Bentley’s Dreams examines a quiet life bravely lived
In adapting Denis Johnson’s novella Train Dreams, director Clint Bentley has pulled off a small miracle. This quiet, touching film runs counter to so many accepted notions of what makes up a movie. The plot, such as it is, is rather bare, the incidents that propel it are few and if one were to offer up a summary of it, the result would likely read as if it were a thumbnail sketch rather than a complete telling.
And yet, therein lies part of the film’s power as in taking this approach, Bentley allows us to take part in the experiences of his characters in an uncommonly intimate fashion. We share in their wonder, pride, joy and heartache because there is so little in the way of extraneous plot, sound and sights that clutter so much today’s cinematic fare. This is a vulnerable movie, one in which the viewer is invited to partake in due to its stripped-down construction, allowing us to forge an uncommon emotional connection to its characters.
Robert Grainier (Joel Edgerton) is an early 20th-century nomad, navigating the Pacific Northwest. The logger and railroad worker, axe in hand, moves from one lumber camp to the next, and while he earns a good wage, it’s the things he experiences and the people he meets that prove to be of greater value. As with many men, his wandering days come to an end when a woman catches his eye. Though initially coy, Gladys (Felicity Jones) is well aware of the power she has over Grainier, who willingly marries and settles down with her.
They build a house in the woods, have a daughter and attempt to eke out an existence. This proves difficult and Grainier, taking up his axe once more, leaves them both for long periods of time to return to the work he knows best. Less than ideal, this situation goes on for a couple of years, until a tragedy strikes that upends their lives.
It seems trite and lazy to refer to locations as characters in a story, but it’s never been truer than it is here. Bentley and cinematographer Adolpho Veloso captures the forests of the Pacific Northwest in all their grandeur, conveying not simply the beauty and wonder then contain but their danger and peril as well. The director uses the ambient sounds of the setting as well as serene periods of quiet to convey the sense of peace Grainier takes from this place, and in turn we feel it, too. Veloso’s camera captures these surroundings from a variety of angles, underscoring its vast size in one moment, capturing its intimate, secluded nature in another. A repeated shot of parallel rows of trees soaring in the air, creating the illusion of a cathedral is no accident.
Edgerton and Jones are an appealing pair, he shy and deliberate, she outgoing and eager. The performers complement each other wonderfully, an obvious sense of affection between them, an emotional bond conveyed we can’t help but appreciate and long for ourselves. They are ably supported by William H. Macy as Arn Peeples, a sage demolitions expert who is far more conscious of the damage he’s doing to the environment than his axe-swinging co-workers. With a lesser performer, the character’s pronouncements regarding the interconnectivity that exists between us and nature would have come off as stilted or ridiculous. In Macy’s hands, they are poetry. The always welcome Kerry Condon makes a third-act appearance as Claire Thompson, a woman who’s suffered a profound tragedy yet has found the will to go on. The actress’ deft, assured approach ensures that this character, though appearing briefly on screen, has the emotional impact the story requires.
And yet, everything returns to Edgerton, who strides through the movie in a seeming unassuming manner, conveying a myriad emotions with a small glance, gesture or inflection. His minimalist approach resonates with the viewer as it is one without effect, a vulnerability coming through his stoic exterior that results in a haunting vicarious experience.
And while I’ve done my best to communicate the power of Train Dreams, I know I have fallen short in imparting how unique and powerful it is. It’s a movie you feel, one that once seen will likely never be far from your mind. Though Grainier and those that know him would likely describe his life as unremarkable, his experiences are the very stuff that constitute our existence. We recognize and identify with his moments of joy and incidents of good fortune, but it is the quiet heroism he displays in the face of tragedy and adversity that I will draw from. These are extraordinary moments that aren’t easily forgotten, their value immeasurable when despair is at hand. Streaming on Netflix.
Scattered For Good fails to engage
While I know this will seem like heresy to its millions of fans, I found Wicked: For Good, much like its predecessor, to be a frustrating experience. Taking the two hour and forty-five-minute play and rendering it as a two-film, nearly five-hour cinematic event may ensure big box office returns for Universal Pictures, but in the end, it proves to be an artistic blunder. Just as part one was building a head of steam, things came to an inopportune halt. Unfortunately, For Good never manages to rekindle the story’s urgency, director Jon M. Chu’s one-step-forward-two-steps back approach preventing the film from getting its hooks in you. It’s on solid ground whenever it examines the political machinations of Oz and its corrupt “wizard,” yet stumbles whenever any of its 12 forgettable songs are warbled.
Things get off to an abrupt start as we see Elphaba (Cynthia Erivo) rescue some mistreated yak being used to build the Wizard’s (Jeff Goldblum) Yellow Brick Road. Seems she has taken it upon herself to stand up for the downtrodden – animals and munchkins – while attempting to expose the corrupt nature of Oz’s government. Meanwhile, her former bestie Glinda (Ariana Grande) is content to be used as a tool to keep the masses in check. Madame Morrible (Michelle Yeoh) reminds her of her duty to be pleasant to the peasants as she dispenses the Wizard’s propaganda, outfitting her with a magic flying bubble to deliver her message far and wide.
Meanwhile – and there are a lot of “meanwhiles” to contend with – Fiyero (Jonathan Bailey) has been charged with apprehending Elphaba, Boq (Ethan Slater) is trying to navigate his personal and professional responsibilities with Nessarose (Marissa Bode), the leader of Munchinkinland and Elphaba’s sister, while a mass exodus of abused animals is underway. Oh, and lest I forget, the arrival of a plaid-clad outsider from Kansas provides the Wizard with another tool to turn the tide against the green-skinned witch.
There are a lot of balls in the air here, and I haven’t even mentioned the two heroines’ fraught relationship, Glinda’s efforts to marry Fiyero or Elphaba’s attempts to stoke a rebellion. It’s all too much and none of it feels fully developed or satisfying. Due to the competing storylines, the film has a choppy and, at times, disjointed nature to it that makes it hard to invest in.
That being said, it’s second act is quite good, providing some unexpected twists and taking time to effectively drive home its point regarding political corruption. Goldblum’s wry rendering of “Wonderful,” in which he sings about how easy it is to dupe a desperate populace, is done with a kind of mirth missing from the rest of the film. That this song is a commentary of our own contemporary politics will be missed by no one. Equally intriguing are the explanations of how the Tin Man, Scarecrow and Cowardly Lion came to be, as well as the origin of the Ruby Red Slippers and their importance to Elphaba. Clever stuff, all of this, yet once these elements are introduced, they’re left to wither on the vine.
Perhaps most frustrating are the brief glimpses of Dorothy and her three cohorts. Their appearances happen quickly and almost in passing, Chu and writers Winnie Holzman and Dana Fox relying on the fact we know their backstory and leaving it at that. However, this is a far from satisfying approach, as we long to see a new take on these characters and see them interact with Elphaba and the rest, to provide a new slant on the well-known events from the 1939 classic film.
As it stumbled through its last 20 minutes, I kept wondering when it would all be over for good. Three logical stopping points occur and yet, still it went on, finally concluding with a revelation that fails to make narrative sense but provides a semi-feelgood ending for the audience. In the end, Wicked: For Good is a bit of a mess, failing to capitalize on the momentum of the first entry, its over-busy, choppy structure preventing this viewer from becoming emotionally engaged. In Theaters.
Fraser buoys timely Family
Phillip (Brendan Fraser) seems content to drift along. An American actor in Tokyo, he came to the country to star in a series of toothpaste commercials and, with no family back home, decided to stay. Seven years on, his career hasn’t progressed and he’s failed to make any meaningful personal connections. He seems just fine with that. Then again, you can’t miss what you never had so he goes from one meaningless gig to the next, walking daily among other lonely souls, oblivious to their solitude, content to wallow in his own. That is, until an opportunity falls in his lap that dramatically shows him what he’s been missing.
Phillip is the focal point of Hikari’s Rental Family, a deftly rendered character study that also serves as a social commentary on the international loneliness epidemic that’s taken hold. While the internet and social media were touted as tools that would bring us closer, the opposite has occurred. Isolation has become the preferred mode of existence for the young, as social interactions are avoided like the plague, true intimacy a casualty of technological advancements. Family proves a gentle and effective reminder of its value.
Used as a therapeutic tool, Shinji Tada (Takehiro Hira) owns a rental family agency. He provides actors to stand in as close friends or family members, role playing in situations his clients find to be therapeutic. Phillip stumbles upon this agency, is hired as the token American and soon finds himself performing a wide variety of roles. Among the most important is that of pretending to be the father of a young girl named Mia (Shannon Mahina Gorman). Her single mother needs him to complete the illusion that her daughter comes from a stable family so she can get into a private school. Phillip’s other major client is Kikuo (Akira Emoto), a former film actor. His daughter has hired him to pretend to be a reporter sent to interview the old man to write a retrospective of his work.
As one would imagine, the lines begin to blur for our hero and he soon begins forging emotional bonds with both of his subjects. His having to leave Mia once his job is done, the girl firmly believing he is her father, is heartrending. His connection with Kikuo proves more immediately beneficial as he helps him unearth memories of a past love he hoped to find before the dementia he’s battling takes its toll.
The success of the movie relies heavily on the inherent appeal of its lead. Likable and vulnerable, Fraser is the perfect choice for Phillip, the actor’s unassuming nature complimenting his character’s easy-going demeanor. The sympathy we feel for him is immediate, as is our desire that he finds some degree of happiness.
As the film progresses it seems as if Hikari and her co-writer, Stephan Blahut, have written themselves into a corner. We assume that once the ruse is exposed, emotional calamity will ensue on both fronts. However, something surprisingly genuine emerges when Phillip comes clean, the make-believe bonds he’s formed with Mia and Kikuo managing to transcend the subterfuge that created them. It requires a deft touch and the potential insincerity of each moment is trumped by the actors’ sincerity.
Some will dismiss Family as contrived, naïve and sappy. It would be hard to argue against these charges yet the optimism of and need for its message outweighs these concerns. Depending on how you see the proverbial half-filled (or is it half-empty?) glass of water will determine whether you accept the gift Hikari has to offer or brush it aside as an insincere, manipulative exercise. In Theaters.
