For the week of March 11th, Universal Studios Home Entertainment is bringing the Best Picture-winning Green Book to Blu-ray. Objectively, the film plays like a gender-and-race-swapped Driving Miss Daisy, and not just because it focuses on the friendship between a cultured black musician (Mahershala Ali) and his boorish white driver (Viggo Mortensen). Both films present themselves as palliative care for far thornier issues of race and class. Ali's Don Shirley might face a lot of prejudice on his tour across America, circa 1962, but Green Book would rather a) spotlight the gentle human bantering that he and Mortensen's Tony Vallelonga share and b) offer Vallelonga ample opportunities to help his stuffy boss lighten up. Is this approach condescending and more-than-a-little pandering? Absolutely - and that's before Vallelonga teaches Ali how to eat fried chicken. I should hate this movie...but it's so charming and easygoing that this white-guilt approach goes down so much easier than it might otherwise. Minus one scene with an overbearingly racist maître d′ (Brian Stepanek, overacting for a Best Supporting Actor nod that was never in the cards), Green Book keeps tensions at a low-key simmer, favoring instead the comedic interplay between Vallelonga and Shirley. Swinging around fifty extra pounds and a whole host of Italian-American verbal affectations, Mortensen should come across like a big stereotype (as written, Vallelonga is practically a sentient Olive Garden commercial), but he's such a skilled, nuanced performer that he makes Vallelonga's broadness seem just as complex as the Russian mafioso in Eastern Promises. And at this point, Ali can do no wrong. Shirley gets one big scene - an impassioned monologue in the rain where he laments not being black, white, or man enough for anyone - and he crushes it (it's a big part of why Ali took home another Oscar a few weeks ago), but the rest is so needle-point specific and underplayed. Ali keeps all his character's hurt under the surface, and the part is so much more affecting for it. Together, Mortensen and Ali are like 75% of why Green Book works as well as it does, but let us not forget director Peter Farrelly. Nothing Farrelly has done before - he's half of the filmmaking team responsible for Dumb and Dumber and There's Something About Mary - prepared me for this: it's such a sleek (Sean Porter's cinematography is gorgeous), confident piece of directing that, like his leads, prefers a light touch over anything more heavy-handed. I credit Farrelly as well with helping shape the screenplay (alongside Brian Hayes Currie and Vallelonga's son Nick) into a model of formal construction. I'm used to more bloat in these kinds of character studies, but there's just no fat here. The movie structures every beat to advance the characters and themes and then (blessedly) ends while leaving us wanting more. I don't think I've ever been more conflicted watching a movie - I have so many problems with what Green Book is doing, but even I can't deny that it's handling these matters in almost as perfect a fashion as possible.
Martin Liebman wrote that "Mortensen ran afoul of controversy when the actor used the 'N' word during a Q&A session following a screening. The word was certainly not spoken in a hateful or derogatory manner but rather within the film's narrative and historical contexts during a discussion of how racism has evolved in today's society. Nevertheless, its utterance sparked outrage. Co-Star Mahershala Ali was understandably offended, but Mortensen was quick to apologize and Ali was quick to accept the apology. Hopefully, there's no long-term tainting of Mortensen's character or damage to the film's legacy, a film of purpose, profoundness, and, yes, quality entertainment value at the same time. It's a terrific film from every angle. It does not shy away from the harsh realities of the racial strife in its time while painting a picture of bonding between two very disparate individuals who both change for the better on their journey not just through the heart of the American South but through their own hearts and souls."
From Warner Home Entertainment comes the latest entry in their whole "Wizarding World of Harry Potter" franchise: Fantastic Beasts: The Crimes of Grindelwald. Who, exactly, is this movie for? While I wasn't a fan of the too-busy Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, I confess I found the movie tiresome because of its strengths. It is a full-on kids movie, one that favors its mostly harmless CGI beasties and elaborate slapstick gags more than any sort of complicated narrative. I remember some degree of political unrest between the magic community and those fearful of it (and how all of that congealed around Ezra Miller's very special boy), but not with any real specificity: what lingers with me more is the visual pairing of Eddie Redmayne's gentle, sensitive beanpole Newt Scamander and Dan Fogler's roly-poly Muggle, and how much they recalled some kind of delightful animated caricature made flesh (they look like a live-action Timon and Pumbaa). The Crimes of Grindelwald is many things, but it is not for kids. Gone is much of the first film's relentless whimsy. Outside of an extended sequence wherein Newt helps feed the beasts under his apartment, the film doubles down on the politics, shifting the focus entirely to the machinations of Gellert Grindelwald (a visibly tired Johnny Depp), the proto-Voldemort and nationalistic wizard looking to spread anti-Muggle sentiment across Europe. For reasons I'm still not clear on, only Scamander and an undercover band of Ministry of Magic operatives can stop Grindelwald…and I'm sorry, but we've moved out of the realm of blithe fantasy. The Crimes of Grindelwald carries itself like it wants to be Army of Shadows or The Sorrow and the Pity, thanks to screenwriter J.K. Rowling's ham-fisted attempts to cast Grindelwald as a combination of Hitler and Donald Trump. I felt like I was in history class watching the proceedings unfold, so grave and dense are the various sociopolitical doings happening in and around the Harry Potter universe. And precisely none of it is fun. Direct David Yates keeps things uncommonly quiet and slow (especially in the 141-minute extended cut); why he and DP Philippe Rousselot stage everything in the same slate-grey palette (the whole movie looks like a slab of boiled venison) further the idea that this movie is homework, devoid of any of the light or color you might expect from a four-quadrant studio blockbuster. Much has been made of Jude Law's turn as a foxy younger Dumbledore, but he – and Hogwarts – is in the movie so little that the part feels like a Hail Mary to tap into the spirit of the original series, but it's just not enough. I guess it's good that The Crimes of Grindelwald isn't racist, or hateful, or culturally problematic, but I suspect I might prefer something a little more daring than this logy pseudo-civics lesson. Like I said: who is this movie for, besides Rowling and WB shareholders?
Randy Miller III commented that "the performances here elevate otherwise drab story elements. Eddie Redmayne is, again, a big part of what gives this second film some of its charm: he's proven to be a reliably good fit for the character's meek but likable demeanor. "Perpetual underdog" sounds like an insult, but it works in his favor just as well the second time around. Jude Law, though obviously filling big shoes by portraying such a beloved character in the Potter Universe, likewise has a natural warmth and familiarity that fits Dumbledore like a glove. Equally well matched is Johnny Depp, resurrected in full force as the evil wizard, who imbues his character with all the charisma needed to be the believable leader of a cult. Also returning in good form are Dan Fogler as Jacob Kowalski, who accompanies Newt on the road (hat?) to Paris, and other reliable supporting performances by Claudia Kim (the blood-cursed Nagini), Ezra Miller (the unstable Credence Barebone), Katherine Waterston (Tina Goldstein, an Auror in the Magical Congress), and others. Overall, The Crimes of Grindelwald is clearly a step down from its predecessor but, thanks to the performances and visually ambitious atmosphere, it's still worth at least a once-over if you enjoyed the first film. Again, the downturn in overall balance and heart doesn't make me excited for future installments...but considering the franchise's total batting average at this point, let's hope the creative team learns from their mistakes."
Similarly slight and uninvolving is Ridley Scott's 1987 thriller Someone to Watch Over Me. I'll give Scott this: at least his movie looks great. In terms of both narrative and geographic scope, Scott is working in a fairly minor register - after she witnesses a murder, a glamorous Manhattanite (Mimi Rogers) falls for the tough cop (Tom Berenger) assigned to her case - but Scott and his DP Steven Poster still shoot this world like it's Blade Runner, all rich, inky shadows and glistening surfaces. That's also the problem - Scott doesn't do "slight" well, and you can feel him trying to use his peerless visual sense to strain against the thin narrative. Nothing here is that involving. Rogers' lead is gorgeous but vapid, Berenger's cop plays like he's doing a TV parody of a Noo Yawka (he's a collection of grimaces and accent work), and the Howard Franklin script doesn't give them much to do besides huddling against one another in fear or in lust before the all-too-predictable climax. You can't help but feel a little bad for Scott. Someone to Watch Over Me was supposed to be a cheap little corrective to the underperforming one-two punch of both Blade Runner and Legend, except it was an even bigger flop than those two and curtailed a lot of the momentum he'd accrued after Alien and The Duellists. But Scott should have known better. As anyone who has seen A Good Year can attest, Scott can't do much with this little, and I kept imagining a Brian De Palma or Tony Scott version of Someone to Watch Over Me: at least De Palma and the younger Scott would've teased out the more lurid aspects of the story. That said, even they might have stumbled with the film's most unpleasant plot device: the treatment of Lorraine Bracco as Berenger's loyal wife. Bracco gives the best, most honest performance in the film (she's the only person approximating a human being), and she's so charming and funny we recoil when Berenger starts making goo-goo eyes at Rogers. It's hard in general to root for an adulterer, and even less so when Rogers comes across like a sexy mannequin. Bracco deserves better, and she'd get it when Martin Scorsese cast her in GoodFellas. Best. Consolation. Prize. Ever.