Reviews by JxSxPx

Baz Luhrmann’s Moulin Rouge! is like staring into a glittery rainbow through a kaleidoscope for about two hours. It’s bound to repulse many who would view the film, but I am not one of them. I find the film to be alive with music, love, spirit, energy and great performances. It’s so grand, over-the-top really, during its first hour to pave way for the heartbreaking second hour, which descends into an emotional hell for all of our principal characters. It must be that bright, bubbly and ridiculous in the beginning to offset the darkness in the latter half. I have loved it very dearly since first seeing it in theaters at a very tender age, and it still leaves me breathless with its wild abandon.

Ewan McGregor is a penniless writer who gets swept up in the bohemian mini-revolution that painter Toulouse-Lautrec (John Leguizamo) introduces him to. You see, McGregor has moved into an apartment directly below Toulouse and his oddball set. One day an narcoleptic Argentian comes crashing through his roof, and so begins the proper story of how McGregor becomes Rodolfo to Nicole Kidman’s Mimi. She is a performer in a nightclub who also whores herself out when it is most opportune to the dreams and aspirations of her character and her surrogate father’s, Zidler (Jim Broadbent). Meet cutes, mistaken identities, characters who wear their names and descriptions on their sleeves, and a villain who is completely dislikable. The Duke, played to over-the-top lunacy by Richard Roxburgh, exists solely to stand in the way our of two main heroes/lovers, and to provide the money that’ll make Kidman’s showgirl-cum-actress dreams come true. Each characterization is paper thin, but deeply complicated characters with rich nuance and subtleties never seem to be an aim within a lavish movie musical. Nor should they be. Musicals rely on simplicity in storytelling to ground the feverish, dreamlike qualities involved in characters spontaneously bursting into song mid-conversation.

Anachronistic and slightly anarchic in spirit, Moulin Rouge! technically takes place in an imagined Paris of 1899, but comes armed with contemporary songs, MTV generation-style quick editing and the spectacle of an old MGM musical. We are introduced to the titular club through a medley of Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spirit,” the remake of “Lady Marmalade,” Fatboy Slim’s “Because We Can-Can,” David Bowie’s “Diamond Dogs” and snippets of numerous others. Visually, it is spliced and diced and seems to skip around on every syllable. It’s pure visually anarchy, but it has been arranged and directed in such a way that it drops us into the kinetic world and lets us know exactly what kind of experience we are in for. Normally this kind of editing bothers me to no end, but it works and feels right for this film. It could be because we are being dropped into an operatic pastiche, a film which wears its motto as the only overriding theme and makes an argument for music being the universal language of love and the soul. This version of the Moulin Rouge is an underground sex club, Studio 54 chic and the wildest rave ever envisioned. It makes the anything-goes politically, sexually and intellectually cabaret of Cabaret look faintly tame by comparison.

I have spent a great deal of space and time describing the visual and auditory palette that the film plays with so wildly. Yes, the film is like glitter and bedazzles exploding during the first half before going into darker territory. But the greatness of the film would be nothing without a group of actors that commit themselves fully to embodying their archetypes. Who is the penniless but brilliant writer Christian but the channel through which the Bohemian ideals are to be viewed and processed? He is not a character in a normal sense; he is a conduit for the film’s themes. McGregor easily nails the charm, jealousy, naiveté and sophistication of the character. He can look boyish and youthful in his penniless duds, but also very well-groomed and classy in his tuxedos. It doesn’t hurt that he can actually sing and dance. He’s not Gene Kelly or Fred Astaire-level, but who is, really?

And who is Satine but the leggy red-head who is equal parts Rita Hayworth, Marilyn Monroe and Madonna? She’s a beautiful singer-dancer in the Moulin Rouge who also dabbles in the occasional whoring with dreams of becoming a real actress who dies of consumption at the very end. It’s a hell of a part involving the character to go from high comedy to tear-stained melodrama within a two hour movie. Along the way are complicated and busy production numbers and a lot of singing. Nicole Kidman gives a titanic performance. She doesn’t just nail it, but invests everything she’s got into it. Her performance here almost makes her eventual Oscar win for The Hours look like an apology for losing out to Halle Berry. That line of reasoning isn’t hampered by the fact that Kidman was nominated for this one year and then won the next. And they’re given great support by Roxburgh as the Duke. He performs the role like a silent film (over) actor. The kind of which would glower and tie girls up the train tracks in-between title cards and twirling his mustache. It works for this film, but in another it would be a disaster. It’s that fine balance and finding the correct tone. John Leguizamo and Jim Broadbent also swing pretty wide, with Leguizamo providing his own singing and Broadbent being dubbed. Both are incredibly diverse and highly talented actors.

I have talked a lot about how big and broad this movie is, how practically devoid of subtly it is, and those who know me know that things like this typically annoy me greatly. But I saw Moulin Rouge! at a tender age when it first hit theaters, and something within the post-modern glitter bomb reached into my soul and stayed there. It still holds an intoxicating and wondrous spell over me. Each time I watch it my heart soars with their love affair, I’m always amazed breathless at the “Elephant Love Medley” and stunned by “El Tango de Roxanne,” and I never fail to tear up by the end. I know the beats by heart. I could practically recite the entire film from start to finish for you, but I always get swept up in the journey. It’s a love-or-hate kind of film. I have loved it since the summer of 2001; I will love it until I die. I will defend it as the best movie of that year, and I will always claim it as a perfect film. Some movies just speak to us, and Moulin Rouge! speaks in a language that I understand. It’s old fashioned Hollywood in many ways, so beautifully ornate, so frantic and kinetic, so modern. It’s a contradiction.

This was the film that made me think of movies as something other than entertainments. This was the start of my exploration into film-as-art-form. It might seem funny to you, but it makes sense to me.

Morning Glory was completely and utterly lost upon me. It starts out perfectly fine enough, a hungry young up-and-comer named Eva Lovelace (Katharine Hepburn) strolls into a theater and looks at the portraits of the past greats. You can tell that she is determined and head-strong, that this performance is probably something of an autobiography for Hepburn at the time. Once she starts opening her mouth the film falls apart. Eva is unbelievably pretentious, almost deranged and megalomaniacal, and saddled with overripe dialogue. The overarching plot is inert, generally apathetic and fast-paced story which glosses by and zips past story beats like an affair with a producer and the struggles that she encounters on her way towards stardom. All of this could have been salvaged had the performances been up to par, but everyone across the board is either serviceable or cringe-inducing/awful. Hepburn is so overly mannered and broadly arched that it’s a wonder that she won an Oscar for this. She is truly bad, but she is the rare actress who blossomed and got better as she got older. The Hepburn of, say, Long Day’s Journey Into Night would have slaughtered this Hepburn.

The latest in the DC Comics direct-to-DVD adaptations is just as fun, just as beautifully animated, but suffers from…something. Perhaps it’s a lack of distinct and interesting plotting? Unlike Batman & Superman: Public Enemies, which thrived on a anime-obsessed young boy’s fantasy mash-up rock-sock-‘em storyline, Apocalypse is in constant strain between wanting to flesh out a storyline and creating an hour and twenty minute action sequence. I’ve said it before about these films and I’ll repeat myself here: they need to be longer. The pacing is all over the place, with events either moving at too breakneck a speed or not given enough room to be fully developed.

The story contains the reintroduction of Supergirl into the Superman mythos. Once again, she is a survivor of Krypton, and a direct blood-relative to Superman. All well and good, until Darkseid decides that he wants to brainwash her and use her to lead his Female Furies Battalion. With such a rich and textured backdrop for our storyline to spring off from, why does it feel so infinitely inferior to the similar terrain covered in Superman: The Animated Series?

Over the course of that show’s third season we had a slow burning expansion and introduction of the same elements presented in this film: Supergirl, Darkseid, Apokolips, Granny Goodness and the Female Furies, etc. The only elements that weren’t originally there were Batman and Wonder Woman. Barda was seen briefly in the New Genesis lineup (more screen time was given to Orion). “Little Girl Lost,” “Apokolips…Now!,” and “Legacy” told this story more fully and with more rounded out and complete character arcs and developments. Here everyone but Superman and Supergirl are given the short end of the stick. Batman is especially underused.

So the storyline is a rehash, so what? It’s based on a comic, which tell cyclical storylines constantly over the decades. The problem is that it offers up so many plot holes and contrivances along the way that make you scratch your head and go “Huh?” What happened to the whip-smart writing of Batman: Under the Red Hood or Wonder Woman? But there are also some problems with the animation and vocal performance, two aspects which usually excel in these films and can bring up the enjoyment and appreciation of them despite script problems.

Much like Public Enemies tried to replicate Ed McGuinesses’ artwork in the film’s design, Apocalypse tries to mimic the late-great Michael Turner. This isn’t a problem much since most of the character models look and animate fantastically. But Superman looks like he’s a lipstick application away from rocking the Robert Smith look, Granny Goodness looks like a wet poodle, and Superman and Batman both have mouths which are animated very oddly. These distract, but never really inhibit the overall quality of the animation.

And, lastly, the vocal work. This continues the tradition of the “gang’s all here!”-vibe of Public Enemies by reuniting Conroy, Daly, Ed Asner and Susan Eisenberg in their roles from the animated franchises. Newcomers Andre Braugher and Summer Glau are hit-and-miss. Glau nails the role, even if the writers have decided to dumb-down Supergirl into a vapid shopping-obsessed girly girl, bringing a toughness and vulnerability that plays nicely. Braugher is just an unfortunate bit of miscasting. His voice is too calm, almost too sleepy to really make Darkseid fearsome. He is a character that should inspire fear, he is a god. This is just too relaxed for that.

Batman & Superman: Apocalypse is the first of these that makes me say “Meh.” It’s roughly on-par with Superman: Doomsday, in fact, it shares many of that films same weaknesses right down to the ending which is one extended fight sequence followed by a brief pause and then another extended fight sequence. There are nice moments, but the film connecting them together needed more work. It’s fun, but only as a rental. I look forward to Batman: Year One next year though.

Summer Stock occupies a unique place in the filmographies of Gene Kelly and Judy Garland. For Kelly, this was the last film before his reputation and legend was cemented by the glorious one-two punch of An American in Paris and Singin’ in the Rain. For Garland, it was the last film in her contract with MGM, and one of the last films she made before her untimely death. As a musical it’s a treat, not quite as classic as, say, Meet Me in St. Louis or An American in Paris, but enjoyable none the less.

It harkens back to an older kind of musical, the Andy Hardy series springs to mind with the “Let’s put on a show!” plot and good cheer. Garland, plump after a stint in rehab, portrays a farmer in the grand MGM way of doing things – we’re introduced to her singing in the shower, with full makeup on and expertly done hair. It’s a catchy little song about singing when you feel like it, and what a great way it is to start your day. If you sounded like Garland you’d probably agree. Even if you don’t, it’s hard to argue with it. Her spoiled sister is returning to town for a brief period of time after leaving it to go and become an actress. Her sister is full of actress-y affectations and theatrical diva tantrums and pretensions. She brings with her a handsome and athletic singer-dancer-actor-choreography-director, Gene Kelly (playing himself?), and his theater company. Naturally, hilarity and expertly performed musical numbers ensue.

Kelly and Garland were absolute geniuses when it came to musicals. What he could do with choreography, she could do with her voice. She was just as diverse and talented a dancer, even if she lacked his trained discipline and polish. She was the greater dramatic and comedic actress, but he could hold his own against her. They were dynamic and exciting partners. When they were on-screen they both commanded your attention. Unlike, say, Debbie Reynolds who did an amiable job but Kelly demanded your attention, Judy Garland wasn’t about to concede the audience’s love and attention to someone else. Sharing it was ok, as long as the love and attention was equal. Their dance-off in the barn is fantastic.

While their partnership is one for the ages, they each get incredible solo numbers. Gene Kelly dancing in the barn with a newspaper and some creaky floorboards is just as wonderful and memorable as the sequence in Cover Girl where he dances against his mirrored self. The amount of control he exhibits showcases that dancing is both an art and a sport. That he can spin around so much and stop on a dime is not an easy task, no matter how easy he made it look. That requires a degree of muscle control that would make some athletes weep. And Judy Garland, who appears slimmed down and looks fantastic during the musical sequences at the very end, gets “Get Happy.” Clad head-to-toe in black and performing a Bob Fosse-esque number, Garland proves that less is more. Everyone knows and remembers the “Get Happy” sequence, and it proves that no matter what Garland’s problems were off-stage, she was magical once she was on.

This remake of A Star is Born, the best of the three in my opinion, is a one-woman show of incredible skill. Judy Garland’s central performance provides a great example for the argument that acting is an art form. Not only does she get to sing and dance, she gets to make you laugh and cry. Every great performance must contain an element of truth, and A Star is Born has passages ripped from Garland’s life. She is ably supported by James Mason, but this is really Judy’s show through and through. And what a show it is!

Much like the Janet Gaynor original, A Star is Born tells the doomed love story of Esther Blodgett and Norman Maine. Maine discovers Esther and gives her the big break into show business that she has desperately been struggling for. While she begins a journey towards the peaks of fame, Maine is falling into a personal and professional abyss. For a long time their love is the only thing keeping him alive, but once his demons begin to take down her career, he makes a sacrifice to set her free. She is his greatest discovery, her career is his greatest masterpiece, his one brilliant idea, and having a part in destroying it is too much for him to bear. The only real difference is that Esther, who gets remade into Vicki Lester, is a lounge singer, and becomes a musical film sensation.

And while A Star is Born is filled with moments and story beats that were cliché when the Janet Gaynor original was made, this version is able to elevate above those problems thanks to the two strong central performance, solid direction and a numerous moments that ring true. Yes, Star is mostly Judy’s one-woman show, but without James Mason’s ability to be both likeable and incredibly dark, brooding the movie might have sunk into route sentimentality and cliché-driven melodrama. Take the scene late in the film when Vicki is discussing her future with the head of the studio. She says that she is going to give up her career, shortly after winning an Oscar and being one of the biggest box office draws at the time, to take care of Norman and help him get over his crippling addiction(s). Mason’s tortured expression and self-loathing body language while overhearing this in bed ignites a spark within the scene that might not have been there otherwise. That darkly simmering ember adds a real sense of truth to the Norman Maine character. Mason was justifiably rewarded with an Academy Award nomination for Best Actor.

But we must now discuss Judy Garland, and the performance which gives her a chance to cinematically act out revenge against MGM, showcase every talent she had, and, in a more just universe, would have won her the Best Actress Oscar instead of Grace Kelly’s wooden and stiff posturing in The Country Girl. To put it more simply, it’s one hell of a performance grounded in truth and delivered with commitment and fire. Like any of the other greatest performances in the history of film.

Take for example two sequences in the film. The first, “Born in a Trunk” which rivals, but doesn’t quite best, the extended ballet in The Red Shoes for best musical sequence in a film. It’s about fifteen minutes long, and has no true necessity to the story. It’s a film-within-a-film, the film that is being viewed at the premiere which leads to Vicki Lester’s new-found stardom. Her character tells of her history, from performing with her parents on vaudeville to the eventual stage super-stardom that she experiences. She not only gets to sing several different songs within the medley, and this being Garland she performs each with a distinct character, commitment and a voice that can caress a phrase very tenderly or blast it into out space, but also gets to stretch her comedy muscles. She frequently has to do both at the same time. She dances wonderfully, even when she’s trying to be silly or show how she’s grown from novice to seasoned pro. You try pulling off the hat trick of singing, dancing and acting at the same time and see just how easy it is. Garland was a talent so large that she could do each of them individually or together and make each look effortless. “Born in a Trunk” is a high-water mark, and it’s one of several musical sequences that point to her legendary status. For my money, it’s second only to “Somewhere Over the Rainbow,” which is really saying something. And the second is another musical sequence, but this time she gets to show off her dramatic skills as well. “Lose That Long Face” is an adorable little song-and-tap number that Vicki is filming for her latest film. A visit from the studio boss between takes has her returning to her dressing room for a private chat. She cries and opines about Norman’s destructive behavior and how she sometimes hates him for what he is putting her through. The way that she cries hysterically and nails the scene is wonderful, but what really astounds it is how quickly she goes from crying to performing flawlessly on the set within a matter of moments. My jaw dropped when I first saw it, and each time I view it, it remains inconceivable that she lost the Oscar.

There are other great moments, her studio makeover is ripped straight from Garland’s background on the set of The Wizard of Oz comes to mind immediately, but those two are the best for my money. And George Cukor stages each musical sequence wonderfully. The color palette is beautiful to behold. Truly, this is a Technicolor dreamland worthy of Hollywood’s glamor and sleazy underbelly. It never really aspires to be a tell-all like Sunset Blvd., although it does aim more than a few pop shots at the way the Hollywood machine creates and cannibalizes its own, A Star is Born is mostly a romance. It’s doomed and tragic from the start, but then again, what other way could this story end? Hollywood romances are prone to take one down while raising the profile of another, well, the doomed ones anyway.

And much could be said about the irony of Judy Garland portraying the nonalcoholic, the one who ends up surviving, somehow, at the very end. But there is much of Judy Garland in both characters. Yes, she possessed Norman’s alcoholism, self-destructive streak and tendency to disrupt filming and inability to function outside of chaos. But she also possessed Vicki’s grand talents, neurosis, sensitivity and need for constant reassurance and support. She needed someone to dream bigger dreams for her, but she had the knowledge of who to get those dreams accomplished.

And much could be said about the film’s uneasy classification. I have called it a musical throughout this review, for lack of a better word admittedly. It’s more of a dramatic film with musical moments. Each taking place at a concert, on a soundstage, within a film, recording studio, never do they adhere to the conventions of a normal film musical. I propose to just dub it a grand entertainment. A melodrama that is alive with song and dance, fiery performances and beautiful craft. It’s three hours long, but never dull.

The Kids Are All Right is a modern look at the nuclear family, complete with its warts, foibles and general grind that goes along with it. That the parents are a lesbian couple is never made into a big deal, it just is. To see two people presented as just ‘being’ twenty years into a marriage is nice. We so often see the blissful-but-awkward first year, the medically-impaired twilight, but never really the midsection. These are two people trying to just make it through, raise their kids and be happy. But anyone who’s made it through more than one year living and being with the same person knows that it’s a hard task, and that it only gets harder as time marches on. Did I mention that is was filled with laughter, warmth, brains and tears along the journey? Well, such is life.

Nic (Annette Bening) and Jules (Julianne Moore) have been together for twenty years and have had two kids through an anonymous sperm donor, Paul (Mark Ruffalo). When their oldest child, Joni (Mia Wasikowska), is getting ready to go off to college her brother, Laser (Josh Hutcherson), asks her to help them meet their biological father. She initially refuses, declaring that she doesn’t want to hurt Moms feelings. Like any parental unit they are described as a singular entity. Eventually she relents and they secretly meet Ruffalo. From there the Moms intervene and hilarity, awkwardness and honest-to-God adult emotions emerge.

Some movies can be described as an actor’s piece; they offer great lines to act out but don’t deliver the goods in the story department. They’re just pretty ornaments for the actors to hang with their craft. I would be tempted, greatly I might add, to call this an actor’s piece, but the script is too wonderful, the story to perfectly told to disservice it in that way. And yet it does offer a chance for some great actors to do some great work. It is both a tightly written piece and an actor’s piece. A rarity nowadays and we should treasure movies like it all the more. Consider the scene where Nic and Jules have a huge argument about Paul, their kids, their marriage at dinner with friends. The simple back and forth pains you. No flowery or prosaic dialogue is given; it is unadorned and sounds painfully real. Moore and Bening do great work throughout, but a scene like this allows for them to do small and subtle touches which add credence to their characters backstory and lives. It makes it all feel more real. The way that Moore delivers a line like “Do you still think I’m pretty?” is enough to break your heart. Or the way that Bening reacts to her daughter’s growing desire for independence. She is used to her daughter being the good one, the one that always does as she is told. But children grow up and want to be adults someday; Joni is just trying to ask her mother to be treated this way. But she does it in the same bullish way that we’ve all done it. The face that Bening makes, nothing huge or grand, just a small twitch of the muscles to express hurt, confusion, anger and possibly understanding go a long way. This is a real family, this is a real couple.

I have expounded greatly on our two lead actresses, but they don’t act in a vacuum. Hutcherson delivers solid work as Laser, the fifteen-year-old son seeking a masculine connection, male-bonding and patriarchal sympathy in a house run by women. It is understandable why he feels this way, and he’s also got some of his mother’s both-feet-first way of doing things. Wasikowska, fresh off a solid performance in Alice in Wonderland, proves that she’s a young actress to watch. If she’s already hoping around genres and seeking out complicated and diverse characters like this, she could easily prove herself to be an actress of great strength and caliber. She also bares a more than striking resemblance to Joni Mitchell, whom her character is named for. Should Mitchell ever get a biopic, I know what actress could portray her. And Mark Ruffalo, always a solid supporting actor, turns in his greatest one yet. What he has to do to get some recognition from Hollywood is anyone’s guess. His scruffy but plain good looks fit Paul like a glove. But he’s also capable of delivering the stuttering, commitment-phobic, slightly neurotic New Age oddness of the character. It is a finely and fully realized portrait, just like the rest. Truly, this is a gifted ensemble. It’s a shame the Academy doesn’t pull a SAG award and create a “Best Ensemble” category.

Notice that I haven’t talked about the infidelity. I’ve noticed that some (re)viewers are mistaking Jules and Paul’s affair as being something resembling love. Love has nothing to do with it. She tells him flat out that she’s a lesbian. So why is she having sex with a man? It’s very simple. Nic is no longer noticing Jules in many ways. When Jules tells Paul that she mistakes silence for criticism that is coming from a dark and deep place within her, which is an emotional black eye has been dealing with throughout her marriage. Paul notices her, he tells her kind words, he values her input, he thinks of her sexually. She is being seen by someone for the first time in a long while. That is why she sleeps with him. She doesn’t love him; he just makes her feel appreciated and noticed for the first time in a long time. He’s fulfilling the emotional void she’s having in her marriage. And he doesn’t love her, he’s jealous of their comfortable middle-class domesticity. They have his children; they have a marriage and a nice life. He is in his forties and runs from relationships. She is an image to him in many ways. His feelings are based on that.

And then there is the ending. Many feel that he is shut out completely and blamed as an interloper. I can see that, but I disagree. If everyone in the family hated him, why would Joni take the hat he gave her with her to college? She can clearly be seen placing it with her things in the car towards the end. There is a possibility, a very small and subtle one in a film filled with small and subtle things, that he can be forgiven and welcomed back in. But the home needs to be fixed first. That was my reading, anyway.

The Kids Are All Right is a film that I appreciate, love and cannot recommend highly enough. I saw it shortly after it came out, and wish that I had written this sooner. Luckily, it’s still playing (at my art house theater anyway) and is coming out to DVD in early November. Go to the theater, rent it, I don’t care how you see it, just do it.

I distinctly remember being eight-years-old and seeing Toy Story for the first time. I was completely and utterly amazed at what they had accomplished not just the technicality of it all – that would come later – but the imagination and heart that they had created. The fact that so many the films I viewed as a child are now forgotten relics (Free Willy?) and that this was just the beginning of Pixar’s might domination in the animation field is a testament to the original’s might. But it was also the first film in a trilogy that has always filled me with warmth, humor and tears. Toy Story 3 is a satisfying conclusion to the series.

The filmmakers made a smart move in picking up Toy Story 3 in the real-world amount of time since Toy Story 2, that is to say that eleven years has happened between our last go-round with Andy’s toys and this one in the film’s continuity as well. Andy is no longer the eight-year-old boy with an amazingly active and vivid imagination; he’s a college-bound teenager debating on what to do with his childhood toys. I went through that not too long ago; it is quietly disheartening knowing that that piece of you is forever sealed away. He can’t bring himself to throw them away. He wants to place them in the attic where they’ll spend the rest of their days. But something happens, and they’re mistaken as garbage, they escape that to only be donated to a daycare. Not a terrible fate for a toy. There will always be a steady stream of kids to play with them, they will always be loved.

But there’s something wrong with the daycare. It’s not the kids, they’re kids. Toys are used to being beaten up, chewed, etc. It’s the plush bear that has named himself ruler of the daycare, Lots-O’-Huggin’ Bear, he’s almost too friendly. Naturally, mystery and wonderfully envisioned actions sequences take place. Our toys don’t want to be here, they want to go back to Andy and remain in the attic. The film follows their journey from the daycare back to Andy before winding up with Bonnie, a little girl with a lot of promise to show signs of artistic creativity and quirky quiet-type. It would be a lie if I said that no point during this film I didn’t get teary eyed and choked up.

While the series has always dabbled in bringing eerily humanistic life to these plastic and synthetic creatures, Toy Story 3 takes it to a new level. This is the most human of the three films. If it’s about nothing else, then it’s about impermanence, a deeply rooted melancholia, a sense of the inevitable and that great topic for all artists, love. These toys express and experience love not just for their owner, but for each other. The combination of animators and actors endow these characters with souls. I cried at a scene where they reached out their hands to each other not because it was a moving gesture, but because I have had fifteen years with these characters and I was invested in them. That is the magic of great fiction.

If I were to rank the trilogy, I would probably put this one first. It’s too wonderfully animated, too full of life, warmth, wit, love, loss and excitement not to be first. This has truly entered the running for greatest movie trilogy of all time. And why not? It tells just as heroic a story as The Lord of the Rings, but on a much smaller scale. Instead of a heroic journey, these characters take on the noble enterprise of self-less love, of knowing that there is limited time to engage and share that love but they still dive-in feet first. It is filled with as much visual eye-candy, but this is aimed more at humor than at awe-inspiring battle sequences. Although that trash compacter sequence was harrowing, and I’m an adult. But the heart, warmth and tears at the end can’t be faked. So it began with a shot of clouds in 1995, so it ends with a shot of clouds in 2010. A perfect conclusion to a perfect franchise.

Inception reminds me of a song called “The Windmills of Your Mind” which features lyrics about dreams within dreams, building on top of more dreams. And so goes Inception’s plot, which is usually within a dream and debatable about whether any of it is truly happening. Is all of this just a dream within a dream within a dream? Or are we glimpsing into memories? What is the reality of this film’s storyline and structure? Is there any reality?

Inception thrusts us into Dom Cobb (Leonardo DiCaprio) life and psyche. He is a dream-invader, a man who can break into anyone’s dream and extract important information, or, more rarely, plant an idea. Planting an idea within a dream is where the film draws its title from. He has been hired by Saito (Ken Watanabe) to implant an idea within Robert Fischer (Cillian Murphy), the son of his chief business rival. That is the main through line, and the rest of it is a combination of high-stakes action, inner-character turmoil and stunningly beautiful visual tricks.

Chris Nolan has patented this kind of brainy action-adventure character drama over the course of the past ten years. His work is solidly constructed from a storytelling point-of-view, even if at times he can get bogged down into expository dialogue and consistent emotional short-hands. (Inception marks yet another film with a dead wife/female character driving the central figure towards his ultimate fate, or as a symbol of his greatest failure/regret. There’s always a dead woman somewhere driving his characters.) But here he finds a good balance, and generally sticks to a solid timeline. His love for nonlinear works severely hampered The Prestige, which featured so many flashbacks within flashbacks so as to glaring point out that these characters wouldn’t have any true access to this information as it is presented. That, and The Prestige tried to pull off a third-act surprise that was sign-posted and neon-blaringly obvious that it derailed the entire film to a sloppy mess. Inception corrects many of those filmmaking mistakes and is instead played out like a chess game. I appreciate his continued effort to make summer movies with brains and hearts. His action set pieces thrill and entice me because they are there for a reason, these characters are characters that I want to spend two hours with and care about what happens to them. He regards us as a generally smart bunch who can keep up with his pyrotechnics, and I’m not talking about the shit-goes-boom-real-pretty-like scenes.

But Nolan is also a smart director when it comes to casting actors. Leonardo DiCaprio has proven time and time again to be either the best actor of his generation, or one who is very close to the top of that list. To think of the great performances he has already given – What’s Eating Gilbert Grape?, Marvin’s Room, The Aviator – and to see him trying out another genre, another intriguing filmmaker, well, that truly is a cinematic joy to behold. He’s been very smart with his choices, and while some films like Revolutionary Road sounded fantastic on paper and featured great performances but were less than the sum of their parts, he has consistently delivered a level of work that speaks to his excellence in every film. He is no different here, having to juggle guilt, remorse, being an educator and various other strands and ripples within the character. He is equally at home in the dramatic sequences as the action.

But he is not acting in a vacuum. Joseph Gordon-Levitt is Cobb’s longtime associate, and he is another candidate for greatest actor of their generation. It’s strange to see him in a movie with an actual budget, but a welcome experience. He is more grounded, the more analytical and practical-minded of the two. Cobb is driven by a desire to see his family, while Arthur thinks of much of it as just business and how can they do it quickly, easily and with as little mess as possible. Tom Hardy gets the showy role as the master of deception. His braggart and snarky demeanor irks Gordon-Levitt’s character to no end. He, obviously, gets the lion’s share of great one-liners. Ellen Page, an actress who always projects intelligence, is Ariadyne, the apprentice architect. Her name provided me a laugh, but I wonder how many other people will get why. I wish she had been given a bit more to do, but it’s nice to see her not type-cast as Juno. Ken Watanabe, always a welcome presence and an underutilized actor, gives typically strong support. As do Cillian Murphy, in a fairly blank role, and Michael Caine, in a too-brief glorified cameo.

But Marion Cotillard once again proves her might as an actress. I have long said that she can express more with her big blue eyes, a stretch of her neck, a downturn of her mouth than most other actresses currently working. She can, she does. She is the dead wife in Cobb’s dream world. She is the nightmare that eternally haunts him and frequently gets loose to destroy his hard work. Cotillard has to be many things – a wild animal, a sensitive and lovingly woman, a symbolic representation of guilt – and she nails each and every one.

And what shall we make of the ending? I have heard and discussed a few different theories, but they all boil down to two distinct camps: it was all a dream or he made it out. I fall into the former camp, but I would actually extend the argument even further and say that the film does contain dreams, and dreams within dreams, but that it’s really all a long sequence of memories. And if you pay close attention to the plot, you’ll hear them discuss memories and how they affect the architecture and characteristics of the dream world. My main proof, aside from the spinning top, is that every time we glimpse his children, even at the very end, they’re in the same position. They’re performing the same tasks, they’re dressed the same. They haven’t noticeably aged. They look the same as he last remembers seeing them. Why would they be in the same spot doing the same thing when he returns to them as he last saw them? What are the chances of this? Food for thought and discussion about the ambiguous ending, a perfect ending really as any true, neat and tidy ending would have rung completely false.

Humoresque would have better if a few cuts had been made, or if they had decided on a consistent tone for the piece. But, as it stands, it’s slightly campy and has its own kind of peculiar charm and luscious production values. The best way to sum it up would be to say this: Joan Crawford’s character wasn’t in the source material and was included only to generate star power for the vehicle. Without her, we might have had something a bit more intriguing and real, instead of so mannered and quirkily charming.

I’m not exactly a fan of Joan Crawford, I find her stiff and prone to campy hysterics which mar her performances and films more than she helps them out. To me she is a pop figure: someone who made it to the top through sheer willpower despite limited talent and a penchant for refusing to face the facts. (Check any of her later films where she tries to play things young and sexy when she’s clearly too old for that kind of kittenish behavior.) Her extended close-ups have the air of a star demanding, beating the camera into loving and desiring her. She wants nothing more than to be lauded with attention and applause from the camera, and the audience by extension. Her character is a drunken sugar-mama whose main goal in the film is to make masochistic alcoholism look as glamorous and wonderful as possible. Her death march into the ocean is inevitable, and played as high-camp theatricality. Even though she meant it to probably be taken as earnest and tear-inducing.

Humoresque gives us a great John Garfield performance to counteract Crawford’s scenery-chewing (that last scene has to be seen to be believed). Garfield tries to anchor the film in realism and offers up a study in a working class kid’s quest to become a great artist. There’s only one great love of his life, and it isn’t Crawford’s doomed proprietress. He nails the role, and Oscar Levant provides caustic and hilarious support, even if his scenes and character feels like they should be part of a different movie altogether. They play off of each other incredibly well and I found them to be more engaging a duo than Garfield-Crawford. Although the insults he lobs at her are priceless.

But the real reason to watch Humoresque is to hear the intricately composed and conducted pieces of classical music. There are about 25 musical sequences throughout the film, maybe a little more, maybe a little less, and each is astoundingly gorgeous. It took practically an entire village to make Garfield look like a virtuoso, but the effect works seamlessly. Lush and velvety, Humoresque is highly recommended for the production values, the music and Garfield’s nicely executed central performance. A bit too long, and slightly overindulgent in spots, it’s still a fine piece of melodrama from the golden age of those kind of weepy women's pictures.

Possessed sees something very strange for a Joan Crawford film: she flagellates herself into emoting and actually giving a performance instead of relying on star power and stubbornly going through the motions with campy élan. That doesn’t mean that Possessed is free from campy histrionics from the star, but she creates an interesting portrait to work with her theatrics, mostly. The film also comes with striking noir-esque visuals and a script that has insights into the maddening nature of unrequited love.

Crawford stars as Louise, a woman with a fraught connection to reality throughout the film, who is in love with David, Van Heflin, but marries Dean, Raymond Massey. Dean is the husband of the sick woman that Louise takes care of. David is the neighbor who she’s madly in love with, and who likes her but this relationship is just a stop-gap for him. Geraldine Brooks is Dean’s daughter, a college-age girl who hates and distrusts Louise and has been nursing a school-girl crush on David. It’s a love triangle mostly; since Dean plays no real role in most of the proceedings once he’s married Louise and helped create a fractured, terse relationship between his daughter and her new mother.

Van Heflin does a credible job as the homme fatale of Crawford’s obsessive, needy and desperate affections. He is aloof to her, more tolerating of her adoration and constant attention than giving and warm like he is with Brooks. And Geraldine Brooks provides good support, capable of being both bratty and snotty and charmingly coquettish depending on what character she is interacting with. And then there is Crawford.

Joan Crawford was practically a drag queen version of herself. What else could possibly explain the melodramatics and steely bitch demeanor that she brings to the final scenes of the film? Or the hallucinations that pepper the film, which she showcases by looking strained and rubbing her forehead while the makeup people apply a copious amount of sweat to her brow? That’s something close to camp for the ages. But there are other moments, moments where she delivers something more original and engaging. Moments where the life and light and her eyes recedes and she looks out at the world with a hunger that can only be described as animalistic, feral even, and sometimes that hunger screams out “OSCAR!” but mostly it’s just her steeling herself and every emotion into delivering a performance with grit and bite. She goes colorfully mad, wears no makeup (how shocking that is for a woman who refused to act her age and face the reality of aging) and invests us with all her might in her oneiric film.

The film is flawed whenever we have to sit through the wraparound hospital scenes (much of it ham-fisted dialogue delivered with shrugs and obvious insincerity by the actors), and often dips into campy hysterics more than it probably should. But so what? There is the central performance from movie star Joan Crawford, a performance which probably should have won her the Oscar instead of Mildred Pierce. Her sanity throughout the film is suspect, but once David leaves her for the younger, prettier step-daughter you know all hell is about to bust loose. And whenever we’re dealing with her descent into madness, Possessed engulfs us in its own way.