Ramy, the new series from Hulu brings viewers into the world of a Muslim-American young man living in New Jersey with his family. This is a nuclear family that isn’t depicted much on screen, even if it is 2019. Ramy Youssef attempts to change that by starring, producing, and writing in his own television show by playing himself in an exaggerated version of his life.
Recently there has been a slew of original content, mostly from streaming sites, where the creator of the series plays themselves. Shows such as Master of None, Insecure, Shrill and Atlanta are popular among audiences because they give an inside peek into the world of actors, comedians, and even musicians, (Donald Glover is all three in case you forgot) where they play a character who isn’t a far departure from their real life. Almost all of these shows have gone on to make major stars of their actors giving them greater creative control to write, produce, and even cast their shows. Ramy competes in a similar arena to shows that came before it and does good to remind us how these semi-autobiographical origins stories can start to feel redundant, contrived, and formulaic. Does Ramy follow this path or create a niche all its own? Let’s explore.
In ten episodes Ramy, the character, hits every note of what it means to be Muslim in the age of the Millennial. Phone going off during prayer? Check. Falling for a Jewish girl when your family is borderline anti-Semitic? Check. Mom and sister trying and subsequently getting shut down for speaking their minds? Double check. Yes, this show addresses critiques about Islam in the modern age. But it could do better to challenge preconceived notions of what it means to be Muslim. How about having Ramy himself tell us what he thinks about these critiques, how to tackle them, and ways in which to create a discourse? Nah.
My biggest frustration with the show was the character of Ramy didn’t have a lot to say. His point of view in every episode can be summed up as “I’m still trying to figure it out.” Which is perfectly fine but when you have thirty minutes to fill, please do more than try to always be the “good guy.” Seriously, Ramy is too good for his own tv show. He refuses to take the ecstasy pill, he shrugs off the girl who tries to have a one night stand with him in her car, he beats up the guy harassing a girl on the street corner; he’s basically Jiminy Cricket.
Yes, Ramy is too nice but let’s take it a step further, he’s not funny. Ramy is advertised by Hulu as a dramedy but there’s hardly any comedy to be found. Ramy Youssef the stand-up comedian is hilarious (seriously watch him on late night shows) but in a half-hour format, his brand of comedy just doesn’t translate. Possibly too many writers in the writers’ room? This can bog down ideas, starve creativity, and end up repeating tired storylines successful in better television shows. Interesting to note how much creative control Youssef was given because his voice gets buried underneath a plethora of topics the show attempts to cover in a single season. It’s difficult to foresee a second season when the writers covered practically every topic of what it means to be Muslim in the first season. Yes, there is an episode on masturbation featuring Osama Bin Laden. And, no, it wasn’t needed.
I was excited about this show, really excited, actually because a television series about a Muslim family on television is long overdue. Representation matters, especially today. And it exists in the form of Stevie, Ramy’s childhood friend who has muscular dystrophy is in a wheelchair and is desperate to get laid. So there’s comedy in these episodes. There’s talent here for sure. But heart? That will take more work.
Watching writer/director Max Minghella’s feature film debut Teen Spirit feels like listening to a familiar song but the remix version. In 93 minutes this audacious film attempts to sell the idea that American actress Elle Fanning is a Polish-British singer afraid to share her love of singing until a talent competition forces her to break out of her shell. Fanning proves she’s worthy of singing and dancing on stage but the other two features of her character require some suspension of disbelief.
Violet Valenski is a shy seventeen-year-old who works after school at a diner with her Polish single-mother on the Isle of Wight. Her social circle lacks friends along with words. Violet spends after-hours singing in a dingy bar with an audience of exactly one person. She signs up for a singing competition called Teen Spirit hoping for a chance to break free from the monotony of her life by following her dream to sing. And she’s good. Violet’s on-stage presence makes up for the fact she’s anti-social, reserved, and completely different from all the other loud acts in the competition. Predictably, Violet makes it to the finals of Teen Spirit. What stands in her way is signing a contract with a record company before the competition is over. Does she believe in her singing talents enough to realize she deserves more than what’s being offered her? Or does she succumb to the fame and grab low hanging fruit? You watch it because I won’t divulge any further. But it’s not difficult to guess what happens.
Minghella follows in the footsteps of his father the late great director Anthony Minghella. Like his father, his director’s eye is spot on in this film. Stunning cinematography, montages, and scenes of Fanning singing on stage leave more than just an indelible impression. The music in the film is its own character. Shots are perfectly timed to the beat of songs Fanning sings including covers by Ellie Goulding and Robyn. Extreme close-ups of Elle Fanning prove she dominates the screen, creating music video magic all their own. Fanning as a rising singer is believable. But Fanning as Violet Valenski the quiet girl in tracksuits, chunky jewelry, and a messy top knot? Not so much. Important character beats in the story are missing. With just a look, the audience is expected to know what Violet is thinking and feeling. This may have less to do with Fanning’s performance and more with missteps in the script. Sprinkle in some handy deus ex machina plot fillers to move the story forward proving that Minghella’s potential as a director is promising but as a screenwriter, he needs some work getting there.
The biggest hurdles Teen Spirit falls short to overcome are in the screenplay written by Minghella. Violet’s character on her own is a perfect picture of a young woman struggling to overcome her fears and become the person she always wanted to be. But dig a little deeper and the film struggles to find nuance or dimension in any of Violet’s relationships. The contentious relationship with her mother, the off-beat relationship with her mentor Vlad, or her kind-of-not-so-much crush on her bandmate is never explored or fleshed out. The focus of the film is entirely on Violet’s journey to becoming a famous pop singer. By diverting these subplots Minghella fails to make Violet seem real or relatable. And the story becomes less about following her journey. Therefore the stakes are never established. Yeah, it’s cool Violet wants to become a famous pop star but at what cost? We never find out and so we don’t care if she wins the competition by the end of the film.
There’s promising talent in this film. As a feature directorial debut, Minghella leaves a lot more to be desired. It will be interesting to see where his talent and voice take him next. Until then I’ll keep watching The English Patient.
Every good story has a good backstory – a world, time, or event that existed before the audience is introduced to the present story at hand. This is exactly what Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri does best – create an intriguing backstory. However everything that follows is less compelling, less climactic, and less directional.
I first read about this film in articles that stated there was a backlash against writer/director Martin McDonagh for his seemingly redeemable ending of the racist character, Dixon. At first this intrigued me, but what interested me more was the title – the long laborious title from a writer/director who’s previous work without fail always entertained me, yet this film was a far veer to the left from the course of his last films. Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri starts with a very simple premise – Mildred Hayes puts up three billboards out on a desolate highway road advertising Police Chief Willoughby’s lack of action in finding the person who killed and raped her daughter, Angela Hayes. Public scorn soon follows Mildred Hayes as the townspeople demand that she take down the billboards dishonoring the town’s most honorable citizen, a brash talking, tells you like it is Chief Willoughby played by Woody Harrelson. Willoughby’s right hand man, Officer Dixon takes a tougher approach, threatening Mildred and the people in her life. But Willoughby honors Mildred’s pain and allows her to keep the billboards up, revealing the kind of cop he is. Themes surrounding racism, censorship, and police brutality are all in this film. And McDonagh unabashedly expounds upon these themes without pontificating what the audience should or shouldn’t believe; instead he quietly infiltrates their consciousness through the voices of compelling characters he’s carefully crafted for the screen.
Now, as much as I wanted to like this film, (since I read the script first and loved it) the inconsistent language of visual storytelling is where it all falls apart for me. McDonagh’s biggest downfall as a writer/director isn’t his part as writer, but it’s as director. The tone of the film is all over the place and what starts out as a crime drama set in the racist south slowly transmutes into a dark comedy with some midget jokes sprinkled in. What? Yeah. All the hallmarks of what McDonagh does best….but it’s all in the wrong film! Frances McDormand as Mildred Hayes becomes a caricature of Rose the Riveter. Willoughby is every cop I have ever seen in any movie. And Sam Rockwell as Dixon, another racist cop who changes by end of the movie does not add any nuance to a type of character that has been explored a million times before (go watch Monster’s Ball, now).
At first glance one would think an Englishman such as Martin McDonagh wouldn’t have much insight into such a multi-layered story as Three Billboards, no he has a lot to say and he says it well, he just doesn’t SHOW it well. As a director he falls short, but as a writer he certainly excels. Follow the backstory of the film and you’ll find a fascinating character study into a world with themes hardly explored on the big screen anymore but are plastered all over the small screen in our homes every night.
This review is four years overdue, probably because it’s taken me four years to decide what I think about this film, and four years later I’m still just as uncertain. But Before Midnight deserves mentioning, because any Richard Linklater film is worthy of discussion.
An ambitious film? Yes. But does it live up to all the promises, romanticism, and beauty of the first two films before it? I still don’t know. What it does do is completely challenge the audience by answering unanswered questions left from the first two Before films, bringing Jesse and Celine’s relationship into the real world; a place where the rest of us live. Nine years after Before Sunset (my favorite film in the trilogy), Linklater eases the audience back into the comfortability of Jesse and Celine’s relationship. Endless bickering, long anecdotes, and eye-opening conversations masked as everyday realizations. But something has evolved in their relationship and with a quick camera pan, we discover they have twin daughters signifying that this film isn’t just series of meandering conversations, but these two have finally done it, people….they made a commitment. And from there the stakes are quickly established.
Before Midnight is a departure from Linklater’s documentary-style approach in the first two films, introducing the audience to new characters in the lives of Celine and Jesse. This is where I checked out. These side characters don’t serve any purpose to the story other than to echo the kinds of stereotypes Jesse and Celine have become over the years. Celine, the unhappy mother, and Jesse, the narcissistic author. Sure, some of these characters could be considered the past and future of Celine and Jesse’s relationship, but that’s too obvious and it’s redundant. Thankfully we don’t stay parked in meaningless banter between them and the locals for too long. The story really takes off in the last hour of the film taking place in a hotel room. (Also another favorite Linklater film takes place in a hotel room, check out Tape). The characters come back to life and become real again, painfully real. It begins when a hotel concierge asks BOTH Celine and Jesse to sign a copy of Jesse’s book. This interaction quickly sheds light on how Celine truly feels about Jesse’s book and the way he wrote about their relationship when she refuses to sign. Like a bomb, this beginning could be an impetus for the end and yet you can’t look away. You might even be yelling at the screen in accordance with some of their lines of dialogue (me, with Celine) because they are so true to life. The dialogue shines and Linklater confirms what we already knew about this trilogy – location backdrop plays only a small part in these movies, characters continue to be the driving force of the films, and that Jesse and Celine’s words grab a hold of you and don’t let go.
The final scene is magic. The sunrise, magnificent. The music, the perfect tempo. And the movie returns us to what we love: a table, two chairs, and a good conversation.
In honor of my favorite holiday, I want to come back to a film that has stuck with me and reminded me of the best part of American nostalgia, The Sandlot. This film has withstood the test of time to gain cult status. Millennials first stumbled upon this film on television at a young age, didn’t think much of it other than the fact that it’s a good movie, but as they grew up, they found themselves longing to re-visit their childhood. Sure, there are other plenty of other films about growing up, but The Sandlot is special because this film doesn’t patronize, doesn’t teach you a lesson, and most importantly doesn’t treat a child’s experience as any less important than an adult’s. Instead it boasts about what matters most to children at that age: playing outside with friends, longing to look older than you are, and to be taken seriously by your parents. True, there aren’t any recognizable child stars in this film that would grow up to be in any Transformers movies, but there’s memorable one-liners that stand the test of time, music that takes you back to a moments you would never forget, and of course there’s baseball.
It all starts with a new kid, on a new block of a new neighborhood, desperate to bond with his step-father in the summer of 1962. Scotty Smalls’ name is a predictor of what Scotty is, he’s not only small physically but mentally too. He’s painfully shy, painfully aware, and painfully, he sticks out like a sore thumb, that is until his neighbor Benny, sticks on an oversized baseball cap on his head, bringing him into the fold of a ragtag group of friends on an abandoned sandlot. Similar to the story of Peter Pan, the sandlot acts like a Neverland of sorts where Benny is the fatherly figure to a group of misfits, the Lost Boys. Time stands still here, and all that matters are the number of home runs made until the sun goes down and your mom yells at you to come home for dinner. Yes, this film is all the right parts of Americana come to life in every breath and in every detail thoughtfully crafted in this story. Every character here is real and resonates with a part of what we remember most about those lazy summers where the thought of school starting was a million miles away and summer vacation seemed like it could go on forever, hell, you wished it would.
There are several memorable scenes, too many to count, from the pool scene where Squints pretends to drown to Benny’s apparition of The Babe, but my favorite scene has to be the one when they’re making s’mores. Squints goes on about the legend of the “The Beast,” a monstrous dog on the other side of the fence who’s been known to eat everything that crosses its pass. The use of flashback in this part of the movie is so appropriate, so funny, and stylized, in a good way, that we’re immersed in the perspective of a ten year old kid telling this story in the most hyperbolized way, and it’s simply fantastic. But today is America’s birthday today, so honorable mention goes to a the part of the film, in Norman Rockwell fashion, where Ray Charles sings “America the Beautiful” in a beautiful display of fireworks going off in the background and Ham sneaks a piece of cake past the grown ups. While everyone else wants to stop and enjoy watching the fireworks, Benny reminds them of what matters most – playing baseball.
I’m not sure why, but scenes of children playing baseball at nighttime always really resonate with me. (Hello, last scene in Traffic that always leaves me balling like a baby) There’s something to say about the promise of the American dream: that it’s right there, if we choose to take it. Kinda like baseball.
The first couple shots of this series set up this show routinely as another story about contentious race relations in Los Angeles County. But keep watching because it’s about to get really interesting. The People vs O.J Simpson: American Crime Story does everything right in this limited series anthology by Ryan Murphy and Co. Upon starting this series I was skeptical about how much relevancy O.J Simpson held to 2016’s standards of great television. After all his was the trial of the century, but that was the twentieth century, and what more was there to learn about a trial that played out on television like a soap opera come to life? But I was wrong, so very wrong. Especially since the trial started when I was a kid so I never understood the greater context of the case other than the fact that O.J was guilty and the jury let him off the hook. Hindsight is always twenty-twenty and Ryan Murphy plays this notion to his advantage.
Funnily enough, what first caught my attention when the anthology first came out wasn’t the controversial subject matter but the cast. An interesting mix up of actors who I grew up following in film and television to actors I had never heard of, to Sarah Paulson who unabashedly is featured in every Ryan Murphy stock production. I had to see it. The ten episode limited series was a nice surprise and an interesting departure for Murphy known for his over the top, sometimes campy, and always polarizing productions from American Horror Story, Scream Queens, and Glee. All the reasons why I might avoid such a production given its namesake, but this time I ventured to go outside the realm of expectation. True, all the facts about this salacious trial were out there in the zeitgeist for twenty years before Murphy decided to pick up the pieces and retell them in his own way. No, Murphy doesn’t just rely upon the public knowing about the O.J Simpson trial, but he does more, taking the story a step further and relating how a seemingly open and shut case of a man killing his ex-wife could be founded not guilty based on past histories of systemic racism by the LAPD. Story doesn’t seem as irrelevant now.
If Ryan Murphy does nothing but one thing right in the entire series, it’s casting Sterling K. Brown as the internally conflicted real life character, prosecutor Christopher Darden. In a sea of prestigiously well known actors, Brown shines in every scene, sometimes stealing the light from commanding actors like Courtney B. Vance who plays notorious defense attorney, Johnnie Cochrane. The court room acted as their stage where in front of the world, Darden and Cochrane addressed race relations, escalating rhetoric into a heated battle of which lawyer was on “the right side” when it came to defending who and what they stood for. A special shoutout goes to John Travolta in a surprise move coming back to television as attorney Robert Shapiro. He stands out perfectly in a ensemble of impeccable acting as a much needed comedic relief. And honorable mention goes to David Schwimmer as attorney Robert Kardashian (aka the reason why I started watching this show) who completely divorces himself from his comedic persona on Friends and emerges as O.J’s best friend, later becoming part of his defense council. Schwimmer magnificently transforms into Kardashian not just through exterior cues like the streak of grey in his hair, but internally we start to see a struggle brewing from within him. As every episode wears on, we visually witness Kardashian’s character arc, becoming more and more despondent and retreating into his own world where he becomes plagued with doubt of O.J’s innocence.
Now more then ever does the story of Orenthal James Simpson’s acquittal for his crimes deserve to be watched one more time to see how ignoring racial inequalities can cloud judgements, shape perspectives and have longer lasting impacts then anyone cares to admit. There are many great elements that come together on this series, from the great amount of dedication and research it took to write a show like this one, to the costumes, hair and makeup that remain loyal to the early 90s, and of course an incredible ensemble of actors and actresses who elevate the story. Murphy breathes life back into people who once existed for the public to pick a part mercilessly in the media but then they retreated back to normal life once they were done playing their designated parts in the soap opera show as “the bitch,” “the traitor,” and “the famous black football player.”
The title of this movie first intrigued me, mostly because I was unable to recognize a very recognizable name, Barack Obama. But the main character in this film, isn’t recognized as Barrack Obama, but he is simply called, Barry. Yes, this was a hard thing for me to grapple with because I have only known President Barack Obama as President Barack Obama, but director Vikram Gandhi changes that. He simplifies the life of the man we would all come to know some three decades later. In this movie there is no mention of his last name, interests in becoming president, and I’m a little sad to say, but no appearances from the future Mrs. Obama. But this is a movie that is necessary to watch, no matter where your political allegiances may lie, because watching a person trying to figure out where his place is in this world is both heartbreaking and beautiful.
Much of success of this film relies upon the titular role of Barry himself, played impeccably by newcomer Devon Terrell. At first I was afraid this movie would play like a longer version of a SNL skit with a bad Obama impersonation, but it wasn’t. Terrell adopts all of Obama mannerisms, from his body movements to the subtle intonations in his voice. Everything in this film is authentic down to Obama smoking like a chimney, enjoying a little weed, and playing basketball in the park. Getting a glimpse into what the President’s life was like as an undergrad at Columbia during the 1980s and how he navigated the world of New York is a relatable story on all levels. Other notable mentions must be given to two supporting characters who play Barry’s friends, guiding him and humiliating him, as friends do, but they certainly stand out. Jason Mitchell as PJ first encounters Barry sitting on the bleachers of the basketball court reading. Avi Nash as Saleem is Barry first stop when he comes to New York. He provides comic relief to Barry’s serious and thoughtful nature, while doing spot on impersonations of him.
The most memorable moments for me take place within the artful touches Gandhi chose to show. Obama’s girlfriend taking a picture of him in Central Park, the two of them racing to a tree, the pleasant exchanges he makes with a book vendor on the street, these moments really show who the man is. But when the “big moments” do happen they feel genuine and not like some ploy to insert drama or conflict into a forced storyline. I haven’t seen the other Obama film, Southside with You but I read in IndieWire that that film is a more fluffier version and paints a picture of a love story between the Obamas. But I prefer a film like this one because it shows events as they truly happened. The struggle to his path wasn’t always easy, not even pretty really, but it was necessary so that something, someone, stronger came out on the other end.
Ever since I finished watching the new show, The OA, I couldn’t help but compare it to an equally controversial show, True Detective. The endings of both seemed to struggle towards the finish line, not able to promise what they started out to accomplish. But I still liked both…what? Yes. Why you ask? Don’t worry, no spoilers here. But I wondered, which series left a more impactful message and why was I intrigued? Time to revert back to the method of past college research papers, compare and contrast. I’ll be judging these shows against each other in three main categories: directing, writing, and audience reception.
This one might be considered the most important, to me, at least because the director’s personal touch in series like these determine the tone, style, and direction the show is ultimately headed. Now, what’s unique about both shows is that two equally prestigious and talented directors directed every single episode. Starting off with The OA, director Zal Batmanglij has one upped Cary Fukunaga here, as the creator, director and writer of the show. Batmanglij makes The OA as unique as it is. Proof of his directing style can be attributed to his early films, Sound of My Voice and The East (little less excited about this one), both starring his co-writer/co-creator, Brit Marling. If Batmanglij has an ace in the hole, it has to be in the form of Marling. She constantly bends the rules of what acting roles her gender has been typically limited to by writing her own material and giving the audience characters who are so dissectible that it can end up driving them mad. On to Fukunaga and what his influence meant for True Detective. Looking back after two seasons of this show, it’s easy to attribute much of the show’s success on Fukunaga’s direction. Sadly, this show is now a running joke amongst television fanatics, questioning how everything could fall apart so quickly after one season, but it did. So I will only comment on the season Fukunaga left an imprint on. Contrastingly, Fukunaga served as executive producer and director throughout the entire eight episodes, still no easy feat. He established his mark on the show, directing two incredible actors in roles we hadn’t seen them in before, stretching the boundaries of the anti-hero, making the audience feel empathy for two deeply flawed men. Cinematically, Fukunaga utilized camera movements and techniques that defied understanding, notably the masterful one take shot in the episode “Who Goes There.” But I would be remiss if I didn’t mention a very simple closing shot, when I saw it I was stopped in my tracks (like holy sh*t, that’s good directing). The camera ends on a busted backlight on Rust Cohle’s truck. Therefore for this category, brownie points go to Fukunaga.
Writing, another passion of mine is something that I take seriously, maybe too seriously because to me the success of a show rests almost entirely on the strength a good script. When comparing The OA to True Detective, we have two very different writing styles due to two stories setup in two very different worlds. The first takes place in Michigan the second in the swampy backwoods of Louisiana. The OA reads like a breath of fresh air, in part because the director and main actress know where they want their story to go. Marling inhabits her character, The OA, so deeply that it’s practically unthinkable to believe that she’s remembering lines from a script. The exact opposite is true of True Detective’s screenwriter, Nic Pizzolatto. He scribed every single episode, exposing the audience to a different anti-hero, Rust Cohle in the form of the lovable Matthew McConaughey. For me, the biggest misstep of the show was in fact the writing. Some of the dialogue given to McConaughey seemed so trite and over the top that it was difficult to take his character’s motivations seriously. Both McConaughey and Woody Harrelson played wonderfully off each other but it was difficult to overcome the fact that here were two “types,” both conceived by the screenwriter to create several pseudo conflicts. Inauthenticity of the characters often times clashed with the directing approach and it was made visible by the end. Brownie points go to The OA for this one.
Audience reception. This one’s harder to judge because it’s relative. And it’s kinda hard to determine which show left a greater impact because how do we base the criteria? Ratings? The number of awards? Or which show received the most tweets? Who knows, but I will judge this category based upon on which show I recommended to most friends and even some random strangers. Hands down it has to be The OA. This determination comes from the way each show ended. Admittedly, I was immensely more pissed by the way True Detective season one ended than I was with The OA. The OA sets itself up clearly throughout, it’s a show like you’ve never seen before and the creators take many liberties with the storyline, depending on the audience’s suspension of disbelief (and there’s a lot). True Detective, for the most part was a straight shooter throughout. It was dark, nihilistic, and at it’s heart, it was a mystery. But similar to a Scooby-Doo episode, the “bad guy” who takes off his mask by end, ends up being a joke and the story that you once eagerly followed becomes less and less satisfying to watch by the end. Don’t get me wrong, the journey was still fun, but the taste of bitterness left in your mouth is a hard pill to swallow.
Overall The OA takes it but in any case watch both shows and hopefully you too will recognize the successes and pitfalls that both of them sidestep or can’t seem to avoid.
Ever since the highly controversial film, Kids came out in 1995, every other film since then has tried to emulate its risqué style and shocking subject matter. Now, most films fall beneath the high bar that Kids set several decades ago, falling into the category of exploitative. Sadly, White Girl is one of those movies. Hailed at Sundance and Cannes Film Festival for its extremely realistic nature from writer/director, Elizabeth Wood, White Girl never rises to the occasion to stand out from all the similar horrendous films that came before it.
Historically male and female sexuality have been explored very differently throughout the history of moviemaking. When it’s “the guy’s movie” i.e a John Cusack or Miles Teller flick, there’s usually a manic pixie dream girl at the center of the story. She helps the young man discover who he is, following him on his path to self discovery. When it’s the woman’s turn to find herself, sex is the center of her world – she wants it, she needs it, and like a hydra, she won’t quit until she gets it. And of course the fantasy is always idealized and of course it’s always with an older man (preferably her mother’s boyfriend). There are movies that are rare exceptions to the trite story, films like Thirteen (2003) and Fast Times at Ridgemont High (1982) do an exceptional job of bringing the viewer into the world of a complicatedly flawed female character. We may not understand why she does what she does, but we can empathize with her.
Empathizing with Leah, the main bleach blonde, scantily dressed protagonist, might be the hardest part of watching this movie. Her every action, motivation, and fuck, takes her further down the rabbit hole to nowhere. And we don’t care, at least I didn’t. A habitual drug user of “white girl” or cocaine, Leah never shows herself to be anything other than what she portrays on the outside, a hot mess. The film was shot documentary style for a reason but the camera stays practically up the nostrils of Leah and her drug dealer boyfriend, another one dimensional character named Blue. However, there are exceptions to the exception, sometimes these type of movies can work, all depending on the actors and the director. A film like Fish Tank by Andrea Arnold commits similar sins but executes them flawlessly. And that’s what I was hoping for with White Girl. Where this movie falters the most is in casting. Sure, it’s not as offensive as the inexcusable Havoc (only because it doesn’t star Anne Hathaway) but none of the actors get a moment to shine. They are pretty dull, actually. Leah and Blue look the part but they certainly don’t act it. I kept cringing for every “shorty” Blue used. Kids on the other hand was so realistic in the dialogue and the acting was so natural that it was frightening.
As refreshing as it is to see a female writer/director get the chance to make her movie based on her own real life experiences, I don’t think it’s asking for a lot to see a different side to a woman other than the way most have been depicted in cinema history. But if you have to say something, say it right.
After all the chaos and aftermath of the huge fallout since November 8th, I thought it would be refreshing and inspiring to highlight a film that came out of left field during it’s time. Now, All the President’s Men certainly isn’t by any means an unrecognized movie, but it is a gem from the 1970s that in hindsight hasn’t held on to all of the attention that it so rightly deserves. I was inspired to go back and watch this film after feeling defeated after this long ass election cycle. And this movie helped resuscitate any feelings of hopelessness and loss I’ve been going through….why? Because this movie is about taking action. Refusing to lie still even when everything is seemingly against you. And I needed that.
The story of Watergate isn’t a new one, but it does deserve attention, especially in times like these. When people start questioning their government and whether it represents the ideas and sanctities that they hold important. Richard Nixon is at the heart of this scandal, probably because he suffered the biggest blow in the aftermath of being impeached and then resigning. But Nixon isn’t at the heart of this film, it’s two schmoes, journalists Carl Bernstein and Bob Woodward played by Dustin Hoffman and Robert Redford. The two journalists for the Washington Post begin to question the money trail after a break in of Watergate office building, headquarters for the Democrats. Seemingly this story goes unnoticed by many news sources, even the FBI refuses to delve deeper into the investigation. With the help of his source, Deep Throat, played perfectly by Hal Holbrook, Woodward has all the steam behind him to run with the story. Bernstein helps with his no nonsense attitude, pushing sources beyond what they are willing to admit on the record. This film is perfect for it’s time, running in the same vein as other spectacular films from this era. Director Alan J. Pakula’s rarity of realism draws us deeper and deeper into the story. We never question if our two leads are real journalists because an air of authenticity flows from the accuracy of the production design, to the long takes, effortless camera movements, real locations, superb acting, and a flawless script by the master, William Goldman.
I kept thinking, would a movie like this translate today? Probably not. But there have been several films since then that re-created watershed moments in our history such as Spotlight, Margin Call, and the Big Short. But to me, these films try too hard to fit into the world they existed. The beauty of this film is that was made in 1976, only four years after the Watergate scandal happened and only two years after the real Bernstein and Woodward published their book of the same title. In part it’s because Robert Redford, actor, director, and producer extraordinaire is the reason behind why the movie was made. He found and acquired the source material, hired the writer, and found funding for the film.
My favorite element to this movie is that you barely notice the directing style, in my opinion, the best kind of style. The director stands back and lets the script and his actors do most of the work. But Pakula does shine in the end by taking the entire climax out of the film and ending the scene with Bernstein and Woodward typing in the background, while in the foreground we watch Nixon’s second inauguration. By putting future events of the Watergate scandal in only a couple of sentences at the end, Pakula’s genius is the restraint not to overshadow nor to sensationalize real events as they happened.
Indie Films Exposed 