Showing posts with label Kirsten Dunst. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Kirsten Dunst. Show all posts
Thursday, April 14, 2016
Midnight Special
All ‘Midnight Special’ had to do to earn itself a pass from The Agitation of the Mind was simply be good. That might sound like a fatuous statement, but believe me ‘Midnight Special’ could easily have been a disaster. Given the current climate of mainstream American cinema, it would have been all too easy for ‘Midnight Special’ to be terrible. Consider this synopsis: a young boy exhibiting otherworldly powers is hunted by the government (who want to weaponise him) and a religious cult (who see him as a shortcut to the rapture); his estranged parents and a small coterie of sympathisers set out on a desperate odyssey to protect him. Now consider the material in the hands of Michael Bay: flashy effects work and soulless violence. Or Neill Blomkamp: grimy effects work and nihilistic violence. Or J.J. Abrams: lens-flare-saturated effects work and sub-Spielberg mawkishness.
Fortunately, ‘Midnight Special’ was written and directed by Jeff Nichols, the man behind 2012’s sublime rites-of-passage genre ‘Mud’, and he brings to the table every plus point of that film: the confidence to foreground character and allow a slow-burn atmosphere to develop in its own good time; an acute sense of place and the ability to demonstrate in visual terms how character and location interact; a nuanced understanding of the fragility of innocence and the terrible things that lurk behind the wonders of an unexplored environment; the complex dynamics of familial relationships; a heartfelt empathy with outsiders; and a facility, as director, to elicit pitch-perfect performances, particularly from younger cast members.
Subject of which, step forward Jaeden Lieberher as Alton Meyer, the young lad at the heart of the story. He gives a performance far beyond his years, utterly convincing through every stage of Alton’s character arc. I could say more, but I want to keep this review devoid of spoilers. ‘Midnight Special’ hasn’t been heavily trailered or advertised and in one respect this is a good thing as it lets the audience discover the film on its own terms, but in another is unfortunate as it will, in all likelihood, come and go from multiplex screens within only a week or two, a small but brilliant film unceremoniously cleared out to free up as many screens as possible for ‘Captain America: Civil War’. Which is why I urge anyone reading these pages to catch ‘Midnight Special’ immediately. Don’t let the opportunity to see it on the big screen slip through your fingers. I am convinced that this film is destined for cult classic – if not outright modern classic – status.
Nichols’ script fleet-footedly dodges every possible cliché or hint of melodrama; what could have been an unholy conflation of ‘Firestarter’, ‘Super 8’ and ‘Red State’ emerges as an uncompromised artistic statement. The narrative begins in media res; a steady accretion of detail fills in backstory, interrelationships and the full context of what’s at stake. Nichols structures much of the first half as a road movie/on-the-run thriller. But without ever sacrificing the finer nuances of his story for the sake of obvious thrilleramics. Which isn’t to say he can’t stage a shockingly sudden shoot-out or a gripping car chase when the moment requires it. Another analogue with ‘Mud’: that film’s final act where the ‘Stand By Me’-style poignancy yields to a scene of joltingly edited bit of gunplay that gets its Peckinpah funk on.
The twin antagonists of ‘Midnight Special’ – state and religion – are obvious targets, but Nichols refuses to trivialise them or score cheap points. The religious cult are treated as stoic types who are convinced they are right, but function as a community in their own right. They aren’t slavering fanatics, demented extremists or lascivious hypocrites; even when they stage their last gasp attempt at kidnapping Alton, force is used sparingly and human doubts are all to evident behind their desperate actions. Likewise, the government/military types emerge as people doing a job instead of jargon-grunting hard-asses.
Every aspect of ‘Midnight Special’ – right up to its gorgeously realised final reel flight of fantasy (a phrase I use as recommendation not pejorative) – is grounded in reality. Its vision of Americana comprises motels, gas stations, small towns and vast swathes of open country. The openness of its road movie elements is in constant counterpoint to the intimacy of its character dynamics and the tense inevitability of what its main characters are fleeing from.
Visually, the film is precise, focused and incredibly well thought-out (its palette of nocturnal landscapes and low-lit interiors gradually cedes – in a way that’s inextricably bound up with the narrative – to the ethereal glow of the magic hour and finally the stark absolute of daylight. Adam Stone’s cinematography is something I want to write a love-letter to. Ditto David Wingo’s score. Acting-wise, I’ve already hailed Lieberher; Michael Shannon, Joel Edgerton, Sam Shepherd and Adam Driver – all damn good actors – deliver effectively restrained performances. Kirsten Dunst is as good as I’ve ever seen her: a late-in-the-game scenes requires her to go from buttoned-down pragmatism to awestruck; and with one piercing look that combines woundedness, stupefaction and something of the transcendental, she pulls off a moment of cinematic alchemy.
In fact, you can apply that description to Nichols as regards his achievement with the film entire. ‘Midnight Special’ is a riveting, enigmatic, thought-provoking and ultimately beautiful work of cinema. It may well be the best American film of the year.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Notable birthdays
As regular readers of this blog will be aware, I share a birthday with Kirsten Dunst. Now, I don't know what Ms Dunst's plans for the day are, but I've had a pretty damn good time so far - it's involved a day off work, being taken out for a meal, a trip to the cinema and several beers - and the night ain't over yet.
To mark the occasion, and allowing for the fact that Kirsten Dunst beats me hands down in the photogenic department, I'm eschewing birthday cake for cheesecake - specifically, the ten images that follow.
I'll be back tomorrow for the start of Clint Eastwood month on Agitation (hangover permitting).

To mark the occasion, and allowing for the fact that Kirsten Dunst beats me hands down in the photogenic department, I'm eschewing birthday cake for cheesecake - specifically, the ten images that follow.
I'll be back tomorrow for the start of Clint Eastwood month on Agitation (hangover permitting).

Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Elizabethtown
Pray indulge me in a couple of paragraphs of name-dropping, tenuous connections and simpering fanboy subjectivity. Still with me? Good. Here goes:I share a birthday - today - with Kirsten Dunst. I also share said birthday with Willie Nelson, Burt Young and the King of Sweden, but while Mr Nelson has cut some damn good records, Burt Young has fetched up in a Peckinpah movie ('The Killer Elite') and the King of Sweden is ... well ... the main royal dude in Volvo-Land, it's Ms Dunst I'm turning my attention to because, quickly frankly, she wins out in the cuteness and likeability stakes.
Now, in the interests of fairness, it has to be said I've never met Kirsten Dunst (nor have I ever met Messrs Nelson, Young or K of S), so it's an open field as to whom might prove the better drinking buddy or make that decisive shot in a game of doubles round the pool table. I'm basing my bias solely on the impression I get from Kirsten Dunst's onscreen persona. And - I say it again - it's purely subjective. A personal predilection. But when I watch Ms Dunst - in any movie (and how many actresses would I have sat through 'Bring It On' for?) - I get the same feeling, the same borderline adoration that, say, Audrey Tatou inspires in 'Amelie', or Amy Adams in 'Enchanted'.
This is something that my partner is likely to read, so I'd best curtail these musings before I'm summarily evicted to the doghouse, birthday or no birthday, and get to the business at hand:
'Elizabethtown'. Which is, in my humble opinion, Cameron Crowe's best film. At this point, I'm guessing the average response is going to be: Yeah whatever, you're only saying that because you fancy the leading lady. Take a cold shower, say five Hail Marys and watch 'Almost Famous' again. Good call. 'Almost Famous' is arguably Crowe's purest film: like 'Elizabethtown', it is free of the metaphysical pretensions of 'Vanilla Sky' and unburdened with the histrionics that marred 'Jerry Maguire' (even now, just thinking about Cuba Gooding Jnr jumping up and down bawling "Show me the money" makes me want to punch him).
'Elizabethtown', though ... the first time I saw it, it reminded me why I love movies.
The opening sees shoe designer Drew Baylor (Orlando Bloom) summarily dismissed after his bold new design for a sports shoe spectacularly fails, costing the company millions. $974 million, to be exact. "You can kind of round it off to a billion," CEO Phil DeVoss (Alec Baldwin) wryly opines. Depressed, dumped by trophy girlfriend Ellen (Jessica Biel), Drew is in a 'goodnight Vienna' kind of mood. In a sequence that's funnier that it has any right to be, he rigs up his exercise machine with a non-manufacturer-approved attachment: a gleaming, wickedly sharp kitchen knife. Only for the duct tape to give out and the knife fall off at the point of impact.
This is when Drew gets a phone call from his sister Heather (Judy Greer) informing him that their father has just died. Highly-strung Heather is freaking out and demands that Drew drop everything and come home to take charge of the arrangements ("you're the responsible one"). Drew takes a long-haul red-eye flight to Louisville, where his father was visiting family in the town of his birth. Drew's hyperactive mother (Susan Sarandon, in her best performance in years) gives him strict instructions to represent her side of the family and organise the cremation. She is also scathingly critical of the paternal side of the family.
So it is that Drew heads to Elizabethtown, not knowing what to expect. What he finds is a simpler way of life, a genuine sense of community and fraternity; what he learns is the true meaning of family.
On the flight, he meets quirky flight attendant Claire (Dunst at her most radiant). An unlikely friendship develops, then deepens, and Drew eventually realises that his life, far from being over, is just beginning. Their courtship is gently and lovingly sketched: the pivotal telephone conversation, played out against a backdrop of rowdy revellers who overrun the hotel Drew checks into; the drive through the night, just to meet for a few moments ("we peaked on the phone"); Claire accompanying Drew to choose his father's urn; that kiss.
'Elizabethtown' is film of many levels and many emotions: black comedy segues into Capraesque magical realism, family drama rubs shoulders with feel good romance, and the final act evolves into a freewheeling road movie.
Perhaps the most memorable set piece involves a performance of Lynyrd Skynyrd's 'Free Bird' and gives a whole new meaning to the phrase "and the band played on". Music, of course, has always been a hallmark of Crowe's film-making, and 'Elizabethtown' boasts the kind of soundtrack you'd expect. First time I saw the film, at Nottingham's Cineworld multiplex, I headed straight for Virgin afterwards and bought the CD. It's massaged the ears on many a car journey since.
Granted, 'Elizabethtown' slips into sentimentality on more than one occasion, and Crowe pulls a final reel steal from 'Amelie' that shouldn't have been necessary for a director of his calibre, but - ultimately - who cares? 'Elizabethtown' is a beautiful, life-affirming film, best seen with someone you care about.
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