Belle

The recent release of Amma Asanté’s Belle is not the first dramatization of the life of Dido Elizabeth Belle—and for good reason. Inspired by historical events surrounding the life of the eponymous Belle (called Dido in life and in film), the film generously chooses to fill in the historical blanks with somewhat of a fairy tale.

Indeed, fans of enchanting costume dramas will be happy to find a story complete with scathing critique of British high society and heartwarming promises of love’s ability to overcome prejudice and circumstance. However, viewers hoping to find commentary relevant to contemporary audiences may be disappointed.

First person accounts and historical documents offer sparse, yet intriguing accounts of a woman born to a white British naval officer and an enslaved African woman in late 18th century England. From this starting point, the film opens with Dido’s father, Sir John Lindsay, collecting his young daughter from the West Indies after the death of her mother. Lindsay deposits Dido with his aunt and uncle, who promise to raise her as a free gentlewoman.

What follows are the inevitable complications surrounding Dido’s life: a seminal court battle regarding the legality of British slavery is presided over by her uncle, and Dido’s interest in the case prompts her to newly examine her identity and combat the notion that she is, “too high of rank to dine with the servants, but too low of rank to dine with my own family.”

The premise is full of potential, but the film ultimately does little to challenge its audience to re-configure any of their existing thoughts regarding race or status. Much of this is due to the construction of the characters, who remain consistently un-nuanced despite skilled performances all around.

The audience can safely identify with Dido’s steadfastly noble family and righteous love interest, or cast judgment upon cartoonishly villainous suitors, all without being asked to see contemporary parallels in any of the seemingly outdated prejudice and subjugation which the film depicts.

One of the only exceptions to this is the construction of the film’s title character. Gugu Mbatha-Raw (Odd Thomas, Larry Crowne) instills into the role of Dido the impeccable grace of good breeding, while simultaneously charming the audience with all manner of identifiable minutia: giddiness towards dresses shared with her sister, quiet anxiety surrounding being depicted in portrait amongst (almost) entirely white faces, and, finally, not-so-quiet rebellion regarding her future within society and her investment in the promise of an end to the British slave trade.

Ultimately, however, Belle does not make for thought-provoking fare. Without realistically complex characters, moments in which the film presents conflict that can be translated to present day are few and far between. Nevertheless, it is sure to satisfy any audience member’s desire for delightful, consumable period drama; the political, familial, and romantic arcs all coincide for a satisfying, though predictable, finale. And for an extra kick, the true story at the center of the sweetly constructed tale promises all kinds of possibilities for adaptations to come. For whatever political shortcomings Belle may have, this will certainly not be the last we hear of Dido Elizabeth Belle.   

Half of a Yellow Sun

Set against the backdrop of the Nigerian civil war in the 1960s, “Half of a Yellow Sun” follows Olanna (Thandie Newton, The Pursuit of Happyness, Run Fatboy Run) and Odenigbo (Chiwetel Ejifor, 12 Years a Slave, Kinky Boots) through their lives before and during the war. Olanna comes from a sophisticated family; she and her sister just returned from getting their education in England. Odenigbo, is a “radical professor,” who has a growing interest in the Igbo people struggling to create Biafra as an independent republic.

The story is an adaptation of the 2006 bestselling novel by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, a Nigerian feminist and writer whose TEDx talk was recently sampled by Beyoncé in her song “***Flawless.” The film is a sprawling story, anchored in strong performances by Newton and Ejifor, who each bring a quiet intensity to their roles, which drive the heart of “Half of a Yellow Sun.”

Most book adaptations can delve into episodic, and “Half of a Yellow Sun” is no exception. There’s a lot of ground to cover between the personal lives of Odengibo, Olanna, and her sister Kainene (Anika Noni Rose, Dreamgirls, The Princess and the Frog). Frequently it can feel as if the movie is delving into melodrama of the sisters’ lives and relationships, and though strong performances carry the film through its low points, it doesn’t erase them completely.

It might not stay with you forever; melodrama in book adaptations rarely do. And for all the finer points of the movie it’s hard to get past that. But there’s heart and history to be had in “Half of a Yellow Sun,” and set against the gorgeous Nigerian backdrop that’s not half bad.

God’s Pocket

By the end, “God’s Pocket” feels like an exercise in what could’ve been. What if, for example, 22-year-old Leon (Caleb Landry Jones, X-Men First Class) hadn’t threatened a man at his work, leading to his untimely death? He might’ve saved his stepfather Mickey (the late Philip Seymour Hoffman in one of his final roles, The Master, Capote) and his mother Jeanie (Christina Hendricks, Drive, TV’s Mad Men) a whole lot of heartache and questioning.

Based on the 1983 novel of the same name, rundown columnist Richard (Richard Jenkins, Cabin in the Woods, Killing them Softly) comes to the town of God’s Pocket to write about Leon’s death, and things go from bad to worse. Soon Mickey finds himself with a distraught wife, a large debt, and a body in the back of his freezer truck.

It could have been a great film. It’s got an all-star cast with acting talent to boot. Luckily, the actors all fade into their roles as down-on-their-luck, small towners. Helmed by John Slattery of “Mad Men” fame, who serves as director and co-writer, “God’s Pocket” has a charm that Slattery brought to the episodes of “Mad Men” he’s directed in the past.

Richard’s columns (and voice-overs) describe a town full of people lacking ambition, staying housed in bars for hours, that turn into years, of their lives. Slattery’s debut feature film manages to do justice to the setting of its source material, but the efforts, unfortunately do not save the film. His style walks the line between canonizing and demonizing the blue-collar workers who make up God’s Pocket.

But, alas, there’s wasted potential running amok through the streets of God’s Pocket. Mickey’s attempts to handle the details of the funeral with no money to pay for it make up the loose plot of the film, but it feels largely episodic.

It doesn’t help that the tone shifts between scenes — and even between characters. It’s not always clear what characters’ motivations are, and “God’s Pocket” seems more concerned with making things happen than letting them happen organically. It seems like Slattery and his cast do what they can for those without the support of details to shore up their authenticity, but the script is so sparse on specifics that there’s not much left between scenes.

It can be serious and it can be funny, but it never seems to be enough of either to stake out any territory. Perhaps a more experienced director could have smoothed out the kinks and made for a more consistent tone.

Fortunately, there’s enough talent in the cast to at least somewhat carry the plot. This being the first of Hoffman’s posthumous releases, there’s a distinct twinge of melancholy that plays right into the air of God’s Pocket. It also furthers the general feeling throughout the film that “God’s Pocket” exists in a reality somewhere close to a well-told story. But by the end the story you are left right back where you started: hoping to see something great from a collection of talented actors. 

The verdict: The first of Philip Seymour Hoffman’s posthumous releases comes close, but isn’t good. 

12 Years a Slave

Slavery is America’s greatest shame. During American reconstruction, the consequences of slavery were swept under the rug and allowed to fester in our society in the form of steadfast inequality and internalized racism. This has been the same approach from American cinema. Few attempts have been made at confronting the issue and the few that have were directed by white directors—it’s startling to realize that a specifically black narrative has not been told through a black lens. Until now.

Steve McQueen has already established himself as one of the most audacious and exciting directors in independent cinema with his mesmerizing Hunger (2009) and his beautifully shot (though unevenly written) Shame (2011). However, his film from this year, 12 Years a Slave, may be his magnum opus.     

Based on the memoir, 12 Years a Slave chronicles the journey of Solomon Northrop, a free black man living in the North who is kidnapped and sold into slavery. Branded a runaway and renamed “Platt”, Northrop travels from plantation to plantation encounters the horrors of slavery in all of its grotesque forms.  

12 Years a Slave is spearheaded with an exquisite ensemble cast featuring Paul Dano (Ruby Sparks, There Will be Blood), Michael Fassbender (Shame, The Counselor), Benedict Cumerbatch (Star Trek Into Darkness, Desolation of Smaug), and Quvenzhane Wallis (Beasts of Southern Wild). However the core of the film comes from performances by Lupita Nyong’o as Patsy and Chiwetel Ejiofor (Children of Men, Talk to Me) as Solomon Northup, both of whom are sure to expecting Oscar nominations.*

Nyong’o performance embodies the fear and warranted paranoia as she is stalked by the rapacious eye of her master. Nyong’o’s turmoil is paired with a visceral yearning to escape her violent and abusive life.

Chiwetel Ejiofor’s performance is the very heart of the film. Northup is not painted to be any sort of superhero; he is an average man placed in the most impossible yet horrifyingly common of circumstances and forced to rely on his strength of his will. The key to Ejiofor’s performance is the portrayal of his repression: Northup must repress his potential to pass as a submissive slave. He grinds his teeth and bears the grit of his enslavement, yet there is an overlooming tension in his shoulders. He knows he cannot be true to himself, for his very survival depends on his charade.  

12 Years can easily be described as the best film made to date amongst slavery.  There are no caricatures making the film a shocking realist document of American History. It taps into the side of history the U.S. would rather sweep under the rug, revealing a raw and unflinching portrayal period that still touches us today. The film’s ability to stay simple while it uses every scene to convey a piercing truth. It’s not an easy view, but it is most certainly a necessary one.

*Wondering why this post is so late?

Locke

Ivan Locke (Tom Hardy, The Dark Knight Rises, Lawless) has spent years becoming the person he wants to be: a dedicated family man and a respected construction foreman. But the night before a historical concrete pour, Locke receives a phone call that threatens everything he holds dear. He made a mistake and he has to fix it, and so he must drive to London as he deals with the repercussions of his decisions, both professional and personal.

It’s an interesting exercise in film and storytelling, to say the least. Perhaps the most difficult hour and a half of this character’s life, told in real time, and the script never ventures outside of Locke’s hatchback to tell it.

Of course a narrative so experimental requires a strong actor in the driver’s seat (literally) in order to pull it off. Luckily, Hardy is up to the task, even if his Welsh accent is not. Hardy is captivating as everyman Ivan Locke who is struggling to get through a strenuous, if small, snapshot of his life.

Taking an everyman with stakes beyond his control and transforming him into a spellbinding case study is perhaps Hardy’s most compelling role. Complex gear-switching and emotions transition seamlessly across his face and voice.

As fascinating as Hardy’s performance is, “Locke” will polarize audiences. It’s a difficult film to stick with, since the only real power Locke has from his handsfree telephone is through Donal (Andrew Scott, Sherlock‘s Moriarty), the man who must step in for Locke during the concrete pour — which might not feel like the biggest issue at stake for those in the audience. 

How engrossed audiences are by the conflict in Locke’s life will affect how forgiving they are of the cinematography, which basically switches between the same camera angles over and over again. After his destination is revealed, there isn’t a lot of resolution to be had, except how exactly the events in question will unfold.

As Locke claustrophobically deals with his emotional demons, the camera blurs the line between him and the urban, night-time landscape around him. His life is just as dominated by the passing streetlights and headlights as it is with his current conundrum.

For some people who don’t particularly care about the sordid details of Ivan Locke’s life or about a momentous cement pour the movie will drive like a flat tire. But there will likely be many in the audience for whom the weight of Tom Hardy’s performance will be enough. He’s aided, of course, by the faceless voices he interacts with over the phone, who have to act out their night with only their voice. But it’s basically a one-man show, and Hardy nails it. All in all, how enjoyable the movie is will depend on one’s ability to put up with an experimental gimmick and tag along for the ride.

Heaven is For Real

It’s been a rough year for Todd Burpo (Greg Kinnear, Little Miss Sunshine). A local pastor, volunteer firefighter, high school wrestling coach, garage door repairman, and all around Steve Rogers of his community is busy recovering from his own health issues when Colton (Connor Corum), his son, suffers a ruptured appendix. Todd and his wife, Sonja (Kelly Reilly, Sherlock Holmes: Game of Shadows, Flight) quickly call their friends to prayer as it looks like Colton won’t make it through surgery.

Colton pulls through, but the real complications start as Colton’s insistence that he journeyed to heaven during his operation challenges the faith of his father, his church, and his community.

“Heaven is for Real” is based off the New York Times bestseller of the same name written by real-life Todd Burpo about the near-death experience of his 4-year-old son. “Heaven is For Real” — opening with a title card saying it’s “based on a true story” — might have a hard time establishing a typical, mainstream audience, but it doesn’t seem too concerned with that.

It’s not geared toward hard-boiled city-types who aren’t interested in dabbling with heaven and the G-man. It’s centered on a devoutly Christian family and community, and will likely speak best to those who identify as such.

In terms of small-town Americana blurring the line between the known and unknown, the movie’s style falls somewhere between “Field of Dreams” and “The Sixth Sense.” For those who have had a crisis of their faith — or maybe even just a sense of faith at all — the movie will come off as an earnest and profound discussion of the afterlife. “Heaven is for Real” is at its best when it sensitively examines a devout community struggling to grapple with the unknowable.

But for those who don’t partake in Bible teachings, it may come off as a preachy, oddly-paced memoir adaptation. It’s not marketed toward those who are devout in their nonbelief. Sections of Burpo’s life that may play well in a novel end up muddling the overall arc of the plot, which is steadfastly set in establishing heaven as a real place — spoiler alert, although it is in the title. From an outsider’s perspective there’s something to be said for the tale of a family in the heart of a storm of conviction — it is at its core an exercise in validating religious belief.

While there isn’t much to be said for creativity on behalf of the filmmakers, there are plenty of nice establishing shots of Nebraska that paint the picture of rural life. But the divine scenery is only almost enough to offset the moralistic climax and doesn’t quite make up for the journey to get there.

The verdict:Will play well with those who have an interest in Sunday school teachings, otherwise go see a different Captain America movie.

Blue is the Warmest Color

Ah, first love. It’s spurred many a story, song, poem, and battle axe to life. It can be as complex as years of muted banter or as simple as a chance passing in the street.

Such is how it happened for young Adèle (Adèle Exarchopoulos), a French high-school student, who’s exploring young love and sexuality when she walked past Emma (Léa Seydoux), catching her eye in the street. When Emma and Adèle serendipitously meet in a bar later on, they become friends and soon, much more.

The story follows them through the years and mounting intensity of their relationship. It’s a pretty massive tour de force of both of the ups and downs of love, particularly that in the LGBT communities.

The film has been surrounded by plenty of controversy, focused on the explicit sex scenes that litter the midpoint of the movie. The first one is six straight minutes of intense love-making, and even my leniency regarding sex scenes was pushed past the edge (the interviews the actresses have given about the director’s intense style didn’t help anything).

Based on a graphic novel written by Julie Maroh, the film is a bit more shadowy about what it shows. It could be argued director Abdel Kechiche attempts a hands off approach, letting the actors’ natural chemistry speak for itself, but sometimes the film is pulled too far back, leaving the audience to fill in the blanks.

While in the comic it’s firmly established that Adele’s family and friends are conservative, it’s not quite communicated in the film why they (seemingly) suddenly drop out of her life, leaving her with only Emma.

But in his own way, Kechiche has created one of the most visceral and truthful portrayals of relationships in its own messy way. It creates an emotional roller coaster around the ups and downs of young love that’s more often than most. It’s not particularly hopeful, profound, or speaking to an overall trend in love. It simply is.   

It resembles a romantic T.S. Elliot epic: that the substance is secondary to the overall moods and ambiance conveyed. The films serves to immerse its audience in the throes of first love in a pop fueled sensory bath of emotions. We are transported to a time of intense feelings, turbulent innocence, and romantic idealism: where even a color becomes the synonym for love.  

Divergent

In the age of the Buzzfeed quiz (as it’s seeming more and more likely archeologists will refer to now) it seems serendipitous that Divergent would be released. The premise lies in a future, dystopian Chicago, where survivors live behind a wall, and are divided into five factions to “prevent further fighting” based on their strengths and values.

When you turn 16, you are tested and then choose between Abnegation, for the selfless; Amity, for the peaceful; Candor, for the honest; Dauntless, for the brave; and Erudite for the intelligent. When Beatrice Prior (Shailene Woodley) goes to take her test, she’s shocked to learn she’s one of the few that’s coded as “divergent:” she could test successfully into three of the five factions.

She opts to leave her Abnegation home for Dauntless, which are like the police force, if the police force was an action hero raised as a lost boy from Hook. As she struggles to make the cut in Dauntless, Tris (as she comes to be known) uncovers a conspiracy, and gets close to the hulky and aloof Four (Theo James).

If the book wasn’t so young-adult-novel about its message, it would be more interesting. It spends so much time talking about the dangers of conformity that ultimately its a pretty nondescript dystopian imagining. Divergents won’t or don’t have to conform to the structure of the government’s thinking, but it’s never quite clear what that means, or to what extent they are “free.”

It’s indicative of a problem the film has overall: basing itself on the pacing of the young-adult series of the same name, it settles itself in all the wrong places. Hoping to keep a PG-13 rating the atrocities are minimized, end game downplayed to almost nothing, and the endless training montages of the Dauntless camp seem to drag on. Divergent really lets you feel the full weight of the 139 minutes.

I’m told that the long run time (and seemingly random plot pockets) is a symptom of its strict loyalty to the book, which may please the fans who are able to follow the inner-workings of Tris and her society that don’t make it into the dialogue.

Woodley, a talented standout in films like The Descendants and The Spectacular Now, does what she can with the character of Tris, but she ends up doing a lot of the screenwriters work for them. It’s a sort of Jon Snow principle: the inner-thoughts on page that make the character dynamic and a viable conduit for the reader. Those of us who favor big screen adaptations are left filling in the blanks.

Divergent won’t be the worst movie of the year, by a long shot. But the little it has going for it is ultimately squashed under the weight of scene upon scene of training. Which in the end yield a whole lot of message for very little pay off in the end. So when it comes to dystopian action you’ll find me browsing a different category, because it’s not nearly as different or dangerous as it asks its characters to be.

Wadjda

The Saudi Arabian film industry is still in it’s infancy, having only really started to take off in 2006.  However, even in it’s infancy, there are compelling styles and narratives being told through the medium and if Haifaa al-Monsour’s Wadjda is any indication of the future, we can surely expect more cinematic richness to come.

Wadjda is the simple tale of a young girl wishing to own a green bicycle.  However, the titular Wadjda is full of spunk and wit; qualities that hardly align with the ideals of the crushing patriarchy of Saudi Arabia.  Despite this, Wadjda remains undeterred in her quest, fueled by unshakable determination and optimism.

Not only is this the first film to be film entirely in Saudi Arabia, it is also the made by Saudi Arabia’s first female director.  Though al-Monsour has worked on short films in the past, Wadjda marks her first full length picture.  However al-Monsour shows no greenness behind the camera and infact her control and precision rivals that of any seasoned veteran.  Her style is incredibly economical, carefully constructing frames that contribute to a tightly wound narrative and emotionally intimate tale.  

Also acting as the screenwriter, al-Monsour’s writing is an extraordinary example of observational realism.  The film is told through Wadjda’s perspective, and even as an 11-year-old, she sees the injustices in the gender roles of her home.  As she observes how her mother, classmates, and teachers all respond societal expectation, she mimics none of these women, rather forges her own path and self identity in a male dominated world.  Such scenes can often be plagued by tropes and appear quite staged but al-Monsour’s handles the script with such subtlety and tact that our only impression is honest and true.  

Just because the film is told through the realist patina, doesn’t mean the film in bogged down with an austere ambiance.  The overall tone of the film is quite whimsical, reflecting it’s adventurous and innocent lead.  It’s this playfulness that provides the film with full bodied characters and allows the film to deal with these pressing issues through both a palatable yet firm pathway.

The film documents the gross oppression of women, and at times feels both suffocating and inescapable.  But the true brilliance of Wadjda is that despite the bleakness of the circumstance, there is still hope.  Throughout the film, Wadjda always stays true to herself and her identity, refusing the any person or system to write her off.  In many ways, Wadjda is a reflection of al-Monsour herself.  Despite living in a male dominated country and working in a male dominated field, al-Monsour creates art that reflects her own values and beliefs.  Wadjda and al-Monsour demonstrate no amount of systematic oppression can contain their steadfast resolve, devotion to self identity, and courage to achieve their goals.  It’s this very attitude that proves change is possible; as long as we keep on pedaling.  

The Grandmaster

Wong Kar-Wai has been considered as one of the most innovative and cinematically challenging directors our time has seen.  The British Film Institute (BFI) names him the third best director of modern times and his In The Mood for Love (2000) was named the best film made since the turn of the century.  His films are both thematically rich and emotionally scintillating, poetically revealing truths of the human soul.  Wong’s trademark visual style and sentimental potency is just as apparent in his latest film, The Grandmaster.

A bit of a departure from other Wong projects, The Grandmaster is a biopic of the legendary martial arts master Ip Man (Tony Leung, Infernal Affairs, Hero), best known as the teacher to Bruce Lee.  The film follows the the trials of Ip Man through the Second Sino-Japanese War, his family, and love.  

Though the idea of a biopic seems rather mundane for a director of Wong’s caliber, the maestro is still able to infuse the film with great depth and artistry.  A central plot of the film is the subtle and forbidden love between Yip-Man and martial art rival Gong Er (Zhang Ziyi, House of Flying Daggers, Memoirs of a Geisha).  Through the metaphor of martial arts, their bout of love is both sensual and tragic.  Longingness fills the atmosphere of the film, but romance is always eluded.  The passivity between the two festers into a lack of consummation and ultimately into regret; a feeling too painfully close to all.

Wong matches his themes with a visually taught cinematography.  His dazzling camera work portrays martial arts as an artistic medium.  More than just a fighting style, it is an arena to engage in discourses on philosophies, values, and ways of life.  It is a language that Wong is more than fluent in and is able to embellish and explore to the fullest, giving his audience both subtextually and photographically full-bodied fare.   

Though Wong works well in the biopic canvas, the format still seems to restrict him from engaging his fullest potential.  Wong’s previous works were noted for their hypnotic lucid and ethereal ambiances which created innovative and potent narratives.  Although Wong engages the story from a number of different points of attack, being tethered to the boundaries of a biopic prevented the film from being truly groundbreaking.  

This however is just a small knock at a beautifully crafted film.  Wong shows that his directorial pitch fork is still in tune and he is still able to engross an audience with sensational visuals and intoxicatingly romantic situations.  His latest film entry truly shows that when it comes to filmmaking, Wong is a grandmaster.