Steve Wagner

Mad Maxine! Fury Road puts the Goddess in the Driver’s Seat

June 3, 2015 by Steve Wagner Leave a Comment

In the world of Mad Max, History just became Herstory. George Miller’s brilliant Mad Max Fury Road again posits the future of our survival, but this time, unlike the first three films, our best shot at redemption comes in the form of a fierce female warrior, who grabs the wheel from Max and drives off with his hero narrative in tow.

True to the series, we’re in a dystopian future, a wasteland, where water (now more than fuel) has become frighteningly scarce, and what is left of it is horded by a maniacal dictator named Imortan Joe. Furiosa, a high-ranking officer in Joe’s militia, defects while on a gasoline hunt in her armed-to-the-grill “War Rig,” and Joe quickly determines that she is not simply running away—she has indeed stolen his most prized possessions: the “Five Wives,” a group of stunning young women chosen by Joe to be his “breeders,” each the victim of his rape and enslavement. Furiosa’s goal: To evade Joe’s army and deliver the girls to the “green place of many mothers,” a desert-oasis she recalls from her childhood.

The character of Imperator Furiosa, not Max, is the protagonist, until finally Max comes to realize her importance and joins her cause. Fearlessly portrayed by Charlize Theron, Furiosa is a woman with purpose, and it doesn’t have anything to do with men, unless they are unfortunate enough to get in her way.

While Furiosa has taken charge of her destiny, Max is literally being driven (this is a Mad Max movie, after all) by forces he cannot control. For a third of the film he is shackled and chained to the front of a truck that is racing through one harrowing, life-threatening situation after the next, his face muzzled by an iron mask that would make Hannibal Lecter envious. Max is a prisoner without hope, a victim like everyone else until he makes a partner of Furiosa instead of an enemy. Her story shapes his story. Their partnership leads to his freedom. In the end, his bravery and sacrifice in her honor is what makes him a true hero.

Tom Hardy, in what will be the breakout role of his already impressive career, is pitch-perfect as Mad Max Rockatansky. He is both believably bad-ass and lost little boy (think Ringo with muscles and tats), rugged as a red-rock landscape and yet (according to my gal pals) just dreamy, like Mel used to be.

And then there’s Charlize…good golly, Miss Molly…I have always loved her work, but her performance as Furiosa knocked the wind out of me. She is ferocious yet kind, vulnerable but strong. She is made to look androgynous, with her cropped cut and desert leathers, yet she has the face of an angel (it’s true and you know it!); even dripping with grease and caked with dirt, her beauty is inescapable. Who but Theron—with her classic face, serious acting chops, and natural athleticism—could bring all of these elements together? With this role, she not only joins the ranks of Sigourney Weaver and Linda Hamilton as one of the great female action heroes on the screen, she crafts the most fully realized mythic heroine I’ve seen on celluloid.

To my mind, Fury Road makes the first three Max movies look rather quaint in comparison, but quite prescient for their time. They were primarily concerned with fuel/energy scarcity, our major fear at the time of their release. We had just experienced the gas crisis of the late-70s, and were waking up to the fact that we might run out of this stuff. We weren’t worried about water yet…but now we are. With Fury Road, director George Miller is starting to look more like George Orwell than George Lucas.

Images by Warner Bros. Pictures

Flick Nation Review: While We’re Young

May 6, 2015 by Steve Wagner Leave a Comment

Until a “comedy” comes along and gives us more to think about than the last twenty dramas we’ve seen, we usually forget that it is always more powerful and memorable when we are able to experience true issues in the guise of humor. Perhaps this is why comic actors continually surprise us with their ability to nail dramatic roles—the comedy they have mined has already trained them to find multiple layers of meaning in a given context. The truth behind the joke is the steak behind the sizzle, and the best comedians—and writers—know this well.

While We’re Young, the new film from writer/director Noah Baumbach, is a perfect example of the umbilical cord that connects comedy with sharp insight, and this metaphor is all the more apt because this film is definitely concerned with babies, not explicitly, but the birth of one is the catalyst for much of the story that follows. Because, as we all know, when a baby comes into the picture, everything changes, and not just for the parents, but for the parents’ friends as well. You know the drill: Two BFF couples find themselves surprisingly growing apart (it won’t happen to us!) after one becomes parents…especially if the other has decided not to have kids. What is left to talk about or experience together, when one couple is excited about Friday happy-hour and the other hasn’t slept in three days?

While We’re Young is about many things, and it moves quickly from one issue to the next. On the surface, it is the story of an aging Gen X couple, Josh and Cornelia (Ben Stiller and Naomi Watts) who become besotted with Jamie and Darby (Adam Driver and Amanda Seyfried), a young, new-millennium couple, after their former best-friend-couple, Fletcher and Marina (Adam Horovitz and Maria Dizzia) become parents and quickly disappear into their all-encompassing baby-reality, with their new baby-friends, and their important baby-events, and their maddeningly joyous new baby-perspective on life. Josh and Cornelia, while sticking to their plan to remain child-free, still feel they need to breathe some life into their, well, lives, and see their new in-the-moment, confident, and refreshingly candid (or so they seem) 20-something friends as bringing just the vibe they have been missing. The younger couple feel, well, I’m not sure what they feel, and certainly Josh and Cornelia don’t know either. This becomes more and more apparent as the film progresses; the veils of their misplaced admiration fall one by one, and laugh by laugh.

The secondary plot is the story of three male characters, who are all filmmakers—Josh has been working on a serious documentary for over six years, Jamie has aspirations to make a film of his own, and Josh’s father-in-law, Leslie (the always interesting Charles Grodin) is a cinéma vérité auteur famous for making probing, classic documentaries along the lines of D.A. Pennebaker and the Maysles Brothers. As the film moves towards its conclusion, the three men find themselves at ethical logger-heads, each with a singular idea of what it means to make true art, and what is honorably acceptable to achieve that artistic vision. Essentially, one thinks the ends justifies the means, one thinks the means justifies the ends, and one is just pissed off that he has to choose between the two. The moral questions that arise are juicy, and very much a window into the generation gaps that exist today. For there isn’t just one anymore; the old emblem of the long-hair vs. the crew-cut is hopelessly outdated now. There is no such thing as a “teenager” if everyone seeks to live like one.

Along with exploring universal questions regarding aging, While We’re Young is very insightful about the way we live and age now, the way we deal with these issues at this particular time. That this movie is firmly in the moment can be seen in the juxtaposition of the three filmmakers. Only a few years ago, this story-line would be a clear indication that the director is ultimately making a statement about himself—perhaps an artist confessional, an existential cry of pain, or a barbed screed against his critics. But, these days, making a film is ubiquitous in our culture, and Baumbach slyly uses this trope not as a means to deconstruct himself, but as a razor-sharp metaphor for a society where everyone seeks to be the center of the universe.

While We’re Young doesn’t really take a stand for or against any couple or lifestyle or ethic, but it isn’t entirely neutral either—it scratches its head trying to ponder the choices and views of the younger couple, to be sure, but it also looks unflinchingly at the Boomer/Xers whose general age Baumbach shares. Like all great humorists, he wisely skewers hypocrisy no matter the age, lifestyle, or even ethical philosophy of his characters. But, though Baumbach is often flabbergasted by their beliefs and actions, he is never overtly mean to them, and he never condemns them. What really comes through is his mostly sweet and non-judgmental new-millennium acceptance, while still holding space as an equal-opportunity satirist. It is a delicate balance, and While We’re Young admirably maintains this poise throughout.

Baumbach has a great ear for dialogue, and is deft at extracting humor from banter that isn’t “trying to be funny.” It is a rare filmmaker who can communicate intense subject matter through a comic tone, and While We’re Young is Baumbach’s best effort to date. It further explores the neurotic, bittersweet territory of his previous films (The Squid and The Whale, Margot at the Wedding, Greenberg) yet goes deeper, provides more laughs, and nails the cultural zeitgeist confidently and unapologetically. While We’re Young is a serious, timely drama wrapped within a witty New York comedy; in the end it is simply very smart, observant, and—like life—both unnerving and funny, often at the same time.

Official Trailer “While We’re Young” A24 Films
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=67Lwy05B98M

John Boorman’s Queen & Country

April 9, 2015 by Steve Wagner Leave a Comment

The creative triumph of Richard Linklater’s Boyhood will likely be acknowledged, perhaps emulated, by filmmakers for years to come. As auteurs study the structural genius of Linklater’s masterpiece they may also draw inspiration from the type of story he decided to tell, and become familiar with other films that seek the same delicate dance between life and art.

A wonderful place to start would be the autobiographical work from John Boorman, which feels like an old-school big brother to the new-millennium magic child that is Linklater’s celebrated cinematic time-experiment. Boorman, the legendary director who gave cinema one of its watershed films in terms of male psychology and cultural/class tension—Deliverance—has followed his 1987 classic Hope and Glory with a delightful and moving sequel: Queen and Country, which provides a touching and light-hearted conclusion to the story of his own boyhood, and in turn his illustrious career as a filmmaker.

In Queen and Country, the eight year old boy from the previous film, Bill Rohan (Callum Turner), is now 18 and conscripted for military service during the early 50s. Stationed in Britain as a typing instructor, he’s never part of a field battle, but his confrontation with military thought and decorum in the guise of Sgt. Major Bradley (David Thewlis) is the source of insightful humor and also frames Boorman’s humanistic philosophy. As with Hope and Glory, the sequel doesn’t pontificate or try to make any sweeping statements; it shows us the war experience through a very personal prism, an 18 year-old perspective, and predictably, for that age, it isn’t surprising when love soon trumps conflict as the boy’s primary interest.

For Bill—who never seems to covet the idea of distinguishing himself in the armed forces anyway—the event that makes a man of him is his encounter with a stunning “older woman” (all of 24) who he calls “Ophelia” because she will not reveal her identity. That very name suggests the unattainable love-object of the medieval troubadour’s noble knight who will fight to the death for her honor. Boorman’s juxtaposition of Bill’s passionate yet ultimately unrealized love for an unapproachable woman with the military-culture dysfunction he is forced to endure (and cleverly defeat, at least in spirit) produces a tone that is joyous, ironic, and bittersweet all at once. If Boorman’s memory of his first love has been romanticized by the passage of time, his moral clarity—likely formalized during the very years Queen and Country explores—remains razor sharp. This is a film born of a tender heart and focused mind, and its confidence and celebratory spirit is infectious throughout and quite inspiring at its conclusion.

Queen and Country, like its predecessor Hope and Glory, overtly refrains from making the expected anti-war statements, but the devastating effects of war become emphasized in spite of—or perhaps because of—their absence, and this is Boorman’s masterstroke. Showing narrative restraint that few directors achieve, he keeps the perspective firmly rooted in the level of maturity and personal experience of his alter-ego, which somehow makes the surrounding conflict more vivid in relief. Even if the character doesn’t fully grasp the implications of war, we do.

So often in films the story of the male protagonist boils down to his doing something courageous, something that saves or changes the world, something that elevates him, establishes him, or proves his worth. It is refreshing when a film shows us the emotional man, where the story is less about the importance or impact of his life and more about the individual resonance of it. Especially in a war milieu, where strength and resilience are often all that is required of a character, it is noteworthy to see a director brave enough to trust that a personal story will make the deeper impression.

Queen and Country will almost certainly be the 82 year-old Boorman’s last picture—he has said as much publicly, and the final shot of the film infers this with poetic charm: a movie camera slowly coming to a halt. It is heartening to see the great director go out with such grace, and the subtle insights of Queen and Country show Boorman’s singular voice in concert with mature wisdom. The metaphoric title of the film itself is both the clue and ultimate message. The triumph over the insanity and terror of war is achieved through sacrifice and commitment, not to abstract concepts like royalty or territory, but to something far more personal: love and family.

Flick Nation Review: The Wrecking Crew

March 10, 2015 by Steve Wagner Leave a Comment

As I am clearly a passionate music guy (just talk to me for 30 seconds and it becomes obvious), I am frequently asked who my favorite band is. As The Beatles would be my somewhat clichéd but true answer, I often confound by answering, “The Wrecking Crew.” After I get that long stare, as they try to determine if they are forgetting some underground punk band or the early name of someone like The Velvet Underground, I let them off the hook and explain who the Crew were, but not before suggesting that they are also the favorite band of millions who have also never heard their name. Because everyone knows their music, and I guarantee you do as well.

The Wrecking Crew is a loose moniker describing a group of approximately two-dozen “first call” studio musicians in Los Angeles in the 1960s and early 1970s. They began as Phil Spector’s legendary “Wall of Sound” ensemble, eventually playing on hundreds of hit songs for many of the biggest stars of the era, such as: the Beach Boys, the Byrds, the Righteous Brothers, the Tijuana Brass, Nancy Sinatra, Ricky Nelson, Johnny Rivers, the Monkees, the Association, the Mamas and the Papas, Sonny & Cher, The 5th Dimension, The Carpenters, and Simon & Garfunkel. They were also frequently used by Bing Crosby, Frank Sinatra, Nat “King” Cole, Dean Martin, and Elvis Presley.

Their roots were in Big Band and Swing, and by the late 50’s they were gigging in jazz combos around LA, playing on sessions for film scores and novelty hits, and backing popular vocalists on the road. In the early 60’s they jelled as a unit through their work with Spector, and quickly became the preferred players for dozens of top producers, songwriters, and record labels. They became a veritable hit factory, a group of virtuoso musicians who could capture any groove at will, prop up any instrumentally-challenged band or teen sensation, and, if the song had potential, hit it out of the park every time. Celebrated songwriter Jimmy Webb (“By the Time I Get to Phoenix,” “Up, Up, and Away,” “MacArthur Park”) described the Crew as the “stone-cold professionals.”

Many might concur that the artistic peak of the Crew’s output occurred in 1966-67, specifically with their work on the Beach Boy’s groundbreaking Pet Sounds and the (until recently) unreleased SMiLE—the sessions of which produced the psychedelic pocket symphony “Good Vibrations,” a global smash and still one of the most innovative recordings in history. Brian Wilson was by this time only using the other Beach Boys for vocals; his sonic vision had expanded to the point where he was not only booking dates at separate studios for their unique ambience and production qualities, he was incorporating the specific techniques and flavors of the Wrecking Crew players into the compositions of the songs themselves. He was playing the Crew like a multifaceted instrument capable of mimicking any style or genre.

Several members of the Crew went on to huge success as solo artists. Glen Campbell, after countless recording sessions as part of the Crew, became one of the biggest stars of the late 60s and 70s. The moving documentary, Glen Campbell: I’ll Be Me, which explores Campbell’s struggle with Alzheimer’s disease while on his final concert tour, ends with him recording one last song with his old Crew-mates, at a time when he no longer recognized them. It is a poignant and heart breaking moment. The track they cut together, “I’m Not Going to Miss You,” was nominated for Best Song at the 2015 Academy Awards.

As well, Leon Russell, piano-master for the Crew, found noteworthy success as a solo artist and became quite recognizable as a solo-Beatle sideman (Concert for Bangladesh), while drummer Jim Gordon went on to become a member of Eric Clapton’s highly respected band Derek and the Dominoes, for whom he composed the piano coda for the classic “Layla.”

The other stalwart members of the Crew—drummers Hal Blaine and Earl Palmer; bassists Carol Kaye, Ray Pohlman, and Joe Osborne; keyboardists Larry Knechtel, Mike Melvoin, and Don Randi; guitarists James Burton, Barney Kessel, Jerry Cole, and Billy Strange; and sax players Plas Johnson, Steve Douglas, and Jim Horn—are not well known outside of the industry, but that looks to finally change with the release of the long-awaited documentary The Wrecking Crew, coming to theaters March 2015.

The film is the product of a nearly twenty year labor of love. Director Denny Tedseco began shooting the movie in 1996 when his father, “first-chair” Crew guitarist Tommy Tedesco, was diagnosed with cancer. The senior Tedesco’s guitar work is ubiquitous in American culture. In addition to playing on many of the classic pop hits of the era, his guitar work can be heard on more than 1,000 television themes and film/TV soundtracks, including Batman, Green Acres, Mission Impossible, and Three’s Company.

Denny Tedseco has crafted a moving and extremely informative film that chronicles the history of the Crew, with commentary by many of the artists they supported (Brian Wilson, Cher, Mickey Dolenz), and of course memories provided by the surviving members themselves. On the heels of recent successful music docs in the same vein—Standing in the Shadows of Motown, 20 Feet from Stardom, and Muscle Shoals—The Wrecking Crew looks to set the record straight with one of the most incredible and interesting narratives of the classic rock era. For any true music lover, this is not one to miss.

I’ll close with an easy joke, guaranteed to score points next time you are with your music-fan-pals: What do “You’ve Lost That Loving Feeling,” “God Only Knows,” “Strangers in the Night,” “Mr. Tambourine Man,” “These Boots are Made for Walkin’,” “California Dreaming,” “I’m a Believer,” “I Got You, Babe,” “Wichita Lineman,” “Age of Aquarius: Let the Sun Shine In,” “(They Long to Be) Close to You,” and “Bridge Over Troubled Water” all have in common?

I think we all know the punch-line to that one by now.

Flick Nation Interview: Oscar Isaac

February 7, 2015 by Steve Wagner Leave a Comment

To say that actor Oscar Isaac’s star is soaring like an X-wing may be the biggest movie-industry understatement of 2015. In addition to the upcoming thrillers Ex Machina and Mohave, Isaac will be starring (with the always-interesting Catherine Keener) in the HBO mini-series Show Me a Hero, from The Wire and Treme creator David Simon. Isaac also recently signed on to play the titular villain in X-Men: Apocalypse, due in May 2016. And, oh yeah, there’s this little confection called Star Wars: The Force Awakens. Though J.J. Abrams and Co. are, of course, trying to keep all pertinent details from the fans and media, the not-so-inside skinny is that Isaac plays one of the main characters, and likely the son of Han Solo. It’s somewhat safe to predict that upon release of Star Wars VII this December, he will become one of the best known faces on the planet.

In 2012, Isaac garnered across-the-board critical acclaim with his impressive lead performance in the Coen brothers’ Inside Llewyn Davis. As good as he was in that picture it was just a warm-up for his stunning turn in director J.C. Chandor’s A Most Violent Year, one of the superlative films of 2014. An homage to the gritty, early 70s crime dramas that were the bread and butter of great American directors like William Friedkin (The French Connection) and Sydney Lumet (Dog Day Afternoon), A Most Violent Year won the National Board of Review award for Best Picture, edging out powerful competition such as Boyhood and Birdman for the prestigious honor.

A Most Violent Year is anchored by Isaac’s character, Abel Morales, a driven yet idealistic entrepreneur trying to expand his home-heating oil company in New York during the winter of 1981, when the city was on the verge of financial collapse and violent crime was skyrocketing. Also starring Jessica Chastain and David Oyelowo, A Most Violent Year strangely recalls Chinatown (which dealt with crimes involving water districting) in that the setting is a type of big business that is not commonly understood, is often presumed be mobbed-up, and therefore becomes mysterious and quite threatening in spite of its apparent banality.

I sat down with the personable Isaac recently when he visited San Francisco to promote A Most Violent Year. I was impressed with his dedication to his craft and his understanding of the character, remarking that in a year of very showy, broad performances, it was noteworthy that he approached Abel from the inside. Isaac explained: “He’s a calculating individual, a hyper-capitalist, very ambitious. He has a very concrete idea of where he wants to go—he’s got the long view—he’s looking fifteen years down the road. He’s an optimist, but at the same time he is risking everything. He needs to secure his livelihood, so in a way it is like he is going to war. But all that is inside. We felt it was really important to show him on a human scale.”

A Most Violent Year upends expectations by not using violence, per se, to show the threat hanging over Abel. Even in a landscape populated with mobsters and fuel trucks, the film is not concerned with delivering the big explosive finish by way of special effects. It is engaged in telling a very personal tale, one where much of the drama is quiet. While there are plenty of thrills on the screen in A Most Violent Year, the firepower takes place in the emotional story.

“It’s called A Most Violent Year,” Isaac said, “but the irony is that Abel is a pacifist to a certain extent, though this doesn’t really come from an ethical place or a moral high-ground; it comes from strategy. He’s being pragmatic. He has his eyes on the prize. He wants to get into politics. What everyone wants him to be is a Latin thug with a gun. They want him to arm his drivers, get a gun for his home…and he sees that as the complete destruction of what he has planned.”

I said that I felt the heart of the movie was found in the relationship between Abel and his wife, who is powerfully played by Jessica Chastain. Isaac lit up. “Jessica and I have known each other for a very long time—we went to Julliard together. We have a very similar approach to creating characters and working on scripts, so we were able, right from the start, to talk to each other in the same language. We talked about everything and erased all the boundaries. That allowed us to create a real sense of intimacy, and safety. And also, for a guy who is as calculated and armored as Abel, to see him melt in those scenes with her, to see that passion, that sensuality; we thought that was very important.”

Of course, I couldn’t let him go without offering congratulations on Star Wars, and asking that in lieu of him telling us, you know, every single detail, I’d settle for just the color of his light saber. He laughed at that (sure, no problem…) and then focused with humility. “It’s been a very busy year, but a very blessed one.”

You can say that again. I think The Force truly is with Oscar Isaac.

Top Ten of 2014

January 9, 2015 by Steve Wagner Leave a Comment

Before we gaze into the crystal ball of films-recently-past and honor the best of 2014, I want to admit that one of the best times I had at the movies all year was watching It’s a Wonderful Life on television the other night. It had been at least 20 years since I last saw it, and I spent the entire three hours (including commercials) blubbering away, completely immersed in the plight of George Bailey, as I was once again reminded just how precious and important and, well, deeply moving our simple lives—and the films about them—can be.

To say they don’t make ‘em like that anymore is a worn cliché, but it’s true—and that is just how it should be. The art of film, like life itself, is a constant-flux proposition, an always-evolving, wither-if-not-watered kinda deal. The classic films of the golden age were in the business of defining genres—they created the grand structures of cinematic narrative. The auteurs of today understand this language implicitly, and see genre as yet another element to be stretched, manipulated, mashed, and often left behind completely in their quest to create unique and timely art. The best films of this past year really moved the dial forward, most by fundamentally redefining their approach to genre.

Richard Linklater’s Boyhood, my number one film of 2014, took the coming-of-age genre to its perhaps ultimate—but nearly impossible to manifest—conclusion: showing the actual aging process, for real, over years and years, of a cast of characters in a fictional story. Linklater’s achievement, and that of his stellar cast (Patricia Arquette, Ethan Hawke, and newcomer Ellar Coltrane), is nothing short of a cinematic miracle. The fact that the film itself is so sublime, intuitive, honest, and truthful transformed the already successful genre experiment into high art of the first order.

Likewise, Birdman, Under the Skin, Whiplash, Nightcrawler, and Foxcatcher all bent their core genres to the point where they were nearly unrecognizable forms. Birdman is a collision of black comedy and stark magical realism sucked into the existential abyss; the end result a film that is as indescribable as it is exhilarating. Under the Skin brought a terrifying realism to its science fiction underpinnings, creating an otherworldly dimension that hasn’t felt this new, or inexplicable, since Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey.

Whiplash whipped the “teacher/student,” “cat & mouse,” and “music as metaphor” sub-genres into a frenzied wail of percussive pain, while Nightcrawler infused the media satire with true crime thriller tensions, exploring ethical dilemmas we are still discovering in the digital age. And, perhaps the slyest of the bunch, Foxcatcher (being true to its title) presented a frightening gothic horror story that looked nothing of the sort; with a monster we’ve never seen before—the massive inequality of wealth and privilege in modern day America—that drives men to insanity and murder.

This year also gave us a healthy dose of blue-chip historical drama: Selma, The Imitation Game, and The Theory of Everything (which just barely missed my list) told impeccable and heartrending stories of massively influential figures whose bravery and brains truly changed the world for the better.

There were many stellar documentaries in 2014, and three are on my list: The Battered Bastards of Baseball, I’ll Be Me, and Life Itself explore the transcendent qualities of baseball, music, and film, respectively, against a backdrop of struggle, tragedy, and, ultimately, the life-affirming personal philosophies of their subjects.

And then there is Wild Tales, which you just have to see for yourself. Prepare for a very bumpy ride!

In short, there will always be ever-emergent celluloid waves to surf, and 2014 was a maverick. Let’s hang ten:

1) Boyhood

2) Birdman

3) The Imitation Game

4) Under the Skin

5) Selma

6) The Battered Bastards of Baseball

7) Whiplash

8) Nightcrawler

9) Wild Tales

10) Foxcatcher

Honorable Mention: Tie between “I’ll Be Me” and “Life Itself.”

And, as we look forward to the cinematic adventures of 2015, I want to begin with a recommendation that is pretty close to home for all of us in the Bay Area, and for me in particular. My long-time Flick Nation colleague Dennis Willis is co-writer and editor (excellent work, my man!) of Changing Boundaries: The History of San Jose, an expansive documentary that tells the stories of the working people, political leaders, and dreamers who built the city of San Jose. The film is narrated by well known actor/storyteller Peter Coyote and features interviews with key historical figures, revealing the dramatic—and often absurd—journey from San Jose’s humble, and often rowdy, beginnings to its current status as the multi-cultural heart of Silicon Valley.

Changing Boundaries premieres at the California Theater in San Jose on January 22nd. This film is a must for all Northern Californians—I hope to see you at the premier!

David Ovelowo in “Selma”

December 8, 2014 by Steve Wagner Leave a Comment

Like most Americans, I suspect, I have been only peripherally aware of the events that took place in March 1965, when Dr. Martin Luther King led three historic (and very dangerous) voting rights marches from Selma, Alabama to the Alabama state capital, Montgomery. I understood the importance of the march, and (vaguely, I admit) what it accomplished, but I didn’t know the real story—the challenges, the terror, the resistance, and the implications—of this seminal cultural and political showdown. Director Ava DuVernay brings the truth to the fore in her new film Selma, the best film yet to focus on Dr. King and his iconic role in the civil rights movement of the 1950’s and 60s.

Actor David Oyelowo, who portrays King in Selma, has given us a performance for the ages, and one likely to be recognized when Oscar announces the Best Actor nods in January. Oyelowo, a (still-young) veteran of the British stage, brings a deep humanity and vulnerability to the character of King, showing us the man beneath the mythology, and, in turn, further heightening our respect and admiration for the heroic cultural leader.

I sat down with Oyelowo in San Francisco recently, and we talked about the timeless message of Selma, the immense challenge of stepping into Martin Luther King’s shoes, and the years of struggle to finally bring this film to the public.

Oyelowo explained how the triumph of Selma is underscored by the fact that it took years of struggle and commitment to even get the film made. He had been attached to the project early on, and remained committed and focused on his dream of playing King throughout the long development process. He recalled: “It was a seven year journey of disappointment, frustration, anticipation, and excitement to get this off the ground. The blessing in disguise of all that waiting was that I knew, somewhere in my spirit, that it was my destiny to do this role. I watched everything I could in terms of documentary film, I read books, talked with people who knew him, and spent time with his family. I went to where he was born, and where he died. Once it became time to actually create the film, there was weight gain that needed to take place—a physical assimilation—and what I can only describe as spiritual work. This man was governed by his spiritual life and conviction, and I felt I needed to really open myself up in order to show that.”

With his theatrical background and oratorical skills, Oyelowo came well-prepared to capture King’s legendary speaking voice, but he also had to find the source of commitment and belief that made truly King inspirational. “The thing is that there was a difference between King in the pulpit, or at a podium, and him just talking to someone in, say, a corridor He was taken up, there was something transcendent in him. The question was what was going on with this man internally to get him to this heightened place where he is able to move thousands—millions—of people by the power of his words. That was an intimidating prospect, but one I felt I needed to get my arms around.”

I mentioned Steven Spielberg’s Lincoln, in which Oyelowo had a small, but very poignant, role, especially when considered in the same context as Selma. He described his connection between the two films: “I have a scene with Colman Domingo—who plays Ralph Abernathy in Selma—we both stood before Daniel Day Lewis, and I say to him, ‘maybe one day we’ll get the vote.’ That was the winter of 1865. In Selma, there is a scene where I am sitting next to Colman Domingo and I am brooding over the fact of whether or not we will actually get the vote. And that’s 1965. Same actors, 100 years apart. It beautifully crystallizes how long the process towards freedom has been for people of color in this country.”

I expressed that I thought Selma brought a depth to our understanding of Martin Luther King that might have been lost in a three-hour biopic, and Oyelowo agreed, adding: “The genius of the script by Paul Webb and Ava DuVernay was to focus in on just those three months, because to tell such a full rich life, one that has so many chapters, you may end up with an unsatisfactory film that just touched on the elements of his big life. This film really mines what was going on in the internal life of King and those involved in the movement. And that is what we look for in movies. We are looking for ourselves. You ask yourself, ‘If I were him, what would I do?’ Selma demystifies, but at the same time further elevates, the beauty of the man.”

It’s so true. I was moved to tears by Selma. It is a great American film with a timeless message. As we celebrate the holiday season, and share that feeling of equality that feels so natural during the holidays, I hope we come to understand that we really can treat each other this way every day of the year.

Review: The Theory of Everything

November 6, 2014 by Steve Wagner Leave a Comment

One of the most impressive films of the year is now in theaters: The Theory of Everything, directed by James Marsh. It’s a stellar telling of an extraordinary real life biography, classically centered on a moving love story and the overcoming of extreme physical disability. Based on the memoir by his first wife, Jane, The Theory of Everything tells the truly inspiring story of physicist Stephen Hawking, who, despite being stricken with ALS while in college and given two years to live, went on to marry twice, father children, live for decades (still ticking!), and oh-by-the-way, develop the most advanced cosmological theory since Einstein met Relativity.

To say The Theory of Everything is Oscar bait would be to state the obvious, but to ignore its achievement—or its likely resonance with Oscar voters–would be naive. It’s a period piece, it’s British, it’s an important biopic, it’s about love overcoming immense hardship, and it’s a true story. Most importantly, it is powered by an extraordinary performance, one you simply must see to believe. Eddie Redmayne, the young British actor who stole Marilyn Monroe’s heart in My Week with Marilyn (my favorite film of 2011), completely inhabits the character of Stephen Hawking, delivering a turn that is as deeply moving as it is physically impressive. With this film, Redmayne leaps onto the A-list and becomes a formidable contender for the Best Actor statue come Oscar time.

I sat down with Eddie Redmayne in San Francisco recently, and talked with him about the challenges he faced playing the iconic physicist. My first question was simple: How did he do that?! Stephen Hawking would certainly qualify as one of the most difficult roles imaginable. How does one even approach such a challenging part?

Redmayne laughed and said he was already deep in the audition process before it occurred to him exactly how he might do just that. “The weird thing about making films is that no really tells you this beforehand…I was on the phone with James Marsh and he asked me that exact question. I thought, ‘Why have I not thought of an answer to this?’ So I came up with an off-the-cuff remark, but ended up following that instinct, which was to work with a team of people. I worked with an amazing make-up designer, an amazing costume designer, a vocal coach, a choreographer…we went to motor neuron clinics and met specialists, and worked out what we thought Stephen’s decline may have been like. I was really trying to immerse myself in the whole world of it, and then from that create a performance.”

In Theory, Redmayne actually delivers two distinct performances, the physical shape-shifting required by the real circumstances, and then, once he was contorted and essentially unable to move, an internal communication that brings the life drama, and Hawking’s humanity, front and center. His response was that it was Hawking’s approach to life that was the key. “When I met Stephen, it was absolutely clear that for him the disease is secondary. He has no interest in the disease. He has never looked back—he’s always been someone who looks forward. I wanted to really take from that. I spent four or five months working on the physical elements in order that they were so embedded that I could then really play with the other actors. I really tried to make the disease secondary. I went through all the documentaries, and listened to other people’s opinions of him, to find the intimacy, the human story.”

What is it like to be, well, friends with Stephen Hawking? How was he affected by meeting the great man? Redmayne’s eyes brightened with the memory. “I can’t get over how privileged our lives as actors can be, and the people you get to meet. It was one of the great meetings of my life. I was horrifically embarrassed when I met him—I spent the first 20 minutes telling him about himself because I was so nervous. But just spending that time and hearing all the stories and his classic one-liners…I’ll never forget that day.”

I doubt anyone will ever forget Redmayne’s indelible performance in The Theory of Everything either. This is an actor I suspect we will be marveling at for years to come.

Flick Nation Review: Boyhood

October 9, 2014 by Steve Wagner Leave a Comment

As we leave behind a mostly forgettable (raccoons excluded) Summer and transition into (cue trumpets) prestige season, a number of awards contenders will attempt to salvage in quality what the 2014 box office has thus far lacked in quantity. If festival buzz and early reviews are to be trusted, The Imitation Game, Gone Girl, Foxcatcher and Birdman will be among the acclaimed films we’ll see going for the gold between now and year’s end. And I look forward to each and every one.

But we have already seen the most profound and important film of the year: Richard Linklater’s, Boyhood. By now the story of the film is well known. Shot over a nearly twelve-year period, Boyhood traces the fictional life of a boy through the ages of 6 to 18. For the first time, over the course of a singular fictional film, we see the actors aging naturally along with their characters. Since its debut earlier this year at Sundance, Boyhood has amassed one of the most ecstatic and unanimously positive critical responses of the 21st century. It’s been hailed the movie of the year, the decade, and the new millennium.

When Linklater came to town in July to do promotion, we had the opportunity to have him as a guest on Flick Nation Radio; the next evening, he and I did a series of Q & As following the SF premieres of the film. It was certainly an honor to support him and the film and share in the excitement, and as always he was a very forthcoming and thoughtful interview. Like his films, Linklater is a man without pretension, and our discussions of Boyhood, and his career, illuminate one of our very best directors at the pinnacle (so far) of his career.

Typically, he was modest regarding the high praise for Boyhood, even stating that he thought it would be a hard sell, “Because I thought you couldn’t describe the movie properly, but it was right there in front of me. The concept of the movie is a description of the movie. You can’t separate the content from the structure.”

He even downplayed the immense challenge of creating a film over such a long time span. “I felt the film gods were with us. All these magical things that happened along the way occurred to allow this film to exist. You can go through life thinking ‘what if what if what if’…but the odds were that we’d all be here twelve years later, and we are.”

I expressed my surprise that Boyhood offers none of the expected beats, the big moments one would expect in this kind of film—we’re aware that they’ve happened but we’re not seeing them. Was it a conscious choice to keep those big events off screen?

“Or are they that big a deal?” he explained. “The big beats, the first kiss? I had every year to weed through the obvious ideas, the bad ideas, things that didn’t really fit this movie. I was getting rid of things I felt were represented in other films, that have been done to death. I thought, ‘I have nothing so say about that, but I do have something to say about these other areas.’”

Most directors know every shot, dramatic beat, and line of dialogue before they start shooting – at least they should. But the sheer unpredictability of such a prolonged on-again, off-again production would certainly reveal potentially calamitous problems lurking up around the bend – was that something he grappled with?

No. In fact, for him that was the cool part. “Think of all the special things that were going to happen if you look at time and the unknown as your collaborator, in a positive way. How interesting it will be to see these kids grow up, to collaborate with their future selves. You had to make your relation with time in a certain way in that it was something positive and something exciting to look forward to.”

Linklater has always been a very confident filmmaker; with Boyhood he has achieved a cinematic transcendence, vividly manipulating time and inducing memory through sheer suggestion, evocative symbolism, and narrative intuition. This is the realm of deep jazz, high art, and creative genius. Consider Pet Sounds and Sgt. Pepper, two pop music masterpieces also concerned with the passage of time—both projects began as ruminations on childhood. And let’s not forget that Pulp Fiction, perhaps the most influential film of the last twenty years, was also a meta-statement on freeing cinematic narrative and the potential of film to alter time.

And there is an even more apt analogy: I believe Richard Linklater’s Boyhood is the cinematic equivalent of Marcel Proust’s In Search of Lost Time, (the seven-volume literary masterwork also known as Remembrance of Things Past). A critique published by Harper in 1949 summarizes this seminal work, which, along with James’ Joyce’s Ulysses, became the definitive statement of Psychological Realism in 20th century literature: “Unfolding without plot or crisis…Remembrance is great art distilled from memory itself; the structure determined entirely by moods and sensations evoked by the illusion of time passing, or seeming to pass, recurring, or seeming to recur.”

This could have been extracted from nearly any review of Boyhood. Now, I am not suggesting that Linklater’s refreshingly realistic dialog is stylistically akin to Proust’s filigreed prose, simply that they both evolved the potential of their art by communicating this mystery, this ineffable aspect of our lives, our relationship to lost time. Linklater’s description of what he really wanted to explore with Boyhood? Proustian, indeed. “How the memory attaches to certain things and forgets others—it’s a mystery. The one relationship we have our entire lives is ourselves to our previous selves. We’re stuck with that. That makes up who we are, and how we process the world, and the narrative of our own lives. I think in this movie I was trying to replicate what it feels like to go through life, through time.”

Linklater’s commitment to collaborating with his own future self, and succeeding, is a model of creative filmmaking, heralding a new approach to narrative structure and redefining the concept of Life as Art through Cinema. What Linklater accomplished with Boyhood is in league with the great triumphs of the art world: creating a piece that is at once a bold leap forward conceptually and also the apotheosis of his previous films, bringing into focus and deepening an entire body of work.

If you take his Hollywood movies (School of Rock, Fast Food Nation, Bad News Bears) out of the mix and focus on his personal films, it is apparent that Linklater has been exploring the territory of time and memory throughout his career, from an impressive variety of angles and perspective: Slacker, Dazed and Confused, Waking Life, The Before Sunrise series, now all coalesce into a sustained study of our relationship to these mysteries. Boyhood both synthesizes and elevates his prior efforts, and solidifies his cinematic canon; one I suspect will remain as sturdy in that genre as In Search of Lost Time has proven in literature.

So, as we race towards awards season, other films will feel more powerful. They will tell more dramatic stories. They will have the big beats. The big actors. The big scores. They will be in your face, telling stories of love and war and death and outer space and criminal enterprise. They will entertain the hell out of you. But none will rattle your memory cage quite like Boyhood, and none will strike such a delicate, poetic balance between life and art while boldly going where no filmmaker has gone before. Boyhood is not about irony, surprise, or retribution. It is about truth. It simply rings true. The truth is the entertainment.

Linklater humbly concurred, “I think it couldn’t help but resonate with everybody’s life, because there is such a commonality. Yeah, it’s set in Texas, but it could be anywhere.”

Steve Wagner is a writer and co-host for Flick Nation Radio (www.flicknation.net). He was co-host and executive producer of the San Francisco (KGO/ABC Ch. 7) television program Filmtrip, and was the featured film critic on KFRC Classic Rock FM 99.7 and KKSF Talk AM 910 in San Francisco. Steve has contributed articles on film, music, and popular culture to numerous magazines and has interviewed over 300 actors, directors, screenwriters, and musicians. Steve is a regular contributor on The Talk Pod www.thetalkpod.com