Pedro Almodovar's latest film is eye candy for the heart and soul. Borat is a very funny film with a dark message about American xenophobia.
Next time you hear from me, Thanksgiving will be behind us and the thick of the holiday movie season will be upon us. Expect a lot of films in this column then – but will any of them be as voluptuous as Volver? And will any of them be as hilarious as Borat?
Volver (Sony Pictures Classics)
His legacy assured within the critical community, filmmaker Pedro Almodovar is the only prominent foreign director who enjoys strong reviews, decent art-house box office, and the love of the Academy with just about every new work he produces. That Volver is not up to the level of Talk to Her or Bad Education is hardly a tragedy since his ability to juggle dark drama and light comedy is only getting sharper with each outing. But if this tale of mothers and daughters reconciling their differences has a flaw, it’s that Almodovar has too much going on – too many plotlines, too many styles, too many twists, maybe even too much cleavage. As the center of this soap opera, Penelope Cruz is the perfect Almodovar heroine – busty, passionate, far from flawless, a bit of a scrapper – and she does the regular Pedro trick of proving that a beautiful woman has more going on internally than just being beautiful. But unlike his recent films, which had so many layers they demanded a second viewing just to come to grips with them all, Volver seems more busy than complex – indeed, as its twists unfold, the movie becomes less involving and it plays out rather conventionally. Almodovar’s legacy is so firmly established that he may find himself competing with nobody but his own imposing body of very colorful works.
Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan (20th Century Fox)
After thinking long and hard about it, I’ve decided that maybe I’ve seen a funnier film before in my life, but I couldn’t think of what it might be. After watching Borat, I noticed that my shirt was soaked the way it only gets when I’ve gone through a really bruising roller coaster of a movie like King Kong, but this time, it was the result of laughing – a lot and very hard. Judging it as a piece of cinema – discussing story arcs and character changes and plot points – Sacha Baron Cohen’s coming-out party is hopelessly slender, and it’s not as if the film is one terrific comedic moment after another; it does sag at times. But putting the laugh lapses away for a moment, this is an utterly fascinating portrait of our country – Borat’s adventures bring him up close with religious fundamentalists, inner-city youths, humorless feminists, frat boys, and rodeo enthusiasts, and while the encounters are hilarious, they feel like real state-of-the-union addresses, more so than any number of tell-it-like-it-is documentaries I’ve duly attended in the last few years. What keeps the endeavor from becoming another mean-spirited, cheap-shot affair is that Borat, despite his problems with English and cultural barriers, is such a sweet spirit. With director Larry Charles goosing the film along, Borat is a very shocking, very funny movie with a good heart. It forgives us for our xenophobia and our absurdity and our belief that we’re the center of the known universe. It shows us all plainly and honestly. That it manages to make us laugh at this horror – that it makes us see the horror – perhaps means we’re not yet too far gone as a people.
The Prestige (Touchstone Pictures)
At this point, director Christopher Nolan’s only known weakness is women – other than Carrie-Anne Moss in Memento, has a female character in one of his movies ever registered? Scarlett Johansson sure doesn’t in The Prestige, which is a critical liability when the movie’s examination of rival magicians hinges on the love interest the two men share. But when Johansson’s snoozer of a character isn’t on screen, Nolan does his usual stylish-smart routine, and his male actors navigate their sophisticated world with aplomb. Like its counterpart, The Illusionist, The Prestige should be warmly received by the supposedly under-served "adult" audience – "adult" audience meaning grown-up audience, not the porn lovers – but with its urbane trappings and period décor, the film doesn’t have the usual darkness Nolan traffics in so beautifully. (Although, making a major Hollywood movie about two unlikable protagonists trying to destroy one another is quite a coup in today’s corporate-entertainment climate.)
Beck, The Information (Interscope)
For the second straight underrated record, Beck moves beyond Big Concepts to a stronger sense of groove, rhythm, feel. That half of The Information isn’t quite stellar almost doesn’t bother me – Beck’s albums have always been inconsistent, but what I like is how plainly weird they’re getting these days. With producer Nigel Godrich piling on the percussion the way he does with Radiohead’s recent albums, Beck is getting less funny and more freaked-out – he may end up being one of the few famous Scientologists whose religious beliefs have made him less self-centered and more focused on the screwed-up world around him. He’s afraid of love, rapping like it’s second nature, referencing the war. And for those who’ve complained about it for years – and this includes me – there are songs with lyrics that make complete sense now.
Oasis, Stop the Clocks (Epic)
Their career didn’t fizzle out after (What’s the Story) Morning Glory? – at least that’s what they hope this best-of proves. Which it does, sorta – there were good songs after that epic. But what this collection mainly proves is that Oasis don’t sound so much like the Beatles as they do the ‘90s. Arrogant and obnoxious, the Gallagher brothers were emblematic of the pre-9/11 universe where drugs and chicks were all that mattered. Their rockers preened, their ballads overflowed – their high-gloss emotions could only thrive in untroubled times. After that, they didn’t burn out or fade away – they fell flat on their faces and kept going anyway. God love ‘em, they probably think there’ll be a Volume 2 of this down the road.
Ed Bradley (1941-2006)
I’m roughly 30 years younger than the average 60 Minutes viewer, and a big reason for my allegiance was Ed Bradley. A smart interviewer who could charm a subject without seeming fawning, he had an imposing physique but a gentle demeanor. Plus, he was centered, prepared – watching his segments, you notice how balanced his voice sounded, as if he knows what the next question would be no matter what the answer to the last one was. This is not an easy thing to do – watch most of his counterparts and see how there is an element of acting to their back-and-forth. Not with Bradley – even when he threw softballs to Bob Dylan who was on the show hawking his memoir, the man had presence, suggesting a journalistic rigor and a common touch. Someone will fill his place on the show, but it’s hard to imagine anyone conveying that same presence.
