"The Revenant"

By Matt Duncan
Coastal View News

“The Revenant” may be the movie of the year. It has 12 Oscar nominations—more than any other movie—including for Best Actor (Leonardo DiCaprio), Best Director (Alejandro G. Inarritu), Best Supporting Actor (Tom Hardy), and of course, Best Picture. Inarritu is looking for back-to-back homeruns, after crushing the Oscars last year with “Birdman”. All in all, it has been a good year for Inarritu, DiCaprio, and company.

I assure you the same cannot be said for this movie’s main character. He has a decidedly bad year. This movie is based on the true story of Hugh Glass, a frontiersman and fur trader. It all starts when Indians attack Glass’ (DiCaprio) hunting team. Arrows skewer a good many of the team; most of the rest get beat to death, scalped, or worse. Glass, on the other hand, gets out of the melee relatively unscathed.

So you might be thinking, “Oh, lucky him, he survived.”

Not so fast. A little later, while hunting, Glass gets mauled by a grizzly bear. It’s pretty brutal. He gets clawed, stomped, bitten, thrown, and dragged in a terribly violent, awful way. And yet somehow Glass is able to fight the bear and win (well, let’s call it a draw).

So you might be thinking, “Oh good, he fought off the bear. And at least he didn’t die like so many of the others.”

Hold on a second. As Glass lies there—a bloody, broken bag of meat and bones—he looks up at the tall, menacing trees around him (a frequently reoccurring shot), which are swaying frenetically with the cold, bitter wind, promising to crash down all around and on him in an nefarious assault from above. And as Glass is further beaten and abused, buried alive, dropped off cliffs, burned, drowned, shot, slashed, stabbed, starved, and, as his son—the only thing left he loves—is ripped from him, we see that Glass is no lottery winner. On the contrary, at times—perhaps most of the time—his continued survival, his every single breathe, feels as merciless and cruel as anything else. Just let him die. Let it end!

But Glass, tougher than any kind of nails, pushes on. It is his will to survive, or vengeance, or … I don’t know exactly what it is fuelling him. But, one way or another, he viciously defends every last breath.

“The Revenant” has been compared to Terrence Malick films like “The Tree of Life” and “The New World”. The comparison is apt in a lot of ways (for one thing, these movies share brilliant cinematographer, Emmanuel Lubezki). But some have also pointed out that, whereas Malick has a generally romantic, “in-awe-of-nature” sort of vision, Inarratu’s vision—at least in this movie—seems cold, harsh, and bleak. Nature is no comfort to Glass’; it is his menace—his waking nightmare.

I’m not completely sure. It is true that there are plenty of important differences between Inarritu’s and Malick’s visions. But now I am reminded of a line in Malick’s World War II epic, “The Thin Red Line”, when, in the heat of a battle, we see a shot of a wounded bird; then a voiceover says, “One man looks at a dying bird and thinks there’s nothing but unanswered pain—that death’s got the final word, it’s laughing at him. Another man sees that same bird, feels the glory, feels somethin’ smiling through.” It may be tough to see anything smiling through Glass. But there is absolutely something glorious, sublime, and penetrating about his fight, his will, his ferocious struggle.

Whatever the right way to see Glass’ struggle is, one thing I am sure of is “The Revenant” is an extremely impressive achievement. It is beautifully shot—in sequence, and only using natural light. Everything about this movie, from the cinematography, to the score, to the screenplay, to the editing, is beautifully composed. In all of the technical ways that a movie like this ought to make us feel the struggle, the mood, the despair, the pain, it absolutely does. It is a huge technical success.

Now, I am normally tepid about DiCaprio. But he nails this one. And the same goes for Hardy (though I’ve always liked him).

Sometimes I wonder about Inarritu. I wonder whether his evocative imagery really does evoke anything, or whether it is symbolism for symbolism’s sake. Whether it is a dream in a broken down church filled with icons of Christ crucified, or the many striking visions of a lost love urging Glass on, or a gruesome image of rebirth, or any of Inarritu’s other cinematic departures from “reality”, it looks like Inarritu is telling (or showing) us something. In other of his movies I doubt he really is. But in this one I think he may have something to say.

"The Good Dinosaur"

By Matt Duncan
Coastal View News

“The Good Dinosaur” starts off with a bit of surprise. 65 million years ago a giant asteroid is jostled from its peaceful orbit and bumped off into space; it hurtles in a beeline for my home and yours, aka Planet Earth, speeding at breakneck speed bent on complete annihilation, and … it misses. It misses! Dinosaurs look up to see a bright streak across the night sky and then go back to munching on their greens.

This is a good edit for the dinosaurs. No impact, no ice age, no extinction. And they make good on this windfall—this bit of extra time to evolve. They shed their backward ways and become civilized. Some learn to farm, others become ranchers. There are still plenty of baddies—as we all know civilization doesn’t omit the uncivilized. But all in all the dinos are doing pretty well.

A case in point: the stars of this movie. They are a family of farming Apatosauruses (think long neck, long tail, like a Brontosaurus). Poppa (Jeffrey Wright) and Momma (Frances McDormand) oversee the tilling, planting, and reaping of their quaint cornfield, while Buck (Ryan Teeple and Marcus Scribner), Libby (Maleah Nipay-Padilla) and Arlo (Jack McGraw and Raymond Ochoa) help out.

Well, Buck and Libby help out. Arlo tries. But he is a knobby-kneed, clumsy, awkward, timid little runt who, despite his best intentions, fouls things up more often than not. As his brother and sister grow into sturdy young behemoths and make their marks on the farm, Arlo is left in the dust. He looks to be soft to the core—un-toughen-up-able.

But that doesn’t stop Poppa from trying. He prods and pushes Arlo along—sometimes patiently, sometimes not. Again, Arlo tries. But he just doesn’t seem cut out for the hard life of a dinosaur, or a farmer, or a farming dinosaur.

Nonetheless, it is tough-as-nails Poppa who gets the worst of it one day during their desensitivity training. A terrible storm sweeps him away, leaving the already short-staffed family in a tough spot, and Arlo as enfeebled as ever. Then when Arlo himself falls into the river and gets swept off into the wilderness, you think, that’s it he’s done for.

But finding his way back home turns out to be just the lesson in bravery that Arlo needed. He deals with the elements, fights off predators, finds shelter, and even gains a companion/pet—a little feral human, Spot (Jack Bright), who acts just like a dog. Arlo is like Simba in “The Lion King”, who has to find his own way without his father. Or he is like Littlefoot in “The Land Before Time”, who has to find his way to safety after losing a parent. Or maybe it’s more like “Bambi”, or “Finding Nemo”, or “The Jungle Book”, or … etc.

O.K., so there is a lot of recycled material in “The Good Dinosaur”. In fact, the most original thing about it is the three-minute Pixar short that comes first and of course has nothing to do with the movie. Still, “The Good Dinosaur” is sweet. It tells the story—the same ol’ story—pretty well. It has a few of those blessed Pixar tear-jerking moments. And, best of all, it has Sam Elliott (think big white mustache and extremely gravelly voice) playing a cowboy T-Rex.

So while this movie is not as original or inventive or fresh as one might like, I say it’s still worth it.

"Steve Jobs"

By Matt Duncan
Coastal View News

“The outlook wasn’t brilliant for the Mudville nine that day;

The score stood four to two, with but one inning more to play.

And then when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the same,

A sickly silence fell upon the patrons of the game …

Then from five thousand throats and more there rose a lusty yell;

It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell;

It knocked upon the mountain and recoiled upon the flat,

For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat …”

—Ernest Thayer, “Casey at the Bat”

The year is 1984. Outside a huge convention center in California, droves of patrons eagerly await the launch of Steve Jobs’ (Michael Fassbender) baby: the Macintosh computer. Critics say it doesn’t do anything, and that people will not like that it is a closed system—incompatible with all non-Macintosh hardware and software (which aptly represents Jobs’ my-way-or-the-highway mentality). Steve Wozniak (Seth Rogen) begs Jobs to give more attention to Apple’s workhorse money-maker, the Apple 2. But Jobs is his baby’s shill. The Mac is simple and user friendly, he insists. And a million will be sold in the first 90 days. Jobs was wrong, his critics right. Strike one.

The year is 1988. Another crowd anticipates Jobs’ new creation. Jobs is no longer at Apple. He has a new company and a new computer: NeXT. It’s pretty. But critics say it doesn’t do anything. Wozniak insists that NeXT will fail. Jobs pushes it anyway. Again, Jobs was wrong, his critics right. Strike two.

The year is 1998. A crowd is lined up once again. Jobs is back at Apple. He sold them NeXT’s operating system and made them take him in the deal. He stripped and rebuilt his old, flagging company, and put all its hopes on his latest brainchild: The iMac. He got one more pitch—one more ball to swing at. But this time, unlike Casey, Jobs doesn’t miss.

What kept him from striking out in the bottom of the ninth? Luck? Fate? Was it all part of his plan? Did he whiff a couple of times on purpose just to set up the pitcher? Or was it pure grit? Was his pride and thirst for recognition so strong that he simply willed the ball over the fence?

Who knows. It is hard to distinguish the man from the legend when it comes to Steve Jobs (partly because of his chameleon-like adaptability). And I doubt there is any point in asking whether the Steve Jobs of “Steve Jobs” depicts the real Steve Jobs. What’s important is that there is this character—this really interesting and compelling, yet enigmatic character.

And boy, is there this character. Michael Fassbender provides the raw materials and director Danny Boyle does some shaping, but it is writer Aaron Sorkin who breathes the breath of life. His Jobs is archetypal yet somehow real. Sorkin once remarked that he likes hearing his smarter friends talking. This makes it sound like Sorkin doesn’t really understand what they are saying. Yet, whether or not he understands the content of their conversations, man, does he get them. Just as Yeats, Thoreau, Homer and Einstein somehow evinced an exceptional familiarity with the world around them—a world which they were in awe of and knew they could never fully describe or grasp—so too Sorkin once again shows how he understands his subjects, and how, with great artistry, he can reveal them to us without reducing or simplifying them.

This movie so engagingly invites us to ask: What makes Jobs Jobs? There is no simple answer. Jobs is ambitious, persistent, shrewd, egotistical, stubborn, sarcastic, self-centered, mean, brilliant, and almost certainly a lunatic. But it is way more nuanced than that. At one point Jobs describes himself as “indifferent”. But this is not quite right. Sure, at times he behaves with what seems like cold indifference, but concern always finds a way to creep in. He ends up giving the money, remembering the comment, noticing what he seemed to be ignoring.

And yet there are more sinister subtleties, like when Jobs offhandedly but sincerely resents there being a certain “offer the devil never made me”. Like his soul is on the market—he’s just waiting for Lucifer’s call.

At one point Wozniak says the difference between him and Jobs is Jobs is an “asshole”. I like this description. It suggests he is mean in an arrogant and selfish way. That seems about right. But even this gets complicated in the end.

Again, I don’t really care whether any of this speaks to the real Steve Jobs. “Steve Jobs” is a movie about a character. It is a terrifically rendered character. You not only want to watch him and learn what makes him tick, you also want to think about what this character represents—what he says about us.

The Steve Jobs of “Steve Jobs” does that. He is one of the best film characters in a long while.

"Everest"

By Matt Duncan
Coastal View News

As the weary yet spirited climbers, who are just days away from attempting the ultimate feat in mountaineering, crowd around in their tent for some merriment, conversation, and booze, journalist Jon Krakauer (Michael Kelly) asks them: “Why?” Why do it? Why climb Mount Everest?”

Indeed. Why? After a few hems and haws, one climber offers the standard, “Cuz it’s there!” Another climber says he is doing it for a group of kids—to show them that an ordinary guy can do extraordinary things. A third later says he feels depressed at home, but not on the mountain.

These are real answers—after all, the movie is based on real events with real climbers—and they are normal, perfectly O.K. answers. But I don’t think they do any sort of justice to how great the question is. Why climb Everest? Given the costs (both financial and otherwise) and risks (which this movie illustrates nicely), it is a wonder that anyone—let alone droves of people—would risk it all to climb a mountain, which plenty of others have already climbed, just to turn around come right back down.

But people do silly things all the time. And most of us are not at all inclined to think that climbing Everest is silly. So the real reason the “Why do it?” question is super interesting is precisely because, despite all the terrific reasons to ask it, it doesn’t really have a grip on us. The answer, as inarticulable and arational as it may be, somehow just seems obvious. Of course you climb Everest!

Thus the ever-adventurous, ever-helpful Rob Hall (Jason Clarke) and his band of amateur (albeit experienced) climbers—clients of his expedition company—head for the top. There is the soft-spoken Doug Hansen (John Hawkes), who never complains, even when he is struggling. There is the loud-mouthed Beck Weathers (Josh Brolin), a brash Texan eager to buy a one-way ticket to glory. Then there is Scott Fischer (Jake Gyllenhaal), a free spirited pro up for anything; Yasuko Namba (Naoko Mori), who has already climbed seven of the eight highest peaks; and Krakauer, a journalist looking for both a good story and an adventure. They all head to the top to achieve greatness.

Then the storm comes. The wind howls, the snow drives through rock and ice and climber alike, and the darkness overtakes them. Hope is lost, then regained, then lost again. What happens does not just effect those frozen to the side of the mountain. It imperils many more—daughters without fathers, wives without husbands, kids without someone to look up to—and threatens to coat all of those involved in a permanent layer of thick, dull, gray ice.

So, again, why do it? Why climb Everest in the first place? Does this question become more vivid—more pressing—when it becomes clear what is at stake? Do we see the question in a new light once lives have been lost or irreparably altered? I am not sure.

“Everest” is an interesting blend of gleeful adventure and soul-stomping tragedy. Though it falls victim to a few inexplicable storytelling gaffes, it is pretty well acted, and remains compelling throughout.

But real test for a movie like this is whether it sticks with you in your gut—whether it keeps you up at night. This movie does. Or it kept me up, and has stuck with me. There is something deeply unsettling about “Everest”, and I like to think that the tragedy is more than just “one of those things that happens”. It makes you wonder whether “greatness” is worth risking so much that is good in living.

"The Gift"

By Matt Duncan
Coastal View News

Here I am, going to a Jason Bateman movie all by myself late at night, thinking, “Ooh, a Jason Bateman movie, that ought to be funny.” And then I see it is about some sort of gift. “Oh, that sounds nice.”

I was wrong. “The Gift” is not funny. It is not nice. And as I roamed a dark, empty parking structure late at night searching for my car after seeing this infernal movie, my thought was rather, “What have I done.”

I got my first sense that I was in for it, not when I was introduced to Simon (Jason Bateman) and his wife, Robyn (Rebecca Hall)—no, they are as charming as ever, and appear to be happy, well adjusted, rich, and doing exciting things—but rather, I got my first sense of trouble when I heard the eerie, creepy score that constantly reminded me of just how many corners there are where awfulness itself could pop out and get me. Then, when Simon and Robyn buy a house with oodles of giant windows—you know, those things that creepy people can stare at you through late at night—I knew I was a goner.

To back up just a bit, Simon and Robyn are a happy couple who move to California to start new careers. One day while at the mall they run into Gordon (Joel Edgerton)—aka “Gordo”—who, after a few awkward moments, is able to remind Simon that they went to high school together. It is a very perplexing interaction, but they end up getting Gordo’s phone number and promise to catch up later.

But Gordo catches up with them sooner rather than later. He shows up at their house one day and leaves them a gift—a bottle of wine and a “welcome to the neighborhood” note. How nice. Then he comes back another day with another gift, and yet another day with yet another gift. Simon isn’t home, so Gordo is mostly interacting with Robyn. But he seems nice, albeit a tad awkward. And so Robyn invites him to dinner.

Robyn is fine with Gordo. Simon is not. Simon is creeped out. This seems semi-warranted. On the one hand, Gordo is a tad bit odd. On the other hand, he is also generous and nice, and has done nothing to suggest he wants anything but to be friends with Simon and Robyn. Really it is the degree to which Simon is standoffish that seems out of place. In other circumstances Simon is this very warm, understanding, Jason Bateman-ish kind of guy. But around Gordo he is uncharitable and impatient.

It turns out there is more to Simon and Gordo’s past than Simon let on. It seems Simon was not always such a sweetheart. We are not talking axe murderer type stuff—more like man he was a real jerk kind of stuff. Less Freddy Kruger; more Biff from “Back to the Future”. At any rate, as tension between Simon and Gordo begins to escalate, you lose sight of who the bad guy is. You feel bad for Robyn, who is stuck in the middle, but it is hard to sort out who else is a victim and who is a perpetrator.

Here are some things that are much clearer: Jason Bateman is a good actor; you shouldn’t buy a house made of giant windows; Jason Bateman can definitely pull off being a jerk, but he will never shake his habit of calling everyone ‘buddy’; if you watch “The Gift” by yourself late at night, make sure you know where your car is parked.

I don’t know whether I liked “The Gift”, and I don’t know whether it is a good movie. I do know it made me feel very uncomfortable. The whole time. And I know that’s how the director wanted me to feel. But to what end? This is an honest question, not an complaint. This movie reminds me of the ghost stories that my brothers used to tell me (which rarely involved ghosts). Why, oh why, did I torture myself by listening? I couldn’t tell you. All I know is, I did listen, and with rapt attention, and I never turned down an opportunity to hear more—I would even ask for more—and it was always awful, and never good for my psychological well being.

Did I like these stories? Not exactly. But still, something glued my butt to the seat.

"Mission: Impossible--Rogue Nation"

By Matt Duncan
Coastal View News

“Mission: Impossible” is back! This, of course, is no shocker. “Mission: Impossible” has become more and more cemented in that James Bond territory—not exactly innovating at each turn, but nonetheless permanent. They will keep making them. And, like your favorite snack food, you know you want more.

Now, we might be obsessed with the Impossible Missions Force (IMF). But in “Mission: Impossible—Rogue Nation” the U.S. government is over it. The IMF is being shut down. Congress and the CIA think it is outdated, too costly, and just kind of a mess. Which makes perfect sense when you think about it. Sure, Ethan Hunt (Tom Cruise) and the rest of the IMF have saved the entire planet countless times (well, as far as we know, at least four times) but from the outside it must look like a train wreck: smoldering buildings, dead bodies, huge costs, and nothing obvious to show for it that isn’t confidential except for the apocalypse not happening. Can’t hardly call CNN with that news.

So the glory days of the IMF are over. A lot of those in the IMF think this sucks. But none more than Hunt, who, dang it, was right in the middle of something. He, along with his usual crew, Benji Dunn (Simon Pegg), Luther Stickell (Ving Rhames), and William Brandt (Jeremy Renner), were right in the middle of trying to expose and destroy an international terrorist organization known as the Syndicate. In fact, right as the doors of the IMF are being shuttered, the Syndicate captures Hunt. Not a good time to be laid off.

Lucky for Hunt there is someone else on the inside with whom it seems he can work. Her name is Ilsa Faust (Rebecca Ferguson). And I say it seems that Hunt can work with her because it is not 100% clear whose side she is on. At first she is ready to torture Hunt. Point against her. But then she helps him escape. Point for her. Then she shows up later looking like she is going to assassinate a head of state. Point against. But then she promises that she wasn’t really going to do it and, again, helps Hunt get out of a mess. Point for.

It goes on like this for a while. And not just with Ilsa. We know that Hunt is a good boy who will do the right thing. But who is with him? Ilsa? The American government? The CIA? Former IMF agents? Foreign allies? Who knows? The key (which we have all learned by now) is: Trust Hunt, follow his gut, and see what comes out in the wash. This, it seems, is the only way to accomplish an “impossible” mission.

“Mission: Impossible—Rogue Nation” is more light hearted than other “Mission: Impossible” movies. It takes itself less seriously. As Tom Cruise grasps onto the side of an airborne cargo plane in the opening sequence, Simon Pegg, Jeremy Renner, and Ving Rhames bumble and fumble in a mildly concerned “here we go again” sort of way—how you might act if your sautéed mushrooms were getting overcooked again. The scene feels like: Yeah, we know, isn’t it just ridiculous what we have this guy do.

Ridiculous indeed. But that is precisely the charm of these movies. Everything about “Mission: Impossible—Rogue Nation” is ridiculous, but also exactly as you would expect. Even the seemingly unpredictable twists and turns are so obviously hardwired into the very DNA of this series that the most shocking thing they could do is not give us an outrageous, double-crossing, totally unrealistic ending. But, again, that’s part of the charm. When you reach for your favorite snack food, you know what you are getting, you know it’s not a culinary masterpiece, and you know you won’t be spending time contemplating its transcendent qualities. But of course you don’t care—not one iota.

As long as “Mission: Impossible” keeps bringing the stunts, explosions, gadgets, chases, twisty plots, and all that other spy movie goodness—as long as it keeps doing what it’s doing—we will keep coming back for more.

"Inside Out"

By Matt Duncan
Coastal View News

When baby Riley (Kaitlyn Dias) pops into existence with her first bleary-eyed coo, so does Joy (Amy Poehler). This aptly named little homunculus occupies the helm inside Riley’s head, and she controls Riley’s sense of, well, joy. She presses a little button and Riley feels happy.

This charming albeit one-dimensional mental life doesn’t last long, though. It is quickly complicated as other little characters butt in: Sadness (Phyllis), Anger (Lewis Black), Disgust (Mindy Kaling), and Fear (Bill Hader).

All of these purveyors of basic emotion love Riley, and want what is best for her. So it is no surprise that early on in Riley’s life Joy is in charge. Sure, Anger throws in a temper tantrum here and there and Disgust is responsible for some broccoli flying across the room. But Joy is the leader of the pack. From the little colored balls that constitute Riley’s memories, to the ever-evolving islands that constitute her personality, Joy is the manager of Riley’s entire mental economy.

So that is a good thing. Smooth sailing for Riley. But then, at age 11, Riley’s family moves, she has no friends, feels all alone, cannot do the things she loved doing back home, has to sleep in a sleeping bag up in the attic … oh, and school sucks. Things start to get choppy. Then, due to a freak accident, Joy and Sadness get sucked out of the central executive and tossed way down into the far reaches of Riley’s mind. That leaves Fear, Anger, and Disgust in charge of everything. Without Joy to buoy her, Riley’s psychological boat begins to rock. So Joy and Sadness have to get back up top and the other emotions have to hold it together ere the whole thing capsizes.

One thing that might sound weird here is that Joy is the queen of the emotions. “Inside Out” would have been a pretty naïve and lame movie if this setup continued on too long. For it would have implied that joy is our default setting, while all other emotions just kind of dangle, butting in only incidentally. As many of us know, that just aint how it works.

But, thankfully, this movie introduces and manages the complexities of the mind with the care, ingenuity, and insight. In particular, we see that Sadness actually has an important positive role to play in Riley’s mental life. We see that Sadness is sometimes great at comforting, can draw people closer together, and adds a coloring to one’s memories that is essential to what makes them precious.

“Inside Out” is ambitious. Really ambitious. It sets out to depict the most complex and perplexing thing in the universe, the mind—emotion, memory, thought, imagination, fantasy, the subconscious, and the many varied relations between all of these things. And it does so in a way that is careful and nuanced, but also entertaining.

And it succeeds. Really succeeds. It is funny, and interesting, and tear-jerking, and thought provoking, and just cool. One thing that I think is really impressive about “Inside Out” is that it takes characters that, by their very nature, would seem to be one-dimensional—namely, Joy, Sadness, Anger, Fear, and Disgust—and reveals that they are in fact complex and dynamic. This illuminates how we all grow and change emotionally—how simple emotions mingle together to make fear that is imbued with anger, disgust, or even joy; or joy that has light-bluish touches of sadness.

“Inside Out” has a lot of the hallmarks of a Pixar movie, but it’s different too. It is more about the premise, less about the plot, and a tiny bit less about individual personalities than other Pixar movies. So it is hard to stack it up against the others. But, at any rate, this is when Pixar is at their best—when they are innovating. And “Inside Out” is an ambitious innovation that really works.