Archive for John C Reilly

The Boys

Posted in Dance, FILM with tags , , , , , on January 15, 2019 by dcairns

Went to see STAN & OLLIE en masse — well, five of us did. Is five a masse?

Hmm. I know some people love this movie. I think the sparse audience didn’t help it catch fire at this particular screening. And there are a lot of good things to be said about it: nice long take at the start, good thirties locations/sets, and much more importantly, very good performances (enhanced by invisible, highly effective makeups).

We were all happy enough to have seen it, but a bit underwhelmed by the overall experience. We debated whether it fell between two stools — not accurate/insightful enough for people who know a lot about Laurel & Hardy, too nerdy for those who don’t. But I think it’s done fine with people who are fond of the boys but don’t know much about them.

I’ve tried to imagine what the film would seem like to people who don’t know anything at all about Laurel & Hardy, haven’t seen them (practically a whole generation). I guess they would get the impression that the boys were famous primarily for a little dance they did, which was charming and inexplicably caused audiences to roar with laughter. And for a scene where Ollie has a broken leg while Stan eats an egg.

I know — quite difficult to get across the breadth of what Laurel & Hardy did within one film while mainly telling a story about their real life relationship and their last days as performers. I think, though, at a minimum, the film should have shown, early on, the transformation that must have taken place when the boys shifted from being themselves — a comedy-obsessed genius and a meek actor — to being their characters — two idiots who don’t know they’re idiots. The lovely dance is actually in the way.

Director Jon S. Baird does some nice things, but his style as manifested in his previous film, FILTH, is modern and hyper-kinetic (quite effectively so). Applied to comedians doing visual comedy and dance on a stage, he’s both stifled by the lack of opportunities and practically Klingon in his insensitivity to the delicate pantomime in front of him. So he cuts everything into fragments, with continual reaction shots of guffawing audiences, which is a REALLY good way to stop the movie audience from laughing. And every time he tries to be “cinematic” in his narration, with flashbacks (picture or just sound), imaginary sequences, etc, it’s just horrible, in a way that makes me too tired to even break down why it’s so ineffective and ugly. I suppose “unnecessary” would be the word I would wearily reach for.

A shame, because there are touching moments — it’s much better at that than at reproducing or suggesting the comedy. And, around midway, the wives show up, and the film gets a tremendous lift. Shirley Henderson and Nina Arianda are terrific in these roles, and they have all the advantages. Unlike Steve Coogan And John C. Reilly, they’re not tasked with impersonating famous and beloved comics. And, while the men have to peel away the layers of performative artifice to show us what Arthur Stanley Jefferson and Norvell Hardy were really like, thereby making them not funny any more (the boys always wanted to be lit as flatly as possible, to keep their on-screen dimensionality to a minimum), the wives get to be stereotypes, well-formed characters with only a couple of traits, perfect for being funny. AND they’re more aggressive than the boys which is funnier, AND this ties them to the long tradition of the boys having domineering wives in any films in which they play husbands. Which makes the whole bit delightful.

“I wanted a film about them,” said Fiona.

I can’t predict whether you’ll love this film or not based on how you feel about Laurel & Hardy. Don’t take this as a consumer guide — don’t EVER take anything I write as a consumer guide. I’m more in the genre of eccentric dancing.

Advertisements

The Sunday Intertitle: Where the Worst Begins

Posted in Comics, FILM with tags , , , , , , , , , on August 5, 2018 by dcairns

WEST OF HOT DOG is a (1924) silent Stan Laurel comedy, produced by Joe Rock, where Stan plays a sissified city gent all at sea in the sagebrush. Seeing Stan in a carriage with a girl at the start made me wonder if Keaton’s OUR HOSPITALITY was an influence, but Stan being a character player where Keaton was a star, he takes the tenderfootedness a lot further — into full-on effiminacy in fact. As if the glasses and camp manner weren’t enough, he’s also (the shame of it!) reading a book, entitled Let Brotherly Love Continue.

 

When the stage is held up by desperadoes, Stan retorts, “I shall see my attorney about this.” Which is funny without making much sense, since he’s the victim of a crime, not someone accused of one. Banditry was rarely tried in the civil courts out west.

The whole thing seems to be happening in the 1920s (note the cloche hat), but an alternate universe ’20s in which stagecoaches and stick-ups still characterised the wide-open spaces. But the enclosed space of Stan’s head has no room for such concepts. This temporal confusion reminds me of the Scottish cartoon strip Desperate Dan, which always seems to be set simultaneously in the Wild West, 1950s Dundee and, occasionally, contemporary Dundee. The ’50s thing is just because the writers and artists at DC Thompson got stuck in a time-warp of their own, deep in the shadowy confines of Scotland’s first reinforced concrete building.

Titles written by future director Tay Garnett. Some great “special effects” when Stan hits his thumb with a hammer — scratches on film for cartoon effect. When he’s shot in the bum, a huge white question mark whorls out of him like a tail, or escaping gas.

And yes, I’m tentatively interested in the forthcoming biopic STAN & OLLIE. Having seen some brilliant impersonation/embodiment of the boys onstage in Tom McGrath’s play Laurel and Hardy, I have high standards, and Steve Coogan and John C. Reilly will have to not only make us see the characters, but erase all trace of their own familiar selves. Coogan is an impersonator of genius, so Reilly will be the big unknown factor here, but he’s an excellent actor and comic…

Space Punch-Up: The Movie

Posted in Comics, FILM with tags , , , , , , , , , , on August 14, 2014 by dcairns

guardians-of-the-galaxy-hed-2014

This piece has multiple beginnings and no ending, which makes it the opposite of most blockbuster movies.

“The summer had crashed,” is a very good sentence in Patrick Hamilton’s Hangover Square and it came true as a hot July switched to a thundery, rainy, windy, cold August. God, who for a fictional construct can be a total dick, had decided to flip the dial to “November” to keep us on our toes, and Robin Williams killed himself. The guy who played Patch Adams committed suicide. I can’t even think of an analogy for that.

So we went to see GUARDIANS OF THE GALAXY because a movie, even an indifferent one, kind of rapts you out of yourself — a friend who worked on it recommended it. I wasn’t sure I would like it but I figured either I would feel worse, and thus drive a car over my own head, or better. Instead I feel about the same, but the actual movie was OK.

What made me wary of it, apart from it being a mainstream release dated after 1980, was the reports that it has no story and everyone in it is an asshole. In fact, it has as much story as any of these things — a bunch of characters who want different things run around while stuff explodes — that’s the whole history of western literature right there, according to Stan Lee — there is an orb everybody wants, but it might as well have been a cube — and the characters’ obnoxious tendencies are actually explained/redeemed a bit as it goes on. And Groot, the walking tree is a kind of positive guy — source of the only moments of visual poetry, if you can call it that — though he has no drives of his own and seems to exist only to help the others. He’s a dendritic Magic Negro — or Magic Tree-Gro.

guardians-galaxy-movie-preview

Oh, the other thing that made me wary of it was that the director, James Gunn, made SUPER, which I hated. God. Just remembering it. How anything with the delightful Ellen Page could be so horrible to watch I can’t think. Kind of makes me want to drive a car over my head, just remembering it. And I can’t even drive.

He’s basically redeemed himself — GUARDIANS OF THE GALAXY easily surpasses the low expectations I had. It has Henry Portrait (which is what we have to call actor Michael Rooker) painted blue, with a screw foe a tooth and what looks like a headlight emerging through his scalp. It has a planet called Morag. It has a soundtrack structured around an 80s mixtape of super sounds of the seventies. It has Zoe Saldana (so versatile — first she was blue, now she’s green!) pronouncing the word “doom” as “dume” for no reason. It has a mining colony inside the severed head of a god. It has John C. Reilly. Mainly, it has decided what it thinks of its characters, which is that they’re “not 100% dicks.” And that saves it from being SUPER.

I generally try to see some contemporary relevance in these things — this one seems to be an American fantasy vision of Israel as a sort of Epcot Center world, besieged by vari-hued genocidal barbarians and protecting itself with a sophisticated aerial defense system. Unfortunate timing, then, but nobody seems to mind.