THE COMEBACK KID: a review of "The Visit"

"THE VISIT"
Written and Directed by M. Night Shyamalan
*** (three stars)
RATED PG 13

It's been a very rough past few years in the creative life of Writer/Producer/Director M. Night Shyamalan. A cinematic figure essentially written off by critics and audiences alike after the considerably less than stellar efforts of the bedtime fairy tale "The Lady In The Water" (2006), the ecological horror of "The Happening" (2008), the undeniably awful live-action adaptation of "The Last Airbender" (2010), the valiant but failed effort at beginning a new anthology series with"The Devil" (2010), and the brutally panned "After Earth" (2013)--which I didn't even see--Shyamalan, after being hailed by a Time magazine cover feature as the "New Spielberg," was now seen as basically no more than a hack who just got lucky with his breakthrough feature "The Sixth Sense" (1999). 

As for me, while I never considered Shyamalan to be the next Spielberg or anyone else for that matter, I too was won over by the skill, creativity and ingenuity of "The Sixth Sense," a film that still holds up strongly in terms of the harrowing, ghostly atmosphere it creates, the depth of the writing and performances and of course, that terrific twist ending that works so masterfully and honestly. For me, his follow-up feature "Unbreakable" (2000) remains his finest effort and I still feel that "Signs" (2002) and even the subversive "The Village" (2004) are worthy successors to his very best films. But as audiences began to throw Shyamalan to the cinematic curb, I still hung on anyway, either faithfully or foolishly.

I guess I really appreciated that M. Night Shyamalan is a filmmaker that carries a certain tone, point of view, personality and cinematic language that just spoke to my personal tastes and if they just did not speak to the masses then so be it. Any lack of connection with critics and audiences doesn't necessarily mean that he lacks talent, does it? For if popularity was the way to measure quality then the latest Michael Bay mega-excess piece of garbage would be the best film of the year...and we all know that will absolutely never happen! But, as I am wont to do, I digress...

Anyhow, I am wondering if M. Night Shyamalan is somehow finding his groove again. This summer, he succeeded with "Wayward Pines," a weird, wild and  genre shifting 10 episode limited television series he Executive Produced plus directed the premiere installment. Now, he returns to feature films with the tight, taut little thriller "The Visit," and even as a fan, albeit one whose interest was waning even as I was pulling for him, I have to say that I was happily surprised with the results. And for those of you who have indeed written M. Night Shyamalan off, well, "The Visit" certainly doesn't re-invent the wheel of the horror film but you also may be just as surprised at how effective and entertaining it actually is.

Utilizing the "found footage" hand-held camera style that is now a horror film staple, "The Visit" stars Olivia DeJonge as 15 year old budding documentarian Rebecca Jamison and Ed Oxenbould as her 13 year old brother (and imagined hip hop MC legend in making) Tyler Jamison.

As their lonely and divorced Mother (a strong Kathryn Hahn) prepares for a romantic getaway with her new love interest, Becca and Tyler are preparing for a week long stay with the Grandparents they have previously never met, Doris (a wonderfully unhinged Deanna Dunagan) and John, also known as "Pop Pop" (Peter McRobbie). Since their Mother has been long estranged from their Grandparents, and is also unwilling to discuss the day their relationship fell apart, Becca, with cameras in tow, intends to create a documentary about their visit, hoping to provide some sense of healing, closure and forgiveness amongst her family members.

Upon arriving at Doris and Pop Pop's abode in rural Pennsylvania, both Becca and Tyler begin to notice some oddities surrounding their Grandparents' behavior, which only increases and intensifies at night, as the children are instructed to not ever leave their bedroom after 9:30 p.m. With curiosity firmly piqued, Becca and Tyler are witness to their Grandmother crawling around the house on hands and knees like a raving animal, scrawling and scratching the walls while naked and profusely vomiting in the halls. Events in the daylight hours grow ever stranger as Doris appears to be undergoing a psychological breakdown with odd mood swings and as for Pop Pop, he is repeatedly dressing for a costume party that never occurs, mistakenly feels that strangers are following him and Tyler even discovers a batch of soiled adult diapers in Pop Pop's barn.

Where Tyler grows more suspicious, Becca chalks up the oddities to the fact that these are the strange habits of old people and remains steadfast in her cinematic pursuits. But soon, those strange habits begin to turn deadlier, leading to terrifying discoveries and confrontations during their final night in the house.

M. Night Shyamalan's "The Visit" certainly represents a return to form for the filmmaker as he has taken a "back to basics" approach that often reveals the very best of his talents as well as more confidently displaying a certain subversive and even nasty sense of humor that augments the scares and vice-versa. "The Visit" is a film that is tightly contained and smartly so. Echoing "Signs," the bulk of the film is contained to the Grandparents' house and grounds, therefore increasing the sense of isolation for both Becca and Tyler, as well as intensifying the primal comedy and fear that exists within children looking at unfamiliar adults with quizzically unsure eyes.

And here is where the "found footage" technique, one that I will even attest is a tired horror cliche, actually works very well within the confines of "The Visit." By keeping the action stationary to the house, we are therefore confined to a specific space. By viewing the entire proceedings through the lenses of the cameras that both Becca and Tyler operate, Shyamalan then confines everything we see to precisely what exists within the frame. This technique actually showcases Shyamalan's strengths as a filmmaker as I have consistently enjoyed how, especially within our over-stimulating era of filmmaking with ADD editing techniques and bludgeoning soundtracks, he is able to achieve so much actual tension and intensity by not doing very much at all. He has always been strongest knowing what to show, how much and when, in order to intensify the scares and overall sense of unease and with "The Visit," he accomplishes this feat very well. In addition to the "found footage" technique, "The Visit" is also a film that exists without a musical film score, thus allowing all of the film's many silences to provide the tenor of encroaching doom towards our young heroes, especially in the film's strong final third when all is revealed, and convincingly so. Yes, the "found footage" technique is tired, but so is the conceit of "don't open the door" and "don't go in the basement." And even so, M. Night Shyamalan makes both of those particular elements work well in his favor.

I have to first give credit to Shyamalan for his excellent casting choices as not only do Olivia DeJonge and Ed Oxenbould (who kind of looks like a very young Dax Shepard) resemble each other (and Kathryn Hahn) so strongly, they are very effective conduits for Shyamalan's story which is indeed sending up the horror genre as much as it is embracing it. These are two precocious, intelligent, verbose and sensitive children, enhanced with their own quirks and foibles, who go on and on about "cinematic integrity" and using the names of female pop stars as substitutes for curse words and who certainly ground the film within a certain reality, giving both the comedy and scares ample room to breathe and flow naturally.

A hide-n'-seek chase underneath the house turns from innocent to frightening and then concludes with a fine punch line while keeping the strangeness at the forefront. Grandmother Doris' genteel request for Becca to fully climb inside the oven in order to clean it provides some Gothic humor and queasiness. And those aforementioned adult diapers? Well, for you "germaphobes" out there...well, you'll just have to see that for yourselves but it too provides sick laughs while the danger only grows for the children.

As the Grandparents, both Peter McRobbie and  Deana Dunagan are highly effective. While McRobbie's aloofness as Pop Pop underlays the film with a sinister malevolence, it is Dunagan who flies off the handle with a madhouse glee. The twosome play off of each other so very well, providing two layers of darkness that ping-pongs between them, keeping the kids off guard while also delighting us in the audience with how much fun they are obviously having in trying to scare Becca and Tyler to death.

Now, "The Visit" is not perfect by any means. Some of the jokes are repeated one too may times and perhaps, the film could have been even scarier or more psychologically terrifying as it does not burrow under the skin as effectively as "The Sixth Sense" and "Signs," both of which left me considerably rattled. But, the film's epilogue, which has received some criticism, I actually found to be very effective considering the themes of fractured families, anger and forgiveness that are weaved throughout the film's entirety, again presenting that certain point of view that makes Shyamalan a most individualistic filmmaker who still has something to say about our collective humanity, while also trying to scare the pants off of us.

With that being said, I am hoping that M. Night Shyamalan takes whatever good fortune that may arrive from "The Visit" and utilizes it carefully to rebuild the talent that I still attest that he possesses.

YOU JUST HAVEN'T EARNED IT YET, BABY: a review of "Mistress America"

"MISTRESS AMERICA"
Screenplay Written by Noah Baumbach & Greta Gerwig
Directed by Noah Baumbach
* (one star)
RATED R

Someone...anyone just really needs to tell Greta Gerwig to stop...and immediately!

Dear readers, let me just say up front that I have nothing against Greta Gerwig on a personal level. I do not know her and truth be told, she just may be a wonderful human being who is a wonderful romantic partner, daughter, best friend to all, champion of animals and the environment, assists little old ladies across the street and whatever else a terrific person could be and possibly encompass. All of that being said, and based solely on her talents as an actress and regardless of the heaps of critical accolades that have been hurled her way, I absolutely, positively cannot become a member of her fan club.

I just do not understand the appeal that Gerwig possesses and has somehow bewitched critics and audiences with. Over her three films with Writer/Director Noah Baumbach, which includes the so-so and somnambulant "Greenberg" (2010) and the horrendously plastic "Frances Ha" (2013), Gerwig has demonstrated over and again that she is just not nearly as beguiling and entrancing as critics, audiences, Baumbach and Gerwig herself thinks she is. She just strikes me as a figure who desperately wishes to be the next great comedienne but is somehow just too smug to allow herself to fully let her inhibitions go and just be a comedienne as she is too busy checking herself out in the mirror all the while.

My perceptions of Gerwig's screen persona were fully confirmed in "Mistress America," Baumbach's second feature of 2015, following up his absolutely terrific return to form "While We're Young" from earlier this year. With "Mistress America," we are given the flip side of Noah Baumbach's cinematic coin. Where "While We're Young" was witty, perceptive, multi-layered and even refreshingly bitter, "Mistress America" almost re-defines shallowness as it manufactures a world where not one character, situation or motivation passes for anything approximating the way people truly live, breathe interact and feel.

Yes, I can see that Baumbach and Gerwig were attempting to craft a screwball comedy, where the dialogue and behaviors exist within a heightened state. But is there any reason, that for all of the prefabrication, nothing felt to be remotely true considering the story it is trying to tell? And at the center of this plastic confection sits Greta Gerwig, mugging endlessly and flouncing around like the most untalented kid in the school play but who has unctuously convinced herself that she is a Shakespearian trained actress..and will never let you forget it. "Mistress America" is another insufferable tripe of a film that shows how Gerwig brings out the worst of Bambach's creative tendencies. In fact, the best thing that I can say about Noah Baumbach's "Mistress America' is that it is only a mere 84 minutes.

"Mistress America" begins promisingly enough as we are introduced to 18 year old Tracy Fishko (played by Lola Kirke), a college Freshman at Barnard University in New York City who is struggling with finding her way in her new environment. Utterly friendless, floundering in her classes and failing to gain the attention of the campus'elite literary journal, Tracy falls into loneliness and disappointment as college and life in New York City have not proven themselves to be the wondrous time she had possibly envisioned for herself.

While on a phone call with her Mother (played by Kathryn Erbe), it is suggested that Tracy should reach out to her soon-to-be step sister, the 30 year old Brooke (played by Greta Gerwig), who lives in the city. Tracy soon obliges and upon meeting Brooke, she is swept away by Brooke's adventurousness and undeniable free spirit which contains all manner of nightclubbing, romantic big city apartment living, Brooke's continuously shared stories of her romantic entanglements, personal resentments and her long desired dreams of owning a trendy (but not too trendy) N.Y.C. restaurant.

Tracy and Brooke, become fast friends as Brooke's madcap personality, combined with her wacky plans to attain funding for her dream restaurant as well as plot revenge against Mamie-Claire (played by Heather Lind), her former roommate and self-described "nemesis" entrances Tracy and even inspires Tracy's writing, which covertly emerges as the satirical (and highly unflattering) short story entitled "Mistress America."

All of the threads come to head as Tracy and Brooke, with Tracy's one friend/writing rival Tony (Matthew Shear) and his jealous girlfriend Nicolette (Jasmine Cephas Jones) in tow, embark upon a road trip to Mamie-Claire's wealthy upstate New York abode, for money and retribution, not necessarily in that order. Hilarity ensues...

Noah Baumbach's "Mistress America" very much like "Frances Ha" is a film that contains many good ideas and a worthy storyline but is just much too in love with its own sense of self-congratulatory quirkiness and pseudo intelligence to bother to condescend to just telling a decent story. It is precisely the very type of indie film that people who hate indie films would point to as why they hate indie films, and frankly, I could not blame them at all. This is a film that doesn't seem to exist in a world that feels remotely recognizable as the entire escapade feels contained within a set of quotation marks thus giving the film as a whole an ironic distance that works against the good will it is obviously trying to achieve...but without relinquishing any sense of hipster status in the process.

From the ironic stiffness of every performance, in which the entire cast behaves as if they know only too well they they are existing within a screwball comedy, therefore draining any stitch of comedy from the proceedings, to the faux '80s electronic pop score by Dean Wareham and Britta Phillips, Baumbach undercuts any sense of truth and poignancy from "Mistress America" and ultimately all of the fun as well. It is the type of film where everyone, but mostly Greta Geriwg's character, speaks in non-sequiturs that feel so labored over and are littered profusely throughout the screenplay, whether they make any narrative sense of not. Want some examples?

"New York isn't the New York I used to know. There's too much construction." 
or
"I thought I might actually go to college. I'm not an amputee."
or
"I'll probably end up doing something depressing, but young."
or even
"There's no adultery when you're eighteen. You should be touching each other all the time."

Now on the surface, these may seem to be like some good one-liners but within the content of "Mistress America" as a whole, they all felt as if Baumbach and Gerwig came up with these statements first and then tried to write a full story and screenplay around the lines instead of having the characters arrive at these so-called witticisms organically. It all felt to be so very false and made for a film that was indeed cringe worthy to just listen to as well as one where you would feel sorry for the actors who had to speak this nonsense.

But again, this all goes back to Greta Gerwig, who did indeed co-write this screenplay, and it feels as if she is so preciously in love with her words and Baumbach is so preciously in love with Gerwig that there was never a critical eye towards the project, externally and internally within the characters themselves. Yes, there are points where it seems that Tracy and therefore Baumbach is attempting to be somewhat critical of Brooke's outlandishness, most notably in a good scene where Brooke is confronted by a former high school classmate she once tormented and teased. But, as with everything else in "Mistress America," anything more probing is just waved away because Brooke, and therefore Geriwg is just so damn adorable and funny, that no matter what she does, all is forgiven. In fact, it is that very element within the conception and treatment of Brooke that plunges "Mistress America" to its downfall.

Let's be real, for all of Brooke's supposed free-spirited effervescence, it just stunned me that at no point during "Mistress America" did any character at any time ever wonder if Brooke was perhaps...oh, I don't know...mentally unstable. This isn't just a "pollyanna-ish" 30 year old who is wayward. Brooke is a young woman suffering from mania, delusions of grandeur, wild mood swings and is a habitual liar who exists within a powerful ADHD fueled narcissism. It would not surprise me if the character happened to be bi-polar but just like the character Tea Leoni portrayed in Writer/Director James L. Brooks' all over the place "Spanglish" (2004), Brooke is clearly suffering from some sort of mental illness that the characters and the movie itself flat out refuses to acknowledge, therefore undercutting any sense of credibility because the film is so in love with her.

Over time throughout the film, Tracy's sense of criticism of Brooke becomes not only adoration but sheer emulation in her own behaviors and soon, every character, even the ones who serve as antagonists, are just satellites to her insufferably self-congratulatory sense of whimsy, which Gerwig performs with a complete erratic quality that is so showy and hammy and without any sense of authenticity or depth that she was tremendously off-putting. Instead of drawing me in closer to her with a greater sense of understanding, Honestly, why is Brooke the way she is? Baumbach and Gerwig never once bother to try and delve under her surface, seemingly feeling that her prefabricated antics are enough to win audiences over. Not for me. Greta Gerwig's performance and "Mistress America" as a whole, just continued to not only keep me at arms length, it kept pushing me further and further away.

Look, Greta Gerwig, I have to concede, is just not for me and perhaps, and especially after three times at bat with Baumbach, any new film that features Gerwig (and really, any new film that she has co-written to boot), I should just give a wide berth. If you like her and find her cinematic gifts, such as they are, charming, more power to you and have a great time.

I just can't join in anymore.

THE CONVERSATION: a review of "The End Of The Tour"

"THE END OF THE TOUR"
Based upon the memoir Although Of Course You End Up Becoming Yourself by David Lipsky
Screenplay Written by Donald Margulies
Directed by James Ponsoldt
***1/2 (three and a half stars)
RATED R

"Was it good 4 U?/Was I what U wanted me 2 be?"
-Prince
"Controversy"

It continues to amaze me how a person's legend and our perception of that legend affects how we all then perceive the work that created that legend in the first place.

Dear readers, I have never read the late David Foster Wallace's Infinite Jest, his enormously celebrated, encyclopedic 1,079 page novel (including footnotes) which not only earned the praise of literary critics but also the ever continuing notoriety which has also earned (or maybe has saddled) the novel with the reputation of being one of the finest books ever written. There was a time in my life, mostly during my 20's, when I would have relished a certain challenge with taking on the experience of reading such a lengthy, labyrinthine book but when it came to Infinite Jest, I always found myself pausing. During my then frequent visits to bookstores (ah memories), Wallace's tome was indeed a book I picked up, paged through and placed back down upon the bookshelves time and again and eventually, I gave up on the prospect and moved onwards. Perhaps the legend of the book was just too much for me to handle, jointly in regards to the book's mounting reputation and perceived difficulty as well as the level and quality of Wallace's actual writing, which I may have feared would be so superlative that any dreams I had been housing about pursuing any sort of prose writing on my own would have been painfully extinguished.

Those thoughts, long relegated to the deep recesses of my mind, came flooding back to the forefront as I viewed Director James Ponsoldt's striking and surprisingly visceral conversation piece "The End Of The Tour," a film that visualizes the relationship between David Foster Wallace (beautifully portrayed by Jason Segel) and Rolling Stone journalist David Lipsky (an equally riveting Jesse Eisenberg), who is assigned to interview the mercurial writer at the tail end of his Infinite Jest book tour. As the mega blockbuster films have all come and gone, nearly obliterating every other film within their collective paths, I urge you to head out and see this film as soon as you are able for you will indeed be handsomely rewarded with a briskly paced film that is filled with a level of richly textured performances, writing and direction that I sincerely feel will prove inspiring, whether in reading, in being creative or just in provoking a return to the art of interpersonal, face-to-face conversation in the 21st century.

"The End Of The Tour" opens in 2008, with David Lipsky's shocked reaction to the news of David Foster Wallace's suicide. The film then flashbacks 12 years earlier, shortly after the release of Infinite Jest, as Lipsky exists as a struggling novelist and dissatisfied writer for Rolling Stone. Initially, Lipsky elicits a certain skepticism towards the mountainous praise heaped upon the novel yet soon becomes a passionate convert, so much so that he convinces the magazine to allow him to travel to Wallace's home base of Bloomington-Normal, IL, near the state university where Wallace teaches a writing course, for an exclusive interview--the first Author interview to be potentially published in Rolling Stone in ten years.

Upon Lipsky's arrival from New York to the icy, wintry Illinois, he is greeted with Wallace's guarded yet affably eccentric nature during which the twosome begin to forge a tenuous connection through lengthy conversations (peppered with both men's voraciously shared love of nicotine and sweets) about dogs, women (including Wallace's long running crush over Alanis Morissette), the addictive nature of television, the nature of high vs. low art, as well as poignantly deeper yet somewhat generalized ruminations over the pressures of fame, loneliness, isolation, self-identity, how the world views you in relation to how you see yourself and the need to somehow remain the same individual who created the art in mind and spirit, especially after all of the accolades, attention and the perceptions they create within readers eagerly awaiting whatever will arrive next. Only when Lipsky dares to probe the darker aspects of Wallace's past, from his alcoholism, a rumored bout with heroin and his self-imposed institutionalization during which he was placed on suicide watch, do interpersonal frictions arise between Lipsky and Wallace, thus not only threatening the status of the interview but also Lipsky's desired meeting of the literary spirit between himself and Wallace.

Eschewing poor motel lodgings, Lipsky accepts Wallace's invitation to stay in his guest room, while also accompanying him to Minneapolis for the final stop of the book tour, which includes a bookstore reading and signing, an NPR interview, a chirpy tour guide (played by Joan Cusack), and a visit with two of Wallace's female friends, former college classmate Becky (played by Mickey Sumner) and literary critic/writer Julie (played by Mamie Gummer). Over the course of the three days, both Lipsky and Wallace are challenged and faced with their own respective foibles, failures, perceptions and misconceptions about themselves and each other as they individually attempt to navigate precisely what it means to be successful and furthermore, true to oneself in a world where integrity is a decreasing level of currency.

James Ponsoldt's "The End Of The Tour" is a compelling, engrossing and often captivating interior drama that houses an especially mesmerizing duet of performances at the core. Much like his previous feature, the excellent teen drama "The Spectacular Now" (2013), Ponsoldt has expertly crafted a multi-layered film that crystallizes a specific place as well as point in time during which his main characters are forced to confront themselves before being able to emotionally move forwards in life, if at all. I also deeply appreciated Ponsoldt's commitment to truly enveloping the audience within the physical landscape of his film, especially immersing us in the weather, therefore cementing the elements to the moods of the story and characters. Where the hazy, languid, end of summer environment informed the simmering emotions and pivotal changes that awaited the characters of "The Spectacular Now," the frigid, bitter winter of Illinois performs the same feats for "The End Of The Tour," as both Wallace and Lipsky are as burrowed within the shells of their emotions as they are from the elements, cautiously revealing themselves only to quickly dart back into a self-imposed protective hibernation all over again.

Mostly, I felt that "The End Of The Tour" was a film experience that proudly exists somewhere in between Director Louis Malle's "My Dinner With Andre" (1981) and Writer/Director Cameron Crowe's "Almost Famous" (2000), as Ponsoldt has weaved a provocative cinematic fabric that is not driven by any sense of a prefabricated plot but actually is as much about ideas as it is about the characters themselves, making for the rare film that provoke and encourages discussion and debate long after you have exited the theater. Ponsoldt has given us the dual character study of two deeply complicated men which serves as a passionately intellectual dance that is superbly fascinating as it simultaneously functions as a vibrant meeting of the minds as well as an exploration of or own success and fame obsessed culture, a culture that certainly performs more damage than good, even in the world of literature. And to that end, the casting of Jesse Eisenberg and Jason Segel in the leading roles could not have been any more perfect.

In a peculiar yet somewhat ingenious fashion, it feels as if the performances of both Eisenberg and Segal within "The End Of The Tour" serve as the culmination of both of their screen personas thus far while also representing the figures they each portray within Ponsoldt's film. As David Lipsky is envisioned, he could almost be seen as the fully adult version of characters Jesse Eisenberg performed within Writer/Director Noah Baumbach's "The  Squid And The Whale" (2005), Writer/Director Greg Mottola's "Adventureland" (2009) and certainly Director David Fincher's "The Social Network" (2010). While Lipsky is indeed intelligent and definitely skilled and talented enough to have written a novel and have it published as well, he remains internally unfulfilled as the cultural indifference to his written work, plus the Rolling Stone features that he feels are beneath his talents, have unearthed an increasingly aggressive level of competition that houses his latent jealousy, fears of inadequacy as well as an undercurrent of rage, especially towards a figure like David Foster Wallace who seemingly arrived out of nowhere to achieve the meteoric success that has eluded himself.

Taking all of those elements into consideration, it feels as if Lipsky's pursuit of Wallace contains increasingly muddled motivations of fan worship (just like the teenaged journalist in "Almost Famous," who mistakenly made friends with the rock stars) plus the disingenuous levels of competition, one-upsmanship and perhaps even attempting to discover that his interview subject is more than a bit of a fraud ("What's with the bandanna?" challenges Lipsky at one point). Throughout the film, Lipsky tries to emulate his subject (the chain smoking, for instance) while also trying to present a certain level of status that he perceives to be on an equal playing field as the celebrated author (for instance, Lipsky's compulsive need to utilize his Rolling Stone expense account as a completely inauthentic show-off tactic).

Through his behavior, which alternates from fawning to contentious, professional to cunning, David Lipsky blurs the lines between fan, journalist, critic and potential kindred spirit making for an interview and relationship that it more perilous and even duplicitous than necessary. Perhaps, some of that is due to the nature of the magazine journalism industry but we do often wonder just how much Lipsky is using Wallace for his own gain--as evidenced by the memoir from which this very film has been based. And even then, this realization provides the additional quandary of whether David Lipsky could have ever attained his level of fame and notoriety without David Foster Wallace in the first place. All extremely perceptive and compelling and Jesse Eisenbrg is equal to every moment.

As David Foster Wallace, Jason Segal has delivered his finest career performance to date. In addition to his eerie resemblance to the literary figure, Segal has triumphantly delved under the skin, providing seemingly effortless texture and depth in a beautifully understated fashion. I honestly know absolutely little to nothing about the real David Foster Wallace, but in regards to Segal's interpretation of him, I honestly took to this figure at face value despite all of David Lipsky's sly skepticism and jealousy.

For me, Segal's David Foster Wallace is a brilliant talent who is also remarkably self-aware about the completely unnatural aspect of his situation and has made a personal choice to remain as grounded as much as he is psychologically able. So, by choice, he remains in Illinois instead of relocating to the pop cultural hotbed of New York. He lives within a completely unassuming home, which Lipsky describes as being a bit of a "frat house," alone with two dogs, and close relationships are at a minimum, also perhaps by choice. His dress is Midwestern sloppy, all layered, baggy clothing with his ever present bandanna covering long, seemingly unwashed hair. He is indeed conversational, ready to engage in a wide variety of subject matter, but he does remain trepidacious with how much he is willing to reveal and even finds the nature of interviews themselves to be nothing more than falsifying works created to deliver public personas that may or may not be true. In fact, Wallace at one point even (jokingly?) suggests that Lipsky can write his article but he should send it to Wallace so that he can re-write all of his quotes, while at other points, Wallace is completely dismissive of the entire enterprise.

While Lipsky questions whether his appearance, and soft spoken nature is nothing more than an affectation that only enhances his public persona and belies his formidable intelligence and talent, Wallace is more than aware of those perceptions of him. As I watched "The End Of The Tour," I felt that Wallace was being presented not as a figure who was entirely cultivating a public image that ties in with this impossible novel...even though he is, to an extent, as he is indeed savvy enough to understand the nature of the beast in the fishbowl of celebrity.

Mostly, I felt that all of his mannerisms and motivations were a means of self preservation, as he is indeed a fragile, sensitive soul, while blessed with an intense talent, he also carries his internal baggage of addiction and depression. It was almost as if we were watching an adult version of Nick Andopolis, Segal's perpetually stoned yet deeply sensitive character from television's "Freaks And Geeks," someone who was/is repeatedly finding and losing his way, trying to remain sane and a good soul along the way. So perhaps, trying to remain and exist as simply as possible is Wallace's means of maintaining his sense of self and integrity in a world that would tear him down even faster than they built him upwards and touted him as a literary genius.  

David Foster Wallace's self-awareness is so precise that we can even gather that while he will play the celebrity game, he will do it only to a point. And he is also wise enough to realize that whatever celebrity has been granted to him, it can not only vanish even faster, but would that very cult of personality even taint the integrity of Infinite Jest to boot? Are people reading, and therefore continuing to read Infinite Jest in 2015 because of the inherent quality of the material and Wallace's skills as a writer or it everything tied into Wallace's persona and legacy? Even David Lipsky's arrival for the interview feels false because why else would Rolling Stone magazine even wish to speak with him if not for his (then) current status as golden goose, and whatever rewards they would receive in turn for hitching their train to his? For a creative person and soul like David  Foster Wallace, it would seem very likely that all of these conundrums about who is real and false within the widening canvas of his world (which is of course making him feel even smaller), would amount to an extremely confounding and painful hall of mirrors, when all he wishes is to just be left alone to create freely and Jason Segal's expertly pitched performance won me over instantly and completely.

After "The End Of The Tour" concluded, I found myself actually walking into a nearby bookstore just to see if any copies of Infinite Jest happened to be available for me to page through once again, especially as I could not even fathom a memory as to what the thing was about in the first place. Unfortunately, the book was not upon the shelf, but within the "Wallace" section of the fiction bookshelves, there was indeed an open space, perhaps freshly open, and just large enough for that book to have been housed inside of. I figured that since the release of the film, interest in the novel had resurfaced, therefore making my inquiry (and anyone else's) suspect as would our collective interest have been as organic as it could have been? Yet, on the other hand, does any of that even matter if Wallace's words are being read at all?  

This is the true satisfaction of James Ponsoldt's "The End Of The Tour," a film that is as wise as it is entertaining and heartfelt. At one point in the film, David Lipsky suggests that if the written work is the true representation of the author, then perhaps reading the book is a way of meeting the author without having to meet the author in person. And if this terrific film does indeed push me to finally come in contact with the literary work, and quite possibly, an idea of the humanity of David Foster Wallace, organic or no, I think it would have all been worth the time and the journey to find him.

SAVAGE CINEMA'S COMING ATTRACTIONS FOR SEPTEMBER 2015

Autumn.

My favorite time of the year and in some ways (most likely due to me role as a preschool teacher), the fall feels like a more natural beginning to the year to my spirit. The new school year, with new kids to meet and build a classroom with, along with the changing of the leaves, the fall of the temperatures, the darkening skies occurring earlier in the day...all of those elements speak to me in ways that I cannot fully describe to you, but just know how deeply I love them all.

Another crucial element to the arrival of Autumn happens to be the oncoming of new feature films, which will hopefully provide even stronger and more complex content than much of what has already arrive this cinematic year. As of this writing, I have a review of  "The End Of The Tour" on deck and nearly ready for publication and I still happen to have the controversial indie "The Diary Of A Teenage Girl" on my radar as well. Beyond that...

1. Robert Zemeckis' "The Walk," starring Joseph Gordon-Levitt as the French street performer who staged a tightrope walk between the twin towers of the World Trade Center in 1974 is high on my list to screen.

2. M. Night Shyamalan returns with "The Visit," a lower budgeted thriller that I hope is a return to form for the much beleaguered filmmaker. Even as a viewer who still holds Shyamalan in esteem, I remain skeptical. Hopeful but indeed skeptical.

Aside from those, I do happen to have some ideas floating around as there are a couple of titles here at home that have been eagerly waiting for me.

So, as always, do wish me luck and I'll see you when the house lights go down.

WITNESS THE STRENGTH OF STREET KNOWLEDGE : a review of "Straight Outta Compton"

"STRAIGHT OUTTA COMPTON"
Story by S. Leigh Savidge & Alan Wenkus and Andrea Berloff
Screenplay Written by Jonathan Herman and Andrea Berloff
Directed by F. Gary Gray
**** (four stars)
RATED R

Epic, incendiary, sprawling, and profound, "Straight Outta Compton," Director F. Gary Gray's enormously entertaining and brutally unflinching musical biopic of the pioneering rap group N.W.A. ferociously dominates the silver screen and even transcends its own cinematic genre over and over again and to a degree that is nothing less than outstanding.

For a film I initially had no interest in seeing as I was never a fan of N.W.A. (I was more of a Public Enemy/Boogie Down Productions man), and also fearing that the film would only exist as some sort of exploitative vanity project for former N.W.A. collaborators and film Producers Ice Cube and Dr. Dre, I am thrilled that I believed the hype set up by early rave reviews and ventured out to see this film. Dear readers, if any of you happen to be harboring any doubts whatsoever, let me excitedly inform you that "Straight Outta Compton" is explosive cinema, a vehemently thrown cinematic brick through the windows of rampant cliches, hollow sequels, and an artistic and socio-political disregard to the lives of the Black community, especially regarding the police harassment and the unrepentant violence committed against it. Yet alongside the righteous fury, F. Gary Gray ensures that his film is intelligently and artfully multi-faceted and multi-layered, making for a film experience that is overwhelming in its riches. Trust me, "Straight Outta Compton" is not to be missed!

"Straight Outta Compton" chronicles the rise and fall of N.W.A., abbreviated from the intentionally controversial moniker "Niggaz With Attitude," from its origins in 1986 Compton, CA when musically obsessed DJ Andre Young a.k.a. Dr. Dre (played by Corey Hawkins), budding lyricist O'Shea Jackson a.k.a. Ice Cube (played by Cube's own son O'Shea Jackson Jr.), fast talking neighborhood hustler Eric Wright a.k.a. Eazy-E (played by Jason Mitchell) as well as lyricist/rapper MC Ren (played by Aldis Hodge) and DJ Yella (played by Neil Brown Jr.), formulated Ruthless Records as teenagers (initially funded by Eazy-E's drug dealer money) and recorded the rap flamethrower "Boyz N' The Hood," which immediately placed them on the musical map and captured the attention of music manager Jerry Heller (a terrific Paul Giamatti).  

After Eazy-E hires Heller to manage N.W.A. and soon has the band signed to Priority Records, the label for which group created the iconic "Straight Outta Compton" album (released August 8, 1988), the film charts the band's meteoric rise which is indeed fraught with combined conflicts and hurdles. In addition to gradually rancorous group infighting due to contractual inequality between band members, N.W.A. also faces the increasing pressures from outside sources and influences from the mounting presence of Suge Knight (playing to menacing perfection by R. Marcus Taylor) and certainly the police and even the FBI after the band unleashes the molten lava protest song "Fuck Tha Police" out onto the world.

As N.W.A. breaks apart, with each of the three principal members of Dr. Dre, Ice Cube and Eazy-E moving forwards separately, we also discover how they all found their way back to each other before Eazy-E's death in 1995 after a surprising battle with AIDS.

F. Gary Gray's "Straight Outta Compton" is a sensational film made with the same intensity and urgency as the music and rap group, from which the film is based, provocatively operated. Fueled with slick direction combined with an artfully meticulous attention to period detail and cinematic atmosphere, Gray, working beautifully with Cinematographer Matthew Libatique, faithfully re-creates the rap scene of over 20 years ago (with imagery Gray himself had a serious hand in creating as he was a celebrated music video director of the era) plus also the hazy, sun-drenched locale of Compton, CA which belies the poverty and desperation contained within, the embryonic cocoons of dark recording studios where N.W.A. created their iconic works, and also the grandeur of the stage and Bacchanalian excess of life on tour.

Gray certainly has his work cut out for him as "Straight Outta Compton" possess a complex historical and character driven narrative all contained into a massive 2 1/2 hour running time. Yet, Gray, with the precision of a laser beam, keeps his eyes on the prize from beginning to end, ensuring the proceedings remain completely understandable and intimately identifiable at all times. And furthermore, the film moves like a rocket!

Conceptually, "Straight Outta Compton" shares much with Director Bill Pohlad's outstanding "Love And Mercy," and not just with the intimidating presence of Paul Giamatti in the role of a Machiavellian Father figure in both films. Most certainly, F. Gary Gray has fashioned a film experience that speaks to not only the power of music as a source of redemption but as a means for survival itself, just as Pohlad performed with his impressionistic take on The Beach Boys' Brian Wilson and for that matter, what Director Albert Magnoli magnificently accomplished with Prince's "Purple Rain" (1984), a film that often sprang to my mind as I watched "Straight Outta Compton."

Where Pohlad utilized the life of Brian Wilson to chart an exploration of debilitating psychosis into which he succumbed and eventually emerged from, and Magnoli utilized the life and mythology of Prince to explore themes pertaining to the cycle of abuse, Gray explicitly illustrates how the inherent artistic talents within the members of N.W.A. were the precise tools needed to try to escape their surroundings, an environment that has long existed to denigrate and destroy young Black males. This inexcusable reality provides the band's music, and therefore the film itself, with its combustible fuel and revolutionary spirit.

"Straight Outta Compton" presents a slice of African-American life that is as honestly presented and as politically charged as any moment we have seen before and since the likes of Writer/Director Spike Lee's "Do The Right Thing" (1989). It is also ferociously searing slab of socio-political journalism and activism that makes the film work as a companion piece to both Director Ryan Coogler's "Fruitvale Station" (2013) and undeniably Director Ava DuVernay's "Selma" (2014). Gray performs a subversive yet directly powerful job with his presentation of life in Compton, where communities have fallen due to the scarcity of jobs, the rise of crack, the fearsome lordship of gangs and the ever present surveillance, harassment and violence perpetrated by the increasingly dictatorial police and judicial system.

I particularly loved an early sequence in the film, where a teen-aged Ice Cube, who attends school in the San Fernando Valley, is compulsively writing lyrics in his journal while being bused back to his home in Compton. I loved how Gray very subtly showcases the changes in the environmental landscape and resources of the wealthy White community to the poorer Black community. Even the music that underlays this sequence makes subtle changes from the Euro-pop of Tears For Fears to the head nodding, war drum beats of hip-hop. And then, all of the scenery culminates in a near tragedy as school bus hijinks provokes a frightening drug dealer to enter the bus and place a loaded gun to the head of a student. But Gray, utilizing his artistic and journalistic eye, widens his cinematic lens from Black on Black violence to illustrate the larger issues that plague the Black community, most notably how guns and drugs are more readily available than jobs and progress.

The racial tensions that exist between young Black men and the police provides "Straight Outta Compton" with a palpable sense of moral outrage as it explicitly showcases what it means to be Black in America  A scene where the band members of N.W.A. are continuously taunted, verbally abused and forced to lie face down on the Los Angeles streets (and directly outside the recording studio from where they are recording their landmark album no less) by a group of White and Black police officers, despite the presence and protests of Jerry Heller, was striking enough. But in addition to the sequences of young Back men being harassed and abused by police offices, and there are several, Gray also including a striking image near the opening of the film when a militarized Batter-ram explodes onto a Compton residential street. And of course, the film recounts the 1992 videotaped beating of Rodney King by four White police officers, their subsequent acquittal and the ensuing Los Angeles riots which culminated in not only unleashed volcanic rage but also a enraged unity against a greater enemy of copious police brutality and systematic racism as depicted in one of the film's most powerfully stirring images, the intertwined bandannas of warring gang actions marching in solidarity against the police.  

To those who may feel that these scenes are gratuitous have completely missed the inhumanity on display and the boiling rage that such scenes SHOULD provoke in all potential viewers, especially with the rise of the current Black Lives Matter movement, itself born from the continuous systematic racism, police brutality and the seemingly unedifying deaths of unarmed Black people at the hands of the police. In regards to the subject matter of N.W.A., such sequences provide the viewer with the seeds from which the band's music was created in the first place. In one sequence, Ice Cube refers to himself as a journalist and at their very best, N.W.A. provided America with a viewpoint and perspective the mainstream media would never depict, therefore making the music of N.W.A. essential to the breadth of artistic expression as well as the breadth of our on-going political discussion. All of the film's musical/recording sequences and political sequences culminate in a concert sequence that allows the film to rise to near orgiastic heights as N.W.A., in a show of blazing defiance, perform the Earth shaking "Fuck Tha Police" after being instructed not to do so by the police and the F.B.I., thus completely violating the band's 1st Amendment Rights for Free speech and self expression. This is a sequence of riotous energy as we witness how the music IS the message and how artists and the audience forge a connection that is unshakable, no matter what obstacles are hurled.

And even then, F. Gary Gray's "Straight Outta Compton" probes further.

While the "reality rap" that originated N.W.A. quickly transformed itself into the violent, and often misogynistic and homophobic fantasies of "gangsta rap," the blurred lines of the genre have always been a quality that has troubled me. My feelings are such because what is depicted in song may indeed be a reality but not necessarily the literal reality of the performers themselves, thus presenting artifice inside of the truth, changing musical journalists into hedonistic super anti-heroes. This is a dichotomy that Gray is all too aware of and while I am not certain if he is utilizing sections of "Straight Outta Compton" to either fully embrace or critique this aspect of rap and hip-hop culture, the way I read the film, I think Gray leaned a tad heavier on the critique aspect. Or at least, he provided a larger perspective, the kind of which that arrives with aging and some distance from the time period.

There is no question that Gray exalts the art form and the artistic legitimacy of N.W.A. to it highest standard within the film but there are some areas in which we view the culture and songs from a different and more complicated lens. Yes, there are many party sequences within "Straight Outta Compton," and all featuring attained and discarded naked female bodies on display. Partially, Gray has used some of these scenes, especially the cruel "Bye Felicia" moment, to illustrate the hedonistic, unattended-kid-in-a-candy shop mentality of the rap tour as these teenagers are given the keys to the kingdom and the invitation to grab every single indulgence at their disposal. In those sequences, Gray depicts how the members of N.W.A. are given license to find ways to (almost) bring the violent lives and personas they have created within their music into a certain heightened reality.

Additionally, Eazy-E, always presented as a mastermind, consistently aware of every conceivable angle in order to elevate the cultural, musical and financial status of N.W.A., takes an "any publicity is good publicity" approach to any political pushback the band received, feeling that if kids knew that the F.B.I. didn't want them to hear N.W.A.'s music, then the kids will only demand it all the more.

But then, the film's later and hazier party sequences, after the band has already begun to fragment due to internal tensions, we can see how Jerry Heller utilizes the women, drinks, drugs and the constant flow of  Dr. Dre's beloved Parliament-Funkadelic music on the loud speakers as an all encompassing anesthetic, blurring and even blinding Dre's own vision as to how he and his fiends are ultimately being used and swindled in the process.

As for the violence itself, we see how the band members (mostly) keep their vitriol, especially against each other, strictly within the confines of the music they create. A brilliant sequence, during which the already departed Ice Cube, feeling scorned by his former band mates on their second and final album, unleashes the scorched Earth funk of "No Vaseline," completely decimating all of his former associates, solely through the means of his lyrical agility, Watching the reaction of N.W.A. plus Jerry Heller upon hearing the song provides one of the film's many high points as well as dives into the film's true center.  

The emotional core of "Straight Outta Compton" arrives with a thematic framework that echoes Writer/Director John Singleton's "Boyz N' The Hood" (1991), which itself was an echo of the N.W.A. song, and that is the friendship and combined evolution of the three characters of Dr. Dre, Ice Cube and Eazy-E. This relationship, in essence, makes the film also function as a coming of age drama as we follow the trio from teenagers to adulthood. from kids with an idea to individuals who possess artistic and financial independence, and ultimately, the journey from subjugation to emancipation. Viewing the friendship, camaraderie, honor and brotherhood between these three figures who each wanted to find their respective ways out of their limited surroundings on their own terms, and then falling away from each other and returning to each other in the process, was much more moving than I thought that I would experience when I walked into the film. This is truly a testament to the three performers who have embodied the roles of Dre, Cube and Eazy with such skill, attention to detail as well as high reverence and three dimensional humanity.

It is simply eerie to watch O'Shea Jackson Jr. embody the spirit of his Father, Ice Cube so completely. He actually looks almost precisely as his Father did when he acted in "Boyz N' The Hood." But even so, Jackson Jr. works far beyond mere imitation and makes the character of Ice Cube come to life so vibrantly that I often felt as if I was looking directly into the window of Ice Cube's own past and memories. Even more impressive is Corey Hawkins as Dr. Dre, a legendary musical figure who also possesses a certain unknowable status. In Hawkins, we not only see the drive and determination but also the musical dreamer as well as a figure who falls under the spell and/or antagonistic thumbs of three Father figures throughout the film before finally attaining true independence. As for Jason Mitchell, who stars as Eazy-E, I really believe that he has elicited nothing less than an Oscar caliber performance that completely runs the gamut from cunning to vulnerable, fearless to fearful, ahead of the curve to desperate and hopeless, all the while also growing up from child to full adulthood. The twists and turns Mitchell takes throughout the course of "Straight Outta Compton," sometimes all in one scene (a late film confrontation with Jerry Heller is especially powerful), is masterful and I deeply hop that he is handsomely rewarded for his tremendous efforts during awards season.

F. Gary Gray's "Straight Outta Compton" above all else is a music biopic that serves as a celebration of inspiration and the creation of art and music itself. The recording sequences contained in the film showcase the same unbridled euphoria that comes from unfiltered creativity, just as also presented in "Love And Mercy," thus making for a film that is consistency a roof raiser. But overall, throughout all of the concepts, themes, and layers, Gray has unquestionably helmed a towering achievement of a film that simultaneously speaks of the past and the present with grit, teeth and full blooded passion.

"Straight Outta Compton" is easily one of the very best films of 2015.

REMEMBERING JOHN HUGHES SIX YEARS LATER: JOHN HUGHES: A LIFE IN FILM- A SAVAGE CINEMA EXCLUSIVE BOOK REVIEW

JOHN HUGHES: A LIFE IN FILM
by Kirk Honeycutt
with an introduction written by Chris Columbus
Published by Race Point Publishing
1st Edition March 25, 2015
224 pages

To begin my sixth annual tribute to the life and legacy of Writer/Producer/Director John Hughes, who passed away from a heart attack on August 6, 2009, I will present to you the words of Writer/Producer/Director Chris Columbus:

"My first interview with John was at his Lake Forest complex. I entered John's office and sat there. Alone, waiting. at some point, John's young, usually frightened assistant walked in, carrying a fresh pack of Carlton cigarettes, a disposable lighter, and a glass ashtray. These items were carefully placed on a table beside John's chair. The assistant left the room and after a few minutes, John walked through the door. This particular ritual happened before every single meeting I ever had with John Hughes. Noting ever changed about it. Except the assistants."

I never met John Hughes.

During my entire adolescence while growing up in Chicago, finding myself completely enraptured by the films of John Hughes and eternally inspired to begin writing, I wanted absolutely nothing more than to make personal contact with the man himself. If I was to succeed in my quest, I really had no set plan as to what I would say were I able to release words from my voice. All I could have wanted was just some time to talk to him, to ask him about his films of course, but to also ask him about his writing regimen and his process as well as chat as extensively as possible about music and most of all, thank him profusely for all he has given to my life through his work. Just one chance to speak with him. That was all I wanted, even as I knew how unlikely such an occurrence would be.

Even so, I wrote fan letters, which to this day I have no idea if he ever saw them let alone read them. I would scour both the Chicago Sun Times and Chicago Tribune for any Hughes related filming location tidbits with the hopes of maybe finding some way to reach the set and just have the chance to meet him. By my college years, with my dorm room always adorned with some Hughes related one-sheet poster, and also pursuing a Communication Arts degree with an emphasis in radio, television and film, I harbored many fantasies of somehow being able to find my way into working for him within his production company Hughes Entertainment. But the direction of my life did not precipitate the attempt of getting myself involved in any aspect of the movie business, so of course, any chance of meeting John Hughes within that specific context evaporated.

Even with my endless fascination and pursuit, by some time in the 1990's, I found myself feeling unsure if I did want to meet him after all due to his increasing reputation within the Hollywood industry for possessing a legendary volcanic temper, as well as erratic behavior and a precious sensitivity that afforded him the ability to hold personal grudges against others that Molly Ringwald referred to as being nearly "supernatural," in her beautifully written remembrance "The Neverland Club," as published in The New York Times on August 11, 2009, five days after Hughes' passing.

The idea that my hero, John Hughes, an artist who opened up a new way of looking out at the world and into myself so completely, could possibly be a misanthropic, embittered individual gave me serious pause. (Frankly, I still cannot wrap my head around the man having been politically affiliated with the Republican party based upon the films he made and the themes contained therein, but I digress...) I mean--what if I had the chance to meet him and he was...well...an asshole? I guess I was afraid to have whatever image I had conjured up of him, as constructed through his work as well as interviews he and his collaborators had given, tampered with or even destroyed. But still, I wished for that day to occur nonetheless.

In March of this year, I purchased a new book that offered greatly to jointly fill in some of the gaps while also continuing the mystery of who John Hughes was as a human being and how that contributed to his artistry. Author and former Hollywood Reporter film critic Kirk Honeycutt's John Hughes: A Life In Film, is a lavishly presented coffee table book that I believe that most fans of Hughes would salivate over. Covering the entirety of Hughes' life, from his upbringing, his advertising career, his tenure as a Writer and Editor at National Lampoon magazine to his iconic filmography and up to his 2009 passing, Honeycutt has delivered a colorful, handsome tome that works as a fine companion piece to Author Susannah Gora's excellent You Couldn't Ignore Me If You Tried: The Brat Pack, John Hughes And Their Impact On A Generation and Director Matt Austin Sandowski's documentary "Don't You Forget About Me" (2009), which I profiled in the August 2011 section of this blogsite.

Honeycutt instantly reeled me in with a grand slam of an opening that spoke directly to my fascination with the type of person that John Hughes may have been: the Forward as written by filmmaker Chris Columbus, who directed two of Hughes' highest box office smashes, "Home Alone" (1990) and "Home Alone 2: Lost In New York" (1992). as well as the romantic comedy drama "Only The Lonely" (1991), which Columbus also wrote and Hughes produced.

It was the very type of crisp and connective storytelling that made me wish for more as Columbus described his memories of working directly with John Hughes as they collaborated on "Home Alone" from pre to post-production, some of which I presented in the opening of this year's tribute. Certainly, I will not spoil for you the remainder of Columbus' story as I wish for you to purchase this book and read it for yourselves. But I will say that Columbus' recollections of that period are filled with a compellingly intertwined sense of awe, frustration, appreciation, confusion and ultimately, a reverence that was profoundly moving to read and also mirrored the emotions I felt whenever I found myself wondering precisely who the individual behind the treasured films actually was.

After such a magnetic opening, in many ways, the remainder of Kirk Honeycutt's John Hughes: A Life In Film, does not disappoint. From beginning to end, this lushly illustrated tribute is loaded with all manner of film analysis throughout from Honeycutt, plus a plethora of photos as well as new interviews conducted with many of Hughes' actors and associates including Matthew Broderick, Steve Martin, Ally Sheedy, Judd Nelson, Jon Cryer as well as Costume Designer Marilyn Vance, Directors Howard Deutch, Patrick Read Johnson and the aforementioned Columbus among others. And of course, we hear from the man himself, John Hughes, through his archived interviews and comments.

For John Hughes' most treasured material, Honeycutt spends the most time and therefore, provides the most material one could wish to read about. The section covering Director Harold Ramis' "National Lampoon's Vacation" (1983), which Hughes scripted from his original National Lampoon short story entitled "Vacation '58," published in 1979 (and written while bunkered at his home during the historic "Blizzard of '79"), represented a fine example of how well and deftly Honeycutt has been able to track and detail the evolution of a film from its gestation period into the final version that has become a comedy classic. Yet, once he delves into Hughes' "golden period" with his sextet of high school chronicles, the book becomes a veritable treasure trove of information and insight.

With the section devoted to "Sixteen Candles" (1984), Honeycutt not only recounts the writing, casting and production of the film itself, while also giving us some thoughtful analysis of the finished film along the way, I did appreciate how a sub-section entitled "The Long Duk Dong Controversy," directly addressed the serious viewpoint that this character, as played by actor Gedde Watanabe, has long served as a catalyst for debate of harmful to dangerous racial stereotypes presented in cinema. It was interesting to me to see how the character may have originated from Hughes' own family and had clearly been filtered through a National Lampoon lens, but that the overall intent was not to offend despite the fact that for so many the character is deeply offensive. Watanabe provides a compelling insight into his working relationship with Hughes in regards to constructing what they each felt to be a broadly comic character, from what was included in the film and to what was edited from the final version.

The lengthy section devoted to "The Breakfast Club" (1985), quite possibly Hughes' most celebrated film, has been well documented in film based publications as well as Gora's book. Even so, Honeycutt has unearthed and contained some especially fascinating material, including the brief casting of Rick Moranis as Carl the Janitor as well as more information about the brief addition of a curvaceous female teacher who gives some of the characters, and the audience, a bit of a peep show, an element that was cut from the final film, either through protests from Ringwald and Sheedy or whether Hughes ever really intended to use such a sequence anyway.

What is clear is that for all of Hughes' mastery as a writer, to which all interviewed participants attest time and again, he was never married to his material to a detrimental degree. Once the cameras began to roll, the written word combined with a healthy spirit of collaboration and improvisation congealed beautifully, creating a film set atmosphere that many of his actors have continued to express they have never experienced in quite the same way before or since (although Hughes' process would cause Script Supervisors and Editors massive headaches due to the ever changing and mountainous amount of material collected). Also of note is the sub-section entitled "High School Fashion Show," during which Honeycutt has Marilyn Vance, one of Hughes' longest serving collaborators, displays her original costume boards for the five principal characters of "The Breakfast Club," again showing how another individual's talents was able to bring Hughes' original vision to vibrant, three dimensional life.

If the sections devoted to "Pretty In Pink" (1986), where Hughes' relationship with Ringwald began to deteriorate, "Ferris Bueller's Day Off" (1986) as well as the rapidly violate pre-production cast and director changes of "Some Kind Of Wonderful" (1987) showcased just what miracles making movies actually are, especially ones that have been so beloved by generations of viewers for nearly 30 years, I particularly enjoyed reading about the film that truly inspired Hughes to take control of his material due to how much he despised the restrictive and dismissive process the movie business can be to writers.

Director Stan Dragoti's "Mr. Mom" (1983), which Hughes scripted and based upon his own experiences as a househusband and Father to his two young sons, is a film that Hughes had long expressed his displeasure, despite its box office success and pop cultural longevity. It was a film on which he was actually fired from and replaced with two uncredited writers who, as far as I am concerned, wrestled almost any sense of Hughes' artistic voice from the script and replaced it with a veritable blandness that even the extreme warmth, charm and humor of stars Michael Keaton and Teri Garr had to work overtime to counteract. What made this section so involving for me was that Honeycutt gives us the full backstory of the film, even giving us a window into the content of Hughes' original script, which surprisingly did not house the tenderness Hughes often employed in his material alongside the slapstick and satire. The original version of "Mr. Mom" was indeed an affair that was darker, meaner, more satirical and clearly still guided by his activities with the far nastier National Lampoon. While Hughes' re-writes did indeed soften the overall tone, it was not enough to keep him attached to the project, resulting in an experience that may have been one of the first seeds planted in his tumultuous relationship with Hollywood.

Returning to Chris Columbus' excellent Forward for a moment and my own palpable nervousness with what I would have met if I had ever encountered John Hughes face-to-face, Kirk Honeycutt provides copious information and stories relating to Hughes' aforementioned difficult relationship with Hollywood, and the erratic nature and voluminous anger that only seemed to increase once his films because even more successful (and demonstrably less personal and more formulaic). This aspect of John Hughes: A Life In Film did indeed give me tremendous interest as well as a certain sense of frustration. Not entirely with Hughes' behavior, which if we are to believe everyone's stories, is at times confusing at best and reprehensible at worst. My frustration simply comes from the fact that everything is speculative, therefore dulling any sense of actual insight Honeycutt may have been able to fully provide for the reader and Hughes fan.

As also written in Gora's book, it is well known that John Hughes experienced a closeness with Molly Ringwald and Anthony Michael Hall that he possibly felt was familial, which possibly made Ringwald and Hall's desires to artistically move onwards from him feel like personal betrayals, therefore leading to relationships that he extinguished. This was a pattern Hughes would repeat over and again throughout his career. While Howard Deutch retained a friendship with John Hughes by the end of his life, Deutch, who indeed directed three films for Hughes, fell in and out of Hughes' favor time and again, and usually without warning or reason.

Director Patrick Read Johnson also vividly recounts conversations and phone call session between himself and Hughes that ran the gamut from sensational to a tad bizarre to downright horrific. We learn that Hughes first hired Johnson to direct his live action adaptation of Hank Ketchum's classic comic strip series "Dennis The Menace" (1993), but fired and replaced him with Director Nick Castle only to re-hire him to direct the ambitious yet impersonal $50 million dollar budgeted epic comedy, "Baby's Day Out" (1994), itself a production fraught with mis-communications, re-edits and large, and public, verbal fights between himself and Hughes.

These are just two of many examples presented within John Hughes: A Life In Film that do indeed cause considerable discontent with regards to an aspect of Hughes' personality, at least when dealing with real people in a most unreal situation of the Hollywood dream machine. Scorned Executives even referred to Hughes' unpredictable and unrepentant stonewalling as being banished to the "cornfield," a reference to an episode of "The Twilight Zone" during which a mutant had the ability to banish its enemies into a cornfield from which they would never return.

This realization undoubtedly contains a level of surprise and disappointment because Hughes was a filmmaker who consistently created populist social comedies and critiques that, at their very best as demonstrated in his masterful "Planes, Trains and Automobiles" (1987) and "The Breakfast Club," went to great pains to illustrate the damage caused when people behave at their most callous and cruel and the heights to which our humanity can reach when we just show some sense of empathy. Even so, it seems that with John Hughes, those concepts may have been a bit of an inner struggle for himself, a man who seemingly wanted to create an additional family with his professional collaborators, whose feelings were easily wounded and whose anger was often unforgiving. "He was a tough personality," explained Marilyn Vance in the book. "John loved you, loved you, loved you, until he didn't love you anymore. He fell out with almost everybody he started with." 

That is, except for John Candy.

Quite possibly the most unanswerable question regarding John Hughes was the reason or reasons he decided to completely walk away from Hollywood in the first place. As with his mood swings and personality shifts, for Honeycutt, Hughes' Hollywood departure is also up for speculation. But possibly, it was the death of John Candy in 1994 that shook Hughes to his core. John Candy seemed to be precisely the individual who became everything Hughes may have been looking for within his professional universe, a collaborator who could also exist as a cherished best friend and extended family member. The friendship between John Hughes and John Candy, by all accounts as presented by Honeycutt, was truly a relationship of great tenderness and affection as well as wondrous creative collaboration. The families of both men grew close together, vacationed together and reportedly have remained tightly intertwined after the respective passings of both patriarchs. "They were like brothers," expressed Candy's friend and business associate Bob Crane. "I never saw John (Hughes) connect with anyone like that,"echoed Vance.

Honeycutt makes considerable mention of how Hughes and Candy would habitually talk on the telephone for hours upon hours into the night, sharing stories and hatching ideas for projects they could share together, including the never filmed "Bartholomew Vs. Neff," a dueling neighbor comedy starring Candy and of all people, Sylvester Stallone and which Hughes would direct from his original screenplay. But as Crane explains in the book to Honeycutt, "You get those raw ideas. Then n come the deal-makers, attorneys, studio heads, publicity department, and it all changes from that raw, fun meeting or phone call as it starts to be 'developed.'"  

Maybe this was the key to John Hughes' discomfort within Hollywood and his rising anger over the years. He was a writer to the end and when writing, the universe the writer creates is precisely and exclusively everything that writer wishes for it to be. Once more people are inevitably part of the process in the world of movie making, that original idea transforms more times than the writer may have ever anticipated or even wanted. Even when John Hughes became a one-man movie mogul, he was not an industry unto himself as the money handlers were always at the door with their ideas, suggestions and notes as well as the ability to say "No" at any conceivable time. Take this, plus his perpetual feelings of displacement in Hollywood as he preferred to remain in his beloved Chicago and then, the death of his best friend, I think we are able to connect the dots.

For a book that contains this wealth of information, it is not without its flaws. For example, I really do not think that the book is as complete as it could possibly be. Certainly, I'd love to read more about his days at National Lampoon and even hear about the stories he wrote for the magazine but that said, this is a book about Hughes' film career, not a full biography. Where Honeycutt falters is that there is.not nearly enough attention is given to Hughes' entire filmography, especially the films that Honeycutt obviously didn't like or care that much about. Yet, I feel that there is as much to learn about John Hughes from his successes as well as his failures, perceived or deserved.

For instance, I think that it's a shame that I know more about the debacle that was "Career Opportunities" (1991). That film, which was directed by Bryan Gordon with whom Hughes fought, and released by Universal Studios against Hughes' wishes just to spite him for his rages against studio executives was a project that Hughes wrote, produced and essentially disowned, calling it "vulgar" and feeling ashamed that his name was even on the final product. Just with those few sentences, I gave you more information than Honeycutt's book bothers to distribute about that film.

And what of the underrated "Dutch" (1991), which Hughes wrote and produced and hired Peter Faiman to direct? Not much either. How about "Curly Sue" (1991), the last film Hughes would ever direct himself, a film that had a six month plus shooting schedule as well as one that actors, including stars Alison Porter and Kelly Lynch, repeatedly stated that Hughes worked especially hard, but was ultimately the least energetic and least satisfying film to emerge under his directorial eye (although I do have a bit of a soft spot for it).

Most of all, what of "She's Having A Baby" (1988)? For me, that film is John Hughes' crowning jewel, the finest film he ever made and of course, the most personal by a mile. It was a film that was beleaguered by a Hollywood strike, which derailed the editing sessions and forced it from its originally intended slot as a June 1987 release as well as serving as the bridge from the high school films to more adult characters. The film was a rare box office flop for Hughes which then signaled the beginning of making his cinematic output less personal and individualistic. I would think that there was a wealth of material to be discovered, gained and presented from that one film alone, and Honeycutt does not include any of it.

Furthermore, what of the films that Hughes announced and never realized? While we do read a little bit about projects like "Oil And Vinegar" (which was to star Matthew Broderick and Molly Ringwald and either Hughes or Deutch would direct) and "The Bee" (more on that later)  what about projects like "Black Cat Bone: The Return Of Huckleberry Finn," "The Nanny Fox," "The Bugster," or his adaptation of J.M. Barrie's Peter Pan? Not one word on those or others and extremely disappointing indeed as all of the omissions felt like missed opportunities to create a book that was truly indispensable.

And yet, even with the flaws and all of the darker material presented, Kirk Honeycutt firmly utilizes John Hughes: A Life In Film as a celebratory and reverential exploration of a filmmaker who was unquestionably unlike any other, creatively audacious and often very much ahead of the curve. Not only was he the writer, producer and/or director of his projects, he handled the advertising, both professional and guerrilla, from writing the copy for the one-sheet posters himself and supervising the trailers to personally placing promotional stickers upon streetlight lampposts. He handpicked the music utilized in the films and even wrote the letters to his fan club mailing list himself as well (something that I have seen and am still smarting that I had never found my name upon any distribution lists considering how many fan letters I wrote). He distinctly understood the concept of building an audience by having one film playing in theaters just as the follow-up was being made (sounds like the Marvel universe now doesn't it?).

And returning to the unmade film "The Bee," which Hughes had originally planned to direct himself, he conceptualized a Chaplin-esque, almost silent movie as it featured a scant 10 pages of dialogue within his 120 page screenplay, and was entirely through the point of view of a bee. This idea was essentially 20 years ahead of its time as in the early to mid 1990's, such a film would have been impossible to make unless it was animated (a possibility Hughes toyed with) but in 2015, with CGI technology, "The Bee" would have been perfectly logical to realize.

John Hughes never received very much respect and credit for his work while he was alive (perhaps something else that punctured his sensitivities and fueled his discontent) but I do think that Kirk Honeycutt's book goes a long way in creating a tribute for the Hughes novice, casual fan and connoisseur. After reading the book and thinking again if whether I would have still wanted to meet him in person now knowing what I know, I think that even despite my nervousness, I would still want that one chance to thank him, to credit him, to show him that the work he embarked upon throughout much of his life was indeed more than worth any of the trouble, strain and frustration because his work touched my soul completely and deeply, inspiring me in more ways than he could have ever imagined possible. John Hughes' life in film had meaning and was indeed meaningful.

For it has meant everything in the world to me.

TONE DEAF: a review of "Ricki And The Flash"

"RICKI AND THE FLASH"
Screenplay Written by Diablo Cody
Directed by Jonathan Demme
* (one star)

I swear if Meryl Streep is greeted with accolades during awards season for this, then I will hurl myself down a flight of stairs, have it filmed and uploaded onto the internet for eternal consumption.

Dear readers, I am not a member of "The Cult Of Meryl" and proudly so. This is nothing personal, mind you, as I don't know her in real life at all and furthermore, this is not a denigration of her legendary talents. I am simply rallying against a perception that ANYTHING she does in regards to her performances, no matter what it is or how good it actually happens to be, she will receive delirious acclaim and rapturous awards recognition, nominations and wins that may not even be deserved and only exist to serve and fuel the cult.

Yes, my feelings do all come down to a sense of personal tastes but let's be real, people. There is greatness all over the place in Meryl Streep on-going filmography but do you really believe that her work in "The Devil Wears Prada" (2006), or "Mamma Mia!" (2008) is on the same artistic level as her work in say "Sophie's Choice" (1982), "Silkwood" (1983), "Death Becomes  Her" (1992), "Adaptation" (2002) or "Doubt" (2008), for example? Come on! You can't strike gold every singe time at bat and that goes even for the very best of the best as the likes of Robert DeNiro and Al Pacino can easily attest as they have each made some stinkers. For Meryl Streep, the screamingly tone deaf "Ricki And The Flash" is one that she may wish to hide under the cat litter. Believe me, it's awful!

"Ricki And The Flash" stars Meryl Streep as Ricki Rendazzo, guitarist and lead singer for the titular combo, a strong bar band that specializes in classic rock (although they're trying to expand their repertoire with more current material by Lady Gaga and Pink) and features the talents of not only Parliament-Funkadelic keyboard legend Bernie Worrell on the "88s," drummer Joe Vitale, and the late, great bassist Rick Rosas but even the man himself, Rick Springfield as Greg, Ricki's lead guitarist and longtime paramour.

As the band has a teeny-tiny fan base in one Texarkana, California based bar, and her dreams of rock and roll stardom have long evaded her (she has just one studio album to her name), Ricki grudgingly and resentfully attempts to make a living through her day job, a cashier at a trendy, upscale Whole Foods styled grocery store. When one day, Ricki receives a troubling phone call from her wealthy ex-husband Pete (a perpetually bewildered Kevin Kline), who explains that their daughter Julie (played by Streep's real life daughter Mamie Gummer) has undergone a psychological breakdown after the departure of her boyfriend for another woman.

Ricki then trepidaciously makes her way back to her Indiana home town to try and make amends with the family she left behind in pursuit of musical fame and fortune, a family that includes includes her her gay son Daniel (Ben Platt) and her soon to be married son Joshua (Sebastian Shaw).

"Ricki And The Flash" is an unfathomable disaster of tonality and conception, quite shocking to realize that the script was written by Diablo Cody who gave us the wonderful "Juno" (2007) as well as the brutally acerbic "Young Adult" (2011), both of which were directed by Jason Reitman. An even greater shock is that of all filmmakers, the legendary Jonathan Demme, the man behind film classics like "Melvin And Howard" (1980), "Stop Making Sense" "Something Wild" (1986), "The Silence Of The Lambs" (1991), "Philadelphia" (1993), the outstanding "Rachel Getting Married" (2008) as well as a host of concert films, dramas and documentaries was anywhere near the camera, let alone directed it! Demme and Cody were the sole reasons that I ventured out to see this film and surprisingly, they have succeeded in making a film that is so astonishingly out of touch with any sense of reality.

Despite having a structural framework that recalls both "Young Adult" (the embittered failed artist returning to her home town) and "Rachel Getting Married" (a large multi-cultural family in the throes of a wedding ceremony), "Ricki And The Flash" is yet one more of those dysfunctional family movies that arrives, like Director Shawn Levy's "This Is Where I Leave You" (2014), that has absolutely no idea of how families work, operate, live, breathe, implode, destruct and reconstruct all over again. None of the participants in the film feel as if they had even met each other before the cameras rolled as they all have such a tremendous lack of chemistry, most notably Kline and Streep. Every character is presented within the broadest strokes possible and like Director Thomas Bezucha's odious "The Family Stone" (2005), Demme and Cody present a bizarro world socio-political dynamic where ALL liberals are wealthy, self-righteous blue bloods and ALL Republicans are highly honorable solely because they are ALL salt-of-the-Earth, dirt poor, vaguely racist individuals like Ricki herself and yet these are the only people who can truly understand the real transformative power of rock and roll. Excuse me while I gag.  

Which leads me to Meryl Sreep's actual performance, which is so showy, so blatantly insincere, so much of a painfully contrived "performance" that she is completely operating in state fair, grand prize salted HAM mode! Never for one moment does she delve under the skin of Ricki to try and make a character like this come off as anything resembling a living, breathing individual. Look, there really is a movie to be made with this material, a darker, tougher, exceedingly more honest film than the one on display here because "Ricki And The Flash" is so badly written, awkwardly directed, and not very well acted and unforgivably so. It is a film littered from top to bottom with the most ear aching dialogue in recent memory (and from a writer who knows better because she has done better) spilling from the mouths of actors unable to make (almost) any moment work or even be remotely compelling.  

Truth be told, I do have to give credit to Rick Springfield, who was indeed impressive, so much so that I could not hep but to wonder what the film would have been like if it was re-constructed (or better yet, entirely re-written and overhauled) so he was in the leading role. I think that with his longevity and musical chops, it could have made for something worthy, like a rock and roll version of Director Scott Cooper's "Crazy Heart" (2009), but "Ricki And The Flash" is what we're left with. Additionally, I also must give credit to Audra McDonald, who portrays Pete's second wife Maureen. Now, if anyone in this film provided a sense of gravity and realism, it was McDonald, who in one lengthy scene with Streep, nearly eats her alive with her command pummeling Streep's showboating hysterics.

With regards to Streep's singing in the film, as she does perform all of the band's songs, which are indeed very well filmed and presented by Demme, who certainly has had enough experience shooting concert sequences, she's good. That is not an issue at all in the film at all...well, except for the film's finale, which occurs at her son's wedding and I am certain that you can all easily figure out what Ricki's gift to her son actually is, and believe me it is just a howler in its execution.  

Dear readers, as I have expressed to you in the past, I see these things so you won't have to and Jonathan Demme's "Ricki And The Flash" is definitely one to seriously avoid. It is easily the worst film of 2015 so far as it is a giant vat of cliches and caricatures boiling so furiously, that I actually began wondering if the whole film was some sort of a cinematic dare or practical joke to see how bad of a film could they make that Meryl Streep would still receive awards recognition for.

While we still have to wait to find out if Streep is honored once again, and I realize that my opening challenge may be famous last words on my part, if she does miraculously pull nomination out of the awards season hat, the joke has unrepentantly been played upon me.