Midnight In Paris

Midnight in Paris

OOO1/2

Rated PG-13 for some sexual references and smoking


I count myself as a Woody Allen fan, even though I've probably seen only half of the 41 movies he's directed, and none since 2000's Small Time Crooks.  I didn't care for that one, as I remember.  I thought it had a good set up and then kind of drifted a bit.  I understand he went through a critical drought for a while, and has since rebounded.  His latest romantic comedy, Midnight in Paris, sees Allen covering what is very familiar ground for him, but doing it in a fresh and quite enjoyable way, as well as delivering a solid message to boot.

Gill Pender (Owen Wilson) is on vacation in Paris with his fiance Inez (Rachel McAdams) and her parents (Kurt Fuller and Mimi Kennedy).  His future father-in-law is there on business, so the couple decide to tag along.  Gill is a Hollywood screenwriter who longs to be a serious author of novels, like his heroes Ernest Hemingway and F. Scott Fitzgerald.  He is also in love with Paris, only not as it exists today but rather as the mythic City of Lights of his imagination; an idealized "Golden Age" of the 1920's.  One night, after a little too much wine, he decides to take a walk while Inez goes dancing with friends of hers that happened to be in Paris at the same time.  Paul (Michael Sheen) teaches at the Sorbonne and comes off as a bit of a know it all.  After a couple of days of putting up with Paul's snobbery Gill takes this opportunity to sneak way on his own.  On a dark side street, as the chimes hit midnight, a mysterious 1920's vintage Peugeot limousine pulls up and he's encouraged to enter by what appears to be an equally tipsy group of revelers.  He's brought to a party and comes to the realization that its being hosted by Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald.  Hemingway is there to boot, and he even gets introduced to Gertrude Stein, who agrees to read the manuscript of the novel he's been working on. This is all too good to be true, and he is convinced that this is all just the red wine taking its toll.  But he finally understands that this all is really happening, and makes return visits each night.  Along the way he meets a beautiful and alluring woman (Marion Cotillard) who he falls immediately in love with.  As they get to know each other over the course of these nights she reveals that for her the Paris of the 1920's is ordinary and boring, but the true "Golden Age" was the Paris of Toulouse-Lautrec, Gauguin and Degas.  Eventually they find their way to the 1890's by a similarly odd circumstance that got Gill back to the 1920's, only to discover that the people of that time thought that the Renaissance was the true high point of Paris life, and their own age is a trifle.


Midnight in Paris has a basic message, that we should be happy in the time we are in and not try to idealize the past.  All ages are spectacular, and all are ordinary.   This is our Golden Age, if you will, and we'll miss it trying to live in a fantasy.

My only observation is that Allen's writing style is so distinctive it's almost becoming self parody.  Even though he's not acting in the picture, you know it's him speaking.  He's well into his seventies now, and he has made a boatload of movies, and a few stage plays as well, not to mention numerous short stories, so who am I do give him advise.  But I almost wish he would work with a co-writer, or adapt someone else's screenplay for a change.  I've met the snob before in other films of his, for instance, and the neurotic ticks that he gives his leading men are getting old.  And I'm not sure how much new he has to say about the relations between the sexes.

In the end, this is a very good film, inventive and imaginative.  He doesn't try to rationalize or explain away the situation; this guy really is being transported back in time, and there appears to be portals to other ages as well.  It's farcical and doesn't apologize for it. This is not a belly laugh type of movie, the humor is more subtle, but there is one brief gag toward the end that reminded me of his earlier films, when his comedy was more slapstick and crazy. It was almost like he was paying homage to himself, and I loved it.  The performances are solid all around, and rumors of French First Lady Carla Bruni's inability to act were highly exaggerated. She has but a cameo, and handles it just fine.  Also, Adrien Brody almost steals the movie with a couple of scenes as Salvador Dali which are truly uncanny and hilarious. 

I recommend Midnight in Paris.  It's message may not be all that profound, but it's worth being reminded of.  And it's delivered in that patented Woody Allen style, which for all its predictability is still pretty great.  And if all you walk out of the theater with is the lesson that these are the good old days, as Carly Simon might say, and that we better enjoy them while we have them, you got more than you would have from most of the other movies playing around town right now.

He Must Increase; I Must Decrease

When the story about John Corapi's forced leave from active ministry broke, on my birthday no less, I was disappointed.  I didn't want the charges against him to be true, and indeed the accusations made by a former employee are still hanging out there, yet to be proved. For the uninitiated, John Corapi is a Catholic priest and popular evangelist who has appeared on EWTN and Relevant Radio.  He has given retreats, missions and lecture tours, usually attracting large crowds.  His is a story of conversion from drug addiction, materialism and sins of the flesh to the Catholic priesthood.  He can be fiery and on target.  Or I should say was on target.  Impatient and disillusioned with the canonical process, he chose to make his leave permanent, announcing his decision by way of a You Tube video on June 17.  On June 20 he followed up with a second video (both are audio only, with a graphic showing on the screen).  The first announcement was pretty standard, but the second a bit more rambling and made me question his motives, and new information only seems to fan my suspicions.

There are two points, of the many he tried to make, that jumped out at me.  One was that, while leaving the priesthood is not easy, most of his work the past twenty years has been involved in mass media and communications, so it's not like much is going to change.  Oh really?  I'm sorry, to the depths of my being, that he holds the sacramental ministry he was ordained to perform so cheaply.  I am not the only one to be taken aback by this bizarre response from a priest facing the prospects of not being able to offer the Eucharist, hear confessions, baptize babies, anoint the dying or officiate at weddings anymore.  Anything a priest does, by way of a blog he might have, or retreats he preaches or classes he teaches or counseling he offers, to name just a few possible activities he could do, has as it's goal drawing people into greater communion with Christ's community and participation in His life giving sacraments, particularly Eucharist and Reconciliation.  This makes me wonder what Mr. Corapi's motivations were in pursuing his media career, and if they had changed over time.

The second point is related to the first; that in the future the topics he will touch upon are going be broader than in the past.  So what now? Is he hanging up his mission to evangelize to become just another political pundit?  Or is he going to comment on sports?  Is he going to be a cultural critic?  Maybe a new cooking show is in the works?  Or, better yet, a radio talk show.  Just what the world needs, another talking head spewing his or her own opinions.  Will is views be consistent with the past, or now that he doesn't have bishops or religious superiors to be accountable to he can tell us what he really thinks?  (Not that he was terribly hamstrung in the past. ) Again, what was more important to him, his priesthood or his career in the relative limelight of Catholic media?  Now that he has been sidelined, is it that he can't bare not celebrating the sacraments publicly, as would burden just about any suspended priest, or is it his lost soap box that's getting under his skin?  I point you to the paragraph above for the answer.

Today was the Solemnity of the Nativity of St. John the Baptist.  The Baptist was fiery and bold; he kicked cans and took names, and it cost him his head.  John was not speaking for himself, but for Jesus.  He went to great lengths to tell people that One was coming who was greater than he.  He did not seek to build himself up, but prepared the way for the Good News of God's redemption.  This is the model for all evangelizers, whether they speak boldly like Mr. Corapi did, or more gently like Fr. Barron does.  Whatever the style it is crucial to work with a spirit of humility knowing that the internet or cable TV are just tools at the service, not of our own personal message, but of Christ's message of love and repentance for the world.  And this mission always comes with a cross.  There is no avoiding it. 

I do have sympathy for Mr. Corapi's situation.  The process for investigating accusations against priests is flawed.  The bishops conference was besieged in 2002 and they put in place a policy that was more of a reaction motivated by fear than a well thought out response to a very real and tragic crisis.  But it is the policy we have, and it is for us to bare the crosses we are asked to in faith, even as we try to fix what is broken in the present policy.  Mr. Corapi, who wants to be known as the Black Sheep Dog now, made a choice.  Three months was too long to be without his microphone, and so he puts aside his priestly ministry to pursue his own personal goals.  As a priest, I can't think of anything more heartbreaking.  I don't care how unjust the investigative process is, to give up this great vocation so easily is beyond my ability to comprehend. 

Pray for him, and for all evangelizers, that we may always remember Who it is we serve, Whose message we are carrying and Whose glory we are seeking.

Super 8

Super 8

OOO1/2 

PG-13-for intense sequences of sci-fi action and violence and some drug use.

You know you're getting old when the years you spent in junior high serve as the nostalgic back drop for a summer movie.  Super 8, the new sci-fi / monster block buster, written and directed by J.J. Abrams, follows the adventures of six middle schoolers during the summer of 1979, and gets some things right, even if the ending is all wrong.

In general, I don't think of the late 1970's as a carefree, innocent time, the mood often being invoked when a movie is set in the distant, or even not so distant, past, with preteens taking the central roles.  Abrams does give a nod to Cold War anxieties and hints at the Three Mile Island Nuclear Plant accident that happened in the spring of that year, but he misses that it was a time of economic recession and general malaise in the country.  There was a feeling at the time that the U.S.'s best days were in the past.  A movie that projected this mood much better was 2004's Miracle, about the 1980 U.S. Gold Metal winning hockey team.  Abrams gets many of the pop culture references right, but I have a feeling he was shy about inviting comparisons between that economically troubled age and our own.

But placing the movie in the era of analogue does give it a great advantage in telling it's story, since it forces the characters live with a bit of uncertainty.  There is no internet to get information from.  There are no digital cameras that give instant playback (they actually have to wait three days to get film developed; a rush order at that) and there are no cell phones for instant communication.  They are driving blind with the high tech tools of 1979 at their disposal, that to us look pretty ancient.

The movie opens at the funeral repast of the mother of one of a gang of amateur film makers, Joe Lamb (Joel Courtney).  The boy has a poor relationship with his deputy sheriff father (Kyle Chandler), and the neighbors wonder how the two will cope with their new reality.  Four months later, as summer vacation begins, the two disagree over how the next couple of months should be spent; Joe wants to stay home to help his friend finish his home made zombie movie, shot with, you got it, super 8 mm film, while his father wants him to go to baseball camp. That night he sneaks out with his friends to film a scene for the movie at an abandoned train station.  They are driven there by Alice (Elle Fanning, Dakota's younger sister), who has taken her father's car.  While filming the scene there is a horrific train crash, instigated by a mysterious white pickup that drives onto the tracks.  This sets off a series of strange events; runaway pets, vanishing power lines, a rash of stolen small appliances and car motors, disappearing town's people and the immediate descent upon the small hamlet of the U.S. Air Force.

That's about all I'm going to give away about the story mainly because, even though its a pretty standard sci-fi plot, it is allowed to unfold slowly, which makes just about any detail I might reveal a bit of a spoiler.  That is what I really liked about the movie; the viewer is discovering things along with the characters, who are allowed time to get to know each other and themselves.  There is plenty of over the top, bordering on ridiculous, action you would expect from a summer pop corn movie, but there are also quiet moments that make the kids more than just avatars in a video game, but real people.  They're actually written like middle school kids.  Many times teenage or preteen characters are written like young adults, only more obnoxiously and with greater sophistication than the grown-ups.  In Super 8 they are given all the awkward, inadequate, overly emotional and inarticulate mannerisms that comes with the age.  They are not stupid; their feelings are real, but they are still figuring out the right way to express them. 

As I wrote, the film reveals its mysteries slowly.  These quiet moments are used for character development and exposition, the part of a movie where the action stops and needed background is given, in many movies by way of artificial and awkward speeches given by one of the players. Here the exposition is blended in naturally and seems to be a part of the narrative as opposed to an annoying, if necessary, pit stop to give information that the audience needs to keep the story making sense. 

I have gone all this way, and have not mentioned that Abrams, who produced the monster movie Cloverfield (2008) and directed the Star Trek reboot (2009), is paying homage to the early block busters of Steven Spielberg, and he has taken some heat to not simply honoring, but downright plagiarizing his hero. Spielberg is one of the producers, so I don't think he has to worry about being sued.  Yes, Abrams investigates themes familiar to Spielberg's 70's and 80's movies; young kids dealing with the loss of a parent either through divorce or death, misunderstanding adults, suspicious government agents, an unseen monster, and  an alien trying to get home, placed in a suburban setting.  I don't share in the plagiarism charge, or at least don't take it seriously, mainly because it's impossible to make a movie of this kind without cribbing from Spielberg, the man who, along with George Lucus, created the modern summer blockbuster.  Besides, he said that this is what he was going to do, and by gum he did it, and did it well. 

There are really three movies that Super 8 draws from; E.T., Jaws and Jurassic Park, with maybe a dash of Close Encounters.  The monster is a menacing enigma who's identity is uncovered in stages, much like the shark in Jaws, which was a good touch.  My problem is that they want it both ways; they give the intense menace of Jaws or of the dinosaurs in Jurassic Park but with the feel-good ending of E.T.  There has been a trend in Hollywood over the last twenty years of not wanting to make villains from any identifiable ethic or racial group, unless they are blonde  haired, blue eyed Aryans.  The makers of 2002's Sum of all Fears were so nervous about upsetting Arab and Muslim groups that they changed the bad guys from Islamic terrorists to European Neo-Nazis (yeah, there's a real topical threat to world security; a couple of ninety year old cranks confined to an oxygen tent in a Buenos Aires nursing home).   Now it seems they're even afraid to make a mythic creature into a villain.  I could have bought the ending if they had stopped short on the level of villainy the creature is capable of.

My only other criticism, and this is a trifle I admit, is that the movie takes place in a fictional central Ohio town and I knew as I was watching it, from my four years in the Buckeye State, that the place was simply too hilly to be anywhere near Dayton.  And indeed, as I found out later, it was filmed in West Virginia.

So, yes, a recommendation from me.  It will be a bit too intense for younger kids, and there is a use of strong language that seemed unnecessary.  I'm not naive, I was roughly the main character's age in 1979, I know we sometimes used "naughty words" in a misguided attempt to make ourselves feel older and sophisticated.  Here it just seemed to be thrown in arbitrarily.

A Schizophrenic Age

I once heard Cardinal Francis George of Chicago comment that we live in a schizophrenic age where sex is concerned.  We promote ourselves as an open and tolerant society where the old Victorian rules that defined sexual propriety no longer apply, yet we are quick to point an accusatory finger at the peccadilloes of those in public, and even semi-public, life.  On one hand the taste makers and purveyors of the "new morality" want to say anything goes, but when people actually act out on these revised mores the puritanical impulses in our cultural make-up come out in force, along with lawyers and publicists.  To expand on the idea a bit, we, as a society, are in the midst of redefining marriage beyond recognition but then get upset when people treat the sacred bonds as something less then holy.

Yes, we live in a schizophrenic age, and we long ago lost our sexual moorings.  In 1983 there was a scandal involving congressmen and improprieties with their teenaged pages, and they got off with a censure.  One of them, Gerry Studds, insisted that this was his private life and the press could take a walk.  He only admitted that he shouldn't have been involved with a staff member, but the age of his partner was no one's business since the lad was over 16, the age of consent in D.C. at that time.  And you know, it worked.  He was reelected six times after his censure until he retired in 1997.  Am I the only one to see the irony in that?


If you haven't figured it out yet, this post has been prompted by the Anthony Weiner "sexting" scandal.  That chastity and fidelity are too often casualties of political life should not shock us.  This is not to excuse politicians who cheat on their spouses, much less abuse the help, but leaders as diverse as King David, Charlemagne and John F. Kennedy have found sexual continence a challenge.  And no, I'm not one of those who says, "well it's their private life and has nothing to do with their ability to govern."  David's infidelity influenced his military decisions and ended in murder.  Many have questioned if JFK's escapades didn't indeed compromise his ability to govern, considering that at various times in his life he had paramours connected with Nazi Germany and the Mob.  Adultery is destructive, and we should expect our leaders to be faithful to their commitments, both private and public, because they represent us.  They represent the best, hopefully, of what we want to be as a people.  


Beyond this there is something especially disturbing about the recent spate of scandals that we have witnessed in the last few years.  These aren't simply powerful men with mistresses or unhappy women cheating on their husbands.  These things have been happening for time immemorial.  We're not talking about tragic love affairs or people in unhappy marriages falling in love with another, and fate is either keeping them apart or forcing them to keep their love a secret.  Those are the stuff of epic poems and romantic legend.  While we never condone sin, there is a humanity to some of those situations that draw our sympathy, even as we disapprove of the behavior.  On the other hand the Anthony Weiner, Chris Lee and Tiger Woods scandals seem to have more to do with an arrested development than with star crossed love.  While the public response does bare some of the strange, puritanical voyeurism that marks our age, I believe that deep down people know that these people are just plain weird and need to get a real life.

Yes, cheating happens, but what the three people I mentioned above have engaged in is simply adolescent foolishness.  St. Augustine is famous for his struggles with chastity in his early life, but the days when his reputation was made were actually pretty short.  When he was about 17 he found himself away from home, away from parental supervision and made a two or three year weekend out of it.  By the time he was in his early twenties he was settled into a monogamous relationship that lasted thirteen years before his eventual conversion.  Woods, Lee and Weiner either had more partners than the population of a small Third World Country, sent silly images of themselves to strangers or downright pornographic images to every female on his buddy list.  And whats more they are between the ages of 35 and 47, well past the point where they could pull the youthful indiscretion card.

We not only live in a schizophrenic age but an adolescent age.  Our collective sexual development seems to have been arrested and I see two main reasons for this: the glorification of youthfulness and the mainstreaming of pornography in the culture.  As you can see I have my next two topics picked out already. Stay tuned.

Video Review: Quantum of Solace

A big reason my blog output has been so meager the last few weeks is that I'm preparing conferences for a Salesian confreres' retreat that I've been asked to give in August.  It's actually two retreats now, since the original speaker for the first one in August had to bow out do to an assignment change. It's still only one set of talks I have to prepare, but I have a little less time to get them together now.  

In the midst of all the reading and outlining (I plan to get down to the actual writing by the end of the week) I took a break to catch a movie that surprisingly got past me, 2008's Quantum of Solace, the latest entry in the almost 50 year old James Bond franchise.  Surprising because I hardly ever miss a James Bond movie.   I liked the direction the series took when they cast Daniel Craig in the lead in 2006's Casino Royale, a "reboot" of the franchise which went back to Bond's origins to show how 007 became 007.  Quantum received lukewarm reviews when it came out, and the word of mouth I got on it from friends wasn't great either, so I dragged my feet and finally decided to wait for the video.  Little did I know it would take me almost three years to finally get around to seeing it.

I have very mixed feelings about Quantum.  Though Casino Royale is a superior movie, it's about twenty minuted too long, whereas this film is tighter and runs at a quicker pace.  The action is what one would expect from a Bond movie, with real suspense.  Even though you know 007 is going to make it through the various tight spots he gets into, there are real moments of doubt until he finally does.  Continuing the style of the first movie, the amount of physical abuse Bond takes is incredible.  It's almost sadomasochistic, to tell the truth.  This is the new, gritty, twenty-first century James Bond, which, like I wrote already, I like.  But this installment misses something that each Bond, save one, had which is a sense of humor.  The mood is so heavy and dark I almost forgot I was watching a Bond movie.  It reminded me a little of the Timothy Dalton era installments, which is not a complement.  Dalton is a good actor, but his Bond was a humorless bore, and he was dismissed from the role after two forgettable movies.   While I don't think Craig's performance deserves a sacking, I hope the next film in the series, scheduled to begin filming after lengthy delays at the end of this year, lightens the tone a bit.

At the heart of this typical mad man or in this case mad people, trying to dominate the world story, is a quest for revenge.  Vesper Lynd, Bond's love interest from the first movie who died leaving him with a broken heart and shattered ideals serves as 007's motivation.  He wants to kill the man who turned her wrong.  Even though this is the first true sequel among the Bond movies, nothing really connects the two plots except the Lynd storyline, and then it seems tacked on.   That the main plot is a bit difficult to follow doesn't help.  I can put up with the ambiguity of the plot (who sees one of these things for the story anyway?) but the insistence on making this a revenge picture darkens the entire proceeding.  Craig is dower and irritable the whole way through.  Even Felix Leiter, his buddy from the CIA, is in a perpetual bad mood.  Sean Connery, who will always be the best Bond to my mind, had an edge, but there was also a lightness of touch, a macho charm that left no mystery as to why the ladies always swooned.  Here Bond is cold and determined, with none of the class and wit of Connery or Roger Moore (who I never could warm up to, but have grown to appreciate).

Then there is the collateral damage that is just staggering for a Bond movie.  Innocent bystanders are offed with impunity (always by the bad guys, but still).  There is an opening car chase scene reminiscent of the chase in  the 1998 Robert De Niro thriller Ronin where it seemed like half of Nice ended up either in the emergency room or the morgue.  This time it's Siena, and even the people attending the biannual Palio horse race are placed in danger.  Did I mention that I like the grit and realism brought to the role by Daniel Craig? Nonetheless the producers and director seemed to forget that this is still a Bond movie.  Where's the comic relief we get from the banter with Miss Moneypenny and Q?  To totally eliminate the whimsy and charm from the series, as they have, is to move so far away from its spirit as to almost create a different character.

So a mixed review here.  The action was good, I still think Craig is the best Bond since Connery, but the gloom that hangs over this picture keeps me from recommending it.