112 - Man of the Year review

We now inhabit a time where many Americans find themselves so disinterested in the political process that millions get their news from sources such as The Daily Show. The appeal of making a comedy show ones primary source seems obvious to me; a politically detached person who wants to be able to feel smart and shoot off his mouth at happy hour can watch for fifteen minutes, learn a thing or two, and have some smart-allecky remark to add to the end of every spiel. At one time I was majoring in Political Science, and this sort of apathy from the average man was a contributing factor in my shift in emphasis to a more serious interest in film.

Man of the Year makes me consider switching back. At least when I see a political ad, I’m well aware of the pack of lies invading my senses, but with this film, I think we have a candidate for most deceptive advertising campaign in the history of American cinema. It’s all the more galling since the film claims to be disgusted with the effect of TV ads on our society, but here we are, watching a dull-witted corporate thriller-dramedy marketed as a light-hearted political satire. Even the gentle ridicule of infotainment angered me, as this film doesn’t deserve a ‘tainment’ label of any sort, except perhaps for some sort of containment, like burying the reels in a salt mine.

Robin Williams plays Tom Dobbs, the host of a nightly comedy talk show that I would call Jon Stewart-esque, except that Stewart somehow manages to make me giggle once in a while. Dobbs decides to run for President in a way that the film tries to portray as courageous, but in reality would constitute a colossal vanity exercise. He does ‘brave’ things such as crack jokes about the two-party system and stomp about the Presidential debate like an angry ten year old without his Ritalin. It feels like writer/director Barry Levinson decided to quite literally write the role as if Williams himself were really running for President. The ‘satire’ lacks any sort of insightful edge, ensuring that Democrats and Republicans will find nothing offensive, except of course for the idea that anyone on earth could find it worth $7.50 and two hours.

The serious part of the marketing dishonesty begins fairly early on, when Dobbs wins the Presidency. Trouble is, he didn’t really win, but was declared the victor due to a faulty computerized voting system. While this certainly constitutes a severe corruption of democracy, I noticed another; the voting machine only lists three candidates (Iowa’s 2004 ballot listed eight, plus a write in slot, for the record).

Of course, a little thing called ‘exit polls’ could prevent this mishap. Nor does the film address the fact that the so-called ‘straight talker’ or ‘man of the people’ images have been around since the dawn of politics. Even if Dobbs was well meaning and won legitimately, he would never in a thousand years be able to accomplish anything, as the two-party Congress would gleefully stonewall him at every turn.

But Man of the Year has nothing even resembling a genuine interest in politics or democracy, so what already begins as a stupid premise exponentially multiplies itself into one of deeply uncomfortable absurdity. We even get two tried-and-true bad movie cliches; the unnecessary, unrealistic love story, and the mind-numbingly idiotic misuse of Christopher Walken. From Levinson to Williams to Walken and Laura Linney, it’s befuddling how it always seems to take such a pedigree to make something so egregiously bad. If I hadn’t already seen Nacho Libre this summer, I would have a title suggestion for Levinson: Worst of the Year. At least then, the audience would know what to expect.

0.5 out of 5

111 - The Departed review

Martin Scorsese, possibly the greatest living director, attempts a return to his glorious form of yesteryear with The Departed. A remake of the Hong Kong thriller Infernal Affairs (2002), Scorsese’s highly unsentimental portrayal of gangsters makes him well suited for adapting the source material into a fascinating bloodbath, though by no means an instant classic.

Looking at Scorsese’s illustrious record, I was interested to note that out of his four greatest films (Taxi Driver, Raging Bull, Goodfellas, and Casino) all but one are at least partially based on a true story. His cachet as a filmmaker lies in energizing unconventional material through his mastery of the medium and willingness to explore the rotten depths of seriously damaged men. As alluring as the premise of The Departed may be, Scorsese’s talents somewhat go to waste on what turns out to be a fairly conventional story. He does manage to add some personal touches to his version; it’s a thousand times bloodier and more cynical than the original, with top-notch performances from the A-list cast, but we’ve seen the style and the story before in other, superior films.

The premise: we follow two Massachusetts state police officers, both serving as moles. On one end, Billy Costigan (Leonard DiCaprio) has infiltrated the gang of the colorful and truly vile Frank Costello (Jack Nicholson). On the other, Colin Sullivan (Matt Damon) serves in the state’s elite anti-gang unit, but his loyalties actually lie with Costello, who had groomed Sullivan to be a mole for over twenty years. Each man becomes ware that two moles exist, but are clueless as to who the mole may be.

The best sequences involve the exploration of the line between cop and criminal. Already a nearly invisible border as it is, each mole does a better job at their double-life than their real one; Costigan’s quick wit and vicious temper fit well with Costello and his murderous gang, while Sullivan’s effortless bureaucratic dishonesty and manipulation suits his life as a police yuppie quite well. The two engage in a balancing act as they each try to expose the other, their battle of wits and wills frequently punctuated with gunshots and CGI brain splatter.

To many, Nicholson is a greater appeal than Scorsese, and it’s not hard to see why. He inhabits the skin of Costello with a chameleon-like nature that perhaps no other living actor can match. It’s incredible how such an iconic and familiar screen presence can completely disappear into a role, never once reminding us who we are looking at.

Yet, Scorsese doesn’t seem to know when and when not to use Nicholson. At times, Costello seems to be onscreen simply to allow Nicholson to act, as if everyone didn’t already know that he could. Considering the long-winded love-triangle between Costigan, Sullivan, and a police psychiatrist (Vera Farmiga) that burns up considerable screen time, Scorsese could have cut a scene or two where all Costello does is talk trash and have fun with hookers. The rest of the cast does a virtually flawless job, as Damon’s subtle performance makes for a great foil to the tortured DiCaprio. The support cast matches up as well, from Farmiga’s psychiatrist to Martin Sheen, Alec Baldwin, and Mark Wahlberg’s police officers, Scorsese proves he can definitely still bring out the best in his talent (fans of Anthony Anderson will find sorely underused here after his phenomenal performance in The Shield).

The film makes for a very solid thriller, and the improbable yet deliciously bleak ending satisfies, but Scorsese falls well short of his own par. Beneath the great direction and performances, we’re watching another police thriller, one of thousands, and its pedigree is not enough to elevate it beyond that. He may not produce films that are the best of their decades anymore, but the auteur still has plenty of movie magic left in him.

4 out of 5