Movies
OPENINGS
Ben Affleck, center, acts in “Argo” and also directs, showing he’s become a sharp and thoughtful filmmaker.
Argo ---1/2
(Century 16, Century 20) In 2010, when I reviewed Ben Affleck’s sophomore directorial effort, “The Town,” I wrote: “Ben Affleck is all grown up.” Affleck doubles down on that statement with his third — and best — directorial undertaking, “Argo.” The Ben Affleck audiences discovered in the mid-1990s and early 2000s seemed to have the depth of a speed bump. He stumbled through cinematic missteps (“Forces of Nature”) and laughable stinkers (“Gigli,” “Reindeer Games”), with only the occasional gem. Now, the Affleck of old has been shed like an unwanted husk, and what remains is a sharp and thoughtful filmmaker who is still in the embryonic phase of a very impressive career. Sure, Affleck the actor is also along for the ride (and he fares well in “Argo”), but his skill behind the camera is what truly shines. The harrowing true story is more compelling than anything Hollywood could dream up. The film’s creative opening sheds some light on the strained political dynamic between Iran and the United States, leading up to an assault on the U.S. Embassy in Tehran on Nov. 4, 1979. Fifty-two Americans are taken hostage as Iranian revolutionaries storm the embassy, but six Americans manage to escape amidst the turmoil and hide out in the home of Canadian Ambassador Ken Taylor (Victor Garber). Back in the U.S., CIA operative Jack O’Donnell (Bryan Cranston) tasks “exfiltration specialist” Tony Mendez (Affleck) with hatching a plan to get the six Americans safely out of Iran before their true identities and whereabouts are discovered. And what a plan it is. Mendez conceives of a faux movie production that would make the six part of his filmmaking team. Their excuse for being in Iran is location-scouting, naturally, as pre-
The production values — costuming, set design, cinematography and score — are impressive throughout. Affleck and his crew do a phenomenal job capturing the time period and casting actors who both look like their real-life counterparts and have the thespian chops to hit all the right emotional notes (notable performances come from Arkin, Cranston and up-and-comer Scoot McNairy). Affleck should be in line for an Academy Award nomination for Best Director, though it is still too early to say if he deserves to win. The strong screenplay includes great dialogue for the likes of Arkin and Cranston, but some “close call” moments leading up to and during the film’s tense climax feel contrived. One of the film’s many strengths is its ability to draw in the audience — we often feel we are there with these people throughout the ordeal, for better or worse. A goofy sci-fi film dubbed “Argo” never got made in 1980. Fortunately for moviegoers, a brilliant, Oscar-worthy drama/thriller of the same name did get made in 2012. Rated R for language and some violent images. 2 hours. Woody Harrelson in “Seven Psychopaths.” production gets underway on “Argo,” a Star Wars-esque fantasy film featuring exotic locales. Mendez even turns to Hollywood makeup artist John Chambers (John Goodman) and aging director Lester Siegel (Alan Arkin) to make the “production” as authentic as possible. Should Mendez’s ruse get discovered, it is more than likely that he and his six fellow Americans will all be killed (or worse — tortured and killed). “Argo” is a nail-biter from beginning to end, and easily one of the year’s best films.
— Tyler Hanley
Seven Psychopaths ---
(Century 16, Century 20) Just what is it that non-violent people get out of violent stories? Possibly a deeper understanding of the roots of violence where it is found, but more likely a kind of vicarious thrill, a holiday from civility and an indulgence in primal bad behavior. By asking the question, “Seven Psychopaths” gives itself a bit more heft than, say, the aptly named “The Expendables.”
As written and directed by playwright Martin McDonagh (acclaimed for haunting but darkly comic plays like “The Pillowman”), the film investigates the absurdity of Southern California, where movie crime shares real estate with real crime. As aspiring screenwriter Marty (Colin Farrell) tussles with his screenplay “Seven Psychopaths,” he gets not entirely welcome kibitzing from Billy Bickle (Sam Rockwell). Bickle’s day job involves kidnapping pets so partner Hans (Christopher Walken) can return them and collect reward money, a scheme that hits a snag when they inadvertently put their hands on a Shih Tzu belonging to a gangster (Woody Harrelson). Rightly panicked, the three stooges hightail it to Joshua Tree National Park, where their ineptitude strands them even as doom approaches. Call it “Waiting, with Guns, for Godot.” Faced with the absurdity of their situation, the three men talk and talk to stave off the inevitability of the existential void. And so the gleefully violent, comically profane “Seven Psychopaths” represents a sort of evolutionary step from Quentin Tarantino’s “Pulp Fiction,” but without that picture’s coked-up energy and propulsive narrative drive. McDonagh gets bogged down in the desert, where Hans’ observation about psychopaths (“They get kind of tiresome after all, don’t you think?”) becomes something of a self-fulfilling prophecy. That McDonagh can see that about his own screenplay is part of its postmodern appeal, to a point. Lines like “I don’t want it to be one more film about guys with guns in their hands,” “Your women characters are awful!” and “Life-affirming, schmife-affirming. It’s about seven (expletive deleted) psychopaths!” acknowledge the script’s weak spots while working to let McDonagh off the hook for them. The ironic McDonagh motif of exploring the soft spots of homicidally violent men gets full play here, in that arguably none of the “psychopaths” fit the definition of a person so psychologically troubled as to be incapable of love. The picture is smart enough to work on multiple levels. It can be a witty salute to masculine ‘70s cinema (“Marty” can stand for Marty Scorsese as well as Martin McDonagh), or a deconstruction of same (Rockwell’s “Bickle,” alluding to De Niro’s psychopath in Scorsese’s “Taxi Driver,” symbolically embodies the eager violence Marty needs for a commercially successful script). It can also be seen as an existential consideration of the role of self-expression in ascribing meaning to life, including the question of artistic “responsibility.” This potentially irritating playfulness works because of likeable performances from the central trio of actors. Farrell, Rockwell and Walken play off their own screen personas while reminding us of their extensive comic capabilities. Accompanied by the empathetic funereal strains of customary Coen Brothers composer Carter Burwell, these men make beautiful music out of the mortal fear of living to die. Rated R for strong violence, bloody images, pervasive language, sexuality/nudity and drug use. One hour, 49 minutes. — Peter Canavese (continued on next page)
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