Lady in the Water

Oh, M. Night Shyamalan. I want to like you. I really do! Why, then, are you so strong in some areas and so transparently lame in others? Or inconsistently lame and strong, anyway?

I suspect a lot of the problem is the one-man-bandedness of his works. He writes and directs all his movies, so all the blame or praise falls to him. In this case, was it a blessing or a curse that Sixth Sense (1999) was his first feature film?


Ok. Lady in the Water (2006). Paul Giamatti plays Cleveland Heap, a put-upon apartment complex superintendeant that seems somewhat contented to work and live with the miscellaneous characters that occupy the building. Like the weird little dude who is only working out one side of his body. Or the family with five sisters. The war buff. The film critic who clumsily analyses his life as if it were a film. The author and his sister. More on the author later.

Bryce Dallas Howard plays a sea nymph who appears in the pool of Cleveland’s complex. Yeah. I tried to care about/pay attention to this storyline, so bear with me. A long time ago, humans and sea creatures were friendly, but then men became more obsessed with owning material objects, and didn’t care about the sea creatures anymore. Uh, star babies of the sea nymphs were sent to live among men and if they could spiritually commune with one, or something, something good would happen.

My confusion or ambivalence on the storyline is fuelled by multiple amendments and addendums to the original story as the movie progressed. It’s like this, oh, no it’s not, it’s like this, oh, did I forget to say this? It gets tiring and boring really fast. How lazy was Shyamalan when he was writing this screenplay that he didn’t even try to insinuate story twists with any sort of finesse? They are slammed into the proceedings like a lump of clay thrown on the floor.

I liked the directing. The direction was cool. Shyamalan likes to frame his subjects very tightly, so the audience can’t see what the character sees, or, what the character can’t see. It’s a very effective tool in suspenseful directing. He knows that what you can’t see is often more frightening than what you can. Still, he showed us the aliens in Signs (2002). It was scary up to that point.

Paul Giamatti is an amazing actor. He is not a big screen hunk, and he doesn’t choose broadly funny roles, but he is captivating to watch with excellent comic timing. In Lady in the Water, his Cleveland stutters. Giamatti portrays stuttering with understanding and style. It’s not the stereotypical broken-record uncontrollable repetition of the first phoneme (“puh-puh-puh-puffed sleeves”), but the kind of unpredictable and troubled speech from which so many stutterers suffer. I just remembered: stuttering was mentioned in The Sixth Sense, too.

I said I’d get back to the author. He is played by Shyamalan, in his biggest role to date. (Until now, he’d taken a page out of Hitchcock's book, which is called “Appearing in Your Own Film.” He was only a tiny glimpse or cameo in his other films, but in Lady in the Water, it’s a proper role.) His character, when played by himself, and the plotline he has given Vic, is probably one of the most self-serving and egotistic turns I’ve ever witnessed. The Nymph (whose name, annoyingly, is “Story”), tells him that the book he’s in the process of writing will influence the future president of the United States, and will bring about an era of world peace. Oh, and he’d be murdered because of his ideas. Posthumous glory. How tragic. Is Shyamalan trying to say that we’ll only really appreciate his movies when he’s dead? That’s a tall order when it comes to this offering.

Everyone said it was crap, but I went to see it anyway. I should learn my lessons. Rotten Tomatoes gave this movie 21%. 15% of that is Giamatti, and 6% is for the line, “Mr. Heap is a player!”

The Frisco Kid

Comedies from the 1970s have a distinctive flare to them, and comedy-westerns of that decade almost constitute their own genre. It is, perhaps, an acquired taste, but often well worth the viewing.

Robert Aldrich’s The Frisco Kid (1979) came out on DVD just this past spring, and was long awaited on home video format by students of Jewishness in American cinema. We have grown quite used to fictional glimpses of Jewish life in America in the late 1800s, but very few have taken us where this one does: The Westward Wagon Trail and the Pacific coast.


The Frisco Kid is Gene Wilder, who plays Avram Belinski, the 88th out of 89 rabbinical students in his Yeshiva class back in Poland. This less-than-astounding record earns him an unenviable position. His superiors decide he will be sent to San Francisco, where the growing Jewish community requires a rabbi. He sails to Philadelphia without incident, but, naturally, his trek through the Wild West is not so easy. He finds himself, robbed and defenseless, wandering in the wilderness. Helped along by the Amish (who he first mistakes for Hasidim), employed by the railway, and assaulted by food-robbing raccoons, the rabbi is sunk until he teams up with a rough bank robber (played by a very young Harrison Ford), who is too kindly (despite himself) to toss this fish-out-of-water back into the brush without help.

Playing the “damsel (read: rabbi) in distress,” Wilder is his usual wonderful self, and Ford, as beautiful and charming here as anyone ever could be, exhibits all the qualities that made him the box office hero he became. The bank robber is neither anti-Semitic, nor a brutish parody of cowboy masculinity, as so many of his celluloid brothers have been. He is uneducated, but he is not devoid of humanity. Likewise, the rabbi is a pacifist and religiously devout, but he never falls into cowardice (on the contrary, he is one of the few truly courageous images of Jewish males in American comedy) or dogmatic intolerance.

The story is simple and generally predictable (of course, the rabbi and the bank robber become best friends), and its humour does occasionally sink into the silly. (Not to say that the silliness is not effective – I found it quite impossible not to laugh right out loud at the scene in which the earnest rabbi teaches a tribe of Native Americans to dance the hora.) No one could accuse the film of high-concept laughs, and it is clearly meant to appeal to Jewish and non-Jewish audiences alike, as well as to many viewers who might not otherwise enjoy comedy-westerns.

Nevertheless, it also achieves a complexity and uniqueness amongst its cohorts. The characters are drawn with unexpected sensitivity and depth, stereotypes are never wholly relied upon, and the scenes of male bonding are poignant and believable. Violence, a common aspect of westerns, is also handled with an expert touch, and presents itself as an opportunity for heroics, but also as a seat of shame and senselessness. In its way, this film transcends the silly 70s comedy and makes it into thought provoking commentary.

With its unusually high production values, delightful klezmer-inspired score, and quick pace, The Frisco Kid is an enjoyable experience. Unfortunately, the new DVD completely underwhelms with its ugly packaging and menus, as well as with its relative lack of special features, but the film itself is a gem and worth the wait.

If you are interested in film representations of Jews, this is a key film because of its employment of stage conventions, as well as its subversion of old and tired stereotypes. However, if you are merely looking for a comedy that can entertain and amuse, played by attractive and charismatic stars, then you could also do a lot worse than this old-fashioned buddy picture with a peach of a gimmick.

Friends WIth Money.

Friends With Money (2006) is about four generally unlikeable friends and their significant others. While the title might lead one to believe that Jennifer Aniston's character, Olivia, is the protagonist, all four ladies are featured on in equal measure.

Olivia is, however, generally the focus of the three wealthy friends' concern. Olivia isn't married. Olivia is a pothead. Olivia isn't living up to her potential. This last one, at least, is a genuine concern. Olivia used to be a teacher at a posh private school, but got so fed up with how the students were condecending assholes-in-training, she quit. Now, Olivia works as a maid. I think she finds it satisfying. I don't think it was a self-mortification practice, as if cleaning up other people's homes would make her a more noble person, but she just gave up on herself and didn't find what she did at all problematic. She had enough money for rent and weed, but not high-end cosmetics, which we watch her procure 1/2 ounce by 1/2 ounce in tiny sample tubes (see picture).

Catherine Keener plays Christine, who is half of a screenwriting duo. Her writing partner is her husband. They sit accross from one another, reading dialogue to make sure it's true to their created characters. They are adding a garish storey to their home, and when the contractor tells them that the addition will not make them very popular with the neighbours because it blocks everyone's view, she shrugs and says, "I want it."

Jane, played by the infinitely watchable Frances McDormand, is a successful clothing designer. Why her friends don't recognise her obvious depression, I don't know. She was gripped by such a deep malaise, she doesn't bother to wash her hair. It just gets dirty again, she says, and her arms get tired anyway, so why bother. She is so combattant and ready to fight with anyone who she feels wrongs her, she got thrown out of a an Old Navy for belligerantly accusing a couple of butting in line. (What's more humiliating: being thrown out of an Old Navy, or an A-list designer being seen in an Old Navy?) Her husband may or may not be dating another man. The two men could just be friends, but the kind of wide-eyed excitement is that of expectant lovers, not new friends. Jane is oblivious to husband's seemingly confused sexuality, and it doesn't appear to play a role in her depression.

Joan Cusack plays the frugal Franny, the easily-manipulated wife of a wealthy businessman. She is the richest friend, and she and her husband have so much money, they can't decide who to donate it to. What a burden that must be. She introduces her trainer to Olivia. He's a cad who has a fetish for hired help, and although he follows Olivia to other people's homes and uselessly watches her clean, he insists a cut of her pay. Meanwhile, he brags about making $65 an hour as a personal trainer. She forks over his "cut" without argument.

All of the friends don't seem to be happy, but are they really unhappy? They are letting their lives be lived for them; passive passengers in their own biographies. They are living lives of well-to-do Angelinos, but seem gaunt and drawn, with their tanned skin hanging from their bones. The friends are more contented to gossip than to actually help one another. One of them wonders aloud: if we weren't already friends and met now, would we become friends now? She thought probably not. They're all in their respective ruts. Keener's character seems to be the one with the most development. She eventually feels remorse over the rude construction on the house and also begins divorce proceedings.

Was this a good movie? Umm... It wasn't a bad movie. It wasn't remarkable, but it was not unwatchable. The characters were interesting but not compelling. I don't know if I'd even recommend this as a renter (August 29th). If I weren't writing this review, I might even forget I'd seen it. Meh.

Even the Disk Sucks

I don’t really mean to be so very harsh. To tell the truth, after the initial disappointments, the new Pride and Prejudice (2005) actually started to grow on me. The pacing of the story (and the dialogue) is still far too fast, and I still worry that this version relies too much on having an audience already familiar with the story, but the look of the film is lush and lovely, and there are a few nice touches.

However, I have been less than charitable towards the thing since I have had my computer crash four times and my regular DVD player do long sessions of confused spins more times than I care to count.

I bought a copy of the new P&P at HMV, in their always-welcome 2/$30 sale, and the first copy killed my comp at the end of chapter 9. I tried again to no avail. I tried it on my entertainment system, which is usually a more rickety enterprise since the machine is about five years old now. This time it only skipped chapters 10 and 11, but no smoke rolled out.

Annoyed, I trucked back to HMV last week to get a new copy. Again, at chapter 10 it died, taking my computer with it. Today, I got yet another copy. Again, chapter 10 would not play.

I turned to the internet, which is one of the few luxuries of the modern world that I do appreciate, and found that I was not the only one with this problem. In fact, in reviews of the Canadian widescreen edition (the one with the little red maple leaf on the spine), I found that several complaints had been launched, and that many copies stopped, froze or pixilated at chapter 10, about one hour and thirteen minutes into the movie. It seems it was a factory issue, and some stores were more than cranky over granting refunds, forcing some customers to try copy after copy until some just gave up.

I can understand those who gave up. Part of me wanted to not bother with this. Chapter 10 is only three minutes long, and features the famous “Darcy’s Post-Rejection Letter” scene. I told myself, “You know what happens here. Just settle.” However, I saw Mr. Smith Goes to Washington (1939) too many times as a child, and I decided to take HMV on. So, I left the house again ranting about “Demanding satisfaction,” a la Alexander Pushkin or something.

HMV, if you’ll remember, firmed up its returns and refunds policies about four years ago in response to DVD/CD burning technology, and declared that exchanges could only take place on unopened items. In the case of flaw, DVDs could only be exchanged for new copies of the same DVD.

Seeing that this was a factory flaw, and that the local HMV does not carry the American version (which apparently is trouble-free), I was unwilling to accept anything else but a refund or a totally different movie. I may only be a humble student, but I still do not have the time to waste trying copy after copy, and running back and forth to HMV, where they seemed to be sure I was running some kind of scam on them.

Well, it turns out that the wonderful, fabulous, lovely and kind store manager (always ask to see a manager when one seeks satisfaction) was well aware that the first print of this DVD from March had this issue. I was told that Universal claims to have fixed the problem and that the new batches are fine, but this was certainly not the case here.

So, if you see a store burning off batches of the new Pride and Prejudice, Canadian edition, you’re probably better off saving your money. (Actually, you may be better off saving your money even if copies of the so-so melodrama are fine.)

In case you’re wondering about what I got in exchange, I selected Hitchcock’s Lifeboat (1944), which I should have gotten in the first place.

Lesson learned.

The Devil Wears Prada.

I'll try to avoid the trap of describing this movie by comparing it to other movies. That's lazy, anyway, isn't it? It's like describing Canada in ways it's not America. Besides, I'm afraid that a lot of movies that might come to mind would be shallow, ephemeral, and forgettable compared to The Devil Wears Prada (2006). Devil is a more substantial offering, although at first glance it might appear to be a toothless chick flick.

Anne Hathaway plays Andrea, a journalism graduate desperate for work in New York City when she lands a job as an assistant to the editor of the fashion magazine, "Runway." She is not familiar with the magazine or the editor. Compared to other girls that work at the magazine, she wears frumpy (preppie?) clothes and is fat (size 6 - "the new size 14"). Also compared to the other girls, she has no preknowledge of the editor. This ignorance might be what saved Andrea, because she didn't have a pre-existing fear of the editor, Miranda Presley, played by Meryl Streep. She is cold, demanding, spoiled, entitled, and very, very, powerful. Andrea quickly learns to fear Miranda, as does anyone else who recognises her name.

Andrea finds that she gets more respect around the office if she plays the part, so she smoothes out her hair and wears more makeup and couture. No, you do not whiff Pretty Woman (1990). This is not a caterpillar-to-butterfly narrative. Although there is one short sequence revealing all her new beautiful clothes, Andrea's change of clothes does not represent a change of Andrea. In the beginning, anyway. She uses the clothes simply to get what she wants, but as time goes by, she begins to fear Miranda more and more, and she falls into the cycle at which she once scoffed. Really, it's a butterfly-to-caterpillar narrative.

Andrea becomes rather ugly in her scrambing to please Miranda. She starts blowing off her adorable boyfriend, family, and friends, and her sorrys are soon devalued. She hysterically scours the city when Miranda demands copies of the seventh Harry Potter manuscript for her children-of-the-corn twin daughters, and drops a dress size, although I'm not sure if it was by design or shredded nerves. Miranda finally gives Andrea the stamp of approval when she asks her to accompany her to Paris for Fashion Week. By accepting, though, she has to stab one of her co-workers in the back. Her remorse is momentary.

Andrea takes a long, hard look at herself in Paris after an episode where Miranda's terrible facade momentarily breaks. She is weepy at the news that her husband is divorcing her, but as she remorses that her daughters will not have their father around, in the same breath, she demands Andrea reconfigure the seating plans for a formal dinner. Andrea sees that while Miranda does have some humanity, it's not much.

I didn't read The Devil Wears Prada, because I think I dismissed it as chick lit, and I don't like chick lit. I haven't read a lot of this saccharine pulp which floods bookstores' shelves with their brightly-coloured graphic covers, but I've gotten the impression that shopping and finding a dream man are the common demoninators. Although those are two things that I think about, it's not my entire life, and I don't find it entertaining or compelling fiction. In the movie offering of this Laura Weisberger novel, it is obvious that we're dealing with a different equasion. Andrea has her dream man as the movie starts, we never see her shopping, and she never covets the clothes she wears. They are a means to an end, but she loses track of that that end goal is.

Ok - maybe I will compare it to another movie - Mean Girls (2004). I bring up Mean Girls only because it's another example of a movie I didn't expect much out of, but over-delivered. This was good, better than I expected, and not all about pretty clothes, although there are a lot of those, too.