Catholicism and feminism are unlikely companions, but Rebecca Parrish’s Radical Grace shows that this may be changing. Three American nuns with different agendas face censure by the Vatican for their “radical feminsim:” Sr. Simone Campbell, a lobbyist for the Affordable Care Act, which runs counter to the Catholic Church’s stance on contraception and abortion; Sr. Jean Hughes, a champion for women’s leadership roles within the Church; and Sr. Chris Schenk, a life coach for ex-cons on Chicago’s west side.
Radical Grace is interesting on many levels, but its depiction of the similar changes occurring in the Church and in the United States– and all the conflict and tension that goes along with them– struck me. It’s amazing that some people refuse to give up, no matter how hard their fight is– even when their opponents make it personal.
Stars are ageless, aren’t they? I’ve known about Sunset Boulevard my whole life– who hasn’t? I can’t believe it took me so long to see it. Delightfully campy, everything about it is ridiculous: the soap opera story, the narration, the sets– that crazy Addams Family mansion and tacky leopard-lined car, oh my!– the overacting, the facial expressions, and the diction. So off the charts. And of course the cast of crackpot characters– not just Joan Crawford, I mean Norma Desmond (Gloria Swanson) but Joe Gillis (William Holden), Betty Schaefer (Nancy Olson), Max (Erich Von Stroheim), even the repo men who take their job way too seriously (Larry J. Blake and Charles Dayton). I didn’t know Cecil B. DeMille played himself. The drama of it all!
Hearing famous lines that have become part of everyday vernacular– “I am big, it’s the pictures that got small” and “All right, Mr. DeMille, I’m ready for my closeup” in particular– made me giddy. Nonetheless, I doubt I could sit through Sunset Boulevard again; it’s just not that great a film. But it was perfect for a flight to L.A.
In the late Nineties and early 2000s, I picked up XY Magazine whenever I saw it on the news rack, usually at Borders, Tower Records, or Unabridged. It was a sort of gay culture Sassy meets Star Hits—I’m showing my age here, I know. Unbeknownst to me, XY contributor Michael Glatze went from “out” in San Francisco to poster boy for Evangelical conversion therapy in a matter of years. This film chronicles his seemingly bizarre change of heart.
I Am Michael has the makings of a winner: a complicated and interesting true story, a star cast, and timely subject matter. Sadly, it’s a big disappointment. James Franco is just okay as Glatze—never mind that his real-life sexual ambiguity rings tired these days. However true to life the events in the film may be, so many gay cliches—circuit parties, techno music, three-ways, drugs, fake blonde hair—are thrown in that it feels flat, hollow, and insulting after awhile. Worse, cowriter/director Justin Kelly gives short, superficial treatment to what drives Glatze’s metamorphosis; he provides a basic explanation but fails to get inside the guy’s head in any meaningful way. On top of all that, the film has the cheap look of a made-for-television movie. Surely, a gay can do better than this.
On the positive side, Zachary Quinto as Glatze’s suffering partner, Bennet, is great; he expertly builds his character’s frustration and weariness with Glatze’s constant angst and Bible diving while remaining tender when he needs to (for example, as he does when Glatze calls him out of the blue). Emma Roberts as Rebekah, the girl Glatze meets at Bible school and eventually marries, is also great; she plays a “nice girl” really well, and she makes us feel her confused uneasiness with his past. Both are memorable high points in a forgettable film.
45 Years— my lifetime, and about how long it felt like it took to get through this. On the eve of a huge party to celebrate their 45th wedding anniversary, Geoff Mercer (Tom Courtenay) receives a letter informing him that the body of a past lover from before he met his wife Kate (Charlotte Rampling) has been recovered after 50 years– she fell off a cliff while they were vacationing in Switzerland. He is absorbed by this news, which does not sit well with Kate.
45 Years isn’t bad, but it is tedious; I found myself growing more and more restless as it went on. A lot happens during the course of the film, but it’s mostly mental– thoughts, feelings, and struggles within the characters. Sure, these all manifest themselves physically, but mostly in a quiet way. I wanted more action here. The big thrill for me was recognizing Geraldine James from Little Britain– she played the mother in the “Bitty” skit.
Woody Allen movies never totally suck, but they’re either really great or just ok. Irrational Man is the latter. Joaquin Phoenix is Abe, an angsty, drunkard philosophy professor who’s lost his zest for life. He takes a teaching position at a college in Rhode Island. All the fly women are making a fuss (even though he’s gross) but he can’t get it up. With a plot twist that I didn’t see coming, he gets his groove back– until things start to unravel.
Irrational Man makes an interesting comment on freedom: act or leave things to chance. There are a few bright moments here– the Russian roulette party scene, for example, had me on the edge of my seat for a second. It’s also nice to see Parker Posey and Emma Stone in action even if I’ve seen them do better. The problem here is, the execution is bland; the story plods along without ever taking off. Even the final scene plays out in a blasé manner. Intentionally existentialist or not, Irrational Man is a yawn.
Poor Gabriel– or “Gabe,” as he wants to be called. On his way home presumably after being discharged from a mental hospital, he takes a detour off his bus to search for an old girlfriend, Alice. In the process, he irks those he encounters and upsets his family, waiting to pick him up from the bus station.
If that sounds like a comedy, it’s not. Gabriel takes us along with Gabe (Rory Caulkin) through a series of episodes that reveal the extent of his illness and how it affects those around him. Nothing about this film is immediate, obvious, or predictable. Details of Gabe’s diagnosis, what led to his current state, and what happened between him and Alice (Emily Meade) are smartly scarce; these ambiguities mirror his hazy, muddled frame of mind. The upstate New York setting during winter with its drab color palette and chilly look effectively underscores the bleakness of Gabe’s situation.
Longer on character than story, Gabriel probably wouldn’t work without Caulkin, whose believeable performance makes us empathize not only with Gabe, but also his mother (Dierdre O’Connell) and older brother, Matt (David Call). For all its merits, though, I found Gabriel the character as tiresome as those around him seemed to find him by the end of the film. The ending, by the way, is appropriate even if it is frustrating.
A day in the life of a cranky, emotionally blocked lesbian (Lily Tomlin) whose teenaged granddaughter (Julia Garner)appears on her doorstep to inform her that she’s pregnant and needs money for an abortion—scheduled for 5:30 p.m. that day. Part “road movie”—and I use that term loosely—the two embark on a mini Odyssey through Los Angeles that reveals who they are and where their limits lie.
Grandma has a lot to say about quite a bit: Sixties counterculture, feminism, sexuality, relationships, and yes women’s health issues. But it does so without getting overemotional or heavy-handed. I really wasn’t sure what I was walking into, and frankly my expectations were low. I left satisfied: Grandma is more complex than it lets on.
A gentle and engaging sorta-comedy about breaking up, starting over, and hanging onto what’s important. If that sounds sappy, it is—“sentimental,” “sensitive,” and “bittersweet” are words that describe this film.
People Places Things has a good share of nice, quiet moments and truths, although a few bitingly cynical and hilarious scenes succeed in balancing it out. Regina Hall and Jessica Williams steal the show in their secondary roles as a mother and daughter who get involved in the life of protagonist Will Henry (Jemaine Clement). While People Places Things no doubt tugs at the heartstrings, it manages to avoid falling headfirst into “schlock.” I doubt it’s something I’ll ever seek out to see a second time, though.
Married team Shari Springer Berman and Robert Pulcini’s banal coming-of-age story clearly aimed at Gen X. Going by the references, the story takes place in 1987 and 1988 when New York City still had post-punk cool credibility. Crunchy Jude (Asa Butterfield) and his best friend, Teddy (Avan Jogia), meet urbane Eliza (Hailee Steinfeld), the daughter of the girlfriend of Jude’s dad (Ethan Hawke) who is slumming from Manhattan, at a New Year’s Eve party in Vermont. Events from that night lead Jude to New York, where he moves in with his father and reunites with Eliza, who it turns out is in trouble deep and has been losing sleep: she’s pregnant, and she’s keeping her baby, mmm. An unconventional family unit starts to gel with Teddy’s “straight-edge” brother, Johnny (Emile Hirsch), the singer of a punk band.
Too nostalgic for my taste and not exactly deep, Ten Thousand Saints is neither awful nor anything to write home about. I’m not sure what Ethan Hawke saw in the script– not that he picks the most interesting vehicles, anyway. Adapted from Eleanor Henderson’s novel of the same name. Meh.
Another heartbreaking story of another racially fueled shooting of an unarmed black teen, Jordan Davis, in Florida the day after Thanksgiving (“Black Friday”) in 2012. No one wins here: Jordan, his friends who were with him, his parents, Michael Dunn (the man who shot him), Dunn’s fiancé, and society at large. Marc Silver’s 3-1/2 Minutes, Ten Bullets succeeds in reaching beyond race to illustrate why “stand your ground” laws are fatally flawed.
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