This is the next in a series of reviews of films Roger Ebert has given four stars to between the years of 1967 and 2007, inspired by his book, Roger Ebert’s Four Star Reviews.

During (500) Days of Summer, my mind kept flashing to another indie flick about love starring Zooey Deschanel, David Gordon Green’s All The Real Girls. Unlike (500) Days of Summer, it doesn’t play with cliches or flirt with surrealism to touch the audience; instead, it uses beautiful writing, understated performances, and delicate direction by Green to create a world that is unique and cinematic yet feels like home. Often times, critics use the expression “taken to another world” when describing a film experience that fully transports them into an unfamiliar place. Here, Green transports us to small North Carolina town that avoids all of the usual trappings of the Hollywood depictions of Southern towns, and gives us a budding romance between two normal characters where love is manifested without sex. All The Real Girls feels… real.

Paul (Paul Schneider) is a young man who lives in a small Southern town with his mom (Patricia Clarkson), fixing cars for his uncle’s business, hanging out with his drinking buddies, and sleeping with every girl in the area. However, he’s getting to that age where he thinks he might be ready to try something new– his friends mock this sentiment, saying he’ll never change. Soon, Paul meets Noel (Zooey Deschanel), the teenage sister of his best friend Tip (Shea Wigham). Noel is kind, smart, and a virgin: three traits Paul isn’t sure how to deal with. He treats her virginity as an opportunity to become a better man, and wait until they’ve grown together as a couple before sleeping with her. The movie tracks this journey, and how his relationship with Noel affects his friendships with Tip and his other friends, Bo (Maurice Compte) and Bust-Ass (the film debut of Eastbound & Down star Danny McBride).

The movie takes a slow pace to match the pace of living in this town. We get a perfect idea of what it’s like to live there– the buildings, the local bars, the walks home from work, the fields for drinking and hanging out in, the ever-present trees dotting the skyline of the town, and the interiors of small houses where people live and love with their families. It’s as if you’ve lived there your whole life– Green creates this feeling of home in the first few minutes. So often, films in the South are set there to mock the characters living there; it’s easy for Hollywood to sit and judge and call Southern living “backwards.” Here, Green establishes a sense of nostalgia, as if this is where life is simpler and feelings are unrestrained by the busy nature of city life.

The cinematography is beautiful– I can’t think of a movie where North Carolina has looked more lovely. Green also has an eye for memorable images; the slow motion clown dance in particular stands out to me weeks after I’ve last seen it. The performances are all delicately done, delivering the simple poetry of Green’s words in an understated way that makes them feel all the more true. Green’s dialogue is quirky, but without all of the trappings that come with that word in indie film– none of it is forced, it is merely an accurate representation of the way our real-life conversations tend to wander, especially around our drinking buddies and around the girl you’re falling in love with.

Towards the end, there’s a shocking moment, which made me angry the first time I saw it, but which Green earns and pays off nicely. He refuses to judge any of his characters for their actions– he treats them all with a loving eye, which then results in them being so endearing to us. Even Shea Wigham’s turn as the angry drunken brother Tip… we feel for him, even as we’re scared of what he might do to Paul. It’s one of the most accurate representations of what falling in love is like, and the complications of such a fall, that I’ve ever seen on film. The first time most of us fall in love, it’s in high school, in a pre-sex lifestyle, and the courtship never revolves around sleeping together, but getting to know the person and finding your commonalities and starting to care on a deeper level. This movie reflects that, with no tricks and no grand gestures, but somehow manages to feel larger than life all the same. All The Real Girls is as real as it gets.

***

Ebert says: “”All the Real Girls,” David Gordon Green’s second film, is too subtle and perceptive, and knows too much about human nature, to treat their lack of sexual synchronicity as if it supplies a plot. Another kind of movie would be entirely about whether they have sex. But Green, who feels tenderly for his vulnerable characters, cares less about sex than about feelings and wild youthful idealism.”

Read the rest here.

This is the next in a series of reviews of films Roger Ebert has given four stars to between the years of 1967 and 2007, inspired by his book, Roger Ebert’s Four Star Reviews.

It takes about ten minutes to get fully adjusted to the style of Mel Brook’s Silent Movie. It’s hard to imagine, especially in the year 2009, a film in color with living actors we recognize being filled to the brim with nothing but sight gags, sound effects, and dialogue cards. It’s completely free of plot, instead giving Brooks the excuse to go on wild tangents and spend his time lingering on any visual gag that inspires him. Brooks has a real gift with vaudevillian punchlines, so hearing the audible zingers is occasionally missed, but the film is still absorbing, carefree, and full of laughs.

Mel Brooks is Mel Funn, a director who at one time was a hotshot, but one severe stint of alcoholism later, he is a has-been, known more for his drinking than his directing. However, he concocts a brilliant idea for a film– a silent movie! He, along with his faithful companions Marty Eggs (Marty Feldman) and Dom Bell (Dom DeLuise), head to Big Picture Studios, to present the film idea that will hopefully turn his career around. Bad news: the Chief (Sid Caesar) informs the men that unless they make a profit, the studios will be bought out by Engulf and Devour, an evil corporate conglomerate. Since the first silent movie in forty years doesn’t seem a likely candidate, Mel is doomed to be turned on, until a light bulb goes off over his head– literally– and he tells the Chief the biggest stars in Hollywood will be in it. The Chief agrees that if Mel gets stars on board, he can make the movie. Mel, Marty, and Dom pursue Burt Reynolds, James Caan, Liza Minelli, Anne Bancroft, and Paul Newman to be in their film, all while Engulf and Devour (Harold Gould and Ron Carey) try to stop them.

The plot is basically an excuse to stage big set piece gags around stars of the moment. Burt Reynolds won’t let them in his door, so they disguise themselves with a giant coat as one large man. James Caan lets them into his trailer, but it’s precariously balanced, so every small move they make threatens to topple the trailer over. They disguise themselves as knights to sneak into the studio lunch room where Liza Minnelli is dining, and of course they have trouble operating the heavy armor. The best sequence involves Paul Newman and a crosstown wheelchair race, and the now-classic moment in this film, when the one celebrity cameo who speaks is the most unlikely source.

Brooks is a hysterical writer, and his direction is very loyal to the silent movie style, but I must admit to thinking he is more effectively used in films when his mad characters are served in smaller doses. However, this film has two indispensable performances that make this film close to a must-see for anyone who loves comedy. The first is Marty Feldman, the comedic genius with the wonky eye who died too young, as he relishes the part of the creepy sidekick that he hit a home run with in Brooks’ previous outing, Young Frankenstein. Also, he had the ability to make some extremely broad gags work– few actors could have made the sequence where he desperately tries to catch one of six elevators and bounces between them like a pinball work, but Feldman somehow gets a laugh. The second is Sid Caesar as the Chief, because Sid Caesar is plain and simply one of the best physical actors ever to have graced this earth. His mere expression is funny, and this was one of his last major comedy roles. Caesar is the type of gifted comedian who was born for silent cinema, and Brooks exploits his every face, his every look, his every gesture.

This film ranked below The Producers, Blazing Saddles, and Young Frankenstein for me, but it is more consistently funny than some of his next outings, such as High Anxiety and History of the World Part 1. Certain modern audiences may be bored by this witty slapstick, since now the art of physical comedy has been reduced to violence and/or kicks to the groin. Even the comedy voices of today that appeal to the younger generations are only able to talk about what they know– few people can branch out and inject their own style successfully into so many different genres. What filmmaker working today could make a successfully funny Western, monster flick, and silent movie? Intelligent audiences will appreciate an outing such as Silent Movie, and thoroughly embrace its should-be-classic moments. Hopeful note: After watching Blazing Saddles last night with two high school teens, raised on Adam Sandler, Will Ferrell, and Judd Apatow, one turned to the other and said, “Why don’t they make movies like this anymore?” Perhaps irony and cynicism haven’t killed the joys of a Mel Brooks movie after all.

***

Ebert says: “Mel Brooks will do anything for a laugh. Anything. He has no shame. He’s an anarchist; his movies inhabit a universe in which everything is possible and the outrageous is probable, and Silent Movie, where Brooks has taken a considerably stylistic risk and pulled it off triumphantly, made me laugh a lot.”

Read the rest here.

This is the next in a series of reviews of films Roger Ebert has given four stars to between the years of 1967 and 2007, inspired by his book, Roger Ebert’s Four Star Reviews.

You think the expression “rolling in the aisles with laughter” is a euphemism until you actually see it happen. I never saw rolling in the aisles until the preview screening of Borat in 2006, a film so shockingly funny that moviegoers were literally standing up from their seat and stomping on the ground in hysteria. I rewatched the film again in preparation for the release of Sacha Baron Cohen’s new film, Bruno, and while it doesn’t pack quite as much punch the second time around, the guerilla comedy tactics utilized by Cohen and his startlingly earnest performance still maintain the ability to shock. The real question: how was he not nominated for an Oscar?

The central conceit is simple—Borat (Sacha Baron Cohen) is a reporter from Kazakhstan, sent with his producer Azamat Bagatov (played gamely by Ken Davitian) to America to report on the Western culture. There is no plot to speak of, other than Borat developing an obsession with Pamela Anderson and heading to California to win her heart. Along the way, Cohen employs his startle-comedy, pretending to be an innocuous simple-minded foreigner and somehow bringing out the worst in many of the Americans he encounters.

An opening sequence in Kazakhstan where we meet Borat’s family is obviously staged and scripted, but still delivers laughs. It’s like the first course of a meal—it’s pleasant and prepares our palate for the flavors to come. When Borat and Azamat ride down the escalator in JFK Airport, and hold on to the handrail for dear life in shock, director Larry Charles makes sure to catch the stunned New Yorkers’ expressions. That’s one of two elements of Cohen’s comedy: the misbehaving foreigner taking Americans aback with the rude behavior. The second element is what makes the film sizzle on a satirical level: Cohen and Charles love to engage the other characters (victims?) of their film and get them talking. It might seem facile to fool Southern folks into saying racist, xenophobic, and homophobic statements, but Cohen’s earnestness is what coaxes them into feeling safe enough to state their true feeling, not merely the set-up.

If critics praise “method” actors for what they do to prepare for the film, why can’t critics praise the acting done by Cohen for what he does during a film? Even the actor most deeply rooted in method preparation techniques, staying in character even when the camera isn’t rolling, cannot do what Cohen does here. He is completely off the reservation with what he is willing to do for this film… and the best part is once you think Cohen has gone too far, he takes immaculately timed steps to show how much farther he will take it.

Example (and spoilers for those who haven’t seen this film in the three years since it came out): Borat comes out of a bath to see Azamat naked with Borat’s picture of Pamela Amderson, which gets a big laugh. Borat then tackles the naked fat man, dropping his towel and becoming naked himself—bigger laugh. Azamat then stands up, revealing his full… nakedness. Enormous laugh. While wrestling with Azamat, Borat finds himself in very compromising positions, which get increasingly explicit as the scene continues, letting the laughter build to the point where it’s unbearable. That’s when Cohen and Charles deliver the fatal blow. Both characters run naked into their hotel and jump into an elevator full of people, who get off at the next level. Here is where Larry Charles manning the camera can receive credit for comedic brilliance—he pans the camera to Borat’s face, then Azamat’s face, and then unexpectedly reveals one lone man still standing in the corner of the elevator. They then leave the elevator and run out of the shot. The editing, which never got enough credit when the film first came out, comes into play here: the film cuts to the inside of a convention being held in a reception room in the hotel, and it gets a huge laugh before the characters even enter. The audience anticipates where Cohen and Charles are now taking them, and they double over, simply refusing to believe what they are about to see. The payoff, complete with security tackling our heroes, is of course priceless.

How long can Sacha Baron Cohen get away with this? Early buzz on his new film, Bruno, has suggested that he has fooled yet another group of hapless victims for his guerilla comedy tactics. Eventually, one would think Cohen’s fame from these films will become so widespread that Americans will realize the prank being perpetrated on them. Until then, Cohen is a comedic actor’s role model, managing to not only keep a straight face during the silliest of on-camera antics, but stay deadpan when the camera stops in order to follow the prank through. Some of the segments are obviously scripted, and some “real” bits seem dubious (the Pamela Anderson meeting at the end is almost certainly staged), but in the end, it’s not the how that matters, it’s the result. I have witnessed an audience stomp, roll, and shriek at Borat, before most of them even knew who Borat was. It’s not really a “film” in the pure sense of the word, but it’s unquestionably a terrific film experience.

***

Ebert says: “I think it is, as everybody has been saying, the funniest movie in years. And not because it is dumb (although it’s very dumb), but because it is smart (and it is very smart).”

Read the rest here.

This is the next in a series of reviews of films Roger Ebert has given four stars to between the years of 1967 and 2007, inspired by his book, Roger Ebert’s Four Star Reviews.

When trying to recommend this film to my friends, I can see their eyes deaden before me. After all, this is a period piece, full of frilly costumes and powdered wigs, about the life and times of a classical composer and Mozart, the man who drove him mad. It brings to mind the stuffy stilted costume dramas we are all familiar with, with its dry dialogue and mannered behavior. However, Amadeus is as far from mannered as films get. It manages to maintain an air of reverence to the genre while also rebelling against the mannerisms and emotional restraint that characterize similar films. It is passionate, moving, hysterically funny, and deserves to be placed alongside Goodfellas and Lawrence of Arabia as one of the greatest biopics ever created.

We begin with Salieri (F. Murray Abraham), ranting and raving that he killed Mozart. A doctor at the sanitorium asks him if he truly did what he claims, and the film is told in flashback from there. He was raised as a man of God but always longed to be able to pursue a life in music. When his father dies suddenly, he views it as a miracle that will enable him to follow his dream career. He is named court composer in Vienna, where he first encounters Mozart (Tom Hulce), a lewd disrespectful young upstart who hears a piece Salieri labored over and improves it so casually, it seems an afterthought. After suffering for years at watching this young man with so much more talent than him, he loses faith in God and his own sanity, and comes up with a way to exploit Mozart’s inner demons in hopes of killing him.

As directed by Milos Forman, Mozart is played with a twinge of punk-rocker self-righteousness, from the reckless behavior to the hints of pink lacing his wig in a sea of white powdered heads. Tom Hulce plays him with the charm of a popular teenager, peppering his enjoyment of life with an outrageous laugh, without losing sight of the mercurial swings in temperament that come with holding the burden of such an incredible talent. It’s no surprise that Forman was the man to helm this project—before he made Amadeus, he made Hair and One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, both rebellious films in their own right, preferring a free-form lifestyle to conforming to the whims of society. Yet they are also about he struggles of a misunderstood individual to maintain his ability to live his life the way he sees fit, which mirrors Salieri’s struggle (later Forman films like The People vs. Larry Flynt and Man in the Moon deal with this as well). He keeps the dialogue reverent without becoming anachronistically contemporary, and he keeps the tempo upbeat while letting the film remain framed in a dignified powdered-wig period film visual style.

At the end of it all, however, this movie belongs to F. Murray Abraham. Salieri is possibly one of the best characters in all of cinema, a perfect manifestation of a regular man with big dreams who realizes before our eyes that he will never be the best, no matter how hard he works. The scene in which Salieri reads Mozart’s music off the page and understands that he is in the presence of brilliance almost certainly won Abraham the Oscar—he is unspeakably upset, but Abraham doesn’t play the anguish. He plays the joy that overwhelms that anguish, the joy that God blessed him with the opportunity to witness such genius in the palm of his hands. It’s such a complex emotion to play, and Abraham lets the battle between those two feelings permeate through his entire performance. I have trouble recalling too many better performances that I’ve ever seen—one of the best roles of all time, contained in one of the best biopics of all time. I urge anyone reading this who hasn’t yet seen this film to stop what you’re doing and rent it. Yes, even if you hate frilly costumes and powdered wigs.

***

Ebert says: “Amadeus is a magnificent film, full and tender and funny and charming—and in the end, sad and angry, too, because in the character of Salieri it have given us a way to understand not only greatness, but our own lack of it.”

Read the rest here.

This is the next in a series of reviews of films Roger Ebert has given four stars to between the years of 1967 and 2007, inspired by his book, Roger Ebert’s Four Star Reviews.

With Nicolas Cage starring in the upcoming Knowing, I hear from most people I speak to about it that Nicolas Cage is one of the worst actors they’ve ever seen. I urge all of them, as I urge you, to watch Adaptation, the fantastic second film from director Spike Jonze and writer Charlie Kaufman. It boasts TWO great performances from Nicolas Cage, showing him to be an actor of great wit and range within one film. It also boasts possibly the cleverest script of the past decade, capable of tricking an audience without being unfair. Like great magicians, Jonze and Kaufman keep you guessing what will happens, and when your expectations are turned on their head, you’re not frustrated—you’re delighted.

Charlie Kaufman (Nicolas Cage) is the praised screenwriter of Being John Malkovich, but he has some enormous self-esteem issues. He has trouble with women. He thinks his brother Donald (also Nicolas Cage) is a pathetic idiot. He agreed to adapt the book The Orchid Thief by Susan Orlean, wanting to make it a film without the trappings of conventional Hollywood cinema, to just make it a film about flowers… but he’s learning why there haven’t been any films like that so far: it’s impossible. Meanwhile, we too meet Susan Orlean (Meryl Streep) and the subject of her book, John Laroche (Chris Cooper), a man who is missing his front teeth and steals orchids because it’s his most recent in a series of obsessions. Still, his eccentricity draws in Orlean, as her story draws in Kaufman, as we are drawn into the film.

It’s a series of endless parallels, people looking for the answer to their questions about love and obsession, about trying to simply accept beauty and passion without complication, when life doesn’t want to allow that. Sound confusing? Perhaps in spots, but its ambition and entertainment value keep you from caring. The acting all over the film is fantastic, from the little cameos (John Malkovich and Catherine Keener as themselves) to the smaller roles (Ron Livingston is hilarious as Kaufman’s agent, and Maggie Gyllenhaal as Donald’s girlfriend hits the right note of sweetness). Meryl Streep proves yet again that she’s one of the funniest actresses in cinema when given the opportunity, and Chris Cooper, the marvelous character actor, gives this Oscar-winning role so much layering past the initial quirkiness, and his chemistry with Streep is electric. Finally, the double performance of Cage as two identical characters with two completely identifiable personalities is stellar. Even without the seamless special effects that make you believe there are two Cages on screen, the acting is distinctive and nuanced enough that even if we could see the seams, we would still be captivated by the character work.

And then there’s the change in the film with 20 minutes left. It’s not all of a sudden– it’s gradual, but it will arrive before you realize what has changed. Some will be frustrated and confused by this turn. Some will understand why this transpired, but will reject the notion that this was the right way to end the film. Some will think it was the “easy way out.” I personally think the last 20 minutes is not a cop-out, but rather a brilliant invention from the most creative mind in screenwriting. I watched it for the fourth time yesterday, and I never fail to have my mind reeling at the end.

It comes as no surprise to anyone who reads my blog that a Charlie Kaufman film is one of the best films of the last ten years in my opinion. However, since no one defends Nicolas Cage as an actor, I think this is one of many examples that he is a fine, fine actor who chooses to do genre flicks for paychecks. This film is his finest hour, an Oscar-nominated double performance full of charm and heart. The whole film takes you down unexpected roads—it’s an edge-of-your-seat film without the typical sort of thrills. Regardless of the quality of the action-thrillers Cage puts out in the coming years, I will keep returning to this film and pushing it onto anyone I know. It’s the best type of filmmaking there is—endlessly creative and ready to bend cinematic convention without losing its entertainment value.

***

Ebert says, “What a bewilderingly brilliant and entertaining movie this is…”Adaptation” is a movie that leaves you breathless with curiosity, as it teases itself with the directions it might take. To watch the film is to be actively involved in the challenge of its creation.”

Read the rest here.

This is the next in a series of reviews of films Roger Ebert has given four stars to between the years of 1967 and 2007, inspired by his book, Roger Ebert’s Four Star Reviews.

Once is not just one of the best musicals I’ve ever seen (and it’s not like any musical I’ve ever seen either), it’s also one of the best romances I’ve ever seen. It might be hyperbole to state this a mere two years after I’ve seen it, but I doubt it. I’ve seen it several times since the first time I saw it and was moved, and it moves me more and more each time. A few of these musical numbers would make my list of the best movie scenes of this decade. Most gratifying of all, the film doesn’t compromise. It concludes the way real life concludes, which is neither fantastical nor unjustifiably depressing. It’s one of a very small number of perfect films that have been released in my lifetime, and since it’s Irish, it’s a perfect St. Patrick’s Day gem.

The Guy (Glen Hansard, lead singer of the Irish band The Frames) repairs Hoovers at his dad’s vacuum cleaner repair shop and plays his guitar as a street performer in his spare time. He encounters The Girl (Marketa Irglova) on the street who loves his song, and mentions she plays the piano. He goes to listen to her play in a piano shop, and she accompanies him on one of his songs. We watch them fall in love– it’s never expressed, but it’s clear enough, and it’s one of the most magical film scenes I’ve ever seen in my life. There are complications, as there always are in real life. He’s recently separated from his first love. She’s got a child and is technically married, even though the father isn’t around that much. Despite these complications, they are great at making music together, and decide to pitch in together and make a demo. Will their love prevail? Will everything emerge as perfectly as their music?

First of all, the performances by these musicians who don’t act are better and realer than most performances by the most skilled of actors. The Guy? We fall for him five minutes after we meet him. The Girl? When we see her with him, we love them together the second they’re on screen together. This is the type of chemistry you can’t train. Once they sing together, it’s even more solidified in our minds. The performances are naturalistic, and set the tone in a real world, which offsets all the “musical numbers” perfectly. It’s important also to clarify that while this film is often described as a “musical,” none of them are characters singing explicitly about their emotions. This is a film about musicians who sing songs that reflect their emotions in subtle, moving ways. Nothing is spelled out and the audience is never patronized.

And I haven’t discussed the music, which is all beautiful. And I haven’t discussed the direction by John Carney, which is restrained and deals with what could have easily become sentimental and fantastical in a realistic way, filmed with exquisite digital photography. And I haven’t discussed the script, which is perfectly constructed. I can’t emphasize enough how badly you need to see this movie if you haven’t, even if St. Patrick’s Day passes.

***

Ebert says: “It’s one of those films where you hold your breath, hoping it knows how good it is, and doesn’t take a wrong turn. It doesn’t. Even the ending is the right ending, the more you think about it.”

Read the rest here.

This is the next in a series of reviews of films Roger Ebert has given four stars to between the years of 1967 and 2007, inspired by his book, Roger Ebert’s Four Star Reviews.

Spartan is the Hollywood secret agent thriller if Hollywood didn’t treat audiences like they were children who need everything explained to them. It throws you straight into the action and invites you to try to figure out what’s going on– you know, the way it would really be if you walked into a secret agent’s headquarters. Filled with the trademark Mamet dialogue and top-notch performances, this movie is criminally forgotten and deserves immediate consideration.

Scott (Val Kilmer) is a Special Ops agent who is revered and respected by his trainees. He is suddenly pulled away from that in order to help with… well, we’re not exactly sure what is happening when we first walk in. We gradually realizes it involves the Secret Service slipping up and an important girl going missing who needs to be found before the media figures it out. Uh-oh. Scott, who describes himself as a “worker bee,” paid to do and not think, is handed the reins and told to get this girl back under any circumstances. Reluctantly taking one of his trainees with him (played by a young Derek Luke), they plunge into the underbelly of the city. Who has this girl is a secret I won’t reveal. What happens when the media finds out about her I won’t reveal. The way the plot twists and turns I won’t reveal. There is magic in cinema when you have no idea what is about to happen next, and a film like Spartan is a prime example of how that magic works.

People forget, but Val Kilmer is a good actor, even today when he seems to make movies no one watches (the last film I can remember encountering starring him was Kiss Kiss Bang Bang three and a half years ago). He thrives as the tough Mamet archetypal hero, the man who gets in too deep and has to think on his feet to find a way out. Some of Mamet’s favorite fast-talkers like Ed O’Neill, William Macy, and Clark Gregg are all on hand as well, playing the ones in charge– the ones paid to think and tell Scott what to do. Finally, Derek Luke uses some of the same earnestness that carried Antwone Fisher so fluidly and uses it here to great effect. Usually there aren’t many earnest characters in Mamet flicks, and one can imagine how this character of the loyal trainee might have become tiresome, but Luke garners sympathy.

At the end of the day, it’s all about Mamet. There are a number of other Mamet films that will appear in this Watching Ebert series, most of them tales of con men, not ambitious action-thrillers. It makes me wonder, after successes like this film and his TV show The Unit, why he has not had the trust of studio executives to create a smart, big-budget action film. Perhaps budgets are reserved for those who patronize the audience and replicate the effects of successes in the genre that preceded them. It is possible that some will find the trust that Mamet has for his audience, specifically at the beginning, disorienting, and others may find the ending a tad far-fetched. Still, I cannot imagine anyone giving this film less than three and a half stars, and I would give it four and a strong recommendation to anyone hunting for a good DVD to rent this weekend.

***

Ebert says: “This is a thriller on a global scale… Such a scale could lend itself to one of those big, clunky action machines based on seven-hundred-age best sellers that put salesmen to sleep on airplanes. But no. Not with Mamet, who treats his action plot as a framework for a sly, deceptive exercise in the gradual approximation of the truth.”

Read the rest here.

This is the first in a series of reviews of films Roger Ebert has given four stars to between the years of 1967 and 2007, inspired by his book, Roger Ebert’s Four Star Reviews.

What happens when we die? This is not a question of religious beliefs—it’s more visceral. What would the afterlife feel like? Where do we go? What do we have with us? This question has been the basis of numerous films, but none that I’ve encountered have treated it with the originality of Hirokazu Kore-eda’s “After Life,” a film that requires no special effects, flashy CGI, or big speeches to be enormously affecting. You will be surprised by how much this humble-looking film will move you, and how long the ideas and images will linger in your head after the film is over.

We’re thrown headfirst into a grungy-looking institution, perhaps a rundown office building or school. We don’t know where we are—there are no familiar characters, no signs indicating why this building exists or where we are in relation to the rest of the world. Slowly, we come to realize that the people working at this institution are agents of the afterlife, here to guide the new arrivals through the final processes before they head off forever into the eternal resting place. That process? They are to remain at this institution for one week— at the beginning of the week, each person is to pick the single happiest memory from his or her life, and for the rest of the week, the workers help the person perfectly recreate that memory. At the end of the week, they experience the memory in the form of a movie screening, and once it is over, they move on with only that memory left with them for all eternity.

What lies after this place? Kore-eda is not concerned, and wisely avoids it, knowing that debate of religious or theological matters would only weigh the film down. Instead, he digs deep into the lives not only of the recently deceased, but the workers who guide them along. Who are these people? How did they get here? Did they have previous lives on Earth— if so, what were they like? How do they get along with the other workers? Are they stuck working at this job forever? This film answers all of these questions and more, and Kore-eda gives us an unending amount of information, not letting our curiosity go unsatisfied.

By using a visual style resembling that of a documentary, and a relaxed method of dialogue delivery, the film feels incredibly grounded in reality, even when dealing with more fanciful elements, like the studio where the memories are recreated, and the MacGuyver-like ingenuity these people use to help capture the subtlest degrees of these people’s memories. There’s no limit to the originality at work here—in Hollywood, we’d be dealing with countless stereotypes, but here, each individual is unique, which rings true. Consider the man who chooses a moment in his childhood, sitting on a schoolbus. Or the young man who refuses to choose a memory, just to see what will happen. The workers are affected by these stories in a variety of ways, and during the film at least a couple of the workers’ ideas about the work that they’re doing will change.

If you’re not intrigued by this fantastical concept, or the idea of having to read Japanese subtitles dissuades your interest, then I pity you. My upbringing and my studies in college pertained mostly to American cinema, so even up until an embarrassingly recent time, I felt that Asian cinema only provided anime, shock horror, or kung fu. This is an unfortunate but understandable outcome in a country that devalues subtitles to the point where only the most exploitable genres of foreign film make it out of Los Angeles and New York—if it doesn’t have Oscar hopes or box office potential, the majority of the country will have no chance to see these types of films. It’s a shame.

This is a haunting film, but not in the sense that it’s overly sad or heavy. It’s quite funny and charming, and I caught myself smiling throughout most of it, but it deals with emotional subject matter. For the days following my screening of the film, I found myself trying to decide on one memory to stay with me. The difficulty I faced made me appreciate the life I’ve had so far— and I think that Kore-eda meant for us to take that optimistic worldview away from the film, rather than linger on the fear of losing so many memories in the future. This is absolutely a 4-star classic.

***

Ebert says: “Kore-eda, with this film… has earned the right to be considered with Kurosawa, Bergman, and other great humanists of cinema. His films embrace the mystery of life, and encourage us to think about why we are here and what makes us truly happy.”

Read the rest here.