Jimi: All is By My Side

It’s weird to think about Jimi Hendrix (Outkast’s Andre 3000) being just another guy trying to pay the bills, but before he was discovered by Linda Keith (Imogen Poots, Need for Speed) that’s all he was. “All is by My Side” chronicles the year before Hendrix set fire to the stage in Monterey (literally).

Back then he was just a struggling musician who got noticed by the right person. The Hendrix estate was not consulted at all for the making of the film. Consequently, the movie paints a somewhat uneven and unusual picture of the guitar god. At times the flick feels more like a mood piece than a coherent film based on someone’s life. It borders on tedious; sometimes seeming like just a series of conversations that are flashes into the life of a music icon.

But there’s something intriguing about the experience of a biopic that strays from the obligatory mythologizing and dips into candid snapshots — for better or for worse. Here we see Jimi Hendrix, the man, through a sort of unwieldy temperament that would do its protagonist proud.

Ultimately it’s too long and unfocused to handle its lofty goals. Writer/director John Ridley (who also penned the script for 12 Years a Slave) made the decision to live by Hendrix’s “come what may” lifestyle. Andre 3000 nails the rambling style of Hendrix’s cadence, but there’s not enough agency there for the audience to stay invested in. Part of what made Hendrix a household name was the spontaneity and creativity. Those feelings are all there — and would make for a nice subversion of the stale biopic formula — but without Jimi’s full energy this film won’t be remembered like its leading man.  

Magic in the Moonlight

There’s plenty of familiarity in Woody Allen’s 44th feature, “Magic in the Moonlight.” An odd pairing of people who debate philosophies in a beautiful location. This time, it’s the gorgeous southern France in the 1920s, where Stanley Crawford (Colin Firth, Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, The King’s Speech) is taking a break from his stage-duties of a magician in yellowface as “Wei Ling Soo.” Persuaded by his childhood friend Howard (Simon McBurney), he ventures to the Catledge family mansion hoping to debunk young Sophie Baker (Emma Stone, The Amazing Spider-man series, The Help) as a clairvoyant swindling the family out of their money.

Though it’ll likely go down in history as one of the weaker entries to Allen’s extensive canon (especially after last year’s Blue Jasmine), overall “Magic in the Moonlight” is certainly a lighthearted one. It’s not quite a farce, but it’s not prime-Allen either. With only a 97-minute run time it’s lightness can venture on uneven at certain points, especially as a not too romantic romcom.

But its leads, Firth and Stone, are adept at picking up some of the slack. The pair, mismatched as they may seem, does find something adjacent to chemistry, if only due to their own likeable styles. They make the most of Allen’s witty script, giving the flick a charismatic Wildean feel.

But all things considered the movie generally softballs what would have the potential to be a really sharp comedy. There aren’t many twists, turns, or surprises to make the film happen organically, rather than just as it needs to happen. As Firth and Stone battle wits and beliefs in the unexplainable, the film expects its audience to just trust that there’s a growing love between them.

All in all though, the film is too light on its feet to really get bogged down. Though its scope is vast (Allen’s classic musings on death and the bigger meaning run rampant), the film strolls along, at an easy pace through scenic backdrops, focused on the vexation of love and trickery, as well as curing Stanley Crawford of his woefully cynical disposition. It takes after its leading lady: though it’s not going down as one as one of Allen’s modern classics, it sure does have a lot of charisma.

The verdict: In terms of Woody Allen’s magic touch, this one is a bit more “Scoop” than “Annie Hall.”

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.

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?

The Grand Budapest Hotel

There are often times when us at Pulp Diction wonder what it would’ve been like if different choices had been made on a film project. What if David Cronenberg had directed Star Wars Episode VI? What if we just recast Tom Cruise in everything?

But every once and a while, a film comes along that’s just wholly and distinctly in the vein of style of the filmmaker behind it. Such is the case with Wes Anderson and The Grand Budapest Hotel.

It’s the quirky, nesting doll of plots a tale told in dolly moves and wide shots. Opening with a girl, reading a book, written by a man, who was told the tale of Zero (Tony Revolori, the rare newcomer to the Anderson canon), a lobby boy at the titular hotel in its prime. He’s the trusted protege of the legendary concierge M. Gustave (Ralph Fiennes, Harry Potter series, Skyfall), whose comfort and caring for the hotel’s elderly, female patrons takes them on an adventure of art theft, familial relations, and scrumptious pastries.

Anderson’s meticulous eye for symmetry in detail makes for an elaborate mis en scene, with nearly every shot looking like an elegant oil painting. If you’re not a fan of the Wes Anderson collection thus far, The Grand Budapest Hotel isn’t likely to be the movie that breaks that streak. It’s the sort of world that’s almost too quirky to function.

The Grand Budapest Hotel is a wacky, screwball comedy in high form, but with classic Anderson finishes. The balance struck is pure Anderson, though it’s a departure from his earlier, blacker comedies. The film is often downright silly, even as it hints at darker and sadder history lurking in the background.

The movie hinges on its leads being able to strike the balance between zany and composure, which Fiennes and Revolori do with aplomb. They manage to form an honest friendship between two earnest characters, breaking out from the medley of two-dimensional Anderson characters running around in the background.

And, perhaps most importantly, their eccentricities play straight into the frantic storybook Anderson has created. He brings an evolved sophistication to voice over and plot structure. It’s all part of Anderson’s masterplan a deceptively thoughtful streak that runs rampant through the film a film as frenetic as it is visual.  

Anderson’s character of Gustave is something of relic from a time gone by, much like he was in the film. A Lubitchean dandy, he transports us to a time of splendor, sophistication, and amusement. By then end of it all, we are leaving the theater feeling a bit solemn for a moment that we have lost, but at the same time we can’t help but feel grand.    

The Fifth Estate

Sher-leaked*

While nowadays Americans are following a different whistleblower, it doesn’t feel like all that long ago that Julian Assange was splashed across newspapers everywhere for his involvement with Wikileaks. 

After opening on Assange’s 2010 partnership with The Guardian and The New York Times to release thousands of U.S. government cables, “The Fifth Estate” cuts back to the beginning: having trouble getting attention, Assange (Benedict Cumberbatch, Star Trek Into Darkness, Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, and will be Smaug in The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug) brings Daniel Domscheit-Burg (Daniel Brühl, The Edukators, Good Bye Lenin!) on board at then unknown Wikileaks. Together they do everything from expose corruption at a Swiss bank to revealing a U.S. bomb strike on civilians. But by the time they’re notorious and are in the midst of Chelsea Manning’s leak, their differences are threatening more than just the fabric of their friendship.

It’s got a similar feel to “The Social Network” in that it’s about a willful social outcast, full of brood and genius, who pushes his luck and betrays the values of his work partner in a saga ripped from the headlines. But where “The Social Network” pulled its focus away from the computer to provide insight to the people behind it, “The Fifth Estate” creates cartoony characters and has them stand in front of screens that look like something out of a bad 80s hacker flick (it gets so bad that at one point green computer writing is projected on to the character’s faces).

The story is told through the eyes of Daniel (in the real world he’s the one that wrote the book the movie’s based off of) who comes off especially as a do-gooder next to the cartoon villain that is Assange. By the time it reaches its middle it’s clear the screenwriter got no help from Assange and didn’t bother to try to give his character the depth of a real person. The only thing the movie’s certain of is establishing Julian Assange as devout egomaniac.

The actors do what they can: Brühl manages to bring some ethical dimension to his character, instilling a believably conflicted radical trying to do some good in the world. A transformed Cumberbatch, who looks like he walked off the set of “Twilight,” does a good job of working some ambiguity into the character of Assange. But they were no match a script that seems overly-simplified and incurious about discovering the truths behind its characters.

The one dimensional story and characters could almost have been excused if it other things going for it; after all, what’s a filmmaker to do when the main subject of their film lives in the shadows and refuses to talk to them? But “The Fifth Estate” is largely uncreative in its scope of modern history. It’s so caught up in cramming every detail, screenshot, and drama it doesn’t seem to have much to say regarding the entire Wikileaks saga. Whether Assange and his site are right or wrong is up to the viewer, but further citation may be needed.

Verdict: For a movie that’s about pioneering a new age, it sure feels like a out of date tech movie.

*Us writers at Pulp Diction had alternate subheads as well: The Desolation of Assange, Smaug Origin Stories, Now Available on Wikileaks.

We think we’re pretty funny. 

Fruitvale Station

A scratchy cell phone video captures a tragic yet familiar scene. Three young, African-American males are being detained on a subway platform. They angrily question why they are being detained. The patience of the cops runs thin and they begin to get physical with their detainees. The scene becomes a blur of shouting and confusion, and a gunshot from a cops gun rings out. Gasps and shock are heard as the screen cuts to black. This is the subject of Ryan Coogler’s Fruitvale Station.

The film chronicles the 24 hours of Oscar Grant’s (Michael B. Jordan, The Wire, Chronicle) life before his tragic death. After making a few wrong turns in his life, Oscar strives to start fresh and make amends to his mom Wanda (Octavia Spencer, The Help, Paradise) and build a better life for his girlfriend Sophina (Melonie Diaz, Hamlet 2, Be Kind Rewind) and daughter Tatiana.

Despite being his directorial and screenwriting debut, Coogler shows the cinematic care and precision of a seasoned veteran. The film is brilliantly edited; every shot contributing to a tightly woven narrative, absent of any excessive indulgences. The end result is succinct, yet potent; letting every frame pull harder and harder on your strings of humanity. Most ingeniously, Coogler blows up the activity on Oscar’s phone, both adding topical layer of narrative and acting as a foreboding reminder of the importance cellular technology in capturing Oscar’s story.  

The cast delivers a tremendous performance, building a strong communal spirit within the film. The chemistry between each character flows with warmth and passion, enforcing the depth of familial bonds. The cast manages to bring acting prowess to the roles of everyday people, making the performances all the more powerful.

Being the main subject of the film, Jordan’s performance as Oscar Grant is truly Oscar worthy. His apprehension of the future is countered by his fatherly devotion, giving his performance familiar quality. We can easily see Oscar being our neighbor, friend, or even father.

The movie’s release comes not a week after the controversial Trayvon Martin court decision, bridging the gap between Fruitvale station and Sanford, Florida, as well as movie and reality. We continue to see the persistence of a horrifying and disturbing narrative within the US: these stories become molded into a statistic, letting us neglect the real people behind these tragedies. Fruitvale Station grounds Oscar’s death in a celebration of his life; bringing him to life more than any dashed headline ever could.

Fruitvale Station is both a document of who Oscar was as well solemn vigil. The film is based off true events, so how much of the film was reconstructed, we will never know. The only immovable truth that matters is that Oscar Grant III is no longer with us. His potential and plans can never be realized as he was cut down in his prime at the young age of 22. The themes of community and family run deep through the film and that is how it ends.

The final images depict the city of Oakland mourning the loss one of their own; the community is scarred yet resolute their love for Oscar. Its final shot is of Oscar’s now teenage daughter. Her life is not a statistic. Her reality is that she will never will never forget the events New Years Day 2009, nor should any of we.      

The To Do List

While Rush Limbaugh loudly grouses about his disbelief that women need birth control and our nation watches one bill after another restrict access to abortion, it’s been a particularly rough time for women’s sexuality.

So what’s Hollywood’s answer to conservative fears that women will start becoming more loose and free-wheeling with their naughty bits? By giving them a movie of exactly that.

Brandi Klark (Aubrey Plaza, Safety Not Guaranteed and TV’s Parks and Recreation) has just graduated from high school as valedictorian, and she’s ready for anything — except sex. Or anything in that ballpark, really. After a brush with opportunity at a kegger in the form of Rusty (Scott Porter TV’s Friday Night Lights), she decides enough is enough. With her usual academic vigor, Brandy creates a list of activities she intends to complete by the end of the summer with the closest willing subject.

The film is set in 1993, so it’s not like she can just Google what any of these “jobs” are. It manages to move past the nostalgic ’90s quaintness early on, abandoning obvious jabs at things like VHS tapes and Encyclopedia Britannicas in favor of smarter jests, with assistance from Brandy’s gaggle of informed female friends.

One of the best things about her advisers — and “The To Do List” in general — is the refreshing reality endued in every role. Writer-director Maggie Carey allegedly mined her own personal experiences for the film, and it pays off in sincerity. With this style comes the delightful awkwardness of adolescence and sexual exploration, filled with embarrassment, joy, and every learning curve in between.

Like most films focused on teen sex, “The To Do List” can prematurely jump to gross-out comedy, which makes for a slightly uneven feel. It’s dispiriting, sure, but not distracting. When “The To Do List” is at its best, it sits back and lets the cast work its comedic magic with various physical gags and sexual knowledge.

Any awkward wrinkles in the script are helped by the all-star cast, most notably Bill Hader (Forgetting Sarah Marshall, Superbad) as Brandy’s slacker boss and Connie Britton (TV’s Spin City, and American Horror Story) and Clark Gregg (Avengers, Much Ado About Nothing) as her parents (who don’t exactly see eye-to-eye on sexual experiences). And the cast is led, of course, by Plaza’s delightfully detached comedic style.

Plaza brings a deadpan innocence to Brandy as she sets out to take her V-card by storm like many a teen-romp hero in the past. She’s a novel heroine, whose sexual agency and decision making is purely her own, and Plaza makes her independence feel refreshingly true and youthful.

The film’s too uneven to be the best teen-sex comedy ever made. But clearly its heart — and at its best moments, its mind — are in the right place. Like Brandy’s sexual misadventures, it’s not going to please everyone. But there is surely fun to be had along the way.

Verdict: While a bit sophomoric, the cast’s performance and Carey’s direction more than make the grade.

Emperor

Imagine you go to war with a country. You bomb it, occupy it, and are then responsible for hunting down the defeated war criminals. Now imagine that one of the criminals you had to investigate was not only the ruler of the country, but is considered divinity by his former subjects. Finally, imagine reducing those grandiose ideas to mediocre drivel. This is exactly what “Emperor” ends up doing.

“Emperor” unfolds in occupied Japan immediately after the Japanese surrender at the end of World War II. As supreme commander of occupied forces, General Douglas MacArthur (the delightfully gruff Tommy Lee Jones, Lincoln, Men in Black) is instructed by the U.S. government to compile evidence against any Japanese officials suspected of war crimes. This includes investigating the emperor’s involvement in Pearl Harbor. MacArthur delegates the task to General Bonner Fellers (Matthew Fox), who’s up against the clock to gather evidence about Emperor Hirohito and decide the fate of Japan, all while trying to find his lost love, Aya Shimada (Eriko Hatsune).

The film certainly has enough moral dilemmas to drive the 98-minute historical drama, so where does “Emperor” go wrong? Well, in many places. Aside from Jones’ performance, the film doesn’t have a whole lot to offer. 

Jones doesn’t break from the crochety archetype viewers love him for, but “Emperor” doesn’t give him nearly enough time to shine in the sea of melodrama. Unfortunately, the weight of a movie and a nation falls on the shoulders of Fellers instead. Constantly melancholy and solemn, he lacks the qualities of a strong lead protagonist and seems bland and uninspired. Maybe Fox’s acting abilities just don’t strike home on the big screen as well as they do on television. 

Too often, Fellers’ search for his old flame waylays any momentum built up by the investigation of the emperor. Between his prewar flashbacks, jealous subordinates, and search through ravaged Japan, the movie is preoccupied with trying convince viewers to care about Fellers, thus pushing the emperor’s plotline to the background. 

The goal of the love story is to ground the turmoils of World War II in real people. But it only succeeds in mucking up what could be a compelling historical drama with an overly dramatic romance, thereby undermining the plot’s legitimacy.

Deciding to convict Emperor Hirohito was a big decision, and by stepping back, the movie could’ve captured that magnitude on screen. There’s some authenticity to the historical events — MacArthur’s obsession with self portraits and the bombed wasteland of postwar Japan — but even at its best, “Emperor” feels staged. Aside from some well-staged photographs and MacArthur’s comical corn pipe, this film doesn’t offer much in the way of historical authenticity. The world will always remember Hirohito and MacArthur, but hopefully it won’t remember “Emperor.” 

The verdict: With only one performance of note, this melodramatic historical drama is anything but regal.