Soderbergh’s Black Bag

This dinner party will be like Mr. And Mrs. Smith, hosting John le Carre’s Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, and Spy. Unfortunately for George Woodhouse (the Mr. Smith), his wife Kathryn St. Jean is also under suspicion. Yes, he knows she has been keeping secrets, but so has he. That comes with the territory for two married spies. Regardless, Woodhouse must find the security leak in Stephen Soderbergh’s Black Bag, which is now available on VOD (and still in theaters).

Woodhouse’s dinner parties can be awkward, but when you are invited, you must attend. Tonight’s guest list was made up by Meacham, his superior, who has deduced the code for an extremely destructive weaponized virus has been compromised. There are only five suspects, including his wife.

Freddie Smalls, is a senior MI6 agent, who was considered Woodhouse’s protégé, until he passed him over for a promotion. Col. James Stokes, is the fast-tracked hotshot agent, whom Smalls lost out to. Clarissa Dubose, the satellite imagery technician, has been conducting a not-so-secret relationship with Smalls. Dr. Zoe Vaughan serves as MI6’s staff psychiatrist, who counsels all five suspects, including St. Jean, rather they like it or not (and she clearly does not). She also recently terminated her romantic relationship with Stokes.

It will be a super fun dinner party, because several guests reveal very embarrassing secrets. However, it is not immediately evident who transfered the so-called Severus Virus to a dangerous foreign element. It is not an ideal time for St. Jean to leave. She cannot explain either, simply invoking the term “black bag,” which agents use as shorthand for “I can’t tell you, because its top secret business.”

David Koepp’s original screenplay rather cleverly devises ways to bring the loyalties of the various couples into conflict with their professional and national allegiances. Eventually, the big picture also involves Russia, but not in the way Putin-hawks might expect or hope. However, one character’s Roman Catholic faith will play an edifying role, in the complicated intrigue.

In fact, Koepp’s machinations are just complicated enough to maintain suspense and uncertainty, but everything is sufficiently illuminated so that the ending makes sense and provides closure. Black Bag is intelligent, but not too smart for its own good. It also wraps everything up, more or less, in about ninety minutes, which represents remarkably skillful and economically story-telling in this age of narrative bloat.

Arguably, Black Bag earns the further distinction as Soderbergh’s most stylish film since Out of Sight. The vibe is slick, but sophisticated. David Holmes’ score (featuring Brian Irvine on keyboards) appropriately noirish, but also jazzy and snappy, in a complimentary way. It really adds a lot to the film’s identity.

Plus, Michael Fassbender’s wardrobe was clearly inspired by 1960s Michael Caine films, which is cool. You can tell Fassbender totally fed off that vibe. His performance is quietly reserved and cerebral, but absolutely magnetic.

The four suspect-guests are also terrific, in very different ways. Tom Burke (who more viewers ought to know from The Lazarus Project) puts on a show on his own as the shlubby, self-destructive Smalls. Naomie Harris does some great verbal sparring as Dr. Vaughan, the shrink nobody wants to confide in. Marisa Abela is a destabilizing force as Dubose, while Rege-Jean Page matches Fassbender’s ability to project calculating intelligence.

Cold Wallet, Inspired by QuadrigaCX

A lot of defrauded crypto investors would like to get their hands on Sam Bankman-Fried or Gerald Cotten (founder of the defunct QuadrigaCX), whom many suspect of faking his own death. Transparently inspired by Cotten, Charles Hegel (like the philosopher and not to be confused with Chuck Hagel, Obama’s Defense Secretary) comes face-to-face with a trio of disgruntled home-invading crypto investors who want their money back. However, getting access to Hegel’s ill-gotten funds will be a tricky business in Cutter Hodierne’s Cold Wallet, which releases Friday in theaters and on digital.

Billy was the world’s biggest evangelist for Tulip until the exchange crashed. With his frozen account in free-fall, his hopes of regaining joint-custody of his daughter appear dashed. However, his fellow crypto reddit buddy Eva somehow learns Hegel, the man behind Tulip, faked his death and has holed-up in his remote country estate.

Together with Eva and Dom, the gym-owner he convinced to invest in Tulip, decide to confront Hegel and extract the money he swindled from investors. Of course, it is not that simple. All Hegel’s funds are safeguarded in cold wallets, access to which require pass-phrases he keeps off site. Thus begins a battle of wits between the captive and his aggrieved captors.

Unfortunately, it is not exactly a battle royale. For the most part, Cold Wallet plays like a warmed over A Simple Plan, as the three home invaders give bizarre credence to the words of the man they hate the most. Frankly, it is hard to fathom why Steven Soderbergh lent the film his “presented by” imprimatur. All that really distinguishes John Hibey’s screenplay is Hegel’s dialogue that supposedly lays bare the truth of so-called “predatory capitalism.” Yet, many of the Sam Bankman-Frieds of the world are actually self-styled social justice warriors.

Stanislaw Lem on Film: Solaris (2002)

Don’t call it a remake. Supposedly, Steven Soderbergh was reinterpreting Stanisław Lem’s source novel rather than fiddling with Tarkovsky’s classic. Okay, so where’s Dr. Sartorius and the study of Solaristics? Arguably, this is the least faithful of the three film adaptations, but it still shares thematic kinships with its predecessors. No matter what you call it, following in Tarkovsky’s footsteps is a perilous proposition, so you have to give Soderbergh credit for creating a distinctive Solaris (trailer here) of his own, which also screens during the Stanisław Lem on Film series at Anthology Film Archives.

This time around, the fact that Dr. Chris (no longer with a “K”) Kelvin is a psychologist who has been unable to process the guilt and grief stemming from his wife’s suicide takes on tremendous significance, quite logically enough. He is rather surprised when representatives of the DBA corporation (including a blurry John Cho, in the one sf role he is probably never asked about at cons) recruits him to assess the state of moral at the Solaris space station. It turns out, he was requested by his old friend Gibrarian, who apparently committed suicide shortly before his arrival.

The two surviving crewmembers, Dr. Snow and Dr. Gordon are both acting suspiciously. The latter has become a paranoid recluse who rarely leaves her quarters, whereas the former is twitchier than Meryl Streep playing Dracula’s fly-eating Renfield. He soon learns the crew have been visited by apparently flesh-and-blood constructs generated by the sentient planet from the darkest corners of the subject’s subconscious. In Kelvin’s case, it is his late wife Rheya. At first, his “visitor” freaks him out, but then he desperately grasps at this unlikely second chance.

So yes, this is Solaris, except Soderbergh throws in an incidental plot twist that largely parallels the big reveal in Professor Zazul. In some ways, he appears to deliberately evoke the Tarkovsky classic, starting with the nearly continual rain during the early Earth-bound scenes. This is also the steamiest Solaris yet. Indeed, Soderbergh is much more interested in the relationship between the husband and wife and Kelvin’s subsequent guilt-tripping. His affinity for vintage 1970s cinema stands him in good stead, in this respect. It is a bit of an exaggeration, but a tag-line like: “in space, love means never having to say you’re sorry” would not be wholly inappropriate.

Probably best known for Spy Kids 3 and Return to Horror High, George Clooney actually slow burns quite effectively as Kelvin. He always looks torn up inside (and it literally seems like he walks under a constant rain cloud while on Earth). Natascha McElhone poignantly portrays the various Rheyas, especially the visitor incarnation’s coming to terms with her debatable human status. Unfortunately, the 2002 Solaris really suffers when comparing its Snow to previous Dr. Snauts (translations vary). Jeremy Davies basically hits the same almost shticky note over and over as Snow, whereas both Vladimir Etush and Jüri Järvet added complexity and heft to their respective 1968 and 1972 adaptations. Viola Davis hardly registers as Dr. Gordon, the Sartorius substitute, but that is still an advantage over the ’68 Russian TV production.

Much to Lem’s frustration, all three films downplayed what he considered the most important aspect of the film—the inconceivably alien nature of planet Solaris itself. Yet, there is obviously something deeply compelling about the space visitations, especially Rheya/Hari, since it keeps inspiring challenging and emotionally engaging films. Strictly speaking, the first two Solaris films are probably better, but that is not a knock against the 2002 release. In fact, it is quite rewarding to watch all three in short succession. Recommended as high quality, character-driven science fiction, Soderbergh’s Solaris screens tomorrow (11/4) and next Friday (11/10) as part of the Stanisław Lem on Film series at Anthology Film Archives.

Soderbergh’s Logan Lucky

It is not exactly Le Mans, but since it usually runs over four hours, the Coca-Cola 600 is easily the longest race of the NASCAR season. That’s a lot of time to spend money at the concessions. Hopefully, it will also give Jimmy Logan enough time to pull off an unlikely heist in Steven Soderbergh’s Logan Lucky (trailer here), which opens today nationwide.

Logan thought he would claw his way out of border state poverty playing football, but when his knee blew out, he lost his scholarship. Work had been so scarce, he drove all the way into North Carolina for a construction gig, but he is fired by the cold-blooded HR department for not disclosing his limp. At least Logan got a good look around while he was on the job repairing sink-holes under Charlotte Motor Speedway. Turns out, there is a system of pneumatic tubes that takes money dropped at the registers directly into the vault. It is enough to give a fellow ideas.

If truth be told, the Logan family could use the money. According to his brother Clyde, there is a Logan family curse responsible for Jimmy’s knee and the hand he lost while serving in Iraq. So far, their sister Mellie has escaped the curse, but the beautician is hardly living on Easy Street. When his ex-wife serves notice of her intention to move further away with his beloved daughter Sadie, it creates a sense of urgency, so he hatches a scheme to knock over the Speedway. In additon to his siblings, Logan will also need the help of the only demolitions expert he knows. Unfortunately, bleach-blond Joe Bang is serving time in prison, with his parole imminently approaching, so the Logans will have to sneak him in and out of prison without anyone being the wiser.

Frankly, some of the cleverest parts of the scheme revolve around that secret prison break. Unlike most caper films since Rififi, Soderbergh and first-time screenwriter Rebecca Blunt do not immediately explain the full extent of their plan, opting instead to reveal it step-by-step, while the heist is already underway. Apparently, critics on both coasts are so obsessed with the Donald, nearly every review includes a condescending line to the effect of: “this is Trump country, but the Logans are surprisingly likable and dignified.” Conversely, no Western Virginian review of a Woody Allen movie would ever feel the need to observe: “when Upper-Eastsiders are not dining at Elaine’s, marrying their ex-wives’ adopted daughters, and hosting fundraisers for Hillary Clinton, they are just as insecure as the rest of us.”

Regardless who the Logans might have voted for, the suggestion Soderbergh treats them and their milieu with respect is indeed correct. Frankly, Channing Tatum and Adam Driver look more like real life siblings than any movie pairing since De Caprio and Carey Mulligan appeared as near-identical twins, Jay Gatsby and Daisy Buchanan in Baz Luhrmann’s accidentally taboo take on the Great Gatsby. As Jimmy and Clyde Logan, they convey a sense of years of shared history and the shorthand that comes with such familiarity. When Tatum rolls his eyes at Driver’s talk of the curse, we feel like they have replayed this scene thousands of times before.

Yet, the most important relationship in the film is that between Jimmy and Sadie Logan. We can believe he would indeed risk his fabulous bachelor lifestyle to maintain their connection and possibly scratch out better futures for them both. A good deal of pre-release publicity has understandably focused on Daniel Craig’s drolly eccentric and muscularly swaggering performance as Joe Bang, but Riley Keough stands a chance of breaking through to Tatum’s level of fame through her work as the sassy but grounded Mellie. As a bonus, Hillary Swank and Blue Ruin’s Macon Blair nicely uphold the Twin Peaks-X-Files tradition of eccentric FBI agents in near cameos as the investigating Feds.

Lucky has a pleasantly genial vibe, but the stakes for the Logans are much higher than in Soderbergh’s Ocean films, which diegetic news reports slyly name-drop. There are definitely some clever bits, but more importantly, the film has real heart. Recommended for fans of caper movies and NASCAR, Logan Lucky opens today (8/18) across the country, including the AMC Empire in New York.

Soderbergh’s GFE

Steven Soderbergh is known for making two distinctly different kinds of films: big Hollywood pictures with the word “Ocean’s” in the title, and small digital video independents. Quickly filmed and largely unscripted, The Girlfriend Experience (trailer here), is definitely the latter. Following its recent premiere at this year’s Tribeca Film Festival, GFE starts its regular theatrical run this Friday in select cities.

In addition to his improvisational methods, Soderbergh added further wildcards into GFE’s mix by casting a number of actors in their first mainstream roles, including adult film star Sasha Grey, as Chelsea, a high-class Manhattan escort. Chelsea has dramatically grown her business by offering her clients more intimate options which simulate an actual relationship, as well as the standard “services.” Of course, you still have to pay to play. While it certainly happens off-screen, there are no sex scenes as such in GFE, as part of a conscious strategy by Soderbergh to distinguish Chelsea from less rarified service providers.

Surprisingly, Chelsea has legitimate girlfriend experience herself. In fact, she is in a relatively committed relationship with Chris, a personal trainer well-aware of her line of work. Chris is a relentless self-improver, the kind of guy who probably has a drawer full of self-help tapes. He definitely has a Willie Loman streak, constantly selling his services as a trainer and a line of sports wear to prospective clients, competing health clubs, and sporting good stores. It would be an oversimplification to suggest he sells himself as much as Chelsea, but there is no question she makes sales, whereas he does not.

As Chris, neophyte actor and real-life trainer Chris Santos makes an impressive debut. It is a brave performance, exposing the insecurities and frustrations of a character that audiences will assume to be autobiographical, given the similarities of their backgrounds. Grey by contrast, plays a character who by necessity maintains a nearly impassable emotional barrier between herself and the rest of the world. Her Chelsea is essentially a blank slate on which Chris and her clients project their desires.

GFE is a flawed but interesting film. Soderbergh and cinematographer Peter Andrews’s High Def give the film a rich, sophisticated look, but aside from Santos’s performance, it is a rather cold-blooded, passionless affair. Though some scenes ring uncomfortably true, others seem to meander, which is completely understandable given its improvisational nature. Despite the absence of explicit scenes, it remains a voyeuristic film, preoccupied with the material trappings of luxury. While the character development is often compelling, the film ultimately ends on a rather hollow, anti-climatic note.

Granted, GFE can be talky and uneven, but the sharp provocative dramatic situations are never dull to watch. In truth, it has its merits, including a riveting debut performance from Santos. (It even has a cool drum solo.) Soderbergh fans should find it more satisfying than most of his recent indie offerings. As for Grey fans, I won’t speculate. It opens tomorrow (5/22) in New York at the Sunshine and Beekman Theaters.

Tribeca ’09: The Girlfriend Experience

Steven Soderbergh is a good interview subject, so it makes perfect sense his latest film was selected for a Tribeca Talks screening and panel discussion. As it happens, some of his comments did lead to a greater appreciation of The Girlfriend Experience (trailer here), which screens as part of the 2009 Tribeca Film Festival, ahead of its May 22nd theatrical opening.

Soderbergh is known for making two distinctly different kinds of films: big Hollywood pictures with the word “Ocean’s” in the title, and small, largely unscripted digital video independents. GFE is the latter. In addition to facilitating improvisation, Soderbergh added further wildcards into the mix by casting a number of actors in their first mainstream roles, including adult film star Sasha Grey, as Chelsea, a high-class Manhattan escort. In addition to standard “services,” Chelsea also offers her clients more intimate options which replicate the interaction of an actual relationship. Of course, you still have to pay to play.

Surprisingly, Chelsea has legitimate girlfriend experience herself. In fact, she is in a relatively committed relationship with Chris, a personal trainer well-aware of her line of work. Chris is a relentless self-improver, the kind of guy who probably has a drawer full of self-help tapes. He definitely has a Willie Loman streak, constantly selling himself and his line of sports wear to prospective clients, competing health clubs, and sporting good stores. It would be an oversimplification to suggest he sells himself as much as Chelsea, but there is no question she makes sales, whereas he does not.

As Chris, neophyte actor and real-life trainer Chris Santos makes an impressive debut. It is a brave performance, exposing the insecurities and frustrations of a character that audiences will assume to be autobiographical, given the similarities of their background. Grey by contrast, plays a character who by necessity maintains a nearly impassable emotional barrier between herself and the rest of the world. Her Chelsea is essentially a blank slate on which Chris and her clients project their desires.

GFE is a flawed but interesting film. Soderbergh and cinematographer Peter Andrews’s High Def give the film a rich, sophisticated look, but aside from Santos’s performance, it is a rather cold-blooded, passionless affair. While some scenes ring uncomfortably true, others seem to meander, which is completely understandable given its improvisational nature. Despite the absence of sex scenes, it remains a voyeuristic film, preoccupied with the material trappings of luxury, ultimately undercut by a rather abrupt ending. Though post-screening Soderbergh made a convincing case for it in terms of character development, it still remains a somewhat anti-climatic conclusion.

Soderbergh explained he avoided traditional sex scenes in GFE to emphasize the ways in which Chelsea’s career is altogether separate and apart from her less rarified competitors, and he certainly succeeds in that respect. While talky and uneven, at least GFE’s provocative dramatic situations are never dull to watch (and it even has a cool drum solo). It screens again at Tribeca on May 2nd.