call me by your name

Placed somewhere in idyllic Northern Italy during the summer of '83, the richest aspect of Call Me By Your Name--Luca Guadagnino's (I Am Love, A Bigger Splash) depiction of a relationship between a graduate student Oliver (Armie Hammer) and a young man Elio (Timothée Chalamet)--is the slow build ("we wasted so much time," a character will utter later) not the fleeting romance that ultimately emerges--from nonchalant and unaffected to blissful and aching. The two characters take on stray bits of one another's traits, exchange a few touches. There are passed notes, a borrowed shirt, and soon those similar "o" names begin to mesh into one--all leading to a climatic, so to speak, peach.

Known for exquisite, meandering pictures, James Ivory's script--from an elegant, internal novel by André Aciman--establishes a rhythm that is almost agonizing in its ache. The dialogue is riddled with symbolism and wordplay, like Oliver's use of the catchphrase "later" and bittersweet advice from Elio's father (played by Michael Stuhlbarg, who continues to display incredible range as an actor)--a monologue that's the exact opposite of the usual, wise old father speech, embracing rather than seeking to snuff out unbridled emotion and feeling. Elio's father, a professor of archaeology, is the quiet purveyor of this piece--unearthing a sense of emotion and affection, rather than cold rationalism, out from the veneer of his intellectualism.

Chalamet, with a trickier role than what it seems, makes some unexpected choices as an actor, creating a character that feels very true. And Hammer, dashingly handsome in a generic way, imbues his character with a layer of mystery (those downward glances!). Also good in supporting roles are Amira Casar and Esther Garrel, both of which carve out more than they are given on the page, as the central relationship of the movie slow-burns up the screen.

Shot by Sayombhu Mukdeeprom, whose work on Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives was particularly memorable in its evocative use of place and magical realism-tinged flourishes, the film is a transportive experience in its rendering of sun-drenched pools, fields, and piazzas and the insect thrumming, moonlit dark.

Music makes a driving impact in the movie as well. John Adams' bright cues (memorably opening the movie with yellow, letter-written font), shimmering Italo-disco (loved hearing F.R. David's "Words" and "Lady Lady Lady" by Joe Esposito and Giorgio Moroder from the Flashdance soundtrack, which indeed would have been a staple that summer) to Psychedelic Furs' "Love My Way," ("there's an army on the dance floor," the song begins, and yes, there is literally an Armie on the dance floor, frolicking in sneakers, a braided brown belt and baggy shorts--a dance with new emotional dimensions in its reprise) permeate the movie with a certain sense of specificity and loss. When a slightly more grown up Elio removes his headphones for a call and the theater's programmed lights go up during the melancholy fireside extended credit scene set to one of Sufjan Steven's delicate original songs, there's a harsh break for both character and audience back into the reality of another time. ****

-Jeffery Berg

lady bird

Greta Gerwig's feature Lady Bird is a triumph for her as a filmmaker and writer. It's a coming-of-age tale of the final high school year of a young woman, the self-named titular character (Saoirse Ronan), from "the wrong side of the tracks" in Sacramento and her relationships with friends, family, and a few boys. Lady Bird often finds herself in tiffs with her mother (a poignant Laurie Metcalf) that are short-lived but also run with an emotional undercurrent that feels perhaps forever unresolved.

A skilled and charming actor, screenwriter and film aficionado, Gerwig also shows tremendous talent behind the camera. Reportedly broke at the time when she was on the red carpets for her major movie debut in Noah Baumbach's Greenberg, it's beyond heartening to see her rise and receive deserved acclaim as a director. Gerwig hails from Sacramento and her emotional attachment to her hometown permeates the film. In a way, it feels like a movie that was decades in the making, a story bursting to be told. The piece is visually arresting, shot with affection by Sam Levy, and edited in a distinctive rhythm by Nick Houy (who recently won the Emmy for his work on "The Night Of"). In fact, many of the movie's laughs derive from Houy's sly and sharp work. The movie is a tight ship, coasting through the seasons and ardent events of a single year with both an inherent complexity and a seeming ease. It's also a movie that's acutely conscious of its time period, the rarely examined early aughts, particularly within the breakout of the American invasion of Iraq. The unnerving news reports and financial worries (money and class division is a big aspect of this picture), along with the stuttering Timbaland beat of the very appropriately used Justin Timberlake lament "Cry Me A River," thrums along in the background of a twilight time before cell phones were ubiquitous and blocky home computers still ran on dial-up.

Gerwig's keen eye must have played a part too in the wondrous assembly of the cast, with many who have deep roots in theater. Laurie Metcalf is an acclaimed stage actress and a character actor in films. As the by-turns giddy and glum Aunt Jackie, she played a big part in the comic mastery of  TV's "Roseanne." It's exciting to see her with this sizable role which displays her subtlety (that head shrug when Lady Bird asks "what if this is the best version of me?") and dynamite physicality (the way she drives her car, which becomes ultimately symbolic, is miraculous stuff). As Lady Bird's best friend Julie, Beanie Feldstein, who appears in Broadway's Hello Dolly!, is hilarious, emotionally engaging, and totally winning. As the father, Tracy Letts, a well-regarded playwright and actor who I usually find too ferociously "actorly," tones himself down and emerges as a tender and understated presence. It's his best film performance. Also great in smaller roles are Lucas Hedges, Odeya Rush, Lois Smith and the magnetic Stephen Henderson playing the school's depressed theater director ironically steering a production of "Merrily We Roll Along." There's something a tad unsatisfying about the storyline of Lady Bird's brother Miguel (Jordan Rodrigues) and his girlfriend Shelly (Marielle Scott), but that's not at fault of Gerwig's writing or the strong performers as it is perhaps a point of view issue: Lady Bird cooly distances herself from them. That could be said too of Lady Bird's fumbling relationship with the purposefully detached, blankly emo Kyle (Timothee Chalamet). Ronan has been around for years and is usually exceptional, with an expressive countenance. Here, I didn't even think of her as acting, she just sails through the film as this character.

It's hard to distill all the melancholy and joy I felt watching Lady Bird in a clinical film review. When a film is really cooking, it's working on multiple levels, sometimes in ways that are at odds with each other--"scary and warm," as one of the characters describes Lady Bird's mother. I don't think I've seen the quick breaks between lashing out and affection between mother and daughter done so well since James L. Brooks' Terms of Endearment. There's a smart, bittersweet sensibility these two films share, including the psychic pain brought forth by a loving yet continuously disappointed mother and the emotional ache of separation. Like Terms too, the movie is very funny, laugh out loud funny--something I don't find often, as comedies are quite broadly bland these days--and also deeply sad and moving. I cried through most of the movie, that uncommon laughter through tears experience, it hit a nerve that so few films do and the quietly devastating turn by Metcalf floored me. ****


-Jeffery Berg

call me by your name

Trailer for the (already) critically-acclaimed film. Loved the book, so I am looking forward to this!