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.

A Promise: Leconte Adapts Zweig

Few understood the pain of involuntary exile as acutely as Stefan Zweig. In his day, the Jewish Austrian was the world’s most translated author, but he took his own life while living as a political émigré in Brazil. In his posthumous novella, Journey into the Past, Zweig’s protagonist is also stranded in Latin America, separated from his love and homeland. For his first English language film, French director Patrice Leconte adapted Zweig’s wistful German tale with a British cast. Whether you consider it reserved or repressed, it is most definitely “Old” Europe that dictates social expectations for the characters of Leconte’s A Promise (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York at the IFC Center.

Friedrich Zeitz has done the near impossible. Like a German Horatio Alger hero, the poor orphan worked his way through university as a scholarship student, eventually finding employment in the offices of the steelworks owned and operated by the dreaded Herr Karl Hoffmeister. At least, Zeitz is told to fear his aristocratic boss. However, when Herr Hoffmeister notices the young man’s keen grasp of metallurgy and relentless work ethic, he takes a shine to his new clerk.

With his health slowly declining, the increasingly home-bound Herr Hoffmeister promotes Zeitz to serve as his private secretary and liaison to the corporate office. Of course, that home is more of a castle. As soon as he is admitted into the Hoffmeister estate, Zeitz promptly falls head over heels for his boss’s younger wife, Charlotte (who goes by Lotte, echoing Zweig’s wife and secretary, Lotte Altmann).

Lotte Hoffmeister is unfailingly gracious and welcoming to Zeitz, but she initially seems oblivious to his attraction, despite the way his eyes bug out of his head like a cartoon character whenever she is around. Still, maybe someone notices his torch-carrying. Just as Zeitz is transferred to Hoffmeister’s embryonic mining operation in Mexico, Lotte Hoffmeister confesses Zeitz’s ardor is reciprocated. They vow (or promise, if you will) to do something about it, once he returns from his two year stint abroad. Then World War I breaks out.

One of the ironies Leconte and co-adaptor Jérôme Tonnere clearly make without excessively belaboring is the extent highly intelligent people can lose sight of the critically important macro events swirling around them because they are caught up in their own personal dramas. Despite working in the steel industry, Zeitz and Herr Hoffmeister are caught completely flat-footed by the onset of the first World War (you think they might have noticed a slight uptick in government orders). Likewise, the climatic reunion commences just as the growing ranks of National Socialists launch another street protest-riot.

The passionate feelings of Zeitz and Frau Hoffmeister are so chaste and restrained A Promise is likely to frustrate most viewers more accustomed to instant gratification. Yet, the yearn and burn of their thwarted love is quite powerful for those who can appreciate it. Unfortunately, Rebecca Hall and Richard (Game of Thrones) Madden must make the most vanilla couple you will ever see as Zeitz and Frau Hoffmeister. In contrast, Alan Rickman outshines everyone as the sly but not villainous Herr Hoffmeister, showing the sort of erudite charisma he brought to bear in overlooked films like Bottle Shock and Song of Lunch.

Handsomely mounted, A Promise’s period details are elegant but convincingly Teutonic in their chilly austerity, while superstar cinematographer Eduardo Serra gives it all a sensitive sheen superior to the look of your average BBC historical. A mature and emotionally sophisticated literary drama largely waterlogged by its two cold fish romantic leads, A Promise is flawed but still oddly enticing for those who share its Old European sensibilities. It opens this Friday (4/18) at the IFC Center.

CBGB: The House of Punk

Hillel “Hilly” Kristal was the first professional club owner (broadly defined) to book bands like the Ramones, Talking Heads, and the Police.  However, when he decided to manage an act, he chose the Dead Boys.  Right, so he was not a great businessman, but his club spawned a million t-shirts.  The famous Bowery venue’s creation story gets the big screen treatment in director-co-writer Randall Miller’s CBGB (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

At first, CBGB’s big claim to fame was the Fresca on-tap.  A one-time manager of the Village Vanguard, Kristal’s original music policy was country, blue grass, and blues—hence CBGB.  That quickly changed when he started booking bands involved in the nascent punk scene.  They were dirt cheap and already had intense followings.  Soon, CBGB becomes the place to be, attracting Zeitgeisty music writers, poser record label execs, and kids drawn to punk’s nihilistic aesthetic.  Eventually, Kristal’s daughter Lisa takes control of the books, but his financial misadventures with the Dead Boys nearly ruins everything.

Essentially, Miller’s CBGB has the tone of an early premium cable movie, distilling all the ragged edges of the early punk scene into a breezy cocktail of gossip and name-dropping.  At times, it is oddly distracting, like those long format informercials for classic rock compilation CDs that are impossible to turn away from late at night.  Clearly, Miller is hoping viewers will be content to point and exclaim: “look there’s the Ramones—and Patti Smith—and Iggy Pop—and Debbie Harry—and Sting.”  However, whenever the film takes a stab at interpersonal drama, it falls flat on its face.

Alan Rickman might sound like an odd choice to play Kristal, the native New Yorker—and with good reason.  Throughout the film, he sounds and acts like he just walked off the set of Sense and Sensibility.  He conveys no affinity for this grimy milieu and his exaggerated irresponsibility shtick becomes grating over time. 

At least the celebrity impersonations are adequate enough, if you are not deeply invested in the classic punk scene.  Ahna O’Reilly and Josh Zuckerman also nicely capture the exuberance of youth caught up in its moment as music journalist-turned-filmmaker Mary Harron and Punk magazine founder and illustrator John Holmstrom.  The strategy of animating the pages of Punk to serve as transitional devices is debatable, but at least it puts some pep in the film’s step.

The movie version of CBGB is unlikely to satisfy anyone who was there at the time and certainly will not make anyone regret they missed the club’s heyday.  Too slick for its own good, CBGB opens this Friday (10/11) at the Village East.

Chewy Verse: The Song of Lunch

Sometimes bad poets create interesting verse. Such will be the case when an unnamed unhappy London copy-editor meets an old flame for lunch. The Chianti will help. His internal commentary incorporates elements of the mock epic and the lament in equal measure throughout The Song of Lunch (trailer here), Niall MacCormick’s adaptation of Christopher Reid’s narrative poem, which airs this coming Sunday on PBS’s Masterpiece Contemporary.

“He” as He will be known, never got over “She.” Despite his passion for her, another man whisked her off her feet and stole her away. To add further insult, his rival has since become a world renown man of letters, while he labors in a lowly publishing job (aren’t they all?). At his invitation, She popped over from Paris for the express purpose of having lunch with him at their old Soho haunt. Yet, even though She is visiting from another country, He will be carrying all the baggage.

The man’s narration is sophisticated in a self-consciously erudite way, much as we might assume his poetry to be. He can turn a clever phrase and has a knack for expressing uncomfortably real sentiments, sparing himself least of all. Yet, a little of his resentful ruminations will go a long way. Fortunately, lunch is short meal, clocking in at just under an hour.

Though many viewers might be more than ready for the check when it comes, Masterpiece Contemporary deserves credit for stretching their format. It is not often one sees a film as literate and introspective as Song in theaters, let alone on broadcast television. It is also perfectly cast. Alan Rickman’s rich, warm voice caresses Reid’s poetry, while his flinty edge well serves the character’s lingering bitterness. As She, Emma Thompson is smart and tough, looking the part of an attractive woman of middlish age that a failed poet might continue carrying a torch for.

Deftly helmed by MacCormick, Song offers up moments of quiet poignancy at the most unexpected places. Granted, the narrator can try our patience, but he is supposed to. Ultimately, it rather gracefully expresses that great poetic truth: tempus fugit. Recommended both for its lead performances and its novelty, Song airs this coming Sunday (11/13) on most PBS outlets, as part of the current season of Masterpiece Contemporary.