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A review by Jeffrey Overstreet, originally published at Seattle Pacific University’s Response.

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Director – Danny Boyle; writers – Danny Boyle and Simon Beaufoy; based on the book “Between a Rock and a Hard Place” by Aron Ralston; directors of photography – Anthony Dod Mantle and Enrique Chediak; editor – Jon Harris; music – A. R. Rahman; production design and costumes – Suttirat Larlarb; producers – Christian Colson, Danny Boyle and John Smithson. Starring – James Franco (Aron Ralston), Amber Tamblyn (Megan), Kate Mara (Kristi), Clémence Poésy (Rana), Kate Burton (Aron’s Mom), Treat Williams (Aron’s Dad) and Lizzy Caplan (Sonja). Fox Searchlight Pictures. 1 hour 35 minutes.

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Imagine falling into a crack in the earth, and getting trapped there for several days, your arm pinned by an immovable boulder. Such a calamity would probably test your faith. Would you question the existence of God? Cry out to him? Give up on him?

Danny Boyle’s film about Aron Ralston’s ordeal is supposed to be about the long hours of the climber’s struggle for survival while stuck in Utah’s Blue John Canyon. During his desperate circumstances, we see Ralston wrestle with regret and yearn to connect with his family and friends. But does 127 Hours take us any deeper than that?

All of Aron’s tangential hallucinations and dream sequences seem designed to help us arrive at simple and predictable conclusions: That Aron shouldn’t be so reckless in his independence, and that, yes, he does need other people. His need for any kind of spiritual consolation remains curiously ignored. What does he believe? We don’t know. Who is he addressing when he moans, “Please … please ….” Who does he thank when things take a turn for the better? We’re not told.

Meanwhile, Boyle’s movie is anything but stuck. It’s what we’ve come to expect from him — a whirlwind of hyperactive cinema. Could a film about being trapped in a crevasse be any more acrobatic than this one?

That’s a shame. James Franco appears to be giving a great performance, but Boyle splices and dices his footage so relentlessly that we only experience fleeting moments of Franco’s work.

In this sense, Boyle’s film reminds me of Darren Aronofsky’s Oscar entry: Black Swan. The directors seem worried that they’ll lose our attention. They’ve made movies that are closer to an amusement park thrill rides than meditations on human nature, suffering, and the consequences of misguided priorities. The primary substance of both films is their style; their subjects get a little lost. It’s an ordeal for the audience, but it’s the wrong kind of ordeal. It becomes a test of nerves, rather than a challenge for the body and the soul.

For a great film about what goes on in the human head and heart during an ordeal like this, rent Touching the Void instead.

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This review by Jeffrey Overstreet appeared in abridged versions at Image and at Seattle Pacific University’s Response.

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Director – Tom Hooper; writer – David Seidler; director of photography – Danny Cohen; editor – Tariq Anwar; music – Alexandre Desplat; production design – Eve Stewart; costumes – Jenny Beavan; producers – Iain Canning, Emile Sherman and Gareth Unwin. Starring – Colin Firth (King George VI), Geoffrey Rush (Lionel Logue), Helena Bonham Carter (Queen Elizabeth), Guy Pearce (King Edward VIII), Jennifer Ehle (Myrtle Logue), Eve Best (Wallis Simpson), Freya Wilson (Princess Elizabeth), Ramona Marquez (Princess Margaret), Claire Bloom (Queen Mary), Derek Jacobi (Archbishop Cosmo Lang), Michael Gambon (King George V), Timothy Spall (Winston Churchill) and Anthony Andrews (Stanley Baldwin). The Weinstein Company. 1 hour 58 minutes.

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Tom Hooper’s movie The King’s Speech is made of close-ups.

And that makes sense. It’s about a speech impediment, one that almost prevented the Duke of York from fulfilling his duties when he became King George IV.

Colin Firth, playing the reluctant ruler known to his family as “Bertie”, is a joy to watch. Fighting his “bloody stammer,” his despondent, pulpy face balloons, deflates, clenches, and explodes like he’s trying to start the engine of a junkyard car. Meanwhile, his therapist—Lionel Logue, played with magnificent expressiveness and wit by Geoffrey Rush—patiently questions, teases, and teaches him.

Much will be written about the film’s period-piece elegance, its physical comedy, the endearing supporting turn by Helena Bonham Carter, and its exquisite script.

And it will be remembered as inspiring, primarily because King George IV’s seemingly unshakeable stammer becomes symbolic for each moviegoer of whatever in his or her life has become an obstacle, an insurmountable challenge. The movie kindles within us the desire to see the impossible made possible. “Bertie” will, for the sake of his wife and his country, wrestle his fears and find his voice.

But for me, its shining virtue is its depiction of a heroic teacher who guides a stubborn student with patience, force, cleverness, love, and grace. As the spluttering Bertie becomes a volcano of frustration during his speech exercises, his therapist is a picture of perseverance. With good humor, infinite patience, and inspiring compassion, Logue reminds us that a great teacher looks, listens to, and loves his student. The King’s Speech is a tribute to the work of dedicated teachers everywhere.

Now, did the movie deserve all of those Oscars? Will it sustain a reputation as the finest cinematic work of 2010? I think that’s unlikely. Even though Tom Hooper took home a Best Director award, it’s hard to see any distinct directorial vision in his work. And the film lacks the sort of indelible imagery that makes classic movies linger in our memories.

But if you win hearts, you win enthusiasm. And if you win enthusiasm at just the right time, you win Academy votes. The King’s Speech won eight golden statuettes on Oscar night. And while many discerning critics may object, it’s hard to get upset over America’s love for a movie about the fine art of teaching.

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My first impressions of Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives, winner of the 2010 Palme d’Or at the Cannes Film Festival, are published at Image, on the blog called Good Letters.

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The new film from Werner Herzog is a documentary in 3D, taking us into the world’s oldest art gallery. My review is at Good Letters, the blog for Image.

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This week, I published a project that I’ve been tinkering with for many months. (more…)

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Where have you discovered The Auralia Thread lately?

How about Live at the Hollywood Bowl?

My friend Chuck writes to say,

I had the privilege of playing with the LA Phil at the Hollywood Bowl tonight and I had The Ale Boy’s Feast with me. Here are some pictures from on stage. Sorry for my phone’s photo quality… I think you’ll still get the idea.

Wow. It’s the next best thing to being there!

That’s only one of this two big surprises. Here’s the other one… (more…)

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A review by Jeffrey Overstreet, pieces of which were originally published in Image and Response.

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Writers and directors – Joel Coen and Ethan Coen; based on the novel by Charles Portis; director of photography – Roger Deakins; editor – Roderick Jaynes; music – Carter Burwell; production design – Jess Gonchor; costumes – Mary Zophres; producers – Joel Coen, Ethan Coen and Scott Rudin. Starring – Jeff Bridges (Rooster Cogburn), Matt Damon (LaBoeuf), Josh Brolin (Tom Chaney), Barry Pepper (Lucky Ned Pepper), Hailee Steinfeld (Mattie Ross), Bruce Green (Harold Parmalee), Roy Lee Jones (Yarnell) and Elizabeth Marvel (adult Mattie). Paramount Pictures. 1 hour 50 minutes.

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The Coen Brothers’ first Western gives us three important stories to consider.

The first is the story of what happens when a young justice seeker, Mattie Ross, hires the ruthless manhunter Rooster Cogburn to track down the vigilante who shot and killed her father. It’s a compelling story. Can 14-year-old Mattie make a journey into the violent, lawless wilderness and achieve justice without losing her soul, her innocence, or her life? Is she wise to take up with such a hard-hearted, hard-drinking man as Cogburn, or that temperamental Texas Ranger named LaBouef?

The second is a tale of two Rooster Cogburns — the one that gave John Wayne his only Oscar-winning performance, and the one that gave Jeff Bridges another Best Actor nomination after he took home a 2009 Oscar for Crazy Heart. In the 1969 True Grit, Cogburn was rather likeable, an iconic Western hero, even if he was a rough-talking drunkard. But in the Coens’ version, the alcoholism can’t be taken lightly, nor can his recklessness. He’s downright dangerous, and it isn’t until the film’s closing scenes that we see evidence of anything like a moral compass.

The third is the story of the American Western. Where Clint Eastwood (Unforgiven) and others have demythologized the West on the big screen, showing gunslingers in wide-brimmed hats to be making bad situations worse no matter how well-intentioned their violence, True Grit delivers a Western with heroics worth applauding. It does so without denying that justice can be bloody and costly. But best of all, it makes gestures of friendship, compassion, and grace burn brighter than any sharpshooting.

The film’s radiant scenery, handsome cinematography, and hymn-fueled soundtrack make this a vivid, hilarious, and haunting tale. We’re stuck with Mattie between the three poles of the law, lawlessness, and mercy, but the starry skies overhead suggest that there is someone watching over Mattie, who will carry her home in his everlasting arms when the strength of her own arms isn’t enough.

Is the new True Grit better than the original film? In every way.

The Coen Brothers are known for feeding great actors the best dialogue they’ll ever chew. And their faithful adaptation of Charles Portis’s novel serves up plenty.

As if he’s never even seen John Wayne in action, Jeff Bridges creates a spectacular Rooster Cogburn. Looking and sounding like a disgruntled walrus, this aging gunslinger is so inebriated and temperamental that you’re not sure if he’ll end up shooting his target, his companions, himself, or all of the above. When his burning chimney of a throat isn’t making his lines unintelligible, he’s as quotable as Bridges’ previous Coen Brothers character—The Dude.

In a supporting role as LaBoeuf, a Texas Ranger, Matt Damon is more playful than usual, showing that he’s a natural for bringing the Coens’ singular screenwriting to life.

And how about newcomer Hailie Steinfeld? Her debut performance as young Mattie Ross equals the work of her seasoned colleagues. Mattie’s a girl who will stop at nothing to outwit shrewd businessmen and bring justice to killers, but she’s also capable of giving grace to human wreckage. She might as well be the great grandmother of Fargo’s Marge Gunderson.

Mattie’s story tells us that justice is costly, and vengeance costlier still. But the pursuit of killers is not True Grit’s primary story. The central thread is a story filled with moments of nobility and heroism quite unique in the Coen Brothers’ canon. It’s about two broken people who form an unlikely bond. Having lost her father, Mattie finds in Cogburn a friend, a mentor, and a protector in a lawless wilderness. And Cogburn finds something he needed too—someone to love so much that he’ll stand up and become her champion, even if it means risking his rapidly collapsing life.

Shot through with sweat, shootouts, cigarettes, Scripture, and delicious dialogue, True Grit is a film I’ll savor for decades to come. Somehow, the Coens have produced a film that will probably be regarded as a classic of the genre, while still reveling in their love of distinct dialects, cartoonish personalities, oddball supporting characters, and absurd tangents. It’s too bad that this is the version that went home without any Oscars.

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A review by Jeffrey Overstreet, originally published in an abridged version at Good Letters, the blog for Image.

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Director – Lee Unkrich; writer – Michael Arndt; based on a story by John Lasseter, Andrew Stanton and Lee Unkrich; directors of photography – Jeremy Lasky and Kim White; editor – Ken Schretzmann; music – Randy Newman; production designer – Bob Pauley; producer – Darla K. Anderson. Voices – Tom Hanks (Woody), Tim Allen (Buzz Lightyear), Joan Cusack (Jessie), Ned Beatty (Lots-o’-Huggin’ Bear), Don Rickles (Mr. Potato Head), Michael Keaton (Ken), Wallace Shawn (Rex), John Ratzenberger (Hamm), Estelle Harris (Mrs. Potato Head), John Morris (Andy), Jodi Benson (Barbie) and Emily Hahn (Bonnie). Walt Disney Pictures and Pixar Animation Studios. 1 hour 38 minutes. Rated G.

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Fifteen years ago, I approached Toy Story with skepticism. A full-length feature animated on computers? I feared it would look fake and robotic, a poor substitute for the hand-drawn brilliance of Disney classics.

But Toy Story won me over in its first five minutes. It had colorful characters, an adventurous spirit, and a big, warm, thrumming heart. It entertained kids and their parents equally, without a trace of the cynicism that sours most “cartoons for grownups.” I actually cared about that pull-string gunslinger, his spaceman friend, and their circus of strangely familiar supporting characters.

Pixar had raised the standard for G-rated entertainment…and then they raised it again. Toy Story 2 still stands as one of the only sequels in movie history to surpass the strengths of its predecessor.

Toy Story 3 completes what is arguably the finest American trilogy ever made. Can you think of another one that doesn’t have a weak link? It’s a surprisingly harrowing conclusion. After the first act, which takes Woody, Buzz, and the gang far from home and traps them in a frightening daycare, the movie becomes a celebration of prison-break conventions. Then, in its apocalyptic finale, it achieves an intensity that reminds me of another three-quel’s fiery finale—The Return of the King.

In the first act of Toy Story 3, leads Woody, Buzz, Jessie, and the rest of the beloved Toy Story characters are carried far from the room of their off-to-college owner Andy, and they land in a daycare. At first, it seems ideal. They’ll never run out of children to play with them.

But as the toys struggle to understand if they should remain loyal to Andy and return to his house, or to fulfill their purpose as toys in the hands of hyperactive toddlers, the story raises tough questions. This story about abandoned toys might cause some of us to consider how we respond to our own betrayals and heartbreaks. It raises questions about how we discern our true purpose in life. And when Buzz, Jessie, and the gang are sentenced to a period of torment and abuse for the benefit of more powerful toys, we might wonder what this suggests about our own society’s luxuries and what they might be costing others.

For all of its memorable thrills (including an Indiana Jones-style runaway train caper), its inspired humor (Mr. Potato Head momentarily becomes the Picasso-like Mr. Tortilla Head), and its hilarious tangents (Ken’s fashion show may be the year’s most inspired montage), director Lee Unkrich’s film has one remarkable distinction: it is, shot for shot, scene for scene, the year’s most beautiful movie, alive with colors and shadows and textures that move critics to use words like painterly and sumptuous.

2010 gave us three films that I highly recommend for all ages—The Secret of Kells, Babies, and Toy Story 3. That’s more than usual. American television and cinema feeds American children a steady diet of junk food. But art and entertainment are formative forces, and children need great stories. Pixar’s films continue to reward adults and children alike, giving them something they can enjoy together again and again. And their Toy Story trilogy sets a gold standard for all-ages moviemaking.

We need a whole generation of filmmakers to learn from Pixar’s example.

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Despite my best efforts to remain unnoticed, it seems another reader has somehow found his way to a copy of Auralia’s Colors.

My thanks to my friend Mary McCleary, who alerted me to a new review… (more…)

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Ever suffer from sequelitis? How about the reboot rash?

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