Serious Moonlight

"Serious Moonlight" (2009) ***

In “Serious Moonlight,” a husband suddenly decides to call it quits after 13 years of marriage after meeting a younger woman. But his loyal wife, nothing if not persistent, isn’t ready to let go and resorts to drastic measures to keep the couple together. The film—an uneven but strangely compelling indie effort by the first-time director Cheryl Hines—explores this ostensible breakup with a mixture of dark comedy and screwball farce that’s equal parts funny, entertaining and infuriating. What ultimately saves the picture from skidding off the rails turns out to be Hines’ unobtrusive direction, the unflinching honesty and intelligence of the screenplay and an expressive, detailed performance by the still sharp, underrated Meg Ryan.

Sadly, the film comes from a script by the actress and director Adrienne Shelly, who was murdered in 2006 during a robbery in her home in New York. She was just 40 years old. “Serious Moonlight” was co-produced by her husband and premiered at the Tribeca film festival in 2009, eerily only blocks away from where she was killed. Before going behind the camera, Shelly was a one-time indie queen—petite and pretty with a gift for deadpan comedy—acting under the skilled tutelage of director Hal Hartley in wonderfully offbeat, excellent films like “The Unbelievable Truth” and “Trust.” Her writing in “Serious Moonlight” suggests a style of exploring relationships with a blend of irony and wit without sacrificing integrity.

Ryan plays Louise, a successful lawyer who arrives home one day to find husband, Ian (Timothy Hutton) has decorated the tables with flowers and littered the floors with rose petals. At first Louise believes the romantic gesture is meant for her but quickly learns it was meant for Ian’s new girlfriend, a twenty-something college student named Sara (Kristen Bell), whom he plans to fly away with to Paris the following day.

Alternating between fits of rage and reason, Louise demands to know the minutiae behind Ian’s abrupt desire to dissolve their marriage and insists they can work out their problems if they just talk. But when Ian resists, Louise ends up knocking him unconscious and duck taping him, twice, first to a chair and finally to the bathroom toilet. At least this way, Louise figures, she can get a few points across. The darkly comic visual device here is reminiscent of the story in “Misery,” in which a famous novelist was held hostage by a deranged fan.

If “Serious Moonlight” largely unfolds like a series of acts in a play, a touch of theatricality is evident and not entirely unwelcome in the performances. Ryan is especially adept in a role that requires her to maintain a position of dominance, both physically and emotionally, by using a wide range of emotions. She can be commanding or vulnerable, quirky or dangerous, waifish or sexy at the drop of a hat. It’s exciting to watch and demonstrates that she’s still as good as the days of “When Harry Met Sally” or, even better, “Joe Versus the Volcano”—in which she played three different characters in what is still a tour de force comic performance.

“Serious Moonlight” is certainly flawed—a third act twist involving Justin Long as a lawn mowing home invader is more gimmicky and predictable than clever—but it’s short (the running time is just 84 minutes) and never boring thanks to Meg Ryan’s fiery, fearless performance. Still, it’s easy to imagine how much better it could have been had Adrienne Shelly lived to direct it.

Whatever Works

"Whatever Works" (2009) ***1/2

Even though famously self-deprecating about his own acting, most fans would readily acknowledge that one of the great pleasures of any Woody Allen film is the presence of the comic genius himself, perhaps the screen’s most amiably exasperated neurotic intellectual. Woody’s characters are almost always a variation of the same theme—a sarcastic yet romantic artist with an insightful yet cynical worldview, a laundry list of phobias and a dread fear of death.

However, when the writer/director stays behind the camera, someone in the cast must often assume his persona. Over the years, this strategy has yielded mixed results pivoting wildly from mediocre (John Cusack in the excellent “Bullets over Broadway,” 1994) to downright disastrous (Kenneth Branagh in the awful “Celebrity,” 1998). The most recent ostensible stand-in was Owen Wilson’s earnest but unremarkable turn in 2011’s “Midnight in Paris.”

Clearly the best Woody incarnation belongs to Larry David in the sharp and hilarious “Whatever Works,” Allen’s funniest comedy since “Hollywood Ending” (the underrated, screwball gem from 2002). From a hilarious moment early on—when David’s character wakes up screaming in a comically exaggerated tenor after nightmares remind him of his doomed, inescapable mortality—you know television’s “Seinfeld” and “Curb Your Enthusiasm” alum is poised to hit all the right notes in his portrayal of the irascible quantum physics professor, Boris Yelnikoff, part time chess teacher to kids (he calls them names) and full time curmudgeon.

Allen, also known for his ensemble casts of stars, has assembled another splendid group to surround David. The highlight of which is easily Evan Rachel Wood—showing a breezy, comic touch after the desperate, troubled teen in the brilliant “Thirteen”—as Melodie, who stumbles into Boris’ life as a naïve Southern teenager who flees Mississippi to seek fame in the big city. He discovers her outside his shoddy New York apartment and reluctantly lets her in like a stray kitten.

Cynical Boris eventually softens as Melodie bewitches the grumpy old man with her guileless smile and relentless optimism. A sweet moment comes when he awakes from another fatalistic dream, and after being comforted by Melodie they watch a Fred Astaire movie on TV.

Patricia Clarkson and Ed Begley Jr., both terrific, play Melodie’s bible-thumping parents who eventually come looking for her. Repulsed at first, they find themselves fascinated by the beguiling, all-encompassing New York that Allen presents—transformative, cheerful, life-affirming and more optimistic than even Boris pauses to realize—and set free from their conservative roots, they begin to embrace opinions and lifestyles too surprising and funny to reveal here. Michael McKean and Conleth Hill, as Boris’ best friends, add distinctly deadpan comic personalities to the mix.

“Whatever Works” is a homecoming of sorts for Woody Allen. After taking a tour of Europe for many of his recent films, he’s back on familiar turf in a beautiful New York City that proves as picturesque and magical as the ones in “Annie Hall” and “Manhattan.”

Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day

Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day (2008) ****

The greatness of “Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day” really hinges on three elements—the presence of the wonderful, underrated Francis McDormand as the title character; the soundtrack featuring jazzy hits by Cole Porter and swingy, Big Band sound by Paul Englishby (who assumes the film’s music credit) and his Orchestra; and best of all, the highly talented Amy Adams, one of the prettiest, most likable actresses in the movies today. Bundled together, these highlights add up to make an otherwise routine romantic farce a sheer delight and one of the biggest surprises of 2008.

The film, directed by Bharat Nalluri from a script by David Magee, Simon Beaufoy and based on a novel by Winifred Watson, takes place in pre-war 1940s London and features McDormand as down-on-her-luck nanny Guinevere Pettigrew. Dirty, disheveled and desperate for work, she schemes her way into a job interview with the beautiful and flighty Delysia Lafosse (Adams), an aspiring singer and actress who maintains a triumvirate of eligible men all courting her affections. The best of whom seems to be Michael (Lee Pace), a soulful musician—at one point, they perform a lovely duet of the romantic ballad “If I Didn’t Care” by the Ink Spots, in which Adams shows some nice vocal range—though Delysia also has her eyes trained on Phil Goldman (Tom Payne), a young theater producer looking for an ingénue for his new play. The battle for her heart comes to a somewhat predictable conclusion, but it’s the fun getting there that matters.

Meanwhile, Guinevere becomes Delysia’s serendipitous social secretary, guiding the capricious starlet through one screwball situation after another with a mixture of wit and wisdom that’s at turns very funny (when one of Delysia’s potential lovers discovers a suspicious cigar and becomes jealous, quick-thinking Guinevere does her best Groucho Marx and begins to casually smoke it) and surprisingly emotional (when the blare of an air raid siren sends them both ducking for cover, Guinevere and Delysia have a touching exchange about finding genuine happiness while there’s still time).

Though much of the picture has the feel of a light, musical comedy—similar to an erstwhile Fred and Ginger romp without the dancing—the grim reality of World War II looming in the background lends it a level of darkness and gravity that is solemn without being heavy-handed. The movie is reminiscent of Woody Allen’s masterful “Radio Days” (1987), which chronicled the comic’s childhood growing up in Brooklyn around the same time.

 
I have not seen all of Amy Adams’ work (a flaw to be remedied eventually), but she proves here—as she did in “Enchanted” and would go on to do in subsequent films like “Julie & Julia,” “The Muppets” and “Leap Year”—to be one of the most gifted and engaging actresses in contemporary cinema. A lot of the laughs in “Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day” depend on her precise comic timing and bright, expressive eyes. She’s a splendid performer and a considerable delight to watch.

Frankenweenie

Frankenweenie (2012) ****

Early in the frantic third act of “Frankenweenie”—Tim Burton’s sublime stop-motion animated comic fantasy—lightning strikes the fictional town of New Holland, literally and figuratively, and the quasi-suburban hamlet is overrun by an assortment of monsters evocative of classic Hollywood horror films.

Leading the charge, though in much more heroic terms, is the films titular hero, the cute and playful dog named Sparky, victim of an unfortunate encounter with a car in the early going but ingeniously brought back to life—in a beautifully detailed sequence that is like a shot-by-shot homage to James Whale’s original “Frankenstein”—by his owner, the reticent but brilliant young Victor (voice of Charlie Tahan).

The camera catches a glimpse of a movie theater just beyond the action, the marquee spelling out the name of the feature, “Bambi.” Produced by Disney, “Frankenweenie” isn’t light cartoon fare and Burton—infamously passed over in his early days working at the studio when his drawings were deemed too dark and morbid—isn’t the filmmaker one would expect to suddenly be in charge. But the reference, funny and ironic, is less about how far Burton has come as an artist and more about how long it took Disney to finally realize it.

In “Frankenweenie,” signs that Burton has full creative control are in plain sight—right down to a brilliant opening when the Disney logo fades from its traditional colorful magic kingdom into a stormy, shadowy haunted castle punctuated by Danny Elfman’s ominous, beautifully elegiac score and Burton’s gorgeous black and white imagery—and the result is a lyrical, layered masterpiece, the director’s most accomplished, engaging and satisfying effort since “Ed Wood.”

Not just with visuals, the movie provides allusions to other movies, some Burton’s own, through the eccentric personalities of its characters. New Holland itself is a stop motion version of the quiet town with secrets in “Edward Scissorhands”; Victor is sort of a cartoon Edward, gentle and gifted and complete with hands this time.

Some of the other kids are similarly quirky and distinctive—such as the sneaky Edgar, a mischievous urchin with an Ygor-like hunchback and distorted features that bring to mind Peter Lorre or Lon Chaney. Victor’s next door neighbor Else is the would-be heroine, melancholy and morose like the teenager from “Beetlejuice”—and voiced, perfectly, by Winona Ryder.

If part of “Frankenweenie” is meant as an ode to horror films—“Frankenstein,” “Bride of Frankenstein,” “Nosferatu,” “Godzilla,” “Gremlins”—its core is a poignant tale of friendship between a shy boy and his little pet. And unlike its inspiration, the moral ambiguities of bringing the dead back to life are offset by deeper meaning. Far removed from the wild-eyed Colin Clive who used spare parts to create Boris Karloff’s monster, Victor’s reanimation of Sparky is driven not by madness but by love. The movie is a thoughtful rumination on the pain of loss and how hard it is to let go.

Burton’s fascination with darkness and death, with the misbegotten and the misunderstood, remains stirring and mysterious. The film’s most moving scene, for example, takes place when Sparky, frightened and confused after being brought back to life, returns alone to the cemetery and pauses to rest on top of his own grave. That the image seems to suggest he’s somewhere between life and death—not quite belonging to this world but, like a phantom, somehow still a part of it—is one of the more poetic, strange and comforting contemplations of what lies beyond to come along in quite awhile.