Gone Girl Review

You don't know what you've got 'til it's...

There are many surprising things about Gone Girl, not the least of which Ben Affleck finally stars in a film I like. A lot. Even more surprising than Affleck’s successful stab at a personal renaissance, are the wild and twisted subject matters his new film takes at every turn. Love, crime, sex, and betrayal - everything a good thriller needs, Gone Girl delivers in spades. Add in a murder-mystery, a Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross score, and the Austen-esque beauty of Rosamund Pike and you’ve got this year’s must-see.

yep

From the offset, Gone Girl is classic Fincher. He had me at that cold opening that evoked equal sensations of paranoia and glee:

“When I think of my wife, I always think of her head…I picture opening her skull, unspooling her brain and sifting through it, trying to catch and pin down her thoughts. What are you thinking, Amy?"

It’s stomach-churningly macabre.

Based off a book of the same name, the film’s premise is simple: Boy marries girl. Girl goes missing. Boy is suspected of murder. It starts off slow in the sleepy town of Missouri on the morning of Nick and Amy Dunne's fifth wedding anniversary. The couple lives a privileged life in picture-perfect suburbia where, behind closed doors, domestic drama runs rife. Amy is an uptight, unemployed magazine writer and Nick is her laid-off deadbeat husband. When Amy vanishes without warning, Nick brings suspicion upon himself by seeming not devastated. Oh yeah, and there’s that time he is photographed bearing a foolish grin beside his wife’s MISSING poster. His reaction is not just perverse - it’s damn hilarious.

What a schmuck

Nick’s tomboyish twin sister Margo (Carrie Coon) swears to stay by his side amidst the media frenzy, although she suspects he is hiding something. Coon, coming off the back of the first season of The Leftovers, is outstanding in her debut movie role and demands everyone take notice. (Did I mention that she should win all the awards ever for her work on that show?)

A seemingly straightforward whodunit crime drama soon diverts into a complex commentary on marriage, psychopathy and media circuses. Fincher explores the dichotomy of who we are as opposed to how we present ourselves. He highlights the personas people pursue to successfully navigate social institutions and intimate relationships alike. At the heart of all the commotion is Nick and Amy's dysfunctional marriage, which is foundering for several reasons. The early stages of their domestic drama are told in flashbacks accompanied by Pike’s haunting narration. Scripted by the original author Gillian Flynn, and sticking closely to the source novel, it’s funny in a grim way, getting more histrionic as events unfold.

The intricacy of plot, the airtight precision of the scenes, and Pike’s cool blondeness resembles that of a Hitchcock film. Twists and turns are plenty, especially in the second half when the tone shifts from self-serious crime drama to all-out erotic thriller. Suddenly the floor is covered in a puddle of blood and lies, and the wacky story elements no longer seem unreasonable but wildly entertaining.

Why everyone needs to brush up on their listening skills (including me)

I willingly admit I’m a terrible listener. I tend to tune out mid-conversation and can barely let a friend finish a story without interrupting. Unfortunately I’m an equally dismal conversationalist and can never think of the right things to say. Social settings have always made me nervous, my mind runs frantic like a lab rat on amphetamines and I generally spout nonsense and make an incredible fool of myself. In one sentence, I can kill a conversation with an inappropriate anecdote, my IQ immediately dropping 20 points in the process. The way I see it: if I make myself as awkward as possible, others around me will feel reasonably well adjusted in comparison, so I’m really doing them a massive favour.

But enough is enough. I have done some soul searching (and a lot of napping, some procrastinating, and more napping) and have come to the realisation that I am obsessed. I am obsessed with trying to articulate the crazy and absurd thoughts in my mind in a way that makes sense. I’m too focused on what I’m saying that I am not listening to what others are saying. That’s right, I have forgotten the basic skills of human communication.

My family calls it ‘selective hearing.’ I hear what I want and block out that which I deem is filler. It’s kind of a superpower. But with great power comes great responsibility, and with my selective hearing comes a whole lot of white noise. Now sometimes this superpower is a lifesaver. For example, I have a great ability to block out unwanted information while appearing like I’m keenly listening. It’s what got me through high-school science class. (Well that, and my brother did my assignments.) But other times, it’s my very own kryptonite. Yes, my selective hearing has left me with the emotional maturity of a two year old. I’m concerned I'm at the age where my lack of basic life skills are transitioning from endearing quirks to tragic character flaws.

Granted, most of us don’t really listen very well. Or if we do manage to listen, we are often just waiting until the other person finishes what they are saying so that we can say what is on our mind. But that’s not really listening, is it? My social anxiety dictates I must not only keep up with the conversation but I must predict the turn it will take next. It’s a catch-22, a cruel self-sabotage. Because of course I end up making very little sense and zoning out at any chance I get. I guess I’m like Walter Mitty that way. Which beckons the question, how much time a day do I spend daydreaming? And how much better off would I be if I used that precious time connecting with the rest of the human race? Or napping? Either one.

Like basket weaving and calligraphy, listening is a rare and underrated art. But while a society without basket weaving may be a miserable dystopia, a world without listening is a full-blown world war. Think about how much petty conflict could be solved if everyone took a time out and just listened. Truly and openly listened.

The only way we learn is by listening. By blocking others out we are doing ourselves a great disservice. Over time we can seal ourselves off from other people until we don’t really know who they are or what concerns them. Eventually, we become more and more self-involved, less open-minded, quick to judge and slow to understand.

So I’m hanging up the cape and cowl. My selective hearing is really no superpower, and I’m no superhero. My occasional fits of egomania are brought swiftly back down to earth when I remember I can barely take care of myself and I still have a lot to learn. So I will listen. Yes, I will listen. Because everyone needs to be heard.

Begin Again

Keira Knightley and Mark Ruffalo team up to bring music to the streets of New York City

Can a song save your life? That is the question posed by John Carney’s new musical drama Begin Again in which a chance encounter between a disgraced music-business executive and a young singer-songwriter turns into the musical collaboration of a lifetime.

Mark Ruffalo stars as Dan, a once popular record producer who has fallen into obscurity after being shunned by his own indie label. Separated from his wife, Miriam (Catherine Keener), and estranged from his daughter Violet (Hailee Steinfeld), he lives alone in a small city apartment and spends his days smoking, drinking and sleeping in. One miserable evening he drunkenly stumbles into a bar on open mic night and falls head over heels in love with a song by Brit folk singer and guitarist Greta (Keira Knightley).  He is convinced she is the next big thing but Greta needs persuading. Sure enough, a few drinks later, she warms to the idea after he promises to produce the tracks himself on a low budget. What follows is a story about the making of a musical record that explores an amalgamation of themes including musical purity versus commercial success, broken families, unrequited love and the saving grace of music.

Knightley supplies her own understated vocals; her melodic tone serendipitously matches Greta’s timid confidence. In a spot of perfect casting, Adam Levine plays her self-absorbed boyfriend and musician partner on the cusp of stardom. While he is drawn to fame, Greta remains comfortable enjoying a level of anonymity – “I’m not a singer. I just write songs from time to time,” she confesses. 

Director John Carney follows in the footsteps of his last musical feature Once by giving the drama a naturalistic quality and filming largely by improvisation. There is an in-the-moment freshness about the musical numbers, which take place in the grit of New York City with the trashcans, car engines and sirens blazing. The script doesn’t take the expected routes but instead remains fresh and heartfelt. It actively rejects easy romantic troupes while the accompanying soundtrack inspires all the right warm and fuzzy moments (and some not-so-warm-and-fuzzy moments) that an audience desires. The film is not a musical but rather a film with music – an ode to artists and creativity in the city of blinding lights.

Begin Again has a personal element that’s missing from most contemporary romantic comedies. There’s a level of reality to the performances and a bitter sweetness in the music. Director John Carney has put his heart and soul into a story we all can relate to, whether we are musicians or happy listeners, that is told in a genuinely gentle and romantic way. It hits the sweet spot just right.

Dawn of the Planet of the Apes Review

All hail Caesar!

Andy Serkis as Caesar

It is an extremely rare occurrence when a movie rightly deserves to be called epic. Scale alone can be impressive but it takes a level of nuance for a big film to make an equally big impact on an audience. Dawn of the Planet of the Apes understands that which most blockbusters don’t, that epicness isn’t defined by length or bombasticity but by engaging strong characters with a sweeping landscape. That landscape happens to be in the hills of the forest North of San Francisco where Caeser governs a new generation of hyper-intelligent apes who communicate via sign language. Following the events of the first film, a virus has caused the collapse of human civilization and the apes have found a familial peace with each other in the new world order.

All is well in the rocky treetops where they have built Swiss-Family-Robinson-like homes for themselves. But life in Eden is about to change because humans are not all yet extinct. Those genetically immune to the virus have survived and are looking to rebuild.  Soon enough a pack of rangers led by a man named Malcolm crosses paths with the apes and attempts reconciliation in exchange for granted access to a hydroelectric dam to power the fallen city. But Ceasar is hesitant to trust humans after suffering at their hands. He senses war is looming and will do anything to protect his family, anything to prevent apes from falling – ‘Apes together, strong,’ he signs. Indeed Caesar is an epic character and we are drawn to him like a magnetic. The fact that he is entirely rendered on a computer is beside the point that he elicits more emotion than any other character – Andy Serkis is completely transparent in role. I don’t know how the special effects team pulled it off and I don’t want to know. The magic is in the not knowing.

From the offset, Dawn exudes a feeling of timelessness unlike I’ve ever felt from a Hollywood sci-fi. It effortlessly lured me into believing the unbelievable, that computer technology, when used as an aid to story rather than a distraction, can advance cinema in ways I once thought impossible. The skeptic in me was floored by the realness of the motion capture that captures every frown, every crease, every eye movement from the real actors. Some of it may look silly on the posters or in the trailer but it doesn’t feel silly once you’re swept into the narrative. The screenplay is intelligent and engaging on many levels, the core moral drama is weighty and moving. The tension is high, the emotion even higher: for a big blockbuster that’s almost unheard of. I got so used to watching pulp I’d forgotten what it was like to be treated as a thinking, breathing audience member.

It’s not so much the plot I was surprised by, as it was the confidence and gusto with which it was carried out. The human characters are secondary to Caeser who is the hero of the piece. The very real dilemma of peacemaking between species is endlessly fascinating and poses some serious moral questions. From the personal to the spectacle, the film stands above its competition produced this year. Like in the case of Peter Jackson’s King Kong and Alfonso Cuaron’s Gravity, this is not one to miss on the big screen. (Although I suspect it holds up remarkably better than the others on a small screen).

Since the series reboot in 2011, all storytelling and technological triumphs have grown from strength to strength to create a haunting setup for a third installment.  Now having been spoiled, I don’t think I’ll ever understand why filmmakers of talent waste their time producing meaningless dribble. Director Matt Reeves has made something I suspect will only grow in prolificness in years to come. If my praise sounds too high, it is only because it has previously been very low. Once in a while a movie comes along and takes you by surprise simply because it believes itself as is the case with Dawn of the Planet of the Apes. The lack of gimmickry and flashiness only strengthens the appeal of the visual. Say goodbye to the boorish kineticism of loud and clangy blockbuster counterparts. When mature and considered, tech and story together, strong!