An Unexpected Journey

I saw the Hobbit in 3D IMAX glory, and HFR to boot. Try saying all that 10x fast. On second thought, don't. Also, not so sure about 3D IMAX HFR in general, but more on that in a minute. There are some spoilers ahead, so if you haven't seen it and don't want to know ANYTHING about it, stop reading here.

First, a general review:

I quite enjoyed it. It did follow the book, for the most part, and where it deviated I wasn't too upset about that. The deviations either gave more backstory (as with the prologue) or set up future films (as with the Radagast detour). I did feel that Jackson was a tad self-indulgent at times; the intro at Bag End with Bilbo and Frodo was too long, and I felt it was pretty much unecessary except as a way for Jackson to sigh and revel in the world he loves so well. His love of Middle Earth is evident everywhere on screen, and though some shots or sequences linger a bit on the long side (did we need to see so much of the dwarves just walking?) I forgave him for this. I wasn't bored, and there was a lot of eye-candy.

I have to say a few words on a few individual performances. Firstly: Martin Freeman is one of my favorite actors, so I am a tad biased, but I thought he brought a wonderful awkward, funny humanity (Hobbinity?) to Bilbo that a film with such scope truly needs. He had impeccable timing too; most of the laughs came from the way he said a line rather than the line itself, and that's a credit to him.

Second: Jesus Christ, Andy Serkis. I am definitely a fan of his; if there were an Andy Serkis Day parade, I would march in it with a huge banner. The ten minutes he spends on screen are packed with so much emotion, nuance, menace, pathos and just sheer awesomeness that I wanted to spend more time with him. The give-and-tale between him and Martin Freeman (shot on Martin's very first week on set!) was really, really interesting to watch. It brought back everything that was terrifying, and sad, about Gollum. And, the evolution of the CGI for Gollum was marked and extraordinary; he looked really amazing in this film, an improvement in expressiveness I didn't know was needed until I saw the results onscreen.

Third: the dwarves, and Richard Armitage (Thorin) in particular. The actors had a really tough job playing parts with few lines, knowing they would be difficult if not impossible to tell apart and would mostly fade together in memory. Though costume and makeup were relied on to distinguish them for the most part, the truly memorable dwarves like Thorin (obviously), Bofur (James Nesbitt), Fili and Kili (Dean O'Gorman and Aidan Turner), and Balin (Ken Stott) were not memorable for their beards. They managed to shine through their costumes.

Now, for what you're really here to hear about: the costumes.

When I first learned that Ngila Dickson was not doing design duties on the Hobbit trilogy, I was a little miffed. Would the design team of Bob Buck and Ann Maskrey be able to take on the complexities of Middle Earth cultures, preserving the look or LOTR while adding something new? Neither designer has many actual design credits: Buck has designed for television, and Maskrey has been largely an assistant and cutter on large films. But, that's not to say they aren't capable; that's where you start, after all, and this is truly a test of mettle for them. Do they succeed?

Well . . .

Yes and no.

The unique problem of having thirteen fucking dwarves to create would give any designer a heart-attack, and to then need to make each one distinctive while working together as a whole is a nightmare. For the most part, I felt they did a wonderful job with the dwarves, especially with Thorin, whose armor and leather greaves were things of beauty, and whose mail was awesome. But, I found the hair and beards a trifle distracting, rather than distinctive. This may have been an issue of seeing it in HFR (more on that later), but at one point I found myself staring at one of the beards, an appliance that sported two braids that turned up like Pippi Longstocking, and I spent several moments trying to spot the wires instead of watching the action. Hats and hair: those were the watchwords for the dwarves, and while this worked for some characters, it detracted from others, looking less like clothing and more like costume. This is a danger in any fantasy film, and one LOTR sidestepped cleanly, but that the Hobbit seems to be stumbling into.

Bilbo's costumes, however, were lovely. Nothing to criticize here. He had the look of a well-to-do Hobbit through and through.

Gandalf was his usual, familiar look, though I was distracted by the slightly different staff this time around; each time it appeared I found myself wondering: could they not find the old prop? Was this a continuity error? Is his staff broken at some point between now and LOTR and I've forgotten? The silver scarf was a little Vegas for me, but it is specifically mentioned in the book. However, I suspect HFR strikes again in terms of how glittery-fake the fabric appeared; in normal rate the fabric probably looked fine.

Radagast's costume was actually delightful. Not much to add here, except: BUNNY SLEIGH! That is all.

The elves were where I really started to have issues with the costuming. Though Elrond first appears in a truly beautiful set of armor (in purple, for whatever reason), the rest of his looks I found bland. It was as though someone who had been used to having all his garments tailor-made suddenly started shopping at Elf-GAP. I really felt the costumer's lack of experience showed here; the purple and rust-colored robes he wears lacked the individual style and details of his garments in LOTR. Where was the embroidery? the recurring figural motifs? At one point another elf appears dressed nearly identical to Elrond in the White Council scene, and I sighed in exasperation.

Oh dear. Then we have Galadriel. I'm not going to deny that she was shot beautifully; the light coming from behind her in the scene with Gandalf is breathtaking. But, her dress? It seemed designed only to trail artfully behind her. The silhouette was lovely, but the devil is in the details, and the details were not impressive. When we are given a closeup, we see not the incredible botanical embroidery and hand-beadwork from Fellowship, but a Vegas-y trail of--is that rhinestones? It was plain and boring and looked amateurish when compared to other things designed for her. The tiny rhinestiones just dripped down in uniform lines, and looked as though they couldn't even be bothered to not make it look like an iron-on transfer. And the hideous grey overdress she wears when we first see her? What? Why? It seems to serve no purpose whatsoever, and disappears a few moments later.

However, with Thranduil they shine. We see him for only a few moments onscreen, but he looks really distinct and impressive, and I'm seriously looking forward to seeing more of him in the next film. Perhaps with the well-known characters the costumers felt intimidated by what had come before and played it too safe, but here was a character that was all their own, and it showed.

A word about seeing the film in IMAX HFR. I'm not certain I would do it again. There were things about it I liked: it was definitely clearer. But, at times it was just too clear. I noticed details I know I wasn't supposed to see, appliances started to look fake, rather than like seamless movie magic, and fabric that would have no doubt seemed fine suddenly looked weird and over-bright (like Gandalf's scarf). I have read some interviews with the art department about what a nightmare it was at times to work in HFR; everything had to be absolutely perfect or it would show, and the colors and tones were all terribly messed up by the 3D cameras. I can't imagine how hard it made their jobs. I'm just not sold on HFR yet.

Overall, I did enjoy the Hobbit and I am looking forward to the next installment. I don't think I'll be dreaming up any reproductions based on the costumes, however. But, Thorin might be showing up in a few naughty dreams for a while (sigh . . .) ;)

With Malice Toward None . . .

I saw Lincoln on Friday night.

Immediately on leaving the theatre, I made three phone calls: first to my sister. I gushed and cried. Then to my best friend B. I gushed and cried. Then to my mom. Ditto. It was after 10pm Chicago-time, but I did not hesitate to make any of these phone calls. I think I would have burst if I hadn't been able to speak to someone after that experience, and even after three calls I was still full of feeling.

We all know who Abraham Lincoln was, and the immense impact he had on the history and shaping of this country. And, I think most reading this review have seen more than one film about some historical figure, be it Napoleon or Kennedy or even Jesus Christ. Biopics tend to treat their subjects as larger-than-life, and we sit in awe as the events of history play out before us, the figure portrayed by some actor we recognize and try to forget in the guise of someone we've read about. Beloved historical figures are often treated as nearly god-like in films about them. We leave the theatre after these films with the sense of having seen the deeds of someone great, while not truly feeling any nearer that person.

Lincoln is not that film.

I can honestly say that I have never seen a biopic that made me feel more, personally, for the subject than this one. The Civil War, and Abraham Lincoln, are already deeply personal to me for obvious reasons, and so I expected to feel some emotional stake in the events onscreen. But, what Spielberg has managed to do is to put the viewer smack in the center of the room with the man. You cannot sit and watch. You must join in. Lincoln is not grandiose; he is a man, an extraordinary man, yes, but a man: funny, complicated, kind, fiercely intelligent, even gently conniving. Rarely have I ever liked a figure on film as much as I personally did by the end; here was a man I wanted to know, to sit with on a porch and talk with. Here was a man who made others better simply by being present. The tallest man in the room, always.

To compliment the film fully, I cannot just compliment Spielberg, naturally. I must talk about the incredible cast. Every single person brings their A-game, even those you barely see, even soldiers who do not get a name, or secretaries who handle his letters. Day-Lewis gives a performance so striking in its natural flow that I never, for one moment, saw him onscreen. I saw Lincoln. He is completely and utterly the man, and if he does not win the Oscar this year, good God, I can't think who might beat him. Sally Field plays Mary Todd with a barely contained intensity; not madness, but such heart-breaking misery at times that it was difficult to watch. She is always on edge without ever seeming to lurch into expected characature. Tommy Lee Jones is powerful, hilarious, and deserves a supporting actor nod for his turn as Thaddeus Stevens, so instrumental in the passing of the 13th Amendment. And David Strathairn deserves a nod as well for his understated and controlled portrayal of Lincoln's Secretary of State Seward, who is possibly the only man who can argue any opposing point with the President while still so clearly showing how he respects and loves the man. There are scores of others in the film who play meaningful and important roles and who I could mention here, but this review is too long already.

A few words on the superior costuming by Joanna Johnston: it is beautiful and incredibly specific; I watched the entire film with a critical eye, and I couldn't find a single flaw. Mary Todd Lincoln's dresses in particular were superb, even though I personally would never wear them. And, the men . . .! I cannot say enough. Flawless, right down to Stevens' horrible wig.

Everyone knows how Lincoln's story ends, with a fateful trip to Ford's Theatre. As the film reached that point, I felt my chest seize and a lump in my throat, and I began to cry unashamedly as the camera follows him out of the White House for the final time. This was not just a historical figure I had read about. Not even a figure I had seen portrayed by a friend or intereacted with. This was someone I suddenly felt as though I knew. I felt for the first time the depth of the country's loss, because it felt like my loss. Spielberg invited me into this man's life for a few weeks, and in the end I felt just how short a time that was. I wish I could adequately put it into words, but that is the best I can do.

See Lincoln. Even if you think you know the history and nothing can surprise you, I promise, you're wrong. You will be moved, and, if you're anything like me, you might be a little changed too.

Beautifully Ambiguous . . .

I saw Prometheus at the Vista Theatre on Friday, and I have to take a minute to write a quick review.

*Spoilers ahead*

The film itself is very much built on the DNA of its predecessor, Ridley Scott's Alien, and it helps that I've seen the latter film often enough that it is easily accessible in my memory. There is a similar sense of build, and a similar feeling of stark, bland normalcy before the shit hits the fan. There is also a similar superficiality of characters; you really don't get much of a sense of these people beyond a few details meant to make them seem slightly more than 2-dimensional: the captain plays an antique accordion, the heroine lost her father to Ebola and wears his cross, the geologist is high-strung and nervous. Like with Alien, the characters really aren't the point of the picture: you are meant to gaze in wonder, and in horror, at what Scott has unleashed for you. And, for the most part, I did.

Prometheus was beautiful and scary, producing some visuals that were gobsmackingly gorgeous even when they were horrible, and a few jump-scares that literally made me jump and yelp in my seat. The violence is never gore and never gratuitous; there is no chest-burster with a gallon of raspberry juice sprayed in someone's face. But, that's not to say that there aren't really nasty creatures running (or slithering) around. Prometheus has ample nightmare-fuel, especially for female viewers. Noomi Rapace's Elizabeth Shaw suffers--and saves herself--from something that I think would give most women the creeping terrors. In fact, Prometheus, more so than Alien, wears its rape-analogies on its sleeve: there are a lot of violations in this film, and they are more blatantly rape-y than perhaps Scott felt he could be in 1979 . . . or maybe he just thinks audiences are less subtle nowadays. Indeed, the final death in the film is so clearly a rape that it made me squirm in my chair; the imagery is very uncomfortable.

All this might have been interesting but would have made only a passing impression on me if not for my favorite part: David. Much has already been said about David the android, as played by the beautiful Michael Fassbender; even he, in an interview, described no fewer than five different inspirations for the character, from Peter O'Toole to Greg Lougainis. And, you see all of them come out, and more. David is compelling to watch because of his absolute ambiguity: is he a villain? A hero? Is he motivated by a need to please his father? Is he homicidal? Is he sad? Does he, in fact, feel anything at all? There are lovely glimpses of complexity beyond simple programming that Fassbender gives us: at several points he displays a little sibling rivalry with his "sister", played with Charlize Theron, that makes you wonder how often these two have competed for Weyland's affections. He shows vanity by dying his hair pale blond to match his favorite film character, Peter O'Toole's Lawrence in Lawrence of Arabia, which we see him watching early in the film and emulating. He watches the dreams of the sleeping crew, but does he do it to learn about them in order to better manipulate them, or to learn about them to better impersonate them? He has a sense of childlike wonder, but also a cold, almost terrifying calculatedness. There is anger there too. At one point, while manipulating Rapace's Shaw character by discussing her father's death, he reveals, "Doesn't every child want their parents to die?" And, at another point, when another character drunkenly states that David and his kind were made because "we were good enough to do it", David replies, "Can you imagine how disappointed you would be if you met your makers and they said the same to you?" Then, he coldly infects the speaker with an unknown alien lifeform, and smiles as he hands the doctored drink over. Conversely, the only laughs in the film, and there actually were a few, came from David's dialogue. He was absolutely fascinating to watch, and *spoiler!* I look forward to seeing him and Rapace in the sequel.

Prometheus was well worth the ticket, and I recommend it, especially for fans of Scott and of Alien. It was not a perfect film: I had issues with the character of Shaw's boyfriend, someone so grating and annoying and rather one-note that I can't even recall his name. But, I liked that it raised questions it was fearless about not answering, and that it was less nihilistic than Alien. In the 1979 film, it felt like Scott was trying to say that everybody dies, indiscriminately, without real purpose. In this one, several of the deaths have important purpose and say something about the character, or the nature of the film itself. Overall I was fairly impressed, and I look forward to what comes next.

A Tale of Terror . . .

There are spoilers ahead. You have been warned.

I went to see "Snow White and the Huntsman" on Friday, and, I have to say, I was fairly excited. I've devoured whatever I could get my hands on regarding the costuming, and the previews made it look dark and scary and beautiful, like the fantasy films I remember from my childhood.

All that being said . . . ahem. Well, it was pretty. Very, very pretty. Visually stunning. If you could have a remote control and turn off the sound for most of the film, you really wouldn't miss much. In fact, you might have a better viewing experience. That sounds pretty harsh, I know, and I'm not saying it's a terrible movie. It's not, really. It's just not all that good.

There are way too many questions that don't get answers, and for an analytical mind like mine, that doesn't sit well. After leaving the theatre, my companion and I immediately started to dissect the editing/script issues:

-If Snow White is really locked up for, like, 10 years, how is she any level of functioning human? Why is she not horribly psychologically scarred or at least completely socially awkward? Does she sew her own clothes? Does she read to pass the time? Seriously, that tower room is empty, dank, and terrible, and she comes out of it pretty much normal.

-If Snow White can calm and enchant all the creatures of the faery forest, why doesn't she utilize this in the final battle? It would have been awesome to see her ride that troll into battle, and command a small army of moss-covered turtles and rabbits and birds. It might even have been cool to see her use birds against the Queen, who uses her own birds so prominently for evil. Instead, we are treated to a Narnia-like, LOTR retread, with a bunch of people riding horses across the beach in shiny armor and getting arrows shot at them. Boring.

-What the hell is the geography of this place? They go through three or four distinctly different areas and several different climates, all in the space of a few minutes, with no idea how much time has passed or distance has been crossed. The castle is on a frigging beach. The forest appears to be surrounded by swamp. The faery forest is in some kind of perpetual summer. Then, it's winter. Some sense of location might have been helpful.

-If the Queen has no powers in the Dark Forest, then how the hell does she get Snow White to eat that apple?

-Is Finn the dumbest villain alive? After the Huntsman finds Snow White and holds her hostage for the return of his wife (promised to him by the Queen), instead of agreeing that the wife will be returned and taking Snow White, Finn laughs in the Huntsman's face and tells him the Queen can't fulfill the bargain, and he's stupid for thinking so. Big fight, no Snow White. WTF?

-Zero chemistry between KStew and either of her male leads. Zero. And, it's not hard to have chemistry with Chris Hemsworth, who smolders and glowers and weeps in beautiful measures. He's handsome covered in three layers of filth. Jesus, what would it take to smile at him a little more, instead of that vaguely pained expression she seems to default to?

-What is the Queen's ultimate endgame? Why take over a second kingdom, when it is clearly explained that she already took over one by killing the last rulers? Did she use that kingdom up? Did they run her out of town on a rail? Is her army from there? Again, no sense of geography. And, why take over Snow White's country, just to run everything into the ground? It might have been more interesting to watch her try to rule the country (ie: be a real person and not a 2-dimensional symbol), and struggle with a populace that hates her. Why just come in and kill everything? What's the point?

There are, literally, a hundred more questions and issues I could raise here, but there's little point. The film is a beautiful spectacle, and my hat is off to Colleen once again for one of her most incredible costume design jobs. But, I need more out of my movie-going experience than just sitting back and turning down the sound on my brain for two hours. I wish "Snow White and the Huntsman" had tried a little harder to be a film, and not just eye-candy.

Always . . .

Bridesmaids just came out on DVD, and I'm taking a second to say, unequivocably: rent it. Especially if you're a chick. Guys will laugh too, no doubt, but this really is the Hangover for women: hilarious, raunchy, and just at the edge. It has that uncomfortable humor too, like the Office: you squirm because you can see that it hits too close to home, you can feel the character's embarrassment like its your own. It is also truthful and heartfelt too. So, to sum up: hilarious. Raunchy. Truthful. Edgy. Heartfelt.

There's no downside here, unless you dislike laughing, or it causes you intense pain from a recent abdominal surgery, or something. Every actress is at the top of her game here, especially Kristen Wiig (who I hope to see more of as she finally starts to catch fire in Hollywood).

Side note: I was thinking about this movie long after I saw it, and not necessarily because of how funny it was. I identified pretty strongly with Kristen Wiig's character, a woman in her thirties who was trying to live her dream and saw it slip away, embarrassed by what a fuck-up she had become and humiliated by her poverty, always making the wrong choices. It was tough for me to watch a few scenes; Wiig does not flinch away from the embarrassment, or go easy on herself. Her car in particular reminded me of Serenity! It was refreshing to see a real woman onscreen, dealing with basic issues (not just trying to fit into her Manolos). The movie had personal meaning for me, and while my dear readers may not identify as closely with her character as I did, I still highly recommend Bridesmaids. If you have a hoo-hah, you will probably find it funny.

Don't Touch Anything . . . .

There are light spoilers ahead for anyone who has not read about this film already!

I saw Contagion this past weekend, and I'm just now getting around to writing a review, mostly because I'm still washing my hands;) I won't keep you in suspense of what I thought of it: it was pretty amazing, and absolutely terrifying. It is a frightening film that relies on none of the usual Hollywood conventions for such movies: no melodrama, no jump-scares, no bombastic score or huge explosions. It is grittily realistic and all the more horrifying for its sheer plausibility.

 The cast is impressive. This is a real ensemble piece, and rarely does any one member outshine the rest: Lawrence Fishburne, as head of the CDC, is just as human as Matt Damon's character, husband of Patient Zero and one of the few immune to the disease. Even small parts are given the chance to shine, like John Hawkes (who I love from his Deadwood days), who is memorable as a janitor at the CDC, and Chin Han, as a Chinese doctor helping Marion Cotillard's WHO investigator research where the pandemic started.

 For all the jargon rolling around the tongues of the doctors, officials, and investigators, it's a very human story. You feel the quiet desperation of Matt Damon as a father who fears for his only daughter, still not sick but who he could lose at any time just as quickly as he watched his wife and stepson succumb. He is terse, always with an edge of fear which is boiling under the surface and suppressed for the girl's sake but visible in moments like one memorable scene where they visit a grocery store and he encounters a sick woman around a corner. He instantly tells his daughter not to touch anyone, to remove her gloves, and they run back to their car.

The story jumps from Atlanta to Minnesota to Hong Kong to San Francisco to dozens of other places, as everyone tries to figure out where this started, and how its going to end. Marion Cotillard, as a WHO investigator, becomes part of a plotline highlighting the divide between how the weathy are treated at such times, and how the poor are often forgotten. She is turned into a hostage, her life desperately staged against the lives of poor children in a Chinese village, held ransom for doses of vaccine that these children would never receive otherwise.

And, the film doesn't shy away from killing off A-list stars. As though to really bring home the message that anyone can succumb to such an epidemic, we watch big names sicken and die along with everyone else, even as they are racing to find a cure. No one is safe, a statement the entire film seems eager to make clear in every scene.

The only plot-line that felt like it smacked of unnecessary drama for me was Jude Law's story, that of an unscrumpulous blogger who gains sudden fame by reporting on the illness in the early days and then tries to profit in a despicable way from people's panic. In a film that strives so hard for realism and shies diligently away from needless drama, this struck a bit of a "Hollywood" note for me. I could have done without his story, and I don't think the film would have suffered for it.


Overall, it was an absolutely wrenching and frightening film that played almost like a documentary of a future event. Each scene shouted, "Look at what could happen! This is how it would play out!" No one wails and gnashes their teeth or grasps for an Oscar here; everyone is simply doing their jobs and trying to survive under the most extreme of circumstances. I understand the WHO and the CDC have both endorsed this picture, and it's easy to see why: they are portrayed realistically, not as movie-magic heroes with bulging biceps but as people doing what they're trained to do, genuine, frightened, and brave.

If you're at all a hypochondriac, I urge you NOT to see this movie; even for me, who has never had such tendencies, I found myself feeling a little flu-like on the way home. But, if you like a good cerebral thriller that makes you seriously think (and might make you buy some anti-bac), then see Contagion.

Un-Tangled . . .

Okay, I will fully admit I'm a hopeless romantic and a hopeless Disney fan. I still get teared up watching the first scene in Up, I sing along with Belle whenever I watch Beauty and the Beast, and I spent hours making Giselle's dress from Enchanted. I guess I'm a modern girl who still loves fairy tales;)

I watched the latest from Disney last night, Tangled, and while it is not a perfect film, I quite enjoyed it. I even got choked up watching the lantern scene, and the reunion at the end.

And, special awesome bonus: the lovely and amazing Zachary Levi can sing too!

Or watch the scene with dialogue:)

The Storm Breaks . . .

*Light spoilers ahead!

Saw Thor on Friday evening. I should say that the latest crop of Marvel films have not featured my favorite characters; I grew up on the X-Men, and hardly ever read the Avengers, Iron Man, Thor, or Captain America. I was aware of them as characters but was largely uninterested in their stories, so I have gone into these films with only basic knowledge of the background mythology of each. I'm actually pretty glad about that, as I tend top be a nit-picker over details, and this has freed me to enjoy each film on its merits;)

I'm not going to keep you in suspense over what I thought of the film: it was awesome. Very rarely do I have a movie experience that energizes, that makes me remember why I love movies, and why I love going to the movies. Thor was that kind of film. I was so excited I called my sister as I walked out of the theatre and jabbered nearly incoherently about it for close to fifteen minutes. It was fun and grandly epic at the same time, and there aren't a lot of movies that can pull that off.

I gotta admit that when I found out Kenneth Branagh was the director a few years back, I was stunned. Henry the V was directing Thor? Really? Why? But, after seeing it, I know exactly why it appealed to the British actor/director: there was a Shakespearean quality to it, especially where it concerned the central relationship in the film. I'm not talking about the romance between Chris Hemsworth's Thor and Natalie Portman's Jane Foster, though that was fun and sweet to watch. I'm talking about the real meat of the story: the relationship between two brothers and their father.

Tom Hiddleston walked away with this movie. Totally. I wanted to see more of him. Yes, Chris Hemsworth was good as the titular character: he was broad and larger-than-life when necessary, and sweet and funny when he needed to be. You do root for him (as said in a brilliant and surprise uncredited cameo by Jeremy Renner's Hawkeye in the middle of the film). But, the reason you want to watch the film at all, in my opinion, is because of the much more complex and layered character of Tom Hiddleston's Loki. He seems for all intents and purposes to be the family peacemaker, the more mature brother with quiet restraint, unafraid to make hard and unpopular decisions if he needs to, the voice of reason that is the perfect foil to Thor's immature bombast.

But, under that you find an insecure and conniving child who has lived in the shadows for far too long, and has slowly manuevered himself into the position of power. The film may be the story of Thor's maturation and evolution, but it is the story of Loki's unravelling. He cries to his father in one pivotal scene, asking why he bothered to choose him to be his son if he was just going to ignore him over Thor anyway. He was fascinating and affecting to watch, and I can't wait to see what he does in the Avengers next year (he is slated to be the Big Bad, and I am salivating to hear him spout Joss Whedon one-liners).

Thor was surprisingly beautiful as well, with the largely-CGI scenes of Asgard and Jotunheim absolutely breathtaking. The Frost Giants, especially Colm Feore's King Laufey, were not incomprehensible monsters. Anthony Hopkin's Odin was, well, just what you'd expect from Anthony Hopkins. Pretty damn cool. And, the costumes! Loki was in particular beautiful, and I was disappointed every time he appeared on screen without that magnificent horned helmet.

In short, I really enjoyed the whole thing with very few criticisms. I do wish Thor's "Greek Chorus" of friends had been slightly more fleshed out; they barely got names. Otherwise, I kinda want to see the film again (and, maybe I will!) This definitely gives me hope for the Captain America film coming this summer, and for the comic book film genre in general. I hope Marvel continues to make smart choices like this. If they do, I'll keep buying tickets.

A Country Waits; a King Pauses. . .

Saw "The King's Speech" this weekend. I know, I know: took me long enough. Still, I have two words:

See. It.

That is all.

Backstage, No One Can Hear You Scream . . .

It's hard to imagine an experience more beautiful or disturbing than Black Swan.

It's taken me a while to write this review. I actually saw the film the night it opened: just me and a sea of strangers in a huge theatre, drinking soda as the lights went down, breathlessly anticipating this weird, incredible film. I had a lot of expectations going into it but I tried to keep them generalized. The dancing will be exquisite. The cinematography will be arresting. The acting will be stellar. All these things are true of Black Swan. But, it is so much more than that, and I would do it a disservice to stop there.

Warning: if you have not seen the film and still intend to, there are spoilers ahead.

Natalie Portman (giving the performance of her young career) plays ingenue Nina Sayers, a member of the corps of a ballet company who unexpectedly gets her chance to play the part few ballerinas would ever pass up: The Swan Queen in Swan Lake. It is demanding, asking the dancer to play two distinctly different roles: that of Odette, the innocent, sweet White Swan, and Odile, the sexual, aggressive Black Swan.

The choreographer, played with sharp wit and genuine arrogant nastiness by one of my favorite French actors, Vincent Cassel, believes she can easily play the White Swan: Nina is driven to perform perfectly, and her dancing is beautiful but cold and impersonal. She is weak, sensitive, and frightened. But, the choreographer Leroy doesn't feel that she has it in her to be the Black Swan, and he wastes no time badgering and beliettling her at every turn, trying to beat her down and force her to lash out, to create a Black Swan out of what he sees as a little mouse of a girl.

 Nina cannot see herself as the Black Swan either, though she tortures herself constantly to find it within. Her mother, played with frightening and obsessive sweetness by Barbara Hershey, keeps Nina enshrined in a prison of pink frills and stuffed animals, living her own lost ballet career through her daughter: she is Nina's only companion, her friend, her taskmaster, her jailer. She watches Nina at every moment, encasing her hands in mittens to keep her from nervously scratching herself, painting disturbing portraits of her daughter over and over again. Watching this relationship, we begin to understand the naivete that Nina has, her sexual innocence, her quiet desperation to escape when the promise of something else begins to present itself.

 Her rival, her tantalizing counterpart, and her possibility for escape appears in the form of Mila Kunis' Lily, a dancer who eats whatever she wants, fucks whomever she pleases, rolls bennies, screws up in rehearsal and laughs it off, and always seems to be right behind Nina, ready to help her expand her horizons, or perhaps push her right over that horizon and take her place. Lily is fierce and wild and everything Nina is striving for, and cannot seem to achieve. Nina wants her, wants to be her, hates her, and fears her all at once. And, Kunis plays her with just the right amount of bitch so that you're never quite sure if Lily is actually trying to destroy Nina, or if Nina is making most of it up in her head.

 And, in her head is where Nina begins to unravel. She cannot push herself hard enough, it seems, to be perfect, to be what Leroy needs, what her mother expects, what Lily is. She starts to hallucinate: strangers wear her face; she bleeds from wounds she doesn't remember inflicting and tears her own skin apart in pieces; she seems to be intent on harming herself.

 And, all this crescendoes to bring the Black Swan out: the aggressive, assertive, slightly frightening and glorious creature who dances the second act with a furor none of the dancers have ever seen before, especially from Nina. She transforms before our eyes, literally and figuratively, until you're no longer sure as the viewer what is performance and what is pure creation from Nina's increasingly disturbed mind. Is she growing wings? Has she murdered her rival and stashed her in her dressing room? By the end, even Nina can't be sure anymore.

Her triumph culminates in the perfection of the third act, and though it is short-lived, she looks radiant finally as she revels in having danced, finally, the best she possibly could have. She has finally danced "perfectly", and she gives everything to this: her body, her mind, her heart. She has destroyed herself before our eyes, to thunderous applause.

I could not write this review for weeks. After leaving the theatre, I had to catch my breath and slow my heart down. The truth is, I don't think there is a single artist out there who has not felt the drive that destroys Nina. That drive to be perfexct, to push yourself just a little harder, just a little farther, to practice longer, to achieve the impossible. I found myself envying her at times and then feeling ashamed for doing it, knowing how destructive she was being and unable to help admiring her a little for it. In the final shot, as she lay demolished for her art, I felt my chest swell against my will at the sound of the applause for her performance. It was disturbing and frightening to see myself in her, and while every theatre-goer will get something different out of the film, that was what I took away with me, and what stays with me still: to me, Black Swan represents the lengths we will go to to achieve perfection. And what perfection truly costs.

I have been a White Swan for a long time, and sometimes yearn to be a little more like the Black Swan in my own life. But, when I do, I think of ruined Nina Sayers, and realize that sometimes, the price is just too high.