“The Coen Brothers have always had a talent for crafting memorable idiots - think of the bellowing palooka Clarence ‘Drop’ Johnson in Miller's Crossing, the sweetly dim Delmar in O Brother, Where Art Thou? or the hopeless himbo Chad in Burn After Reading. At first glance, singing-cowboy star Hobie Doyle appears to be cut from similar cloth: The first mention of him has Josh Brolin, as beleaguered studio exec/fixer Eddie Mannix, expressing incredulity at the studio head's desire to cast him as the lead in a drawing-room drama directed by the genteel Laurence Laurentz (an amusingly supercilious Ralph Fiennes), exclaiming, ‘He barely knows how to talk.’ Indeed, the comic high point of the film is Hobie's first attempt at fitting his particular talents into the unfamiliar genre terrain, culminating in a hilarious, percussive back and forth with Laurentz regarding the pronunciation of the phrase, ‘Would that it were so simple.’
“It isn't that simple, and neither is Hobie. The clever screenplay has a couple surprises in store regarding the truth of Hobie, but they wouldn't come off nearly as effectively without the delightful performance by Alden Ehrenreich. Even at his ostensible dumbest, Ehrenreich spins it so it comes off as apologetic confusion (e.g. the mix-up between ‘Laurence’ and ‘Laurentz’) or a farmhand's directness (e.g. boiling down Laurentz's flowery description of the emotional gamesmanship of the scene with, ‘So she's sweet on me.’) Above all, there's an eagerness to please, as in the assurance that he can get the mirthless chuckle right on a second go, combined with a self-aware discomfort that this is not where he belongs. He's a dust actor and he knows it. Ehrenreich's first attempt at the scene is a marvel: walking with a wide gait typical of actors who spend most of their time on horses, gazing at spotlights much hotter than he's accustomed to, easing himself unsteadily into a fancy settee while the stiff starched collar and ill-fitting tuxedo in which he's clad appear ready to burst off him.
“Once he's removed from that specific area, though, that's where things get... complicated. In the scene where Mannix informs Hobie about the kidnapping of blue-chip star Baird Whitlock (George Clooney, reveling in another chance to go goofy for the Coens), Ehrenreich lets the guilelessness and eagerness fall away with nothing more than a slight shake of the head and a pursing of the lips. When he speaks again, with a suggestion to examine the extras present on the set of Baird's latest epic, it's with the calm intelligence and confident tone of someone who's been waiting their entire life for this opportunity to prove themselves useful. A later plot thread involves Hobie going on a studio-mandated date with Carmen Miranda-esque starlet Carlotta Valdez (Veronica Osorio) and his effortless comfort in being a man on the town and impressing a pretty girl with rope tricks adapted to a strand of spaghetti is evident in Ehrenreich's easy smile and aw-shucks humility. Yet when the date ends up dovetailing back into the kidnapping plotline, he spins from loose to tense on a dime, only to spin it right back into jovial when confronted by twin gossip columnists played by Tilda Swinton (‘I mentioned the name of my picture. I think we're supposed to do that.’). Hobie may not be costume-drama material, but he's a better actor than he lets on.
“It's interesting to note that while the majority of the cast, as effective as they are, are mostly playing caricatures, Hobie is ultimately a fully realized character, and Ehrenreich makes the most of his meaty role. Within his limited screentime, Ehrenreich gets to play dumb, smart, silly, subtle, determined, charming, cheerful, humble and sharp-eyed. He runs through a rainbow of emotions without getting overly expressive and, in doing so, steals the film away from the ringer-loaded cast surrounding him. It's a great, economical performance and a deserved breakthrough for Ehrenreich. Bring on Young Han Solo.” ~ Steve Carlson
“The most obnoxious of the ‘anonymous’ Oscar voters profiled in The Hollywood Reporter claimed that ‘Denzel Washington talked too much’ in Fences. But August Wilson’s dialogue is exactly the point: Troy Maxson is a man for whom words provide a sense of comfort, control and power. Wilson’s Pulitzer Prize winning play, the sixth in his acclaimed ten-play Pittsburgh Cycle, is awash in words, mountains of dialogue that are easily scaled by one of the cinema’s great talkers. Washington tailors these words to his familiar ‘Denzel’-isms, infusing them with a menace coated with his signature charm. Troy Maxson is not a nice man, yet Washington allows us to see why a sensible woman like Viola Davis’ Rose could not only fall for him but cling to him for over 18 years.
“Troy Maxson wanted a career in baseball, aka ‘America’s Pastime.’ But, as Fences reveals, it was not to be for a variety of insurmountable reasons. All Troy is left with are the tall tales he spins every Friday night, and the short temper that cuts down his son’s dreams as viciously as fate butchered his. In the end, the only thing Troy Maxson can call his own are his words. Glorious words, authored by a master and superbly interpreted by Denzel Washington, one of the cinema’s great talkers.” ~ Odie Henderson
“From his breakout performance in Girls to his biggest international exposure in 2015's Star Wars: The Force Awakens, much of Adam Driver’s career has been defined by a melding of peculiarity and menace, always simmering just beneath the surface. There’s an intensity to his performances, accentuated by the sharpness of his physical presence, angular and lean yet usually carried with an imposing air. It’s a startling and welcome one-eighty, then, to see Driver as a modest bus driver cum poet in Paterson, an everyman living a life of contented repetitions in his namesake town in New Jersey, his physical distinctness here instead serving to highlight his relative anonymity in the world.
“The strength of Driver’s largely restrained performance lies in his reactive approach to his co-stars and Jim Jarmusch’s script; his sweet dedication to and support of his wife Laura in all of her eccentric affinities, his combative relationship with their English Bulldog, Marvin, and his interactions with the colorful locals all coax out various affecting layers of his deceptively complex and soulful character. His poetic recitations hint slowly reveal a man experiencing the world, a world Jarmusch has flourished with surreal touches and comical iterations of small city life, with a humble profundity. This is perhaps the first time that Driver has been a passive rather than forceful presence on screen, and it proves a deeply moving and compelling modulation, culminating with a final sequence that cuts through his calibrated contentedness to something rawer and ultimately more painfully and beautifully human.” ~ Luke Gorham
"There's no living actor whose screen presence is as at ease as Jeff Bridges, even when the character is in unease. His gravelly voice and couldn't-care-less posture imbue him with a laconic aura that, incredibly, allows him to wear characters as different as Jeffrey 'The Dude' Lebowski and Texas Ranger Marcus Hamilton like gloves. In a year where actors as great as Michael Shannon and John Hawkes knocked it out of the park playing hard-boiled detectives, Bridges stands above the rest in Hell or High Water.
"Teetering on the edge of unwanted retirement and venting his frustrations in the form of humorously racist jabs at his patient partner, Marcus is a pro haunted by existential dread. He wouldn't admit it, but the specter of retirement after a career that did no visible good terrifies him, and he futilely pursues relief in the form of one last, ultimately impenetrable case.
"As an actor, Bridges personifies restraint, playing it low and slow, cranking the heat in flashes. If acting is reacting, he's the best thespian of his generation. Whether he's playing a burnt out hippie, a villainous CEO, or a grizzled lawman, when he speaks, you have to listen. It's that gravity that, in the film's explosively restrained final scene, makes a what could be a musing into a deadly promise." ~ James Frazier
“Tom Bennett’s performance as Sir James Martin was the perfect blend of well-intended oafishness. With a poorly repressed twitch and a gleam of dullness in his eyes, Bennett was the perfect dunce, the unwilling fool in the sophisticated Love & Friendship. Rather than marrying idiocy with cruelty, Bennett’s performance harkens back to the happy fool. He never stops grinning even in the face of ridicule or rejection, though his eyes often betray a deeply felt confusion when things don’t quite go his way.
“The fool has gotten something of a bad rap in recent years. Idiocy married with cruelty is a lethal combination and an oft frightening prospect, but Sir James Martin is not lacking. In spite of being lovelorn, he lives a comfortable if the not empty existence and seems utterly unable to look inward.
“Any lesser actor could easily create an improbable caricature but Bennett lends Sir James an unexpected heart. Even those around him, frustrated by his complete inability to follow a basic conversation or remember how many commandments there are, can’t help feeling guilty for disliking him. Improbably, Bennett manages to bring a certain amount of pathos to the role by suggesting that Sir James may be aware he might be the butt of the joke. His social and intellectual failures mean that he is always catching up to conversations and rarely contributing anything of worth - and every once in awhile, you get the sense he is very much aware of it.
“There is a purity in Sir James that is easy to reject and even easier to pity. In a film of incredible talents at the height of their game, Tom Bennett manages to steal the show. This is no small feat, especially as I imagine most audiences (like myself) were unfamiliar with his acting before this turn. In a year of great acting and compelling performances, for my money, Tom Bennett may have stolen the show.” ~ Justine Smith
And finally, a shout-out to a talented youngster who we lost far too soon…
“I'll tell you how I knew Anton Yelchin was the real deal: I bought it when I saw the Minor Threat t-shirt.
“When you spend the majority of your youth, time, and money chasing after your next thrill via ‘zines and mail order record catalogs (that's how we did it back in the old days), punk rock likely means a lot to you. I know it did to me. Every scene, in big cities and smaller towns, had its own distinct style and ethos. If you were a fan of New York hardcore, whether you favor Madball or Shelter tells me your age. If you were a proponent of Boston hardcore, you probably got into more fights than anyone else. If you had more on your mind than the average jock-in-punk's-clothing, chances are you gravitated where I did – Washington D.C.
“I'm sorry if this means nothing to you. Maybe you're not a music fan, maybe punk is just a lot of noise to you, maybe you came along just a little too late and missed it when it was at its zenith. There's just no better way for me to explain the great things about Anton Yelchin without tying it to this. DC hardcore was different the way he was different. The scene in DC was fiercely independent and devoted to pragmatic self-sufficiency. Where other scenes would burn themselves out with youthful abandon, the kids in DC thought longterm. Dischord Records, the label started in 1980 by Ian MacKaye to document the scene (including his band, Minor Threat) is still running almost forty years later, putting music in people's hands at a reasonable price and on their own terms. These bands raged mightily onstage, but showed an uncommon sensitivity. They were genuine, community-minded, and thoughtful.
“That's why I don't think it was an accident that Pat, Yelchin's character in Green Room, wore that t-shirt. It suits the young man. Everything I have heard colleagues say about him and everything I have seen him do onscreen suggests that he embodied these traits as well. Story after story from his contemporaries detail a guy who was a generous acting partner and truly good person. He worked hard, took chances, and dealt with people squarely. It took Green Room, though, for me to see all of that.
“Maybe it was because it was speaking my language, but all of these things in him seemed to coalesce around this story. This subject matter threw all of that into stark relief for me, chiefly the uncommon sensitivity. He was the one you could count on. He was the person that the other members would think about years later and realize that they were better people for having known him when they were kids in a band together. He was the guy in this band that was going to go on to greater things. You could tell all of this from the things going on behind Anton Yelchin's eyes. It's a terrible circumstance that I have to write this as a posthumous tribute rather than with sincere anticipation of what he is going to do next, just when we were beginning to see what he was capable of. It breaks my heart. I pay him the highest compliment an aging punk can pay anyone: I believed him.” ~ Cole Roulain
No comments:
Post a Comment