Blue a Song of Inspiration
Craig Brewer managed to change my mind about two things with his surprising Song Sung Blue. I was wrong about the purpose of musical tribute acts and Kate Hudson. As for the latter, based on her past output, she always struck me an actress of limited means. After seeing her moving, dynamic performance here, I stand corrected. Regarding musical impersonators – rather, interpreters – I’ve come to the conclusion they are far more inspirational than their seemingly parasitic nature would suggest.
Chronicling the ups, downs and ups of Mike and Claire Sardina, the two leads of the Neil Diamond tribute band Lightning and Thunder, the film flirts with melodrama throughout. The subject of a documentary of the same name, the director of that movie, Greg Kohs, was advised not to attempt to make a feature film as no one would likely believe the Sardinas’ story. At times, their circumstances are a bit hard to accept, yet a thorough round of fact-checking confirms the major events portrayed here are true, making the story all the more remarkable.
A Vietnam vet and a recovering alcoholic, Sardina (Jackson) has had more than his fair share of setbacks. Yet, he finds salvation in music, portraying a variety of famous singers in the Milwaukee area, which has a healthy population of such performers. However, he senses his career has hit a wall and he’s eager to reinvent himself. He’s inspired to switch gears when he meets Patsy Cline interpreter supreme, Claire Stingl (Hudson).
Their rapport is instant, as are their musical instincts. Aided by their manager Tom D’Amato (Jim Belushi) who, thanks to his busing service has connections to all of the area casinos, Lightning and Thunder soon has a devoted following that continues to grow. They become such a sensation that Eddie Vedder (John Beckwith) hires them to open for Pearl Jam when they’re in town.
Of course, we’ve seen this story before but what makes Blue unique are the Sardinas’ personal stories, wherein lies the true drama. Stingl’s teenage daughter, Rachel (Ella Anderson) unexpectedly becomes pregnant, Sardina develops a heart condition, and what befalls Stingl defies logic, an event that nearly proves fatal. The movie could have very easily become a ham-fisted, manipulative melodrama, but Brewer, Jackman and Hudson prevent this by playing each scene with sincerity.
With Jackman on board, it comes as no surprise that the musical segments are executed with an enthusiasm that’s infectious. Diamond’s music is well-served here, the actor interpreting these familiar tunes with reverence. Jackman seems to want to convert any non-believers in the audience and if you find yourself humming one of the pop star’s songs for days after, don’t be surprised. As for Hudson, she manages to hold her own on stage, her surprisingly strong voice doing justice to the material. But it’s during the movie’s more intimate moments where she truly shines. The trials Claire must endure are formidable and Hudson displays a sense of courage and optimism that does the woman justice.
In the end, what surprised me most about Blue was how genuinely inspiring it is. This is due in large part because of Jackson and Hudson. There isn’t a trace of irony in either of their performances. While the Sardina’s were committed to paying tribute and honoring Diamond’s work, these screen veterans take a similar approach to their real-life counterparts. The result is a stirring portrait of two people who, despite being repeatedly brought low by cruel fate, continue to believe better times are just around the corner. Don’t be surprised if you shed a tear or two, at the sight of their perseverance paying off. In Theaters.
Marty simply too much to take
Whenever I sit down for a Safdie Brothers’ movie, I’m never sure if I’m going to be entertained or assaulted. Good Time, their overrated 2017 feature that put them on the map, was a manic exercise mistaken for energetic filmmaking. Their equally hectic Uncut Gems was salvaged by Adam Sandler’s dynamic performance and a more streamlined narrative, its nervous energy put to good use as a reflection of its protagonist’s mindset. Going their separate ways, Benny Safdie’s The Smashing Machine employed a jittery visual approach, as we were meant to endure Mark Kerr’s (Dwayne Johnson) trials with him, an approach that never allowed the viewer a moment’s rest.
Now, Josh Safdie’s Marty Supreme ups the ante significantly. Driven by a spirited performance from Timothee Chalamet, this portrait of a ne’er do well in crisis is initially invigorating but ultimately taxing. Unrelenting in its pacing as well as the complexities that befall its anti-hero, this is a film that overstays its welcome, trusting the viewer will be patient and energetic enough to see this exhausting experience to its conclusion. For their trouble, the audience is rewarded with a conclusion that’s as unconvincing as it is trite.
Taking place in 1952, Marty Mauser (Chalamet) is a young man on a mission and nothing or no one will get in his way of accomplishing it. He’ll cheat, steal, and lie to reach his goal of becoming the greatest table tennis player in the world. When he’s not selling shoes at his uncle’s, he’s knocking up his married childhood friend, Rachel (Odessa A’zion), ignoring his ailing mother (Fran Drescher) or engaging in illicit trysts with a has-been actress, Kay Stone (Gwyneth Paltrow).
And then there’s the matter of ping pong, which Mauser is very, very good at. He’d likely achieve his goal if he could get out of his own way, but his ego trips him up at every turn. With a knack of taking a bad situation and making it worse, the brash young man finds himself on the outs with the governing body of the International Table Tennis Association, a situation that forces him to make a deal with the devil, namely businessman Milton Rockwell (Kevin O’Leary), who happens to be Stone’s husband.
The complications that ensue border on the absurd, Mauser having run-ins with the law, nearly getting shot after pulling a con on a bunch of rubes, and dealing with a nefarious character (Abel Ferrera) whose dog he’s turned loose. Ronald Bronstein and Safdie’s incident-heavy script is at turns inspired, then frustrating and finally exhausting. The high-energy approach to this overly complicated story almost sells it, but as with so many modern films, its bloated running time undercuts it in the end.
Supreme is a seductive film. Its meticulous production design recreates a mid-century Big Apple that’s dingy, rundown and claustrophobic, sucking the viewer further in with each successive scene. Equally compelling are the solid performances from the cast. Among them, Paltrow has rarely been this vulnerable or compelling as the actress eager to go back to her glory days, while O’Leary, the businessman of Shark Tank fame, making his film debut, effortlessly commands the screen, his anger and disdain dominating his every scene.
Of course, everything goes back to Chalamet and he’s a marvel. The energy he conjures for each scene is remarkable. He brings a sense of mischief to the role and embraces the opportunity to push the audience away, as Mauser becomes more deplorable as the film progresses. You can tell when a performer is having a good time and it’s obvious Chalamet is having a blast here.
The praise for Supreme has been overwhelming and it’s easy to see why so many have been sucked in by it. Yet, in addition to it being overwhelming, its conclusion didn’t ring true to me. An effort to redeem Mauser with a last-minute epiphany runs counter to all we’ve seen of him before. It lands with a thud. Safdie wants to have his cake and eat it, too, asking us to sit back and chuckle at how reprehensible Mauser is, yet wanting us to embrace him in the end. Hopefully, you’ll be smart enough not to fall for this final scam. In Theaters.
Winslet’s firm hand guides June
Stepping behind the camera for the first time, Kate Winslet displays a firm hand with Goodbye June. A solid debut, the actress finds the proper tone through which to render its delicate subject matter from the start. Working from a script by her son, Joe Anders, the film looks at a family’s collective grief as its matriarch approaches death’s door. The event serves as a reckoning for her children, a sign that it is time to put their petty differences aside, not simply for their mother, but for themselves.
Helen Mirren takes on the title role, one that finds the actress doing most of her scenes from a hospital bed. June has fallen ill, the cancer she’s battling finally getting the best of her. While her doctors might tiptoe around the issue, her son, Connor (Johnny Lee Miller) and three daughters, Julia (Winslet), Molly (Andrea Riseborough) and Helen (Toni Collette) sense that likely her life is finally winding down. Whether her husband, Bernie (Timothy Spall) is aware of this or living in denial is anyone’s guess.
Much of the film plays out like a vigil, family members huddled around and beside June’s bed, catering to her every need, hoping against hope that what they fear may happen can be avoided. Of course, being in such close proximity to one another under such tense circumstances is likely to create some friction and it isn’t long before old grievances and long-held animosities between the siblings erupt.
Molly, a bit scattered what with raising four kids and dealing with a well-meaning husband (Stephen Merchant) who’s not as much help as he should be, has resented Julia for years. The model of stability and a people-pleaser, the elder sibling has been aware of this for some time but has been hesitant to deal with it. As for Helen, she’s the prodigal child, having left home and embraced a New Age lifestyle no one in her family understands. She means well but the others are irked by her act of self-exile. As for Connor, the fact that he still lives with his parents and has no direction is an issue they’ve all been unwilling to address.
Needless to say, all of these issues are dealt with, the urgency of June’s situation lighting a fire under them all. For the most part, these moments are handled deftly, as the veteran cast knows how to walk the line between pathos and melodrama. None of the sentiment is forced, Winslet providing her cast with long takes in order to let these scenes develop and proceed with a natural rhythm. It’s a smart choice and helps ground the film, as does Winslet’s no-nonsense style, as she eschews visual artifice at every turn.
This helps negate some of the familiar troupes Anders leans on as well as some cringe-worthy moments. A nativity scene played out by June’s grandchildren towards the end seems forced and is a bit too cutesy to take seriously, while Bernie’s shenanigans – acting as if nothing is amiss before finally breaking down – comes off as trite, despite Spall’s efforts. Anders’ would do well to apply a shaper edge to his writing in future efforts.
Yet, there are enough sincere moments between the siblings along the way and a truly beautiful ending to help June save it from itself. Winslet’s firm approach to the material and sincere performances from the members of her cast make for a solid enough weeper, one that might make viewers take stock of their own family situation and mend some tattered fences before it’s too late. Streaming on Netflix.
