The Grouchy Editor

Poor Kirk Anderson.  Pasty-faced, flabby, and bespectacled, all Kirk wanted from life was to be able to wear his Mormon underwear, please his mother, and be left in peace.  And what did he get?  An obsessed southern beauty, that’s what; a former nude model so convinced that she and Kirk were “soul mates” that she hired a pilot, flew to England, (allegedly) kidnapped Kirk, tied him to a bed, and made wild passionate love to him.

Somebody called that rape, and before you could say “Fleet Street,” Scotland Yard got involved, and then the British press, and the next thing poor Kirk knew, his bizarre relationship with this, um, unusual woman, Joyce McKinney, was front-page news.  Thirty-four years later, the strange, sordid saga of Joyce and Kirk is back in the news, courtesy of filmmaker Errol Morris’s new documentary, Tabloid.

Morris tracked down McKinney (not hard to do; the woman seems to love the spotlight), but not Anderson (he declined to be interviewed), placed his camera in front of her, and let her talk.  And boy, does she ever.

The problem with Tabloid is that we live in the age of Casey Anthony and O.J. Simpson.  Inevitably, a 1977 sex scandal that rocked England pales in comparison to the more lurid, sensational cases of recent years.  Morris’s interviews with McKinney and members of the British press seem quaint and insignificant, more like an episode of 20/20 than a feature-length film.

McKinney herself seems garden-variety eccentric, and not all that intriguing.  We all know people like her, even if they don’t share her colorful past.     Grade:  B-

Director:  Errol Morris   Featuring:  Joyce McKinney, Peter Tory, Kent Gavin, Mark Lipson, Jackson Shaw, Troy Williams, Jin Han Hong, Julie Bilson Ahlberg   Release: 2011

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Glancing around the sparsely attended theater where I saw Crazy, Stupid, Love, this is what I observed:  several white-haired couples, aging Baby Boomers killing time on a weekday afternoon; a few young couples, possibly Obama Democrats, probably drawn by the movie’s youthful stars; and one fat guy in his twenties, seated alone and with a gigantic box of popcorn in hand.  This mixed bag of the American populace made me think of the outside world, and of all the unhappy clashes of Tea Parties and gay-rights advocates and Fox News and … never mind, we were there to watch a movie. 

But as the film progressed, telling its story of sad-sack Steve Carell’s divorce from high-school sweetheart Julianne Moore and Carell’s conversion to swinging singlehood by playboy Ryan Gosling, I couldn’t help wondering what my fellow audience members might be thinking.  What did the white-haired couples think of 17-year-old Jessica (Analeigh Tipton), who delights a 13-year-old boy by giving him a racy memento – naked pictures of herself?  What did the fat guy with the popcorn think of Gosling’s character, who is presented as one cool lady killer, but whom the script insists must be transformed into a “nice guy” by the time the end credits roll?

It had to be a lot easier to write romantic comedies in the past.  Think what you will about Hollywood sexism and racism in the old days, at least the rules were easy to follow.  Not anymore.  What are we supposed to make of Emma Stone’s character, a “good girl” who decides to have a one-night-stand with Gosling – is she a slut or a liberated woman?  Is Carell a sensitive male, or a lily-livered pansy?  Is Gosling an admirable hunk – or a chauvinist pig in Yves Saint Laurent?  And are drunk scenes still funny?

This movie is a mess, because like me, it can’t seem to decide what to make of its characters.  I don’t like to jump on other critics, but when Entertainment Weekly’s Owen Gleiberman says that Crazy, Stupid, Love is “the perfect combination of sexy, cute, wise, hilarious, and true,” I have to wonder what he’s been smoking.

By “true,” is Gleiberman referring to the contrived coincidences, such as when Carell’s horny date turns out to be his son’s teacher?  Or when Gosling’s latest conquest turns out to be Carell’s daughter?  Did Carell’s cliched Big Speech at the end of the movie strike Gleiberman as authentic?

Maybe he was referring to the simple truth that none of us can agree on what is wise, hilarious, and true anymore.  I guess I should have asked the fat guy with the popcorn what he thought.        Grade:  C

Directors:  Glenn Ficarra, John Requa   Cast:  Steve Carell, Ryan Gosling, Julianne Moore, Emma Stone, Analeigh Tipton, Jonah Bobo, Marisa Tomei, John Carroll Lynch, Kevin Bacon   Release:  2011

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There’s just one word to describe Woody Allen’s latest movie:  pleasant.  OK, let me add a second word:  slight.

Midnight in Paris is like an episode of Bewitched for intellectuals.  Instead of Samantha conjuring Benjamin Franklin, it’s “Hey, look, it’s Ernest Hemingway!  What amusing things might he say?”  And, “Over there – it’s Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald!  What were they really like?”

Allen’s silly plot, straight out of 1940s Tinsel Town, has downtrodden groom-to-be Owen Wilson – a blonder, younger stand-in for Allen himself – stuck in the City of Light with his bitchy, materialistic fiancée Inez (Rachel McAdams) and her WASPish, overbearing parents.  To Gil (Wilson), his future in-laws are “fascists.”  To the parents, Gil is “communist.”  Also touring France is Michael Sheen as a boorish rival for Inez’s affections, a role honed to perfection by Ralph Bellamy in Hollywood’s golden age.

All of these antagonists conspire to make Gil’s sojourn in Paris a miserable one.  So imagine his delight when, abracadabra, at the stroke of midnight he is magically transported to 1920s Paree – and the company of the Fitzgeralds and other legendary artists including Picasso, Gertrude Stein, and the gruff Hemingway.

Allen is using a gimmick here, but it isn’t all that strong, which is probably why it was used repeatedly in sitcoms like Bewitched.  The one virtue you might expect from this literary leap-of-faith – witty dialogue between Gil and his heroes – is sadly lacking.  Hemingway wants to fight?  That’s the best Woody can come up with?

Instead, we have Gil battling his cartoonish in-laws.  You wouldn’t think it would take magic to make a guy head for the hills to escape these people.

I did like the girl (Lea Seydoux, a charmer) that Gil winds up with.  There should have been more of her, and less of Adriana (Marion Cotillard), the flapper who gets away.  There is also some gorgeous photography of Paris.  And Allen is always amusing when his characters are making fun of the types of people who, well, go to Woody Allen movies.  Midnight in Paris is making a lot of money (for an Allen film).  I suppose that’s because of the gimmick I just slammed.  Serves me right for making light of Bewitched.               Grade:  B-

Director:  Woody Allen   Cast:  Owen Wilson, Rachel McAdams, Kurt Fuller, Mimi Kennedy, Michael Sheen, Corey Stoll, Alison Pill, Tom Hiddleston, Kathy Bates, Marion Cotillard, Lea Seydoux   Release:  2011

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Seeing Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 2 isn’t like watching a movie; it’s like watching eight of them.  The Potter franchise carries so much baggage – good and bad, but mostly good – that when you finally get to the end, it’s impossible to see the denouement as simply a two-hour entertainment.

So how does the grand finale stack up?  It was better than I suspected it might be.  Director David Yates, who somehow managed to remove much of the fun and magic of J.K. Rowling’s saga from the preceding three Potter films, partly redeems himself in this last chapter.  The whimsy of Sorcerer’s Stone and Chamber of Secrets is still missing, but Yates sets a brisk pace, avoids sentimentality, and stages one hell of an assault on Hogwarts.

What tripped up last year’s Part 1 is the same kind of thing that occasionally bogs down Rowling’s novels:  tedious exposition.  If the books have a flaw, it’s Rowling’s obsession with silly plot points.  Who really cares about the history of the Horcrux?  In this last movie, Yates and longtime scenarist Steve Kloves largely dispense with Rowling’s back story, instead concentrating on the final battle between Harry and Lord Voldemort.

Normally, I rail against the over-reliance on special effects in action movies; computer graphics all too often are the movie.  But in Part 2, the lengthy, elaborate confrontation between the forces of evil and our Hogwartian heroes is visually stunning.

Longtime friends are killed, long-anticipated kisses are played out in the blink of an eye, and a movie I feared might be one drawn-out yawn is instead a satisfying wrap-up to an uneven but often enchanting film series. To paraphrase someone famous, “All ends well.”         Grade:  B+

Director:  David Yates   Cast:  Daniel Radcliffe, Rupert Grint, Emma Watson, Ralph Fiennes, Michael Gambon, Alan Rickman, Evanna Lynch, Helena Bonham Carter, Clemence Poesy, John Hurt   Release:  2011

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The critics seem to love this road comedy – so why didn’t I?  There was only one thing I could do:  I had to make The Trip twice.

On my first viewing, I thought the film’s British humor might have whizzed past me because comedy does not always travel well.  Or maybe I simply had trouble deciphering the actors’ heavy accents.  For whatever reason, I was not particularly taken with this two-hour expansion of a popular English television series.

Steve Coogan and Rob Brydon play fictionalized versions of themselves, two moderately successful actors.  Coogan is the insecure playboy, and Brydon is the contented family man.   After his latest girlfriend splits, Coogan invites sort-of pal Brydon to join him on an excursion to the north of England, expenses paid by a magazine for which Coogan, hopefully, will write an article about the culinary delights found at country inns.

The two aging performers do much of their communicating – too much of it – through celebrity impersonations.  Amusing at first, this kind of repartee can grow tiresome.  Somewhere after the fifth or sixth such scene, I vowed never again to watch a Michael Caine movie.

But the critics loved this film.  So I watched it a second time and — surprise! —  it seemed much better.  The constant barrage of movie-star mimicry became less irksome.  I began to soak in the beautiful northern England landscapes, and to salivate at the sight of golden scallops soaked in butter.

The Trip grew on me mostly because Coogan and Brydon grew on me.  Much of the screenplay’s wit stems from the way these two decidedly heterosexual males interact.  They can discuss “soft” topics like Coleridge’s poetry and gourmet dining only if they also come with a side of competition, a dash of homophobia, and a bit more competition.

But there was still too much yakking, even on my second viewing.  The Trip is at its best when it stops long enough for some introspection – primarily by Coogan, who is confronted with his past (a woman with whom he once had a one-night stand – or so he thinks), his present (is Brydon’s dull-yet-happy home life a better way to live?) and his future (an old bore who ensnares him on a rock-climbing expedition; is it Coogan’s destiny to wind up like this old coot?).

In the end, I enjoyed The Trip and I recommend it.  I just hope you don’t have to watch it twice.      Grade:  B

Director:  Michael Winterbottom  Cast:  Steve Coogan, Rob Brydon, Claire Keelan, Margo Stilley, Rebecca Johnson, Dolya Gavanski, Kerry Shale  Release:  2011

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The Double Hour falls squarely into my favorite genre, the romantic suspense film.  Alfred Hitchcock, of course, was the master of this type of movie, but now and then someone else produces a good one.  The Double Hour, from Italian director Giuseppe Capotondi, is more typical of what fans of this genre usually get:  a nice try, but no threat to Hitchcock.

I’m going to summarize the plot, but keep in mind that everything I describe might or might not be true.  (Yes, it’s that kind of movie.)  A hotel maid (Kseniya Rappoport) meets a handsome ex-cop (Filippo Timi) at a speed-dating event.  They seem to hit it off, but quickly find themselves in the middle of an art heist in which someone is shot.  But is the maid who she says she is?  Is the ex-cop who he claims to be?

I can’t say more about the plot without either lying or revealing too much.  The problem with The Double Hour is that when you have a story this convoluted – with twists and turns pummeling the audience – your movie needs a lead character or two who are well-grounded, someone the audience can cling to when things get loopy.  Alas, the two lovers are both rather cold, distant characters, and the chemistry between them is underwhelming.  Russian actress Rappoport, especially, is attractive but doesn’t display much range.

I’m not sure that director Capotondi plays entirely fair with the audience.  There’s a fine line between “Oh, I get it now” and “Hey, that’s cheating!”  Still, if you enjoy this kind of movie, like I do, and if you are into solving puzzles, The Double Hour will keep you guessing.  But it’s no Vertigo.       Grade:  B-

Director:  Giuseppe Capotondi   Cast:  Kseniya Rappoport, Filippo Timi, Antonia Truppo, Gaetano Bruno, Fausto Russo Alesi, Michele Di Mauro, Lorenzo Gioielli, Lidia Vitale   Release:  2009

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