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.

The Impossible

The Impossible (2012) ***

When a party of cheerful seaside family vacationers to Thailand—including Maria (Naomi Watts), Henry (Ewan McGregor) and the couple’s three young boys—set loose a flurry of Chinese lanterns into the night sky early in “The Impossible,” a young character notices one of the glowing, helium-filled balloons gently drifting in the opposite direction strangely out of sync with the pattern of the others. Whether mere coincidence or not, it’s a subtle note of discord and the closest we get to an eerie premonition of doom.

The next day, a massive tidal wave roars ashore and tears apart everything in its path, leaving the idyllic ocean resort reduced to a wasteland of splintered trees, shredded buildings and dead bodies. For the few who survive, including the main characters, the intense hours ahead are filled with confusion, separation, screams of pain and cries of suffering.

Indeed, “The Impossible” recalls the aftermath of the cataclysmic tsunami that struck East Asia after a record-setting earthquake rocked the Indian Ocean on December 26, 2004. It was one of the deadliest natural disasters in history, destroying swaths of land and claiming over 230,000 lives. The story of Maria and her family is based on true events and brought to the screen here by writer Sergio G. Sanchez and director J.A. Bayona. It’s certainly an amazing, highly compelling tale of courage, survival, selfless love and profound humanity.

What the movie lacks is a strong visual command. While it’s true that the imagery of the crashing wave is convincing and technically savvy, Bayona misses a chance to capitalize on the suspense that grows just before the wave hits when things started looking ominous and disturbing—the way the tide suddenly shifted dramatically and shallow fringes of the ocean opened up yawning holes of seabed. With the absence of a warning system at the time of the disaster, it was documented that some locals hopelessly tried to warn people that something was terribly amiss—that there was something wrong with the water.

But Bayona’s camera, unfortunately, never explores any of these details. Perhaps the idea was to keep the exposition as sparse as possible in order to preserve the immediacy of the event or to prevent the film from inching too close to wonky scientific territory, but regardless, the resulting minimalism is stylistically limiting and—especially with all the digital tools of contemporary cinema at the filmmaker’s disposal—a bit disappointing.

Still, though not a visual triumph, “The Impossible” is an emotional one. Most of the film revolves around the time after the disaster, when Maria sustains serious injuries after being battered and whipped by the fierce energy of the waves. After some frenetic moments of uncertainty, she is able to locate her eldest son, Lucas, who somehow manages to emerge from the wreckage with only bruises.

The rest of their family is presumed dead as they navigate waist-deep water in search of safety. At one point still early in the film, Maria hears a distant cry and persuades her son to turn around. Someone, somewhere, is alive and needs help. “If it’s the last thing we ever do,” she says softly against his shouts of protestation. They still have a long, dangerous journey to safety, but then they find a small boy, alone and frightened, and end up rescuing him. It’s a genuinely moving moment that rises above maudlin because it’s a sincere act of pure, ordinary decency that, thematically, suggests being human is more powerful than even the most brutal forces of nature. It’s also what true heroism is all about.

Moonrise Kingdom

Moonrise Kingdom (2012) ***1/2

Smart, visually beautiful, sensitive and very funny, “Moonrise Kingdom” is a wonderful new coming of age picture by the brilliant director Wes Anderson, who once again demonstrates—after the genius of movies like “The Royal Tenenbaums” and “Rushmore”—that he is one of the finest filmmakers working today and certainly the best since Woody Allen when it comes to directing comedies about relationships between quirky, morose, intelligent characters.

Somewhere in New Penzance, the scenic island hamlet of “Moonrise Kingdom,” two twelve-year-olds—Sam (Jared Gilman), an orphan boy and unpopular member of a local scouting troop; and Suzy (Kara Heyward), an outcast girl from a family of three younger brothers and a mom (Francis McDormand) and dad (Bill Murray) who don’t understand her—meet briefly backstage at a play, become devoted pen pals, devise a plan to run away together, and fall in love for the first time.

The year is 1965, but the time doesn’t seem to have any special significance other than the fact that it allows Anderson the latitude to use quaint details in place of modern gadgets—characters communicate by writing letters instead of calling on cell phones and navigate using a compass rather than a GPS device—as a way of evoking a gentler, more innocent time. It’s also a moment that lends more range for thinking and creativity. When they are not talking or dancing while listening to records on the beach, Suzy reads from her suitcase full of books while Sam paints pictures.

Kids are always more clever in Anderson’s films; meanwhile, adults seem to have a bumbling way about them, as though still kids who still haven’t quite grown up. (Indeed, all the older siblings in “The Royal Tenenbaums” seek sanctuary in their childhood home when the real world becomes too scary.) So we wind up with clumsy authority figures like Murray (in another pitch perfect, hilariously deadpan performance) and McDormand (likewise) searching for their daughter while Sam is sought by a comically fastidious Scout Leader (Edward Norton, in one of his best performances) and the island’s lonely police chief (Bruce Willis, in a sympathetic, nicely understated turn), who has been maintaining a not-so-secret relationship with McDormand.

The young lovers are caught but get away again. Sam’s scout troop, having undergone a surprising redemptive transformation, engineers a daring midnight rescue allowing Sam and Suzy to escape on another adventure. This one takes them to a second camp, where Cousin Ben (the terrific Jason Schwartzman), an affably grandiose scout with limited command, agrees to marry the pair in exchange for a bagful of nickels. Even the venerable Harvey Keitel makes an appearance as a peculiarly dignified but somewhat scatterbrained master scout.

All of this is captured with Anderson’s signature visual style featuring fluid camera movements and long, flowing takes. “Moonrise Kingdom” was shot in and around Newport, Rhode Island and the photography is exquisite, perfectly conveying the mood of warmth and discovery that pervades the film. Anderson’s wide-angle compositions are the kind of deep, meticulously framed and richly detailed requiring multiple viewings. Fortunately, that is a consistently rewarding pleasure.