127 HOURS

Written by Danny Boyle and Simon Beaufoy

Directed by Danny Boyle

Starring James Franco

Aron Ralston: This rock has been waiting for me my whole life.

I thought that winning an Oscar might mellow SLUMDOG MILLIONAIRE director, Danny Boyle, but it only seems to have fueled his fire. Before anything has a chance to happen in his latest, 127 HOURS, the screen is split into three and images of people going to work or running marathons are inundating the screen at rapid speeds. I understand that he has his own style but I want to see Boyle just let the action unfold for a change, instead of just chopping it up and rearranging it visually to simply make it look cooler. At times in Boyle’s career, it has felt like the images needed the overt style to become relevant or meaningful but this time is different. Boyle has finally found a story that begs for his personal yet simultaneously impersonal touch.

127 HOURS is the story of an adrenaline junkie, a nature nut, a loner. Forcing an image to wake the heck up and jump off the screen itself is akin to what protagonist Aron Ralston (James Franco) does whenever he can. And when he can’t make that happen, he would almost rather be alone. He seeks out thrills to elevate himself above the mundane just like Boyle tries to enhance his image. When Ralston gets away from the city though and into the peaks and valleys of Blue John Canyon, Boyle slows his pace and allows the sheer grandness and beauty of the landscape to speak for itself. And speak it does. It asserts itself and its immovable brilliance by reminding man just who’s in charge here after all when it almost swallows young Ralston whole.

Ralston is a real person and in 2003, he spent a sum total of, you guessed it, 127 hours literally stuck between a rock and hard place when a rock fell with him into a cavernous gap and crushed his arm against the wall. Franco’s journey as Ralston is rarely easy to bear and sometimes just as difficult for us to take as well. His spirit goes from exuberant to painfully sober to near delirium and he carries it off with a strength I’m not the least bit surprised to see. Boyle was sure to lighten the tension with flashbacks that inform us of exactly everything Ralston still has to live for, which in turn teaches him a thing or two about how to actually live for it. The point may be somewhat plain but the experience that is 127 HOURS is a testament to an amazing feat of human endurance and perseverance, as well as an adventure that won’t soon be forgotten.

HOWL

Written and Directed by Rob Epstein and Jeffrey Friedman

Starring James Franco, Jon Hamm and David Strathairn

Mark Schorer: Sir, you cannot translate poetry to prose. That is why it’s poetry.

I seriously doubt this could happen today, that a poem could spark such outcry as to demand it be banned in the courts as obscene. Fifty years ago though, that is exactly what happened to American poet, Allen Geinsberg, with his poem, “Howl”. The poem depicted the darker underbelly of America, a side of the country that the majority didn’t want to acknowledge. It spoke of the impoverished, the bohemians, the homosexuals and anyone else that really that didn’t fit into the status quo because of who they were or what they did with their days and nights. And so the debate is on – does different mean obscene simply because you cannot understand it?

The trial, the poet and the poem itself are portrayed separately and cut together to form what is the first narrative film by the Academy Award winning documentary filmmaking team of Rob Epstein and Jeffrey Friedman (THE CELLULOID CLOSET, THE LIFE AND TIMES OF HARVEY MILK). Named after the poem, HOWL can only loosely be described as a narrative though. Albeit a somewhat safe choice for their first fiction foray, the filmmakers based their screenplay on court transcripts, archival footage and interviews, giving HOWL a very documentary feel. Ginsberg himself, played calmly and coolly by James Franco, is only ever shown in interview or in flashback, never driving any plot forward. The lack of formal focus makes for a free flowing experience but also never allows the film to truly find a firm foundation.

Like the point being proved in court by the “Howl” defense attorney (Jon Hamm) though, form needn’t be formal for the themes to be meaningful or have literary merit. Each component of the film, including a dark and rich animated interpretation of “Howl” from Monk Studios, functions fine individually and creates a whole unique unto itself. In that sense, HOWL honours its inspiration as best it can and proves the timelessness of the poem by allowing its relevance resonate even still today.

TIFF Review: 127 HOURS

Written by Danny Boyle and Simon Beaufoy

Directed by Danny Boyle

Starring James Franco

Aron Ralston: This rock has been waiting for me my whole life.

I thought that winning an Oscar might mellow SLUMDOG MILLIONAIRE director, Danny Boyle, but it only seems to have fueled his fire. Before anything has a chance to happen in his latest, 127 HOURS, the screen is split into three and images of people going to work or running marathons are inundating the screen at rapid speeds. I understand that he has his own style but I want to see Boyle just let the action unfold for a change, instead of just chopping it up and rearranging it visually to simply make it look cooler. At times in Boyle’s career, it has felt like the images needed the overt style to become relevant or meaningful but this time is different. Boyle has finally found a story that begs for his personal yet simultaneously impersonal touch.

127 HOURS is the story of an adrenaline junkie, a nature nut, a loner. Forcing an image to wake the heck up and jump off the screen itself is akin to what protagonist Aron Ralston (James Franco) does whenever he can. And when he can’t make that happen, he would almost rather be alone. He seeks out thrills to elevate himself above the mundane just like Boyle tries to enhance his image. When Ralston gets away from the city though and into the peaks and valleys of Blue John Canyon, Boyle slows his pace and allows the sheer grandness and beauty of the landscape to speak for itself. And speak it does. It asserts itself and its immovable brilliance by reminding man just who’s in charge here after all when it almost swallows young Ralston whole.

Ralston is a real person and in 2003, he spent a sum total of, you guessed it, 127 hours literally stuck between a rock and hard place when a rock fell with him into a cavernous gap and crushed his arm against the wall. Franco’s journey as Ralston is rarely easy to bear and sometimes just as difficult for us to take as well. His spirit goes from exuberant to painfully sober to near delirium and he carries it off with a strength I’m not the least bit surprised to see. Boyle was sure to lighten the tension with flashbacks that inform us of exactly everything Ralston still has to live for, which in turn teaches him a thing or two about how to actually live for it. The point may be somewhat plain but the experience that is 127 HOURS is a testament to an amazing feat of human endurance and perseverance, as well as an adventure that won’t soon be forgotten.

DATE NIGHT

Written by Josh Clausner
Directed by Shawn Levy
Starring Steve Carrell, Tina Fey and Mark Wahlberg

Claire Foster: No! When he says,” vagina”, he means your face.

Before the day has even started, it is already gone. Nasal strips are ripped off your face while miniature bodies pile drive into you before the alarm even has a chance to go off. In all honesty, the alarm probably hasn’t even needed setting in years. Something will inevitably wake the Foster’s up to their routine earlier than necessary. Phil and Claire, played by the king and queen of NBC comedy, Steve Carrell and Tina Fey, sit on opposite sides of their bed and stare into the separate abysses that await them. The message is clear; being married is hard, maybe even too hard. As you look at these two comedic geniuses though, you still see hope in their nearly defeated faces – hope for both the Foster’s themselves and for the movie you’re actually about to watch. What everybody needs is a good DATE NIGHT.

I am not married and nor do I have children. In fact, I saw DATE NIGHT in the middle of the afternoon, alone. I may not be the intended audience in regard to the marital doldrums theme we have seen plenty of times before but there is a whole other audience built in to DATE NIGHT that director, Shawn Levy, plays to more often than the first. That would be the legions of Carrell and Fey followers out there, of which I easily include myself among. Before this, I essentially avoided Levy’s work altogether. I’m not saying I’m about to go back and watch the NIGHT AT THE MUSEUM series but I must commend him for rising above the complete implausibility of the film’s mistaken identity premise by allowing his stars to shine when they should. Meanwhile, getting strong character actors, like James Franco, Mark Wahlberg and Mila Kunis, for random bit parts also gives more credibility whenever it was needed.

Fey’s quick wit and Carrell’s endearing awkwardness may be strengths we are used to by now and just expect to some extent, but their mastery is only getting better and it is their chemistry that makes DATE NIGHT work when it so easily could have bombed. These two immensely funny people pull from their dramatic strengths to make sure the Foster’s are a real couple. They’re real because you can always see the fear on their faces – the fear that they could actually lose each other. This DATE NIGHT really needs to work. And it does.

MILK

Written by Dustin Lance Black
Directed by Gus Van Sant
Starring Sean Penn, James Franco, Emile Hirsch, Diego Luna and Josh Brolin


Harvey Milk: How do you teach homosexuality? Is it like French?

It was difficult for me to stand up after seeing Gus Van Sant’s masterful MILK. The lights had already come on so my puffy eyes could be hid no longer but I had forgotten how to move. I was too engulfed with sadness and dismay. All I could think about was how far we think we’ve come as a supposed progressive people. Harvey Milk, the man whose story Van Sant is telling, was elected into public office in the late ‘70’s in San Francisco. He was the first openly gay man to be elected to any significant level of government in American history. He was also shot and killed after being in office for less than a year. His last major political accomplishment was successfully campaigning to defeat a bill called Proposition 6. This bill would call for the dismissal of all openly gay school teachers and any persons who supported them. The bill had already passed in a number of other states and fear was mounting that even the country’s most gay-friendly city might follow suit. Harvey wouldn’t have it and ultimately, neither would San Francisco, or all of California for that matter. Why then are gay men and women still struggling to be treated like human beings to this day?


MILK picks up Harvey Milk’s life in the eight years preceeding his assassination. In that time, he meets a man who would become his lover for many years; he moves from New York to San Francisco to find new challenges; and he runs a number of times for public office as an out and proud gay man. He also loses a number of times but Milk was not a man who could easily be deterred from his very important goal. It was Milk’s mission to represent his people; to show the city he loved that the gay population was one of the reasons that the city itself was so well loved by all who visited and that they too had a powerful and reasonable voice. Milk was committed to making sure that voice was heard. Van Sant, an openly gay man himself, is just as committed to the cause but his part is very different. Even today, the image of the gay man is still being sold to mainstream, or straight if you will, audiences in a delicate way. Van Sant’s Milk is an ambitious entrepreneur. He has a strong character, funny and flighty one moment, romantic and intimate the next and always dedicated to the bigger picture outside of himself. Apparently, painting the gay man as human is still necessary because many still haven’t figured it out for themselves.


Of course, Van Sant can’t get all the credit as he is only as strong as his parts. In this case, his parts are all perfect. “Big Love” staff writer, Dustin Lance Black’s sensitive screenplay is heartbreaking and genuine. Director of photography, Harris Savides, who has brought a dreamlike lucidity to Van Sant twice before on GERRY and ELEPHANT, goes back and forth between archival and new footage seamlessly planting the viewer in both the historical context and the surrounding human drama. Danny Elfman fills the soft space with a score so layered, it can easily be described as his most original work in recent memory. And then of course, there are the men. I will never describe a straight man playing a gay role as an act of bravery. I will, however, always applaud an actor’s ability to shed their entire ego and transform into another being so fearlessly. The caliber of the mostly male ensemble cast of MILK seems raised by a desire to do justice to this important man and the difference he made. James Franco as Milk’s longtime lover continues to show versatility that I never expected by embodying support and strength. Josh Brolin, as the fellow city supervisor who ultimately kills Milk, gives a ferociously internal performance that is in constant turmoil. And though I have never been as huge a Sean Penn fan as most would appear to be, I am a devout admirer now. Penn’s performance is a rarely achieved transformation – one so believable and so gripping that it lifts the entire film to new levels of excellence and inspiration.


MILK is not only a Gus Van Sant career high but also an instant American film classic and a contemporary gay film masterpiece that, like the revelatory BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN, transcends the gay experience and steps firmly into the human experience. If only for that reason alone, MILK has the potential to be more than a film and be part of a movement. After all, if there is one thing that Harvey Milk fought so hard for for so long, it was to be seen as a man who deserves the same human rights as his neighbours. Thirty years after his death, the fight he fought is still ongoing and thanks to Van Sant, Harvey Milk is back to help make sure it finally gets won.

PINEAPPLE EXPRESS

Written by Seth Rogen and Evan Goldberg
Directed by David Gordon Green
Starring Seth Rogen, James Franco, Danny McBride and Rosie Perez


Private Miller: I feel like a slice of butter melting all over a big ol’ pile of flapjacks … yeah.

I’m pretty sure my mother always told me that smoking pot was bad for you. She’s my mother so, naturally, I always believed her. Now, I’m not so sure though. She couldn’t possibly have seen PINEAPPLE EXPRESS before making this assertion. If she had, then she would know that smoking only leads to hilarity and kinship. At least that is one of the many valuable life lessons I learned while watching the latest Seth Rogen vehicle to come off the Judd Apatow assembly line. I also learned that paranoia can be a very good thing, that friends who smoke together stay together and that James Franco actually has a drastically different side to his usual stoic, dry presence. I think most importantly though, I learned that stoner movies, when they’re done right like this one, don’t require the audience to smoke up heavily beforehand in order to have a good time. Albeit, I’m sure a whole other kind of good time would be had if you did.


You could see this movie as an opportunity for Rogen to push his pot smoking agenda onto unsuspecting youths that think of his as some sort of demi-God after last year’s one-two punch, KNOCKED UP and SUPERBAD, or you could just drop the act and enjoy the trip. Besides, smoking is hardly over glorified in this film. Every time Rogen, as Dale Denton, a crafty process server, lights up, he finds himself in a whole heap of trouble. He makes stupid mistakes that lead to his deeper and deeper into despair. And while watching Rogen alone is certainly entertaining, watching him get goofy with a buddy is even better. The buddy here is the unexpected Franco. Franco plays Saul Silver, the drug dealer to Dale’s drug doer. Get these two in a forest and give them a little herbal amusement and there is no telling how stupid they will get and how far out in space their minds will go. There is one sure thing though, weed brings these two together and their lives are better for it.


Thank goodness these two have each other because they could never endure what they need to go through all alone. Saul sells Dale some of his highest-grade bud, called pineapple express. It’s so rare, so exclusive, that after Dale witness a homicide and dumps his roach at the scene, he believes that it can be tracked back to him. Saul must then get involved as he is the sole distributor of pineapple express and therefore the whole thing can be traced back to him. In order to get out of their unfortunate bind, the two must go to the source and get the bad guys, including a feisty Rosie Perez as a crooked cop, before the bad guys, and gals, get them. Many a stoner has inhaled and embarked on zany adventures before these two but how many find themselves in high speed car chases or live-or-die bang-up’s or even fleeing scenes of explosive proportions? Well, I can’t say actually but I can say that none have been this funny in what feels like a very long time (what feels even longer if you actually are stoned).


Dale and Saul are the new stoner buddies, the new Harold & Kumar, if you will. They are accidental action heroes whose pot smoking both gets them in and out of trouble. Unlike the punks responsible for the most recent Harold & Kumar disaster, the people behind PINEAPPLE EXPRESS are actually interested in making a solid film, one with an engaging story and consistent character development. Director David Gordon Green (SNOW ANGELS) knows that just because his characters are stoned out of their heads 99% of the time does not mean his audience will be necessarily. The audience might want to shut off and have a great time, either naturally or enhanced naturally, and that does not mean that you don’t actually have to try. When I want to shut off, I like to be around good people and let the laughs roll. Watching PINEAPPLE EXPRESS is like hanging out with the guys and I already want to hang out with these guys again next weekend.

SPIDER-MAN 3

Written by Sam Raimi and Ivan Raimi
Directed by Sam Raimi



Mary Jane Watson: Everybody needs help. Even Spiderman.

As far as I’m concerned, you can drown those pirates at sea and banish that ogre to a land even further away because there’s only one sequel that matters this summer. SPIDERMAN 3 has finally swung through oncoming traffic and in and around the tallest buildings to land in theatres as the flagship film to launch the box office into summer. Legions of Spidey enthusiasts have had their tickets for weeks while critics have been waiting to review the latest installment in one the most successful and well-received film franchises in history. With expectations this high, its hard to imagine how Spidey could possible satisfy anyone fully. Yet despite the increasingly loud whispers of disappointment waiting to welcome SPIDERMAN 3, this critic slash Spidey enthusiast had himself one heck of a web slingin’ time and he’s not afraid to say it.


In the third, and what is sadly not likely the last in the Spiderman series, your friendly neighborhood Spiderman (Tobey Maguire) finds himself on top of the world. New York loves him; Mary Jane Watson (Kirsten Dunst) loves him; and subsequently, Spidey ends up loving himself a little more than he should. High on his own ego, he decides to make everything perfect in his life and ask MJ to marry him. Simple enough a concept but things get a little sticky when he has to deal with his uncle’s killer escaped from jail, his best friend’s obsession with getting revenge on him for his father’s death, having to compete with a new photographer at the Daily Bugle and MJ’s increasingly disastrous acting career. Oh, wait. I forgot that he also has to deal with The Sandman (Thomas Haden Church) and Venom (Topher Grace), the newest enemies to emerge in New York City, a city where freaks apparently flock to. It’s a lot for one man to handle, let alone one man with super human powers. Ultimately, it proved to be too much for another super human to handle, namely returning director, Sam Raimi. Taking over script duty with his brother Ivan, found a lot of interesting themes like revenge and ego woven into the Spidey web but so much going on leaves so little to fully develop. Scenes that would seem pivotal, like when Venom and Sandman decide to team up, end up feeling rushed while scenes that are entirely disposable, like when Spidey’s alter ego, Peter Parker, finds his “Saturday Night Fever” groove strutting down the streets of NYC, seem to go on forever.


While the first SPIDERMAN film, written by David Koepp (rumoured to be returning for SPIDERMAN 4) brought me to tears more than once, there is plenty to enjoy in SPIDERMAN 3 that allows forgiveness for the script problems. People seem to have forgotten that Spidey is here to entertain us. Sure it would be nice to be affected by the words being spoken as well but when the action is as tight and the special effects as vast as in SPIDERMAN 3, it is a pleasure to tune out for a while and enjoy the ride. With three enemies to fight off at any given moment, Spidey finds himself constantly reevaluating his approach. With the New Goblin (James Franco), Spidey has to fend off a very aggressive attacker that he doesn’t truly want to hurt. The Sandman, who enters and exits in a flurrying sandstorm that is a visual kaleidoscope of grain, is at times an insurmountable force. The fact that Spidey can’t effectively hit him only further shows how much energy is wasted on revenge (as he was the man who actually killed his uncle in his pre-Sandman days). And Venom is just plain frightening. Being under the control of the tar-like substance that transforms cocky photographer, Eddie Brock (Grace), into this fanged fright, amplifies all of your aggressive, negative behavior. For Spidey, fighting Venom is like fighting all the parts of himself that he tries so hard to leave behind.


When SPIDERMAN hit theatres a few in 2002, its energy was infectious. Hopes were high and the goods were delivered. Genuine admiration was formed for the hero but like any hero, people eventually want to tear them down out of jealousy. How quickly we forget the love and allow our expectations to be set so high that no one, not even a man who glides gracefully through the sky, could surmount them. Better than the second, not as good the first, SPIDERMAN 3 is falling prey to the audience’s need to be constantly wowed with something bigger and better that eclipses accomplishments that are already awesome. Sure Raimi got himself tangled up in his own overcomplicated web but there is no one who can spin it like he can. And if Raimi, Maguire and Dunst don’t return for future installments, you’ll all be wishing you hadn’t squashed this spider so quickly.