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reviews in brief.
American Splendor
R. 101 minutes, Liberty Hall
"Ordinary life is pretty complex stuff," claims Harvey Pekar the every-man hero and real life writer of American Splendor. The movie is just that, ordinary stuff made wonderfully complex as the audience witnesses the world of counterculture comics weaved into day-to-day life.
Directors Shari Spring Berman and Robert Pulcini (The Young and the Dead) chronicle Harvey's life from the early 1950s to today, displaying how the grimacing anti-hero draws from his experiences to fill the pages of underground comics. From David Letterman to a cheery waitress, to marital stress and cancer, every pain in Harvey's ass is brilliantly placed into the audiences'.
The directors are aided by a career-defining performance delivered by Paul Giamatti (Duets), who plays Harvey with such disgust for life that the audience is forced to share his delightful misery.
The two filmmakers use their experience in documentaries to give the film an authentic feel, including interviews and narration by the real Harvey Pekar, clips from Pekar's appearances on Late Night with David Letterman and interviews with the real characters in Pekar's comics, such as his wife, Joyce Brabner.
One of the most remarkable aspects of
this film is its ability to capture the paneled and inner-monologued feeling of a comic book, a task that even big-budget superhero movies have failed to do. The audience gets to see thought balloons, narration lines and even the drawn incarnations of various characters within the movie.
For covering 50-plus years and having a real-life basis, the hour and 40 minutes of film moves by rather quickly, never allowing the audience to wallow in too much of Harvey's misery. While serious subjects such as cancer are contemplated, the movie, much like the real-life Pekar, always finds the humorous side of a situation.
The theater life of this movie might be short, so fans of brilliant acting and wonderful filmmaking should catch this flick before it leaves theaters.
-Cal Creek
Grade: A-
Lost in Translation
R. 105 minutes. Liberty Hall
In Sofia Coppola's exhilarating tragicomedy Lost in Translation, a jaded American actor named Bob Harris (Bill Murray) lands in neon-drenched Tokyo to shoot a whiskey commercial. At the hotel where Bob is staying, he meets another American, recent philosophy graduate Charlotte (Scarlett Johansson),
and their late-night travails fill in the only storyline this movie needs.
Coppola's loose, observant screenplay is more interested in atmosphere than plot. Her film finds its unique, downbeat verve after hours, when the booze is ample, the music mellow and the conversation long and sweet.
This isn't the first time Bob has wallowed in crass commercialism — in a dubbed rerun we see him play a cop whose partner is a monkey — but he's probably never been this depressed about it. Japanese subservience has quickly worn its welcome, even before an S&M prostitute comes calling to politely ask him to "lip" off her stockings.
Hope Davis and Paul Giamatti star in American Splendor, a movie based on the life of comic-book artist Robert Crumb.
Contributed photo
Whereas Bob is going in the wrong direction, Charlotte can't seem to choose one. Her marketability as a philosophy major is, in what should come as a shock to the folks studying Machiavelli over in Wescoe Hall, somewhat limited. Her marriage to a star photographer named John (Giovanni Ribisi) seems to be headed for an early downfall.
These typically lonely Americans hang out in the hotel bar and at a fashion party, where they sing karaoke, sip whiskey and talk about what might have been and what still might be.
Lost in Translation has an eclectic, beat rhythm. It occupies a funky place between Hollywood conventions and independent spirit, unfamiliar territory that's easy to get lost in. The film also delivers a timely message that Americans have the ability to blend in overseas and are more often than not greeted with open arms.
Less elusive than her visually dreamy but conceptually fuzzy debut, The Virgin Suicides, Coppola's new film is funny, sad and great to listen to, with exquisite performances. Murray deserves every bit of the Oscar attention he'll receive this winter, but look out for Ribisi. He steals every scene he's in with what appears to be a parody of filmmaker Spike Jonze, inward genius, outward buffoon and real-life husband to Coppola.
—Stephen Shupe
Grade: A-
Thirteen
R, 100 minutes. AMC 30 (Olathe)
Any girl can relate to the feeling of wanting to fit in with the cool girls at school. Anyone who has ever gone to
Nikki Reed helped co-wrote and co-starred in the new drama Thirteen.
school knows that feeling but we, as girls feel the pressure in a different way than most guys. I'il admit that when I was thirteen I, unaware of any Britney Spears, was far more innocent and sheltered than the girls in Thirteen. In our media-obsessed culture that caters to young girls, first propping up Ms. Spears as a role model and then becoming infatuated with whether she slept with Justin, it is easy to see why the girls in Thirteen look and act older than I do, at 19.
In Thirteen, we see Tracy (Evan Rachel Wood) on her first day of seventh grade in pigtails and jean shorts. By the next day she has jeans tight enough to cut off circulation. The object of her newfound adoration is Evie (Nikki Reed), the epitome of cool at Tracy's school. After desperately trying to win Evie's attention, Tracy steals a woman's wallet so Evie will give her the time of day. Witness to all this change is Tracy's mother, Mel (Holly Hunter). Mel is too preoccupied with keeping her family's heads above water to notice the change in her daughter. Evie leads Tracy into more dangerous situations than imaginable until she has become unrecognizable, all to the dismay of Mel.
Written by Reed, based on her own adolescent adventures, the film portrays the age in a raw and unflinching way. The jerky movements of the camera and documentary feel work to give the film a reality that most parents need to see. Especially
20 jayplay
thursday, october 2. 2003