Finding Vivian Maier (****)

'Finding Vivian Maier' is an admirable documentary that seeks to be more than it really is, that is to say it attempts to flesh out material perhaps more suited for a short documentary (or coffee table book). The premise is simple and the mystery is intriguing - regardless of any issues I had with the film, it was well worth the time.

The setup: A 'Chicago historian' buys a box of film negatives at a real estate auction in attempts to recover some original, historical photos of the city. He brings the photos home, looks at them, and in his mind, they are very good. He researches the artist's name: Vivian Maier. No luck. He hunts down more of her negatives until he has a collection nearing 100,000. They are a hit online. Upon more research, he realizes that Maier has just died, alone and broke. Her photos are a revelation to the art world, and yet she shared them with no one.

What a mystery...

Our trusty historian (a measly 20-something year old named John Maloof) begins the research of finding out more about the artist, perhaps for no more reason than that it would make an intriguing feature-length documentary. He makes some phone calls, does some traveling around Chicago. What Vivian Maier was in life was no more than a nanny; watching children and serving as live-in care for families across the suburbs.

These children (now grown) and their parents provide most of the narration we see throughout the film. They recall memories of Vivian ("she always had a camera," "she was a mystery," "she was weird") and work to piece together a picture of this woman the world now admires. What I found most interesting were the stories of these people, claiming to be her friends, believing they 'knew' her. The wide range of interviews and some contradictory recollections about her photography methods imply that these are unreliable narrators, and indeed, many of these people are characters of themselves. Wide-eyed and eager to impress the camera, we get stories ranging from child abuse to trips to the meat factory. In many ways, Vivian Maier is proven to be a real Mary Poppins.

Who's to say what is real and what is fiction? With so little known about Ms. Maier aside from the testimonies of people who were 6 years old when they knew her, much of her story seems like it will remain a mystery forever. People who knew her remembered her as "that French woman," known for her faint foreign accent, but indeed a birth certificate (and linguist) prove that she was born in New York City. She was a packrat and had a taste for the macabre, remembered for being both loving and stern... Sometimes, it seems, people can't leave a mystery be.

For all it's worth and for the work put into the movie, her photos are all the more beautiful, shown throughout the film as though a slideshow or pictorial essay. What a sad, lonely life Vivian Maier led (so we assume), and yet how lucky the world is that she lived it at all.

(Awards potential: Best Documentary)

Birdman (**1/2)

I know I am the minority. I know I do not express the popular viewpoint. I know that in years to come, I may convince myself that I am wrong. Having just left the theater focusing in on my gut reaction, all I know is this: I was not a fan of 'Birdman.'

Who knows the plot yet? Michael Keaton plays Riggan, a fictionalized version of himself attempting to do two things: revitalize his failing career with a Broadway hit, and sort out all the craziness of his life. In his personal time, he hears a constant narration (his own, a deep, grunting voice that we come to realize is 'Birdman' himself). He can also move things with his mind, and is seemingly capable of flight (or perhaps that's just in his head, as well). Passersby stop him on the street to pose for a photo ("he used to be Birdman!"), and critics don't take him seriously. He drinks, his relationship with his daughter is rocky... Come to think of it, all his relationships with women are rough.

He comes to cast a new actor in his play last-minute, Mike (played by a very funny Edward Norton). He tries to make the play more edgy, more spontaneous... Riggan calmly takes it all in. Mike is a firecracker that could potentially ruin the show, yet their combines star power is enough to sell out their preview shows. There's a lot riding on opening night.

The story seems to want to be a satire on show business, on what is a celebrity, on the meaning of life... I have seen movies that have tackled just such issues with more courage and with more conviction, mainly 'Adaptation.' For a movie to analyze a down-on-his-luck actor like Michael Keaton, and to use a staging of a play as the main plot device, there needs to be either greater risk or a clearer message. For me, this was a movie riddled with cliche that didn't know how to make fun of itself.

Alejandro González Iñárritu is no fool. Quite the contrary, he is a brilliant director who has helmed great movies before. He crafts the movie as though it is a play, and through visual trickery and some beautiful choreography by the camera and cast, nearly the entire movie plays out in one continuous shot. That is not to say the story takes place over 2 hours, no. The film transitions with light and sound as though the actors are putting on a play for us. Well, a play about a play. The actors all do extraordinarily well. From Michael Keaton (like his character, a celebrity trying to prove his worth with a 'deeper meaning project') to Edward Norton, Emma Stone to Naomi Watts, this is a stellar ensemble. Likewise, the film is beautifully-shot (last year's Oscar winner for Cinematography, no less). It's visually-exciting and yet thematically-confusing... This film is like the Parthenon with no roof... All it is are a bunch of grand pillars of individual accomplishments with nothing much to hold up.

Ultimately, what is the point of it all? I see the merit in the story, and in a way this is a positive review accompanied by a negative rating. 'Birdman or (The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance)' is a film that insists it is something more. It wants to pull the wool over my eyes. For a movie of this caliber to go over my head to this extent, perhaps I wish I could join the majority of critics and audience members who have already heaped their praises. Apparently, ignorance is bliss.

(Awards potential: Best Director, Best Actor (Keaton), Best Supporting Actress (Stone, Watts), Best Supporting Actor (Norton), Best Cinematography, Best Sound Mixing)

Whiplash (*****)

"Whiplash" is a sadistic exercise in filmmaking. Jutting out from the screen like a rusty blade, it presents itself as a beautiful piece of art; a simple facade for something all the more dangerous and compelling. The fact that a first-year student's excursion into a music conservatory makes for such a stunning film is besides the point. Here is a story overflowing with ideas and concepts and consequences, each laid out so precisely that even the slightest alteration would completely weaken the overall picture. At risk of sounding punny, there is not a flat note across the board.

The setting is an urban music conservatory, similar in esteem and exclusivity to, say, Juilliard. Unlike most colleges though, we get a sense of intimacy. The sprawling and lush green campuses of normal universities are replaced with darkened rooms and muffled musical instruments of unknown origin. We meet Andrew, a freshman drum student alone with his kit. He practices with intense focus, his shirt soaked with sweat. Studying late, it seems. From the darkness comes Fletcher, a respected conductor and professor, hellbent on finding a core team for his jazz band. Their first meeting sets the tone. Andrew had dreams of greatness, and Fletcher is the God at those pearly gates to infamy, and he is anything but polite. 

In an intermediate jazz class, Andrew plays with fellow students, the room coldly lit and equally inhabited. It is clear Andrew has not come to school to socialize. He sits on a stool behind the first drummer, anxiously waiting his turn to play. In comes Fletcher. Like a drill sergeant, the class comes to attention, and he methodically tests each student for any sign of potential and talent. Andrew plays perhaps 1 measure of drums. So does the first drummer. Who's to hear any difference? Fletcher does, and invites Andrew to join his ensemble bright and early the next morning.

Just as one would expect, his class is anything but fun. Andrew sits as backup to the drummer, a job which is essentially a page turner. Fletcher arrives in class and immediately commands his pupils' attention. With a slight flick of his wrist, the ensemble bursts into music. We see Fletcher stop the band, citing a flat musician amongst them. He instructs each instrument to play a bar separately. Narrowing it down to a single trombone player, he asks the student if his instrument is flat. The student, terrified, nods yes. Erupting in a burst of anger, Fletcher removes him from the band, and once he is gone, reveals that "he wasn't even flat. The fact that he didn't know if he was or wasn't is even worse..."

Andrew comes to claim the chair of first drummer mostly through circumstance, and he believes it is because he has earned Fletcher's respect. He works his students hard, and even at the cost of Andrew breaking up with his girlfriend, he sees this as the key to his long-awaited fame.

Or so he thinks...

What Damien Chazelle (the director, and his second film no less) realizes is that the great villains are those that we love to hate. Fletcher could easily be turned into a screaming maniac who drives his students to the edge with no consequence. Not so. There are glimpses of humanity: Fletcher's conversation with a small girl about piano lessons, news that one of his former students recently passed away that leaves him in tears, the smile as he hears his band succeed... Fletcher is surely one of the most vile characters on film this year, but it is his humanity that compels the story forward.

Midway to the end, Andrew sits with Fletcher at a bar (as circumstances have dramatically changed), and Fletcher discusses his teaching methods. Yes, he is an unlikeable man, but his drive is and always was to find the next great musician, one that is for the ages. Andrew asks whether or not his methods could have scared off the next great talent. Not the case, says Fletcher, a great musician would never be discouraged...

The two characters at the center of this story are great for their own reasons, and it is clear that J.K. Simmons will hog most of the spotlight. Deservedly so. From the laughable, lovable man he has come to represent in the movies, here he is completely unhinged and unlike anything I have seen before. Miles Teller is Andrew, the student, buttery in the face but dedicated to his craft. In the classroom, the lights are dim, and Fletcher is but a floating head that sits in the shadows at the front. Andrew at drums is exposed: prey. The two mercilessly work towards perfection, with literal blood pouring out of them in the hopes of approval. Fletcher shows no mercy, and Andrew takes none. These are career-defining performances, one from an actor in his prime, and one from a fairly new-comer. The talent displayed is beyond belief.

The film concludes with one gobsmacked hell of a finale, and even for those who are not musically-inclined, this is a climax that will leave you pulseless. Fletcher conducts a jazz ensemble in Carnegie Hall, of which he selects Andrew to be his drummer. Fletcher, having been fired from his teaching job, now realizing who is to blame, sets a plan in motion to ruin Andrew's dreams forever. Or does he? I can't reveal anything more of the plot, but the film ends with a drum solo that truly is astounding, one that is the realization of Fletcher's hopes as a teacher and Andrew's longing for eternal fame. In the very same scene, we go from an absolute hatred of Fletcher to the core, to a deep warmth when we see his smile upon realizing his work has not been in vain. Even thinking about it, my heart races and the chills race up and down my body. Not often has a film been so fully realized with an ending to match. It truly brought tears to my eyes.

"Whiplash" deserves to be at the top of any yearly movie list because, quite frankly, it earns it. Just as we see Andrew's drum set soaked red with blood, so does this film bear a mark unlike most I have seen: the absolute authenticity that comes from raw storytelling. This movie strips its audience bare and wins them over, one beat at a time...

(Awards potential: Best Picture, Best Director, Best Actor (Simmons (who is apparently campaigning in supporting because... who knows), Teller), Best Adapted Screenplay, Best Original Score, Best Editing, Best Sound Mixing, Best Cinematography)

Gone Girl (*****)

Perhaps for the first time in David Fincher's career, he has made a film of and for the ages. Let me clarify first: 'The Social Network' remains one of the best films of the decade, and surely one of the finest films I have personally seen. Just as well, 'The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo' is a dark journey into sound and imagery, gorgeously-filmed and expertly paced, and 'Zodiac' is one of the finest thrillers of all time. 'Gone Girl' felt like a film that would make Hitchcock proud, and in many aspects it felt like a film that broke away from Fincher's standard of laser-precise modern storytelling and moves a little closer to classic films of the 1950's and 1960's.

We know the story, and for those who don't, it's very easy to catch up. Amy and Nick Dunne are a happily married couple who meet by chance and fall in love quickly. They share a large house. They seem perfect, that is until the marriage begins to slip. Amy begins fearing for her life. She is suspect. Nick is untrustworthy. She goes missing on the morning of their 5th wedding anniversary... All signs point to the husband.

We may or may not see what happens next. Having read the book, I was still floored by the apparent 'twist' of the film. When I read the novel last year, I found myself unimpressed by the over-the-top plot points and absurd turn of events. When I heard of Fincher's attempt to adapt the story with the original author serving as screenwriter, I was skeptical. How do you improve upon a flawed story? How can it overcome its own basic design flaws?

Flash forward to a darkened movie theater, myself seated near the front, the image fades to a silent conclusion... I was floored. If you need proof that adapting a story for a film is an art, look no further. What Gillian Flynn (the author & soon-to-be Oscar-nominated screenwriter) manages to do is so remarkable. In the year's finest screenplay to date, we see the redesign of a story and a realization of the scope of filmmaking in a way the written word cannot. It's a pure adaptation, full of wit and wonder, and surely one that elevates its source material.

As I have mentioned earlier, this is a film that recalls the thrillers of Alfred Hitchcock. Surely, with Rosamund Pike's sultry blonde looks and the chilling power she has over the film, it's not hard to blend the lines. Surely Hitchcock would be proud, and dare I suspect overcome with suspense.

To make this story work and work convincingly, the lead role of Amy Dunn was crucial. Little-known but experienced actress Rosamund Pike delivers the performance of the year. She is calculated, powerful, and crucial to the overall success and impact. In casting lesser-known actors (remember Rooney Mara's breakthrough in 'Dragon Tattoo?'), Fincher understands how to personify unique characters in ways a famous actor like Ben Affleck could never achieve (though he still achieves great work). In what is bound to be a first Oscar nomination, Pike could surely go all the way to a triumphant victory.

The supporting cast is profound, not a weak link to be found, although almost all are stellar. Take Tyler Perry (we laugh at the sight of his name in the credits). His casting as a crackpot criminal lawyer is so perfectly realized, and he has many of the best lines in the film. Kim Dickens is also amazingly effective as the lead detective who carries a sense of purity throughout the film. It's a simple but important role. Neil Patrick Harris, too, delivers chilling work.

In many ways, this is a funnier film than David Fincher has helmed before. In others, its the scariest, and I still vividly recall several scenes that left speechless from the expert craftsmanship and filmmaking on display. Even knowing how the plot would play out, the suspense was thick and the adrenaline left me nearly on the edge of my seat throughout the last third of the film. The editing is just about perfect, surgically-precise and effortlessly unsettling... It's no wonder the editing duo already have two Oscars (for both of Fincher's previous 2 films). The score explores minimalism and electronic sound to chilling effect (again, the Oscar-winning duo responsible for the 'Social Network'). One scene I'm sure many audience members will remember vividly (let's just call it 'the box-cutter scene') is all the more powerful for it's use of sound, score, and editing. It's absolutely the most horrific scene I can recall in a movie and one of Fincher's finer directorial achievements. From the build-up to the realization on film, there is not a false note to be found.

I recommend this movie wholeheartedly, and I anticipate my next viewing. The crew David Fincher has found to helm his current projects have truly outdone themselves yet again, and I am convinced that there are no greater films being made as consistently good as those by David Fincher.

(Awards potential: Best Picture, Best Director, Best Actress (Pike), Best Supporting Actress (Dickens), Best Adapted Screenplay, Best Editing, Best Cinematography, Best Original Score, Best Makeup, Best Sound Mixing)