Hail, Caesar!

Hail, Caesar!, 2016

Directed by Ethan and Joel Coen, 106 minutes

Josh Brolin, George Clooney, Alden Ehrenreich, Ralph Fiennes, Scarlett Johansson, Channing Tatum, Tilda Swinton, Frances McDormand, Jonah Hill

Review by Katherine Scheetz

This much anticipated golden-age-of-Hollywood comedy exceeds expectations with all the complexity we adore in the Coen Brothers films. Their attention to detail from green milk glass salt and pepper shakers to the Thacker sisters’ (Swinton) moles and layered storytelling keeps our minds working on subtext throughout the film.

Intelligent casting by Ellen Chenoweth made Michael Gambon’s trusted voice our narrator, guiding us through a day in the life of Roman Catholic Capitol Pictures executive Eddie Mannix (Brolin) as he maneuvers the eccentric fires of the film industry. This does not exclude the damn Commies or chatting with the wife about their son’s soccer game.

If we need a reminder that the Coen Brother’s know their craft, they let us know with their nod at an Alfred Hitchcock-esque car follow out to the Malibu coast. Additionally, the intentional decision to begin all their scenes taking place on sound stages without the audience knowing it makes for smooth transitions between the various plot lines. Tight shots let us invest in the scene before pulling out to reveal the director, crew, lights and production team. It’s a devilish play at our reality. The brothers’ seamless writing in Mannix’ diverse religious consult on the depiction of Christ leaves us in stitches.

Meanwhile, the promised sexual prowess between DeeAnna Moran (Johansson) and Joseph Silverman (Hill) is everything Moran’s yankee “fish-ass” demeanor can dream of. McDormand is positively bat-like, tucked into the editing department with a cigarette hanging off her lip. And our hats are off for Ehrenreich as Hobie Doyle, who manages to pull off a tongue-twisting accent-on-top-of-an-accent with cowboy charm. Lest I be remiss to mention the Tatum tap-dancing South Pacific ode to dames. His tan features are contoured to match the suave swing of his voice and we swoon to see him dance again on screen.

Carter Burwell cannot escape the chord progression that is immortalized as Twilight (2008) but with the old school westerns, big band scenes and Latin mass requiems it is easier to disguise. It ends up being a score that reflects its delightfully colorful story.

              This gregarious tribute to the real life Eddie Mannix (of MGM) is well done, memorializing the man as only the Coen Brothers can.

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The Finest Hours

The Finest Hours, 2016

Directed by Craig Gillespie, 117 minutes

Chris Pine, Casey Affleck, Ben Foster, Eric Bana, Holliday Granger

Review by Katherine Scheetz

              Director Craig Gillespie (Million Dollar Arm) took the kind of story that reminds us there are good people out there and did to The Finest Hours what we all feared would happen when we saw who the producers were: he Disney-ified it. I would have preferred to see the version of this film directed by David Ayer (Training Day).

             

In February of 1952, in the seaside town of Wellfleet, Massachusetts a blizzard turned and waves roiled up to 70 feet. A thirty-six-foot lifeboat manned by four and captained by Coast Guard skipper Bernie Webber (Pine) took off from shore, headed to the wreckage of an oil tanker that had been ripped in half by the storm, in search of survivors.

There are no illusions that this was a suicide mission. Pride caused people to make bad calls and men died. It’s a gritty story and Gillespie through a series of poor decisions that range from caricatured costuming to unimaginative shots, sanded it smooth.

The final straw however is Carter Burwell’s Twilight-esque score. With crashing waves, sleet and snow streaking howling winds and men shouting at each other as the fractured hull of the tanker fills with sea water, this is a loud film. The added sensory of Burwell’s full orchestrations and swells of strings is more headache than harmony. 

Fortunately, the acting performances keep the film bobbing above the water by providing a glimpse at what the actual night might have been like, rather than the Disney night. It’s a very different role for Pine, especially coming from Into the Woods. There’s no charm to him, no glossy, flowing hair flips. When we meet Bernie he is quiet and follows orders. One of the redeeming parts of the film is watching Bernie come into his own, sans his will-not-take-no-for-an-answer woman Miriam (Granger), who seems injected into the story to play the role of figurehead for the for the town’s part in the rescue.

Another strength of the film is actively including the audience in the problem solving, especially on the tanker, which delays its inevitable sinking. Affleck is the initiative here, the morose, unlikable engine room lackey Ray Sybert, whose quick analytics keep the ship in their control long enough to, well, you’ve seen the poster.

              But the skeleton of the story is triumphant and if for no other reason than honoring those involved, it is good that this film was made. Maybe next time they’ll be more honest about it.

             

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