"Under the Skin"

By Matt Duncan
Coastal View News

With all of the recent chatter about a certain boat movie of Biblical proportions that everyone seems to know and care so much about, some other movies may have slipped under your radar. There is one about bears, several about superheroes, and a couple of others about creepy children who may or may not be demon possessed. Then there is a baseball movie with Kevin Costner and a cartoon sequel. Yes indeed, there are many non-boat movies to be seen and maybe even talked about.

But let me recommend one such movie: “Under the Skin”. Warning: This movie is arty and weird. It is not like the superhero movies, the creepy-kid movies, the cartoon sequels, or indeed, the boat movie. I say thank God for that. But really I’m just letting you know.

In “Under the Skin” an alien who is fixed up to look just like a human (Scarlett Johansson) rides around Scotland in a van picking up men who she seduces and then kills. We have no idea what sort of alien she is, what her motives are, or even what she is up to or how she is doing what she is doing. Everything is as perplexing and foreign to us as our world must be to her.

And the world certainly is perplexing and foreign to her. In one of the first scenes of the movie, the cold and lifeless body of an anonymous dead woman is laid out in front of the alien on the vacant floor of a brightly backlit room. A tear falls from the dead woman’s eye. The alien reaches down as if to wipe the tear away—as if to show compassion—but instead she scoops up an ant that was crawling on the body and carefully examines it as if under a microscope. The ant is what is noteworthy to her. How peculiar it must be to her—how novel and curious.

Thus is how the alien sees the world. She has her mission, and she knows how to carry it out. But, as is made clear through various wonderfully executed cinematic techniques, this entity is indeed alien—she is foreign; this is not her home; she is out of place; nothing makes sense to her. This is also true of us, the audience. Bewilderment is something we share with the alien—that, and the skin that covers our bodies.

As time goes on the alien grows more accustomed to the human exterior that envelops her. She maybe even starts to think human thoughts and feel human feelings. But this is no fable about diversity or the coming together of different peoples. “Under the Skin” is way darker and, really, just way more nuanced and complex than that.

I’m not sure what all is going on in “Under the Skin”. There are other movies where I’m not sure what is going on and I think it’s because not much is really going on—it’s just that the director thinks he or she is really smart and deep so he or she makes a movie that looks really smart and deep but it is just pretentious and lame. “Under the Skin” is not one of those movies. A lot is going on here. But I’m just not sure, at least at this point, what all it is.

What I can tell you is that this movie will seep in—it will get under your skin. You will leave the theater still looking out at a strange and unfamiliar world that you see every day but which is suddenly new, foreign, challenging and confusing.

"The Grand Budapest Hotel"

By Matt Duncan
Coastal View News

“The Grand Budapest Hotel” is a recollection. It is a story about a series of events that occurred in the 1930s, and then was recounted by someone in the 1960s, written down by someone else in the 1980s, and finally read by a little girl in the present.

As with many recollections, this one is full of contradictions. Well, they’re not contradictions—more like tensions or irregularities. Like: The story takes place in and around a hotel named after a real city (Budapest) located in a fictional country (Zubrowka—somewhere in Eastern Europe?). The principle narrator is a rich old man with light skin (F. Murray Abraham), and yet, in his story, he is a lobby boy with dark skin (Tony Revolori). In the background is a fictional early-1930s war that looks and feels a lot like a certain real late-1930s war. And various scenes combine both live action and painterly stop-motion animation.

There is more. The chief protagonist, Gustave H (Ralph Fiennes), is the concierge of The Grand Budapest Hotel. He is disciplined, rigid, by the book, no-nonsense, except for the fact that he carries on affairs with all the older ladies, bathes himself in copious amounts of perfume, and is prone to writing and reciting melodramatic poetry.

Then this happens: One of Gustave’s leading ladies dies. She leaves him a valuable painting. The relatives all want it. But Gustave grabs it and runs. They track him down. They accuse him of murder. Gustave pleads innocent. But it’s a tough sell. This is very dramatic. But it’s also kind of silly.

Gustave, together with the lobby boy at The Grand Budapest (Zero), eludes assassins, solves mysteries, protects the innocent (well, not always), and strives toward some invisible end. Every moment is some combination of breathtaking, beautiful, interesting, compelling, engaging, and absolutely hilarious.

But here are some questions: Is this a drama or a comedy? Is it supposed to be tragic or funny? Is it melodramatic or devoid of feeling? Is it real or fantasy? Are these people good or bad, happy or sad, honest or duplicitous, serious or silly? Are their lives meaningful or pointless? Are their stories profound or inane?

These are questions about all of the following: “The Grand Budapest Hotel” (the movie), the story as told by a reporter, the story as recollected via memory, the actual story as it happened, any story with people in it, and indeed, our story as humans.

These questions, which could be asked about a number of things, and which are asked about a number of things in this movie, do not have easy answers, if they have answers at all. It seems the truth may lie with “Both” and “Neither”, as if there is no plausible middle ground. Everything seems to be both this way and that. Nothing is just one way or the other. This film is both dramatic and comedic, tragic and funny, real and fantastical; the characters really are complex, conflicted, and full of contradictions. This all seems pretty accurate.

Given how brilliantly stylish Wes Anderson’s films are, it may be tempting to think that they are all style—no substance, just pretty filmmaking. But I don’t believe this, not even for one second. And neither should you.

As with Anderson’s other films, “The Grand Budapest Hotel” is brilliant in more ways than one.

"Non-Stop"

By Matt Duncan
Coastal View News

If you watched the Oscars a week or two ago, you heard tell of some pretty good movies. You know that “12 Years a Slave” won Best Picture, that Matthew McConaughey won Best Actor for his role in “Dallas Buyers Club”, and that Cate Blanchett won Best Actress for her role in “Blue Jasmine”. There were other good and great movies in the spotlight as well, such as “American Hustle”, “Nebraska”, and “Her”. The Oscars rarely if ever deal with the very best films. Still, they are a decent guide to decentness.

But now comes the post-Oscar hangover. Take “Non-Stop”, for instance. This movie is not going to win any Oscars. That does not make it a bad movie, of course. But maybe it does temper one’s expectations.

It is about air marshal Bill Marks (Liam Neeson). Marks is not having a good day. It is enough that, as an air marshal, he has to spend all this time in airports and on planes. But then Marks also just seems to be having one of those lousy days where everything is late, everyone is bumping into you, and you just basically want it to end.

Then it gets worse. While airborne on a trans-Atlantic flight, Marks gets a creepy text from some mystery person who claims to be on the plane and watching Marks’ every move. At first it just seems like a prank. But then, kind of out of nowhere, the texter says that he or she is going to kill someone on the plane in 20 minutes, and every 20 minutes thereafter, unless Marks gets the airline to wire him or her $150 million.

This is an odd text for a couple of reasons. First, $150 million? Seriously? How is an air marshal supposed to swing that? Second, well look, buddy, if you try to kill someone then you are going to get caught—it is not like you can go on a killing spree, surrounded by hundreds of people, in that flying sardine can, all while remaining undetected. Plus, it can’t be too hard to just find out who is doing all that texting.

It turns out to be pretty hard to find out who is doing all that texting. Marks has some helpers, such as Jen (Julianne Moore) and Nancy (Michelle Dockery), but they cannot crack the case.

Meanwhile, everyone on the plane is getting pretty irritated. It is a long flight, after all, and it is annoying enough to have one’s in-flight movie interrupted by an obnoxiously loud PA announcement about the seatbelt sign. So forget about being hounded, harassed, searched and interrogated, all without being given a clue as to what is going on.

What’s even more frustrating is that Marks has no real leads. He cannot find the texter. People are dying. The airline is about ready to just cough up the $150 million. And, as if that’s not bad enough, many people—including those on the ground and maybe even some of us in the theater—suspect that it is really Marks who is hijacking the plane! Not good for Marks. He has to find the killer if he wants to prove his innocence. But time is running out.

So, yes, “Non-Stop” is not going to win any Oscars. That is not to say it isn’t a fun ride. It is. Liam Neeson is a good actor, and the fact that he is now a 60-year-old action superstar just goes to show that he is believable in just about any role.

However, “Non-Stop” does get pretty lame at the end. It is so silly and sugary and cliché that, by the time the credits are rolling, it is hard to remember that only 20 minutes ago you were pretty invested in the plot. Maybe that is enough to put “Non-Stop” somewhere between “meh” and “all right”. I’m not sure. Sometimes you know a movie is not going to win any Oscars, but you still have a hard time deciding whether it was worth the two hours.

"Her"

By Matt Duncan
Coastal View News

Of all the films nominated for Best Picture this year, I think “Her” is the best. “Her” is super entertaining, a delight to look at and listen to, and incredibly well acted (Joaquin Phoenix deserves to win Best Actor. Alas, he wasn’t even nominated.). However, what really sets this film apart is its ambition. It takes risks. It does new things. “Her” is bold and adventurous.

It starts with the little things. Take, for instance, the wardrobe. Since “Her” is set in the future, director Spike Jonze and his crew might have put their actors in silly silver unitards, or they might have played it safe and stuck with contemporary fashion. But they opted for a more ambitious approach. The main character, Theodore Twombly (Joaquin Phoenix), wears very high-wasted woolen slacks, fall-colored (mostly, orange, red, and yellow) trim-fit dress shirts, and circle-rimmed 50s-style glasses. It looks good. It looks different than any particular style from the past or present, but it also has a slightly retro feel. It wouldn’t be surprising if people in the not-too-distant future actually wore this stuff.

Then there’s the technology. “Her” is all about a computer program Theodore buys that behaves just like a real person who talks, learns, grows, develops, shares, cares, feels, etc., while also helping him out with email, phone calls and the like. There is no actual physical body there. But everything else is pretty darn human.

Theodore’s program is named ‘Samantha’ (Scarlett Johansson). Again, Jonze and his crew could have gone with some silly cyborg thing, or else they could have played it safe. But Samantha is a more nuanced, more ambitious character. At first she seems like she might just be ultra-Siri, who, honest-to-goodness, really can answer any question you ask. But then Samantha is, or comes to be, something more. She adjusts to Theodore’s personality, jokes with him, advises him, expresses sympathy, and even develops genuine feelings—feelings of joy when she spends time with Theodore, or hurt when she is slighted.

Theodore is enamored. At first he is curious. Then he is amused. Then he comes to kind of like Samantha, seeing her as a companion or friend. But it isn’t too long before he loves her, and indeed, is in love with her.

They are perfect for each other. They were made for each other (well, technically she was made for him, but you get the point). There are hiccups here and there, but even so, it seems that Theodore has found the perfect partner.

It’s of course an interesting question whether a computer program could ever have thoughts, feelings, emotions and other experiences. But this seems to be taken for granted in “Her”. What is more open to debate, I think, is the extent to which Samantha is the author or agent of her thoughts, feelings and emotions. Is she in control of her own thoughts? Does she have a will? Or is it all just programming?

Yet this movie isn’t all all about whether, in the end, Samantha will show herself to be something less than human—inadequate to the task; unable to satisfy Theodore; missing something crucial. Perhaps the more central issue in “Her” turns out to be whether Theodore is adequate to the task—whether he can satisfy Samantha. The question is whether the human might be the lesser being. So this movie is not just about what it takes to be human; it is also about what it might be like to be beyond human.

I told you “Her” is ambitious.

"American Hustle"

By Matt Duncan
Coastal View News

A hustler or con artist is someone who pretends to be something or someone he or she is not so as to gain an advantage over other people. To be a good con artist you have to be shrewd, industrious, and willing to lie, cheat, and backstab. It sounds pretty bad when it’s put that way. So it’s no surprise that when most of us think of a con artist we think of some sleazy guy with slicked back hair and no scruples bilking sweet old ladies out of their life savings.

That’s what we think of. But maybe we are all con artists, at least to some extent. We act like different people in different circumstances so that others will like us. We lie about ourselves to gain others’ confidence. We use, and maybe even abuse, that confidence from time to time to help ourselves out. We may not ever rob sweet ol’ granny. Still, we hurt feelings, trade away friendships, undermine competitors, and even trick ourselves about who we are and what we are capable of.

This is what “American Hustle” is about. It is about con artists. And a few of these con artists happen to be those sleazy professional-type con artists. Irving Rosenfeld (Christian Bale), for example, is a super sleazy professional-type con artist (he even likes to glue a tuft of hair to his bald dome and swoop the rest of his hair over so as to make himself looks less sleazy and more put together; of course, nothing could make him seem sleazier). Irving “trades in art”, and “sets up loans” for people in dire financial straits. Sydney Prosser (Amy Adams) is Irving’s helper. She pretends to be this British lady who has “connections” back in London. Really, though, they just take money from people and never pay them back.

Eventually they get caught by Richie DiMaso (Bradley Cooper), who is this hotshot FBI agent—a real legend in his own mind. Richie convinces Irving and Sydney to flip sides (in lieu of going to jail) to help the FBI catch some bigger fish. Richie has his sights set on the biggest of fish—mob kingpins, mayors, senators, etc. Irving thinks this is all a bad idea and thinks that there is no way it’ll work. Richie won’t hear it, though. He thinks he can pull off the sting of the century.

So Irving and Sydney, who were in the business of using other people, are now being used by Richie to use other people who are also in the business of using other people. Except Irving and Sydney are pretty good at this whole thing and so they figure out ways to use Richie, making him think that he is using them when really they are using him. But it all gets more complicated when some of those being set up hear of the plot and so try to turn it around to their advantage. So everyone is using everyone. Everyone is a con artist. Everyone is a hustler.

Some of the con artists in this movie are more self-aware about their con artistry than others. But whether or not they face the facts, they all seem to think that they do what they do, and indeed must to what they do, for one simple reason: survival. Like it’s inevitable. Like you either cheat, steal, manipulate, etc., or else you get eaten alive. Of course, that a behavior is widespread doesn’t mean that it’s inevitable. Still, “American Hustle” says we are all con artists because we have to be con artists and that’s that. This is a pretty bleak observation. But maybe it is true.

None of this is really what makes “American Hustle” a good movie or at least fun to watch, though. It is fun to watch because it is extremely well acted. No surprise there. Most of us could watch Christian Bale, Amy Adams, Bradley Cooper, Jennifer Lawrence, and Jeremy Renner play Chinese Checkers for two hours and be just fine. Watching this movie is even better, though, because the plot is complex and engaging. The movie is also pretty funny, too.

So that’s what makes “American Hustle” fun to watch. I suppose that probably also makes it a good movie.