Call Me By Your Name. Who knew it was so good?

 (Originally published 21 June 2022)

 Last night . . . and five years late, I watched a movie I'd never intended to see.  But, being something of a completist, I've been a fan of the (now very) controversial actor, Armie Hammer, and with only a few titles missing, decided it was time for Call Me By Your Name. Was I surprised?  Yes, and far more than I could have possibly imagined. There is no word I would attach to Luca Guadagnino's film other than masterpiece, and, of the few films I've seen of his, it is far and away the finest. 

His treatment of André Aciman's 2007 novel is one of the best transfers from book to screen I've seen . . . maybe ever.  That's a strong statement, and I may walk it back eventually, but I doubt it.  Seriously.  Absolutely everything about Guadagnino's interpretation of this tale feels right and faithful, beginning with the uncomfortable nature of the story which he makes to feel, of all things . . . feel perfectly natural. So many elements come together to achieve this cinematic Gesamtkunstwerk, that, it's impossible to think of and comment on them all.  This includes the amazing soundtrack with its use of John Adams, Mozart, Bach, (and more) which makes the images they accompany fairly pop in their details. The use of music here blends like a sort of light, illuminating the story without ever intruding upon it.  Then there are the characters with each role perfectly cast, and executed brilliantly by a troupe of actors who bring nuance, depth, and more than just a touch of mystery to their roles. Indeed, there is mystery in each of these characters and they become as real as you or I.  While all are superb, I'll leave it that the film really is beautifully carried by its two principals, Armie Hammer and Timothée Chalamet.  

But wait, there's more! Take for instance the amazing, breathtaking lighting design used throughout, and Guadagnino's almost preternatural use of space . . .  water . . . ancient architecture . . . all of it blending in with new world emotions that, as they casually bubble to the surface, we realize, are not so new after all. No. Not new at all.  It's fucking brilliant.

Anyway, I was knocked out by every moment, scene, line and can think of no more beautiful ending to a film than the closing, shot - which continues during and extends to the final credits. Guadagnino has created something he does not want to end - and we don't want him to.  At least I didn't.   

So, after falling on my swort (not literally, relax) I followed this experience with my usual trick: finally reading the reviews.  Not surprisingly (or perhaps so, given my track record of loving things critics seem to hate) almost every one of them was a rave.  

And then there was, of course, Richard Brody's hatchet job for the New Yorker.  In by far the longest, prosiest, rant against everything about Guadagnino's movie.  Everything.  Seriously this exhausting review seemed to take longer to read than the film it was tearing apart.  For brevity's sake (your welcome), here's my distillation of his hatred:

Empty, sanitized intimacy . . .if Guadagnino had any interest in his characters . . . .the story is inconceivable without the conversation that they’d have had as their relationship developed ... yet, ... what they actually say to each other is hardly seen or heard.  Guadagnino can’t be bothered to imagine (or to urge Ivory to imagine) what they might actually talk about while sitting together alone. (he) displays no interest in the characters, (All) of the characters are reduced to animated ciphers . . . “Call Me by Your Name” (is) thin and empty, ... sluggish; the languid pace of physical action is matched by the languid pace of ideas, and the result is an enervating emptiness.

Boo.  Hiss.  Brody complains the Guadagnino does not establish either Elio or Oliver's sexual or romantic histories before they meet; expressing how knowledge of their respective pasts is a necessity for character development and our ability (or inability) to read them. How sad to be a critic for a well regarded publication and be incapable of seeinig things, or have any ability to interpret characters without having all the details explained to you.  He went on to complain about camera angles, shadows, lighting, pan shots, quite literally every detail of the film.  Brody's review reads like a diatribe constructed by a jilted lover on a vendetta, right down to hinting at "and another thing!"  Not only could I not possibly disagree with him more, I also couldn't stop laughing.

Anyway. . . I'm glad I finally broke down and gave Call Me By Your Name a go.  It was a truly beautiful experience  . . . one of my favorites of the year, and I can't wait to revisit it again. 

Cooper Raif's Sophomore Effort: A Really Smooth Cha Cha Real Smooth

 

I rarely let "influence" dictate my choices, ideas, on artistic (or any) matters, not because my taste is superior, but if I've learned anything in my six plus  decades on Planet Earth, it's that I'm a freak with unpredictable tastes but they are MY tastes.  Sometimes people agree, often they don't, mostl I don't care.  Mostly.

It was with some hesitation that I approached this morning's film assignment CHA CHA REAL SMOOTH.  I knew it was a hit at Sundance, but heard that critics were torching it.  I gave it ago.  I loved it. I loved it a lot.  

Perhaps I fell for something that isn't there?  Maybe.  I felt it was a "shiny, glossy, Hollwoodish Indie"  and then realized there was a lot more underneath it all.  I wasn't surprised when all the leading critics dismissed it as having "nothing to say," because - and this is just me stabbing my way through the dark here - it wasn't dark or moody enough to be "art" which is mostly what a lot of critics seem to want.  Not art as I or "real people" see it, but as they FEEL it should be.  No, there is nothing earth shattering, no wars, no real racial issues or climate change, political positing, none of the hot button issues, and no superheroes or serial killers.

At the center of its very big heart it's about  Andrew, a savvy, likeable 22 year old post college kid stuck in the worst job possible, (if you must know, he sells meat on a stick in a shopping mall, which I'm certain is a metaphor for SOMETHING), who falls into a sort-of career as a "party starter" for local Bar and Bat Mitvahs.  At his first event, he falls for Domino, an unattainable older, beautiful, sad woman and her teenage autistic daughter, Lola.  A bond forms between the three that pretty much anchors everything that is to come in the rest of the film.  He makes the most of life despite sharing a small room with little brother, David in the home of his mom who he adores, and his step-dad who he antagonizes.  In that small, self-contained world and through, essentially, just these characters, we deal with bulllies, love, misplaced feelings, pity, kindness, friendship, family heartbreak and self-discovery. Not in big, profound Shakespearean statements, but in gentle, wry, smile-inducing acts and moments.

Cooper Raif, director, writer and star of the film,delivers the goods like a gently wrapped present, his actors bringing their characters to life in subtle performances that - TO ME - made them believable, real.  I kind of fell in love with everyone in this film.  That is never a requirement for me but I won't deny that when it DOES happen, it feels good.  Like I do right now.

As Domino, Dakota Johnson is the walking epitome of the beautifully damaged woman.  Abandoned teenage bride and mother of a special needs child, she is "the outsider."  By default so is Lola, a magnificently touching performance by first timer Vanessa Burghardt who is autistic-neurodivergent in real life.  Try not to fall in love with this kid.  Or her mom.  I dare you.  

I cannot ignore, however, what the big time critics are calling a disaster.  Here's a few blurbs I could not possibly disagree with more.  All seeming to have one thing in common (more on that after the blurbs):

" (Raiff is) the dim star at the center of this small, bland world  (he) bring(s) to mind the British actor David Tennant if David Tennant were a slobbering puppy.  Derivative and unpersuasive ... filled with stylistic clichés . . . cardboard characters, silly dialogue and absurd narrative contrivances, (scenes) that never make sense; but, . . . neither does most of the movie." (NY TIMES)

"(At 24) Raiff has the potential to turn into one of the pre-eminent cinematic irritants of the next decade." (Guardian)

 "Director, star Cooper Raif seems to love his characters, but none so much as himself.  It's unnerving to see the radiant close-ups of his characters until you realize they're beaming at him with adoration, an adoration he clearly shares." 

All of these - and more, share a strong contempt for the young director/star that seems born of - I don't know what (I really don't.  Jealousy?  Maybe/maybe not.)

Christy Lemire for Roger Ebert Reviews nailed it (I think) in one of the few positive reviews I've read.

Raiff is likable and often hilarious, but he's also in every single scene, so one could imagine that his idiosyncratic sense of humor might eventually become grating to some viewers."

That, for me, really hits it.  It also shows how shitty so many critics are, because clearly, this twenty something filmmaker has potential, is learning and in only his second feature shows promise and THAT is something I feel should not be dismissed, but has been in nearly every review.

Lemire also notes some of the films flaws, but never in the condescending "why is this dope allowed to make movies" fashion.  And, again, she punctuates her review with that bit of promise all movie lovers should feel joy with.

"Raiff’s ambition to break free from sentimental formula and forge a path of his own is clear, making him an exciting young filmmaker to watch."

That's what I'M talkin' 'bout.  Oh, yeah.  I probably should've prefaced all this with ANY movie that features a bunch of white people dancing to Funky Town is probably gonna be something I like.  

Big Mouth: Filthy, Vulgar, Vile, Hilarious and Sweet

At the recommendation of a friend I watched the first episode of “Big Mouth” the Nick Kroll produced series for Netflix. My first reaction after only a few minutes in was of something hilarious yet, vile, filthy, and taking full advantage of not having to be censored. It didn’t take long before I realized the show was going to be taken in in a two day binge, 5 episodes at a time.

The familiar topic of teenage awkwardness at the onset of puberty has seldom, if ever, been addressed so matter-of-factly and in terms and visuals as disgustingly hilarious as it has here. For one thing, generally the domain of a “boys only” realm, “Big Mouth” gives equal time and opportunity to show just what a disgusting, tragic and confusing mess this time of life is for girls as well. The series revolves around 8th graders, Andrew (John Mulaney), Nick (Kroll), Jessi (Jessi Glaser), Missy (Jenny Slate) and Jay (Jason Mantzoukas). The series – definitely for adult only audiences – is, almost necessarily animated for a number of reasons. First and foremost, a live version would require child actors, and, given the material, language and . . . well, it’d have had mothers and churches and civic groups protesting to shut it down, and rightfully so. Instead, we’re given exquisite voice performances by adult actors, who do very little to sound childish, their own vocal imprints coming through so we’re always, at some level at least, aware these are not children, but actors reliving childhood.



At its heart, “Big Mouth” is not only about the changes our bodies go through at that age, but about loyalty, friendship, social structures, family dysfunction, and secrets so terrifying one dare not share. In addition to the kids, the show is populated by two hormone monsters (over-the-top, terrifying performances by Maya Rudolf and series creator Kroll), and most hilariously, Nick’s unlikely confessor and mentor, the ghost of Duke Ellington. Frequently offering the worst possible advice, Duke is brutally honest as he shares memories of a bygone era, and delivers, in my opinion, the series best lines.

There is component of vulgar sexual violence that is pushed to its comedic limits and, definitely not for more sensitive viewers.
At times “Big Mouth” has the feel of an existentialist/absurdist work of theatre, not just crossing lines, but obliterating them into Kingdom Come . . . or is that Kingdom Cum?