Tag: Colin Farrell

The Batman (2022, Matt Reeves)

The first rule of the The Batman is the most interesting thing about Batman is Batman, so new Batman Robert Pattinson spends his time in the costume, with only a handful of scenes moping around as Bruce Wayne. The second rule of The Batman is “show, don’t tell,” which is strange since the third is “tell, don’t show.” But it works out; because Pattinson’s spellbinding in the costume. Pattinson’s biggest scene opposite supervillain Paul Dano—who’s also great, though not in his costume, a DIY number made out of green garbage bags apparently—is just eyes.

Heck, Pattinson doesn’t even do the Batman lip work. Back in the Forever days, some interviewer asked Nicole Kidman about Michael Keaton (who she wasn’t in a Batman with) and Val Kilmer (who she was in a Batman with), and she said the important thing is the lips.

Pattison and Reeves don’t worry about the lips. Pattinson does more with his jaw than the lips. Whatever else, The Batman’s an exemplar of person-in-mask acting.

For the story and tone, director Reeves and co-screenwriter Peter Craig pick and choose from the decades of comics, movies, video games, and seemingly Darren Aronofsky’s old Batman: Year One proposal. The ground situation is where the show, don’t tell, comes in; Pattinson’s been masked vigilanting for a couple years, long enough to become best friends with police lieutenant James Gordon (Jeffrey Wright). Wright brings Pattinson, in costume, to official crime scenes where a bunch of dude cops make fun of Pattinson, and then Pattinson finds some clue they’d all missed.

The Batman’s got a boy problem. None of the cops are women, and they’re all at least jerks, though we’ll find out a vast majority of them are murderously corrupt (Reeves and Craig rush through that story arc). But Pattinson’s Batman is another “this is my father’s house” Batman. Not only doesn’t he care about Martha, but she’s also a de facto Eve, whose personal failings led Papa Wayne to dishonor. Despite being a subplot, the parents aren’t significant, especially not after fellow orphan Dano’s soapboxing about what it must be like to be a billionaire orphan.

The movie’s A-plot is Riddler Dano, a TikTok serial killer terrorizing Gotham’s elite. Batman’s been on the job a couple of years and hasn’t done anything about them eating Gotham’s wealth and spirit, so Dano will have to do it. Reeves and Craig make some excellent observations about Batman and his resulting rogues, leaning in on the idea of anonymous power. They don’t end up amounting to anything because The Batman needs a disaster movie finale, but the groundwork’s solid, and Dano’s monologuing is fantastic.

There’s lots of great acting in The Batman. Dano and Wright without masks, Pattinson with, and then the unrecognizable Colin Farrell in prosthetics, showing off the potential for actors acting as someone else. The rest of the acting’s at least good. John Turturro as a mob boss, Andy Serkis as an utterly pointless Alfred, and, of course, Zoë Kravitz as Catwoman.

Kravitz figures into the A-plot through Farrell and Turturro; Farrell owns a club where the mob and the corrupt politicians play, Kravitz works there. When Pattinson goes to interrogate Farrell, he sees Kravitz and follows her for investigatory purposes. Pretty soon, they’re fighting bad guys together and getting horizontal under the proverbial mistletoe. They gaze at each other with common sympathy and bridled lust, which always comes with composer Michael Giacchino’s gentle but passionate love theme. Even with their finale sequence’s oddly bland visuals and Kravitz disappearing too long so Pattinson and Dano can play, The Batman does an excellent job with the romance.

When Kravitz isn’t runaway strutting past gross white guys at Farrell’s club, she’s mooning at Pattinson for one reason or another. She doesn’t get much of a story to herself. She’s got a missing friend, but it soon becomes part of Pattinson’s investigation, and her relationship with the mob bosses also ends up being for the big arcs. It’s okay; no one else gets much to themselves either. Mask-off, Pattinson’s a teensy-weensy arc about being ungrateful to Serkis. It won’t matter because Serkis is either shoehorned in or edited out. Not like a three-hour Batman needed more.

But the film also doesn’t explain Pattinson and Wright’s relationship; for the most part, Wright’s a true blue copper, only he knows most of his fellow officers are on the take, so he can only trust Batman. Does it matter? Yes and no. Or, yes, but Reeves, Pattinson, and Wright make you forget about it.

The big mystery’s okay. Dano leaves riddles at each scene, which Pattison usually figures out immediately until suddenly, he doesn’t, so there can be the disaster movie finish. It’s about the performances, the interactions, the mood. Pattison, Reeves, composer Giacchino, cinematographer Greig Fraser, and production designer James Chinlund create a mesmerizing film. Reeves cracks how to do a grim and gritty Batman in broad daylight, in crowds, and so on. The filmmaking’s never remarkable, but it’s never not consistent, confident, compelling. However, William Hoy and Tyler Nelson’s editing is closer to exceptional than not. Chinlund’s Gotham City is modern, Gothic, and humid, a dream turned nightmare.

If only Reeves and Craig hadn’t strung together two movies’ worth of A-plot (cutting the character development for time) to get it done.

But The Batman—thanks to Reeves and Pattinson (with help from Kravitz, Wright, Dano, Farrell, and the crew)—is the most special and successful this franchise has felt in numerous decades.

Ondine (2009, Neil Jordan)

Ondine is very committed to the bit. The film opens with Irish owner-operator fisherman Colin Farrell bringing a woman up in his nets. A beautiful woman. She seems very confused to be breathing air and doesn’t tell him very much about herself. Alicja Bachleda plays the woman. She refuses to go to a hospital, and instead, Farrell puts her up at his dead mother’s waterfront cottage. I kept wondering if there was electricity, but the film deftly ignores that issue time and again. Lots of Ondine is writer and director Jordan deftly ignoring things or even distracting from them. Usually, he’s distracting from the very flat expository dialogue. If it weren’t for Farrell being lovable, Bachleda being charming, and Alison Barry (as Farrell’s tragically ill but precocious daughter) being adorable, Ondine would be in real trouble. Jordan can get away with a lot thanks to Kjartan Sveinsson’s music and Christopher Doyle’s photography, but only the actors make that script happen.

Well, the actors and editor Tony Lawson’s cutting. Ondine is always on the move. Jordan and Doyle are shooting with digital video, and they’re able to leverage the inherent truthiness of the format with Doyle’s succulent lighting. The little seafront town is gray, and the muted green is vibrant, teeming with life. It’s the perfect setting for a modern fable about a fisherman (Farrell), a selkie (Bachleda), and his kid, Barry, who immediately loves the idea of a land-sea romance. Farrell’s a dry alcoholic who used to be the town drunk. His ex-wife, Dervla Kirwan, is still a drunk (she dumped him for sobering up) but has custody of Barry because kids say with their moms in Ireland. Kirwan’s got a new boyfriend, Tony Curran, who’s a potentially dangerous prick. We know he’s a prick because he’s mainly from Barry’s perspective, and she’s uneasy around him.

But he’s also a jerk to her dad. Ditto Kirwan. Jordan doesn’t have much in the way of dialogue going for Ondine, but he’s got it absolutely layered with angst. Barry spends most of her time in a wheelchair because of failing kidneys. The other kids don’t exactly bully her, but they also don’t really leave her alone, creating these parallels to Farrell, who everyone treats dismissively. Even the town priest, Stephen Rea. Rea’s an adorable cameo. Farrell’s not religious but uses the confessional for his AA since there are no meetings nearby. Except Rea’s never run an AA, Farrell’s never been, so they both wing it.

Of course, Bachleda sees Farrell differently than everyone else. And he’s got to balance that different and welcome kind of attention with his responsibilities for Barry, who basically gets to school on her own, but then Kirwan lets Farrell do the rest so she and Curran can get drunk.

Besides the character relationships, which manage to shine even with the clipped banter dialogue—Farrell and Barry are like a comedy duo back and forth at each other, Farrell and Bachleda are a guarded flirtation where it’s unclear how much they understand each other, then everyone else is just hurling abusive one-liners at Farrell. But thanks to the acting and Lawson’s cutting, it’s okay. And when there are big character moments, they’re always a success, and they never let up on the bit. Is Kirwan a mermaid or not? Farrell’s not even sure she’s real, and she won’t let him get anyone else for outside verification; she only wants him to see her, which turns out to be part of the legend. Because Farrell tells Barry all about it, framing it as a fairytale he’s made up. Barry’s engaged–apparently Farrell’s never told anywhere near an exciting story before—and starts doing research into the legends, which then informs the audience (and Farrell). Jordan only worries about being effective; obvious never matters. Especially not with the digital video realism.

Great performances from Farrell, Bachleda, Barry, and Rea. Kirwan and Curran are both good, but they’re not the good guys in the fairy tale. The only other significant supporting part is Emil Hostina. He’s real good.

Jordan’s direction is strong. Occasionally uneven, like he can’t figure out what to do with a shot once he’s been able to do it with video. Doyle’s lighting keeps it smooth, ditto Lawson’s cuts, and then Sveinsson’s music. Ondine looks and sounds great.

It’s a particular kind of delightful.

Widows (2018, Steve McQueen)

Widows is very real. You know it’s very real and not Hollywood because it takes place in Chicago and it’s real Chicago and not Hollywood Chicago. Though Robert Duvall, who gives a fine performance, does make it feel a little like Hollywood Chicago. But it’s also real because Liam Neeson has nose hairs. And because even as horrific events, plot turns, plot twists, horrific revelations bombard lead (and ostensible protagonist) Viola Davis, she’s able to harness all of them and make it all seem reasonable and not contrived. Because she’s Viola Davis and she’s what makes Widows possible. Without her gravitas, director McQueen and co-screenwriter Gillian Flynn couldn’t get away with half of it.

McQueen and Flynn are adapting a six hour British series. Might explain the episodic plotting, might not. Widows has an expansive plot. Until it doesn’t. There’s a switch thrown somewhere in the middle when McQueen and Flynn stop with the expanding. Once Cynthia Erivo is on the team, everything changes. Including who gets character development. The film’s well-paced enough you don’t even realize a couple characters go on pause and Davis is in the picture less and less after her inital story arc ends. But it also means when the finale comes up short and awkwardly so… well, all of a sudden it’s time to cash in Widows’s chips and McQueen’s been bluffing.

Not to mix metaphors.

The film is about Widows Davis, Michelle Rodriguez, Elizabeth Debicki, and Carrie Coon. Erivo is actually a babysitter; unfortunately the original British series is not called Four Widows and a Babysitter. The film opens with the women and their men. Then their men, career robbers, all die. Horribly. So now the widows have to figure out what to do, because none of their men left them in good shape financially.

Coon, for instance, has a newborn. She was married to Coburn Goss, who has no personality in his few scenes. Unlike some of the other dead husbands. Manuel Garcia-Rulfo is a deadbeat who steals all wife Rodriguez’s money. She has a thrift store. Debicki’s husband, Jon Bernthal, is mentally and physically abusive. But mostly physically. And then there’s crew leader Liam Neeson. Charming career robber, known and hated by cops, beloved by crooks, on and on. He’s married to Davis. Her scenes imagining Neeson still with her–nose hairs and all–should be some of Widows’s best moments for McQueen. Instead, he just showcases Davis’s acting and doesn’t do anything else with it. Because Widows is too real.

As such, all mastermind thief Neeson leaves beloved widow Davis is his Moleskine. It’s got the plans to his next job. He also leaves her Garret Dillahunt, driver and boy Friday. Dillahunt’s good. In hindsight, his part should’ve forecasted McQueen and Flynn’s later problems.

Well, turns out Neeson stole from crime brothers Brian Tyree Henry and Daniel Kaluuya. They have an ill-defined criminal empire. Henry is trying to take the family straight, Kaluuya isn’t so sure. Henry’s plan is to get elected alderman. He just needs to beat corrupt public official and Chicago political family guy Colin Farrell. Duvall is Farell’s dad, the outgoing alderman. He had a heart attack or something. Doesn’t matter.

Henry then goes to Davis and tells her he wants the money–for his campaign, which he doesn’t mention–and she’s got a month to get it. She recruits the other widows to pull Neeson’s last job.

Through their new, sometimes dangerous experiences, Rodriguez and Debicki get character development. Well, Debicki gets it. Rodriguez gets a hint of it, then gets shut down. She becomes more functional, bringing in Erivo later on. Erivo who’s actually part of a C plot about small businesses too. McQueen and Flynn is overloaded with texture. Widows has enough material to be twice as long, because either its supporting characters need to get developed or they need to go away. The first act has a bunch of throwaway characters around just to play with expectations.

The texture–very realistic and don’t you dare acknowledge the adorable puppy–works. When Widows is expansive, it’s because of all that texture. Well-written, well-acted, well-directed texture. Narratively pointless because not even Davis can bring enough gravitas to fix a somewhat craven epilogue. McQueen–intentionally–eschews so much of the heist genre for Widows. And when he finally does employ genre narrative tropes, they’re all the bad ones. He’s also trying not to direct the thriller sequences–Kaluuya takes it upon himself to stalk and terrorize Davis in another C plot–but McQueen does a bunch of thriller sequences. And rather well. His narrative instincts are strong and he can do a lot with his cast, but the script’s the script. The twists, the turns, the disappearing characters.

Davis is great, Debicki is great. Rodriguez is good. She doesn’t get enough to do. She doesn’t even get C plots, she just gets to bring in Erivo, who does get a C plot. But Rodriguez is probably in the movie more than Erivo. She’s at least more active in the first act.

Erivo’s good. Again, thin part. Erivo acts the hell out of it.

Farrell ought to be great but his election subplot gets more time in the middle than Davis and crew planning. The whole Farrell thing–which also gets into the Chicago corruption and related institutionalized racism–takes up too much time in the film, which loses track of Davis and skips over Rodriguez. Great acting, great direction of that acting, good part, not great part.

Duvall’s a cameo pretending to be bigger. Henry’s fine. Kaluuya’s good, but the part’s too functional. And has no character development. None of the men get character development. At best they get some revelations. And it’s fine. But it’s thin.

Technically, the film’s perfect. McQueen’s composition, Sean Bobbitt’s photography, Joe Walker’s editing, Adam Stockhausen’s production design. It’s all great. The Hans Zimmer score is good but very functional.

Widows is fine work, with some near exceptional elements. And some particular problems.

3/4★★★

CREDITS

Directed by Steve McQueen; screenplay by Gillian Flynn and McQueen, based on the television series written by Lynda La Plante; director of photography, Sean Bobbitt; edited by Joe Walker; music by Hans Zimmer; production designer, Adam Stockhausen; produced by Iain Canning, McQueen, Arnon Milchan, and Emile Sherman; released by 20th Century Fox.

Starring Viola Davis (Veronica), Elizabeth Debicki (Alice), Michelle Rodriguez (Linda), Cynthia Erivo (Belle), Carrie Coon (Amanda), Colin Farrell (Jack Mulligan), Garret Dillahunt (Bash), Daniel Kaluuya (Jatemme Manning), Lukas Haas (David), Brian Tyree Henry (Jamal Manning), Liam Neeson (Harry Rawlings), Jon Bernthal (Florek), Manuel Garcia-Rulfo (Carlos), Coburn Goss (Jimmy Nunn), Molly Kunz (Siobhan), Jacki Weaver (Agnieska), Kevin J. O’Connor (Bobby Welsh), Jon Michael Hill (Reverend Wheeler), and Robert Duvall (Tom Mulligan).

RELATED

Daredevil (2003, Mark Steven Johnson)

I like Ben Affleck. Even his early phase–the self-aware, “Bruce Willis doing a Harrison Ford” impression thing actually worked out on occasion. It helped he kept the persona between pictures. Of course, Daredevil comes after Affleck decided to do his own thing. He gets an incomplete in Daredevil. You couldn’t hate watch it for his lousy essaying of the role of blind, gymnastic ninja lawyer but you also can’t say he came anywhere near making it work. It’s not his fault, it’s a terrible script, terrible direction, terrible everything, but he still didn’t make it work.

So while I can hope Affleck doesn’t embarrass himself, Daredevil is another story. Watching the film, for long, boring portions, there’s nothing to do but hope for it to fail a little bit more. Just to make things interesting. Director Johnson tries to do Batman meets Spider-Man meets The Matrix meets “extreme sports.” It’s awful. Though it does look a lot like a low budget, serious attempt at Joel Schumacher Batman movie. Even the crappy Graeme Revell music fits that vibe. It’s got enough budget to attempt effects sequences, but no idea what to do with them. It gets outrageous enough, it seems like Daredevil is actually going to break into absurdity. Little CGI Ben Affleck chasing little CGI Colin Farrell. Like they’ll stop and ask the audience how they can be believing anything so silly.

Farrell gives the most forgivable performance. Not even Joe Pantoliano (I miss Joe Pantoliano’s “stunt casting” phase) does well. No one does well. Jennifer Garner manages to adequate but unlikable. She’s even sympathetic during the cheesy romance montages, which Johnson certainly shows more aptitude for directing than anything else in the film.

However, the third act has a surprisingly decent pace. Daredevil overstays its welcome, but seems to realize it and make reasonable amends. Until the idiotic epilogue sequence, which has way too much CGI and way too little imagination. Oh, look, I unintentionally ended on a metaphor for the whole movie.

Horrible Bosses (2011, Seth Gordon), the extended cut

It would have been nice if one of the three credited screenwriter of Horrible Bosses thought enough to write characters for the protagonists. Instead, the script–and director Gordon–rely on the “charm” of the three leads. Only, Charlie Day (as a lovable buffoon) and Jason Sudeikis (as a somewhat absent-minded buffoon) and Jason Bateman (as the one suffering having two buffoons for best friends) aren’t charming. They’re trying. Most of the movie is them running around together and it’s lame.

The funny stuff comes with the guest stars. Horrible Bosses has guest stars–the titular bosses are basically guest stars. Or Donald Sutherland and Jamie Foxx popping up and giving the film some semblance of quality before Day and Sudeikis ruin another scene. The three bosses are Jennifer Aniston, Kevin Spacey and Colin Farrell. Farrell’s in a bald cap, which is impressively believable, but he has no comic timing. Aniston is fantastic. Spacey’s good, but he’s done the role many times so he should be good at it.

The movie actually doesn’t start too bad, opening with Bateman–who can carry this kind of nonsense–and relying heavily on the guest stars. But once Sudeikis and Day take over, it quickly goes down the drain.

Maybe if Gordon was in some way a compelling director, but Bosses is very boring looking. Lousy music from Christopher Lennertz too.

The easy joke would be to call Bosses horrible, but it’s not. It’s just pedestrian. Tiresome and pedestrian, not even horrible.

0/4ⓏⒺⓇⓄ

CREDITS

Directed by Seth Gordon; screenplay by Michael Markowitz, John Francis Daley and Jonathan M. Goldstein, based on a story by Markowitz; director of photography, David Hennings; edited by Peter Teschner; music by Christopher Lennertz; production designer, Shepherd Frankel; produced by Brett Ratner and Jay Stern; released by Warner Bros.

Starring Jason Bateman (Nick Hendricks), Charlie Day (Dale Arbus), Jason Sudeikis (Kurt Buckman), Jennifer Aniston (Dr. Julia Harris, D.D.S.), Colin Farrell (Bobby Pellitt), Kevin Spacey (Dave Harken), Donald Sutherland (Jack Pellit) and Jamie Foxx (Dean ‘MF’ Jones).

RELATED

Seven Psychopaths (2012, Martin McDonough)

One could say a lot about Seven Psychopaths and how McDonough teases the fourth wall to propel the plot. But such a discussion would distract too much from the film. McDonough gleefully avoids profundity with Psychopaths, though he does occasionally find it. At those moments, he allows the briefest pause before continuing with the relentless, savage humor.

McDonough isn’t discreet about these plotting decisions either–he draws attention to them so jokes pay off better. Psychopaths jokes range from situational to phonetical. He takes great advantage of each actor, whether it’s Sam Rockwell (who gets the most to do in the film) or Christopher Walken (who gets the second most, but has the best revelations in his character). The actors fully inhabit their characters, even Woody Harrelson, who has the weakest part.

Of course, the lead’s not Rockwell or Walken (they just carry the movie away with them), it’s Colin Farrell. And Farrell’s playing a screenwriter named Martin–just like McDonough, playing up the pliable fourth wall. Farrell’s job is to provide some stability and his greatest achievement is not getting lost amongst the more dynamic performances. He has an analogue in an underutilized Zeljko Ivanek. Both are playing straight men (Ivanek to Harrelson, Farrell to everyone); both do rather well at it.

Also excellent are Linda Bright Clay and Tom Waits. Look fast for Crispin Glover.

McDonough’s Panavision composition is strong, ably assisted by Ben Davis’s photography. It’s occasionally too crisp.

Psychopaths is an excellently acted, excellently written amusement.

3/4★★★

CREDITS

Written and directed by Martin McDonough; director of photography, Ben Davis; edited by Lisa Gunning; music by Carter Burwell; production designer, David Wasco; produced by Graham Broadbent, Peter Czernin and McDonough; released by CBS Films.

Starring Colin Farrell (Marty), Sam Rockwell (Billy), Woody Harrelson (Charlie), Christopher Walken (Hans), Tom Waits (Zachariah), Abbie Cornish (Kaya), Olga Kurylenko (Angela), Linda Bright Clay (Myra), Kevin Corrigan (Dennis), Zeljko Ivanek (Paulo) and Long Nguyen (The Priest).

RELATED

The New World (2005, Terrence Malick), the extended cut

Historical fact, or even the attempt at paying lip service to it, is so inconvenient. If there’s a better example than The New World, I’m not familiar with it.

Malick struggles to make it all fit together and he can’t quite make it sync. He has to move from Colin Farrell being the protagonist to Christine Bale. Q’orianka Kilcher gets some focus too, but barely any once Bale arrives.

After Farrell and Kilcher’s romance, it’d be difficult for anyone to properly follow it up. While Malick does get Bale’s best performance from him, the casting is a misstep. Much like James Horner’s score, there’s something off with the casting. Lots of the “name” casting works—obviously, Farrell is excellent, but so are David Thewlis and Wes Studi. Third billed Christopher Plummer is barely in it enough to make an impression.

Much of The New World does not “wow.” It feels like a disjointed period piece from early on—and Horner’s music is an immediate liability—and it actually becomes more interesting in the last act, as Kilcher and Bale head back to 17th century England. Here, Malick starts using Caspar David Friedrich’s Woman before the Rising Sun as a direct influence for how he portrays Kilcher.

A lot of what he does is interesting—none of the Native Americans (including Kilcher’s Pocahontas) are ever referred to by name in dialogue—and the pacing is exquisite.

Malick nearly recovers at the end, but again, tragically, kowtows to the “non-fiction” imperative.

2/4★★

CREDITS

Written and directed by Terrence Malick; director of photography, Emmanuel Lubezki; edited by Richard Chew, Hank Corwin, Saar Klein and Mark Yoshikawa; music by James Horner; production designer, Jack Fisk; produced by Sarah Green; released by New Line Cinema.

Starring Colin Farrell (Captain John Smith), Q’orianka Kilcher (Pocahontas), Christian Bale (John Rolfe), Christopher Plummer (Captain Christopher Newport), August Schellenberg (Chief Powhatan), Wes Studi (Opechancanough), David Thewlis (Edward Wingfield), Yorick van Wageningen (Captain Samuel Argall), Raoul Trujillo (Tomocomo), Janine Duvitski (Mary), Michael Greyeyes (Rupwew), Irene Bedard (Pocahontas’s Mother), Kalani Queypo (Parahunt), Ben Mendelsohn (Ben), Noah Taylor (Selway), Ben Chaplin (Robinson), Eddie Marsan (Eddie), John Savage (Savage), Billy Merasty (Kiskiak) and Jonathan Pryce (King James I).

RELATED

The Recruit (2003, Roger Donaldson)

There’s a very interesting throwaway line in The Recruit. During the traitor’s confession, there’s an implication the betrayal occurred following the CIA ignoring information they could have used to prevent 9/11. Like everything related to 9/11, it’s all implied (this one is less obvious than the others), but it’s definitely there. Given the film seems like a fairytale “young CIA” movie–the “Beverly Hills 90210” approach to it–it implies there was once a more mature film here (are CIA training procedures a matter of public record? I’m pretty sure not).

The top billed Al Pacino is doing one of his standard wizened older (not old) man roles here. He yells a little. His eyes occasionally gleam, reminding of better roles. What’s bothersome about Pacino’s paycheck roles (which he mostly does now, just like De Niro), is he’s still likable (something De Niro never had). I resent myself for enjoying his performance.

Colin Farrell is doing a leading man role–at times it’s impossible not to think of Tom Cruise in The Firm–and he’s solid. Sometimes his job is just to stare intently, other times he does actually act. He and Pacino work well together but, even the Recruit is her best performance I’ve seen, Farrell doesn’t really get anything to work with from Bridget Moynahan. But at least her performance wasn’t making me nauseous like usual.

When the movie’s decent, it fits Donaldson would be making it. When it’s not, he’s way too good for it.

1/4★

CREDITS

Directed by Roger Donaldson; written by Roger Towne, Kurt Wimmer and Mitch Glazer; director of photography, Stuart Dryburgh; edited by David Rosenbloom; music by Klaus Badelt; production designer, Andrew McAlpine; produced by Roger Birnbaum, Jeff Apple and Gary Barber; released by Touchstone Pictures.

Starring Al Pacino (Walter Burke), Colin Farrell (James Douglas Clayton), Bridget Moynahan (Layla Moore), Gabriel Macht (Zack), Kenneth Mitchell (Alan) and Mike Realba (Ronnie Gibson).

RELATED

Phone Booth (2002, Joel Schumacher)

IMDb doesn’t mention it, but I thought one of the problems with getting Phone Booth made (it went through countless potential leading men) was the script and screenwriter Larry Cohen’s contract–i.e. no one could be brought in to make it, you know, good.

The film’s a piece of crap and it’s too bad because some of the acting is amazing. Colin Farrell’s great until he says he’s from the Bronx, then that image falls apart–Cohen’s script, not surprisingly, is set in the seedier 1980s New York, but with some updates for modernity. It’s almost exactly like it would have played out if Cohen had made it himself on a hundred thousand back when he was making his own pictures for theatrical release. I don’t know how many Larry Cohen movies I’ve seen, but all of a sudden, I remembered his schlock when watching Phone Booth.

Schumacher doesn’t bring anything to the picture except mediocre composition and annoying split screen shots. He knows he’s getting a great performance out of Farrell and he lets him run with it. Unfortunately, none of the other principals are any good. They aren’t bad, but it’s the kind of role Forest Whitaker has been playing since The Color of Money, only without the reveal of the hustle. Radha Mitchell and Katie Holmes have both done much, much better work (it’s the atrocious writing).

However, John Enos III gives a spectacular performance in a small role.

At least it runs less than eighty minutes.

0/4ⓏⒺⓇⓄ

CREDITS

Directed by Joel Schumacher; written by Larry Cohen; director of photography, Matthew Libatique; edited by Mark Stevens; music by Harry Gregson-Williams; production designer, Andrew Laws; produced by Gil Netter and David Zucker; released by 20th Century Fox.

Starring Colin Farrell (Stu Shepard), Kiefer Sutherland (the Caller), Forest Whitaker (Captain Ramey), Radha Mitchell (Kelly Shepard), Katie Holmes (Pamela McFadden), Paula Jai Parker (Felicia), John Enos III (Leon) and Ben Foster as the Big Q.

RELATED

Cassandra’s Dream (2007, Woody Allen)

It’s getting increasingly difficult not to talk about Woody Allen’s films in the context of his body of work. While on one hand, Cassandra’s Dream does feature what could be construed as a Jaws reference, it’s also rather similar in pacing to some of Allen’s late 1970s, early 1980s films. The film’s first act is a purposeful character study. I almost thought–not having read any reviews in depth and only barely remembering the preview–Cassandra was a character study, devoid of any epical narrative.

When the narrative does kick in–and the film becomes a dreary examination of choices–it’s got to be more than a half hour into the film. The tone changes, as it has to due to content, immediately. Allen makes that move intentionally and life changing due to things said and done is one of the film’s recurring themes.

And Cassandra’s Dream having themes is its undoing. Occasionally (see, I’m placing it in his body of work again), Allen gets the idea doing a film with a constraint would be a good idea. Usually, it results in the film going wrong as he’s got to force it to fit the constraint. Cassandra is no exception. At some point, the script makes a wrong turn and there’s no way to recover. The end is inevitable for a lot of reasons and is uninteresting for just that reason. After spending two hours creating these complex brothers, Allen cheats them out of a real conclusion.

As the brothers, Colin Farrell and Ewan McGregor quickly overcome their lack of physical resemblance–I think Cassandra’s Dream is the first time Allen’s ever done a two brothers film. Both actors get to go through enormous changes through the film. At the start, they’re about even quality-wise. They don’t go anywhere unexpected, so McGregor’s failure to shine in the end is more because Farrell is just so fantastic, there’s no room for anyone else. Farrell’s performance in the last half hour is mesmerizing. It just keeps getting better.

Past his narrative choices, Cassandra’s Dream frequently feels like something utterly different from Allen. Stylistically–in no small part due to the Philip Glass–it’s as though he’s going for a French feel, but set in Britain. The occasional character mentions of their dreams harks back to Allen’s greatest works. Vilmos Zsigmond’s photography is perfect, making the muted London skies lush. As usual, it’s a technical achievement.

Thanks to Farrell and the majority of the film, Cassandra’s Dream is a success. I don’t like when Allen’s films are so contingent on ending well. As Cassandra does need to end well and does not… it’s somewhere between a qualified success and a superior failure.