I wish I’d been able to share my enthusiasm for two new movies while they were still showing in theatres (both came out early in 2019 and have long left the circuit); however, they’re now both available by other means, all the better to savour and ponder them in the comfort of your own home.
David Lowery’s latest movie is about the real-life career criminal and escape artist Forrest Tucker, who was first imprisoned at the age of 15 (in the 1930s), and spent the rest of his life in and out of jail, having attempted 18 successful and 12 unsuccessful escapes, by his own reckoning. Tucker was profiled by David Grann for The New Yorker in 2003, and the movie is adapted from Grann’s article. Robert Redford stars as the 61-year-old Forrest in the movie, which starts in Texas in 1981, and which shows him in action robbing banks, eluding the police investigators on his trail (headed by Dallas Police Detective John Hunt, played by regular Lowery collaborator Casey Affleck), and growing warmly attached to a widow he meets named Jewel (Sissy Spacek).
The Old Man and the Gun seems tinged with nostalgia, shown in a number of its elements — the grainy, period look of the images (shot on 16-mm film); the calmly poised and friendlily animated manner of people in small-town and rural America; the presence of two elder movie stars, who recall heydays of forty, fifty years ago; and the quiet sentimentality with which Forrest regards his long career of risks and thrills. Yet Lowery’s nostalgia isn’t spread in a thick haze of treacle and tears, but is touchingly dignified, and delicately modulated into other complex and nuanced emotions and a serious sense of fun. Anyone who’s seen Lowery’s previous movies (Ain’t Them Bodies Saints, Pete’s Dragon, A Ghost Story) will be expecting the finely composed, richly layered images that mark each shot of this movie, as well as the concentrated performances by the actors. Here, Redford, Affleck, and Spacek achieve truly beautiful modes of grace and authenticity, that can best be described as sublime. Redford has announced that The Old Man and the Gun features his final onscreen performance, and it’s wholly apt that the role itself is one that centres on performance and charisma. Lowery’s portrait of Forrest Tucker seems elevated into a portrait of the artist Robert Redford, and the very best qualities and abilities that brought him so much admiration.
Available on BoxOffice and on DVD.
Ten years ago, Clint Eastwood filmed a vision of his own violent death in Gran Torino. At 78, it was an apt time for an introspective and world-wary artist to face reality. Happily, 10 years later, he’s still hard at work and developing his own personal vision and artistic depiction of himself and the world. The Mule is the first of his own movies that Eastwood has starred in since Gran Torino, and it’s an even more moving and searing look at himself, with far clearer implications for his own life.
Eastwood plays Earl Stone, a fictional character based on the real-life Leo Sharp, a World War II veteran who became a drug mule for the Sinaloa Cartel in his 80s. Like Sharp, Earl is an accomplished and renowned horticulturist whose business eventually fails and who turns to courier work for the cartel to make money. In the movie, Earl has neglected his family throughout his life — he’s missed wedding anniversaries, birthdays, christenings, and even his daughter’s wedding, all deliberately as he chose to spend his time on his work and with his work friends. As his former life falls apart, and new opportunities open with the large amounts of money he earns from the cartel, Earl works his way back into his own family by building contact with his now-adult granddaughter and slowly buying favour through generous financial support, at home and in his local community.
Earl’s family troubles come from his obstinate resistance to opening up to people, especially to his family, who know him best. He refuses to show any of the vulnerability required to make a connection with anyone. In Eastwood’s movie, this is only partly because of Earl’s resistant character, and partly just the way things had to be. Like Eastwood, Earl made his name at a time when impenetrable masculinity was the sole standard for men, and people like Earl weren’t shown any options or opportunities to connect emotionally with the women and children in their own homes. Earl thought of outward, worldly success as more important than his emotional life back home, and, as he devoted himself more to work, his domestic situation deteriorated, feeding into a vicious cycle where he gave less and less of himself to his family. (And there’s Eastwood’s virtual admission of complicity hanging on the edge of the frame throughout the movie: many of the images that idealised masculine strength and supremacy in the 20th century were promoted by or at least centred on Eastwood himself. Eastwood seems as regretful and wary as Earl over the harsh restrictions that were placed on people’s ways of life in earlier, more rigidly gendered times.) Now, at the end of his life, Earl feels deep regret for his years of neglect, and takes on great pain as he reckons especially with his wife and daughter’s heartbreak.
Eastwood has indubitable mastery over cinematic technique, having directed movies for over 40 years. His style is calm and understated to an unparalleled degree, with a relaxed and assured focus on the essence of his story. As with many great directors in their old age, Eastwood breezes past many details and elements that other directors would surely expend more energy on, and sketches the background and exposition in quick strokes. There’s not an ounce of fat on the script, the shooting of it, the editing, or the performances. (Bradley Cooper, Michael Peña, Dianne Wiest, Laurence Fishburne, and Andy Garcia all appear in supporting roles.) Eastwood in particular has always been the supreme Eastwood actor; he films images of such quiet yet focused attention, that the smallest movement or inflection comes across as a meaningful nuance. As a masterly actor, Eastwood delivers on what’s required to tell the story; as a genius filmmaker, he films and includes shots of himself that show a surprising degree of emotional frankness and danger.
Eastwood has also been the political filmmaker of our times that I find most direct and incisive. The political ideas of The Mule are woven into the centre of the the story of Earl, and come flashing out as Earl’s character is revealed and developed. Earl seems at first a living fossil from a much earlier age, ignorant of the current social order and mores — he seems surprised to find that old slurs, like “dyke,” are now in common use, yet earlier niceties such as “Negro” are now offensive. Yet Eastwood knowingly reveals Earl’s sly intelligence, as he adapts seamlessly to survive in a new age, while deliberately coming off as far less aware than he is. And Eastwood appears to be showing his own long and weary processes of survival in times that seem ever more open and yet ever less welcoming.
Eastwood builds his story out of contradictions that resonate as they sound against each other. As Earl achieves great success throughout his professional career, his family life shows only total failure. When Earl falls on hard times, he finds his way towards rebuilding his life, contributing charitably to his community, and reconnecting with his family — all admirable ends — through service to violent criminal orders. Earl is frustrated at the way he sees American society losing certain values and behaviours that he considers essential, yet he also discovers possibilities for redemption in the newer, more open society he finds himself in. The insights that Eastwood packs into his movie are fused to form an overarching vision of life, and the values and pitfalls of modern living, that Eastwood himself has encountered.
In addition to telling a story that he finds interesting and rich in valuable insights, Eastwood has also rendered an opaque portrait of the course of his own life. The extent to which the story is directly related to Eastwood himself can only be determined by those who know him personally, but it’s significant that he films himself in the centre of the story; that he casts his real-life daughter in the role of the character’s neglected daughter; that his character is an independent who operates outside of corporate systems of control, even as he works in some sort of compromise in order to achieve his own goals; and that he chose to film the story of a man who, near the end of his life, takes surprising new turns and finds new ways of living. The Mule ends not with the end of Earl’s life, but a new phase of reflection and penance. The final shot shows Earl at work on new feats of beauty and pleasure; I hope for the same continuing outpouring from Eastwood himself.
The Old Man and the Gun seems tinged with nostalgia, shown in a number of its elements — the grainy, period look of the images (shot on 16-mm film); the calmly poised and friendlily animated manner of people in small-town and rural America; the presence of two elder movie stars, who recall heydays of forty, fifty years ago; and the quiet sentimentality with which Forrest regards his long career of risks and thrills. Yet Lowery’s nostalgia isn’t spread in a thick haze of treacle and tears, but is touchingly dignified, and delicately modulated into other complex and nuanced emotions and a serious sense of fun. Anyone who’s seen Lowery’s previous movies (Ain’t Them Bodies Saints, Pete’s Dragon, A Ghost Story) will be expecting the finely composed, richly layered images that mark each shot of this movie, as well as the concentrated performances by the actors. Here, Redford, Affleck, and Spacek achieve truly beautiful modes of grace and authenticity, that can best be described as sublime. Redford has announced that The Old Man and the Gun features his final onscreen performance, and it’s wholly apt that the role itself is one that centres on performance and charisma. Lowery’s portrait of Forrest Tucker seems elevated into a portrait of the artist Robert Redford, and the very best qualities and abilities that brought him so much admiration.
“The Mule”
Available on BoxOffice and on DVD.
Ten years ago, Clint Eastwood filmed a vision of his own violent death in Gran Torino. At 78, it was an apt time for an introspective and world-wary artist to face reality. Happily, 10 years later, he’s still hard at work and developing his own personal vision and artistic depiction of himself and the world. The Mule is the first of his own movies that Eastwood has starred in since Gran Torino, and it’s an even more moving and searing look at himself, with far clearer implications for his own life.
Eastwood plays Earl Stone, a fictional character based on the real-life Leo Sharp, a World War II veteran who became a drug mule for the Sinaloa Cartel in his 80s. Like Sharp, Earl is an accomplished and renowned horticulturist whose business eventually fails and who turns to courier work for the cartel to make money. In the movie, Earl has neglected his family throughout his life — he’s missed wedding anniversaries, birthdays, christenings, and even his daughter’s wedding, all deliberately as he chose to spend his time on his work and with his work friends. As his former life falls apart, and new opportunities open with the large amounts of money he earns from the cartel, Earl works his way back into his own family by building contact with his now-adult granddaughter and slowly buying favour through generous financial support, at home and in his local community.
Earl’s family troubles come from his obstinate resistance to opening up to people, especially to his family, who know him best. He refuses to show any of the vulnerability required to make a connection with anyone. In Eastwood’s movie, this is only partly because of Earl’s resistant character, and partly just the way things had to be. Like Eastwood, Earl made his name at a time when impenetrable masculinity was the sole standard for men, and people like Earl weren’t shown any options or opportunities to connect emotionally with the women and children in their own homes. Earl thought of outward, worldly success as more important than his emotional life back home, and, as he devoted himself more to work, his domestic situation deteriorated, feeding into a vicious cycle where he gave less and less of himself to his family. (And there’s Eastwood’s virtual admission of complicity hanging on the edge of the frame throughout the movie: many of the images that idealised masculine strength and supremacy in the 20th century were promoted by or at least centred on Eastwood himself. Eastwood seems as regretful and wary as Earl over the harsh restrictions that were placed on people’s ways of life in earlier, more rigidly gendered times.) Now, at the end of his life, Earl feels deep regret for his years of neglect, and takes on great pain as he reckons especially with his wife and daughter’s heartbreak.
Eastwood has indubitable mastery over cinematic technique, having directed movies for over 40 years. His style is calm and understated to an unparalleled degree, with a relaxed and assured focus on the essence of his story. As with many great directors in their old age, Eastwood breezes past many details and elements that other directors would surely expend more energy on, and sketches the background and exposition in quick strokes. There’s not an ounce of fat on the script, the shooting of it, the editing, or the performances. (Bradley Cooper, Michael Peña, Dianne Wiest, Laurence Fishburne, and Andy Garcia all appear in supporting roles.) Eastwood in particular has always been the supreme Eastwood actor; he films images of such quiet yet focused attention, that the smallest movement or inflection comes across as a meaningful nuance. As a masterly actor, Eastwood delivers on what’s required to tell the story; as a genius filmmaker, he films and includes shots of himself that show a surprising degree of emotional frankness and danger.
Eastwood has also been the political filmmaker of our times that I find most direct and incisive. The political ideas of The Mule are woven into the centre of the the story of Earl, and come flashing out as Earl’s character is revealed and developed. Earl seems at first a living fossil from a much earlier age, ignorant of the current social order and mores — he seems surprised to find that old slurs, like “dyke,” are now in common use, yet earlier niceties such as “Negro” are now offensive. Yet Eastwood knowingly reveals Earl’s sly intelligence, as he adapts seamlessly to survive in a new age, while deliberately coming off as far less aware than he is. And Eastwood appears to be showing his own long and weary processes of survival in times that seem ever more open and yet ever less welcoming.
Eastwood builds his story out of contradictions that resonate as they sound against each other. As Earl achieves great success throughout his professional career, his family life shows only total failure. When Earl falls on hard times, he finds his way towards rebuilding his life, contributing charitably to his community, and reconnecting with his family — all admirable ends — through service to violent criminal orders. Earl is frustrated at the way he sees American society losing certain values and behaviours that he considers essential, yet he also discovers possibilities for redemption in the newer, more open society he finds himself in. The insights that Eastwood packs into his movie are fused to form an overarching vision of life, and the values and pitfalls of modern living, that Eastwood himself has encountered.
In addition to telling a story that he finds interesting and rich in valuable insights, Eastwood has also rendered an opaque portrait of the course of his own life. The extent to which the story is directly related to Eastwood himself can only be determined by those who know him personally, but it’s significant that he films himself in the centre of the story; that he casts his real-life daughter in the role of the character’s neglected daughter; that his character is an independent who operates outside of corporate systems of control, even as he works in some sort of compromise in order to achieve his own goals; and that he chose to film the story of a man who, near the end of his life, takes surprising new turns and finds new ways of living. The Mule ends not with the end of Earl’s life, but a new phase of reflection and penance. The final shot shows Earl at work on new feats of beauty and pleasure; I hope for the same continuing outpouring from Eastwood himself.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Enter your unrestrained arguments here