Milk

How fortuitous a thing is timing. Released only a few weeks after the passage of Proposition 8 - a ballot measure that took away the rights of same-sex couples to marry in California - Gus Van Sant's Oscar-nominated film "Milk" turns back the clock to another, similar struggle in American civil rights history and to the iconic figure who helped to wage it.

Harvey Milk was, of course, the San Francisco supervisor and gay-rights pioneer who, along with Mayor George Moscone, was gunned down in city hall in November 1978. The perpetrator, Dan White, a disgruntled fellow board member who had recently resigned his seat, was found guilty of manslaughter (using the now infamous "Twinkie Defense" to get the lower charge), sent to prison for a mere five years, then released in 1984, only to take his own life two years later.

Dustin Lance Black's Oscar-winning screenplay traces Milk's meteoric rise from an obscure, still largely closeted Republican businessman in the early 1970s to the de facto leader of the gay-rights movement that began to take shape during that decade. He became the first openly gay man in the state to be elected to public office and, in 1978, he was instrumental in helping to defeat Proposition 6, which, if passed, would have made it illegal for homosexuals (and even straight supporters of homosexuals!) to teach in California public schools (was this really only thirty years ago?). Throughout all this, Milk managed to develop a large, highly charged grass roots organization, the purpose of which was not merely to combat bigotry wherever it reared its ugly head but to win over the hearts and minds of the people in their community and the nation as a whole.

There has been some criticism leveled against the movie that it is too reverential in its treatment of Milk, that it paints him too much as a saint and not enough as an ordinary human being with the requisite number of weaknesses and flaws to make him truly viable as a character. Even if one were to accept that charge (which I do not), it still doesn't take into account the very special quality that Sean Penn himself brings to the role. With obviously heightened mannerisms that he is careful never to allow to slide over into caricature or camp, Penn makes Milk both charismatically larger-than-life and recognizably human at one and the same time. Whether he's in front of a crowd rallying the troops with his megaphone or enjoying a tender moment with his longtime boyfriend, Scott Smith, Penn allows us see the many facets of this obviously complex man.

In a movie chock full of outstanding supporting performances, James Franco as Smith, Josh Brolin as Dan White, and Emile Hirsch as Cleve Jones, a rootless young man inspired by Milk to become a lifelong activist, are the obvious standouts.

As a director, Van Sant keeps things moving at an almost whirlwind pace, beautifully balancing the "big" scenes of rallies and marches with the more intimate moments depicting Milk's relationships with those around him. At times Van Sant brings an almost documentary-style immediacy to the film, seamlessly blending actual footage from that era (much of it of Anita Bryant and her anti-gay crusade) with convincingly staged re-enactments of events at that time. Obviously wanting to end on a positive note, the movie mentions but does not dramatize the "White Night Riots" which took place in the city following the assassinations, instead focusing on the enormous candlelight march that wended its way through the shocked and devastated city. Thus, the ending, like the movie itself, is a necessary and deeply moving reminder of how the courage of one individual to stand up for what he knows is right can inspire others to follow in his footsteps - and change the world in the process.

By opening with file footage of men being arrested at a gay bar then carted off in paddy wagons to be booked as "sex offenders," "Milk" makes the viewer realize how very far society has come in the time since the events depicted in this story - and, with the recent passage of Proposition 8, how very far it still has to go.

21 Grams

BY ROGER EBERT / November 25, 2003

"21 Grams" knows all about its story but only lets us discover it a little at a time. Well, every movie does that, but usually they tell their stories in chronological order, so we have the illusion that we're watching as the events happen to the characters. In this film everything has already happened, and it's as if God, or the director, is shuffling the deck after the game is over. Here is the question we have to answer: Is this approach better than telling the same story from beginning to end?

The film is by Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu, the almost unreasonably talented Mexican filmmaker whose "Amores Perros" (2000) was an enormous success. That film intercut three simultaneous stories, all centering on a traffic accident. "21 Grams" has three stories and a traffic accident, but the stories move back and forth in time, so that sometimes we know more than the characters, sometimes they know more than we do.

While the film is a virtuoso accomplishment of construction and editing, the technique has its limitations. Even though modern physics tells that time does not move from the past through the present into the future, entertaining that delusion is how we make sense of our perceptions. And it is invaluable for actors, who build their characters emotionally as events take place. By fracturing his chronology, Inarritu isolates key moments in the lives of his characters, so that they have to stand alone. There is a point at which this stops being a strategy and starts being a stunt.

"21 Grams" tells such a tormenting story, however, that it just about survives its style. It would have been more powerful in chronological order, and even as a puzzle it has a deep effect. Remembering it, we dismiss the structure and recall the events as they happened to the characters, and are moved by its three sad stories of characters faced with the implacable finality of life.

Because the entire movie depends on withholding information and revealing unexpected connections, it is fair enough to describe the characters but would be wrong to even hint at some of their relationships. Sean Penn, Benicio Del Toro and Naomi Watts play the key figures, and their spouses are crucial in ways that perhaps should not be described. Penn is Paul, a professor of mathematics (even that fact is withheld for a long time, and comes as a jolt because he does not seem much like one). He is dying of a heart condition, needs a transplant, is badgered by his wife (Charlotte Gainsbourg) to donate sperm so that she can have his baby -- after his death, she does not quite say.

Benicio Del Toro is Jack, a former convict who now rules his family with firm fundamentalist principles. He is using Jesus as a way of staying off drugs and alcohol; his wife (Melissa Leo) is grateful for his recovery but dubious about his cure. The third story centers on Christina (Naomi Watts), first seen at a Narcotics Anonymous meeting; she has a husband (Danny Huston) and two daughters, and her life seems to be getting healthier and more stable until an event takes place that eventually links all of the characters in a situation that falls halfway between tragedy and fraught melodrama.

As you watch this film you are absorbed and involved, sometimes deeply moved; acting does not get much better than the work done here by Penn, Del Toro and Watts, and their individual moments have astonishing impact. But in the closing passages, as the shape of the underlying structure becomes clear, a vague dissatisfaction sets in. You wonder if Inarritu took you the long way around, running up mileage on his storyteller's taxi meter. Imagining how heartbreaking the conclusion would have been if we had arrived at it in the ordinary way by starting at the beginning, I felt as if an unnecessary screen of technique had been placed between the story and the audience.

Yet I do not want to give the wrong impression: This is an accomplished and effective film despite my reservations. It grips us, moves us, astonishes us. Some of the revelations do benefit by coming as surprises. But artists often grow by learning what to leave out (the great example is Ozu). I have a feeling that Inarritu's fractured technique, which was so impressive in his first film and is not so satisfactory in this one, may inspire impatience a third time around. He is so good that it's time for him to get out of his own way.

Dead Man Walking

Dead Man Walking is a powerful film. Susan Sarandon and Sean Penn are at their very best, and Tim Robbins' direction is great. What is perhaps most impressive is that it tackles one of the most complicated and controversial political issues of the day with startling intelligence for a Hollywood movie.

Sean Penn plays Matthew Poncelet, a man on death row for the murder of two teenagers. Susan Sarandon plays Helen Prejean, a nun committed to helping Poncelet accept his responsibility for the crime and die with dignity.

This movie stands out among "prison" movies because, as the chaplain tells Sister Helen, there's none of that "he's innocent, he just needs someone to believe him" stuff. Unlike in other prison movies, no attempt is made to absolve the wrongdoer of guilt. Helen only tries to convince people that he doesn't deserve to die. This is a refreshing approach for a movie, especially since the "friend crusading to prove wrongfully-accused man's innocence" persona is so overdone in many movies. Tim Robbins' script does an excellent job of keeping Poncelet from becoming a martyr figure; there are no excuses made for his crimes, and his own foolishness is shown by all the racist remarks he makes to the press. Poncelet is a complicated character, but Penn does an excellent job playing him and Robbins shows him in just the right light.

Now, onto the politics of the film. First of all, many people can't figure out if this movie is pro-death penalty or anti-death penalty. It's neither. Asking if the movie is for or against the death penalty is too broad a question. Instead, we should ask: does the film give the sense that Poncelet deserves to die? Does the film give the sense that justice was done? Did Poncelet deserve to be loved? Does Poncelet's death make up for his victims'.

I think the film says that Poncelet does deserve the death penalty. When I see the execution scene, I don't see a great injustice. How can you see injustice in this scene when the camera cuts several times to a flashback of Poncelet raping and killing? I should add, though, that I still found the execution abhorrent: the way they kill him, like they're putting an animal to sleep, is just unnerving. I also think that the film says Poncelet deserves to be loved: over and over Sarandon points out that Poncelet is still human, and every human deserves love. I also think the film doesn't tell us that Poncelet's death makes up for his crime, but it does say that his death makes him worthy of forgiveness.

While the movie is not very favorable towards capital punishment, I think there is no question that Poncelet's execution is treated as a just punishment (however terrible), and so it cannot be called entirely anti- capital punishment. Personally, I am vehemently against the death penalty because even though there may be some disgusting, despicable, horrible people who deserve to die, I would not trust anyone's judgment (including my own) as to _who_ deserves to dies and who doesn't. Also, courts are absurdly reluctant to stop executions (even if the prisoner is still sentenced to life without parole). The death penalty is utterly final and irrevocable -- should we trust its administration to such flawed beings as ourselves?

P.S.: Can anyone else believe "Babe" beat this out for an Oscar Best Picture nomination??!!

Into The Wild

I've read a lot of professional and amateur reviews for this film, and about half begin with, "This film is just about some spoiled brat with high hopes and no brains!" And I would say "Yes, it is, BUT...", because by the end the main character completes a 'character arc'.

You have to remember that Chris McCandless was young and motivated by the idea that rejecting the materialistic ideology of the Western society he was raised in, his parents overbearing superficialness and unhappy domestic history would attain freedom. This motivated him to go and find freedom in the wild, specifically, Alaska. However, before he gets to Alaska he hitchhikes for two years and meets a series of influential characters. A lot of the time these characters provide comic relief, but when Chris leaves them after forming an emotional bond, you realise that he isn't a great person and that these characters serve to indicate this selfish aspect of Chris' character. But that's okay - you don't have to like Chris! But that said, Chris is hard not to like; when you strip away all his selfish actions you get a handsome and charming man.

However, you have to accept as a viewer that Chris was real, and all *real* people are flawed. He does selfish things, he hurts people and people hurt him. That is life. But he is not all bad, none of us are! If you look for the good you will find it - sometimes he's quite a decent guy.
Sean Penn has structured the film in several chapters that ascend like this, "Birth", "Manhood" etc. I'm not sure if I liked this aspect of the film. On one hand, it gives Chris' journey another dimension i.e. His journey encapsulates the journey we all go through in our lives. But sometimes I thought it was a little too ambitious to apply that to one man's idealistic and eventually fatal adventure. I also hated how the main title "Into The Wild" morphed from cool yellow handwriting into ugly green block letters - perhaps it was meant to symbolise the rejection of aesthetic comforts? But some aspects of the film I did really like, such as the sensitive and touching voice-over of Chris' sister during the film. In that way, there are three narratives running simultaneously through the film: Chris' family (represented by his sister's voice-over and flashbacks), Chris' hitchhiking adventures (used to show aspects of his character), and Chris in Alaska (the real trial of his adventure, providing many climaxes in the movie, and the final stage of his character arc). This structure is very sophisticated I think (opposed to some reviewers who call the film 'confused' and 'jumbled'), and really draws us deeper into the film.
While some people can't be drawn in by how repulsed they are by this rich kid's selfishness and typical anti-society 'tude, the ending serves to change your mind. Chris goes out there to get freedom, because he thinks:

Freedom = Happiness

However, he realises that happiness must be shared for it to mean anything. He also discards the immature alias he gave himself when he was still an ideologically motivated idiot - Alexander Supertramp - and realises everything must be called by its right name, and accepts himself for who he is - Chris McCandless. In the end, this film evolves into a touching coming-of-age story, having been a riveting adventure story, road movie and family drama.

Now for technical aspects of the film (it deserves at least five stars for this alone!) - beautiful cinematography; the shots of Alaska are incredible. The acting - Emile Hirsh is absolutely perfect. There are no Oscar moments; the performance as a whole is complete, perfect and understated. Some of his improvisations are hilarious. The supporting actors are all brilliant, especially Hal Holbrook as Mr. Franz and Kristen Stewart as the young, horny singer Tracy. Chris' partings with Hal Holbrook and Tracy are the most heart-wrenching. Chris rejects a flourishing romantic relationship for his freedom. This makes his realisation that he needs to share it even sadder.

My final opinion on the film is that it is well-made, and deserves to be respected, just for all the hard work that has gone into it. Hirsch's dedication to the role and Penn's dedication and sensitivity to the story and Chris' memory. There's only three things left that concern me:

1) The representation of Chris as a hero/Jesus. There were moments when I thought Penn was casting Chris as too much of a heroic figure, when we have to remind ourselves that he wasn't - he was young, motivated and ill-prepared. As much as it pains me to say this insensitive-sounding statement, I have to: his death does not make him a hero. If he had come back alive, would there be a film? I worry about these things. What if the river had NOT become so wide and Chris had been able to return? What if Chris had come back and integrated into society? Would there be a film?

2) His family's involvement in the making of the film - how much power did they have? Have they changed representations of themselves? How objective is this film? Objectivity can never be achieved, but I worry if the family made themselves look better for the film. I think the character arc I see concerning Chris' parents is very likely to have really occurred, but how do I know for sure? I don't know.

3) Hypocrisy? Is Chris a hypocrite for living in an abandoned bus in Alaska? No, because it wasn't his goal to abandon modern technology, it was his goal to abandon the restrictions of a superficial society, such as having a definite identity and set future.

P.S. I haven't read the book; I'm judging the film on its own merits.