it, too.

Ultimately, Katharine Bigelow's "Zero Dark Thirty" achieves what it set out to do: deliver a powerful, dramatic version of the hunt for, and ultimate killing of, Osama Bin Laden. Do any of us have any idea how accurate it is? Or whether it selectively included (or left out) parts of that story? That is a question of personal belief. It is doubtless more narrative than documentary. What I am sure of is that, upon leaving the theatre, I felt Zero Dark Thirty was credible. And for the entire 2+ hours, I was never bored. I'm not sure I learned anything (intricate details aside) about the over-arching story of the hunt for Bin Laden, that I didn't already know going in. Except for the fact that one woman was almost entirely responsible for leading the charge. 

A Little Help (2010)

A despairing Jenna Fischer, in "A Little Help"

Laura Pehlke isn't happy. She isn't miserable, either. Just not nearly as content as she'd prefer. Her life is littered with too much of the stuff that causes stress, and not enough kindness, compassion, recognition and joy. Most of us have, at one time or another, probably felt the same. 

Set just after the 9/11 disaster, "A Little Help" (written and directed by Michael J Weithorn) is an honest, intimate film, about how people handle the small, and not-so-small, difficulties of life. 

Laura's life hasn't become what she hoped. An early-30-something, NY-area dental assistant, Laura (played by the adorable Jenna Fischer, from the American-TV version of "The Office") is both likable, and flawed. Her cheerful-yet-perfunctory small talk with patients doesn't hide that she's largely unsatisfied with her job. An office parrot (?), who's presence is intended to be "soothing," instead ironically uses its vocal abilities to essentially heckle her daily (this isn't as wacky as it might sound). 

In addition, Laura's marriage has lost its lustre. Unappreciated by her husband Bob (Chris O'Donnell), who regularly makes suspicious excuses to work late, she enjoys canned Budweiser too much. The couple hasn't has sex since they-can't-remember when. Irritated and impatient with her, Bob reacts with condescension, constantly searching for reasons to criticize. Her rebellious, sullen, early-teenage son Dennis (Daniel Yelsky) only makes matters worse. He won't sing in the car with her, like he used to. Her attempts to be his pal fall on deaf ears, and are met with scorn. Like most parents of teenagers, Laura can't seem to do much right, where he's concerned.  

The rest of her family provides little relief. After subtle yet unmistakably reminders that she's a disappointment, Laura has become understandably defensive and combative with her mother (Lesley Ann Warren) and sister Kathy (Brooke Smith). She's unable to resist petty family squabbles. Like Kathy, her mother is prone to offering Laura frequent, unsolicited, well-meaning-but-misguided "problem-with-you" speeches. Fond of his daughter but intentionally distracted, Laura's dad (Ron Leibman) endlessly rehashes stories of his many brushes with famous athletes, from back when he was a sports writer. He is affectionate, but often rambling, and ultimately distant. He seems afraid of what might follow, should the emotional can-of-worms ever open. 

Though smart, resourceful and attractive, (the latter explained away by the less-pretty-but-successful, "very organized" Kathy as nothing more than "just luck"), Laura's unsatisfied by most of her life. 

Between these minefields, Laura often wonders "where did it all go wrong?", and "what might've been..." 

When she suffers unexpected tragedy, each family member has their own idea of how Laura should best proceed. All without so much as talking with her even briefly about the ordeal. Eager to please, she usually tries to play along. However, this neither the most helpful, nor healthiest, support system she can imagine. 

The only one who seems to truly recognize the depth of Laura's unhappiness is her brother-in-law Paul. Now married to Kathy, and with teenage twins, Paul went to high school with Laura, years ago. The two share a bond we sense has grown over time. He clearly admires Laura more than her own husband does. We see both Paul and Laura navigating marriage and parenthood as best that can, knowing they haven't made the best choices along the way, each realizing with hindsight that neither endeavor is going as well as they'd like. In one touching scene, the pair escape a family cook out, and share a joint in the backyard gazebo. High, with normal guards down, they confess embarrassing regrets with a trusting, familiar tone of mutual fondness. Maybe too trusting? He cheers her up by lamenting failures in his own life, with a self-deprecating charm. Paul is sympathetic about her unhappiness and, unlike the rest of the family, genuinely seeks to help her, on her terms. Theirs is a connection the rest of the family members lack. 

Later in the film, against her better judgment, Laura acquiesces to pursuing a lawsuit she'd rather not. Upon this backdrop, her stress begins to grow. She endures the frequent petty barbs from her mother and sister, continued rejection by her son, a constantly-barking neighbor dog, financial strain, and mounting loneliness. Her rising anxiety is palpable, inching towards the breaking point over the film's 109 minutes.  

"A Little Help" is a gentle movie, filled with winning performances. It largely steers clear of the tempting cliches, and easy answers, that fill too many lesser films. Its success is largely due to Fischer's empathic portrayal of Laura. Though saddled with a family that works against her, and a son who continuously pushes her away, angrily calls her "a loser" via email, and invents a lie she's pressed in to perpetuating, she refuses to give up. This put-upon mom conscientiously, and courageously, struggles on.

The Pehlkes aren't vindictive, contemptible people, merely (like most of us) too easily self-absorbed, and distracted by life's responsibilities. Despite all their differences, judgments, and dysfunction, they honestly care about one another. However, for whatever reason, they simply don't possess the emotional equipment to clearly express that caring. Which cultivates resentment. Their predicament recalls a passage from the terrific 1992 Robert Redford film "A River Run's Through It": 

"Each one of us here today will, at one time in our lives, look upon a loved one who is in need, and ask the same question: We are willing to help, Lord, but what, if anything, is needed? For it is true we can seldom help those closest to us. Either we don't know what part of ourselves to give or, more often than not, the part we have to give is not wanted. And so it those we live with and should know, who elude us. But we can still love them - we can love completely, without complete understanding."