Monday 17 August 2015

REVIEW: Mistress America


Noah Baumbach has once again proved himself to be the greatest living director making films about New York City, bar none. Many have made the Woody Allen comparison, which is fair - both utilise seemingly incidental conversation to map out subtle nuances of character and story, all the while being sweet, well-meaning and, above all, very, very funny. But Baumbach is perhaps even more unapologetic with his characters, unafraid to make them openly grating or obnoxious, forcing the audience to work harder to find the honesty and vulnerability behind their middle-class foibles.

It doesn't always work, as we saw with the insufferably annoying Greenberg, but, more often than not, it does, against all odds - and the key to his success is a good, compatible performer. It is here, then, that I believe Baumbach has won the lottery in the form of Greta Gerwig, who may be one of the greatest acting talents of her generation. She was astonishingly good in Frances Ha, which could have so easily slipped into the more pretentious side of mumblecore territory; instead, we had a near-perfect portrait of what it means to be young and alone and scared about the future in New York City, all the while trying to hold on to a desperately fragile sense of identity.

We're on similar ground with Mistress America, though the riffs on the theme are as enjoyable as ever. In fact, it's a bit of a hybrid between Frances and his last effort, While We're Young; the focus of the story is on a young millennial Tracy (Lola Kirke), who's feeling scared and alone at college. The details of this section are spot-on: her campus is entirely made up of exclusive cliques and impersonal study groups, and it seems like everyone else is having a better time than you.

It is this that drives Tracy to look up Brooke (Gerwig), who is set to become her step-sister after their parents marry. The two meet, and instantly there is a spark, a connection. Brooke takes her on a whirlwind tour of New York where we see the identity she has formed for herself: she visits bars and dances on stage, she tweets relentlessly, she is constantly switching between trains of thought mid-conversation. She's endearingly annoying, too, in that hipster-bohemian sort of way: when someone takes a photo of her kissing a bassist she says, "Must we document our lives all the time? Must we?"

The secret to Baumbach and Gerwig's success in films like these is that the audience is not invited to judge Brooke too harshly. She is clearly vulnerable, if unable to express it clearly - she complains about her best friend stealing her fiancé and cats, and jarringly announces, mid-dance, that her mother died when she was younger. She is also, as Tracy discovers, insatiable fun to be around - the picture comes alive whenever she is on-screen, and sags ever-so-slightly whenever she is absent.

There is also much in the film itself dedicated to the very act of judging character. While spending time with Brooke, Tracy writes a short story entitled "Mistress America", where she writes half-formed observations about her that appear on the voiceover: "Her youth had died and she was now dragging around the decaying corpse." Yet the tables turn when her story is discovered and read by Brooke - and a group of her friends - who become angry with Tracy for trying to re-purpose her experiences into something that will earn her entry into a superior literary club. We are almost equally guilty of thinking we knew Brooke after spending little over an hour with her. Much is left unsaid: the most important moment in the film comes when her fiancé, Dylan (Michael Chernus) asks her if she's doing okay and she responds, "No... I'm not..." before being interrupted.

It is not a perfect film. The third act in Connecticut is a swerve in tone; Brooke and the gang go to persuade her rich fiancé to finance her restaurant idea, and the film becomes a stage-like comedy of errors that could have easily come from a different film. It also lacks some of the raw, infectious energy of Frances Ha, even if the result is ultimately more polished. But this is still a very fine film - one of the best comedies of the year, I suspect - that, once again, proves Baumbach and Gerwig are a real force to be reckoned with.

★★★★

Sunday 16 August 2015

SERIES BLOG: True Detective - Season 2, Episode 8


Season 2, Episode 1: The Western Book of the Dead

Season 2, Episode 2: Night Finds You

Season 2, Episode 3: Maybe Tomorrow

Season 2, Episode 4: Down Will Come

Season 2, Episode 5: Other Lives

Season 2, Episode 6: Church in Ruins

Season 2, Episode 7: Black Maps and Motel Rooms

Season 2, Episode 8: Omega Station

* * * * *

Everything ends.

Or does it? Well, yes, it does. Unless you're a Kardashian, or the showrunner behind EastEnders, you can pretty much guarantee that your television show will have to reach a conclusion at some point. It doesn't matter whether it's good, bad, middling, dull, funny, vastly over or under-rated: your show will come to an end, your characters will cease to exist outside of lunchboxes and coffee mugs, so you'd better get used to it. Some shows are so bad they immediately get the chop, some shows are bad but continue to survive for a long time anyway, some shows start strong then lose their way, and some shows only begin to hit their stride as they are cut short by a group of satanic studio executives, left for a small enclave of nerds to obsess over on the internet for time immemorial.

I've been thinking about it for a few days, and I still can't decide where True Detective falls on that spectrum. If encompassing the first season, then we might categorise it as a show that lost its way. Yet that doesn't do justice to the gulf in critical reception between the two; it would be more accurate to say that, if Season One was a impressive Range Rover of ambition, Season Two was a beaten up Toyota that punctured four of its tires, hit a deer, swerved off the road and did ten front-flips before sinking into a river. Or at least, that's what Todd VanDerWerff thought.

But I think writing True Detective off by this point would be a mistake. As I've said in these weekly blog entries, the show's had its good bits, and - aside from some truly inexcusable writing - has gotten better over time, given way to something that Nic Pizzolatto had in his head all along, though something he might have struggled to get on paper. I'd draw specific focus to the massive sex orgy scene of Episode 6 as an example of an effectively modern, hellish realisation of Los Angeles noir tropes of the 40s and 50s, seamlessly bringing character development, atmosphere and story together. And while it doesn't hold a candle to Cary Fukunaga's famous six-minute tracking shot, the shootout in Episode 4 was as exciting and grisly as any Hollywood movie.

Anyway, let's talk about the episode itself. "Omega Station" promised itself as an event, a feature length finale that would wrap up everything and quell any doubts held about the progression of the series. It isn't, and it doesn't, but this ending feels perfectly fine - almost as if Pizzolatto started there and worked his way backwards. We rejoin Ani and Ray after they've slept together, completely oblivious to Paul's demise. (Though as Ray admits later in the episode, they were never that close anyway.) It comes across as a bit Don't Look Now, as each one spills their guts while the camera cuts to them getting dressed, smoking, using the toilet, etc.. When creepy cop Burris rings them up, though, they know that they're reaching some kind of end game, even if it won't be pretty.

It should come as no surprise that the people responsible for Caspar's death were, in fact, the orphans from the jewel store robbery - after all, they were the only loose ends in this whole mess. Ani and Ray find the girl tied up, saying her crazy set-photographer brother tortured Caspar to death and put his body on the park bench for a laugh. He's also the one responsible for shooting Ray with the rock salt shotgun while wearing a bird mask - though why he didn't kill him in the first place isn't really explained.

In fact, not very much is explained about our afterthought of a killer. When Ray finds him at the titular train station, he might as well be wearing a Nine Inch Nails t-shirt: his hair's died black and at one point he spouts, "I am the blade and the bullet." God. Is this really the guy? I feel like we could have done better. Anyway, he's only there to draw out the final dirty cops (the black guy survived being repeatedly bashed in the head, apparently) and, after a chaotic shootout, Ray and Ani are set to leave for Venezuela with Frank, where they can have drinks on the beach, give each other a group hug and say "We are the TRUEST detectives!"

Or not. Frank's got a few more things to clear up, and not all of it goes his way. After one final, dreadful conversation between him and his wife ("That was a fuckin' big diamond!"), he teams up with Ray and shoots the hell out of a hideout that Blofeld would be ashamed to call his own, even getting some nice revenge on that Russian guy he didn't like so much. Only problem is, Frank forgot about another ethnic minority group - the Mexicans - who take him on one of those blasted Rides Into the Desert™. When they try and take his suit, Frank - in an act that is part pride, part financially motivated by the diamonds in the pocket - hits a guy, who promptly stabs him. The Mexicans leave him for dead, and Frank determinedly (and fruitlessly) tries to walk back into the city. It's perhaps a too heavy-handed and obvious resolution for his irritating character, made worse by the clichéd use of ghosts and flashbacks on his journey. But it's one that just about works. I hated Frank's stupid catchphrases as much as the next guy, but even I was a little sad to see his promise of wearing "a red rose" come bloodily realised, moments before he collapsed for good.

Another death that takes its toll is Ray's, which is, again, very obvious, but effectively realised. After being unable to resist the urge to say goodbye to his son - who respects him in spite of everything - he finds a tracker on his car, and realises his time's up. His dream prophecy was true to the letter, as a sling-wearing Burris chases him into the trees to his death. While dodgy phone signal will ensure that his son will never hear his farewell message (seriously Ray, why run into the forest for better signal?) it's still something that draws his character to a satisfying, tragic close: "I'm sorry for the man I became, for the father I was ... I hope you've got no doubt how much I love you, son. You're better than me. If I'd been stronger, I'd have been more like you."

Everything ends, but in this story good doesn't quite triumph. After a montage showing that Vinci is more corrupt than ever, the final few minutes of True Detective end with Ani talking to a reporter, finishing her story. (So wait, she was narrating the entire time? Maybe that's why nothing made sense: she's a lousy storyteller.) She's teamed up with Jordan - along with what must be Ray's baby - and both seem ready to take on the world, albeit wary of danger that could come at any time. Is it the best ending True Detective could have hoped for? Maybe. It's at least consistent with what came before it, which is reinforced by another Lera Lynn dirge over the ending. (Seriously, buy her a fucking ABBA album or something.) The series hasn't changed, for better or worse. But in this case, I might have been receptive to a bit of flexibility, to a bit of power taken away from someone who is clearly an interesting but heavily flawed storyteller. Oh well. There's always next season.

     STRAYS:
  • I have to admit, the more I thought about it, the more the logic of this episode didn't quite hold together. How did Ray, a messy alcoholic, manage to kill a bunch of elite force operatives? Why wasn't Ani, an independent, sex-focused individual, using birth control? Why did emo orphan torch that car while wearing a plate on his face? What happened to Ani's father and sister?
    • Maybe Leonard Cohen was right: "Nevermind..."
  • Sorry if this review came across as a bit snarky. I tried not to be snarky at the start of this series blog but, over time, a lot of things about the show began to annoy me. It's mostly been out of frustration - the clunky dialogue, mostly - but I've never thought this series was bad, just nowhere near as brilliant as it could have been. Hopefully the negative critical reaction will influence Pizzolatto to go back to the drawing board and rediscover what made that first series so great.

Thursday 6 August 2015

SERIES BLOG: True Detective - Season 2, Episode 7


Season 2, Episode 1: The Western Book of the Dead

Season 2, Episode 2: Night Finds You

Season 2, Episode 3: Maybe Tomorrow

Season 2, Episode 4: Down Will Come

Season 2, Episode 5: Other Lives

Season 2, Episode 6: Church in Ruins

Season 2, Episode 7: Black Maps and Motel Rooms

Season 2, Episode 8: Omega Station

* * * * *

After I'd been watching this episode for five minutes, I knew that, by the end of the episode, either one of our true detectives would be dead or two of them would start nobbing each other. I didn't expect both. And I didn't anticipate that gay ol' Paul would be the one biting the dust - with all the references to trees at the start, I fully expected Ray to meet his maker at the hands of some literal and figurative demons, as his fatherly vision predicted four weeks ago. But I suppose it makes sense that Paul would be the first to drop. He's the one with the most to lose, what with the fiancé and the baby and all - plus, he's the one who's developed some of the most true-y detective instincts out of all the true detectives, which - save for being black - ticks all the right boxes for "cop show cannon fodder."

Anyway, first things first. After the glorious clusterfuck that was last week's episode, the gang have holed up in a room with the world's worst wallpaper. Ani's a bit panicky after her bad trip - at one point she clambers into Ray's lap in search of some, um, therapeutic love. He refuses, and she blames it on the drugs, but we all know better - the two have a bit of an awkward chemistry that's hard to shake. (They both like to mumble things and don't like talking about their feelings which, in Pizzolatto's world, is about as romantic as it gets.) Meanwhile, someone texts Paul photo proof of his illicit hookup with the army dude. This means that a) people know Paul's secret, and b) they know that he was at the party where the all-important contract was stolen, and can now blackmail him over it.

What is it with Paul and his sexuality, anyway? Unless Vinci is stuck in a time warp in the seventeenth century, why would anyone in the world care if a random cop was gay? I suppose it's all about image and delusion: he hasn't exactly had the most healthy upbringing. Though he still ensures that, as he feels the threats building toward him, his mother is hidden away safely in a hotel room (along with his reluctant fiancé, who she forces to watch Splendor In The Grass).

In fact, much of this episode is occupied with family, clearly building towards something terrible. After dealing with the girl she rescued from the party - who turns out to be a bit of a brat - Ani has an emotional moment with her father, revealing that the man she hallucinated at the party as, "The man who took me away" as a child. Throughout we've always been able to see some kind of trauma bubbling away beneath her surface, but this is the closest Ani's been to outwardly vulnerable all season. She even gives out three hugs! (Which, as her police friend jokes, must be a record for her.)

It's no surprise, then, when Ray and Ani, in a moment of shared loneliness, end up shacking up in the lodge. The scene where it happens proves to be quite effective, and I think it's because there's an almost total absence of trademark True Detective goofy dialogue. A fire burns in the background; they look at each other, longingly; we cut to close-ups of them, then their hands, intertwined; a riff on the Blade Runner "Love Theme" plays in the background; and then they go at it, without so much as an analogy about wildebeest.

Another good scene came when Frank beat the shit out of his subordinate. It's another one of those brutal interrogations the show is so fond of - though this time, there's slow-mo! He finds out about a big conspiracy to cheat him out of money and business, a movement even Caspar himself was a part of (though still, no-one really knows who killed him). And after a decisive murder, Frank finally comes up with a good plan, an endgame to uncover the truth and sever ties with those who cheated him. (The first part begins, as most good plans do, with gasoline and matches.)

This is really the best Season 2 has ever been. It's a shame it took so long, but I always knew that we'd start to see some satisfying pay-off around this point, even if we did have to sit through a few "blue balls in your heart" lines to get there. When Paul ends up in the tunnels beneath the city, we were finally able to make the connections we thought we'd never make, pinpoint the baddies that had previously only been vague names and references, and finally engage in a thrilling end-sequence that saw Paul running for his life.

And I'd also like to say that I FUCKING CALLED IT. You all forgot about Lieutenant Kevin Burris, didn't you? WELL, I DIDN'T. I may not understand about 80% of the plot, but even I thought that dude was suspicious from the get go. And poor Paul. I think I can safely say that we were all rooting for him to reach that gun in time, yet in the back of our minds was the knowledge that he had to die for the story to be any good. He'll never be able to get back on his bike, and it's unlikely that next week will be all sunshine-and-lollipops. But it should, hopefully, be some satisfying closure to this sporadic, bumpy ride that is finally finding its groove - albeit a touch too late. See you then!

     STRAYS:
  • It's that time again where I list some of the goofiest lines offered up to us this week. Here are some of my favourites:
    • FRANK: "In the midst of being gang banged by forces unseen, I figure I'd drill a new orifice, go on and fuck myself for a change."
    • ANI: "Maybe you were put on earth for more than fucking.
      BRATTY GIRL: "Everything is fucking."
    • FRANK: "Guy's been around less the last few months than my wife's period."
    • RAY: "Dixon... He was just a regular dick."
    • FRANK: "You might say my ship's come in."
      RUSSIAN DUDE: "And who sails this ship?"
      FRANK: "I'm a regular fucking Captain Ahab, I just got too many white whales to harpoon." (Alright, I made that last bit up.)
  • South Park was right: people do shit themselves when they die.
  • Has Frank ever met a Jewish person before? He treated them like a self-service machine at the bank.
  • 90 MINUTE FINALE HYYYPE