“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.