Looper

In the future, time travel is invented and coopted by underworld bosses, who use it to send people they want to get rid of back 30 years. These victims are disposed of by “loopers” – assassins who are paid in silver. Joe (Joseph Gordon-Levitt) is one such looper: competent at his job, but drug-addled and disillusioned. Joe’s plans of escaping the life are thwarted by the arrival of his older, future self (Bruce Willis), who is determined to track down and kill a future despot, thereby preventing the eventual murder of his wife.

From The Terminator to 12 Monkeys, Looper pays homage to a variety of sci fi classics, but spiritually speaking, the film it evokes the most may very well be Donnie Darko. Like that movie, Looper offers a bold vision that pushes intellectual boundaries. Also like that movie, Looper is frustratingly perplexing on first viewing and gets bogged down by the murkiness of its reality-defying mechanics.

The third feature from writer/director Rian Johnson, Looper continues to solidify his reputation as a distinctive stylist. The best way to describe the film’s fictive future is retro chic: Joe’s prized possession is a Mazda Miata, and the bad guys don’t carry lasers but ridiculously large revolvers. This blending of new and old disarms viewers and toys with dystopian clichés, as does the film’s violence.

Lending substance to this style is a competent cast of big names and lesser-known talents. Between this and The Dark Knight Rises, Gordon-Levitt has settled all doubts regarding his credibility as an action protagonist. Willis, who retired those doubts decades ago, is in rare form here: his Joe is absolutely relentless, but he continues to hold onto his conscience as he does unconsciously things. Englishwoman Emily Blunt is surprisingly convincing as a Kansas farm mother, and newcomer Pierce Gagnon is downright creepy to watch as her precocious, “gifted” child. Rounding out the cast are Jeff Daniels (as the affably sinister looper boss), Johnson film veteran Noah Segan (as his inept henchman), and Paul Dano (as Joe’s friend and colleague).

Unfortunately, the talent on both sides of the camera cannot entirely compensate for the massive holes in the execution. To put it simply, for as hard as Looper tries to suck us into its world, it still leaves too many questions unanswered. We never learn, for instance, why the loopers are necessary (it is off-handedly mentioned that forensic technology is greatly improved in the future, but it still seems a stretch, especially given the power and influence the underworld is supposed to have). We also don’t see any other instances of time travel being used voluntarily (i.e. to escape the wrath of the future Rainmaker’s reign of terror), nor do we ever learn the genesis of the film’s telekinetic abilities.

All told, Looper is audacious, thought-provoking, and often entertaining but also something of a disappointment. Some kind of expanded edition could probably clear up a few of the film’s mysterious, but until then, accept it as a good film that could have been even better.

8/10

Argo

In the opening stages of the Iranian Hostage Crisis, six American embassy workers escape and take refuge with the Canadian ambassador (Victor Garber). It is up to CIA “exfiltration” expert Tony Mendez (Ben Affleck, who also directed) to devise a way to sneak the Americans out before the Iranians notice they are missing from the embassy. To this end, Mendez concocts a scheme to have them pose as a Canadian film crew doing location scouting for a science fiction movie. He enlists award-winning makeup artist John Chambers (John Goodman) and veteran Hollywood producer Lester Siegel (Alan Arkin) to make the ploy convincing. The faked film production, dubbed Argo, is meticulously prepared, but will it work?

Argo represents another turning point in actor-director’s long and strange career. To 90s audiences, he was Matt Damon’s best friend, a View Askiewniverse stalwart, and the co-writer of Good Will Hunting. At the turn of the century, he was a failed lead actor, half of an annoying supercouple with Jennifer Lopez, and a perpetual punchline. But ever since his somber turn as George Reeves in 2006’s Hollywoodland, Affleck has been clawing his way back to respectability. His previous two directorial efforts, Gone Baby Gone and The Town, were well-crafted and well-regarded. Argo continues in that vein and arguably stands as Affleck’s best work, behind or in front of the camera, to date.

Of course, it helps that he had great material to work with. Argo’s based-in-reality premise comes from books by Mendez and Joshuah Bearman, which in turn stem from declassified intelligence documents. Despite the verifiable pedigree, the plot seems tailor-made for a movie. And though Affleck took some flack for downplaying Canadian contributions to the rescue mission, he otherwise hews close to history in matters both small (oversized glasses and crazy facial hair) and large (Carter’s failed diplomacy and palpable revolutionary rage in the streets of Iran).

However, it isn’t the period detail that makes Argo memorable; it’s the film’s ability to juggle moods and tones. When it is doing Hollywood satire, it is fitfully funny and generally spot-on. Added amusement comes in the form of the movie-within-a-movie’s low-budget exploitation of the Star Wars craze. On the other hand, Argo never loses sight of its origins as a political thriller. Even though the outcome is a foregone conclusion, the final mad dash to get the Americans home safely is nail-bitingly tense.

These genre shifts are made possible by a top-notch cast. Affleck is low-key but effective in the lead, playing Mendez as calm, confident, and capable, but also pressed by the nature of his work. Bryan Cranston, as his CIA boss, brings both the ruthless intensity of Walter White and the amiable attaboy-ism of Hal (his two best-known roles) to the part. The washed-up, foul-mouthed Siegel is certainly a bit caricaturized, but Arkin is genuinely funny and a good fit; watch as he out-negotiates a fellow producer with aplomb.

In an era when “political movie” has become synonymous with turgid, obvious, heavy-handed filmmaking, Argo is a breath of fresh air. It may dabble in familiarity in places, but more times than not, it defies expectations and never loses sight of its convictions.

8.5/10

Train Dreams

At the turn of the 20^th century, day laborer Robert Grainier lays down railroad track to support his wife and infant daughter. When he loses them to a tragic fire, he becomes adrift in the American west, burying himself in back-breaking work and meeting all manner of strange folks while the country changes before him.

Denis Johnson was a poet before he turned to fiction writing, and his work never lets you forget that. At its best, Johnson’s writing is bold, vibrant, and strange, full of powerful, jagged details that create texture and push the emotional envelope. At its worst, it is plotless, puffed-up prose that frustrates and alienates. Fortunately Train Dreams is far closer to the former than the latter.

The 2011 novella (expanded from an earlier short story) is a lean 128 pages, but it is not light reading. Through striking landscape descriptions, Johnson creates a setting – the rugged, merciless Northwest – that casts a long shadow over the proceedings. As mankind works hard to tame it, nature finds a way to fight back: through logging accidents, fires, harsh winters, and more. Johnson also imbues the story with a strong sense of mythology. It begins with an alleged curse cast by an ill-fated Chinese laborer, and it very nearly ends with a feral wolf-child appearing in Grainier’s midst.

Of course, there is more to Train Dreams than mere theatrics. Though Grainier is intentionally drawn as a bit of an everyman, he is not an empty vessel. His past as an orphan and, later, a widower, make him every bit the ideal human counterpart to his unyielding surroundings. And though his life is ultimately a sad one, there is a certain admirable dignity in the way he carries his grief. Incidentally, this makes him the perfect foil for the more outrageous characters (i.e. a man who was shot by his dog).

If there is one aspect of Train Dreams that misses the mark, it is the novella’s structure. The disjointed nature and frequent time skips do evoke a dream-like quality, but they also take us out of the narrative just when we’re starting to become immersed. Further, by skipping over the (SPOILER ALERT) last years of Grainier’s life, Johnson undermines his own protagonist. Plotting has never been the author’s strong suit, and while it isn’t as bad here as it was in prior works, Johnson still struggles to make his evocative set pieces more than the sum of their parts.

Occasional narrative derailment (pun intended) aside, Train Dreams makes for an appropriate late-October read. It will haunt you, in a good way.

8.25/10 

A Separation

Nader (Peyman Moaadi) and Simin (Leila Hatami) are a well-off couple living with their daughter Termeh (Sarina Farhadi, the director’s daughter) in Tehran. Their marriage crumbles when Simin wishes to leave Iran but Nader refuses to join her so that he may stay and care with his Alzheimer’s patient father. After Simin leaves, Nader hires Razieh (Sareh Bayat), a devoutly religious, lower-class (and, unbeknownst to Nader, pregnant) woman to perform housework. A dispute between Nader and Razieh over Nader’s father’s care turns ugly, and the confrontation leads to tragic consequences for everyone involved.

The Best Foreign Language Oscar winner in 2012, Asghar Farhadi’s acclaimed film does its best to earn its lofty reputation. A Sepration’s biggest virtue, by far, is its moral complexity. No one’s hands are clean here, nor is anyone entirely to blame. Nader is motivated by filial duty, Simin by a desire to provide a better life for her family, Razieh by financial desperation, and Hodjat, Razieh’s hot-tempered husband, by mental instability. Amid this ambiguity, the closest thing to a true villain in the film is the Iranian judicial bureaucracy: a judge does not even raise his voice even when levying the most serious of charges. Given its critique of Iranian society, it’s surprising this film made it past the government censors.

A Separation’s premise is matched by its craftsmanship. The actors deliver impassioned performances, and the cinematography oozes realism (the film was shot with a handheld camera). Of course, that realism is not without its drawbacks. The conspicuous absence of music puts all of the viewer’s attention on the dialogue, which deadens the pace at times. Nevertheless, the all-around quality makes many contemporary films seem artificial and trite.

Though American viewers may feel tempted to put a great deal of distance between themselves and the world of this film, A Separation’s underlying message – life is full of difficult choices – is universal.

8.5/10

Footnote

Eliezer Shkolnik (Shlomo Bar Aba) is a stubborn, meticulous, misanthropic philologist who painstakingly studies the Jerusalem Talmud. He lives in the shadow of his son, Uriel (Lior Ashkenazi), a charismatic, ambitious pop-Talmud scholar at the same university. When Eliezer is mistakenly awarded a prize intended for Uriel, a son’s dedication to his father is put to the test.

Fittingly for a film about Talmudic study, Footnote starts with a premise that would give many rabbis fits: is it permissible to lie if your lie causes a good deed (in this case, restoring an old man’s dignity)? Despite this and other ethical imbroglios, Footnote often plays like a Coenesque quirky comedy. Poor Eliezer has all the social graces of Larry David while Uriel’s attempt to secretly award his prize to his father is thwarted at every turn. Though director Joseph Cedar’s use of music and visual cut-aways is bombastic at times, his dramatization of what is essentially a clerical error is surprisingly effective.

Occupying the gray space between comedy and tragedy, Footnote is earnest, endearing, and aside from its ambiguous ending, quite satisfying.

8/10

Words Like Loaded Pistols

In this history of rhetoric, Sam Leith traces the art of speaking persuasively from its beginnings in ancient Greece to its usage in the modern political arena. He discusses five parts and three branches of rhetoric and highlights “Champions of Rhetoric” such as Cicero and Abraham Lincoln.

Words Like Loaded Pistols opens with a Simpsons quote. It’s an appropriate move on Leith’s part, for the book, like that show, is irreverent, sarcastic, and ultimately quite insightful. Make no mistake about it: Leith knows his stuff. He adorns his prose with dollops of Greco-Roman terminology, and he is able to dissect famous speeches with nearly clinical precision. Moreover, he shows a keen understanding of the circumstances that created not only great speeches, but great speakers and, arguably, rhetoric itself.

But for all its sophistication, this is still a book aimed at a general audience, and its author is still a first-rate smart-ass. Leith makes copious use of footnotes, many of which are humorous (He can’t help but chuckle triumphantly, for instance, at a handbook on gestures). There are also numerous pop culture references, and, refreshingly for a book so rooted in classic tradition, relevance to the modern age. For instance, the “anti-rhetoric” embraced by Sarah Palin is contrasted with the unabashed championing of rhetoric by Barack Obama.

Erudite and eccentric, Words Like Loaded Pistols can be demanding at times. But it’s a must for anyone fascinated by the power of language.

8.75/10