In a movie ripe with film homages, one stands head and shoulders above the rest as the film’s best meta-moment. In Quentin Tarantino’s unhinged Spaghetti western “Django Unchained” Jamie Foxx plays the title character, a slave-turned-bounty-hunter on a search for his wife.
On his journey he encounters a slave trader played by Italian star Franco Nero. Over a drink, Nero’s character asks Django his name. “Django,” comes the reply. “D-J-A-N-G-O… the D is silent.”
“I know,” says Nero.
The sound you are hearing is the squeal of film nerds. It’s a high-pitched grunt mixed with a sudden intake of air, the gasp of a movie fanatic whose mind has just been blown.
You see Nero (whose credits reads: “With the friendly participation of Franco Nero”) originated a gun slinging character named Django in a legendary 1966 eponymously titled movie.
“Django Unchained” is heavy with references, both visual—lots of zooming cameras a la Sergio Leone—location wise—he borrowed the snow setting from The Great Silence—and even just a little bit silly—Kerry Washington’s character’s last name is Von Shaft in tribute to Richard Roundtree’s most famous character—but only King of the Film Geeks, QT, would think to have two worlds collide by presenting dueling Djangos.
Tarantino brings his unique sensibility to every frame of “Django Unchained.” It’s an uncompromising film, violent, grimly funny, and one in which the “n” word is as prevalent as any other noun. Like him or not, there is no denying that he is as true to his singular vision as any of the great filmmakers he pays homage to.
Set two years before the Civil War, the film begins with Django (Foxx) in chains, being transported deep inside the Deep South by vicious slave traders the Speck brothers (James Remar and James Russo). On a remote country road they meet Dr. King Schultz (Christoph Waltz), a courtly German bounty hunter—so courtly he even has a horse named Fritz who bows— who has been tracking Django. There’s no reward for the slave; what he has is more interesting to Schultz—information.
The bounty hunter is looking to hunt down and kill a ruthless band of killers called the Brittle Brothers. Trouble is, he doesn’t know what they look like, but Django, who was beaten by them and whose wife, Broomhilda (Kerry Washington), was taken by them, does. They forge a deal. In return for his help Django will earn his freedom and Shultz will help find and rescue Broomhilda.
Django agrees to go into business with Shultz—“Kill white folks and get paid for it? What’s not to like?”—which leads them to Candie-Land, the plantation of the charming but vicious Calvin Candie (Leonardo DiCaprio). Despite the name, there’s nothing sweet about him or the place.
Tarantino is one of the handful of over-the-title directors who name is as big a draw as the story or actors. Even though there are big stars here like DiCaprio and Foxx, “Django Unchained” is first and foremost a Tarantino movie, with all that implies.
His trademarked anachronistic soundtrack—mixing 60s pop with religious music and rap—butts heads with violent but beautiful flourishes—like blood splattered cotton blossoms—in a movie that blends Spaghetti westerns with German fairy tales, revenge flicks and Hollywood history.
It a high wire act, tackling issues of the US’s relationship with slavery, racism and the exploitation of women with equal parts earnestness, style, violence and humor.
As satire a scene involving hooded white supremacists arguing over the placement of the eyeholes on their homemade cowls–“I can’t see **** out of this thing!”—is a pure Tarantino moment—acerbic, ridiculous and fearless.
The flamboyant filmmaking seems to have freed the actors.
Waltz and DiCaprio have the showiest roles. Waltz is a bounty hunter with a conscience—he doesn’t want to take advantage of Django’s status as a slave, but “for the time being I’m going to make this slavery malarkey work for me,” he says. “Still, I feel bad.”—a former dentist who “kills people and sells their corpses for cash,” which is in direct opposition to the slave traders—who buys and sell live people—he hunts and kills.
DiCaprio’s rotten tooth grin belies how much fun he’s having playing a Southern gentleman who is anything but.
Foxx is more stoic, a coiled spring eager for revenge on the people who have done him and his wife wrong. The role isn’t without humor, however. Just check out the suit Django chooses when he is allowed to pick out his clothes for the firs time ever in his life.
“Django Unchained” is bloodier than you’ll expect—with a shootout as violently gratuitous as any gun battle ever filmed—and funnier than you think it is going to be. It’s a message movie and a pulpy crowd pleaser. In other words, it’s a Tarantino film.
Simon Cowell got it wrong. When Jennifer Hudson was voted off American Idol a few years ago he told her that she was finished. Washed up. That she would likely never work again.
He was wrong.
Hudson is back and gives seasoned vets Jamie Foxx and Beyonce a run for their money as Effie, the castaway Dreamgirl in the big screen adaptation of the Broadway hit. There is Oscar buzz about her performance and she has already earned a Golden Globe nomination.
The story of Dreamgirls is a thinly veiled retelling of the Svengali-like managerial style of Motown boss Berry Gordy and the rise to success and subsequent solo career of Diana Ross and the Supremes under his supervision. Gordy replaced original Supremes lead singer Florence Ballard with the thinner and prettier Ross, exiling Ballard from the group she created. Ballard died in 1976 at age 32 after a long battle with depression and drugs. Only the names and minor details have been changed.
In the fast-paced Dreamgirls version of the story Foxx is Curtis Taylor Jr., a Cadillac salesman turned wannabe music impresario who bounces Effie (Hudson) as lead singer of the Dreams in favor of backup singer Deena Jones (Beyonce). Effie struggles with the betrayal and tries to re-ignite her career while toiling in the shadow of her former band mate and friend.
It’s an all-star cast with Jamie Foxx and Beyonce at the top of the marquee, but it is two of the supporting players who really shine—one newcomer and one veteran.
Eddie Murphy gives the kind of performance here that he has only ever hinted at in other films. As R&B singer James “Thunder” Early—imagine 1966 era James Brown—he blows the doors off, digging deep and creating a memorable character who is as magnetic as he is repulsive.
But the real star of the show is Jennifer Hudson. She brings not only a roof-rattling voice to Effie’s character but also equal measures of sass, dignity, and strength. It’s probably too soon to say this, but Effie just might be the role of a lifetime for Hudson.
Fans of musical theatre have seen some of their favorites—Phantom of the Opera and The Producers come to mind—botched on their way to the screen but Dreamgirls should satisfy even the toughest critics. I think even Simon Cowell might like it.
Quentin Tarantino has said the sign of a good film is that it makes you want to go home, eat some pie and talk about it. With that in mind, our Popcorn Panel features film buffs feuding in this space each week.
THIS WEEK’S PANEL:
– Craig Courtice, a short filmmaker who isn’t very tall
– Richard Crouse, host of Rogers Television’s Reel to Real, Canada’s longest-running movie review show, and the author of The 100 Best Movies You’ve Never Seen (ECW Press, 2003). His Web site is www.richardcrouse.ca
– Jason Chow, a TV columnist for the Ottawa Citizen and axe man for pop rockers The Good Soldiers (www.myspace.com/thegoodsoldiers)
THIS WEEK’S PIE: Key Lime
THIS WEEK’S SUBJECT: Miami Vice
CRAIG: Vice is like a drug bust gone wrong. That’s not to say it’s not an interesting picture; all the parts are here, it’s just that they don’t add up. Literally, there is no way Michael Mann’s latest will make back its US$125-million budget at the box office. Sure, it opened in first place last weekend with just over US$25-million. But that’s about the same number Collateral, Mann’s previous effort, opened at during the summer of 2004. That movie ended up with just over US$100-million in ticket sales, but cost only US$65-million to make. Vice won’t even make it that high, and here’s why.
1) Collateral featured studio golden boy Tom Cruise playing against type as a villain. People wanted to see Scientology’s mouthpiece get killed, even if it was only his character. Vice stars Colin Farrell, who has never proved himself as a big draw. The most popular film he was in was Minority Report (US$132-million), in which he played second fiddle to Cruise.
2) Jamie Foxx is in both pictures, but while he played a cab driver with a heart of gold forced into action in Collateral, here he plays Ricardo Tubbs, a mean mutha vice cop who already got the girl.
3) Collateral was a high-concept movie with a Crash-like ending in which everything ties up neatly. Vice drops you immediately into the headspace of a south Florida undercover police officer, which means lots of adrenaline, but also lots of disorientation and tedium.
RICHARD: Wow, Craig, I’m guessing you were disappointed by the movie. I agree with you that the individual parts of Vice don’t seem to add up to much — the lead actors have little chemistry, the story is unoriginal, convoluted and borders on not making much sense — but the beauty of the movie is in the telling, not the story itself. Mann makes cool-looking movies. Unlike the television show, the movie is dark, grainy and jumpy. He has turned the Sunshine State’s emblematic city into a dark, menacing paradise where the good guys don’t always win and the bad guys don’t completely lose.
JASON: Dark and menacing, sure, but you can’t just categorically exclude sunshine and heat when you’re in Florida. The film is stylish, indeed, but Mann’s relentless intent on making a noirish antithesis to the TV series made the movie so one-dimensional that things got left by the wayside, like, as Craig said, character and story. To that list, I’d add location — the film could have been shot anywhere (e.g. Los Angeles). I expected an in-depth look at Miami-as-faux-paradise, but instead all I learned is that the town’s an hour’s speedboat ride away from Havana. Chico, Scarface is more Miami than Vice.
CRAIG: Like Alonzo, the informant played with harrowing elan by Deadwood’s John Hawkes, you two have been set up. I actually thought the picture was an excellent piece of art. I was just pointing out that it will be a bitter disappointment for fans expecting an easy blockbuster. The International Movie Database user rating, for example, is only 6.3 out of ten.
But on to a new topic. Scott Holleran of Boxofficemojo.com writes of Vice: “this dark, grainy picture needs subtitles to be understood. That’s not just because actress Gong Li (Crockett’s love interest) struggles with the English language in each scene, though that is a problem. As an Asian stereotype, she juts her head like a 16-year-old gangbanger flashing signs at the mall.” Normally, I’d just ignore this as the ramblings of some hack, but the criticism shows up in many reviews. News to the English-speaking press: Most people in the world don’t speak your language as their mother tongue. Is Mann trying to say something with this casting choice or was it a mistake?
RICHARD: Was casting a beautiful, talented actress in a major role a mistake? I don’t think so. Her performance oozes sensuality and the obvious age difference between Gong and Farrell makes their relationship even more interesting. Usually Hollywood tries to sell the idea that it’s perfectly normal for ancient, wrinkled men to date young women, but casting Gong turns that idea on its head, although she is far from ancient and wrinkled.
My issue is not with the casting, but with the underuse of other actors. Mann has assembled a great cast — Foxx, Ciaran Hinds, Justin Theroux, to name a few –and given them very little to do other than brood. Farrell shines, in an unshaven kind of way, because at least his character has some spunk. He gives a performance of mock seriousness that sometimes borders on camp, barking his tough-guy lines in a way that would knock the pastel off the original Crockett. Don Johnson’s Crockett was unhappy and angry, but in this movie seems to have turned his life around. Now he’s angry and unhappy.
JASON: The problem isn’t Gong; the problem is the premise of her character: A pseudo-femme fatale who is the child of a diplomatic translator from Angola who somehow is hooked up with a Castro look-alike drug mogul with whom she communicates in stilted English while reading the business sections of Spanish newspapers? I admit I made the same comments about subtitles after I left the theatre. I had to strain to hear some of the lines uttered by the ESL actors. That said, Mann deserves credit for attempting to cast a global village for his movie — not because I believe in affirmative action but because he’s breaking out of the regular Hollywood racial cliches. Crockett and Tubbs aren’t the only multi-ethnic working couple in play here; bad guys can be racially cool, too.
Unpopped kernels
National Post
Published: Friday, August 04, 2006
First Tom Arnold in McHale’s Navy now Miami Vice. The boys broach the best and worst of movie adaptations of TV shows and make the case for programs that haven’t been given the big-screen treatment. (Hint: Mr. T, we’re ready for your closeup)
Craig: It appears for better or worse that movie adaptations of TV show are here to stay. Compared to such winners as Bewitched, and the Tom Arnold-in-a-sea-captain’s-outfit McHale’s Navy, Miami Vice looks like a masterpiece. Are there any other adaptations you would make the case for that worked (Starsky & Hutch?)? More importantly what shows haven’t been done that you would like to see? My choice is The A Team — and pronto while Mr. T can still reprise his role as B.A. Baracus. In lieu of the deceased George Peppard I suggest another suave George for Colonel “Hannibal” Smith. “If you have a problem and no one else can help, and if you can find them, maybe you can hire the Clooney…” Cue the best theme song in TV history!
Richard: The leap from the small to big screen is usually quite painful, although when the people involved in the television show are left in the loop the results can be OK. I thought the South Park movie worked well and the recent sci-fi film Serenity was actually better than the show it was based on, Firefly. In both cases the guiding hands on the movies had also created and directed the television shows. The most prolific of the television based movies, the Star Trek series, really has only two winners out of the bunch — Wrath of Khan and First Contact, both of which were based on stories that originated on the small screen (Space Seed, and Best of Both Worlds). But for every Untouchables that works, there’s a S*W*A*T that sucks the life out of its source material. For every Fugitive, there’s a Dragnet — you get the idea. They are the ying and yang of television-to-film adaptations.
Craig wants to see The A-Team revived. I’m not so sure. I survived that one as a youth and I’m not sure I’m up to it again. I’d rather see Bosom Buddies, starring Eddie Izzard and the guy that played Angel in Rent. Or maybe WKRP with Paris Hilton as Jennifer Marlowe, Bart the Bear as Mr. Carlson and an IKEA swivel chair as Johnny Fever. Actually I’d rather see someone in Hollywood flick off the TV and come up with an original idea.
Chow: The studios are apparently working on a movie adaptation of Knight Rider with David Hasselhoff reprising his character, Michael Knight, and KITT, once again, as the rational talking car. According to IMDb.com, it’s slated for 2008 release, but keep in mind this project has been in the making for four years and no script has been agreed upon just yet, so sit tight, boys. As for past remakes, I thought the Brady Bunch was fantastic and Starsky & Hutch was pure turkey. My vote for a movie adaptation: Rockford Files. Starring, of course, George Clooney.
In “White House Down,” the new Roland Emmerich scorchfest, the director, who last blew up the White House in 1996’s “Independence Day,” lives up to his big budget blow ‘em up reputation. Nicknamed “Master of Disaster” he’s never met a monument he didn’t want to destroy.
Whether it be bad weather à la “The Day After Tomorrow” or a worldwide cataclysm as in his global warming epic “2012,” the director can’t seem to stop himself from trashing beloved landmarks.
The White House is in his sights in the new film. Channing Tatum plays John Cale, a divorced father of one who desperately wants to impress his brainiac daughter Emily (Joey King) by getting a job as security for the President of the United States (Jamie Fox).
On the day of his Secret Service job interview—daughter in tow—some very bad men (there will be no spoilers here!) invade the White House, disabling the security forces and gaining control of the president’s home.
Separated from his daughter, John gets some on the job the job training as he becomes POTUS’ defacto guard while shooting, stabbing and fisticuffing his way to his daughter’s rescue.
Unlike the virtually identical “Olympus Has Fallen,” the Gerard Butler White House disaster flick that opened earlier this year, “White House Down” spends a lot of time introducing its characters. There’s half-an-hour or so of setup in the sprawling hundred-and-thirty-seven minute movie, which is twenty-nine minutes more than we got in Butler’s film.
People talk—like the overworked secret service agent (Maggie Gyllenhaal) to her high-ranking boss (James Woods) on his last day—and talk—like the ex-wife (Rachelle Lefevre) to John who says things like, “I can’t think of a more important job than protecting the president.”—and talk—like the White House tour guide (Nicolas Wright) on the history of the building—and talk—like the Speaker of the House (Richard Jenkins) to his guards (Mat Craven) and anyone else who will listen. It goes on for a while and none of it is terribly interesting.
Then the dome blows off the White House and Emmerich’s genius for making things go boom comes into play.
From this point on it’s an action movie, although a talkier one than usual–characters say awesome things like, “That’s President Sawyer, and he has a rocket launcher!”–and millions of bullets are expended.
Once the going gets wild the pace picks up which makes the first half an hour feel even more superfluous. The characters are standard action movie types so the prologue doesn’t do much except add half-an-hour to the running time. Going in we know pretty much how all these characters are going to behave so we don’t need the protracted introduction.
Foxx brings a few laughs to his impression of Obama and shares good chemistry with Tatum, who flexes and fights like a true action star. Emmerick tosses in a few other character arcs–like a Fox News reporter who turns into a crybaby when the going gets tough–but by and large the folks in the film are straight out of the director’s usual playbook.
“White House Down” is bigger in scale than “Olympus Has Fallen,” but sometimes less is more. This is enjoyable enough, like a presidential “Die Hard,” but a streamlined approach, as in Butler’s film, might have been more fun.
Mark Twain understood basing stories on real events wouldn’t necessarily mean a tale couldn’t have its own flights of fancy.
“Truth is stranger than fiction,” he said, “but it is because fiction is obliged to stick to possibilities; truth isn’t.”
In simpler terms he means that just because something is far fetched doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. For example, if a screenwriter came up with the colourful idea that a homeless man, dressed like a superhero was a musical genius who believed Beethoven was the “leader of Los Angeles” you’d scream “Codswallop!” That is until you see the real life account of Nathaniel Ayers, subject of The Soloist, in theatres this week.
What did Ayers, a schizophrenic man with a larger than life personality, think of Jamie Foxx’s portrayal of him? He was, said Mr. Ayers, “a good Nathaniel.”
Another real life character, John Wojtowicz, who robbed a bank to pay for his lover’s sex change operation, earned $7,500 for the movie rights for his outlandish story. The resulting movie, Dog Day Afternoon, only got 30 per cent of the facts right, Wojtowicz said, but he added that “Al Pacino’s performance has to be called ‘out of sight…’ his characterization was flawless.”
Of course some movies don’t even get 30 per cent of the story right.
Who could forget Morgan Freeman as Joe Clark, Lean on Me’s tyrannical high school principal? On screen armed with a bullhorn and determination he led the rowdy students of New Jersey’s Eastside High School to their highest test scores ever. It was an inspirational movie, but the real life story isn’t quite as stirring. Screenwriters kept the extraordinary aspects of Clark’s story — his use of bullhorns in class and penchant for extreme discipline — but inflated his accomplishments. Despite his notable efforts, test scores didn’t go up.
When asked about the exaggerations in the “based on a true story” account of his life Clark said, “It’s entertainment. And the design of entertainment is to make people happy. There’s enough sadness in one’s life. Once in a while you must extract a reasonable facsimile of glee, as factitious as it may be.”
Sometimes, in the “design of entertainment” the words “Based on a True Story” are completely meaningless. In its opening credits Fargo claimed to be a true story, but it’s actually not. Why make claims to realism then? “If an audience believes that something’s based on a real event,” said co-director Joel Coen, “it gives you permission to do things they might otherwise not accept.”
