Cinema Catala Hollywood Movie Review

Despite arriving on North American screens mid-way through the month of November with a cast that features three previous Academy Award nominees (Philip Seymour Hoffman, Kenneth Branagh, Emma Thompson) and a similarly honored writer/director (Richard Curtis), Pirate Radio is not being touted as Oscar bait. In fact, it comes to the U.S. with a less-than-stellar pedigree, having received lukewarm reviews during its U.K. theatrical run earlier this year and having subsequently been re-cut at Focus Features’ request. The result, although uneven, is generally enjoyable, especially for those who attend with the right mindset. Character and narrative are secondary concerns for a movie primarily driven to provide a Valentine to ’60s rock-and-roll.

It’s 1966 and the young people of Great Britain are less-than-happy with the domestic radio situation, which is almost all talk and news (with a little jazz thrown in for good measure). Into this breach come the offshore pirate radio stations, the most infamous of which is “Radio Rock,” a 24/7 rock-and-roll operation that saturates the airwaves from a ship anchored in international waters and boasts a listening audience north of 20 million. Radio Rock is the brainchild of Quentin (Bill Nighy) and features some of the best known disc jockeys, including an American known only as The Count (Philip Seymour Hoffman); the world-renowned Gavin (Rhys Ifans); Bob (Ralph Brown), the 3-6 a.m. guy whom almost no one has seen; and Simon (Chris O’Dowd), who’s convinced no one likes him. Into this setting comes Carl (Tom Sturridge). After being kicked out of school, Carl’s mom (Emma Thompson) sends him to spend some time on the Radio Rock ship under the watchful eye of his godfather, Quentin. Life aboard the ship is all sex, drugs, and rock-and-roll (although the sex only arrives once every two weeks when a boatload of women arrive for overnight stays). Carl, a virgin, is at something of a disadvantage when it comes to the opposite sex, but various members of the crew set out to help him remedy the situation. Meanwhile, on land, cabinet member Sir Alistair Dormandy (Kenneth Branagh), announces his determination to shut down Radio Rock. Since what they’re doing is breaking no current laws, he hires the unfortunately named Twatt (Jack Davenport) to find a loophole that he can turn into a noose.

For the most part, Pirate Radio, called The Boat that Rocked during its U.K. run, is a series of poorly connected vignettes about life aboard the ship during a time when the social views of the government were at odds with those of its younger citizens. As Dormandy and Twatt seek to stifle Radio Rock, we are shown a cross-section of British people enjoying the music in different settings. Some of the episodes work (such as the visit to the ship by Carl’s mother); others exhibit forced comedy that really isn’t funny (Carl’s attempts to lose his virginity, the “duel” between The Count and Gavin). The characters are mostly likable but none exhibits much depth. The best comedic elements derive from Kenneth Branagh’s satirization of ’60s stuffed shirt politicians. At times, it’s as if he’s channeling John Cleese in the way he sends them up. He also has some great lines about the role of government.

Ultimately, however, Pirate Radio is more about the music than it is about anything else. Hardly a scene goes by without at least one classic rock song being played. There are reportedly about 60 clips (ranging from a few bars to full singles) in the movie, which makes it a pretty comprehensive survey of the music of the era, with artists ranging as far and wide as Dusty Springfield, Herb Alpert, Cream, The Who, Cat Stevens, The Beach Boys, and The Moody Blues. Without such a rich and diverse soundtrack, there’s little doubt that Pirate Radio would have been considerably less endearing and enjoyable. Of the features on Richard Curtis’ resume (he wrote Four Weddings and a Funeral and Bridget Jones’ Diary and wrote and directed Love, Actually), this is arguably the least substantive.

Some of the marketing material is hyping the “based on a true story” aspect of the movie although, in fact, this was always intended to tell the tale of a fictional pirate radio boat. Some aspects are loosely based on historical events and some of the characters are composites of real people, but Pirate Radio should not be mistaken for anything other than a creation of a writer’s imagination. The distributors apparently would like us to believe these people actually existed and Radio Rock occupies an almost mythical position in recent British pop history.

Films with large ensemble casts rarely afford opportunities for individual standout performances, and this is no exception. Bill Nighy is amusing but hardly reaches the heights he scaled for his small role in Love, Actually. Philip Seymour Hoffman is very good in what may be his most limited non-cameo since Twister. Tom Sturridge, who is the closest Pirate Radio has to a lead, is a little on the limp side. Those who appreciate trivia will note that this is the first movie in which both Kenneth Branagh and Emma Thompson have both appeared since the dissolution of their marriage (although they do not share any scenes).

Two obvious cinematic references came to mind while I was watching Pirate Radio. The first, Pump up the Volume, also deals with issues of censorship and free speech over the public airwaves and, as is the case here, it sets up a radio pirate as the champion of a group of individuals whose voices and opinions are often ignored by those in power. The second and more unfortunate reference is Titanic. The scenes with a boat sinking in the North Sea are simply too familiar for the association not to be made.

One of the biggest complaints about the U.K. release of the film was that it’s too long and, even though the American version is shorter by 15 minutes, it still seems like there’s too little content for such a robust running time. Nevertheless, the music is great, the comedy provides occasional laughs, and there’s nothing fundamentally wrong with the movie. Distilled to its essence, it represents a respectable diversion.

The familiar looks different at night. Incandescent lights don’t quite chase away the shadows with the effectiveness of the sun. The rooms and hallways of a home, so comforting at noon, can become cloaked with unease past the witching hour. This fear of the dark, one of humankind’s most common phobias, lies at the heart of Paranormal Activity, as a seemingly normal house is turned into a nest of terror once the daylight has faded. Things that go bump in the night can instantly transform the most mundane location into a place of menace. This is a tale of the supernatural, but its strength is that it is rooted in the ordinary. That’s what makes it creepy.

In a sense, this is The Blair Witch Project redux. It replaces the “lost in the woods” premise of the surprise 1999 hit with a “trapped in a house” concept. Both movies were made on shoestring budgets, pretend to be constructed from “lost” documentary footage, use the camera to develop a first-person narrative, and – most importantly – rely on the viewer’s imagination to build upon the horror that is only hinted at on screen. The Blair Witch Project is atmosphere incarnate, and a similar claim can be made about Paranormal Activity. Both movies build momentum by playing upon the expectation that something ominous is going to happen. Since our perspective is constrained by what the camera can see, we are not privy to anything that happens beyond its field of view, although we can often hear sounds. Paranormal Activity’s approach is simple but undeniably effective. Still, those who demand blood, gore, and violence from horror films may be bored by what this one offers. It’s a largely cerebral experience, and it could face the kind of backlash that overwhelmed The Blair Witch Project when it exited its phenomenally successful art house run and opened wide into multiplexes. What was embraced by audiences appreciative of the unconventional was rejected by those weaned on mainstream horror. Only time will tell whether Paranormal Activity’s tighter pacing and different setting will allow it to escape a similar fate.

The premise is simple: Katie (Katie Featherstone) and Micah (Micah Sloat), two twenty-somethings who have moved in together, are beginning to suffer symptoms of “a haunting” in their new San Diego house. For Katie, this is nothing new – she has experienced being watched and followed at different times during her life. For Micah, however, this is exciting stuff. He buys a video camera and sets it on a tripod near their bed to record the room while they sleep at night, and getting everything on film (actually computer) becomes paramount, trumping even the consideration of pacifying his freaked out girlfriend. The camera does its job, with the microphone capturing strange sounds and the viewfinder reflecting disquieting images, like a door opening and closing of its own volition. As Micah becomes more energized by the situation, Katie’s terror escalates. She consults a psychic, who provides two startling pieces of information: the spirit haunting Katie is a demon (not a ghost) and she is the specific target of the supernatural interference – leaving the house will not lessen her plight. And every night, things get worse.

The pillars upon which Paranormal Activity are founded are verisimilitude and simplicity. The movie doesn’t try to do too much. It doesn’t rely on special effects. It’s basically one set (a house), one camera, carefully placed lights, and two actors who are entirely convincing playing these characters. There’s not a lot more to the movie than that. Many of the daytime conversations between Katie and Micah are either extemporized or made to seem that way. Director Oren Peli has crafted the movie with such deceptive simplicity that it almost seems like anyone could do it. And that, in a way, is its genius. It helps us to relate. It helps us to buy into the ghost story in a way that we might not if the production was more lavishly mounted. I don’t believe in ghosts, but this is not a movie I would want to watch at home by myself past midnight. Suddenly, the natural settling noises of the house would sound anything but natural.

Is the movie scary? For a horror movie, that is often the bottom line. While it may be a stretch to call any motion picture conventionally “frightening,” Paranormal Activity is suffused with a creepy, disturbing atmosphere that envelops the viewer. The “boo!” moments are effectively constructed to generate the necessary jolt without seeming unnecessarily manipulative. The ending, which was apparently selected over Peli’s original version after being suggested by Steven Spielberg, is appropriate for the story.

In some ways, the marketing campaign for Paranormal Activity threatens to dwarf the movie. Paramount is building interest on the strong word-of-mouth generated by targeted screenings and by the exclusivity factor of slowly rolling it out to select theaters in specific markets. Those who feel “left out” in the early stages of the phased distribution can “demand” the movie on a website. Paramount promises that once 1,000,000 demands are recorded, the movie will go wide. (This is a bit of sham, since plans to distribute prints to multiplexes around the country were finalized weeks ago, but the website provides viewers with the illusion of participation.) The Halloween season is the perfect time of the year for a production such as this. Every October, we’re all looking for a good scare. In an era when mainstream horror is often indistinguishable from self-parody, it takes something basic like this to be diabolically successful.

(Spoiler note for the trailer: If you really want to be surprised by the movie, avoid the trailer. Take my word for it.)

Here’s a primer for how to endure Old Dogs if an unfortunate series of circumstances should place you where seeing it is unavoidable. Arrive late and leave early. In between, visit the concession stand as frequently as possible and stand in the longest lines. Drink a gallon of water beforehand so multiple visits to the restroom are mandatory. Hopefully, this will limit your exposure to a level where Old Dogs loses its toxicity and is merely uncomfortable, although I’m not sure that’s possible. More tests are needed but there are some experiences no one should be subjected to even in the name of science. It may be that forced viewing of this film has been outlawed by the Geneva Convention.

Much has been made about how family films like Where the Wild Things Are and A Christmas Carol are too mature for younger children. The inverse is true of Old Dogs, which is too infantile for anyone who can speak in full sentences. As for the rest of the potential audience… They’ll probably appreciate it, but many of them enjoy eating paste, so that establishes a baseline level of taste. To be frank, eating paste would probably be less likely to induce vomiting that sitting through the entirety of this motion picture abomination.

Old Dogs makes Wild Hogs, the predecessor of its director, Walt Becker, appear Oscar worthy. What’s wrong with this movie? A better question might be: What’s right? Every attempt at comedy is not only obvious but delivered in such a forced manner that any hope of generating laughter dies before the joke has been told. Old Dogs also attempts to include its share of dramatic moments; these are about as well conceived as Rob Schneider doing Shakespeare. Side effects of watching Old Dogs’ mawkish melodrama range from eyeball rolling to uncontrolled retching.

A pall hangs over Old Dogs. It features the last screen appearance of Bernie Mac, whose death resulted in the movie’s opening being delayed by about six months. It’s also the last film John Travolta made before the death of his son, Jett. In fact, Jett is the only member of the Travolta clan not to have a role in this film. Travolta’s wife, Kelly Preston, plays the lead female and his daughter, Ella Bleu, is one of the kids.

The two “old dogs” of the title are best buddies Charlie (Travolta) and Dan (Robin Williams), who have been in business together for 30 years. Now, on the eve of signing a huge contract with a Japanese firm, Dan discovers that a 24-hour fling seven years ago with Vicki (Kelly Preston) resulted in the birth of fraternal twins Zach (Conner Rayburn) and Emily (Ella Bleu Travolta). With Emily scheduled to spend two weeks in jail on a civil disobedience charge, she needs someone to care for the children. That’s where Dan and Charlie come in. This leads to a series of misadventures involving camping out, bear poop, dog urine, human flatulence, golf, and a visit to the zoo. Amazingly, the filmmakers manage to take situations that should at least have a minimal level of comedic potential and reduce them to where laughter by anyone over the age of four could be construed as a sign of a psychological maladjustment.

Perhaps the saddest thing about this movie is reflecting upon how far Robin Williams has fallen as a comedian. Once one of the funniest men in Hollywood, Williams has been reduced to this. (To be fair, he has shown strong dramatic chops – his performance in the dark comedy World’s Greatest Dad is a testimony to that.) It’s easy to see the attraction for Travolta since the involvement of his wife and daughter allowed him to spend more time with the family. He should have just submitted a few home movies instead and spared us the agony of Old Dogs. Supporting players include Seth Green as a junior member of Charlie and Dan’s firm, Lori Laughlin as a love interest for Charlie, and Matt Dillon as a camp director.

If there’s anything significant about Old Dogs, it’s that it illustrates how diminished Thanksgiving weekend has become for movie releases. Once, this was deemed the fourth biggest time of the year for opening films (after Memorial Day, Christmas, and July 4). Now, it’s a dumping ground. With good reason, Disney has little faith in this movie’s performance – they’re releasing it against their own A Christmas Carol, and it will soon be joined by The Princess and the Frog. Perhaps like old soldiers, Old Dogs will fade away – although not matter how quickly it does that, it won’t be fast enough.

Welcome to George Clooney season. Those who find the actor, who has been described by some as a modern day Cary Grant, engaging will have reason to smile as Hollywood begins its annual push toward the Oscars. Clooney will bring his winning personality and high-wattage smile to no fewer than three productions with Academy Award aspirations. Fantastic Mr. Fox and Up in the Air are yet a short distance down the road, but The Men Who Stare at Goats has arrived. Not only does it have the strangest title of the three late 2009 Clooney vehicles, but the storyline is also probably the most bizarre.

That title – The Men Who Stare at Goats – is, in and of itself, an indication that this movie is not directed squarely at mainstream multiplex-goers. It’s hard to imagine an army of 14-year old boys and their dates lining up to see this movie, which is designed with a more sophisticated audience in mind. The film is more than a little odd but it has fun with its offbeat premise and moves along breezily until it gets bogged down in the third act. (Watch out for the appearance of Kevin Spacey – that’s when the momentum starts to flag as a more direct focus on narrative undermines some of the wit and comedy.)

The Men Who Stare at Goats opens with the following caption: “More of this is true than you would believe.” But isn’t truth always said to be stranger than fiction? We are introduced to Ann Arbor journalist Bob Wilton (Ewan McGregor), who is looking for the story of his life; he wants to impress his wife, who has unceremoniously dumped him. His quest leads him to Kuwait, where he hopes to become embedded with a group of troops entering Iraq. There he meets Lyn Cassady (Clooney), an ex-Special Ops military officer who claims to have been part of the “New Earth Army,” a covert group of “psychic spies” who use their “Jedi mind powers” to influence others. Cassady agrees to take Wilton with him on a mission across the border. Along the way, he tells him about the New Earth Army’s history and its commanding officer, Bill Django (Jeff Bridges), who ran a very different kind of unit.

The first half of The Men Who Stare at Goats is superior to the second half. For about 45 minutes, the film is content to play with the absurdity of the concept of having a covert group of “psychic spies.” It also works brilliantly as a parody of the military and its rules and structure. Unfortunately, past the midpoint, the movie begins to pay more attention to plot and, when it does this, the humor erodes. The more The Men Who Stare at Goats focuses on developing and advancing the narrative, the less enjoyable it is because Cassady’s “mission” turns out to be rather uninteresting.

The director of The Men Who Stare at Goats is Grant Heslov. This is his feature debut behind the camera, but not his first opportunity to join forces with Clooney. He co-wrote (with Clooney) and produced Good Night and Good Luck and filled similar producing duties for Leatherheads. The two men clearly know each other and work well together, and it shows in the easy way this movie unfolds. Heslov is not performing without a net. Who better than Clooney to lend a helping hand – a man who has learned from Soderbergh and the Coens and directed three films in his own right (two of which he collaborated with Heslov)?

The movie contains one of the best in-jokes of recent times. The psychic spies go by a number of different names, among them the “remote viewers” and the “Jedis.” This allows for multiple references to Star Wars. Of course, it will be lost on no one in the audience that Ewan McGregor played none other than the young Obi-Wan in the prequel trilogy. So this creates a little amusement every time McGregor and Clooney discuss the Jedis and Jedi powers. McGregor provides us with this quote: “What’s a Jedi Warrior?” He then ends up pursuing the path of the Jedi in the end. It would be interesting to know whether Heslov and screenwriter Peter Straughan were aware of McGregor’s pending involvement when those lines were written. If they were, it was an amusing way to work in one of the actor’s most (in)famous roles. If they weren’t, it was a case of an eyebrow-raising coincidence.

Fans of The Big Lebowski, which has achieved a major cult status since its theatrical release, will note similarities between Bill Django and the “The Dude” of the earlier film. Both are played by Jeff Bridges, who has apparently drawn from the same wellspring of inspiration for these laid-back, New Age-y parts.

The Men Who Stare at Goats is enjoyable to watch “in the moment,” but it doesn’t leave a powerful or lasting impact, at least insofar as the comedic elements are concerned. (Re-watching it a second time after initially seeing it a month earlier at the Toronto Film Festival, I was surprised how fresh the humor was – mainly because I didn’t remember most of the jokes.) As entertaining as the production is, however, the fact that it contains a kernel of truth reminds us of one damning truth: This is the kind of thing that American tax dollars are being spent on. The Men Who Stare at Goats is a comedy, and I laughed quite a few times while watching it, but that sobering reality almost makes me want to cry.

Me and Orson Welles is about the theater, or at least the theater as it was in the 1930s. Based on the semi-fictional novel by Robert Kaplow and set in New York City around the time of the opening of the Mercury Theater, the film is rich in period detail. It chronicles not only how Welles put together his now-famous stage production of Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar but how it was to work around and with the temperamental genius. In a departure from his usual intimate, character-based fare, director Richard Linklater paints on a broad cinematic canvas that brings Depression-era Broadway vividly to life.

The lead character is aspiring actor Richard Samuels (Zac Efron), a teenager who is picked by Welles (Christian McKay) to appear in Julius Caesar even before he graduates from high school. Welles, however, is a notoriously difficult boss. One moment, he is cruel and dismissive. The next, he acts like a mentor, bringing Richard with him to a radio studio and allowing him to observe as Welles improvises lines in a live audio play. Since Richard’s role as Lucillus is relatively minor, the young performer is given ample time to observe the behind-the-scenes goings-on at the Mercury. Two famous actors, Joseph Cotton (James Tupper) and George Coulouris (Ben Chaplin), are involved in the production, and John Houseman (Eddie Marsan) is Welles’ partner in the business side of the venture. For Richard, however, the Mercury’s real attraction, aside from the opportunity to work with Welles, is Sonja Jones (Claire Danes), Welles’ secretary. He pursues her with the dogged single-mindedness of a young man in love.

In a courageous move, Linklater devotes the better part of the film’s final half-hour to exacting re-creations of scenes from Julius Caesar, providing a view of how the play might have looked on Opening Night. There’s not enough of the play for someone unaware of its general trajectory to understand what’s happening, but those who have seen or read it will be able not only to follow the excerpts but be able to understand the uniqueness of Welles’ vision. The unfortunately downside of this approach is that it narrows the target audience considerably.

The ostensible star is Zac Efron, who chose this role as an opportunity to step far away from the parts that have made him famous. (It’s difficult to imagine many members of his core audience enjoying Me and Orson Welles.) His heartthrob status effectively submerged, Efron is solid although unspectacular. It’s difficult to see it when Welles calls Richard a “natural born actor,” but Efron’s performance is workmanlike and certainly nothing to be ashamed of. Likewise, Claire Danes snaps off her dialogue like a whip and exhibits sufficient screen presence to avoid being a liability. The love affair between Richard and Sonja, despite being underplayed, is believable. Both Efron and Danes, however, exist in the shadow of Christian McKay, whose portrayal of Welles captures the essence of the great man: impatient, egotistic, arrogant, brilliant, and a perfectionist. It’s all there – the good and the bad – presented with such astonishing force that it’s impossible for McKay to not dominate every scene in which he appears. (McKay, before making this movie, had played Welles in a stage play.) Physically, McKay bears a passing resemblance to Welles, but his voice is uncannily exact – so much so that, if you watch with your eyes closed, the experience is almost eerie. Not since Anthony Hopkins took over a movie with his supporting role in The Silence of the Lambs has a secondary actor so dominated a movie.

Me and Orson Welles is designed primarily for those who are intrigued by theater, curious about Welles, or some combination of both. The film’s storyline is strong enough to provide structure for the production, but it is dramatically limited. Despite Linklater’s directorial credit and Efron’s name at the top of the marquee, Me and Orson Welles has taken fourteen months since its September 2008 world premiere at the Toronto Film Festival to obtain a limited United States release. Many distributors passed on the movie not because they weren’t impressed by its craft but because the potential audience is restricted. This is a specialty movie. Those in its demographic will fall under its impressive spell, but it will be difficult to find enough of those individuals to make the production profitable. McKay alone is well worth the price of admission and, if Me and Orson Welles proves to be too small for the Academy to notice, his performance could go down as one of the great overlooked ones of the decade.

Many tremendous movies could be made about Welles, whose larger-than-life personality would easily lend itself to an epic. From his critically adored stage productions to his War of the Worlds Halloween broadcast to his cinematic debut (and pinnacle), Citizen Kane, to the travesty of The Magnificent Ambersons, few 20th century personalities were more colorful. For Me and Orson Welles, we are presented not only with a minor slice from the man’s life, but one that is shown through the eyes of another. It’s an effective way to introduce the essence of Welles without overwhelming the viewer with his life story.