Eastern Promises
Starring Viggo Mortensen, Naomi Watts, Vincent Cassel, and Armin Mueller-Stahl
Directed by David Cronenberg
When a mysterious young Russian dies during childbirth, midwife Anna (Watts) takes it upon herself to find the girl’s family to return her effects and inform them of the arrival of the infant girl. By following a business card found in the girl’s diary, Anna arrives on the doorstep of Semyon (Mueller-Stahl), a grandfatherly restaurateur who offers to translate the diary and help find the girl’s relatives; it is here that she also encounters Semyon’s volatile son Kirill (Cassel) and the family’s quietly intimidating driver Nikolai (Mortensen). When Anna’s Uncle Stephan (Jerzy Skolimowski) begins to translate the book, they realize they have stumbled upon the secrets of one of London’s most brutal crime families — secrets that threaten not only their own lives, but the life of the innocent newborn as well.
Director David Cronenberg simply does not make uninteresting movies; love 'em (Videodrome, The Fly), hate 'em (Crash—the 1996 film), or unsure what to make of 'em (A History of Violence), his offerings are invariably as provocative as they are well crafted. Eastern Promises is no exception to this rule, and it may well be Cronenberg’s most nuanced and complex work to date. Propelled by Steven Knight’s intense story—which includes a plot twist that only the most astute observers will be able to presage—the film is a portrait of tightly coiled menace released intermittently in spasms of ferocious savagery. When it is bloody it is brutal, but the violence is in no way glorified—in fact, the message is more that the promise of violence is as effective as the act itself. So much is conveyed by a look or a simple gesture—there is little doubt that Eastern Promises is likely the quietest gangster film that you will ever see. But so much is allowed to bubble so close to the surface that the silence cannot be mistaken for lack of tension. It seems Cronenberg and Knight’s way of reminding us that not everything ends in a climactic and cathartic hail of bullets or flurry of fists—sometimes tension simply endures.
Viggo Mortensen is spectacular as the frightening yet curiously honorable Nikolai—his half Russian, half English dialogue seems perfectly suited to both character and position, and he has the wary but confident posture of a man who is keenly attuned to potential threats but not particularly concerned for his physical safety. For all his restraint, it is a tremendously physical performance—it is said that his carriage and the accuracy of his vory v zakone (thieves in law) tattoos caused the patrons of a Russian restaurant to go silent in fear. As for his much-ballyhooed nudity? He seems no more self-conscious than a man with his character’s physical surety would be. It doesn’t hurt that Mortensen the actor, a month shy of his 49th birthday, appears to be cut from granite.
The supporting cast (which, despite the billing, really is everyone other than Mortensen and Mueller-Stahl) is solid here, and a sodden and grey London provides the perfect backdrop for the film’s somber tone. What Cronenberg has delivered is a powerful presentation of a compelling story, and he has done so while coaxing two award worthy performances from his leading men. As the film closes on a final shot of Nikolai sitting quietly in Semyon’s restaurant, alone except for his cigarette and a bottle, Cronenberg and Knight leave us with a final thought: That being where we have chosen to be does not mean we have gotten what we want.
– Michael Lee
The Game Plan
Starring Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson
Directed by Andy Fickman
The world's shortest yet true film review: The Game Plan is awful; don't go.
What, we need to write another 550 words? Here's more: Even kids are likely to be bored with this saccharine, unfunny comedy about a football star that suddenly – out of the blue! – discovers he has a precocious little daughter. It's like the old TV series "Family Affair" with a sports background, but the children of the 60s sitcom at least were likeable and talented, unlike the dismal performance here by Madison Pettis – who, if there is a film God, we will never see again.
However, there is big news regarding this meaningless piece of caramelized fluff: This dreadful Disney vehicle proves that former professional wrestler Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson is now a genuine movie star. WWE fans are certainly bemoaning that fact; since this film placed at number one on the box office charts (for a shocking two weeks in a row, defying the predictions of industry experts) is the final nail in The Rock's wrestling coffin; his mat career was no doubt over long ago as it was. He'll no doubt never have to deal with WWE's TripleH bashing him in the head with a metal folding chair ever again.
In fact, it's hard to believe that any pro wrestler could ever emerge from the odd, violent world of WWE grappling to become a crossover star on a used car commercial, let alone a major motion picture. However, this film, like virtually everything The Rock has appeared in, has proven this young star's vast charisma, unmatched liability, and serious light entertainment acting chops. Apparently, four years of bellowing, "If you smell what The Rock is cooking" in packed hockey arenas was enough of a precursor to a promising movie career.
Some Rock trivia: He's the son of former WWE tag team champion Rocky Johnson, the grandson of former wrestling star "High Chief" Peter Miavia, nephew of Afa and Sika, known professionally as The Wild Samoans (we're not kidding), and a cousin to huge wrestlers Yokozuna, Rosey, Umaga, and Junior Fatu. Johnson was a good football player at the University Of Miami – no doubt, a plus factor for this particular role.
The surprising factor about The Rock's slow and steady ascent to film stardom is that when he first entered the-then WWF as "Rocky Maivia" in 1996, he kissed babies, shook hands, and smiled constantly – and fans hated him for it. Cast as a "baby face" (good guy) wrestler, he was booed viciously by fans every time he made his way to the ring. It wasn't until Dwayne Johnson started to act like a complete tool – insulting fans and opponents, bragging incessantly, breaking rules – that "The Rock" became cool, and a major wrestling star.
In that light, it's amazing that The Game Plan broke out of the box as strongly as it did. After all, Johnson's previous starring vehicles – Walking Tall and the also-gridiron themed Gridiron Gang – didn't exactly do outstanding numbers with ticket buyers. However, in The Game Plan, Johnson is indeed funny, charismatic, real, and effecting. He manages to convey more with a glance or grimace than more seasoned actors; he comes across, underneath it all, as the ultimate nice guy.
And, at the very least, acting must be easier on The Rock than taking on The Undertaker in a Texas Death Match.
– Bob Smith
Across The Universe
Starring Jim Sturgess, Evan Rachel Wood, and Joe Anderson
Directed by Julie Taymor
From across the country and across the sea, a group of young men and women are drawn to New York City’s Greenwich Village, where they experience life, love, discovery, and upheaval during the tumultuous 60s. That’s it. That’s the story.
It is not the what but the how of the musical Across the Universe that is really of interest – how director Julie Taymor and company whittled the vast Beatles catalogue down to 33 songs, which they used not to enhance the narrative, but to create it; how some of the most recognizable and indelible songs in history are rearranged and re-imagined to capture the ethos of an era that has become distant in time but not memory. It seeks to remind people of a certain age of the passion and urgency with which they engaged their world, and looks to be a clarion call to a younger generation that has yet to entirely find its voice. It is remarkably ambitious. It is also big, bold, unfocused, thrilling, dull, sappy, and willing to take tremendous artistic risks. Where it fails, it fails badly, but it is so sincere you will find it hard not to root for it.
Taymor (best known for the Broadway's The Lion King) has stated that she did not want “musical theater voices” for Across The Universe. She met this goal. Though they are not well trained, the singing voices of her actors are fine and pure, and they convey an earnestness that borders on naivetÈ. Perhaps Taymor believed in the 60s ethic that good would win out simply because it was good. As this translates to her cast and their singing, it gives them the sound of people walking with unwarranted guilelessness into an obviously uncertain future. It is this vacuous style that makes the characters so difficult to latch on to; it is only once they have suffered loss and pain that we can establish an emotional beachhead with them. Perhaps this is precisely as Taymor intended, that we see that even for the idealists of the 60s, humanity remained elusive without struggle and heartache. It's an interesting notion, but not one that will assuage the moviegoer required to spend close to 90 minutes with the characters before being able to identify with them.
A large portion of the audience for this film will be drawn in by Taymor’s trademark choreography and eye candy. When they are of the conventional musical variety, the numbers are beautiful but uninspiring. It is when dance is combined with Taymor’s gift for stunning visuals that the film becomes transcendent. Jo Jo’s (Martin Luther McCoy) arrival in New York to a twisting, grimy version of “Come Together” (rendered by Joe Cocker, who does triple duty as a panhandler, a hippie, and a pimp) showcases a city in all its multi faceted glory and includes steps by both working girls and an army of men in grey flannel suits. The induction of Max (Anderson) into the military to the tune of “I Want You” is as Gilliam-esque as his Brazil and Twelve Monkeys best, combining a battalion of strutting, lantern-jawed GIs with a frighteningly mechanical and impersonal physical. Perhaps most memorable — though of least importance to the film — is “Being For The Benefit Of Mr. Kite”, in which Eddie Izzard leads a psychedelic Cirque du Soleil over men and horses, hoops, and garters..
All its visual flair cannot excuse the film its shortcomings. It seems at times to be meandering and empty-headed, the performances are by and large humdrum, beset by some bothersome cameos (who ever would have guessed that Bono could get enough time off from saving the world to slip into a fringe jacket and play a hippie?). What the film does do is urge us to listen anew to what is for many the soundtrack of our lives. And for that, it can be forgiven much.
– Michael Lee
