Keaton, cast excel in moving Goodrich
In Goodrich, Michael Keaton gives a standout
performance as a man finding hope, when reason tells him there is none. A
California gallery owner, Goodrich’s wake-up call comes when he gets a phone
call from his wife (Laura Benanti), telling him she’s checked into a 90-day
rehab center, and he’ll have to hold down the fort without her. This knocks him
for a loop as she’s never confided her troubles to him, and he’s been
blissfully unaware of substance abuse.
As a result, Goodrich’s eyes are opened to the significant
people in his life, all of whom he assumed were doing fine. His 9-year-old twins (Michael Chieffo and
Vivien Lyra Blair) clue him in on their mothers’ troubles, as well as the fact
their school is a very strict environment that will require his attention.
Meanwhile, his daughter from his first
marriage, Grace (Mila Kunis), is pregnant and seemingly has come to terms with her father’s indifference
towards her over the years. So, she can’t help but feel a bit of resentment
when he calls, asking her to babysit the twins.
That he keeps calling her by her other daughter’s name doesn’t help.
Adding to his woes, his gallery is failing and may have to close after over 30
years.
What makes Goodrich stand out are its wonderfully
realized, intimate moments. Long-delayed conversations take place that cut to
the heart of the characters’ hurt and concerns, most of them done with a quiet
conviction that makes them ring true. The script by director Hallie
Meyers-Shyer contains smart observations regarding human behavior, the
audience’s connection with her characters easy and immediate.
The nuanced performances from the cast further our emotional
investment, none of them too grand or overdramatic, each grounded and so real
that, at times, a sense of eavesdropping occurs that draws us in even
further. Kunis has never been better,
her long-simmering rage barely contained by her “I’m just fine,” façade, while
screen vets Kevin Pollak and Andie McDowell punch up their brief scenes as
Goodrich’s business partner and first wife, respectively.
Of course, Keaton is in the spotlight throughout, pulling
off the tricky assignment of making a seemingly selfish cad relatable and
appealing. The actor never lets us forget that despite Goodrich’s failings, his
intentions are always sound, and that he truly does care and worry about his family
and employees. He projects vulnerability, as well as a genuine sense of
optimism, resulting in one of his most flawed characters, but one of his most
sympathetic as well.
In today’s movie marketplace, Goodrich will likely
not reach the audience it deserves. Thirty-five years ago, it would have been allowed to
stay in theaters, generating good word-of-mouth that would have prompted
viewers to find it. Here’s hoping word spreads once it hits whatever streaming
service it’s destined for. The film
deserves a better fate than what’s in store, but more importantly, you, dear
viewer, need to give the film a look. Believe me, you’ll be better off for it. In
theaters.
Lacerating Rumours takes no prisoners
What do you get when you take the leaders of the G7 nations,
put them in the center of an apocalypse and abandon them to their own devices,
not an aide or press secretary in sight? The answer is provided by Rumours, an end-of-the-world political satire from directors Evan and Galen Johnson and
Guy Maddin that, in very broad strokes, points out just how out of touch are
leaders are with reality.
Germany is the site of the latest G7 conference, Chancellor
Hilda Orlmann (Cate Blanchett) an eager and gracious host. The president of the
United States, Edison Wolcott (Charles Dance), exudes gravitas, while the Prime
Minister of Italy, Antonio Lamorle (Roland Rovello), attending his first
conference, is like a duck out of water. The tension between prime ministers
Cardosa Dewindt (Nikki Amuka-Bird) and Maxine Laplace (Roy Dupuis), of the
United Kingdom and Canada, respectively, is palpable. After a fling at the
previous conference, she refused to take his calls. Very little diplomacy is happening
there. Rounding out the group are French president Sylvain Broulez (Denis Menochet) and Prime Minister Tatsuro
Iwasaki (Takehiro Hira) of Japan, both ensconced in their own little worlds of
self-importance.
Gathering at a remote gazebo on Orlmann’s estate, the group
sets out to write a statement regarding “the present crisis.” The crisis is
never named, as it is of little importance.
We know whatever they write will have no effect, their futility obvious
to everyone but them. While engaged in this exercise, they slowly begin to
notice their assistants have gone missing, cellphone service is out, and
there’s an ominous orange glow in the sky. Then there’s the matter of the inky
black, zombie-like creatures they see shambling about. They’re up to no good.
Oh, and I can’t forget to mention the brain they find in the forest, a brain as
big as a car.
Logic has no bearing on any of this as the three directors
use the broadest of strokes in painting this parody. Just what the oversized
cerebrum represents is anyone’s guess, though I suspect it has something to do
with how easily people are led astray by a radical but empty ideology. Alicia Vikander showing up as president of
the European Union, speaking in tongues after having come in contact with it,
is a clue.
How the countries are portrayed via the actions of their
leaders is telling as well. That the French president has to ultimately be
carted around in a wheelbarrow by the heads of other nations is spot on, as is
the behavior of Wolcott, the U.S. president, a sleepy old man past his prime,
who speaks of past deeds but has little to offer.
The lacerating commentary continues to the very end, it
slowly dawning on the leaders how ineffective they truly are. Rumours is not for all tastes, yet its audacious approach proves refreshing
and on point, the trio of filmmakers taking no prisons in calling out the
charade that is international politics. In theaters.
Saturday Night overcomes incessant fudging
There’s a bit more factual compression than usual at play in
Jason Reitman’s Saturday Night, a well-intentioned tribute to the
seminal television institution that manages to, ironically, overcome its own
ambition. A ticking-click movie, the day
is Oct. 11, 1975, the time is 10 p.m. and in 90 minutes, Lorene Michaels
(Gabriel LaBelle) will unveil NBC’S Saturday Night. Citing the time
serves a purpose as Reitman calls back to it throughout, letting us see it edge
closer and closer to 11:30, a futile effort to increase the suspense relating
to events we know the conclusion to.
In the director’s hyperactive hands, the camera prowls
around studio 8H, a hive of activity in which one crisis after another is
occurring. Michaels’ wife and
co-producer Rosie Schuster (Rachel Sennott) is trying to coax John Belushi
(Matt Wood) out of a funk and get him to sign his contract. Chevy Chase’s (Cory
Michael Smith) arrogance is on full display, as he insults anyone who dares
cross his path, Dan Aykroyd (Dylan O’Brien) is borderline manic, hitting on
every woman he sees, while Garrett Morris (Lamorne Morris) is wondering what
his role is on the show. Meanwhile, the
female cast members, Jane Curtain (Kim Matula), Gilda Radner (Ella Hunt) and
Laraine Newman (Emily Fairn), have come to realize they will be marginalized on
this “boy’s club” show, each dealing with it in their own way.
Many well-known incidents in “SNL” lore, all of them
fascinating and well-executed, are included.
Writer Michael O’Donoghue’s (Tommy Dewey) battles with the NBC censor, a
near-fatal incident occurs involving Belushi, Radner and a falling lighting rig, and
Jim Henson’s (Nicholas Braun) frustration over how his Muppets will be used on
the show are all on display.
The problem is none of these events occurred during the 90
minutes leading up to the first episode. Exacerbating the issue are scenes
fabricated exclusively for the film. A meeting between Chase and Milton Berle
(J.K. Simmons), who wouldn’t host the show until season four, is an incident
you wish were true but isn’t, while Michaels hiring writer Alan Zweibel (Josh
Brener) minutes before the show is a fabrication, as is a disparaging phone
call from Johnny Carson.
Obviously, tinkering with the truth as well as compressing
events are part and parcel for fact-based movies. However, creating a false sense of urgency is
unnecessary, as is the overuse of Reitman’s constantly moving camera, which is
ultimately distracting as it calls attention to itself. This may seem nit-picky, but the lore surrounding SNL is so fascinating, it makes these kinds of
manipulations unnecessary.
To be sure, the young performers hired to bring SNL’s inaugural
cast to life are all good, while fine work from Cooper Hoffman as NBC producer
Dick Ebersole, Matthew Rhys as George Carlin and Willem Dafoe as NBC executive
Dave Tebet contribute to one of the best ensembles seen on screen this year. In
addition to the acting, long-time fans of the show will likely be pleased, as
more than anything, Saturday Night recreates the sense of chaos and the
possibilities it created in that era’s world of comedy, a reminder of the
genre’s purpose which is sorely missing today.
In theaters.
This article appears in Citizens want a voice in CWLP.
