War Is Hell (Again)

Both the beauty and the aggravation of Sam Mendes’s 1917 can be summarized in its opening and closing shots. The film opens with an image of a picturesque meadow, in which are camped a battalion of British soldiers; the camera sweeps over the encampment and focuses on one soldier resting against a tree in the full bloom of spring. In the final shot of the film, a soldier is also seen resting against a tree, only this tree is dead and barren. The symbolism is obvious and self-important.

And that is the problem with 1917. There is no doubt that 1917 is a beautifully shot, well-acted, and compelling movie. It will undoubtedly win multiple Oscars of the ten for which it has been nominated, and deservedly so. It provides two hours of first-rate film-going entertainment. But for the cinematically literate, 1917 is a poser – an exercise in imitation of other great war films (Apocalypse Now, Saving Private Ryan, and Platoon, to name three), and an example of directorial self-consciousness, most notably in the decision to use a single camera deftly edited to give the film the appearance of being shot in one long continuous take.

The story follows two British soldiers, Lance Corporals Blake and Schofield, who are sent on an urgent mission, crossing enemy lines to deliver a message that could save 1600 soldiers from a German trap. (How the two battalions got behind the lines is unexplained.) It is an original screenplay inspired by stories Mendes was told by his grandfather, a Lance Corporal in WWI, to whom the film is dedicated. There is little in the way of character development – the mission is the focus – and at times devolves to caricature (is every British field commander arrogant and self-obsessed?). It takes advantage of war film conventions that stretch credulity (are all Germans such terrible shots?) and on multiple occasions, makes narrative choices and adds contrived coincidences that caused me to shake my head.

Relative unknowns Dean Charles Strong (Blake) and George MacKay (Schofield) both give strong, grounded performances as the two leads, with a naturalness that avoids melodrama. A few, more familiar, faces appear in smaller roles (Colin Firth, Benedict Cumberbatch). 

But the real star of the film is Roger Deakins’s Oscar-worthy cinematography, which offers truly memorable images that require no dialogue to tell the story. Deakins, whose previous work with Mendes on Skyfall won him an Oscar, makes the most of Mendes’s decision to use the “continuous take,” shifting the point of view of the camera so that it moves like a pesky fly behind, before, and above the characters. This provides some relief from what could become visual monotony and allows Deakins a somewhat broader range for his camerawork.

The single-take approach, famously employed in Hitchcock’s Rope and Iñárritu’s Birdman or (The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance), is effective in creating an immersive experience and a bond between the viewer and the main characters of the film. But it also has some unfortunate effects. The first is that at times it draws attention to itself and not to the story and feels gimmicky. A second is the issue of time. The film compresses roughly 20 hours of chronological time into two hours of screen time, so that the sensation of time is manipulated – at times compressed, at other time dilated. (Can a soldier emerge soaking wet from a river and then have his uniform completely dry in five minutes?). Additionally,the single-shot technique has the linear effect of a theme park attraction, taking the viewer on a ride through a sequence of set pieces. I can’t recall a recent film in which the storyboarding was more obvious.

1917 functions more as a suspense film than a war film. It is limited in scope and focuses on the fate of the two messengers. And while it has some action sequences, they lack the immediacy and intensity of Saving Private Ryan or the epic sweep of Patton. It lacks the patriotic swell of Dunkirk or the social commentary of Apocalypse Now or Full Metal Jacket. On the positive side, Thomas Newman’s score is first-rate and Lee Smith’s editing moves the film briskly along.

War is hell, we are told; and to an extent all war films are an exercise in katabasis – going “to hell and back” – rehearsing the ancient myth of Orpheus and the underworld journey of Odysseus. (Coppola’s Apocalypse Now, borrowing from Josef Conrad’s Heart of Darkness, took this literally). Directors therefore are often tempted to reach for higher meaning through symbols and metaphors to give mythic heft to the narrative. Not handled well, it can lend an aura of preachiness or self-importance to the film. Trees are the symbol Mendes employs, to varying degrees of success. It is no surprise that the most moving scene in the film takes place in a stand of trees. At other times, however, it seems forced, as in the closing shot.

1917 won the Golden Globes for best dramatic film and best director and has been nominated for ten Academy Awards. There have certainly been less-deserving winners in recent years. Despite its flaws, it is a well-made film worth seeing, but it is far from a masterpiece.  3.0 stars out of 4.0.

A Parable of Grace

One of the most famous – and surprising – friendships in the history of the U.S. Supreme Court was between Ruth Bader Ginsburg and her high-court nemesis Antonin Scalia. Despite their hard-fought ideological battles, they managed to look past their differences to appreciate the humanity in each other. A similar odd-coupling is portrayed in the recent Netflix release, The Two Popes, directed by acclaimed South American filmmaker Fernando Meirelles (City of God, The Constant Gardener). The film imagines an ecclesiastical summit between ideological opposites – conservative Pope Benedict XVI (Anthony Hopkins) and progressive Argentinian cardinal Jorge Borgoglio (Jonathan Pryce) – who would later become Pope Francis I. The film is not only an acting delight – Hopkins and Pryce are magnificent in their craft – but is also one of the most spiritually rich films of the decade, and has been nominated for four Golden Globes, including Best Picture - Drama.

Though portrayed as historical fiction or even a docudrama, the core of the film is a fictional two-day meeting between the “two popes” in the lead-up to Benedict’s decision to resign the papacy in 2013. As with Milos Forman’s Amadeus, which took even greater historical liberties, the point isn’t in the history but in the confrontation of opposites and the theological and personal narratives that result. And what results is a parable of grace as these two aging men, each with their own demons, each with a deep distrust of the other, begin to hear God’s voice through the other – which becomes a means of grace and reconciliation.

The film was originally conceived as “The Pope” (before Hopkins’s agent insisted on the title change) and it is clearly more Francis’s story than Benedict’s. Borgoglio is the popular champion of the poor and advocate for reform, Benedict the lonely academic and defender of tradition who as Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger was the “German rottweiler” of institutional orthodoxy. Borgoglio is given an extensive backstory – his call to the priesthood, his controversial role during the years of military dictatorship in Argentina – that is not given to Ratzinger, who historically may be the more interesting character.

Meirelles is at times unclear as to whether he wants to tell the story of the two men or of the church’s struggle with modernity, power, and abuse. From a filmmaking perspective, the film is strongest when it focuses on the men and weakest when it preaches about the church and society (for example, a debate about “walls” cuts to an anachronistic clip of the construction of the US-Mexico border wall). Matters such as the child sexual abuse scandal or financial corruption in the Vatican are mentioned but not explored. The film has an unnecessary coda celebrating Francis’s papal speeches and a silly ending that detracts from the rest of the film.

But it is not fair to criticize a film for what it isn’t, and these are relatively minor quibbles in a film that is rich in well-acted dialog and spiritual meaning. How does one hear the voice of God? What is the mission of the church? How does one balance purity of purpose with pragmatic obligations? How do we treat our enemies? How do we find forgiveness? These are just some of the issues tackled in the marvelous screenplay (also nominated for a Golden Globe).

The Two Popes is a rich feast for the theologically inclined, perhaps less so for skeptics and cynics – but even they will appreciate the magnificent performances of Pryce and Hopkins, the first-rate writing, and the incredible recreation of the Sistine Chapel. It is rated PG-13, presumably for the few scenes of state-sponsored terrorism in flashback. The film is currently available on Netflix and may be showing theatrically in select cities. 3.5 stars out of 4.0.

P.S. I must confess a personal connection to the theological debates in the film: my essay on “Marriage Equality in the PC(U.S.A.)” is juxtaposed with an opposing essay by Ratzinger in the textbook Readings in Christianity (3^rd edition). I doubt he’s aware of that, though.

Man vs. Machine

At one point in James Mangold’s enthralling and thoroughly entertaining Ford v Ferrari, Henry Ford II – grandson of the iconic automaker, and CEO of Ford Motor Co. – points out his nineteenth story office window at a nearby assembly plant. “During World War II that plant turned out 3 of every 5 bombers used in the war. Do you think Roosevelt defeated Hitler?” His point is clear: wars are not won by individuals but by organizing and mobilizing the machinery of corporate industry.

The year is 1965 and Ford is at war – not in Vietnam (which is never mentioned in the film) but with Ferrari, the Italian automaker which is the perennial champion of the prestigious 24 hours of Le Mans race. What is more, Enzo Ferrari has insulted and humiliated the American automaker and its corporate baron. Mr. Ford’s audience is Carroll Shelby, the only American ever to win at Le Mans and the best sports car designer in America. At the urging of marketing genius Lee Iacocca, Ford has enlisted Shelby to beat Ferrari and win a much-needed marketing boost for the brand.

But Ford was wrong. Wars are not won by Presidents or corporations. They are won by the soldiers whose bravery, sacrifice, and heroism are put to the test on the battlefield.

So enter Ken Miles, the British-born World War II veteran whose single-minded determination to race makes him a one-man killing machine (metaphorically) on the racetrack battlefield. Miles is driven not by corporate loyalty, or even a drive to win, but a Zen-like quest for “the perfect lap” – and that moment of transcendence, when, “at 7,000 RPM… everything fades. The machine becomes weightless. It just disappears. All that's left (is) a body moving through space and time.”

Ford v. Ferrari is at once an homage to the age of American industrial greatness as well as a critique of the corporate mentality which contributed to its downfall. Indeed, the central conflict in the film is not between Ford and Ferrari. Rather, it is, in the non-inclusive language of the era, between Man and Machine. On one level the “man” is Carroll Shelby, whose Patton-like genius is constantly being constrained by the corporate machine; on another level the man is Ken Miles whose desire for the perfect communion of car and driver is constrained only by the limits of engineering and the laws of physics on his speed machine.

The retro look at industrial America in its prime also suggests another conflict, between the promise of the “American Century” and the harsh reality of corporate and political greed that has turned industrial America into the Rust Belt. It taps into the nostalgic longing of many to “make America great again” by invoking an era of white male American dominance. One must look hard to find a person of color in the film; and the only woman of note is Caitriona Balfe’s fabulous turn as Mollie Miles, whose strength of will and character is a perfect foil for her husband. (In earlier years, the role would be played by Katherine Hepburn or Rosalind Russell.)

But the politics of Ford v. Ferrari takes a back seat to the sheer brilliance of the filmmaking. Mangold, whose previous credits include Walk the Line and The Wolverine, provides a film that excels in every way. The writing is crisp and witty. The editing is brisk, so that despite the hefty 152 minute run time, the story never lags. The cinematography is breathtaking, and the score is a perfect amalgam of bluegrass-rock and techno-pop. But the real gem is Christian Bale’s performance as Ken Miles. Bales continues to turn out one great performance after another, and this could be his best yet. Matt Damon also gives a solid performance as Carroll Shelby, as does young Noah Jupe as Miles's son Peter. 

Ford v. Ferrari invokes the era of great auto-racing films like Grand Prix (1966), Winning (1969) and Le Mans (1971), and leaves them in the dust. It may be the best auto-racing film ever made and is certainly one of the best films of the year.

Rated an overly restrictive PG-13 for “some language and peril” – Ford v. Ferrari is a real winner. **** (4.0 stars/4.0)

Yes, Virginia, There IS a Mr. Rogers

Every year, Hollywood trots out so-called “holiday films” that repackage the timeless (perhaps time-worn) story of how the spirit of Christmas transforms the cynical and selfish Scrooges and Grinches of the world into real persons of compassion and generosity. They are a ritual of the season as much as New Year’s resolutions, and usually just about as lasting in their impact. They offer feel-good sugar highs that collapse under the weight of their own fiction.

Marielle Heller’s A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood – the long-awaited film featuring Tom Hanks as children’s television icon Fred Rogers – is not (thank God) a Christmas movie. But it is the rare holiday release about character transformation that works because, unlike the jolly elf of our secular Christmas mythology, there really is (or was) a Mr. Rogers.

Based on a now-classic 1998 profile of Mr. Rogers (“Can You Say… Hero?”) by Tom Junod, the film features all the familiar character tropes of a Christmas film: the cynical, worldly journalist Lloyd Vogel (a loose depiction of Junod played by Matthew Rhys) whose contempt for humanity is a projection of his own self-loathing; his drunken, estranged father Jerry (Chris Cooper) who is the source of the demons in Lloyd’s soul; Lloyd’s angelic, supportive spouse Andrea (Susan Kelechi Watson) whose patience is running out; and, of course, the Spirit of Christmas in the person of Mr. Rogers who works the magic of redeeming and healing broken souls.

In lesser hands, the film would devolve into schlock melodrama or campy caricature, and there are times when you fear that the Neighborhood trolley is about to careen off its tracks. But thanks to Heller’s understated direction and the confident performances of Hanks, Rhys, Watson, and Cooper, the film overcomes the potential cheesiness of the father-son plot line.

Hanks clearly has the most difficult task. Rogers’ gentle sincerity has been an easy mark for parody and mockery. It is so familiar that even a near miss would ring hollow. But Hanks delivers an Oscar-worthy performance of subtlety and depth. He portrays Rogers with a complex interiority of caring and compassion along with hints of carefully guarded demons and wounds of his own.

Heller, also, takes chances that pay off in a film that transcends its material. The film is book-ended by the familiar opening and closing of the Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood show, in which Hanks-as-Rogers breaks the fourth wall by inviting the audience into the world of Vogel’s story just as the real Mr. Rogers invited children into his neighborhood. And in a bit of magical realism the neighborhood itself is deftly expanded with special effects to become the city of Pittsburgh and the “setting” for some of the film’s important sequences, so that we understand that Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood and our own world are really one. Heller also adopts Rogers’ own measured pace, letting the spaces and silences expose our own discomfort with just being.

The reputation of its iconic hero notwithstanding, this is not a film for small children. It deals with very adult themes of healing childhood wounds by learning to love and forgive ourselves and others. Indeed, despite never disclosing that Fred Rogers was a Presbyterian minister, Rogers’ own faith and pastoral presence dominate the story. It could easily be understood as an extended parable on the commandment to love our neighbors as ourselves – with the emphasis on the need to love ourselves in order fully to love our neighbors.

A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood is a fitting complement to last year’s powerfully moving documentary Won’t You Be My Neighbor? If one did not know that Mr. Rogers really was who he presented himself to be, it might be dismissed as a piece of romanticized fluff. But there really was a Mr. Rogers, and that makes this a holiday film worth watching.

A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood is rated PG for mature themes. 3.5 stars out of 4.

Viewing notes: Look for cameos by the real Joanne Rogers and David Newell (Mr. McFeely) in a restaurant scene. Also, don't leave before the end of the credits or you will miss a surprise "credit cookie."

Butch, Sundance, and Quentin

Butch Cassidy & the Sundance Kid was the top-grossing film of 1969. It featured two top Hollywood heartthrobs (Paul Newman and Robert Redford). It was a western with anti-hero protagonists and 20^th century sensibilities. It was also released six weeks after one of the most famous murders in history, that of actress Sharon Tate and four others at the Hollywood home of director Roman Polanski by members of the Charles Manson family. The murders terrorized the moviemaking elites, and as Joan Didion famously observed, for many they signaled the end of the free-wheeling peace-and-love Sixties.

The murders drive the story of Quentin Tarantino’s Once Upon a Time… in Hollywood, a Butch & Sundance style “western” with 21^st century sensibilities in which the anti-heroes are two top Hollywood heartthrobs (Leonardo DiCaprio and Brad Pitt) and the bad guys are the Charles Manson “gang” (as they are identified in the credits). It is also – as the title suggests – a Tarantino fairy tale (a la Inglourious Basterds), and a tip of the hat to spaghetti westerns (a la Sergio Leone’s Once Upon a Time in the West).

We know what is coming – the 3:10 to Yuma in the form of the August 8, 1969 murders. But Tarantino’s focus isn’t on either the perpetrators or the victims, but rather on the bromance between the two stars, who play Rick Dalton (DiCaprio) and Cliff Booth (Pitt), the former a struggling veteran of TV westerns now reduced to guest appearances on Mannix and The F.B.I.; the latter his long-time stunt double and drinking buddy. Dalton lives next door to Polanski and Tate high in the Hollywood Hills; Booth lives in a beat-up trailer in the San Fernando Valley with his own loyal friend, his dog Brandy. No matter the class difference (although on one level the film is a comedy of Hollywood manners) – these two are best friends living inside their social castes like Rick and Sam in Casablanca. DiCaprio and Pitt are magnificent in their roles, and DiCaprio especially gives a clinic in acting (literally, in one scene).

But even more than the dynamic duo, the film is about 1960s Hollywood at the end of an era. As one who lived in Southern California at the time the film is set, I can attest that Tarantino’s attention to period detail is astounding. Uniting all the characters is the ubiquitous sound of 93 KHJ, the AM radio top-forty (or “Boss 30”) station that permeates the soundscape as does Wolfman Jack in another homage to a bygone era, American Graffiti. Tarantino is a master of the period soundtrack, which alone is worth the price of admission. The film doesn’t wallow in nostalgia but Tarantino lets Robert Richardson’s slightly over-exposed sun-drenched cinematography do all the talking, especially as it highlights Margot Robbie, cast as the ill-fated ingenue whose sunny sweetness represents Paradise Lost. 

The film ambles its way to its grisly conclusion – which might be too gory for mass audiences. Tarantino clearly enjoys the journey, but tighter editing of this 160-minute behemoth would move the story along at a more 21^st century pace. Nevertheless, Once Upon a Time… in Hollywood is a delight for the eyes and ears, and is Tarantino’s most fully realized film since 2003’s Kill Bill, Vol. 1.

Once Upon a Time… in Hollywood is rated R for violence, language, and sexual content. 3.5 stars out of 4.0.

All You Need Is Love

Jack Malik (Himesh Patel) is a struggling London singer-songwriter who has come to the end of his road. His devoted friend and manager Ellie Appleton (Lily James) harbors an unrequited love for him and believes in his music. But it won’t pay the bills, so he tells her he’s giving up his dream, unless some miracle occurs.

And, of course, it does – a 12-second global electrical blackout and a bicycle accident from which Jack awakens with minor injuries, but in a world that has changed in a small but significant way. The Beatles never happened. No Beatlemania, no Sergeant Pepper, no “Hey Jude” or “Yesterday.” And Jack alone seems to remember their songs.

That is the premise for Yesterday, a nostalgic tribute to the group that redefined pop music, became the first global musical phenomenon, and has been the soundtrack for a generation. Directed by Danny Boyle (Trainspotting, Slumdog Millionaire), Yesterday is a clever twist on the “what if?” movie genre which includes such members as It’s a Wonderful Life and Sliding Doors. A former seminary roommate of mine once described the Beatles’ music as “sunshine,” and Boyle portrays a world without the Beatles as a world cast in a long, cold, lonely winter until Jack shares his musical gospel.

Like many “what if” stories, Yesterday is a morality play. Jack shares his special gnosis of the holy canon, which gives birth to a viral global “Jack-mania,” midwived by the amazed and humbled acolyte Ed Sheeran (playing himself). Despite several failed attempts to explain the songs’ true origin, ultimately Jack decides to “drink the poison chalice” offered by a devilish agent (richly played by Kate McKinnon) by which he sells his soul (or at least his integrity) for promises of becoming the greatest musician in the history of the world.

You can guess what follows. Yesterday is a feel-good summer movie played with breezy fun. Richard Curtis’s screenplay wastes little on backstory in order to showcase the true star of the show, the music. The songs might resonate differently with different generations, but this is more than just baby-boomer nostalgia; there are plenty of pop culture references to connect with younger generations. Boomers will instantly recognize visual homages to A Hard Day’s Night and The Ed Sullivan Show. Other icons abound, from the famous 12-string intro chord of A Hard Day’s Night to the farewell rooftop concert. And the revelation that leads to the resolution of Jack’s moral crisis is perfect – and dare not be spoiled.

Patel is a gifted singer with enough acting chops to pull off the fantasy, but he is outshone by his supporting cast. Lily James is charming and beautiful as Ellie, making Jack’s platonic responses hard to believe. But the real scene-stealers are McKinnon and Joel Fry in the Tony Randall third-wheel role as Jack’s childhood friend and stoner roadie.

There have been other films that have banked on the Beatles legend, most notably Across the Universe (2008), I Want to Hold Your Hand (1978), and the awful Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band (1978). Yesterday surpasses all of these by not just playing the music, but capturing the heart of the Beatles’ magic – love.

Rated PG-13 (language), Yesterday, like the Beatles’ music itself, is non-stop joy. **** 4 stars/4.

The Reverend Travis Bickle

“What is your only comfort in life and in death? That I belong body and soul, in life and in death, to my faithful savior….” The first words uttered in Paul Schrader’s First Reformed are the famous first question of the Heidelberg Catechism – the Reformed creed that for centuries was the foundation of Sunday evening sermons in Reformed churches. In the film, the creed is being recited by the congregation of First Reformed Church, a dying congregation near Albany, New York. The words are spoken but they are empty doctrine that provide no comfort for the church’s pastor, who is in the midst of a major crisis of faith.

Paul Schrader is widely regarded as one of the great film writers of the past half-century, having collaborated with Martin Scorsese three times, including his masterpieces Taxi Driver and Raging Bull. Schrader’s directorial efforts have been less successful, although he has enjoyed the occasional critical success (American Gigolo, Affliction). His latest effort, First Reformed, which he both wrote and directed, has garnered a 97% “fresh” rating on Rotten Tomatoes and a 83% positive score on Metacritic, making it one of this year’s most critically acclaimed films.

First Reformed, which debuted at Venice last August and is just now being released in the U.S., is being hailed as the culmination of Schrader’s career, integrating many of the motifs that have characterized his work. It is the story of the Rev. Ernst Toller (as in “ask not for whom the bell tolls…”), the pastor of a dying church in upstate New York experiencing a crisis of faith as his church nears its 250^th anniversary. Played by Ethan Hawke, Toller spends more time tending the headstones in the church cemetery than the dwindling members of his flock. He is, like most Schrader protagonists, a loner struggling with the apparent absence of God in a morally bankrupt world. A former Army chaplain, Toller is suffering in body and spirit, having experienced a personal tragedy that has unmoored both his life and faith. When he is brought into the lives of a young pregnant woman named Mary (Amanda Seyfried) and her radical environmentalist husband Michael (Phillip Ettinger), he is forced to confront his own internalized anger and despair. Following the pattern of Taxi Driver anti-hero Travis Bickle (“one of these days a real rain’s going to come and wash this scum off the streets”), Toller assumes the role of the apocalyptic prophet, the agent of divine judgment.

In First Reformed we see echoes of other films – most notably Luc Besson’s Diary of a Country Priest, and Ingmar Bergman’s existential trilogy Through a Glass Darkly, Winter Light, and The Silence. But whereas those classics spoke with theological nuance, First Reformed lacks spiritual sophistication. Mirroring the culture that Schrader derides, his characters are theological caricatures drawn on the one hand to simplistic debate and on the other to Manichaean extremism. The most egregious caricature is ecclesiastical – the dying “traditional” congregation contrasted with the high-tech, big-money non-denominational “Abundant Life Church” embodying what sociologist Talcott Parsons termed a “tension-reduction, pattern-maintenance” social function. Abundant Life’s well-tailored pastor (played by Cedric the Entertainer) courts the support of mega-polluting business owner Edward Balq (Michael Gaston).

The theological tropes in the film are obvious and cliché: blood atonement, the Holy Family, religious hypocrisy, even “Onward, Christian Soldiers.” They are presented, almost like celebrity cameos, but are never addressed meaningfully. Schrader could have used a technical adviser on ministry: almost nothing about Rev. Toller rings true to the experience of actual mainline ministers, especially in the second decade of the 21^st century. One wonders if Toller ever went to seminary, or ever attended a boundaries-training event. Several actions that are presented as normative pastoral care and are crucial to the narrative are contrary to everything a trained Army chaplain or mainline minister would have been taught. These might be lost on the average film-goer or critic, but they are fatal to the film’s credibility with actual ministers.

Schrader’s cinematic style is on full display in First Reformed: the visual symbolism of light and darkness (or dawn and dusk) in his settings and cinematography; the ominous score which highlights the spiritual battle of good and evil. The film is even shot in 4:3 aspect, as if to highlight the narrow, cramped, constrained faith of the religious world Schrader portrays. 

First Reformed may be the culmination of Schrader’s cinematic faith journey. But it is not a journey that looks anything like real spiritual crises. The performances are laudable, but the theology is laughable. Two stars out of four (2.0/4.0).