Violence and new movies
Movies seen in early 2007.
Originally written: February 2007
Casino Royale
Eragon
The Queen
Happy Feet
The Holiday
Deja Vu
Dreamgirls
Kenny
The Right Stuff
Oscars and Razzies 2007
I suppose, given the degree of specialisation extant in the world today that someone would be obsessed with cinematic carnage. That is the preoccupation of the Movie Body Counts website. And, by its reckoning, The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King is the most fatal of all movies. According to its count there are 836 kills (although, it suggests, "only 147 are human", with the balance made up by "hobbits, trolls, rohirrim, southrons, nazguls" and a sizeable contingent - 524 - of orcs and uruk-hai"). I think they now realise that, at the least, Rohirrim and Southrons are humans and an argument might be made for the little folk. There is a scene-by-scene rundown on the site for those who are sceptical of the count. I'd suggest that the ability to discern so many individual deaths in the film is merely a factor of the improved technology. War movies (real or fantasy) deal with death in a wholesale way; whereas crime and mystery movies - and especially horror flicks - tend to kill retail. While the numbers may be larger in the former, the impact of the latter is more lasting because the deaths are much bloodier and more immediate. It's a question of quality versus quantity. But the body count maevens are concerned solely with numbers, not with impact. The methodology used by the body counters involves the following steps: you see a dead body plainly - count it; you see a mortal hit - count it; someone dies on screen - count it; there was a death scene, but at the last second it was cut away from - count it. There'd have been a few dead'uns in, say, Saving Private Ryan, or Patton, but the director does not dwell on them, so they aren't counted. In The Return of the King, there are plenty of named characters who die on screen (including Deagol; Saruman and Wormtongue; Denethor; Theoden, the Witch-King of Angmar and Gothmog; Shagrat and Gorbag; the Mouth of Sauron; Smeagol/Gollum; Sauron), but most of the deaths are on Pelennor Fields and/or in Minas Tirith and are seen in passing. So while the counters might have had fun totalling the corpses of hobbits, trolls, Rohirrim, Southrons, Nazguls, orcs and uruk-hai - not to mention Istari, I remain unconvinced that this is a good way of determining the violence inherent in the system.
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Meanwhile, the other sort of counters - the bean counters - have had one for their books. A movie yclept Zyzzyx Road has opened in the US in at least one cinema and closed its run with a gross take from ticket sales of $US30. I love the comment from Scott Weinberg: "[Writer/director John Penney] probably learned himself a pretty valuable lesson here: no matter how low-budget or Sizemore-laden your movie might be, give it a title that people can actually, y'know, pronounce. I don't hear many people saying "Hey, let's go see that zaxxazisz movie! I bet it's awesome!"
Which epithet may be used by the Broccolis to describe "Mr Potato Head" (aka Daniel Craig), who has helped revive a flaccid franchise ...
Craig wins: hands down
There was quite some muttering in concentric circles about the choice of Daniel Craig to be the newest James Bond - and some more about the idea of going back to his roots and showing more of the development of Bond into 007 - but the film version of the first Ian Fleming novel, Casino Royale, as released, puts most of those concerns away. The Bond franchise, the most successful film series ever, still going after 40 years and 20 films, was failing. After Roger Moore's aging semi-comedic portrayal and the relative weakness of the scripts for Timothy Dalton's two tries, Pierce Brosnan and more retrograde scripting, not to mention an over-concentration on stunts at the expense of logic, was slowly strangling the series and it needed something different. Daniel Craig is as accomplished an actor as Dalton (if you don't believe that, look at his detective in The Icehouse, the priest in Elizabeth and the unnamed crim in Layer Cake as but three examples of his skill) and has the advantages of a much better screenplay, script-doctored by Paul Haggis (writer of Million Dollar Baby and Crash, amongst others). But here we come to the caveat: this is still series film-making and, like series television, it has in-built problems - particularly in the necessity for the continued survival of the lead character and in the assumptions that underlie the story as a result of all that's gone on before. This severely limits the ability of the film to explore much in the way of interesting new pathways and it is unlikely that you will see the sort of originality and zest that characterises the best of, say, Charlie Kaufman or Christopher Nolan - or even Paul Haggis. Nonetheless, within the allowable parameters, the film-makers have done as well as might be expected. The story zips along, at least until the central card game (changed from baccarat to poker, I assume to appeal more to a middle American audience), and the rather over-the-top torture scene that follows it. These slow the action down for a while but the film builds to a good finish - with some death in Venice. By avoiding yet another super-villain trying to rule the world, and other cold war stereotypes, the film makes quite a deal of sense, with a believable baddie and some interesting links to modern terror concerns. Perhaps the best action sequence is the 'free running' chase filmed in Mozambique, and featuring the progenitor of that running system, Sebastien Foucan. The plot takes Bond from there to the Caribbean and thence to Miami for another set-piece action-chase, as he aborts a terrorism plot. That in turn leads to the card-playing confrontation with Le Chiffre in a casino in Montenegro (rather than Monte Carlo), accompanied by the love-interest, Vesper Lynd (Eva Green). This all works well: the acting is good; the direction tight. The film largely avoids the inappropriately humorous tone that spoiled the Moore Bonds and derogated from the Brosnan movies. There are still a couple of lighter moments - particularly where the film makes fun of Bond's particular preference in cocktails - but this is a largely serious film, reflecting the tone of the original novel. In this line, the portrayal of the secret agent by Daniel Craig fits perfectly with the movie in which he is cast. A more serious actor for a more serious character. Craig is in fact very good, much closer to Fleming's original incarnation of 007, far more non-U than Sean Connery's initial characterisation. The rough edges are an important aspect of his character. In this seriousness of approach, he is well-matched by Eva Green (much better suited here than to her nebbish role in Kingdom of Heaven) and by Mads Mikkelsen's more grounded and plausible villain. Judi Dench is the only remaining headquarters character (there's no Q and no Moneypenny) and Jeffrey Wright's version of Felix Leiter is the straight analog of Craig's Bond. The blend of serious acting and well-scripted action has obviously been well-received by audiences, with the film grossing world-wide over $550 million (on a cost of $150 million - a film needs to take about 2.5 times its cost to break even because the makers get only 40 percent of the gross, the rest going to the cinema-owner and distributor) thereby going into profit. That reflects what I saw as a more than acceptable film, despite all its genre and series drawbacks.
Saphira dragon the chain
Tom Lehrer's song "Lobachevsky" satirised apparent plagiarism ("always please to call it 'research'") in mathematics. Speaking of the eponymous geometer's first book, Lehrer noted that every chapter he stole from somewhere else and "index [he] copy from old Vladivostok telephone directory". Eragon is something like that, only worse. The movie is based on a best-selling fantasy novel of the same name, apparently written by a teenager, and I assume that the film is a somewhat faithful adaptation. If so, the book's young author has engaged in heroic 'research'. The story is set in the consensus fantasy universe - not that there's anything wrong with that - in a land apparently called Analgesia Alagaesia - and its plot is directly 'researched' from Star Wars. Let me count the ways: there's an evil emperor; his dark magical accomplice; a princess taken prisoner and needing to be rescued; a McGuffin that falls into the hands of an orphan being raised by his uncle (it's a dragon in case you were unaware - and even that element, while not derived from Star Wars is directly 'researched' from Anne McCaffrey's treatment of the subject); a surviving member of a military-religious cult who lives suspiciously close to the orphan and is available to teach him the ways of the cult; a cultish sword for the boy; an adventurer who helps rescue the princess; a rebel alliance hiding out from the emperor and about to be attacked; and, of course, a climactic battle. (Apparently, in the second book of the trilogy, which has already been published, but not yet filmed, the orphan goes off to be trained by another surviving member of the cult and he learns a shocking secret about his parentage - so the 'research' continues and allows not only for a third book in this trilogy, in which the orphan and the rebel alliance conquer the emperor, but a series of prequels in which we can plot the rise of the emperor and his destruction of the cult. George Lucas must be sick as a pig.) The problem with Eragon isn't primarily that it is a rip-off but that it is a second-rate one. The settings aren't flash; the costumes are a mish-mash; and the dragons (the film's droid equivalent) are not well enough done (Dragonheart is a much better and more original fantasy film with much better cgi dragons). As far as the acting goes, Jeremy Irons is passable as the substitute Obi Wan and Robert Carlyle radiates some menace as the Vader wannabe but that's about it. This is juvenile rubbish for kids who don't realise they are being fed pap. It follows Narnia at the start of the series of z-grade fantasy films we'll have to endure in the post-tLotR era, the analogs of the SF crap that came in the wake of Star Wars. While a series of Eragon films is planned, it's interesting to note that, with a worldwide gross of $225 million, the film has still not reached break-even on its cost of over $100 million.
The Queen and I
The Queen contains one of the best performances of the year, and Helen Mirren doesn't do too badly either. Michael Sheen doesn't quite capture the look of Tony Blair to the same extent that Mirren mirrors Elizabeth but he captures the essence of the man - and it is a remarkably nuanced performance that manages to counter many of our expectations - and his image. Sheen's performance was the major surprise for me in this brilliant film, written by Peter Morgan (quite a year for him as he also wrote the script for The Last King of Scotland in which Forest Whitaker plays Idi Amin - so he might end up the writer of the characters played by the Best Actor and Actress Oscar winners) and directed by Stephen Frears, chronicling the week following Diana's death, as the relatively new Prime Minister tries to convince the long-serving monarch that, on this occasion, he has read the public mood better than she. By and large it concentrates on the Queen's mood and reactions to the changing circumstances (and on the royal family's attempts to distract Will and Harry), inter-cutting this with the reactions of Tony and Cherie and those of his chief spin doctor, Alastair Campbell. Mirren is perfect in the eponymous role. This performance is the apotheosis of a long career that has seen her increasingly recognised as a special talent. While some of her early performances (Excalibur and The Long Good Friday come to mind) pointed to her extraordinary gifts, it was her Jane Tennison, the conflicted police officer in the Prime Suspect series, that cemented her in the top drawer of cinematic actors. In the last decade there has been a series of interesting and complex characterisations, climaxed by this role, which is all the more difficult because she is portraying one of the world's best-known women. Her special achievement is the ability she has to show the Queen's thinking, and even for us to understand and sympathise with a set of thoughts that would be antithetical to most of the audience. She captures and communicates the reserve and hauteur and communicates the confusion caused by her subject's reaction. A number of the supporting players in the palace contribute to the credibility of the piece: James Cromwell looks nothing like Phil the Greek, except that he seems to capture the personality perfectly; Sylvia Syms seems pickled enough to be the Queen Mum; and Roger Allam as the loyal retainer is excellent. In fact only Alex Jennings' Chuck was a little off; wasn't Michael Kitchen (remember To Play the King) available? Meanwhile at 10 Downing Street, Michael Sheen and Helen McCrory provide a strong balance to what's playing at the Palace. The movie's script is incredibly well-structured, far more than the film's title would imply and the four-word review used as a heading above gives what I think is a closer approximation of the action. The film explores the Queen's stubborn resistance to the public mood and her ultimate realisation that her values don't reflect the very unBritish reaction to Diana's death. It also deals with Blair's paradoxical actions in saving the monarchy - an institution he is at first highly sceptical of - from itself. In all facets this is a top-class film and worthy of a number of awards. I have only one reservation and that arises from a personal view of the events leading to Diana's death - events that are being repeated (first in tragedy, then in farce, they say of repetition in history) with the arrival of Kate Middleton. The film, in its discussion of the public reaction to Diana's death, fails to deal with the culpability of those people whose grief was the most publicly expressed. Certainly Diana became the cynosure of media attention, but the reason that she did so was that any media outlet that featured images of the people's princess was guaranteed massively increased sales. And the people who were doing the buying were the very people whose grief was the most extravagant. The film shows the Queen's reaction to some of the more outre messages on the flowers deposited outside Buck House, but it never makes the point that it is those leaving the flowers, not she, who were the ones that created the situation in which Diana became the rabbit in the media spotlight. The film plays up the media's role in the tragic death of the silly woman but never seeks to look any more closely at why they behaved as they did. The media's role in reflecting the public mood of disquiet with the royals in the week following the death is made plain but apparently, before the death, the media were somehow out of sync with the public.
Gotta dance, gotta dance
Happy Feet is an Australian-made computer-animated feature that demonstrates our artisans are quite capable of matching the best overseas talent in this genre, with a film that entertains adults while keeping the kids occupied and happy. To such a extent that the $85 million movie has grossed over $340 million world-wide, making it a highly profitable, as well as highly original, success story. (As a matter of ethical form, I have to declare an interest: Matt Villa, Cath's brother-in-law, is responsible for the editing of the live action sequences that appear towards the end of the film.) Made by Dr George Miller (the auteur responsible for Mad Max and the Babe movies), the film is another one that hooks into a recent fascination with emperor penguins. Here the McGuffin is that the penguins select partners based on their song. Mumble, the offspring of Norma Jean (our Nicole doing a breathy Marilyn) and Memphis (our Hugh, channelling the King), cannot express himself in song, only in dance, and this is offensive to the chief elder of the tribe (our Hugo, who thinks he's near Brigadoon). Finding himself outcast, Mumble goes in search of his salvation - through natural and man-made perils - by seeking to find the cause of the fish famine affecting his tribe. In this quest, five adelie penguins, voiced with Hispanic accents, and a rockhopper penguin named Lovelace, voiced as a southern revivalist minister, join him. Robin Williams voices Lovelace, as well as Ramon, the most vocal of the adelies. There are several brilliantly conceived sequences in Mumble's odyssey: a chase, where a fearsome seal threatens him; an amazing slide down an icy landscape; and an encounter with a couple of playful killer whales. Mumble (voiced largely by Elijah Woods) continues to express himself only through dance - tap-dancing that is realised through motion-capture of Savion Glover - while his mates, including his putative love interest, Gloria (Brittany Murphy), use song as their metaphor. The use of established songs, some with altered lyrics, is reminiscent of Moulin Rouge but maintains an individuality - especially in the realm of animated features. As Mumble seeks to solve the fish shortage, he comes in contact with the mythical aliens and is captured by them, becoming a zoo exhibit. His tap-dancing whilst in captivity precipitates the rather forced ending, which, together with the sledge-hammer way in which the film deals with its environmental concerns, is the weakest part of the film. But, before you are the subject of heavy-handed persuasion as to the perfidy of humanity, the film scoots along with a series of song-and-dances and both subtle and not-so-subtle humor that is equally well distributed amongst the target audiences. The voice work is good and the animation excellent. The film comes out far superior to Cars, which is not Pixar's best, and should win the animation Oscars. Recommended.
Two pairs and joker
The Holiday is largely about how Cam and Kate find lurve on opposite sides of the world as they swap houses for the Yule. Kate (Winslet) is Iris, a pommie journalist whose crush on Rufus Sewell has never been reciprocated and he's just announced his engagement to someone else; Cam (Diaz) is Amanda, a mega-successful maker of film trailers who has discovered that her live-in, Edward Burns, has slept with someone else and that it is, therefore, time to boot another lover from her home. She goes to the Internet, entering search parameters for available holiday homes to rent, and somehow ends up at a site that deals with holiday home swaps where she finds Iris. Since this was an obvious plot device to get them each to the other's place, I was prepared to forgive the infelicity. There are then a series of meet-cutes: Iris' brother Graham (he's a book editor played by Jude Law) turns up drunk at the place where Amanda is now staying; Cam's ex-boyfriend's mate Miles (Jack Black as a composer of movie music) comes into Iris' life, as he seeks to pick up Ed Burns' computer; and best of all Iris encounters aging screenwriter Arthur Abbott (Eli Wallach). The development of the two new love affairs is pretty straight-forward, even cliched. There is some humor here, in the best (or worst) rom-com tradition, but not much in the way of revelation. On the other hand, the Arthur Abbott sub-plot is tender and touching, with both Wallach and Winslet in top form - and replete with movie in-jokes. He's a hang-over from the old Hollywood who starts to teach her about the great dames of the 1930s and 1940s, Barbara Stanwyck in The Lady Eve, Rosalind Russell in His Girl Friday, Claudette Colbert in Bluebeard's Eighth Wife, and so on, in the hope that she will come to be more independent and assertive. In one of the great recursive scenes in rom-coms, Abbott discourses on the meet-cute and its place in movie history. A couple of other older performers, Bill Macy and Shelley Berman, join the 90-something Wallach in a sort of comic riff on Sunset Boulevard. For all that there is the possibility of a good movie in the Iris-Arthur-Miles triangle, we keep switching back to the far less interesting problems of Amanda and Graham. The result is a so-so film that demonstrates that Kate Winslet is far more interesting than Cameron Diaz; that Jack Black is more interesting than Jude Law; and that Eli Wallach can hold his own with his thirty-something co-stars. Nancy Myers wrote and directed the film: it's better than What Women Want and not as good as Something's Gotta Give.
Good script no paradox
Written by first-timer Bill Marsilli, with contributions from Pirates of the Caribbean scripter, Terry Rossio, Deja Vu is an SFnal tale that makes sense and one that deals well with the time travel paradoxes. Set in post-Katrina New Orleans, the story starts with a bang - a Mardi Gras terrorist attack on a ferry takes out over 500, including a large number of US Navy personnel on their way to a function. Denzel Washington is Doug Carlin, the ATF agent sent to investigate the explosion. (It's interesting that ATF now covers Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives but remains a TLA.) His initial investigation turns up some interesting information, like the presence of his partner's car near the quay, and the seemingly wrong timing on the death of a female whose corpse is found up-river from the explosion. Seeing a link between Claire Kuchever (Paula Patton), the woman in question, and the explosion, he starts investigating her death, and finds some links to himself that don't make sense. Then he is dragooned into a special task force, run by the usual collection of techs and supervised by FBI Agent Pryzwarra (Val Kilmer, in a strong performance). They use a double-talk generator to allow them to look back at events four days before. So, unable to find the bomber, they start chrono-stalking Claire, who leads them to bomber. Despite all the babble about the impossibility of sending matter back through the machine, Carlin tries to send a note back to himself but, of course, things don't quite go right and we find out why Doug's partner's car is at the docks. This leads to what is probably the best sequence in the movie: an incredibly well put together car chase in which Carlin follows the killer's car by means of a portable time-viewer. The double image of the traffic in the present and in the past is enough to give him the heeby-jeebies. Just when you think that the movie has taken its plot device just about far enough, they add another dimension: Carlin arranges to be sent back himself. Again, the way in which they work out the get-around on the physical limitations on sending live material back through the machine is well thought out and plausible. In fact, the one really commendable thing about this movie is that it attempts eight impossible things before breakfast and then proceeds to make each of them plausible, right up to the ending, which I will not disclose. Needless to say, the script resolves all the dilemmas and paradoxes created by the scenario, and the clues and question marks given earlier in the film are all neatly ennumerated and disposed of. While not wholly original, and while succumbing at times to the tendencies of producer Jerry Bruckheimer and director Tony Scott to throw in an action sequence whether one is required or not, Deja Vu ends up being an intelligent science fiction film that overcomes some of its own silliness by refusing to lower the deus ex machina at any stage. Both Washington and Patton are good in the lead roles and Kilmer is becoming a reliable support player in such films. Adam Goldberg and Erika Alexander add good support as time machine boffins. I didn't expect much out of the movie despite the quite clever trailer - now there's a rare thing in modern films - but came out gob-smacked that script-writers had actually thought through the problems inherent in their concept and worked out ways of solving them logically and internally.
Less than Supreme result
The real problem with Dreamgirls is structural. It works well as a movie but not nearly as well as it should. I was looking forward to the movie because I like musicals and because Bill Condon, who had done the adaptation of Chicago, and had previously been the writer-director of Gods and Monsters, had written the script and was directing it. But the story structure that worked so well in Chicago does not work in Dreamgirls and for good, and foreseeable, reasons. Both are adaptations of earlier Broadway musicals: Chicago opened in 1975, Dreamgirls in 1981. In the film adaptation of the former, Condon's script used musical numbers set on a nightclub stage for his opening and closing numbers, and all the rest were basically staged in Roxie's imagination. It was a structure that facilitated the integration of the musical numbers into the narrative. He's tried something similar in Dreamgirls. The first 20 minutes of the film are set at a performance in Detroit, with several acts on stage, and the finale has the Dreams (the fictional singing trio in the story) on stage for their farewell concert. But in between he has a standard musical where characters break into song for no apparent reason, starting with a production number about the use of payola to promote the singing group. In this movie, the breaking into song as a part of the narrative, rather than as integrated staged numbers (as in Ray or Walk the Line), just does not work. The movie becomes some weird amalgam, not quite a musical and not quite a biopic about a musical group. Additionally, the musical numbers, with the exception of two of Effie's numbers, "And I Tell You I'm Not Going" and "I'm Changing", and Deena's "Listen", are nowhere near as good as the Kander and Ebb numbers in Chicago. Nor is there any notable choreography. The plot itself is pretty much derived from the story of the Supremes, paralleling the sidelining of Florence Ballard and the spotlighting of Diana Ross. Here three young girls start as the backing singers for James "Thunder" Early (Eddie Murphy channelling James Brown): Effie (Jennifer Hudson), the plus-sized but greatly talented one; Deena (Beyonce Knowles), the good-looking one; and Lorrell (Anika Noni Ross), the third one, who conducts an affair with Early. CC, Effie's brother, is their song-writer, and Curtis Taylor Jr (Jamie Foxx) is the faux-Berry Gordy, the entrepreneur who promotes them and oversees their crossover from R&B into the mainstream. As they become an act separate from Early, Taylor moves Deena into the lead role and relegates Effie and Lorrell into harmony. There is also a love angle as Taylor transfers his affections from Effie to Deena. All of which ends with Effie's departure and replacement in the group. The second act is about the Dreams' success, Effie's comeback and Taylor's fall, all fairly standard fare. It's interesting that, because Deena is portrayed as having a limited musical range - and appealing personality - Beyonce is only allowed some freedom to sing on "Listen", one of the new songs written for the movie. Because of that constraint, Jennifer Hudson's performance stands out all the more. A former American Idol contestant, she has the plum role, the best songs and the greater chance to shine as a singer, and as an actor. It's a great performance and worthy of the accolades she is getting. Eddie Murphy is also cleaning up in the awards, but there is less justification for his success, because the role is fairly one-dimensional, even if it is well-handled. Disappointingly Foxx is not given that much to do: in fact Curtis Taylor is the weak link in the story, partly Berry Gordy and partly Ike Turner, and largely cliche. There was more than enough here to keep me entertained but nonetheless Dreamgirls was something of a disappointment given the presumed quality of the original material and the class of those involved in its translation to film. It certainly falls short of the best musicals and musical biopics.
Seen on DVD
Kenny is a charming and very funny Australian comedy about a bloke who looks after portaloos. It's pretty much a family affair, with the eponymous role being taken by Shane Jacobson, his screen father being played by his dad, Ronald, and his screen son by his own kid, Jesse. The film was co-written by Shane and his brother Clayton, and Clayton directed the film. Told in a mock documentary style, with voice-over narrative by Kenny Smyth, who comes across as a sweet and naive character, the film explores a few weeks in his life and his work. He deals with a sick father, a broken marriage, the possibility of a promotion, and having to attend a "Pumper and Cleaner" convention in Nashville. There is even a putative love story. The film is shot against the background of real music festivals and conferences, not to mention the Melbourne Cup. Shane Jacobson's performance is spot-on and some of his dialog is just delightful. The film makes no concession to the fact that people outside Australia may eventually see it (and Americans may need subtitles to understand some of the colloquialisms) and is all the better for that. Occasionally we have to celebrate our own culture and forget the fact that others may neither understand nor appreciate it. This is no Crocodile Dundee, dumbed down and made palatable with an eye to the export market. Every so often there is a film, made by outsiders, on a minimal budget, and with no pretensions, that can be unconditionally recommended. This is one such film. And don't forget: "Australians all, let us ring Joyce ..."
From our DVD collection - reviews of good and great movies not previously reviewed
Given its place as one of humanity's great endeavors, it is weird that there aren't many great films about the space program. Perhaps the best isn't a film at all but a mini-series, From the Earth to the Moon. Apart from that Apollo 13 captures something of the adventure, despite the presence of Tom Hanks and Bill Paxton, not to mention Kevin Bacon. Undoubtedly the best film about the space program is really more about a man who was never an astronaut. Chuck Yeager is the central figure in Phillip Kaufman's The Right Stuff, the film that should have won the Oscar in 1983 (it lost to Terms of Endearment, the maudlin melodrama in which Debra Winger dies of Ali McGraw's Disease, that incredible movie illness that is fatal, but never disfiguring). Ostensibly the film, based on Tom Wolfe's faction novel of the same name, is the story of the Mercury program, but by starting at Edwards Air Base with Yeager's breaking the sound barrier, and staying there for some time, to establish the character of the sort of men who became the astronauts, the film manages to imply the continuity of heroism from the jet pilots to the astronauts and from the secrecy and individuality of the test pilots (they ride horses, don't they?) to the overt openness and teamwork that have been the hallmark of the space program. Kaufman populates his piece with a series of portraits by actors only just making their way at the time: Dennis Quaid, Ed Harris, Fred Ward, Scott Glenn and Lance Henricksen all play members of the program, and leave indelible impressions. In smaller parts you might spot Jeff Goldblum and Harry Shearer as recruiters (and comic relief) and Veronica Cartwright and Paula Reed as wives. The best-known performers at the time were Sam Shepherd and Barbara Hershey, who play the Yeagers, somewhat stoically in his case. (Yeager himself makes an uncredited cameo as the broom-jockey whose implement contributes to the closing of a Yeager capsule when he has had a horse-riding accident.) The Kaufamn's script is true to the original material but very much a filmic adaptation of it. By using 'Gordo' Cooper as the main point of view character, he grounds the film and gives it more of a focus. By asking many of the same philosophical questions as Wolfe does, he provides some meat. He also leavens the meal with a fair bit of humor, largely from Fred Ward's 'Gus' Grissom. Part boys' own adventure, part Sfx movie, part satire and part social commentary, the film works on all levels, but I'd point out particularly the cinematography by Caleb Deschanel and Bill Conti's film score, as especial highlights. The Right Stuff bears constant re-watching, as all great movies do. Can you imagine wanting to see Terms of Endearment again? Thus the Academy sometimes gets it very wrong.
Oscars and Razzies
The nominations are out and the Oscars seem easy to guess, even this far ahead: Mirren, Whitaker, Hudson, Murphy for the acting honors; Scorsese (deserved) for director; and Cars for best animation (even though Happy Feet is more original and more impressive). If there were to be a shock among the acting awards, I'd reckon that Meryl might pip Helen Mirren, because her Miranda Priestley is a showy piece and Ms Streep is the only Yank on the ballot in that category (with three Poms and a Spaniard). I note Peter O'Toole, already the record-holder for futility among actors, is nominated for the eighth time (he's 0 for 7 so far) and Kate Winslet is having her fifth go. Most interesting is the nomination of Jackie Earle Haley (virtually unseen since Breaking Away), who makes a comeback of sorts in Little Children. The omission of Little Miss Sunshine's directors means that the film, which should be the favorite after its wins from the producers and actors guilds, and which probably deserves to win, for its originality and verve, may not win best film. The Academy, with its penchant for the serious and meaningful, if sometimes banal, middle-of-the-road films, and its shyness in rewarding comedy films, may well opt for Babel. It's their sort of flick. I'm not surprised that Dreamgirls missed out on the main awards - its nominations are largely in the craft categories, and three of its four new songs, ones added since the stage-play version (same composer but different lyricist), are nominated. The songs (except for "Listen") are not that good.
Sharon Stone and the sequel to Basic Instinct dominate the Razzies. In a major shock, Sylvester Stallone was not nominated for his work on Rocky Balboa (he's had 28 nominations and 10 wins in various categories). The Wayans Brothers disaster, Little Man, is the other significant offering on the altar of ineptitude. But, as I have avoided all this crap, it's hard to get up any enthusiasm for the Razzies this year.
[Note: Information about the movies mentioned, including cast and crew lists and all sorts of trivia, is available at the Internet Movie Database (IMDb).]