The Brothers Bloom (2008)

"Pick a card..."

At one point during the delightfully charming and unfortunately little-noticed The Brothers Bloom, one of its characters says "A picture is a secret about a secret. The more it tells, the less you know." Her insightful ekphrasis is actually a quote by acclaimed American photographer Diane Arbus. It sums up this ingenious film perfectly.

The movie stars Oscar winner Adrien Brody (The Pianist, Hollywoodland, Liberty Heights) and Mark Ruffalo (You Can Count on Me, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Collateral) as the eponymous Brothers. They’re con men from way back. And I mean way back: they started as elementary-school kids, swindling money from parents of other kids by concocting an intricate scheme to get the children muddy, just to benefit a dry cleaner.

Ruffalo is Stephen, the idea man. He dreams up the unimaginably complicated blueprints for their schemes, and will go to great lengths to pull them off. About his devotion to the plans, his brother says “he writes cons the way dead Russians write novels, with thematic arcs and embedded symbolism, and shit.” To Stephan, his cons are literally works of art. They’re also a way to escape the mundane existence of day-to-day life. He believes “the perfect con is one where everyone involved gets just what they wanted.”

Brody plays Bloom, the idealist of the pair. He dutifully plays his role in their swindles, but is suffering a bit of an existential crisis. He long for something more. Something that’s not illusory and fleeting. Something real, stable and permanent.

The third member of the team is a charismatic and mysterious Japanese demolition expert, known alternately as Ying Ling (like the beer?), but mostly as “Bang Bang.” She’s played by Rinko Kikuchi (Babel, Pacific Rim). She rarely speaks, choosing instead to communicate almost exclusively through gestures, facial expressions, reactions and her explosions.

The Brothers hatch a plan for one last, big heist. It involves conning a rich, reclusive, beautiful young woman called Penelope (the lovely and talented Rachel Weisz from The Shape of Things, The Constant Gardner, The Whistleblower). She lives alone in an enormous mansion, battling her loneliness by “collecting hobbies.” She’s a photographer, juggler, skateboarder, rapper, and can ride a unicycle. She’s also endlessly trusting, kind, forgiving, and more than a little naïve. In short, the perfect mark for a con artist.

As the Brothers set about separating her from her fortune with their latest ruse, a funny thing happens along the way. During its execution, Bloom starts to wonder if lines are blurring. Is he’s simply playing his prescribed role, or actually starting to empathize with, and develop honest feelings for, Penelope? There’s the rub.

Director Rian Johnson lists The Sting as one of his chief inspirations. When you see Bloom, you’ll understand why. There are set-ups and distractions here that closely recall the Newman/Redford classic. Only here, we’re not sure if the swindlers are conning only their marks, each other, or unwittingly themselves, all at the same time.

Bloom also reminded me of another Redford film I much admire, the inventive Sneakers. Like that film, Bloom never quite tips its hand. We’re not sure about the motivations and allegiances of its characters. Which only adds to the mystery and fun.

Johnson’s writing in The Brothers Bloom is particularly sharp. There are too many references (self and otherwise) to count. Even the music has relevance. In addition to having crafted an endlessly creative story, Johnson’s characters her have razor-sharp wit, and each thinks incredibly quick on their feet. They’re all fully developed, individually different, and fascinating.  

The film is sumptuous looking, through and through. Its costumes are luxurious. The settings exotic and magnificent. The color palette is rich and saturated. There are interesting title-card scenes, where subtle animation blends seamlessly back in to live action. The cons are minutely detailed and elaborate. Everything about Bloom suggests wealth, cunning and intrigue. It’s plot is inventive and clever, sometimes to the point of confusion. But it’s always performing with a nod-and-a-wink. It knows it’s being precocious and audacious, and it knows that you know, too.

What separates Bloom from other enjoyable heist films (like David Mamet’s estimable The Heist, as well as Soderbergh’s Ocean’s movies), and the primary reason the film’s successful, is that the characters here care about each other. They’re not merely self absorbed crooks, worried only about how much the plan’s successful execution will benefit them. Stephen’s and Bloom’s fraternal bond feels real. Despite all the deceit and double crosses, somewhere deep down they sincerely care about one another. Their mutual affection grounds an otherwise dizzying storyline.

I’ve seen this film several times (the first at the Boston Independent Film Festival, where director spoke afterwards), and am still not positive about what happens, exactly. I think I might know, but I’m not certain. Because it’s about a con within a con within a con within a con, it’s like those nested Russian dolls. Every time you think you have a handle on what’s happening, that notion’s turned on its head. Every time you think you have it figured out, the filmmakers are three steps ahead, and have not only already diverted your attention with several other plausible explanations, but they’ve also worked out several other different paths they could send you down. You think “…well, maybe this person’s doing this, and they’re going to end up here…”. But you’re wrong. What’s actually honestly-and-truly happening is rarely apparent on the surface. Like The Usual Suspects, it plays its cards beneath its vest. It enjoys letting the audience think it knows where its headed, then pulls the rug out from under us. When you go back to consider what might’ve actually happened, it makes you wonder “was any of it real?” The Brothers Bloom is the kind of film where exactly nothing is as it appears. It’s like a spinning hall of mirrors, full of strobe lights. All is deception and convincing sleight of hand. Sometimes it’s great fun to get tricked. The truth is what's going on inside Brody's character's heart.

Jack Goes Boating (2010)

Gone too soon

In light of Phillip Seymour Hoffman’s recent death, I went back and watched his directorial debut Jack Goes Boating. I’m glad I did. It’s fairly straightforward yet insightful, touching, honest movie, about the difficulties in finding and maintaining romantic relationships. I liked it very much, though it left me saddened. I wish he were still around.

I’d never seen Jack before, but have vague memories of NPR talking about it when it was released. I wasn’t quite sure what to expect, but figured if nothing else I’d enjoy Hoffman’s dynamic performance. He’s one of my favorite actors. His roles in Magnolia, Capote, Synecdoche, Scent of a Woman, Doubt and the Master are diverse, nuanced, affecting and always interesting. What I found in Jack was a calm (almost quiet) film about a frumpy, awkward guy, struggling to find emotional connection.

The movie’s based on a play by the same name, written by Robert Glaudini. Hoffman plays Jack, a limo driver. He wears ill-fitting clothes, a winter hat year round, and listens to reggae music because of its “positive vibe.” Most of the time he looks disheveled, but cleans up OK for work. Fellow driver Clyde (John Ortiz; Silver Linings Playbook, Public Enemies) is his buddy. He likes Jack, maybe more than Jack likes himself.

Clyde and his wife Lucy (Daphne Rubin-Vega) invite Jack over to dinner. It’s a blind-date set-up with her equally shy co-worker Connie (the Wire’s terrific Amy Ryan; Win Win, Before the Devil Knows You’re Dead, Gone Baby Gone, Green Zone). Connie works as a salesperson for a mortuary, perhaps the world’s least-sexy job ever.

Though mutually reluctant, the two seem to hit it off (at least as much as they’ll allow themselves). Afterwards, on a walk home through snowy NY streets, the pair make stilted conversation. He clumsily invites her to go boating in Central Park, once spring arrives. She excitedly accepts. It’s not until after plans are made that he realizes he doesn't even know how to swim. But if it means winning Connie over, Jack’s willing to learn.

Later, after a mugging on the subway lands Connie in the hospital, Jack visits her. Though they still don’t know each other very well, she’s touched by his sweetness. He’s kind and genuine, qualities she’s not used to finding in men. He wants to cook her dinner, because she says no one’s ever done that for her before. Only he doesn’t know how to cook, either. Another skill to acquire.

The film’s second storyline is about Clyde and Lucy’s troubled relationship. They’ve suffered infidelity issues in the past which, as much as he wants to, Clyde’s unable to let go and get past. He copes by recreational drug use and alcohol. Because of this Lucy doesn’t respect him. There’s a smoldering distance between them, because of the emotionally injury that hasn’t healed. Seeing this, Jack becomes more doubtful about his chances with Connie. The eternal question: should he take the leap and risk rejection with Connie, or remain lonely in his safe, isolated little world?

This description may sound like not much happens. Perhaps not much does? But that’s not the point. The film’s about two couples: one struggling to gain its feet, the other struggling just to hang on. It captures perfectly the awkward silences and deafening nervousness between Jack and Connie, as well as the familiar fights between Lucy and Clyde. Like most people getting to know each other, Jack and Connie are at once hesitant, and overly-eager. Lucy and Clyde are familiar enough to know exactly where the other’s weak spots are.

Jack Goes Boating feels like a play. Most of it takes place in just a few places: tiny apartments, inside cars, hospital rooms. The action is in the dialogue and reactions of its actors. The small cast is pitch perfect, especially Hoffman. He struggles to hold it together hoping to impress Connie, despite his nervousness and insecurity. Each character has their particular quirks, charms and neuroses. The film won’t blow you away, but it's not trying to. What it does is leave a lasting sense of contentment and hope. It’s too bad the world won’t get to see more of the conspicuous talents Hoffman had to offer.