NYMPHOMANIAC - The third in Lars Von Trier's "Depression Trilogy" is decent, if you know what you're getting into. Antichrist was an exercise is grief management that ended up with images of genital mutilation and talking foxes but was ultimately weird and interesting enough to be somewhat enjoyable. Melancholia was the more humorous of the two, which is strange considering it was about the end of everything on earth. But something about Kirsten Dunst moping around naked in the forest in the face of such certain tragedy makes you keep watching even though you know the ending. Nymphomaniac, the four hour opus, split into two parts released separately, is the most watchable. The sex is graphic, awkward, and abundant, the penis's (penii?) are ever-present and show up in every size, color and shape including Shia LaBeouf's, if you're into that. Charlotte Gainsbourg, Von Trier's go-to-gal for this type of thing, is great, as always, as Joe, who is found beaten in an alley and recounts her life story to the man who finds her and lets her recover in his flat. As a self-professed nymphomaniac, what Joe knows is sex and she details the major events of her life surrounding her many conquests. At one point, as a teenager, Joe and her best friend compete to see who can fuck the most amount of men on a train. Her friend is in double digits while Joe merely has had 6 men, although she wins the contest by giving fellatio to a married man in first class who paid for their tickets when they were being harassed by a ticket agent. Her prize is a bag of chocolate sweets. The film is ambitious but it's hard to get past the shock value of it all and try to get behind Joe (no pun intended) as a protagonist. I suppose it's a satire of how we view sex today, showing how soulless and empty and ugly it is, even though it's an act so coveted and desired by almost everyone. If the exploration of sex broken down in a clinical, mathematical way by a weirdo art-house director is your thing, than Nymphomaniac is the film for you.
THE GRAND BUDAPEST HOTEL - A new Wes Anderson film is always cause for celebration and his newest didn't disappoint. Grand Budapest Hotel seems the most caricature-ish, the most constructed of the Wes Anderson films. The film, like the hotel itself, takes after the sweet confections made by a girl with a birthmark of Mexico on her cheek; layers upon layers of sweet, colorful substance, constructed with care and meant to be consumed similarly. It seemed to me to be the most cynical of Anderson's films lately, although I'm sure if I thought about it, there could be similar instances found in the others. In GBH, relationships don't last, beauty fades, death comes easily and often, and there is actually pure evil lurking around the corner. M. Gustave, played with the perfect amount of upper class grace and self-loathing by Ralph Fiennes, enlists the help of his lobby boy, named Zero, in clearing his name after the death of a woman who enjoyed Gustave's company and whose family blames him for her death. Anderson's films always seem to be the perfect antidote to the melodrama that always exists on movie screens. GBH in particular feels like the dessert to the heavy main course that was the 4 month Oscar season. What I always loved about Anderson was his attention to detail in creating these worlds on screen for us to escape into. It's not tacky, it's not twee, it's simply original and awe-inspiring and I can't wait to see this again and whatever world Anderson takes us into next.
NON-STOP - This is, admittedly, a weird time to be watching a feature film about a potential airline disaster, with the mystery of the missing MH370 flight still on everybody's minds the last couple weeks. Non-Stop doesn't really evoke any direct correlation between that potential tragedy and the one unfolding on screen, but it would be impossible to avoid thinking about it. Non-Stop more evokes 9-11, as if another 9-11 type event were happening in the age of social media, smart phones and instant news. Liam Neeson plays a troubled air marshal who begins receiving cryptic messages warning him that unless he complies with certain demands, someone onboard will die every 20 minutes. From there, the film turns into a whodunit where a whole host of characters, including Julianne Moore and Scoot McNairy, all look like viable suspects at certain points. I even briefly considered the 8 year old girl flying alone to London could be in on it. As with most big budget, mainstream films like this, if you wanted to take time to sit down and poke holes in the plot and the sequence of events, you probably could, but what fun would that be? Neeson is a law enforcement officer in the vein of Martin Riggs and John McClain, the shoot first, ask questions and get reprimanded for it later types. As social commentary, it's somewhat relevant and the conclusion and reasoning for the attack comes about kind of suddenly but it fits nicely with how these kind of movies usually treat their baddies. I have really been enjoying Neeson's late career resurgence as a complete badass action hero and Non-Stop fits into that category, again, if you're into that sort of thing. A fitting end to a few days at the movies.
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