MY MOVIE SHELF: Out of Sight

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: 172  Days to go: 171

Movie #205:  Out of Sight

Out of Sight is a coming together of greats. Everything great about director Steven Soderbergh is here, from his stylized aesthetic to his inventive nonlinear heist structure and the great performances he pulls from scores of interesting actors. Everything great about writer Elmore Leonard is here (the movie is based on his novel), from the interesting characters to the snappy dialogue to the sparkling chemistry and thrilling plot. Everything great about George Clooney (as Jack Foley) is here, from his suave, effortless charm to his no-nonsense confidence to his playful sex appeal. And Jennifer Lopez (as Karen Sisco) is at her very, very best in this film. Selena might’ve been her breakout, and she has certainly stalled as any kind of successful actress after the Gigli bomb (or the Maid in Manhattan bomb) (or the Monster-in-Law bomb) (or whatever), but she is phenomenal in Out of Sight — calm, cool, collected, enigmatic, assertive, outspoken, powerful, a force to be reckoned with, and absolutely the sexiest she has ever been, no lie.

Jack Foley is a bank robber, but the nice kind. He never uses guns, for example. As the movie starts, we see Jack leave one building in a fit of anger and frustration, notice the bank across the street, and go over to rob it as a way of calming himself down. He’s very smart, very methodical, and very courteous. He robs the teller almost entirely on wit and charm and only gets caught because his car won’t start. He winds up at Glades Correctional in Belle Glades, Florida, where he escapes with the help of his oft-times partner Buddy (Ving Rhames), and where he meets Karen Sisco, US Marshall, for the first time.

Karen is at Glades by chance, winds up witnessing the prison break by several Cubans, and is confused and then abducted by Jack and Buddy when Jack emerges from the escapee’s tunnel wearing a prison guard uniform. (It was a top-notch plan, if not for her presence.) They put her in her trunk, which Jack climbs into as well, and Buddy drives them off safe and sound. This is Jack and Karen’s meet-cute, where they spend a car ride locked in a trunk trading thoughts and feelings on movies and other minutiae. They have a lot of chemistry, but it doesn’t stop Karen from trying to do her job and foil their getaway. She only partially succeeds, however, and the rest of the movie chronicles Jack and Buddy’s working toward their big score up north and Karen’s constant pursuit of them, all while the two would-be lovers contemplate a life in which they could maybe take a time out and explore these ever-increasing sparks of theirs.

Soderbergh is known as an actor’s director, and it’s easy to see why with the amazing performances he gets out of not only his leads, but every single supporting actor (and even those with cameo roles) in his films. I love Don Cheadle, and his work here at Maurice “Snoopy” Miller is almost unrecognizable in terms of his total immersion into the role of a vicious, irredeemable criminal. Whether it’s murder or grand larceny or just throwing a fight, Snoopy has no qualms, no conscience. Meanwhile national treasure (and seriously one of the funniest character actors of our time) Steve Zahn — as screw-up stoner thief Glenn Michaels — is dopey and ditzy in the best possible ways, plus he manages to accomplish 90% of his acting through the wearing of a ridiculous headband. There’s also Albert Brooks as Ripley, who manages to look even dumber with hair than without, and Dennis Farina as Marshall Sisco, Karen’s dad, who is as no-nonsense a detective as she is but who is also so loving and accepting of her. Pile on top of that great small performances from Luis Guzman (who can’t believe magicians use fake legs), Catherine Keener (as Jack’s adorable ex-wife), Michael Keaton (as Karen’s FBI guy squeeze), and even Samuel L. Jackson as an inmate with a history of leaving custody, and you have a film chock full of surprising and entertaining performances. Honestly, every single one is a delight (even Isaiah Washington pre-Grey’s Anatomy as Kenneth who likes to tussle, and early era Viola Davis as his sister Moselle). That’s not an easy thing to pull off, but Soderbergh is a whiz at it.

The tone of the movie is light, but also foreboding and wary. There’s a lot of hesitancy between what Jack and Karen feel for each other, what’s prudent, and what they can reasonably expect out of their attraction given their completely different lives, but in the end it’s actually heartwarming the way Jack and Karen’s fatalistic attitudes toward their futures don’t prevent them both from looking out for the other — Jack emptying his gun, Karen shooting him in the leg — and keeping each other safe. It’s as if they know they can’t call time out right now — and alter-egos Gary and Celeste have no chance of making things work — so they wait to find a better time. And, hey, it’s a long drive to Florida.

MY MOVIE SHELF: Far From Heaven

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: 272  Days to go: 264

Movie #105: Far From Heaven

Nothing against Nicole Kidman, and The Hours is a lovely, lovely film that I think is simply wonderful, but Julianne Moore in Far From Heaven is transcendent, and frankly it’s insane the woman doesn’t have an Oscar yet. Not one!

Years before Mad Men, there was Far From Heaven, a movie that juxtaposes the cinematic ideal of the 1950s with the more realistic and painful social and cultural conflicts that existed just below the surface. To emphasize this contradiction, the movie is filmed in bright and striking colors, the score is melodramatic to the point of being intrusive, and even driving scenes feature the obvious stock-footage film projected behind the back windows of the car. The characters, too, epitomize the suburban lifestyle of the ’50s, as seen in the movies of the time. Don and Betty Draper may have had an outwardly ideal marriage cloaked in secrets, but Frank and Cathy Whitaker (Dennis Quaid and Julianne Moore) did it first.

Cathy Whitaker is outrageously perfect. Always impeccably coiffed and dressed in the latest upper-middle class ’50s housewife fashions — petticoats, pointed bras and heels included — Cathy manages the home, shuffles the kids off to bed or to do their homework, oversees a housekeeper and a gardener, hosts functions, is active in the community, models for Frank’s company’s advertisements, gets written up in the society pages, and calls her husband “darling” at least three times per sentence. It’s over the top on purpose, to reflect how far removed this flawless exterior is from what’s really going on. Frank, see, has been acting shady — staying late at work, getting arrested under ambiguous circumstances, going to the movies by himself and following people into a secret bar around the corner. Cathy accepts his every excuse, but when he calls to say he’s staying late again and Cathy already has dinner ready, she opts to go bring him a plate, perfect wife that she is. What she finds at his office, however, is Frank and another man half-dressed and feverishly making out. Suddenly Cathy’s whole world is shaken. Having a homosexual husband can really strain a girl’s marriage that way.

Cathy is open-minded, though, and eager to help her husband in whatever way she can. He starts going to see a psychiatrist, but that only brings his anger and frustration and shame to the forefront. He drinks more heavily than ever, which leads to an out-of-control moment in which he flails to get her away from him and winds up striking her in the forehead. Losing her grip on the tightly wound life she’s lived up to that point, she bursts into tears and her (black) gardener, Raymond (Dennis Haysbert), sees her. Cathy soon finds herself opening up to him and enjoying his company at a time when, even in Hartford, CT, racism runs rampant. People start talking about and snubbing her, Frank forbids Raymond from working for them ever again, and Cathy is blamed for jeopardizing Frank’s reputation. Desperate and forlorn, she tells Raymond she can’t be his friend any longer. She hopes this will solve everything, but it doesn’t, and life just gets messier and more complicated for Cathy by the day.

Everything about Julianne Moore’s performance is fantastic, from her monied-New-Englander accent to her airy, sophisticated way of holding herself and treating everyone with respect. The desperation and unexpected heartbreak she experiences upon her separation from Raymond reads as stark pain on her face. Haysbert, too, is lovely to watch. The character of Raymond is warm and steadying in a world that, for Cathy, has suddenly turned cold and shaky. And Dennis Quaid is a tightly wound bundle of desire, aggression and self-loathing. He is barely restrained at all times, constantly appearing as if he jump off the screen and bolt to some safer ground. Even Viola Davis, downplaying her natural beauty and captivating persona as the Whitaker’s housekeeper, eyes the goings on in the household with a knowing circumspection and protectiveness. Only Patricia Clarkson, as Cathy’s best friend Eleanor, is played with anything but restraint at the breaking point. Clarkson, to her infinite credit, gets to be bold and outspoken, but she when she finally hears the whole story from Cathy, it’s Cathy’s close friendship with a black man, not Frank’s homosexuality, that rubs her the wrong way. Poor Cathy can’t catch a break.

Far From Heaven is the kind of movie that’s wonderful to remind you that not everything is what it seems, and that people often have far worse problems on their mind than what appears on the surface, in addition to being a touching tale of impossible love amid unfair social rules. It’s one of those films that reinforces a person’s powers of empathy, which is always a good thing, in addition to being a gorgeous visual and emotional statement. It’s not something I watch often, but I always think of it fondly.