Man on Film: Skyfall

Just as with the Anna Karenina review, I'm putting this one out there in a most triumphantly half-assed manner. Enjoy if you can. 

For the most part, I think I get what they are trying to do with the rebooted Daniel Craig and beyond James Bond franchise. To their (in this case, "their" is a vague person/entity that I don't really care to look deeper into, but surely it's some genius at Sony Pictures) credit, I can sort of get behind the choice to try to make James Bond a more human character with a backstory that builds some emotional capital in the audience. The James Bond of old seemed content to peddle sex and gadgets with little concern for grounding the series in something resembling the real world.

In Skyfall, the powers that be brought in a bona fide director to man the helm of what one assumes (and again, maybe I'm wrong, as I don't care to get too bogged down in the details of what is going on with this franchise) to be the final of the origin trilogy for the character. I think it's safe to say that Sam Mendes is the most esteemed director* to take on the character, and there is definitely a visual sophistication here that was absent in Casino Royale or especially anything that preceded the most recent three films.

*Though Lewis Gilbert did direct the original Alfie, Roger Spottiswoode did Air America, Stop! Or My Mom Will Shoot, Turner & Hooch, and The Best of Times, Michael Apted was responsible for Gorillas in the Mist and The Coal Miner's Daughter, Lee Tamahori directed Next, and Marc Forster was the man behind the wheel for Finding Neverland and Monster's Ball.

Unfortunately, even when blessed with the presence of the inestimable Javier Bardem as the villain, Skyfall just doesn't quite accomplish what it seems to attempt. For starters, the film is overlong. I don't have a problem with a film running long if it doesn't feel long. Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol was 130 minutes and clipped right along. Skyfall felt long. It plodded along for much of the film's latter half. And while it does the admirable thing in trying to extricate the films from the gadget-fetishism that made them camp and thus relics from a bygone era and gives the franchise a new great Quartermaster in the form of Ben Whishaw,  it still feels just a little less contemporary than it's trying to be.

To its credit, Skyfall does spend much of its downtime building emotional backstory, giving weight to the third act and finally allowing Judi Dench to feel like her presence isn't merely a squandered luxury. I suppose it seems a bit two-faced to complain about the film's run-time while at the same time crediting Mendes & Co. for infusing an emotional weight largely absent from the previous incarnation of the franchise, but you can have a film with a little less wasted screen time.

I've already prattled on far longer than I had intended, so I'm going to wrap things up here. I will say that Skyfall was significantly better than Casino Royale, which was so bad that I refused to even bother with Quantum of Solace. It is very far from the best thing I've seen this year, but there were plenty of worse films. Mendes showed he could do the massive action film with Skyfall. Hopefully this gives him the latitude to be able to do whatever he wants after this, damn the consequences, even if it's a follow-up to the criminally underrated Away We Go.

Wordy Old Men on Downton Abbey: Series Two, Episode Seven

We're back. Once again, your sherpas for Wordy Old Men on Downton Abbey are Wordy Ginters and Josh "Old Man" Duggan. Tell your friends, family, and even foes--nevermind, send your foes to people (dot) com--that they need to get their fool asses up in this joint. Once again, you can buy the second series on Blu-ray and on DVD. They're the original versions as aired in the U.K. (Series One available here on DVD and Blu-ray.) Why the British versions? Because they're unabridged, unlike what aired in the U.S. Do it (but follow those links if you do).

For those who need a reminder as to what happened in this episode, the calendar year has just turned to 1919, and the last of the army hospital's shit has been loaded into the back of a lorry. Lord Grantham wanders around the manor searching for meaning in his life. Sir Richard Carlisle attempts to enlist Anna as a spy to keep him apprised of Lady Mary's movements, an offer which she refuses. Having been asked by Carlisle not to say anything to Mary, Anna does tell Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson, who decides that he cannot follow Lady Mary to Hacksby. Matthew stands on his own two feet; all of Downton is shocked and ecstatic. Thomas spends his life's savings on foodstuffs from a rascal he met in a pub in the hopes of exploiting the post-war shortages of food via the black market. Lord Grantham impulsively kisses the new maid and war widow, Jane. Matthew announces that he and Lavinia are to marry in the coming spring. Violet, the Dowager Countess, visits Matthew in his bedroom and tells him that Lady Mary is still in love with him. Bates shares the information with Anna that he was actually tasked to buy the arsenic that his wife died from ingesting and later shares a letter that Vera sent to a friend a day before he came to visit for the last time in which she stated that she was worried for her well-being in relation to his visit. The choady Major Bryant's parents come to visit Downton. Ethel barges in with their bastard grandson, but Mr. Bryant is a dick, showing exactly from whence his son's shitheadedness originated. With the working man finally wearing down the Lady's defenses, Sybil and Branson slink off into the night with the intention of eloping. Mary finds that Sybil is gone, and Mary, Edith, and Anna hunt them down in the night, bringing Sybil back as to avoid the pain it would do to their parents.

Wordy Ginters: Gasp! Double Gasp! I'm insinuating that this episode was gaspy. Plot twists and soapy goodness in the best sense. Who doesn't love a good old fashioned television serial? Christ, after a fairly tame couple of episodes, a lot to unpack in this one.

Old Man Duggan: Things wuz happenin'.

WG: I should have known trouble was afoot when Isis got some early screen time. That dog portends chaos. The second sign was Thomas still sitting downstairs with the staff. What is that munch still doing moping about, I thought aloud to myself. And then his Lordship, dressed in his walkabout gear, literally upsets the apple cart with his little titillating run in with Jane. Is that the right name? It feels like it should start with an "E." I thought she was going to take a bite out of him before their moment was rudely interrupted by Mr. Shitheel's hoopty. My lawd, goodness, how little did I know. By the way, I only know this because a friend mentioned it, but Jane is a ringer for internet porn sensation Camille Crimson.

The taint of Game of Thrones nearing Lady Mary

OMD: It is Jane. Jane Moorsum. See does look like an Eliza or maybe an Eleanor. After thorough research, there is a striking similarity between actress Clare Calbraith and saucy beej queen Camille Crimson. To delve further into that conversation would be uncouth, unfortunately. Leave it to that bastard Sir Richard Carlisle to ruin everything, by the way. It's probably the taint of Game of Thrones working its way to Downton.

WG: Grantham shows he's human by having his little mid-life crisis. He recognizes the bill that others have paid. I kind of like seeing him get all existential, needing a shave, snapping at Cora, and pining for the days when his life had meaning. I loves me some anachronisms, was hoping that Grantham would pull Nauseau off the shelf of that gorgeous library. He's been building up to this for awhile, chafing at the idea that he's an aristocratic clown, ever since his military gig was revealed to be nothing more than window dressing back in episode one.

OMD: Robert is definitely in the full throes of an existential crisis. The fact that his daughters are preparing to leave the nest--further taking a bite out of his place and usefulness in the world--obviously plays into this as well. Lord Grantham is a man whose fortune isn't his, whose progeny are leaving home, whose heir is merely a cousin because he was unable to sire a male heir, whose wife is pulling strings behind his back as relates to his eldest daughter and his adopted son, whose past as a soldier was marginalized in wartime, and whose existence (at least in his eyes) has been relegated to caretaker for an estate that up until the 22-minute-mark of this episode is to be handed off to a cripple. Fellowes basically spent the entire second series emasculating him in swift little blows. I think he desperately wants for his life to have meaning.

WG: Did you feel any pull or sense of betrayal for Cora?

OMD: The second time around, no. It's strange; the first time I watched Robert's transgression really bothered me. Not now. Maybe it's that I see what Cora is doing in attempting to thrust Lavinia into Matthew's arms at the behest of Carlisle, an odious chap to be sure, but her taking up with a conniving bedfellow has left me disenchanted. Perhaps this was Fellowes's intent. She has definitely grown less sympathetic after losing her child.

WG: Carlisle. What a dick. He totally plays Anna for a chump. Weaving a tapestry of bullshit assuming she was dumb enough to fall for his spying scheme. Come on Carlisle, Bates doesn't run with that kind of crowd. More loathsome than Thomas. By far. And I love it.

OMD: He's a real bell-end. As I think we said in one of the last two entries in the series, there's nothing worse that an insecure prick with massive amounts of power. As big a shitbag as Thomas is, he doesn't have any power. Carlisle is as big a shithead as Thomas but is loaded to boot. There's a desire to escape his station that makes Thomas at least in part sympathetic. The only point of sympathy with Carlisle is that he wasn't born rich. That isn't something that really endears a character to the masses. That Jay Gatsby was as sympathetic as he was is a testament to F. Scott Fitzgerald's masterful way with words.

WG: Have you seen the boys haircuts the girls are wearing in Paris? Isn't that a Blur song?

OMD: I guess we know what song's getting embedded at the end of this post.

WG: Jesus, I see where Cap'n Bryant got his asshole from. Daddy. He's afraid of his grief. Yeah, right. I think he's probably just an insufferable prick.

OMD: Insecure pricks. Insufferable pricks. Pricks all around. Major Bryant's father is a total shithead. That walrus-looking motherfucker represents the worst of the aristocratic class. Telling the staff that his chauffeur would stay in the car and needed nothing to eat established that early on. Needing acknowledgement of paternity? What a shit. You raised a fucking shithead, Mr. Bryant. That said, fuck Ethel, too. If there's a story arc I wish had never happened, it's Ethel's.

WG: What did you make of the forbidden kiss between Grantham and Jane? I buy it. She's obviously scheming. He's not right in his head. What was stopping these Lords and Ladies from whoring around anyway? Nothing.

OMD: I actually think she's not scheming. I think there's a sincerity to their attraction. He certainly isn't right in the head.

WG: Another show stopper was Matthew standing up out of his chair. Reminded me of a scene from Dirty Rotten Scoundrels. Once again, lets recognize the masterful production of story lines and plot twists that could be laughable in less delicate hands. I don't know how Fellowes escapes the ridiculous, but he does.

OMD: Both times I've sort of chuckled at the development. Obviously it's foreshadowed, so it isn't unexpected. My main issue with the scene is that there are no signs of atrophy. He seems to stand too easily to come to Lavinia's aid. His legs haven't worked for how long? Yet he stands with ease? I'm glad for the man. I feel like I know him like a brother. I just wish I could not laugh when he gets his feet back under him.

WG: Great scene between Carson and Hughes, where Carson gives up some backstory for his kind concern for Mary. Excellent dialogue. Great lighting. Made me nostalgic for something I don't even understand.

OMD: That was easily my favorite scene of the episode. Hughes telling him that Mary got the better of the deal for six pence. The clear paternal affection evident through a cute anecdote. Mary wanting to take some silver into the village to fund her running away.

OMD: Before we shove off for the week, We've left two big developments and one small bit of comeuppance unspoken of:

First: The Dowager Countess goes against what is prim and proper, bursts (insofar as the Dowager can burst) into Matthew's room, and lays it all out there. "Mary is still in love with you." Matthew extols Lavinia's virtues, of which she really does have many, and then the Dowager drops the fucking hammer: "Marriage is a long business. There's no getting out of it for our kind of people. Now, you may live 40, 50 years with one of these two women. Just make sure you have selected the right one."

WG: Another highlight from this episode. The Dowager can be a cold and conniving bitty, but typically it's rooted in some type of pragmatism. Everybody loves Mary. She's been a sympathetic character for much of this season. Interesting that she appears to be souring like curdled cream just when most of Downton has her back.

OMD: Second: BRANSON!!! Yeah, bud. The elopement is postponed/off, but that sonuvabitch did it. He landed her. Way to go, you crazy Irish bastard.

WG: Fists were pumped in my household. I ain't ashamed. Comical to see Edith and Mary chase them down with more efficiency than Javier Bardem from No Country for Old Men (Bardem and Edith share the same hair style). And Sybil caved a little too easily for my liking. But I'm holding out hope.

OMD: Comeuppance: Thomas, you got had. Obviously, Fellowes has taken measures to humanize Thomas a bit. The mantle of Heel of Downton has been passed on to Sir Richard Carlisle, but it still feels good to see Thomas penniless after trying to make his way into the black market via a guy he met at the pub. What a rube.

WG: Yes. Delicious comeuppance. Thomas gets rolled and revealed as a soft touch. For me, his financial ruin was worth every pence just to see the plaster cake spit takes from Patmore and Daisy.

Man on Film: Biutiful

If you have seen Alejandro González Iñárritu's other three feature-length directorial efforts, you likely understand what you are getting into with Biutiful. If one were to list Amores Perros, 21 Grams, and Babel's shared traits, it would be that they are visually arresting, often bleak, and run perhaps a little long. While I happen to like those three films, I wouldn't necessarily cite the third trait as a strength, and the second limits his films' rewatchability. 

On Blu-ray May 31st

Biutiful marks the first feature that he has done since his public falling out with scribe Guillermo Arriaga, who got up on his soap box about authorship of films in the ramp-up to the Oscars when Babel was nominated for seven awards. While I happen to love Arriaga's work, both with Iñárritu* and without him, it is a little refreshing to see something different from Iñárritu himself. 


*The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada may have been my favorite movie of the past decade. 

Citing his father's life as inspiration for this film, this is clearly a very personal film for Iñárritu. More than any of his previous works, there are truly heartwrenching moments in this film. Uxbal, played to perfection by Javier Bardem, is a father of two in Barcelona living on the fringe, hustling to make a dime in morally ambiguous ways, and trying to get his affairs in order as terminal cancer is bearing down on him. As he scrambles to leave something for his two young children while their mother's grip on life loosens at every turn, your heart breaks. 


The film is deeply affective, in spite of its length. Bardem alone should get you excited about watching this film, as there are not many in the acting game who are as consistently amazing as he is. Uxbal is far from perfect and isn't above exploitation to serve his own benefit, but Alejandro González Iñárritu's world in film is not one of black and white. 












A quick formatting note, I updated the site to include the Amazon Associates widget. There will be links in some of the entries now. Apologies if this is a turn-off. I assure you, this will not affect what I write at all. 


And don't look now, but there are already three entries written for this week, and I'm starting another.

Man on Film: No Country for Old Men

After the release of two consecutive missteps, doubt began to creep into the collective psyche of filmgoers the world over as to whether they still had it. Joel and Ethan Coen have quieted any agnosticism with a resounding triumph. Owing much to their long-time collaborator, cinematographer Roger Deakins, they have taken Cormac McCarthy's minimalistic brutality and fully reimagined it for their medium.

The sparse nature of McCarthy's writing burns its way through the film; the Coens seemingly holding themselves to Hitchcock's belief that the right image will say much more than any words you can put in the mouths of the actors. This overarching lack of dialogue serves to lend even more credence to what each character does say. When the sporadic use of dialogue is coupled with the complete lack of a score, the result for the Coens is an intrinsically compelling film in which violence dances in and out of the characters' lives indiscriminately, just as it does in reality.

While the argument could certainly be made that the stars of the film could be Roger Deakins' camera and the landscape of West Texas, Southern New Mexico, and North Central Mexico, the Coens have once again managed to cast their film to perfection.

Javier Bardem channels insanity, dispassion, and determinism all at once, beholden to what one can only imagine to be some innate psychopathic code. Every choice Bardem makes is on point, including his much-talked-about hairstyle.

Tommy Lee Jones returns to the desert and scrubland of West Texas (the site of his little-seen directorial masterpiece The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada) where it seems as though he's destined to turn in fantastic performances. His wizened visage emotes so much that Joel and Ethan could have probably just trained the camera on his face, not given the character of Sheriff Ed Tom Bell any lines of dialogue, and still gotten every point across they desired. Fortunately, that was not the case, as his character provides the film with its center, heart, and much of its humor. As he and his deputy, Wendell (Garret Dillahunt of Deadwood notoriety), investigate the spree of crimes in their jurisdiction, their banter lightens up what would otherwise be an unrelenting look at an instance of violence devouring everything in the path of a misplaced $2 million.

To ignore Josh Brolin would be an oversight, as his turn as Llewelyn Moss punctuates his triumphant return from a decade of wasting away in mostly irrelevant films. The past year has been kind to him, and in return he gives the public what some would not expect: a resolute, defiant, ordinary man whose opportunism puts him in an extraordinary--and seemingly insurmountable--situation.

As tends to be the norm with the Coen Brothers' films, the supporting roles are well cast, placing the viewer firmly in West Texas of 1980 with each secondary and tertiary fitting the bill of West Texan. Harrelson, Root, MacDonald, Corbin and the aforementioned Dillahunt all excel to name but a few.

Insofar as the story is concerned, complaints about the last quarter of the film seem flawed. The narrative of No Country for Old Men is propelled by one thing: the determination of Anton Chigurh to see his mission to the end. It is driven by his necessity to carry out all of his actions by his code. For the film to have the standard ending would have been a disservice to the singular force that tears through the movie, carving its way through the film and its characters with its jagged blade.