Spotlight

Spotlight, 2015

Directed by Tom McCarthy, 128 minutes

Mark Ruffalo, Michael Keaton, Rachel McAdams, Liev Schreiber, John Slattery, Stanley Tucci

Review by Katherine Scheetz

In the slew of iconic Bostonian movies, Spotlight sits among those that embody the grey-cloud intensity that is more than a movie set in Boston but one that is, in essence, Boston. Think Good Will Hunting (1997) and The Departed (2006).

The narrative takes us in, immediately, to the freshly wounded: small children coloring in a police station room, guarded closely by their mother. Enter well-dressed, overpaid, Catholic lawyer, swinging around the familiar terrain as green police officers mutter about arraignments and trials. Fast forward 15 years and dart down the fluorescent hallways of the Boston Globe to the “Spotlight” special reporting team office, coffee brewing and desks peppered with papers to be piled and filed.

The catalyzing event is the entrance of Schreiber, quietly commanding as Marty Baron, the brand new, non-Catholic, Editor-in-Chief who assigns them the project of following up on a case of a child-molesting priest. One priest turns into three which turns into 14, which turns into, well you get the idea. It’s an investigative journalism avalanche.

Writers Josh Singer (The Fifth Estate) and Tom McCarthy (Up) have crafted a script with words chosen as meticulously as a newspaper article. Every character on the page matters. This intention is not lost on the glowing cast. Ruffalo is dynamite as Mike Rezendes, down to his parted hair, Neanderthal eating habits and slouch, determined under the weight of his shoulder bag. His interactions with Mitchell Garabedian played by the brilliant Stanley Tucci unfold with desperate grace. Tucci, as with all projects he touches, only enhances. Whether an enigmatic TV personality in a dystopian future, quirky husband to the colorful Julia Child or dry-humored liason to Anne Hathaway into the fashion world, Tucci lights up the characters around him. Spotlight is no exception. He nails Garabedian as the fed-up representation to the targeted victims with a nuanced and compassionate rage. McAdams slips out of her skin as Sasha Phieffer, particularly in her interviews with and connection to the survivors.

By way of costuming, the simplicity of the gender neutral, monochrome and functional early 2000s wardrobe is effective. It eliminates any distraction from the story the reporters are following. Except for the intentional smear of red adorning Cardinal Law’s garb. Nothing hints at villainy like costuming. McCarthy’s functional decisions are reflected throughout in minimal set design and glaring, artificial lighting. Every visual component has been considered carefully.

In a surprising score from Howard Shore we hear hints of the millennial music against a grey-rain piano canvas. Shore sprinkles the clacking of computer keystrokes in every once in a while to ground us again in the looming belly of the Boston Globe: the Spotlight team’s home base. The breath of a church pipe organ has a sobering effect in the score as well.

McCarthy has allowed the story to percolate through, playing the role of host to fast-paced, flawless writing and a strength that ripples through the cast in execution. It’s a film – and a story – that deserves the front page.

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Spectre

Spectre, 2015

Directed by Sam Mendes, 148 minutes

Daniel Craig, Christoph Waltz, Léa Seydoux

Review by Katherine Scheetz

             

              The screen is alight with all the elements that make it Bond. Endless well-tailored suits, massive explosions, cutting edge technology, Astin Martins, spy-equipped car chases, boat chases, plane chases, vodka martinis, torture scenes, evil pets, champagne, mirrored, naked women in the opening credits, weirdly flattering turtlenecks, visits to exotic countries, mid-air hand-to-hand combat, seduction, arrogance, glamour and glissandos as the sun sets, golden against yet another seamless Bond getaway. It’s only a tad chaotic.

             

Where else to start in a Bond epic, but with the opening credits? Sam Smith’s “Writings on the Wall” is full of swells, slides and drama that make it the stuff of archival Bond material. The women laying hands on 007 are on fire, sensually wrapped in octopus tentacles, utterly cheesy and a perfect 70s Bond credit replica. A visual treat for any honest fan.

              We enter our plot at a tumultuous time in the “00” program as technological advancement is pushing to eliminate the human element: operatives. The new M (Ralph Fiennes), plays middleman between his agents and the seemingly inevitable change-of-times, reminding us that “a license to kill is also a license not to kill.” Then there’s Bond, still dealing, in his own way, with the loss of our dearest M (Judi Dench, Skyfall) by carrying out her final orders; killing the heart of an international terrorist organization. Using an octopus ring and “the pale king” he sniffs his way off the grid, pulling into the line of duty our beloved Q (Ben Whishaw, Cloud Atlas) and Moneypenny (Naomi Harris, Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man’s Chest), who are given long-overdue time to shine. The outcome is triumphant.

             

A-dork-able Q is fresh right down to his turned-out, academia shoes. His ability to stand next to Bond, looking very boy-genius like, and keep pace with him is impressive. Whishaw put a backbone into the young Q and then some, as we see his quick wits under pressure later in the film. Moneypenny sustains as Bond’s not surprising, but truly heartfelt constant through the trepidations that have plagued Daniel Craig’s Bond career. She calls him James when he is simply 007 to everyone else (and…insert 1967 The Prisoner quote here). Harris is lovely as James’ savvy home-front partner, providing just enough “will-they-wont-they” energy to keep the audience hoping.

              Technically, the camera was on point. Aerial shots flew by time and time again, tunnels and corridors and tree-lined drives that snatch the audiences breathe as much as Craig’s steely blue eyes. The lighting team nuanced every beam to manipulate our mood in seconds, especially helpful through several jarringly dramatic scene changes. The writers kept the smooth sass of Bond intact with quippy one-liners given to every cast member at one point or another, allowing the audience a moment to smirk and breathe in between the string of heart-attack inducing circumstances that make up Bond’s narrative. Craig especially delivers with a slippery tongue and a practiced poker face.

               

It is definitely nostalgic to know that this is the end of Daniel Craig’s reign in MI6 but allows us to reflect on his performance as a full body of work. His contribution to the role has been well researched, without a doubt. Watching him in Spectre, it is apparent that Craig knows the role of 007 well enough to write his memoir. Which is some of what his films have been. Unlike the Bonds before him, Craig’s legacy is in the humanizing of an icon. No longer reduced to the womanizing license to kill, Craig has made him part spy and part man.

              Overall the story is as predictable as the classic Bond villain they created for it, down to his pussycat and his make-up department dream of a battle wound, but that’s not what we came here to see. Craig’s final installment as 007 is a dirty martini; classic Bond vodka, shaken of course, but with just a hint of olive-flavored variation.

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Bridge of Spies

Bridge of Spies, 2015 

Directed by Steven Spielberg, 141 minutes

Tom Hanks, Mark Rylance, Alan Alda

Review by Katherine Scheetz

Bridge of Spies has all the quiet allure of Saving Private Ryan (1998) and all the brutal honesty of an older Daniel Brühl film. Seriously though, I waited through the entire film expecting his classic 90s haircut and refreshingly honest German accent. He never came.

The year is 1957 and whether it is in the detail of coattails in the courtroom, the pastel pink of the bathroom fixtures or the “Duck and Cover” nuclear preparations video, Spielberg’s detail-oriented teams have done a supremely subtle way of reminding us of that. Insurance lawyer Jim Donovan is tossed the job of representing one of the most hated men in America at the time, a known Soviet spy on trial for espionage and destined for the electric chair after the song and dance of justice is done. He approaches the situation without any thought but doing the right thing and it is sustained through every decision his character makes, whether that be calling his wife from a West Berlin payphone or getting drawing materials to the hated Soviet in his American prison. The audience can’t help but wonder why we are still paying Hanks to play this part after seeing him in it almost every year since 1992? If he wasn’t every millennials voice of plastic Wild West reason, we might be tired of throwing our paychecks at him by now. 

Spielberg’s pacing is impeccable. It moves slowly, slower than the instant gratification of today but in a way that quiets your breathing and brings you back to life in the 1950s.

His intentional direction isn’t flagrant but rather the stuff of a practiced hand. His choices are made by robust experience, no ego required. The camera angles and the stylistic choices aren’t about showing off what Spielberg can do:  they're about telling Donovan’s story the right way. The first meeting of Donovan and Rylance’s character, Rudolf Abel, was made memorable by luminescent back lighting from the prison windows rendering them to nearly full silhouette, shadow-like, as Donovon pronounces Abel’s harpist wife back in Moscow an “angel”. Employment of slightly-off-kilter angles used in and outside the Supreme Court in Washington D.C. also made the list of notable shots.

In the cinematography department, Spielberg demonstrated effective control of mirror symmetry. Using devices such as the cornerstone phone calls of the film and the time-honored handkerchief, both utilized first as they relate to Abel and then later to Donovon, as well as the human body jumping fences and the Wall, Spielberg gave us little clues to keep us actively engaged in his narrative.

Also to be noted, is the beautiful rhythm to Hanks and Rylance’s dialogue together, echoed throughout the film in the brilliantly scripted “Would it help?” which Rylance repeats several times. To hear Rylance’s subtext change throughout the course of the story and his relationship with Hank’s character, it gnaws at your stomach. The deep northern English accent that Rylance nuanced for Abel is hypnotic. He fades in and out with the rise and fall of the accent against the words, his voice scratches in prison, and becomes moist and phlegmy as he grows more confident. Watching Rylance refine Abel into a tall, nonchalant glass of Commie vodka throughout the course of the film was a privilege.

What truly makes this a film worth watching, and what separates this of Hank’s roles from his other, is Spielberg’s decision to utilize of his platform to make powerful moments at the Berlin Wall come to the fore front. Between the scenes shot at the building of the Wall, cement block by cement block, and Donovan’s witness of escapees from East Berlin in no man’s land, it’s a cinematic triumph in bringing people’s, especially the American people’s, attention to a brutal and not so distant history.

It is a film that brings you out of yourself. Donovan challenges you to be better, no matter your country, no matter your family, no matter what you have to do. Hanks’ delivery of this lesson is so gentle, and yet so firm, that of course we listen. It is on Hank’s good words, Spielberg’s faithful history lesson and the lull of life in cold times takes off. And it’s sure to make every historical bibliophile giddy to go home and read well into the wee morning hours (yes, I’m looking at you, Dad).

Visit our Get Involved page or go directly to our GoFundMe to learn about and donate to the amazing people at Game Rangers International and all they are doing to help orphaned elephants.

Pan

Pan, 2015

Directed by Joe Wright, 111 minutes

Hugh Jackman, Garrett Hedlund, Rooney Mara and Levi Miller

Review by Katherine Scheetz

In this would-be explicative Peter Pan origin story, we start off hopeful with a strong opening scene marked by an aerial shot of a single lit doorway casting a blue beam onto Peter’s abandoned baby basket in the midnight London streets. The lighting team sustains their clever choices throughout with smart lights against the bold make up on Jackman and Mara and lighting blues and pinks against the lush foliage to set an imaginative bioluminescent mood upon the native forest. Meanwhile, behind the lights a score of deep percussive drums and warpipes trills, but like all things in Pan it’s just busy music that sounds like it is rooted in Powell’s How To Train Your Dragon (2010) score. He does dazzle us again, although with less vigor, as his signature sound made its debut in Dragon and tastes more like a cheap knockoff in Pan.

The strongest lines are the ones crafted by J.M Barrie himself. “Death will be the greatest adventure” uttered by the aboriginal chief before exploding in a powder-ful puff of a colored cornstarch death and Hedlund’s fresh new take on “second to the right and straight on til morning!” puts butterflies in my little fan-girl belly. However the rest of the writing falls victim to dialogue so predictably scripted that we could mouth the words along.

It is an unnecessarily stimulated storyline for sure. Think along the lines of Wright’s Anna Karenina (2012). With such rich content to call upon from the myth of Peter Pan, as the audience we ask ourselves why repulsive nuns hiding war time rations, the American west mining town and explosive Holi powder deaths are needed to make the film more imaginative. Any of those settings independent from one another have promising vibrancy, but together, it overwhelms.

What the preponderance of plot does is take over. Instead of the characters being allowed to drive the story with their decisions and unfolding slowly, the complexities of their dimensions, the film is propelled forward by an unyielding plot. We audience members remain distanced, in a fishbowl that cuts off the accessibility of our childhood and the Peter Pan we know.

Through the density of plot the characters only ever become simple caricatures of adulthood: a grubby, amoral nun, an old man consumed by obsession, a guarded warrior woman, an adventure-seeking prospector, a boy who has to learn to believe in himself. Wright’s attempt to bring more dimension to the characters of this beloved story does exactly the opposite: portray overdone, singularly-willed individuals who are not strong enough to make their own decisions. The plot decides for them. In all of this however, the most compelling moments of acting come from newcomer Levi Miller, who reminds us that Peter Pan is not just Huck Finn on an other-worldly, never ending, swashbuckling thrill ride, but a boy with sadness, longing, empty spaces and desires.

By far, the best directorial decision that Wright made is his collaboration with Andrew Huang for several animated sequences, of which one stands out as strongest. “Memory Tree” is a scene of unique flashback storytelling. The animation of tree rings is the outlying a stroke of genius in the film. It follows threads of inspiration from the “Tale of Three Brothers” (Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 1 (2010) animation, but with an appropriately naturalistic twang. It’s beautiful to watch, plain and simple. Huang is one to keep an eye on.

Pan had potential to join the list of origin stories that only enhance the myths they derive from, among recent ones like Robin Hood (2010), Star Trek (2009) and Casino Royale (2006). But Pan misses the mark by so much that it’s a wonder Peter managed to fly at all.

Visit our Get Involved page or go directly to our GoFundMe to learn about and donate to the amazing people at Game Rangers International and all they are doing to help orphaned elephants.

The Martian

The Martian, 2015

Directed by Ridley Scott, 141 minutes

Matt Damon, Jessica Chastain, Kirsten Wiig, Kate Mara, Jeff Daniels, Michael Peña, Sean Bean, Chiwetel Ejiofor

Review by Katherine Scheetz

Scott pulls us to a parallel world where missions to Mars are on regular rotation and televised space travel still binds people together. It is nostalgically reminiscent of the go-go-boots and gravity-defying-hair Space Race Era with the added sophistication of a lens flared Sci-Fi that can deny the laws of physics for a nod to the aesthetic.  The final touch to this well-crafted story is the uncensored frankness of the script fed to us like good ole’ American apple pie.

The action begins on the Mars landing site with astronauts Watney (Damon), Lewis (Chastain), Johannsen (Mara), Martinez (Peña), Beck and Vogel throwing cheesy quips around through headsets before being caught off guard by an unsuspectingly powerful sand storm. In the mayhem of an impromptu “abort mission” Watney is hit by debris and presumed dead. The remaining crew, led by Captain Lewis, makes the impossible call through gritted teeth and back to earth they go. Leaving Watney alone.

Thanks to the directorial power of the webcam, audiences watch through Watney’s eyes as the abandoned botanist “science[s] the shit out of” starvation, suffocation, solidarity and disco. Approximately ¾ of the way through the movie you realize that duct tape really can fix everything.

Complication after complication, Damon’s performance as Watney is rhythmic, hiccupped only occasionally by a rightly placed “Fuck you, Mars.” It carries you, like Captain Lewis’ disco music, through his upbeat decision day after day to not die.

Away from those growing their own food on an inhospitable planet, we catch back up with Watney’s crew, en route for home, where we get a brief glimpse at their on-earth lives. Peña’s character in the crew functions as a similar bonding agent as his role in the brotherhood of Fury (2014), resolute in the mission, no matter the cost. Chastain is unblinking and unsentimental as Captain to the team of scientific masterminds. She talks straight through any bull in the inevitable “do we or don’t we” rescue mission mutiny to bring back Watney.

On earth, a wide-eyed, astrodymanic Donald Glover (Community) slips in and out of the film, garnishing the analytical and problem solving dialogue with coffee-driven-supergenious-geek ideas. Without Glover, J.R.R. Tolkien’s appearance in the film just wouldn’t have been the same (insert Sean Bean quote here). Jeff Daniels as a crusty, yet determined NASA director leads an innovative team on the home front, where Kristen Wiig surprises as PR Annie Montrose, dealing solemnly and rationally with the media gig of a lifetime. Chiwetel Ejiofor is seamless as Mars Mission director Vincent Kapoor, more chameleon than actor as he reacts to the problems set before him.

To pull any of these performances out among the others is an injustice to the remaining team members because what this film did is bring everyone’s best to the forefront. And not just the actors, but across all departments: cinematography, costuming, writing, editorial, directorial and so on. There simply was no lull, no action that was extraneous and no link that was weak.

              Helpless in Scott’s irresistible snare, we chuckle at Watney’s humanity, fist pump his triumphs and white knuckle through his struggles. And Damon, through it all, remains our annoyingly proactive liaison to colonizing the red planet. It is perhaps on this that we can call the largest flaw of the film; It’s just plain not realistic that Watney could be that good and still be human. But then, as the title suggest, he’s not human: he’s The Martian. 

Visit our Get Involved page or go directly to our GoFundMe to learn about and donate to the amazing people at Game Rangers International and all they are doing to help orphaned elephants.

Game Rangers International

As our name is "pachyderm" our first cycle of donations will be given to the

Game Rangers International for their Elephant Orphanage Project. Game Rangers International has been in operation since 2008 and was founded to assist communities surrounding Kafue National Park in Zambia. Kafue, at 22,400 km², is the second largest national park in Africa and the largest in Zambia. 

Their Elephant Orphanage Project begins at the Lilayi Elephant Nursery where abandoned elephant calves, victim to poaching and human conflict, are nursed and monitored around the clock. As soon as the calves can be weaned from milk they are moved to the Kafue National Park​, to join other older orphaned elephants at the EOP Kafue Release Facility. Here they are more independent of human support and move freely around the National Park. The Release Facility backs onto the Ngoma Teak Forest where there is a 1,000 strong local elephant population, which maximizes the opportunity for the orphans to eventually reintegrate with fellow elephants back in the wild.

For their elephant adoption program, it costs a mere $65 USD to adopt an elephant for a year. That adoption includes an adoption certificate with the profile and photos of our orphan’s story, quarterly updates highlighting events in the progress of our orphan including photos and a monthly newsletter from GRI about all of the projects and activities which we are helping to support.

There are a fair number of elephant rescue programs out there, not a huge amount of course, but enough to make the choice for the first cycle donations not an easy one. So the reasons behind this one being chosen are particularly important. They are specifically raising these beautiful creatures to return to life in the wild. No animal was made for captivity, even a blessed one in a sanctuary. If they can live independently, they should. It's true that like any other animal that is endangered, there are many that cannot survive independently anymore (read GRI's story of Suri here and about the memorial fund they have created for her here) and for them the sanctuaries are their best chance at happy lives. What I respect so greatly about Games Ranger International is their commitment to return the elephants to successful lives in the wild.

Double click the link below to visit our GoFundMe page and donate to GRI's Elephant Orphanage Project