Tag: Amy Brenneman

Frasier (1993) s06e23-e24 – Shutout in Seattle

“Frasier” has had some excellent season finales, but Shutout in Seattle might be the best so far. Definitely when taking into account it’s an hour-long and because it addresses previous plot lines. And because it has an elaborate set-piece conclusion, which director Pamela Fryman sublimely realizes.

The episode opens with David Hyde Pierce and Peri Gilpin at the coffee shop; she’s just been stood up for a date, he’s still recovering from Saul Rubinek proposing to Jane Leeves. Well, more accurately, he’s recovering from Leeves accepting said proposal. He and Gilpin chat a bit about their respective sorrows, comparing. Then, just when it seems like Hyde Pierce is in the lead, there’s a surprise to put Gilpin ahead.

Hyde Pierce is going to be the focus of the first third or so of the episode. He’s the only single person he knows (besides Gilpin), and there’s a lengthy sequence at the apartment where the happy couples can’t stop being happy in front of Hyde Pierce. Even when Kelsey Grammer can’t remember Amy Brenneman’s name, calling her “Cassandra” (her character’s name is Faye). Cassandra, of course, was the character Virginia Madsen played in the episode where Grammer was dating both women at once. In the still icky recurring subplot, John Mahoney can’t shut up about how much he preferred Madsen because she’s… more voluptuous. Pig Mahoney is gross.

Especially when he’s got his own lady friend, Alice Playten, over at the same time.

And then there’s Rubinek and Leeves, so happy in love. It all makes Hyde Pierce miserable, and he runs off.

While he’s incommunicado for a few days, there’s time for Gilpin’s subplot, which has her making a bad dating choice. The episode will play it entirely for laughs, which works—they’re good laughs—but it’s an incomplete arc. Instead, the episode ties up everything else, seemingly forgetting Gilpin’s arc doesn’t start with her specific dating woes but her general ones. It’s a missed opportunity, one of the few in the episode, instead of the icky Mahoney comments.

Yuck, I just thought of another one I’d forgotten. One the show even acknowledge is gross, with Grammer visibly reacting to Mahoney’s comment.

Otherwise, of course, Mahoney’s good. Most of his arc takes place off-screen, so it’s all about his delivery of the recounting, and he does a fine job.

Hyde Pierce’s arc gives him a bunch to do—he gets to flex more than anyone else in the episode—with Grammer getting a slight arc made funnier with repetitive. Given that slightness, it’s pretty impressive how funny it gets by the end.

Leeves and Rubinek also get a minor subplot, once with occasional sight gags, and it’s cute, but it’s not one of the standouts.

Shutout is an ambitious episode, primarily for director Fryman, who’s got to keep all the plotlines going and all the characters around each other so much, then there’s the incredible real-time finale sequence in the cafe—Ron Volk’s editing got a nomination but didn’t win; I’m curious if what did aged as well as the superb comedy here. David Isaacs gets the script credit, and it’s mostly stellar. Minus the misogyny and the truncated Gilpin arc.

It’s also impressive how well it wraps up, giving a “just right” season finale feel.

Shutout’s excellent. Save the damn icky.

Frasier (1993) s06e21 – When a Man Loves Two Women

Credited writers Alex Gregory and Peter Huyck wrote the shittiest episode of “Frasier” ever (thus far) earlier this season, and so I was dreading this one. Especially since the logline seems primed for a bad episode—Kelsey Grammer hooks up with not one but two women (consecutively, not concurrently) and has to pick the one he wants to pursue a relationship with. It stands out because the women are returning guest stars—Virginia Madsen and Amy Brenneman—and it’s rare for the one-episode guest stars to come back. They maybe never have; definitely not the love interests.

Madsen is the breathy coworker from the Valentine’s Day episode where Grammer could never figure out if she was romantically interested. Brenneman was in the Christmas episode where the family had to pretend they were Jewish for her mom’s sake. The episode starts with Grammer and Madsen together, then he runs into Brenneman and ends up with her, then starts fretting over the right choice.

Brenneman’s obviously the right choice because she’s nicer to Jane Leeves, who Madsen treats like crap. John Mahoney votes for Madsen because she’s breathy and not too intelligent and opinionated like Brenneman (seriously, Mahoney needs to get a recurring subplot besides being an amiable pig). David Hyde Pierce abstains from choosing but does try to help Grammer with the decision-making. Also, the writing’s really thin on Madsen, so she’s just annoying, whereas the episode’s eventually going to give Brenneman the most agency a love interest has gotten to this point. With the caveat, there’s a narrative device in play the show’s rarely used before and never let anyone but Grammer in on.

It works out, too; Brenneman’s excellent. Madsen’s a low okay. She’s really unlikeable, so it’s an uphill battle, and she was also a lot better last time. One of the problems with bringing actors back is when they’re not better or as good on the return.

There’s also a bunch of great physical comedy from Mahoney, Leeves, and Hyde Pierce. Like director David Lee (his best-directed episode in ages, if not ever) really wanted to have fun with the sequences. Leeves also gets to do a great American impression in the spotlight, which seems to have been meant to make up for her being the punchline for a guest star. And Peri Gilpin has some good moments as she counsels Grammer with his unexpected romantic dilemma. It’s a packed episode.

And rather successful, given it’s about Grammer gaslighting his love interests while he inspects their proverbial teeth. Not enough to make up for Gregory and Huyck’s last outing, but a very solid entry.

Frasier (1993) s06e10 – Merry Christmas, Mrs. Moskowitz

The first time Kelsey Grammer directed a “Frasier” episode, he barely appeared onscreen. Subsequently, he started including himself more, and with this episode, he’s got himself front and center. He gives David Hyde Pierce and John Mahoney some outstanding showcases—better than he ever gives himself—but he’s got the A plot from the start.

The episode begins establishing it’s a Christmas episode with Grammer and Peri Gilpin shopping for last-minute gifts. It’s a nice department store scene, lots of activity, some good smiles, and then a great introduction to guest star Carole Shelley. She saves Grammer from a social faux pas and gets her single daughter a date with a doctor out of it. The daughter ends up being Amy Brenneman, so it works out.

Brenneman’s appearance is interesting for a few reasons. First, she’s trying out comedy from drama and adapts her timing well. Second, she ends up being support to Shelley. Third, Grammer isn’t hostile towards her. The last time there was a big-name love interest guest star (Teri Hatcher), Grammer was visibly distressed. This time he’s far more gracious, and the proto-couple are charming together.

Especially when it turns out the A plot is Grammer and family hiding their Christianity from Shelley, who assumed he was Jewish. Problematically, Mahoney wants to hang up an electronic Rudolph wreath, and Hyde Pierce and Jane Leeves are running around planning a musical Christmas pageant. Thanks to the pacing and the script—credited to Jay Kogen—the episode dances around being screwball and builds to an emotional conclusion. A funny, moving close, but very much a heartfelt Christmas episode.

Shelley’s fantastic. She and Brenneman toggle between moods immediately, which is part of the story, but it’s also very impressive to watch Shelley do it. Primarily since punchlines are entirely based on her read of a situation.

The subplot with Leeves and Hyde Pierce is excellent too, leveraging their chemistry and Hyde Pierce’s physical comedy abilities. Grammer’s other episodes had a big focus on Leeves and Hyde Pierce, and this one lets them find a good rapport as well, just in C plot territory. Turns out Mahoney and the Christmas decorating that wasn’t is the B plot and a perfect one.

“Frasier”’s always done satisfying Christmas episodes, but I’m not sure there’s ever been one as funny as this one. Of course, the stakes are low—Grammer and Gilpin are back at work, and there are no visiting family guest stars—but the lack of drama just lets them have more fun.

Plus, the credits postscript is Eddie being seasonally adorable.

Heat (1995, Michael Mann)

Until the final scene, director Mann is still carefully plotting out Heat. The film’s narrative construction–when he introduces a character, when he returns to a character, how he transitions from one character to another–is magnificent. Heat is a delicate film, with Mann never letting a single element carry a scene. He’s always working in combination–sound and actor, photography and sound, editing and actors. All of these elements should cause distance between the viewer and the film; instead they bring the viewer in closer.

Much of the film deals with the relationship between the various men and their suffering women. Even if one of the male characters’ women doesn’t know she’s suffering, she’s going be soon. Mann posits his driven male characters are unable to function in relationships, then he explores the relationship between the driven male characters.

With crooks Val Kilmer and Robert De Niro, Mann sets up something near a protege and mentor relationship. With De Niro and cop Al Pacino, Mann goes with an alter ego. The scene between Pacino and De Niro, where Pacino finally gets to let down his guard–up almost entirely in the rest of the film–is startling. It’s an island in the chaos.

Great supporting performances from Amy Brenneman, Diane Venora, Dennis Haysbert, Mykelti Williamson and Kevin Gage. Brenneman’s the closest thing Heat has to a sympathetic character. Everyone else is just extant.

Nearly three hours, Heat never gets unwieldy. Mann’s deliberateness keeps it painfully, depressingly, beautifully, devastatingly subdued.

88 Minutes (2007, Jon Avnet)

Al Pacino has reached the point William Forsythe has supporting roles in his movies. That facet just about sums up 88 Minutes, which would have been a great late 1990s Dimension movie, maybe even with Pacino, and all those young actors Miramax had on call (I’m thinking it would have been most effective with Neve Campbell in the Alicia Witt role, throw a young Josh Hartnett in Ben McKenzie’s role, hey, there’s even room for Skeet Ulrich). As a late 2000s movie, however, it’s real silly. It’s Pacino in a real time thriller–shot in Vancouver, which does a fine Seattle impression; it’s depressing. As a thriller, it’s okay… it never gives the viewer enough information to spoil the conclusion, so it’s somewhat surprising.

It’s also very cheap. Not just because it shot in Canada, but because lots of the scenes are set-based and dialogue heavy. It’s not exactly real time, it cheats a little, so tightening up the dialogue wouldn’t have been a bad idea. Gary Scott Thompson is a bad writer and the dialogue and plot resemble a TV episode from the 1980s. It’s not terrible though, because Pacino runs with what he can. His character is problematic–he doesn’t really have a story or a subtext, the womanizer bit plays more on Pacino’s image than anything else–and the movie avoids becoming a real movie about psychiatrists who sell their testimony. Pacino’s sort of a maverick cop psychiatrist also–he can handle a gun, he lectures state’s attorneys–watching it, one imagines Avnet told him to “do the Heat thing,” but quieter. There’s nothing to the character or any of his relationships. It’s a narrative only because it’s Pacino. He fools the viewer into caring when the script is actually failing.

The supporting cast is so-so. Amy Brenneman is pretty good as Pacino’s assistant, as is Deborah Kara Unger as his boss. Leelee Sobieski (Rose McGowan in the Miramax version?) is bad, kind of goofy really. As the bad guy, Neal McDonough is lousy. Alicia Witt holds her own during some of it, not during other parts. Forsythe is Forsythe playing an FBI agent.

88 Minutes could have been–I realized as Pacino runs across a deserted campus (deserted campuses are cheaper to shoot on, I imagine, even in Canada)–a decent academic thriller, juxtaposing Pacino’s role as an educator with his testifying for cash. There’s no sensitivity to the movie, which I guess was heading straight to video until recently (it wrapped in late 2005). It’s a fine enough serial killer programmer (good ones are extraordinary exceptions), but it’s Al Pacino. He shouldn’t have to do movies like this one.

1/4★

CREDITS

Directed by Jon Avnet; written by Gary Scott Thompson; director of photography, Denis Lenoir; edited by Larry Webster; music by Ed Shearmur; production designer, Tracey Gallacher; produced by Avnet, Thompson, Randell Emmett, Michael P. Flannigan, George Furla and Avi Lerner; released by Tri-Star Pictures.

Starring Al Pacino (Dr. Jack Gramm), Alicia Witt (Kim Cummings), Leelee Sobieski (Lauren Douglas), Amy Brenneman (Shelly Barnes), William Forsythe (Special Agent Frank Parks), Deborah Kara Unger (Carol Johnson), Ben McKenzie (Mike Stempt), Neal McDonough (Jon Forster), Leah Cairns (Sara Pollard) and Stephen Moyer (Guy LaForge).

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Daylight (1996, Rob Cohen)

Stallone is Kit Latura, disgraced EMS chief (he cared too much). Besides the name, Stallone’s just the disaster movie lead and not even any interesting one (besides the caring too much). There aren’t even any Stallone grunts in the movie and he plays it straight and as well as anyone can play the terrible script. Daylight is a terrible attempt at a disaster movie as it forgets a couple of the golden rules of the genre. First, have a recognizable cast. Jay O. Sanders might barely qualify, but whoever plays his wife (Karen Young–and she’s awful) is not. And the less said about Sage Stallone the better. The second broken rule is to make the characters likable. With the exception of Stallone and security guard Stan Shaw, there isn’t a single sympathetic character trapped in the (unnamed) tunnel. In fact, when Viggo Mortensen dies, it’s a relief, since it’d have been awful to spend the rest of the movie with him around.

Besides the plotting problems, the script’s generally awful–bad dialogue, bad characters–but Daylight‘s not abjectly bad. Rob Cohen is a boring director, but he’s not bad. The sets are all very intricate and impressive (the other visual effects, terrible CG and silly composites, are not), even if the action occurring on them is mediocre at best.

When he’s not spouting off terrible character development dialogue, Stallone’s keeping the movie going. At the beginning, when it’s amusingly ludicrous, he gets some help from Dan Hedaya. Then, in the tunnel, a little from Shaw. Eventually, he’s got to push ahead himself and, at that point, Daylight gets particularly long. Maybe it’s because the ending is straight out of The Goonies.

Randy Edelman’s score is awful, Amy Brenneman is awful, Barry Newman is hilariously awful. Trina McGee is okay in one of the smaller roles and Vanessa Bell Calloway’s fake Caribbean accent (it goes in and out of course)–at least makes her scenes funny.

It’s funny to think of disaster movies as a complicated art form, but Daylight certainly proves they’re far from easy to make successful.