air

Before my viewing of Ben Affleck's Air, there were a fleet of previews of forthcoming movies--all based upon brands (Fast X, Transformers: Rise of the Beasts, The Flash, Indiana Jones and The Dial of Destiny). In fact, the weekend Air landed, Super Mario Brothers made over 200 million dollars in its debut weekend, a staggering gross. Brands are inescapable and so intrinsic to the American story, that it seems it have almost fully permeated the content of the movie industry as well, even mid-budget adult dramas. 

Brands and branding are the main thematic and plot thrusts of Air, which was funded by Amazon. Set to Dire Straits' evocative 1985 rock epic "Money for Nothing," the movie's opening sweeps through grainy footage of early 80s Americana from Ghostbusters to Mr. T to Reagan. Figures and enterprises are reduced to commercial slogans, toys, dolls, images plastered on cereal boxes. Like the Dire Straits song and another woeful 80s American song that features here prominently, there is a sense of simmering cynicism to this plethora of capitalistic desires woven explicitly into Affleck's film, but also nostalgia and tuneful, anthemic celebration. 

Matt Damon's Sonny Vaccaro, works at Nike, a company stuck in third place (the UBS, the lowest rated newscast in Network, of shoes) behind fellow popular sports sneaker giants Adidas and Converse. With strong belief, he picks then-newcomer Michael Jordan as the sole (no pun intended) figure to sponsor their latest sneaker. Sonny's a bit at odds with his kooky co-workers--aging, shaggy-haired Rob Strasser (Jason Bateman), unconventional CEO Phil Knight (played by Affleck, unfortunately the least engaging performance in a powerhouse cast), Jordan's fast-talking, mouthy agent (Chris Messina), and even Jordan's steadfast mother Deloris (Viola Davis, as usual, excellent), who really runs the show in the end. Most will be aware of what eventually happens, but how the idea, the deal, and even the shoe itself  happens (Matthew Maher gives a quirky, intriguing turn as the shoe's designer Peter Moore), is captured smoothly and satisfyingly by Affleck's crew and cast. He's indebted to the enigmatic actors and also the longtime skills of editor William Goldenberg (who cut Affleck's Argo with admittedly crackerjack precision despite the faults of that movie) and cinematographer Robert Richardson (in one of his more playfully-lensed films enhancing the mostly dull office settings).

It's a bizarre movie in a way, with its atmospheric, yearning soundscapes of mood music (Pino Donaggio, Cyndi Lauper, and Harold Faltermeyer's "Axel F" all surface) that suddenly fade in and out, sometimes of the film's 1984 setting, sometimes just a year or so off, or bizarrely, even a cue from Mark Isham's score from Suffragette (a 2015 film). The movie is also an old-fashioned brand of American storytelling that easily fires up its audience about the thinly-characterized risktaker who is so thoroughly obsessed with his risk, that his success in the end--against the "out-of-touch," and especially with the case of Adidas, "less American" (and feminized) competition. In fact its the template of last year's mega success of another slick story rooted in 80s nostalgia--Top Gun: Maverick. 

This is all such an interesting contrast to Affleck and Damon's first big collaboration, 1997's Good Will Hunting--that scrappy underdog tale, filmed with a mix of a golden-hued Hollywood glow and a sense of gritty realism of Gus Van Sant's direction, and populated with melancholy Elliot Smith tunes. The rambling uncertainty of that film's moving ending is part of its evocativeness (that car over the road over the end credits!). Interestingly in the same year, Michael Moore's The Big One, probed American corporations, including Phil Knight's use of sweatshops in Indonesia. Air may not seem interesting on paper, but it is a curious pivot to substance through the lens of an almost fetishistic view of capitalism from a team of plucky Gen Xers. The notion of white men as opportunists battling over the fate of a black man's body is nothing new, and is rendered in this film more perceptively than expected, opening this film up to deeper discussion. Davis's Deloris, authentically realized in a quiet, understated way, gets the last word, so to speak, in Alex Convery's punchy script, a phone monologue delivered so expertly and crisply, that it becomes an extremely moving moment, and emblematic of greater meanings of commerce, talent, and ownership. *** 

-Jeffery Berg

the way back

Ben Affleck has long been an actor of particular blankness. He is a gruff, imposing, masculine presence, without much tics to speak of--akin to a certain kind of Hollywood star that lends well to audience projection. In The Way Back, Affleck, who has battled addiction and the ensuing media storms around it, plays a former high school basketball star who is now an alcoholic construction worker. Relationships with his family and his wife, in current separation, are strained. Suddenly, in what seems to be literal divine intervention, he is asked by the head priest of his old high school to coach the basketball team. Through Jack's (Affleck) brash, unconventional style and long untapped personal talents, he whips the team into shape and guides them to hard-fought victories.

This is the simple framework of Gavin O'Connor's plainspoken film, in a similar vein to his craggy sports drama Warrior. We watch Jack before, and also in the midst of, balancing his life as a coach while hitting his local bar, and also sneaking hard liquor into coffee tumblers, and going back again and again to the fridge for cans of beer. The film gets tripped up a little mid-way by giving us the reason why Jack may have turned to drinking and is so emotionally blocked and removed (this also happened in Kenneth Lonergan's Manchester by the Sea, featuring Affleck's brother Casey in his pent-up Oscar-winning lead--yet, the shape and feel of that film feels both much more organic and elegantly constructed). Both films show the difficulties men can face expressing their emotions and dealing with grief. The Way Back ends up over-explaining in a few treacly stretches. Still, Ben Affleck's effective turn, the sturdy ensemble, Rob Simonsen's bittersweet score, and the grayish, weathered feel (the cinematography is by Eduard Grau) of the movie, helps it stay afloat. It also--thankfully--occasionally eschews some sports drama cliches, which for a mainstream Hollywood movie with a familiar arc, is pretty admirable. **1/2

-Jeffery Berg

on 'gone girl' by rishiv khattar

David Fincher’s Gone Girl begins and ends with the same image of a girl’s head. In both cases there is a male voiceover proclaiming how difficult it is to understand the complex workings of this girl’s (every girl’s) mind. But the film in between those images isn’t interested in understanding that mind.

Gone Girl is less concerned with the images it trafficks in: Nick Dunne’s goofy vacant gaze (teased out through the film as either a sign of Nick’s guilt or Mr. Affleck’s inability to express his character) upon his wife Amy’s inscrutable face; than in building a case for a broad indictment, both silly and ambitious, of the institution of marriage.

If the film were more conscious of its casual misogynist imagery and reluctance to explore Amy’s motivations, it may not have so undermined its argument that marriage equally victimizes and entraps both its participants. Instead, the only insight this film delivers is that its central character, Amy (a chilly and severe Rosamund Pike that makes Ben Affleck’s blank emotional register appear friendly and expressive by comparison), is a sociopathic seductress not to be trusted or known. If this marriage is an archetype of all marriages and dynamics between the sexes, as the film intends, then this woman is typical of all women. Why strive for a nuanced understanding when, in the words of Nick’s twin sister (Carrie Coon): “everyone knows complicated is short for bitch?”

Sure, there is fun to be had in watching Amy’s character in the mold of a juicy femme fatale and in the wild turns of the plot from romance to revenge flick to gothic horror. But it is the basest of entertainments given a lofty guise by Fincher’s detached and icy compositions. This detachment perhaps explains the film’s reception. It allows for every fight between Nick and Amy to reverberate beyond its specifics to the relations between the sexes, for every plot deception to stand for the universal hiding and fakery in every marriage. It also allows the film to conveniently play as both a satire and a grave thriller; to masquerade trashy stereotypes about both women and men as symbolism and insights. When Nick tells Amy that all they did was “resent each other and cause each other pain,” she responds: “that’s marriage.” The messaging here is that the insane behavior of the characters on screen is holding a  twisted mirror to some inherent truth in all marriages.

With the right detachment, it’s easy to say that’s both inane and reductive and also easy to call it somewhat profound. There’s a parallel for our entertainment (the film is intensely watchable despite its problematic themes and characterizations) in the puerile and voyeuristic media watching and picking apart Nick and Amy’s marriage. Fincher spends a lot of time on these scenes both parodying talk show hosts and adding their views to the multiple perspectives in the film: Nick’s narrative, Amy’s narrative, Amy’s diary, the police’s narrative, Amy’s parent’s opinion. The film posits that people are essentially unknowable and  their guilt or innocence and the success of their relationships are socially determined by these many eyes. It’s unfortunate then that the film’s trajectory only serves to confirm the most crass and simplistic of these perspectives.


-Rishiv Khattar

affleck's second act: a post by dan braun

It’s often been said that our twenties are the decade in which we discover the direction we want to pursue in our lives. If there was one period which best defines for me that pleonastic truth, it had to have been the fall and winter of 1997 and 1998. At the time I was 22 and living a frequent blur of a life in Somerville and Cambridge, Massachusetts – going to college full-time and, in a juggling act which would have impressed a circus performer without surcease, somehow making ends meet via my three (and occasionally four) part-time jobs.

One of my places of employment was the video store Hollywood Express. Eventually growing into a mini- , four-location husband-and-wife (of those, only the original is still operating – and, within a general, 10-mile radius, the last of 28 video stores from that time to have not yet succumbed to Netflix and online streaming), it was a punchy empire, from New Release Tuesday (“Whaddaya mean all five copies of Evita are out? I’m gonna go to Blockbuster!”) through weekend nights, where it wasn’t inconceivable to finally *maybe* be able to take a five-minute breather six hours into a night shift which began at 5 pm. It was also during the time when video stores (minus the axenic grotesqueries that were the mega-chains such as Blockbuster, Movie Gallery and the ‘other’ Hollywood – a.k.a., Hollywood Video) were seen as breeding grounds for the then-new generation of filmmakers and other industry types which, thanks to Quentin Tarantino and his rags-to-riches story, they often were. It was his rise from tape jockey to toast of the movie world which sustained many of us through our $6.75/hour wages and six-figure-earning customers pleading, complaining, and launching one-sided screaming fits over every $3.15 late fee.

In December of 1997, what had started as a discernible buzz from the streets of Harvard Square to the Back Bay quickly developed into a general conversation of excitable pride. Boston, which had seldom received as much of a fraction of the film world’s limelight, was suddenly one of its main focuses and at the center of the glow were two local boys who were about to make great: Matt Damon and Ben Affleck. Concurrent with James Cameron’s Titanic setting sail, Good Will Hunting was as big, if not a bigger, event on multiplex screens within the greater Boston area. (It was the film which, unbeknownst to me at the time, would serve as one of the main inspirations in my eventual pursuit of a screenwriting career.)

As much as Cameron’s ego was, Damon and Affleck were on top of the world on Oscar night the following March, winning Best Original Screenplay awards for their co-authored story of a MIT janitor (Damon) revealed to be a mathematical genius struggling to unlock his troubled psyche and disquieted heart and soul with an eventual ease at which he is able to solve the most complex numerical equations.

The two talented multi-hyphenates (Affleck, along with Minnie Driver and Robin Williams – synchronously bringing home Academy Award gold – being among the most notable of Good Will Hunting’s supporting cast) soon found their careers heading along divergent paths. While Damon was seen as taking on a more challenging set of roles (in films such as The Talented Mr. Ripley, The Bourne franchise, The Departed and Syriana), Affleck became primarily a staple of generic popcorn flicks (Armageddon, Forces of Nature, Pearl Harbor, and Daredevil, among others) and a frequent tabloid staple, via his relationship with Jennifer Lopez.

It wasn’t until the nadir of Gigli in August of 2003 that Affleck became circumspect as to what had become of his career and how he was being largely perceived by the filmgoing public. After taking a brief respite, he returned on-screen in 2006’s Hollywoodland. Affleck’s performance (as George Reeves, in the final years of the once-idolized Superman during the final years of his life) played to his strengths as an actor – an outward confidence at times belied by a churning emotional undercurrent.

In 2007, Affleck returned his film focus to the streets of Boston for the first time since Good Will Hunting, making his directorial debut with Gone Baby Gone and also serving as co-screenwriter. Based on the novel by Dennis Lehane (who also wrote Mystic River, the source material for Clint Eastwood’s 2003 film of the same name), Affleck took an approach similar to that of Eastwood, examining the psychological burden which criminal activity has on its participants, victims and surrounding communities as well as, from an investigative point of view, police officers and detectives. It was a remarkably assured work, enhanced by Affleck’s first-hand knowledge and appreciation of the inner workings of Boston’s tight-knit, blue-collar communities.

Three years later, following a return to acting (He’s Just Not That Into You; State of Play; and Extract), Affleck set both behind the camera (and in front of it) for his second helming effort, The Town. While Gone Baby Gone was set in Dorchester, the main focus of The Town (adapted from Chuck Hogan’s novel Prince of Thieves) was the streets of Charlestown, a primarily Irish-Catholic working-class enclave located not far from downtown Boston (and also in close geographic proximity to my hometown of Somerville), and a bank robbery which sets off a series of complicated, unexpected events. Tense, brutal and efficient, Affleck’s growing confidence as a director is evident throughout.

 Having long exhibited a strong social and political acuity (becoming involved with such causes as the A-T Children’s Project, which is geared towards fighting and finding a cure for the rare disease known as ataxia-telangiectasia; bringing awareness to and solving the humanitarian crisis in the Eastern Congo; and the legalization of gay marriage, as well as an active campaigner for several Democratic candidates in state and national races and political talk show guest and panelist), Affleck’s current directorial effort, Argo, has rightfully been receiving considerable acclaim, as well as several critic and industry awards and nominations. (In addition to its Best Picture Oscar nod, it’s also in the running for Best Adapted Screenplay and via Alan Arkin’s turn in the Best Supporting Actor category.) The film is based on the true story of the 1979 Iranian hostage crisis and the efforts of CIA specialist Tony Mendez (Affleck), in the creation of the production of a fake science fiction film, to secure safe haven for six escapees and ensuring their unharmed return to the United States. Gripping throughout, I mentioned to my date, as her and I were leaving the Village East Cinemas the Saturday night of opening weekend, that the highest compliment I could pay Argo was to compare it to the best of the political thrillers of the 1970s (All the President’s Men; Three Days of the Condor; The Parallax View).

If I were to ever find myself on the proverbial deserted island, one of the two books I’d have with me (the other being On the Road by Jack Kerouac) would be The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald. With all due respect to the great F. Scott, I’d politely differ from his belief that there are no second acts in American life. The professional career of Ben Affleck is all the proof I (or anyone) would need.

the town

Displaying a true love of his Boston roots, Ben Affleck directs, acts, and co-writes The Town, a heist drama set in the gentrifying suburb Charlestown. Orchestrated by "The Florist" (Pete Postlethwaite), a group of men take on risky bank robberies throughout the city. One of them, Doug MacRay (Ben Affleck), strays from the pack, falling in love with the manager (Rebecca Hall) of a bank they violently robbed. His affair and desire to leave a life of crime creates tension with longtime friend and cohort "Jem" (Jeremy Renner). Meanwhile FBI agent Adam Frawley (Jon Hamm) tries to nab Doug and his crew.

The film works best with the tense, slam-bam action scenes (expertly edited by Dylan Tichenor) but falls flat when centered on Doug's character. Affleck isn't a strong enough thespian to pull off such a complicated person. His courtship of Hall (after aiming AK 47s at her, kidnapping her and making her think she was going to die) is more creepy than touching (though the film strives for this, particularly in a gooey final act). Their relationship often strains credulity. It might have been a better picture had Affleck traded places with Renner. The electrifying Hurt Locker star infuses life into a thankless role. Between the elaborate, noisy heists, the script attempts a back story for Doug. A jail/telephone scene with Chris Cooper as Doug's father and a monologue where an expressionless Affleck describes his mother abandoning him--whilst in "Underoos"--are particularly unmoving. The Town boasts a great supporting cast but their parts are so underwritten they seem like throwaways. Blake Lively does her best to shed glossy Gossip Girl character as Jem's drug addicted sister, but really, her scenes could have been cut without much effect on the film except making it snappier. And Jon Hamm really needs a part where he can display some range. In Howl, we have Don Draper, the lawyer. In The Town, Don Draper, the FBI agent. Lovers of crime pictures may like this one more than I did (it's a box office hit with rave reviews to boot) but with such a flat actor at the helm, I found it particularly lacking in emotional resonance, especially when compared to morally ambiguous Bostonian films in similar vein: the shattering Departed and Eastwood's Mystic River. **


-Jeffery Berg