From Cannes to Telluride
I saw three or four films in Cannes back in May that count as tectonic shifts where this year’s movie performances are concerned. One of the most surprising moments in Mad Max: Fury Road comes from the scene where Tom Hardy trudges through the sand towards the war rig. Up to now, we’ve only seen Charlize Theron as the driver of the rig, but once Hardy rounds the corner there emerge the women, the “breeders,” barely clothed in white gauzy material, washing themselves with fresh water. What a sight for Hardy’s Max, who can’t quite figure out what he’s seeing. But even more of a jolt is the way Furiosa approaches Max in this scene, attacking with one arm, then pulling back, then attacking again. Clearly this isn’t a woman who will be beaten. After all, she knows the passcode that enables the war rig to run. Theron as Furiosa owns Mad Max – both the film and the character, a power swap that caused a shift in how people regarded Mad Max the icon. Theron’s focuses her hold on Hardy as she battles him for the gun, all in defense of nothing any bigger than saving whatever humanity is left of the human race. When Max momentarily bests her and tries to leave (he can’t, she has the codes) her toughness flickers and briefly fades – but never much shakes her tough facade. It is a masterful, steady and ultimately brilliant performance by Theron.
In Carol, for those of us lucky enough to have seen it before anyone knew what it was about, we watch Rooney Mara as Therese as her gaze falls upon Cate Blanchett as Carol for the very first time. The two women could not be more different, yet at a time when a glance could be an invisible note passing between two people, the looks they exchange with each other across the room says everything. Where they will go from there, how they will find a way to pierce the barriers that keep them apart is the thrust of the story that eventually follows, but that first moment of curiosity and realization that plays over Mara’s wide, cinematic face is so moving. So much of Mara’s performance in Carol is about that face, how much it reveals. She holds back more than usual, so as Therese visibly gradually discovers herself, likewise her expressions and desires outwardly bloom. Blanchett’s Carol is the kind of woman you can’t help notice walking into a room, and here that sexuality and power is on full display, maybe as never before. This dynamic is often played out in stories of male friendships – like Jack Kerouac and Neal Cassady. But has any film with two women ever really done it this way so well? Mara’s Therese is closed to the free expressionism of Blanchett’s Carol – until suddenly she embraces it. It’s a beautiful thing to watch unfold in Todd Haynes’ sumptuous love story.
The final moment from a film that premiered at Cannes arrives in a fleeting scene with Jane Fonda and Harvey Keitel. We’ve already written about this, talked about it, and many people have seen it – but watching the film back in May and having no idea what Jane Fonda was about to do in the film, her delivery and inside-out acting seems to top every performance she’s ever given, in just a few short minutes. What is it about that scene? (which wisely isn’t available in clips yet). It’s that Fonda speaks the truth. It’s what she says and the way she says it that anoints hers among the best performances of the year.
A few months later, in Telluride, I would be swept up throughout Tom McCarthy’s Spotlight. This is a film that doesn’t give short shrift to a single performance. It’s a film that truly celebrates, more than anything, what an ensemble can do. Each performance stands out on its own, with a seamless generosity that doesn’t permit any individual to take over the film. The moment that stood out for me – well, there were two significant ones. The first is Stanley Tucci getting the news that the story had finally been told. He could have reacted big, to have an expansive “acting moment.” But instead he holds back, nods with quiet humility, then returns to his work. Tucci is such a pro – he knew that it would have far more impact if he didn’t overplay the emotion in that scene. Later, the film sort of comes to a halt when Michael Keaton‘s character must atone for having buried an important lede in the story early on. He takes it. Like Tucci, he also doesn’t play the moment big because he knows it will carry so much more impact if he lets it just simmer under the surface.
Steve Jobs is an actors’ showcase from start to finish. It has memorable, powerful moments throughout. Some of people who worship Sorkin and dominate the online film conversation are the type who don’t think a father/daughter relationship is “that important,” or important enough to make a whole movie about, especially a movie about Steve Jobs. But at the end of the film when Michael Fassbender turns to his daughter, with a room full of screaming, cheering future Apple consumers, he realizes suddenly: why strive for anything at all? Why be alive? Why work to achieve anything? Why bother inventing things? In turning to her in that moment the film makes a clear separation between artful fiction and the “true story” of Jobs, who may never have had a eureka moment like that. What Sorkin and Boyle are doing in that scene isn’t to tell us who Steve Jobs was. It isn’t even to tell us who Aaron Sorkin is, or wishes Jobs was. It’s to tell us who we are, what we’re in danger of becoming, what we’re in danger of losing. Very few writers ever go that deep, but Sorkin is one who always has an eye on the bigger picture. What does he want to say about humanity? Not just this one man who was successful once. That message he offers resonates in Steve Jobs in much the same way The Social Network conveyed – life is other people. Life is who you love. Life is who you have conversations with. Life is not what you invent. Life is not how much money you make. Life is not what you buy. Apple consumers are so caught up in product and identity it’s actually kind of horrifying. This film is a reminder — and it needs that end scene to seal the deal — that none of that shit matters in the least bit. Turn away from it. Turn to a living, breathing person because that’s what is real. It’s a beautiful thing, and I’m sorry to see how few people seem to realize this.
I don’t know that I can adequately explain what it was like to watch Beasts of No Nation in Telluride, to travel with young Agu (Abraham Attah) on his terrifying perilous journey from a secure family life to the insanity of being enlisted as a child soldier, to his disillusionment with a fake god and warlord (Idris Elba), and his ultimate return to real life. Beasts of No Nation is full of vivid, unforgettable moments. From Agu’s flashlight game with his brother, to the moment he’s forced to kill for the first time, to the final scene where he confesses his sins and explains that he was once someone loved by his family. But probably the moment that resonates with me most is when Agu’s only friend Strika (Emmanuel Nii Adom Quaye) is killed. They are both pretending to be so tough, not even hitting puberty yet, and already murdering people on command. Strika had shown Agu brief moments of friendship and kindness — patting him on the back, teaching him, listening to him. That they could find each other under such horrific circumstances really does become the thing that helps Agu remember he’s still human. But of course, the war takes everything from him. He tries to wake his young friend, he tries to carry him – he does what he can but it’s useless. As depressing and difficult to watch as Beasts of No Nation may be, it’s such a brilliant meditation on war – on the worst things humans do, and sometimes the best things they can do.
Lenny Abrahamsson’s Room is a film whose first half you want to put out of your mind. It isn’t until they escape from the room and begin to form lives as real people that the film begins to really come alive. Although their time in the room is full of memorable moments, it is also deliberately suffocating to watch — though masterfully played by Brie Larson and Jacob Tremblay. There are two moments I’ll never forget. One is when Brie Larson is seen through the window of the police car – frantically searching for a glimpse of her boy, safe and sound. I marvel at this scene because Larson isn’t a mother and yet she so brilliantly captured that primal maternal hysteria we can’t help but feel when our young are in danger. She sends him out into the world in the desperate hope that they would be found but she really has no idea if he is dead or alive, if the kidnapper has discovered him and is on his way back to kill her. It’s astonishing and one of the reasons Larson is probably going to win the Oscar. The other moment is when Tremblay’s Jack, who has been imagining having a dog all year, gets the chance to finally meet a real dog. It would be one thing if it had been just an ordinary dog, or even a lab – but this little dog is so kind-faced, so unadorned, it’s all the more moving. He’s suddenly the greatest dog alive because he’s the first dog this poor kid has ever seen.
Black Mass gathers its intensity around Johnny Depp as Whitey Bulger. It’s a tricky performance because he’s playing one of the most cold blooded killers in mob history yet Depp himself is so likable it seems impossible to make him truly menacing. But Depp pulls it off. One great scene among many involves Depp luring Juno Temple into a house, making her think she was “set” – and then killing her coldly, quickly, before heading off to dinner. Depp’s performance goes beyond anything he’s ever done because his famous charm has completely vanished and in its absence is a monster.
Watching Carey Mulligan showcase her ability in both Far from the Madding Crowd and Suffragette this year has been reminiscent of the early part of Kate Winslet’s career. Mulligan is one of those performers who steals movies out from under everyone else. Suffragette is a film that relies almost entirely on her face. The moment in the film that stands out the most is when Mulligan must summon the courage to tell those who oppose her that she really does believe in fighting for the rights of women – but as she is rejected by the patriarchal world she’s trapped in, eventually that hopeful desire for change shifts to a wild rebellion. This transition plays out best when Mulligan must explain herself after being arrested. Nothing is ever overdone in the movie, and that includes Mulligan’s masterful performance.
One of the most chilling and memorable acting moments of the year – if not the number one – is Charlotte Rampling at the end of 45 Years. An entire film built on the tension of a wife discovering what her husband really thinks about her and their marriage. She works like a detective to uncover his true feelings, because he won’t tell her. The quite murmur of their lives plays out in their day-to-day routine. When it comes time to reclaim their love for each other Rampling finally has her answer. As the camera pulls back, the look on her face is something you will never forget. It’s one of the most startling cinematic moments of the year, for sure.
This is only part one of an ongoing series. We’re just getting started. Next up, the genius ensemble of The Martian, Saoirse Ronan owns Brooklyn, and more. Much more.
