Sundance ’18: The Catcher was a Spy

According to Michael Frayn’s play Copenhagen, Werner Heisenberg’s commitment to Germany’s atomic bomb program was an ambiguous uncertainty that bedeviled the great Danish physicist Niels Bohr years after the war ended. An American OSS agent had to make that determination based on a few hours observation and a brief conversation. He was not a physicist, he was a professional baseball player. Nicholas Dawidoff’s bestselling chronicle of Morris “Moe” Berg’s WWII service is now dramatized in Ben Lewin’s The Catcher was a Spy, which screens during this year’s Sundance Film Festival.

Berg was a member of the Boston Red Sox, but please do not hold that against him. He was a dependable but not spectacular journeyman player, who held roster spots on several teams. He spoke several languages, including German and Italian, and regularly read foreign policy journals. As a result, he had the foresight to film Tokyo harbor during a 1934 exhibition tour, well before Pearl Harbor. Once the war started, Berg’s talents and his 16mm film attracted the attention of “Wild Bill” Donovan and the OSS, the CIA’s predecessor agency.

Eager for field work, Berg gets his chance when Donovan orders him to prevent the retreating Germans from abducting or killing Italian scientist Edoardo Amaldi, with the help of Dutch physicist Samuel Goudsmit and Major Robert Furman, the Manhattan Project’s intelligence chief (who would later oversee construction of the Pentagon). However, their Italian mission will lead to a trickier assignment in Zurich. Berg is to meet with Heisenberg, assess the status of the German Atomic program, determine whether Heisenberg is trying to advance or hinder its progress, and if the former proves true, kill him.

Without question, Berg is one of the great, under-heralded figures of World War II history. Arguably, he is the sort of renaissance man you just do not find anymore. He was also a “confirmed bachelor,” which led to plenty of speculation that Robert Rodat’s screenplay continues to stoke. Be that as it may, the film also nicely captures the intriguing milieu of the Donovan-era OSS.

Paul Rudd is does some of his best work bringing out the personal contradictions of the deeply patriotic and borderline-savant-like Berg. He also develops some ambiguously potent chemistry with Sienna Miller in the otherwise under-written role of Berg’s lover, Estella Huni. Catcher is also packed with colorful and convincing supporting turns, including Paul Giamatti as the humanistic Goudsmit, Mark Strong as the evasive Heisenberg, and the great Tom Wilkinson as Paul Scherrer, the Swiss anti-Nazi physicist, who brokered the meeting between Berg and Heisenberg.

It is just tremendously refreshing to see a film that celebrates American intelligence operatives as heroes. It also thinks quite highly of scientists and soldiers. It is a fascinating true story and a well-crafted period production. Very highly recommended for fans of historical intrigue (like Bridge of Spies), The Catcher was a Spy screens again this morning (1/25) and Saturday (1/27) in Park City and Sunday (1/28) in Salt Lake, as part of the 2018 Sundance Film Festival.

Sundance ’18: White Fang

Jack London’s bestselling animal adventure novel has been adapted as Japanese anime, a 1970s Italian franchise starring Franco Nero, a Disney live-action movie, a 1926 Hollywood silent featuring Strongheart the Dog, and a 1946 Soviet version Red Jack probably would have liked best. Clearly, the story’s popularity has never flagged, but the most visually accomplished take now happens to be a Francophone production (subsequently dubbed into English). The Yukon Territory is still a savage environment for London’s titular wolf-dog, but he will adapt and survive in Academy Award-winning animator Alexandre Espigares’ White Fang, which screens during this year’s Sundance Film Festival.

White Fang grew up under the watchful eye of his mother Kiche, a former sled dog gone wild. The winter has already been hard on the dogs, when an encounter with a lynx leaves Kiche badly injured. Nevertheless, White Fang will nurse her back to sufficient health for her to seek out and rejoin the pack dogs driven by Native trapper Grey Beaver. Although the other dogs resent White Fang’s strength and spirit, he will eventually claim his place as top dog. Unfortunately, he will also attract the unwanted attention of Beauty Smith, a nefarious dog-fighter intent on swindling him away from Grey Beaver.

Smith’s brutal training will mold White Fang into a ferocious fighter, but as we see in the in media res opening, the wolf-dog never develops a taste for fighting. Eventually, he will cross paths again with Weedon Scott, an honest lawman, with whom he had a brief encounter years ago, while he was still just a pup.

In a way, White Fang was like the Dog’s Purpose of 1906, following the wolf-dog as he changes hands and passes through metaphorical lives, except it features animal savagery in place of New Age spirituality. Espigares’ animated feature debut (he won the Oscar for his short, Mr. Hublot) is a manageable ninety minutes, but it feels pretty epic and remains relatively faithful to the source novel. However, the trio of screenwriters, Serge Frydman, Philippe Lioret, and Monique Monfrey water-down the abuse Grey Beaver metes out in the novel. While that might sound like a politically correct decision, it is wise to give younger viewers a respite from London’s harshness.

Espigares’ animation is indeed superb, merging a lush, painterly style with motion-capture technology. His wolves and dogs look scrupulously realistic, but exhibit distinctive personalities. The vibrant landscapes and vistas also evoke N.C. Wyeth’s great James Fenimore Cooper illustrations.

For the English dub, the voice of Paul Giamatti is perfectly cast as the scheming Smith. Nick Offerman and Rashida Jones are fine as Weedon and Maggie Scott, but probably the most distinctive vocal turn comes from Eddie Spears as Grey Beaver.

Espigares and his team have produced a White Fang that is lovely to look at, but is still quite tough minded. They have simplified London’s narrative to a minor extent (sorry One-Eye, maybe next film), but they definitely retained its essence. Enthusiastically recommended for adults and older kids, White Fang screens again this Saturday (1/27) in Park City, as part of the 2018 Sundance Film Festival.

Tribeca ’16: The Phenom

Baseball is a neurotic sport. When the chips are down, it is much more a test of nerves than a contest of strength or speed. Unfortunately, young mega-hyped prospect Hopper Gibson Jr.’s nerves will fail him at the worst possible time. Five wild pitches later, he starts his mandatory sessions with one of the top sports psychologists specializing in baseball. Gibson tries to take the talking cure in Noah Buschel’s The Phenom, which screens during the 2016 Tribeca Film Festival.

It will barely take the audience five minutes to diagnose the primary source of Gibson’s insecurities. That would be his abusive father. Hopper Senior is not afraid to knock him around a little, but he really does his worst damage on an emotional level. Senior is convinced he could have been a Major League talent were it not for the distractions of prison and whatnot. As a result, he deeply resents his son’s success.

Eventually, we see through flashbacks how Gibson Sr.’s warped perspective on life poisons his son’s personal relationships. He has a bit of the old man’s paranoia, which makes his suspicious and wary around Dr. Mobley. That is a shame, because the shrink really might be able to help Gibson, Jr.

Phenom is a strange baseball film, because it is clearly very conversant in the recent history of the game, but there is virtual no in-game action. Players go through trials like that kind Gibson wrestles with all the time. (Its even more awkward when second basemen come down with the Steve Sax curse.) This is real drama and the stakes are high.

Yet, Buschel keeps the tone surprisingly understated, mostly stringing together a series of one-on-one confrontations. Playing against his Linklater type, Ethan Hawke is shockingly ferocious as Gibson Sr. You can practically see the negative energy radiate off him. Likewise, Paul Giamatti provides the film’s razor-sharp moral center as Dr. Mobley, in what might be the best on-screen shrink performance since Mathieu Amalric in Jimmy P. He also provides an apostolic link to major league baseball through the Giamatti family. For further off-the-field cred, Paul Adelstein rocks his too-brief appearance as Gibson’s agent, transparently inspired by Scott Boras. Unfortunately, Johnny Simmons is just too sullen and withdrawn for us to fully relate to, which is a bit of a problem, since he is in every scene.

Let’s face it, there is just a desperate shortage young twentysomething male actors in Hollywood who can carry a film. Fortunately, Buschel surrounds Simmons with such talented supporting players (like Frank Wood and Meg Gibson, who make a strong impression in their scene as his long-suffering high school girlfriend’s parents), they are able to pull him through and take some of the pressure off. Regardless, real sports fans will appreciate his largely cliché-free narrative, which ends long before the “big game.” Recommended for those who appreciate moodier baseball films, like Fear Strikes Out and Bang the Drum Slowly, The Phenom screens again tonight (4/20) and Friday (4/22), as part of this year’s Tribeca.

Madame Bovary: the French Icon of Infidelity in a New English Language Production

She has been played by Jennifer Jones and Isabelle Huppert, each of whom were problematic, in their own particular ways. Despite being one of the greatest exemplars of literary realism, Flaubert’s novel has been a tough adaptation to crack, but not for a lack of trying. While the likes of Vincente Minnelli, Claude Chabrol, and the BBC have all taken cracks at it, one of the most successful versions to date remains Anne Fontaine’s non-adaptation, by way of Posy Simmonds’ graphic novel, Gemma Bovery. However, by not getting too fancy, Sophie Barthes scores one of the better adaptations with her slightly simplified but reasonably faithful Madame Bovary (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

As we all surely know, Emma Rouault will consent to a loveless marriage to Charles Bovary, a well-meaning country doctor, for the sake of stability and security. Of course, she soon grows dissatisfied with the provincial life, finding solace in the luxury home wares and fashionable gowns peddled by the predatory Monsieur Lheureux. Initially, the convent-educated Bovary will struggle to remain faithful to her husband, but it is only a matter of time before she succumbs to the charms of first the dashing but callous Rodolphe Boulanger, followed by the cultured clerk, Léon Dupuis.

Spoiler alert—this will all end it tears. Of course, the title character bears the brunt of the responsibility and guilt, but Lheureux and Boulanger most certainly contributed in a deliberate manner to her downfall. Many adaptations practically crucify Bovary, but Barthes is more even-handed. In fact, she and the scenery-chewing Rhys Ifans portray as Lheureux as quite the shameless villain, only missing a handlebar mustache to twist.

Aside from Belgian actor Olivier Gourmet (Two Days, One Night) dropping in to add a thimbleful of Francophone authenticity as Monsieur Rouault, the ensemble players of note are all native English (or Welsh) speakers, which is fine. Apart from Brooklyn’s own Paul Giamatti (who played himself in Barthes’ debut Cold Souls), the cast all look and sound properly Masterpiece Theater.

Happily (if we can use that term in conjunction with Flaubert’s novel), the demands of Emma Bovary are quite well suited to Mia Wasikowska’s talents. Somehow she is simultaneously vulnerable and coolly reserved. As the consequences begin to fall on her head, she makes us feel for Bovary just a little, but not too much. As usual, Giamatti is also fun to watch as the Iago-like Homais.

Barthes and cinematographer Andrij Parekh revel in the muddy dankness of her Yonville surroundings, which they markedly contrast with Wasikowska’s porcelain delicacy. Her tragic downward spiral makes far more sense as a result, than in prior cinematic interpretations. Such a conventional literary production is a bit of a surprise as the follow-up to Barthes’ uber-meta first feature, but by not over-complicating her approach, she scores a stand-up double (to close with a baseball metaphor, in honor of Flaubert). Recommended for fans of prestige costume dramas, Madame Bovary opens this Friday (6/12) in New York, at the Village East.

The Congress: Ari Folman Channels Stanislaw Lem

Polish science fiction master Stanislaw Lem deftly satirized Soviet utopianism in The Futurological Congress. For his modernized riff, Israeli filmmaker Ari Folman uses Hollywood as the new evil empire. It is a smooth substitution. In the very near future, the movie business will take exploitation to even greater technological heights, as Robin Wright learns first-hand when she plays herself in Folman’s The Congress (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Lem’s novel may have provided the seed of inspiration, but you not find his well traveled hero Ijon Tichy. Instead, Wright will attend the conference in his stead, but first we will witness the final days of her acting career. Despite her early success in hits like The Princess Bride, Folman’s Wright turned out to be difficult to work with, frequently dropping out of high profile roles at the last minute. While she always claimed it was for the sake of her ailing son Aaron, her frustrated agent really knows it is fear and a lack of confidence that sabotaged her career.

However, Miramount has a final offer to make. For a lump sum payment, they will digitize Wright and program her into all the hit movies she was never shrewd enough to accept. Evidently, this is the way the business is going, so she reluctantly accepts. Twenty years later, she is the biggest star in the business, but nobody recognizes the real Wright. Accepting an invitation to speak at Miramount’s Futurological Congress, Wright plans to challenge their questionable ethical priorities from the podium. However, to get there, she must travel into Miramount’s animated city of avatars. Unfortunately, little things like the nature of time and reality will complicate her plan.

Frankly, the first fifty minutes of live action could have easily been condensed. In fact, by the time the film finally switches over into animation, Folman seems so eager to go off on a fantastical romp he never fully establishes the rules and boundaries of his chemically induced world of cartoon avatars. Still, it all looks spectacularly trippy.

Granted, Folman’s Congress is a bit of a narrative mess and it lacks Lem’s subversive bite, but it is fully stocked with fascinating ideas and surprisingly effective performances. In one of many intriguing side-plots, Folman puts a Matrix-like spin of Otto Preminger’s Laura when Dylan Truliner confesses to Wright he fell in love with her while working as the animator manipulating her digital image.

As Al the agent, Harvey Keitel delivers a monologue end all monologues, while Paul Giamatti (who could have advised Wright on playing a meta-meta version of herself, having done something similar in Cold Souls) adeptly brings some stabilizing sensitivity and dignity to the film as Aaron’s kindly Dr. Baker. Whether as an animated avatar or in the flesh, Danny Huston also makes a dynamite villain as Miramount (great name) studio boss Jeff Green.

Most importantly, The Congress’ animation is wildly cool and colorful, with enough thinly disguised cameos and visual quotes to reward dozens of repeat viewings. In contrast, the Wright family drama gets tiresome the first time through, especially when it comes to poor, pitiful Aaron, whose bland personality seems to be degenerating along with his sight and hearing. Nevertheless, Folman puts so much crazy ambition up on the screen, it more than compensates for the occasional lapse into Lifetime melodrama. Recommended for fans of cult science fiction and animation, as well as Lem readers who enjoy being scandalized, The Congress opens this Friday (9/5) in New York at the Elinor Bunin Munroe Film Center.

John Dies at the End—but Don’t Let that Get You Down

It starts with a wickedly macabre riddle.  Where it finishes is not so clear.  One would assume the title offers an obvious clue, but not necessarily.  Those who require a rigorously logical approach to the space-time continuum might be out to sea, but genre fans looking for a wild trip will find in Don Coscarelli’s John Dies at the End (trailer here), which opens tomorrow in New York.

Based on the novel by Jason Pargin published under the pen-name David Wong, JDATE (as it is cheekily abbreviated) follows the story character David Wong has to tell reporter Arnie Blondestone, in a series of rapid-fire flashbacks.  He really does not look like a Wong, but looks are frequently deceiving in this reality.

“Wong” and his partner John are amateur exorcists approaching professional status.  Two years ago, they were exposed to a drug known as Soy Sauce.  This stuff really opens up the doors of perception.  Now they can see beings from other dimensions and tell you what you dreamed last night.  Unfortunately, just as Wong adjusts to the sauce, he learns his best friend has died.  Shortly thereafter, John starts calling him, first to apologize for all the drama and then to guide him through a series of predicaments.  Eventually, they reunite to confront an imminent threat from another universe, on what appears to be the Eyes Wide Shut world, with the help of their powerful ally, Dr. Albert Marconi, who masquerades as a television psychic.  Or something like that.  Then it becomes a bit complicated.

What Bill & Ted were to stoner science fiction, JDATE is to psychotropic genre fare. 

Like the original source novel, the film is episodic in structure, madly hop-scotching back and forth across time and planes of existence.  The audience just has to live in the moment of each segment, which are almost always outrageously clever.  Frankly, viewers really do not care if the lads save the universe.  They will just want to see what comes next.

As Wong and John, Chase Williamson and Rob Mayes are likable lugs, who treat the bedlam with admirable seriousness, never winking at the camera.  However, it is the supporting characters that really enrich JDATE.  Executive producer Paul Giamatti is kind of awesome as Blondestone—a rather more complex role than it first appears.  Likewise, Clancy Brown delivers pure genre gold as Dr. Marconi.  There’s also a dog, Bark Lee, as himself, who deserves consideration for next year’s Golden Collar Award, if they can keep it going that long.  There is even a brief appearance from Angus Scrimm, the cult favorite from Coscarelli’s Phantasm.

JDATE’s energy and inventiveness are impressive.  As eccentric as things get, the film never feels forced or self-consciously hip.  That is the real trick.  As a result, the rough edges, apparently the result of budgetary limitations, can easily be forgiven.  In fact, they become part of the charm.  Highly recommended for fans of over-the-top sci-fi-horror hybrids, John Dies at the End opens tomorrow (2/1) in New York at the Landmark Sunshine, with Coscarelli attending the Friday and Saturday night screenings.

The Price of Liberty: Ironclad

The price of liberty has always been high, in both blood and treasure. It was true during the revolution we celebrate on the Fourth of July and it was true during the Baron’s Revolt against King John, which led to the Magna Charta, a flawed but important document that informed our founding fathers’ conception of constitutional rights. Preferring the divine right of kings to the rights of man, John tried to reassert his absolute rule and nullify the Magna Charta, but an intrepid band of warriors will defy him, to their last breathes, in Jonathan English’s rip-roaring Ironclad, which ought to be playing Independence Day, but instead opens this Friday in New York.

Tired of his cruel and erratic rule, England’s barons rose up against John the First (and only), but for political reasons, they left the weakened despot on the throne after securing his signature on their revolutionary document. Unfortunately, many were lulled into a false sense of security. When John makes his play, assembling a mercenary army and securing Rome’s support, he catches most of his foes unawares. Only Rochester Castle stands between him and London. However, twenty men assembled by Baron Albany are determined to hold it at all costs, in hopes that the French will arrive to install a proper monarch.

One of those men is William Marshal, a Knight Templar recently returned from the Crusades. Like the Twelfth Century equivalent of the IDF, the Templars are well accustomed to facing numerically superior enemies. Granted twenty against one thousand is a tall order, but thanks to its construction, Rochester can be ably defended by a small force. Yes indeed, the siege is on.

Ironclad delivers plenty of old school hack-and-slash action for Game of Thrones fans jonesing for a fix. However, equally striking are its scenes of the aftermath of battle, conveying the pain and bone-weariness of the warriors. The film also presents the best depiction of Medieval siege techniques yet captured on film.

While the action is thoroughly satisfying, Ironclad proves to be a film of unexpected substance. The screenplay by English and co-writer Erick Kastel (based on a first go-round by Stephen McDool) takes notions of faith and freedom deadly seriously. Marshal explicitly states there is nothing noble about war, ever, yet some things are still worth fighting for—in nearly those exact words.

Go to the Mat: Win Win

Though Paul Giamatti had no love on Oscar night, he just took home Canada’s best actor honors for Barney’s Version at the Genie Awards last week. His newest film is set in an even more exotic locale: New Jersey. With its new rock-star governor, Jersey is cool again, but nobody would accuse struggling attorney Mike Flaherty of being overly hip. He is an everyman who makes some very human mistakes in Tom McCarthy’s Win Win (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Poor Flaherty loses a lot. By day, his legal practice languishes, while in the afternoons he coaches the high school’s winless wrestling team. He is about to taste defeat again, on behalf of the mildly age-addled Leo Poplar. Unable to locate his client’s junkie daughter, Flaherty steps in at the last moment to become Poplar’s guardian. Yet, despite his assurances to keep the old man in his home, Flaherty immediately moves him into an assisted living facility. Oh, and there is that matter of the $1,500 monthly allowance he receives for managing Poplar’s estate.

Of course, things get a little awkward when the grandson Poplar never knew he had suddenly shows up. As fate would have it though, the kid can wrestle. In fact, he is a pinning machine. With young Kyle, brimming with resentment for his absentee mother, safely ensconced in the Flaherty basement, everything seems to be coming together for the luckless coach, but you-know-who is bound to show up eventually.

WinX2 might sound like a crowded house style sitcom, it is really a dramedy that leans more to the drama. However, that in turn requires the film to treat its characters seriously, which is rather refreshing. Indeed, Giamatti supplies the film’s heart as an average, reasonably well meaning guy, with oh-so human flaws. This is a role that could have easily gone to actor with a less nebbish image than Giamatti (John Adams not withstanding), but he perfectly expresses all of Flaherty’s average little fears and insecurities (that are never little or average to those experiencing them).

While there is no denying WinX2 can be manipulative, it deliberately sidesteps all the tired sports movie conventions. Likewise, the great Burt Young (Rocky’s brother-in-law, Paulie) avoids wallowing in clichéd pathos as Poplar, suggesting dignity and dementia are not mutually exclusive. Unfortunately, Alex Shaffer is a bit underwhelming as Kyle. Yes, all teenagers are sullen and his character has particularly acute socialization issues, but would it kill him to speak up a little? After all, he’s in a movie.

For all its sentimental elements, WinX2 is really a rather down-to earth affair. A big hit at this year’s Sundance Film Festival, it is a pleasing little film with a deeply satisfying lead performance from Giamatti. It opens this Friday (3/18) in New York at the Lincoln Plaza and Angelika Film Center.

Adapting Richler: Barney’s Version

Though frequently controversial in his native Quebec, Mordecai Richler was arguably the most celebrated Anglophone Canadian novelist south of the great northern border. As it not typically the case, his final novel was also one of his most acclaimed. After a prolonged development period, director Richard J. Lewis and producer Robert Lantos’ adaptation of Barney’s Version (trailer here) finally opens for real in New York this Friday, after a brief Oscar qualifying run late last year.

Introspection might not be Barney Panofsky’s forte, but a new book making scandalous accusations about him has the late middle-aged man looking back over his life. In flashbacks, we see Panofsky live life’s highs and lows, as he recollects his youthful expatriate years in Italy, the Canadian television career he is openly contemptuous of, and a particularly fateful day when his friend Boogie, a determinedly unpublished novelist, disappeared under mysterious circumstances. Yet, his three marriages provide the real key to understanding the irascible Panofsky.

Despite all the years and geography Version covers, it is a relatively simple story of a nebbish anti-hero torturing himself over the one that got away. Of course, like most of Richler’s oeuvre, it is deeply informed by the Canadian-Jewish experience, but Panofsky’s relationships have genuine universality (disastrous though they might be). He is embarrassed by his broken-down ex-cop father, but also fiercely loyal to the old man. He loves his children, yet constantly takes them for granted. Wives number one and two are mistakes to varying degrees, but number three, Myriam, is a different story.

Under ordinary circumstances, Paul Giamatti and Rosamund Pike would never look like a credible couple, but they establish sufficient rapport to sell their unlikely pairing. Indeed, they have one of the better movie courtships in recent years, best described as manic rather than cute.

Panofsky is easily Giamatti’s best work in a number of outings, while Pike projects a warm, smart presence as his beloved ex. Strangely though, the supporting players are all over the map. Dustin Hoffman is legitimately Oscar worthy as Panofsky père, wonderfully conveying his not-as-dumb-as-he-looks crudeness. In a clever bit of casting, Hoffman’s son Jake also appears as Panofsky’s son Michael, doing what he can with a relatively limited role. Scott Speedman is most notable amongst the ensemble, truly electric as the problematic Boogie. However, Bruce Greenwood and Minnie Driver basically resort to grating caricatures as Panofsky’s crass second wife and Myriam’s only slightly effeminate second husband, respectively.

Working from a first draft Richler was revising at the time of his death, screenwriter Michael Konyves infuses Version’s dialogue with wit and verve, without sounding like he is trying too hard. Though the 132 minute running time is a bit on the longish side, director Lewis (primarily known for television projects) still keeps it moving along nicely. Sad, funny, and most certainly memorable, if not exactly perfect, Version is a worthy Oscar showcase for Giamatti (and Dustin Hoffman if any Academy voters are listening out there). It (re)opens this Friday (1/14) in New York at the Lincoln Plaza and Union Square 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).

Giamatti as Giamatti: Cold Souls

It is all too easy to believe thousands of New Yorkers are walking around without souls. While some professions might regard the soul as an impediment to success (trial lawyers come to mind), for an actor like Paul Giamatti it is indispensable for evoking the emotions of their trade. So when the actor’s soul is misplaced, it jeopardizes his career and his marriage in Cold Souls (trailer here), Sophie Barthes’s post-modern fantasy opening this Friday in New York and Los
Angeles.

In the tradition of Spike Jonze’s Being John Malkovich, Paul Giamatti plays Paul Giamatti playing Uncle Vanya. Unfortunately, the tragic Chekhov protagonist is taking a debilitating emotional toll on the Academy Award winning actor. His agent suggests a dubious solution. The Soul Storage Company, a new tech start-up, can physically remove the soul and keep it in cold storage, liberating customers from all their anxiety.

Initially, the de-souling alleviates Giamatti’s depression, but it obviously leaves him soulless, in effect dead inside. Suddenly, he is no fun to live with and not much of an actor either. Yet when he returns to reclaim his soul, his safety deposit box is empty. It turns out soul trafficking is a burgeoning criminal enterprise. Now, after trying to avoid the Russian angst of Vanya, Giamatti finds himself in St. Petersburg, on the trail of the smugglers who stole his soul.

Clearly inspired by Charlie Kaufman’s Malkovich script and maybe a bit of Sleeper-era Woody Allen, Barthes’s premise is undeniably clever, but her pacing sometimes lags. Still, co-producer-cinematographer Andrij Parekh fashions a distinctive visual style for Cold, capitalizing on the stark, frozen Russian locations and sterile retro-ultra-modern sets.

One would certainly expect Giamatti to be convincing playing a fanciful version of himself, but his shrewdly understated performance is surprisingly memorable. He effectively anchors the film, giving soul, if you will, to Barthes’s frosty tale. Among the supporting cast, David Strathairn brings a nice comedic flair to the soul-extracting Dr. Flintstein. However, Emily Watson seems trapped in the underwritten role of Giamatti’s wife Claire and the several soulless characters are by necessity cold and unsympathetic.

If nothing else, the idea of Giamatti playing Vanya sounds like a hot ticket Broadway producers should explore. His intriguing screen work brings a redemptive humanity to Barthes’s coolly stylized vision. It opens this Friday (8/7) at the Sunshine and Lincoln Plaza Theaters.