Romance & Cigarettes (2005)

Breaking into song

John Turturro is one of my favorite actors. He can disappear into his roles, or go way over the top. Either way, you never see him acting. He’s always natural.

Remember some of the terrific films in which he’s starred: “Do the Right Thing,” “O Brother, Where Art Thou,” “Quiz Show,” “13 Conversations About One Thing,” “Rounders,” “Miller’s Crossing,” “Barton Fink.” Witness the variety and high quality of both his roles, and the films he’s appeared in (“Transformers” and Adam Sandler movies notwithstanding; he’s had the good fortune of falling in with Spike Lee and the Coen Brothers, which doesn’t hurt). Coincidence? IMDB lists him as acting in 77 films, not including his appearances in television and film shorts.

As a director, his resume is less prolific, but no less creative. I remember seeing his debut “Mac” (1992) back in college. Honest and funny, it was one of the best films of that year (don’t take my work for it; Martin Scorsese thought so, too!).

2005’s “Romance and Cigarettes” was his 3^rd film as a director (along with Illuminata in 1998; 2010’s Passione would follow). It’s a fantastical, exaggerated, quasi-musical romance, with one of the best casts in recent film history. Starring many actors who either were, or would go on to be Hollywood (or HBO) heavyweights (Susan Sarandon, Christopher Walken, the late James Gandolfini, Kate Winslet, Boardwalk Empire’s Steve Buscemi and Bobby Canavale), this film isn’t easy to describe, but is fascinating to watch.

It's set in a blue-collar New York neighborhood. The brilliant Gandolfini plays ominously-named Nick Murder. He lives in a humble home with his wife Kitty (Sarandon), and three very different daughters Rosebud (Turturro’s cousin Aida Turturro, known primarily as Janice, on “The Sopranos”), the erratically-coiffed Constance (“Weeds’” Mary-Louise Parker) and Baby (Mandy Moore).

Nick’s wife knows he’s cheating but tolerates it, mainly by tormenting him tirelessly when he’s home. After a confrontation in the kitchen, Gandolfini stumbles blindly outside. Wracked with guilt and confict, without warning he starts to…sing? It’s at once hysterical and touching to see Tony Soprano singing (also a credit to Turturro’s vision and courage; he also wrote the script).

The other woman is Kate Winslet’s Tula, a foul-mouthed, Irish, lingerie saleslady. She likes Nick because he’s a real man, who makes her feel alive in her otherwise dreary life. He’s smitten with her because…well…she’s Kate Winslet, talking dirty.

If those last six sentences sound absurd, know that this is the such a confident film (and Gandolfini and Winslet such confident actors) that, ridiculous as that all might sound, Turturro pulls off even something so farfetched as all that. It’s magnificent, comically silly, and surprisingly touching, all at once.

I could describe the logistics of where the plot goes, how all the characters fit together, what the film looks like, and so forth. But I think saying “Tony Soprano sings” and “Kate Winslet plays an obscene trollop” captures “Romance and Cigarettes’” tone perfectly. This movie shoots for its target with reckless abandon, and hits. Produced by the Coen brothers, this movie’s loaded with their particular brand of off-beat-hilarious writing and acting. With Buscemi and Walken, perhaps that’s to be expected. The outlandish thoughts we all indulge in our own heads during times of crisis, this film puts up on the screen. And sets to music!

I can see some not being able to get on board with its heightened theatrics and eccentric style, and so dismissing it as a peculiar oddity. Me? I thought it was one terrific piece of entertainment.

This Must Be the Place (2011)

Cheyenne far, far from his element.

In his 3+ decades acting, Sean Penn has worked with a who’s who list of Hollywood directors: Woody Allen, Terrence Malick, David Fincher, Barry Levinson, Sydney Pollack, Alejandro Gonzalez Inirritu, Clint Eastwood, Kathryn Bigelow, and Oliver Stone. How many actors not named Cruise, Pitt, or DiCaprio claim such an impressive resume? He’s created memorable characters such as California surfer/stoner from “Fast Times at Ridgemont High,” a rogue cop in “Colors,” the ruthless murderer searching for redemption in “Dead Man Walking,” virtuoso guitar player Emmet Ray in “Sweet and Low Down,” a heart-transplant victim searching for answers in “21 Grams,” an Irish gangster in “Mystic River,” and the eponymous politician and gay civil-rights icon Harvey Milk. Among many, many other things. Few actors, regardless of profile, can match his range.

His latest memorable character is Cheyenne. Vaguely effeminate, outwardly timid yet strangely confident, a wealthy-but-fading rock-star, with Robert Smith’s fashion sense and Larry David’s sense of tact, Penn is fantastic in Paolo Sorrentino’s 2011 “This Must Be the Place.”

Cheyenne lives with his wife Jane (Frances McDormand), in an enormous Dublin mansion. She’s a volunteer fire fighter, who’s as open a book as Cheyenne is a puzzle. They’re an odd pair, with Cheyenne’s eccentricities offset by Jane’s apparent normalcy.

Estranged from his family for decades, Cheyenne receives a call from the States, saying his father is gravely ill. Upon his return, he learns something about his dad that sends him on a cross-country journey. Along the way, he learns not only unexpected facts about his family, but also himself. This sounds trite and melodramatic. It isn’t. Director Sorrentino plays much of the fish-out-of-water juxtaposition of weird-rock-star-in-mundane-middle-America for awkward laughs. But not cheap laughs. Cheyenne is wise and insightful, thoughtful and sensitive. His gaze is keen.

Penn is the reason to see the film. His Cheyenne is an amazing, fascinating creation. How is this possibly the same guy who was Spiccoli or Matthew Poncelet? Unlike other intentionally odd movie characters (Johnny Depp’s Willy Wonka, for example), he doesn’t feel like a gimmicky caricature. They might share peculiar affects, odd speech intonation, and awkward ways of relating to strangers. However, Cheyenne is much more relatable, sympathetic, and kind. Most importantly, he feels real. He’s a fully formed, 3D character. His wife and few close friends all accept his quirks, idiosyncrasies and overt peculiarity. They love him not despite those traits, nor because of them. They merely accept him.

What’s most compelling is seeing Cheyenne interact with the outside world. Though he appears at first fragile, insecure and largely taciturn, he speaks his mind freely, often choosing to intentionally place himself in uncomfortable situations. Because we never know what to expect from him, the film resists becoming predictable, even when it is sentimental.

In the time since I saw “This Must Be the Place,” my admiration for Penn’s Cheyenne (and the film itself) has grown stronger. This is a phenomenal performance, one which elevates the picture above most of today’s cinematic offerings.

What Maisie Knew (2012)

Susannah, Maisie and Lincoln

Kids take effort. So some people shouldn’t be parents. They don’t have the attention span, patience, compassion, understanding or disposition. Some simply lack the energy and desire to do the job properly. This is certainly the case with nearly all the adults in the 2012 film “What Maisie Knew.”

A contemporary update of the 1897 Henry James novel, the film centers on an 8-ish-year old girl, (wide-eyed Onata Aprile) living in Manhattan with her less-than-ideal, quarrelling parents.

From the start, we see Maisie’s life is no picnic. The family resides in an opulent multi-level apartment in the city. Her parents (Steve Coogan and Julianne Moore) argue bitterly in front of her. Having grown used to their fights, Maisie reacts with obliviousness: While parents battle in the living room, she cheerfully tromps downstairs to give tip money to the pizza delivery guy.

Moore plays mother Susanna, the lead singer in a touring rock band (in concert footage we see her covering one of my favorite bands, the Kills). She drinks, smokes and swears around her daughter. Wearing shabby-chic clothes and a devil-may-care affect, she condemns more traditional parents as “Nazis.” Given the trappings of her apartment, she’s clearly very successful. However there’s also an air of instability surrounding her day job. Rationalizing why she can’t look after Maisie one night, she matter-of-factly mentions that if she misses another gig, there’ll be a lawsuit.

Coogan’s Beale is a similarly successful art dealer, much more conservative and older than Susannah. He’s wears crisp suits, and is forever on the phone. We don’t see him as much because he’s too often flying off to Europe “to pursue business opportunities.”

Before long, the parental stress becomes too much bear. Susanna changes the locks. After a late-night shouting match through the front door, Beale moves out, taking Margot with him.

After a brief but bitter legal battle, it’s decided Maisie will split time between parents, ten days with each at a time.

This is the worst possible decision, where the little girl’s concerned.

Rather than taking the time and effort to parent their daughter, Beale and Susannah instead usually try to pawn her off on each other before the scheduled swap date arrives. Or worse, forget when it’s time to pick her up altogether. When she is exchanged, they leave her with doormen, teachers, or complete strangers, hoping for the best. She’s pointed in a direction and flung out of cabs, left to find her own way. Several times I wondered “wouldn’t these parents have enough good sense to at least walk Maisie into a building, just to ensure she got there safely?”

Both parents seemingly adore Maisie in brief bursts between concerts and phone calls. Though they repeatedly profess love for Maisie, when it comes time to do the heavy lifting of parenting, to actually give time and energy to caring for their daughter, they’re both too distracted by their careers to be bothered. Between their careers, Beale and Susannah continually put their own needs before their daughter’s. Staggeringly so. To them Maisie isn’t so much a living, breathing little girl, who needs love, caring, guidance and attention, as she is an inconvenience to be quickly escaped. More often than not, though, she’s left with her young, pretty, Scottish nanny Margo (Joanna Vanderham).

Soon, Margot’s becomes more than a nanny to Beale. Likewise, Susannah unexpectedly marries a handsome young bartender named Lincoln (Alexander Skarsgard of Trueblood, Generation Kill), who quickly grows fond of Maisie. They bond over coloring books and cooking dinner, something that inspires jealousy and mistrust in the largely absent Susannah.

And what of Maisie? Aprile is adorable as the young girl at the center of a world full of irresponsible adults. But would a small child in the big city seem this capable of adjusting so quickly on-the-fly to her parents’ almost total abandonment? Sure, children can be resilient, but to this degree? Most kids cry immediately when they get lost. Lost is almost Maisie’s default setting. She negotiates the streets, restaurants and bars of Manhattan better than some fully-functioning adults. After nearly everyone in her life leaves her, would a little girl react so?

The film is well acted. Petty, combative and quick to anger, Moore’s Susannah is a close relative of the unstable and brittle Amber Waves she played so effectively in Boogie Nights. Coogan alternates between charmingly funny and caring, to maddeningly aloof. Vanderham’s Margot transforms dramatically, as she goes from benevolent nanny to put-upon stepmom. Always smiling, Skarsgard’s Lincoln projects both a loveable dopiness and sincere tenderness. He’s the only one who seems to consistently care about Maisie’s whereabouts and wellbeing.

A postcard from New York, the movie is sumptuously filmed, showing a Manhattan that’s at once bustling, while also cozy and warm and inviting. Several shots are filmed from Maisie’s low-level perspective, looking up at the big world around her. She stares in wonder (but not intimidation) at the tall buildings, and crowded rooms full of strangers.

As much as I enjoyed most of “What Maisie Knew,” the film left me wanting. To its credit, it’s decidedly not formulaic, but still believable. The uncomfortable situations between adults—all with Maisie present—will ring true to most children of divorce. It is patient and (though only 199 minutes) at times meandering. After showing so much dysfunction, it’s third act felt a little too convenient and rosy. Sure, we want the best for little Maisie. But when saddled with a group of care-givers so neglectful and self absorbed, it might be too much to ask for her ending to turn out a happy one.