Short Take: In the Mood for Love

Chinese filmmaker Wong Kar-wai's In the Mood for Love (2000) recalls David Lean's great 1945 film Brief Encounter, but it's a masterwork in its own right. The protagonists, Mrs. Chan (Maggie Cheung) and Mr. Chow (Tony Leung), are next-door neighbors in early-1960s Hong Kong. The two are married to others. Like the characters in the Lean film, they are determined to have a platonic friendship, but they fall in love despite themselves. Both tales of romantic yearning are gorgeously realized. Every element is richly thought out and beautifully handled. Lean, though, was primarily concerned with telling a story. Wong uses the narrative as the foundation for a symphony of images and visual rhythms. One cannot help but get swept up in the extraordinarily sophisticated color schemes, or in the lyrical staging, camera movement, and editing. But for all the visual splendor, Wong never loses touch with the melancholy tone of his material. One also cannot help but be affected by the characters' dilemma, and the imagery has a resonance that stays with one long after the film has ended. The film has an impact comparable to the most compelling music; it plays the notes in a manner that makes one want to revisit it again and again. Polls of filmmakers and critics consistently rate the picture as one of the best of the 21st century. One easily understands why. William Chang is credited with the masterful editing, costuming, and production design. The equally impressive cinematography is by Christopher Doyle and Mark Lee Ping-bin. Mike Galasson and Shigeru Umbeyashi provide the haunting string score. The film also makes memorable use of the Nat King Cole records "Aquellos ojos verdes" and "Quizás, quizás, quizás."

Short Take: Wonder Boys

In Wonder Boys (2000), Michael Douglas stars as a middle-aged creative writing professor at a Pittsburgh-area university. He is beset by crises from all directions. There are the romantic troubles: His wife has just left him, he's on the cusp of an affair with the pretty coed (Katie Holmes) who rents his house's spare room, and his department chair's wife (Frances McDormand) is pregnant with his child. There are the professional problems: in addition to the looming contretemps with the boss he's cuckolding, he's on the hot seat with his editor (Robert Downey, Jr.) over his inability to complete his current novel. To top it all off, his most talented student (Tobey Maguire) appears on the verge of a breakdown. Everything comes to a head during a weekend literary festival at the school. This rich character comedy is based on Michael Chabon's 1995 novel, and it was beautifully adapted by screenwriter Steve Kloves and director Curtis Hanson. Few authors will ever see their books so well-realized on screen. The film captures the atmosphere of contemporary academic life better than any other, and it leaves the viewer rooting for every single one of its characters, who all get a happy ending. The cast, from Douglas and Maguire on down, is terrific. The graceful editing is by Dede Allen.

Short Take: The House of Mirth (film)

This review was originally published on Pol Culture.

In his 2000 film adaptation of Edith Wharton’s 1905 masterpiece The House of Mirth, writer-director Terence Davies downplays the novel-of-manners aspects of the material. The intrigues of Gilded Age high society are given just enough attention to keep the storyline clear, and Wharton’s incisive cultural critique feels muted as a result. Davies instead emphasizes and expands on the unrequited romance between protagonist Lily Bart (Gillian Anderson) and the attorney Lawrence Selden (Eric Stoltz). The story still packs a wallop; the dramatic core--Lily’s tragic downfall--is very much intact, and quite powerfully realized. A great deal of the credit for the film’s effectiveness belongs to Anderson’s exquisite performance. She has the beauty the role calls for, and she conveys Lily’s cultivated society poise effortlessly. In the early scenes, Lily’s resentment of the obligation to marry comes across with a minimum of fuss, and as the film progresses, Anderson takes the viewer right inside the tensions between the character’s grief, anger, and near-indomitable integrity. The only unconvincing element of the character is her passion for Selden. But that’s more due to the miscasting of Eric Stoltz than anything else. He comes across much the same as he did in his early teenage roles, and his manner is far too callow for the part. (His juvenile-sounding voice undercuts him the most.) Anderson tries hard to make the romantic scenes work--Lily is literally panting with desire for Selden at times--but one doesn’t believe in her character’s attraction to him for a moment. But Stoltz aside, Davies shows an unerring instinct for casting. Dan Aykroyd is an inspired choice to play Gus Trenor, and Laura Linney is malevolent, conniving perfection as Bertha Dorset. The other supporting players--including Anthony LaPaglia, Elizabeth McGovern, Jodhi May, Terry Kinney, and Eleanor Bron--are uniformly excellent. The film is not an ideal adaptation of the novel, but it’s an extremely good one. Davies and his cast have brought the material to the screen with thought, craft, and care.

Short Take: Songs from the Second Floor

This review was originally published on Pol Culture.

Songs from the Second Floor (2000), written and directed by Swedish filmmaker Roy Andersson, may be the most impressive translation of Samuel Beckett’s sensibility to the screen. It is a series of absurdist allegorical vignettes that satirize the folly and anomie of contemporary life. The central character is a middle-aged salesman (Lars Nordh) who is cracking under life’s pressures. His mantra is a line from the poet César Vallejo: “Blessed is the one who sits down.” Unfortunately, he never gets to relax. Eager for a fresh start, he torches his furniture store to collect the insurance money. But he has no idea of what to do next, and he eventually decides to sell crucifixes for a living. Meanwhile, the world appears headed towards apocalypse: an inexplicable traffic jam paralyzes the city; office workers march in groups flagellating each other; and corpses come back to haunt the living over money owed when alive. The pillars of society are desperate and collapsing as well. The national board of economists looks to a crystal ball in order to formulate policy, and a corporation conducts a human sacrifice to save itself from ruin. In the film’s opening scene, a character says, “This is a new day and age.” In some ways, what follows makes that seem an understatement. But in others, the world Andersson shows comes across as only a slightly skewed version of the one we live in. Daily stresses lead people down odd roads, and they eventually go along in a state of shellshock. Life seems meaningless, and as with Beckett, that meaninglessness is conveyed by absurdist pursuits and occurrences. Like Jim Jarmusch, Andersson approximates Beckett’s tone of comic deadpan with single-take scenes filmed with a stationary camera. He makes it feel like the camera is as dazed by the goings-on as the characters. Everything comes across as arch and unreal, which, as in Beckett, abstracts the horror and despair to the point of making it deeply, darkly funny. The picture gets under one’s skin, and the macabre images and set pieces are indelible.