Review: We Need To Talk About Kevin (2011, Dir. Lynne Ramsay)

Tilda Swinton and John C. Reilly in Ramsay's harrowing horror story.

We Need To Talk About Kevin–Certain expectations seem to come with stories that center taboo or controversial subjects like high-school massacres. Will it be a manipulative and probing sob-fest? Or will it be an independent study in high school life, like Gus Van Sant’s Elephant? I was prepared for one or the other when I first heard of this film, but Lynne Ramsay has constructed a bold, terrifying psychological horror film that is both original and full of terrific genre elements. Tilda Swinton is Eva, a mother who is coping with the aftermath of a brutal school shooting executed by her complexly satanic son, Kevin (Ezra Miller). She reflects on what her life was like before when she was married to kind and easy-going Franklin (John C. Reilly) and had another child, a daughter, while the four of them moved from their life in New York City to Connecticut while they slowly became a dysfunctional family. This is a film about the rarely explored link between guilt and memory, and what it means to remember what’s heart-warming and what’s also corrosive. Ramsay’s directorial style is anything but conventional, with a visual palette reminiscent of early Scorsese and an editing style as abstract and anti-linear as Terrence Malick (not to mention an outstandingly ironic taste in music). But comparisons aside, Ramsay is a bold and original filmmaker whose work stands by and for itself as taut, terrific independent cinema. She guides us through Eva’s troubled psyche and Kevin’s demonic existence with striking imagery and emotional resonance. The acting is consistently stellar–John C. Reilly is perfectly cast as the caring yet slightly submissive father who gives the film a sense of heart, while Ezra Miller is on the complete opposite side of the spectrum as he flawlessly embodies a heinous individual with no sense of purpose other than pure chaos. Yet the performance of the film (and quite possibly the year) belongs to Tilda Swinton, who vitalizes Eva with guilt, pain, love, hope, and, ultimately, understanding. Her ability to convey the most complex of emotions with a single look (evident in nearly every scene) is just one of the many reasons why she’s one of the best actresses in film today. We Need To Talk About Kevin is brutal, but it’s a audaciously made film that’s about as singular and resonant as any film I’ve seen this year. A

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Review: The Beaver (2011, Dir. Jodie Foster)

Puppet-therapy is the least expecting tool to bring about emotional resonance, but somehow Foster and Gibson nail it.

The Beaver–Foster’s film opens with a shot of flowing pool water, before cutting to Walter Black aimlessly floating with his eyes closed and mind at incredible unease. Off the bat, you know Jodie Foster’s third directorial feature is going to focus incredibly tightly on Walter’s depression and distance from his family and work life. But what begins as a character study originally blossoms into an edgy, challenging fable on mental illness, coping with such, solitude and ultimately recuperation. Mel Gibson plays Walter, a hopelessly depressed and suicidal father and husband who leaves his family and, hinging on ending his life, finds an alternative form of dealing with his problems—ventriloquism. Walter finds a beaver puppet in a dumpster, and begins to use the furry toy to distance his detrimental emotions from himself. Yet, Mrs. Doubtfire this is not. He returns to his family with mixed reactions, but this isn’t a healing dramedy. Instead, it’s an unpredictable and fairly complex story that follows a trajectory of light humor and dark depths that are impressively contained in a non-judgmental yet somewhat quirky tone. Walter’s story of using a façade to both harbor and shed light on his problems is skillfully paired with his son, Porter, and his attempts to deal with helping out a troubled valedictorian (a wonderful turn by recent Oscar nominee Jennifer Lawrence) and inevitable traits with the father he scorns. The script and Foster’s direction work hand-in-hand in making these two plots compatible but not too obvious—there are times when the comparisons feel a bit forced, but only to deepen the characters, move the plot along, or emphasize the choice of not being alone. Foster keeps the pace consistent and has shot a gorgeous film whose aesthetics compliment the underlying themes quite well—close-up shots, framing, and wide angles are all put to great use in conveying distance and alarming absurdity. In addition, Foster delivers a strong performance herself as a wife and mother trying the best she can to understand and support the problems her family is facing. Mel Gibson is predictably flat-out incredible—it’s the best performance of the year so far, and he makes it look so easy. Capturing Walter’s desperation and optimism in addition to his heavily masked vulnerability and love, Gibson hits every authentic note without an ounce of overt sentimentality. Anton Yelchin also excels as Porter, creating a believable chemistry with Lawrence, Foster, and ultimately Gibson. If there’s any complaint, it would be about the music—I can’t take it when the score is more present than it needs to be and becomes manipulative, and unfortunately that is the case in some scenes here (especially the ending). It could have done with more subtly and silence to create a more empowering effect. The Beaver’s about coping with everyday problems and realizing that sometimes there’s no easy way out—pessimistic it may be, but real it most surely is. Foster’s strong fable on the complexity of coping is anchored by an immensely strong performance by Gibson, making The Beaver a particular yet endlessly insightful film to check out. A-

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Review: Meek’s Cutoff (2011, Dir. Kelly Reichardt)

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

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Review: Hanna (2011, Dir. Joe Wright)

Saorise Ronan hunts for the kill in Joe Wrights original thriller.

Hanna–A 13-year old girl is trained to be an assassin by her father in the icy woods of Finland and is ruthlessly hunted down by an even colder intelligence agent. Yes, the same man (Joe Wright) who helmed this colorful, sporadic, and unique action-thriller directed Atonement and Pride & Prejudice–that alone should pronounce Wright’s immense versatility and vision. He constructs the film at such a rhythmic pace, jumping from meticulously choreographed fight and chase sequences to smaller, quieter, and more intimate moments that exude both the innocent charm and dark depths of human souls. That may seem too profound to be true, but Wright pulls it off with a terrifically layered script that stretches the revenge-thriller genre and reshapes it as an allegorical and hyper-violent fairy tale through haunting imagery and an electric score by The Chemical Brothers. All three lead performances are also excellent, with Ronan and Bana crafting an authentic familial relationship that wraps heart around instinct, survival, and courage. Yet Blanchett goes beyond impressionable–she’s downright terrifying. If Tilda Swinton’s character from Michael Clayton had a bit more of a violent inclination and southern twang, she’d be close to Marissa Weigler. Blanchett transforms mere intimidation into a horrific yet stoic and subtle state, giving life to one of cinema’s best recent villains. Hanna thrills and entertains on its unusually hypnotic pace, but towards the end it leans a bit imbalanced–it exposes itself, indulging a bit too much in its fairy-tale imagery and becomes a tad bit conventional. Yet Joe Wright’s fourth feature is original, dark, and entrancing despite its minor flaws–Hanna is already one of the best of the year. A-

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