Blue Jasmine (2013)

How did my life come to this?

Blue Jasmine, Woody Allen’s 48th film as a director, opens with bluesy piano/trumpet music, and credits in Allens’s now-familiar, trademark font. We see Cate Blanchett on a plane, talking the ear off the woman next to her. Blanchett plays the anxious and frazzled Jasmine. After a failed marriage to a rich financial swindler, she’s flying to S.F. to move in with her sister, and “start anew in the West.”

Crashing at her sister’s apartment is a considerable downgrade from her former Manhattan lifestyle. After a cab ride, Jasmine’s mortified to find her new digs located over a fast-food joint. She’s suffocated by its size, euphemistically calling it “homey.” Having already downsized once, she rhetorically asks “Can you believe I had to move out of my beautiful home, and take a place in Brooklyn?” She’s the type who claims she’s “tapped out,” but still flies 1st class. An over-sharer, she makes those around her (fellow travelers, strangers on a park bench, other partygoers, etc...) uncomfortable by incessantly forcing the intimate details of her life onto them.

Sally Hawkins is Ginger, the sister taking Jasmine in. She’s kind, generous, genuine, effervescent and charming—always smiling—almost the exact opposite of Jasmine. Sweet to a fault, as well as a caring and loving sister, Ginger’s never quite gotten beyond that period after college when you need roommates and ramen noodles in order to make the bills. She refers to her ex-husband Augie (Andrew “Dice” Clay) as “a contractor….a handyman.”. He’s schlubby but sensitive, a regular, blue-collar guy who isn’t cerebral, but means well.

The film’s told in intermittent flashback, jumping between the present (in San Francisco) and past (New York). During one flashback, we see both couples when they were still married. Jasmine and her high-finance husband Hal (Alec Baldwin) met at a party on Nantucket. They have a house in the Hamptons (one of many), where Ginger and Augie come to vacation. When the rich relatives name-drop high-end NY restaurants, the references are lost completely on their guests. In Jasmine and Hal’s condescending eyes, Ginger and Augie have wound up on the wrong side of the tracks.

Sipping gin and tonics around the pool one day, Ginger mentions Augie’s unexpectedly come into some money. He won the lottery, and for the first time in his life suddenly has some leverage. Between that and the little he’s managed to save, Augie wants to start his own business. However, when Hal hears “money,” he’s like moths to flame. He assures Augie that he can turn the newfound wealth into even more. Surrounded by her sister’s affluence, Ginger urges Augie to let Hal invest it.

Later, while out sightseeing in the city, Ginger by chance spies Hal passionately kissing another woman on the street. What’s she to do? Should she tell her sis that Hal’s a cheat (and risk the consequences), or keep quiet and leave Jasmine to her own devices? After too many drinks at a fancy party, Ginger drops a not too subtle hint to Jasmine that she better keep an eye on her husband. Comfortable in her big house, designer clothes and expensive Chanel handbag, Jasmine chooses ignorance.

After establishing all that, movie winds along its path. New romantic interests pursued. Jobs are found and lost. Characters try to pretend all is fine. Ultimately we find out what happened to both marriages. Jasmine tries to keep her former life a secret, with disastrous results. It’s all fairly standard Allen fare. But really entertaining stuff, too.  

Blue Jasmine has some of the madcap farce and unlikely coincidence that Allen’s famous for. And while there is humor—most provided by Bobby Cannavale (The Station Agent, Win, Win, Romance and Cigarettes), as Ginger’s new, even-more-blue-collar boyfriend Chili—for the most part, it’s a serious drama. People’s lives and marriages have been ruined by bad financial decisions, infidelity and corruption. These are no laughing matters, at least not here.

But the movie is dominated by Blanchett’s Jasmine. She is restless, jittery, and seems perpetually on the verge of a nervous breakdown. In addition to an ever-present bottle of Xanax, she self medicates with vodka and complaining. Her unsettling habit of thinking the deepest, most personal feelings and details of her life out loud—to no one in particular—keeps most at arm’s length. She dresses and carries herself like a wealthy, well-cared-for woman, even when she takes a job as a dentist’s receptionist. Unable to release the trappings of her former upscale life and accept her new station, she’s detached from reality. Self absorbed, reckless and self involved, she recalls a former Allen creation, Melinda from the eponymous Melinda & Melinda.

Blanchett’s performance has rightly been highly praised (and nominated for an Oscar; she’s rumored to be the front runner). Her fragility and lack of self control is like watching someone walk a tightrope. At any moment it could all come tumbling down. When I watched the dvd’s supplemental material, the difference between Blanchett in press interviews, and her on-screen persona, is striking. In real life she comes across as confident, worldly, composed, mature, and prepossessing. There’s no hint of the fretful, insecure, panic-stricken Jasmine she plays in the film (perhaps it’s just the Australian accent?)

The rest of the film’s cast is likewise fantastic. Hawkins (also Oscar-nominated) and Cannavale are terrifically affecting. It’s amazing to see the same actor who played the ruthlessly violent Gyp Rosetti in Boardwalk Empire, plead for his girlfriend’s return in a grocery-store produce department. Even minor roles are played by unusually skilled actors. Peter Sarsgaard (Jarhead, Kinsey, Shattered Glass and Garden State) is an erudite ambassador, who becomes Jasmine’s post-Hal love interest. Michael Stuhlbarg (also Boardwalk Empire, as well as the Coen Brothers’ A Serious Man, Scorsese’s Hugo and Men In Black 3) is the hapless dentist, who can’t take a hint. And Louis CK (American Hustle, The Invention of Lying, Louis) is amiable and endearing as Al, Ginger’s romantic life raft.

Blue Jasmine is “serious” Woody Allen (as opposed to comedic). It leans more towards Crimes and Misdemeanors, Husbands and Wives, and Match Point, than Bananas, Love and Death, Small Time Crooks, Mighty Aphrodite or Manhattan Murder Mystery. But like all his work, it’s insightful about the human condition: our fretful nature, fickle and fleeting romantic interests, and the problems we inevitably and inescapably cause ourselves. I’m biased, and perhaps in the minority; I think all Allen’s movies are worth seeing. (I don’t subscribe to the notion that he’s ever “fallen off,” or “finally returned to form”). While some pictures are surely more enjoyable than others, almost without exception they’re superior to all but a few of what Hollywood releases today. Blue Jasmine included. It may not be Annie Hall or Manhattan (few are), but it still provides a great return on your investment.

Enough Said (2013)

TV titans hangin' on the stoop. 

There are so many good things to like about this movie, I’m not sure where to begin. After I saw Fruitvale Station, I was pretty certain it was going to be my favorite film of 2013. Now I’m not so positive.

Enough Said is articulate, poignant, heartfelt, honest, kind, sincere, insightful, funny, and touching. Writer/director Nicole Holofcener somehow manages to put all these qualities together, using characters that are never clichéd or predictable.

The movie stars two of the most recognizable TV actors of the last 25 years: the late James Gandolfini, and Julia Louis-Dreyfus. She’s Eva, a pleasant and playful massage therapist. He plays the genial Albert, who works at the museum of television history. There he transitions old broadcasts to newer, digital formats (kind of a neat job, really). Both are divorced, single parents, who live with daughters soon off to their freshmen years at college.

Eva and Albert meet at a swanky party, where they exchange pleasantries. Afterwards, he asks her to dinner.

From the outset she’s ambivalent. He’s a little overweight, so she doesn’t find him particularly attractive. Curious and lonely, she accepts his invitation anyway. What’s the harm?

The result is one of the best, least-awkward first dates in history. The banter is clever, rhythmic, interesting, and engaging. They make each other laugh, and share a winning chemistry. Unusually frank with each other, there’s a surprising mutual attraction, the result of an easy-going comfort to their togetherness. It feels like the start of a charming, mature, stable new relationship.

Eva mostly dreads her clients, complaining about them to married friends Sarah (Toni Collette; The Way Way Back, Little Miss Sunshine) and Will (Ben Falcone; “Not” Air Marshall Jon in Bridesmaids, and current husband of the brilliantly funny Melissa McCarthy). Who could blame her? From superficial, overly-chatty, rich housewives, to oblivious men with oppressively bad breath, most are intolerable boors. It seems all she can muster just to tolerate them. They talk at, rather than to, her. Still, it’s a living. So she dutifully lugs her massage table from her Prius, up flights of stairs, only to find customers who drone on endlessly about life’s minutiae.

One, however, (Marianne, played by Holofcener-regular Catherine Keener; Being John Malkovich, Out of Sight, the 40-Year Old Virgin, Friends with Money, Capote) seems a kindred spirit. Like Eva, Marianne is also a middle-aged divorcee, with a daughter preparing to leave the nest. She is interesting—a poet (Eva asks incredulously “you make a living doing that?”)—with a gorgeous home who, instead of simply babbling about herself, is generous, empathic and a good listener. Over complaints about their failed marriages and ex’s insufferable habits, Eva and Marianne soon become friends.  

Eva makes a fateful choice to keep a secret from both Albert and Marianne. It’s an immature, regrettable, and devastating decision, one from which she cannot return. As a result, Eva begins questioning her relationship with Albert, and slowly, subtly and deliberately pulling away.

The scenes between Eva and Albert feel so genuine, some almost made me uncomfortable. They hit too close to home. Anyone who’s ever been in a serious relationship will recognize the wild shifts in power: once eagerly-anticipated phone calls instead now are screened. Rather than finding excuses to spend time together, other plans start to take precedence. Eva stops seeing his charms, instead only recognizing his shortcomings. Albert is criticized for meaningless indiscretions, such as not having bedside tables, or being able to whisper. Sex becomes clumsy, less spontaneous and infrequent. Eva tries to convince herself that she’s merely being neurotic, overly anxious, and possessive. In reality, everything’s going to be alright, isn’t it? When things seem slightly off, Albert asks her “what’s wrong?” She replies “nothing,” even though clearly something is. Who wants to open that enormous can of worms, when they can avoid conflict, and pretend things are fine?

Enough Said keenly observes how quickly relationships transition from that first thrilling but all-too-fleeting period of a relationship—the intoxicating first flush of realizing someone new really wants to be with me!—into an altogether different one. Suddenly and without warning, things change. The giddy excitement and impulsive sex evaporate. Private moments become filled with insecurity and self doubt. Confidence and stability quickly erode, replaced by the nagging question “are we really a good fit?” Eager to keep the peace, both parties make things worse by pretending everything’s still fine. Couples begin making lists of all the annoying qualities about the other person. Once that bell's sounded, it can't be un-rung. Traits we don’t like, and wish would change, become all we can see. 

There are lines in Enough Said that made me wish I’d said them. Not because they’re the smartest, or funniest, or cleverest strings of words ever uttered, but because they are brave. The characters who deliver them must have deep wells of self confidence, self respect, and self worth. How else to explain taking the risk of opening up so much, and leaving oneself so vulnerable?

Gandolfini and Louis-Dreyfuss are so convincing in their roles, never once did I think “that’s Tony Soprano!”, or “hey! Elaine, from Seinfeld!” Seeing him as the gentle, considerate, and tender Albert, made me sad he’s gone. Her Eva made me happy the next season of Veep isn’t far off. Given their talents, lofty statures and impeccable reputations, Gandolfini and Louis-Dreyfuss could’ve sleepwalked through their roles. We’d have likely still been entertained. They didn’t, and the movie’s all the better for it.

The film mostly focuses on the multi-faceted Eva character. She hides behind humor, rather than risking genuine connection. As the time for her daughter to leave for college approaches, the two drift apart, while at the same time a bond with one of her daughter’s friends grows. She cares about Albert deeply, but can’t help but sabotaging the relationship.

There’s a haywire, Woody Allen-esque twist, which some might claim is too convenient and coincidental, thus undermining the film’s authenticity. It’s a valid point, though I didn’t find any of those things to be the case. I’m unsure whether or not to divulge the particulars, for fear of ruining the surprise. I never saw it coming. However, it’s central to the story, as well as to why the film’s as compelling and entertaining as it is. In the interest of not spoiling it, I think I’ll leave it be, and let you discover for yourself.

Enough Said is filled with honesty, compassion, and humor. It’s characters are vibrant, sharply contrasting, and possess real depth. They react towards one another, and the developments in their lives, in the same ways real people would. It left me feeling warm, hopeful and content. It’s one of the best films of 2013.

Jackass Presents: Bad Grandpa (2013)

Oops!

Is reviewing this movie strictly necessary? By now, the “Jackass” franchise is so well established that people know exactly what they’re getting, when they see previews for the latest Johnny Knoxville/Jeff Tremaine/Spike Jonze Dickhouse production. If you’re interested in seeing “Bad Grandpa” (or not), my opinion probably doesn’t hold much sway either way. You'll see it, or you won't. There aren't likely many who are on-the-fence.

Full disclosure: I find the entire “Jackass” oeuvre manically, incomparably, and almost oppressively funny. I laugh with the glee of a child, every time one of the troupe falls down, gets hit in the nuts, and fearlessly/recklessly leaps headfirst into something painful looking. Even better when it leaves innocent bystanders speechless and incredulous. Like “Beavis and Butthead,” the “Borat/Bruno” films, Tom Green, the Three Stooges, and “Candid Camera’s” Allen Funt, this type of hidden-camera/reaction comedy, mixed with unadulterated buffoonery, fills me with joy. If you’re like me, and find that kind of juvenile humor gut busting, you won’t be disappointed in “Bad Grandpa.”

Notice I didn’t describe the hijinks as “mindless.” The gags are well-thought-out, perfectly executed, and clever. Their timing is spot-on. Sometimes there’s even a thin veil of satire involved. Like “Borat,” the way the unsuspecting witnesses react (and sometime don’t) reveals something about our society. More than once, people act with compassion, and protective intentions.

“Bad Grandpa” is structured like most of the other “Jackass” films: Knoxville and Co. play a number of unimaginable pranks on unwitting civilians. The ridiculous stunts, on their own, are plenty funny. (How can an old man getting caught making sandwiches in a grocery (without buying the ingredients), getting caught red handed, denying the whole thing to the accuser’s face while still blatantly holding the evidence, and finally trying to make a run/walk for it, not be funny?) The bits are pushed even further over the top by the reactions of unknowing passers-by. Their wide-eyed and stunned responses ratchet up the comedy exponentially. Like most of us, these poor saps mostly don’t know how to behave after what they’ve witnessed. Or if they do, they often react badly. It’s all very, very funny.

The main difference between this and a standard “Jackass” movie is that here there’s a sort-of story, which dictates the craziness. In heavy make-up, Knoxville plays crotchety, old Irving Zisman. He's  a close relative of the Alan Arkin character from "Little Miss Sunshine": grouchy, relentlessly skirt chasing, and brutally, hysterically funny. The premise is that his pretend daughter is soon-to-be thrown in jail. Her dead-beat husband is out of the picture, several states away, leaving Irv stuck with their 8-year old son Billy (Jackson Nicholl). Taking care of the kid is the last thing the old man wants to do. After some convincing (involving an unsuspecting mediator and video conference at an internet café), Irving strong-arms the dad into taking the boy back. With no other options, Irv and Billy pile into an old Lincoln, and set off across country.

The road-movie framework provides impetus for Irv and Billy to prank a bingo hall, wedding, funeral, strip club, an estate sale, and countless other settings along the way, in classic “Jackass” fashion.

If I have any complaints, they are that a couple of the bits seemed like they were just about to pay off huge, but they never peaked. The set-ups showed tremendous promise, but the punch lines never bloomed. They felt like denouement, instead of climax. They were still funny, but not knock-it-out-of-the-park terrific. Maybe (because I’ve grown accustomed to the tear-inducing laughter of other Jackass bits), my expectations were a little too high? Not every at bat is a home run.

Still, the vast majority of jokes pay off in enormous ways (especially a couple of genitalia sight gags). I laughed as hard at “Bad Grandpa” as any film in recent memory. Knoxville’s ability to stay in character through it all is miraculous. As Billy, young Nicholl, too, is amazingly quick on his feet, and composed. How, knowing the set up and what’s to come, the pair still manage to pull all this off without breaking into giggles, is astonishing.

The movie’s rated R, which may be right. It’s got some adult language, as well as a couple mature situations/conversations. That said, the gags are so over-the-top, cartoonish, and so well intentioned, its hard to see why even the raunchiest of them might be offensive. The jokes are silly, not lascivious. It’s slapstick-meets-candid-camera.

The “Jackass” creative team realize, in a similar way to Larry David, that basically most people are socially awkward. So much of life is routine that, when faced with something incongruous from what we’re used to, we usually don’t know hot to properly respond,. Add to that the fact that most of us give extra latitude to children and old people, and there’s your formula for comedy. Director Tremaine and Knoxville exploit our quirks brilliantly.

Poop and dick jokes are time-tested successes. As are farts, inappropriate comments, and the ironclad hilarity of seeing someone trip and fall down (ask Homer J. Simpson; he gave the “Man Hit in Groin with Football” short his highest rating, as judge of the Springfield International Film Festival). Are they dumb jokes? Sure. But they’re funny as all get out, too. If you like your comedy more highbrow, and all these adolescent antics aren’t your cup of tea, I can’t blame you. A flaming-bag-of-poop-on-a-doorstep isn’t for everyone. But I’ll be too busy laughing at the undiluted idiocy to disagree.

Nebraska (2013)

Father and son bond on the road.

“You’ve Just Won a Million Dollars!”

Most of us would instantly dismiss any mail bearing this unlikely proclamation. Not Woody Grant (a revelatory Bruce Dern). In Alexander Payne’s quietly poignant new film “Nebraska,” instead this promise of riches lights a fire under the old man. The very definition of curmudgeon, sporting wild, white hair, a weeks-old scruffy beard, and a permanently-puzzled expression, the sweepstakes letter sets the old man off on a quest from Billings to Lincoln, where he hopes to claim his treasure.

At first we find Woody wandering on the side of the highway. He intends to walk to the sweepstakes office. Never mind it’s two states away. He’s too old to drive any more, so if he has to walk to get there, he'll walk. All he wants with the winnings are a new truck (“But wait,” you say. “I thought he couldn’t drive?”; such is the charm of this movie), and to replace his long-lost air compressor. That’s it. But it’s enough to set in motion one of the best films of the year.

“Nebraska” is a father/son road movie. After failing to convince his dad the entire thing’s a ruse, Woody’s youngest son David (Saturday Night Live’s Will Forte, showing considerable dramatic range) reluctantly agrees to drive his pop to Lincoln. Woody won’t listen to reason, so how else to convince the old-timer it’s all just a ruse? Plus, David’s girlfriend’s just moved out, and his job selling stereo equipment is dreary. Some bonding time with dad might prove therapeutic. The pair set out across the vast plains, along the way passing through run-down gas stations, rest stops, cheap motels, and the small town where Woody grew up.

Most of the film takes place in the town. Woody hasn’t been back for years, but all the same people are in all the same bars and restaurants from when he left. When they ask what’s brought him back, Woody’s so confident that he’s won the money, he matter-of-factly tells them without the hesitation good sense would dictate. The news of untold fortune is the first bit of excitement the town’s known in forever. It causes such a stir that the local paper even writes a story about the small-town-boy-made-good. Everyone’s happy for Woody’s good fortune. At first.

However, what begins as the townsfolk’s jubilation and sincere happiness for Woody’s good fortune, soon turns to greed. People he hasn’t seen for decades—acquaintances, friends and even family members—line up, hoping to snag their part of the gravy train. Each has their own crazy excuse, justifying why Woody should pay them. None realize that there isn’t really any money. Part of the fun is watching the depths to which they’ll grovel for something that doesn’t even exist.

The entire trip comes to the chagrin of Woody’s firecracker of a wife, Kate (June Squibb). She thinks Woody is crazy for believing the scam is real, and David nuts for going along on the wild goose chase. Also, Kate has no verbal filter whatsoever. She recounts stories from their growing up years, where inevitably all the other small-town women are “whores,” “tramps,” and worse. In one of the film’s funniest lines, rather than keeping an embarrassing family secret quiet, she loudly outs a nephew for rape. She’s at once acerbic, and terribly funny.

Shot in black-and-white (props to cinematographer Phedon Papamichael), the imagery of the vast landscape is gorgeous. Seeing their little car putter along the highway, across a backdrop of such an expanse, conveys a sense of calm and contentment.

The way “Nebraska” understands small towns, as well as the bonds shared between their inhabitants is smart. It’s always insightful about the grudges and strains amongst family members. Thought I expected it to be a little slow, it’s surprisingly well paced. It’s also funnier than I thought it'd be, as well.

Even though Woody’s goal is a fool’s errand, there’s something worthwhile to be gained from the journey.

The Act of Killing (2012)

After the successful 1965 military coup of the socialist government of Indonesia, paramilitary and gangster groups slaughtered somewhere close to million teachers, union members, intellectuals, landless farmers, ethnic Chinese and communists. Anyone branded an enemy was assumed to be guilty. The accused received no trial, were afforded no human rights, and were immediately and unceremoniously murdered. It was one of the largest genocides in recent history.

Decades later, director Joshua Oppenheimer asks several former death-squad members to re-create their crimes for his camera. Most of the men were low-level criminals, used by the government to eliminate opposition. Extraordinarily, the killers openly dramatize how they murdered countless numbers of their countrymen. The men, now well into their 70s, go into horrifying specifics about the crimes and atrocities they’ve committed. Without shame or remorse, they matter-of-factly boast about the various different ways prisoners were tortured and murdered. We see them describe how they used members of the media to locate their victims, and then brag about raping women, chopping off opponents’ heads. What emerges is the documentary “The Act of Killing,” a harrowing examination of fascism, guilt, crime, and lack of punishment.

The film’s main character is Anwar Congo. He plainly states that he’s killed 1,000 people. He shows us his favorite method: piano wire. He says he was inspired by American gangster films starring Marlon Brando and Al Pacino (apparently “The Godfather” played big in Indonesia criminal circles). When asked about his actions, he says he feels no contrition, but admits self medicating with music, alcohol and marijuana, and other drugs, anyway. Despite what he says, as he begins to open up, we learn he’s haunted by nightmares of his crimes. Try as he might, he can’t escape his guilt.

We’re also introduced to the Pancasila Youth, a three-million strong pro-government group, whose members wear garishly bright neon-camouflage uniforms. Their leaders proclaim the group “defenders of the country,” when in reality we learn they were largely responsible for mass killings of anyone suspected of government opposition. It’s kind of a south-Asian Hitler Youth. We’re shown an enormous Pancasila Youth rally, where leaders speak in impassioned tones, invoking jingoistic language that recalls Adolf Hitler. In fact, many of the film’s scenes recall the Nazis, and Khmer Rouge. Indeed, Indonesia’s then-vice president is shown speaking to the group, hailing their violence as sometimes “necessary.”

Frighteningly, we see current political leaders extoling the virtues of the death squads. And worse. At a dinner, the head of Pancasila is caught bragging about the gang rape of a young girl in a car. Cameras follow another official as he visits various small Chinese-owned business, openly extorting money from the owners. Later, he talks about raping Chinese women. Recounting the sexual assault of 14-year old girls, he says it will be “hell for them, but heaven on earth” for him. Another gang member runs for political office, saying hopes to use his future position as a government regulator to extort money. “Imagine, $10,000 per building,” he says cheerfully. In rehearsal for one of the narrative film’s scenes, the current Indonesian head of Youth and Sport whips a lynch mob into a frenzy, gleefully calling for a village to be destroyed, its inhabitants burned, beheaded, and raped. His rapt audience becomes hysterical.

“The Act of Killing’s” most-powerful scenes revolve around two scenes where paramilitary members act out their crimes: the first is a massacre of a small village, the second an simple interrogation scene in an office. In the former, village men, women and children are tortured, murdered, and their houses burned to the ground. The violence is so realistic that child actors in the scene are left crying. Congo himself is even taken aback, saying “I didn’t expect it to look so real.” So the man who committed the original crime can’t bear to witness its recreation, decades later. In the interrogation scene, Congo plays the victim. What starts out as acting quickly goes very, very wrong for him. Placed in the position of those he brutalized years ago, Congo begins to internalize their fear and suffering, and breaks down. He interrupts filming to try and regain composure. When he admits that he can relate to the torment his victims must have felt, the director corrects him, reminding him that, unlike him, his victims didn’t have the luxury of knowing they were merely acting.

Another heart-rending scene involves a man, whose step-father was dragged from their house in the middle of the night, and killed. He re-enacts the scene, all these years later, along with the actual executioners. During filming, his trauma bubbles to the surface. He suddenly becomes overwhelmed with grief. His torment, expressed among the men who actually committed these horrors long ago, is astonishing.

We’re introduced to several other killers, each with his own twisted justification for the crimes. As the director says in the supplemental DVD materials, the men “seem hollow,” unable to enjoy their lives. Staggeringly, what seems to be entirely lost on them is even the vaguest sense that what they did was wrong. Remarkably, the men don’t suggest even a hint of remorse. Inexplicably, their murders are celebrated as a great contribution to the Indonesian state. The climactic final scene unbelievably shows the ghosts of the murdered, grateful to the death-squad members for killing them, thanking their murders for sending them to heaven. In their tortured regret, the gangsters have concocted this improbable scenario as a means to assuage their souls. Not one of them even so much as describes why it is that the communists were bad for the country. To the contrary, in hindsight militia members now freely admit that they, not the communists, were the real blood-thirsty savages.

“The Act of Killing” is a unique and startling glimpse into a barbarous period of Indonesian history. Think of what ever adjective you like—harrowing, shocking, unsettling—it’s beyond all of them. But it’s also an accomplished and thorough piece of filmmaking (no surprise, since Werner Herzog and Errol Morris receive producer credits). It feels like a “Frontline” documentary, except it lacks any layer of distance from its subject. Usually criminal documentaries show accusers outlining the crime, while the guilty deny responsibility. That the film talks directly to the criminals who carried out untold unspeakable acts—men who willingly and openly discuss (even celebrate) murder the way one might talk about a baseball game or the weather—is unbelievably. It left me incredulous. In the aftermath of the genocide, there have never been any truth-and-reconciliation commissions, no justice for the relatives of the victims, and no one has ever been punished. The fact that the government that spawned these men is still in power, is unimaginable and outrageous.

PS-Even the film’s credits are disturbing. In something I’ve never seen before, countless major jobs are listed as having been performed by “Anonymous,” for fear of reprisal from those in still in power in Indonesia.

The Spectacular Now (2013)

Senior year of high school can be an unusual time. Almost free of the bonds of school, the future only partially defined, hormones and self doubt both raging. 17- and 18-year olds can be mature enough to know a little bit, while still possessing the optimism of youth. The weighty responsibilities of life are mostly yet to bear down, it’s often a reckless, energetic and difficult age. Emotions seem heightened, especially those of romantic love, and loss. 

The main character in James Ponsoldt’s “The Spectacular Now” is Sutter Keely. He’s an engaging, clever, self-assured high-school senior. Never at a loss for words, he carries a sly grin and a flask every where he goes. But are his accessories signs of confidence, or simply his way of deflecting and self medicating? He seems well liked, but isn’t necessarily part of the cool crowd. He’s not an athlete, doesn't date the prom queen, isn’t a good student, doesn’t have college plans, and spends most of his time either working at a men’s suit-and-tie shop, with his pretty girlfriend Cassidy (Brie Larson), or paling around with his kinda nerdy friend Ricky (Masam Holden). So who is he, really?

“The Spectacular Now” is propelled by unusually keen performances by its two leads, Miles Teller (as Keely), and Shailene Woodley (as Aimee Finicky). After being dumped by his girlfriend, Sutter spends a raucous night on the town, trying to drown out her memory with drinks and relentlessly hitting on other girls. As the next day dawns, Aimee’s find him passed out face down on her front lawn, his car no where to be found. He helps her with her mom’s paper route, which begins a tender, honest and intimate friendship. But is he in as much as he seems, or merely happy to find Aimee as a soft landing spot, after Cassidy ditched him? Is it all a front?

As Sutter, Teller is particularly convincing. His portrayal of Sutter as a likeable and decent kid at times recalls John Cusack’s character in “Say Anything.” His confidence, swagger and ingratiating way with words suggests a younger version of Vince Vaughn’s “Trent,” from “Swingers.” Like Trent, he’s funny, charming, and forever the life of the party. He also has the unique ability to at once keep the spotlight on himself, while not really revealing any deeper truths about his own nature. He also has the rare gift to make those around him feel like he’s truly listening to them, and really interested in what they have to say. Because of this, he’s the kind of guy men and women both enjoy being around. It’s a compelling, accomplished, and nuanced performance by the young actor.

Woodley’s “Aimee” isn’t quite as outgoing. She’s a little shy, but not retiring. Aimee’s smart, and while happy to have Sutter’s attention, it doesn’t define her. She’s not dependent upon his affection for her happiness. She thinks about her future, and wants to go to college in Philly, after graduation. In short, she’s smart (both in school and out). She’s well adjusted, kind, and not needy, a stark contrast to the bitchy-girl stereotypes too many high-school films trot out. 

The dialogue Sutter and Aimee share feels so natural and unrehearsed, it seems ad-libbed. It’s is a credit to the screenwriters (Scott Neustadter and Micheal H. Weber), as well as the novel on which the story’s based (by Tim Tharp).

There are important smaller roles in the film, all of which contribute to its success: Jennifer Jason Leigh plays Sutter’s single-mom. She’s a frazzled nurse, struggling to balance paying bills with being a responsible mother (probably doing a better job of the former than latter). The pair are friends, and Sutter talks to her in a way that belies their closeness. His absent father (played by “Friday Night Lights’” Kyle Chandler) is an altogether different animal. The pair haven’t talked in years, much less seen one another. The dad’s referred to in unflattering terms to throughout the movie, so we’re not quite sure what to expect when he finally arrives. Finally, there’s Sutter’s boss (Bob Odenkirk, who’s seemingly everywhere now; originally of “Mr. Show;” of late “Breaking Bad” and “Nebraska”) at the clothing store. He likes Sutter, and wants to help him, but wonders if his efforts may be in vain. 

Think of the best high-school films, the ones that left a lasting impression: the John Hughes films (especially “16 Candles” and “Breakfast Club”), “Fast Times at Ridgemont High,” 2012’s “The Perks of Being a Wallflower,” “Dead Poets Society,” etc… It’s an age mostly not done very honestly in films. So when it is, it stands out. Like those films, “The Spectacular Now” stuck with me, perhaps because it's about so much more than simply the success of young love. It may not rank as a classic, but it is a touching and insightful coming-of-age drama. One that takes its teenage characters seriously. These kids aren’t dumbed-down archetypes we’ve seen a million times before. Instead they’re thoughtful, sensitive, 3-dimensional characters, who feel like people we’ve known (or would like to). I wonder what happened to these kids, as the years passed, they grew up, and life got more serious?