Michelle Williams and Sarah Silverman co-star in Sarah Polley's romantic drama.
Take this Waltz– In 2007, Canadian actress/writer/director Sarah Polley made Away From Her, a beautiful and heartbreaking study of Alzheimer’s impact on a marriage. Her sophomore effort, Take this Waltz, couldn’t be more narratively different and is just as poignant. Michelle Williams stars as a happily married woman who finds herself falling in love with her intriguing neighbor (Luke Kirby), unbeknownst to her chef husband (Seth Rogen, terrific in a dramatic turn). She soon recognizes a strong, internal shift taking place, leaving her with a choice between a comfortable life and an exciting, risky, sexual alternative. But Polley’s film doesn’t dwell on a vague and general question of whether to cheat or not—it focuses on Williams’ hesitation, seduction, and awakening, and Polley could not have done it more gracefully and painfully. Her script is surprising, funny, and extremely moving; none of the characters fall into archetypes (especially not Kirby’s, who plays much more than ‘the other man’ and comes off as a true human being capable of falling in love and being hurt). The dialogue is zippy and sharp, and scenes brim with insight and beauty (probably the best title-drop in recent memory, Leonard Cohen’s song “Take this Waltz” plays during a terrific, one-take sequence). Williams is fantastic, giving a performance that is more exciting and vivacious than her recent turn as Marilyn Monroe. Rogen and Kirby are also quite good in their respective male roles in Williams’ life, but it’s Sarah Silverman who really impresses in a few scenes as Rogen’s sister, delivering some of the funniest and honest lines in the film while breathing life into an authentic, damaged character. The real star of the film, though, is Polley; Away From Her was a wonderful debut, but Take This Waltz cements her as an intelligent, engaging, and honest writer-director whose work I’m now going to be fervently anticipating. A
Michelle Williams plays the flirty but enigmatic bombshell in Simon Curtis' drama.
My Week With Marilyn–Backstage dramas are always juicy, we can’t deny it. Whether it’s 8 1/2, Opening Night, or even the recent Me & Orson Welles, it’s fantastically entertaining and revealing to see what goes on behind the scenes of monumental theater and films. Simon Curtis’ My Week With Marilyn is the newest addition to this subgenre, and is an elegant piece of Hollywood history. Michelle Williams stars as the titular Marilyn Monroe, arguably the most famous woman in motion pictures in the ’50s and ’60s. In 1956, she joined Sir Lawrence Olivier in co-producing The Prince and the Showgirl and met the third-assistant to the director, Colin Clark (Eddie Redmayne). For one week, the two shared a passionate friendship and love affair that changed both of their lives. The film is very entertaining and exposing–we begin to see the fractures of Monroe’s emotional stability, as she has trouble differentiating her onscreen persona from herself. Superficially she’s a stereotype but, much deeper, she’s as complex as any human being and the film does a solid job of illustrating that through an outstanding performance from Michelle Williams. Williams infuses the real-life star with grit, humor, amiability, and a flirtiness that’s irresistible to everyone, including Olivier (played with gusto and range by Kenneth Branagh). What the film does tremendously well is explore this idea of a ‘performance’ and how Monroe’s fans, the press, and just about every public figure expected a certain iconic exuberance from her when all she wanted to was to be treated (and allowed to act) like a real person. The film, however, sometimes meanders in more banal subplots that take away from the darker aspects of Monroe’s life that are more fascinating to depict and watch (for instance, a small love story between Redmayne and Emma Watson is superfluous and standard). Curtis’ film fluctuates between being a study in character and acting and being a pleasant but edgeless biopic. But when it has enough of an impressive story to tell, and along with William’s performance, My Week With Marilyn ends up being perfectly fine. B
Here’s the trailer:
Matt Damon and Scarlett Johansson have a zoo to run in Cameron Crowe's return to feature directing.
We Bought a Zoo–Cameron Crowe is no stranger to dramedies; in fact, perhaps other than James L. Brooks, he’s one of the first directors who perfected the genre. With his terrific early films Say Anything,Singles, and especially Jerry Maguire, he knows the ins and outs of what makes a story funny, tragic, and ultimately heartwarming. While his latest film We Bought a Zoo is nowhere near as romantic or magnetic as his past films, it’s a step in the right direction for the absent filmmaker. The film, based on a true story, follows Benjamin Mee (Matt Damon) as a widower who quits his job as a columnist and moves his family to a nice, idyllic country home that happens to also be adjacent to its functioning zoo. Sounds a little too easy, doesn’t it? Besides the fact that it’s based on real life events, the film knows it is sentimental and practical, and its willingness to admit and be proud of that makes Crowe’s film not only bearable but very enjoyable. The screenplay leaves room for sappy emotion but also harbors some intense, personal conflicts that hit pretty true with themes surrounding family and grief; some scenes feature dialogue that trickles with authenticity and spontaneity. Matt Damon gives a reliable yet strong performance as a man who is conscious that he’s making insane, unbelievable choices yet places his faith in each and every decision he makes; also, this is the first time I’ve actually been impressed by a performance by Scarlett Johannson. I’m not usually a fan of hers (even though she is in some fantastic movies), but she is solid in a well-written role. Supporting cast members like Thomas Haden Church and Elle Fanning are equally suitable, while Crowe’s direction is well-paced and compelling. I’d be lying to you if I said this film cuts deep with raw emotion–it’s emotional alright (like I mentioned above), but doesn’t always ring true with its gooey ending and aw-moments. Yet the cast, script, and excellent soundtrack (featuring Sigur Ros and Jonsi) elevate it out of schmaltzy territory into something relatively affecting. It’s sappiness with substance. B+
Disclaimer: This is NOT based on the amazing computer game with the same premise...that I might've played a bit too much on my Windows '95 when I was, like, 6. Still a fan.
Meek’s Cutoff–I first saw this film back in October as part of the New York Film Festival, and even six months later it has left me in a trance. I can’t shake it off or pin down its classified meaning–if there is any, that is. Reichardt’s third film reminds audiences that movies don’t always have a singular message, but rather they can vocalize a collage of meanings either directly or ambiguously. This one takes the latter, beautifully and hauntingly telling an allegorical tale of uncertainty, trust, and what it takes to build and destruct the American Dream (just one of the many interpretations Reichardt’s western offers up). Michelle Williams leads the cast as a young wife who, along with other settlers on the Oregon Trail in 1845, follow the chauvinist and confident Meek (a brilliant Bruce Greenwood) along the high desert to clean water and livable land. On the way, they embark upon a Native American who, as they perceive him, can lead them to what they’re looking for or the exact opposite–hellish drought and abandonment. The cinematography strikingly works on multiple levels, as it portrays the gorgeous hills, mountains, and desert of Oregon country but maintains it in a tight 1.33:1 aspect ratio to convey the mental claustrophobia even in the most open of places. The costumes and set pieces are exquisitely detailed and the supporting performances are strong (Zoe Kazan, Paul Dano, and Shirley Henderson in particular each reveal troubling truths of their characters, whether they are representative of American settlement in good or bad light). But the most impressive thing about Meek’s Cutoff is Reichardt’s ability to take advantage of both the landscape and the period genre. Like Terrence Malick, she uses nature not only as a reflective force of humanity but as a character that seeps into the others’ mindsets and controls, tugs, and punishes them, while putting on a period piece whose tale of terrifying uncertainty and gradually growing yet subdued chaos is applicable to any time. Meek’s Cutoff is exemplary of American independent filmmaking, and one that stands alone as a harrowing achievement. A
Cinemaniac 