The Gigantic Mr. Anderson

If for his next film, Wes Anderson were to suddenly drop the motif of refined preciousness that has increasingly dominated his oeuvre, instead returning to the disconcerting tone of oddness that characterized his debut Bottle Rocket, the result would be nearly identical to Gigantic.

A low-budget indie by newcomer writer/director Matt Aselton, Gigantic stars Paul Dano and Zooey Deschanel as a thoroughly baffling young couple attempting to make sense of their burgeoning romance and disparately erratic families. Like Anderson's films, Gigantic frequently portrays individual and family dysfunction as whimsical and comedic.

More to the point, the film features two versions of Anderson's typical fiercely outspoken, rebellious father figure characters (e.g. Royal Tenenbaum, Steve Zissou). John Goodman appears first as Al Lolly, a profane, fast-talking art collector who insists on being driven around Manhattan lying down in the back of his station wagon due to chronic back pain. When he sends his daughter Harriet, aka Happy (Deschanel) to finalize the deals of a $14,000 mattress purchase, she encounters reticent salesman Brian Weathersby (Dano), about to embark on a trip to Vermont for his father's 80th birthday.

Sentimentality gives way to surrealism, as the elder Mr. Weathersby's birthday tradition actually consists primarily of a communal mushroom trip/hunt with his adult sons in the Vermont backwoods. Refreshingly, there are no outlandish special effects on display here to cheapen this experience- the viewer relies instead solely on the actors to convey 'shoom-induced feelings of wonder and confused. Yet even without psilocybin, Papa Weathersby is often confused about the age he is living in- requesting bourbon and the domestic services of a (secretary) girl in a modern day cubicle.

Thus, the same Andersonian assumption that eccentricity accompanies age and privilege is on full display here. The most awkward, unexpected and disjointed conversations occur in the spaces of greatest luxury- downtown lofts, a fully furnished cabin, high-priced restaurants, a special message parlor etc. While it is never made explicit, it is fairly evident that money buys one the ability to act outlandish without very many legal or social repercussions.

Animating all the proceedings is a firmly American upper-class sense of entitlement- to have one's thoughts expressed aloud, no matter how convoluted, and one's voice heard above the public din, no matter how small and selfish. Even Dano's comparatively humble mattress salesman feels entitled enough to seriously desire adopting a Chinese baby at age 28 (although his reasons are presumably less superficial and disagreeable than those of some certain high-profile celebrity mothers).

The film is unabashedly sexier and more sexually explicit than any of Anderson's, including the over-hyped appearance of a "nude" (backside only) Natalie Portman in the Hotel Chevalier short film opening to The Darjeeling Limited. Loly parades around her father's loft in short, revealing lingerie. At her invitation, Weathersby and her fuck for the first time in the back of her father's car while he is receiving chiropractic treatment. When they are finished, it looks as though she is pulling back on thigh-highs. The couple proceed to go skinny-dipping in a university pool on their second date, with Deschanel exposing her breasts. If not reality, all of this is a welcome dip in explicitness that is sorely lacking from Anderson's style.

But it is in unflinching portrayals of mental disturbance and violence that make Gigantic really more than a rip-off of Wes Anderson's current pampered, frilly cinematic world. Sure, suicidal tendencies appear prominently in several of Anderson's works, but never have they manifested themselves with the kind of gory entropy that is evident in this film. Self-destruction is actually personified here as a sadistic "homeless person," Weathersby's ominous bearded stalker (Zach Galifianakis, appearing as one of the leads in the hotly anticipated summer comedy The Hangover), a figure who may or may not even be real. To refer back to Dano's high-profile film by a different Anderson, "there will be blood," and not just a little bit of it, either.

Viewers looking for a reprieve in the flighty, wide-eyed Zooey Deschanel will be similarly disappointed, as although her character here begins innocent enough, it is obvious, after a graphic scene of vomiting and various scenes of crying and implied trysting, that she too has some serious mental and emotional issues going on. We get a slice of Happy's biological mother over the phone, drugged out of her wits in a cold marble condo in "Taos...wait, Florida," which tells us a little about her daughter's background, but not enough to explain everything.

But that's where Gigantic works best, I think, -in its cryptic treatment of these characters. The viewer is almost never certain what is going on inside anyone's head, perhaps least of all, the director's. What to make of the title, for example? Nothing in this film, outside of John Goodman, is really all that gigantic. There is a loose motif of lab rats swimming for their lives vs. "resigning" to their fates and drowning, repeated in the skinny-dip and Weathersby's fights with his stalker, but the film ends on a conspicuously dry, happy and sentimental note. Such deliberate obfuscation of message and abrupt change in tonality probably doesn't resonate with the majority of moviegoers, but this is an indie film, so it doesn't have to. I found Gigantic to be an intriguing and promising work from a new director, even if it is a little too dependent on Wes Anderson for its themes.

In Sum: Fucked-up, funny and sexy, but slow-burning and clearly influenced by Wes Anderson, Gigantic is a worthy endeavor from a first time writer/director.

Boy Meets Boy

A funny thing about the new Apatow comedy "I Love You, Man" is that it is not, in fact, directed or produced by Judd Apatow. Judging by the tone of the trailers and the cast members, it really seems like Apatow- the biggest name in comedy in this first decade of the 2000's, must have had something to do with it. It's about the same thing as his other movies- the ridiculousness of modern love, sex, and brotherhood. There's a fair amount of sexually explicit dialogue and at least one Jewish joke, and it's even got a nice close-up shot of up a bong (Although, sadly, nobody declares their intention to fuck it.) Didn't he at least come by the set?

But make no mistake, despite any pretenses to the contrary, "I Love You, Man" is most-assuredly not an Apatow film. For one thing, the directorial quality is not nearly as confident or pointed as any of the great A's features. As a matter of fact, it's downright timid- what with liberal use of soundstages and soft, netural lighting. This isn't exactly a surprise, coming from third-time film director John Hamburg(no er!), especially since he's the one who brought us the already forgotten Ben Stiller/Jennifer Aniston rom-com "Along Came Polly." (Checking out his IMDB credits, it looks like his debut "Safe Men" might be fairly worthwhile- but God knows when I'll get to that.)

The second, more significant reason that "I Love You, Man" differentiates markedly from the Apatow catalog to-date is that it is a queer comedy. You read right, queer- as in non-heterosexual. It is not a super ironic buddy comedy, not a (and I promise, this is the first and last time I will resort to this grossly-overextended moniker, the late decade's poor replacement for "metrosexual":) "Bromance," not even an ambiguously gay movie, although the two lead actors often seem to be channeling the spirit of a certain acrobatic, animated duo. While Apatow has thus-far remained true to his frat-boy audience and employed only the most timeworn, clumsy, insincere depictions of male homoeroticism in his films for the cheapest of laughs, Hamburg and the "I Love You, Man" company actually go all the way and do a gay romantic comedy. Therefore, the viewer shouldn't think of this project as a sub-par Apatow knock off, but rather, a logical and necessary extrapolation, fuck, maybe even culmination, of his closeted comedy career.

Where am I getting this? The film itself makes no secret of its pretense: Paul Rudd plays Peter Klaven, a self-proclaimed "girlfriend-guy" who has managed to go some 30+ years of life without ever developing any close male friends. Once he realizes that this is not nearly as socially acceptable to his stunning new fiance Zooey (Rashida Jones, best known from "The Office") or her friends as it his to him and his family, he decides to embark on a series of, and I quote, "man-dates" to find himself a... what was it again exactly? Best man at his hetero-wedding?

Even if this was the innocently stated impetus, we quickly discover how truly lonely and desperate Kraven is for male companionship, going so far as to turn to his openly gay younger brother (Andy Samberg) for help. (Notably, research shows that the probability that the brother of a gay man is also gay is about four times higher than normal.) The crux of this whole adventure in boyland rests on the fact that Rudd's Kraven is fundamentally a shy, weird, awkward, and well...queer adult man. We see it in his inability to stand up for himself- to his fiance and her friends when they bash him behind his back, to his mom when she sets him up on a dinner date with a snobby, openly gay architect caricature (Thomas Lennon, the queer and hilarious Lt. Dangle on "Reno 911"), to the loud, muscular Alpha-male strongmen in his life (Lou Ferrigno and Jon Favreau). We see it in his hobbies- he is an avid fencer in an all-men's club (and a good one at that, consistently "out-poking" his more flaccid opponents with his swordpoint), a wannabe cook and an avid fan of the films The Devil Wears Prada and Chocolat. Clearly, if we didn't know about the fantastically-formed woman set to marry him, we would conclude that Peter was pure purple through and through. Even as it is, we cannot help but think that he's at least bi-curious, given his sudden eagerness to go on man-dates the minute he realizes he's getting hitched, for life, to the very embodiment of sexy femininity.

And sure, it's easy enough to point to the elementary Freudian symbols- the sword, the corn dog, the guitars (especially the "air" ones). Anyone can twist those around and make them as sexually significant as their particular arguments entail. But combined with the such well-defined or well-summarized personalities, combined with the transparently classical romantic story structure, combined with the very relationships that form the basis of the film, well, then these symbols take on a much greater and focused significance.

Just look at how drastically Peter's behavior, initially so meek, inhibited and insulated, changes when he begins his "relationship" with Jason Segel's Sydney. Here is Peter at the first encounter- immediately taken with Sydney's brashness but hesitant to approach- observing the stylish but eccentrically-dressed extrovert from across the room at his open house. Here he is a few days later; anxious, bashful, eagerly awaiting Sydney's call like a high school girl waits on that from her crush. Here he is again and again on the phone with Syndey- nervous; stuttering, stammering, speaking nonsense. And then so delighted after their first night out- drunk, bouncing back and forth on his heels, giant, goofy grin on his face. You get the point. The movie HAMMERS us with it over the head it, making sure we are not dumb enough to make the comparison to every straight love story we've ever seen. But again- we are trained at this point in our filmgoing career to laugh it off- to roll our eyes and shake our heads. It's just a self-aware buddy flick, that's all....Just one where the courtship of one buddy by the other forms the whole first and second acts. Just one where a guy LEAVES his babe of a girlfriend to "have fun" with the guys...with one guy...in his bachelor pad on Venice Beach...with no windows...

"Not good enough," you say, "Again, all of these could be deliberate parodies of the development of a straight male friendship, allusions to common cliches of courtship to make us laugh at the conventions of both dating and hanging out." Maybe, I say, no doubt even those involved in the production would use this is a defense. But, I retort, why so many???

On a separate, but obviously related note, I would like to put forward the theory of the gradient scale of masculinity at work in "I Love You, Man." The scale goes like this: On one end is the prima-donna architect- the most stereotypically homosexual, i.e. feminine, of the lot. Then comes Peter, the repressed but burgeoning queer, who over the course of the film comes to embrace his "rock'n'roll" masculinity, thereby moving across the scale a few notches. Next is Peter's brother, Samberg's unsuspecting gay body-builder, who has to teach his supposedly straight brother how to make platonic friends. In the middle is Sydney, the swinging bachelor, the "bad-boy" that no woman (or fem) can resist liking, in spite of his reckless and irresponsible ways. It's Syndey, talking crudely and frankly, who gets Peter to open up about his repressed sexuality (we find out that Zooey, for all her physical charms, is not much of a giver when it comes to oral sex, which leaves Peter unfulfilled but still too afraid to communicate, until Syndey drops a not-so obvious innuendo to the entire family at dinner) and yet it is Sydney who owns a small dog, lives alone in a house without windows and alone appreciates the fine hours d'ourves that Peter lays out for his open houses. It's Sydney that jumps to stand up to Lou Ferrigno (the alpha-male at the far end of the scale); Sydney risking his hide for his "friend" Peter. And what of Ferrigno, the some time body builder and "Hulk" actor, never depicted in this film with a love-interest? And the beefy, beer-drinking misogynistic John Favreau character, who talks a little too loudly about his sexual fitness with his wife?

Sure, even in a straight reading, it makes sense to include all these guys to show why Peter and Sydney gravitate toward one another. The rest of the male roles are portrayed largely as extremities on the scale, people that are either too feminine or too masculine or just plain too fucking strange to really relate too, let alone form an enduring relationship with. But it makes a lot more sense, and is a helluva lot more interesting, when Peter and Sydney are gay, or at least selectively bisexual. Only then are the characters fully realized as symbols of modern romance, with all of its nuance, confusion and freedom.

"You're reading far too much into this," you say, with panicked skepticism. "It's just a cheap, R-rated, Apatow-esque comedy that happens to rely mostly on gay jokes." Potentially, I say once more, and yet even in that case, the biggest joke is on us for being so fucking unreasonably, immaturely uncomfortable about the thought of man on man love.

In Sum: A sincerely funny but more importantly, provocative film about relationships- gay, straight, and in-between, as the case may be. Worth seeing in theaters.

Bah Slumbug!

Slumdog Millionaire is this year's City of God. Think about it: Both films are about male-pair relationships (best friends/brothers), set in filthy, crime-ridden slums on the outskirts of rapidly modernizing cities (Rio/Mumbai) and shot on location. In either case, the more ambitious of the male protagonists end up falling in with the criminal set. In fact, even the ethically-bound characters are often depicted doing illegal things to survive, mostly petty theft. The films are similarly tragic throughout, although they end on highly triumphant notes. They even have suspiciously analogous openings:





Which is better? See them both, and you tell me...it's a tough call, for sure.

Make Step...Up Yours

What does it say about the disconnect between the general public and film critics when "Step-Up 2 The Streets," is the number three most popular movie in America, while the Best Picture front runners languish at the bottom of the the top ten, or completely below it? Personally, I don't read too much into this disparity- as it's really just analogous to music. Nobody with anything approaching a refined music sensibility has anything good to say about "Crank Dat Soulja Boy," but for the past few months it's been played constantly, everywhere, by everyone (although, ironically, not even a snippet was included in "Step Up 2.")

Innumerable essays have been written on the curious distance between that which is declared by a certain, classically-informed elite to be "good," and what the people celebrate. Sometimes the two coincide, to be certain, as was the case with the 1997 best picture winner "Titanic," or the 1995 Palme-D'Or recipient and contemporary-crime legend "Pulp Fiction." But more often than not, the public gravitates towards art which is blunt, unpretentious and accessible. We like the semblance of authenticity here in the United States. Even if we're being shilled products and made to feel inadequate in our looks, our love and our life, we'll swallow it so long as it remains quasi-honest and identifiable, playing on universal conflicts and emotions, like, of course, feelings of inadequacy.

That makes it sound as though "Step Up 2" is one long, dumb commercial, and it definitely isn't. There was less conspicuous product-placement and brand-identification than in "Knocked-Up," even counting the suspicious similarity in the main characters' cell phone "Sidekicks." The film might have lacked a certain nuance, creative storytelling and original cinematography (ripping shamelessly off of the music-videos of featured musicians), but this was at least partially compensated by excellent dance choreography and a strong sense of self-consciousness.

That's right, the makers of "Step Up 2," knew while they were creating the movie that it would be branded with critical disdain, even disgust. That's why they even factored this idea into the fabric of the narrative- the protagonists are all anti-establishment outcasts, shunning classically-trained authorities and their traditions because they have so often faced misunderstanding and rejection. "Fuck the old school," the movie would say, if it were a little-more fierce and confrontational, "They don't get us, and we don't get them."

But because it is a film about (an admittedly precious) 16 year old girl, and because it is designed for those age 13 (or younger, with more liberal parents), the cursing, the sexuality, even the violence are all kept to a laughably unrealistic minimum.

It's the one area where the film film failed most to me, if only because it was so promising. I mean, the subject is at least somewhat interesting- modern dance, and how it differs from the dance of previous times and eras, how it is unique, and how the people at the time relate to it. It's just too bad that the plot was so linear and the characters and their world so underdeveloped.

The concept of a dance competition occurring in "The Streets," i.e. the poorer sections of a city, offers a lot of interesting opportunities to run wild with, such that the film cannot help but at least flirt with them. The popular dance crew are militaristic minorities, evocative of a stereotypical modern gang, willing to use theatrical vandalism and profanity-free graffitti to get their message across. Across town is a school for spoiled purebred sons and daughters, an insulated and dogmatic place buzzing with it's own sense of tense competition and exclusivity. Two sides of the same city, Baltimore, two clashing worlds, manifested by our two main characters and their relationship.

"The Wire," this is not, though. The main characters, an emotionally troubled but strong, beautiful girl and her lovable successful douche-bag suitor, bless their hearts, are so obvious and dull that it's hard to ever take them seriously.

Fortunately, we don't even have to, and we can still have a good time. "Step Up 2," intentionally avoids any originality outside of it's dance routines, and as such, the viewer is forced to focus more intensely on these scenes than any other singular aspect of the film. And even when they falter into the territory of hyperactive spectacle, they are no less kinetic or impressive than a typical movie martial arts battle.

Very few of us in the audience, especially professional critics, can perform physical feats close to those displayed by the dancers in "Step Up 2," and for that the movie need be dully applauded. It is a showcase of a particular kind of talent, one that goes somewhat overlooked in a world where the cinema is such a dominant cultural presence. Which is exactly why "Step Up 2" is so content with deliberately undermining its own medium, and offending the sensibilities of it's most refined followers. People will see and enjoy it regardless of what some older, more informed person thinks, because it does satisfy a certain unsophisticated appetite, like fast-food.

In Sum: The guiltiest of pleasures; a mostly intellectually devoid music-video that goes down easy with alcohol.