Caligula: The Ultimate Cut, This Time Its More Respectable

As a boy, the future despotic emperor Gaius Caesar Augustus Germanicus was nicknamed “Caligula,” meaning “Little Boots.” You could say he was the original “Kinky Boots.” This time, however, he is a little less kinky. The 1979 historical drama sort of directed by Tinto Brass was fatefully financed by Penthouse publisher Bob Guccione, who notoriously added excessively graphic scenes of sex and violence. As a result, Brass and most of the cast disowned the grotesque final product. Years later, Thomas Negovan reconstructed an entirely new cut that more closely follows Gore Vidal’s original screenplay. Consisting of alternate takes and outtakes, 100% of Negovan’s edit never appeared on-screen before (having duly jettisoned all of Guccione’s footage). It is still very mature, but the viewing experience is more coherent when Caligula: The Ultimate Cut opens this Friday in theaters.

Guccione spared no expense, hiring Peter O’Toole and Sir John Gielgud for roles the great actors were probably grateful were mercifully short. O’Toole plays Emperor Tiberius, Caligula’s STD-riddled great-uncle, who has reluctantly groomed the orphan to succeed him. Following in the time-honored Roman tradition, Caligula decides to succeed him earlier than Tiberius intended, but he needs the ambitious Macro to do his dirty work. Of course, Caligula realizes anyone willing to kill one emperor is capable of killing two.

Some things have not changed, definitely including Caligula’s incestuous relationship with his sister Drusilla. However, she is shrewd enough to insist her brother wed a proper, socially elite wife. Almost perversely, he chooses the scandalous Caesonia, who rather turns out to be a good match for him. They both have their appetites. She also learns to live with his lunacy and fits of rage, even when they start to interfere with his ability to rule the empire.

It is still pretty mind-blowing to see Dame Helen Mirren participating in a threesome with Malcolm McDowell (who currently plays a grouchy grandpa on Son of a Critch) and Teresa Ann Savoy, but judging from the 1979 film’s reputation, a great deal of the erotic content has been toned down, particularly in the second half. It is still more explicit than Those About to Die, but most viewers will not feel unclean after watching Negovan’s cut.

It is too bad Guccione’s edit became what it was, because when seen in the proper light, McDowell’s gloriously unhinged performance should have solidified his reputation as the boldest thesp of his generation. Supposedly, the new reconstruction better illustrates Lord Acton’s maxim of absolutely power corrupting absolutely, but there is not much of a slide into corruption. McDowell’s Caligula arguably starts at deranged and tyrannical—and steadily grows more intensely so.

One of the real discoveries is the performance of Savoy as Drusilla. Originally, Maria Schneider had been cast in the part, but she exited due to the sexually charged content. She clearly did the right thing, especially considering her troubling memories of Last Tango in Paris. Nevertheless, Savoy probably served up the performance of her career as the ruthless shrewd but ambiguously sensitive Drusilla. It is also nice to fully see John Steiner (the English actor who was a mainstay of Italian genre cinema for years) scheming as Longinus, the chancellor of the treasury.

Golda, Co-Starring Liev Schreiber as Kissinger

In many ways, the Yom Kippur War was a lot like the Tet Offensive. It was a surprise attack over a holiday that caught Israel by surprise. The media spun Tet into a Communist victory, even though the South and their American allies successfully beat back the Viet Cong. It is impossible to spin the Yom Kippur War as a victory for Egypt and Syria for several reasons, starting with the obvious fact Israel still exists. However, it was looking really grim during the initial days. Guy Nattiv takes viewers into the celebrated Israeli Prime Minister’s war-room in Golda, which releases Friday in theaters.

Some Israelis blamed Golda Meir for not being better prepared for the 1973 war, but clearly Nattiv and screenwriter Nicholas Martin do not. There were early warning signs, but they were interpreted very differently by legendary Defense Minister Moshe Dayan and Mossad chief Zvi Zamir. Unfortunately, Zamir was more right than wrong. Being a natural politician, Meir basically split the difference between their recommendations. It also certainly did not help that Meir had promised Kissinger and Nixon to wait for her war-mongering neighbors to fire the first shot, before Israel would start to defend itself.

However, having stayed true to her word, Kissinger agrees to expedite more military aid and diplomatically pressure the Soviets to stay out of the fight. It is important to remember Israel and the U.S, did not enjoy as close a relationship then as we do now. In fact, Nattiv and Martin nicely illustrate the legacy of the Yom Kippur War, including the Camp David Accords and a much closer alliance between our two countries.

Frankly, it is kind of shocking Liev Schreiber agreed to play Kissinger, especially since the film portrays the former Secretary of State in at least a halfway sympathetic manner, if not better. Apparently, it is tough to turn down an opportunity to appear opposite Dame Helen Mirren. For viewers, it was worth Schreiber risking his career, because their terrific scenes together crackle with wit and intelligence.

Mirren is also pretty good is her scenes with everyone else, particularly Lior Ashkenazi as IDF Chief of Staff David Alazar, Rami Heuberger as Dayan, and Rotem Keinan as Zamir. Less successful are the private moments she shares with confidential secretary Lou Kaddar (played by Camille Cottin) exploring all her aches and physical failings. We can all empathize, but a little of this goes a long way—and there a lot of it. Nevertheless, what starts as a good feature-showcase for Mirren evolves into an effective ensemble film.

Fast & Furious Presents: Hobbs & Shaw

Is there a weirder term getting bandied about by the agenda-driven media than “toxic masculinity?” What’s so bad about men being manly? (It’s a rhetorical question.) That is why the world needs some testosterone-driven blockbusters every so often. If you find masculinity toxic than head to your “safe space” when The Rock, Jason Statham, and Idris Elba crash cars and jaw at each other in David Leitch’s Fast & Furious Presents: Hobbs & Shaw, which opens today around the world.

What’s this film about? It’s about two hours and fifteen minutes. What more were you wondering about? Luke Hobbs is a Los Angeles G-Man. Deckard Shaw is a UK spy turned freelancer. They have worked together before, but they were never chummy. Much to their mutual consternation, the CIA has recruited them both to work as a team tracking down a misplaced mega-virus.

The case will be personal for Shaw, because his sister, MI6 agent Hattie Shaw was framed for the theft of the “Snowflake” virus and the murder of the rest of her recovery team. The real villain is Brixton Lore, whom Shaw also has some history with. The last time he saw Lore, he shot him once in the head and twice in the heart, but somehow, a shadowy eugenics organization managed to save the turncoat agent. Thanks to their enhancements and programming, Lore is now a bionic super-powered cyborg-hybrid.

Blah, blah, blah, whatever. The plot here is just an excuse for Hobbs and Shaw to talk smack to each other and engage in some large-scale smack-downs. Everything is big here, particularly the action sequences. Frankly, the early F&F movies seem downright quaint and intimate by comparison. Remember, it all started with Paul Walker’s character going undercover to bust a crew hijacking truckloads of consumer electronics. From there, we somehow reached the Rock fighting armored villains as he freefalls off a London skyscraper.

Of course, this all plays to the strengths of The Rock. He really has massive screen charisma, which easily shines through all the explosions and wildly over-the-top stunts. He also develops some solid comic timing trading mother insults with Jason Statham. Taking on the squintier, flintier, Eastwood-esque role, Statham manages to be cool and keep his head above all the surrounding madness as the more grounded Shaw. As an added bonus, Vanessa Kirby shows off some impressive action chops of her own, as Hattie Shaw.

As a bad guy demanding imposing physicality and neurotic angst, Lore is definitely dead solid in Elba’s wheelhouse, sort of like the Luther of supervillains. As an added bonus, Dame Helen Mirren clearly enjoys playing Ma Shaw, who is definitely her grown children’s mother. F&F: H&S also boasts two uncredited big-name cameos. One is pretty embarrassing, while the other is take-no-prisoners funny. Fortunately, the latter gets more screen time, including a curtain call during the closing credits.

Instead of Vin Diesel’s brothers-from-different-mothers “family” talk of the other Furious films, Hobbs & Shaw are all about traditional family values—and saving the world. It isn’t phony. In fact, The Rock has an affinity playing action heroes who are also engaged parents (as in the somewhat under-appreciated Skyscraper). The formula still works here, but it would have been even more effective if the bedlam were a little more grounded. Recommended for fans of the stars and the franchise, Fast & Furious Presents: Hobbs & Shaw opens today (8/2), just about everywhere, including the AMC Empire in Midtown.

Eye in the Sky: 21st Century Brinksmanship

You would think so-called “peace activists” would embrace the use of military drones. It removes military personnel from harm’s way and shifts tactical decisions higher up the chain of command to senior officers and civilian officials who are more sensitive to political and media pressure. The resulting dithering is vividly dramatized in Gavin Hood’s Eye in the Sky (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

“Refer up” is a bit of military shorthand that will become like fingernails on a blackboard to viewers during the course of Eye. It means passing the buck to next level of authority. Frankly, British Col. Katherine Powell is in no mood to refer up. Earlier in the morning, she learned a highly placed source had been beheaded by African Islamist terrorists. After briefly gaining assurances from her superior, Lt. Gen. Frank Benson, the man’s family will be taken care of, Powell preps for her mission.

From a British military base, Powell will coordinate an effort to capture Susan Danford, a radicalized British convert, who is now number two on the African most wanted list. It was planned as a capture mission to be executed on the ground by the Kenyan Special Forces, with surveillance support provided by an American drone piloted by a crew in Las Vegas. However, the Kenyans are put on hold when Danford rendezvouses with two prospective suicide bombers in a Jihadi-controlled “no-go” neighborhood in Nairobi.

With the suicide bombers suiting up, Powell requests permission to take out the safe house. To her, it seems like a no-brainer, even though a young girl is inconveniently selling bread on the street corner within the probable blast radius. When the vested-up terrorists leave in separate directions, the drone will only be able to follow one of them. Unfortunately, because of the girl and her bread, the civilian observers insist Benson begins the agonizing process of “referring up.” British ministers and American cabinet secretaries must be located around the globe, as the aspiring suicide bombers record their statements and say their prayers.

It is hard to believe this film was directed by Gavin “Redacted” Hood, because it is surprisingly, shockingly balanced. In fact, he might just overcompensate in favor of drone strikes against known terrorist targets, at least in the early going. Powell’s logic is at least as compelling as the little girl’s claim on everyone’s emotions—more will die if they do not act. Yet, it is the craven referring-up that will have the audience beating their heads against the seat-back in front of them. Somewhat problematically, the film’s climax and denouement are shamelessly manipulative (perhaps another overcompensation), but the steely Lt. Gen. gets the last word and it’s a doozy.

Sadly, Eye represents one of two posthumous releases from the late, great Alan Rickman (how was he never nominated for an Oscar?), but he clearly left us at the peak of his craft. He flat-out steals the picture in the closing minutes. As one would expect, Dame Helen Mirren is rock solid anchoring the film as the cool, calm, and collected Col. Powell, who struggles to remain that way, despite the bureaucratic indecision jeopardizing her mission. Barkhad Abdi is also quietly intense as Jama Farah, a Somali-Kenyan undercover operative, proving he wasn’t just a one-hit-wonder in Captain Phillips. Unfortunately, the usually reliable Jeremy Northam is rather facelessly punctilious as Powell’s Defense Ministry observer.

Regardless, screenwriter Guy Hibbert (who also penned the terrific Five Minutes of Heaven and One Child) defies and exceeds all expectations for providing so much grist for both sides to debate. Unlike the loaded Good Kill, Eye readily acknowledges there are pros and cons to either position. It is never lecturey, but it definitely has bite. Hood also deserves credit for the film’s tight, tense execution. No matter how viewers feel about military drones, it is worth seeing simply as a ticking clock thriller. Recommended with unexpected enthusiasm, Eye in the Sky opens this Friday (3/11) in New York, at AMC Lowes Lincoln Square and Regal Union Square theaters.

Woman in Gold: Restituting a Plundered Klimt Masterpiece

Thanks to Gustav Klimt’s Portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer, art lovers around the world will instantly recognize Maria Altmann’s beloved aunt and her iconic choker necklace. After the annexation of Austria, Bloch-Bauer’s necklace found its way into the possession of Herman Goering’s wife, while her stunning portrait was plundered by Vienna’s Belvedere Gallery. For years, it was the cornerstone of their collection, but Altmann filed a restitution claim as the last surviving Bloch-Bauer heir that ultimately forced Austria to confront its National Socialist past. Altmann’s dramatic early years in Austria and her protracted legal battle are chronicled in Simon Curtis’s The Woman in Gold (trailer here), which opens this Wednesday in New York.

The Bloch-Bauers were a wealthy, assimilated Jewish Austrian family with a reputation for supporting the arts. This was especially true of Adele Bloch-Bauer, Altmann’s childless aunt. The Bauer sisters had married the Bloch brothers, so the entire family lived together in their elegant Elisabethstrasse home during Adele’s lifetime. Sadly, Adele Bloch-Bauer died tragically prematurely from meningitis in 1925, but she would be spared the horrors that her family would face. She also made quite an impression on young Altmann, which is why her portrait meant more to the niece than its mere one hundred million dollar-plus estimated value.

For years, the Belvedere simply dubbed the painting “The Woman in Gold” to disguise its Jewish provenance, but the world knew it for what it was. Eventually, Austria announced a new restitution process, in hopes of improving its post-Waldheim image, but it was mostly just for show. Altmann and her initially reluctant lawyer Randol Schoenberg (grandson of the composer) make a good faith try to work within the Austrian legal framework, but soon find a more hospitable reception in the U.S. Federal court system. Whether or not Altmann even has standing to sue the Belvedere, an agency of a foreign government, becomes the crux of the litigation dramatized in the film.

Curtis and screenwriter Alexi Kaye Campbell nicely illuminate the various legal technicalities of the case without getting bogged down in excessive detail. Curtis also juggles the 1938 Austrian timeline with the more contemporary legal drama rather adroitly. He was particularly fortunate to find such a convincing younger analog for Dame Helen Mirren in Orphan Black’s Tatiana Maslany, who grew up listening to her German language speaking parents in their Canadian household.

Of course, Dame Helen dominates the film and she is terrific as usual. She projects Altmann’s regal bearing as well as her no-nonsense pragmatism. While Schoenberg’s character is somewhat underwritten in the first two acts, Ryan Reynolds capitalizes on some crucial humanizing moments down the stretch. He gives some bite to what might otherwise been a relatively milquetoast role.

On the other hand, Katie Holmes really has nothing interesting to do as Schoenberg’s wife, Pam—and never elevates the thankless part either. However, Jonathan Pryce absolutely kills it in his too brief scene as Chief Justice William Rehnquist, portraying the jurist as quite a witty and gracious gentleman, which is rather sporting of the film, considering he ruled against Altmann in his dissent.

With Gold, Curtis does justice to a fascinating story with far reaching political and cultural implications. He helms with a sensitive hand, while maintaining a healthy pace. Frankly, it represents a marked improvement over My Week with Marilyn, which always seemed to focus on the blandest actor in any given scene. That never happens in a Dame Helen film. Still, the documentary The Rape of Europa remains the most authoritative and comprehensive cinematic word on the disputed ownership of Portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer and the systematic National Socialist looting of Jewish property in general (catch up with it now, if you haven’t already). Highly recommended (in its own right) for general audiences, Woman in Gold opens nationwide this Wednesday (4/1), including the venerable single-screen Paris Theatre in New York.

In Contention: Hitchcock

Alfred Hitchcock, the master of suspense, largely self-financed his notorious 1960 classic, Psycho.  He picked the right film to literally bet his home on.  A spectacular success by any standard, the film that would introduce Norman Bates to the world looked like it might be his swan song during its rocky development and production stages.  Dramatizing the behind-the-scenes story of arguably his most iconic work, Sacha Gervasi’s sympathetic but bitingly witty Hitchcock (trailer here) is now in award contention for at least one and possibly two of its accomplished leads.

Hitchcock is not a story Hitch would have made.  Since we know Psycho was completed to his satisfaction and became a monster hit at the box office, there is not a lot of suspense to the tale.  However, the getting from point A to point B is quite fascinating.  As we meet Hitchcock and his patient wife Alma Reville, he is basking in the triumph of North by Northwest, which somewhat bores them both.  As a distraction, Reville starts doctoring a new spec script written by Strangers on a Train screenwriter Whitfield Cook, who is hoping she will convince Hitchcock to attach himself to it.  Of course, he has his mind set on very different property.

Based on Robert Bloch’s novel, which in turn was inspired by Wisconsin serial killer Ed Gein, Psycho is the sort of film no respectable studio director would think of touching.  That is exactly why Hitchcock is attracted to it.  As the closing titles remind viewers, Hitchcock never won an Academy Award (a fact that could either help or hinder the film’s own Oscar campaign).  Throughout Gervasi’s film, Hitchcock is clearly presented as a brilliant but ragingly insecure filmmaker.  Resenting his lack of recognition, Psycho is convincingly framed as an effort to make an exploitation horror movie that is vastly superior to the prestige pictures the studios released.  And so it was.

Yes, this Hitchcock is somewhat neurotic and there is no denying his eye for blondes.  Yet, John J. McLaughlin’s screen treatment is refreshingly forgiving of his foibles.  He was indeed a man of expensive tastes (taste being the most apt word), but the audience also sees Hitch and Alma puttering about the kitchen in slippers, like relatively down to earth people.

Both Sir Anthony Hopkins and Dame Helen Mirren are terrific as the first couple of suspense.  As the title auteur, Hopkins is Hitchy without getting kitschy or shticky.  Likewise, Mirren is the picture of mature sophistication as Reville.  Listening to them bantering like an old familiar couple is one of the film’s great pleasures. 

Yet, the supporting work of Toni Collette and Scarlett Johansson really fleshes out the film.  Collette’s smart, surprisingly attractive turn elevates what could easily have been the thankless role of the Hitchcock’s thankless assistant Peggy Robertson.  Beyond being a spooky dead-ringer for Janet Leigh, Johansson also has some wonderful scenes with both principles that really deepen their humanity.  While an Oscar campaign on her behalf might be pushing it, Hitchcock should definitely be on the bill for any future Johansson retrospective.

Gervasi commits a few missteps along the way, such as overplaying Hitchcock’s interior dialogues with the convicted and committed Ed Gein, perhaps hoping to throw genre diehards a bone.  Still, the film payoffs handsomely, especially for Hitchcock fans.  In fact, you could say it has a real Hollywood ending.  Deserving award consideration for the work of both Hopkins and Mirren, Hitchcock is recommended for the director’s admirers and those who enjoy films about the cinema.  It is now playing nationwide, including the AMC Empire in New York.

The Debt, Restructured

Rachel Singer understands the dark side of human nature. Her ex-husband Stephan Gold is a high-ranking cabinet official, and her daughter Sarah Gold is a journalist. In fact, Gold’s new book has reopened a number of old wounds for her parents. Singer and Gold were part of a three agent Mossad team charged with capturing “The Surgeon of Birkenau,” a National Socialist war criminal clearly modeled on Mengele. Though they were supposedly forced to kill the doctor when he attempted to escape, we quickly discover there is something wrong with the official story in John Madden’s restructured The Debt (trailer here), which opens this Wednesday in New York.

Based on Assaf Bernstein’s Israeli film of the same title, The Debt first presents the account of the fateful mission that made Singer a national icon in Israel. It is that story Sarah Gold told in her bestselling book, which Singer dutifully agrees to help publicize. Yet, when press reports surface of a senile patient in a Ukrainian nursing home claiming to be the notorious Surgeon, Dieter Vogel, she and her ex take it deadly seriously. So does David Peretz, the third member of the team, who was always too troubled by the events that transpired in 1965 East Berlin to enjoy their heroic celebrity.

Now a wheelchair-bound senior intelligence official, Gold’s field ops days are behind him. Though the conscience plagued Peretz has recently reappeared, he will be in no condition to deal with the Surgeon. It is up to Singer to covertly enter Ukraine and finish the job. While she cases the sanatorium, The Debt flashes back to East Berlin, showing how it all really went down.

As adapted by screenwriters Matthew Vaughn & Jane Goldman and Peter Straughan, Madden’s Debt closely hews to the plot and structure of the original. However, the new version plays up the three Mossad agents’ romantic triangle and also adds a bit of a moralizing "truth is important" spin to the ending. However, like the source film, The Debt never suggests Singer’s team had the wrong man, only faulting their execution, the result of stress exacerbated by generational guilt and sexual tension. Indeed, The Surgeon is presented as evil incarnate, played with icy menace by Jesper Christensen.

When casting an actress of a certain age for somewhat action oriented film, Helen Mirren is pretty much the extent of the short list. Though she brings the appropriate presence and credibility to the 1997 Singer, the heart and guts of the film remain in 1965 (as was the case with its predecessor). Madden cranks the up the claustrophobic tension in their “safe” flat quite effectively, while making it vividly clear how the legacy of the Holocaust weighed on the team as first generation children of survivors.

Frankly, Sam Worthington is surprisingly compelling as the young but already too tightly wound Peretz, suggesting he might actually be a very good actor, who just had the mixed luck to be in utterly terrible but hugely successful films, like Avatar and Clash of the Titans. Yet, perhaps the greatest surprise is Jessica Chastain, who rises to challenge of playing the same character as Dame Helen, in the same film. In fact, she might even get the better of her, investing the younger Gold with equal measures of strength and vulnerability.

Though it still has not fixed the problematic third act showdown, The Debt remains a leanly muscular morality play-thriller. While the English language version might be a bit more inclined to cast the Mossad in an unfavorable light, there is never any ambiguity as to the Surgeon’s truly malevolent nature. A surprisingly faithful and well executed remake, The Debt should definitely satisfy those who enjoy a John Le Carrré-esque story, who have do not already know the twists and turns of the original. It opens this Wednesday (8/31) in New York at the Angelika Film Center.

Brit Noir: Brighton Rock

Catholicism is not the villain in Graham Greene’s novel Brighton Rock, per se, but it holds a rather ambiguous if significant place in the overall scheme of things. Like Greene, the somewhat reluctant convert, small time hoodlum Pinkie Brown is also a professed Roman Catholic, but there is no mistaking his sociopathic behavior. Yet, somehow an innocent working girl does exactly that in Rowan Joffe’s Brighton Rock (trailer here), the latest adaption of Greene’s noir morality tale, which opens this Friday in New York.

It is the mid-1960’s rather than the 1930’s of the novel and classic John Boulting film, but the characters’ prospects have not changed. Brown is a thug. Rose is a waitress. They both work on the bottom end of the food chain in the seaside resort town of Brighton (known for the titular rock candy). In no way is Rose his type, but circumstances force him to seduce her, at least temporarily. She happened to be on break when Brown’s accomplices were about to settle a score with a rival gangster and one of the tourist-preying photographers captured the moment on film. Rose was given the claim check, not that it meant anything to her. Of course, Brown’s gang will stop at nothing to get it, so Brown is sent in to employ his highly questionable charm on his fellow Catholic.

Rose’s boss Ida Arnold immediately sees through Brown. Though a respectable woman, she has some understanding of the way the world works. In fact, she was a friend of the man Brown’s gang murdered. Unfortunately, the love-struck young woman remains deaf to her warnings.

As crime drama, Brighton is a handsome diversion, but nothing classic. However, it is a joy to watch Dame Helen Mirren and John Hurt bicker, banter, and flirt as Arnold and her sort-of-not-really platonic gentleman friend Phil Corkery. They both invest their characters with charm and intelligence, developing genuine chemistry together.

Of course that spark is completely lacking (by design) for Sam Riley and Andrea Riseborough, as Brown and Rose, respectively. Yet, Riley never really works in the role, failing to convey the proper sense of malevolence as Brown, considered one of the most iconic heavies in British cinema and literature. As a consolation though, Andy Serkis chews the scenery with appropriate relish as Colleoni, Brighton’s local kingpin, proving he can make a substantial impression even when not buried under layers of prosthetics and CGI effects.

Based on their turns in Brighton, someone should cast Mirren and Hurt as Nick and Nora Charles-like sleuths investigating Andy Serkis as their primary antagonist. This is not that movie, but it has its moments. Regardless, it all looks great, thanks to the moody noir visual style and rich period details crafted by cinematographer John Mathieson and production designer James Merifield’s team. There is no question it is the old pros who save Brighton, but that is what old pros do. Recommended on balance, Brighton opens this Friday (8/26) in New York at the Angelika Film Center.

Taymor’s Tempest

It was neither intended as a political statement nor as novelty casting. Director Julie Taymor and the accomplished Helen Mirren simply wanted to collaborate on a Shakespeare project, but the Bard just did not write a lot of great parts for women over the age of thirty-five or so. Yet, both independently considered the role of The Tempest’s Prospero a possibility. After an early reading confirmed their hopes, the role of Prospero became Prospera. Chosen as the prestigious centerpiece selection of this year’s New York Film Festival, Taymor’s Tempest (trailer here) opens in New York theaters this Friday.

When the Duke of Milan dies, his wife Prospera succeeds him, but not for long. Usurped by her unscrupulous brother Antonio, with the backing of King Alonso of Naples, Prospera and her daughter Miranda are cast adrift, presumably to die at sea. However, the loyal court counselor Gonzalo secretly stocked the slip with food, water, and Prospera’s magic books. Twelve years later, Prospera uses her command of the elements to shipwreck the vessel carrying Antonio, Alonso, his son Ferdinand, the good Gonzalo, and various ne’er do well retainers. Prospera and her indentured servant, Ariel the air spirit, toy with the treacherous royals, while encouraging romance to blossom between Ferdinand and Miranda. Further complicating matters, the fools Trinculo and Stephano conspire with Prospera’s resentful slave Caliban in an ill-conceived rebellion.

Despite the changes necessitated by Taymor’s gender switch, her adaptation follows the original Shakespeare quite closely. She also earns points for not flinching in politically correct horror from depicting Caliban as Shakespeare described him: a black slave driven by rage for his master. Still, she works with actor Djimon Hounsou to humanize him as best they can, within the constraints of the text.

Though she leads an all-star cast, The Tempest is Mirren’s film, pure and simple. She truly digs into the role, finding fresh humanistic insights, irrespective of Prospero/a’s gender. Perhaps her richest work comes with Ben Whishaw as the androgynous Ariel, cutting to the core of the play’s themes of forgiveness and empathy.

In truth, the rest of the ensemble just cannot keep pace with her. Surprisingly, Chris Cooper and David Strathairn are indistinguishably bland as the royal co-conspirators Antonio and Alonso, respectively. In a genuine case of gimmicky casting, Russell Brand’s same old profane goofball schtick becomes an embarrassing distraction as the jester Trinculo (frankly, it was already getting tired). At least Felicity Jones and Reeve Carney exhibit some appealing chemistry as the young lovers.

Taymor’s Tempest is a good Shakespeare adaptation that picks up steam as it goes along, but never quite takes flight. The Hawaiian locales, particularly the black volcanic beaches, dramatically evoke the play’s otherworldliness and Mirren gives a powerhouse performance. Still, there just seems to be an X-factor missing. Certainly entertaining, but not the triumph Taymor’s admirers are hoping for, The Tempest opens tomorrow in New York at the Angelika Film Center.

NYFF ’10: The Tempest

It was neither a political statement nor a cheap gimmick. Director Julie Taymor and the accomplished Helen Mirren wanted to work together on a Shakespeare project, but the Bard just did not write a lot of great parts for women over the age of thirty-five or so. Yet, both independently considered the role of Prospero a possibility. After an early reading confirmed their hopes, the role of Prospero became Prospera in their resulting collaboration, The Tempest, the centerpiece selection of the 48th New York Film Festival, which screens tomorrow night at Alice Tully Hall.

When the Duke of Milan dies, his wife Prospera succeeds him, but not for long. Usurped by her unscrupulous brother Antonio, with the backing of King Alonso of Naples, Prospera and her daughter Miranda are cast adrift, presumably to die at sea. However, the loyal court counselor Gonzalo secretly stocked the slip with food, water, and Prospera’s magic books. Twelve years later, Prospera uses her command of the elements to shipwreck the vessel carrying Antonio, Alonso, his son Ferdinand, the good Gonzalo, and various ne’er do well retainers. Prospera and her indentured servant, Ariel the air spirit, toy with the treacherous royals, while encouraging romance to blossom between Ferdinand and Miranda. Further complicating matters, the fools Trinculo and Stephano conspire with Prospera’s resentful slave Caliban in an ill-conceived revolt.

Despite the changes necessitated by Taymor’s gender switch, her adaptation follows the original Shakespeare quite closely. She also earns points for not flinching in politically correct horror from depicting Caliban as Shakespeare described him: a black slave driven by rage for his master. Still, she works with actor Djimon Hounsou to humanize him as best they can, within the confines of the text.

Make no mistake though, The Tempest is Mirren’s film, pure and simple. She truly digs into the role, finding fresh humanistic insights, irrespective of Prospero/a’s gender. Perhaps her deepest work comes with Ben Whishaw’s androgynous Ariel, cutting to the core of the play’s themes of forgiveness and empathy. In truth, the rest of the ensemble just cannot keep pace with her. Surprisingly, Chris Cooper and David Strathairn are indistinguishably bland as the royal co-conspirators Antonio and Alonso, respectively. A genuine case of gimmicky casting, Russell Brand’s same old profane goofball schtick becomes an embarrassing distraction as the jester Trinculo (frankly, it was already getting tired). At least Felicity Jones and Reeve Carney exhibit some appealing chemistry as the young lovers.

Taymor’s Tempest is a good Shakespeare adaptation that picks up steam as it goes along, but never quite takes flight. The Hawaiian locales, particularly the black volcanic beaches, dramatically evoke the play’s otherworldliness and Mirren gives a powerhouse performance. There just seems to be an X-factor missing. Certainly entertaining, The Tempest screens tomorrow as the centerpiece of the 2010 New York Film Festival.

Family Fun: The Love Ranch

Meanwhile back at the ranch, commerce was being conducted, but not a lot was reported to the IRS. Such were the business practices of Charlie and Grace Bontempo, not so loosely based on the Joe Conforte and Sally Burgess, the husband-and-wife owners of the notorious Mustang Ranch, Nevada’s first legal brothel. Business is brisk, but infidelity complicates matters in Taylor Hackford’s cinematic Roman á brothel, Love Ranch (trailer here), starring his wife Helen Mirren, which opens in New York this Wednesday.

Charlie Bontempo is what the newspapers like to call colorful. He greases the palms of the local cops and politicians, while his wife Grace keeps the books—both the real ones and those they show the government. Since she knows where all the bodies are buried, fooling around with the hired help is a very bad idea, but the high-flying Bontempo cannot resist.

In a play for big time Vegas street cred, Bontempo buys the contract of Armando Bruza, an Argentine boxer who was once a title contender. For publicity, he has the fighter train at the Ranch. However, since he has a criminal record, he must register his wife as Bruza’s manager, thereby guaranteeing the odd couple will spend time together. Yet, somehow he is shocked when they start up an affair, perhaps because of their rather obvious age difference.

Indeed, the scenes between Bruza and his reluctant manager are the strongest of the film. Always an interesting actress to watch, Helen Mirren brings depth to Grace Bontempo that the film probably does not deserve. Spanish actor Sergio Peris-Mencheta also humanizes the big Argentine lug quite effectively and has some nice chemistry with Mirren. Unfortunately, Joe Pesci is totally schticky as Charlie Bontempo and the lovely and talented Gina Gershon and Bai Ling are completely wasted as Ranch “employees.”

The true story of the Mustang Ranch and Oscar Bonavena, the Argentine fighter on whom Bruza is obviously based, is pretty crazy. Yet somehow, Ranch never really builds up much momentum. It seems like the film gets hung up on the shag carpet of its scrupulously ugly period details. Still, as always, Mirren turns in a compelling performance. Essentially, she is the movie, with an occasional assist from Peris-Mencheta. Occasionally diverting but mostly just forgettable, Ranch opens in New York this Wednesday (6/30) at the AMC Empire 25 and Sunshine Theaters.

The Tolstoys: The Last Station

A wife fights to maintain control of her husband’s intellectual property rights. A famous writer is financially manipulated by a cult-like group of utopians. Though the year is 1910 and the place is late Czarist Russia, the events of Leo Tolstoy’s final days have an odd resonance in today’s world. While Tolstoy was indeed the great Russian novelist, he was also a husband and father. It is his tempestuous but loving relationship with his wife, the Countess Sophia Andreyevna Tolstaya, that is the focus of director-screenwriter Michael Hoffman’s historical drama, The Last Station (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York and Los Angeles for one Oscar-qualifying week only, but returning soon on January 15th.

She has born Tolstoy thirteen children and hand-copied War and Peace six times. Nobody has been more dedicated to Tolstoy than his wife the Countess, yet she refuses to blindly adopt the tenets of his radically ascetic Christianity, particularly the renunciation of private property rights. Though Tolstoy also now advocates celibacy, she has better luck getting him to fudge that one.

Despite nearly fifty years of marriage, the Countess is apparently outmatched by his spiritual protégé, Vladimir Chertkov, the leader of the Tolstoyans. His driving ambition is to have Tolstoy sign over the rights to his novels to the Scientologists Tolstoyans, so they can supposedly keep his works affordable and accessible to the general public. However, the Countess, sixteen years her husband’s junior, has to consider her own future. Into this fray, Chertkov sends Valentin, an earnest, fresh-faced young Tolstoyan ostensibly to act as the Count’s secretary, but really to act as his eyes and ears in the Tolstoy estate. (He is also the focus of a romantic subplot that frankly gets a bit tiresome.)

Helen Mirren has been widely touted as a potential award winner for her performance as Tolstoy’s long-suffering wife, and given the state of the field, she probably should start considering her acceptance speeches. She is terrific as the harried Countess, who tenaciously holds onto her love for Tolstoy regardless of his eccentricities and betrayals. Christopher Plummer certainly has the right physical presence as the self-appointed prophet, also bringing a sense of dignity and playfulness to the iconic figure. Paul Giamatti, the American ringer of the predominantly British cast, actually bears a strong resemblance to the historical Chertkov, and is clearly quite comfortable playing the scheming Svengali.

Oddly, most of the Russians associated with Station were working behind the camera rather than in front of it. Most notably, that includes the celebrated Russian screenwriter-director Andrei Konchalovsky (whose Russian films include the towering Siberiade), who served as co-executive producer. Though Hoffman has an eclectic filmography, the American director seems to have a nice touch with British and continental historical fare, having previously helmed an adaptation of Rose Tremain’s Restoration with Robert Downey, Jr. Again, he keeps the drama moving along, while soaking in the period ambiance.

It is a bit strange to see such a Russian story without any Russian actors, though Giamatti definitely has a distinctly Russo look. Still, it is certainly an accomplished cast, well attuned to classical-historical material, with Mirren delivering an Oscar caliber performance. While there is a bit too much of innocent young Valentin finding his way in the world, Station is still a good looking, imminently respectable prestige picture. It opens (temporarily) this Friday (12/4).