December 27, 2004

I was not a big fan of Ocean's Eleven. My general sense of it was that we were getting the idea of a Rat Pack movie, but with none of the unique vision that Steven Soderbergh brings to his work and, ultimately, a forced feeling, as all of "the eleven" - plus Julia Roberts and Andy Garcia - had to get their moments.

So with the Oscar season raging on and occupying so much of my attention, I made little effort to push may way into an early screening of Ocean's Twelve, reports on which were all over the place. But with a few hours of freedom on Christmas Eve, I decided to go to the movies, like a real person, and pay real money, watch real commercials and see the movie.

And I was shocked.

I really enjoyed most of Ocean's Twelve. You would have to start a Senate committee to begin to figure out all the problems with the story structure of the third act. I mean, it is a mess… a major freakin' mess! Yet, while I find myself disappointed, it was not disappointing enough to put me off of the movie in general.

Without feeling the need to lay out as much exposition, there is a looseness that actually starts to approximate the jazz tone that thumps through Soderbergh's best work. In fact, the weakest moments are when the inside jokes go on too long, as though the audience was so excited by the idea that they were in on the gag that it was going to play endlessly. The idea that Ocean's Eleven don't like being short-handed as "Ocean's Eleven" is funny… once or twice. The third time around is just too self-aware. The same is true of the "secret third-act gag" that is a funny idea that goes on way too long to remain anything but too self-aware. As that particular gag played out, I could see how they were trying to make it deeper by adding other movie star elements (yes, it's code for people who have seen the film meant to be indecipherable if you did not) and at the same time, I was thinking, "Just get on with it… it can't be justified… it's a lark… don't even try…" And indeed, when the gag ends, the special guest star involved is left with an odd look on his/her face because his/her presence no longer makes any sense at all. (Perhaps this was because an added subtext was dropped for time… not dropped enough.)

But back to the jazz…

Soderbergh now knows all of these actors and they all know one another well enough to make smaller bites of the apple even sweeter. The subtle shift of leadership from Clooney to Pitt is rather elegant. Carl Reiner's real-life decision not to be on set for months is played beautifully in the film. The limited work by Ms. Roberts works. And the addition of Catherine Zeta-Jones is, for me, a really wonderful and Soderbergh-ian thing… mixing romance with exemplary police ambition. And the surprise for her character… just a joy for me… picking up on what Soderbergh was hiding just based on small aural clues and honoring a great actor in the way he deserves to be honored.

Soderbergh's work as DP is also among his best. He's having fun. But he's almost making beautiful images of Europe that we haven't seen as lovingly done in an American film outside of The Bourne Identity. (Supremacy does great location stuff, but the cities are more like locations in Greengrass' film than in Liman's.)

Again… the third act is a mess. The idea underneath is kind of fascinating, but it needed a good rewrite by someone who was holding all of the strings of the story in one hand. The big problem is that as things come to fruition, we find out that major events were simply unnecessary. They needed at least to be decoys… if not just to the audience but perhaps to the characters involved too. Or maybe they got to the set and someone rented a copy of The Good Thief and got nervous about stealing that film's effective third act, so they tapdanced and got Cuisinart logic.

Anyway, this is the film that I had hoped that Ocean's Eleven would have been. It is far from perfect. But I would have been happy to have gotten this out of Ocean's Eleven. Of course, now that they got this one better, I am waiting for Ocean's Thirteen… not too cold, not to hot… just right.

I MAY BE BURYING THE LEAD, but I also saw a truly great film over the weekend. It's a doc… one of the 12 on the Academy short list and one that few people seemed to know anything about when it was announced. It's Kirby Dick's latest, Twist of Faith. And it is absolutely brilliant.

Watching the film, I was acutely aware that one of the phenomena of the new documentary movement is that there are now various schools of style, most of them lead by personal achievement. Errol Morris has become the master of the one-on-one interview that drives the rest of the filmmaking used in support of the conversation. Michael Moore has perfected the one-little-guy-against-the-mean-world thing. Nick Broomfield has taken the my-journey-into-the-subject approach once pioneered by Ugly George in the streets of New York City, and made remarkable use of it, getting people to be themselves on camera in ways that almost no one else seems to be able to.

The style that Kirby Dick has turned into his own is one in which he gives his subjects their own cameras to work with. And, like the "confessionals" in The Real World and other reality shows, surprising things happen when people feel that they are controlling the camera - that somehow, it isn't really public footage anymore.

I was morbidly fascinated by the first film of his that I saw, Sick: The Life and Death of Bob Flanagan, Supermasochist. Really, any film in which a man chooses to repeatedly hammer a nail through his penis is, well, special. But I first noticed this "give 'em a camera" mode with Chain Camera, a film that was shown at Sundance, but got little attention because it was already scheduled to be on TV. The film gets into the lives of a group of East L.A. high schoolers. Even in the face of The Real World and all those shows, it was fascinating, in no small part because it was interested in real people and not the "casts" that are so carefully assembled for "reality" shows. Dick's film covered the waterfront quite completely.

Twist of Faith starts with the deposition of a former priest in Toledo, Ohio. After the opening titles, we meet Tony Comes, a late 30s-ish fireman who gives us a tour of the firehouse. Then we go with Tony to a fire & rescue education lecture to some young kids. He comes home to his beautiful wife and his 4-year-old son and 9-year-old daughter.

The deposition continues. How did this former priest know Tony? Did he take Tony up to the cottage?

Back to Tony - "We did a lot a great stuff... he took me out to eat… that was a big deal for a kid in a family with seven kids… what was the moment where he thought, 'I can try something with this kid?'"

The deposition - "Did you put your penis in the mouth of any students…" "Objection… fifth amendment…"

Tony Comes is about the most unexpected "star" of a movie about a pedophile priest. He's a fireman… he has the macho of a fireman… he's a generous parent… and he has spent his entire life trying to reach past this brief period of his life that he and his wife live with every single day. As his wife says, "I never knew how deeply that name would be ingrained in our life forever."

You get the idea. But you can't really get it until you see this remarkable film. Kirby Dick has gone a different route than we are used to these days. This is not a crusading film… but it makes you want to take action. It is an intimate look at one life that was changed forever. And watching this grown man try to explain to his daughter what happened to him because the former priest has moved nearby and she needs to know to avoid him… it is truth that could never be recreated as powerfully in fiction. When the mundane crashes into the profound… this is where the greatest art always seems to blossom because as intricately different as every life is, the human condition has such a small range of emotional truths that one stranger's truth still seems forever capable of being a shared icon.

The only thing I have left to tell you about Twist of Faith is to go out of your way - and away from your fears - to see it. It's not fun but, like Born Into Brothels, it will shake you to your core.

READER OF THE DAY: Critic (of film and life) Luke Y Thompson offered this up last week: "The following is an automatically generated statement of goodwill from LYTrules.com. This message may contain forward-looking statements that we ain't liable for, yo.

Dear (name of friend, colleague, or person LYT is trying to impress),

Holiday greetings and merry Christmas! Because even if you hate the baby Jesus, you still get the day off, unless you don't, in which case it sucks to be you. Sorry 'bout that.

It has been a great pleasure (working with you/knowing you/being spat on by you as I lie on the floor with a mostly empty bottle of Jack) this year, and I imagine we'll do more of the same in the '05, only better.

I'm in France. Wish you were here. And by you, I mean just you and only you, not the other schmucks I've cc'ed on this thing. Because, see if all of them were here too, there wouldn't be room.

I sincerely hope you get all the (gifts/bribes/poontang/movie deals) you asked Santa Claus for. I don't ask him for anything, because according to that one song, he sees and knows everything. So why bother ? Red man got it going on.

Have a happy new year, cuz I'll be back in January to make your life
miserable again. Which reminds me - can anyone pick me up from the airport on January 11 ? No, really.

Ho ho ho !

(who doesn't have a good use for three hos ?)

LYT

E-ME: How were your hos?