Saturday Night (2024)

Score: 4 / 5

And the Oscar for "Best Ensemble" goes to... well, if there was one, it would certainly go to Saturday Night this year. In perfect homage to the industry standard of irreverent pop culture humor for almost fifty years now, this film does more than simply recount the 90 minutes before "Saturday Night Live" aired for the first time: it honors the quirky, hopeful, nervous artists and technicians and producers who made it happen. It's a delightful time, sure to make you nostalgic and wistful, but it's also fraught with anxiety that might leave you twitching on the edge of your seat.

NBC would never be the same. That's the sensation we get from the major players in Rockefeller Center on October 11, 1975, as what will come to be known as SNL prepares to broadcast in less than two hours. Audience seats hadn't sold yet, so Finn Wolfhard hustles customers on the street. Costumes are still being worked on, a row of lights falls on set, at least one star still hasn't signed his contract, and the brick centerpiece of the stage hasn't yet been laid. But Lorne Michaels (Gabriel LaBelle) has a vision, a calling, a purpose, and he'll be damned if this show doesn't air. As writers offer new material, actors take substances and complain about costumes, producers breathe down his neck for information, and his own ego threaten to derail his dream, Michaels remains somewhat enigmatically determined to revolutionize American television.

Did it all happen like this? Almost certainly not, but this isn't a historical treatise; it's art. As such, the film harnesses its own anxieties and pulls us into the mess, not unlike Birdman in its frenetic pacing and multiple deep cuts into the showbiz lingo and themes. Too many cooks in the kitchen, for example, means big heads bump into each other at crunch time. Some of the artists are here for vanity projects while others excitably play with each other, oblivious to the administrative panic setting in just down the hall. Director and co-writer Jason Reitman clearly loves the history and people in this yarn he's spinning, but he also clearly intimately understands the flavor and kinetic motion of these kinds of sets, so he doesn't make it pretty or neat. While his focus is sharply on the characters, he carefully ensures that the immaculate production design isn't lost on us, grounding us in the reality of the moment even as we're swept from room to room in the crowded, bustling studio. Dizzying cinematography and editing keep the action in something very, very close to real time, and for the most part we follow Michaels on his odyssey through the chaos on delicious 16mm that makes the warm amber of dressing room lights, wood paneling, and thickly textured fabrics as tactile as they are visually pleasing. 

To praise the cast is to list the whole bunch, so I'll leave you to peruse IMDb for that or, better yet, the credits of the film after you watch it. Personal favorites were Cory Michael Smith doing a dead ringer for Chevy Chase and Ella Hunt's frothy, sweet Gilda Radner. But, really, there's not a weak link in the whole thing, even when heavy hitters like Willem Dafoe and JK Simmons grace the screen, knowing their place and their task among this enormous ensemble. In fact, mentioning the latter reminds me of one of the thematic concerns raised by the film: the conflict between mainstream, "safe" comedy represented by old, established Big Names and the kind of disruption represented by Michaels and his hippie friends. The film struggles a bit with its big themes when it tries to literalize them rather than letting the screenplay speak for itself; when Michaels, for a memorably blunt example, decides on the iconic brick floor an hour before go time, it smacks of historical inauthenticity as much as thematic desperation for establishing (literally) its own character.

Your mileage in this film may depend on your affection (or lack of) for its characters. While I think all actors perform admirably here, some are clearly swinging big while others are determined to recreate their subjects as truthfully as possible. For example, Jim Belushi (Matt Wood) is painted very much as a laughable monster, while Garrett Morris (Lamorne Morris) is relegated to the role of racial spokesperson. And if you're a stickler for facts in your art, you won't like this. Though, if you are, maybe you should re-evaluate your understanding of what art actually is. As a richly detailed, knowingly clever, furiously thrilling depiction of the night American television changed forever, Saturday Night is one of the more affirming and emotionally honest historical films in years. And it's hilarious, which is maybe more important.

A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood (2019)

Score: 4.5 / 5

As soon as it began -- much like the famed show we loved as children -- I knew this movie was going to be special. It starts with an intro overlooking miniatures and that silly, lilting piano tune that makes you feel instantly young. Helpful, too, is the repeated cinematographic techniques; according to one source, the filmmakers here used some of the same cameras and monitors used on the original show to re-create the magic. And while all these technical aspects are amazing, they by no means cheat the film of its real substance.

A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood is the story of Mister Rogers' Neighborhood, it's true, but not in a way you might expect. Taking its inspiration from the Esquire cover story of the supposed hero protagonist, this film actually centers on Lloyd Vogel, the writer of that article, whose life is forever changed by the unlikely celebrity. Vogel (a thankless role played skillfully by Matthew Rhys) is introduced to us almost immediately as a sort of case study by Rogers: he will be the theme of this episode, you might say, and he will be tested in matters of love, family, and forgiveness. But when we see his picture on Rogers's pictureboard, bloodied and gaunt, we know his tests will be hard to watch.

When we are, eventually, thrust into Vogel's story, we learn that he has alienated himself from his father (Chris Cooper) and seems to cope with his disillusioned worldview by crafting a career in scathing, cynical journalism. When he is suddenly assigned a puff piece in national heroes -- you guessed it, to interview Fred Rogers -- he is incredulous. Even his wife Andrea (Susan Kelechi Watson) quietly begs him not to "ruin her childhood," knowing full well what kind of dirt he might try to dig up. But he doesn't know Fred Rogers. Not yet.

Upon their meeting, Rogers (an immaculate Tom Hanks, who brilliantly tries to embody the man rather than imitate him) is every bit the hero we know him to be. Pensive and reflective, he often ends up questioning his interviewer more than answering his questions. He exhibits kindness and curiosity, empathy and gentleness to the point of making Vogel angry and irritable as he sees his own brokenness. When he finally suggests to his subject that Rogers likes him because he is broken, there's an uncanny moment of shock and sadness on Rogers' face. Later, when Rogers asks a dying man to pray for him and rationalizes it to Vogel -- any man going through that trial has to be close to God -- we get a startlingly clear portrait of what Rogers is really all about.

And that's the greatest triumph of Marielle Heller's latest film. Not in its ability to recreate the man or the show -- though it does so flawlessly, especially in one haunting and hilarious dream sequence -- but in its insight in dramatizing the ways the Neighborhood show can and did affect us all. We see how simply being around Rogers helped Vogel change his life; technically the film supports this, as their scenes together often feature unnatural light sources shining on Vogel in stark contrast to his solo scenes when he is doused in shadow. We see how Rogers himself is affected by his own love for others and how he quietly refuses to view himself as a hero. When Vogel speaks with Rogers's wife, she stops Vogel from calling her husband a saint, saying that he isn't perfect and that sainthood is often viewed as something impossible for normal people to achieve. But the way Rogers lived is in fact totally attainable by all of us, and the final call to action in this film is for us to realize that potential.

Mowgli: Legend of the Jungle (2018)

Score: 1.5 / 5

If anything could make another version of The Jungle Book special, memorable, or meaningful, motion capture wasn't it.

It seems an appropriate directorial debut for the undisputed master of motion capture Andy Serkis, whose technical and dramatic work on the Planet of the Apes franchise really deserved more award recognition. There's not really a way to get the story wrong, and much of it relies on special effects to stupefy the audience into a state of wonder. Leave it to Serkis to make the animals look uncannily like their all-star voice actor counterparts. You really haven't lived until you've seen Christian Bale's face covered in Bagheera's black fur, or Benedict Cumberbatch's crazy eyes popping out of Shere Khan's tigery visage.

But Mowgli: Legend of the Jungle is so much less than it could -- and should -- have been. Though its technical skill in realizing the animals is unquestionable, its delivery feels preoccupied with its own technicality. Faces and movement might be exactly right, but many of the other effects look cheap by comparison (notice scenes of intense action and of large numbers of animals; they are remarkably unfinished renderings). Moreover, Serkis demonstrates a surprising inability to direct the film, apart from his own area of expertise. The screenplay and editing seem aggressively at odds with each other while the movie never really shows us anything new or interesting to make it worthwhile. And, perhaps most importantly, the film tonally lurches in such intense swings that it never really coalesces into a finished product.

This film fatally suffers from its inability to make a case for existing. Partly due, no doubt, to Disney's The Jungle Book being filmed near the same time, and due to Mowgli being released on Netflix and not theatrically, this film was doomed to have a lesser impact. And yet its faults extend beyond those of circumstance. Serkis seems bent on telling a fresh, darker story without music and whimsy. His characters bleed -- more than you might expect -- and die in gruesome ways. This is not the movie to watch with impressionable young children on a Friday night. But Serkis fails to bring the film to a truly violent, visceral level; while it remains in appropriate for children, it's also not very appealing to adults seeking more brutal fare.

Finally -- and comparisons are often so unproductive -- The Jungle Book is just so much more effective and accomplished as a film. Its effects are impeccable, its sense of joy pure and infectious, its nostalgia combines perfectly with its innovations. Mowgli isn't forced to return to the man-village, doomed by some sickly essentialist ideas about what he was born as opposed to who he chooses to be. Rather, he remains with his friends and family in the jungle, a perfect ending to his character and his story that has never been told before. That's a reason to retell this story. Tell it differently, with a purpose that is relevant for the time and place.

The closest Mowgli gets to being relevant -- apart from casting Naomie Harris and Cate Blanchett -- is in its vague attempts at teasing out the complex political machinations of the jungle. By the time Mowgli is all but forced back to the man-village, the jungle has become a dark and anarchic place, ruled over by a vicious tyrant with bad hair, dramatic gesture, and a crazed gleam in his eye. He may not be Trump, but in case you didn't make the connection, Serkis puts a malnourished, dirty Mowgli in a cage for the villagers (and audience) to mock.

Save your time, and save your energy. Jon Favreau is making a Jungle Book sequel, and I cannot wait.

The Post (2017)

Score: 5 / 5

Spielberg doesn't always have his shit together, but when he does, it's a thing of wonder.

The Post, one of the best films this year and one of the timeliest movies I've ever seen, recreates the true story of journalists from the Washington Post attempting to publish the Pentagon Papers under President Nixon's vengeful administration. It's also many more things: a fabulously detailed period drama, a feminist snapshot of a woman succeeding where men fail in an atmosphere dominated by and solely populated by men, and a nail-biting political and legal thriller. Even when I had no idea what was going on (they toss around names and jargon like frisbees), I knew exactly what was going on dramatically and thematically, thanks to Spielberg and his longtime cinematographer Janusz Kaminski.

This is the sort of film, like All the President's Men and Spotlight among so many more, that reminds us of the intricacies and power of a free press, and how crucial it is to a free society. In an age when it seems the press and the government are constantly at odds and accusations (and probable realities) of corruption riddle each side, films like this become not only entertaining and fascinating, but crucial. The mass-market impact of film should make the studios crank out movies like this as if it's their job, so when it happens, I'm more than happy to praise the makers.

The Post is urgent and taut, determined to change your mind about something. Even when it hits a little too hard on the nose -- the last scene is a bit too Hallmark-y for me, but the film earned it, dammit, as Streep pithily expresses that the press may not always get it right, but they will keep trying because it's their responsibility and their calling. Writer Josh Singer (Spotlight, The Fifth Estate, The West Wing) hits hard when it counts, which makes him a fitting member of the Spielberg/Kaminski team. Streep and Hanks -- how they haven't worked together before now astounds me -- of course slay, and while neither role really screams Awards-worthy, their delivery is the stuff of stars. There's really nothing constructive for me to say here except to keep praising the movie. Just go see it. It's important and beautiful and important, in that order.

IMDb: The Post