2011. Dir: Clint Eastwood. Starring: Leonardo DiCaprio, Armie Hammer, Naomi Watts, Judi Dench and Josh Lucas. ●●○○○
Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? I have asked before and I will shout it from the rooftops if absolutely necessary. Biopics (much like any other film genre) must exist for a reason, you must decide whether you want to draw parallels with the human condition, or prescient societal factors, or you must seek to restore or destroy a reputation, alternative aim to explain your protagonists public actions through their private history. J. Edgar does none of these. Instead it throws events and personal relations onto the screen, with three distinct elements of the film all failing to relate with each other and therefore failing to relate with the greater context.
The first element of the film, and perhaps the most compelling, establishes, through the unreliable narrative of Hoover himself played sympathetically by Leonardo DiCaprio, the origin mythology of the FBI from it's beginnings in the anti trade union movement through the war against organised crime in the 1930's and the development of modern police procedural to catch and prosecute Bruno Hauptmann, the kipnapper of Charles Lindbergh jr. (notably dubbed the "crime of the century" at the time). This section celebrates J. Edgar as a nerdy modernist standardising the process for catching criminals against a backward looking establishment. This alone may have been an interesting picture, in spite of it's glorification of his early achievements and the missed opportunities to discuss his political talents or his much publicised fear of Bolshevism not to mention the constraints of using the scientific method for raising convictions.
The first element is narrated by an older Hoover (during the Presidential tenure of JFK and later) a deeply paranoid man, clinging on to power through blackmail and illegal wire tapping. The film barely plays homage to the unspeakable acts of criminality and suppression that Hoover exercised through his COINTELPRO programme, a bitter taste in the mouth of anyone with a degree of knowledge of the civil rights movement, he may have associated equality with Communism but as we have no basis for the genesis of those beliefs there's no explanation for his acts (save a clunky scene with his dominant mother - Judi Dench - regurgitating anti-Black rhetoric).
What makes this worse is the disfiguring make-up plastered over the younger cast members by this time. Leo's jowls are surprisingly solid but he compensates with a determined physical presence and some possible expression, Naomi Watts as his long-term secretary Helen Gandy largely gets away with her transformation, but poor Armie Hammer playing Associate Director Clyde Tolson peers helplessly through an impenetrable mask of latex unable to contort any facial muscles even before his debilitating stroke. Given the excellent make-up work in The Iron Lady and the modern advances in CGI aging techniques (not something the one take Eastwood would be interested in I expect) this seems utterly baffling.
Finally crowbarred into the narrative is a attempt to clarify Hoover personal relationship with his mother and with Tolson, alluding to the rumoured relationship between the two but without firmly decided whether the rumours are true or not. The film seems to side with an asexual love affair, with Hoover admitting he loves/needs Tolson only to himself and the relationship remaining unconsummated. There are a couple of scenes of hand-holding and one fist-fight inexorably heading towards a kiss but nothing towards romanticism or even hidden passion. Even Tolson's occasional calls for restraint are ignored by Hoover indicating there's little shared intellectual or emotional connection.
I am confused about where the blame lies in this muddled production. I considered laying it Eastwood's door, after all if I believe in auteur theory than the strengths of the director as author are also their failures, however whilst this clearly fits within his back-catalogue it's also his most hack-for-hire directorial work since 2002's Blood Work. The workmanlike approach and unfussy editing is all there, but there's no great resolve for story-telling, even his trademark themes of guilt, retribution and repentance are absent.
I can't even lay it at the hands of cinematographer Tom Stern (although it was terribly dark) or Eastwood's over-present score.
No, the finger of blame lies with Dustin Lance Black, Oscar winning screenwriter for Milk he hews too close to the successful formula he used previously. In Milk Sean Penn, as the titular Supervisor records a statement to be read after his death on a dictaphone detailing his career and personal life. With Harvey the political was the personal, his campaigns relate directly to the discrimination he experienced and the private and public life were visibly entangled. Hoover is writing a (massively embellished) history of the early years of the FBI to a string of untrusted lower level agents, people he sacks merely for not identifying Lindbergh as the most famous American of the 20th Century, so therefore he is unlikely to slip details of his weekend pursuits with Tolson, let alone the kiss, in which case where did those memories come from and how have the audiences heard/experienced them?
It's almost as if Black is using alleged homosexuality as an excuse for his criminality. If he's one of us then he's alright. Compounded by the crass repression by his mother in the absurd daffodil speech, and don't get me started on the cross-dressing grief bit seemingly lifted from a Dummies guide to Freud. No, Dustin, the relationships Hoover had with Tolson, his mother and Gandy are irrelevant and unconnected to his career, or at least if you think they are why didn't you make the point clear in the screenplay.
Ultimately it's what I said in the opening paragraph, decide why you're writing this biography, what is the aim, and simply skirting around the possibility of gay men in power is simply not enough. Audiences deserve better.
Monday, 23 January 2012
J. Edgar
Saturday, 21 January 2012
Who Watches the Watchman (Out this week - 20/01/12)
Things are hotting up in British cinemas this weekend, as we try to push through all the awards bait pictures before the BAFTA deadline, so this weekend there's FBI agents vs. Roman Generals vs. headline grabbing Royals. In terms of my most anticipated of these I will confess the poor reviews for Clint Eastwood's biopic have not significantly dampened my enthusiasm so film of the week is J. Edgar.
In terms of box office Haywire has the most screens this side of the pond, but I suspect that franchise familiarity may just help Kate Beckinsale and her lycanthropic frenemies will take the top spot.
J. Edgar
A couple of weeks ago the Margaret Thatcher biopic managed to squeak it's way to the top of my highly anticipated pile, even though it appeared to whitewash history, and suddenly here we are again with exactly the same thing only centred around the FBI's most notorious and mendacious head of. Still the performances by Leo DiCaprio and Armie Hammer (as his almost lover Clyde Tolson) sound like they could elevate the movie.
Runs like a Gay Excitometer: ●●●●●●●●○○
Coriolanus
Big screen Shakespeare is often a hit and miss affair, especially when bringing his work into modern dress (in spite of the tremendous success of modern design on stage), so there has been a noticeable trepidation from purists about Ralph Fiennes' update of the lesser known piece. That said the Chechnya like setting appears to work exceptionally well with Vanessa Redgrave and Jessica Chastain both receiving high praise in supporting roles.
Runs like a Gay Excitometer: ●●●●●●●○○○
Haywire
Steven Soderbergh exercises his action itch allowing MMA fighter Gina Carano her moment in the sun as nearly super-heroic Mallory Kane figuring out who double crossed her whilst fighting Channing Tatum, Michael Fassbender and Michael Douglas.
Runs like a Gay Excitometer: ●●●●●●○○○○
Nine Muses
I wasn't sure about including this as it's more documentary than narrative, indeed it started as a exhibit at the BFI. John Akomfrah's experimental film juxtaposes a retelling of Homer's Odyssey - using the UK immigrant experience in the 1960's - with images of an Alaskan winter. Beguiling trailer.
Runs like a Gay Excitometer: ●●●●●○○○○○
Red Light Revolution
Billed as China's first and only sex shop comedy (unsurprising given the limited scope of the sub-genre) the trailer links together the kind of jokes you'd expect from any sexual aid romp regardless of it's national origin, including some stunts I'm sure we'd all do if we were locked into Anne Summers overnight!
Runs like a Gay Excitometer: ●●●●○○○○○○
W.E.
Did you think, whilst watching last years terrific King's Speech that what the world really needed was a sympathetic look at Wallace and Edward in the months leading towards the UK's only abdication. (I actually thought last year's movie was fairly even-handed about Wallace, highlighting the snobbery from certain corners of the Family). Apparently Madonna wanted more so we get more in the shape of this hagiography of the central relationship and endless shots of gaudy jewels.
Runs like a Gay Excitometer: ●●●●○○○○○○
Sitter
If Jonah Hill picks up and Oscar nod next week for his supporting turn in Moneyball it'll be dreck like this unoriginal comedy from David Gordon Green that prevents him from winning the prize. Certainly avoidable.
Runs like a Gay Excitometer: ●●●○○○○○○○
Underworld: Awakening
It's not a critically lauded franchise, however the series has always produced decent returns and with Kate Beckinsale returning from her third movie hiatus this should clean up in the multiplexes. Stephen Rea sits on the didelines of the eternal battle between werewolves and vampires.
Runs like a Gay Excitometer: ●●●○○○○○○○
X: Night of Vengeance
Oz-sploitation thriller about two hookers caught up in a very unlikely mystery. Just listened to a review online that plainly stated most plot moving conversations co-incidently take place in bra and panties or even less. I'm sure it's fine if you like that sort of thing.
Runs like a Gay Excitometer: ●●○○○○○○○○
