All That Jazz

At once both a wonderfully subversive character study and showcase for two of the best American film actors currently working, “Whiplash” packs more darkly kinetic energy than any other film of 2014.   Andrew Neyman (Miles Teller) is a young and talented jazz drummer attending an elite music conservatory in NY while aspiring to be one of the great musicians similar to the likes of a Charley Parker or Buddy Rich. He’s delighted to get the attention of head instructor Terence Fletcher (JK Simmons) who picks Andrew out of a rehearsal to come join his band of players. But only then does Andrew realize that such a blessing could be a curse once Fletcher begins to abuse his pupil, both emotionally and physically, in order to mold him into the formidable talent he knows he can be. Or does Fletcher rather want to destroy this young man brimming with not only vast musical talent, but bravado to match.

It’s a testament to Simmons incredible mood manipulating performance that we never really know. Sporting a bald head, bulging eyes and imposing muscular frame this ever reliable character actor has never been handed a role so ferocious and he tears into it like a rabid beast. Fletcher is prone to spewing out clever, quote-worthy barrages of profanity and insults to rival R. Lee Ermey’s drill sergeant in Kubrick’s “Full Metal Jacket” to break his students down and it’s here where Simmons really shines.   “Why would you hand your folder to Neyman...that’s like handing a retard a calculator....you know he’ll just try and turn on a tv with it” being a choice favorite of mine.

And Teller, the indie darling who impressed in dramatic showcases including “Rabbit Hole” and “The Spectacular Now”, meets him head on with a less showy but just as committed lead performance. Andrew’s passion for drumming shifts into an unhealthy obsession under Fletcher’s coaching and we’re aware of the toll that’s being taken in Teller’s every haunted glance and gesture. It’s a vibrant, lived-in bit of acting made all the more convincing by the actual drumming segments.  Teller did most of it due to his own drummers background accompanied by months of diligent prep.

Director, Damien Chazelle, who adapted his feature film from the short he wrote, keeps the camera close to every drop of blood, sweat and tears that fall onto the drum sets pulling the audience into the frenzied urgency that surrounds the battle of wills between our two leads. Jazz is the way of life for both Fletcher and Andrew and whenever Simmons and Teller lock horns “Whiplash” boils over with an intensity that defies convention.

It reminds us that we have control of our pursuit of greatness. And that the ultimate control in jazz is knowing when to let go of it.

What's Up Doc?!

With “Boogie Nights” Paul Thomas Anderson almost overnight became a major American film director that was at the age of 27 already being compared to the likes of  other major Hollywood auteurs ranging from Robert Altman to Martin Scorsese. He had assembled an enviable cast of acting talent; then on the rise (Julianne Moore, Mark Wahlberg, Don Cheadle, and Philip Seymour Hoffman to name a few) and used the San Fernando Valley porn industry as a backdrop to what was essentially “A Star is Born” charting the meteoric rise and cocaine-addled fall of John Holmes inspired adult film actor Dirk Diggler. Although the story itself had been told before the narrative became nowhere near as vital as the kinetic technical charge Anderson brought to the material. His keen eye to atmospheric detail with those swooping tracking shots following our ensemble of characters through dance clubs, pool parties and film sets enabled his camera lens to become a character all its own (along with numerous hit songs from the decade).

A little over 15 years later Anderson has decided to dip his newer and less roving lens into the slinky sordid 70s milieu once again. Yet “Vice” is instantly more meditative and less flashy resembling in tone and atmosphere other 70’s LA detective/mystery films such as Altman’s “The Long Goodbye” and Arthur Penn’s “Night Moves.” Mutton chopped stoner hippie private investigator Larry “Doc” Sportello (Joaquin Phoenix) is confronted at his beach house by his ex-girlfriend (lovely Katherine Waterston) who invites him to take on a missing person’s case involving her former lover and real estate mogul Mickey Wolfmann (Eric Roberts).

Doc, played with unforeseen slapstick gusto by Joaquin Phoenix, takes the case, but more often engages than just observes the self-destructive, drug-fueled world of his surroundings.  And along his meandering quest to find Wolfmann our pot smoking detective stumbles upon the likes of also missing jazz saxophonist Cory Harlington (wry Owen Wilson), libidinous coke snorting dentist Rudy Blatnoyd (a wonderfully sleazy but all too brief Martin Short) and most notably brusque flat-topped macho cop and sometime SAG extra Christian “Bigfoot” Bjornsen (a sublime Josh Brolin) who has a great disdain for hippies. Brolin in particular gets major props for adding pathos as well as laughs to such a seemingly broad right-wing comic creation (he has an affinity for slurping chocolate covered banana popsicles) and neatly fits the face of the Establishment that Doc constantly seems to run afoul of in his own loopy pursuit of Wolfmann.

What separates “Boogie Nights” from “Inherent Vice” most notably here though is the lack of technical virtuosity on display that defined Anderson’s earlier work. He’s always been an actor's director, even as far back as his first feature “Hard Eight” with Philip Baker Hall, but never before has he allowed a film to just be quite like he does here. The camera is more often than not completely still allowing this mostly engaging ensemble numerous attempts to energize the compositions via numerous wide shots and close-ups. As good as the cast is though the lack of cohesive narrative and abundance of endless scenes towards the film’s second half begins to become problematic for the mystery at hand. Doc finds clues and forgets them just as fast and some characters depart as quickly as they’re introduced.  Most all the characters involved are missing in their own way, regretting not having taken a chance on a relationship, or another means of living, or on finding something meaningful enough to keep pursuing. The lack of urgency becomes a lack of stakes in the game and the audience can’t help but peer around rather than into well acted and composed scenes through a looking glass. Such an adept technician like Anderson shouldn’t have to film this story like a stodgy theatre adaptation but rather engage in the vivid imagination of his ardent conjuring.

Anderson made his name constructing films like “Boogie Nights” and “Magnolia” that engaged the audience to care about his dreamers but this is the first time he’s directed a fever dream of a movie that has yet to wake up.

Always Bet On Black

The best gambling film I’ve ever seen was the Philip Seymour Hoffman starring “Owning Mahoney” which succeeded in exploring the disease of addiction and how the toxic rush of winning big is less of a thrill than losing bigger. There is an early scene in “The Gambler” that seems to vividly capture that idea. The camera tracks associate literature professor Jim Bennett (Mark Wahlberg) entering an exclusive and illegal Los Angeles gambling den and darting towards a blackjack table with thousands of dollars to bet at his disposal. His initial stare at the dealer is by turns both cocksure and blank, but with one winning hand after another in rapid succession Bennett becomes giddy and exhilarated by such a surge of reckless abandon. He has tapped into the gambler’s high.....a streak of winning that gets the attention of the dealer, den owner Mr Lee (Alvin Ing) and the gangster Neville (played by the wry and dangerously charming Michael K Williams (Omar from “The Wire.”) He then walks away from the table with considerable winnings and makes a choice at the roulette table that causes him to lose everything he just won within seconds. The moment is devastating yet Bennett takes the hit in stride, which is surprising since he now owes $240,000 to Mr. Lee. 

He soon approaches Neville, his mother ( Jessica Lange at her most fierce) and a seething loan shark Frank (a bald, funny and frequently topless John Goodman) to front him money to pay off his debts which ultimately leads him to put up his own life as collateral.  Matters are complicated further when Bennett becomes entangled in a romantic relationship with his student (the ever-excellent but underused Brie Larson) whose life Neville threatens to harm if Bennett doesn’t collect his considerable winnings in due time. 

How Bennett became such a risk taker in the first place is never fully explored but this Rupert Wyatt directed remake of the 1974 James Caan vehicle seems more interested in asking questions than answering them. Why is such an intelligent professor (and writer) so preoccupied with gambling and placing himself in dire straits with dangerous loan sharks and gangsters?  Why does he include his emotionally distraught mother in funding such a crippling addiction and/or con? And why does this man seem so comfortable in the face of life-threatening danger at every turn? 

Mark Wahlberg, who reportedly lost 60 pounds for the part, with his slightly gaunt frame and Dirk Diggler length hair wouldn’t have been my first choice to play a white collar narcissist and academic but he gets kudos for attacking his scenes with an articulate gusto rarely before seen. Unfortunately, Wahlberg’s inherent street tough swagger becomes increasingly problematic as the film progresses. As Bennett pits Neville, Lee and Frank against each other I never really felt like this cool a customer was in any real immediate danger which took away from the

films mounting tension. Bennett gives as good as he gets and then some and even when he gets beaten up by gangsters he never breaks down or loses it. I would have appreciated at least some flickers of doubt behind the bravado, but Bennett seems firmly in control of his fate from beginning to end much to the dismay of the people around him. 

Jessica Lange, Michael K Williams and John Goodman bite into screenwriter William Monahan’s (“The Departed”) crackling gallows humor filled dialogue like filet mignon and are each so convincing that there were times when I wanted the film to revolve around one of them. And the numerous tracking shots (by cinematographer Greig Fraser) and pulpy soundtrack also adds to the film’s LA sleek atmosphere providing the scenes with an appropriate and seedy after-hours sheen. 

In spite of the visually arresting surroundings and sterling supporting turns the character of Jim Bennett is more one-dimensional idea than flesh and blood character. As a result, this problematic lead keeps a relatively enjoyable gambling film from becoming a truly devastating character study that goes for broke.