by Josh Sewell
Drive My Car
(Not rated but contains sexuality, language and thematic elements. Opens in select theaters on January 14.)
For most moviegoers, a three-hour Japanese drama about grief and the healing power of art is a tough sell. Even for a stuffy film critic like me, it took a few deep breaths before I could start watching Drive My Car. However, after a few minutes, Ryusuke Hamaguchi’s film (adapted from Haruki Murakami’s short story) captured me so thoroughly that I actually laughed when I realized the opening credits were starting at the 40-minute mark; talk about a director taking big swings.
The story centers on renowned actor and director Yusuke Kafuku (Hidetoshi Nishijima), who gets an offer to direct a production of Uncle Vanya at a theater festival in Hiroshima. Widowed for two years, Kafuku accepts in an effort to shake himself out of his long-term grief. At the festival producers’ insistence, he is assigned the stoic young Misaki Watari (Toko Miura), who is processing her own loss, as his chauffer. As the two get to know each other on their lengthy commutes in his beloved red Saab 900, they begin a platonic relationship that helps them both heal.
I won’t argue that Drive My Car is going to be a life-changing watch for everyone. It’s definitely a slow burn and won’t appeal to most viewers. However, for those bemoaning the lack of grown-up options in a world full of superheroes and explosions, Hamaguchi’s film serves as a breath of fresh air.
I realize this might sound pretentious (and this is coming from a guy who loved Spider-Man: No Way Home and The Matrix Resurrections), but it impressed me so much that I watched it twice, even though I had a lot of deadlines breathing down my neck. I just wanted to spend more time in the world Hamaguchi created. By the end, I’d fallen in love with the characters and felt like I’d finished an epic journey. I watched a ton of movies over the course of awards season, but this is one I haven’t been able to shake.
Grade: A
The 355
(Rated PG-13 for sequences of strong violence, brief strong language, and suggestive material. Now playing in theaters.)
In a normal, non-pandemic world, January at the multiplex is reserved for awards fare branching out to more screens and trash that studios want to quietly unload. But these aren’t normal times, so I try to go into movies with even more of an open mind than usual.
When I saw Universal was releasing The 355, a spy thriller starring Jessica Chastain, Diane Kruger, Lupita Nyong’o, Penelope Cruz and Sebastian Stan, with practically no fanfare, I was skeptical but curious. Surely the movie’s bound to be decent with a cast like that, right? Yeah, not so much. Never underestimate the ability of writer-director Simon Kinberg to completely torpedo a promising story.
I realize that sounds harsh, but the guy’s track record speaks for itself: the recent Fantastic Four reboot disaster, X-Men: Apocalypse, and let’s not forget the astonishing combo of X-Men: The Last Stand and X-Men: Dark Phoenix. That’s right – he got to remake his own bad movie and somehow made it worse.
It's the equivalent of kicking a puppy at this point, but The 355 doesn’t do a lot to help his case. The premise is generic, while the action sequences are so poorly choreographed that it’s hard to tell what’s happening. Furthermore, the cast gets almost nothing to do, and even actors who get to chew scenery and play against type are squandered because their motives and consequences make no sense whatsoever.
You’ve seen a version of the plot a million times. When a deadly weapon falls into the wrong hands, a CIA agent (Chastain) must join forces with a rival German agent (Kruger); a former MI6 ally and cutting-edge computer specialist (Nyong’o); and a skilled Colombian psychologist (Cruz) on a critical mission to retrieve it.
It’s almost impressive that a movie with so many great actresses can be this awful. It’s probably a bad sign that rather than following the story, I kept thinking of tangential issues like the fact that Cruz’s salary for The 355 was probably the equivalent of the entire budget of her upcoming indie with legendary director Pedro Almodovar.
Another “fun” fact: there’s a better-than-decent chance that Chastain, who does her absolute darndest to salvage this disaster, gets nominated for a Best Actress Oscar for her work in The Eyes of Tammy Faye a few weeks after she stars in one of the worst movies of her career. If so, I guess that means she’s made her Norbit. (For the non-movie nerds in the audience, that’s the movie that arguably cost Eddie Murphy his well-deserved Best Supporting Actor statue for Dreamgirls.)
Even worse, The 355 couldn’t even have the decency of being short. Instead, it drags on for an interminable 124 minutes, complete with a fake conclusion in the middle – as if it could fool viewers into thinking it was going to be an hour long. The contempt Kinberg has for his audience ended up making me loathe the movie even more than if it had been simply mediocre.
Grade: D-
Book Spotlight
Leave the Gun, Take the Cannoli: The Epic Story of the Making of The Godfather
Mark Seal
The story of how The Godfather was made is almost as fascinating as the film itself, the myth growing in stature in the decades since its 1972 release. In his new book, Vanity Fair editor Seal combs through mountains of evidence; extensive new conversations with director Francis Ford Coppola (along with several long-silent sources); and impressive interviews with key actors like Al Pacino, James Caan and Talia Shire to determine a more truthful, thorough account. The result is an entertaining, informative read that touches on actual Mafia members, threats against producers, unprecedented success and a masterpiece that launched or revitalized the careers of practically everyone involved.
(Not rated but contains sexuality, language and thematic elements. Opens in select theaters on January 14.)
For most moviegoers, a three-hour Japanese drama about grief and the healing power of art is a tough sell. Even for a stuffy film critic like me, it took a few deep breaths before I could start watching Drive My Car. However, after a few minutes, Ryusuke Hamaguchi’s film (adapted from Haruki Murakami’s short story) captured me so thoroughly that I actually laughed when I realized the opening credits were starting at the 40-minute mark; talk about a director taking big swings.
The story centers on renowned actor and director Yusuke Kafuku (Hidetoshi Nishijima), who gets an offer to direct a production of Uncle Vanya at a theater festival in Hiroshima. Widowed for two years, Kafuku accepts in an effort to shake himself out of his long-term grief. At the festival producers’ insistence, he is assigned the stoic young Misaki Watari (Toko Miura), who is processing her own loss, as his chauffer. As the two get to know each other on their lengthy commutes in his beloved red Saab 900, they begin a platonic relationship that helps them both heal.
I won’t argue that Drive My Car is going to be a life-changing watch for everyone. It’s definitely a slow burn and won’t appeal to most viewers. However, for those bemoaning the lack of grown-up options in a world full of superheroes and explosions, Hamaguchi’s film serves as a breath of fresh air.
I realize this might sound pretentious (and this is coming from a guy who loved Spider-Man: No Way Home and The Matrix Resurrections), but it impressed me so much that I watched it twice, even though I had a lot of deadlines breathing down my neck. I just wanted to spend more time in the world Hamaguchi created. By the end, I’d fallen in love with the characters and felt like I’d finished an epic journey. I watched a ton of movies over the course of awards season, but this is one I haven’t been able to shake.
Grade: A
(Rated PG-13 for sequences of strong violence, brief strong language, and suggestive material. Now playing in theaters.)
In a normal, non-pandemic world, January at the multiplex is reserved for awards fare branching out to more screens and trash that studios want to quietly unload. But these aren’t normal times, so I try to go into movies with even more of an open mind than usual.
When I saw Universal was releasing The 355, a spy thriller starring Jessica Chastain, Diane Kruger, Lupita Nyong’o, Penelope Cruz and Sebastian Stan, with practically no fanfare, I was skeptical but curious. Surely the movie’s bound to be decent with a cast like that, right? Yeah, not so much. Never underestimate the ability of writer-director Simon Kinberg to completely torpedo a promising story.
I realize that sounds harsh, but the guy’s track record speaks for itself: the recent Fantastic Four reboot disaster, X-Men: Apocalypse, and let’s not forget the astonishing combo of X-Men: The Last Stand and X-Men: Dark Phoenix. That’s right – he got to remake his own bad movie and somehow made it worse.
It's the equivalent of kicking a puppy at this point, but The 355 doesn’t do a lot to help his case. The premise is generic, while the action sequences are so poorly choreographed that it’s hard to tell what’s happening. Furthermore, the cast gets almost nothing to do, and even actors who get to chew scenery and play against type are squandered because their motives and consequences make no sense whatsoever.
You’ve seen a version of the plot a million times. When a deadly weapon falls into the wrong hands, a CIA agent (Chastain) must join forces with a rival German agent (Kruger); a former MI6 ally and cutting-edge computer specialist (Nyong’o); and a skilled Colombian psychologist (Cruz) on a critical mission to retrieve it.
It’s almost impressive that a movie with so many great actresses can be this awful. It’s probably a bad sign that rather than following the story, I kept thinking of tangential issues like the fact that Cruz’s salary for The 355 was probably the equivalent of the entire budget of her upcoming indie with legendary director Pedro Almodovar.
Another “fun” fact: there’s a better-than-decent chance that Chastain, who does her absolute darndest to salvage this disaster, gets nominated for a Best Actress Oscar for her work in The Eyes of Tammy Faye a few weeks after she stars in one of the worst movies of her career. If so, I guess that means she’s made her Norbit. (For the non-movie nerds in the audience, that’s the movie that arguably cost Eddie Murphy his well-deserved Best Supporting Actor statue for Dreamgirls.)
Even worse, The 355 couldn’t even have the decency of being short. Instead, it drags on for an interminable 124 minutes, complete with a fake conclusion in the middle – as if it could fool viewers into thinking it was going to be an hour long. The contempt Kinberg has for his audience ended up making me loathe the movie even more than if it had been simply mediocre.
Grade: D-
Book Spotlight
Mark Seal
The story of how The Godfather was made is almost as fascinating as the film itself, the myth growing in stature in the decades since its 1972 release. In his new book, Vanity Fair editor Seal combs through mountains of evidence; extensive new conversations with director Francis Ford Coppola (along with several long-silent sources); and impressive interviews with key actors like Al Pacino, James Caan and Talia Shire to determine a more truthful, thorough account. The result is an entertaining, informative read that touches on actual Mafia members, threats against producers, unprecedented success and a masterpiece that launched or revitalized the careers of practically everyone involved.
Reach out to Josh Sewell on Twitter @IAmJoshSewell
Comments
Post a Comment