Birdman (2014)

Score: 5 / 5

The obvious frontrunner for this year's award season is also uncommonly good. Too often, it seems, the movie that gets the most hype (for whatever that's worth) is also sentimental or traditional, and sometimes both. A lot of people tend to attach baggage to the Best Picture Oscar, wanting it to be timely or eternal, classic or fresh, comfortable or edgy, and so forth. My main consideration for Best Picture is how state-of-the-art it appears to be: Technically original, aesthetically fresh, pushing boundaries, and (more subjective, obviously) appropriate to popular culture. Birdman is all of these things, and then some.

I know you've heard people raving about how great this film is, and like me, you probably got a bit annoyed partly because nobody is talking about the film's plot. So what is this thing? Michael Keaton plays an actor who is attempting to re-create his career following the success of a series of "Birdman" movies in which he played the titular superhero. Two decades later, he is writing, directing, and starring in a Broadway play that opens soon and is having nothing but trouble taking flight (yes, flight). Besides his dramatic attempts onstage, our protagonist is plagued by conflict in his personal life as well, with his friends (Zach Galifianakis), girlfriend and actress (Andrea Riseborough), ex-wife (Amy Ryan), daughter/employee (Emma Stone), and co-star actor (Edward Norton) and his girlfriend/actress (Naomi Watts).

This all-star cast rocks their individual roles, and intelligently embody the world of the film as its ensemble. This is very "meta" stuff, but our actors fit comfortably into their supporting roles, just as their fictional counterparts maneuver into place around their leading man. Edward Norton and Emma Stone arguably have the most complex characters and perform them with remarkable strength, but truly all the characters (and their actors) are almost stunningly well-written and fully realized. But they aren't the only good things about this movie.

Director/co-writer Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu (Biutiful, Babel, 21 Grams) helms this black comedy with such ingenuity, intelligence, and skill that it is immediately understood as a consummate work of art. For all the themes and motifs we could eke out of this complex film -- from its not insignificant title to its final shot -- Inarritu directs with an eye for beauty and magic. Stunning special effects happen somewhat unexpectedly, as Keaton's character is empowered by the voice of Birdman in his head to move objects with his mind and levitate, and the heavy lighting transforms what we see on screen into a tableau of fantasy and wonder.

It's technically incredible. Besides the awesome lights, Inarritu makes the two-hour film look like a single, continuous shot. It was obviously not filmed that way, but the effect is brilliant: we get a real-time peek into a man's life. When Keaton is alone we see his secret powers, the emotions of his encounters with other people are raw and fresh, and we see his show from casting to opening night as one single episode. Inarritu plays with his own technical approach, then, in that we see many moments separated by time as one shot; in one scene we see magic juxtaposed with the most mundane of daily activities; we see more profound drama offstage than on. Inarritu is making a movie about movies, a film about theatricality, with timely references and modern theatre concerns, replete with magic and mayhem, that ultimately emphasizes the beauty, complexity, and wonder of life. This movie is, literally, everything.

IMDb: Birdman

Into the Woods (2014)

Score: 5 / 5

If you recall, I often limit my consideration of a film in terms of its source material (be it history, literature, or both) because adaptations and changes in medium render such comparisons useless. But because I am more sympathetic to theatrical purists than to pretentious readers who expect other people to share their vision of a work, I will concern a large part of the following with the effects of the changes made to this film adaptation from its staged roots. Why? Partly because theatre is far more collaborative than literature, and partly because so much of this film's material is directly translated from the stage. Are we all okay with that? Very well -- let's journey on. "Into the woods and out of the woods and home before dark!"

Starting from the top, Rob Marshall directs this fantastic excursion with surprising novelty, perhaps one of the film's greatest strengths. He finds subtle moments (in a slightly altered screenplay by James Lapine) and fleshes them out into juxtaposed moments of dark humor, tragedy, slapstick, and romance, all framed with so much fantasy atmosphere that the film itself feels like a dream. This film is surprisingly dark, and not just in tone, so don't be expecting a fabulous turn in the theater this holiday season. The fluid and versatile cinematography (by longtime Marshall co-visionary Dion Beebe) almost always works for me, and the lighting is simply perfect, often featuring a lone light peering through the branches and thickets of the shadowy woods. Though using similar narrative devices from his previous movie-musicals, Marshall does not go for glitz and glamour in this picture; here, he dazzles us with atmosphere and emotionally charged visuals, effects, and close-ups on his actors. Celebrated costumer Colleen Atwood dresses everyone beautifully, and though it's an obvious favorite, she really outdoes herself on the Witch's blue and sheer dress in the second act. Stephen Sondheim's phenomenal music is brought into stunning character in the film, where we can hear nuanced sound and more delicate instrumentals than in many a live theatre. Instrumental versions of cut songs keep the emotional pace of the film in step with the stage show, appeasing fans (or at least me) with beats that few (if any) average moviegoers will appreciate.

Okay, let's just dive right in, and we'll talk about scenes, actors, and the like as they come up. The Intro is a fourteen-ish-minute thrill ride, and the editor nails the fast scene changes and follows quirky lyric with adept skill and understanding of the material. Marshall and his team had their work cut out for them -- establishing character, plot, setting, and musical coherence -- and they excel, allowing the humor of moments (Cinderella and her birds), the atmosphere of an imposing forest (Red Riding Hood skipping into a dark tunnel), and emotional foundation (Jack and his mother) to combine and explore themselves before the movie really begins. "Hello Little Girl" is rather nice, featuring Johnny Depp (and his awkward vocals) in a slightly furry zoot suit, with enhanced wolfish growls and glowing eyes. Red Riding Hood, nailed by little Lilla Crawford and her great voice, charms with "I Know Things Now", in which we see a trippy but effective sequence of her looking like Alice as she falls down a purple rabbit hole and finding her grandmother in the Wolf's belly. Sadly, we do not get "Maybe They're Really Magic", but that doesn't stop James Corden and Emily Blunt from owning their roles as the Baker and his Wife. Their interaction and dynamic emotional journey hits a high point in "It Takes Two", which is staged more appropriately and intelligently than I've ever seen on stage.

"Agony", featuring the hunky and slightly campy Chris Pine and Billy Magnussen, is incredible. Climbing atop a waterfall, splashing themselves with water, and tearing open their shirts, the two men are endlessly charming (ha?). Sadly, we don't get to see them reprise the song in the second act, which greatly shortens their screen time. Daniel Huttlestone's voice doesn't quite appeal to me -- though he does earn the character as poor dumb Jack -- but his tree-climbing physicality in "Giants in the Sky" worked really well, especially since on stage the number is usually fairly spotlighted and movement-less. Anna Kendrick shines as sweet Cinderella, and her slightly altered "On the Steps of the Palace", wisely changed to present-tense, is lovely. Moving into the second act before we talk about the more complicated bits, "Witch's Lament" is sadly only one-third of its proper length. I don't know why they cut it down, and it makes me sad to not hear the whole thing. But the change in Rapunzel's fate struck me as decidedly more tragic than on stage, and though I won't spoil it here, I think it fits in a lot better with Marshall's central theme for the picture (which we'll discuss later). Meryl Streep is the star here, and her every moment on screen steals the movie anew. I don't know how she does it, but she puts an astounding amount of energy and heart into her role as the Witch. The staging for "Last Midnight" makes the scene the best in the film; besides Meryl's award-worthy performance in that single song, the whirling camera, lighting, and special effects combine in the most dazzling musical theatre number I've ever seen on film except perhaps "All That Jazz" in Chicago.

We lack the sung transition pieces that mark each midnight as they pass, but moments like that (and, later, the characters sharing their learned lessons) just wouldn't work as well in a film. I believe that is also why the Mysterious Man/Narrator has been cut, mostly because the magic of that character revolves around his physical presence on screen and the duality of his role. That tension finally peaks in the second-act song "No More", which is also omitted in this film for the same reason. It's a beautiful moment on stage, but Marshall and Lapine very dangerously and, I think, wisely sacrificed it to bring greater strength to other moments. Let's face it, even on stage, there is no much happening in the script that the show can be overwhelming and start to languish in its own dense rhetoric. Omitting the Narrator and including more references to the Witch's mother and Cinderella's parents make one of the show's more interesting themes rise to exciting new levels (and influence the finale, as we will discuss later). Elements like the Narrator can work well when we can see them live, but would become confusing in a film that is not divided into acts and that does not allow characters to walk on and directly address the audience. Similarly, I'm okay with omitting "Ever After", a lovely transition number that would only really work well if we had the other numbers that revealed character lessons, and that satirizes fairytale rhetoric in preparation of the second act (so it wouldn't make sense without an intermission).

The ending works perfectly for me as a film. I understand that people will be upset: non-previous-fans because it's not a typical "happy ever after", and stage-show fans because it doesn't have the theatrical wink and giddy, bouncy ending that makes audiences feel less disturbed as they exit the auditorium. But the slow pan across the forest and onto the cloudy, almost-sunlight sky as Streep sings the ever familiar "Children Will Listen" is one of the most emotionally honest and transcendent moments on film we've seen this year. The ending features a dreamy confluence of narrator voices that draw from a pool of characters, including the Baker, his father, his wife, and even the Witch; I believe this is done partly to round out their variously tragic stories and bring them back to some sort of "life", and also to again emphasize the unspoken central theme in this movie of the emotional dynamics between absent parents and their children. That's a theme that isn't really central to the stage show, and frankly Marshall's meditation on it here is one of the most moving elements to this film due to its relative novelty. Marshall also repeatedly pushes the lesser themes of moral confusion ("Moments in the Woods", "No One is Alone"), the importance (and dangers) of decision-making ("Your Fault/Last Midnight"), and a certain inevitability about entering the woods ("Into the Woods").

With these ideas, the final shot perhaps works better than a smash-bang chorus finale, because we are left with our survivors joining together in the sunlight, hoping (more than wishing) for a bright future, though they are still deep in the forest. Melancholy as it may be, it doesn't leave us untouched. Rather than telling us how to feel, or leading us on a rote moral path, Into the Woods claims its place as one of the most engaging, provocative, beautiful, and intelligent films I've ever seen. Go watch it, and don't be afraid to get a little lost.

IMDb: Into the Woods

Foxcatcher (2014)

Score: 5 / 5

Foxcatcher was, for me, the most emotionally brutal film of this year. Director Bennett Miller turns his uniquely intense gaze to the already horrific story of the Schultz brothers' interaction with John du Pont. Besides the actual events of their relationship -- culminating in the brutal murder in 1996 -- Miller's film concerns the dynamics of modern American athletes and coaches, sports and their patrons, men and their rivals, men and their friends, determination and pride, perseverance and mental instability, history and fate, and even wealth and status. For a film with a presumably straightforward premise, Miller complicates his presentation with fifty shades of everything. Typical, if you all remember Capote (2005).

Our three leads soar in this, and though their Oscar recognition might come in second to the more accessible, more emotionally rote films this year, their performances rocked my world. Channing Tatum -- whose acting has always worked for me, so I don't know why lots of high-brow-ers refuse to give him much credit -- delivers a knockout work that must be the dramatic peak of his career so far. Deeply introverted, surly and childlike, his movement work for Mark Schultz is so transformative that I forgot I was watching "Magic Mike" and not a real, cauliflower-eared wrestler. Likewise, Steve Carell disappears into his haunting portrayal of John du Pont (only partly due to his incredible makeup) and proves yet again that comedians can indeed excel in weighty drama. Mark Ruffalo, forever the perfect supporting actor in his chameleonlike ability to embody his character and counter the emotional strength of his scene partners, is a wonderful big brother to Tatum and a suitable unwitting antagonist of sorts between Tatum and Carell.

The du Pont estate, palatial and extravagant, provides ample atmosphere for excess and moral decadence as lines become blurred between pride and power. Du Pont seeks glory from his star Mark Schultz (Tatum), and desires his brother Dave (Ruffalo) to join them. Mark is precariously placed between great favor and great disappointment as he pushes himself to excel on his own terms, until his brother caves to du Pont's pressure and joins the team. As much as Mark needs money and craves success, his financially comfortable brother Dave tries to be a family man. But both end up biting du Pont's greenbacked lure and moving in to the vast Foxcatcher estate, where life turns into a continuous training regimen. The lines between coach and father, brother and rival, professional and personal quickly get erased.

We are presented with a uniquely homosocial environment, and Miller does not shy away from a moment of its implications. Wrestling, an especially intimate sport with no shortage of erotic suggestion, is shown in all its complexity without beating us over the head with its technical intricacies (in other words, this isn't your typical sports film that wastes so much time telling you how the sport works in real life). Instead, wrestling in the film becomes more about what it looks and feels like: an uncomfortable, erotic, and violent power play between two men. Outside the gym walls, the relationships between Mark, Dave, and du Pont is almost no different, as du Pont actively points out when he says multiple times that he wants to be more than a coach to his boys. Du Pont, for all his villainous psychopathy, is due some sympathy as we see him wrestle (ha) with a perceived inconsistency between wealth and success and between family heritage and independent pride. Vanessa Redgrave graces a few scenes as the primary vehicle for du Pont's problems, his disappointed mother, who expresses her disdain for the "low sport" and her fierce pride in family heritage over her own son.

I could wax effusive for hours, but don't just take my word for it. Go see it, and don't spend your strength right away -- you'll need it for round three.

IMDb: Foxcatcher

The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies (2014)

Score: 5 / 5

Well, there it is. It's all over. Now, if I can get some of these feels out of my system, we've got a film to analyze. If you haven't seen it yet, I don't recommend that you read any further, because I don't filter myself. Unless you're like me and don't mind spoilers. In that case, let's push on!

My primary problem with The Desolation of Smaug, you may recall, dealt with its dizzying cinematography, its reliance upon computer-generated effects, and its occasionally sloppy editing. I have many of the same issues with this film, but I think because this one is shorter and concerns an outlandish battle as its premise, these elements were more palatable. Indeed, the more I watch Desolation (the Extended Edition, naturally) the more I like it because its added scenes round out the kinetic and sometimes disjointed editing. I expect the same from the Battle of the Five Armies Extended Edition: The theatrical release features distinct moments that feel chopped and poorly strung together, most of which take place in the first hour or so. The incredible effects here are not quite so overwhelming as they were in either of the previous films for me, and I think that's largely due to two factors. First, the drama in this film is much darker than before, and Jackson wisely keeps the drama in all the action shots; rather than silly animation or spectacle for the sake of spectacle, he finally nails a balanced combination of drama and spectacle for the first time in this trilogy. And second, the colors of this film match its tone: Darker and austere, this picture (though still dazzling) rivals some of the more monochromatic visuals of The Two Towers or The Return of the King, and thus the effects feel more comfortable in their environment.

I don't want to spend much time repeating my earlier claims, because most apply to this film as well as the previous two (so go read those posts!). The only new notable member of the cast is Billy Connolly as Dain Ironfoot, and his performance is what it is (more comic relief than heroic entrance). Richard Armitage does some nice work on Thorin, Lee Pace rocks as Thranduil, and Orlando Bloom steals the whole movie as a swashbuckling Legolas. Martin Freeman takes a graceful step back to let the Big Events of this wide world take command of his trilogy, and in doing so he subtly nuances his performance with some of his best moments in the series. A few of the dwarves shine in this, notably Ken Stott (Balin) and Aidan Turner (Kili), and of course Luke Evans (Bard) nails it yet again.

Okay, on to the meaty parts. The film starts with a bit of a messy bang, with no introduction other than a long shot of Lake Town under Erebor's silhouette. Suddenly an inferno breaks out and Peter Jackson starts flexing his muscles for the upcoming climax: Jackson shows twice in this movie his tried-and-true skill for directing utter chaos. Just as I was getting worried that we weren't going to hear Benedict Cumberbatch's bone-chillingly erotic Smaug voice, Bard and the dragon face off in a brief and effective climax that might have belonged in the previous film. A year ago I liked the cliffhanger ending. Having seen the surprisingly short beginning of this film, I wonder if Jackson made the right choice.

That said, the buildup to the Big Battle is comparatively slow and talky, so maybe a fiery start was in fact the right decision. Of course, "slow and talky" for The Hobbit isn't really what it means for your average movie. Jackson moves quite efficiently between elf, dwarf, human, and orc camps to explain the various dynamics of the forthcoming conflict. Legolas and Tauriel go on a little excursion to scout the enemy's army while Thranduil and Bard attempt to negotiate with the increasingly crazed Thorin. Bilbo's brave decision to surrender the Arkenstone to the elves and humans, along with Gandalf's timely arrival, amp up the stakes just in time for the wild climax, which lasts for almost half the movie.

Jackson pulls some really fresh tricks in this installment (which says a lot after the recycled bits of Desolation), besides his typically astounding and excessive special effects. The dramatic lull of the post-inferno pre-battle narrative is juxtaposed with some funky scenes featuring the White Council in Dol Guldur. Happily, we get to see Hugo Weaving and Christopher Lee kicking some major butt, and Cate Blanchett looking possessed and kicking even bigger butt. But the sequence is a little rushed, a problem I suspect will be addressed in the Extended Edition; the editing is just too strange for me to accept as is. The sequence has some really trippy visuals, and I'm not sure I know what's happening half the time, but I guess it looks cool? That said, the scene did get me to back off my soapbox about the whole dead-Ringwraith thing, so I suppose Good call there, Jackson.

But his tricks don't stop there. We see some other creepy, almost psychedelic moments scattered in the picture that I bought simply because they weren't as bizarre as the Dol Guldur stuff. Thorin's "dragon sickness" causes him to have a freaky hallucination of being swallowed in his own gold, and as he rants and raves Bilbo hears the voice of Smaug coming from Thorin's mouth. And of course there's some amazing moments in the battle itself, besides the sheer scope of its visuals. Jackson takes liberties in buttressing the orc armies with trolls, bats, and were-worms (a creature Tolkien vaguely mentioned in canon), but they all make for a battle in which we feel truly anything could happen; and it does, as we even see a man turning into a bear as he falls from the sky. The turning point of the battle occurs as Thorin, Fili, Kili, and Bilbo engage Azog, Bolg, and their captains atop a high overlook. Legolas and Tauriel soon join the fray, and the battle amidst the snow is a spectacle beyond my wildest imaginings. After Thorin has defeated Azog (come on, that's not a spoiler, did you think this was going to end any other way?), we see the pale orc floating beneath the ice and his blood spilling out under a frozen waterfall. It's really breathtaking stuff.

A few elements of the film don't work so well. Alfrid lingers on after the Master's abrupt demise, and his supposed-to-be-funny bits just get annoying after a while. A few minor plot holes kept me from giving my whole heart to the film, and though Howard Shore's score is still lovely, the constantly repeated themes of music became contrived and predictable. But all these weird pieces of the puzzle melted away, for me, when I began to sense Jackson's heart in this movie. A lot of tender moments felt like throwbacks to The Lord of the Rings, complete with greater emotional resonance than anything in Journey or Desolation. In fact, I suspect that if this series were watched in order -- from An Unexpected Journey up through The Return of the King -- then this movie would bridge the gap perfectly in terms of aesthetic and tone, as it darkens the fantasy of Hobbit and leads right in to the emotional powerhouse of Rings.

Well played, Peter Jackson. And thank you.

The Road goes ever on and on

Down from the door where it began.

Now far ahead the Road has gone,

And I must follow, if I can,

Pursuing it with eager feet,

Until it joins some larger way

Where many paths and errands meet.

And whither then? I cannot say.

IMDb: The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies

Exodus: Gods and Kings (2014)

Score: 2.5 / 5

People seem determined to compare this film with others, so I guess I'll start by sharing my own thoughts on that front. DeMille's The Ten Commandments (1956) is the obvious comparison point, but I'm not sure there is any comparison. Each fails in its own way, and each succeeds in others. One was made with enormous scope and became a classic largely because of elements that are not pure artwork, and the other wants desperately to repeat this and fails largely due to bad writing, heavy effects, and bad direction. In short, one is a dramatic masterpiece, and the other a dramatic black hole. Ridley Scott's own success story, Gladiator (2000), also comes to mind because it felt not unlike Ten Commandments when it came out. Russell Crowe channeled Charlton Heston as the heroic man who, unsurprisingly, becomes a hero. But where Gladiator rocked with its focus on an actor's strong performance, Exodus falters by largely ignoring anyone's acting. Finally, Exodus just isn't as much fun as this year's other biblical attempt-at-an-epic, Noah; at least Darren Aronofsky knew to put his tongue in his cheek when he had giant rock monsters help Russell Crowe do Big Important Things.

Now let's focus on this picture, and explore my claims. Moses, played by a stoic Christian Bale, is so underwritten and underperformed that I never felt a twinge of sympathy for him. He's a hardheaded man who likes to flex his muscles and look grumpy. God in the film is portrayed by a little boy (actually I think the boy was an angel, not God himself), which I kind of liked at first. But then he starts popping up at odd times, which is obnoxious, and nobody else can see him, which makes Moses look crazy at times: It is an inspired choice for the character I really liked, but both Scott and Bale ignore its implications. As a boy, God (or whoever he is) is a match for Christian Bale in grumpiness and angst. I suppose that works well enough with the God of the Old Testament (he's a jerk, let's face it; he only cares about one people group at the expense of countless others, and he pushes people to do impossible things and then punishes them for failing), but it feels funky and contrived in this film. Joel Edgerton plays Ramesses with possibly the only good performance in the movie; his character is complex, and he performs with both nuance and strength as the primary villain, and won my sympathies which is probably not Scott's intent. The rest of the cast is largely irrelevant. John Turturro shows some notable acting strength as the Pharaoh, but he dies before long. Sigourney Weaver, Aaron Paul, and Ben Kingsley pop in for a few scenes, but are largely ignored for some tragic reason.

Large sets (both digital and practical) and beautiful, extravagant costumes steal the film. Unfortunately, the characters that inhabit this world have no development and almost no drama, and so the stunning visuals lose almost all of their significance. The dialogue is poor, and the script's pacing is severely uneven. And though there are moments of great special visual effects, they are empty because we don't care about anyone in the shots. I had more sympathy for the masses being tortured by the plagues than for Moses himself. Scott seems to have forgotten that an epic is not made simply by huge visual scope, even with heavily graded picture.

No, this movie does not stick strictly to the biblical narrative, so let's just nip that in the bud. It's an adaptation, people -- we've had this discussion before. But as its own narrative, Exodus doesn't work well. Poor dialogue and severely uneven pacing reveal a weak script that wanted to be an epic; it's one thing to criticize a film for its problems, but when you gauge its failure of reaching its own aspirations, the whole thing quickly becomes pitiful. The beginning starts with an attempted bang, but since the details of the battle are left ambiguous at best, all we can take away from it is an idea that the Egyptians are fierce in battle. And the buildup to Moses's mountaintop revelation is woefully unclear; one scene has him denying his Hebrew blood, and literally the next scene has him hugging his mother and sister before walking away in exile. Even having read the story for most of my life, I wasn't sure what was happening before my eyes. It's just sloppy filmmaking. And then the ending sort of fizzles out into a downright silly post-climax couple of minutes. Instead of attending to the now-free nation of Israelites, we see Moses carving the Ten Commandments above a vague shot of a golden calf, none of which is explained. Then we see him return to his wife, talking about how much he loves her. What a waste of cinema.

That said, there are exceptional high points in the movie. Honestly, the lengthy sequence in the middle of the film when plagues assault Egypt is one of the most engaging bits of film I've seen this year. Exciting and enormous, the plagues are shown with a kinetic energy not unlike that in those huge domino art experiments. Scott shows them not necessarily with scientific accuracy (if there is any), but he does seem to play with the idea that if these horrific events were to take place, this might be what they'd look like. The plagues are no less miraculous, as some have claimed, as a result of this, but they do make more sense in the realm of reality. The crocodile attack (which results in the Nile running red with blood) is just wonderful, too, but maybe I love those beasties too much. Similarly, the parting of the Red Sea is a really beautiful scene, and it feels more grounded and realistic than any other version of the story I've seen (remember the walls of water in The Prince of Egypt, with the silhouettes of fish looming over the Israelites? That happened.).

A final thought. People like to talk about whitewashing because it makes them feel smart and edgy. But I do think that here it has some merit, not just because the characters are whiter than chalk under their heavy makeup, but because their accents are all over the place. We have generic British, attempted generic British, Bale's American with occasional generic Britishisms, and vague attempts at a vague ethnic accent that could be just about anything. Not acceptable, Scott. When we have had a mainstream film of Christ's death done entirely in authentic languages, there is no excuse for this kind of uninformed blundering.

IMDb: Exodus: Gods and Kings

The Theory of Everything (2014)

Score: 5 / 5

Maybe a 5 is a bit high, but I was too surprised and pleased with this movie to go much lower. As a biopic, it's exceptional. As a romance, it's phenomenal. And as a thematic exercise, it's a masterpiece.
In short, The Theory of Everything is everything.

Eddie Redmayne is transcendent as our celebrated theorist and physicist. After the first few scenes, I completely forgot that it was Redmayne and not Stephen Hawking himself on screen. Redmayne's physical work is truly incredible; even while I was watching it, I had difficulty holding back tears as his motor neuron disease progressed, so convincing was his performed loss-of-control. Felicity Jones counters Redmayne's every move as his astoundingly brave and loving wife, complete with personal moments of fear, doubt, and revelation.

Besides the stellar acting, the film surprised me in its fresh and complicated romance. This movie is first and foremost a love story, and it is most extraordinary for not being a tragedy. Though Hawking's disease might make this seem to have a wrote ending (I didn't even watch The Fault in Our Stars for that reason), it repeatedly counters that narrative. Though Jane (Felicity Jones) ultimately separates from Hawking, it is apparently a mutual decision and one that ultimately increases the love between several people.

And I said above that this is a love story: Besides the expected monogamous, hetero relationship, the love story also comes from the community. Time and again we see Hawking's friends, teachers, family, and even strangers show amazing love and generosity to each other. That's a really unusual spin for a modern drama. At one point, Hawking's old school friends are partying with him, and when they come to a large flight of stairs, one of the friends almost effortlessly picks him up and carries him, without any obligation or resentment, and continues an intimate conversation while walking. It's so beautiful, I sobbed (something I did about every other scene). Charlie Cox enters as Jane's future love interest, but rather than vying for attention or romance, his character humbles himself to become essentially Hawking's maid, caring for him and providing support for his family. It's a shockingly fresh and beautiful take on a very complicated relationship. David Thewlis, Emily Watson, and Simon McBurney round out the supporting cast with charm and grace.

Director James Marsh controls the film with striking and haunting emotional beats, forcing us to watch characters make impossible choices and struggle with their romantic desires. I smiled so much in this movie that my face hurt halfway through, because we get every single nuance of flirtation, affection, and passion. That's also partly due to the articulate and reserved script (Anthony McCarten) and the vibrant colors and intimate close-ups (Benoit Delhomme, 1408, A Most Wanted Man).

Do yourself a favor and go see this one. It's a profound look at love, life, and the people around us. It will make you cry, but I promise, the tears come from a place of light and joy.

IMDb: The Theory of Everything

Peter Pan Live! (2014)

Score: 3 / 5

I'm not going to deny that Peter Pan is one of my weak spots as a result of its vibrant feel-good energy. It's got rousing, youthful numbers, a sometimes overwhelming bent toward wonder and awe, clever lyrics and sharp, campy wit, and even a few sweet moments that pull at your heart. But NBC's latest televised broadcast of an iconic musical was not all romp and joy; while it avoided some of the major pitfalls of last year's Sound of Music, this production featured some exceptional high points as well as serious problem-spots. Before we start: I will not be comparing this to other productions in the past, so don't expect that. Cathy Rigby's production is, for me, utterly perfect. Oh, and a lot of people are complaining that the acting in this show isn't very convincing, but just so you know, the point of Peter Pan is that it is fantastic and even farcical, so nuance isn't really called for. Stop bellyaching. Okay, let's go.

Starting with the cast. Allison Williams looked to be a very convincing, handsome fairy-boy, but even her bleach-white teeth couldn't entirely mask her shortcomings in musical theatre. Apparently unable to hold a note for much time, and performing almost no dancing (I thought she was playing an energetic boy?), Williams failed to steal my heart as cleanly as she did the wide-eyed and disturbingly desperate Wendy Darling (Taylor Louderman). I was especially disappointed that her woeful accent faltered more often than the slow (and very visible) wires used to carry her overhead, and her crow was just laughable.

Christopher Walken, on the other hand, rocked as Captain Hook, though part of his success was purely a result of his casting. Nuanced and campy, Walken also at times appeared to forget (or not care) that he was being broadcast, like when he opened his mouth to hold an obviously dubbed long note about four beats after it had already started. He charmed with his tapdancing prowess, and even when he broke character to speak lines in his typical Queens-ish accent. Besides his Chola eyebrows and monstrous beauty mark, Walken's costume and mannerisms made Hook at times seem to be an aged, bitter drag queen, a decision I would applaud if it were intentional.

I was very happy to see Kelli O'Hara and Minnie Driver pop in for some bonus star power. O'Hara nailed her stuff, no surprise there, and Driver pushed some waterworks in her roughly three minutes on stage/screen. The rest of the cast felt skilled and energetic, notably the dancing ensembles of pirates, lost boys, and natives. Christian Borle especially stole my attention in his dual role as Smee and Mr Darling. I have to say, though, that the design of the natives and the lost boys didn't work so well. Though the natives arguably were dressed in more authentic garb (that is, bare skin), their paint was just weird, and the costumes had some funky turquoise colors that fit well with the set, for better or worse. And the lost boys looked like almost-neon last-century German schoolchildren, complete with fetishized twinkiness. Sorry, but it happened.

Two elements of this production struck me as shockingly excellent. First, the psychedelic sets were huge and radiant, feeling like the other recently realized fantasy realms of Oz or Wonderland. I don't think the lights always played off it the best, and the camerawork could have been better at times (we rather missed Hook's attack on Peter, which made the latter's forced "To die will be an awfully big adventure" fall flat, and then Tiger Lily popped up like a mile away in what looked more like a prayer than a rescue attempt), but the set itself was gorgeous. Second, the changes to lyrics and dialogue made me very happy. Mrs Darling's added lullaby at the beginning made "Distant Melody" much more powerful later (and though I wanted more Kelli O'Hara, I was sad that Peter did not sing the duet with Wendy). Hook's tapdancing number and Peter's sung memory of running away also shone.

But a few new moments didn't work as well. My first disappointment was that Tink wasn't a real light on stage, but that's just my little stubborn preference. Hook's plot to bomb the island and thus break Peter's heart just sort of disappears without explanation. Why include the threat if you're not going to follow through? Chekhov's Gun, yo! We could have at least had Hook use the bomb at the last minute, as a final damning threat against the lot of lost boys (Cathy Rigby's production did this, and they didn't even go through the charade of painting red Xes all over Neverland). Oh, and the little addition of Wendy and Peter finding the "dozing" maid in the closet who appears dead. That was a thing. And nobody knows why.

Before we're done, we have to address the white elephant here. Or at least the white. Because the "Indians" have always been the most controversial part of Peter Pan in any of its incarnations. Disney perhaps depicted the most racist stereotypes (reducing a skin color to a tale of a man blushing from a woman's kiss while pointedly coloring the natives' skin tomato-red), but they have been present in the stage musical, too. "Ugg-a-Wugg" may be the show's most rousing number, but it is also not-so-subtly telling us that Native American languages are made up of absurd vocal patterns and children's rhymes (not to mention that the lyrics call Tiger Lily a "brave noble redskin"). Besides this positive change, though, it seemed like NBC employed a little overkill in racial diversity by casting an ethnically mixed group of Natives, which is totally fine, until you notice the almost ubiquitous whiteness of the rest of the cast, especially the lost boys.

I applaud the effort to change this to reclaim adulterated and mocked cultural territory. I also don't entirely know that this production was the only step to that end. It's tricky stuff, because while I would love to see an authentic Native presence on stage, I don't know that it can be in any Peter Pan adaptation because J.M. Barrie's own writings were deeply racist. Wow, that went around a rabbit trail. Point Being: This production was blessedly less offensive, so there's that.

IMDb: Peter Pan Live!