A Ghost Story

In A Ghost Story, Casey Affleck plays a man who dies in a car accident, and spends the rest of the movie a ghost, donning the stock white bed sheet with two eyeholes cut into it, like one of the trick-or-treaters from It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown. Much of the film involves Affleck's character, besheeted, standing inside his old house, watching his former wife, played by Rooney Mara, as she navigates her unexpected new life as a young widow. The film was written and directed by David Lowery, and its simple and austere plot and filmmaking may be a direct reaction against the big-budget Pete's Dragon, which Lowery was also working on at the time. But there's nothing in A Ghost Story to hold our attention. The film ponders life's big questions in an obvious and dull way, and much of it is simply static. We're left to fill in long scenes of people standing, staring, saying nothing, doing nothing, with our own thoughts and feelings. I like a film that gives me space to enter its world and think about it, but the world of A Ghost Story is drab and listless, and the longer the movie went on, the more I began to itch for something dramatic and over-the-top: Give me an overacted Tennessee Williams adaptation over this dismal stuff any day of the week. The film reaches some kind of philosophical head at a party scene, near the end, after even Casey Affleck's ghost has somewhat faded into the background. A guest at the party delivers a long speech about the meaningless of life. The movie's explorations of these questions, however admirable and bold, is not very interesting. Perhaps we're meant to experience some kind of catharsis from A Ghost Story, or to experience it as cinematic poetry. If it is a cinematic poem, it's from the Mary Oliver school of poetry,  brimming with self-congratulatory observations that are militantly simple and "earthy."

'Carol' is masterfully made and affecting, but a little hollow.

Carol, the latest film from director Todd Haynes, is a wintry tale of waspy lesbianism, culled from the Patricia Highsmith novel The Price of Salt and adapted for the screen by Phyllis Nagy. In it, Cate Blanchett plays Carol Aird (a name as full of literal allusions as Jane Eyre), an icy-on-the-outside but warm-on-the-inside housewife living in New Jersey. Carol is in the middle of divorcing her demanding husband Harge (Kyle Chandler) when she locks eyes with a girl behind the counter of a department store. It’s Christmas, and Carol’s out buying presents for her young daughter, Rindy. The shopgirl (played by Rooney Mara), a budding photographer named Therese Belivet (a terrific name), sees Carol first, but a mutual attraction blossoms between them as their eyes meet.

The film charts their relationship at a time—the 1950s—when sexuality was understood less as a marker of identity and more as a behavior. And yet, it would be an oversimplification to imply that behavior was the only way sexual relationships and attraction are understood in this movie. When Therese is talking with her sort-of boyfriend Richard (Jake Lacy), who’s been nagging her to go Europe with him, Therese asks Richard if he’s ever been in love with a man before. Richard’s put off by the question, and responds flatly, “No…But I knew someone like that.”

Haynes handles this material masterfully. He has several difficult lines to walk: As Carol is about a secret relationship set in the past, Haynes has a built-in dramatic pull that’s maybe too easy. In some ways, Highsmith had it easier writing this book in the time period in which it was set. Making a period piece about the plight of homosexuals in the 1950s can result in something overly maudlin or cheap, since viewers can simply say, “thank goodness times have changed.” But Haynes doesn’t milk us for nostalgia-sympathy. The story is straightforward, and doesn’t present itself as some grand statement about a whole group of people. This is a specific love story about two specific women who were caught up in the turbulence of a taboo-laden era.

Maybe the problem with Carol is that, since it’s set in the 1950s and, like Haynes’s previous period piece about a gay relationship, Far From Heaven, recalls actual films from that era, it’s hard not to wish for stars from that era to magically appear on the screen and rescue the film from the pitfalls of prestige. Contemporary stars are probably better actors, but there’s a lack of magnetism to Cate Blanchett and especially Rooney Mara. Blanchett resembles Eleanor Parker, who was also icily sexy and severe (though admittedly provocative), and Rooney Mara looks like an annoyed, self-serious version of Audrey Hepburn. (Her hairstyle imitates the Hepburn-waif look circa Sabrina and Funny Face.) When we remember that we’re getting very somber and serious performances from two admittedly fine actresses, we may start to feel that Carol is medicine, not entertainment. It’s moving and gorgeous to look at (the cinematography is by Edward Lachman and the production design by Judy Becker), but it feels like a wax figure: expertly rendered but hollow on the inside.

Far From Heaven had more feeling to it. (Although I was admittedly a teenager when I saw that movie, and was completely bowled over by the film, especially Julianne Moore’s performance.) But that’s not say that Carol has no feeling. And in fact, because Haynes doesn’t strain for prestige any more than necessary (by virtue of the subject matter and the period piece qualities of the film, and the actors), Carol becomes increasingly more effective and powerful as a story. You do feel for these women, who don’t really even understand themselves in a world that doesn’t seek to understand them.

And there is something absolutely thrilling about the way Carol looks. Todd Haynes is nothing if not a master of the period look: We feel completely immersed in 1952, and this kind of high-grade elegant nostalgic aesthetic isn’t as prolific as you might think. So many period pieces simply do not capture the look and feel as successfully as Carol. It’s not a perfect movie, but it’s marvelously well-done, and Blanchett’s and Mara’s performances get better and better as the film goes along.

With Sarah Paulson, Cory Michael Smith, and John Magaro. 

Side Effects

Spoiler-Free Mini-Review

Side Effects is a creepy little thriller about a prescription drug called Ablixa, and one patient (Rooney Mara) who begins exhibiting disturbing side effects after this drug is prescribed to her by her doctor (Jude Law). She's trying to start a new life with her husband, Martin (Channing Tatum), who's just been released from prison after serving time for insider trading (apparently he did not learn from Martha Stewart's mistakes). But soon after he's released, his fragile wife becomes inexplicably depressed, even suicidal. What happens after all this will be revealed in the spoiler zone. Suffice to say, Side Effects is enjoyable and worth seeing. It exceeded my expectations, and Jude Law carried the film remarkably well, with help from Mara, who's becoming an expert at playing characters who suffer immense emotional trauma (from being Mark Zuckerberg's spurned ex in The Social Network to playing The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo). 

Spoiler Zone

WHAAAAAAAAAAAAT??? This movie is crazy. It starts off as your typical dreary paranoid conspiracy thriller-shocker-not-ready-for-Lifetime-TV movie, and then whips out some plot twists that I had no idea would emerge. Perhaps I'm just a gullible movie-watcher, and everyone else saw this coming? 

Two things made Side Effects infinitely better for me: 1) the fact that Rooney Mara's character was secretly working with her ex-psychiatrist, Catherine Zeta-Jones, to fool everyone; and 2) the fact that Channing Tatum's character was killed off relatively quickly. Is it bad that I perked up after Mr. Tatum exited the stage? (Director Steven Soderbergh apparently has a huge man-crush on Magic Mike. Tatum isn't horrendous, but it's certainly hard to believe that he was ever guilty of insider trading. Maybe of disturbing the peace or pirating Eminem CDs.)

Also, seeing Catherine Zeta-Jones play a villain is so much fun. She has an iciness to her that's never fully been exploited until now. Instead, filmmakers have played up that exotic look, ever since The Mask of Zorro. (Actresses who are difficult to ethnically label have always had this blessing-curse. Except Myrna Loy, who is not difficult to label, but still experienced this typecasting. She's very obviously white, but in the 1930s her slanted eyes were enough to justify casting her as the Snake Goddess or some other exotic sexy villainness.) 

In fact, if it wasn't for the plot twists, Side Effects would be a generally unwatchable movie. It's a depressing premise: a girl exhibits dangerous tendencies after taking a new anti-depressant, and then subsequently stabs her husband to death. We're all again wondering why this movie seems to resemble that Oxygen marathon we accidentally DVR'd last weekend. But after the twist, Side Effects becomes a fascinating little thriller, with Jude Law donning his private detective hat as he tries to figure out who to blame. (His career, his family, and his freedom are on the line since he prescribed the drug that caused his patient to go berserk-o.) Law is someone I enjoy watching because he's got that plucky British attitude: he's smart and in command, and it's a lot of fun watching him square off with Catherine Zeta-Jones, who's vulnerable because of her unexpected attraction to Rooney Mara.

Vinessa Shaw appears as Law's wife. She's the typical movie wife: not an ounce of understanding in her body, but they're able to patch things up in the end, Hollywood style (i.e. without anything more than a segue to him picking their kid up from school while she waits in the car smiling and happy music plays overhead). With Polly Draper and David Costabile. Written by Scott Z. Burns. 106 minutes. 2013. ★★

The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo

Stieg Larsson's posthumously popular novel brought to the screen by writer Steven Zaillian and director David Fincher. I haven't read the book or its sequels, nor have I seen the 2009 Swedish filmization of the novel. But this American version of The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo was sheer exuberance. Fincher seems to be getting better and better. His 2007 Zodiac is just about the best film of that decade, and he seems to have found a way to further explore the themes of obsession, murder, and the inevitability of the past, with his latest movie.

Daniel Craig plays a reporter in Stockholm who's being sued for malice by a sleazy businessman. He's left broke and discredited as a journalist, so he accepts an unexpected job offer from an ailing Swedish tycoon (Christopher Plummer): to uncover the mystery of his niece Harriet's disappearance in 1966. He enlists the help of a resourceful girl named Lisbeth (Rooney Mara) who's obtained a surprising level of street-smartness at 23. She knows how to carry herself, but not before being mistreated by many, including the pervy social worker who doles out her allowance at the expense of her dignity more than once.

The movie is absolutely smashing entertainment, delivered with such panache and skill that you hardly notice its near three-hour running time, except for at the end a bit. The setting is perfect material for a tingling mystery. Indeed, the makers of this (and of course we must also credit the late author, Larsson) know what ingredients to put into a movie to make it exciting and suspenseful, and yet nothing seems carelessly inserted. Everything is well layered. You soon realize that what you're getting with this movie is good old-fashioned thrills merged with modern sensibilities.

It engages with the technological innovations that have so reshaped our world in the last fifteen years, without seeming too clumsy about it. On the other hand, the product placement is like a minefield. Apple products and Google searches pop up around every corner. (How do you get around Google and Macbooks these days without seeming like commercializing your entertainment?) I can give the movie a pass for that because it was so damn good.

Daniel Craig, who may also be our best Bond yet, carries the movie successfully: he's the kind of actor you're willing to believe because he's in good shape. He cares about himself and so you care about him. Mara, who had a bit part in Fincher's The Social Network, gets her turn at the wheel here, and she doesn't disappoint. She has enough brass to topple a Swedish magnate.

This movie doesn't hold back. It's refreshing to see something really vital and unbridled for a change, but it would be foolish to bring younger viewers to this, considering some of the content. (Lisbeth is raped by her disgusting case worker. He gets his in a scene that's a sort of revenge fantasy that feels morally justified but equally disturbing.)

With Robin Wright, Stellan Skarsgard, Steven Berkoff, Joely Richardson, and Embeth Davidtz. ★★★½