MY MOVIE SHELF: The Birdcage

The Task: Watch and write about every movie on my shelf, in order (Blu-rays are sorted after DVDs), by June 10, 2015.  Remaining movies: 78 Days to go: 53

Movie #362:  The Birdcage

When Robin Williams passed away, this was one of the films I immediately wanted to buy, so much do I love the performance he gives as Armand. It’s not the flashiest, or the most famous. It’s not the most renowned, and the film itself feels a tad outdated to me now (though it still makes me laugh like crazy), but Williams is just so heartfelt here. He’s playing a gay man, but without any of the affectations he would use to communicate “gay” in his stand-up. (Nathan Lane, as Albert, produces more of those than any one person could handle, anyway.) Armand is distinctly his own person, neither flamboyant nor butch, except maybe in certain situations. (His 10-second performance of the history of dance is one of my favorite things, and to this day I rarely say “Madonna” without saying it like he does: “Madonna! Madonna! Madonna! Madonna!” While vogue-ing, of course, though I sometimes keep that part internalized.) And more than anything, Armand holds in his heart a great deal of love and respect — for his son Val (Dan Futterman) and especially for his partner Albert. “I’m fifty years old,” he says. “I have one place in the world I call home and it’s because you’re there.” Is there any expression of lifelong devotion and commitment more sincere?

The Birdcage is a very funny story of two very different families coming together when the children get engaged. Val and Barbara (Calista Flockhart) are very young and very much in love, and they want to convince their parents that they’re ready for this step. But Barbara’s parents are the kind of Republicans who think Bob Dole and Billy Graham are too liberal. And Val’s parents are gay. (His biological mother, played by the luminous Christine Baranski, has not been involved in his life.) Not only that, but Senator and Mrs. Keeley (Gene Hackman and Dianne Wiest) are trying to escape association with a colleague’s scandalous death, while Armand and Albert’s manservant Agador (Hank Azaria) steals Albert’s wigs so he can impersonate Gloria Estefan while sweeping the floor.

When I first saw The Birdcage I loved it instantly, but I was also pretty irritated with Val for being so cavalier and dismissive regarding his parents’ feelings, and their entire relationship. I get it, he’s twenty and he wants to fit in with his fiancée’s family, is afraid of losing her if they don’t get her conservative parents’ approval. And naturally it all works out in the end. I just always thought it took him far too long to defend them. Especially since (and this is what I love most about the film) his family is just as secure and he was raised with just as many values as Barbara. So what if his parents run a drag show and hers are right-wing Republicans? Amid all the pratfalls and the farce and the musical numbers (“I Could’ve Danced All Night” is my favorite) and the outrageously funny performances, The Birdcage is a story of acceptance and inclusion. I love that. I bet Robin Williams loved that.

True story: My aunt once went to a drag show with her brother (my uncle) and his partner, and she was mistaken for a man. This was a million years ago, when big hair and makeup and probably even shoulder pads were still very much a thing — plus my aunt is six feet tall as it is — so I can kind of see it. And considering how put together and glamorous drag queens look, I would take it as a compliment anyway. In my experience, very few women can pull off that amount of pizzazz. I’ve only been to one drag show in my life (unless you count being in the audience at a Lady Gaga concert), and it wasn’t nearly as elegant as those held at The Birdcage club. Then again, it was in Columbus, Ohio and not South Beach, Florida, so I guess I get what I settle for. But if I can ever get to one starring Nathan Lane (or for that matter, Gene Hackman, who I don’t love usually, but who is sort of fabulously cast here) (or Dianne Wiest, who looks GREAT in fake drag) (or even Calista Flockhart, who is “just as pretty as these other guys”), I’m going to make a point to go. I bet it’s a hell of a lot of fun.

Just like The Birdcage.

MY MOVIE SHELF: Unforgiven

The Task: Watch and write about every movie on my shelf, in order (Blu-rays are sorted after DVDs), by June 10, 2015.  Remaining movies: 91 Days to go: 61

Movie #349:  Unforgiven

Unforgiven won the 1992 Academy Award for Best Picture (among others) and I have been avoiding seeing it for all that time. Generally I like to see all the Best Picture nominees, but in this case I just happen to know that when it comes to Clint Eastwood, AMPAS and I simply do not see eye-to-eye.

The movie opens with some text, apropos of nothing, about a woman who married a no-good villain named William Munny (who we’ll find out later is played by Eastwood), but to the surprise of her mother, died of smallpox in 1878, instead of at the hands of her evil husband. A while later we meet up with old Munny on his pig farm. He’s raising his two children by himself, he misses his dear departed wife, and he’s not a great farmer. A kid shows up (Jaimz Woolvett), calling himself The Schofield Kid, after his preferred weapon. Despite Munny having forsaken his old ways, The Kid knows him by reputation through family, and offers him a partner opportunity to kill a couple of cowboys who cut up a prostitute in Big Whiskey, Wyoming. There’s a reward, see, being offered by the assaulted woman and her friends — led by Strawberry Alice (Frances Fisher) — of $1000 to anyone who kills the cowboys.

Before any of that happens, though, we see the assault on the woman and we see the refusal of Sheriff Little Bill (Gene Hackman) to mete out any real punishment on the cowboys. Instead of hanging them as the women insist, he intends to whip them, but winds up only “fining” them a few ponies, paid to the owner of the brothel instead of the victim. It is at this injustice that the women decide to come up with the promise of a reward. Little Bill finds out about their offer, though, and proceeds to tell people far and wide not to seek retribution on the cowboys. He publicly beats a notorious assassin named English Bob (Richard Harris) who has come to seek the bounty as a message to other criminals, and he wins the admiration of English Bob’s biographer (Saul Rubinek), who then decides to write about Little Bill’s exploits instead.

When the two narrative threads finally come together, Little Bill tries to make an example of Munny as well, but Munny gets away (along with the kid and Munny’s longtime friend and partner Ned Logan, played by Morgan Freeman). The trio track down one of the cowboys, but find that killing him isn’t as easy as they thought. Ned bows out and tries to head home, while Munny and the Kid seek out the second cowboy. However, Ned gets caught by Little Bill’s posse and winds up beaten and tortured for information before his body gives out and he dies. When Munny finds out about Ned’s fate, he has the Kid (who’s sworn off gunfighting after being sick over killing the cowboy) return the reward to Munny’s farm, while Munny goes to seek revenge on Little Bill. He does, and it’s all very macho and badass, and the biographer is probably going to write about Munny now, and that’s it.

Except there’s also an epilogue, also apropos of nothing, about how Munny’s mother-in-law came to see her daughter’s grave once after Munny and the kids moved to San Francisco, and she still couldn’t figure out why her angelic daughter would marry such a miscreant. The end.

The movie seems to be about unrealized expectations, about nothing really living up to its reputation — be it revenge or notoriety or even how badly injured the prostitute was in the first place — and honestly, that’s exactly the experience I had in watching it. Or it would’ve been, if I hadn’t gone into the thing knowing I find Clint Eastwood’s particular brand of squinty gruffness tiresome, at best. If you dig him (and the Academy obviously — OBVIOUSLY — does), and if you dig Westerns, then the movie probably satisfies. I don’t, so I’ll just have to go about my life content with that fact. Me and Clint Eastwood don’t mix. It’s just one of those things.

 

MY MOVIE SHELF: Superman

The Task: Watch and write about every movie on my shelf, in order (Blu-rays are sorted after DVDs), by June 10, 2015.  Remaining movies: 99 Days to go: 66

Movie #341:  Superman

It’s been a really long time since I’ve seen this movie, and with all the other superhero movies flooding the market these days, it’s easy to forget how simply brilliant this one is. Not only was Superman the first of its kind (to my knowledge), it was also expertly executed, making it still one of the best. It is unequivocally the best (and my favorite) depiction of the character thus far.

Incredibly, before they ever knew if the film would be a success, they filmed Superman simultaneously with Superman II, and the entire opening segment of the film is merely a setup of the sequel — establishing the villain General Zod (Terence Stamp) and company, as well as their fate of being sealed in a floating pane of glass hurling through space for all eternity. It’s a fascinating sequence, but it really serves no purpose in this original film — the establishment of the nature and fate of the planet Krypton could be handled entirely by the scenes that come after these three are incarcerated — and it’s quite an ambitious (and expensive) leap of faith by the filmmakers to include it. It doesn’t pay off at all in Superman, so it’s pretty fantastic people were willing to take a gamble on it, because it pays off big time in Superman II.

But enough about that.

Superman doesn’t really feel like an origin story film, and yet it spends nearly half the film on his origin — on Krypton, in Smallville, and through to the Fortress of Solitude. That it doesn’t feel nearly as long as it is, is a testament to its excellent pacing.  The film moves easily from one story beat to the next, each scene serving a specific purpose of characterization or history or plot development. Nothing is really wasted or superfluous. Even the expository scene when Jor-El (Marlon Brando, as committed to this role as he was to any other) is imparting all the history of their planet and people to his son in the Fortress, is very efficient. Set against an evolving space-scape visual, Jor-El’s instruction fades in and over itself as topics change and time moves on, indicating that when Clark (Christopher Reeve) steps onto the streets of Metropolis, it’s twelve years later and he’s a much more mature, confident being. Not that he expresses that outwardly.

I’ve always been sort of fascinated by the nebbish Clark Kent, Superman’s human disguise, who is meant to be quiet, unassuming, and virtually unnoticed. It’s always been a bit of a joke that nobody notices he’s just Superman with glasses on, and yet Reeve really does a great job of looking different in each costume. Superman stands tall and firm. Everything about him, from his voice to his stare, is steady and assured. Clark hunches. Clark twitches. Clark fumbles. Clark stutters. Clark squints. Everything about Clark is unassured and hesitant. In Kill Bill Volume 2, Bill (David Carradine) has a long monologue about the nature of Superman — about how the man in the cape is who he really is, and how Clark is the disguise. He makes the point that Clark is how Superman sees humans, that we’re all a fumbling, stumbling lot. I don’t really think that’s true. It implies a certain condescension on Superman’s part toward the people he’s vowed to protect. Rather, I think Clark is how Superman sees the most invisible of us. He’s us at our weakest. Superman doesn’t want to be found out as Clark Kent, so he portrays himself as less than us, not equal.

Of course, you can hardly talk about Superman without also talking about Lois Lane (Margot Kidder), and just as this Superman is my favorite of all the ones out there, so is this my favorite Lois. Kidder plays the role so breezily. Her Lois is strong, smart and confident, but she also has weaknesses — only not in the typical “damsel in distress” way. Lois is observant and insightful, but also flighty and distracted. She’s a whip smart reporter but a terrible speller. She’s bold enough to ask Superman the color of her panties, but bashful enough to get flustered when he answers. She’s not afraid to yell at someone or complain when she’s upset, but she’s grateful and gracious and in awe of Superman’s help and presence. And when she meets her demise, it’s not passively. She claws and fights and screams to save herself. It hardly matters that she’s not successful.

The rest of the casting is incredibly satisfying and on point, as well, be it Jackie Cooper as Perry White or Marc McClure as Jimmy Olsen, both of whom seem to perfectly epitomize their characters comic book personas. And the trio of earthly villains — a delightful Gene Hackman as Lex Luthor, a hilariously inept Ned Beatty as Otis, and the beautiful, breathy, somewhat hopeful/somewhat mournful Valerie Perrine as Miss Teschmacher — are murderous thieves who nonetheless are portrayed with a light, playful touch that mirrors the tone of the film at large. (Thankfully, unlike more recent Superman films, this one is not nearly as dark, as brooding, or as depressingly destructive.)

In all, Superman is an extraordinarily fun film — a triumphant story of good over evil. It emphasizes everything we love about the character with his amazing powers and his good-hearted desire to do right by the American people. It’s an overwhelmingly positive message of hope and fantasy and right prevailing over wrong. And even with all the advances in special effects over the years, I still think it’s one of the best superhero films of all time.

 

MY MOVIE SHELF: Runaway Jury

The Task: Watch and write about every movie on my shelf, in order (Blu-rays are sorted after DVDs), by June 10, 2015.  Remaining movies: 209  Days to go: 146

Movie #229:  Runaway Jury

I’m not a lawyer, but I do watch a lot of Law & Order. That said, I’m probably not qualified to evaluate the legal merits of the gun trial central to Runaway Jury. It seems a little shaky to me, but, again, that’s my completely unprofessional opinion. John Grisham, on the other hand, actually used to be a lawyer, so maybe he knows more than I do. One thing he certainly knows is how to build a tense, gripping legal thriller, be it about a murderous law firm that overcharges its clients, the assassination of a couple of Supreme Court Justices, a snotty kid on the run from the mob, a revenge killing in racially charged Mississippi, a predatory insurance company whose executives think its clients are “stupid stupid stupid,” or the hijacking of a jury trial for profit. The man writes slick, entertaining bestsellers that — for a stretch of the ’90s, in particular — become hugely popular blockbuster films. It’s hardly a character flaw; he has a lot of talent, and I like every single one of those movies of his.

When I was growing up, my mom used to travel occasionally to professional conventions or whatever. My senior year of high school, my mom invited me and my best friend to travel with her on one of these trips, in March when she went to DC. She would be in meetings all day, though, so my friend and I pretty much had the city to ourselves. It was an amazing time, but those are details for another time. Our last day there, however, as we were doing some sightseeing around the Lincoln Memorial and the Mall, we came across a line of police tape blocking our path. Tom Cruise was right there, on the other side of that tape, filming a scene for The Firm. I’m not sure why I don’t own that one, except for the fact that a Gene Hackman who is openly lustful and creepy is not the Gene Hackman for me. On the other hand, manipulatively plotting, villainous Gene Hackman is right up my alley. So I own Runaway Jury.

Hackman plays Rankin Fitch, a jury fixer working for a gun manufacturer being sued by the widow of a man killed in a shooting that used this manufacturer’s criminal-friendly weapon. (Like I said, I make no comment on the legal merits of such a case.) He’s working behind the scenes, feeding advice to defense (or respondent? whatever) counsel Bruce Davison, investigating and intimidating jurors, and promising a win for the gun company. On the other side of the aisle is attorney Wendell Rohr (Dustin Hoffman), intentionally spilling mustard on his tie so he doesn’t appear too put together in court. He’s got his own jury consultant in Lawrence Green (Jeremy Piven), who is remarkably not annoying, though he also isn’t up to any of the illegal shenanigans Fitch has going on. And at the heart of it all is Piven’s Serendipity costar John Cusack as Nicholas Easter (and others), juror number nine. He and girlfriend “Marlee” (Rachel Weisz) are fixing this jury for a payoff, but it’s possible cash isn’t their only motivator.

The film is well-structured and well-paced to give Nick and Marlee the maximum amount of mystery and intrigue as to their motives, without getting bogged down in their machinations. Information is alternately leaked and withheld for the purpose of pulling the viewer along and investing them in the scheme, without revealing whether Nick and Marlee are characters to root for or not. It’s a tricky balance, but they achieve it. Plus, Marlee is one seriously tough chick. I find the ending a bit convenient — a bit shoehorned in for the purpose of a feel-good resolution — but other than that the movie works for me. I like it, and that’s really all there is to it.

Plus, I always welcome the chance to see Dylan McDermott singing “Big Rock Candy Mountain.” It’ll probably be in my head the rest of the night.

MY MOVIE SHELF: Get Shorty

The Task: Watch and write about every movie on my shelf, in order (Blu-rays are sorted after DVDs), by June 10, 2015.  Remaining movies: 256 Days to go: 256

Movie #121: Get Shorty

If you remember my post about Be Cool, some two and a half months ago, you maybe realized I wasn’t super fond of it. Get Shorty, I find, is worse. Tonight was my second viewing of the movie, and each time has been boring. I find myself drifting off, doing other things, contemplating tomorrow night’s menu or what my husband’s upcoming work schedule is. That’s not the sign of a great film.

The thing is, I don’t find John Travolta all that intimidating, maybe? He’s a big tough loan shark (thankfully, this movie doesn’t use the term “shylock” as often as Be Cool does), apparently the best fighter around, and can outsmart anyone and everyone. It’s a bit much.

What else is a bit much is the plot, which, while a decent send-up of the Hollywood hustle of putting a movie together that can maybe feel like a mob shakedown, is unreasonably convoluted and all over the place. Chili Palmer (Travolta) starts in Miami where he has a few run-ins with Ray Barboni (Dennis Farina, who is kind of funny as a bumbling mobster, but who is much more satisfying in things like Big Trouble as a competent mobster), then goes to Vegas to collect a debt, where he gets a job to collect another debt in L.A. Deciding he just “likes it” in L.A., he opts to leave loan-sharking to become a movie producer, as you do.

So in the midst of all this movie wheeling and dealing there are shakedowns and double-crosses and all sorts of underhandedness, featuring additional toughs drug dealer Bo Catlett (Delroy Lindo), stuntman-turned-heavy Bear (James Gandolfini), and the guy who played Lazlo Hollyfeld in Real Genius (Jon Gries) as some guy named Ronnie.

And on the movie side of things there’s Gene Hackman as B-movie producer Harry Zimm, acclaimed actor Martin Weir (Danny DeVito), and actress-turned-producer-turned-Chili’s-girlfriend Karen (Rene Russo). (Elmore Leonard might have a thing for chicks named Karen.) All the movie people try to act at least as tough as the mobsters and drug dealers and other criminals.

It’s kind of funny, like I said, but it’s also kind of a mess. Not only that, but being the “Cadillac of minivans” couldn’t save the Oldsmobile Silhouette (or any other Oldsmobile), so it’s kind of disappointing in general.