Gravity: The best spectacle-popcorn movie of the year boasts innovative, dizzyingly kinetic camerawork for a story of survival anchored by good performances. (If you were going to see one 3-D flick in theaters in 2013, this was it.) Basically, two long-time collaborators, director Alfonso Cuarón and Director of Photography Emmanuel Lubezki, were given the all the latest toys to play with that come from major studio backing. The result is a roller coaster of a movie a tight 91 minutes long, as astronauts Ryan Stone (Sandra Bullock) and Matt Kowalski (George Clooney) must somehow survive a disaster in space, the most hostile environment imaginable. Ryan is a reluctant, inexperienced astronaut, while Matt is a seasoned, wise-cracking veteran, making them a good pairing. Ryan can dissolve into utter panic (completely plausible in several vertiginous sequences), and Bullock's raw, vulnerable performance makes such scenes quite effective. Meanwhile, Clooney plays the soothing voice well (even when his character Matt is trying to convince himself along with Ryan). Naturally, Matt can't do everything alone, and Ryan must overcome her fear as well as multiple, daunting, external challenges in the course of the story.
The craftsmanship is impressive, and Gravity's techniques are sure to be studied for some time to come. (The disc extras should be very interesting, especially the blending of camera, special rigging and visual effects. The sound design and score were also very effective.) The only reasons I didn't rank this with the best of the year is for some plot plausibility issues and other items that pulled me out that I'll discuss in the spoilers section. Your mileage may vary; I know viewers who liked it but thought it was too shallow to rank with the year's best, and others who thought it was the best film of the year. Personally, I thoroughly enjoyed it and would recommend it, but as an excellent spectacle movie.
(Here's director and cowriter Alfonso Cuarón on The Treatment and The Business, and producer David Heyman on The Business. Here's Sandra Bullock on All Things Considered and NPR's Science Friday segment on the accuracy of the film.)
Nebraska: Director Alexander Payne delivers another excellent character-based film, although this time the writing duties are performed commendably by Bob Nelson (Payne normally cowrites his films). Woody Grant (Bruce Dern), the father of David (Will Forte), is elderly and in some stage of dementia. He's received one of those misleading ads that says something like, 'if you enter our contest by subscribing and win, we'll say you're the grand prize winner!' Woody, a stubborn old coot, has gotten it fixed in his head that he's won a big prize and that he'll walk to collect it, all the way from Montana to Nebraska (he's no longer allowed to drive). David's brother Ross (Bob Odenkirk), a newscaster and thus local celebrity, points out that Woody was never that great of a dad to them anyway. David often grows frustrated dealing with Woody, and his mother Kate (June Squibb), not the most patient of souls to begin with, is at her wit's end with her husband. David's job is steady but not exciting, his girlfriend just moved out and broke up with him, and he's sick of having to collect Woody from the side of the highway or the police station. Consequently, he decides to make a trip of it and drive Woody down to the prize center in the hopes that Woody's obsession will finally be satiated. Along the way, they take in some sights and stay with their extended family in Woody's hometown of Hawthorne, Nebraska. The family is one odd collection of characters, as are many of the townsfolk who still remember Woody. Everything becomes more complex when, despite David's warnings, Woody brags that he's won a million-dollar prize, no one will believe David that it's not true, and folks crawl out of the woodwork to demand their piece. Complications ensue.
"Adults dealing with their difficult, aging parents" is a familiar plotline, and can be awfully depressing, so it's to Nebraska's credit that it's neither rosy and overly sentimentalized nor unremittingly bleak. It's often funny, but with an organic, character-based style versus a self-conscious, "look-at-us-aren't-we-clever" one. It's not always predictable, either. One sequence of small rebellion starts out seeming as if it will ape a similar one in Payne's movie Sideways, then takes a sharply different turn. Nebraska also delivers a satisfying climax, inventive but simple, plausible and rooted in character.
"What do you do?"
"Uh, it's kinda hard to explain."
"Because what you do is complicated?"
"Uh, because I don't really do it."
Director Noah Baumbach cowrote this low-key black-and-white film with its lead actress, Greta Gerwig. Twenty-something Frances (Gerwig) is ridiculously close with her best friend and roommate Sophie (Mickey Sumner), so much so it's not clear at first whether they're lovers. But Sophie's boyfriend has asked her to move in, leaving Frances unmoored on several levels. Frances means well, but she's deeply impractical and just not together. Her desired career as a dancer isn't taking off, and she's reluctant to take more steady work. She winds up drifting from job to job (when she has one at all) and from apartment to apartment in the New York area. (She gets along well with new roommates Lev and Benji, but making the rent is another matter.) She's friendly, but can be awkward and tends to dig herself in deeper when she stumbles into a social gaffe or financial woes. Her neediness threatens her relationship with Sophie, but Frances is the type to flagellate herself over her screw-ups later. We stick with her because she's pretty likable, open and sincere, despite any other foibles and flaws. This is mostly a character study without much of a plot, and runs a mere 87 minutes long. Watch the trailer; if you dislike it and Gerwig, this isn't for you, but I enjoyed this one taken on its own terms. (The title will make sense at the end.)
Blue Jasmine: Woody Allen's latest film has been compared to A Streetcar Named Desire, and there's more than a little Blanche DuBois to the grand manner of the self-styled "Jasmine," (Cate Blanchett) a New York socialite with expensive tastes. Her successful husband, Hal (Alec Baldwin), has been arrested for financial misdeeds, so she schleps across the country to San Francisco to stay with her sister, Ginger (Sally Hawkins). The sisters were both adopted and are quite different – Ginger's more down-to-earth and not ashamed of being working class, and she's also much more loyal to Jasmine than vice versa (although Jasmine occasionally makes an effort). Still, Jasmine feels she's slumming it and often can't keep her snobbery in check. She didn't like Ginger's former husband, Augie (Andrew Dice Clay), and doesn't care for Ginger's current boyfriend, Chili, either (Bobby Cannavale). But Jasmine never finished her college degree, and the gap between the jobs she wants and her qualifications is considerable. Things look up for both sisters when they meet new men – slightly dorky but sweet Al (Louis C.K.) for Ginger and blue blood diplomat and aspiring congressman Dwight (Peter Sarsgaard) for Jasmine. Meanwhile, flashbacks to Jasmine's life with Hal gradually reveal more about their relationship and the strains between Jasmine and Ginger.
Blanchett is excellent as Jasmine, a woman who loves to wax grand and can get so enamored with her own invention of herself she forgets to let anyone else get a word in edgewise. Blanchett's vocal work of tonal shifts and varying rhythms remains impeccable as always (listen to her voiceover work introducing The Lord of the Rings again if you've forgotten). Her eyes, meanwhile, convey everything from nostalgia to haughty contempt to seduction to horror to impotent desperation. Sally Hawkins, so good in Happy-Go-Lucky and everything else, is very likable and believable as Ginger. Alec Baldwin can play wealthy scoundrels in his sleep. Allen probably overdoes the reg'lar working-class-stiff shtick with Bobby Cannavale and Andrew Dice Clay, but they play the roles well, with Cannavale convincingly alternating between loutish and sincere and charming.
(Here's Cate Blanchett on All Things Considered.)
Inside Llewyn Davis: The Coen brothers sure like to kick a guy when he's down. Their latest film focuses on Llewyn Davis (Oscar Isaac), a talented but luckless folk singer trying to make it in Greenwich Village in 1961. Isaac, who's often played slimeballs before, makes for a good sullen antihero and turns out to be a very respectable folk performer with a fine voice. The film often lets a full song play out, meaning there's nothing but Isaac or the other performers to carry matters, and they do. Llewyn has a tendency to wear out his welcome, which means couch surfing through his friends and acquaintances, most notably folk duo Jean and Jim (Carey Mulligan and Justin Timberlake). Jean's insistent that Llewyn's an asshole, but we're less convinced – he's got his rough edges, but the guy seems to try to do right by people, down to carrying around his friends' cat everywhere when he accidentally lets it out of their apartment. His manager is clueless about how to sell him, and it doesn't help that his former musical partner, Mike, killed himself. There's a rough plot of sorts, but as is often the case with the Coens, it's episodic and rambling; they're more interested in capturing a mood and milieu. We get a strong sense of Llewyn's personal style, but what drives him – what's truly "inside Llewyn Davis" – only comes through in small, tantalizing glimpses. (A late scene between Llewyn and Jean stands out in this regard.)
If you like the Coens' other films, you'll likely enjoy this one. It's got the best soundtrack of 2013 (unless you absolutely hate folk music). Bruno Delbonnel's cinematography is one of the loveliest soft lighting jobs in recent memory – it's just a pleasure to look at, and the muted winter colors evoke the era and requisite mood. Some viewers enjoy playing "spot the model," since many of characters are loosely based on real people in the folk scene in the 60s. (The genesis of the film was the Coens hearing that folk singer Dave Van Ronk was beat up outside a club in the 60s, wondering who the hell would bother to beat up a folk singer, and setting out to answer the question – but that's only a launching point, not the point of the movie, to the degree that there is one.) I noted some of the parallels, but mostly preferred to just experience the film on its own terms. Always the kidders aiming to amuse themselves, Joel Coen remarked, "The film doesn't really have a plot. That concerned us at one point; that's why we threw the cat in." His response brings to mind the seemingly rife-with-significance hat in one of their best films, Miller's Crossing. In Tom's dream in that film, his hat didn't transform into something magical; "it stayed a hat." Sometimes a hat is just a hat, a cat is just a cat, and the moral of the cat and the hat is that sometimes there's rhyme but little reason to the Coens' delightful (and occasionally dour) nonsense.
Enough Said: This is a genuinely charming and occasionally moving middle-aged romance sold by good chemistry and extremely natural performances from its stars, Julia Louise-Dreyfus as Eva and James Gandolfini as Albert. Writer-director Nicole Holofcener's premise is wisely simple – we're here to see how intimacy, humor, trust and doubt play out in a relationship between two middle-aged people who aren't rookies at this game. In this case, it translates into both less bullshit initially but also heavier baggage. Eva meets Albert at a party, and although he isn't really her type, she agrees to a date with him, and finds him surprisingly charming. He's warm and funny, and comfortable with himself (perhaps a little too much when it comes to his boxers). They bond especially over their anxiety about their kids soon going away to college. Things in the relationship progress and start to go quite well, but then (slight spoilers, but fairly soon in) Eva realizes that one of her new (and best) clients, Marianne (Catherine Keener), is Albert's ex-wife. She admires Marianne and starts feeling self-conscious, and begins to prod Marianne for more information about Albert – particularly the things that drove her nuts and soured their marriage. Some curiosity is understandable, but Eva keeps the truth quiet from both Marianne and Albert, and starts scrutinizing Albert more and second-guessing everything.
The film's only 93 minutes, but it covers a fair amount of emotional ground in that time, and convincingly so. A late confrontation scene between Eva and Albert is genuinely affecting. Julia Louise-Dreyfus has become a legitimately fine actress – I knew she could do comedy, and she handles it well throughout, but she also sells several crucial dramatic moments. (I also enjoyed that her character was the lead and arguably more flawed, a nice change of pace from manchild-reformed romantic comedies.) Meanwhile, it's a treat to see James Gandolfini in action, playing a character much closer to himself than Tony Soprano, and it's a shame to remember that he's gone. (The film credits give him special recognition.) Toni Collette and Will Falcone are good as Eva's friends, an occasionally bickering married couple. Unless you hate the genre, this is well worth a look.
Rush: Director Ron Howard's style has typically been conventional Hollywood, although he's delivered some good films within those parameters. Rush, his most independently financed since his early days directing, is also his most stylistically daring and may be his best. The movie's based on the real-life rivalry between two Formula One racers in the 70s, the British James Hunt (Chris Hemsworth) and Austrian Niki Lauda (Daniel Brühl). Hunt is a wild man, a charismatic womanizer and carouser, and a risk-taker on the track. He also can be quite the asshole, sometimes from focused intent but more often out of reflexive dismissal for the lesser beings who surround him. in their early careers.
(Here's Ron Howard on The Business.)
Pacific Rim: Fanboy artiste extraordinaire Guillermo del Toro gives us his version of a Japanese movie, giant mecha fighting kaiju (giant monsters). Of the many comic-book-style movies of 2013, this gets my vote for being the best. (Del Toro makes both art house and pop culture movies, and consciously aims for uncomplicated but entertaining fare here.) The plot is simple: giant monsters are coming through dimensional rifts on Earth, leaving devastation in their wake. Earth's chief defense consists of the Jaegers, giant robots piloted by human beings who enter a special mental state to do so. The kicker: the Jaegers are so complex that one human can't do it alone for long without frying his or her brain; two people must pilot the Jaeger together, and that also means they must mind-meld to do so, making them privy to each other's inner thoughts and darkest secrets. Only a small portion of the population can accomplish this, typically blood relatives. Early in the film, we see Raleigh Becket (Charlie Hunnam) and his brother Yancy (Diego Klattenhoff) fighting the good fight against a big baddie, but they're overly cocky and something goes terribly wrong. Raleigh ceases to be a Jaeger pilot and works grungy jobs, but is eventually recruited once more by Stacker Pentecost (Idris Elba), the head of the Jaeger program. (The remaining Jaegers are being gathered in Hong Kong, the site of the biggest rift.) The question isn't just whether Raleigh can get himself back in shape and his head together – the question is whether he can meld successfully with a new partner, the agile and smart but reticent Maki Mori (Rinko Kikuchi). Meanwhile, there's alpha-male posturing to be done against Chuck Hansen (Robert Kazinsky), whose copilot is his father, Herc (Max Martini). Rounding the facility out, the resident mad scientists, Newton Geiszler (Charlie Day) and Hermann Gottlieb (Burn Gorman), have pet theories about kaiju brains and a bigger threat coming soon. This leads Geiszler to deal with sinister black marketeer Hannibal Chau (frequent del Toro collaborator Ron Perlman).
Elysium: Although Elysium certainly has its flaws, it's never boring, and its earns points by being both ambitious and memorable. South African writer-director Neil Blomkamp (District 9, the ninth film reviewed here) presents us with a 22nd century where utopia is segregated from dystopia. The lucky reside on the space station Elysium orbiting Earth, where the livin' is easy, even cancer can be easily cured and the prudent can be near immortal. Meanwhile, down on earth, most people live in squalor, as is the case for Max (Matt Damon), a semi-reformed petty thief trying to make an honest if grueling living in a local factory (Armadyne Corp., which manufactures robots and armaments). He lips off to a security robot and gets his arm broken, leading him to the hospital and a reunion with his childhood friend Frey (Alice Braga), who's become a doctor. (She also has a daughter, Matilda, with leukemia.) Max is forced to work in highly unsafe conditions at work or lose his job, gets lethally irradiated, and is told he only has five days to live. The head of the company, John Carlyle (William Fichtner), is completely unsympathetic – he won't help Max get cured in Elysium, and doesn't even like to talk to the proles, let alone have physical contact with them. Meanwhile, Elysium's Defense Secretary, Delacourt (Jodie Foster), has been dismissed from service for dealing with immigrant space shuttles harshly, especially due to her use of a ruthless mercenary, Kruger (Sharlto Copley, who was quite likable in District 9 but is menacing and creepy here). Delacourt plots with Carlyle to pull off an electronic coup (all for the benefit of Elysium, of course, and coincidentally herself). Max's only chance of survival is getting to an Elysium med bay, so he makes a deal with the local black market boss, Spider, to steal intelligence in exchange for a risky ride into space. Since he's steadily growing physically weaker, Spider also has Max undergo cringe-inducing surgery to graft a strong but somewhat clunky exoskeleton to his body. Pretty soon, both the best laid and most desperate plans go awry and collide.
Damon makes a likable lead, and it's hard not to root for him as he fights against the odds. The action scenes are pretty good, especially as Max struggles to figure out how to use his new strong but clumsy limbs. Copley makes a memorable villain and Fichtner can play sleazeballs in his sleep. Jodie Foster's performances are normally impeccable, but while she gives her character an appropriate crispness, she also adopts an odd, unsuccessful and very distracting accent (it sounds as if she's attempting Afrikaner.)
The Hunger Games: Catching Fire: Writer-director Gary Ross made some inspired adaptation choices with the first film in the series based on Suzanne Collins' popular young adult books (it's the fifth film reviewed here), but some unfortunate directorial decisions. The second film proves better than the first, with a script by the talented Simon Beaufoy and Michael Arndt and directed by Francis Lawrence. (I'll assume readers have seen the first film or read the book.) Having won the Hunger Games, young Katniss Everdeen (Jennifer Lawrence) must now contend with the formidable and quietly ominous President Snow (the perfectly cast Donald Sutherland). He's not convinced she really acted for love so that both Peeta (Josh Hutcherson) and she could survive the Hunger Games, and he's certainly not assured she's not a threat to the Capitol's totalitarian rule over the 12 Districts. He's got quite the evil master plan, aided by his new Gamesmaster, Plutarch Heavensbee (a ridiculous name but for an interesting character, played the late and much-missed Philip Seymour Hoffman). As if Katniss' own safety and that of her family weren't enough to keep her busy, her good friend Gale (Liam Hemsworth) is as in love with her as Peeta and none too happy about their romance for the cameras. (It's refreshing that Katniss is never a passive heroine, and in the story's love triangle, is neither swooning nor playing games; she likes both young men but isn't sure her feelings are romantic.)
(Here's Lenny Kravitz on The Treatment.)
Dallas Buyers Club: Strong performances anchor this film based on the true story of Ron Woodroof (Matthew McConaughey), a homophobic electrician and rodeo cowboy who contracts AIDS in the 80s from unprotected sex with a needle-using prostitute. In the course of searching for a cure, Woodruff goes far outside legal and approved treatments (which don't seem adequate), and starts an unlikely partnership (and eventual friendship) with transwoman Rayon (Jared Leto). The "buyers club" of the title is a clever way to get around the law, although Woodruff and Rayon still tangle with the cops frequently. Even as Woodruff grows sicker, some things don't change; he continues to hit on Eve, a sympathetic doctor (Jennifer Garner). Other things change radically – Woodruff is rejected by most of his old friends, who assume he's gay and threaten him. Meanwhile, Woodruff gradually becomes closer with Rayon and other members of the gay and trans communities. It's a convincing transformation (and McConaughey apparently read the real Woodruff's journals in preparation). This is the best McConaughey's been, and in addition to the physical transformation he undertakes on screen, losing a great deal of weight, he sells the wide range of Woodruff's emotions. Ron Woodruff is cocky and a strutter, a natural charmer and bullshitter, but sometimes this is to cover his mounting desperation as he becomes more starkly aware of his slimming chances and faces his mortality. He's a bit of an ass and people-user to begin with, but his predicament and raw moments of human vulnerability make him gradually more sympathetic. (So does his instinct to protect his friends, after his conception of friendship has expanded and matured.) Jared Leto, always a fine actor, returns from a hiatus of several years to deliver an affecting performance as the streetwise, gutsy but wounded and occasionally self-destructive Rayon. (Perhaps Rayon and Woodruff ultimately hit it off so well because they both put up such formidable fronts. Relatedly, one of the funnier scenes has Woodruff posing as a priest, and one of the more memorable sequences involves Rayon donning male garb again for a specific purpose.) Director Jean-Marc Vallée shows an assured, light touch, eliciting natural performances and then letting them breathe. The visual style is handheld docudrama (you're not going to see polished, gorgeously-lit scenes), and it's a good approach for the material. Occasionally, when Woodfuff suffers an attack, Vallée lets real sound fall out, replaced by a high-pitched tone. It's a simple but effective choice. The screenwriters, Craig Borten and Melisa Wallack, structure the film by periodically flashing the days since Woodruff's diagnosis. It's likewise simple but potent, accomplishing the basic task of conveying the passage of time, but also increasing tension as Woodruff approaches the date he's been predicted to die. The entire aesthetic is one of understatement, and it's a well-crafted piece of work. The film has its moments of humor, and is by no means unrelentingly bleak. That said, it is a true tale of AIDS in the 80s. This isn't really a feel-good movie, but like all good tragedies, it will make you feel something.
The Past: Iranian director Asghar Farhadi, who won an Oscar for his superb film, A Separation (the second film reviewed here), delivers a strong follow-up. The opening sequence is intriguing – Marie (Bérénice Bejo from The Artist) goes to pick up Ahmad (Ali Mosaffa) from the airport; one fights to catch the other's attention through the security glass, their eyes meet and their faces light up; they move close and mouth words, but they can't really speak through the glass. In the next scene, as Marie tries to drive Ahmad despite an injured wrist, it's surprising to discover that Ahmad has arrived in France to finalize their divorce, given their seeming affection minutes earlier. The film admirably sustains this general dynamic throughout – we may think we have a handle on a character or a relationship, but then we gain new information that makes us reevaluate. None of this feels gimmicky, either; Farhadi elicits very natural performances throughout (from the child actors as well as the adults). The Past shares this approach to character and plot with A Separation, and although that's a stronger film in the end, The Past is still quite good. Marie now lives with Samir (Tahar Rahim), his young son Fouad, and her two daughters from a previous marriage, young Léa and teenaged Lucie (Pauline Burlet). Further complicating matters, Fouad occasionally acts out because he's had to move into a new house and misses his mother (she's in a coma) and Lucie often clashes with her own mother, mostly but not exclusively about Marie's relationship with Samir. Ahmad thus enters a delicate, awkward situation, and attempts to help where he can while simultaneously trying to show Marie and Samir respectful deference. (The girls are happy to see Ahmad, though.) Samir visits his comatose wife when he can, and new details gradually emerge about the exact circumstances leading to her condition. Lucie confides in Ahmad about a troubling secret, and her conflicts with Marie also escalate. The Past presents several volatile situations mixed together, and one of its great virtues is that no one's a straight villain – these are flawed human beings trying to do right in challenging circumstances but often in over their heads.
The Attack: A Palestinian doctor living in Tel Aviv, Israel, Amin Jaafari (Ali Suliman), is receiving a prestigious award, and is slightly irritated that his wife Siham (Reymonde Amsellem) says she can't attend. He receives a call from her during the ceremony but can only have a brief, hushed exchange with her due to his location. (He gives a grateful speech and notes that he's the first Arab to receive the award in 41 years.) His wife is not there when he arrives home later that night. The next day, a suicide bombing occurs, and Amin's hospital treats the victims. One of the fatalities is his wife. Moreover, her wounds suggest she was the bomber. The police start grilling Amin, most notably the aggressive Captain Moshe (Uri Gavriel). Amin can't believe his wife was involved, and while Amin's colleagues try to support him, they reluctantly can't agree on that front. Amin sets out to discover the truth of what happened, an occasionally dangerous quest that gradually reveals things about his wife he hadn't known and pushes him to reevaluate specific past events and his own life in general.
Any film dealing with the Palestinian-Israeli conflict is bound to be controversial. I appreciated that no ethnic group was ever presented as uniform in their views; instead, they're presented as human beings who often disagree, whether politely of vociferously. Likewise, a pat, single "answer" is not presented, only the complexity of the situation. The shifts in Amin's views are gradual and convincingly spurred by his experiences on his journey. The film is based on a novel and helmed by Lebanese director Ziad Doueiri, who adapted it with his wife, Joëlle Touma. (Apparently, the nations of the Arab League boycotted the film because Doueiri filmed scenes in Israel, thus violating the League's general economic boycott.)
(Here's Ziad Doueiri on Morning Edition.)
A Hijacking: (Released in Denmark in 2012.) A Danish corporation's ship is hijacked by pirates who demand an extremely high ransom for the ship and the crew. Early on, we see that the corporate CEO, Peter C. Ludvigsen (Søren Malling, who Americans might know from Borgen), is a superb business negotiator. Hostage negotiation is another matter, though, and the experts advise Peter against doing it himself because he'll be more emotionally involved. Nevertheless, he forges ahead, feeling both responsible for his men and confident in his abilities. (He does have Connor Julian, a hostage expert advising him, but Peter does the talking.) On the ship, we stay with several of the crewmembers, but the key one is amiable cook Mikkel Hartmann (Pilou Asbæk), whose wife had been eager to see him after an already long voyage. Mikkel, the rest of the crew and Peter deal mostly with Omar (Abdihakin Asgar), the translator-negotiator hired by the pirates. Omar gets angry whenever anyone refers to him as one of the pirates (although his claim grows increasingly implausible, except as a matter of self-denial). The pirates initially ask for 15 million and Connor suggests a $500,000 counteroffer. The problem is, Connor explains, if Peter agrees to the 15 million, the pirates will only ask for more. And so a very slow and agonizing game begins. The tension racks up slowly and claustrophobically for over a month, then another. The families of the hostages start pressuring the company more and more to settle. Peter, normally coolly controlled, starts looking frayed around the edges. He's questioned by the board of directors (he's letting other matters slide) and by his wife. (You might find yourself yelling at Peter, too – at times the whole affair feels like a massive, high-stakes game of ego poker.) Meanwhile, on the boat, Mikkel is going stir crazy. Normally a sociable, happy fellow, he's gradually becoming a neurotic mess. It doesn't help that the main stores of food are running out and that some of the pirates think it's funny to threaten their hostages with their guns periodically. Pilou Asbæk is riveting as Mikkel here, a very sympathetic guy completely unsuited for this unnatural, brutal situation. Malling is very effective overall as Peter, but I didn't buy one scene of him losing it (it was too out of proportion). Credit writer-director Tobias Lindholm and the whole team for crafting a taut, suspenseful film.
The Great Beauty:
To this question, as kids, my friends always gave the same answer: "Pussy." Whereas I answered "The smell of old people's houses." The question was "What do you really like the most in life?" I was destined for sensibility. I was destined to become a writer. I was destined to become Jep Gambardella.
These lines open director Paolo Sorrentino's movie, and they reveal something important about their speaker Jep, played with an easy, buoyant charm, sharp wit and quiet melancholy by Toni Servillo. (Hands upraised in greeting, a small smile and sad eyes form his iconic expression for me.) Jep is indeed something of a hedonist, living the high life in Rome with his aging friends (who show impressive stamina along with perhaps a little self-delusion), but he is first and foremost an aesthete. He made his reputation as a young man with a celebrated short novel, but never wrote another; instead, he's worked as a cultural critic and remains a fixture of a certain social scene of artists, journalists and aspirants.
One of the great traditions in Italian cinema is its embrace of the experiential and the intuitive; you're invited to immerse yourself in a mood, a feeling, a moment in time. The Great Beauty is a gorgeous film in terms of craft, and may appear to be mostly gloss at first glance, but it possesses a deeper soulfulness.