Elegy
Directed by Isabel Coixet. Written by Nicholas Meyer, based on the novel The Dying Animal by Philip Roth. With Ben Kingsley, Pen?lope Cruz, Patricia Clarkson, Dennis Hopper, and Peter Sarsgaard. (R)
The novels of Philip Roth have long had a troubled history in adaptation for the screen. Often unsightly affairs, full of the large pores, fluids and rough hairs of middle aged men, they tend to suffer from any softening, or the application of gloss so common in the novel-to-screen process. In general, it seems that filmmakers have been more interested in the idea of adapting a Philip Roth book than in any one of his particular stories, or his stories' particulars.
Elegy has some of those faults, yet remains a moving film rather than just watered-down Roth. It is helped enormously by having Ben Kingsley at its center as the aging professor and radio personality David Kepesh. When we first meet him, he's in the middle of a discussion on The Charlie Rose show, explaining that the early American colony at Plymouth once had a hedonistic counterpart, until Myles Standish was sent in to destroy it and make America safe for the Puritan way. Having Charlie Rose play himself is such an inspired touch that it makes one wonder why more directors don't make use of him—just knowing that Kepesh is on his show tells us more about the character than any amount of exposition could.
Kepesh's hedonistic tendencies are aroused by the arrival of Consuela Castillo (Pene lope Cruz), a captivating student who reminds the professor of the "carnal aspects of the human comedy." After cornering her at his after-class cocktail party, Kepesh chips away until he finds an in: she loves theater? He happens to write theater reviews for The New Yorker—perhaps she'd like to attend a play?
The surprise isn't that they end up in bed, but that they find themselves together afterward. Blindsided, the ultimate bachelor—in one of the film's most Rothian moments, Kepesh remarks, "When you make love to a woman, you get revenge for all the things that defeated you in life"—is shocked to discover he can still care so deeply about someone. It's a revelation that upends their relationship, and Consuela, some three decades younger, is the true adult in the face of Kepesh's fears, jealousies, and inability to commit to her. The under-appreciated Cruz, who could easily coast along by taking the Angelina Jolie route, has made some interesting choices, and it's her knowing performance that gives the relationship much of its weight.
Kingsley, too, continues to amaze; he's always bent his body to the needs of a role, and here he uses the considerable violence of his physique—his beaked nose, enormous ears, and that artillery shell of a head—to great effect. (It's worth remembering that the film is based on a book titled The Dying Animal.) He's helped here by a good supporting cast: his poet friend George (Dennis Hopper), his old lover and occasional sexual partner Carolyn (Patricia Clarkson), and his son Kenny (Peter Sarsgaard), who's in the midst of an affair of his own, and comes to his father for advice. Dad, after all, is the expert: the man who walked out on his own family years earlier. Hopper is particularly good as Kepesh's longtime partner in crime—the duo's twin goatees seem a mark of some dying rebellion.
Elegy is a sad film, filled with the regret left in the wake of every mishandled relationship. When the title comes into play in the film's third act, it's impossible not to feel the tug of history at your sleeve—the rueful tears for what could have been.
American Teen 1/2
Written and directed by Nanette Burstein. With Hannah Bailey, Colin Clemens, Geoff Haase, Megan Krizmanich, Mitch Reinholt, Jake Tusing, and Ali Wikalinska. (PG-13)
From the look of American Teen, it appears that very little has changed in the few decades that have passed since I attended high school—with a couple of very big exceptions. Perhaps the biggest of those is that it's now possible for hundreds of your closest friends, classmates and family members to receive a topless photo of you via email within seconds, a lesson learned by one of the students at Warsaw Community High School, where this documentary was filmed over the course of one senior year.
Focusing on a small group of seniors, each of whom represent some band of the geek to jock spectrum, the film follows them during their final year as they date and break up, get ready for the prom and await news of their collegiate futures. The tagline for the film runs through the various types on display—jock, geek, heartthrob, and more—and asks, "Which one were you?" At times it seems to overplay its hand in an attempt to dramatize the goings-on, but it's a useful and effective way to connect with an audience. No matter who you were in high school, you'll find something familiar here, and chances are it will make you cringe.
The girl behind the email campaign is Megan Krizmanich, a queen-bee blonde whose petty vindictiveness also leads her to spray paint a phallus and homophobic slurs on another classmate's home when his prom theme is chosen over hers. But if her behavior is the most appalling, she has company: a boy who has sex with his girlfriend, then breaks up with her; and another who later breaks up with the same girl via text message. Ironically, it's that girl—Hannah Bailey, an outsider who dreams of a career in filmmaking—who ends up taking the most chances with her life.
The other main threads in the film concern Jake Tusing, an acne-ridden, socially awkward teen who lives what's essentially a parallel life in the world of video games; and Colin Clemens, the local basketball star hoping for a scholarship to college. It's "that or the Army," says his father, an Elvis impersonator who performs at nursing homes. Jake's story is one of the most interesting, and painful, to watch—his quest to find a girlfriend leads to some of the film's most excruciating scenes—yet he always seems to bounce back with hope for the future.
The big question here is just how much of the film is truly documentary, and how much is restaged for the sake of the cameras. There's simply too much happening in too many different places for the camera crew to be there as often as it is—every important email, phone call, or text message is seen onscreen at just the right moment, and it feels fishy. The other x-factor is the question of how being followed by cameras for a year changed the behavior of the teens. Did they act out in ways they normally wouldn't have? The answer seems like an obvious yes, but if that's so, what does it say about the validity of a film that's supposed to be about the average teenager? Short of using hidden cameras, there's no way to know, but the doubt raised by the way the film is edited sometimes leaves one feeling conned.
Quibbles aside, American Teen is an engrossing affair, able immediately to pull a viewer back into the shark tank of high school. That so much remains the same is either a testament to our capacity for empathy, or proof of our capability for cruelty.
Star Wars: The Clone Wars 1/2
Directed by Dave Filoni. Written by Henry Gilroy. With Matt Lanter, Ashley Eckstein, James Arnold Taylor, Samuel L. Jackson, Christopher Lee, Tom Kane, and Anthony Daniels. (PG)
Apparently George Lucas has run out of grown men willing to buy lunchboxes. It's the only reason I can imagine for this uninspired entry in the Star Wars saga, one targeted at the tween set. Even calling it animated, though it is a cartoon, feels wrong; the film is that lifeless.
The story is another in the long clash between the Jedi knights and their enemies. This time around, the Separatists have kidnapped the son of Jabba the Hutt and framed the Jedis for the crime. Unless they can return the huttlet to his father unharmed, something apparently awful will happen; it involves trade routes, we're told.
Strangely, the film is set somewhere between the events of the last two Star Wars releases, which means that young Anakin Skywalker hasn't yet become the iconic Darth Vader. So after all the hoopla surrounding his "turn to the dark side," we're now back to his days as a young hero. Luckily, the animated Skywalker is as dull as the flesh and blood version played by Hayden Christensen, so the disconnect isn't all that terrible.
Far worse is the saccharine slant toward teeny-boppers. It seems that in every new installment, Lucas introduces a character that goes against everything he's built before; here, it's Skywalker's apprentice Ahsoka, a young girl who's more Powerpuff Girl than Princess Leia. Voiced by Ashley Eckstein, she calls her teacher "Sky Guy" and is generally written to sound like a junior-high Valley Girl. If it were any other film series, it would be par for the course, but this is Star Wars, for crying out loud. Say what you will about the sci-fi adventure, but for a long time it stood for something deeper.
Other voices fare better—especially Christopher Lee, reprising his role as the nefarious Count Dooku—but some are even worse: a fey, lisping uncle of Jabba who sounds like a New Orleans drag queen crossed with Truman Capote borders on offensive.
Apparently, The Clone Wars is a lead-up to a television series; I'd like to think that series will do well. The animation style, vaguely reminiscent of the old Thunderbirds series, is a bold choice, and one that works well after an initial bit of adjustment. But if it's going to succeed, the show will have to do something this film doesn't: remind people of what made Star Wars so exciting a long, long time ago.
Also this week: In the first half of the 20th century, a European dance troupe teamed up with the leading lights of the art world—Picasso, Mir?, Matisse and Stravinsky, among others—to create a form of ballet that would change the history of dance. The enchanting Ballet Russes, screening this weekend at the Academy of Music, tells the story of that groundbreaking company of dancers, mixing archival footage with the recollections of many of the ballerinas. (Pop culture fiends, take note: one of the dancers went on to portray Batgirl on the 1960s Batman television series.) Also unspooling at the Academy is Being There, Hal Ashby's classic 1979 film about a gardener named Chance (Peter Sellers) whose views on life have been entirely formed by watching television—and whose sound-bite style of speaking lands him in unexpectedly high places."
Jack Brown can be reached at cinemadope@gmail.com.
