The Australians are back! Last year Neil Armfield and Geoffrey Rush bowled us over with their production of “Exit the King” on Broadway. It was a scrumptious show, combining hilarity and heartbreak, exported to America from their Australian theatre company Belvoir. They've done it again. This year, the duo have re-created the production that jump-started their careers two decades ago, the dramatization of Nikolai Gogol’s short story, “The Diary of a Madman,” with a script written by David Colman, Rush, and Armfield. Oh happy we, who have the opportunity to see this bravura performance at the Brooklyn Academy of Music’s Harvey Theatre.
This extraordinary production is a brilliant telling of Gogol’s tale, replete with shadow characters, music and musicians who “speak” back to the infamous Madman, Poprishchin. Poprishchin is a government clerk of the ninth grade, an impoverished “gentleman” who earns his tiny attic room as a civil servant with the tiny claim to glory of being chosen to sharpen the big boss’s quills. This is the mid-nineteenth century, Russia, and it’s cold. Poprishchin’s garret is bare but for a bed with a flimsy quilt, two throw pillows, a small table and chair, and stacks of newspapers, one easily twice his height. The room is reached by a poorly lit staircase we see at the foot of the stage, and topped by a leaky roof with a dirty skylight.
Over two acts, we watch Poprishchin devolve into delusion. For the first half, this is deliciously hilarious, with Poprishchin falling for the daughter of the big boss, a pretty, snobby little thing who wouldn’t deign to notice him. Then he “hears” conversations between her dog and another, including the claim of one that she – the dog, not the lady -- had written letters that must have gone astray. Letters? Poprishchin must find this correspondence, and does. The story of the boss’ daughter falling in love with a servant of the bedchamber – that is, a gentleman with a gentleman’s job and station – is told through the dogs’ correspondence. The act of retrieving that correspondence was not without peril to Poprishchin, and he wears the scars for the rest of the play. His daily diary entries inform us of the doings of his world, including a vacancy on the Spanish throne. Naturally, this leads the out-of-place Poprishchin to believe that he is the missing King of Spain, hiding in Russia until the Spanish delegation comes to install him on the throne.
Follow? You will. Everything Geoffrey Rush’s Poprishchin says makes perfect sense, even when it’s quite mad.
This is all exceptionally sad, of course, but we don’t respond to the sadness until it slaps us in the face in the second act. We just laugh uproariously. Geoffrey Rush is loose-limbed, his long hands seem to reach down to his ankles, he can do things with his arms you wouldn’t believe and might not even see until you look beyond him to the massive shadow he casts on the stage walls. He is vocally foppish, his reddish hair styled to be odd and clownlike in a frightfully fragile way. His feet don’t appear to touch the ground, his hands flutter to keep him afloat. Even if you had the pleasure of seeing Rush’s Tony-winning turn in “Exit the King,” you ain’t seeing nothin’ yet.
Accompanying Mr. Rush’s journey is Yael Stone, playing the Finnish maid Tuovi – a delightful creature who rushes about bent over, scrubbing, practicing her Russian (which we thankfully hear in bad English) and trying to take care of the ever worsening Poprishchin; Ms. Stone also plays the aloof love interest Sophia, a vision in white; as well as a fellow resident of “Madrid” in the final scenes. At one point she even joins the musicians in the box creating the auditory world of our favorite Madman. This young woman is remarkable, malleable, we adore her immediately as the grateful and kind servant with enormous energy and humor. If anyone could have kept Poprishchin sane, it would have been her, but it was too late.
What Poprishchin does not have, he creates out of his surroundings and his imagination, and it’s all marvelous until he exits his reality into his much pleasanter world of unreality. No amount of beatings will bring him out. Before the twentieth century (and probably late into it), the mad were hidden away and abused, so the viewer must wonder why anyone would be expected to come to his “senses” while being whipped. Staying mad seems much safer, if not saner.
The Musicians are Paul Cutlan and Erkki Veltheim, and the play cannot be considered separately from them. They are additional voices to the scenes, they comment, they respond, they goad, they aid. Alan John’s music (after Mussorgsky, per the program) is mournful and joyous, still and spritely, by turns. It and its performers provide additional levels to the story.
Costume design is clever and hilarious and remarkably useful by Tess Schofield, set design by Catherine Martin is dark, dank, dangerous, delightful. Lighting by Mark Shelton, sound by Paul Charlier are outstanding, creating aural and visual shadows against the stark set.
Once again, these artists have given us hilarity and heartbreak in one evening. “Diary of a Madman” is a rare treat, a perfectly integrated production of script, sound, and sights brought together in profound harmony by Mr. Armfield with a virtuoso performance from Mr. Rush. In years to come, you want to be able to answer “yes” to the question: “Did you see his Poprishchin?”
The good news is, it’s still running. You have until March 12.
~ Molly Matera, signing off, still chuckling at a look here, a line there, over a week later.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Friday, February 18, 2011
A Wintry Tale Well Told
Told with perfect pacing, driving needs, obstacles aplenty, goals pursued up to more obstacles, with a never-ending build of extraordinary tension, “Winter’s Bone” is a storyteller’s story. The film is riveting through to its totally satisfying and vaguely frightening end.
The acting is simple, straightforward, totally believable. Raw. The reality of the emotions, sights, sounds is exhausting. “Winter’s Bone” is unrelenting, it has no comfort zone, and much as we may try to insulate ourselves from the cold and the rough and the horrors of the world Ree Dolly inhabits, we cannot.
There are many films and stories with unlikable characters, but this one has some pretty despicable folk in it, including some that initially appear pretty rotten, but who then pale in comparison to the characters we meet as the story progresses. Seventy-odd years ago, seemingly similar characters were rather amusing in old black-and-white movies showing bootleg alcohol stills and caricatures of the impoverished people residing in them there hills -- shotgun-toting hillbillies scaring off revenuers. In “Winter’s Bone,” the same people are still in the same place, still insular, no longer caricatures, and now the stills are meth labs, and the enemy is not revenuers – it’s all outsiders and sometimes their own kin. The untamed country builds shadows in the foliage and around the next hill that hide deeper secrets than any city alleyway. And just to confuse the viewer, “Winter’s Bone” has a few, treasured moments of kindness, even sweetness. Its people are terrifying, and sometimes surprising.
This film works on many levels, first and foremost good storytelling. The teenaged protagonist, Ree Dolly, is met with a real problem of survival in the early minutes of the film. No messing around. She spends the next 80 or so minutes hitting brick walls built and supported by mean ungenerous, unkind people, most of whom are related to her. Each push for desperately needed information fails, but Ree keeps on because the stakes are so very high. She moves forward, trying to climb over and skirt obstacles, finding she cannot, then changes her goal to suit new facts. This is great storytelling.
Director Debra Granik does a sterling job with the excellent screenplay she wrote with Anne Rosselini based on a novel I’m afraid to read by Daniel Woodrell. The pace of the film is unrelenting, the story pushes, heroine (and that is a correct characterization here) Ree pushes back, the tension builds to an unbearable point more than once. This viewer’s shoulders and fists were tight, praying for release.
As Ree’s uncle, John Hawkes combines fierceness with gentleness, and his performance is, not surprisingly, pitch perfect. Also showing up with a reliable, quiet characterization is Garret Dillahunt as the Sheriff, a despicable and difficult job in a hostile region. Deep, dark work is done by a string of wonderful actors with great faces that will imprint in your mind’s eye – Dale Dickey, Casey MacLaren, Sheryl Lee, Ronnie Hall, Shelly Waggener. These people are so good you’d think they just live out there in the hills and aren’t actors at all.
Most amazing of all these fine, fine actors is Jennifer Lawrence as Ree Dolly. In the film's opening shots, I looked at her and saw a slave to her family. She is tough as nails and soft as a baby blanket; she is big sister, teacher, mother, and finally father. Ree is insightful and courageous, resilient and smart enough to be frightened of her own relations while doing her best not to show it. Ms. Lawrence’s performance is the spine of the film – and all without dazzling special effects. The girl is amazing.
There’s a chance I won’t watch this film again, in the way I’ll never re-read Jerzy Kosinski’s “The Painted Bird” which gave me waking nightmares. The actions and the rules of these present-day characters in the Ozarks are more terrifying than any zombie movie could ever be.
“Winter’s Bone” tells a fine nerve-wracking story, a terrifying tale of a community with rules known to all, where transgressors will be held to account. Where the toddlers are taught to shoot, skin, and stew a squirrel. Where kindness and decency are more readily punished than crime. These people are tired out by the time they’re ten.
When we are worn to the bone, we are revealed. “Winter’s Bone” casts light on all sides of the human animal, and reveals the dark in all of us.
Now that’s a great movie.
~ Molly Matera, signing off, still listening to the film's fine score.
The acting is simple, straightforward, totally believable. Raw. The reality of the emotions, sights, sounds is exhausting. “Winter’s Bone” is unrelenting, it has no comfort zone, and much as we may try to insulate ourselves from the cold and the rough and the horrors of the world Ree Dolly inhabits, we cannot.
There are many films and stories with unlikable characters, but this one has some pretty despicable folk in it, including some that initially appear pretty rotten, but who then pale in comparison to the characters we meet as the story progresses. Seventy-odd years ago, seemingly similar characters were rather amusing in old black-and-white movies showing bootleg alcohol stills and caricatures of the impoverished people residing in them there hills -- shotgun-toting hillbillies scaring off revenuers. In “Winter’s Bone,” the same people are still in the same place, still insular, no longer caricatures, and now the stills are meth labs, and the enemy is not revenuers – it’s all outsiders and sometimes their own kin. The untamed country builds shadows in the foliage and around the next hill that hide deeper secrets than any city alleyway. And just to confuse the viewer, “Winter’s Bone” has a few, treasured moments of kindness, even sweetness. Its people are terrifying, and sometimes surprising.
This film works on many levels, first and foremost good storytelling. The teenaged protagonist, Ree Dolly, is met with a real problem of survival in the early minutes of the film. No messing around. She spends the next 80 or so minutes hitting brick walls built and supported by mean ungenerous, unkind people, most of whom are related to her. Each push for desperately needed information fails, but Ree keeps on because the stakes are so very high. She moves forward, trying to climb over and skirt obstacles, finding she cannot, then changes her goal to suit new facts. This is great storytelling.
Director Debra Granik does a sterling job with the excellent screenplay she wrote with Anne Rosselini based on a novel I’m afraid to read by Daniel Woodrell. The pace of the film is unrelenting, the story pushes, heroine (and that is a correct characterization here) Ree pushes back, the tension builds to an unbearable point more than once. This viewer’s shoulders and fists were tight, praying for release.
As Ree’s uncle, John Hawkes combines fierceness with gentleness, and his performance is, not surprisingly, pitch perfect. Also showing up with a reliable, quiet characterization is Garret Dillahunt as the Sheriff, a despicable and difficult job in a hostile region. Deep, dark work is done by a string of wonderful actors with great faces that will imprint in your mind’s eye – Dale Dickey, Casey MacLaren, Sheryl Lee, Ronnie Hall, Shelly Waggener. These people are so good you’d think they just live out there in the hills and aren’t actors at all.
Most amazing of all these fine, fine actors is Jennifer Lawrence as Ree Dolly. In the film's opening shots, I looked at her and saw a slave to her family. She is tough as nails and soft as a baby blanket; she is big sister, teacher, mother, and finally father. Ree is insightful and courageous, resilient and smart enough to be frightened of her own relations while doing her best not to show it. Ms. Lawrence’s performance is the spine of the film – and all without dazzling special effects. The girl is amazing.
There’s a chance I won’t watch this film again, in the way I’ll never re-read Jerzy Kosinski’s “The Painted Bird” which gave me waking nightmares. The actions and the rules of these present-day characters in the Ozarks are more terrifying than any zombie movie could ever be.
“Winter’s Bone” tells a fine nerve-wracking story, a terrifying tale of a community with rules known to all, where transgressors will be held to account. Where the toddlers are taught to shoot, skin, and stew a squirrel. Where kindness and decency are more readily punished than crime. These people are tired out by the time they’re ten.
When we are worn to the bone, we are revealed. “Winter’s Bone” casts light on all sides of the human animal, and reveals the dark in all of us.
Now that’s a great movie.
~ Molly Matera, signing off, still listening to the film's fine score.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
The Most Disheartening Film of the Year
“Blue Valentine” has a smart script by writer/director Derek Cianfrance, Cami Delavigne, and Joey Curtis. Although it includes scenes of joy in a child’s laughter and scenes of sweet young love, the story does not make for a film one enjoys. It also does not make for a film in which one is quite sure who to root for.
Scenes depicting the excitement of a burgeoning relationship and degeneration of a marriage are delightful and devastating by turns. Morose, somber, far from sober, Michelle Williams and Ryan Gosling revel as they dive deep into their characters. These two young actors are powerful players and will rule marquees for years to come. They are scintillating, sincere, articulate in their realistic mumblings.
The story of Cindy and Dean is told in non-linear fashion, from the opening scenes of a beautiful child calling a name -- of her friend? her sister? We are immediately involved. We see the couple, married with said child, at a stage in their marriage they might survive, or might not. We jump back to see the couple in their past, separate, then coming together. It’s a lovely story. We jump forward to today, back to yesterday, and see tomorrow. Despite the time travel, the film does have a beginning, middle, and end. What it does not have is a single protagonist with goals. We’ve no idea what Cindy wants, what she’ll do to get it, or what’s in her way. Dean, on the other hand, wants one thing from the get-go: true love, romantic style. His obstacle: reality.
Alcohol compounds Dean’s beliefs and dissipates his lovability. As for Cindy, it appears that Michelle Williams loves to drop us into the depths of despair – from her character in “Brokeback Mountain” and in her entirely brilliant but demoralizing “Wendy and Lucy,” this character Cindy is the third in her triumvirate of misery. Please, Ms. Williams, do some other kind of film next. Who knew from her “Dawson’s Creek” days that she would grow up to do offbeat indie type depressing movies. Oh, right. “Dawson’s Creek” wasn’t exactly jolly.
Cindy’s father, expertly played by John Doman, appeared a dreadful bully to her ineffectual mother, the subtle Maryann Plunkett, and one might have expected the story to go another way. Why marry if your husband will end up treating you like garbage? But Cindy’s search for love had different consequences. The sweet relationship between Cindy and her grandmother Jen Jones led to her choice of profession and to meeting Dean. All these characters are portrayed brutally and brilliantly. The actors’ performances are understated, the effect of their underplaying bringing home the reality of this story, forcing us into the room, even when we’d rather be anywhere else.
Aspects of this film are great: A+ for execution by the actors and editors Jim Helton and Ron Patane. “Blue Valentine” shows us the moments in a life that brought the characters from sweet vulnerability to trust to love, then drops us into a pit. Is it the non-linear structure that denies the characters an arc? I don’t think so. They started with hope and ended with none. Not much of an arc if you ask me.
By the devastating end of this film, we understand all, pity all, and can’t wait to walk out into a brisk, downright cold winter night just to breathe clear air.
If you’re a fan of the actors in this film – and who wouldn’t be – you’ll want to rent the DVD, but with all the choices out there at this time, don’t spend your money for the big screen.
~ Molly Matera, signing off to write a review of a better film.
Scenes depicting the excitement of a burgeoning relationship and degeneration of a marriage are delightful and devastating by turns. Morose, somber, far from sober, Michelle Williams and Ryan Gosling revel as they dive deep into their characters. These two young actors are powerful players and will rule marquees for years to come. They are scintillating, sincere, articulate in their realistic mumblings.
The story of Cindy and Dean is told in non-linear fashion, from the opening scenes of a beautiful child calling a name -- of her friend? her sister? We are immediately involved. We see the couple, married with said child, at a stage in their marriage they might survive, or might not. We jump back to see the couple in their past, separate, then coming together. It’s a lovely story. We jump forward to today, back to yesterday, and see tomorrow. Despite the time travel, the film does have a beginning, middle, and end. What it does not have is a single protagonist with goals. We’ve no idea what Cindy wants, what she’ll do to get it, or what’s in her way. Dean, on the other hand, wants one thing from the get-go: true love, romantic style. His obstacle: reality.
Alcohol compounds Dean’s beliefs and dissipates his lovability. As for Cindy, it appears that Michelle Williams loves to drop us into the depths of despair – from her character in “Brokeback Mountain” and in her entirely brilliant but demoralizing “Wendy and Lucy,” this character Cindy is the third in her triumvirate of misery. Please, Ms. Williams, do some other kind of film next. Who knew from her “Dawson’s Creek” days that she would grow up to do offbeat indie type depressing movies. Oh, right. “Dawson’s Creek” wasn’t exactly jolly.
Cindy’s father, expertly played by John Doman, appeared a dreadful bully to her ineffectual mother, the subtle Maryann Plunkett, and one might have expected the story to go another way. Why marry if your husband will end up treating you like garbage? But Cindy’s search for love had different consequences. The sweet relationship between Cindy and her grandmother Jen Jones led to her choice of profession and to meeting Dean. All these characters are portrayed brutally and brilliantly. The actors’ performances are understated, the effect of their underplaying bringing home the reality of this story, forcing us into the room, even when we’d rather be anywhere else.
Aspects of this film are great: A+ for execution by the actors and editors Jim Helton and Ron Patane. “Blue Valentine” shows us the moments in a life that brought the characters from sweet vulnerability to trust to love, then drops us into a pit. Is it the non-linear structure that denies the characters an arc? I don’t think so. They started with hope and ended with none. Not much of an arc if you ask me.
By the devastating end of this film, we understand all, pity all, and can’t wait to walk out into a brisk, downright cold winter night just to breathe clear air.
If you’re a fan of the actors in this film – and who wouldn’t be – you’ll want to rent the DVD, but with all the choices out there at this time, don’t spend your money for the big screen.
~ Molly Matera, signing off to write a review of a better film.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Long Flaxen Bouncing Golden Hair
If you want to be happy, go see “Tangled.” It is pure delight. The animation is stunning, the hair, the wind, the flowers, the hair, the faces, bodies, that hair -- the attention to detail is exceptional. Not a 3D fan, I enjoyed it here, perhaps because it was used to enhance the animation, not take the place of story.
Music and lyrics by Alan Menken and Glenn Slater, respectively, were clever, funny, warm and sweet. Some sample rhymes – dreamers, femurs; deadly, medley. Help me, how wonderful are those. Each and every song moves characters and story forward and they are well placed in the witty and wild screenplay by Dan Fogelman (based on the fairy tale “Rapunzel” by the Brothers Grimm, of course).
There’s a long list of wonderful people voicing characters from guards to thugs, each character fully delineated and hilarious. As for the main characters:
Rapunzel has created wondrous paintings in her tower prison, vibrant, colorful scenes of nature, earth and sky, and most particularly the highly affecting lanterns released from the royal palace every year on the anniversary of Rapunzel’s birth. When she finally gets out of her tower into the world, Rapunzel lives her paintings, in particular those birthday lanterns. The release by the king and queen of the first lantern in memory of their kidnapped daughter is followed from the top of the castle through the streets and plazas and onto the ships at sea. The light is sublime, the colors exultant, the emotional impact extraordinary. Beware, those prone to weeping at sheer, sweet gorgeousness.
“Tangled” just gave so much pleasure I cannot recommend it more heartily. It was directed by Nathan Greno and Byron Howard, but of course this is an animated feature. Art Direction, individual animators, a huge number of people were gathered to put this gorgeous gift together. Apparently this was the most expensive animated film ever made by Disney or anyone else, but it’s so damned delightful, who could complain.
“Tangled” has lots of action, frying pans, slingshot moves with long golden hair, dam busting, and the good guys and bad guys satisfactorily getting their due. Go on, let your hair down.
~ Molly Matera, logging off. I have more movies to see before the Oscars....
Music and lyrics by Alan Menken and Glenn Slater, respectively, were clever, funny, warm and sweet. Some sample rhymes – dreamers, femurs; deadly, medley. Help me, how wonderful are those. Each and every song moves characters and story forward and they are well placed in the witty and wild screenplay by Dan Fogelman (based on the fairy tale “Rapunzel” by the Brothers Grimm, of course).
There’s a long list of wonderful people voicing characters from guards to thugs, each character fully delineated and hilarious. As for the main characters:
- Zachari Levi (from “Chuck”) is the voice of the thief, Rider (who looks more like Jake Gyllenhall), and he’s quite charming, smarmy, contrite, sincere, and very funny. He also sings quite sweetly.
- Mandy Moore is Rapunzel, and of course her voice is just right for this blossoming young girl. She’s full of life, exuberance, and joy, whatever her circumstances. And she’s very funny.
- Donna Murpy does a great job as the wicked kidnapping old crone. She’s a hoot, and her singing, of course, scores.
Rapunzel has created wondrous paintings in her tower prison, vibrant, colorful scenes of nature, earth and sky, and most particularly the highly affecting lanterns released from the royal palace every year on the anniversary of Rapunzel’s birth. When she finally gets out of her tower into the world, Rapunzel lives her paintings, in particular those birthday lanterns. The release by the king and queen of the first lantern in memory of their kidnapped daughter is followed from the top of the castle through the streets and plazas and onto the ships at sea. The light is sublime, the colors exultant, the emotional impact extraordinary. Beware, those prone to weeping at sheer, sweet gorgeousness.
“Tangled” just gave so much pleasure I cannot recommend it more heartily. It was directed by Nathan Greno and Byron Howard, but of course this is an animated feature. Art Direction, individual animators, a huge number of people were gathered to put this gorgeous gift together. Apparently this was the most expensive animated film ever made by Disney or anyone else, but it’s so damned delightful, who could complain.
“Tangled” has lots of action, frying pans, slingshot moves with long golden hair, dam busting, and the good guys and bad guys satisfactorily getting their due. Go on, let your hair down.
~ Molly Matera, logging off. I have more movies to see before the Oscars....
Friday, January 21, 2011
Reflections abound in "Black Swan"
“Black Swan” is a surprisingly frightening movie.
The story may appear straightforward or even familiar – shy, young ballerina wants challenging dual role of the White (read “pure”) and Black (read “the dark side”) Swans in the company’s new production of “Swan Lake.” The old Queen of the company is on her way out – in ballet, Winona Ryder (as Beth Macintyre) is apparently old, no matter how many times dancers say that Dame Margot Fonteyn danced into her fifties – and whoever wins the coveted role in “Swan Lake” will share the star’s dressing room with her, amongst other things.
That Natalie Portman’s Nina wants out of the corps de ballet is obvious. Not a joiner, not outgoing, she doesn’t socialize at all, she doesn’t even sit with the other dancers. She happens to share a dressing room with them, no more. The other dancers, while physically disciplined, appear “normal.” They go out, they have fun, they have boyfriends and girlfriends, and they don’t spend much time in the bathroom vomiting whatever they’ve eaten.
Nina’s only “friend” is her mother Erica, who has already done a number on the daughter for whom she “gave up” her career. This is a juicy role for Barbara Hershey, whose Erica is an odious terrifying witch in Nina’s sleeping and waking hours. She is overbearing and keeps all too tight a rein on her daughter. When Nina wins the leading role, her mother comes home with this gigantic cake, all pink and white like Nina’s little-girl bedroom. Her daughter would never eat such a thing, but Erica throws a fit when Nina initially refuses. It’s a cake for twenty, when these two women clearly have no acquaintances with whom to share it. Between whatever natural shyness she may have had and the upbringing by her mad mother, Nina is incapable of normal social intercourse, let alone eating dessert.
The flip side of Nina is Lily, the new kid, an audacious free-spirited dancer newly arrived from San Francisco and perfectly played by Mila Kunis. Kunis is just delightful as Lily, who is brash, confident, enjoys the pleasures as well as the discipline of her body. While Nina strives for technical perfection in the dance, Lily is having a good time, every day of her life. What Thomas Leroy, the director of the ballet company played by Vincent Cassel, needs is a combination of these two women. Alas, this doesn’t exist – perhaps this dual role is one of those which requires youth to physically do the job, but greater maturity to capture all the nuances of good girls as well as naughty ones. Cassel manipulates all the girls vying for the leading role in his ballet, and continues to do so even when he’s cast Nina in the coveted lead.
Once cast as the the two swans, Nina disintegrates before our eyes as she rehearses for the roles. The White Swan she could do in her sleep, but she must work for the sexuality and freedom and emotional maturity to portray, to live, to dance the Black Swan. This is where the film goes all out with extraordinary images and action and brilliant editing. There is blood, water, skin tearing, then puckering like a chicken’s, subtly at first, then blatantly until Nina’s transformation into the Black Swan is phantasmagorically complete. It’s gorgeous.
This is a 21st century film, perhaps a psychosexual thriller. Director Aronofsky’s characters are blatantly sexual, manic, disturbed in various manners. Lily, not disturbed, tries to draw Nina out and/or sabotage her, pick one. But the club scenes with these two young women are wonderful, giving Ms. Portman a chance to find the inner Nina. Along the way, Aronofsky does lovely things with reflections in mirrors, windows, Nina’s mind. Nina will see or experience something, we go along with her, then suddenly it’s clear she was hallucinating. This begins early on, and grows through the film. Sometimes Nina appears to see her mother’s face, sometimes her own, sometimes others. Lily’s heat infuses and confuses Nina. It's a blast.
Nina has needed a friend like Lily all her life -- that slightly dangerous friend who was delighted to be alive. Nina only lives as she performs “Swan Lake,” and by then it’s too late. This is not to say Lily’s in the slightest bit trustworthy. But Nina would never have found the Black Swan in herself without Lily.
This film is a roller coaster ride, although sometimes the viewer won't realize it until it's too late. So I'm trying to avoid spoilers, but some things cannot pass. Although I found the film very powerful, I must take issue with the ending, where reality and fantasy overlap where they could not. The intent is clear throughout, but I’m sorry, had Nina’s fantasy actions been perpetrated on herself, there’s no way she could have danced the second and third acts. Call me grumpy.
Importantly, although I very much like Ms. Portman’s work here, I think much of the credit for the impact of her performance belongs to the director (the aforementioned Darren Aronofsky), editor Andrew Weisblum, and director of photography Matthew Libatique. Directorial choices and camerawork amplified Ms. Portman’s portrayal: The cuts, the speed, the growing madness we see are all due to the people behind the camera, not before it, so I cannot quite understand the superlatives abounding out there for Ms. Portman’s Nina. Considering the other work offered us in 2010, while Ms. Portman has done her job well, she has not done a better job than, for instance (and I’m only taking the time to note one), Jennifer Lawrence. What Ms. Lawrence does alone (that is, without camera work or effects) in “Winter’s Bone” is worthy of superlatives. “Black Swan” is much more fun to watch than a film like “Winter’s Bone,” but that doesn’t make its glamorous leading lady a better actress or her performance superior to many others in films with less advertising.
Do see “Black Swan.” It provides chills and some thrills and some terrific work by writers, actors, dancers, technicians, and all other contributors to film. It turns us in on ourselves and makes us question just how thin or thick that line between sanity and madness is.
~ Molly Matera, turning off the computer, but not the light. Too many things go bump in the dark.
The story may appear straightforward or even familiar – shy, young ballerina wants challenging dual role of the White (read “pure”) and Black (read “the dark side”) Swans in the company’s new production of “Swan Lake.” The old Queen of the company is on her way out – in ballet, Winona Ryder (as Beth Macintyre) is apparently old, no matter how many times dancers say that Dame Margot Fonteyn danced into her fifties – and whoever wins the coveted role in “Swan Lake” will share the star’s dressing room with her, amongst other things.
That Natalie Portman’s Nina wants out of the corps de ballet is obvious. Not a joiner, not outgoing, she doesn’t socialize at all, she doesn’t even sit with the other dancers. She happens to share a dressing room with them, no more. The other dancers, while physically disciplined, appear “normal.” They go out, they have fun, they have boyfriends and girlfriends, and they don’t spend much time in the bathroom vomiting whatever they’ve eaten.
Nina’s only “friend” is her mother Erica, who has already done a number on the daughter for whom she “gave up” her career. This is a juicy role for Barbara Hershey, whose Erica is an odious terrifying witch in Nina’s sleeping and waking hours. She is overbearing and keeps all too tight a rein on her daughter. When Nina wins the leading role, her mother comes home with this gigantic cake, all pink and white like Nina’s little-girl bedroom. Her daughter would never eat such a thing, but Erica throws a fit when Nina initially refuses. It’s a cake for twenty, when these two women clearly have no acquaintances with whom to share it. Between whatever natural shyness she may have had and the upbringing by her mad mother, Nina is incapable of normal social intercourse, let alone eating dessert.
The flip side of Nina is Lily, the new kid, an audacious free-spirited dancer newly arrived from San Francisco and perfectly played by Mila Kunis. Kunis is just delightful as Lily, who is brash, confident, enjoys the pleasures as well as the discipline of her body. While Nina strives for technical perfection in the dance, Lily is having a good time, every day of her life. What Thomas Leroy, the director of the ballet company played by Vincent Cassel, needs is a combination of these two women. Alas, this doesn’t exist – perhaps this dual role is one of those which requires youth to physically do the job, but greater maturity to capture all the nuances of good girls as well as naughty ones. Cassel manipulates all the girls vying for the leading role in his ballet, and continues to do so even when he’s cast Nina in the coveted lead.
Once cast as the the two swans, Nina disintegrates before our eyes as she rehearses for the roles. The White Swan she could do in her sleep, but she must work for the sexuality and freedom and emotional maturity to portray, to live, to dance the Black Swan. This is where the film goes all out with extraordinary images and action and brilliant editing. There is blood, water, skin tearing, then puckering like a chicken’s, subtly at first, then blatantly until Nina’s transformation into the Black Swan is phantasmagorically complete. It’s gorgeous.
This is a 21st century film, perhaps a psychosexual thriller. Director Aronofsky’s characters are blatantly sexual, manic, disturbed in various manners. Lily, not disturbed, tries to draw Nina out and/or sabotage her, pick one. But the club scenes with these two young women are wonderful, giving Ms. Portman a chance to find the inner Nina. Along the way, Aronofsky does lovely things with reflections in mirrors, windows, Nina’s mind. Nina will see or experience something, we go along with her, then suddenly it’s clear she was hallucinating. This begins early on, and grows through the film. Sometimes Nina appears to see her mother’s face, sometimes her own, sometimes others. Lily’s heat infuses and confuses Nina. It's a blast.
Nina has needed a friend like Lily all her life -- that slightly dangerous friend who was delighted to be alive. Nina only lives as she performs “Swan Lake,” and by then it’s too late. This is not to say Lily’s in the slightest bit trustworthy. But Nina would never have found the Black Swan in herself without Lily.
This film is a roller coaster ride, although sometimes the viewer won't realize it until it's too late. So I'm trying to avoid spoilers, but some things cannot pass. Although I found the film very powerful, I must take issue with the ending, where reality and fantasy overlap where they could not. The intent is clear throughout, but I’m sorry, had Nina’s fantasy actions been perpetrated on herself, there’s no way she could have danced the second and third acts. Call me grumpy.
Importantly, although I very much like Ms. Portman’s work here, I think much of the credit for the impact of her performance belongs to the director (the aforementioned Darren Aronofsky), editor Andrew Weisblum, and director of photography Matthew Libatique. Directorial choices and camerawork amplified Ms. Portman’s portrayal: The cuts, the speed, the growing madness we see are all due to the people behind the camera, not before it, so I cannot quite understand the superlatives abounding out there for Ms. Portman’s Nina. Considering the other work offered us in 2010, while Ms. Portman has done her job well, she has not done a better job than, for instance (and I’m only taking the time to note one), Jennifer Lawrence. What Ms. Lawrence does alone (that is, without camera work or effects) in “Winter’s Bone” is worthy of superlatives. “Black Swan” is much more fun to watch than a film like “Winter’s Bone,” but that doesn’t make its glamorous leading lady a better actress or her performance superior to many others in films with less advertising.
Do see “Black Swan.” It provides chills and some thrills and some terrific work by writers, actors, dancers, technicians, and all other contributors to film. It turns us in on ourselves and makes us question just how thin or thick that line between sanity and madness is.
~ Molly Matera, turning off the computer, but not the light. Too many things go bump in the dark.
Stars Shine on and in "John Gabriel Borkman"
Ibsen is tough. His plays are long, dense, and melodramatic. The Abbey Theatre’s production of “John Gabriel Borkman” presently running at the BAM Harvey Theatre is 2 hours and 40 minutes long (with intermission). The night we went, I was beginning a nasty winter cold, so when I learned the play’s intended length, I drooped.
However, this tight production featured three shining stars in the theatre firmament, and they kept this piece from becoming deadly. It didn’t hurt that this new adaptation of Henrik Ibsen’s play is concisely written by Frank McGuinness and deftly directed by James Macdonald. Alan Rickman, Lindsay Duncan, and Fiona Shaw lift Ibsen’s “John Gabriel Borkman” above itself. It’s still melodrama, but it’s the best melodrama imaginable.
The set-up: It has been many years since bank manager John Gabriel Borkman’s arrest and imprisonment by the state for embezzlement. He lives incarcerated now in his own house – his wife downstairs, himself upstairs. The house is in fact owned by his sister-in-law, Miss Ella Rentheim. It's a visit by Miss Ella that starts the action of the play.
Alan Rickman is the titular John Gabriel Borkman, a 19th century Bernie Madoff who insists that, had he been left to his own devices for one more week, all his investors would have their money. Rickman moves like a big cat trapped in a dark Norwegian cage, pacing predictably over his wife’s head. And occasionally growling.
Fiona Shaw plays Borkman’s wife Gunhild, a woman who whines the livelong day of the ills done to her and her perfect son by this man. Reputation, of all things, cannot be restored for a convicted thief (she refers to him as “the bank manager,” “him,” never by name). She leans slightly forward as if she carries a weight on her shoulders, balanced by the bustle.
Lindsay Duncan’s Ella Rentheim was Borkman’s first and only true love, and she stepped in to buy the entire estate at auction when Borkman went to jail. Everyone lives now on her dime. She also took in the young son, Erhart, for several years, and developed a close relationship with him.
Where Borkman was once the contested property of the two sisters, this uncoveted role has been transfered to the son, whose heart, soul, and loyalty are the prey of Ella and Gunhild.
The triangle of Borkman, Gunhild, and Ella has been at odds for decades, and the one day and night in which the play takes place is the culmination of all the years, all the emotions, all the blame, all the lies, all the truths.
I first saw Lindsay Duncan 24 years ago when she starred in “Les Liaisons Dangereuses” with Alan Rickman on Broadway. She was luminous then and she still is. He was grace and lethality then, and he is now, although he’s not the same kind of dangerous. Fiona Shaw brings the excitement of a fulfilled character every time we see her, with an oddity, a twist, a quirk, always a real human being in a strange or terribly ordinary place. She opens and closes this play and is one of the few actresses who could assuredly be one of a threesome of stars and not just a third wheel to the Dynamic Duo of Rickman and Duncan.
Cathy Belton, as the divorced (shocking in the time period of the play) woman Mrs. Wilton, came in too high, at the height of her game, like a musical theatre actress starting at the top end of her range with nowhere else to go. She continued in this vein, as if seeking applause, trying to play as big as Rickman, Duncan, and Shaw without quite knowing how to go over the top without appearing to overplay.
The eagerly anticipated Erhart Borkman was fine – Marty Rea played kindly with the women who each wanted to smother him, was barely civil to his father, and warm with Mrs Wilton and Miss Foldal. Erhart is in high demand, with expectations from his mother, his aunt, his paramour. Mr. Rea is appropriately at sea amongst all these women pulling him this way and that. He will long earn his living in the theatre with few people knowing his name. He didn’t stand out amongst the stars here, but that wasn’t his job, and he knew it.
We wondered why the maid spoke in an Irish accent, forgetting that this was a production by Ireland’s Abbey Theatre. Whatever accent, Joan Sheehy as “Malene” had that mixture of subordination and familiarity an old family retainer needs.
Frida Foldal, the young girl giving music and naïveté to John Gabriel Borkman, was played demurely by Amy Molloy. Or perhaps brilliantly. She had no special something, but the character hasn’t. Frida is the girl that fades into the background in the room, the girl who wants to dance at the party but acquiesces to play the piano so that others may dance. She always will. That her character came through so clearly to me tells me that Ms. Molloy did her part well, serving the play. No shimmer or sparkle, since the character has none.
Finally, John Kavanagh embodies the role of Vilhelm Foldal, the sad sack friend of John Gabriel Borkman. Vilhelm is the would-be poet, and father of the wallflower behind the piano. Vilhelm is as naïve in middle age as Frida is in her youth. He cannot see what is right before him, even when Borkman cruelly tries to drive the message home. The story gets uglier and uglier, with everyone with any money at all (therefore excluding the Foldals and the maid) behaving terribly in the past and the present – let’s call it a sliding scale. The machinations of Mrs. Wilton are as nefarious as the fiscal manipulations of Borkham all those years ago.
These more-than peripheral characters serve as a glimpse of reality of the rest of the world of which John Gabriel Borkman, Gunhild Borkman, and Ella Rentheim have no clue. Their world has always been self-centered, selfish, and pointless. Mind you, the world around them isn’t so great either.
The story of the play is convoluted – neither life nor melodrama is simple or linear. “John Gabriel Borkman” requires exposition to explain the play’s forward movement, and I tend to think I’d hate it but for this production’s nimble pacing and superlative performances.
There is, however, a problem in the second half, near the end. The play’s already over, but it continues. No amount of whirling snow blown around the stage will change the fact that it’s time for the play to be finished. Everything’s been said, everything’s been done, everyone’s been left by their vain hope for change. Drop the curtain.
Whatever weaknesses of the play – its dated style, the unpleasantness of characters with whom one cannot really identify -- one thing will always resonate: Alan Rickman’s melodious voice.
Am I a fan of Ibsen? Yes and no. His plays are important in the history of theatre, and many a fine play that followed would not have been produced without Ibsen having come before. Ibsen’s plays were very bold, even scandalous, and searingly honest, in a time when such attributes in a theatrical production took actual courage. Watching those plays now, however, is rarely fun. Nevertheless, kudos to the Abbey Theatre, adapter/writer Frank McGuinness, director James Macdonald, for giving us a production that was fun to watch. Their production made the time far more than bearable, and the actors almost made me care about their archetypal characters.
And let’s not forget the other artists. Fine design all around: Set design by Tom Pye, lighting design by Jean Kalman, costume design by Joan Bergin, and sound design by Ian Dickinson.
This production of “John Gabriel Borkman” is worth your time, and it’s running at the BAM Harvey Theatre through February 6. Good productions of Ibsen in your lifetime will be rarities. Catch this one while you can.
I will close with my favorite line from the play: “Winter can drag on.” Can’t it just.
~ Molly Matera, hoping you’ll log off and go to the theatre.
However, this tight production featured three shining stars in the theatre firmament, and they kept this piece from becoming deadly. It didn’t hurt that this new adaptation of Henrik Ibsen’s play is concisely written by Frank McGuinness and deftly directed by James Macdonald. Alan Rickman, Lindsay Duncan, and Fiona Shaw lift Ibsen’s “John Gabriel Borkman” above itself. It’s still melodrama, but it’s the best melodrama imaginable.
The set-up: It has been many years since bank manager John Gabriel Borkman’s arrest and imprisonment by the state for embezzlement. He lives incarcerated now in his own house – his wife downstairs, himself upstairs. The house is in fact owned by his sister-in-law, Miss Ella Rentheim. It's a visit by Miss Ella that starts the action of the play.
Alan Rickman is the titular John Gabriel Borkman, a 19th century Bernie Madoff who insists that, had he been left to his own devices for one more week, all his investors would have their money. Rickman moves like a big cat trapped in a dark Norwegian cage, pacing predictably over his wife’s head. And occasionally growling.
Fiona Shaw plays Borkman’s wife Gunhild, a woman who whines the livelong day of the ills done to her and her perfect son by this man. Reputation, of all things, cannot be restored for a convicted thief (she refers to him as “the bank manager,” “him,” never by name). She leans slightly forward as if she carries a weight on her shoulders, balanced by the bustle.
Lindsay Duncan’s Ella Rentheim was Borkman’s first and only true love, and she stepped in to buy the entire estate at auction when Borkman went to jail. Everyone lives now on her dime. She also took in the young son, Erhart, for several years, and developed a close relationship with him.
Where Borkman was once the contested property of the two sisters, this uncoveted role has been transfered to the son, whose heart, soul, and loyalty are the prey of Ella and Gunhild.
The triangle of Borkman, Gunhild, and Ella has been at odds for decades, and the one day and night in which the play takes place is the culmination of all the years, all the emotions, all the blame, all the lies, all the truths.
I first saw Lindsay Duncan 24 years ago when she starred in “Les Liaisons Dangereuses” with Alan Rickman on Broadway. She was luminous then and she still is. He was grace and lethality then, and he is now, although he’s not the same kind of dangerous. Fiona Shaw brings the excitement of a fulfilled character every time we see her, with an oddity, a twist, a quirk, always a real human being in a strange or terribly ordinary place. She opens and closes this play and is one of the few actresses who could assuredly be one of a threesome of stars and not just a third wheel to the Dynamic Duo of Rickman and Duncan.
Cathy Belton, as the divorced (shocking in the time period of the play) woman Mrs. Wilton, came in too high, at the height of her game, like a musical theatre actress starting at the top end of her range with nowhere else to go. She continued in this vein, as if seeking applause, trying to play as big as Rickman, Duncan, and Shaw without quite knowing how to go over the top without appearing to overplay.
The eagerly anticipated Erhart Borkman was fine – Marty Rea played kindly with the women who each wanted to smother him, was barely civil to his father, and warm with Mrs Wilton and Miss Foldal. Erhart is in high demand, with expectations from his mother, his aunt, his paramour. Mr. Rea is appropriately at sea amongst all these women pulling him this way and that. He will long earn his living in the theatre with few people knowing his name. He didn’t stand out amongst the stars here, but that wasn’t his job, and he knew it.
We wondered why the maid spoke in an Irish accent, forgetting that this was a production by Ireland’s Abbey Theatre. Whatever accent, Joan Sheehy as “Malene” had that mixture of subordination and familiarity an old family retainer needs.
Frida Foldal, the young girl giving music and naïveté to John Gabriel Borkman, was played demurely by Amy Molloy. Or perhaps brilliantly. She had no special something, but the character hasn’t. Frida is the girl that fades into the background in the room, the girl who wants to dance at the party but acquiesces to play the piano so that others may dance. She always will. That her character came through so clearly to me tells me that Ms. Molloy did her part well, serving the play. No shimmer or sparkle, since the character has none.
Finally, John Kavanagh embodies the role of Vilhelm Foldal, the sad sack friend of John Gabriel Borkman. Vilhelm is the would-be poet, and father of the wallflower behind the piano. Vilhelm is as naïve in middle age as Frida is in her youth. He cannot see what is right before him, even when Borkman cruelly tries to drive the message home. The story gets uglier and uglier, with everyone with any money at all (therefore excluding the Foldals and the maid) behaving terribly in the past and the present – let’s call it a sliding scale. The machinations of Mrs. Wilton are as nefarious as the fiscal manipulations of Borkham all those years ago.
These more-than peripheral characters serve as a glimpse of reality of the rest of the world of which John Gabriel Borkman, Gunhild Borkman, and Ella Rentheim have no clue. Their world has always been self-centered, selfish, and pointless. Mind you, the world around them isn’t so great either.
The story of the play is convoluted – neither life nor melodrama is simple or linear. “John Gabriel Borkman” requires exposition to explain the play’s forward movement, and I tend to think I’d hate it but for this production’s nimble pacing and superlative performances.
There is, however, a problem in the second half, near the end. The play’s already over, but it continues. No amount of whirling snow blown around the stage will change the fact that it’s time for the play to be finished. Everything’s been said, everything’s been done, everyone’s been left by their vain hope for change. Drop the curtain.
Whatever weaknesses of the play – its dated style, the unpleasantness of characters with whom one cannot really identify -- one thing will always resonate: Alan Rickman’s melodious voice.
Am I a fan of Ibsen? Yes and no. His plays are important in the history of theatre, and many a fine play that followed would not have been produced without Ibsen having come before. Ibsen’s plays were very bold, even scandalous, and searingly honest, in a time when such attributes in a theatrical production took actual courage. Watching those plays now, however, is rarely fun. Nevertheless, kudos to the Abbey Theatre, adapter/writer Frank McGuinness, director James Macdonald, for giving us a production that was fun to watch. Their production made the time far more than bearable, and the actors almost made me care about their archetypal characters.
And let’s not forget the other artists. Fine design all around: Set design by Tom Pye, lighting design by Jean Kalman, costume design by Joan Bergin, and sound design by Ian Dickinson.
This production of “John Gabriel Borkman” is worth your time, and it’s running at the BAM Harvey Theatre through February 6. Good productions of Ibsen in your lifetime will be rarities. Catch this one while you can.
I will close with my favorite line from the play: “Winter can drag on.” Can’t it just.
~ Molly Matera, hoping you’ll log off and go to the theatre.
The Morning After
Apparently the trauma of neutering/spaying belongs only to the humans. Yesterday morning, bright and early, each kitten wandered innocently into the cat carriers I had put out, and I wickedly locked them in. Once the kids were locked away, I could feed hungry mama Millie.
The truck from the Toby Project was parked a block from the foster mother’s apartment. The vehicle is a portable clinic, and large cages containing feral cats were being loaded in when I arrived. I shivered for my kitties. They’re so little! Growling big cats were not going to keep them calm. The clinic was busy all day long and I went back for Wilbur and Chick at 3 pm. After a bit of a delay – there were a lot of females that day, and they take more time – I was able to go in and get my kitties back. A rather dazed feral cat looked at me from her cage. A jolly mixed breed dog happily greeted me from his – unfortunately I couldn’t bring him home with me. My kittens were handed to me in their carriers. They were awake, but groggy, and looked just fine. Each burrowed into the towels I’d stuffed into the carriers.
Once home, suddenly Wilbur was far from groggy and tried rather madly to open his own door. Silly animal. Chick was a lady about the whole thing and left her carrier in a genteel manner. Suddenly all was normal – they were prancing about, going to all their usual spots, as if they’d never been gone. Chick even rolled over and gave me her belly – all shaven with a small knitted incision.
Mama Millie, however, was not so happy to see them. Initially excited at their return, once she got a whiff, she started hissing at them.
So, morning after, they’ve eaten normally, no one has barfed, they’re as affectionate as ever, and the mama is still hissing. This too will pass. We’re good.
So, by the way, is the Toby Project (http://www.tobyproject.org/), which provides free and low-cost spaying and neutering in all five boroughs. Please help if you can.
~ Molly Matera, signing off. Time to shovel some snow.
The truck from the Toby Project was parked a block from the foster mother’s apartment. The vehicle is a portable clinic, and large cages containing feral cats were being loaded in when I arrived. I shivered for my kitties. They’re so little! Growling big cats were not going to keep them calm. The clinic was busy all day long and I went back for Wilbur and Chick at 3 pm. After a bit of a delay – there were a lot of females that day, and they take more time – I was able to go in and get my kitties back. A rather dazed feral cat looked at me from her cage. A jolly mixed breed dog happily greeted me from his – unfortunately I couldn’t bring him home with me. My kittens were handed to me in their carriers. They were awake, but groggy, and looked just fine. Each burrowed into the towels I’d stuffed into the carriers.
Once home, suddenly Wilbur was far from groggy and tried rather madly to open his own door. Silly animal. Chick was a lady about the whole thing and left her carrier in a genteel manner. Suddenly all was normal – they were prancing about, going to all their usual spots, as if they’d never been gone. Chick even rolled over and gave me her belly – all shaven with a small knitted incision.
Mama Millie, however, was not so happy to see them. Initially excited at their return, once she got a whiff, she started hissing at them.
So, morning after, they’ve eaten normally, no one has barfed, they’re as affectionate as ever, and the mama is still hissing. This too will pass. We’re good.
So, by the way, is the Toby Project (http://www.tobyproject.org/), which provides free and low-cost spaying and neutering in all five boroughs. Please help if you can.
~ Molly Matera, signing off. Time to shovel some snow.
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