Perfect, posh fodder for a Hitchcock mind game

September 11, 2012 by

Dial M for Murder/1954/Warner Bros. Pictures/105 min.

A streetwise femme fatale she’s not. Grace Kelly is too refined, too ladylike, too exquisitely beautiful. But in “Dial M for Murder,” her first movie with Alfred Hitchcock, she proves herself to be a smart and capable heroine in this film that’s nearly as ravishing to look at as she is.

Ray Milland as Tony Wendice brims with confidence and charm.

We first see her character Margot Wendice, in a demure white dress, as she reads the London Times over breakfast with her debonair husband Tony (Ray Milland). Tony’s a former tennis champ who now sells sports equipment. But it’s Margot’s family money that pays for their posh lifestyle and elegant flat in Maida Vale.

Minutes after her breakfast, we see Margot with her lover, a mystery writer named Mark Halliday (Robert Cummings), this time in a bright red dress that signals where her real passion lies. Margot is fretting a bit because she’s received letters from an anonymous blackmailer who knows about her affair and threatens to tell Tony.

Turns out, though, the “blackmailer” is suave old Tony himself. He’s known for quite a while that Margot and Mark are an item and he’s hatched a plan to do away with his wife, get her money and use her lover as his alibi. It’s a very clever plan and Tony has worked out every detail. But as I mentioned Margot is no slouch. She proves quite skilled at surviving and improvising with weapons. A little trick she picked up at boarding school, I expect. Still, Tony sees a chance to achieve his goal using a new ploy.

Mark (Robert Cummings) is the writer with whom Margot (Grace Kelly) begins an affair.

Like most Hitchcock noirs, the story takes place in a world in which manners and titles and accents count for a great deal – in which fate is determined over champagne cocktails and glasses of brandy by a roaring fire. This chi-chi, upper-crust milieu is far removed from the gritty, urban, angst-ridden territory of much of the film noir canon. But a common thread of film noir, regardless of setting, is that its writers and directors were intensely aware of class differences and divisions, of society’s inequalities and injustices.

With a screenplay by Frederick Knott (based on his Broadway and West End hit), “Dial M for Murder” boasts a very civilized, very English, very cozy atmosphere, at least on the surface. Whereas Hitchcock often tended to use novels and short stories as gestalts for his own uniquely original narratives, when he chose to film a play, he left them virtually unaltered. In fact, he considered “Dial M” a minor work, something to do while he recharged his creative batteries.

That said, he shot the movie in 3-D, in vibrant color with extreme camera angles to keep us from getting too claustrophobic (the action takes places almost entirely in the Wendices’ well appointed flat). The lush look, upbeat mood, romantic music by Dimitri Tiomkin and charming characters all belie the darkness at the core of the story.

Milland is magnetic, confident, perfectly composed with just a shimmer of vulnerability. Kelly, the flawless incarnation of ’50s femininity, seems the perfect wife for him. (The supporting cast is splendid as well. Anthony Dawson plays the college acquaintance whom Tony ropes into his scheme. John Williams is urbane as ever as Chief Inspector Hubbard.) But, as sumptuous as these appearances are, they are nevertheless deceiving.

A pawn in the game: Anthony Dawson tries to strangle Margot (Grace Kelly).

“Dial M for Murder” is an excellent example of one of Hitch’s favorite mind games – inviting us to get swept up in this picture-perfect world and then upending our expectations and revealing his (and perhaps our) mistrust of the upper classes, particularly through the use of subversive casting.

For instance, Margot and Mark’s fling is surely one of the most tasteful and thoroughly dull affairs in movie history (despite the red dress). I reckon any woman would take sexy, athletic Tony over sweet but insipid Mark. Of course, Hitchcock knows this. He uses Milland’s humor and appeal to build the audience’s sympathy for the wrong person, to get us to identify with a would-be killer, to subtly underscore the moral ambiguities and deep flaws that make us human.

Hitch liked to play cat and mouse with the audience, to entice us with wit, gloss and visual flair, then slyly expose our delusions and hypocrisies. Or as Francois Truffaut put it: “Hitchcock loves to be misunderstood, because he has based his whole life around misunderstandings.”

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‘Dial M for Murder’ quick hit

September 11, 2012 by

Dial M for Murder/1954/Warner Bros. Pictures/105 min.

Alfred Hitchcock’s “Dial M for Murder” boasts a very civilized, very English, very cozy atmosphere, at least on the surface. But under the elegant façade, a spurned husband (Ray Milland) crafts an intricate plan to murder his rich wife (Grace Kelly) and use her lover (Robert Cummings) as his alibi. Based on a play by Frederick Knott, this gorgeous-looking film is an excellent example of a classic Hitchcockian trope – subversive casting.

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Seeking ‘recline’ inspiration from film noir’s injured characters

August 13, 2012 by

I recently experienced a little setback: I fractured my toe (one in from the pinkie on the right foot). I didn’t teeter as I tried on Loubou’s or tumble on a treacherous chunk of pavement. Nor was I hang-gliding or training for a 5k run. Please. Have we met? No, in typical femme fatale fashion, à la Mae West, I tripped over a pile of men.

Sporting hideous footwear.

Of course I don’t mind being ordered by doctors to rest and relax. In fact, I relish the opportunity. And if ever there were a time to be waited on hand and foot, bark out orders and be completely catered to, honey this is it! I’m also grateful that the toe (underrated little body part that it is) wasn’t broken or more severely damaged – it should heal nicely as long as I’m patient.

But the thing I really miss is going to yoga. Feeling a little blue and kicking myself (pun intended) for not being more careful, I called my friend Anne who pointed out that what’s bad in life is good on the page. She suggested that as I recuperate I commiserate with noir characters – like nostril-impaired Jake Gittes (Jack Nicholson) in “Chinatown” – who sustain and recover from injuries. (You can always trust a Gemini to come up with a creative approach.)

As I lounge on my sofa, I also find myself pondering existential questions, such as: Can I now fulfill my long-held fantasy of going to yoga and resting in child’s pose for the entire class? Will wine and ice cream provide the same benefits as shavasana? What about cupcakes? Does Susie Cakes deliver? Is it possible to dance while using crutches? How long can a girl go without shaving her legs?

Aah, more than my peabrain can process right now. So, with many thanks to Anne, here are my favorite mending moments of film noir.

Dick Powell as Philip Marlowe is temporarily blinded in “Murder, My Sweet.”

 

Phony, schmony. The dude still hobbled around on crutches: Fred MacMurray in “Double Indemnity.”

 

“Decoy”’s Frank Armstrong recovers from the ultimate “accident.” Cold-hearted Jean Gillie sees a way to get her hands on a wad of cash by bringing her criminal boyfriend back to life following his visit to the gas chamber. Absurd? Absolutely. Still, it’s all in a day’s work for film noir’s toughest femme fatale.

 

“Dark Passage”: Unjustly sentenced prison escapee Humphrey Bogart undergoes plastic surgery to alter his looks. He co-stars with real-life wife Lauren Bacall.

 

Burt Lancaster sustains major injuries after a heist gets fouled up in “Criss Cross.” (In “The Killers” Lancaster plays a boxer whose career folded after hurting his hand.)

 

“The Big Heat” contains one of film noir’s most famous violent scenes. Lee Marvin throws a pot of boiling coffee at Gloria Grahame and disfigures her face. She gets even in the end.

 

Jimmy Stewart is a photojournalist who watches his neighbors to pass the time (with gorgeous Grace Kelly for company) while his leg heals in “Rear Window.”

 

Jack Nicholson wears his bandage for most of “Chinatown.” Director Roman Polanski plays the menacing punk who cuts Nicholson’s nose.

 

“Misery”’s Kathy Bates is the nurse-from-hell to wounded writer James Caan.

 

Viggo Mortensen gets stabbed in his foot after fending off two thugs in “A History of Violence.”

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‘Killer Joe’ borders on bipolar, despite a riveting performance from Matthew McConaughey

August 3, 2012 by

Killer Joe/2011/LD Entertainment/103 min.

The words “TEXAS REDNECK” jump off the poster for “Killer Joe,” William Friedkin’s neo noir/Southern Gothic black comedy written by playwright Tracy Letts and starring Matthew McConaughey as a hitman who’s also a cop.

The rednecks are the Smiths, a Southern family for whom sleaze and greed have long replaced Sunday grace. In the opening scene, Sharla (Gina Gershon) gets out of bed and answers the door; her stepson Chris (Emile Hirsch) is outside, rain drenched, having been kicked out of his place by his girlfriend. Does Sharla bother to throw on clothes before opening the door? Hell, no. This ain’t no Ritz Hotel after all.

Turns out, Chris is a drug dealer with a debt and needs cash fast. His solution is to murder his mother (mostly unseen in the movie) and cash in on her insurance policy. No one’s really that fond of the mother so the rest of the family – stepmom Sharla, Chris’ remarried father Ansel (Thomas Haden Church) and his sister Dottie (Juno Temple) – are all on board with his plan. They’re not the sharpest tools in the shed, but they know a job like this has to be done right so they hire a pro named Killer Joe (McConaughey). Need I say, things don’t go to plan?

On the plus side, “Killer Joe” is well shot, well directed and well acted – McConaughey is especially magnetic, outlining the character’s chilling darkness and letting us fill in the blanks. On the minus side, though, “Killer Joe” never feels like much of a noir or much of a comedy. The mood shifts border on the bipolar, culminating in a resolution that may have worked on stage but seems laughable (in a bad way) on film, not to mention ridiculously violent. By that time, though, we are nothing if not primed for blood to be shed.

This marks the second collaboration for Friedkin and Letts – their first was 2006’s “Bug” based on Letts’ play. The Chicago-based playwright’s other work includes the Pulitzer-prize winning “August: Osage County” (the movie version is set to start filming in September) as well as “Superior Donuts” and “Three Sisters.”

Given the talent that came together for “Killer Joe,” was I wrong to hope for meatier fare? Though tempting on the outside, this ain’t the blood-red burger I wanted on my plate.

“Killer Joe” opens today in LA.

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Entertaining ‘Savages’ wears blood and guts on its sleeve

July 6, 2012 by

Savages/2012/Universal/130 min.

Without giving too much away, Blake Lively’s character in “Savages,” Oliver Stone’s latest neo noir, is forced to, um, live rough for the sake of a business deal gone brutal. Still, this doesn’t stop the quintessential, sun-kissed beach blonde named O (short for Ophelia) from asking her keepers: “Do you think I could get a salad once in a while instead of pizza?”

O, with her lean limbs, long hair and dazzling smile, is a gorgeous if slightly vacuous pawn in this story, which she also narrates. The movie’s biggest strength is that Lively and the rest of the cast so effortlessly inhabit their characters.

The power brokers are her luscious boyfriends Ben (Aaron Johnson) and Chon (Taylor Kitsch); she’s involved with both of them and, even if she’s not the sharpest tool in the shed, she deserves a little credit for that nifty set-up. Ben’s a Buddhist who studied business and botany; Chon’s a baddist, as O puts it, and a former Navy SEAL. Together, they’ve built a thriving marijuana biz that catches the eye of a major Mexican cartel run by Elena (Salma Hayek) and Lado (Benicio Del Toro).

Lado is a badass assassin type with an abundance of fluffy hair and Elena puts her steely focus steadfastly on the bottom line. For Lado, that means bringing Ben and Chon on Elena’s board of directors, as it were. Ben and Chon don’t take kindly to hostile takeovers, however, and they aren’t afraid to fight back. (Not sure who runs the cartel’s IT department but it’s eminently capable of providing video footage of hideously violent acts with nary a glitch or file not found.) John Travolta plays Dennis, the corrupt cop.

Stone has lined up the perfect players (Hayek, Del Toro and Travolta have the meatiest parts) for an entertaining, extremely violent, sometimes-funny tale, based on Don Winslow’s novel, of savage “execs” and what they’ll do to keep making enormous gobs of illegal cash. (Stone co-wrote the script with Winslow and Shane Salerno.) Diced and sliced with kinetic editing, and drenched in the piercing bright light of Southern California, the story unspools with Stone’s trademark acuity and intensity.

But there are essentially two endings and the final “real” one strikes me as a mistake. I wish Stone, given his typical hard edge, had not felt the need to close on a sunny note when the bleaker, darker ending would have better fit this bold neo noir that throughout wears blood and guts on its sleeve.

“Savages” opens nationwide today.

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‘Magic Mike’ has bump and grind of truth, some of the time

July 3, 2012 by

Magic Mike/2012/Nick Wechsler Productions/110 min.

By Michael Wilmington

The art and commerce of striptease – at least as we see it in director Steven Soderbergh and producer/star Channing Tatum’s “Magic Mike” – is entertainment in a very elemental (let’s not say stripped-down) form. The performer takes off her/his clothes and dances suggestively. Audience members, if they choose, holler rude, lewd lines, drink themselves into a stupor and sometimes shower the stripper with bills.

Technique is helpful, but not as crucial as looks or stage presence – both of which Tatum must have had in his brief career, in his teens, as a male exotic dancer. The dancing doesn’t have to be particularly good, but it’s best when the dancer has a sense of humor or drama. (I guess Tatum must have had those too.)

The well-upholstered Tatum, who plays Magic Mike, star dancer dude at the raunchy Tampa club Xquisite, is also one of the film’s producers. (“Magic Mike” must be one of the few movies where a producer has to take off his clothes and get money jammed into his thong as part of his duties.) His producing partner Reid Carolin wrote the script (I assume based largely on Tatum’s memories) and plays the part of Paul. The plot Tatum and Carolin have come up with loosely resembles “All About Eve” crossed with “Boogie Nights,” “Showgirls” and Christina Aguilera’s “Burlesque” – with male strippers, mostly without bitchery.

Here’s what happens. Tatum as Magic Mike, ab-happy king of the strip hill at Xquisite, befriends college dropout Adam aka “The Kid” (Alex Pettyfer) on a construction job, introduces him to Xquisite head honcho Dallas (Matthew McConaughey), and gets him a job at the club. The Kid’s fresh looks and what-am-I-doing-here? attitude make him an immediate sensation. Meanwhile, Magic Mike, who wants to go legit with a custom-made furniture business, also gets a yen for Adam’s sister, sensible Brooke (Cody Horn).

The Kid’s star rises. Things get darker. There’s a lot of sex and nudity, including an orgy with a pig wandering around. (You suspect something like this once happened somewhere.) Dallas wants to take the act to Miami. The club deejay, good-natured and chubby Tobias (Gabriel Iglesias), peddles Ecstasy on the side. Adam loses a lot of drugs and dough. Hey, stripping isn’t all “woman, money and good times,” as one character puts it. Some mornings you wake up with a pig staring you in the face.

“Magic Mike” struck me as realistic in its depiction of the whole club milieu (not that I’ve done any research), but as somewhat phony in its story – though the dialogue is periodically sharp and the acting is much better than usual for this kind of show. (Remember “Showgirls”?)

Matthew McConaughey gives depth to the part of Dallas.

There’s one knockout performance, by McConaughey as the affable, energetic and utterly shameless club czar and sometime stripper. McConaughey plays it strictly for sleaze and laughs, but he also suggests a real person: a sleazy, funny one. If the entire movie were as entertaining as McConaughey – or a bit darker than Tatum, Carolin and Soderbergh seem to want to make it – it would have been better.

Tatum, as mentioned, has the looks and presence for Mike, but not quite the magic. He does a fairly good job, and his onstage backflips are awesome, but I thought he spent too much time seducing the camera, James Deaning it up and getting us to like him, and not enough digging into the guy and making him real. It’s a very self-conscious “good” performance.

Pettyfer does an even more narcissistic job, and I’m not sure the fact that The Kid is supposed to be narcissistic and irresponsible is much of an excuse. Sister Brooke is a typical decent-onlooker part, which she does OK. People who like the dancing won’t care all that much about the acting – and that’s probably a good part of what made the movie such an opening-weekend hit.

So why did a sometimes brilliant and unpigeonholeable filmmaker like Steven Soderbergh want to make this movie? Well, sex, if not lies and videotape, has usually worked for him, and it’s always good news when a gifted moviemaker – especially one like Soderbergh, who really takes chances – gets a financial success. Obviously, he likes to work, likes the whole job of making movies. (He also photographed and edited this one.) He likes working with good-looking actors, and “Magic Mike” allows him to twist around sex roles for men the way “Haywire” shuffled them around for a woman (Gina Carano). Maybe he liked the music. And maybe he secretly harbored the desire to do a pig-at-the-orgy scene.

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Noirish ‘Unforgivable’ is sleek, suspenseful, contemplative

June 29, 2012 by

Unforgivable/2011/Strand Releasing/112 min.

There’s a moment early on in “Unforgivable” when André Dussollier ’s character, a best-selling crime writer named Francis, suggests to a woman he just met (Judith, played by Carole Bouquet) that they move in together. Exasperated, she rolls her eyes and reminds him that they barely know each other. His response is that “knowing” isn’t a prerequisite to love.

Crazy as it seems, she accepts the offer (ok, it happens to be on an island near Venice) and somehow the decision seems completely plausible in the coolly hypnotic world created by director/co-writer André Téchiné.

He’s in his 60s, she’s in her 50s and, as they attempt to merge their lives, their flaws and frailties surface, not to mention their baggage. Francis’ adult daughter Alice (Mélanie Thierry) has a wild-child streak; while visiting the couple, she takes off, leaving no word as to her whereabouts.

Judith, a former model, now real-estate agent, has had many lovers with whom she has stayed friendly. She is independent, sometimes aloof and doesn’t take Francis and his family drama as seriously as perhaps he would like. Panicked about Alice, Francis taps an old flame of Judith’s (Adriana Asti as gumshoe Anna Maria) to find her. As his frustration about Alice mounts, Francis becomes suspicious and jealous of Judith’s chill charm and knack for attracting attention. So he hires Anna Maria’s son Jérémie (Mauro Conte), just out of jail and in need of cash, to follow her and report back to him her activities.

Technically, “Unforgivable” isn’t a neo noir, but there are noir elements in this sleek, suspenseful, contemplative movie that is particularly well written and well acted. (Based on a novel by Philippe Dijan, Téchiné co-wrote the film with Mehdi Ben Attia.) Arguably, there is almost too much going on – sometimes the supporting players’ strands of the story meander a bit randomly and Alice’s relationship with her father doesn’t quite feel authentic. But Téchiné, one of the most highly regarded French filmmakers of his generation, rewards patient viewing with graceful images and illumination of the niggling difficulties inherent in loving and trusting other people.

“Unforgivable” opens today in New York and LA.

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‘The Woman in the Fifth’ is a mystery thriller in disguise

June 15, 2012 by

The Woman in the Fifth/2011/ATO Pictures/83 min.

A hypnotic story set in Paris. A creeping sense of dread, hints of dark memories and damaging secrets about to unfold. Dream imagery and sleight-of-hand shots. Shadowy criminal types and a formidable, cryptic seductress. Excellent acting. “The Woman in the Fifth” has the ingredients for a first-rate psychological thriller, in the tradition of Roman Polanski or David Lynch.

Ethan Hawke plays Tom, an American writer trying to repair his relationship with his ex-wife (Delphine Chuillot) and daughter (Julie Papillon) in Paris. His wife wants nothing to do with him though, as per the restraining order against him.

Broke, frustrated and forlorn, he takes a job at a warehouse and finds solace from a distinguished, domineering translator who lives in the 5th arrondissement (Kristin Scott Thomas) and a young Polish barmaid (Joanna Kulig). But, when a fellow resident at Tom’s grim hostel is murdered, he struggles to retain his tenuous grip on reality.

Polish director Pawel Pawlikowski (his last work was 2004’s “My Summer of Love”) describes “Woman,” based on a novel by Douglas Kennedy, as a mystery thriller in disguise and more precisely as a nightmare about “a man who fails to pay attention to the outside world, who lives in his own head and is totally incapable of understanding his true motives.”

But the film is at its best and most interesting before the anything-goes twist; once that’s revealed, the tension seeps out and we’re left deflated as the story sputters to the end.

“The Woman in the Fifth” opens today in select cities and on June 22 in LA.

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Poetic, mysterious ‘Americano’ lacks emotional resonance

June 15, 2012 by

Americano/2011/MPI Media Group/105 min.

“Americano,” Mathieu Demy’s first feature film, contemplates the passing of time and ghosts of memory, the grieving of a parent and letting go of the past. Poetic, dreamlike and visually compelling, the film has the makings of a personal odyssey meets noirish mystery but ultimately is undermined by a thin story that lacks emotional resonance.

Writer/director/actor Demy plays Martin, a real-estate broker who lives with his girlfriend Claire (Chiara Mastroianni) in Paris; he’s on the fence about raising a family with her. When his estranged mother dies, he travels to her home in Venice, Calif., where he spent part of his childhood before moving to France with his father (Jean-Pierre Mocky) after his parents divorced.

Returning to settle his mother’s affairs, with the help of a family friend named Linda (Geraldine Chaplin), Martin finds that in addition to the turmoil of pain, both raw and repressed, he is haunted by the recollection of Lola, a childhood acquaintance (Salma Hayek plays the adult Lola). She remained friends his mother while Martin was in France.

After learning that Lola was deported, Martin takes Linda’s red Ford Mustang convertible and heads to Tijuana (unfamiliar and dangerous territory that is all the more appealing in his grief) to find Lola and probe the relationship she had with his mother. There he finds the brassy, tough chick working in a strip club called Americano. It’s not exactly a happy reunion and Martin must decide whether he can trust this no-nonsense femme fatale.

Though a fictional film, “Americano” is also a valentine to Demy’s parents: French New Wave director Jacques Demy (he died in 1990) and Agnès Varda, who has been directing movies since the 1950s. Showing glimpses of Martin’s childhood in Venice, and simultaneously creating a more personal story, Demy uses footage of himself in Varda’s 1981 film “Documenteur.”

“I wanted the two films to echo one another, with 30 years separating them,” said Demy at a recent press conference in Beverly Hills. The desire to connect the films also prompted Demy to shoot “Americano” in super 16 mm cinemascope; “Documenteur” was shot in super 16 mm. And, of course, Hayek’s character name echoes Jacques Demy’s 1961 “Lola,” his first feature. Like Demy, Mastroianni (daughter of Catherine Deneuve and Marcello Mastroianni) and Chaplin (daughter of Oona O’Neill and Charlie Chaplin) are artists with prodigious legacies.

A.O. Scott, writing for the New York Times, notes, “As a director, [Mathieu Demy] owes less of a debt to his parents than to the American film noir tradition and, above all, to the melancholy romanticism of Wim Wenders, the German auteur whose love of scruffy North American locations, ambiguous quest narratives and the color red seems to resonate through much of ‘Americano.’ ” [Read more…]

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With a stand-out lead performance, ‘Wallander’ delivers

June 8, 2012 by

‘Wallander: The Revenge’/90 min./Music Box Films

If you need a little Scandinavian neo-noir fix this weekend, “Wallander: The Revenge” should do the trick nicely. It’s one episode from a 13-part Swedish TV series, based on original stories by popular Swedish crime writer Henning Mankell and directed by Charlotte Brändström. Fast, good-looking, intelligent and compelling, it’s also very entertaining.

Krister Henricksson plays small-town police detective Kurt Wallander. Gruff, shrewd and set in his ways (he’s 62 in the books), he’s counting the days until he can live in his house by the sea and walk his dog. But first he’s got to suss the connection between three murder victims, all of whom have been shot 17 times. At the same time, a power substation has been blown up and some suspect Islamic terrorists are behind both the explosion and the murders.

Krister Henricksson

Lena Endre

Helping him out are rookie cop (Nina Zanjani) and public prosecutor Katarina Ahlsell (Lena Endre). The performances are excellent, especially Henricksson who shines in a tense scene toward the end in which he placates a crazed man clutching a bomb.

True, when Wallander cracks the case, it’s a bit pat, but for me that was a minor flaw. I was left wanting to watch the rest of the series.

“Wallander: The Revenge” is playing in LA at Laemmle’s Music Hall 3, 9036 Wilshire Blvd., Beverly Hills, 90211. The 13 films in this series will be available on DVD, VOD iTunes, Amazon and Vudu. (Kenneth Branagh plays Wallander in the BBC/PBS “Masterpiece Theater” adaptation.)

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