Adapted from Louis Bayard’s 2003 novel of the same name, “The Pale Blue Eye,” a somber new Christian Bale murder mystery now streaming on Netflix, begins with a grisly murder in a society that favors discretion.
Set at West Point Military Academy in upstate New York, circa 1830, the story kicks off on a chilly day, an atmospheric note that informs the tone of the film. A cadet is found dead, hanging from a tree on the grounds. What appears to be a case of a young man taking his own life, becomes suspicious when it is discovered his heart has been removed post mortem.
Hoping to avoid a public scandal, West Point enlists Augustus Landor (Christian Bale), a local detective still smarting from the loss of his only daughter, to quietly solve the case. Hindered by the academy’s strict code of silence, Landor gets a break when meets an eccentric young cadet at a local tavern. “I am an artist,” he flamboyantly declares, “I have no nation.” The man, Edgar Allen Poe (Harry Melling), is a poet and truth seeker whose ambitions lay in the written word, not the stuffy traditions of the military.
“Poe,” Landor says, “I need you to discretely infiltrate the cadets.”
A fictional story, “The Pale Blue Eye” inserts Poe, credited with inventing the American detective story, into this tale of intrigue. The poet, sans his famous moustache, did attend West Point, and after two years of service, attained the rank of Sergeant Major for Artillery, but that is where any similarity to reality ends.
Poe, as played by Melling, is arguably the film’s most entertaining character, the only one cut loose from the restraint that casts a pall over the proceedings like a shroud. Bale raises his voice a few times, breaking his character’s unshakable, flinty self-possession, but it is Melling, and his ostentatious demeanor that brings the, as he says, “hot thrashing flurry,” to break free of the movie’s gothic shackles.
Writer, director Scott Cooper sprinkles engaging supporting performances throughout. As the wife of the very proper Dr. Marquis (Toby Jones), Gillian Anderson’s low rumbling voice gives her character a malevolent edge, and it’s a treat to see Robert Duvall as occult expert Jean-Pepe, even if his role is under-written.
“The Pale Blue Eye” is a handsomely mounted, pulpy murder mystery, with some fine performances, but its methodical pace and bleak nature clip its wings, and don’t allow it to make like the E.A.P.’s Raven and take flight.
Kristen Stewart may always be best known for playing Bella Swan, the young woman who fell in love with a vampire, in the “Twilight” series but if that lifestyle choice seemed scary, it has nothing on the atmosphere of dread in her new movie. “Spencer,” a new impressionistic biopic of Lady Diana (born Diana Spencer) and now playing in theatres, sees her embroiled in a tale of real-life Gothic horror.
It’s Christmas, 1991 at Sandringham House, one of Queen Elizabeth’s country homes. The Royal Family has assembled for their annual holiday celebrations, complete with protocols, paparazzi, strange Royal traditions, disapproving looks, a ghost and the prying eyes of as Equerry Major Alistair Gregory (Timothy Spall). Despite being surrounded by people, including husband Prince Charles (Jack Farthing) and sons William (Jack Nielen) and Harry (Freddie Spry), she feels alone except for her lone confidant is Maggie (Sally Hawkins), her tailor and best friend.
It is, as a title card tells us, a “fable based on a real tragedy,” and over the course of almost two hours we experience Diana’s life years after the fairy tale wedding. Her marriage is crumbling, a she’s battling an eating disorder and the gap between perception of her private life and public persona is widening.
That Sandringham is located next to Park House, the home she grew up in and harbors many happy memories about, only deepens the wellspring of sorrow she feels as her life spins out of control.
“Spencer” is a portrait of the Princess of Wales at her most vulnerable and isolated but it never feels as though it is exploiting Diana. The director, Chilean auteur Pablo Larraín, working from a script by “Eastern Promises” writer Steven Knight, doesn’t turn her life into a pity party. The character is having a rough time equating her life, and the future of her children, with the reality of her situation and yet she perseveres. In the moments away from the protocols of royal life—mommy time with William and Harry or on a trip to the beach with Maggie—the veil lifts and she becomes Diana Spencer, able to leave the titles and tradition in the dust.
Stewart nails the voice and mannerisms but doesn’t try to imitate Diana, one of the world’s best-known people. Instead, she reaches deep to delicately create a portrait of a person riddled with anxiety at a crossroads in her life. Stewart, whose own experiences with an intrusive press and paparazzi have been well documented, brings that lived experience to the film. Stewart’s face during a photocall scene outside a church says it all, expertly showing the mix of duty and terror Diana must have felt toward the press who hounded her.
“Spencer” is a heightened look at Diana’s life, but it’s not all Sturm und Drang. The script is laced with Diana’s sarcastic sense of humour and the beautiful cinematography provides a somewhat serene backdrop to the cooly chaotic action. But make no mistake, the story’s underlying tension, despite a rather joyous finale, has more to do with a psychological horror film than a traditional biopic.
At the end of the chamber dramedy “The Party,” you’ll be glad you were able to be a voyeur and not actually attend the get-together in person. It’s “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?” with more characters and twice the vitriol.
Kristin Scott Thomas is Janet, the newly appointed U.K. Health Minister and host of the party. When we first see her she’s holding a gun on a guest. It’s that kind of party.
Cue the flashback.
Gathered together are Janet’s nearest and dearest. There’s sharp-tongued best friend April (Patricia Clarkson), her almost ex and professional life coach Gottfried (Bruno Ganz), Martha (Cherry Jones) and her pregnant partner Jinny (Emily Mortimer), jumpy financial whiz Tom (Cillian Murphy), whose cocaine and aforementioned gun add some spice to an already edgy situation. On the periphery, for a time anyway, is Bill (Timothy Spall), a ticking time bomb with a glass of champagne.
Director Sally Potter wastes no time in presenting her sophisticated but sour soiree. The verbal—and text—fireworks begin almost immediately. Sparkling dialogue drips from the mouths of these actors like liquid gold. When Jinny announces she’s have more than baby Martha says, “Triplets. People. Small people.” It doesn’t sound like much on paper, but the magic is in the delivery. The best lines are reserved for Clarkson, whose blunt, plainspoken words add fuel to the already hot state of affairs. “Although it may have a deleterious effect on your career I think you could consider murder,” she purrs at one point.
Canapés smoulder, truths are revealed—there will be no spoilers here—and lives are shattered, all in just 71 minutes. “The Party” is a delightfully nasty piece of work, artfully realized by Potter and delivered with just the right amount of venom by a dedicated cast.
The stop-motion geniuses at Aardman Animation are the kings of the underdog. They’ve given us stories of chickens rebelling against farm owners, a sheep who takes charge and leads the flock to safety and hapless adventurer Wallace. In their latest, “Early Man,” there’s a Bronze Age twist to the small fry tale.
A prologue informs us that humans survived the meteorite that wiped out the dinosaurs. (Remember, this is all humour, not history.) What good could come out of that life-changing catastrophe? The invention of football. Using stones for goalposts, the prehistoric humans starting kicking the meteorite around to create the game that would become the world’s most popular sport.
Cut to a few ages later, near Manchester, around lunchtime. A Stone Age clan, including a spunky caveman named Dug (voice of Eddie Redmayne) and his sidekick Hognob (Nick Park), find themselves rocked by a new era. Bronze Age villain Lord Nooth (Tom Hiddleston with an exaggerated French accent) has plans to invade Dug and Co.’s comfortable life, seizing their land to turn it into a mine. “The age of stone is over!” he says. “Long live the age of bronze!” It’s up to Dug and his people to protect the interest of the tribe against the more sophisticated enemy, but how? By challenging Nooth’s best football team, Real Bronzio, to a match, that’s how.
“Early Man” is a romp about football, survival and teamwork. It also features some of the best (read worst) Premier League puns. “They’re playing well, early man… United,” usually delivered by characters speak English and crack wise like British music hall comedians. It’s silly stuff, part Flintstones, part kiddie “Quest for Fire,” and while it does contain quite a few laughs it doesn’t have the same anarchic spirit of earlier Aardman films. It’s entertaining, good-natured and I think kids will like it—especially the T-Rex sized duck who is both a menace and a help to the Brutes—but it feels like middleweight Aardman.
To understand “The Journey” you need to know the players. The film, a speculative look at the negotiations that brought peace to Northern Island after forty years of violence, does a good job of setting the stage but in the interests of clarity, or if you miss the movie’s opening minutes, I’ll give you the Coles Notes.
Set in 2006, the film sees Colm Meaney as Martin McGuinness, the former chief of staff of the Irish Republican Army (“Allegedly,” he says) and Sinn Féin politician. “You may call me the acceptable face of the organization,” he says. Timothy Spall is Ian Paisley, the eighty-one-year-old leader of the Democratic Unionist Party and founder and moderator of the Free Presbyterian Church. The two are sworn enemies—“They are civil war,” says MI5’s Harry Patterson (John Hurt), “they are anarchy.”—warriors on opposite sides of a bloody decades long war known colloquially as The Troubles.
Northern Irish director Nick Hamm and writer Colin Bateman play fast-and-loose with the details. In real life the men met on an airplane. In reel life the film finds a contrivance to place the two in the back of a car, on a sixty-minute trip to the Edinburgh airport. MI5 secretly arranged the meet in hopes the men will discover what they have in common, that barriers will be broken down and that some sort of pact will be reached. It doesn’t start well. “I haven’t spoken to him in thirty years,” snorts Paisley, “another hour will be no trouble.”
History tells us the conversation led to the 2006 St. Andrews Agreement and an end to The Troubles. “We need a leap of faith,” says McGuinness, “and you are a man of faith.” The film shows the head-to-head that led to the treaty; how the two began as egotistical enemies and ended as friends and allies in a new, shared Northern Irish government.
“The Journey” is essentially a two-hander between Meany and Spall. There are others characters—Freddy Highmore as a British agent masquerading as their driver, Hurt as the architect of the scheme—but the movie hinges on the chemistry between its leads. Both hand in sturdy, theatrical performances as they spar, like two heavyweights trading words instead of punches. It often feels like a play adapted for the screen.
Spall is all bluster and religious rage. Meany plays McGuinness as a canny but pliable politician, resolute in his beliefs but hopeful for a deal. Each hand in interesting work but their conversation often feels like history in point form. The passing along of this information feels artificial and drains much of the juice from the situation. The script zips along, never digging too deep, which given the performances is a shame. These actors are hungry for a meatier script but Bateman’s dialogue doesn’t deliver.
Despite the performances “The Journey’s” take on the St. Andrews Agreement feels false. By the time Patterson shrieks, “Bloody hell, they’ve done it! They’ve bloody done it!” the film takes on the tone of a buddy movie and not a persuasive document of how peace came to Northern Ireland.
“I can’t understand why people don’t always say what they are thinking,” says Emory University professor Deborah E. Lipstadt. “I’m missing a certain filter. I say what I think.”
Lipstadt, a specialist in modern Jewish history, emerged into public life from academia as the subject of a 1996 lawsuit brought against her by self-taught British historian and Holocaust denier David Irving. Irving, upset she singled him out in a book as a less-than-reputable historian, launched a libel lawsuit claiming Lipstadt and her publisher were part of a worldwide conspiracy to rob him of his livelihood.
Donations from benefactors like Steven Spielberg paid for the gruelling eight-week, £3,000,000 trial which boiled down to one main question: Is Irving a liar and a falsifier of history or simply a historian who sees things from Hitler’s point of view? The stakes were high; if Irving won, his account of history would be given credence.
The sensational court case is chronicled in Denial, a new film starring Rachel Weisz as the outspoken academic.
“In the story of this trial and this case, a lot of very good people said to me, ‘Don’t do it,’” Lipstadt says. “A lot of people didn’t want me to do it because they thought I’d be giving him publicity. How do you fight bad people without building them up and giving them a billion dollars of free publicity?”
But the publicity helped expose Irving and other deniers, says Weisz.
“I think the more people who know that the better. Most people don’t know who David Irving is. He has his core group of followers and they’re going to be very happy about this publicity. Or not. I don’t know how they’re going to feel about this, but it is more important that people should know about it. And nobody does. It doesn’t really bother me that he’s getting publicity. It’s not good publicity.”
“I think Rachel is right,” says Lipstadt. “It’s a balance. I knew fighting him would give him publicity but it would serve a purpose.”
The British actress says capturing Lipstadt’s essence — from the heavy Queens accent to her personal boldness — was “a beautiful, delicious challenge.”
“Deborah came and hung out with me in New York,” says Weisz, “sat in my kitchen for two days straight. I filmed her on my iPhone so I would be able to look back at it. Deborah told me stories about her childhood, her parents and about the trial. It was just being able to be near her and soak up her spirit and attitude and find the places were we intersect as people. There are some (people) when you find that you think, ‘I could be this person if my life had gone differently.’ It became imaginable to me then that I could be Deborah had my life gone that way.”
Lipstadt describes watching Weisz’s performance as “an out-of-body experience,” adding that her friend, legal eagle Alan Dershowitz wrote her a note, saying, “She catches your accent but even more she captured your attitude.”
“It’s fun being you,” says Weisz. “I enjoyed it. You get to say what you think. I like it, it’s very healthy. Get it out.”
Based on the book by Professor of Modern Jewish History and Holocaust Studies at Emory University Deborah E. Lipstadt, the new film “Denial” chronicles a real-life court case that could have made it acceptable to deny the Holocaust.
The action in “Denial” begins with Lipstadt (Rachel Weisz) giving a lecture in support of her latest book. In the audience is David Irving (Timothy Spall), a self-taught British historian and Holocaust denier. Because Lipstadt steadfastly refuses to debate deniers, Irving, upset she singled him out in her book as a less than reputable historian, brings the argument to her. He theatrically offers a $1000 reward for any printed link between Hitler and the Final Solution.
Rebuffed, he launches a libel lawsuit claiming Lipstadt and her publisher are part of a worldwide conspiracy to rob him of his livelihood as a historian. The case, filed in England, left the burden of proof on the accused, Lipstadt. Baffled by the foreign legal system the American is led through the complicated case by Richard Rampton (Tom Wilkinson) and Anthony Julius (Andrew Scott), the solicitor who handled Lady Diana’s divorce. “We have no strategy,” says Julius, “we’re trying to box him in with the truth.”
Donations from benefactors like Steven Spielberg paid for the gruelling eight-week, £3,000,000 trial which boiled down to one main question: Is Irving a liar and a falsifier of history or simply a historian who sees things from Hitler’s point of view? The stakes are high, if Irving wins his account of history will be given credence. “The man is a liar and someone needs to say so,” Lipstadt says.
For much of its running time “Denial” is a taut court procedural—kind of like the last half of a great “Law and Order” episode—with colourful characters. Weisz, a feisty force of nature amid the more reserved Brits, holds the center of the film with a combination of grit and concern. Scott is the epitome of the stiff-upper-lipped lawyer but it is Wilkinson who shines, hiding a sharp legal mind behind a grandfatherly façade. As the villain Irving, Spall brings desperation, indignation and condescension to a man who wants respect for his opinions.
“Denial” moves along at a zippy pace, exploring the pertinent details but taking the time to add an emotional wallop with a research trip to Auschwitz. A drawn out ending slows things down a bit in an attempt to add drama to a verdict that is historical record but satisfies both as a precedent setting slice of legal history and a big screen entertainment.
