The Men Who Stare at Goats

The Men Who Stare at Goats is based on Jon Ronson's book detailing his journey into the secret military world of the U.S. Army's First Earth Battalion. The Battalion was an alleged division that employed New Age techniques and psychic soldiers to fight wars with alternative methods. Ewan MacGregor plays Bob Wilton, a reporter hungry for a life-altering scoop. After his wife leaves him for another man, Wilton heads to Iraq at the onset of the 2003 American invasion. There he meets Lyn Cassady, played by George Clooney who thinks he's in another Coen brothers film. He's not. Cassady proceeds to lead Wilton on a mind-bender of an adventure complete with flashbacks detailing the origins of the Army's foray into psychedelic combat. Any Lebowski fan will suck greedily at the teat of a Jeff Bridges hippie appearance, but alas, this sighting comes up a bit short. Although Bridges is as compelling as ever, you simply do not get enough of him in Goats. MacGregor and Kevin Spacey are watchable and interesting, but I need to wax neurotic about Clooney.
After his ill-fated flirtation with boffo box-office Batman and Robin, Clooney took a powder and plotted his next move. This pause resulted in some of the best performances of his career. O Brother, Where Art Thou? has Clooney almost lampooning his dreamy persona by making some of the most buffoonish expressions ever. He gets screwball comedy funny- he's Cary Grant without all the pesky gay rumors. I must declare emphatically that I do not believe Clooney is a good actor. He has been in the business a long time and worked with the best directors out there, which enables him to avoid looking like a hackety-hack. But Clooney is a holder-backer (not a technical acting term I know, but screw you, it's my blog). He does not commit fully to any role, even the ones he gets nominated for. But he is intelligent, handsome and completely worthy of his insider's moniker, "Gentleman George". I met Clooney once in the early 1990's and if the way he tolerated my hyperhidrosis (sweaty palms) during the handshake was any indication, he is indeed a prince. Clooney learned that his ineffable charm and Irish rapscallion looks would be a good juxtaposition with goofy roles meant for ugly character actors. He also earns some intellectual cred by producing high-minded occasionally political statement films. My Comment has to do the business of being entertained. Are actors and films simply meant to allow us to enjoy ourselves for two hours? I'm not speaking of the difference between Billy Madison and Schindler's List. Most of us know that one is art and one is Spielberg's apology for Always. I am asking, if we know that an actor isn't ready for Shakespeare, but we love to watch him or her, what's so wrong with that? I am a self-professed snob, but I am admittedly tittering over the possibility of an Ocean's 14. This has more to do with the film geek in me imagining the camaraderie between the cast than the desire to look at Pitt, Clooney and Damon in shiny suits. Well, kind of. My point is, sometimes a movie is just a movie and an actor is just there to make us want to watch him. I can still maintain my snobbery and feel that way.

An Education

I have been struggling with writing this review since I saw this film. On paper it has all the makings of great movie. A European director, unencumbered by the directives of the bottom-line bottom-dwellers who make up Hollywood studio heads, a screenplay by Nick Hornby (whose "High Fidelity" was one of the best books made-into-a-movie ever) and exciting actors. Set in 1961, the film stars Peter Sarsgaard as an unctuous crook who romances the much younger Jenny, played by newcomer Carey Mulligan. Much has been made in the press of Mulligan's performance, and of her inevitable fame. The press is absolutely correct. Mulligan is a joy to watch. She is present and real, but never comes across as too technical or jaded. Mulligan is one of those rare actors who you cannot imagine in any other role until you see her in one. She fully imbues Jenny with the wide-eyed guilelessness of an inexperienced girl who happens to be brilliant.
Hornby, however is a big disappointment. His dialogue would never survive in the mouth of John Cusack, and the story (while not his own), is not exactly revelatory. We've seen better versions of the May-December romance, and Hornby doesn't really do the 60's justice. Although, once you've gotten "Mad Men" in your soul, nothing else really compares. But who really chaps my hide is Sarsgaard. He sports a mediocre British accent, which frankly, I find bush-league to beat the band. Any actor worth their salt better have that handled, particularly in a film striving to be more than it is. Why is it that once an actor is in a few independent films, critics begin to anoint him or her as the second coming of Marlon Brando? Sarsgaard has garnered praise for his roles, but a careful look at his work will leave you feeling unsatisfied and probably a little creeped-out. But having established the appropriate amount of indie cred (marriage to a fellow avant-garde actor,a house in Brooklyn), Sarsgaard keeps on keepin' on.
My Comment has to do with the lemming-like way in which we all hop on the bandwagon. Didn't we all learn from 1950's architecture? Homogeneity bad, individualism, good. I find it the height of irony that independent film has simply become a barometer for people to judge whether or not an actor can be successful in mainstream movies. It makes me sad, it makes me mad, but mostly it make me lament the loss of individual critics who called out medium talent when they saw it.