Monthly Archives: January 2016

  • Dark Horse (2011)

    Todd Solondz (2011)

    Todd Solondz’s latest arrives in cinemas only a few weeks after Jeff, Who Lives at Home. Solondz’s protagonist, Abe Wertheimer, is another thirty-something who still hasn’t moved out into his own place. (As usual in Solondz movies, the setting is his home state of New Jersey.) Abe only sort-of works for a living, in his realtor father’s office. His hobby is collecting toys. He’s obese. We first see him at a wedding reception, trying cluelessly to start a conversation with the woman next to him, the one other person there who isn’t dancing. By the end of Dark Horse, you wonder, considering how isolated and socially inept he is, that Abe got invited to a wedding in the first place. We’re primed, in a movie with jokes, to expect a loser like Abe who embarks on a relationship with another eccentrically sad person – the other non-dancer, who is called Miranda, is a failed writer, and is also living with her parents – to end happily. We’re equally primed to expect a Solondz movie not to do so. We suppose that a dark horse will surprise everyone and come through to win. When Todd (Happiness) Solondz uses the title, it’s a different matter. These conflicting expectations create considerable tension as you watch Dark Horse. Abe is so unfortunate and miserable that you feel his fortunes must change for the better; but how can this writer-director make that happen and remain true to his trademark misanthropic pessimism? It’s as if Solondz had set out to see if it’s possible to make an honest movie in which things turn out reasonably well. But he soon recognises the futility of the task he’s set himself, and so does the audience. From very early on, Abe’s bursts of anger in his father’s office are startlingly intense. About thirty minutes in, during a conversation with his regretful, infantilising mother, he reveals how horrible and selfish he thinks other people are, and the depth of his unhappiness. His mother wonders if Abe ought to go back into therapy. The film increasingly consists of fantasies taking place in his mind. The message of Dark Horse is that bad dreams really can come true.

    Abe’s daydreams and nightmares build up to such an extent that they virtually take over the movie. In these sequences, the people in his life – his parents, his younger and successful brother, an older woman called Marie whom Abe works with – may appear in unusual situations but they still usually tell him what to do and what they think of him, which isn’t much. Early on in Dark Horse, Abe returns a defective toy to a store and fails to get a refund because there’s a scratch on the toy and even though Abe has spotted that without opening the box it’s in. Later on, there’s an imagined encounter with the same grinningly unhelpful store assistant: Abe is making a similarly unsuccessful attempt to get his life replaced. Because Jordan Gelber is a skilful comic actor he lulls you into benign condescension towards Abe but he’s a good straight actor too. (He’s physically a cross between Paul Giamatti and Shaun Williamson – Barry in EastEnders.) Gelbert and Todd Solondz make you realise that you naturally regard someone on screen who looks like this to be essentially comical but that it isn’t funny being overweight and depressed and going nowhere. Abe doesn’t, as part of his various imaginings, wonder if he might have been a foundling, although he’s utterly dissimilar to his slim, fine-featured parents and brother. Solondz’s casting of Mia Farrow and Christopher Walken as his parents is inspired – in terms both of the way they look and the characters they create. Walken uses his wraith-like menace to fine effect: he’s extremely funny – and fairly scary – just sitting on a sofa next to Farrow watching TV. He’s completely motionless and expressionless yet he looks ready for unpredictable action – possibly homicide. Farrow engages with the caricature she’s playing strongly enough to go beyond caricature. Justin Bartha is immaculately smug as the good-looking younger brother Richard, a successful doctor (and therefore a cartoon Jewish mother’s beau idéal).

    The cast outside the family is pretty impeccable too. As Marie, the woman who works for Abe’s father (and has been his mistress too), Donna Murphy is especially good. She gives Marie a wonderfully suggestive but slightly wonky walk, and not only in the fantasy sequence in which Marie takes Abe back to her apartment and it’s the habitat of a sexual tigress. (Abe admits to Marie that he expected her to have a much more beige existence. In a later fantasy, the camera shows Marie’s apartment the way Abe wanted it to be, with posters for Phantom of the Opera and Les Misérables on the walls.) There’s excellent work too from Zachary Booth as Abe’s nerdy cousin Justin and from Peter McRobbie and Mary Joy as Miranda’s parents. It’s not really the fault of Selma Blair who plays her that Miranda is the weak link in Dark Horse. She’s so crucial to the plot that Solondz hasn’t developed her enough as a character. In spite of Blair’s mannered, neurasthenic melancholy, you don’t believe this woman would be desperate enough to give Abe her real phone number, when he asks for it as they prepare to part company at the opening wedding reception. You don’t believe either that the infuriatingly self-regarding Richard would pair off with someone as displeased with herself as Miranda is. However, Selma Blair’s voice on the telephone delivers perhaps the very best line in the film. When Abe has broken the jaw of her egregious ex-boyfriend (Aasif Mandvi), Miranda assures Abe that ‘He’s litigious but empathetic’. Solondz uses as the film’s theme a number called ‘Who You Wanna Be’. Its bright, metallic insistence is so cruelly apt that I thought it must have been written for Dark Horse but it turns out to be a pre-existing song, penned and performed by Michael Kisur.

    2 July 2012

  • Dan in Real Life

    Peter Hedges (2007)

    The temperament behind the camera – and what the film will turn out to be – is obvious from an early stage. It’s evident in the wry, annoying songs, written and performed by Sondre Lerche. And more or less evident in the basic scenario: journalist Dan Burns is the loving, too caring (over-controlling) father of three girls. In his newspaper column (from which the film takes its title) he gives advice to readers – advice imbued, we’re told, with family values and, we assume (since Dan is played by Steve Carell), with transforming wit also. Dan is conspicuously womanless: we wonder what happened to the girls’ mother and soon learn that she died. Being widowed young rather than divorced gives Dan a built-in nobility and invites our sympathy – it’s plain to see that the conscientious father and agony uncle is a lonelyheart himself. It’s a tribute to the cast of Dan in Real Life, especially Steve Carell, that you’re not only engaged with the picture for most of its ninety-eight minutes but also (unconsciously) hopeful that the piece will turn out more interesting than it’s bound not to be. You realise this when the feeble and predictable climax arrives and you feel disappointed.

    Dan and his girls – under protest from the middle one, fifteen-year-old Cara, who wants to be with her first serious boyfriend – travel from their New Jersey home to an annual family reunion with Dan’s parents in Rhode Island. The Burns family is large and I never worked out who everyone was. Because Dan’s younger brother Mitch, a fitness trainer in New York, is bringing ‘a friend’ with him, his mother tells Dans that he’ll be sleeping in the ‘special room’. (He gets little sleep. The size of the gathering generates an endless supply of laundry and the washing machine is at the foot of Dan’s bed. There’s an infuriating swinging light cord at the top end.) Next morning, Dan goes out to buy papers and, in a local bookshop, meets and immediately falls for a dazzling French woman. He comes home and tells the newly-arrived Mitch about the meeting and the good news – the whole family’s concerned that Dan’s still pining four years after he lost his wife – spreads like wildfire through the household. Then Mitch introduces his ‘friend’ Marie: she’s the woman Dan met in the bookshop.

    The short filmography of Peter Hedges, who co-wrote the screenplay with Pierce Gardner, is already long on family relationships. He adapted What’s Eating Gilbert Grape? (1993) from his own novel and About a Boy (2002) from Nick Hornby’s. The only other film Hedges has so far directed is Pieces of April (2003), which he also wrote. Dan’s falling for his brother’s new woman is a serviceable comic situation in which to put fraternal love and family loyalties to the test but Hedges is reluctant to pursue the ironic possibilities of the gathering of the clan, the convivial obligations of which are terrifying. There are intense crossword competitions between the sexes, communal PE from which only the grandparents are exempted, DIY entertainments when everyone either sings or dances or does magic tricks. This all makes what’s presumably a long weekend seem an endless one.

    That pass-it-on transmission of the news that Dan has met a ‘hot’ girl is only the beginning. Members of the family are always turning up in ones or twos or en masse to interrupt private moments, not only Dan’s. When Marie, who’s as smitten with Dan as he is with her, can’t keep up the pretence with Mitch any longer and leaves the party, the whole family line up at the window to watch her departure and his rejection. Dan in Real Life badly needs a bit of acid and the oppressive team spirit of Dan’s folks could have supplied it – causing him not to practise what he preaches as a journalist, with a vengeance. The aggregation of familial insensitivity is formidable yet Hedges appears to see it as humorously endearing. Dan’s mother arranges a date for him with the daughter of another local family whom the Burnses remember as ‘pig face’. Dan protests and the others joke about what he’s in for. In one sense this rings true: laughing about how someone looks is the sort of thing, which when it’s part of family lore, puts a warm, sharing façade on the underlying cruelty. But if all the other Burnses are so lovingly aware that Dan needs to find someone new but is still emotionally raw, why do they josh him in this way? It seems unlikely that everyone but Dan is in on the secret that the porcine adolescent has grown up into Emily Blunt.

    We get the sense that Dan’s over-solicitousness about his daughters is linked to the fear of losing them, as he lost his wife. His widowerhood isn’t developed interestingly, though: it’s designed for easy sentimentality and to testify to how nice Dan is – as if a nice person couldn’t be separated or divorced. But Steve Carell, as well as being a superb comedian, also has taste and sensitivity as an actor. His fine-tuned empathy with Dan rises above the essentially condescending conception of the character and his flair for physical humour elevates Dan’s niceness. Carell is physically just right for romantic comedy because his looks are both handsome and eccentric (the big nose helps with the latter). When Cara’s vaguely Hispanic boyfriend Marty (Felipe Dieppa) arrives at the gathering and Dan sends him away, Marty tells Dan (whose professional writing is full of aphorisms) that, ‘Love is not a feeling, it’s an ability’. (Marty says this in Spanish and translates.) A couple of minutes later Dan appropriates the adage: given how obvious this moment is, it’s a tall order to get an interesting delivery of the line but Carell manages it.

    Casting Dane Cook as Mitch, however, is typical of Peter Hedges’s timidity. If Mitch had charm or charisma it would supply the situation with some tension but there’s nothing in this dull jock that you can believe would have drawn Marie to him. It’s much more believable that Mitch eventually pairs up with the pig-faced Ruth, who’s as stunningly boring as she’s stunningly pretty. (Emily Blunt has an amusing bit when Ruth gyrates around a jukebox.) As Marie, Juliette Binoche’s opening ditsy routine is excruciating and she’s irritating whenever she tries to act funny (or is self-consciously irresistible). When she’s quiet and plays simply, especially as Marie listens to the story of Dan’s life, she’s luminous. When she gets inside the comedy, as in the family workout, she’s funny too. It’s an unfailing pleasure to see Dianne Wiest and John Mahoney and both have some good moments as Dan’s parents, although Mahoney looks worryingly thin and the fact that even Wiest eventually struggles to redeem her lines (‘Love’s messy … you’ve made a lot of mistakes but Marie’s not one of them’) illustrates how ropy they are by this point. Dan’s sisters (I think they’re sisters) are played by Jessica Hecht and Amy Ryan; his eldest daughter by Alison Pill and his doe-eyed youngest by Marlene Lawston. The melodramatic Cara accuses her father at one stage of being ‘a murderer of love’. The way Brittany Robertson plays Cara, it’s a surprise that’s the only kind of murderer he is.

    12 November 2010

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