Emotionally Volatile Baby Reindeer

Once again, Netflix goes out on a limb to reach beyond the predictable feelgood fair so many want - and possibly need - in dawn of dystopian age we find ourselves living in. Baby Reindeer is tagged as a dark comedy, and there are certainly comic aspects to it, but it is steeped - almost mired - in tragedy that already I'm hearing as misunderstood by viewers dismissing it as "unfunny." describing the tragic protagonist as "self absorbed" and "lazy."  I found Donny neither of these, but rather twisted with self-hatred and crippled by indecisiveness. We sense his desire to be wanted and loved, fully aware aware that in his eyes he is unworthy of either. 

As Donny, Richard Gadd's Donny gives among of the most harrowing, frustrating and ultimately heartbreaking performances I've seen this year. Lanky and raw, his eyes, mouth and jaw move constantly from a place of fear that is set across his scraggly bearded, hollow face, both handsome and homely.  Every thought, every emotion plays across his mask in direct opposition of the poker face he imagines hides the true Donny.  

The pathetic journey of this failing and flailing comic becomes painful to witness - almost unbearable at times, but that is the point isn't it? To show what real suffering is, to reveal that complete inability to move forward because one is held back by fear and hatred.  This level of self-loathing is addictive and isn't meant to be pretty or funny. It isn't. It cannot be.  It's made manifest through the jokes that die before they're emitted from his lips, from the juvenile props that fail to offer any comic relief from the torment. And yet, he goes on, confusing the familiar humiliation of his life as a kind of comfort.  

I grew frustrated to the point of anger with Donny, thinking "there are easy fixes, mate . . . just buck up, be honest be . . ." before realizing how many years I spent telling myself those same things. How frequently my looking in the mirror, telling myself "it's an easy fix, mate,"  when the reality was not only wasn't it not easy, there are times where there seemed to be no fix at all. Ever. Gadd captures this paralyzing inability with such poignancy I more than once found myself unable to hold back tears.   At long last comes the moment of self-confrontation one sensed had to happen to make this all work.  Without knowing Mr. Gadd, all I can say is, he brings us to that place where actor and character fuse into a oneness, something so beautifully raw, so abraded that can only be seen as a revelation, a catharsis.  Yes, it's acting, masterful even, but it feels is more than that as well.  Maybe I'm wrong. I don't want to know.

On the opposite side of that same coin is the chilling, harrowingly raw portrayal of Martha by Jessica Gunning. It is incredibly easy to dislike a creature such as Martha . . . manipulative, foul, deceitful, and wonder why Donny allows himself to be torturously abused by her at every turn. But we know why don't we? First and foremost, he pities her but it's more than that.  He, unwittingly at first recognizes that, beneath the surface, Martha is the same emotional ticking time bomb as he. Gunning brilliantly uses her face to convey elation, naughtiness, rage, pain and emotional blankness with an ease of facility equal to Gadd's Donny. Indeed, the two make an uncomfortably powerful match in Baby Reindeer. 

Time prevents me from going on, but I must at least in passing say that , Nava Mau, Nina Sosanya, Tom Goodman-Hill, Shalom Brune-Franklin, all give sensational performances in supporting roles that contribute to and flesh out this dark, powerful story.  

In addition to portraying Donny, Gadd served as executive producer, and provided the excellent script, sensitively directed by Weronika Tofilska and Josephine Bornebusch, with a look capturing its mix of locations - homes, flats, bars, and London nightlife through its terrific cinematography. Similarly, the music flushed through the score's soundtrack is an emotional wild ride spanning more than a century ranging from Dvorak to Dusty Springfield, Bronski Beat, The Cars, King Crimson and Gary Numan - for starters..  

All in all, everything about Baby Reindeer makes it, at least for me, one of Netflix' most difficult to watch, yet gripping and emotionally satisfying shows from the past few seasons. 

Gesamtkunstwerk Frankenstein

I have wanted to see the National Theatre's production of Nick Dear's Frankenstein since it was new. That was 2011. Because I like to go in "as a virgin" to new works, I purposefully avoided reading any reviews or listening to anyone except people saying, "You've GOT to see it."  Finally a little over thirteen years after the fact, I got to sit down and watch it. Twice in fact,: once last night, with Benedict Cumberbatch as The Monster and Jonny Lee Miller as Victor Frankenstein, then again this morning with those roles reversed. I found the events in my life between 2011 and now absolutely worked relevant in experiencing Mr. Dear's take on Mrs. Shelley's novel.

Now knowing anything of the play, I was unprepared for the difference between what I imagined it might be, and what it actually was.  Dear has given us a theatrical "experience" that is, by very definition, Gesamtkunstwerk. His Frankenstein calls not only for acting, but movement, choreography, dance, songs, pyrotechnics and spectacle. As to the last of these, Mark Tildesley's stage and set design is a work of wonder, allowing the multiple locations and interiors - laboratory, cabin, lakes, railroad, fields, estates, and mountains to appear and disappear seamlessly, packing its entire universe into two quickly passing hours . The audience is plunged - from the beginning -  directly into the story, as is the home audience experience through judicious camerawork. Director, Danny Boyle has strong, convincing and bold ideas about how it all should go and the results he inspires from his actors are in the "astonishing" range, with not a single weak link in his cast.

The first twenty minutes gives us the astonishing birth of The Monster, and within its first minute I found myself in tears - as I would be for most of the rest of the play. As The Monster, Benedict Cumberbatch surpassed pretty much his work in every role I'd previously seen him in - and all before uttering a word. I related to this creature, identified with him so strongly I felt as if watching of my own story taking place. As a recovering stroke and brain damage victim (god I hate that word), six years still later struggling with balance, movement, everything Cumberbatch did served as a reminder of the horrific processes of learning how to move, eat and drink on my own, the futile attempts at balance, use of limbs and digits, and most of all, to walk again. My frustration crushing, labored, pitiful movement, falls and failures all reflected in The Monster's every move.. But, so too was the dogged determination . . . the unrelenting persistence. For about eight minutes Cumberbatch overwhelms with a horrifying dance of tortured movement punctuated by grunts, groans, screams and shouts.  

It was not surprising to read afterward that although choreographed, Cumberbatch based his creature on his observing stroke victims in recovery.  I also learned his co-star and fellow Monster, Jonny Lee Miller based his on observing his two year old child. The differences between The Monsters keeps the story in place, but creates two very different experiences. Cumberbatch is more physical, twitching, flailing limbs,a rough elegance,  Miller's "quicker" with lots of drooling and stomping, a greater command of rapid speech . . . indeed, Miller's energy propels everything and everyone along at a quicker pace. After watching both actors in both roles, I can easily say I prefer each in the role I first saw him in. 

Dear sticks fairly close to Shelley's details (as best I remember them - I need to revisit the book) taking every opportunity to open up its philosophies of the nature of man, our formations of societal structures, hunger for knowledge, our fears, rejection, loneliness . . . how love and kindness can be manipulated and too easily stripped and replaced by cruelty and hate. .

What a beautiful, terrible work Mr. Dear has written . . . an impactful look into what it is to be human . . . and inhuman.Doyle and company can be proud of what they achieved here.  Everything single thing about these performances convinces me Frankenstein is one of the most beautiful, heartbreaking dramas created for the stage in the last 50 years. Its language, its movement and music are profound and moving. So  too, are its silences. 

RIPLEY: THE NETFLIX SERIES

I've always been fascinated by the fact the first two film versions to feature this very American character, created by an American novelist, were made in French, then German, with a 45 year lapse between Patricia Highsmith's novel and the first English language film. Even then, it was made not by an American, but a Brit. Later films  would be made by Italian Canadian directors. 

Therefore, I couldn't wait to start Netflix' new series Ripley, - the first dramatization by an American director, and which comes (finally) almost 70 years after the novel hit the shelves. Of course, I've a lifelong obsession with the Ripley stories and was excited about seeing Andrew Scott's take on this most absorbing, complicated of sociopaths.  I've watched every film treatment of the stories, beginning with Dennis Hopper's Ripley in Wim Wenders Der Amerikanische Freund (1977) which also featured Bruno Ganz, and based upon Ripley's Game.  Alain Delon in Plein Soleil, was my 2nd Tom, and couldn't have been more different in character than Hopper was in the first story, but he was equally as affecting, disturbing and surprisingly (or not) sensual as Ripley.   I've never been a big fan of Matt Damon, but thought he was perfectly cast in Anthony Minghella's brilliant The Talented Mr. Ripley. Years later I'd e enjoy John Malkovich (who plays an important if small role in this current outing) and Barry Pepper.  I couldn't wait to see what Mr. Scott - whose work I've loved for years now - does with the role. 

Before it began, I stated I couldn't pick a favorite Tom Ripley, but, after a night of insomnia and eight straight hours of watching it, I can no longer say that. By opening up the story into an eight hour epic, Ripley is given time to expand in a way that was literally impossible in a standard length film.  Andrew Scott, an actor of impeccable skill, and a history of bringing "loner" characters to live was, without any doubt, the perfect choice. This is (to borrow one of Highsmith's titles) entirely Ripley's game.  Scott takes full advantage of the experience and within the first five minutes establishes Tom Ripley's character as a loner and something of an outcast, so solidly we sense what he's capable of, even before the story takes off on its wild Italian adventure. 

Involved and active in nearly every scene of the series and owning it, there is still room for some terrific characters and in Johnny Flynn's Dickie, Daktota Fanning's Marge, Maurizio Lombardi's Detective Ravini, and Margherita Buy's Signora Busi, we get some brilliant work. Throw in small, but effective turns by Kenneth Lonergan, Eliot Sumner, Bokeen Woodbine's PI, and the intensity is ratcheted up even more. Written and directed by Steven Zallian (The Night Of, Searching for Bobby Fischer, All The King's Men) is an actor's dream. The dialogue is crisp, direct and helps each character establish their voice, and he does this even with bit and cameo roles, a perfect example being a character written only as "Naples Kid"  who has only three scenes all of which last about two seconds, but help strengthen the movie.

This kind of detail extends to Robert Elswit's cinematography which, I'll just say right now, is perhaps the most breathtaking ever seen on.  Every shot establishes and anchors every single moment of the story brilliantly. Elswit takes advantage of the architecture, the light, the statues, the sea, the animals in such a way every frame could be seen as "frameable."  Literally, every element, especially the statues and works of Caravaggio (as well as his story) work their way into powerful, symbolic features that move every second of this along. 

The same holds through for the soundtrack with Jeff Russo's stunning score punctuated through with Pergolisi's Stabat Mater, 12th century plainchant, Donizetti, Mozart, Sinéad O'Connor, Shostakovich and 50's Italian pop.  

I'm always interested in reading reviews after I've fallen in love with something and rarely surprised to see critical and audience reactions wildly different than my own. Even having just been released, reception is split down the middle between the "Loved It" and "Hated It" camps. . Variety, The NY TImes, and other major players all say much the same: Zallion over inflates the story to operatic lengths . . . sucks the life from the story . . .  zaps the energy out of Tom's character, etc. the TImes critic went so far as to share how how pretentious he found it all and ending his review yelling, "Auteur! Auteur!"  Isn't he clever and funny? (No.). 

I hate calling them idiots, but that's all I can do with viewers complaining Scott isn't "as cute" or "as likeable" as Matt Damon." Other online critiques refer to Ripley as "another unnecessary remake - and a terrible one at that." My favorite has to be this one I saw on YouTube:

Zallion entirely misses the mark . . . Andrew Scott is too much of a sociopath that it's unbelievable the ancillary characters would ever have him around - there is no chemistry between this Tom and Dickey, so why would Dickey want him to stay . . . Dakota Fanning lacks the classiness Gwyneth Paltrow had as Marge . .. . spreading it out over eight episodes doesn't intensity it as some claim, it slows and stops the story, and strips it of its personality. All style and no substance. 

I couldn't help but laugh a little . . . okay a lot, reading these inane points of view. I can  get not liking something, but because a star playing a murderous sociopath isn't "as cute" or "likeable" . just can't be taken seriously.

I'll be interested in reading what friends have to say. As for me, I'm ready to take another eight hour trip to Italy!

We Are All The Incredible Shrinking Man

Every once in a while I need to revisit my boyhood. Okay, truth:  I've never really grown up (much like someone with my same initials and I don't mean Peter Pears), so "revisiting" is a stretch. There are a countless movies my dad introduced me to as a kid, and many of those remain among my favorites: The Greatest Show On Earth, The Five Pennies, The Treasure of the Sierra Madre, Heaven Knows Mr. Allison, and many many more. Some stand out more than others, and one of the strongest may seem like an odd choice, but it haunted, disturbed and moved me more than most: The Incredible Shrinking Man. I still remember every detail of not only the movie, but of me fidgeting, getting nervous and worrying whether Scott was going to come out of this alive, be cured.  Every few years I come back to it, and . .. today was that day.

Each time I watch it, even knowing the outcome, I become five or six again, fraught with fear and concern about the plight of this tiny human.  Once the shrinking begins, the loneliness, the feeling of helplessness Scott faces almost overwhelm me. The perilous challenges ,when the worst of the shrinking begins - one life threatening battle after another are ceaseless . . . . relentless . . . oppressive.  Then, when he becomes truly alone, trapped in the basement, his wife and brother having left, believing he 's dead . . . it tears at my heart.  

As a child, naturally I couldn't comprehend why this story affected me so profoundly, but as years progressed, so did my mind, and my interests in science, philosophy, religion, the cosmos, the myriad dimensions beyond the physical or real world took hold of my brain, and I became obsessed with the why and how of everything.  I vividly recall coming back to this movie in adulthood and there was that proverbial lightbulb moment . . . that Aha! head rush.  This wasn't just some sad horror or sci-fi flick, it was an allegorical look at humanity, at the relative smallness of our place in the vastness of the universe. BUT like the billions of atoms that make us up - the universe recognizes the infinitesimal, and everything matters.  I watched Spaceman last night and one of my takeaways from it works in concert with The Incredible Shrinking Man: the universe is exactly as it should be.

What's fascinating to me about all of this is that the Richard Matheson wrote his 1956 novel as an allegory about the loss of masculine influence on post-war America.  The shrinking man was representative of that loss.  Apparently, Matheson, who wrote the screenplay as well, was not pleased with the direction of film or its ending, but years later, came around to appreciating it . . . and its ending.  And, speaking of the ending, in all of the film testing before its release, audiences hated it. Everyone seemed to want Scott to be cured, to be restored to his full size and reunited with his wife.  Director, Jack Arnold, essentially stated they'd have to change the ending over his dead body, and so the film ends exactly as it should: full of understanding about our place in the universe, but also an accompanying fear of what that means..

For me the biggest tragedy of the film is that its leading actor, Grant Williams, never achieved any genuine measure of fame, never got any roles truly worthy of his talent, and died alone at age 53.  It was interesting diggig up what I could on him and realizing how many gifted people like Williams just never got the opportunity to shine - or only briefly in small films like this one. It's really the story of Hollywood, isn't it?  Grant Williams was born in New York, and began acting onstage as a child.  He joined and was trained in the U.S. Airforce, and after serving returned to New York to study with Lee Strasberg. He found professional work in the theatre and I'm not sure who saw him, but he was quickly offered a contract and signed by Universal and moved to Hollywood, playing bit roles on television or uncredited ones in film. He caught the eye of Jack Arnold who was impressed and cast him against type as evil gunslinger, Chet Swann in the 1956 western Red Sundown, and then a year later in the lead role for the movie which he's still best known. 

One important fact I never before knew was was Williams was also a singer, three years after filming  The Incredible Shrinking Man, went back to New York as the tenor soloist in Martha Graham and Halim El-Dabh's legendary 1958 ballet Clytemnestra, for a three-performance run Broadway in 1960.  

Williams was a quiet man who seemed to shy away from the Hollywood glitterari and led a very private and not active social life. There was much gossip and rumor about his being gay (which seems likely) and consigned him to a career mostly of single episode appearances in shows like Gun Smoke, Mr. Lucky, and Shirley Temple's Storybook. His longest gig would be as the composer Tchaikovsky in a three episodes for The Wonderful World of Disney.  Another strike against  him was one I'd never even considered until reading about it today was that Williams was fair and blonde, and and during his career Hollywood was almost exclusively casting its leads as tall, dark and handsome like Cary Grant, Rock Hudson,Steve McQueen, et al. 

Watching the film now, while there are several supporting roles, most importantly Randy Stuart, who is excellent as Scott's wife, nearly the entire film is carried on the shoulders of Mr. Williams's as Scott Carey. Because of the way it had to be filmed, Williams was required to act through most of the film alone, as has been noted: acting opposite nothing and with no one.  The role also called for incredible physicality: Scott must go from appearing childlike, lost in grownup world of furniture and giants, sipping coffee from a boat sized cup, and then performing incredible physical feats, fighting like a gladiator, swinging across vast spaces and climbing seemingly insurmountable heights. Watching it with an actors eyes, Williams serves all of this up with a ferocity that feels natural and is admirable. he also suffered multiple injuries, burns, and went temporarily blind during filming. Through it all is an underlying sadness always just under the surface that is enormously moving.  Additionally, Williams, as Scott, narrates the entire film which, after his epiphany and acceptance, creates something profoundly poetic out of Matheson's screenplay.  

I know this is another of those movies I love that people wonder, "what's wrong with him?" . . . but for almost 60 years (WHAT?) this movie has been part of my life and so, part of who I am. All these decades later, I'm still fascinated by it, still moved by it, still compelled to watch it. In it's way, we, all of us, become The Incredible Shrinking Man