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dir. Sam Wood
writ. James Kevin McGuinnes (story), George S. Kaufman & Morrie Ryskind (screenplay)
feat. Groucho Marx, Chico Marx, Harpo Marx, Kitty Carlisle, Allan Jones, Walter Woolf King, Sig Ruman, Margaret Dumont
What praise hasn't been written about the Marx brothers? Somewhere, some joker has surely penned a doctoral dissertation on Harpo as a symbol of the unfettered id, likely deliberately omitting his importance as the one who gets the job done, even if that job is banging someone on the head with a hammer. I can only skirt the fray on the bros, their sharp circular word play reminiscent of the needful escapism of my high school years when a friend and I would run similar language loop-de-loops in efforts to alternately confuse, irritate and entertain each other. But no one else found those gags funny (or coherent), where the writers behind the Marx routines rouse the viewer to delightfully absurd, and lofty, heights. The contract negotiations between Groucho and Chico play illiteracy against the nonsense of legalese, the latter ensnaring the former until the men stumble into a verbose mess and simply tear their way free. In the process, the brothers' way of handling the world is demonstrated; they create the problem, then leave it behind.
But it is aggressive lunacy, best personified by hammer wielding Harpo but embraced by the whole troupe, that pushes both the humor and craftsmanship to transcendent peaks. Groucho's casual acceptance of the overcrowded stateroom, welcoming each new and increasingly ridiculous arrival, amplifies the humor, his easygoing manner highlighting the chaos by remaining above it. He is the master of ceremonies and won't be drawn into the turmoil.
And to remind the audience that these boys aren't just about comedy, the song and dance scene where Chico and Harpo take up instruments on the ship showcases the range of their talents. First, a dance number that seems to spout from a feverish Busby Berkeley, the participants whirling in a frenzy, just shy of collision, followed by Chico's nimble turn at the piano, his fingers dancing as wildly as those preceding him. Harpo steps in next, pretending to be all fists at the keys, but cleverly so, banging in rhythm, all for show, before changing gears to demonstrate his elegance on the instrument of his namesake. These musical interludes might seem like a pleasant diversion to some, a break from the breathless comic antics and verbal sparring. But without them the Marx brothers would be so much less. They add depth to the reality of the films, where not only do the fellas connive, disrupt, and deceive, but where they stop to play, to bring joy and beauty to those around them.
dir. Wes Anderson
writ. Wes Anderson & Noah Baumbach (screenplay), Roald Dahl (book)
feat. George Clooney, Meryl Streep, Jason Schwartzman, Bill Murray, Wallace Wolodarsky, Eric Chase Anderson, Michael Gambon, Willem Dafoe
Things were beginning to look bleak. It had been over a decade since any genuine emotion had been slipped into a Wes Anderson film, traded time and time again for hipster-chic ennui, until even that was depleted for The Darjeeling Limited. But here, in an animated adaptation of a not-so-popular children's story, a heart beats. Maybe it's the perfect combination, the often sticky sweet moral tales aimed at children balanced by Anderson's impulse to drain the breath out of his subjects.
Whatever the chemistry, Fantastic Mr. Fox springs forth in all its stop-motion glory, introducing living creatures full of energy and ambition facing challenges both physical and emotional. The fur flies at a pleasantly gripping pace, Mr. Fox (Clooney) leading the adventurous charge. And while this struggle for survival is peppered with humorous reminders that these are actually wild animals, conflicted in their sophisticated, anthropomorphic pursuits, it also pauses for several heartfelt moments, one that is remarkably touching, that explore that contradiction with satisfying depth.
With risks of violent death, broken relationships, and potentially irreversible alienation, the film challenges categorization as a children's tale. And though the youngsters behind me in the theater were frequently distracted, even singing little songs during long bouts of dialogue, they fell silent in the more riveting action-packed scenes, then whispered about their favorite parts. While our lists may not match, I was pleased to know that we both enjoyed the ride.
dir. Maurice Pialat
writ. Arlette Langmann & Maurice Pialat
feat. Sandrine Bonnaire, Maurice Pialat, Christophe Odent, Dominique Besnehard, Cyril Collard, Jacques Fieschi, Valerie Schlumberger, Evelyne Ker
Pialat's twist on the coming-of-age story of a teenage girl unravels like real life, without any easy answers and plenty of room for judgment from outsiders. Suzanne (Bonnaire) hops from bed to bed, casually taking new lovers at the slightest show of interest on their part. Whether she is a free spirit or a misguided young girl one can't rightly say, likely a combination of both. The film works like a play, throwing the viewer into the mix without the common introduction to ordinary life, a delightfully unsettling way to reveal the characters. When Suzanne's father (Pialat) announces his departure, claiming he can't take it any longer, we've yet to discover the hell in which he has left her, both brother and mother constantly hysterical and abusive (sadly to a degree that challenges their plausibility).
It's hard to blame Suzanne for finding solace in sex, the only joy that stirs her, the only connection she makes with others aside from her father. Armchair psychologists might casually insist that she's trying to fill that hole, failing to find a man substantive enough to live up to expectations, with which she can share the same obvious and easy connection that she does with Dad. But that would be an overly simplistic interpretation of a character more complex and difficult to pinpoint. It is this defiance of convenient analysis, paired with with compelling performances by Bonnaire and Pialat, that makes A nos amours such a lively and absorbing film.
