“Rare Exports: A Christmas Tale” (2010)

Dwight Dekeyser rating: BBB

Dear Friend:

Remember the intro to the television show The Outer Limits (1963-65)?  Spooky voice, flashing sound waves, high-pitch ringing:  “There is nothing wrong with your television set.  Do not attempt to adjust the picture.  We are controlling transmission. (Blah, blah, blah.)   You are about to participate in a great adventure.  You are about to experience the awe and mystery that reaches from the inner mind to The Outer Limits!”  This movie could have used the same cold open.  Or, at least, the warning outside the witch’s castle in The Wizard of Oz (1939), “I’d turn back if I were you!”  This is no Hallmark Hall of Fame presentation (unless “you care enough to scare the very best.”)  No Capra corn in this Christmas special and no Jimmy Stewart or Donna Reed, because It's [not] a Wonderful Life (1946).  This movie is so rough no women are in it.  It is what is referred to as an “all-male cast.”

How can I describe this movie?  If you combined Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981), Fargo (1996), Rosemary’s Baby (1968), and Night of the Living Dead (1968) you would be getting closer to understanding the nature of this unique [A] Christmas Carol (1843).  (Dickens’ tale has nothing on this story for sheer supernatural suspense.)  If your children could withstand the shock of seeing all the aforementioned pictures in a single sitting, by all means, take them to see Rare Exports.   However, I suspect that the enjoyment of the movie might be compromised for the adults by the presence of the wee ones -- no endless “why?” questions.  Besides, the film is in Finnish with English subtitles and shows (horrors!) full-frontal nudity.  (Did I mention “all-male cast?”)  Yes, I think this movie just might become a Christmas cult classic given enough exposure.

The film takes place above the Arctic Circle in Lapland, northern Finland on the Russian border.   It not only sounds like the end of the Earth it is the end of the Earth.  It’s December at the North Pole and not a Santa or elf to be seen – yet.   The only reindeer in this movie get eaten by wolves.   The scenery is so barren, frozen, and desolate it could have been the moon, but for the Appalachian shanties and battered pick-up trucks.   The locals hunt big game by snowmobile and kids handle loaded rifles.  It is the land of outhouses and hungry roaming wolves: humans are fair game in these woods.  Villagers eke out a grim and grimy living in a hostile climate in a pitiless world.  Survival is success itself.   Christmas means a gingerbread cookie.  But, even they have Santa.

On the Russian side of the border (a chain link fence) an American team of archeologists blasts away at the top of a mountain to see what is at its core.  This fascinates a Finnish boy, Pietari (Onni Tommila), who sees the parallels of the excavation with his own Santa research.  Pietari comes to the conclusion that the contemporary benevolent Father Christmas had much darker origins than modern children were ever told.  His research leads him to believe that Santa had more to do with Satan that sainthood.  The books that litter his bedroom uncover images of a sadistic and avenging Santa determined to exact corporal punishment on all children, naughty or nice.  He is certain that the purpose for all the excavation is to uncover the ancient evil Santa buried by the Sami people thousands of years ago.   His fears are confirmed once the children of the village start disappearing.

Sound like a tall tale?  Well, it is.  We’re talking Santa Claus now, please.  (I told you this was The Outer Limits.)   Never has the reputation of Santa been so maligned or redefined.  You’ve heard of Bad Santa (2003); that was kid stuff.  This is Satanic Santa or the anti-Christmas, if you will.   The writers of this picture seemed to have incorporated Old Norse mythology or some dark Scandinavian folklore into our Holly Jolly Christmas to create a new legend of pedophile foreboding.  Remember, the Brothers Grimm were pretty grim:  the cannibalism of children in Hansel and Gretel (1812), was not much different from Rare Exports. (Did I mention gingerbread?)

The ending of this picture is a happy and heroic one for the boy.  (Roald Dahl would have approved.)  I won’t spoil it for you.   However, you may be assured that no child was consumed in the making of this movie.   The elves received vocational rehabilitation and were released to service an endless army of expectant exasperating children in department stores around the world every holiday season.  (Sounds like a Scandinavian Socialist “experiment” to me.)   I know I will never see a store Santa in the same light ever again.  Let’s just hope the little dickens get what they deserve.

Here’s the trailer:  http://www.imdb.com/video/imdb/vi192256281/

From the vault:  Rosemary’s Baby (1968), directed by Roman Polanski; starring, Mia Farrow, John Cassavetes, Ruth Gordon, and Sidney Blackmer.  (Did I mention consuming children?)  I never get tired of watching this movie.  (Sharon Tate is in the Christmas party scene, “Are you alright?”)  Satanists try to take over the lives of a young couple to produce the anti-Christ.  What would you do?  “Think about it, Rosemary.”

Best of luck in your movie selections.  Your faithful friend,

Dwight Dekeyser

© 2010 Dwight Dekeyser, Esq.  All rights reserved.

"The King's Speech" (2010)

Dwight Dekeyser rating: AAA

Dear Reader:

“Hail Britannia!  Britannia rules the screen!”  When was the last time you saw a movie where the audience burst into applause at The End?  This was one of those wonderful times.  The King’s Speech is in many ways a nostalgic throw back to the golden years of public television (PBS) starting in 1971, when WGBH/Boston presented Masterpiece Theatre, hosted by the venerable Alistair Cooke, followed by A&E in 1985. The sterling productions from the BBC, ITV, and Granada Television left an indelible impression on those of us lucky enough to have been weaned on them week after week.  It was television of a quality not hitherto seen in the United States.  Serials like The Forsyte Saga, Upstairs Downstairs, Elizabeth R, The Six Wives of Henry the VIII, the First Churchills, The Jewel in the Crown, Poldark, Lillie, and I, Claudius mesmerized American audiences hungry for sophisticated drama with a decided British bent.  After the Beatles, it was the second “British Invasion.”  

Indeed, The King’s Speech was a reunion for the audience with some of the actors from those memorable casts:  Colin Firth, Jennifer Ehle, and David Bamber from Pride and Prejudice (1985); Claire Bloom and Anthony Edwards from Brideshead Revisited (1981), Michael Gambon from The Singing Detective (1985), and Britain’s most famous stutterer (until now), Derek Jacobi from I, Claudius (1976), in a bit of ironic casting.  Remember, these were television productions, not major motion pictures.  It was an era when writers actually wrote programs of significance for “the boob tube,” long before reality T.V. was let loose upon the viewing public.  Lillie Langtry, the Jersey lily, came from the Isle of Jersey, not the Jersey Shore.  No Snooki in these series.

The movie is the true story of how the awkward speech-impaired Duke of York “Bertie” (Colin Firth) ascended to the British throne as George VI, with the help of his unconventional Australian speech therapist Lionel Logue (Geoffrey Rush).  Firth and Rush made an extraordinary team portraying this unlikely partnership of king and commoner.  (I will try to resist the use of superlatives in reviewing this film, but fair is fair.)  For Firth, especially, this must have been a demanding role.  How does one learn to stutter, after all?  (Sounds like the movie in reverse.)  But it was not just the newly-learned impediment that was so impressive but the agony, energy, and frustration emoted by the duke to “enunciate!” even the most ordinary words.  The poor man was tortured.  Perhaps, this was why Bertie, the reluctant and accidental king suffered from those awful “nashes,” what we would call  hissy fits.

The Duke and Duchess of York (Bertie and Elizabeth) with their children, princesses Elizabeth and Margaret made a happy foursome.  Like most modern royals, they were relieved to have “dodged the bullet” of monarchy.  That is, they could have all the benefits of being a royal without having the burden of all the scrutiny and ceremony of being the head of state.  Standing on a permanent pedestal can make for sore feet.  However, history (and his brother David, Edward VIII) had something different in mind.  There were several factors in King Edward’s abdication, aside from that old yarn, “without the help and support of the woman I love.”  Mrs. Ernest Simpson (Wallis) was a twice-divorced “adventuress,” to quote Queen Mary.  She was an ambitious American socialite who lent her sexual favors to men she felt could advance her “career.”   She was said to have possessed David more than dominated him and referred to the king as "the little man."  He worshiped her and built his world and empire around her or tried to.  It didn’t work.

It has been well-known that the King Edward VIII was a “Nazi sympathizer.”  He and the duchess paid Hitler an “unofficial state visit” after his abdication in October 1937.  The extent to which the duke favored Adolf Hitler’s political beliefs and held a personal admiration for the Fuhrer had been a well-guarded state secret until the 1990s.  This was chronicled in the BBC television documentary entitled, Edward VIII, the Traitor King (1995).  The King’s Speech alluded to it, but did not press the matter.  Mrs. Simpson aside, David as king and later as a British army officer was an imprudent and careless man.  As king, he said things to Mrs. Simpson that were reported to the German Ambassador, Joachim von Ribbentrop, her other lover at the time.  After the abdication, the couple attracted powerful Nazi agents wherever they traveled telling the Germans state secrets that altered the destiny of the war and the world.  He was a traitor and a deserter, she was an enemy spy.   They had to go.  The double divorcee was just the ticket for the king's departure.  (Isn’t this a great story?!  It could be the sequel, starring Guy Pearce.  Don’t strike that set!)

The production value of the movie was really first rate; the interiors and costumes were period and are reasons enough to see the picture, aside from the tremendous acting and touching story.  The costume designer (Jenny Beavan) did a marvelous job on the “dowdy duchess” (Wallis’ term for her full-figured sister-in-law).  The production could not have been as successful as it was without a battalion of historic style consultants and artists.  They are the very thing that makes these British spectaculars so spectacular – not to mention the legion of the great actors the Empire has to offer.  Is there anything more beautiful than hearing a British actor speak BBC English?  (Providing they don’t stammer.)  Warning:  this movie is genuinely moving.  “Be prepared,” to quote Lord Baden-Powell.  You just might need that hankie.

Here's the trailer: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QmtpxP6t57A

From the vault:  Women in Love (1969), Directed by Ken Russell, starring Glenda Jackson, Alan Bates, Oliver Reed, and Jennie Linden.  No royals but plenty of Brits.  AIDS activist Larry Kramer was nominated for an Academy Award for Best Writing, Screen Play Based on Material from Another Medium.  (I’d be bitter, too!)  “It’s so dark and mysterious.”

Best of luck in your movie selections.  Your faithful friend,

Dwight Dekeyser

© 2010 Dwight Dekeyser, Esq.  All rights reserved.

"All Good Things" (2010)

Dwight Dekeyser rating: BBB

Dear Reader:

Never heard of this movie?  This one’s under the radar or under the “sonar,” to use the title of the anonymously-authored internet real estate report produced by the late Mark Madoff.  (The poor boy was reduced to selling email subscriptions at $20.00 a month.)  I don’t know why.  It is a perfectly fine picture in the genre of “rich people behaving badly.”  I’m not talking about Republicans holding extended unemployment benefits hostage to tax-breaks for the rich and setting the inheritance tax bar at $5,000,000.00.  No, no, no, no, no!  I’m talking about murder.  I love this type of movie; I suppose it is the Dominick Dunne in me.  The sordid travails of the super rich can always be counted on to provide Schadenfreude or at least some smug moral superiority to those of us of the lower economic echelons.  I know I am not above peeping through the keyholes of those who live behind gilded gates for a little entertainment.  After all, not all castles offer guided tours.

This is reported to be fiction based upon a true missing-person mystery.  In this case, the names of the guilty have been changed to protect the producers.  However, the comparisons to the Durst family and its real estate concern in New York are so apparent, no disclaimer of “any resemblance between the characters of this film to actual persons is purely coincidental” because it was clearly intentional.  The actors were cast, in part, to resemble actual family members: wife, Katie Durst (Kirsten Dunst), husband, Robert A. Dunst (Ryan Gosling), and father(-in-law) Seymour Durst (Frank Langella).   The most amusing lookalike was the Westchester County prosecutor Jeanine F. Pirro (Diane Venona).  Venona did a spot-on portrayal of the ambitious former political candidate, now T.V. judge.  (Why bother with constituents when you can have fans?)  The only character’s whose name was not changed was the late Senator Daniel Patrick Moynihan, who is not disposed to sue anyone for defamation.

Yes, the rich are different -- they get away with murder.  At least, this rich kid did, which is why this is “fiction.”  Nothing has ever been proven, but boy can we fill in those blanks with a glue gun.  The movie is about David Marks (Gosling), a disturbed rich boy who at age seven witnessed his mother’s suicide in a leap from the garage roof (a fatal lack of style, I’m afraid).  The austere and downright mean father Sanford Marks (Langella), allowed the boy to witness the event.  (She could have been faking, I suppose.)  The boy never got over seeing his mother’s demise and developed a deep hatred for his father that was never resolved despite extensive (scream) therapy.  The father was a Jewish Godfather-type without any affection for his wayward son.  In fact, his antipathy for his son was proclaimed in every word to him.  The message was clear, “if you defy me by not joining the family business, you are worthless to me.”  So, what’s a pothead like David to do?  He runs away with his shiksa to Vermont to open a (Kosher?) health food store called, “All Good Things.”

Life in Vermont is a paradise for the young lovers until one day the Devil arrives in a limousine.  The father lays a guilt trip on the boy to return to New York and work for the family firm.  The son gives in and it’s all down hill from here.  This is where the story becomes a Greek tragedy.   The father’s relentless pressure to obey and the son’s ambivalent obeyance (I say it’s a word) result in the son’s ultimate downfall.   The depravity and murder that ensue scandalize society and disgrace the “noble” family.  This is a story that happens in many households.  It is the dramatic locations, powerful players, and the exalted family that make this a classic story of family dysfunction.  And yes, the rich do get better health care and legal representation.

I was a little disappointed there was not more glamour in the picture.  (This was not The Two Mrs. Grenvilles, 1985).  All of the surviving Marks members were male and looked like they had just come from a Ralph Lauren catalogue.  There was only one brief party of importance in which Mrs. Moynihan looked fabulous in a an evening gown with a yellow satin bodice with black military braiding.  But that was as close to fabulosity (this is word, too) as we got in this film.  There were no receptions, parties or balls to speak of.   Former flower child, Katie Marks, was hopelessly middle class, “she's never going to be one of us.”  Consequently, there were no extravagant costumes, freaks of fashion or society beauties.  (Don’t look for Babe Paley in this picture.)   No, the men in this family meant buttoned-down Brooks Brothers.

The acting in this film was universally excellent.  I never cease to be amazed by the breadth of thespian talent in this country.  Langella was a very powerful menacing presence.  Perhaps, he drew upon his days as a young buck in Dracula (1979).  I was especially touched the performance of Philip Baker Hall as Malvern Bump, a down-and-out sad sack manipulated by David Marks.  If Sanford Marks were the king, Bump was the pawn.  It was heartbreaking to see the things desperate people will do to stay alive -- sometimes the very things the mighty do to maintain an empire.  BTW, Mr. Bernie Madoff is not available for comment -- neither is his son.

Here’s the trailer:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bMZDdvmQXQQ

From the vault:  East of Eden (1955), directed by Elia Kazan, staring James Dean, Julie Harris, and Raymond Massie.  No tycoons, no murder, and no Jews (Steinbeck was Episcopalian) but boy is there a lot of family fallout in this classic father-son feud.  One of the few films I would venture to call perfect.  And, this is Ryan Gosling’s favorite film.

Best of luck in your movie selections.  Your faithful friend,

Dwight Dekeyser

© 2010 Dwight Dekeyser, Esq.  All rights reserved. 

"I Love You Phillip Morris" (2009/2010)

Dwight Dekeyser rating: BBC

Dear Reader:

Despite the title, this movie is not about a smoker’s gratitude for the Marlboro Man, although he would have fit right into the picture without any trouble, if it were.  As you may be aware, the cowboy (or reasonable facsimile there of) is a popular stereotype in gay culture.  Appearing to be a recognizable brand or "type" is a quick way of getting recognition in otherwise dim, crowded, and anonymous establishments.   And speaking of branding (hold your irons), the title just might have been the greatest feat of product placement since Lloyd's of London (1936), but I digress before I begin.

I Love You Phillip Morris is a funny picture and by “funny” I not only mean humorous, but something unsettling.  It’s hard not to laugh at Jim Carrey, he is so good at what he does.  (Hope you like him.  There is a lot of him in this movie.)  Although, I have to admit that at some point I felt uncomfortable with the whole premise of the picture being a comedy.  The movie is based on the life of one the great con artists/escape artists/impostors/embezzlers in recent memory, Steven Jay Russell.  His nicknames were “Houdini” and “King Con.”  Russell, a handsome and charming homosexual, was able to convince people that among other things, he was an attorney, a judge, a corporate executive, a physician, etc. by actually practicing these professions without any education or training.  It is said he has an I.Q. of 163.  He fell in love with Phillip Morris (Ewan McGregor) in the Harris County Jail, and the two maintained a torrid relationship that endured a prison to palace to prison “destiny.”  This is a remarkable story by any measure.

The IMDb website describes this feature as a “Comedy / Romance / Drama.”  If I were to define the movie, I would call it a romantic gay screwball-comedy biography.  Did I say, “biography?”  Yes, and this is what bothers me.  It is almost as if the filmmaker were saying, “their lives are our joke.”  Have you ever heard of a funny biography?  Funny Girl (1962), maybe, but that was because Fanny Brice was a comedienne.  IMDb describes Funny Girl as a “Biography / Comedy / Drama.”  Brice and her husband Nick Arnstein were two real people in the movie.  In I Love You Phillip Morris, Carrey portrays Russell as a cartoon character, someone we can dismiss as unreal, ridiculous, and incredible.  Perhaps this is why the promoters of the film kept telling us the movie is, “a story so incredible, it could only be true,” and “based on a story so unbelievable, it has to be true.”

I think this could have been a great romantic thriller, had the writers not decided that “improbable” meant hilarious.  Carrey, err, Russell “becomes gay” after a near fatal car accident.  (Do you think it was the head injury?)  The intrigue, deception, and scheming on the part of Russell could have been a great criminal suspense drama combined with a love story.  Perhaps, comedy was the only way to sell this unique saga to the American public, by making the gay couple laughable.  Much of the poignancy of the relationship was lost when they were made figures of fun.  I personally could not overlook that fact that this was a true love story between two real people whose lives were not a comedy.  In many ways the film became the story of “what will those crazy gays do next?”

In fairness to the movie, not all was comic.  McGregor was fabulous as Phillip Morris.   There has not been such a convincing portrait of a southern belle from a British actor since Vivien Leigh in A Street Car Named Desire (1951), speaking of improbable queer stories.  His sensitive and sincere portrayal of Morris was the counterpoint needed to offset Carrey’s buffoonery.  Carrey was very good, but then he has portrayed flamboyant homosexuals in the past.  He was truly great in How the Grinch Stole Christmas (2000). 

Structurally, the movie came apart towards the end.  The narrative had to describe to the audience in a flashback what they had just seen in real time to explain a crucial plot twist.  It was almost as if there were too much story to cover and too little time to tell it adequately.  One got the impression that the movie had been edited by too many committees and its cohesion suffered.  The “moral of the story” was long overdue and then didactically enunciated before the credits started rolling, that living one’s life as a lie is destructive to one’s identity (as in “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell”).  Despite all the stereotypes and the comic portrayals, Phillip Morris was a landmark of sorts for gay people, the lovers didn’t die in the end -- just a 144-year sentence.

Here’s the trailer:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XoFANivV44g

From the vault:  How the Grinch Stole Christmas (2000), directed by Ron Howard, starring Jim Carrey, Taylor Momsen, and Jeffrey Tambor.  (Has anyone ever figured out what “Fah who for-aze!  Dah who dor-aze!” means?)  No Boris Karloff narration, but Carrey is scary enough as the over-the-top Grinch.  ‘Tis the season, after all.

Best of luck in your movie selection.  Your faithful friend,

Dwight Dekeyser

© 2010 Dwight Dekeyser, Esq.  All rights reserved.

"Black Swan" (2010)

Dwight Dekeyser rating: BCD

Dear Reader:

It’s fun to rename movies, especially when their titles are not terribly descriptive of a provocative film.  I was toying with the idea of calling this movie Black Eye or maybe Psycho Lake.   I finally settled on Scrambled Eggs for this red-plate special is something that has never been served before and will not be served again with any luck.  This movie is billed as a “thriller.”  A thriller by nature is an edgy mystery designed to keep the audience guessing.  The only question I found myself asking was “where is this plot going?”  My question was answered in a manner so bizarre, even I could not have imagined: the swan turned turkey and laid a cracked egg.

Oh, I know this film has been getting good notices and ratings, but I don’t read movie reviews.  Frankly, I don’t understand it.   It started out as a true to life movie about the struggles of a young ballerina in New York.  The director, Darren Aronofsky,  presented the issues a dancer faces honestly and artfully. It was a serious European-type movie, full of feeling and not much action.  Characters struggled with their emotions in atmospheric interiors.  Once the pretense of the film was established, not much happened except for some dance scenes featuring Peter Martins lookalike Vincent Cassel and members of the Pennsylvania Ballet.  The plot was going nowhere.  I was worried.  Is this film going to fly?

The story line of this movie was simple and singular.  That is to say, there was no sub-plot, just a straight track with a couple of unscheduled stops before the collision of a conclusion.  I hate to give away the plot of any movie, but when there is not much of one, I’m afraid it is inevitable.  The movie ends in a choreographed train wreck: a truck load of exotic chickens is struck at the railroad crossing.  You know the scene, “ding, ding, ding," lights flash on the automatic gate, the speeding engine blows one last frantic warning, and then CRASH:  feathers fall from the sky in a heavenly blizzard.  But, I am getting ahead of myself.

Lovely Natalie Portman is Nina the conflicted heroine, a tremendous actress and impressive dancer.  She lives with her domineering mother (Barbara Hershey) a former ballerina herself who gave up her career when she became pregnant with Nina.  Guilt, competition, resentment, and envy define this (typical) mother-daughter relationship.  Nina is up for the part of the swan queen(s) Odette/Odile in Swan Lake.  She gets the role, but can she handle the pressure?  Apparently, not.  Nina has paranoid delusions and hallucinations in an endless series of pointless episodes that lead nowhere until we reach the train tracks.  This picture is not so much about a young woman who loses her mind but a motion picture that is derailed for lack of a destination.

Black Swan attempted to use the plot of Swan Lake to mirror the inner turmoil of this young dancer, her good side and her bad side.  It was not what I call a "good fit," as the psychological dilemma of the ballet was not the one in the movie.   In Swan Lake, Prince Siegfried falls in love with the lovely, virginal, and vulnerable Odette, the white swan queen while on a hunting trip.  Later, at the palace Odile the black swan shows up impersonating Odette.  As they appear identical but for costume (the parts are performed by the same ballerina), Siegfried cannot tell the difference.  Odile, the seductive, vindictive, and manipulative instrument of the evil von Rothbart entraps Siegfried into proposing to her.  He falls for it.  He realizes his mistake.  Too late!  He is engaged to the wrong swan.  In fact, he is engaged to the same woman he fell in love with originally.  He discovers to his dismay the (alleged) dual nature of women as symbolized by the white and black swans.   Swan Lake is a cautionary tale to men about loving women; it is not about a woman's career crisis.

What makes this film so peculiar is its combination of genres.  It starts out a serious art film, morphs into a psycho-sexual drama (no shortage of sexual variety in this ballet company), and climaxes into a slasher movie.   There have been many great swan queens: Ulanova, Plisetskaya, Makarova, Fonteyn, Alonso – but Freddy Krueger?! This is a new twist in casting!   As the competition between dancers comes to a climax, the melodrama devolves into a farcical blood bath ballet.  (There was almost as much blood in this picture as SAW – The Final Chapter, 2010.)  There has always been a dilemma in the ending of Swan Lake: do they live happily ever after, die together or die separately?  In this final performance, Nina is dropped by her partner like a sack of potatoes, grows feathers like a giant crow, and throws herself off a ramp onto a mattress with a shard of glass impaling her diaphragm spurting blood.  How’s that for a finale?   Considering the degree of exsanguination throughout Black Swan, I think the only truly descriptive title of this movie could have been Blood Swan.

Here's the trailer:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NmraonoCMkI&feature=related

From the vault: The Turning Point (1977), Directed by Herbert Ross, starring Shirley MacLaine, Anne Bancroft, and Mikhail Baryshnikov.  “Ballet is the cruelest art.”  (I’m quoting myself here.)  You give it all you’ve got and, even if you are one of the lucky ones to achieve professional proficiency, the career doesn’t last long.  No blood in this picture but plenty of daggers.

Best of luck in your movie selections.  Your faithful friend,

Dwight Dekeyser

© 2010 Dwight Dekeyser, Esq.  All rights reserved.

"Burlesque" (2010)

Dwight Dekeyser rating: BBC

Dear Reader:

Here’s a riddle for you:  what do you call a movie about a cabaret modeled on another movie about a cabaret?  Why, you call it Burlesque, of course, unless you don’t want to be as obvious in your title as you were in your appropriation of its predecessor, Cabaret (1971).   It’s not so much the lack of accuracy that bothers me about the title, but the lack of honesty.  I’m afraid I have too much respect for cabaret and burlesque to allow these two exceptional forms of theater to be confused for the sake of providing a fig leaf for writer-director Steve Antin. 

Forgive me for being pedagogic, but cabaret is not burlesque.  According to the online dictionary at Answers.com, burlesque is “a variety show characterized by broad ribald comedy, dancing, and striptease,” whereas cabaret is a “floor show presented by a restaurant or nightclub providing short programs of live entertainment” (i.e., no striptease).  In short, cabaret may have been naughty, but burlesque was lascivious -- barely clad glamazons removed their flimsy costume to music, perhaps while singing, but never lip-syncing. "Legitimate” vaudeville acts, often comics, performed between displays of exotic dancing were cover to keep the cops out.  (Ever see Gypsy, 1962?)   In cabaret, the acts were presumed to be authentic. Burlesque was performed in a theater, cabaret performed in a club.  Got it?  This movie was about a cabaret.

Silly me, once again I believed what I was told.  Frankly, I was disappointed at not seeing reincarnations of the great burlesque queens: Gypsy Rose Lee, Lili St. Cyr, and Ann Corio or at least a little Dita von Teese.  (That would have been an original movie.)  However, I was astonished to find a shameless rip-off of the film Cabaret, directed and choreographed by Bob Fosse, starring Liza Minnelli and Michael York.  Fosse’s direction and choreography were copied and transported from Weimar Republic Germany to twenty-first century Los Angeles, without much alteration.  The staging, costumes, and acts were a little déjà vu for my taste.  The bowler hats, the bentwood chairs, the silhouetted band were more of a flashback to that classic musical by Kandor and Ebb than anything current.  The “Two Ladies” number from Cabaret with Joel Grey was recreated with epicene Alan Cumming with less success than the original.  To cover his derriere, Antin threw in one token burlesque number, a sort-of hommage to fan dancer Sally Rand.  The contemporary dance numbers were more Broadway and Vegas than cabaret or burlesque.

The plot was perhaps the least original aspect of this movie.  It could have been written in the 1930s or 40s, starring Joan Crawford or Judy Garland:  a small town girl with a heart of gold runs away to the big city to become a star!  It’s not that easy: she gets a job as a cocktail waitress in a club and when one of the dancers becomes unavailable, she gets her big break and becomes a star!  In the meantime, she dumps the billionaire real estate developer to return to the open arms of her waiter-song writer roommate, and saves the club from foreclosure!  (I did not make this up.) Now, if our little runaway had become a Hollywood pole dancer, we might have had a credible story line.

Burlesque was designed as a vehicle to showcase the talents of Cher and Christina Aguilera, and to that extent, the picture succeeded.  Cher did her best performance of Cher to date.  The role was “not a stretch” as they say.  If you like Cher, you will like this movie.  Some of her opening repartee sounded like it could have been a rerun of The Sonny and Cher Comedy Hour (1971).  (Cher always got the last word.)  There was a point in the movie when it came to a complete halt so that she could sing a solo for an impromptu rehearsal.   Stop the movie!  Cher has to rehearse!   She’s gotten older, but then so have her fans.  Let Cher be Cher, I say.  If you haven’t learned to like her by now, this movie will not change your mind.

Christina Aguilera was a little dynamo.  Her part required a lot of talent and she has it.  She’s a beautiful woman (under all those wigs) who acts and dances well.  Her singing is stupendous.  Her voice sounds pop, country, and soul all at the same time.  One wonders how so much volume could come from such a tiny lady.  In the movie, hardened club-owner and chanteuse Cher becomes the surrogate mother to hapless Hawkeye, Aguilera, a refugee from a dust bowl dive called "Dwight's Bar." (Don't go there!)  The make-up tutorial was touching. (Apparently, there is a shortage of make-up brushes in the Iowa.)  In fact, it appeared as if Cher were somehow passing her crown to the next super star -- a magnanimous act of Hollywood humility, don’t you think?   Could this mean that Cher is considering retirement?   Don’t bet the strip club.

Here's the trailer:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GC9LakXHgt0

From the vault:  How about two musicals this week?  Cabaret (1971), this movie will knock your socks off.  It takes place In Berlin between the world wars.  This movie has it all: Nazis, show people, transvestites, queers, prostitutes. (I am not being redundant.)  See how the cabaret acts reflect the political turmoil outside the club.  And then there’s Gypsy (1962), directed by Mervyn LeRoy, staring Natalie Wood and Rosalind Russell, and Karl Malden, music by Jule Styne, lyrics by Stephen Sondheim.  The allegedly true autobiography Gypsy Rose Lee could not be more innocent or amusing.  (No mention of Gypsy's lesbian mother shooting her lover in a jealous rage at her women-only boarding house.  That was last pass she ever made at Gypsy.)  "You got sumpin’ against strippin’?!”

Best of luck in your movie selections.  Your faithful friend,

Dwight Dekeyser

© 2010 Dwight Dekeyser, Esq.  All rights reserved.

"The Social Network" (2010)

Dwight Dekeyser rating:  AAA

Dear Reader:

An historic moment – my first review of an AAA Dwight Dekeyser-rated movie!  (Deep breath.)  I hardly know where to begin.  This is an exciting intelligent movie for adults, so youth-oriented it will appeal to their college and high school kids.  The movie is a screen adaption of the fascinating true story of the founding of Facebook, and the ensuing fight for its credit and control.  This could have been the dullest movie ever: computer geeks and corporate litigation are unlikely topics of interest for most people unless algorithms and depositions are your preference.  What made this movie so exhilarating was its pace: the thrill of discovery, the edge of competition, its attractive characters, and glamorous settings.  This movie takes you places. (Ever been sculling with HSH Prince Albert of Monaco?)

The Social Network is in many ways a sophisticated Animal House (1978) for the online generation.  As the National Lampoon (1970) magazine was spawned at Harvard, so it appears, was Facebook, the internet social network.  The movie exposes aspects of undergraduate life from this hallowed Ivy League institution you may not have known existed.  It’s not something one would read in the college catalogue.  This place knows how to party!   The movie has the computer geeks go to some of the most exclusive, swank, get-down-and-dirty “socials” you have ever seen with some of the hottest boys and girls in higher education.   In fact, much of the success of the movie is the succession of fun and frisky parties that never get repetitious.  These geeks know how to live!

As Facebook became a tsunami success, the law suits began in what became the equivalent of Harvard Brat v. Harvard Brat.  What was unusual in this movie was the use of dramatic testimony given in depositions (pretrial discovery conferences under oath) and not the typical trial setting.  The reason, of course, is these law suits never made it to trial as they were settled out of court.  Nevertheless, the deposition scenes were gripping and emotional as these bright young men detailed the theft of their ideas and the betrayal of their friendships.  The law firm scenes provided a stark and sober contrast to the insouciant undergraduate bacchanals.  The intense and often personal interrogation of the youthful litigants by opposing counsel provided high drama and in the process presented an interesting legal issue in deciding the ownership of Facebook: how does one determine the contribution an individual makes to a business enterprise that was generated through the free exchange of ideas with co-creators?

The acting in The Social Network was universally outstanding, as the actors were cast to perfection.  Three actors (or four depending upon how you count) struck me as particularly noteworthy.  The male lead Jesse Eisenberg portrayed Mark Zuckerberg, the co-founder of Facebook.  He was so authentic a character, it never occurred to me he was not the real person.  While there was no “star quality” or charisma  in his performance, per se, Eisenberg's acting went beyond credibility; it was actual being -- an achievement not to be ignored.  

Arnie Hammer played a double roll as the uber-preppy (Neidermeyer?) identical twins Cameron and Tyler Winklevoss.  I was unaware of this Patty Duke Show (1963) deception until I read the credits.  (I was disappointed to learn there were not two of him, but I have come to accept it.)  The grandson of industrialist Armand Hammer (is there no justice in this world?) is what I call old-Hollywood handsome -- he is a real knock out.  It is not simply his beauty that makes his performance so noteworthy, but the fact that he is so appealing in every way.  He is the type of leading man “all woman want to have and all men want to be” – without resentment.  He could be the next James Bond: stirred, not shaken this time.

A pleasant surprise was the performance of Justin Timberlake.  I never thought of him as appealing in any capacity, but I must admit he made a favorable impression as a legitimate actor.  I thought I detected a little Dennis Hopper in his approach to the role.  He had a certain look that I thought projected his character like a Greek mask.  ("We didn't need dialogue then, we had faces!"  Norma Desmond in Sunset Boulevard, 1950.)  One scene I thoroughly enjoyed was at a California night club where the panning disco lights changed the color of his pale pallor from one gaudy hue to another, a reflection of his mercurial temperament.  It reminded me of “The Joker” from Batman (1966), BAM! POW!

Here's the trailer: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lB95KLmpLR4

From the vault:  Animal House (1978), directed by John Landis, staring John Belushi, Tom Hulce, and Kevin Bacon.  College movies, it seems, have come along way.  This timeless coming of age comedy had more truth than fiction to it for the times.  It is also one of the most quoted films.  Dean Wormer to Flounder, “Fat, drunk, and stupid is no way to go though life, son.”  Ouch!  (The dean at Harvard wasn't much nicer.)

Best of luck in your movie selections, your faithful friend,

Dwight Dekeyser

© 2010 Dwight Dekeyser, Esq.  All rights reserved.

"RED" (2010)

Dwight Dekeyser rating: CCC

Dear Reader:

Last week, I made the acquaintance of a perky young college professor.  He was distressed to learn that I had just viewed SAW 3D – The Final Chapter (2010), for my blog.  Apparently, mistaking me for a student, he promptly offered some unsolicited advice.  He counseled that I should review “real” movies, and suggested that I see RED, one he had just seen and enjoyed. Trusting, I took his advice.  (He seemed cynical enough.)  Well, as the saying goes, there is no accounting for taste, even if he did have a Ph.D. in French literature.  While the movie may borne a passing resemblance to The Three Musketeers (1844), it was not a classic, not even a French one.

The theater billed Red as an “action/adventure/comedy” movie.   That’s a tall order for any picture.  It would appear that the producers felt that if they combined sufficient violence, special effects, catchy repartee, and an all-star cast they could pull off this spy-thriller opera buffa.  For me, at least, it did not work – not because there were not enough elements, but because they were not the right ones.   The critical missing component was style.

The movie is an updated James Bond movie commingled with some popular television situation comedies and movies of the 1960s and 70s.   (Sound doable to you?)  Our Bond in this case was the affable Bruce Willis.  Unlike the Bond portrayed by Sean Connery, Willis was not the suave, sophisticated metrosexual secret agent 007.  No, he was a sad, lonely, bald, middle-class, retired CIA hit man we see taking out his garbage in snowy suburban Cleveland.  (How far we have fallen!)  Don’t look for any martinis in this picture.  It’s all shots from here.

Willis quickly teams up with unsuspecting golly-gee-whiz Mary-Louise Parker, who bears a striking resemblance to Susan Saint James of McMillan & Wife (1971-77).  (She reads romance novels written by “Susan St. John,” – so clever).  Anyway, McMillan & Wife are one step ahead of trigger-happy government agents determined to make Swiss cheese out of the pair.  On their journey, they team up with psycho-comic John Malkovich, an ex-CIA agent like Willis. (Now, it really gets good!)  The three join forces to become a wacky all-white Mod Squad (1968-73), bent on foiling the forces of evil, in this case the United States government.

A couple scenes and cities later (there is no shortage of post card venues in this production), the Mod Squad teams up with yet two more quixotic ex-CIA agents Morgan Freeman and Helen Mirren to add a little cool and class into what grows into a side-splitting Mission Impossible (1966-73) crew of misfits.   If that were not enough, they enlist a cantankerous old KGB crony, Brian Cox, for Mirren to add a little romance to this otherwise sexless picture.  (Did I mention missing components?)

There were “memorable” moments in the movie.  In one scene Freeman dressed like a Haitian Captain Kangaroo bitch-slaps bad guy Richard Dreyfuss (long overdue).  In another, Helen Mirren displayed her feminine firepower dressed in an evening gown and combat boots by outgunning Faye Dunaway in Bonnie and Clyde (1967) with her automatic weapon. (How far we have come!)

What the actors failed to realize was the way Sean Connery as Bond was able to pull-off those improbable scenes with those fantastic gadgets.  He played it straight.  It was assumed the audience possessed sufficient sophistication to pick up on the absurdity delivered with such style.  Instead, in RED we saw a movie of gags and gimmicks from situation comedy before the dawn of reality T.V.  Perhaps, this is what my perky young professor found so novel.

Here's the trailer: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1fKr4JrCdMw

From the vault:  Goldfinger, (1964).  Directed by Guy Hamilton, starring Sean Connery, Honor Blackman, and Gert Frobe.  After the first three notes of the title music sung by sassy Shirley Bassey, “Gold-fing-gah!” you will be sucked in.  FYI, Ronald Reagan did not win the Cold War, it was Sean Connery.

Best of luck in your movie selections.  Your faithful friend,

Dwight Dekeyser

© 2010 Dwight Dekeyser, Esq.  All rights reserved.

“Saw 3D -- The Last Judgment” (2010)

Dwight Dekeyser rating: BBC

Dear Reader:

Sometimes, it is best not to know what to expect.  Too much foreknowledge could deter a sensitive soul from experiencing an otherwise entertaining and illuminating adventure.  Little did I know what I was in for when I decided to view Saw 3D – The Last Chapter.  (Don't let the King Kong-esque promotional poster fool you.  It's not that kind of horror movie.) It sounded ideal: a horror movie in 3D, and that is what it was. Perhaps the most gruesome movie ever made, it could have been produced by the creators of the OGRISH website of depravity, now kaput.  A movie with so much gratuitous torture, violence, and mayhem, it could have been written by Sir Richard Topcliffe and the Marquis de Sade.  It was a spectacle so heinous it was worthy of the Roman Coliseum under Caligula.  It was the French Revolution and the Spanish Inquisition with an all Rwandan cast.  All that was missing was a chorus of corpses singing, “That’s Entertainment!”  But this was not a musical.

Little did I realize that this picture was the last and latest sequel to a series of six sadistic SAW movies, and that this was to be the gory grand finale and fond farewell.  The film was a series of divertissements of cruel and creative butchery strung together by a theme of marital discord, a sort of “Portrait of a Marriage” in hell.  One could argue that the whole movie was a parody of the institution – it was funny at times.  I was convinced that more than one messy divorce or bad relationship had been the inspiration for this movie written by Patrick Melton and Marcus Dunstan, the Topcliffe and de Sade of this malignant masterpiece.  The execution scenes themselves resembled the most perverse game show ever imagined.  “Come on down!”  In the picture, an individual is compelled to rescue one or more restrained persons from certain death by performing some grotesque feat involving the freeing of the caged/chained/hog-tied under the unreasonable time constraints of a ticking stopwatch.  Like a sick casino, the odds were never on the players’ side.

Taken as a whole, the film was an elaborate snuff movie.  Like a pornographic movie, once the “action” started it was tantalizing until repetition and overexposure made the viewer inured to the forbidden.  The novel became banal.   That being said, the torture and debauchery were tantalizing – for a time.  It occurred to me that had the actors been naked during their demise it could have been a double-whammy for the audience.  But then, I am reminded that the cover of Larry Flynt’s Hustler magazine (June 1978), of a naked woman being put through a meat grinder was not exactly well-received by some.  For this movie, at least, that would have been tame.

The saving grace of the picture was its technical mastery.  The contraptions and instruments of torture and execution were so ingenious they looked as if they could have been engineered by Michelangelo, so elaborate Rube Goldberg would have been proud.  The shear graphic carnage was only redeemed by the artistry of the make-up and the special effects technicians that presented it so convincingly.  (I was tickled with the use a single flashing red light bulb to heighten the suspense in a scene before the coup de grace.)  3D was the perfect vehicle for this orgy of dismembered body parts – duck, flying flesh!  There was so much blood, the theater could have issued raincoats for the audience.

    

One obvious drawback to the movie was the lack of big stars.  (It is hard to care about the fate of underdeveloped characters.)  How much more interesting it would have been to have had well-known actors fall one-by-one under those sordid circumstances.  Take for instance the cast of the yet to be released Little Fockers (2010).  Can you imagine the movie trailer: “See Dustin Hoffman’s face blown off!  Hear Barbra Streisand’s swan song -- her throat slashed!   Watch helpless Blythe Danner, guillotined at the waist!  Robert DeNiro, as you’ve never seen him -- roasted alive before your eyes! And Ben Stiller, swinging on a rope!”  It could have been It’s a Mad Mad Mad Mad World (1963) of gore.  The cast was just as long, the killer was so prodigious.   Perhaps, there was not the budget to hire all big-name victims required.  BTW, Actor Tobin Bell was superb as “John.”

Oh, yes, Saw 3D is a murder mystery, too.  The ventriloquist did it. 

Here's the trailer: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XP3mZe1s_nk&playnext=1&list=PLD34DF331269BB00B&index=8

From the vault: originally entitled, Andy Warhol’s Frankenstein (1974), it is now called Flesh for Frankenstein, directed by Paul Morrissey, starring Paul Dallesandro, unique Monique van Vooren, and Udo Kier.  (Warhol had zero to do with this movie.)  This made a big impression on me when I saw this in 1974. It, too, is a horror movie in 3D.  It was like Studio 54 habitués made a Universal Studio movie from the 1930s.  There is a little gore in this movie, but it’s the dessert not the main course.  Warning: sexual content.  Dr. Frankenstein fondles the internal organs of his pastiche patients.

Best of luck in your movie selections, your faithful friend,

Dwight Dekeyser

© 2010 Dwight Dekeyser, Esq.  All rights reserved.

 

"Hereafter" (2010)

Dwight Dekeyser Rating: ABC

Dear Reader:

I like to think of a motion picture as an amusement park ride.  The great ones just carry you away emotionally and intellectually.  Like riding a roller coaster you are rocked and shaken out of your senses.  In a true spellbinder one becomes so engrossed by the characters and their dilemma you are afraid to blink for fear of missing a clue, a look, or a nuanced gesture.  A viewer must be intrigued by the circumstances surrounding the hero; the tension building until the storm breaks overwhelming the viewer by the sound and fury flashing before them.  Without realizing it, the viewer becomes concerned for his own safety, anxious for the danger to pass and their nerves restored.  It’s a fantastic ride with a safe landing. 

Hereafter started with sound and fury but, never mounted the second or third wave of excitement equaled to the first.  There were attempts, but they were predictable accidents or occurrences as the film meandered down the road of mystical intrigue and mundane romance.  In short, the movie became a psychic soap opera.  After the terrifying plunge of the roller coaster, the car careened through the lives of three unrelated morbid people to a cozy and comforting end shared by all.  The story takes place simultaneously in exotic Asia, upscale Paris, “blue-collar” San Francisco, grimy London, and a quick detour to the Alps for spectacular scenery.  The London scenes in particular reminded me of the EastEnders, the cockney British serial, as the scenes rotated between the story lines without any real connection.

If we are to believe studio publicity,  Hereafter is “[a] drama centered on three people who are haunted by mortality in different ways. George (Damon) is a blue-collar American who has a special connection to the afterlife. On the other side of the world, Marie (de France), a French journalist, has a near-death experience that shakes her reality. And when Marcus (Frankie/George McLaren), a London schoolboy, loses the person closest to him, he desperately needs answers. Each on a path in search of the truth, their lives will intersect, forever changed by what they believe might-or must-exist in the hereafter. Written by Warner Bros. Pictures” [tortured prose, theirs].

As if death and the afterlife were not enough, there were other compelling emotional issues to amuse oneself along the way: pain, loss, loneliness, separation, drug addition, professional crisis, child molestation, incest, identical twins, a book deal, and a cooking competition.  (I thought they would never stop chopping tomatoes.)  It seemed a long road to get to boy meets girl (in this case psychic meets near-death survivor) in front of Pizza Express with Clint Eastwood’s ersatz music in the background.  A haunting original score could have moved the story along and added atmosphere.  What we got was an occasional classic: Puccini, Chopin, Eastwood. 

 

Matt Damon was Matt Damon in the movie.  You could tell he was blue-collar because he sometimes wore a construction helmet.  Otherwise, one might have confused him for a handsome, middle-aged, Harvard-educated bachelor in San Francisco wearing construction boots, taking cooking classes, and listening to Dickens. “Stella!” Cecile de France, is a French actress who portrayed a French (dead) woman convincingly.  Warning: most of Mlle. de France’s scenes are subtitled, as in “foreign film.”  The tsunami scene with her bobbing about was a computerized special effects tour-de-force.  I know I was carried away.

From the vault:  Vertigo, (1958), directed by Alfred Hitchcock, starring James Stewart and Kim Novak.  Like Hereafter, it too, takes place in San Francisco and deals with death and the afterlife.  No tsunami, but there are other ways to kill a co-star, although Novak and Stewart do take an overdressed plunge into San Francisco Bay. This film even has a young Miss Ellie and a younger Grandma Walton, “you know?”   

Here's the trailer: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dal7PJotEKo

Best of luck in your movie selection, your faithful friend,

Dwight Dekeyser



© 2010 Dwight Dekeyser, Esq.  All rights reserved.

The Dwight Dekeyser Rating System

Movies are stories and most stories have three parts: a beginning, middle, and end.  This is the basis of my rating system: I rate the beginning, middle, and end of each movie.  In this way, as the reviewer I need not balance competing or conflicting qualities of a movie to create a single mark.  The three-letter rating can give the reader more information than any single thumbs-up/thumbs-down or five-star seal of  approval possibly could.  One can see at an instant the trajectory of the films progress.  In any case, a review by its very nature is subjective  As a result, my ratings are merely a reflection of my personal reaction to a motion picture. Caveat emptor. 

© 2010 Dwight Dekeyser, Esq.  All rights reserved.

My Very First Blog

Ladies and Gentlemen and Children of all ages:  This is my very first blog.  It is my intention to become a movie reviewer.  There, you have it!  Now, all I need to do is to see a movie and write a review.  That appears to be the easy part.  The challenge is to figure out to create an innovative blog that people will want to read.  Have patience!  This will happen -- it is happening.  I am embarking on a new adventure that I know will prove to be exciting and rewarding.  Check back from time to time and judge my progress for yourself.  Until then, Dwight Dekeyser.

© Dwight Dekeyser, Esq.  All rights reserved.