Love and Mercy – 7

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I’m not sure this movie would be of interest or make sense to anyone who hasn’t followed Brian Wilson’s career, but that’s still a pretty big market. And even for those like me who have been fans forever, the movie left some pretty big holes – like how he came under the control of his Svengali, Dr. Eugene Landy, and what happened during all the years it took Paul Dano to become John Cusack. And speaking of Dr. Landy, why do directors keep casting Paul Giamatti in these roles, where instead of the character you just see Paul-Giamatti-in-a-bad-wig? The best bits are in the studio, where the young Wilson crafts his music, and the fake “archival” shots of 1963, the beach and “Fun Fun Fun.” Some truths are stranger than fiction, and this is one of them.

Broadway 2015

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We have spent five weeks in New York going more to the theater than movies – especially since we were shut out of the Apu Trilogy on Memorial Day – so I thought I could use this space for a brief recap of what we’ve seen on the boards in a variety of venues: Broadway, Lincoln Center, Public Theater, Circle in the Square, Playwrights Horizons, New World Stages – four musicals, three dramas, all worthy, only one disappointment (Grounded, with Anne Hathaway).

Far and away our favorite was Hand to God, the story of a repressed Texas boy and his sock puppet. Every moment was hysterical, the acting was uniformly stellar, and we were overwhelmed by the creativity of the puppetry. It was a little like Ted, if it were live and Mark Wahlberg played Seth MacFarlane’s part as well as his own.

More conventional but just as funny was Qualms, Bruce Norris’s new play just about to open. Jeremy plays the odd-man-out in a get-together of swingers at the beach. It recalled a Terence McNally ensemble piece, with sex the only topic on the agenda.

As for the musicals, Fun Home deserves all the accolades it is getting, but I was only 3/4 engaged, maybe because of the unfamiliarity of the music, the staginess of the production in the round, or the lead character’s announcing the ending at the play’s start. The King and I was a total delight. Perhaps no one could have matched Kelli O’Hara’s brilliance, but Ken Watanabe was a puzzlement: he had great stage presence but came up short in the acting, singing and speaking English departments.

An American In Paris featured extraordinary dancing, but a little dancing goes a long way with me, and the story – never a strong point – reminded me too often of the movie, which I saw recently and didn’t like. The familiar Gershwin songs were wonderful; the less familiar ones not so much. We also saw Clinton The Musical, which I would describe as a hoot. Written by an Australian Ph.D student living in England, it felt more like a Hasty Pudding theatrical than Broadway production, but the songs were cute and the portrayal of a bouncy, perky, power-hungry Hillary was charming.

The only disappointment was Grounded, Anne Hathaway’s portrayal of a fighter pilot reduced to running a drone at an Air Force base in Las Vegas. Her performance was a tour-de-force; the problem was the play. I never figured out what its point was. It was better, in any event, than The Heidi Chronicles with Elisabeth Moss, which was the other play of this season we saw on our previous visit.

In honor of the recent, rather boring Tony broadcast, I will herewith hand out my awards for the above shows, which don’t vary much from the official results.

Best Actress in a Musical: Kelli O’Hara was transcendent. I melted every time she sang, above all on “Hello, Young Lovers.”

Best Actor in a Musical: Robert Fairchild’s effortless dancing, fine singing and pleasant personality made me forget Gene Kelly’s smarmy original.

Best Actor in a Play: Steven Boyer gave the most moving performance we saw, and the performance of his hand puppet Tyrone was not far behind.

Best Actress in a Play: Geneva Carr gave a performance beyond her years as Boyer’s mother, expressing a gamut of emotions as widow, mother, teacher, lover, confused Texas blonde.

Best Featured Actress in a Musical: Sydney Lucas and Emily Skeggs were nuanced, age-appropriate Alison Bechdels.

Best Featured Actor in a Musical: Brandon Uranowitz did well with the sympathetic underdog role in American in Paris.

Best Featured Actress in a Play: Sarah Stiles made homely beautiful and had the season’s best sex scene.

Best Featured Actor in a Play: Jeremy Shamos and John Procaccino stood out, but not too much, in the wonderful ensemble cast of The Qualms.

Best Set Design: The ship in The King and I.

I’ll See You In My Dreams – 6.5

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Such a quiet movie: for maybe ten minutes it proceeded without a background soundtrack, except for the explosions from San Andreas in the theater above us and the screeching of hearing aids from the elderly crowd around us. Ironically, the best moments in the movie came from music: Blythe Danner’s karaoke version of ‘Cry Me A River’ and  a long montage of Danner wandering after her lover’s death, accompanied by my favorite song of 2015, ‘Let’s Be Still.’ Otherwise, it was a pretty forgettable film, with lots of acting by Danner, which seemed more acting than real, perhaps because of the flimsy story and hokey characters around her.

Mad Max: Fury Road – 3

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Ridiculous to the max. A two-hour chase scene without the distraction of character, plot or dialogue.

Far From the Madding Crowd – 7

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There was no need to make Sgt. Troy look like an untrustworthy cad, with a mustache that drooped over his upper lip, supercilious eyes and foppish clothes. We knew, without that, that he nowhere the equal of the telegraphically named Gabriel Oak, but this was typical of the unsubtle approach of director Thomas Vinterberg to the Thomas Hardy novel. The movie itself, however, was not without its period charms, most notably Carey Mulligan’s beautiful, expressive face. I was reminded of Reese Witherspoon and Wild: spending two hours watching Carey Mulligan was never less than pleasant.

 

Still Alice – 8

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A lovely movie, much less mawkish than commentators led me to believe (perhaps they considered Julianne Moore’s role too Oscar-obvious?). Julianne Moore was much of the reason, and her performance was touching without being pathetic. We felt for her but we were never uncomfortable in her presence. But if she was one-half the movie, the other half carried its weight, as well. The family dynamic was realistic and Kristen Stewart was bravely unglamorous. Most of all, it raised the question, common to so many of us, of how to deal with Alzheimer’s, in our loved ones and ourselves.

Mr. Turner – 6.5

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In this consistently bizarre portrait of the artist, we get no insight into J.M.W.Turner or his art. Instead, we get a character study of Timothy Spall as a grunting, lecherous, antisocial individual who walks as if his legs are stilts protruding from his hips. The movie is a montage of short vignettes, each cut short before its finish, each unrelated to the one that follows. Together they produce an impression – but of what? Actual historical figures are thrown in, as are some of Turner’s famous paintings, but how they came to be there is as much a mystery at the end of the film as its outset.

Oscar Dud 2015

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A big-winner favorite I didn’t like and a self-referential host who wasn’t funny were two of the reasons Oscar disappointed last night. As reported previously, my wife and I walked out of Birdman because we were having such a bad time. The absurdist magical-realism style never connected, and the characters, starting with Michael Keaton and climaxing with Edward Norton, were unpleasant company. The “one-take” cinematography, not any plot, was the story, and that came to feel like a gimmick. How much more did I enjoy seeing clips from the non-winners: The Imitation Game, Selma, The Theory of Everything, American Sniper! Aside from his adroit opening number, Neil Patrick Harris was a distraction rather than an addition. Who cared about his “Oscar predictions” in a sealed envelope or his jokes about himself? No one tuned in to see you, Neil Patrick.

Then there were other annoyances. One is baked in in this world of social-media and preliminary award shows: all the winners were known in advance. We were told that J.K. Simmons, Patricia Arquette and Julianne Moore were certain winners, and indeed they were. There was some question that Eddie Redmayne would triumph over Keaton, but he was the favorite and it held. Same for Birdman over Boyhood. Without suspense, opening the envelope is not the big deal it used to be. One mistake in production can easily be fixed: each Best Picture nominee should be given its own introduction. Apparently, with eight nominees the producers felt it would take too much time. But how discordant it was to combine American Sniper with Grand Budapest Hotel – or with any of the other nominees. Ditto for Selma, which deserved a solo moment in the sun. The best pictures are the big draw – give them more space. As for what took up too much time, look no further than the full production numbers for each Best Song nominee. None of them was particularly good, or memorable (even the winner, Glory), and did we really need to see a bunch of Legos bouncing around on stage? Another misuse of time came when the orchestra tried to usher winners off-mike in the middle of their acceptance speeches, which were the one spontaneous event of the overscripted evening. Particularly embarrassing was the music that tried to drown out one winner’s acknowledgement of her son’s suicide.

Then there is the perennial problem of the minor awards. The evening starts with a bang, the award for Best Supporting Actor (or Actress). Then we are fed a slew of categories that have little meaning and produce winners we have never heard of and don’t especially care to hear from now. For some reason, the awards for Costume Design, Sound Editing, etc., almost all go to Best Picture nominees, even though it makes no sense that these few pictures, which are chosen for their superior story, acting and directing, would also be the best in all the technical fields. And then we have to listen to the unglamorous award recipients thank their families and other insiders. All we can hope for is that they don’t embarrass themselves – and that they get off stage quickly without musical cue. For some reason, the Oscar producers also feel it imperative to add an unrelated big production number. In the old days it used to be a dance. A couple years ago it was a tribute, for no good reason, to Chicago. This year, with the excuse of a 50th anniversary, we got a two-fold tribute to The Sound of Music. It wasn’t enough to see Julie Andrews singing in clips; we got to see the tattooed Lady Gaga singing the same songs in person.

In other words, there are many easy ways to cut 30-40 minutes from the always overlong show. Or to make room to devote more airtime to the Best Picture nominees and their stars, which are the reason we tune in in the first place.

Villa Touma – 6.8

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Maybe because there are three sisters, the blurb described this film from Israel as Chekhovian. In fact, it was as much Dickens or O’Henry – or whoever it was who wrote Cinderella. The plot is simple: an unwanted niece comes to live with her three aunts, remnants of a Christian community in Ramallah who exist in an isolated time warp. As the niece struggles to adapt, we see her disruptive effect on the aunts’ lives. They have distinct personalities, and in case we miss the point, the mean aunt has bug eyes and a hook nose, while the good aunt is pretty. Other than the surprise ending, the plot is predictable, but I enjoyed the glimpse of another culture.

Timbuktu – 8

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If, as I do, you want a foreign film to immerse you and teach you about an alien culture, then Timbuktu will satisfy you and more. There is a plot of sorts, but the film is more a series of vignettes, showing what life is like for the unfortunate residents of this city in Mali which has been taken over by a fundamentalist jihadist group. The overlords don’t speak the local language or observe local customs, applying their version of sharia’, which results in a woman lashed for her music, a couple stoned to death for adultery, a woman abducted for marriage and the main character executed for accidentally killing a neighbor. We get the feeling that everyone we see, however fleetingly, is a real person, even the jihadis. The landscape is beautifully photographed, and everyone moves at the same desert-slow pace. With music forbidden and dialogue minimal, we fall into a kind of trance as we experience life in Timbuktu.