September 7, 2004

It seems silly to ask what Kinsey is about…

You may not remember the sex surveys that rocked the world's notions of what men and women did in the privacy of their bedrooms... and in the outdoors… and in public restrooms… and in caves… and in brothels… and in pools… and in their minds. There is no shame in that. It's been almost 50 years. And so much of what he forced into the consciousness is now taken for granted.

But Kinsey is, remarkably, not about sex. Don't get me wrong. There is lots of sex in Kinsey and lots and lots of talk about sex. But as laid out by Bill Condon, Alfred Kinsey's quest to quantify sex inevitably led to and from the human heart, that rugged anthropomorphized engine which always seems to make mincemeat out of the alleged great divider between the human being and all other species on earth… the intellect.

What Condon does so remarkably in this film is to balance the micro and the macro view of the world that is the truth of Kinsey's work. It is so hard to keep in mind, in this world of now-now-now media, that people like Kinsey - people like film critics and journalists - are not creating the world… they are just reporting on what already exists. Kinsey did not invent or promote homosexuality, pedophilia, extramarital relations, masturbation, foreplay or the missionary position. But he let a lot of people who hadn't thought about what was happening outside of their bedrooms (or across the street) know what the score was. But in his effort to coolly transcribe the sex lives of thousands, he also opened a Pandora's Box of questions that he (and those around him) had to consider for the first time in his life.

It is turning out to be a truly remarkable year in the evolution of some of our best young filmmakers. Perhaps a big reason for that is that they aren't all that young. Kinsey is only Condon's third effort as a director. But he has been busy at the typewriter and helping light a path for independent filmmakers in America. Walter Salles has mixed directing and producing and building the Brazilian film industry since he last made an American splash with Central Station, and his Motorcycle Diaries shows significant growth. Alexander Payne takes a big step away from the smug aftertaste that pushed some people away from his earlier work and with Sideways stops being willing to settle for the easy score. (One imagines that just two years later, Payne would have Kathy Bates playing it a bit more subtle in that hot tub or given Dermot Mulroney a better haircut if he were making About Schmidt again… but keep the trip to the western museum exactly the same.) While Scorsese has suddenly lurched into the world of big budget filmmaking (and God knows I will be crushed if The Aviator is not one of the best films of the year), these directors have moved forward by staying true to their callings, whether budgeted at $8 million or $12 million or $21 million.

Condon's work as screenwriter on Kinsey was, with inevitable reservation, expected. But his work here as a director - as a stylist - is the great surprise. He gets out the toolbox and isn't shy about using whatever tool he feels will work. And no, it isn't a Tony Scott film. But it isn't a bowl of Sundance granola either. He challenges the eye when the mind might get distracted. He pushes in for the close-up when the performers might as well be talking directly to us, but he allows the audience its space, always asking, never accusing.

But the most powerful tool in the box is his cast, made of the often hammy or self-possessed, somehow here reined in by Condon and show at their best light. And it is a long, long list of familiar names and faces. Oliver Platt is the enthusiastic, but realistic University president. Tim Curry is a tight-sphinctered non-competitive competitor to Kinsey. Chris O'Donnell's all-American looks and a solid performance make him utterly believable as a guy who can ask any question. Tim Hutton pulls it all in and gives us his explosive emotion in small bursts. Veronica Cartwright reminds us how good she really can be as the young Kinsey's mother. John Lithgow, in a role that is a perhaps unintentional homage to Footloose, keeps it in his head, bringing some brimstone, but staying much closer to the raging sneer of Lucas Sergeant (see: All The Jazz) than the manic energy Emilio Lizardo ("Laugh-a now, monkey-a fuckeeng boy!") And Lynn Redgrave turns up, at first nearly unrecognizably, in perhaps the best work of her entire career, in a cameo that is perfectly brief, but so strong and so memorable that people are using the phrases "Judi Dench" and "Academy Award" in reference to the role.

The cameo of cameos in this film belongs to Bill Sadler. He's had a bit of a rocky film career, often paying the rent in crappy flicks, but every once in a while, when given the chance, turning in awards level work. And so it is here, in a brief turn that has white knuckle intensity, depth and range. In a story that lingers in shades of gray, Sandler gets to play pitch black. But to his great credit, he finds ranges of color within the monotone and makes a dark character even more scary because you can see his truth.

The central triptych of Kinsey is Liam Neeson, Laura Linney and Peter Sarsgaard… the doctor, his wife and their, uh, sidekick.

There is a softness to the impossibly tall brooding hulk that is Liam Neeson. Filmmakers have cast him for it over and over. The combination of size and softness has made him a star… but it has really kept him from major stardom. He is a character actor stuck in a leading man's physique… though at 6' 4", he is questionably too tall for a modern leading man. (Mitchum was under 6' 2"… Peck was 6' 3"… Jimmy Stewart was 6' 3 ½", but really skinny.) Here, Condon and his actor fearlessly challenge the audience to build a relationship with this odd duck… and lo and behold, they do just that. This may be Neeson's best work ever, playing against his physicality, but never lowering himself to stunting. Kinsey is the center of the lives of all of these characters and as weird a guy as he is here, you believe every minute of him… his choices and his blind spots.

Ms. Linney gets herself good and unattractive here. Instinctually, I worry that her looks in this film will cost her an Oscar nomination. I hope not. She plays Kinsey's wife, work partner and in many cases, both the angel and the devil on his shoulders. While Kinsey rarely sees the cause and effect of his work, his wife's emotional wiring makes her available to every feeling. She is, ultimately, the soul of the film.

Peter Sarsgaard gives another one of his sneakily complex "regular guy" performances, here as the sidekick to both Kinseys, Clyde Martin. He makes it all seem so easy, but he brings nuance and reality to a role that could easily have spun out of control.

You will probably walk into Kinsey thinking you know what you think about sex, for yourself and about others. By the time you leave the theater, you'll think again… and again… and again. In Kinsey, sex is so much more than an animal act. It is a Rorschach test for our lives. And who could ask for more than that from any movie?

READER OF THE DAY: I started a blog over the weekend... where it stops, nobody knows. But today, it covers the weekend box office and more. And you can be the ROTD every day... without any help from me!

HELL LEU! writes: "I went to see both Hero and Vanity Fair this past weekend. I liked both but I must admit I don't understand Focus Features releasing VF at this time of the year when box office is normally low. It deserved better...I found the film to be entertaining enough and certainly so did most of the audience present at the screening I went to. You say that it won't be a factor at the Oscars but I find it hard to believe it can't figure in some tech noms like costume design or makeup...both minor, but still. I thought the cast was fine.

Hero was okay....truthfully, I didn't care for the storyline. Unlike some other forum posters at movie websites, I didn't care whether Zhang Yimou put a political message in at the end or not....it didn't work for me plotwise and I was getting a bit tired of the slow-mo camera work. Yes, visually it's outstanding and that's what put it ahead of the crowd.

Anyway, it was a cool way to get away from the heat."

THE QUEBECER writes: "I happened to see scenes from Apocalypse Now Redux on tv last night and am driven to write you. I know this film received rave reviews when it was reissued a couple of years ago.

The scene I caught was a tribal celebrations at night with the tribesmen dancing and then butchering water buffalos (called carabaos in the Philippines). Was the story not supposed to be set somewhere along the Vietnamese and Cambodian border? In any case, can I point out that the dances of the tribesmen are northern Philippine mountain tribesman's dance!? I am from the Philippines so I know. I know that Southeast Asians (i.e. Vietnamese, Cambodians, Thais, Malaysians and the Philippines) share certain dances related to their rice planting culture but I am not sure that the Northern Vietnamese tribes share this dance with the Filipino mountain tribemen called the Igorots.

Another thing: There was a scene where little boys were playing with the US soldiers and I swear the boys were speaking Tagalog, not Vietnamese or whatever Vietnamese dialects they were supposed to be speaking.

I must admit that I did not watch the film in its entirely but it is pretty amazing to catch such inconsistencies in a major production like Apocalyse Now, which incidentally was shot in the Philippines. Surely others must have pointed these inaccuracies.

How important are cultural and historical accuracies and authenticity to a film? Hollywood of course has been churning out its own versions of everything. I remember the Mel Gibson film Year of Living Dangerously which is about the Indonesian coup which toppled Sukarno. Again the film was shot in Manila and the scenes involving locals speaking and screaming at each other actually have them speaking in the Filipino language and not Indonesian Bahasa which is the language of Indonesia. I guess the west did not know any better but for us, we'd crack up laughing at those scenes.

Surely movie producers should know better. How much would it cost them to do a bit of research? Will anyone please pose these questions to Francis Ford Coppola and Peter Weir the next time they speak about filming?"

E ME: Anyone have any idea?