"Charlie Wilson's War": Remember in the 80's when we sent money and guns to help Afghanistan fight the Russians? That was sweet...Or was it?

In a lot of ways, Charlie Wilson's War is a mixed bag of a movie.

On the one hand, you have the really interesting, mostly-true story of how a liberal congressman from Texas, who had never really done much of anything besides party, managed -- with the help of a jilted CIA agent and a right-wing socialite -- to fund a covert war in Afghanistan that contributed to the fall of the Soviet Union (how much it contributed to the fall of the Soviet Union is questionable but, for the movie's sake, we'll say it was a lot). You have Tom Hanks, as the sleazy-but-lovable Wilson, and Philip Seymour Hoffman, as the unlikable-but-hilarious Company man, Gust Avrokotos, trading the razor-sharp barbs that screenwriter Aaron Sorkin and director Mike Nichols are famous for (one particular scene, in Wilson's office, is reminiscent of the best screwball comedies of the 1930's and 40's). And, if you're into that sort of thing, you have more cleavage than any film about Washington has any business displaying (Wilson's congressional staff was nicknamed "Charlie's Angels," so you can only imagine what that looks like translated to the big screen, although I think the ridiculously beautiful Amy Adams is underutilized in this regard).

On the other hand, you have a film that tries to be too many things at once -- political comedy, personal drama and uber-relevant statement on the failures of American foreign policy -- and winds up being somewhat uneven for its efforts. Sorkin's incessant concern with political details (the reason that "The West Wing" was sometimes dubbed "The West Wonk" by critics) shines through here, and there is a lot more discussion of the intricacies of congressional appropriations (and the specifications of Russian attack helicopters) than there needs to be. In fact, Sorkin and Nichols are so intent on proving their political credibility that they sometimes forget basic tenets of filmmaking like character development. For instance, the (let's call it "personal") relationship between Wilson and the aforementioned socialite, Joanne Herring (played satisfactorily by Julia Roberts), is often hinted at as being important for an understanding of Wilson's character, but it is largely an afterthought for the film. So that when Wilson ends up crying in his office because he "misses" the newly-married Joanne so much, it seems to come out of nowhere. Similarly, Amy Adams' aide (Wilson's right-hand woman) seems more than infatuated with her boss, fawning over him and giving Roberts the stink eye, but the thread is never really developed. At the end of the day, the characters verge on being three-dimensional, but are really little more than vehicles to propel the plot and recite Sorkin's zingers.

I don't want to disparage Charlie Wilson's War -- it's a film that manages to be entertaining and informative and that alone makes it worth seeing. Still, it was hard not to walk out of the theater a little disappointed. The American policy in the Middle East of providing support to fight our enemies and then bailing when it was time to build an infrastructure is a part of the reason that we are mired in countries like Iraq and Afghanistan today. It isn't necessarily Charlie Wilson's fault -- the film shows him fighting for money to build schools in Afghanistan post-war -- but his legacy as one of the players in the fall of the Soviet Union is problematic, nonetheless. Sorkin and Nichols try to make this point at the end of the film, but it is far too weak a statement after an hour of reveling in the machinations of the war. Some of that probably has to do with the script being changed at the request of the real Wilson and Herring (apparently, the film originally opened with a shot of the Pentagon in flames, circa 2001), but it doesn't do much for the film's impact that we have so little real connection to the characters, either.

When it comes down to it, the story of Charlie Wilson's war is a human one -- it was charm and humanity that made it possible, and it was human shortcoming that made it a failed policy in the long run. Despite the best efforts of Hanks and Co., this fact never really takes on the weight that it should, and that's where this film falls short -- it is just a good story told gracefully, rather than something more transcendent. All of which is to say that Charlie Wilson's War isn't bad, but it isn't especially memorable, either. And, as the saying goes, those who forget their history are doomed to repeat it.

Sources:
Socialite Joanne Herring wins 'War' [NY Daily News]

"I'm Not There": Pretension, Thy Name is Todd Haynes

Todd Haynes' I'm Not There, inspired by the music and life of Bob Dylan, is the kind of movie that makes me the angriest -- the kind that fools people into thinking that it's good, even those who should know better. I could probably work up a stroke trying to figure out how this self-love fest earned an "81% Fresh" rating on rottentomatoes.com, which compiles reviews from media (mostly print) outlets across the country, but I think the answer probably goes something like this: Anytime an American studio produces something remotely artistic or innovative, movie critics jump all over it like it's manna from Heaven. It's a sad state of affairs for American cinema -- we've come to expect so little from Hollywood that even the most pretentious bullshit passes for gold.

And that's what I'm Not There is, more than anything -- pretentious with a capital "P". In fact, this movie is so self-important that it deserves its own adjective: It is Haynesian, in its needlessly indecipherable structure (the movie is split into six different sections that intertwine, often for no apparent reason), in its self-consciously esoteric symbolism, and in its maddening length, which is somewhere around two and a half hours but feels more like seven or eight years (the film ends on two of the most painfully drawn out shots in the history of popular cinema, first of of a mysteriously smiling Cate Blanchett -- in full Dylan garb -- staring directly at the camera for a good twenty minutes, and then an excerpt of concert footage that fades to black over the course of an hour or so). I almost gave the credits a standing ovation.

The thing that bothers me the most about this film, though, is that there were actually quite a few moments that I really liked. For instance, one of the strongest scenes in the film is a surrealist interpretation of Dylan's "Ballad of a Thin Man" that involves a snotty British music critic, circus freaks and the Black Panthers. Not only is it visually captivating, but I found myself wanting to learn more about the song and its context so that I might better understand the allusions. Sadly, though, moments like this one are too rare in the film, buried under the excesses of a talented filmmaker who seems to be so in love with his own ideas that he can't imagine omitting even a single one. Ultimately, filmmaking -- like just about any other artistic endeavor -- is about making choices, and that's where I'm Not There falls horrendously flat.

Look, I don't mind films that are artistic -- in fact, more often than not, I love films that are artistic. And I don't mind if a filmmaker strives to make something really meaningful and comes up short -- the effort is admirable. But when a film spends the better part of two and a half hours touting its "difference" for the sake of vanity, it gets on my nerves, especially when critics use phrases like "an uncompromising, beautifully wrought essay on identity" (The Denver Post) to describe it. In fact, I can't help but imagine that the Bob Dylan portrayed by I'm Not There -- forever battling appropriation -- might be a little perturbed to know that the film he inspired devolved into such a circle-jerk of the cinematic establishment. Me, I'm just disappointed all around.

"Enchanted": Disney + Manhattan = Warm and Tingly. Who knew?

I'm going to be honest here. Normally, Enchanted is not the kind of movie that I would admit to having seen, much less enjoyed (namely, the kind with princesses). But you know what? This movie charmed the bejesus out of me, and I'm not ashamed to say it. Despite the fact that most of what I watch these days involves some combination of death and existential crisis, there was once a time when I wore out my tape of The Little Mermaid and believed in living happily ever after (it probably has something to do with my being such a nutcase about relationships today) and damn it if Enchanted didn't make me miss the little bastard that I used to be.

What's really great about this movie, though, is that it neatly toes the line between fairy-tale and reality, both technically and thematically. A masterful blend of live action, animation, and CGI, Enchanted is very much a Disney movie at the end of the day, which means that it's basically formulaic -- you know from the very beginning how it's going to end, and you feel good about that. At the same time, though, the film is a lot more mature than you would expect, and not in the ostentatious, pop-culture-referencing way that Shrek was "mature," but in a real, down-to-earth, "love isn't always what you first make of it" kind of way. Not to give too much away, but the film actually touches on the very grown-up idea that falling in love with one person sometimes means leaving someone else out in the cold and, while it only skims the surface, it's an impressive leap for a fairy tale.

And if that's not enough, there's the (strangely perverse) appeal of seeing the Disney archetypes that you fell in love with realized in corporeal form. Even if we didn't know it at the time, I don't think there's a warm-blooded male born in the last half-century who didn't look back from the vantage point of puberty and wonder what Ariel looked like under her shells or, if you're into that kind of thing, what the Evil Stepmother looked like under that weird hat/cloak ensemble that she wore. Well, now I have an idea and, even though I feel like a bad person for saying it, I'm just going to put this out there: Amy Adams (who also gives an amazing performance as Gisele, the displaced princess) and Susan Sarandon (who is by far the hottest 60 year old I have ever seen) bring the goods. The weird thing about it is that Enchanted doesn't make a lot of effort to hide their sexuality. In fact, one of the film's most poignant moments involves Gisele discovering Patrick Dempsey's chest-hair as he walks around the apartment in a bath-robe (he plays the divorce lawyer who picks her up off of the streets of New York) and finding herself suddenly attracted to him. Last Tango in Paris it ain't, but it's still virgin territory for Disney.

And that's precisely what I loved about Enchanted. Because even if it playfully knocks around the old Disney conceits a bit, the film ultimately suggests that, despite all the concerns of the real world, we can find true happiness. Corny as it may be, it still made me smile.

For another good review of Enchanted, go here