Rocketman

 

Director: Dexter Fletcher
Starring: Taron Egerton, Jamie Bell, Richard Madden, Gemma Jones, Bryce Dallas Howard, Stephen Graham, Steven Mackintosh, Tate Donovan, Matthew Illesley, Kit Connor, Celinde Shoenmaker
Running Time: 121 min.
Rating: R

★★★ ½ (out of ★★★★)  

It was never going to be an easy road for Dexter Fletcher's Elton John musical biopic, Rocketman, especially following Bohemian Rhapsody, for which Rami Malek won the Oscar for inhabiting legendary Queen frontman Freddie Mercury. And when considering the same director actually stepped to finish the latter film, it makes comparisons between the two especially unavoidable. But if all those criticisms that Rhapsody played as a paint-by-numbers biopic seemed unfair, that's because they were, rehashing the same old arguments everyone makes about the genre. 

Ignoring that biopics are supposed to cover the full scope and meaning of a figure's life, the complaints just never seem to cease whenever one is released, regardless of its quality. Whether it's manufactured outrage at a script daring to depict events either in or out of chronological order, including scenes that allegedly never happened, or even worse, ones that did. But what no one seems willing to admit is that the format has been around this long because when it works, it really works, and is usually only as compelling as its subject allows. It's also what the fillmaker chooses to do within that admittedly rigid framework that can make all the difference, with casting a bit more crucial than it would be otherwise.

By these standards, Rocketman, which was widely praised for sidestepping a lot of typical genre tropes, could still be considered a "standard" biopic, with the important caveat that we should probably start reassessing that designation as a compliment. It may finally be time to admit that biopics can be fun and well-made, especially when the very structure of this musical does as good a job as any of conveying the essence of that person. 

Despite some broad similarities in their outsized personalities and career trajectories, Elton John isn't Freddie Mercury and any film covering his life would have to be an entirely different animal. Elton might be harder to tackle since his music's been played to death for decades on end, with few clammoring for the onscreen dramatization of an artist who could be considered overexposed, at least compared to Mercury, who only now seems to be getting his due. If both performers had a flare for flamboyance and theatrics, that's the area where Elton was incomparable, with Fletcher wisely using that as the film's driving engine. 

Elton John might be the only artist where a full-blown, spare no expenses musical about their life scored to all his hits feels completely appropriate. It's what Across The Universe could have been if they didn't try to shoehorn a fictional story into the Beatles' entire song catalogue. This takes the opposite route, as Elton's songs legitimately feel like an organic extension of his life, inseparable from the journey we see unfolding in front of us. 

If it's less dramatically powerful than Rhapsody, that's only because of the tone of Elton as a person and artist, which Taron Egerton magnificently captures in a nomination-worthy performance. A staggering visual achievement loaded with dazzling musical sequences, it digs deeply into his drug use, conflicted sexuality and unhappy childhood, before settling on an ending that feels slightly less than what it deserves. But it's all undeniably in lock-step with Elton's entire persona and career, making it impossible to walk away without a greater appreciation of everything he's brought to the table. 

From an addiction rehab center, Elton John (Egerton) recounts the story of his life via flashbacks, all the way back to his days growing up in 1950's Britain, when the then-Reggie Dwight (Matthew Illesley) grappled with crippling shyness as a child, as well as rocky relationship with his strict, uninterested military father Stanley (Steven Mackintosh). Some relief comes in his bonding with carfree mom Sheila (Bryce Dallas Howard) and even more supportive grandmother, Ivy (Gemma Jones) over his burgeoning musical talent. 

After excelling at piano from an early age, Reggie starts playing pubs as a teen (played by Kit Connor), gravitating toward rock music before eventually landing in a band and getting signed to a label deal by cigar-chomping DJM chief Dick James (Stephen Graham). Re-christened as "Elton John," it's Reggie's  introduction to songwriter and eventual best friend Bernie Taupin (Jamie Bell) that causes his career to soar to unimaginable heights in the 70's, only to come crashing down when he enters a toxic relationship with manipulative and abusive manager John Reid (Richard Madden). Falling into an abyss of wild debauchery fueled by self-destructive drug and alcohol abuse, Elton must face his personal demons head-on in order to save both his life and career, and perhaps finally be at peace with where Reggie Dwight ends and Elton John begins.

Lee Hall's script is meticulously contructed around some of the artist's biggest hits, providing the soundtrack to the scenes and sequences of his life. The concept itself seems hokey on paper and shouldn't work, if not for the fact that the execution is virtually flawless.While it may be initially jarring to see Elton walk into rehab in a flamboyantly bright orange devil costume before we abruptly flash back to the 1950's with characters in the street singing "The Bitch is Back," it's definitely going somewhere. Fletcher really hits the ground running with this structure, which manages to hit on all the key points on Reggie's path toward becoming Elton, with each musical sequence perfectly encapsulating a specific snapshot in time. 

Movie musicals can be off-putting in the sense that they're not stage productions, nor should they be. So when a character spontaneously bursts into song it can fall flat on its face if the story, tone, direction or energy is off. There's a reason the genre isn't for everyone's tastes, and since it's so rarely pulled off successfully, it's easy to be skeptical. But this is one of the few recent ones that really gets it right, as there isn't a single song in here that feels squeezed in because they're due for a big number.

This is who Elton John is, and whether you're a fan or not, it's impossible to deny that this captures that in a bottle. His songs are who he is, making Fletcher's approach work in a way it probably wouldn't for other artists. But we get the impression that he considered himself a performer first, and what Egerton pushes through is that love of showmanship, which practically burns through the screen, making the fact that the actor actually does his own singing (really well) seem almost secondary. 

All this is evident in the film's most memorable musical sequence, when a then low-key Elton first taps into his larger-than-life persona and brings down the Troubadour with "Crocodile Rock," creating an electric atmosphere that just builds and builds, reaching a cresendo that literally lifts him and an enraptured audience off their feet. Brilliantly filmed and staged by Fletcher, it signals from that point on nothing will be the same for the former Reginald Dwight, as does a later underwater scene that visually juxtaposes the movie's title song with his suicide attempt. 

If Elton was the consumate showman, the artist component is best reflected in his friendship with collaborator Taupin, which went well beyond songwriting despite remaining completely platonic. As the only person who saw Elton exactly for who he was, it ends up being the only relationship in the performer's life that doesn't seem entirely transactional. Whether he's pining for love and approval from his parents or an emotionally and physically abusive manager. attempting to downplay his homosexuality in a failed marriage to friend Renate Blauel (Celinde Schoenmaker) Taupin's unwavering committment to this partnership during Elton's darkest days make their union the film's most memorable, if certainly his least toxic. 

Unlike Bohemian Rhapsody or the Brian Wilson biopic, Love and Mercy from a few years back, you don't get too much insight into the "process" of creating because this simply isn't that kind of movie, nor where the bread is buttered when it comes to Elton's career. What we do get are the emotional highs and devastating lows, which strangely seem to exist on the same plane because of Egerton's performance. The framing device of him telling his story from rehab works because the actor does legitimately play him as a spectator to his own life. In even the biggest successes there's this undercurrent of sadness that when combined with his startling resemblance to the real person and painstakingly accurate recreations of key moments (such as the Dodger Stadium performance), make for quite the experience. 

The ending's only flaw is it's one of those familar epilogues that updates you on the singer's life, which seems completely unnecessary unless you've been living under a rock for the past decade. It also looks like something straight out of a cheap TV special, ranking as one of the more forgettable of its kind and almost completely at odds with the visionary sequence preceding it (a mind-blowing recreation of his "I'm Still Standing" video). But this is actually a small complaint since that video will be remembered as the real closer anyway, as well as a reminder that Elton's journey, unlike so many of his contemporaries, will always be more closely associated with triumph than tragedy. But what's so suprising about Rocketman are the wild detours it takes in showing us how close he actually came to burning out his own fuse.

Jurassic World

Director: Colin Trevorrow
Starring: Chris Pratt, Bryce Dallas Howard, Vincent D'Onofrio, Nick Robinson, Ty Simpkins, B.D. Wong, Irrfan Khan, Jake Johnson, Lauren Lapkus, Judy Greer, Katie McGrath 
Running Time: 124 min.
Rating: PG-13

★★★ ½ (out of ★★★★)

It always seemed the one lost opportunity in Steven Spielberg's Jurassic Park trilogy was actually setting the action in a fully functioning amusement park filled with people. You'd think adding that element of unpredictable danger to the plot could only heighten the stakes and danger. The entire amusement park concept has been gestating so long that we figured Spielberg must have been saving it for a sequel. Then 15 years passed. And now after sitting in development hell for almost two decades the franchise is resurrected with Jurassic World and the timing strangely seems just right for that big money storyline. Amidst an overcrowded field full of unnecessary remakes, reboots, sequels and prequels, this is the one that feels closest to being necessary because we never really got what we came for.

Despite unleashing a story that was a long time coming and injecting it with a meta subplot that pokes fun at the film's very existence, there were still a number of things that could have gone wrong. Poor casting, the wrong choice of director, bad GCI, a lackluster 3D conversion or an uninspired script could have easily sunk it. Instead, Safety Not Guaranteed director Colin Trevorrow delivers the type of ridiculously fun, pulse-pounding Spielberg-era thrill ride that even Spielberg himself can't seem to make anymore, or at least has chosen to move past after inspiring inferior imitations. This isn't one of them.

Twenty-two years after the horrific incident at Jurassic Park, Jurassic World is open for business and the park's operations manager, Claire Dearing (Bryce Dallas Howard) wants it to make as much money as humanly possible. A corporate ice queen, she brushes the park's sordid history under the rug as she unveils her newest attraction: a genetically modified Indominus rex dinosaur sponsored by Verizon. Inconvenienced by the recent arrival of her sister's (Judy Greer) kids, Zach and Gray (Nick Robinson and Ty Simpkins) to the park, she merely dumps them on her assistant for the day as Velociraptor trainer Owen Grady (Chris Pratt) is called in to evaluate the Indominus enclosure before opening. You could probably guess that what unfolds next is a crisis that makes the first three films look like child's play. It's up to Owen and Claire to contain it before lives in the park are lost, including their own.         

There's an early scene where a control room character played by Jake Johnson is showing off the vintage Jurassic Park shirt he won on e-bay, lamenting when the park used to be all about experiencing the wonder of a dinosaur. Now everything has to be bigger and more over-the-top. It's all about the money. While obviously referring to the Indominus attraction, he may as well have been talking about movies, particularly the one we're watching. But Jurassic World fully acknowledging forthcoming criticisms and actively poking fun at itself doesn't make it a good movie, nor should it. What does is the excitement generated on screen, since we're really there to see the dinosaurs wreck havoc.

Trevorrow wastes little time introducing us to the fully functioning theme park, which looks like a Sea World and Disney World hybrid with some surprisingly cool rides and features that seem believable within the confines of the fantasy world Spielberg initially created. As fast as the pace is, there is a considerable amount of time spent building up the first full-on appearance of the Indominus, which doesn't disappoint. It's definitely not Jaws in terms of impactfully limited screen time, but by today's impatient filmmaking standards, Trevorrow's approach is practically restrained.

Much to my relief, the CGI actually looks pretty good, as far as those go, rarely distracting from the action or story. It's also filled with some clever winks and nods throughout the park that let us know this is very much a continuation of the 1993 original and the sequels may as well not exist. Thankfully, John Williams' instantly recognizable, iconic score (the best of his storied career) still does, even if you could quibble with where it lands in the film and how quickly. But at least it's there, which was one of my big worries going in.

With employees clashing over their differing philosophies for the park, it's a given that the uptight Claire and cocky Owen will be brought together by the Indominus escape as she finally learns to care about something other than her job, namely her missing nephews. Her profit-driven approach starkly contrasts with owner Simon Masrani (Irrfan Khan), whose chief concerns are the enjoyment and safety of the guests. While both are seriously compromised by Claire's greed, InGen security head Vic Hoskins (Vincent D'Onofrio) is intent on militarizing the dinosaurs as government weapons, crreating an interesting Blackfish-like sub-plot about the humans' control over these creatures. This plays better than expected, with an inexplicably limping, head-tilting D'Onofrio throwing his weight around with the kind of bizarre performance only he could conjure up.

The casting is actually quite creative all-around, avoiding the same four or five names of actors and actresses who usually headline these blockbusters. Chris Pratt will soon likely be one of them, but for now we're still finding out what he can do and what's most surprising about his role is how humorless it is. More Indiana Jones than Han Solo. "Jurassic Parks and Rec" this isn't, as the former Andy Dwyer has to play it mostly straight in order to ground an already far out there plot.

If this is Pratt's Indy audition, he passes with flying colors, and despite being a longtime fan of the actor's work, he quelled most of my concerns that going this route would be a complete misuse of his talents. Instead, the action hero thing seems to suit him just fine and in his scenes opposite Howard he does manage to slide in some of the trademark sarcastic charm and charisma that got him here. He'll probably be cast in everything now, but if it has to be someone, at least it's Pratt, whose sheer likability and presence lifts this kind of material further than it would have otherwise gone.

While Pratt does exactly what's asked of him and surpasses expectations, he is still playing a one-dimensional hero opposite Bryce Dallas Howard's more intriguing character. When was the last time a money hungry, stuck-up corporate suit was the centerpiece of a summer action movie? Howard's always been consistently strong in various projects until disappearing for a while, only to now reemerge four years later in the last movie you'd expect to see her headline. And what a comeback it is, walking right up to that line of playing Claire as an unlikable bitch without ever stepping over it. As a result, the transition she makes to action heroine in the film's second half seems all the more seamless and reasonable, proving her an actress adept at rapidly shifting gears. In an effects driven project that too often relegates performers to window dressing, her performance is remembered. She's really playing two roles, each equally well.

Trevorrow was hired to do a job in which the understanding was he'd be relinquishing a lot of creative freedom. Yet within those parameters, he managed to slide his own vision in there to create something that feels like his rather than a tired retread. One can only hope that similar steps are taken when reviving other dormant franchises ripe for a reimagining or continuation of some kind. This is exactly the story that needed to be told in order to both honor the Spielberg film and move on from it. The final half hour featuring an epic dinosaur confrontation can compete in both scale and thrills with anything from the original. Rarely overstaying its welcome at a brisk two hours, it also features one of the few uses of 3D in recent years that at least seems defensible given the nature of the plot.           

It's funny how some critics have taken Jurassic World to task, making me wonder exactly what they expected or how it could have possibly been improved. It's everything a Summer blockbuster should be and a little more, which may represent the true root of their problem. For all the talk of the film's theme park being nothing more than a cash grab, the movie gets its job done by mocking exactly that, exploiting our fears that the wonder from the original can't be recaptured. The bigger question is why we'd want it to, especially when this sequel is such a worthy successor in its own right.               

The Help

Director: Tate Taylor
Starring: Emma Stone, Viola Davis, Bryce Dallas Howard, Octavia Spencer, Jessica Chastain, Ahna O' Reilly, Allison Janey, Emma Henry, Chris Lowell, Cicely Tyson, Mike Vogel, Sissy Spacek
Running Time: 146 min.
Rating: PG-13

★★★ ¼ (out of ★★★★) 

From a critical standpoint, The Help is underrated. It may seem like a strange comment to make about a decently reviewed awards contender beloved by many and that's grossed over $200 million, but it seems whenever the film's discussed there's always some qualifier belittling or explaining away its success. The most pointed accusation slung its way is that it's a "whitewashing" of racism, taking what's obviously extremely sensitive and important issue and sanitizing it for mainstream entertainment, even going so far as to filter it all through the eyes of a white protagonist. Accused of engaging in revisionist history, many have claimed it presents a Hollywood version of the Jim Crow South that fails to make everyone understand the true pain and suffering blacks experienced during that time. But could any film do that? Should it? Going into Tate Taylor's The Help (based on Kathryn Sockett's 2009 bestselling novel) I expected mainstream fluff, kind of a Hallmark greeting card or Lifetime movie of the week transported to the big screen. Something like The Blind Side meets Driving Miss Daisy. But it's instead a well acted, well directed drama that works as a snapshot of a time and a depiction of attitudes. This isn't pretending to be something it's not, and overlooking that is the biggest mistake that can be made critiquing it. And if it is fluff someone forgot to tell the talented array of actresses who carry it. If anything, it should be praised, not derided, for deftly handling a difficult topic with an intelligence uncommon among most mainstream movies.

It's the early 60's in Jackson, Mississippi and 23 year-old Eugenia "Skeeter" Phelan (Emma Stone) is fresh out of college with a new job writing for the local newspaper, an opportunity frowned upon by her cancer-striken mother Charlotte (Alison Janey) who feels she should just find a man and settle down. Upon discovering their longtime maid Constantine (Cicely Tyson) had mysteriously quit then disappeared while she was away, Skeeter's eyes are opened to the racist attitudes her friends and neighbors have toward "the help." The worst of them is stuck-up socialite and Junior League president Hilly Holbrook (Bryce Dallas Howard) who actually proposes a "Home Help Sanitation Initiative" that would provide separate bathrooms for their black housekeepers. Having not been brought up racist, Skeeter starts questioning these injustices and comes up with the idea to write a book from their perspective, detailing the feelings of maids who've sacrificed own lives to raise white children who will more than likely grow up to become racists themselves. Two maids, the quiet, somber Abileen Clark (Viola Davis) and tough talking Minny Jackson (Octavia Spencer) agree to participate. The former quietly soldiers forward while mourning the death of her son while the latter isn't afraid of telling it like it is, a trait that gets her fired by Hilly and eventually taken under the employ of social outcast Celia Foote (Jessica Chastain). With the deadline from her editor fast approaching, Skeeter must get as many stories from the help as she can, which proves difficult considering the potential consequences of the book's publication.

What really jumps out about the story are the hypocritical attitudes of these well-to-do white women who trust the help enough to let them essentially raise their children, but refuse to share a bathroom with them because of the color of their skin.  While Skeeter is the first to notice this inane reasoning and sets in motion a plan to rectify it, the story really isn't about her. Those complaining the maids' histories are being dictated to a white person should consider the likelihood of any editor publishing a book by a black housekeeper during that era, not mention the chances they'd risk their lives trying to write one. The character of Skeeter actually makes the events seem more plausible, not less. So by even employing this narrative device (taken straight from the novel) the film's already operating at a higher level of realism than it's being given credit for. But the movie is all about the performances, which are just about as good as any from an ensemble cast this year.

As the narrator and centerpiece of the story, Viola Davis has surprisingly limited screen time and dialogue as Aibileen, but the the film never needs to go to the ugly places everyone's complaining it doesn't because all the pain, suffering and indignity these maids begrudgingly endure is visible on Davis' face. Given the opportunity to finally speak out against injustice she's justifiably filled with mixed feelings since it's the only life she knows, as awful as it is. Octavia Spencer steals the spotlight as the feisty Minny, role that was specifically written with the longtime character actress in mind. The special surprise she delivers to her former employer Hilly is easily the funniest moment in the picture, as an ignorant racist finally gets her comeuppance courtesy of an unusual dessert. That a movie covering this topic can even have funny moments and we don't feel guilty laughing should be proof enough something was done right.

Bryce Howard is brilliantly detestable as Hilly, and while she's the kind of villain you just want to reach through the screen and strangle, Howard's portrayal impressively avoids turning her into a one-dimensional caricature. As in her supporting turn in this year's cancer dramedy 50/50, she makes her character's deplorable actions seem real and sad, not manufactured for the sake of cheap drama. Sissy Spacek provides scene-stealing comic relief as Hilly's mother, who's losing her marbles but can still see what an annoying brat her daughter's turned into. Emma Stone is charmingly goofy and endearing as Skeeter, in a difficult role that most other actresses in her age range likely would have struggled with. She pulls off a surprisingly convincing southern accent, handles the more dramatic scenes well, and effectively conveys Skeeter's insecurity and outspoken bravery. Making her sixth or seventh screen appearance this year, 2011's biggest acting discovery Jessica Chastain disappears into Marilyn Monroe lookalike Celia, a social outcast who ends up having a lot more substance to her than it seems at first. On the outskirts and sheltered from the racist views of her peers, the emotional bond she forms with new employee Minny is one of the film's many surprising pleasures.

The big mystery and what her mother's been keeping from Skeeter is what exactly happened with their longtime help Constantine while she was away at school. It's a secret that's kept throughout the entire film, until being revealed in a flashback in the third act and without spoiling anything, I'll just say it's one hell of a scene. I can't understand how anyone can watch this powerful sequence and the heartbreaking performances of Allison Janey and Cicely Tyson in it and still claim this is just fluff.  There's an indelible image that concludes this expertly directed and acted scene that's difficult to shake after it's passed, regardless of anyone's feelings on the film's treatment of history as a whole.

Is the movie meant to be a mainstream audience pleaser? Absolutely. And there's nothing wrong with that. While there are inherent limitations when you take this approach and the length of ten football fields separates the quality of something like this and the year's higher quality films like The Tree of Life or Drive, I still wouldn't begrudge the casual moviegoer--who maybe sees only a handful of features each year--for naming it one their favorites. To say it's "dumbed down" for mainstream audiences or they want to be spoon-fed a revisionist history isn't exactly fair since the presentation of the material never really backs that argument up. It's presented in a manner that definitely aims to make it feel more accessible, but it isn't dumb. If anything, it would hopefully get viewers unaware of the exact history to learn more about the actual events that inspired it or seek the kind of documentary some critics are complaining this isn't. And it shouldn't be punished for tackling a sensitive topic in more lightweight manner, especially if its intentions are clearly laid out from the onset and it doesn't waver in that approach all the way through. It was obvious from the first frame what the goal of the film was and it almost flawlessly delivers on that promise with just a few missteps, such as a poorly developed sub-plot involving Skeeter and her boyfriend (Chris Lowell), that's left dangling without any clear resolution.  

Negotiating his way some tough tonal territory, relatively unknown director Tate Taylor keeps the pace moving breezily along for almost two and a half hours, while the production, costume design and cinematography succeed in creating a feel for the setting and period. Given all the complaints I heard before seeing it, you'd figure the film toppled Gone With The Wind in its stereotypical depiction of black maids in the south, but these two characters are way too well written and performed to even jokingly warrant such a comparison. They're strong, brave women trying to improve their situation, not helpless caricatures.

I know it's generally frowned upon for a critic to even react to the reaction of others to a film, but getting to it so late and hearing so many accusations beforehand, there really wasn't much choice. I'll admit it probably doesn't bode well for its shelf life that I had to work this hard defending it. Great movies should be enthusiastically praised without reservation rather than defended with a laundry list of excuses of why it isn't as bad as everyone says it is, followed by an apology. And because the filmmakers took this lighter approach it just simply won't stay in the mind as long as something with more substance to it. That's no one's fault, just an inevitability when the decision was made in the pre-production stage to remain faithful to the source material. I understand and even appreciate many of the criticisms leveled against it, but at the same time there's no denying the on screen results are above average in every possible category. The unusual rating above comes from sensing this is exactly the kind of movie I'll forget about it in less than a month, if I haven't already. Or maybe I'm just kind of disturbed only half a star would separate this from the very best, putting it on par with films that actually do dig deeper. Either way, it seems those most offended by The Help are more against the idea of it being made in the first place, which becomes another issue altogether. In this case, approaching a movie for what it is rather than what it isn't, is a tip some critics could have taken from audiences. 

50/50

Director: Jonathan Levine
Starring: Joseph Gordon-Levitt, Seth Rogen, Anna Kendrick, Bryce Dallas Howard, Angelica Huston
Running Time: 100 min.
Rating: R

★★★ ½ (out of ★★★★)
 
Cancer movies are tough. That could help explain why there's so few of them, and why so few are comedies. It's not exactly the easiest topic to navigate, nor one that'll have audiences rushing out in droves to see it, no matter how skillfully it's handled. Go for the comedy and risk coming off tasteless and tone-deaf. Go for the  drama and risk being sappy and sentimental. You're walking a tightrope. The general advice has always been for screenwriters to just steer clear of the dreaded "C word" altogether, so you'd figure a comedic drama exploring the issue would really be a recipe for a disaster.And that's not even taking into account how you end it. The last thing anyone wants to see on screen is someone dying from cancer, yet you can't have them pull through either because that's pandering to the masses with a "feel good" ending that may not be true to life.That's why it's such a surprise Jonathan Levine's cancer dramedy 50/50 works so well.  Intelligently written and skillfully performed, it succeeds by picking a tone and committing to it the entire way without wavering. It just simply decides to be honest, punctuating it with the right kind of realistic humor.  

Adam (Joseph Gordon-Levitt) is a 27-year-old Seattle public radio editor who's just been diagnosed with an extremely rare form of spinal cancer. After coldly being delivered the 50/50 survival prognosis he must inform those closest to him of the news, all of whom react differently. His best friend and co-worker Kyle (Seth Rogen) sees the diagnosis as a golden opportunity for both of them to party and pick up women at bars. His girlfriend Rachael (Bryce Dallas Howard) insincerely swears to stay by his side as if she's trying to convince herself. His mother Diane (Anjelica Huston) is in hysterics, calling every hour and threatening to move in, all while still caring for Adam's Alzheimer's afflicted father. In coping with the situation Adam befriends chemo patients Alan (Philip Baker Hall) and Mitch (Matt Frewer) and schedules weekly sessions with painfully inexperienced therapist Katharine (Anna Kendrick) who reveals he's only her third patient ever. As Adam starts opening up and sharing his feelings about the diagnosis, the two begin to take more than a professional interest in one another as he struggles to battle his illness.

Of the movies have tackled the topic of cancer before, most have chosen to incorporate it as plot point or sub-plot, never the main course, perhaps in fear that it's just too difficult or uncomfortable a topic to broach over a nearly two-hour time span on screen. What then usually happens is that it feels tasteless, thrown in where it has no place and used as a ploy to evoke sentimentality. Here the cancer is the story and it's written by Will Reiser, a friend of Seth Rogen's who was really diagnosed with a malignant spinal tumor and the screenplay's unusual in how it seems to hold nothing back, but still finds ways to be hilarious. Stranger still is Levine's gift at presenting the material in such an honest, matter-of-fact way that we don't feel the slightest bit awkward laughing along with what happens since the characters are also. It'll be tempting for many to say the film gets a lot of tiny details right but without experiencing something like this firsthand or know someone who has, that's too big a declaration to make. More accurately, it feels true by not sugarcoating any of the grimmer aspects, but still recognizing it's still okay to mock the absurdity of it all. Every situation can be absurd, it's just most movies lack the guts to go there, and when they do, the tone feels off. That isn't an issue here.

However you may feel about Seth Rogen as an actor there's no doubting he can say just about anything and get away with it. He's often hit or miss but this is one of the few times everything he says hits the mark and gets huge laughs at just the right moments. Only everyday schlub Rogen could make Kyle's attempts at using Adam's condition to try to get them both laid seem almost sweetly inoffensive and get away with a Patrick Swayze cancer joke. If Jack Black or Will Ferrell tried any of this they'd come off as creeps so his contribution shouldn't be overlooked. It helps he and Levitt have such great chemistry together that you actually believe these two have been best friends all their lives. As for JGL, it's fairly astonishing how well he meets both the physical (he actually did shave his head on screen in one take) and emotional requirements of a role that was originally supposed to be played by James MacAvoy (really?) until he dropped out just before filming. Levitt plays Adam as a great guy who got a raw deal, which, as simple as it seems, is sometimes what happens. There's nothing about what he does that seems overly sympathetic or attempts to pull on the heartstrings, which isn't a surprise since he's proven long himself an actor incapable of giving a dishonest performance if he tried. 

A mark of a smart script is often that the secondary characters are depicted with precision and given realistic motivations. It takes a certain type of person to stick with someone through a cancer diagnosis and it's clear almost immediately that Adam's girlfriend Rachael isn't that person, but without giving too much away it's interesting how Bryce Dallas Howard's complicated performance makes it about more than just that. It's not easy having to play who many will rightfully consider "the bitch" of the movie, but she transcends that, making her an almost pitiable character. I believed someone would do what she did and exactly how she did it. Anna Kendrick's Katharine isn't what she appears to be at first either, her analytical, by the books approach to Adam's situation eventually giving way to her real desire to just go ahead and let him spill his guts. Since she excels at playing characters who use their intelligence as a defense mechanism, at times it feels as if Katharine's holding as much back as he is.

There are no surprises to be found on the way to the finale or when we get there, nor does the film necessarily reinvent the wheel in any department The surprises are in how deftly it handles a topic that's been botched by so many inferior efforts before it and avoids insulting the audiences' intelligence. And the saddest part is that no matter how smart and entertaining I tell someone it is they still won't see it because it's about cancer and I can't really blame them, even if they're missing out on the rare good one. It's one of those chronically uncomfortable topics that people go to the movies to escape so it's difficult to wrap our heads around the idea that a movie exploring it could be both brutally honest and life affirming, rarely succumbing to your typical disease movie sappiness by knowing it's a comedy first. Reading its synopsis, 50/50 would seem to be the least likely audience pleaser you could find, but luckily the results on screen prove otherwise.

Hereafter

Director: Clint Eastwood
Starring: Matt Damon, Cecile de France, Bryce Dallas Howard, Jay Mohr, Richard Kind, Frankie McLaren, George McLaren, Derek Jacobi
Running Time: 129 min.
Rating: PG-13

★★★ (out of ★★★★)

Had all of Clint Eastwood's Hereafter been as thrilling as its opening ten minutes it could have been one of the best films of 2010. In a different way, the rest impresses also, but those first ten minutes, a CGI re-creation of a real-life catastrophe, won't leave you anytime soon and might stand as one of the more frightening natural disaster effects sequences put on screen. When a movie starts this ambitiously and a director of Eastwood's caliber is attached, it makes sense lofty expectations accompany the rest of it and everyone would feel let down when it doesn't unfold as trailers would indicate. But what sold me is it's sincerity and upfront honesty with what it's trying to do. It's a well-acted introspective, thought provoking character study that's slightly frustrating since it doesn't do much wrong, but doesn't amount to anything monumental either. I'm not even sure it was meant to as Eastwood, perhaps too generously, wanted audiences to do most of the intellectual heavy lifting. Those who appreciate that approach will enjoy it while everyone else will feel left out in the cold, but at least give the director credit for making the movie he wanted to make, regardless of any pressure he could have encountered from the studio to deliver your typical supernatural thriller. This is anything but. 

The film tells three parallel stories of people affected by death that eventually intertwine in a fairly straightforward manner, with few twists or surprises.  The first, and most interesting, concerns blue-collar factory worker, George Lonegan (Matt Damon) a former professional psychic who views his supposed gift as curse, and one that threatens to ruin a potential relationship with enthusiastic cooking class partner Melanie (Bryce Dallas Howard). French television reporter Marie Lelay (Cecile de France) is a survivor of The Indian Ocean tsunami of 2004, but not without being traumatized the near-death experience, its after effects interfering with every aspect of her life and work. And the U.K. twins Marcus and Jason (Frankie and George McLaren) are about to be removed from the custody of their drug-addicted mother when tragedy strikes and Marcus is killed, leaving a distraught Jason in search of reputable psychic, only to discover there are very few. You can probably guess where that storyline's going.

If this all seems to slightly similar to 2006's Babel with its vaguely interconnected narratives that's because it is, with a big difference being this isn't as emotionally manipulative or press nearly as many buttons as that far busier script did. It's definitely more low-key and introspective, primarily concerned with observing these how people view death. Some will find this boring but I was surprised how the lengthy over two-hour running time flew by despite there being little excitement outside the incredible opening sequence. Damon's story is by far the best and the scenes he has with Bryce Dallas Howard are easily the most engaging in the film because Damon (in his most somber mode here) perfectly conveys how George's abilities can really destroy any chance he has at forging a real relationship. Melanie wants a reading, but he tries to resist. By the time he's done with it she realizes she should have taken the warning and we realize she wasn't what she seemed. The other two stories don't click as well, though the reporter's storyline benefits greatly from having a documentary realism to it. Eastwood flirts with corniness at the end, but somehow I bought it because the ideas were at presented in an intelligently restrained way throughout, never forcing the issue.

Flopping at the box office late last year, it was one of the most poorly received and reviewed films of Eastwood's career, which probably speaks more to the public's distaste with the subject matter than anything else. For whatever reason mainstream moviegoers have a major aversion to seeing the afterlife depicted in popular entertainment. Whether it's What Dreams May Come, The Lovely Bones, or even recently proven on television with Lost, very few efforts dealing with this topic have ever been met with a favorable response. It seems there are certain preconceptions about how this should be presented on screen and whatever choice is made ends up being wrong if it doesn't match what's in audiences' minds. To Eastwood's credit, he doesn't seem to care. Hereafter works as an exploration of human behavior that probably won't come together how anyone wants it to, but that doesn't necessarily make the trip there any less absorbing.

Lady in the Water

Director: M. Night Shyamalan
Starring: Paul Giamatti, Bryce Dallas Howard, Jeffrey Wright, Bob Balaban, M. Night Shyamalan, Freddy Rodriguez, Mary Beth Hurt
Running Time: 110 min.
Rating: PG-13

*1/2 (out of ****)

Remember The Princess Bride? Rob Reiner's 1987 film that starts with a little boy being read a bedtime story by his grandfather and ends up being much more. You were hooked as the fairy tale took you to a magical world that evoked feelings of wonderment and excitement that have gone unmatched by any film in that genre for the past 20 years. People still quote it to this day. Now picture the complete opposite of that movie. It would be M. Night Shyamalan's Lady In The Water. It's also a fairy tale. Only it's stupid, silly and could have easily been written by a fourth grader. Actually no, that's kind of mean since a fourth grader could have probably weaved a tale considerably more intelligent and interesting than Shyamalan's. Critics ripped him apart for The Village a few years ago, but I thought it was an absorbing social commentary that contained a terrific twist ending right out of Rod Serling's play book. Even I can't defend him on this one though. After watching Lady in the Water I think everyone will appreciate just how good The Village really was as Shyamalan nearly commits career suicide with this picture.

Paul Giamatti plays ludicrously named apartment building superintendent Cleveland Heep who suspects someone's been playing in the complex's pool at night. That someone ends up being a sea nymph named Story (Bryce Dallas Howard) who's trying to get back home to the "Blue World" but can't because a Scrunt (a wolf-like creature covered in grass) is prowling the apartment grounds determined to keep her out. Don't worry if that sounds ridiculous because it actually plays out far worse than I'm giving it credit for here. If you don't know what a sea nymph is don't feel bad. Neither did I. All you need to know is that she's a magical creature from a fairy tale, kind of like a mermaid, and she walks around... naked. A lot. Since this is PG-13 though, we don't get to see any of it so those with your finger on the pause button can settle down.

Story shacks up at Clevelend's place while they figure out a way to get her home using the special powers of an eclectic group of residents at the complex. These "special powers" include solving crossword puzzles, reading cereal boxes, and talking endlessly about nothing (movie's words not mine). Two of these residents are Asian stereotypes who just happen to know every single detail of this needlessly complex fairy tale before it happens. What a coincidence. That's unusually lazy writing from Shyamalan who seems to be phoning this whole screenplay in from another planet. You'll notice that M. Night himself is listed above as part of the cast. No surprise as up until now he's always had a small cameo role in all of his films (kind of like Hitchcock), but he gives himself a huge one in this. A writer whose work is going to "CHANGE THE WORLD." That's right, this man wrote and cast himself in that role! Let that sink in for a second.

Watching this I couldn't help but feel deep sympathy for Paul Giamatti. He was unjustly robbed of an Oscar nomination for Sideways two years ago and now he's starring in this disaster. Although it's hard to feel much sympathy for anyone who read this script and thought it had any redeeming value at all. Even more perplexing, it was actually a published children's book and is based on a bedtime story Shyamalan told his kid. That's kind of fitting, since I can't think of any tale that would put a child to sleep faster. We have the pleasure of having M. Night read us this story on the special features. Thanks, but I'll take a pass. I'm not exactly sure who this movie is aimed at since kids will find it too scary and adults will just be bored to tears or too busy laughing their asses off.

Giamatti, ever the pro, does his best and actually gives an affecting performance as a lonely widower who's "saved" by this girl. That just adds to the frustration though, because it's in the context of the silliest fairy tale ever told. I really like the idea of a lonely superintendent finding a mysterious girl one night at the pool who changes his life and the interesting residents of the complex. The movie started well and it was fascinating to see Cleveland's interactions with these wildly diverse characters from each room. We find out his family was killed and this relationship with this girl is the closest he's let anyone get to him in years. The ingredients were there to make an interesting character study, but Shyamalan is determined to to make the next Princess Bride. He's also determined to make Howard, who's a real talent, just stand expressionless and talk in a monotone for the entire film.

Then there's a new resident of the complex (played by Bob Balaban) who's smug, arrogant, and thinks he knows everything. His occupation? Film critic. You could probably guess what happens to him. Of course you have to remember this is the same guy who once requested a personal meeting with a critic who panned one of his films. I guess I should have been more careful writing this. I'll expect a call soon. If he wanted revenge on the critics who trashed The Village I could think of better ways. How about making a great movie instead forcing this self indulgent mess on us? Maybe this was just something Shyamalan had to get out of his system and then move on and make quality films again. I sure hope so, because Lady in the Water is about as bad as it gets.