by Philip Price There were a lot of questions surrounding director Thomas Vinterberg's interpretation of Thomas Hardy's “Far From the Madding Crowd” from me personally. Having never touched the source material I didn't have a clue what surface the story skimmed and given this was clearly a period piece intended for a specific audience with a specific purpose I wondered why it might be making its debut so early in the year. Would Fox Searchlight not even care to grab a costume design nomination or did they know this would likely get lost in the shuffle of awards season? In all respects, the right choices seem to have been made as questions of quality and profundity surround every turn in the film. Clearly, this is melodrama, but is it simply melodrama with pedigree because of its Victorian era-setting? It is easy to defend these older works, these definitive works as they made way for the conventions we see run rampart today, but the key for modern film adaptations, and maybe this is unfair, is that they find something new and fresh to bring to the table, a reason to tell this story again. Of course, many will testify that simply keeping these stories alive is reason enough to tell them again and while I'm almost positive Vinterberg and screenwriter David Nicholls have streamlined much of Hardy's novel in order to make it a two-hour love story modern audiences may understand without the hindrance of cultural differences it still feels very unmoving despite largely dealing with life-changing events that are clearly meant to appeal to our emotions. There are the usual good things to be said about the cast, Craig Armstrong's beautiful score and the gorgeous, natural cinematography of Charlotte Bruus Christensen, but when your last film was “The Hunt,” a movie that elicited a more visceral reaction than any other in recent memory, one would think your follow-up might evoke more than just a groan of complacency despite touching on some always relevant and interesting themes. It is 1870 in the countryside of Dorset, England. Bathsheba Everdene (Carey Mulligan) has come to work the summer with her aunt, Mrs Hurst (Tilly Vosburgh), and in the process meets Gabriel Oak (Matthias Schoenaerts). Gabriel is a sheep farmer who, with the savings of a frugal life and a loan, has leased and stocked a sheep farm. He falls quickly for Bathsheba and requests her hand in marriage soon after, but she refuses as she values her independence too much. Shortly after her denial, Gabriel has the terrible luck of a young and untrained sheep dog driving his flock over a cliff, essentially ruining him. Gabriel sells all he has to settle his debts, but has nothing left in the end. When Gabriel again meets Bathsheba their fortunes have changed considerably. Bathsheba, having recently inherited her uncle's estate is now wealthy, and hires Gabriel as her new Shepherd on said estate. In her new position of wealth Bathsheba has also captured the attention of her neighbor, a prosperous and mature bachelor named William Boldwood (Michael Sheen). The most engaging parts of the film come in how it plays with the unspoken middle ground between Bathsheba and Gabriel when discussing what she should do after Mr. Boldwood offers her a marriage proposal as the two of them try to navigate a professional relationship without allowing their history to seep in. In another turn of chance, luck, circumstance or however you choose to look at it Bathsheba runs into the handsome and reckless Sergeant Frank Troy (Tom Sturridge) one night. Adding another layer to her increasingly complicated emotions and the passion that drives them Bathsheba makes unconsidered decisions. The attraction to these three very different suitors sets in motion a chain of events that are defined not by the real world, but more the mythical, existential pull of our emotions. What truly inspires happiness rather than what looks best on paper. Given the strong emotional pull that dictates the majority of the actions in the film it seems even stranger that the audiences own emotions are left uninspired. This is not to say there aren't specific moments of transcendence, but they are simply too few and far between for it to register as something substantial by the time the credits begin to roll. Rather, we simply take the events that “Far From the Madding Crowd” presents and accept them for what they are, investing only long enough to make sure our pick for which one we think Bathsheba should end up with does indeed prevail. As to the striking moments, the tragedy of Mr. Oak in the beginning is especially notable and Vinterberg captures it with unrelenting brutality both in the actions of Oak's herd and in his reaction. Furthermore, the aforementioned dialogue between Bathsheba and Gabriel in the intermissions of Bathsheba's other romantic exploits hold the most weight as it is these two we root for. The question that consistently rises from these interactions is why does Bathsheba continue to deny herself what she truly wants, but the answer may be more complicated in that despite composing her independent, beautiful and headstrong facade daily Bathsheba doesn't seem to actually know what she wants. While her pride is worthy of her position, especially in this point in time, that pride negates her from allowing her inherent emotions to take over. I understand Bathsheba's state of mind, truly, as she is driven by proving her naysayers wrong. More to this point is that marriage was not considered a necessarily meaningful institution at the time, but was more for advantage and definition of class, a classification that held much societal meaning. Given Bathsheba relied on no one nor needed anyone to support her she was free of such obligation thus rendering Boldwood's offer moot despite him being the most eligible bachelor in the district. Thus what we have left are the competing affections of the subtle Gabriel and the lustful intrigue that is presented by Sgt. Troy. We are initially inclined to feel sorry for Troy, but his forward attitude and cocky confidence make him the least favorite right off the bat. Naturally, there are bad decisions to be made and regrets to be had, but these necessary complications for both dramatic and story purposes give us a glimpse of the main idea of the film. While Troy is painted in shades of gray, he is really just the victim of both good and bad fortune. This brings us to the question of if there really are good and bad people or is each individual simply a product of their consequences? This has a nature versus nurture aspect to it, but more than that it explores how these qualities, whether innate or a product of personal experiences, change over time. This would somewhat indicate a leniency towards the nurture side of our behavior, but I digress. It is fascinating though because it is the reactions to circumstances that bring our characters around to these different beats in their lives, these decisions that are life-changing even if they don't realize the impact in the moment. What might Bathsheba and Gabriel's lives been like had she accepted his offer of marriage the first time? Would they still be the same people, as deeply in love with one another as they are at the end of the film, had they not been through the trials the film presents or would Gabriel have grown to actually resent Bathsheba as she predicts? For exploring interesting ground and featuring solid performances from the principal cast that stimulates such contemplation “Far From the Madding Crowd” is good for creating water-cooler conversation while helping us all to sound expertly pretentious at the same time. Despite Mulligan and Schoenaerts glistening beautifully against the barrage of magic hour shots Vinterberg captures though, it is not the exploration of relationships and love that keeps us on the hook here, but more its flair for the sensationally dramatic that can't help but feel a little cheap despite the productions obvious pedigree.
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by Philip Price “Aloha” is a strange bird. From the opening credits laid out over vintage footage from Hawaiian celebrations to the music of Hanohano Hanalei there is a sense of slapdash to it. Given this is a Cameron Crowe film there is a sense of expectation to it, but more than anything he's done over the past 10 years “Aloha” immediately feels more free-wheeling. From the outset we get the sense not of Crowe's writing style, but more the dedication of the actors to the defining characteristics and personalities of their characters. The film’s lead is entrusted to one of our few bankable movie stars in Bradley Cooper whose Brian Gilcrest was nearly killed in a bombing while serving in Afghanistan and now has trouble with both legs. Gilcrest's jaded and cynical outlook will no doubt serve as the catalyst to be shifted over the course of the film. We are quickly introduced to a roster of familiar faces that are equally defined lending to the thought that this could really be something special. There is Emma Stone's Allison Ng who exudes a hyper-strictness to military conduct while at the same time being blunt, to the point and somewhat over-eager regarding her latest assignment that includes Gilcrest. There is the old flame Gilcrest has tried to forget about since losing her to himself as personified by Rachel McAdams. McAdams ends up coming away with the most emotionally resonant performance of the bunch as it is clear she is anxious to not necessarily reconnect with her former lover, but more get some things off her chest that have been weighing on and need to be removed for her to move on. This weight has certainly interfered in her marriage to Woody (John Krasinski) who fully embodies the "strong and silent type". Woody is resistant to change and he knows it, but the time has come to face it when Gilcrest returns to what is Woody's cozy little Mayberry military base in Hawaii. Then you have Bill Murray playing some billionaire technology developer who's looking to buy all he can. Murray is the not-so-wise old man that pretends to have the perspective, but really just has the deep pockets. With all of this going on and all these likable people breathing life into Crowe's quirky dialogue one has to wonder how the film can't at least be appealing or even charming. The fact of the matter is that it actually kind of is despite ever being able to lift the cloud of peculiar that hovers above it. The biggest issue hanging over the movie is that the plot is too complicated for the basic message the film is trying to convey. It's almost as if Crowe found the idea of space junk and how it's come to be and what it's doing to our skies so fascinating that he wrote a romantic comedy around it. In the broad sense “Aloha” is about a military contractor (Cooper) who returns to the site of his greatest career triumphs on a job for the wealthy Carson Welch (Murray) that will have him bargaining with the locals in order to send a satellite into space that may or may not have a last second addition strapped with weapons. There is also something to do with the blessing of a gate, but it is never made exactly clear why this detail is included or what Gilcrest's role in the whole operation is. The real story, outside of all the military mumbo jumbo and top secret verbiage that feels rather amateur and as if Crowe didn't do his homework all that well, is the one where Gilcrest re-connects with his long-ago love, Tracy (McAdams), while unexpectedly falling for Stone's hard-charging Captain yet completely quirky outside of her uniform, Allison. The issue being that the main plot conflict doesn't relate well enough to the heart of the story for there to be a correlation and thus we don't care about it. There is a grand gesture from Gilcrest in the climactic moments of the film that is meant to symbolize his feelings for Ng, but that it occurs in the vein of the main plot essentially renders it ineffective. The gesture is so foreign to any emotional throughline there is no connection that hits us in the heart the way I imagine Crowe intended it to when he picked out the The Blue Nile track to accompany it. In fact, Crowe would have been better off had he simply made a standard rom-com with his keenly observational and perceptive dialogue to elevate it rather than shoe-horning in the space plot. That said, the film is too insightful and aware of actual human emotion for it to be considered downright horrible, but in fact when it focuses on the stronger love story aspects, it shines. Early on in the developing relationship between Brian and Allison, she mentions the word "mana" which, in Hawaiian, means power and spirit. It is looked upon as a spiritual quality which is another talking point considering Crowe also attempts to infuse his script with an undercurrent concerning island myths. This would have been a nicer, more unique correlation to the emotional core than the military aspect, but it feels too tacked on and secondary to the point for its purpose to ever come through fully. With as much going on as Crowe sets up in the first half hour there is still a weirdness to the characters and the scenarios that is difficult to figure out. What might play a part in this inability to adjust to what Crowe is doing is the fact he strips out the cinematic qualities of some of the more intimate moments making them unflattering and intently anti-climactic. Complementing the loose and free-wheeling tone of the script Crowe has cinematographer Eric Gautier shoot the beautiful Hawaiian landscapes predominantly in handheld. It is the dedication of the actors and the strange combinations of chemistry they elicit from Crowe's words that ultimately make something coherent out of the mess of a script he seems to have delivered overall. There are a lot of emotions at play, a lot of unspoken emotions. This is where Crowe shows his strong suit in that he delivers on a set-up that feels natural by giving us a solid pay-off in the end that finally hits the emotional chord he's only been intermittently finding throughout the course of the film. Crowe is good at conclusions. He knows where his characters need to end up and he knows how to paint the loaded picture of that instance, but while he can write how they get there it is his execution of these journeys that can't help but feel muddled. A final shot of Murray's character, for instance, as he stands on the edge of the ocean, staring at the sky (what was almost his, what holds the answer to every question) is nothing short of existential and packed with meaning despite Murray's Welch factoring little into the actual story the film is telling. That story, in its simplest form, is about second chances. The aforementioned combinations of chemistry delve into this idea best. McAdams and Cooper are at the forefront as the first time we realize the depth of their history and the connection that once existed between them is when Brian comes over to Tracy and Woody's for dinner during his stay in Hawaii. While in the kitchen preparing dinner Tracy is crouched down looking through the fridge when Brian enters. She hasn't seen this man, sans a few minutes upon his initial arrival, for over fifteen years after carrying on a serious relationship with him for multiple years prior. How strange it must be for her to look up and see this same guy, fifteen years removed from the man she once knew so well, now standing in her house as she makes dinner. It is such a purely mundane set of circumstances, but we can see the set of spectacular feelings that are involved. Both she and Woody see nothing but the original owner of her heart and they are forced to ask themselves questions they've been avoiding, but always knew were inevitable. Cooper's Gilcrest is essentially depressed, he missed a chance at something great because he let himself and his selfishness get in the way of it and he knows it. This moment that comes, the one that Tracy has been waiting for, is the wave of significance and the foundation from which we take the most away from “Aloha.” About an hour into the film it begins to meander a bit, but Murray and Stone use their charm in another combination of charisma to heighten the appealing whimsical approach. People tend to talk about music when discussing Crowe's films and there are some nice choice cuts here, especially in the middle section of the film at a holiday party where The Gap Band, Tears for Fears and Hall & Oates are all used to bring an atmosphere the film should have carried throughout. The aforementioned Blue Nile track does nothing but really compliment the deflating nature of the narrative during its climax and a sequence where Vancouver Sleep Clinic's "Vapour" is used feels like Crowe knew that to use Bon Iver was already so banal that he opted for these guys instead. A track titled "Always Gold" by Radical Face was rather inspiring though and is worth giving a listen if you're into Crowe's typically strong soundtracks. I say a lot about Crowe's writing here while being somewhat dismissive, but I realize the measure of thought that has gone into crafting his dialogue and I even appreciate his effort to bring a fresh aspect to what might have otherwise been perceived as a typical love triangle story. The ideas he touches upon about nothing being sacred and our relationship with emotion as compared to the mentality of the real world where everything is about money and sales is striking and worth noting. That despite the logistics of real-world rules and necessities there is a greater emotional need that overrides it all and when Cooper lets out a line as simple as, "I need you to believe in me," or McAdams gasps through tear-filled eyes that, "anywhere you turn, someone’s heart breaks," we understand the moments Crowe is attempting to capture and if we look past everything else he's putting in his own way, we can still feel the earnest attempt at raw human emotion and not the schmaltzy attitude the marketing has proclaimed this to be. |
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