New movie review: The Revenant

Leonardo DiCaprio stars as Hugh Glass in the western survival saga The Revenant. 

It is rare that I am left speechless after a film. I might not have a lot to say about a bad movie, or I might need time to gather my thoughts after a great one, but I pretty much always have something to say. Alejandro González Iñárritu’s The Revenant, however, left me absolutely without words. It is a densely packed, gorgeously realized, elliptically told story of survival and vengeance in the Old American West, but every time I sit to ponder it – as I have done almost without end now in the day and a half since seeing it – new elements cry out for consideration.

The certainties are these: Iñárritu, who won three Academy Awards last year for writing, directing, and producing Birdman, has made another impossibly grand work of art; Leonardo DiCaprio, already one of the finest actors of his generation, has delivered a career-topping performance; director of photography Emmanuel Lubezki, who has won the last two Oscars for cinematography, has somehow found new ways to expand the visual language of film; and never has there been told on screen a more harrowing or epic tale of revenge than that of Hugh Glass.

Glass is a frontiersman hired by Capt. Andrew Henry (Domhnall Gleeson) to guide his fur-trapping expedition up the Missouri River. They start off with a crew dozens strong, but after repeated attacks by the native Arikara tribe, they are down to just 10 men. Among them are Glass’ son, Hawk (Forrest Goodluck), John Fitzgerald (Tom Hardy), and Jim Bridger (Will Poulter). To avoid the Arikara, who know the river well, they set out on an overland route hundreds of miles to a U.S. Army fort where they can find relief.

Along the way, while out alone and hunting for game, Glass stumbles upon a mother grizzly bear and her two cubs. Glass is mauled in one of the most vicious and brutal attacks I have ever seen. The bear methodically tears away at Glass’ legs, chest, hands, back, neck, and face, and in a final insult, even when Glass manages to kill the bear, it falls dead on top of him, pinning him to the ground. When his traveling companions find him, he is gushing blood from just about every part of his body and his legs are broken. They reasonably conclude he will die, but as long as he is breathing, they vow to carry him.

As the terrain grows increasingly unnavigable, Glass’ broken body becomes more of a burden. Fitzgerald and Bridger, along with Hawk, agree to stay behind, wait for him to die, and give him a proper burial. Fitzgerald’s impatience, however, leads him to kill Hawk, lie to Bridger about an impending Arikara attack, and attempt to bury Glass alive. He succeeds in all these goals, but alas, Glass has no plans to die and sets out on shattered bones and festering wounds across 200 miles of frozen earth to seek his revenge.

The film is based on the Michael Punke novel of the same name, which itself is based on a heavily fictionalized account of the real Glass’ life. Iñárritu and co-writer Mark Smith’s screenplay sticks fairly close to the source material, which is a smart move given the unreliable nature of tales from the Old West. Glass is the kind of historical figure people tell tall tales about, a Paul Bunyan type who certainly existed but may not have been as great as the stories. By freeing themselves from the burden of history, Iñárritu and Smith are able to focus on the universal traits of human nature they are keen to explore.

Glass goes through more pain and suffering – both physical and emotional – in his journey than any of us is likely to experience in a lifetime. In this way, The Revenant is a dark testament to the spirit of man, but at the same time, it is a reminder of the indomitability of nature. Every character in this film is at the mercy of the natural world – the frigid temperatures, the rushing rivers, the jagged rocks, the animal kingdom, etc. For as invested as we become in the human concerns and trials of Glass, Iñárritu and editor Stephen Mirrione are quick always to remind us of the natural surroundings, ever-present and eternal.

Emmanuel Lubezki's gorgeous photography in The Revenant.

At more than two-and-a-half hours, The Revenant is long, but it earns every second of that runtime by offering the audience the chance to bask in its stillness, its quiet, and its beauty. In one of the most gorgeous shots of the year, we witness DiCaprio trudging through the snow toward his destination, and the camera pulls back to reveal a sea of pristine white ground. He is moving, but he is not going anywhere. His purpose is clear to him, but against this backdrop, it seems much smaller. He seems much smaller.

Iñárritu and Lubezki’s compositions make this point again and again in wide shots that establish the vastness of the world and in close-ups that demonstrate the havoc that world wreaks on the characters’ faces and bodies, not to mention their spirits. Lubezki has a facility for capturing thematic resonance with stirring imagery. His camera movements as ever are swift, fluid, and never without purpose, but here he finds magic even when he lets the camera linger on the embers of a fire floating up to the heavens, the leaves of trees rustling, or a boat floating along a foggy river. In a word, it is mesmerizing.

On the whole, Iñárritu and his collaborators have created the ultimate sensory experience – from Lubezki’s awe-inspiring photography to Jack Fisk’s world-building production design to the sound department’s remarkable sonic landscape. Every piece of the puzzle reveals something special, unique, and wondrous about what The Revenant ultimately is, and perhaps the most important piece to fall into place is the acting.

The idea that DiCaprio is chasing an Academy Award has taken on a life of its own, and it seems true that if he cannot win an Oscar for this performance this year, then he may never win one. However, DiCaprio is a multi-millionaire philanthropist and world-famous, widely respected actor with a dream life most of us could not imagine. A little gold statue is not going to change any of that. This makes it all the more impressive then that he seems hell bent on stretching the boundaries of his considerable gifts and plumbing the depths of every character that comes his way.

Tom Hardy in The Revenant.

He embodies Glass in all the ways it is possible to become another person. Movie stars often have trouble disappearing into roles, leaving audiences impressed but not moved. DiCaprio has even used this quality to his advantage in a number of parts. In The Revenant, however, there is not one moment where we are seeing anything but Glass, and as DiCaprio transforms, we are transported into his world. Even apart from the technical skill and dedication of learning two native languages and eating raw bison liver, DiCaprio delivers a performance of raw spiritual intensity that belongs to the ages.

Off in the other half of the story, Hardy, Poulter, and Gleeson bring the same level of energy and emotional acuity to their smaller, supporting roles. Hardy is particularly good as Fitzgerald, the antagonist who sets most of this bloody saga in motion. Fitzgerald is a grizzled man of the mountains as much as Glass, but he is blinded by greed and an overwhelming instinct for self-preservation. Hardy expertly brings this out in his mannerisms, his inflections, and his general sense of being.

The Revenant is an all-encompassing feat of filmmaking. It is about resiliency and frailty, vengeance and forgiveness, death and resurrection. It is meditative but propulsive, grisly but gorgeous, audacious but restrained. From Iñárritu to DiCaprio to Lubezki to Fisk to Mirrione to Hardy and everyone else on this production, the film is evidence of a group of talented individuals creating art at the absolute heights of their powers. At this point, I have spent more than 1,300 words describing this film, and I have only scratched the surface of its impact – because sometimes, there are no words.

See it? Yes.

New movie review: Brooklyn

Saoirse Ronan stars as Irish immigrant Eilis in director John Crowley's romantic drama Brooklyn.

It sometimes seems we lack appreciation for simplicity, particularly in our entertainment. Call it the Lost effect or whatever you want, but audiences and critics especially now demand immense complexity from television shows and films. This has led showrunners and filmmakers to mistake illogical mythologies and labyrinthine plotting for depth of character and richness of storytelling. As it is, entertainment that engages the mind but not the heart is doing only half its job.

Director John Crowley’s Brooklyn does not make this mistake. Crowley, working from a script by Nick Hornby based on the novel by Colm Tóibín, takes a simple story and tells it well. Eilis (Saoirse Ronan) is a young woman living in a stiflingly small Irish town in the 1950s who embarks on a journey to America, leaving behind her mother and older sister. In the U.S., she gets a job, makes friends, and falls in love with an Italian-American boy, Tony (Emory Cohen). Tragedy brings her back to Ireland, where she is forced to choose between her old life and the new one she has made for herself overseas.

Simple enough, but Crowley and Hornby infuse the characters and situations with humor, heart, and emotional honesty. There is never a false moment, and while the plot may be relatively small shakes in the grand scheme of things, Eilis’ conflict seems great because we care deeply about what happens to the character and want what is best for her.

Emory Cohen and Ronan in Brooklyn.

Ronan, who is still all of 21 years old, has not had a lengthy film career, but it sure has been an interesting one. Oscar nominated for just her third feature, Atonement, she has consistently chosen compelling parts in daring films by talented directors, including Joe Wright’s Hanna, Peter Weir’s The Way Back, and Ryan Gosling’s Lost River, not to mention her turn in last year’s Best Picture-nominated The Grand Budapest Hotel.

In Brooklyn, Ronan takes another left turn to explore the life of a girl who lived not so long ago – an age at a time that could make the character many of our mothers or grandmothers now. It is her most sensitive, subtle performance yet as she inhabits the sweet, soulful psyche of an immigrant who feels displaced both at home and abroad. Ronan easily taps into Eilis’ gentle naïveté but adds an undercurrent of strength and resiliency that is less on the page than in the performance.

Credit is due to the filmmakers, however, for bringing to the screen a movie filled with strong, well developed female characters when a lot of movies in theaters these days struggle to come up with just one. The boarding house Eilis lives in is populated by a witty, funny group of women who joke and snipe but ultimately support each other, and Eilis’ mother and sister are an intriguing study in people burdened by old-world values as the new world springs up around them.

The male characters are somewhat less developed but no less interesting. Cohen, playing the American love interest, and Domhnall Gleeson, Eilis’ suitor back in Ireland, deliver grounded, sympathetic performances as two men in love with the same woman. There are shades of Marlon Brando in On the Waterfront in Cohen’s tremendous portrayal of a lunk-headed guy who falls in love with a shy girl from the neighborhood – there are also shades of Eva Marie Saint in Ronan’s performance. 

Domhnall Gleeson and Ronan in Brooklyn.

As for Gleeson, here are his credits for the last two years: Frank; Calvary; Unbroken; Ex Machina; Brooklyn; The Revenant; and a little movie called Star Wars: The Force Awakens. It is a hot streak few other actors can lay claim to, and he has earned every one of those roles with consistently brilliant performances in wildly different parts. He has little screen time in Brooklyn, but the character is crucial to the film’s arc, and Gleeson leaves enough of an impression that we understand fully Eilis’ dilemma.

The key to the story is that neither man is a villain. They are well meaning people who see in Eilis the same things the audience sees. One simply represents her old life and the other her new one. In choosing between these two men, Eilis is really choosing between the past and the future. The culture she was raised with values the past deeply, and she values her culture, so it becomes a question of how willing she is to leave behind the life and people that made her who she is.

Apart from a few gorgeous shot set-ups, particularly when Eilis is checking in at Ellis Island, Crowley’s direction is unfussy and effective. He matches Hornby and Tóibín’s simple but sophisticated story with a straightforward style that leaves the plot room to breathe and gives the actors space to shine. Brooklyn is not the fanciest or flashiest movie you will see this year, but it is something better: admirable.

See it? Yes.

New movie review: Ex Machina

Oscar Isaac and Domhnall Gleeson star in Alex Garland's sci-fi thriller Ex Machina.

Empathy is probably the distinguishing feature of humanity. Our ability to care about other life forms and imagine ourselves in their place is unique and a little strange, when you get right down to it. From an evolutionary perspective, it is hardly advantageous to concern ourselves with the feelings of animals or lesser life forms, particularly those we eat and those that pose a danger to us. Yet, vegetarianism and veganism do not seem to be going anywhere, and the list of protected alpha predators just keeps growing.

Other species do not do this. The lion does not think for a second about the zebra before it pounces, but I defy most people – even some avid hunters – to pull the trigger on a deer without a moment of hesitation or a pang of regret. Some of you cannot kill a bug without wondering about the implications. This sense of understanding for the lives of other feels as natural as breathing, but we cannot explain it. This puts humanity in a precarious place when it comes to beings as intelligent as we are or more so.

In writer-director Alex Garland’s Ex Machina, not only do we meet that being, but we are responsible for its creation. Garland made his bones writing the screenplays for such intelligent, thought-provoking science-fiction films as 28 Days Later, Never Let Me Go, and the critically maligned Sunshine. Now, with his first go around in the director’s chair, he has produced yet another smart exploration of how people understand themselves and each other in extraordinary circumstances.

Domhnall Gleeson (Frank, Unbroken) is Caleb a computer programmer who works for a Google-like corporation. He wins a contest to visit the remote estate of the company’s founder for a week, during which time he believes he will be mentored by the reclusive genius, Nathan, played by Oscar Isaac (Inside Llewyn Davis, A Most Violent Year). Nathan has other plans. Caleb has been brought to the estate to help test the world’s first true artificial intelligence.

Utilizing a variation on the famous Turing test – in which a computer is said to be artificially intelligent if the tester cannot distinguish between an interaction with it and a human – the two men set out to prove the legitimacy of Nathan’s technological achievement. However, we are well beyond the traditional Turing test, so we are introduced to Ava. She is an AI computer in the body of a humanoid robot brought to life by the remarkable Alicia Vikander.

Complications arise as Ava becomes more and more stunning in her humanness, and Caleb begins to question whether something so intelligent that seems to think and feel as he does should be subjected to testing and confinement such as this. During one of their sessions together, Ava tells Caleb she has never left her room and dreams of going into the world just to watch the people. Vikander sells Ava’s emotions with a perfect blend of computerized affectation and schoolgirl naiveté.

Alicia Vikander in Ex Machina.

This year should be something of a coming out party for the Swedish ingénue, and Vikander’s IMDB page lists no fewer than six films in which she appears set for release in 2015. Based solely on her performance in Ex Machina, she deserves the increased profile. The portrayal of Ava is a tightrope walk. She is a computer and must always have that artificiality, but she must also be so human it is haunting. In Vikander’s mannerisms and line readings, she crafts a complete character from a being that has never before existed, and though she was created by the hands of a man, she is incomprehensible to his mind.

Nathan sees Ava as an experiment, the success of which would only feed his immense ego. When Caleb tells him that bringing about new life is the business of gods, Nathan takes this to its logical extreme, stating: “I am a god.” As the founder of the world’s largest search engine, he already has the ability to peer into the hearts, minds, and souls of humanity through his users’ search histories – an advantage he uses to form the basis of Ava’s artificial intelligence. Now, he wants the feeling of creation.

Part of the brilliance of Garland’s script is the way it plays with certain religious and mythological overtones while still delivering a riveting psychological thriller. The sci-fi genre has always been ripe for allegory because it allows artists to create worlds that reflect our own but show us something we have never seen. Garland is a master at this, hooking audiences on a visceral story level and using that engagement to force them to consider perspectives of which they may not have even been aware.

Nathan comes off as the villain to us because he seems cold, calculating, and mysterious. On the other hand, we connect to Caleb because he is open, honest, and sensitive. Ava is a wild card that represents both and neither. She is the manufactured evolution of humanity – a computer that expresses vulnerability. Nathan can only relate to her as a computer, whereas Caleb relates to her vulnerability. She is a lab rat, part of an experiment Nathan wishes to see through to its conclusion. He pokes and prods and wants results. Caleb sees the rat, but he also sees its pain and how it is afraid.

She asks Caleb what will happen to her if she fails the test. Most likely, she will be shut off and reconfigured. Put another way, she will be killed. By design, it is unclear if she understands the full implications of her own death, but like any conscious life form, she instinctually knows it is something to be avoided at all costs. Caleb, however, understands what dying would mean, and he can put himself in her place and understand her fear. He is determined to save her because in the end, it remains empathy that makes us truly human – and truly flawed.

See it? Yes.

New movie review: Frank

Maggie Gyllenhaal, Michael Fassbender, and Domhnall Gleeson star in Frank.

There is a moment toward the end of the great music documentary Westway to the World when the late Joe Strummer is talking about the dissolution of The Clash. His songwriting partner, Mick Jones, had been removed from the band because he had become impossible to work with, and drummer Topper Headon was fired because his drug problems began to interfere with his work.

Strummer and founding member Paul Simonon soldiered on with a new lineup, but the magic clearly was gone. Looking back on that tumultuous time, Strummer has the insight that for whatever problems they had with each other, The Clash were Strummer, Jones, Simonon, and Headon. He says:

Whatever a group is, it was the chemical mixture of those four people that makes a group work. That’s a lesson everyone should learn. Don’t mess with it. If it works, just let it. Do whatever you have to do to bring it forward, but don’t mess with it. And like, we learned that – bitterly.

Frank, the new musical comedy-drama from Irish director Lenny Abrahamson, approaches this chemical mixture from another angle and finds a different kind of misery that results from changing the formula. Instead of taking away from the solution, the band fronted by the titular Frank adds an element that does not belong, and as amateur chemists have learned throughout the ages, the result is an explosion.

Light on plot but brimming with anarchic energy, Frank is at once the story of a brilliant artist composing his masterpiece and a talentless hack frustrated by having nothing to say and no way to express it. Michael Fassbender is the artist, Domhnall Gleeson is the hack, and both are pitch perfect in their portrayal of what happens when these two forces collide.

Gleeson plays Jon, a struggling songwriter who takes the advice to write what you know to its logical conclusion, singing ditties in his head about everyone he passes on the street. His lyrics are uninspired, and his musicianship is lacking, but at a low point, he has a chance encounter with Soronprfbs as the band’s keyboardist tries to drown himself in the sea. Jon is recruited for the group’s gig that night. The performance ends in disaster, but with the keyboardist sent to a mental hospital, Frank (Fassbender) invites Jon to join the recording sessions for the band’s album.

The film’s second act takes place entirely at a cabin in the woods where the Soronprfbs will try to capture their particular brand of lightning in a bottle. In addition to Frank and Jon, the band consists of first keyboardist Clara (Maggie Gyllenhaal), angry Francophone guitarist Baraque (Francois Civil), and enigmatic drummer Nana (Carla Azar), as well as manager Don (Scoot McNairy).

I have yet to mention what likely will leave viewers with the most lasting impression – that Frank wears a giant cartoon head at all times. He is loosely based on English comedian and musician Christopher Sievey (to whom the film is dedicated), and Frank’s head bears more than a passing resemblance to a similar piece of headgear worn by Sievey’s most famous character, Frank Sidebottom.

The head is a striking image and a deft metaphor, but it does not define Frank. Frank radiates the energy and brightness of the sun, and everyone else orbits around him like planets caught in the gravitational pull of his positivity and openness. Early on, Jon has many questions about the mask and the man behind it. Don tells him just to go with it and that Frank is the sanest man he knows. This may not be strictly true, and more on this is revealed as the film goes on, but it is undeniable that Frank’s luminance casts beautiful light on everything in his presence.

But where there is light, there is dark and there are shadows. Jon is that darkness and the shadows his growing frustration. Once again, Don offers sage advice – there can be only one Frank – but Jon cannot hear him, his ears filled with mediocre songs and his eyes blinded by delusions of his own brilliance. Everyone wants to be a bright and shining star, and more than that, Jon thinks he deserves to be.

He updates his Twitter, his Tumblr, and his YouTube account with stories of the band’s – and thereby, his own – successes. He uses Soronprfbs to feed his outsize ego, to convince himself that belonging to something great makes him great as well. He never stops to question his own irrelevance to the group. After all, how important is the second keyboardist, particularly when the previous man at the post was replaced by a kid off the street?

In his infinite goodness and optimism, Frank cannot see the threat Jon poses, but Clara can. Gyllenhaal is great against type as a woman who has been wounded and relies on the strength she derives from Frank to carry on. She is skeptical of Jon and antagonistic toward him. She knows how the elements combine and can see that Jon is poisoning the mixture.

Gleeson, whom most will recognize as Bill Weasley from the last two Harry Potter movies, captures the combination of naivety and arrogance that drives so many who want to be artists to try every way they can to express themselves. That Jon has nothing valuable to express will not stop him, but what does is that he lacks the creative instinct to know where to start. It is a cruel irony, and Gleeson is expert at portraying Jon’s frustration with his circumstances.

Frank, on the other hand, is the kind of musician who composes masterpieces seemingly at will. When he sings an impromptu song about a tuft of thread sticking up on the back of a chair, mirroring Jon’s own attempts to sing about the world around him, Frank elevates the improvisation to the level of art. And like Salieri watching Mozart, Jon is filled with awe by what he can see and seething with jealousy over what he cannot create.

As most any actor will tell you, the most important tool a performer has is his face. Here, Fassbender replaces that tool with a big, expressionless head, but his performance shines through no less. If Frank is the shining star around which the film revolves, then Fassbender is the engine that keeps Frank spinning. With masterful control over both his voice and physicality, he brings nuance and subtlety to a character who could easily exist as a sight gag.

For ease of conversation, Frank offers to say his facial expressions aloud, and when he says, “Inviting smile,” you see it because Fassbender’s relaxed posture and soft tone already have made you feel it. It is thanks to Fassbender that as the film goes on, we no longer see the head. We see only the fully realized character behind it. Jon cannot get to this point because when he looks at the head, all he wants to see is himself. But Don is right – there can be only one Frank.

See it? Yes.