Say Hi to the Bad Guy in 'Public Enemies'
Johnny Depp impresses as John Dillinger. His Dillinger is half Butch, half Sundance. But a little lighter on the wit. As it should be.
By Mike Longaecker
A detective I know asked me this morning if I was planning on seeing “Public Enemies.” Of course, I told him. He wasn’t impressed. The dick griped that lawless, murderous guys like John Dillinger are always glorified by Hollywood. “Yep,” I replied, “Guess those criminals just live the colorful lives we all love to watch.”
Not everyone. The dick, for one, wasn’t convinced.
Watching the film this afternoon, I couldn’t get the detective’s remark out of my head. Was director Michael Mann glorifying Dillinger? Probably. But let’s be honest. If bad-guy violence is a sickness, we’ve been infected since the dawn of cinema. America’s cinematic roots in violence date back at least to when this cowpoke pulled a gun on audiences in 1903’s “The Great Train Robbery.”
So how, exactly, does “Enemies” romanticize the bad guy? For one, you cast him as Johnny Depp. Cast Steve Buscemi as Dillinger and I’m probably not going to accuse you of sexying-up the gangster image. (Let’s also not forget that Christian Bale – not exactly a Marty Feldman – was cast opposite Depp as his professional hunter.)
Another way to cast guys like Dillinger in a fair light is to surround them with gun blasts, shoot them from low angles and pair them up with attractive women. Check, check and check.
Mann throws in an extra heaping of gangster love in a scene when Dillinger is captured and being driven down an Indiana street by cops. The townsfolk hustle up to the curb like they’re about to get a look at Babe Ruth with Lou Gehrig riding shotgun. Dillinger waves and cracks a devilish grin as he watches the scene. But the love doesn’t stop there. Once inside the Indiana jail, Dillinger spends a couple minutes taking questions from a mob of reporters treating him like a pro athlete just toweling off after a game.
Now. At the end of the flick, are we motivated to go jack up banks, take hostages and kill other humans? No. In spite of the aforementioned gangster love, Mann pauses to show us death. Pale, muted, blood-gargling death. The gangsters all get it – and plenty of cops, too. I’d argue those scenes take much of the shine off any of the sexy that gets built up in the aforementioned examples.
As for the movie itself: I’d give it three-and-a-half out of five stars – if I was into that sort of star-giving thing. Strengths include edge-of-your-seat shootouts, of which Mann (“Heat”) is truly the contemporary master. Also, Depp impresses as Dillinger. His Dillinger is half Butch, half Sundance. But a little lighter on the wit. As it should be.
I could have done with fewer clichés in Dillinger’s lines. After meeting his soon-to-be-girlfriend, Billie Frechette (played by a convincing Marion Cotillard), she asks why he is bold enough to reveal his real name to her and all the baggage that goes along with it. That’s the past, he says, and “The only important part is where you’re going.” Yeah. That, and original dialogue.
I’ll say “Enemies” is definitely worth a look, especially on the big screen. Check it out and comment.
Posted by: longaecker on 7/02/2009 at 8:21 PM | Comments (0) | Permalink
Tags: public enemies film cinema johnny depp arts and entertainment lifestyle
Maher's 'Religulous' doesn't walk on water
Documentaries like 'Religulous' foster discussion. That’s good. On the other hand, they present tilted arguments couched under the guise of balanced reporting. That's less commendable.
By Mike Longaecker
It’s pretty easy to get worked up about religion. The existence of God. The role of the church. Guilt. Sin. Heaven, hell.
Jesus.
It’s enough to give a guy insomnia.
If that’s the case, Bill Maher – TV’s favorite ballbreaker and self-anointed provocateur in chief – must go through Ambien like Adam Lambert goes through man-scara. Maher has apparently spent more than a few nights churning over such issues.
The product of his meditations is 2008’s “Religulous,” a Michael Moore-style documentary devoted to crucifying the living hell out of religion.
Maher dives right into it, arguing the absurdities he finds in the Bible and making Christianity’s most ardent defenders make their case. That’s not to say he finds the most articulate or learned biblical scholars.
He starts out by haranguing a very small congregation of over-the-road truckers who – go figure – hold sermon in a repurposed semi trailer. Not exactly a conclave of cardinals.
Then he finds a Christian memorabilia merchant – and ex-Jew for Jesus – who professes to have witnessed a miracle during a college house party at Michigan State. OK, pal.
To his credit, Maher goes beyond the strip-mall Christianity that forms such an easy punching bag and takes his film crew all the way to Vatican City. Not surprisingly, the papal police there give him the boot.
Still, Maher manages to find Father Reginald Foster, a genuine Catholic priest. Interestingly, this padre spends the better part of his interview scoffing with Maher at Catholic tradition and biblical accuracy.
I’m not saying this guy is right or wrong, but he seems more like a barstool huckster than a priest. I’ve met plenty of Catholic priests in my time (insert appropriate Denis Leary joke here), though none reppin’ Catholicism’s main headquarters. Still, every one of those guys always carried himself with a considerable degree of reverence and grace.
Foster comes across slightly more priestly than Maher. And if he’s in touch with any spirits, I’m guessing they start at 80 proof.
A quick Internet search proves Foster, a Milwaukee native, is the Vatican’s chief Latin translator and a Carmelite monk. OK, fine.
The problem is, Maher thinks figures like Foster bolster his argument. They don’t. Maher wastes his gift for verbal sparring on head-nodders like Foster and visitors at something called The Holy Land Experience in Orlando, Fla.
We repeatedly hear complaints from Maher that he is not allowed access to powerful religious figures at places like the Vatican and Salt Lake City. But unlike Moore’s famous attempts to track down The Man, we receive no such efforts out of Maher in “Religulous.”
And why would he? The fact is, no serious religious scholar or man of the cloth is going to get as many laughs as easy targets like the Church of Scientology or nutjobs like a guy who claims to be the second coming of Jesus Christ.
Still, “Religulous’ is a gas – if you see enough room in religion to laugh. But like so many documentaries constructed from the same blueprint (hypothesize debatable question, find fringe loudmouths who substantiate your rhetoric and frame film against impending doom) remember why you’re laughing: Because the deck has been stacked.
On the one hand, such documentaries foster discussion. That’s good. On the other hand, they present tilted arguments couched under the guise of balanced reporting.
I’d like to see a break from this cookie cutter approach, but it’s proved to be a cash cow. That means we’re not likely to see an end to the model (“advocate-mentaries?”) anytime soon.
Especially not when they’re as goddamned funny as “Religulous.”
Posted by: longaecker on 6/22/2009 at 11:07 PM | Comments (1) | Permalink
Tags: movies bill maher religulous
Not Demonic, Not Angelic
'Angels' marks a stronger film product than 'Da Vinci,' though the same pitfalls – primarily, exposition and application – keep it from approaching the strength of the novel.
By Mike Longaecker
You always run the risk of heartbreak when you adapt book to film.
The risk is also directly proportionate to the popularity of the book. That’s the challenge director Ron Howard accepted in adapting the Dan Brown novel “Angels and Demons” to the screen. Compounding the challenge is the researcher’s detail Brown brings to his novels.
Essentially, it’s the same challenge Howard took on in 2006 with Brown’s biggest hit, “The Da Vinci Code,” which flopped on the screen.
“Angels” marks a stronger film product than “Da Vinci,” though the same pitfalls – primarily, exposition and application – keep it from approaching the strength of the novel.
The most engaging things about Brown’s novels are the details. As hero Robert Langdon navigates his way through Rome and Vatican City in hopes of foiling an explosive Illuminati plot in “Angels,” he follows clues hidden in ancient artwork and texts. Brown kept readers riveted by weaving secrets of the Illuminati and the Catholic Church while Langdon deciphers the clues.
Of course, Brown has hundreds of pages to do this. Howard gives himself 138 minutes to tell essentially the same story. That’s the challenge he takes on.
Sadly, those gems of Brown’s – the secrets, the symbolism – get the short shrift in the film. At best, they’re condensed. Or explained while Langdon is bookin’ across a piazza (Note to would-be directors: Not a believable tack). At worst, they’re omitted. That’s the risk.
Unfortunately, it’s not the only risk.
Lots of dialog reads easier on paper than it does out loud. You wouldn’t think Brown’s novels really follow that rubric, mainly because he gives Langdon a good dose of the layman, allowing the character to explain complex ideas logically and straightforward. More simply, Langdon successfully balances uptight nerd and cool quipster.
Yet somehow, that’s a quality Tom Hanks apparently has a difficult time pulling off.
Huh. We’ve seen Hanks nail Uptight (“Catch Me if You Can”) and there is evidence he can sorta do Cool, as seen in “Saving Private Ryan.” If there’s one quality Hanks swims in, it’s Funny Awkward Guy in Touching Role, spotted most recently in 2004’s “The Terminal.”
Granted, that’s a long way from Langdon. Still, Langdon is not a complex role. He is not emotionally challenged. He is not significantly guided or bound by his back story.
Yet Hanks, American film’s consensus everyman, can’t pull off this suave bastard. I’m laying the blame at screenwriters Akiva Goldsman (who also penned “Da Vinci’s” screenplay) and David Koepp. Langon’s lines needed to read natural. In the film, we all too often get the opposite effect.
Is it too late for me to say I didn’t hate the film? Great. Howard captures the breathless feel of the novel, rushing us from clue to clue as the clock continues to tick before Vatican City is laid to smithereens.
Really, “Angels” is strong, if measured in terms of adventure/action flicks. For example, I would watch it at least twice a week for a year before I’d let “Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of Crystal Skulls” within 20 feet of my DVD player.
Take that for what it’s worth.
In a perfect world, Howard would have had four hours to present a film like this, which tackles ultra-weighty issues like science vs. faith. In reality, he got about half that. All things considered, it turned out pretty good.
The problem is that Pretty Good becomes Mediocre with so much lost in translation.
I’d really like to hear from people who saw this without expectations. Drop a comment if you never read the book but saw the movie. What did you think?
Posted by: longaecker on 5/21/2009 at 12:56 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink
Tags: angels and demons, film, tom hanks
Road trippin'
Blogging from the road. Never thought it would be for me.
My girlfriend and I are smack-dab in the middle of a road trip that began in Red Wing, Minn., took us to Arizona in two days and currently leaves me posting from the 11th floor of the Excalibur in Las Vegas. (Jousting be damned, it's tough to pass up $40 a night.)
So one of the conversation topics that came up -- I'm thinking somewhere between Albuquerque and Gallup, N.M. -- centered on road trip movies. I happened to have a reporter's notebook in the passenger seat. This is the quick list we pounded out.
I KNOW there are many more that didn't make the list. Help us out. Meantime, here's what we came up with (in no particular order).
1. Tommy Boy
2. Planes, Trains and Automobiles
3. Road Trip
4. It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World (no idea if I included the correct number of "Mads.")
5. The Wizard of Oz (an admittedly unorthodox pick, but a definite road trip in the most literal sense).
6. Little Miss Sunshine
7. Easy Rider
8. Borat
9. Shrek (see No. 5)
10. Natural Born Killers (a good chunk of it, anyway)
11. Dumb and Dumber
12. Vacation
13. Thelma and Louise
14. European Vacation
Enough, already. Time for the two-for-one buffet.
Posted by: longaecker on 4/28/2009 at 3:50 PM | Comments (7) | Permalink
Of grocery store lament and Harvey Milk
'If the moving story of Harvey Milk doesn’t get some kind of reaction out of you, I’d suggest a check of your vitals.'
By Mike Longaecker
For me, a good movie inspires. Even if what I feel compelled to do is completely ridiculous.
For instance, I remember walking out of “The Usual Suspects” in 1995 feeling like I just might be gangsta enough to set up an international crime organization. That lasted until I made it to my 1984 Toyota Supra and remembered I had to go to work the next day at the grocery store. The reality that few, if any, international crime lords hatched their plans while ringing up heads of lettuce at seven bucks an hour was simply too overpowering.
I imagine the criminal underworld never missed me.
The point, however, is that truly great cinema can reinvent you — even if only until you leave the theater.
I’m still not sure what “Milk” compelled me to do today after watching it, but I know I felt motivated. Lead a march? File for office? Be part of a movement? Hell yes! What’s stopping me?
A couple roadblocks, I quickly remembered. One, I’m not especially frothy about any particular issue – social or otherwise — these days. Second, I’m a journalist whose sphere of coverage includes state politics. That position precludes me from having any political alliances or biases. Believe me, it’s best that way.
So much for me and the movement.
But if the moving story of Harvey Milk doesn’t get some kind of reaction out of you, I’d suggest a check of your vitals.
Sean Penn continues his march in the race for Best Actor of His Generation as the title character. Penn sinks into Milk’s skin all the way to the pores. That Penn – a married hetero from California — sells the East-Coast gay is not nearly as impressive as how he sells Milk’s spirit as populist leader of California’s gay-rights movement.
Near-perfect as Penn’s performance is, it’s understandable that the film itself is a notch or two beneath. Which still makes it a triumph.
Expedience beats out exposition early in the film, but not to a major fault. When Milk arrives in San Francisco and opens a camera shop, we’re left wondering how his apparent photography hobby led so seamlessly to entrepreneurship.
But we’re not hung up on it for long. Soon Milk uses the store as the neighborhood’s political headquarters for gay rights. Milk eventually breaks onto the San Francisco Board of Supervisors, making him America’s first openly gay man elected to public office.
Director Gus Van Sant skillfully crafts Milk’s character study, but manages to bring considerable depth to others in the film, especially Milk’s old flame Scott Smith, played by James Franco (whose strong performance will puzzle viewers expecting a reprise of his stony “Pineapple Express” pot slinger.
If there’s one under-developed character in the film, it is Milk’s nemesis on the board, Dan White, played by Josh Brolin (whose acting chops appear to improve with each passing film). As the narrative deepens, it begins to be clear why Van Sant leaves us in the dark on White. Less isn’t just more with White. It’s too much. That we never receive a diagnosis on White’s full pathology seems maddeningly appropriate by the end.
Milk’s gay themes will turn some people off almost immediately. If you can’t get over that, you’re probably not going to enjoy the rest of the flick. Go find something else to do for a couple hours, I guess.
But for people who do enjoy it, I recommend re-screening “Milk” during the next election season. See what it inspires you to do.
Posted by: longaecker on 3/31/2009 at 10:15 PM | Comments (3) | Permalink
Tags: harvey milk film review longaecker
Never too late for this 'State'
Let’s face it. In 1990 the Irish had St. Patty’s Day, “The Quiet Man” and friggin’ Irish Spring. Maybe it wasn’t all that bad a year to introduce audiences to “State of Grace.”
By Mike Longaecker
Sure, St. Patrick’s Day was more than a week ago. I’m still gonna review a great Irish-themed flick. Sue me.
The next time you find some old Guinness bottles stuck in the back of the fridge and realize you’ve got a couple hours to kill, go rent “State of Grace,” a violent, boozy crime flick centered on the Irish mob in New York City.
Released in 1990, “State” flew under most people’s radars. You can understand why. It competed against “Goodfellas” and “Godfather Part III” that year in the New York gangster genre. I imagine “State’s” producers are still kicking themselves for not delaying that release by a year.
But for those old enough to recall, think back to 1990. Irish chic had not yet reared its emerald head. Kinda-Irish rappers House of Pain had not yet debuted their “Shamrocks and Shenanigans.” The lord of the dance was still Michael Jackson, not Michael Flatley. And the Gaelic flute – an instrument that would later come to announce seemingly every Irish character in cinema – was still years from being popularized in 1997’s “Titanic.”
Let’s face it. In 1990 the Irish had St. Patty’s Day, “The Quiet Man” and friggin’ Irish Spring. Maybe it wasn’t all that bad a year to introduce audiences to “State.”
So here’s what you probably missed.
Sean Penn plays Terry Noonan, an undercover cop who is tasked with turning out his childhood pals who now run the crime syndicates in New York’s Hells Kitchen. That includes Jackie Flannery (played by a frothing-at-the-mouth Gary Oldman) who’s delighted to see his old friend back in the neighborhood. Jackie is capo régime of the Flannery family, headed by his older brother Frankie, played by Ed Harris.
Fitted with a little phony street cred, Terry’s subterfuge passes the family’s smell test. Within a few days, Terry is running jobs with the Flannerys and fanning an old flame in their sister Kate, played by Penn’s future wife, Robin Wright.
Director Phil Joanou playfully balances contrasts between Irish and Italian mob characters as we watch Frankie attempt to gain the favor of a powerful Italian crime family. Frankie’s convinced that an alliance between his family and the Italians will mean a one-way ticket to retirement in Phoenix.
But like any great gangster movie, it’s never that simple. Jackie is a card-carrying lunatic. Frankie’s underlings owe money to the Italians. Loose ends need tying up, but they’re in a perpetual state of unravel.
What really makes the film sing is its pretension-less portrayal of New York’s Irish crime underworld. The characters drink because they’re in pain and out of control – a stark contrast to the one-dimensional dark-hero types I rolled my eyes at in “Boondock Saints.”
A nerve-racked Terry attempts to explain the nihilistic condition to his commanding officer in a tense subway scene. The lieutenant seems confused by Terry’s angst.
“We’re not tough,” Terry blurts out. “We’re just crazy.”
Predictably, there's a healthy dose of Catholic guilt mixed in. It plays well against the violence and betrayal, resulting in a more believable — and less uncomfortable — effect than 1992 crime-cop contemporary "Bad Lieutenant" gave us.
Give credit to Joanou for delivering the slow burn with care. Terry reveals his true identity more than once throughout the film, each one poignant and adding to his back story. Terry’s final disclosure comes in a memorable funeral-home scene. The bad guy’s reaction to the news is so hard, you could drive cement screws with it.
Viewers will also appreciate cameos by John Turturro, a paunch-less John C. Reilly and the late Burgess Meredith, who delivers a memorable quote about stewed tomatoes.
The Upper Midwest’s gloomy, stormy March seems like the perfect season to screen this film, so I recommend watching it sooner than later. Then again – like the sign says – it’s always a good day for a Guinness.
Cheers.
Check the original trailer here.
Posted by: longaecker on 3/25/2009 at 4:04 PM | Comments (1) | Permalink
Tags: state of grace film longaecker
This is Major Tom to ... holy smokes!
It's been a while, I know. I really meant to get something up on the Oscars, but that time has kind of come and gone. I'm over it.
But ever since the Academy Awards, I have been haunted by a searing memory that won't relent. After Tilda Swinton joined other best supporting actress winners onstage to present the Oscar to Penelope Cruz, I had a revelation: Were Swinton and David Bowie separated at birth?
Some anecdotal evidence:
Sorry. I promise to come with something much less trivial the next time around.
Posted by: longaecker on 2/27/2009 at 11:39 PM | Comments (2) | Permalink
