Becoming Jane

"What's she doing?"

"Writing."

"Can't something be done about it?"

So goes the reaction to Jane Austen's inclination to start writing in the middle of social engagements, at least as depicted in the upcoming Becoming Jane. It doesn't hit theaters on this side of the pond until August, but the movie's finished and I'm important, so I got to see it this morning.

Based on the few remaining letters between Austen and her sister, Cassandra, the film follows the pre-fame author as she navigates through the courtships, true love, familial duties, and financial responsibilities of an eligible young woman in late-18th-century England.

I'm such a sucker for this stuff. The proprieties of the day, the marriages forged more for standing than affection, the women's corsets and men's tails, the wax-sealed notes delivered on silver trays...I'm fairly certain that it all could stand as the definition of "romantic" in my book. And Austen's story, much like Elizabeth Bennet's or Elinor Dashwood's, is rife with romantic drama and unusual levels of independent thinking. There are worthy suitors and poetic inspirations at every turn and more than once I had to remind myself I wasn't watching the Bennet or Dashwood girls, just their inspiration.

Anne Hathaway adopts a British accent and an air of entitlement to portray Austen, her most demanding title role to date. Her Austen is the sort that dreams with eyes open, preferring to stay up writing while the house around her sleeps. Like Elizabeth, she at first hates the man she'll soon fall for and, like Elinor, a miscommunication threatens to cost her her happiness. Austen's Mr. Darcy is Tom Lefroy, a man who'd ultimately rise to Lord High Justice of Ireland (like the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court?), but is nothing more than a penniless womanizer when he firsts visits the country and encounters Jane.

James McAvoy's come a long way from his faun days, effortlessly carrying the romantic lead with passion and sincerity. These two fresh faces are welcome changes to the Colin Firths and Renee Zellwegers who've been so prominent in period pieces of late, and these solid performances are likely to put them on the map of bankable stars. Both are building reputable resumes; Jane is certainly a good career move.

Clocking in at exactly two hours, it could be said that the whole picture is too long and too slow. But director Julian Jarrold's pace--calm, eloquent and steady--echoes that of the author's writing style. The understated segments are complimented sufficiently by pops of drama, either between Jane and Tom (the ball), Jane and her mother (after a proposal denied) or two characters playing on the margins of the story, ever intertwined in the action as Austen has a way of placing her books' players (the news of Cassandra's fiance). It's these moments that romantics like me cheer for or tear up over and string us along willingly until the satisfying resolution.

On several levels, Jane is nothing new. Fiercely independent young woman with no money to her name seeks to simultaneously better herself and marry for love. Surrounded by the worry-wart mother, the wealthy distant relative, the dashing playboy with more than meets the eye...we've seen it before. But then, what we've seen are just adaptations on Austen's work. "Becoming Jane" isn't just a re-tooled British romance. It's the orginal.

Watch the international trailer (they can show naked bums over there, I guess).

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Remember Me?

It's all right. You can be honest and say no, you don't remember me. I'm not sure I remember what it is I used to do around here...something to do with movies, right??

The last month hasn't been particularly busy, really; I've actually seen a lot of movies. Something's keeping me from writing them up, though. At first, it was lack of motivation. I was just not interested in writing for a non-existant audience. Were I an employed columnist or revered opinionista, I might have kept up my musings. But I started to wonder how much my insights really mattered on any given film, which turned quickly into a failure to blog consistently.

Then things changed and suddenly I did get sorta busy. I started a third job. And I started another blog.

Call me a traitor if you must, but this one comes with a paycheck, so you're more likely to find me there than here. Where is there exactly? Indie Fodder, of course, the latest addition to Film Fodder, a group of blogs on everything pop culture. On a whim, I sent an email to the head honcho over there; we had a quick phone conversation, and 48 hours later I'm an official Fodder blogger.

So that's where I've been. I'm not sure how much I'll be back here in the near future. I don't know where reviewing is getting me, and for now I feel like I should be doing the things that get me where I want to be. So if this site lacks a bit, I hope you understand. But I hope you don't erase that bookmark all together. I'll be back, I'm sure--I see big things for my reviews in the future.

Until then...

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Imagine Me & You

Cinema is changing. Art is imitating life, more and more every day. Brokeback Mountain might be getting all the glory for bringing homosexuality to the local cineplex, but it's found a little sister in the lesbian-themed Imagine Me & You. Like Brokeback, Imagine is a love story, the players of the game inconsequential, the emotions and affections universal. Unlike Brokeback, Imagine trivializes those emotions and wraps the entire package up all too neatly; by the end of the film, Imagine proves to be nothing more than your run-of-the-mill romantic comedy, only this one's about two girls.

Girl next door Rachel (Piper Perabo) is about to marry long-time boyfriend/best friend Heck (Match Point's Matthew Goode) when, walking with her father down the aisle, she spies Luce (Lena Headey), the florist, across the church. In nothing more than a flash, a connection is felt between both women. Weeks later, while Heck is busy bidding on a vintage couch for their new flat (for our enviable locale is Londontown), Rach waxes philosophical about "that click", that feeling that says you've found a friend for life. All too conveniently, Luce keeps popping into Rachel's life, though the first encounter is of her own doing when she stops by the flower shop to thank Luce and invite her to dinner. She plans on setting the florist up with Heck's best friend; Luce lets Heck in on her sexual orientation, and awkward moments abound. (One gem in this formulaic sequence is the grocery store scene, dialogue shot off like rapid gunfire and the low-level physical comedy genuinely entertaining.)

With a few clever plot twists, Heck is actually the one who sets the women up on their first date, asking Luce to keep Rachel company at a football (that's soccer, Yanks) game he has to work through. And while Rachel's busy falling for Luce and struggling (sort of) with her decisions, Heck's worried about a spanking new marriage already on the rocks. In a pivotal scene, the true reasons behind Rachel's distance are revealed, and its just about at this point that an otherwise sharp, charming comedy starts to unravel like a ball of yarn rolling down a hill.

There are several parts about the motivation of these fairly flat characters that fall short when the script finally tries to resolve the conflicts it's created. Rachel apparently loves Heck, but isn't in love with the poor guy; why does she marry him, and why is this the jumping off point in the film? By the end, the writers were far too concerned with a happy ending (and one that comes in under the two hour mark) to pay much attention to the damage caused by Rachel's seemingly easy decision to choose Luce over her husband. We get one scene to see all of Heck's pain, and the only one to comfort him is Rachel's ten-year-old sister. The whole thing could have told the same story without getting itself in such deep quicksand had the wedding happened at the end instead of the beginning (I'm thinking a retooled My Best Friend's Wedding, perhaps). Instead, writer/director Ol Parker disappointingly ends with a cheesy "catch the girl" scene that I couldn't root for; I was too worried about the headaches of divorce, the unbelievable grace with which Heck handles losing the woman he loves, and the trials of explaining to the world you're suddenly (at least as far as their concerned) a lesbian.

The performances populating Imagine are hardly spectacular, but they're not stale either. The talented group of actors does well with the weak material their given, particularly the men in the cast. Goode's sincerity and morality make it easier to believe he'll bounce back from the break-up; side-kick Coop (Darren Boyd) is just the right balance of vulgar and sarcastic. Even Rachel's dad, Ned, is played well by one Anthony Head, turning from bitter old married to supportive, loving dad in the blink of an eye. Perabo convinces with a well-kept British accent (she's from New Jersey), and Headey lets Luce be herself, quietly pining for Rachel but mostly unwilling to stir up any trouble.

The first two thirds of Imagine are sparkling; dialogue is turned ever so slightly as to keep an audience listening and emotions are well expressed not only though actors but directorial choices as well (Rachel leans in to kiss Luce after their football date, only to have the headlights from a car awkwardly interrupt; the device works perfectly). It's only in the tail end of the film that resolution starts to sputter and it becomes apparent that Parker didn't know how to wrap up what he'd started. Imagine is quaint and entertaining; like most movies of it's kind, it manages to leave the audience smiling, feeling validated that love wins out in the end, regardless of the plotholes encountered along the way.

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Mrs. Henderson Presents

How delicious!

Laura Henderson (Judi Dench) is a woman ahead of her time. She won't be bothered with pretending to be one of those rule-following, prim and proper British ladies minding their Ps and Qs during World War II. She's newly widowed, and the funeral isn't even over before she declares to a friend how bored she is with widowhood. It's time for Mrs. Henderson to find a hobby.

She settles on The Windmill Theater, in London's eventual theater district of the West End, buying the place without the slightest idea what she'll do with it. To lend some direction to her new endeavor, she hires the equally fiery Vivian van Damm (Bob Hoskins) to produce the shows. At it's inception, The Windmill didn't start out as anything extraordinary; the first shows opened to sold out audiences. Ticket sales quickly declined, and as WWII looms, van Damm and Henderson know something's got to change in order to keep people coming back. It's forward-thinking Mrs. Henderson who, as if inquiring after the weather, suggests adding nudity to the shows. She pulls a few strings and convinces the Lord Chamberlain to allow women to disrobe on stage, provided they don't move a muscle (because, of course, "still life" nudity is perfectly acceptable).

And just like that, all's well again at The Windmill. Van Dammand his leading man, Bertie (Will Young), stumble across the beautiful Maureen (Kelly Reilly), who quickly becomes the pin-up of the theater. As London is bombed, Mrs. Henderson keeps her laides on the stage and soldier morale (among other things) up. When the buildings across the street are leveled in a truly unexpected turn of events, the movie's most touching (and perhaps most saccharine) moment comes as Mrs. Henderson stands before a motley group of Allied soldiers, vowing to keep The Windmill open and revealing a bit of the humanity inside her that's kept her going strong for so long.

Mrs. Henderson Presents is based on truth--there is a Windmill Theater, and there were naked women on its stage during the war. Beyond that, there were certainly liberties taken for the film's sake; the story flows splendidly, however, balancing the humor of the whole situation with the gravity of the realities of war. Dench, who can do no wrong on screen, sparkles as Mrs. Henderson, and while I'd be willing to say she deserves the Oscar next month, I won't put my money on it (the Academy can be finicky, after all). The chemistry on screen between she and Hoskins rivals that of Bogart and Bergman; Mrs. Henderson manages to go years without knowing van Damm has a wife, reacting jealously when she finally meets her. After the introduction, though, the love between them (that, admittedly, often borders on hate!) only strengthens on a platonic level, each being the foundation the other leans on, both where the theater is concerned and otherwise.

There's this wonderful trend popping up in movies these days, that of music playing an integral role in the film, almost as a character of its own. De-Lovely is one of my favorites of the last few years, and it was what I like most about Walk the Line. Presents does well with the music here, too, the mood of the music and shows setting time and place, standing center stage rather than getting lost under dialogue and action like run of the mill scores tend to do.

Mrs. Henderson Presents is funny, the crowd in the movie theater laughing along with the crowd in The Windmill. It is poignant, drawing just enough on the pasts of its characters to make them real, yet careful not to inundate and push an audience away with unnecessary backstories. And as the cast of Revudeville (van Damm's "ingenious" blend of Review and Vaudeville) sings us out of the show, it might take you a moment to remember you're not in 1945 London. And any movie that can transport like that in the span of two hours is all right by me.

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Transamerica

"My body may be a work in progress, but there's nothing wrong with my soul."

If the subject matter scares you away--a preoperative transsexual who meets her drug addicted, hustling son and drives across the country with him--it's the tone of the film--optimistic and inspiring--that will win you over. Transamerica, while grounded in content almost as controversial as Brokeback Mountain, is much more than a movie about a man who wants to be a woman. It embodies that elusive notion that all movies aspire to: its message is universal.

Sabrina Osborne (Felicity Huffman), nee Stanley, is one week away from her final sexual-reassignment surgery when one phone call turns her world on its side. A son she fathered (never thought I'd see that pronoun with that verb) seventeen years ago is in jail in New York, and before her therapist will submit the paperwork for her surgery, she insists Bree meets the teenager and come to terms with parenthood. Bree, unwilling to admit she's the father Toby (Kevin Zegers) daydreams about finding, poses as a missionary and bails her son out of jail for a buck. Toby is the Oscar to Bree's Felix in this unlikely Odd Couple, and the two have plenty of time to get on each other's nerves over the course of a drive from New York to Los Angeles. Bree is a stickler for grammar and dresses in layers; Toby snorts coke and wears the same pairs of jeans until they walk on their own.

Their drive to LA turns into a sort of comedy of errors; during one pit stop, Toby takes a look out the rearview mirror just in time to see Bree relieve herself...standing up. Freak out follows, but this news isn't nearly as shocking as the secret she's still keeping from him. Kindness to a stranger ends in their car being stolen, leaving them with nothing but the clothes on their backs. The two are forced to hitch a ride to Phoenix with Calvin Many Goats (Graham Greene), a soft-spoken Native American with a bit of a crush on Bree, and find their way to Bree's parent's house. It's here, when a vulnerable and confused Toby tries to kiss Bree, that the truth about the reality of their relationship comes out.

Huffman's performance--a woman acting as a man who wants nothing more than be a woman--is for female roles this year what Phillip Seymour Hoffman's performance was for male roles. Details like a scarf worn to cover what's supposed to be a protruding, obviously male Adam's apple and lipstick lined well outside the natural lips in an effort to make them more feminine keep an audience believing this character really is struggling to become something completely different. And Huffman has a solid grasp of both the stoicism of a man and the vulnerability of a woman, allowing just enough of each to be visible at appropriate times.

Likewise, Kevin Zegers delivers a stellar performance, holding his own opposite the soon to be Oscar winner. He masters that look of utter detachment most teenagers have perfected while leaving room for child-like daydreams of his father and his future as an actor. Toby's efforts to grow up too soon might be out of necessity, but his need for someone to depend on is just as pressing.

The thread running the length of Transamerica is acceptance--of oneself, the ones we love, the cards life deals us, and the results of the decisions we make. And the message behind the idea of acceptance is that everything really will be OK. In a genuine way, despite whatever abuse Toby's endured and whatever struggles Bree's overcome, the film reflects positively on the effect acceptance will ultimately have on our lives. Through moments so subtle you might have missed them, we're reminded what it is that really matters in life--the people who populate it. Transamerica is a welcome change from the dark, take-themselves-too-seriously films of the season; if you walked out of Syriana questioning the state of the world today, Transamerica will most certainly have the opposite effect on you, restoring a bit of faith in your fellow man, woman and man wanting to be a woman.

I don't know the breakdown of the requirements a film must meet to be considered a Truly Moving Picture by Heartland Film Festival, but all I could think of as Dolly Parton sang over the credits was how fitting this film would be for such an honor. This funny, inspiring and ultimately optimistic film is, as far as I'm concerned, truly a moving picture.

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