Tell No One

What makes a thriller? How can one define it? A strong answer comes in the form of 'Tell No One', the directorial effort by French actor/director Guillaume Canet. After nearly two years on the festival circuit, the film finally came to the states this summer where it enjoyed immediate praise and respectful silence, from those who'd seen it, on the plot details. Watching 'Tell No One', you start to feel grateful for it. Based on the novel by Harlan Coben, the film opens slowly with our hero, Alex, established as a man still trying to move on after he was beaten and his wife murdered at a remote lake in the French countryside eight years earlier. New details in the case compel police to reopen the case, with Alex as the prime suspect.
From here, the plot accelerates at a pace that's difficult to keep up with at first. There are new characters thrust upon us and the details of the crime put us in a spin where we're not sure if Alex is completely sympathetic. But Canet builds it all so smoothly and with such an element of danger that we're left begging for what we know will be a fantastic climax. Canet owes a debt to the paranoia thrillers of the '60's and '70's. With the exception of one nail-biting foot chase and one violent hostage rescue, all the suspense comes from watching the details come to light as Alex gets himself further in over his head. Like any great urban thriller, 'Tell No One' strengthens it's cat and mouse feel by shooting on location. Like 'Dirty Harry' did for San Francisco and 'Heat' did for Los Angeles, the movie gives us a real feel for the size of Paris and presents it as a character in and of itself.
Much like 'Memento', so much of the film rests on it's worn and weary lead. Francois Cluzet succeeds totally at giving us a character so hell bent on finding where this path will lead him; and succeeds maybe even further than Guy Pearce at playing a man so brokenhearted, he thinks that the path may be the only thing that can save him. He's an astonishing lead (and an astonishingly young 53), and still only one of a phenomenal cast of actors (watch for the female assassin; giving a terrifyingly dark, inhuman performance). The film is aided with a subtle melancholy score; and pained, international pop songs to try to let us feel Alex's pain. In the film's most affective sequence, U2's 'With Or Without You' plays loudly and proudly as Alex runs for some sudden, unknown destination. It's an easy target; but like the rest of 'Tell No One', Canet leaves us so wondering where it's going that it feels right on.

I Want Some Butts!

Every summer has a big movie. Lots of those have become blockbusters. But only a handful of those were off the charts sensations. 1986's 'Top Gun' had all the goods: a pretty leading man; a love story; state-of-the-art action sequences; a hit soundtrack with a classic love song; dreamy jocks; a patriotic, cold war setting (with the Russians being referred to only as "the other side"); and the classic rise/fall/rise plot arc that makes for great drama. 22 years on, it hasn't lost any of the fun. It still has that summer sun feel and the alpha male dialogue has aged like fine wine:
"Son, your ego's writing checks your body can't cash"
" ...Well, the list is long and distinguished". "Yeah, So's my johnson";
"I don't like you because you're dangerous".
Watching a film this old, which was once the hippest thing in the world, can't help but look outdated and beg for ridicule.
But the thing that starts to get more obvious with subsequent, nostalgic viewings; the thing that inspires the most hooting and hollering in theaters; the thing that you just can't believe passed over the heads of the masses in the summer of 1986, is all the homo-erotic tension smoldering in so many scenes between the frat boy pilots and their instructors. I understand getting in another guy's face is meant to be intimidating; but when they're being shot in Tony Scott's soft and sexy filters and wearing any kind of uniform, they just look like they're gonna pounce on each other. In the movie's most unintentionally sultry scene, a devastated Cruise is hunched over the bathroom sink in nothing but his tighty wightys. A uniformed Tom Skerritt enters to inform him of Goose's death, and soon leaves after running his hand, slowly, along Cruise's naked back in a misguided attempt at consolation. And that's not the only scene where Cruise is bent over wearing next to nothing amongst other guys.
And then there's the dialogue. In the movie's most unintentionally funny moment, Chester bursts into the locker room to send Maverick and Goose to get scolded for unruly flying on the school's first day. But his hungry glare just makes the line sound like an invitation to an orgy: "You and Goose get your butts out of that flight gear and up to Viper's office, now". Shortly afterwards, while waiting outside Viper's office, they overhear the disgruntled tower control officer demanding retribution for his tower getting buzzed by Maverick's plane: "I want someone's BUTT, I want it NOW, I've HAD IT"! He then storms off screaming, 'I want some BUTTS!"
There's more. But I guess watching any film featuring alpha males in and out of uniforms so many times can just be an invitation to homo-erotic mockery. 'Top Gun' still feels like one of the great popcorn flicks, especially during end credits featuring close ups of the whole cast set to The Righteous Brothers' 'You've Lost That Lovin' Feeling' (and the bar scene where the cast belts out the same). But it's hard not to giggle when Viper, in an attempt to be honest with a broken hearted Maverick, casually says, "I'm not here to blow sunshine up your ass, Lieutenant".

Jason Bond

I always thought Pierce Brosnan got shafted. When it was announced that he would be the successor to Timothy Dalton, I was more than pleased. Brosnan totally had the oily charm and the action chops to play the world's most famous British agent. The reason the Bond franchise died in his shadow was not that he couldn't carry the franchise; it was because he was working with shit. But when his four James Bond roles failed to ignite the public, he took (and still takes) the blame. Poor bastard. Enter Daniel Craig. Like the Christian Bale/Christopher Nolan revival of the 'Batman' franchise, the public looked up to Craig because it was very ready for a change. And with the unanimous comeback of 'Casino Royale', that change was more than welcome. But watching 'Casino Royale' and this season's sequel, 'Quantam Of Solace', it's hard not to notice the direction the franchise has taken. With it's slick editing and ice cold leading man, Bond cannot help but looking like Jason Bourne.
Gone is the irrepressible man. The man who can't help hitting on any beautiful woman who comes his way - no matter how frequently she rejects him and what her position is in this high stakes game of espionage. Gone is the man who can't help stealing a grape from his foe's hotel room, even when his henchmen are seconds from breaking down the door. Gone is the fun and imagination of Q's devices, which always felt like a glimpse into the future. Gone is the human Bond who made mistakes that would elevate the danger even higher. Gone is the element of chance, the coincidences that made us believe that Bond was the best because it was fate that he be the one who intervened.
Now, we're left with this cold, almost inhuman machine. A man who pretty much never drops the ball, and one who doesn't look like he's having ANY fun. Like Jason Bourne, he's tortured by his past and hell bent on revenge. There's little humor and no desperation to get laid. All the gadgetry feels like next year's iphone. There's not much creative glimpse into the future; the future is here.
Not that 'Quantam of Solace' isn't a lot of fun or that Craig is a "bad" Bond. But my god, man; he needs to lighten up. We need to see where he gets his change of clothes. We need some one-liners to make him look more at ease. He needs to get laid on the job. He needs a martini - shaken, not stirred.