"The Big Short" and "Spotlight" Tackle Uncomfortable Truths Enroute to Screenplay Oscars

The Big Short uses Jenga to explain the unsound structure of CDOs.

Late in The Big Short, Brad Pitt, who gets to play a voice of reason and anger in a landscape of sly schmucks just as he did in 12 Years A Slave and Killing Me Softly, chastises his compatriots, saying, “If we're right, people lose homes. People lose jobs. People lose retirement savings. People lose pensions. You know what I hate about fucking banking? It reduces people to numbers. Here's a number - every 1% unemployment goes up, 40,000 people die, did you know that?” It’s a sobering moment, one that is undercut by the character’s willingness to go along with the scheme he's involved with, as well as his assurance that excitement is ok as long as you “just don’t fucking dance.”

That scene perfectly highlights the fact that while the featured players in The Big Short pride themselves on being anti-Wall Street crusaders, they're actually worse than all the amoral scum that started the problem by banking on high risk subprime loans, because they know better and still opt to short the investments. No matter how you slice it, these are men who looked at a terrible situation and decided to profit off of it instead of doing something about it, making the situation 10 times worse in the process. They may have thought they were sticking it to the big banks for screwing the American people, but by trying to profit in the offing, they guaranteed the American people would be left holding the bag. 

The Big Short doesn't shy away from the issue, even while it's courting viewers to root for all these shifty characters. Michael Burry (Christian Bale) opts to leave hedge funds behind because "business kills the part of life that is essential," while the film's smug narrator Jared Vennett (Ryan Gosling) cops to being a douche, saying “I can feel you judging me. It’s palpable.” Vennett admits he's not the hero of this story, right after which a quick cut to Mark Baum (Steve Carrell), the most incensed of our protagonists, acts as movie code for "here's your hero."

And he is... sort of. He's the lead of the film, the one with a tragic back story that has filled him with anger and made him obsessed with taking on the system. He's hubristically convinced he can hurt the big banks where it counts, but in doing so he fails to account for just how sneaky they can be. When he finally realizes that type of victory is impossible – when he dines with a particularly vile piece of work and learns the banks have responded to the short sales on their collateralized debt obligations (CDOs) by shorting the shorts with synthetic CDOs comprised of credit default swaps – he decides if you can't beat 'em, join 'em. He tells his team to "short everything that man has touched," further adding to the mounting crisis. Later, when he finally opts to sell, the movie asks us to sympathize with Baum, because the banks got bailed out and he rightly predicts that in a few years everyone will just "be blaming immigrants and poor people.”

I don't know how to respond to that -- part of me loves that the film coaxes us to root for these guys, making us complicit in their scheming, only to have us come out the other end incensed and angry at everyone, these characters included. But most of me just wants to take a bath. There’s an ingrained desire in a film like this to have a character to gravitate toward, someone who distances him or herself from all the hustlers and sort of condemns them for what they've done, ala Bud Fox in Wall Street. But ultimately, I think writer/director Adam McKay made the right call avoiding that type of plotting, and that's specifically because it left me so much more outraged as a result. 

Like The Wolf of Wall Street before it, The Big Short employs a flippant dark-comic approach in its depiction of financial corruption, even going so far as to break the fourth wall with multiple celebrity cameos to make the financial terminology easier to understand. The tone works, and so too does the disdainful and cynical mood that is engendered by an ending note that warns CDOs have come back into the current market as "bespoke tranche opportunities," not to mention the ludicrous moment in which the leads are mentioned in the same breath as Robert Redford in All the President's Men.

Dogged investigative journalism unearths a major Church sex

scandal in Spotlight.

That Redford comparison would be far more apt for the characters of Spotlight, which takes a far more serious approach to what is essentially a very similar story. Sure, The Big Short takes aim at the 2008 financial crisis brought on by the U.S. housing bubble, while Spotlight tackles child molestation cover-ups by the Catholic church, but both function as cinematic activism about uncomfortable truths, or, put another way, as dramatized public service announcements about renegades railing against entrenched institutional villainy. The main characters in each film even sit on their scandalous information for an extended period of time, but while analysts in The Big Short do so to reap the financial benefits (and because the banks won't allow the other shoe to drop until they distance themselves a bit from the fallout), the reporters in Spotlight do so to ensure they write a strong story built on evidence so they can truly make a difference and enact change (and because of delays related to the tragedy on September 11).

Spotlight is a procedural set against the backdrop of a unique time in journalism, right when the proliferation of Internet content brought on a whole slew of cost-cutting measures and online poser "journalists" that crippled the previously prestigious and powerful print media. Long-term investigative journalism in which a reporter (or in the case of the Boston Globe's Spotlight team, a whole team of reporters) spent months breaking a huge story by rooting out actual nuggets of verifiable information used to be common practice, but now there's barely enough money to adequately staff breaking news coverage and even less time to properly confirm sources. The Globe's Spotlight team is still doing this type of work, but such opportunities are increasingly few and far between. As such, Spotlight also serves as a love-song to a profession that has fallen on hard times, but that, at its best, can expose corruption and righteously check institutional injustice as the fourth estate.

At the outset of the film, Martin Baron (Liev Schreiber), a new editor from outside the city, is brought in to take over the Globe, and immediately the newsroom is whispering about potential layoffs and apprehension over his lack of Boston roots. His first order of business is to question the staff about a column that mentioned 25 defendants have hired lawyer Mitchell Garabedian (Stanley Tucci) to bring a civil lawsuit against a catholic priest accused of sexually abusing more than 100 children. The records are sealed, and unlike the rest of the Globe staff, many of whom have ties to the church, Baron, a Jewish outsider unfamiliar with the power and influence the church wields in the city, wonders why. And so he puts the four-man Spotlight crew on the case, all of whom have a different reaction to the case, especially as the number of potential victims continues to grow.

Sacha Pfeiffer (Rachel McAdams) is so shaken by the victims and perpetrators she interviews that she stops going to mass and finds it difficult to talk with her devout grandmother. Meanwhile, Matt Carroll (Brian d'Arcy James) is alarmed that the church has a house for "retired" priests right down the block from his family home, and Michael Rezendes (Mark Ruffalo) is angry, so angry that he wants to publish the information as soon as possible to protect the public. Section editor Walter Robinson (Michael Keaton) wants to wait, mostly to get the story right (he needs to convince a source he has a personal relationship with to confirm information), but also partly because of the shame he feels because he, and anyone who came across this information in the past, deserves some blame for not exposing all of this a long time ago. As Garabedian says, "If it takes a village to raise a child, it takes a village to abuse one."

In a story like this, process trumps character, but writer/director Tom McCarthy (who shed light on the less attractive qualities of modern journalism as an actor on season 5 of The Wire) peppers in a series of effective character moments without ever tipping the scales into heavy-handed melodrama. It helps to have such a phenomenal cast giving one lived-in performance after another. Ruffalo and McAdams received nominations for their work, but everyone is on point here, especially Keaton, Schreiber and Tucci. They bring gravitas, authenticity, compassion, and a palpable sense of tenacious professionalism.  

The Big Short and Spotlight are two of 2015's tightly-structured films, and so it should surprise no one that they walked away with the screenplay awards at this year's Oscars. Both cover infuriating systemic treachery, albeit in completely different walks of life and with completely different point of views. If I prefer Best Picture winner Spotlight, it's mostly because it left me entirely satisfied by its well-oiled machinery and the win for the good guys, especially compared to The Big Short, which, by design, left me unsettled and foaming at the mouth.

The Big Short A-, Spotlight A

Exploring the #OscarsSoWhite Controversy By Looking at Four Black Films

Creed was one of the best movies of 2015, but barely got any

notice at the Oscars.

Earlier this year when absolutely no people of color were nominated for acting Oscars for the second year in a row, there was a justifiable backlash that was succinctly described by #OscarsSoWhite.

As with any racially charged issue about unequal treatment, there were a fair share of white people who blanched at this movement. And it wasn't just racist white people, but good-hearted and kind white people who simply seemed unwilling to acknowledge systemic racism because it's uncomfortable for them. Did you ever think, these people argued, that maybe there's no story here? That maybe the nominated actors just happened to give the best performances?

My answer to that would be a resounding no. And I don't even need to bring people of color into the argument to prove my point. Ready? Here goes. There is absolutely no way in hell that the 40 acting performances the Academy nominated over the last two years were even the best 40 performances given exclusively by white people. The people who get nominated for these awards are almost never the best, and that holds water beyond the acting categories. So can we please just take that argument off the table?

The reality is that people of color don't get as many opportunities, partly because stories featuring diversity are not being funded as much and partly because ethnic artists aren't being considered for choice gigs that should be race neutral. That's what makes the casting choices of Star Wars: The Force Awakens so damn awesome.

Somehow, this whole thing became a black and white issue that left other minorities out in the cold. And that's unfortunate, because the issue is even more dire for them. At least black films get distribution and black actors are occasionally cherry picked for choice roles. Most people with a clue about current pop culture can probably name at least two dozen black actors off the top of their head. But what about Hispanic, Indian or Asian actors? Hard to imagine most people could list 15 combined.

Of course, that actually makes it easier to focus on the black community in this argument, because they do actually get some opportunities, meaning we are able to see how much they are getting screwed when they don't net nominations. In thinking about all of this, I bounced over the to the wiki page of the Black Reel Awards and realized I've seen most of this year's feature-length award winners with the exception of Spike Lee's Chi-Raq and the French film Girlhood.

Straight Outta Compton is a standard biopic with a topical hook.

Readers of this blog already know how much I loved Creed. It was the big winner at the Black Reel Awards, and it deserved Oscar nominations for director, actor and screenplay at the very least, not to mention other categories where black artists weren't the ones getting hosed like Best Picture and Cinematography. It's not the first great movie to be mostly ignored by the Academy -- hell, 2015's best film, Ex Machina, was worthy in multiple categories and only got one nomination as well. Then again, Creed wasn't the only black movie on the Oscar radar. The two most successful black movies of the year were Creed and Straight Outta Compton. Each received exactly one nomination (supporting actor and best original screenplay, respectively), and somehow both of these nominations honored white people. What the hell is that about? Doesn't it seem strange?

Generally speaking, having an opinion on any of this is all just theoretical unless you've seen the movies. Well I have seen some of them, and since I'm trying to get combo reviews out here during my break from school, I thought I'd offer thoughts of some of the films that won awards at the Black Reel Awards but failed to gain traction with the Academy.

A lot of what I've been talking about here focuses around #OscarsSoWhite, but really the problem with the Oscars goes beyond that to include #OscarsSoVanilla. There's a certain type of movie that caters to the Academy, and this "Oscar bait" is typically a period piece or some other serious drama. Biographies, tragedies and war films historically do very well, as do films focused on disabilities. Comedies, especially those without dramatic weight, have little chance. Science fiction and especially horror face even longer odds. Better to be middle of the road than refreshingly off center or anything that isn't dramatic.

Because of all of this, I would've expected Straight Outta Compton, which revolves around the rise and fall of rap group N.W.A., to have a better chance to grab a Best Picture nomination. When black films hit all these quotas, they tend to do well, particularly when they have proper financial backing and powerful producers along the lines of Brad Pitt (12 Years A Slave) or Oprah Winfrey (Precious). Straight Outta Compton is a solid boilerplate biography with tragic elements, one that was received very warmly and had a lot of money and star power (Ice Cube and Dr. Dre) behind it. It's also an extremely topical film given the #BlackLivesMatter movement and the fact that N.W.A.'s biggest and most controversial hit was F**k the Police, an anthem they continued to play at arenas around the country despite pressure from government authorities.

Ultimately, Straight Outta Compton probably just missed being good enough to make the Best Picture cut, something it might have done with a little more narrative meat to chew on. That's really the problem here. The film is never boring and the cast is uniformly strong as one would expect from it's best ensemble award from the Black Reel Awards and it's nomination in the same category by the Screen Actor's Guild.

However, it's all surface level stuff. As Easy E, Jason Mitchell navigates the only real arc of the film well, and O'Shea Jackson is particularly magnetic playing his father Ice Cube (kid's a dead ringer and really delivers in his musical performances), but the script never provides them enough material to get them into any sort of serious awards discussion. That may have to do with the real-life events not lending themselves to the same level of pathos found in something like Ray or Walk the Line, or it could be because the presence of Ice Cube and Dr. Dre as producers limits how close to the bone the film gets.

Dope is one of the most fun films of 2015.

As I alluded to above, Straight Outta Compton did land a nomination this year for best original screenplay, an odd choice given how stock ordinary this one seems. It's not a bad script by any means, it's just hard to believe it's deserving of a nomination. Like the movie itself, the script is adequate bordering on good. I'd argue Rick Famuyiwa's script for Dope would've been a far more deserving option.

A longtime director and writer of black focused cinema like The Wood, Brown Sugar, and Talk to Me, Famuyiwa hit one out of the park with Dope. It's a quirky coming-of-age crowd pleaser, sort of a mix between Risky Business and Boys n the Hood. On it's face, that doesn't sound like the kind of movie Oscar voters generally gravitate toward, even if you take race out of the picture. Then again, the script for Boys n the Hood landed a nomination, and the coming of age dramedy Juno took the top prize in this category as recently as 2007, so it wouldn't have been unprecedented if recognition had gone toward this vibrant, witty and well-observed script.

Dope is chiefly concerned with identity, particularly what it means to be a young and black in a post-racial world. It revolves around Malcolm (Shameik Moore), an outcast in Inglewood due to his affection for 90's fashion and music, dedication to making good grades, and other geek proclivities. Like Joel in Risky Business, Malcolm is a prospective ivy league student who gets pulled into a seedy and illegal business opportunity (drugs instead of prostitution) only to come out the other side wiser, better off and equipped with a romantic interest.

It's an immense boon for the film that this is every bit the star making film for Moore that Risky Business was for Tom Cruise. The kid is funny, vulnerable and magnetic -- the real deal. Unfortunately, it is extremely rare for young upstarts of any color to get traction in the best actor category, especially for a movie like this, so he had no chance. If Michael B. Jordan didn't get in, Moore had no prayer.

Also like Risky Business, Dope offers an irreverent yet insightful examination of the constricting weight of preconceptions and expectations. It's all very craftily done, with stylized editing and assured directing aiding Famuyiwa's fantastic script. My favorite part about the film is that it's not just Malcolm who proves more than what you'd expect on first glance. For instance, A$AP Rocky is both charming and terrifying as Dom, an articulate and quick-witted drug dealer who is bemused by Malcolm, probably because he reminds him of himself before outside influences and bad decisions led him too far down the wrong path.

Meanwhile, Kiersey Clemons busts stereotypes as Diggy, a lesbian tomboy who is adorable, loyal and confident, but still a nerd in transition, an outcast that will have no problems flourishing and getting girls when she comes into her own in college. In that way, she fits in perfectly with fellow outsiders Malcolm and Jib (Tony Revolori, great in a role that's quite a bit different than his turn as Zero in The Grand Budapest Hotel), her partners in BMX biking and all things '90s, not to mention fellow band mates in a punk band called Aweeroh (pronounced "Oreo"). These three are entirely believable as friends in a way many other teen comedy leads are not. Their also atypical representations of urban youth, and that's pretty damn dope. The movie is too, even if it was always slated to be an improbable Oscar nominee.

Tangerine puts two real-life trans women front and center.

If Dope would've been an improbable nominee, the uncompromising Tangerine would've been an impossible one. That would've been the case even if the story starred white actors, because there is simply no way in hell that a movie shot on iPhones and focused on the sub culture of trans sex workers on the streets of LA would get that level of recognition. Like I said, #OscarsSoVanilla.

Starring transgender actresses Kitana Kiki Rodriguez and Mya Taylor, Tangerine concerns a day-in-the-life of Sin-Dee Rella (Rodriguez), a trans sex worker who, upon being released from a four week prison sentence on Christmas Eve discovers that her pimp and boyfriend Chester (James Ransone from The Wire) has been cheating on her with a biological woman. With a flair for the dramatic, Sin-Dee goes off on a rampage to find Chester and set her rival straight.

Alexendra (Taylor), Sin-Dee's friend and fellow sex worker, reluctantly tags along when she's not handing out flyers for her musical performance later that evening or servicing clients like Razmik (Karren Karagulian), an Armenian cab driver with a wife and daughter at home. It's basically an episodic buddy adventure, one that is often funny and occasionally poignant but always fascinating.

Credit to director Sean Baker for getting such empathetic and powerful performances from Taylor and Rodriguez, two novices with real-life experience in this world, one most people are unaware of but that many in the transgender community are forced into due to hate, discrimination and a general lack of options. The shooting style was necessitated due to lack of funding, but it's inspired all the same, as it lends a vital intimacy to the proceedings. Best of all, Tangerine has a dynamite denouement that concludes a disappointing and embarrassing day, one in what is assuredly a long line of days characterized by struggle and hardship, with a moving gesture of graceful friendship and quiet empowerment.

Idris Elba got robbed of a nomination. Was the snub race or

distribution platform based?

Up until this point, I've mostly highlighted avenues where the Academy could've gone with black artists but where they didn't make a glaring omission by neglecting to. However, that all changes when you consider Beasts of No Nation, the first of the films highlighted here not to be set in Los Angeles. Written, shot and directed by Cary Joji Fukanaga (True Detective season one), Beasts of No Nation tells the story of Agu (a phenomenal Abraham Attah), a young boy in Africa who is recruited into life as a ruthless soldier by a rebel Commandant (Idris Elba) after his family is killed during a dehumanizing and horrific civil war.

Throughout the film, Agu undergoes traumatic hardships and does some terrible things only to come out of the conflict wondering if he is now just a beast and looking to resume some semblance of childhood. Beautifully lensed and thematically reminiscent of the likes of Platoon, Apocalypse Now, and maybe even City of God, Beasts of No Nation is a visceral, sobering, disturbing, and yet ultimately hopeful examination of war and lost innocence.

This is exactly the type of film you'd expect to do well at the Oscars, possibly in the best picture, directing, writing, and cinematography categories, and certainly in the acting categories. Nominations for Fukanaga would've meant recognition for a Japanese artist, and then there are the superlative performances from the black Attah and Elba. Attah never had a chance -- as I wrote earlier, young actors have a very difficult time in the Best Actor category -- but it's extremely hard to fathom how a beloved and respected actor like Elba did not get recognized for such searing, revealing and transformative work. It's particularly hard to figure out how Christian Bale edged him out. Bale is great fun in The Big Short, but Elba does something far trickier, offering a restrained and humanizing portrayal of a monster.

I'm inclined to believe the film and Elba in particular didn't garner nominations because the Academy refused to embrace a Netflix production out of some sort of high-minded fear of new distribution platforms. At the same time, it's totally fair to wonder if Elba's being black had something to do with it. Recent history leaves cause for doubting the Academy. Michael Keaton in Birdman aside, David Oyelowo's work in Selma was more impressive than all of the Best Actor nominees last year and he still didn't get a nomination. This is true even though he had a role and film that screamed Oscar bait.

For what it's worth, the prize didn't even go to Keaton. Instead, it went to Eddie Redmayne for a totally fine turn in The Theory of Everything, a lesser film and performance in every respect, save perhaps it's Oscar bait-iness. #OscarsSoWhite and #OscarsSoVanilla indeed.

Straight Outta Compton B-, Dope A-, Tangerine B+, Beasts of No Nation B+

"Mad Max: Fury Road" and "The Revenant" Display Technical Wizardry, But the Former Leaves a Better Impression

Mad Max: Fury Road literally features a character who just plays a

flaming guitar to set the mood for Immortan Joe's men.

For all their differences, Mad Max: Fury Road and The Revenant strike a similar chord with me. Both feature actor Tom Hardy and both take a hard look at the violent nature of men, but the connection runs a bit deeper than that. They are certainly the most divisive films among the recent Best Picture nominees with each having been called a masterpiece by some and an overhyped piece of garbage by others. I’m somewhere in the middle of that spectrum. While I respect the undeniable craft, ambition and technical wizardry on display in each film, both feature parts that are greater than their collective wholes.

Fury Road is the fourth Mad Max film, but you don’t need to have seen any of the Mel Gibson-led entries to watch it. Not at all, really. Writer/director George Miller has spoken about how the Road Warrior franchise isn’t meant to be some ongoing narrative with sensical continuity, but rather a pliable urban legend of the post-apocalyptic wasteland. These stories are whisper-down-the-lane lore told around camp fires, mythical tales about a man who takes on different shades depending on the orator.

It is helpful to appreciating the film if you view it in that context, because the narrative is little more than a sparse allegory and Miller makes some big stylistic choices that are likely to turn off viewers looking for something a bit meatier and a lot less weird. Fury Road thrusts a haunted Max Rockatansky (Hardy, communicating mostly via his glances and grunts) into a feminine uprising against Immortan Joe (Hugh Keays-Byrne), a maniacal warlord with several of wives (i.e. sex slaves), throngs of devoted War Boys who view him as a god and even more oppressed plebs just hoping to get bit of the water Joe hoards from all but the select one-percenters.

The action starts when Imperator Furiosa (a dynamite Charlize Thernon), one of Joe’s top lieutenants, goes AWOL during a gasoline run in an attempt to liberate Joe’s five wives from captivity. It’s basically one long car chase from there, but really it’s a psychedelic music video for a feminine empowerment ditty that’s raging against overbearing masculinity and maybe a little against capitalistic over commodification as well. It’s all good zeitgeisty stuff that fits snuggly alongside the likes of Ex Machina (reviewed here) and all the other media examining gender entitlement and rape culture. But, while I expect Fury Road to age well, I’m just not as gaga over the whole thing as its most ardent admirers. There's just some mysterious x-factor missing that prohibits me from connecting fully to the film, which probably says more about me than the movie itself.

Nevertheless, Fury Road is a sensory experience of the highest order. The Oscars it netted for editing, sound, costuming, makeup and production design are well deserved, and the film also would’ve been my choice for director and special effects due to its inventive lensing, energetic choreography and eye-popping stunt work. That doesn’t even cover the performances, which do their fair share in adding to the artistry of the visuals. Take, for instance, Nicholas Hoult, who is somehow batshit manic and introspectively still as Nux, one of the more nuanced takes on a homicidal zealot you’re likely to come across.

Leonardo DiCaprio finally got his Oscar for The Revenant.

The Revenant delivers plenty on the sensory level as well, with stylistic flourishes wrapped around a traditional narrative that will sit just fine with people unaccustomed to tonal idiosyncrasies. The tale of a fur keeper (Leonardo DiCaprio) who is mauled by a bear and then left for dead by the cohorts left in charge of tending to his needs, it’s basically concerned with suffering and survival, although it does make some nods toward the all-consuming nature of vengeance. Much of that is hollow tokenism, especially compared to Prisoners (reviewed here) or even something lesser like Death Sentence.

Packaging impressive long takes and unbelievable camera movements that trump what director Alejandro Gonzalez Iñarritu and cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezki previously achieved together with Birdman, The Revenant is as viscerally immersive in its best moments as any movie out there. Unfortunately, in between those moments the film is so emotionally static and faux meditative that it falls way beneath their previous collaboration.

DiCaprio won the Academy Award for his work here, and while some would have you believe his victory was basically a lifetime attaboy along the lines of the Oscar Al Pacino received for Scent of a Woman, that would be untrue. DiCaprio gives a grounded and raw performance, and although this doesn’t even rank as one of his 10 best performances and I wouldn’t have even nominated him this year, his win is far from some embarrassing make-good. It’s just that there’s not a lot of meat on the bone. Hardy has more to work with as the chief antagonist, another brooding brute like Max, albeit inverted, rotten and way more talkative. A win for him would’ve made more sense to me, but I’m not in charge of awards.

I prefer Mad Max: Fury Road to The Revenant, but they are both good films chiefly defined by the auteur touches of their directors. Neither is a top 10 film for me in 2015, but there’s always a few of those thrown in with the Best Picture crew, and I would way rather have those spots go to these masters of the form than some boilerplate prestige pic defined by middling competence.

Mad Max: Fury Road B+, The Revenant B

"Selma" Offers a Captivating Story and Worthwhile Commentary on Present Day Race Relations

Critics argue Selma grossly misplays the dynamic between MLK and LBJ.

While watching Ava DuVernay’s Selma, I was reminded of Steven Spielberg’s Lincoln (reviewed here). Both films focus on iconic moments in the American civil rights movement, while managing the tricky tasks of humanizing the larger-than-life icons involved. More intriguingly, both also illustrate the forceful guile and cunning strategy required to make such sweeping change.

Yes, Abraham Lincoln and Martin Luther King Jr. stood on high ground ideologically and morally, but they also were willing to poke, prod and even play a little dirty to ensure success. These aren’t just stories of saints standing on the side of justice until society came around to their way of thinking – these are tales of men pulling strings to manipulate America into bettering itself.

There’s something I find so incredibly interesting about all of that, about the notion that King (commandingly played by David Oyelowo) and his compatriots in the Southern Christian Leadership Conference (SCLC) specifically targeted Selma because the sheriff there was a hotheaded racist who could easily be baited into doing something oppressive to nonviolent protesters. The film suggests the SCLC wasn’t concerned with long-range grass rooting – they left that to other groups like the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee. No, what they wanted were headlines that would put pressure on Lyndon B. Johnson (Tom Wilkinson), a president who supported black voting rights, but who had a difference of opinion about the timing of further legislation. “We negotiate, we demonstrate, we resist,” King says in one key scene. “We raise white consciousness. And in particular, the consciousness of whichever white man happens to be sitting in the Oval Office.”

The film has come under fire in some corners for its inaccuracies, particularly related to its portrayal of Johnson as an antagonist to King. The idea that people could watch this movie and come away incensed at the treatment of a white person is pretty mind-boggling, but what makes the whole thing especially odd is that the film delivers a mostly nuanced take on the King-Johnson relationship.

Johnson isn't really the bad guy; he supports change, but doesn't agree with King's time frame. He certainly stands in stark contrast to the film's actual villains, even considering his attempts to slow King down by using wiretap information to expose the good doctor's extramarital dalliances to his wife Coretta (Carmen Ejogo). Not only does he surround himself with fair-minded advisers like Lee White (Giovanni Ribisi), but he also rebuffs a suggestion by J. Edgar Hoover (Dylan Baker) to shut down King "permanently and unequivocally" and chastises George Wallace (Tim Roth) by saying "I'll be damned to let history put me in the same place as the likes of you."

Is this exactly how it happened? Probably not, but it makes thematic and dramatic sense, and it seems a lot more logical than the assertion that Johnson masterminded the whole march or that he was totally innocent of wiretapping King (I think it's an injustice to show Johnson taking aim at King's marriage, but the dude was president of the United States, for god's sake; he damn well knew about those wiretaps). The New York Times and Washington Post have done fairly good assessments of the entire controversy for those interested in reading more on the topic, but as far as opinions go, I tend to agree with this take in Slate.

The film posits that MLK's mission in Selma was to change the discourse among the inherently good but generally apathetic multitudes within white America, to impress upon them the immediacy of the situation. Johnson becomes the major stand-in there, and the film argues that the work put in by King and his brethren eventually allows Johnson (and a large contingent of whites) to see the light, to transition from sympathy to empathy, as evinced by his words, “There is no Negro problem. There is no Southern problem. There is no Northern problem. There is only an American problem.”

This message is one that's still incredibly relevant today, given all the present day upheaval surrounding unjust treatment of blacks by law enforcement and the recent church slayings in South Carolina. Watch the scenes that depict the 16th Street Baptist Church Bombing or the beating of Jimmie Lee Jackson (Keith Stanfield) and tell me they don't seem eerily familiar. It's easy to rationalize, explain or condemn certain situations on an individual basis while pretending there is no larger race problem in America, but on aggregate such justifications don't fly any better now than they did 50 years ago. Is black life better in America now than it was in 1965 when MLK led the march to Selma? Yes, certainly, it is, just like it was better in 1965 than it was in 1865 when Lincoln was trying to abolish slavery. But it isn't where it should be, and that's an American problem.

DuVernay gets that, and Selma encapsulates it, perhaps at the risk of smudging the role of Lyndon B. Johnson. But, I found myself cheering for the man when he put Wallace in his place and later when he spoke so passionately when presenting his bill. I believe that was the film's intent, so it's hard for me to say the film is casting Johnson in a negative light. It's much more accurate to say the film is turning him into a metaphorical beacon.

Is it incongruous that I'm defending artistic license here when I took a movie like Saving Mr. Banks to task for playing loose with history? Maybe. Maybe, I'm just blinded by my ideological persuasions in both cases. But, I have to call it the way I see it, and while I see a relevant thematic purpose in this instance, I only saw corporate propaganda in the former.

Selma is not a perfect history lesson, but if it encourages people to "interrogate history" as DuVernay suggests, and if it makes people a bit more empathetic in their considerations of race relations today, then it's a movie that offers a whole lot of value. When you toss on top of that the notion that it is a well-made and captivating story on the micro level, well that's really something.  A-

Time Capsule Review: "There Will Be Blood"

I recently stumbled upon some reviews I did back in college for the La Salle Collegian. In the interest of condensing all of my reviews on this site, I've decided to upload them sporadically throughout the next few weeks. I've chosen not to update them, mostly because I like the concept of reviews as time capsules for how we feel about movies at the time we first see them.

Below is a review of There Will Be Blood, which I originally reviewed in January of 2008. It’s a masterful film with a towering performance and a number of memorable scenes and quotes. Reading the review now, it’s hard to believe I made no mention of milkshakes.

There Will Be Blood is a gorgeously shot film.

Paul Thomas Anderson loves to dazzle. As a director, he usually accomplishes this feat with interesting color saturations and long tracking shots. As a writer, he calls upon fantastic moments (i.e. frogs raining from the sky) or odd deus ex machina (i.e. little pianos). However, with There Will Be Blood, Anderson has turned a corner. Although he’s still a dazzler, the writer-director has (mostly) abandoned his parlor tricks, limiting himself to the bare essentials in creating a mesmerizing character study that ranks alongside Citizen Kane in terms of pure ambition and scope.

Interestingly enough, Anderson opens the film with his lone embellishment—a nearly wordless 15-minute stretch in which he convincingly establishes the turn of the century setting and the fervor for oil. Functioning as the movie’s prologue, the sequence introduces Daniel Plainview (Daniel Day-Lewis) and surveys his ascent to success, so that by the time dialogue sets in and he proclaims, “Ladies and gentlemen, I am an oilman,” we know he’s not kidding.

Accompanied by his adopted son H.W. (Dillon Freasier), Plainview addresses these statements to a community that has discovered oil in its area. In trying to gain the people’s trust, Plainview realizes they have become too excitable, and he abandons them; they’re all wolves out for their fair share, and Plainview’s looking to deal with sheep.

By this point, Plainview is a successful man, with one strong strike paying him $5,000 a week and several other promising wells to boot. But it’s not enough for him, because he’s got a competition in him. He disdains paying for shipping and begrudges Standard Oil. He’s looking for a big score that will enable him to create his own oil empire so that he can, we later learn, retire from the society he hates with such fervor.

He eventually finds the ideal situation—an “ocean of oil” underneath the home of a bunch of sheep—but complications keep getting in the way. Some come on the business end—setbacks at the well and the invasive presence of Standard Oil—while others are more personal, like an accident at the oil field that leaves H.W. deaf or the arrival of long-lost brother Henry (Kevin J. O’Connor).

Despite all this, the biggest thorn in Plainview’s side continues to be the preacher Eli Sunday (an excellent Paul Dano), a self-righteous con-man who presents himself as a pious prophet. The interplay between these two emerges as a strong plot element, and also conjures themes of capitalism vs. religion.

However, through it all the backbone of the story remains that of a father and his son. Many critics are referring to Plainview as evil incarnate, and although I see the logic in this, I don’t buy it. The character that Day-Lewis and Anderson have created is too layered to be classified so easily. Plainview is a downright nasty guy, but he’s definitely more complex than the film’s most ardent critics are suggesting.

At times, he is shown to be tender with H.W. and then outright malicious; regretful for wrong treatment, while displaying a refusal to change. The relationship is drawn obtusely, and is left open to interpretation. My belief is that Plainview has feelings for H.W., but that he’s too emotionally retarded to act appropriately. The drive inside of him, the overwhelming hate he possesses, makes it impossible for him to do so. However, his desire for family (as seen in Plainview’s conversation with Henry) is evident.

For his part, Day-Lewis nails the intricacies of the role. Taking his memorable Bill the Butcher in Gangs of New York to the next stage, Day-Lewis disappears into the character to deliver one of the best performances of the decade. Whatever your feelings on the film, it’s hard to deny he’s a powerhouse. Although the film's perfect from top to bottom, Anderson’s greatest masterstroke was to get Day-Lewis into th role.

Everything about the film, from Anderson’s brilliant script to Robert Elswit’s photography, is spot on. That said, special mention should be made of Johnny Greenwood’s majestic score. Taking a break from his regular gig as lead guitarist for Radiohead, Greenwood has perfectly echoed Plainview’s soul with a score that is both classical in structure and yet refreshingly experimental and discordant.

There Will Be Blood is not for everyone. Although it’s far more accessible than some of the more recent big studio art films like Darren Aronofsky’s The Fountain, it will undoubtedly irk conventional moviegoers who are looking for a light, fun night at the movies. A+

"Dallas Buyers Club" and "Mud" Justify the McConaissaince

It's that damn McConaughey. He's so hot right now!

Considering Matthew McConaughey’s recent Oscar win, the fervor surrounding True Detective and his lead part in Christopher Nolan’s upcoming film, it’s apparent that we are in the eye of the McConaissaince. As a result, this seems a perfect time to finally put together some thoughts on Dallas Buyers Club and Mud, two 2013 entries I enjoyed quite a bit but never got around to reviewing. I figure it's definitely a good idea to strike before the McConalash sets in.

As a long-time McConaughey defender, I've enjoyed every minute of his comeback. It’s been funny to see the reactions of so many people who had previously written him off solely based on a few paycheck gigs in hollow romantic comedies. Guy always had screen presence to burn, and although he’s limited in some ways by an unshakable accent, he actually operates within a pretty wide range.

At the Oscars, Ellen joked that McConaughey is dirty pretty, but that’s actually an accurate description of his general movie persona. He possesses an oily magnetism that naturally suggests a seedy slickster or a morally compromised antihero, but then there’s the likable swagger and the intense vulnerability bubbling under the surface. He’s sort of a new age Michael Douglas, albeit with a six pack and a Texas twang.

McConaughey deviates from that wheelhouse occasionally (i.e. Contact, Amistad and The Wedding Planner), but like many good actors, he’s found his greatest success by playing into and off of his stock archetype. That assessment is certainly true of Dallas Buyers Club and Mud.

Dallas Buyers Club is a biopic about Ron Woodroof, a homophobic, womanizing good old boy who contracted AIDS in the early ’80s back when it was largely looked at as a gay disease. When Ron realizes the U.S. medical system and the ass-backwards FDA can’t help him, he decides to go south of the border to gain access to unapproved drugs. Soon, with the help of a transvestite partner named Rayon (Jared Leto), he begins smuggling the drugs into America and selling them to fellow AIDS sufferers as part of a monthly membership called the Dallas Buyers Club.

Leto and McConaughey lost a lot of weight for Dallas Buyers Club.

It’s interesting to me that this film languished so long in developmental limbo, because, beyond the topic of AIDS, it’s basically a conventional David vs. Goliath movie, one I suspect most would enjoy if they could get past their discomfort with what they perceive as “gay themes.” The film casts a critical eye on the FDA for being in bed with Big Pharmaceutical Companies to the detriment of the public, but it’s mostly an inspirational character piece about personal growth, redemption and the strength of the human spirit. A large part of the narrative hangs on the growing friendship that develops between Ron and Rayon, and it is all reminiscence of the similarly affecting dynamic Denzel Washington and Tom Hanks shared in Philadelphia.

The film starts like a bat out of hell and then gets into a comfortable rhythm before basically petering out. There’s a structural imbalance to the film, but it is buoyed by an excellent cast that includes winning support from Jennifer Garner, Steve Zahn and Griffin Dunn. McConaughey and Leto both won Oscars for their transformative performances, and while I probably wouldn't have gone with either of them in the stacked year that was 2013, the awards are well deserved. Leto does about everything he can to make Rayon into more than a walking plot device, and McConaughey owns the screen. I know some were annoyed McConaughey rode his comeback story to a victory on Oscar night, particularly at the expense of Leonardo DiCaprio, but this performance feels more charged and awards worthy than those by recent winners like Colin Firth and Jean Dujardin.

Although Dallas Buyers Club received the bulk of the attention, Mud is actually the more interesting McConaughey film to be released last year. Steeped in southern lore and magical realism and populated by a community of river dwellers, Mud instantly recalls last year’s excellent Beasts of the Southern Wild, but it is largely a homage to the works of Mark Twain. There are stand-ins for Tom Sawyer, Huckleberry Finn and Jim, and there’s even a character named Tom Blankenship (Sam Shepard), which the internet tells me is the name of the man who inspired Huck Finn. The film even has the feel of classic American literature due to its poetic atmosphere, thematic parallels and rampant symbolism (one could easily imagine a term paper on the significance of the titular character’s shirt or the evocative image of a boat lodged high in a tree).

McConaughey plays Mud, a fugitive wanted for murder and hiding out in the aforementioned boat on a deserted island in the Mississippi River. When Ellis (Tye Sheridan) and Neckbone (Jacob Loffland), two tween boys from Arkansas, encounter him on an exploratory adventure, Mud makes them a deal. If they’ll bring him food and help him make contact with his long lost love Juniper (Reese Witherspoon), he’ll gift them his pistol and grant them the squatter’s rights to the boat. Neckbone is intrigued by the pistol, while Ellis is mostly captivated by the romance of it all.

Ellis takes center stage for much of the story, and the film is ultimately a fable about a boy coming to grips with the mad complexities of love. He’s struggling with both the dissolution of his parents’ marriage and his infatuation with an older girl, and in Mud he seems to a have found a kindred romantic soul. He holds out hope that the connection between Mud and Juniper can confirm his faith in love, which can often seem like a cruel joke in the way it melds euphoria with abject disappointment.

The three lead characters of Mud would fit right into a Twain novel.

There’s a lot going on in the film, and writer/director Jeff Nichols juggles most of it very well. While we see the entirety of Ellis’ relationship with his crush, the dynamic between his parents (Sarah Paulson and Ray McKinnon) is fragmented and the one between Mud and Juniper isn't on screen at all. We see what Ellis sees and understand as he understands, and it speaks to the mastery of what Nichols has done that confusing character motivations on the part of some of the adults (especially the women) come into sharp focus as the film reaches its conclusion.

If there’s a misstep, it’s in the inclusion of a subplot involving Neckbone’s uncle. While it allows Nichols regular Michael Shannon to log some screen time, the whole thing feels inconsequential and adds unnecessary bloat to a film that would've been well served by cleaving off 10 minutes.

The below the line aspects are all top notch, and there’s some really great and subtle acting on display here. Both kids give emotive lived-in performances, and Witherspoon does well with a tricky role, striking the right balance as a woman intrigued by grand romanticism, but ultimately reticent and skeptical. And as was the case in Out of the Furnace (reviewed here), Shepard gets to be an old bad ass, but this time he gets a bit more of an opportunity to flex his acting muscles.

As for McConaughey, I’d argue that outside of Rust Cole, this is the greatest performances he’s ever given. There are so many seemingly conflicting things to play here – hope, regret, deception, honor, disgrace, warmth, danger, desperation –and he does it all with such nuance, taking what is a pretty mythical character and grounding him in palpable reality. Nichols has said he wrote the role with McConaughey in mind, and that’s easy to believe. Mud is an excellent showcase for McConaughey’s charisma and chops, and the film even contains a meta joke about being shirtless that is somehow weaved into the fabric of the character.

Like McConaughey’s performance, Mud has an organic quality to it that makes it easy to overlook as merely good at first. But then it lingers in the mind, growing in stature the more you ruminate on it. There’s so much to love here – the themes, the tone, the performances, the cinematography, the music, the iconography. This film is literally overflowing with riches. My favorite takeaway was the shootout toward the end of the picture, a set piece that overcomes its clichéd nature through sheer excellence in staging and visceral impact. When a coming-of-age drama succeeds on so many levels that it even contains my favorite action scene of the year – well, that’s pretty neat.

Dallas Buyers Club B, Mud A-

Polarizing "The Master" Doesn't Quite Connect

Following the most intense, emotionally cathartic scene in
the film,the two stars of this "love story" share a cigarette.
Insert comparison to sex here.

Half-way through Paul Thomas Anderson’s polarizing The Master, someone tells Freddie Quell (a transformative Joaquin Phoenix), our gnarled, disturbed and sex-obsessed protagonist, "He's making all this up as he goes along. You don't see that?"

This accusation is directed at Lancaster Dodd (Phillip Seymour Hoffman), the leader of The Cause, a fanatical cult that is fighting a trillion-year-old battle to purify and free the soul by submitting members to a process that addresses trauma from past lives. It suggests that this man has no answers, no specific insight. But, having seen the film and read just a few of the vast array of interpretations, it's hard for me not to infer an unintended meta commentary.

Here we have a film focused on a man looking for answers in post WWII America, willing to suffer extremes to find salvation. And so this man stumbles upon a charmingly playful and seemingly wise "Master" whose Cause many damaged souls have fully adopted, assumedly because they are captivated by his salesmanship and because they so desperately want to believe. All this, despite the fact that the Master himself is increasingly losing conviction in his own rhetoric, as evidenced by his being drawn to a primal silly animal and a late-in-the-game modification that suggests members "imagine" not "remember" prenatal past during processing sessions.

I would make the case those words of critique can be levied at the film itself. Like Dodd, the film is undeniably compelling as it suggests great truths can be found via submission to its all encompassing greatness. And it too seems to lose conviction as it embraces malleability in a catch-all attempt to maintain some sort of mythic status, while proving to be as hopelessly inquisitive as its titular character.

Extending the comparison, the film also has a number of ardent followers who claim to see deeper meanings beyond the showy surface. They’ll claim those who don’t see the genius aren’t paying close enough attention and argue for multiple viewings that would, I can only assume, beat enlightenment into someone the same way repeatedly walking from a window to a wall might.

Amy Adams gives a frightening and thought-
provoking performance as Peggy Dodd, wife 
and master of Master.

If the film is Dodd, viewers like me are like Freddy Quell. I too attempted to give myself over to uncover a deeper meaning. As a die-hard Anderson fan I wanted to see it, and I can’t deny I was enthralled by the style and the craft. But, in the end, I just couldn't buy into it.

Nevertheless, I can’t quite shake the film, and though I won’t submit, like Freddy, I am still drawn to it. I am in awe of the acting prowess on display and was left amazed at some of the shot compositions and long takes Anderson nestled into the film. I loved how Johnny Greenwood managed to build on his work in There Will Be Blood, offering up an alarming, percussive score that intrudes and unnerves in even the most mundane scenes.

And this thing has a number of indelible sequences, most obviously the don’t-blink examination between Dodd and Freddy, but also a plethora of ambiguous ones that have inspired so much thoughtful analysis from fans (both of Hoffman’s singing scenes, anything with Amy Adams as Dodd’s wife, and the sex scene at the end, to name a few). I like that and see value in it, but ultimately the film is entirely impressionistic, with no more definitive meaning than the Rorsarch inkblots Freddie keeps sexualizing.

If you squint and grit your teeth, you can see all sorts of deeper meanings in The Master. You can project thoughts of repressed homosexuality on the part of Dodd and suggest it’s all really a wonderfully complex super ego/id love story. And that’s all well and good, and I’m certainly intrigued to consider such interpretations, but to me those things aren’t so much remembered as they are imagined. A key difference, I think. B

Les Misérables Fails to Garner Emotional Investment

The casts' Oscar performance was more enjoyable than the film itself.

Steve already provided a thoughtful and in-depth analysis of Les Misérables, so I’m going to cut straight to the point with my assessment. I found the film to be the weakest of the 2012’s Best Picture contenders. Part of that has to do with this year’s strong slate, but, outside of that, I just wasn’t into the film, which left me pretty cold and uninterested (a major problem for a production that relies heavily on emotional investment).

To be fair, I’m not the biggest fan of the stage production anyway, so the deck was stacked against the movie. I think Les Mis has a fantastic soundtrack, and the strength of the music can make for quite an emotional rollercoaster on the stage, but as a narrative, I’ve never been all that impressed. Other than two martyrs and a hardhead, every character is woefully underdeveloped. This is especially obvious in the case of Cosette, who’s nothing more than a plot device despite being the connecting tissue that binds most of the major characters together. In other words, she’s basically the human equivalent of a macguffin in an Indiana Jones film.

Getting back to the film itself, director Tom Hooper is a major part of the problem. Although I admire his decision to have the actors do all the singing live on set (a call that led to a well-deserved sound mixing Oscar), his cutting of the film is almost nonsensical at times, especially during the first hour or so. He makes the interesting choice to use extended close-ups during solos, but more often than not, that results in the whole affair seeming small when what he’s really going for is intimate (if that makes any sense).

Samantha Barks and her distractingly tight corset.

All of the actors do decent jobs with what their given. Hugh Jackman does most of the heavy lifting in this thing, and he’s solid throughout and has a great voice, so his Oscar nomination was hard won. And Anne Hathaway is fully-committed in the role that won her an Oscar. It’s essentially a one-note performance, and I wasn’t nearly as moved by the portrayal as many critics were, but girl’s a good actress and she sings pretty well, so that’s that.

Meanwhile, despite the plethora of criticism I’ve heard, I found Russell Crowe to be pretty good. Hooper does the man no favors with the way his exit scene was cut and staged, but Crowe lends a sense of gravitas to a relentless role that can get pretty frustrating for viewers at times. As for his singing voice – it’s not all that bad. He’s clearly not a match for his cast mates, but it’s not like he pulls a Pierce Brosnan in Mamma Mia. He carries the tune well enough, and his voice has a unique quality to it that contrasts nicely with the rest of the cast.

Oddly enough, I thought the film came across as a powerhouse during the Oscar ceremony itself. The clip reel they cut to showcase it was expertly edited, and the entire cast performed a fantastic medley on stage. If I hadn’t seen the movie already, I would’ve have been tricked into thinking this was a truly great movie musical. But regrettably, the spark from that telecast is not in the actual film. C+

Life of Pi Proves a Thought-Provoking and Majestic Cinematic Experience

In addition to an emotional wallop, Life of Pi offers a feast for the eyes
that really takes advantage of 3D effects.

One of the biggest moments of Sunday’s Oscar telecast was Ben Affleck’s vindicating win for Best Picture, particularly in lieu of the fact that he wasn’t even eligible in the director category despite raking in nearly every other director award this season.  

It’s likely that Affleck would’ve won for directing if he’d been nominated, but, since he wasn’t, Ang Lee netted his second Academy Award for Life of Pi. Regardless of Affleck’s nomination status, I believe the right guy walked away with the Best Director Oscar Sunday night.

Simply put, I thought Life of Pi, which has actually become a surprising smash hit with worldwide grosses exceeding $580 million thus far, was the best movie of 2012 (more on that in a minute). However, even for those who were cold on the film’s framing device or its late breaking twist, it would be hard to deny the directorial achievement.

Yann Martel’s award-winning novel was always going to be a tough story to translate into film, and that proved true over its decade-long development, as a varying number of directors, including M. Night Shyamalan, Alfonso Cuarón and Jean-Pierre Jeunet, continuously failed to crack the nut. Finally, Lee took hold of the story, bringing unparalleled visual scope (aided by ace Oscar-winning VFX work*) and instilling a great deal of heart to the undertaking.

*The VFX work here by Rhythm & Hues Studio is truly remarkable, and their Oscar win this week must’ve been bitter sweet, as they recently claimed bankruptcy. HitFix’s Drew McWeeny posted a very interesting op-ed concerning the future of the VFX industry that’s worth a look for those interested.  Long story short, VFX companies have become the lifeblood of modern filmmaking and yet they are struggling to stay out of the red due to the greedy studios in Hollywood.

The central narrative is actually a story within a story. The framing device involves a writer (Rafe Spall) who visits Pi Patel (Irrfan Khan), a man who has embraced all religious outlooks since youth and somehow manages to practice all of them. The writer has come to hear Pi’s story, as he has been told it is one that will make him believe in God.



Among four Oscar wins, Life of Pi netted a much deserved

trophy for cinematography.



Patel dives into a tale about growing up in India on a zoo that his father owned and operated. In an effort to escape the turbulent political atmosphere in India, Pi’s father ultimately decides to sell off the animals and move the family to Montreal, so he contracts a Japanese ship to transport his family and the animals to Canada. A disaster occurs, and the boat sinks, but the young Pi (Suraj Sharma) manages his way into a lifeboat, ultimately turning up on the shores of Mexico 227 days later.

Spoiler Alert

Those are the definite facts.  Everything else in the movie is eventually left up to interpretation. From there, Pi tells a fantastical story about being stuck on a lifeboat with a friendly orangutan, a dastardly hyena, an injured zebra, and a Bengal tiger named Richard Parker. Pi watches on in horror as the hyena kills both the zebra and orangutan before then being killed by the tiger. Somehow, Pi manages to coexist (and even bond) with Richard Parker. Eventually, the duo spends time on an intimidating carnivorous island before drifting to Mexico where Richard Parker takes off, never to be seen again.

When found, Pi is placed in a hospital where two officials from the Japanese Ministry of Travel visit him to discuss what happened at sea. After they brush off his initial story as too farfetched to be believed, he tells them another more disturbing version of the events. In this second story, Pi says he was not joined by animals in the life boat, but rather three other human survivors – his mother, the ship’s loathsome cook and an injured sailor. Worried about limited supplies, the cook kills the sailor and later eats the man. Eventually, the cook also kills Pi’s mother, causing Pi to enact revenge and murder the cook.**

**Despite casting Gérard Depardieu as the cook, Lee does not show this variation of the story. Instead, he wisely keeps the camera on Sharma as he tells the story, making it an even more powerful and devastating version of events. Sharma is great throughout the film, but the newcomer is particularly revelatory in this scene.

The writer points out the striking similarities between the tales, noting that the orangutan is Pi’s mother, the zebra is the sailor, the hyena is the cook, and Richard Parker is Pi. Pi asks the writer which story he prefers, and the writer responds by saying he prefers the story with Richard Parker, to which Pi responds “and so it goes with God.”

The story can be interpreted in many ways. The easy conclusion is that Pi, unable to face the horror of what really happened, created a fictionalized account to retain his sanity. If that is the truth, it’s still a powerful story about how this very religious man managed to deal with horror of witnessing cannibalism and the harsh reality of being a murderer. However, it’s also possible that it all did happen and Pi was just angrily telling the Japanese officials the story they wanted to hear, or, in his words, “a story they already know.”

Real or not, Richard Parker is a marvel of VFX artistry.

In the end, it doesn’t matter which story is true. The greater question is which story do you prefer – the depressing one that makes logical sense or the miraculous one that requires suspension of disbelief? In the choice between hopeless certainty and uplifting ambiguity, the writer chooses the latter (as do the Japanese officials), and so Pi’s story becomes a tale that convinces man to believe in the unbelievable. In other words, it gives reason to “go with God.”

All of this is far more eloquently and elaborately explored in a fantastic piece by Ben Kendrick over at Screen Rant. I highly recommend checking out the article, which did wonders to illuminate the film for me. Upon exiting the theater, I knew I had seen something great, but after reading Kendrick’s words, it clarified it all for me, proving I’d seen something extraordinary.

Life of Pi is a beautiful film that works on quite a number of levels. It provides boundary-pushing visual splendors, while inviting self reflection and spirited dialogue in its macro exploration of the value of faith. However, on the micro level, it also gives us a tremendously emotional story, made all the more potent by excellent performances from Khan and Sharma, soulful direction by Lee and otherworldly VFX work that turns Richard Parker into a living, breathing character. A+