Across the River and Into the Trees

From the perspective of great literature, Venice is the city to go when death is near. In fact, Hemingway’s Venetian novel is often compared to the classic Thomas Mann novella. Both focus on dying men who spend their final days pondering a younger beauty. In Hemingway’s novel, Col. Richard Cantwell is more directly involved with the young and noble-born Renata Contari. In this adaptation, their relationship is less romantic and therefore arguably healthier. Unfortunately, his heart is just as weak in Paula Ortiz’s adaptation of Hemingway’s Across the River and Into the Trees, which releases this Friday on VOD.

Col. Cantwell must be a difficult patient, considering he refuses to follow the advice of Danny Huston (playing his doctor, Captain Wes O’Neil). He insists on taking a duck-hunting trip outside Venice, so the best O’Neil can do is assign him a driver, Sgt. Jackson. Despite the grief he takes, the NCO still appreciates a veteran battlefield officer like Cantwell.

For his part, Cantwell most certainly appreciates a woman like Contari, despite his grim state of mind. Their paths just keep crossing, maybe not so accidentally. It was coincidence that Cantwell had hoped to buy a set of vintage hunting rifles from her cash-poor, but too proud to be cooperative mother. After that, it is largely sympathetic attraction, and perhaps Contari’s passive-aggressive hope to undermine her arranged marriage. She is betrothed to an old family friend, but he is not half the man battle-scarred Cantwell is.

It is pretty easy to guess Cantwell’s real business in Venice, especially if you have any familiarity with Hemingway’s life and work. Nonetheless, the world-weary officer also hopes to conclude another piece of unfinished business, by uncovering the mass burial site of a group of partisans executed by the SS, for distinctly personal reasons.

Ortiz and screenwriter Peter Flannery definitely scrubbed Hemingway’s novel for contemporary viewers. They water down Cantwell’s romance with Contari to essentially a platonic friendship, with close dancing and maybe one or two kisses. They also completely expurgate all references to Stonewall Jackson, from whom the title came.

However, Hemingway readers will appreciate the way Flannery reliably recreates the cadences of his dialogue. This is also an appropriately boozy and smoky film. Ortiz seems to take inspiration from The Third Man, nearly transmuting Hemingway into film noir, in much the same tradition as Robert Siodmak and Don Siegel’s adaptations of “The Killers.”

It works pretty well, especially considering how fully Ortiz and cinematographer Javier Aguirresarobe capitalize on the Venice locations. Of course, it greatly helps that we can only see and not smell the dank Italian cultural capitol.

Woody Allen’s A Rainy Day in New York

Woody Allen is just as creepy now as he was when he won his fourth Oscar for Midnight in Paris. In recent years, he has been dogged by molestation accusations, but since Allen’s son Moses disputes his sister’s allegations and two investigations either found insufficient evidence for a charge or concluded the events in question did not happen, most sane people would be reluctant to offer an opinion of their own on such a murky, contested issue. However, these are not sane times. The truth is we have no idea whether Allen did what he is accused of and neither do you, (whereas we know with absolute certainty Polanski committed and pled guilty to the crime that made him a fugitive).

So, that’s all very awkward, but if you want to vent moral indignation, the concentration camps in Xinjiang or the abduction of the Hong Kong 12 are clear-cut targets of worthy outrage. Whereas, if you enjoyed Woody Allen films during less over-heated times, his long-delayed A Rainy Day in New York is pretty much like all the other ones. After his first distributor caved to mob-pressure, Allen’s A Rainy Day in New York finally opens this Friday in the U.S., but not in Allen’s beloved New York, because theaters are closed here, perhaps permanently.

Allen-surrogate Gatsby Welles is a bright young man, but he had to transfer to Yardley, a sheltered liberal arts college, because Ivy League schools were too unstructured for him. (I was going to joke Welles was originally called Orson Hemingway in an earlier draft, but that actually sounds less pretentious.) Welles still isn’t studying much, but he gets by academically and enjoys romancing his naïve girlfriend Asheigh Enright, from the wild backcountry of Tucson, Arizona (believe it or not, they have a symphony and an opera company there, but this film was intended for Manhattan snobs, so it doesn’t matter).

When the campus paper assigns Enright an interview with tormented indie director Roland Pollard, Welles tags along, to show her the City. Inevitably, Welles gets frustrated and jealous when the smitten Pollard stretches out the one-hour interview with a special screening and a supplemental interview with his equally neurotic screenwriter, Ted Davidoff. Instead, Welles spends the day, off-on-on, with Chan Tyrell, the whip-smart younger sister of his old girlfriend. All those romantic cliches he wanted to do with Enright he does with Tyrell—and its not bad.

Timothee Chalamet apologized to everyone in Hollywood for making this film, but he really should have apologized to Allen for being so shticky and affected playing Welles. This character is supposed to be a Ferris Bueller of Park Avenue, but he is never comfortable in Welles’ retro hipster skin—and his crooning voice is pathetic. Likewise, Elle Fanning is downright cringe-inducing as the air-headed Enright. On the other hand, Selena Gomez takes command of every scene she has as Tyrell, through the warmth of her charm and her intelligent good humor.

Liev Schreiber (the scourge of auto-correct features) is drolly amusing portraying Pollard, the anxiety-ridden, self-destructive but prolific filmmaker. You have to wonder who he could have looked to for inspiration while filming his scenes. Jude Law nicely plays against type as the nebbish Davidoff. Yet, it is Cherry Jones who steals the picture with her unforgettable third act scene portraying Welles’ surprisingly cool grand society mother.

Goon: Last of the Enforcers

Marvel perversely decided to make Captain America a fascist double-agent and Warner Brothers will probably turn Superman evil in the Justice League movie everyone is dreading, but Doug “the Thug” Glatt is the same likable lug he always was. He is the nicest guy, but the only talent he ever had was for fighting. Yet, Glatt was able to use his gifts for good rather than evil in hockey’s minor leagues. He still has a passion for the game, but his aging body is not so reliable in Jay Baruchel’s Goon: Last of the Enforcers (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

After several playoff-less years with your Halifax Highlanders, Glatt is finally rewarded with the captain’s “C.” Unfortunately, he will not have long to enjoy it. Glatt will be hospitalized by the mentally unstable Anders Cain, who could be a huge star if he could just control his temper. He also happens to be the son of the Highlanders’ new owner, former NHL all-everything Hyrum Cain. Since his enforcer has been forced to accept retirement, Cain brings in his son to replace Glatt’s muscle. Not surprisingly, Glatt’s teammates bitterly resent his presence.

It doesn’t sit well with Glatt either. Despite his promising his wife Eva he will settle down and plug away at his office job, Glatt yearns to return to hockey. Just like in Rocky III, Glatt’s old nemesis Ross “The Boss” Rhea steps up to train him for his big comeback. Rhea likes to think he can still throw down, but he has been reduced to scuffling in a hockey-themed club fighting showcase. Glatt has better options available than the battle royale on ice, but his loyalties to his wife and his team pull him in diametrically opposite directions.

The original Goon was the little movie that came out of nowhere to hold its own with beloved sports comedies like Slap Shot, Bad News Bears, and Kingpin. Sure, it had its share of rude humor and bruising hockey fighting, but Glatt always had a good heart and absolutely no cynicism whatsoever. Baruchel, who co-wrote and co-starred in the original clearly understood his appeal and wisely keeps Doug the Thug’s persona honest and guileless.

In fact, the follow-up is rather clever, in that it recognizes the similar potential pitfalls that face both film sequels and sports comebacks. As Glatt labors to overcome injuries and setbacks, Baruchel wrestles with sports movie clichés, but they both have the same solution: let Glatt be Glatt. Indeed, what makes the film surprisingly compelling a second time around is the ways he must struggle to balance his faithfulness to both his family and his team.

Forget Stiffler. Doug Glatt is the role that will define Seann William Scott. It is easy to get distracted by the flying fists, but his portrayal of the socially awkward Glatt is quite sensitive and complex. He is simply a great movie underdog. Even though she gets less screen-time in Enforcers, Scott still maintains his down-to-earth comedic and romantic chemistry with Alison Pill’s Eva.

However, the big surprise is Wyatt Russell as the volatile Anders Cain. Russell is a former professional hockey player and the son of Kurt Russell, so he could maybe relate to the troubled Cain in more than one way. He is certainly brutish, but he also humanizes Cain, conveying his persistent father issues and acute need for approval. In an added bonus, he even delivers some wryly funny lines. Yet, it is tough for anyone to beat the film’s ace in the hole: Liev Schrieber reprising the role of bad to the bone, but past his prime Ross Rhea.

There are a lot of laughs in Last of the Enforcers, but it still addresses issues facing aging athletes, like post-concussion syndrome, with the seriousness they demand. Baruchel probably lets the fights get a little too bloody, but perhaps there is some method to his excess. Regardless, Glatt and the Halifax Highlanders still have their scrappy, longshot mojo working. Affectionately recommended for fans of sports comedies and underdogs who make good, Goon: Last of the Enforcers opens this Friday (9/1) in New York, at the Cinema Village.

Tribeca ’17: Chuck

His story might sound familiar, but it is important to understand he is the original article. New Jersey’s own Chuck Wepner was the inspiration for Sylvester Stallone’s Rocky and by extension, dozens of underdog boxer-wrestler-mixed martial artist films. Wepner was uncharitably known as the “Bayonne Bleeder” due to his unfortunate propensity to suffer cuts in the ring, but nobody ever questioned his toughest. Take a trip back to the 1970s to revisit the grunge and the glory of boxing at the peak of its popularity in Philippe Falardeau’s Chuck (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York following its U.S. premiere at the 2017 Tribeca Film Festival.

Wepner’s skills were never that spectacular, but his cement head and dogged determination won him enough fights to eventually rank him in the top ten. He just so happened to be the top-ranked white guy just when Muhammad Ali and Don King were looking for a low-stress title defense they could racially hype. However, Wepner turned out to be one of the few “Great White Hopes” in the history of boxing who exceeded expectations. Of course, he never came close to winning, but he hung in there, making it one of Ali’s ugliest victories ever.

He was already a local celebrity in Jersey, but Wepner’s gutty performance made him a minor media celebrity for fifteen minutes. Inevitably, it goes to his head, costing him his marriage to the long-suffering Phyl. Yet, just like the movie boxers he inspired, Wepner would have a chance at redemption, but he would have to look outside the ring.

Chuck (a.k.a. The Bleeder) is a terrific sports biopic that hits all the right notes. Falardeau and his design team capture all the grit and sleaze of the 1970s, cruelly inflicting a relentlessly era-appropriate wardrobe on the big-name cast. The Monsieur Lazhar helmer sure-footedly balances the outrageousness of Wepner’s frequently over-the-top persona (the film opens in media res with an aging Wepner’s barfight with a trained bear) and the grimy realism of the Jersey milieu.

Liev Schreiber (the bane of auto-spelling corrections) is also pitch-perfect as Wepner. He lays out all of the fighter’s myriad character flaws for all to see, but he also connects with Wepner’s insecurities. Schrieber develops potent but utterly believable chemistry with both Elizabeth Moss (who is utterly devastating when tearing into the cheating Wepner in a pivotal fall-from-grace scene) and a nearly unrecognizable Naomi Watts, playing the woman who stood by Wepner at his lowest moments. Plus, for even further hardnosed attitude, the great Ron Perlman does his thing as Wepner’s grizzled trainer-manager, Al Braverman.

Chuck the film is too honest and bittersweet to indulge in phony triumphalism, but it is still a great deal of fun. If you have ever enjoyed any of the Rocky, Penitentiary, Best of the Best, or Karate Kid franchises, you really ought to check out Chuck, because it is the real deal. Thoroughly entertaining, Chuck opens this Friday (5/5) in New York, at the AMC Loews Lincoln Square uptown and the Regal Union Square downtown, following its American premiere at this year’s Tribeca Film Festival.

Fading Gigolo: John Turturro, Ladies Man

You cannot get by in New York with part-time floral arrangement work. Yet, as a vocation, it probably means poor struggling Fioravante is a sensitive soul, who is good with his hands. His cash-strapped former boss hatches an unlikely scheme to capitalize on those talents in John Turturro’s Fading Gigolo (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Murray Schwartz’s antiquarian bookstore had been in his family for years, but it did not survive the neurotic Upper Eastsider’s mismanagement. Fortunately, Schwartz’s wife still has a job, but his longtime clerk Fioravante is scuffling to make ends meets. A trip to his dermatologist gives Schwartz an idea so crazy, it just might work. Evidently, the cougarish Dr. Parker and her BFF Selima are looking for a man’s services. Frankly, they would prefer someone who is mature and less intimidating than the stereotypical boy toy type. Reluctantly (and rather skeptically), Fioravante agrees to let Schwartz pimp him out to his high class clientele.

Naturally, Fioravante is a hit with the well heeled ladies, because what woman wouldn’t lust after John Turturro? However, things will get complicated when Schwartz seeks the delousing services of a widow in the Brooklyn Hasidic community. Picking up on Avigal’s loneliness as she picks through his step-child’s hair, Schwartz convinces her to try Fioravante’s services. While their meeting is downright chaste by his recent standards, it would still be considered scandalous within her community. Further complicating matters, Fioravante and his new client start developing confusing feelings for each other. Her out-of-character trips to Manhattan also attract the suspicions of Dovi, the Orthodox neighborhood patrolman, who has long carried a torch for her.

Frankly, Fading is the sort of Woody Allen movie Allen ought to be making, but isn’t. It is a wistfully mature film, deeply steeped in an elegant sadness. The notion of writer-director Turturro casting himself as the illicit lover of Sharon Stone and Sofia Vergara might seem self-serving, but the aging average Joe-ness of Fioravante is part of the point. It is his comfort with intimacy that makes Fioravante desirable. If anything, Fading is old school Alan Alda sensitivity porn rather than a vehicle for people doing it like rabbits.

Turturro shows a remarkable deft touch as a director, patiently letting his scenes unfold. He gets a key assist from the jazz soundtrack, which includes several seductions from boss tenor Gene Ammons. Jug had a seductive sound that could get anyone to say “yes,” but it also perfectly suits the sophisticated New York milieu.

Allen does his shtick as Schwartz, but it is funny more often than not. Yet, it is Turturro who quietly commands the screen as Fioravante, a sad clown incapable of acting less than chivalrous. He develops some achingly powerful chemistry with Vanessa Paradis in her first English language role as Avigal. Their scenes together are a reminder how dramatically potent denial and yearning can be on-screen.

Likewise, Liev Schreiber could not possibly be any more earnest as the lovesick Dovi. Stone and Vergara certainly look the parts of Fioravante’s clients, but never come close to exposing the inner depths of their souls. In a small supporting role, Bob Balaban nearly steals the show as Schwartz’s lawyer, Sol. In fact, Fading is well stocked with brief but neatly turned performances, including Loan Chabanol as a French expat who makes a strong impression late in the game.

Absolutely never smarmy, Fading is an emotionally intelligent film intended for an adult audience. It should satisfy all of Woody Allen’s fans, but Turturro gives it his own distinctive stamp. Highly recommended, Fading Gigolo opens this Friday (4/18) in New York at the Angelika Film Center and the UES’s City Cinemas 1, 2, 3.

Last Days on Mars: Dying to Leave the Red Planet

They were gypped out of those long promised canals, but there might just be some form of bacterial life on the Angry Red Planet.  Of course, that turns out to be a very bad thing in Ruairí Robinson’s The Last Days on Mars (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

The first manned mission to Mars is about to head home, destined more for footnote status rather than lasting fame. However, at the eleventh hour, the ambitious Marco Petrovich thinks he may have unearthed the brass ring—bacterial life.  Unfortunately, a freak accident causes his death and leads to the apparent disappearance of another crew member. Yet much to everyone’s surprise, Petrovich and his colleague return to base a short time later.  Of course, they are not really alive—they are undead and spreading their infection the way zombies do.

Hoping to hold out until the scheduled arrival of their transport ship, the crew of the Tantalus Base applies their scientific expertise to the contagion, but it turns out to be a distinctly slippery biological agent.  Human nature also takes an ugly turn as the situation deteriorates. 

Right, so first contact is kind of rough.  Zombies on Mars might sound distinctly pulpy, but Robinson’s distinguished cast sells it with conviction.  Liev Schreiber brings instant credibility as the grizzled but psychologically damaged chief engineer Vincent Campbell.  Likewise, Romola Garai classes up the proceedings as his medic lover, Rebecca Lane.  Johnny Harris (from BBC America’s The Fades) has a natural talent for getting all panicky and twitchy on-screen.  Still, Olivia Williams overwhelms them all as the unrepentantly undiplomatic senior science officer, Kim Aldrich.

In a sense, Last Days is the more stylish and competent version of Roger Christian’s klutzy B-movie, Stranded.  Both achieve an effectively claustrophobic vibe, but the former is a vastly more polished package overall.  Cinematographer Robbie Ryan (probably best known for his work with Andrea Arnold) gives everything an appropriately dark, crimson-hued look, while production designer Jon Henson’s team creates a convincing near future, other worldly environment.

Last Day’s thematic predecessors are many in number and vary considerably in quality.  Nevertheless, the combination of Mars, zombies, and some first class British characters actors guarantees a certain level of genre entertainment.  What screenwriter Clive Dawson’s adaptation of Sydney J. Bounds’ short story lacks in originality is largely made up for through Robinson’s slick execution.  Recommended for horror flavored science fiction (and vice versa), Last Days on Mars opens this Friday (12/6) in New York at the Landmark Sunshine.