So here's my "dilemma". How do I reconcile how I feel about a great actor, director and writer making the most mediocre film possible? Fuck it, let them reconcile it themselves. The Dilemma is the story of Ronny Valentine (Vince Vaughn), who, along with his best friend Nick (Kevin James) owns a company that marries eco-technology with muscle car hardware. While preparing to sell their goods to one of Detroit's big three, Ronny discovers that Nick's wife Geneva is having an affair. The rest of the film highlights Ronny's struggle over whether he should tell Nick about his domestic woes whilst the two prepare for career greatness. This is the wafer-thin premise that we're expected to sit through for two hours all while putting up with Queen Latifah's "I'm a hip, cool lesbian so don't fear me" schtick. How is this premise stretched you asked? By filling the movie with sight gags (Vaughn falling into poisonous plants), and ludicrously conceived characters (an amped-up Channing Tatum as Geneva's partner in flagrante). Jennifer Connelly plays Beth, Ronny's girlfriend who is as cardboard a cutout character conceived in a while (as a reminder, Connelly has a bloody Oscar to her credit, from a film that Ron Howard ALSO also directed). Winona Ryder as Geneva is written schizophrenically, making it difficult to see her as either villain or victim. Ryder isn't a bad actress, and there is something nice about seeing her return to the screen, but this film will not do for her what Black Swan will, especially if it doesn't gross well.
Plotwise, there is some tacked-on crap about Ronny having a previous gambling problem, but it doesn't really matter. The only thing that saves The Dilemma at all is Vince Vaughn. He can unequivocally carry a comedy on his own two chubby feet. Without his talent, The Break-Up, Four Christmases, and Couple's Retreat would have never gotten out of the starting gate, let alone grossed over $100 million each. But so what? How many more of these mealy-mouthed efforts can we take from him? He seems not to want to stretch his abilities (as he did in 1998's Return to Paradise) nor stick with excellent envelope-pushing comedies like Old School. No, Vaughn has to go for gluttonous gold with the tepid rom-com in order to widen his audience as much as possible. I think with The Dilemma, America has just about hit it's limit where Vaughn is concerned. But why must we also sacrifice both national treasure Ron Howard and writer Allan Loeb? There were many on-set rumors that Vaughn wielded his producing power malevolently, both towards Howard and Loeb. It's possible that the film was better before Vaughn clashed with both talents, but also possible that his influences helped salvage it. There is simply no way to know.
My Comment implores the question, how much is enough? After Swingers, Jon Favreau and Vince Vaughn were very candid about how fame had negatively impacted their lives. Favreau seemed to take a pause to evaluate what he wanted from the business, and directing proved to be a happier path for him. He soon married a civilian and had three children. Vaughn chose the way of the Affleck and hit the Hollywood clubs with a vengeance. He ate, drank and then dated Aniston, no one's successful cure for escaping the fame drain. After that long national nightmare was over, Vaughn bought permanent digs in his hometown of Chicago and met a civilian himself. Now married with a child, one would think Vaughn would be more settled and less of a prick. Apparently not. While Vaughn is a huge star who routinely pulls in #1 opening weekends for studios, there is no reason why he shouldn't polish Ron Howard's boots to a high shine if that's what Howard asked of him. If Vaughn is still made unhappy by the business, then he should cash in his chips, raise his family in the best city in the world and live a great life. Otherwise, man up and do some quality work where it's not all about the money. Also, maybe do a juice fast or two.
Friday, January 14, 2011
Sunday, November 28, 2010
The Next Three Days
The Next Three Days is a very taut thriller from writer/director/freaky Scientologist Paul Haggis. Russell Crowe stars as John Brennan, a college professor married to Lara (Elizabeth Banks). The Brennan's are the happily married parents of Luke, an adorable little towhead who doesn't say much. At all. Throughout the entire movie. Lara gets accused, then convicted of a brutal murder for which she is serving life in prison. John, convinced of his wife's innocence, consults with a salty former criminal (Liam Neeson) to find out just how to bust wifey out of the clink. We watch as John becomes consumed with plotting the prison break and subsequent escape with his family. Haggis crafted the script from a previous version (Pour Elle) by writers Fred Cavaye and Guillaume Lemans. The dialogue is tolerable, but when a high-caliber actor isn't at the helm, some of the lines feel very Law and Order: Special Dipshits Unit.
In terms of acting, Russell Crowe is, as always, excellent. He is intense and focused as a man consumed by the singular purpose of saving his wife. Elizabeth Banks is the biggest surprise, as she has displayed serious comedic talent in films like Zack and Miri Make a Porno and The 40-Year-Old Virgin, but this marks the first time we get a sense of the depth she is truly capable of. Banks is also incredibly beautiful, insuring that if she keeps on keepin', she will have the gift of longevity that so many actors lust after. Both Liam Neeson and Brian Dennehy are far too sparse in their appearances. In fact, Dennehy doesn't have more than ten lines and is still able to convey more with those paltry ten than most actors can in entire careers.
While The Next Three Days is a fast-paced and well executed thriller, there is a a glaring issue that must be addressed. This film is part of a recent spate of movies that have asked the audience to root for a protagonist whose goal is, at its heart, fundamentally amoral. I felt this way about Inception, which while visually and psychologically arresting, was also centered around a premise that had less than lofty ends to its means. John Brennan remains stalwart in his belief that his wife Lara did not commit the murder for which she is convicted. He thus feels it is justifiable to break her out of prison (without consulting her), endangering both of their lives as well as the life of their son. When Brennan meets with Liam Neeson's Damon Pennington, Pennington warns that even worse than capture is the fear of capture. Pennington tells Brennan that though his own escapes were successful, he ultimately gave himself up because he couldn't take "worrying about who was coming through the bedroom door". We are left to think that if Brennan does succeed in freeing his wife and fleeing the country, he will be tormented by his own version of prison for the rest of his life.
My Comment strives to open up a discourse on this seemingly new facile and flexible moral message we are being fed lately. Even if Lara Brennan is innocent, it is still permissible for her husband to break her out of jail? Furthermore, why are we as an audience still rooting for someone who commits deplorable crimes in order to achieve said prison break. Unlike film noir, which paints a portrait of a flawed protagonist who commits questionable acts, this movie does not show its main character showing any sort of remorse for his transgressions. In addition, Paul Haggis doesn't give us any balance in terms of true and real sacrifice made on the part of John Brennan. We are left with questions about what will happen to Brennan from an emotional point of view, but in my opinion, it's not enough to level the ethical seesaw. Does this new Robin Hood prototype have to do with the economic crisis? Do writers feel that people struggling in this country will sympathize with characters who act without real consequences? If so, it is truly a perversion of the type of films that Charlie Chaplin made in order to appeal to the less fortunate masses. Chaplin knew that the lower and middle class filmgoer would always enjoy seeing the richies getting a kick in the pants. It made for good storytelling. But Chaplin never crossed the line by allowing his disadvantaged hero to veer into unethical territory without serious repercussions. I hope we haven't veered off course. Because what is Hollywood known for if not for being motivated by ethics?
In terms of acting, Russell Crowe is, as always, excellent. He is intense and focused as a man consumed by the singular purpose of saving his wife. Elizabeth Banks is the biggest surprise, as she has displayed serious comedic talent in films like Zack and Miri Make a Porno and The 40-Year-Old Virgin, but this marks the first time we get a sense of the depth she is truly capable of. Banks is also incredibly beautiful, insuring that if she keeps on keepin', she will have the gift of longevity that so many actors lust after. Both Liam Neeson and Brian Dennehy are far too sparse in their appearances. In fact, Dennehy doesn't have more than ten lines and is still able to convey more with those paltry ten than most actors can in entire careers.
While The Next Three Days is a fast-paced and well executed thriller, there is a a glaring issue that must be addressed. This film is part of a recent spate of movies that have asked the audience to root for a protagonist whose goal is, at its heart, fundamentally amoral. I felt this way about Inception, which while visually and psychologically arresting, was also centered around a premise that had less than lofty ends to its means. John Brennan remains stalwart in his belief that his wife Lara did not commit the murder for which she is convicted. He thus feels it is justifiable to break her out of prison (without consulting her), endangering both of their lives as well as the life of their son. When Brennan meets with Liam Neeson's Damon Pennington, Pennington warns that even worse than capture is the fear of capture. Pennington tells Brennan that though his own escapes were successful, he ultimately gave himself up because he couldn't take "worrying about who was coming through the bedroom door". We are left to think that if Brennan does succeed in freeing his wife and fleeing the country, he will be tormented by his own version of prison for the rest of his life.
My Comment strives to open up a discourse on this seemingly new facile and flexible moral message we are being fed lately. Even if Lara Brennan is innocent, it is still permissible for her husband to break her out of jail? Furthermore, why are we as an audience still rooting for someone who commits deplorable crimes in order to achieve said prison break. Unlike film noir, which paints a portrait of a flawed protagonist who commits questionable acts, this movie does not show its main character showing any sort of remorse for his transgressions. In addition, Paul Haggis doesn't give us any balance in terms of true and real sacrifice made on the part of John Brennan. We are left with questions about what will happen to Brennan from an emotional point of view, but in my opinion, it's not enough to level the ethical seesaw. Does this new Robin Hood prototype have to do with the economic crisis? Do writers feel that people struggling in this country will sympathize with characters who act without real consequences? If so, it is truly a perversion of the type of films that Charlie Chaplin made in order to appeal to the less fortunate masses. Chaplin knew that the lower and middle class filmgoer would always enjoy seeing the richies getting a kick in the pants. It made for good storytelling. But Chaplin never crossed the line by allowing his disadvantaged hero to veer into unethical territory without serious repercussions. I hope we haven't veered off course. Because what is Hollywood known for if not for being motivated by ethics?
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Fair Game
Every time an annoyingly earnest screenwriter has pitched an anti-war film in the last five years, there was a collective groan heard round' the studios. Films like Lions For Lambs, Stop Loss, and In the Valley of Elah consistently proved that audiences did not want to see films that were critical of either the Iraq or Afghanistan wars. After 2003, the failure of these films was attributed to unwillingness of a patriotic America to bash the Bush administration, preferring instead to let things play out and give both conflicts a chance to succeed. After 2006, the collective thought was that the horrible casualties (and the no-end-in-sight feeling we were getting from the wars) the American people simply didn't want to be reminded of the horror, the horror. It's now 2010 and given the paltry box-office take (barely $700,000) of Fair Game over it's opening weekend, it's safe to conclude we still don't want to see movies that criticize the Bush administration. More on that later.
Fair Game is the story of CIA officer Valerie Plame (played by Naomi Watts), who was part of a team charged with finding out whether or not aluminum tubes purchased by Saddam Hussein were to be used in the manufacture of nuclear weapons. According to Plame, her bosses at CIA asked if her husband, former Ambassador Joe Wilson (Sean Penn), would be willing to go to Niger to ascertain the legitimacy of claims that Hussein had also purchased large amounts of uranium yellowcake from the African nation. Wilson obliged, and returned to the U.S. with a report claiming that he did not think it possible that Hussein had obtained said yellowcake. After George W. Bush made his 2003 State of the Union address claiming that Hussein had in fact purchased uranium, Wilson fired back with an op-ed piece in the New York Times, alleging that the Bush administration was simply cherry-picking information in order to make the case for war against Iraq. What followed was a full-on attack on both Wilson and Plame, culminating in the outing of Plame as a covert CIA officer by journalist Robert Novak. Wilson went on the defensive in the media against the administration, alleging that several of its members were responsible for leaking Plame's identity to Novak in retaliation against Wilson.
The film follows the harrowing effects of Plame's outing, both personal and professional. Plame and Wilson disagree about to handle the attacks, with Wilson choosing to fight Bush and Cheney et. al, in the press while Plame keeps decidedly quiet. After all, she is a woman whose entire career has been based upon secrecy and her ability to weather conflict silently. The toll the turmoil takes on the Wilson/Plame marriage is beautifully rendered, as is the difficulty of parenting in the midst of a shitstorm. Director Doug Liman (Mr. and Mrs. Smith) constructs a textured portrait of a normal looking family with everyday problems where both parents have extraordinary careers. As the firebrand Joe Wilson, Sean Penn stomps around unabashedly screaming at anyone who'll listen. It's brash and obnoxious, but like each role Penn inhabits, it works, damn near perfectly. He steals every scene from Naomi Watts, who does a lovely job of playing a woman hellbent on maintaining her composure. It's a thankless part compared to Penn's Wilson, but such is the nature of performance. Sam Shepherd plays Plame's father and is in only a single scene, serving to do nothing but piss me off that I don't get enough Sam Shepherd, ever.
So why, with good writing, great performances and excellent directing does America not want to see Fair Game? Do we still not want to dredge up the past, particularly when our nation is facing the worst economic crisis in years? Is it because we (as Fox News pundits claim) truly are a country that leans to the right? Does Sean Penn simply annoy us? I know that the politicization of the Wilson/Plame fiasco got so out of hand that most people tired of it the way they tire of all of the polarized discourse in this country. The right accused Wilson and Plame of being stooges for the left. This despite the fact that Wilson was born into a family of Republicans who viewed Barry Goldwater as "a bit liberal". Plame's record of service had been astoundingly impressive until she was outed, and yet her credibility was questioned in the media mercilessly. Any person who has been involved in a public fight can tell you that once the other side starts to attack you personally, they have nothing else to hit you with. Both political parties claimed each side as their own until the Plame/Wilson affair became just another Republican vs. Democrat slugfest. My Comment is more of a hypothesis that most people in this country are so sick of the polemical rhetoric on both sides, that they are choosing to opt out of politics altogether. This is obviously not a new argument, as evidenced by the number of attendees at Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert's Rally to Restore Sanity and/or Fear. But even that event became a tool for the wackos on both sides to fight about. I'm just sad that a well done film won't be seen because it's message is viewed as simply political, and politics has gone from a fascinating civic discussion to an ugly sideshow that has no place for nuance, compromise or empathy for the opposing side.
Fair Game is the story of CIA officer Valerie Plame (played by Naomi Watts), who was part of a team charged with finding out whether or not aluminum tubes purchased by Saddam Hussein were to be used in the manufacture of nuclear weapons. According to Plame, her bosses at CIA asked if her husband, former Ambassador Joe Wilson (Sean Penn), would be willing to go to Niger to ascertain the legitimacy of claims that Hussein had also purchased large amounts of uranium yellowcake from the African nation. Wilson obliged, and returned to the U.S. with a report claiming that he did not think it possible that Hussein had obtained said yellowcake. After George W. Bush made his 2003 State of the Union address claiming that Hussein had in fact purchased uranium, Wilson fired back with an op-ed piece in the New York Times, alleging that the Bush administration was simply cherry-picking information in order to make the case for war against Iraq. What followed was a full-on attack on both Wilson and Plame, culminating in the outing of Plame as a covert CIA officer by journalist Robert Novak. Wilson went on the defensive in the media against the administration, alleging that several of its members were responsible for leaking Plame's identity to Novak in retaliation against Wilson.
The film follows the harrowing effects of Plame's outing, both personal and professional. Plame and Wilson disagree about to handle the attacks, with Wilson choosing to fight Bush and Cheney et. al, in the press while Plame keeps decidedly quiet. After all, she is a woman whose entire career has been based upon secrecy and her ability to weather conflict silently. The toll the turmoil takes on the Wilson/Plame marriage is beautifully rendered, as is the difficulty of parenting in the midst of a shitstorm. Director Doug Liman (Mr. and Mrs. Smith) constructs a textured portrait of a normal looking family with everyday problems where both parents have extraordinary careers. As the firebrand Joe Wilson, Sean Penn stomps around unabashedly screaming at anyone who'll listen. It's brash and obnoxious, but like each role Penn inhabits, it works, damn near perfectly. He steals every scene from Naomi Watts, who does a lovely job of playing a woman hellbent on maintaining her composure. It's a thankless part compared to Penn's Wilson, but such is the nature of performance. Sam Shepherd plays Plame's father and is in only a single scene, serving to do nothing but piss me off that I don't get enough Sam Shepherd, ever.
So why, with good writing, great performances and excellent directing does America not want to see Fair Game? Do we still not want to dredge up the past, particularly when our nation is facing the worst economic crisis in years? Is it because we (as Fox News pundits claim) truly are a country that leans to the right? Does Sean Penn simply annoy us? I know that the politicization of the Wilson/Plame fiasco got so out of hand that most people tired of it the way they tire of all of the polarized discourse in this country. The right accused Wilson and Plame of being stooges for the left. This despite the fact that Wilson was born into a family of Republicans who viewed Barry Goldwater as "a bit liberal". Plame's record of service had been astoundingly impressive until she was outed, and yet her credibility was questioned in the media mercilessly. Any person who has been involved in a public fight can tell you that once the other side starts to attack you personally, they have nothing else to hit you with. Both political parties claimed each side as their own until the Plame/Wilson affair became just another Republican vs. Democrat slugfest. My Comment is more of a hypothesis that most people in this country are so sick of the polemical rhetoric on both sides, that they are choosing to opt out of politics altogether. This is obviously not a new argument, as evidenced by the number of attendees at Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert's Rally to Restore Sanity and/or Fear. But even that event became a tool for the wackos on both sides to fight about. I'm just sad that a well done film won't be seen because it's message is viewed as simply political, and politics has gone from a fascinating civic discussion to an ugly sideshow that has no place for nuance, compromise or empathy for the opposing side.
Friday, October 29, 2010
Hereafter
So, my friend Fred says that Clint Eastwood's films are like broccoli; good for you, but the consumption of them is not a real hoot. I agree with him regarding Invictus and Gran Torino, and I see his point with Million Dollar Baby, though I felt that film was superior to the previous two. I was prepared to scowl through my fangs at Hereafter, given it's esoteric subject matter. The film tells the story of three main characters. The first, George Lonergan (Matt Damon) is a reluctant psychic who has forsaken a career mining his "gift". The second is Marie LeLay (Cecile De France), a French television journalist dealing with the aftermath of surviving a horrific tsunami. The last and most heart-wrenching, is a young English boy (Frankie and George McLaren) who tragically loses his twin brother in an accident.
George Lonergan leads a lonely existence working in a factory and rebuking his brother's attempts to get him back into doing readings for people who want contact with dead relatives. He feels that his gift is a curse that poisons every chance he has at living a normal life. Normal life is also in jeopardy for Marie, who, after viewing a glimpse of death, cannot get back into the now pedestrian grind of the successful single gal. For twins Marcus and Jason, existence is mere survival as the sons of a drug-addicted single mother who cannot take care of herself, let alone her boys. Marcus and Jason have developed that kind of sad, sweet symbiosis that siblings so often fall into when their parents are woefully neglectful. But Marcus is thrown a cruel curve when Jason (the more dominant and take-charge twin) is killed in a car wreck and social services take Marcus from his mother to live with foster parents. Desperate for answers, Marcus turns to the internet to find someone who can help him communicate with his dead brother.
All three characters have a profound relationship with death that they must reconcile before becoming whole again. Real-life twins Frankie and George McLaren are soul-stirring without pulling the sickly sentimental strings so many directors push child actors to exploit. Cecile De France expresses whole worlds of pain in her deep-set eyes and gives a perfect sense of a woman who almost drowned but feels like she's still drowning months after she's dried off. Screenwriter Peter Morgan, so artful in breathing dramatic life into real-life stories (The Queen, The Special Relationship), gives us a straightforward script to no doubt counteract the dreamy quality of the material. It's not Morgan's best effort, as some of the dialogue isn't worthy of an after-school special, but the movie is engaging nonetheless. Overall, Eastwood presents a compelling story, especially given the skepticism most people have towards the subject of the afterlife.
The biggest problem in Hereafter is Matt Damon. I never thought I'd say this; Damon conspires to ruin this film. As George Lonergan, he mopes pathetically without finding a single thing within the character to make us root for him. He is withdrawn, sullen, sad and sorry and I just couldn't give a shit anymore. Damon lets a tantalizing scene with an interested girl named Melanie (an overeager Bryce Dallas Howard) fall as flat as an ab-less reality star. After his intentionally bland performances in The Good Shepherd and the Bourne franchise I am starting to think the Damon is too much a puppet of directors he reveres. Damon talked at length about Robert De Niro urging him to be devoid of emotion as Edward Wilson during filming of The Good Shepherd. While it was perhaps appropriate for the type of character Damon played, it is not all that interesting to watch for two hours. Off duty, Matt Damon is highly intelligent, funny, spirited and even a little bit wicked. We are seeing none of that on screen of late. Will Hunting is one of the more complex and well-written characters brought to life since the 1970's. Damon embodied Will so wholly and completely we felt like we could help to fix him. Maybe Damon should get back to writing. He is smart enough to deliver fully-cooked stories with meaty roles he can do justice to.
My Comment is about taking control. The life of an actor is a constant waiting game where everybody seems to hold the reins but the actor herself. Some become successful by waiting for fame to hit, but most don't get anywhere unless they get off their asses and make it happen for themselves. Sadly, even those who do shun passivity usually don't make it, but such is the business. Beyond show business, times are particularly tough for the children of Baby Boomers who seem to have gotten none of the killer instinct their parents had. The collective malaise is so prevalent that one is forced to admit that maybe Morgan Freeman was right in Se7en when his character declared that all American's want is to "eat cheeseburgers, play the Lotto and watch t.v.". Even as I write this, I am more consumed with how exhausted I am than anything else. What is wrong with us? Pursuing the path of least resistance isn't going to get us out of this mess, yet we sit, inert and unable to motivate. While expecting the country's youth to get cracking might be a little lofty, I think I can demand as much from Matt Damon, who once had enough fire to set his own industry ablaze in the most inspiring way imaginable.
George Lonergan leads a lonely existence working in a factory and rebuking his brother's attempts to get him back into doing readings for people who want contact with dead relatives. He feels that his gift is a curse that poisons every chance he has at living a normal life. Normal life is also in jeopardy for Marie, who, after viewing a glimpse of death, cannot get back into the now pedestrian grind of the successful single gal. For twins Marcus and Jason, existence is mere survival as the sons of a drug-addicted single mother who cannot take care of herself, let alone her boys. Marcus and Jason have developed that kind of sad, sweet symbiosis that siblings so often fall into when their parents are woefully neglectful. But Marcus is thrown a cruel curve when Jason (the more dominant and take-charge twin) is killed in a car wreck and social services take Marcus from his mother to live with foster parents. Desperate for answers, Marcus turns to the internet to find someone who can help him communicate with his dead brother.
All three characters have a profound relationship with death that they must reconcile before becoming whole again. Real-life twins Frankie and George McLaren are soul-stirring without pulling the sickly sentimental strings so many directors push child actors to exploit. Cecile De France expresses whole worlds of pain in her deep-set eyes and gives a perfect sense of a woman who almost drowned but feels like she's still drowning months after she's dried off. Screenwriter Peter Morgan, so artful in breathing dramatic life into real-life stories (The Queen, The Special Relationship), gives us a straightforward script to no doubt counteract the dreamy quality of the material. It's not Morgan's best effort, as some of the dialogue isn't worthy of an after-school special, but the movie is engaging nonetheless. Overall, Eastwood presents a compelling story, especially given the skepticism most people have towards the subject of the afterlife.
The biggest problem in Hereafter is Matt Damon. I never thought I'd say this; Damon conspires to ruin this film. As George Lonergan, he mopes pathetically without finding a single thing within the character to make us root for him. He is withdrawn, sullen, sad and sorry and I just couldn't give a shit anymore. Damon lets a tantalizing scene with an interested girl named Melanie (an overeager Bryce Dallas Howard) fall as flat as an ab-less reality star. After his intentionally bland performances in The Good Shepherd and the Bourne franchise I am starting to think the Damon is too much a puppet of directors he reveres. Damon talked at length about Robert De Niro urging him to be devoid of emotion as Edward Wilson during filming of The Good Shepherd. While it was perhaps appropriate for the type of character Damon played, it is not all that interesting to watch for two hours. Off duty, Matt Damon is highly intelligent, funny, spirited and even a little bit wicked. We are seeing none of that on screen of late. Will Hunting is one of the more complex and well-written characters brought to life since the 1970's. Damon embodied Will so wholly and completely we felt like we could help to fix him. Maybe Damon should get back to writing. He is smart enough to deliver fully-cooked stories with meaty roles he can do justice to.
My Comment is about taking control. The life of an actor is a constant waiting game where everybody seems to hold the reins but the actor herself. Some become successful by waiting for fame to hit, but most don't get anywhere unless they get off their asses and make it happen for themselves. Sadly, even those who do shun passivity usually don't make it, but such is the business. Beyond show business, times are particularly tough for the children of Baby Boomers who seem to have gotten none of the killer instinct their parents had. The collective malaise is so prevalent that one is forced to admit that maybe Morgan Freeman was right in Se7en when his character declared that all American's want is to "eat cheeseburgers, play the Lotto and watch t.v.". Even as I write this, I am more consumed with how exhausted I am than anything else. What is wrong with us? Pursuing the path of least resistance isn't going to get us out of this mess, yet we sit, inert and unable to motivate. While expecting the country's youth to get cracking might be a little lofty, I think I can demand as much from Matt Damon, who once had enough fire to set his own industry ablaze in the most inspiring way imaginable.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
The Social Network
The Social Network has a very definable and clear thesis; while the aim of sites like Facebook is to bring people closer together, they have actually achieved the opposite by isolating and preventing us from making real human connections. This is no more apparent than in the character of Mark Zuckerberg (played by Jesse Eisenberg). I say "character" because it must be pointed out that both the film The Social Network (screenplay by Aaron Sorkin of West Wing fame) and the book The Accidental Billionaires (by Ben Mezrich of 21 fame) represent ideas of who the Facebook players really are. Director David Fincher (of Se7en fame), and producers Scott Rudin (of everything classy fame) and Mike DeLuca (of getting a hummer at a William Morris party in full view of all the guests fame) have served up a deliciously snarky sauce and served it over a salacious story. The details of the Facebook beginnings are as follows; Harvard sophomore Mark Zuckerberg gets dumped by his girlfriend after she declares him obsessed with getting into Harvard's hyper-elite "final clubs". In a lager-filled rage, he goes back to his dorm and blogs about wanting to start the next huge internet idea. Zuckerberg then hacks into Harvard dorm photo catalogs (called Face Books), and beams out thousands of pictures of women placed next to one another. The recipient of said photos is meant to rate the attractiveness of the women in comparison to one another. Zuckerberg gets 22,000 hits within the span of two hours, crashing the Harvard server. Zuck knows he's onto something big.
The film is told through the lens of two lawsuits leveled against Zuckerberg after Facebook began to achieve real success. The first is by Eduardo Saverin (played by Andrew Garfield), Zuckerberg's best friend at Harvard and co-founder of Facebook. The second is by twins Tyler and Cameron Winklevoss (played by Armie Hammer, great-grandson of billionaire industrialist Armand Hammer), who not only look like they were carved from chunks of shimmering plutonium, but their pedigrees do too. The twins (while simultaneously rowing crew and presumably having no problem getting ass) begin work on a social networking site exclusive to Harvard students. The Winklevosses contract Zuckerberg to be the site's programmer, then allege that he went on to steal the idea and turn it into what eventually became the monolithic Facebook.
Shortly after Zuckerberg and Saverin launch Facebook, its popularity catches viral fire and the two expand to other Ivy campuses. When it reaches Stanford, Facebook is discovered by the opportunistic Sean Parker (co-founder of Napster). Parker (played well by Justin Timberlake) meets with Zuckerberg and Saverin and nearly charms the nerd off of Zuckerberg, while Saverin develops an immediate repulsion towards the pseudo elder-statesman. Saverin's lawsuit claims that under the Svengali-like influence of Parker, Zuckerberg forced his co-founder out of the business by diluting his Facebook shares beyond recognition. While most of the details of the story can be corroborated by Mezrich's myriad sources and public court documents, the true nature of The Social Network's real-life cast of characters remain a mystery. Zuckerberg, Saverin and Parker are all famously private, and non-disclosure agreements assure no public shit-talking will take place anytime soon.
As usual, Aaron Sorkin delivers rapier-style dialogue with surgical precision, and nearly every actor delivers a spot-on performance, with Eisenberg being a standout. As Mark Zuckerberg, he portrays a genius with a social awkwardness bordering on Asperger's Syndrome. Angry and misogynistic, Sorkin's version of these baby titans are hell-bent on getting into the clubs (and women) who would never before deign to have them as members. On the surface, Sorkin delivers the aforementioned thesis; the crap about internet connectivity leading to isolation. But I would posit that the real thesis of the film lies within Sorkin himself. Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip was Sorkin's last foray into television. At the onset, the ratings looked promising, with everyone in the business predicting the demise of the similarly-themed 30 Rock. Soon, however, online bloggers (just beginning to gain momentum) helped to create a negative buzz that Sorkin seemed to blame for the cancellation of his show. He railed against the online critics, and soon, at the internet itself. To quote Sorkin, "One of the things I find troubling about the Internet, as great a resource tool as it is, and as nice as it is that we can all communicate with each other, and that everybody has a voice - the thing is, everybody's voice oughtn't be equal".
While Sorkin theorizes that Zuckerberg invented Facebook to get back at those who he perceived did him wrong, I theorize that Sorkin wrote The Social Network for a similiar reason. He wants to somehow trivialize and thus level a blow (however inconsequential) to the technological vehicle that made Zuckerberg, et, al. the billionaires they are today. My Comment is about Sorkin's hypocrisy. It is a hypocrisy that can be easily found in the film's first scene. While arguing with his girlfriend Erica (Rooney Mara, weird and aloof and watchable), Zuckerberg reveals himself to be one of those brilliant minds so incapable of intimacy, that they must hide behind their considerable intellects and lob zingers at whoever stands in their way. Zuckerberg rails against his girl mercilessly, denigrating her sexuality, her intelligence and her background. Sorkin paints a picture of Zuckerberg as an intellectual elitist whose snobbery come across as pathetic and sad. But what of Sorkin using his considerable intellect to ream out internet bloggers who according to him, don't rank as high as New York Times television critics. I'm not negating his position, and Sorkin has every right to let his writing fight some battles for him. I'm just not sure the Mark Zuckerberg necessarily deserves every arrow that Sorkin slings his way. I also have a hard time believing that someone as psychologically savvy as Sorkin could miss this inherent irony. But, The Social Network is still an engaging and entertaining film, which is ultimately Sorkin's goal, right?
The film is told through the lens of two lawsuits leveled against Zuckerberg after Facebook began to achieve real success. The first is by Eduardo Saverin (played by Andrew Garfield), Zuckerberg's best friend at Harvard and co-founder of Facebook. The second is by twins Tyler and Cameron Winklevoss (played by Armie Hammer, great-grandson of billionaire industrialist Armand Hammer), who not only look like they were carved from chunks of shimmering plutonium, but their pedigrees do too. The twins (while simultaneously rowing crew and presumably having no problem getting ass) begin work on a social networking site exclusive to Harvard students. The Winklevosses contract Zuckerberg to be the site's programmer, then allege that he went on to steal the idea and turn it into what eventually became the monolithic Facebook.
Shortly after Zuckerberg and Saverin launch Facebook, its popularity catches viral fire and the two expand to other Ivy campuses. When it reaches Stanford, Facebook is discovered by the opportunistic Sean Parker (co-founder of Napster). Parker (played well by Justin Timberlake) meets with Zuckerberg and Saverin and nearly charms the nerd off of Zuckerberg, while Saverin develops an immediate repulsion towards the pseudo elder-statesman. Saverin's lawsuit claims that under the Svengali-like influence of Parker, Zuckerberg forced his co-founder out of the business by diluting his Facebook shares beyond recognition. While most of the details of the story can be corroborated by Mezrich's myriad sources and public court documents, the true nature of The Social Network's real-life cast of characters remain a mystery. Zuckerberg, Saverin and Parker are all famously private, and non-disclosure agreements assure no public shit-talking will take place anytime soon.
As usual, Aaron Sorkin delivers rapier-style dialogue with surgical precision, and nearly every actor delivers a spot-on performance, with Eisenberg being a standout. As Mark Zuckerberg, he portrays a genius with a social awkwardness bordering on Asperger's Syndrome. Angry and misogynistic, Sorkin's version of these baby titans are hell-bent on getting into the clubs (and women) who would never before deign to have them as members. On the surface, Sorkin delivers the aforementioned thesis; the crap about internet connectivity leading to isolation. But I would posit that the real thesis of the film lies within Sorkin himself. Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip was Sorkin's last foray into television. At the onset, the ratings looked promising, with everyone in the business predicting the demise of the similarly-themed 30 Rock. Soon, however, online bloggers (just beginning to gain momentum) helped to create a negative buzz that Sorkin seemed to blame for the cancellation of his show. He railed against the online critics, and soon, at the internet itself. To quote Sorkin, "One of the things I find troubling about the Internet, as great a resource tool as it is, and as nice as it is that we can all communicate with each other, and that everybody has a voice - the thing is, everybody's voice oughtn't be equal".
While Sorkin theorizes that Zuckerberg invented Facebook to get back at those who he perceived did him wrong, I theorize that Sorkin wrote The Social Network for a similiar reason. He wants to somehow trivialize and thus level a blow (however inconsequential) to the technological vehicle that made Zuckerberg, et, al. the billionaires they are today. My Comment is about Sorkin's hypocrisy. It is a hypocrisy that can be easily found in the film's first scene. While arguing with his girlfriend Erica (Rooney Mara, weird and aloof and watchable), Zuckerberg reveals himself to be one of those brilliant minds so incapable of intimacy, that they must hide behind their considerable intellects and lob zingers at whoever stands in their way. Zuckerberg rails against his girl mercilessly, denigrating her sexuality, her intelligence and her background. Sorkin paints a picture of Zuckerberg as an intellectual elitist whose snobbery come across as pathetic and sad. But what of Sorkin using his considerable intellect to ream out internet bloggers who according to him, don't rank as high as New York Times television critics. I'm not negating his position, and Sorkin has every right to let his writing fight some battles for him. I'm just not sure the Mark Zuckerberg necessarily deserves every arrow that Sorkin slings his way. I also have a hard time believing that someone as psychologically savvy as Sorkin could miss this inherent irony. But, The Social Network is still an engaging and entertaining film, which is ultimately Sorkin's goal, right?
Monday, August 23, 2010
Eat, Pray, Love
I really didn't want to do this. I still want to pistol-whip Julia Roberts when I hear her utter that odious line from Erin Brockovich, "They're called boobs Ed". But I wanted to review a recent film, and if Roberts incites me to commit violence, Aniston makes me want to commit violence against myself. So, The Switch was out. Off to Eat, Pray, Love I went. Based on Elizabeth Gilbert's smash bestseller of the same name, the film chronicles the journey of one divorced woman looking for enlightenment. Roberts plays Gilbert, a writer who has just ended her marriage, drifted into another unhappy relationship, then decides to take an expansive year-long journey. Each place she visits signifies three different facets of Gilbert's search. Italy (Eat), where Gilbert eschews counting calories and gives in to her hungry id. India (Pray), where she lives in a humble communal ashram and assesses her spiritual well-being, and finally, Bali (Love), where she re-connects with a ninth-generation medicine man and meets Felipe (Javier Bardem) who helps her to believe in love again. I know what you're thinking. Or at least, I know what you should be thinking if you're not the kind of sappy mainstream dolt I avoid at all costs. You're thinking "Wow, the combination of that plot and Julia Roberts sounds like the kind of cloying crap that Hollywood spews at the Oprah crowd like it was a free key chain". In addition, you might be wondering what a snarky, cynical bitch like myself thought of this film. Well, it might be that I'm knocked up and all, but I liked this movie. I said it.
Eat, Pray, Love is thoroughly infused with Elizabeth Gilbert's voice as a writer, and she is good. Candid, unapologetic and blessed with an ability to make trite topics sound fresh, Gilbert possesses a unique quality lacking in most contemporary writers. Director Ryan Murphy and Jennifer Salt adapted Gilbert's book for the screen and held on to her style well while making the story more filmic. Murphy also makes the most of his lush locations by giving so many wide shots of Rome and Bali that you are practically able to smell the pasta and jasmine. Although, to be fair, during the India portion of the trip you can really only smell the cow shit.
There are three brilliant character actors in Eat, Pray, Love who threaten to take over every scene they share with Roberts. Billy Crudup (Almost Famous), Viola Davis (Doubt) and Richard Jenkins (The Visitor) play Gilbert's husband, editor and mentor respectively, and they are all excellent. James Franco (Spiderman) plays Gilbert's lover and he is disappointingly whiny and uncharismatic. Now, to Roberts herself. I know why it kills me to admit this. I'll get to that later. Roberts is worth every penny of her 20 million dollar salary. Seriously. She has not one false moment in this movie and she carries it expertly. As Elizabeth Gilbert, she is unafraid to be unlikeable at those moments when her character is experiencing a particularly self-involved episode. This is highly difficult for most actors, especially famous ones who have made entire careers from being likable. Roberts is vulnerable without the usual display of tears and knows how to take the audience along on her quest without being preachy. Don't get me wrong; there is a scene in Italy when Roberts and her cohorts practice the Italian style of gesticulation where I wanted to gnaw her face off, but...
The reason that I hate to admit the adroitness of Roberts' performance is that she is nearly universally loved. Most people love her, which is precisely why people like me (who never want to be lumped in the category of "most people") abhor her appeal. It is however, tough to ignore that in the last twenty years, Roberts has consistently delivered good and sometimes great work (Charlie Wilson's War being the notable exception). Roberts' attitude off-duty is always putting me off, and her having achieved the highest level of fame makes it difficult to separate Roberts from her characters. But within the first few frames of her films, Roberts manages to convince that she is not the broad who gushed on Oprah about her "remarkable, that is, he is to be remarked upon" husband. My Comment is about those of us who fancy ourselves non-conformists and how much we lose out on when we deliberately ignore certain entertainment simply because it is popular. When I was young, I'd sit in my bedroom listening to Morrissey and Elvis Costello, assuming that I was among a handful of like-minded souls who would never deign to get into the Top 40 scene. Later, I rejected all mainstream movies, feeling that independent directors and writers were the only ones who could speak for me and my ilk. A book or movie becoming a smash success was the ultimate insurance that I'd never read or see it, and it was pointless to try and convince me otherwise. This behavior is not unique, particularly for the precocious teen . But when that attitude stubbornly gets carried through to adulthood, some very real things begin to happen. First you become an asshole. Worse, a pretentious asshole, which is the worst kind. You become so concerned with not sounding like a Philistine, that you end up sounding like a, well, a pretentious asshole. Most importantly, you miss out on things that you might have loved, but wouldn't experience because you were so afraid of being ordinary. That's really the crux of it. PA's are so afraid of being ordinary that they start to say things like they won't go see music played in large venues, or cannot possibly read the new book by a bestselling author. But unless the PA is either a hermaphrodite or a billionaire, he is doubtless pretty ordinary. Guess who's not ordinary? The fucking bestselling author. So deal with it and go Netflix Forrest Gump. It's really good.
Eat, Pray, Love is thoroughly infused with Elizabeth Gilbert's voice as a writer, and she is good. Candid, unapologetic and blessed with an ability to make trite topics sound fresh, Gilbert possesses a unique quality lacking in most contemporary writers. Director Ryan Murphy and Jennifer Salt adapted Gilbert's book for the screen and held on to her style well while making the story more filmic. Murphy also makes the most of his lush locations by giving so many wide shots of Rome and Bali that you are practically able to smell the pasta and jasmine. Although, to be fair, during the India portion of the trip you can really only smell the cow shit.
There are three brilliant character actors in Eat, Pray, Love who threaten to take over every scene they share with Roberts. Billy Crudup (Almost Famous), Viola Davis (Doubt) and Richard Jenkins (The Visitor) play Gilbert's husband, editor and mentor respectively, and they are all excellent. James Franco (Spiderman) plays Gilbert's lover and he is disappointingly whiny and uncharismatic. Now, to Roberts herself. I know why it kills me to admit this. I'll get to that later. Roberts is worth every penny of her 20 million dollar salary. Seriously. She has not one false moment in this movie and she carries it expertly. As Elizabeth Gilbert, she is unafraid to be unlikeable at those moments when her character is experiencing a particularly self-involved episode. This is highly difficult for most actors, especially famous ones who have made entire careers from being likable. Roberts is vulnerable without the usual display of tears and knows how to take the audience along on her quest without being preachy. Don't get me wrong; there is a scene in Italy when Roberts and her cohorts practice the Italian style of gesticulation where I wanted to gnaw her face off, but...
The reason that I hate to admit the adroitness of Roberts' performance is that she is nearly universally loved. Most people love her, which is precisely why people like me (who never want to be lumped in the category of "most people") abhor her appeal. It is however, tough to ignore that in the last twenty years, Roberts has consistently delivered good and sometimes great work (Charlie Wilson's War being the notable exception). Roberts' attitude off-duty is always putting me off, and her having achieved the highest level of fame makes it difficult to separate Roberts from her characters. But within the first few frames of her films, Roberts manages to convince that she is not the broad who gushed on Oprah about her "remarkable, that is, he is to be remarked upon" husband. My Comment is about those of us who fancy ourselves non-conformists and how much we lose out on when we deliberately ignore certain entertainment simply because it is popular. When I was young, I'd sit in my bedroom listening to Morrissey and Elvis Costello, assuming that I was among a handful of like-minded souls who would never deign to get into the Top 40 scene. Later, I rejected all mainstream movies, feeling that independent directors and writers were the only ones who could speak for me and my ilk. A book or movie becoming a smash success was the ultimate insurance that I'd never read or see it, and it was pointless to try and convince me otherwise. This behavior is not unique, particularly for the precocious teen . But when that attitude stubbornly gets carried through to adulthood, some very real things begin to happen. First you become an asshole. Worse, a pretentious asshole, which is the worst kind. You become so concerned with not sounding like a Philistine, that you end up sounding like a, well, a pretentious asshole. Most importantly, you miss out on things that you might have loved, but wouldn't experience because you were so afraid of being ordinary. That's really the crux of it. PA's are so afraid of being ordinary that they start to say things like they won't go see music played in large venues, or cannot possibly read the new book by a bestselling author. But unless the PA is either a hermaphrodite or a billionaire, he is doubtless pretty ordinary. Guess who's not ordinary? The fucking bestselling author. So deal with it and go Netflix Forrest Gump. It's really good.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Dinner For Schmucks
Before I begin this review, I have to apologize for waiting so long in between posts. I have been under the weather for the past few months and haven't been able to write. I hope you'll continue to follow the blog and comment as you see fit. Now, on to Dinner For Schmucks. This movie should be re-titled Movie For Schmucks. Written by David Guion and Michael Handleman, Schmucks was adapted from the French film Le Diner de Cons written by Francis Veber. On paper, the movie seems wholly hysterical; Tim, a young analyst up for a promotion at a private equity firm (Paul Rudd) agrees to go to a dinner hosted by his arrogant and wealthy boss (Bruce Greenwood). The catch is, Tim and his co-workers must bring along the biggest idiot they can find. At the meal's commencement, the boss will judge who is in fact the "winner" of the idiots and present him/her with a trophy. Naturally, the employee whose schmuck wins will curry the most favor with the boss.
Tim runs into initial moral opposition from his girlfriend Julie, played by Stephanie Szostak. While very beautiful in that waifish European way, it is difficult to tell whether Szostak has a French accent or a speech impediment. Julie makes Tim promise not to attend the dinner, which Tim complies with, until he fortuitously meets Barry (Steve Carell). Barry is a windbreaker-clad IRS agent who in his (ample) spare time makes dioramas with stuffed mice. Sporting a bad red hairpiece and a set of novelty teeth, Carell plays another version of his reliably earnest and well-meaning fools (The Office, The 40-Year-Old Virgin, Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy and Get Smart have provided us with enough examples of this for you to know what I'm talking about). Tim decides that Barry is too good a prospect to pass up and plans to attend the dinner. Barry, however, comes to Tim's home a night early and not only derails his life, but the movie as well. The second act consists of place-filling slapstick and sight gags, with an introduction to four more characters trying desperately to be outrageous but managing only to annoy all but the 80-year-old sitting next to me. Jemaine Clement (of Flight of the Conchords fame) is the best of this bunch, giving us Kieran, a bizarre artist with a penchant for juxtaposing his own image with wild animals. It still isn't that great. The very talented Zach Galifinakis goes his typical overly intense, diet-averse, nebbish route. I adore Galifinakis, particularly on his Between Two Ferns sojourns, but this performance makes me wonder if I'll see anything new from him soon.
What should be both the culmination and the best part of Dinner For Schmucks is the actual dinner. It is far from the best part. The "idiots" are a veritable hodgepodge of childishly-conceived characters, so awash in hokey costuming that they look like vaudevillian porn stars. Paul Rudd, a truly gifted actor with a special talent for comedy, has literally nothing to add to the scene. I am not as embarrassed for him as I am for the actors at the end of Footloose (the glitter alone makes me cringe), but it's close. While the writing in this film isn't anything inspired, I think the real blame is on Roach. Lately a more prolific producer than director, Roach has helmed both the Austin Powers and the Focker franchises. While each series is highly bankable, I think there is a general agreement that as each progressed, the humor became more and more recycled. I am of course reserving judgment on Little Fockers, out later this year. Roach does not pull the best performances from any of his highly skilled actors, and relies way too heavily on the image of the characters rather than their development. The saddest example of this is Carell. Week after week, Carell delivers some of the finest comedy on television in The Office. His performances in films like Dan in Real Life proved him a good actor as well as a facile clown. But there is nothing new or fresh in Schmucks that surprises or delights us about Carell.
My Comment is about that point in a successful career when an artist plateaus. Most actors go through it simply because there is not enough good written material for them. Others experience it because their previous success makes them (0r their management team) too terrified to mess with the formula. Nicolas Cage, a bright and burning talent who was deserving of his Oscar for Leaving Las Vegas, seemed to fall back on the sarcastic action hero with an edge so many times that no one gives a shit anymore. Especially the IRS. Conversely, Johnny Depp has never hit the dreaded plateau. Depp made an early career of only taking the roles that everyone warned him to be career suicide. He always did something different but not just for different's sake. Whether it was to work with a certain director, or to show the world a side of himself that we didn't know existed, Depp chose parts he wanted, period. While it's easy to sight the Pirates movies as his sell-out payday extravaganza, remember that Depp fought the studio tooth and nail to play Jack Sparrow as a cross between Keith Richards and Pepe le Pew. Although it's rare to find an artist as uncompromising as Depp, Carell has a reputation for being incredibly hard-working and dedicated. I hope that Dinner For Schmucks isn't the death knell for Steve Carell's brilliantly original take on comedy, or the end of his growth as a performer. We would miss out too much.
Tim runs into initial moral opposition from his girlfriend Julie, played by Stephanie Szostak. While very beautiful in that waifish European way, it is difficult to tell whether Szostak has a French accent or a speech impediment. Julie makes Tim promise not to attend the dinner, which Tim complies with, until he fortuitously meets Barry (Steve Carell). Barry is a windbreaker-clad IRS agent who in his (ample) spare time makes dioramas with stuffed mice. Sporting a bad red hairpiece and a set of novelty teeth, Carell plays another version of his reliably earnest and well-meaning fools (The Office, The 40-Year-Old Virgin, Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy and Get Smart have provided us with enough examples of this for you to know what I'm talking about). Tim decides that Barry is too good a prospect to pass up and plans to attend the dinner. Barry, however, comes to Tim's home a night early and not only derails his life, but the movie as well. The second act consists of place-filling slapstick and sight gags, with an introduction to four more characters trying desperately to be outrageous but managing only to annoy all but the 80-year-old sitting next to me. Jemaine Clement (of Flight of the Conchords fame) is the best of this bunch, giving us Kieran, a bizarre artist with a penchant for juxtaposing his own image with wild animals. It still isn't that great. The very talented Zach Galifinakis goes his typical overly intense, diet-averse, nebbish route. I adore Galifinakis, particularly on his Between Two Ferns sojourns, but this performance makes me wonder if I'll see anything new from him soon.
What should be both the culmination and the best part of Dinner For Schmucks is the actual dinner. It is far from the best part. The "idiots" are a veritable hodgepodge of childishly-conceived characters, so awash in hokey costuming that they look like vaudevillian porn stars. Paul Rudd, a truly gifted actor with a special talent for comedy, has literally nothing to add to the scene. I am not as embarrassed for him as I am for the actors at the end of Footloose (the glitter alone makes me cringe), but it's close. While the writing in this film isn't anything inspired, I think the real blame is on Roach. Lately a more prolific producer than director, Roach has helmed both the Austin Powers and the Focker franchises. While each series is highly bankable, I think there is a general agreement that as each progressed, the humor became more and more recycled. I am of course reserving judgment on Little Fockers, out later this year. Roach does not pull the best performances from any of his highly skilled actors, and relies way too heavily on the image of the characters rather than their development. The saddest example of this is Carell. Week after week, Carell delivers some of the finest comedy on television in The Office. His performances in films like Dan in Real Life proved him a good actor as well as a facile clown. But there is nothing new or fresh in Schmucks that surprises or delights us about Carell.
My Comment is about that point in a successful career when an artist plateaus. Most actors go through it simply because there is not enough good written material for them. Others experience it because their previous success makes them (0r their management team) too terrified to mess with the formula. Nicolas Cage, a bright and burning talent who was deserving of his Oscar for Leaving Las Vegas, seemed to fall back on the sarcastic action hero with an edge so many times that no one gives a shit anymore. Especially the IRS. Conversely, Johnny Depp has never hit the dreaded plateau. Depp made an early career of only taking the roles that everyone warned him to be career suicide. He always did something different but not just for different's sake. Whether it was to work with a certain director, or to show the world a side of himself that we didn't know existed, Depp chose parts he wanted, period. While it's easy to sight the Pirates movies as his sell-out payday extravaganza, remember that Depp fought the studio tooth and nail to play Jack Sparrow as a cross between Keith Richards and Pepe le Pew. Although it's rare to find an artist as uncompromising as Depp, Carell has a reputation for being incredibly hard-working and dedicated. I hope that Dinner For Schmucks isn't the death knell for Steve Carell's brilliantly original take on comedy, or the end of his growth as a performer. We would miss out too much.
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