Sins of the Father, Son and 'House of Gucci'
#153: "House of Gucci," "King Richard," "C'mon C'mon," "Get Back"
Edition 153:
Hey movie lovers!
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In this week’s newsletter: We’re making up for lost time, reviewing two weeks worth of releases including the bizarro House of Gucci, the emotionally poignant C’mon C’mon, the overrated King Richard, and the appropriately beloved Get Back. In this week’s “Trailer Watch,” I simply cannot believe this movie is not a joke? Please tell me it’s a joke!
House of Gucci
(Theaters, Netflix)
Consider for a minute Ridley Scott, an 84-year-old filmmaker responsible for authoring no less than three movies on the highest echelon of cinema’s hall of fame in Blade Runner, Alien and Gladiator. He can command budgets, movie stars, and major studio distribution for pretty much any project he signs onto.
Forgive me for assuming that a director of that caliber, releasing a star-studded movie in the heart of awards season, was going to do something serious.
If you go into this docudrama about the corrupting greed of the Gucci family expecting, ya know, The Godfather, or even “Succession,” prepare to be disappointed.
What House of Gucci is is a maximalist hammy campfest. The critical reaction seems to be echoing the “uneven tone” consensus, but I’d argue one would have the same reading of Anchorman if one went into it looking for The Great American Film.
Before I realized the movie was in on the joke, I was legitimately baffled by the movie’s editing. Now I’m not enough of a movie nerd to notice these things normally, but the loud needle drops of pop music and the abrupt cuts in and out of scenes cut the legs out of any dramatic effect. And speaking of bad editing, this movie is two hours and 38 minutes long (and let me tell you, it’s no Dune).
But from the perspective of pure comedy, these pieces start to make sense. You know how at the end of a comedy sketch there’s usually a hard out for comedic effect? A lot of sketch shows even have a piano player to play music to emphasize the punchline. That’s kind of how this movie is put together. I half expected a rim shot (ba-dum-dsh).
More obviously, it’s a collection of American actors all playing wealthy and morally bankrupt Italians. Their voices alone are a full ham sandwich. Lady Gaga sounds like she’s from Transylvannia, Jared Leto sounds full its-a-me-a-Mario, and Al Pacino sounds like…well, Al Pacino.
Gaga is the star, a one-of-a-kind magnetic presence with a frenetic energy and naked ambition that pairs extremely well with her character Patrizia Reggiani, who worms her way from a poor upbringing into the prestigious family.
The host to her parasite is played by Adam Driver, who seems incapable of giving performances under an 8.5 out of 10. He and Leto play the younger generation of the family business to Pacino and Jeremy Irons, and the movie also features Salma Hayek as an infomercial psychic.
Every single one of those characters is dressed head to toe in immaculate Gucci wardrobe, living in exquisite villas in Milan and across Europe, and modulating their performances all the way up to 11 from start to finish.
Basically what I’m getting at is this movie is kinda insane, kinda hilarious, and kinda a mess. It’s thrilling to watch moment-to-moment, but never really comes together into a cohesive whole. So it’s a really hard one to evaluate. For what it’s worth, I like Ridley Scott’s earlier movie this year, The Last Duel, much more.
C’mon C’mon
(Theaters)
Joaquin Phoenix might be the most talented actor of weirdos and oddballs on the planet, so I guess it was only appropriate that before long he would play…a journalist (boom self own).
This story isn’t really about journalism, though it does feature some real life interviews conducted by Phoenix (and real-life WNYC journo Molly Webster) as a kind of Ira Glass “This American Life”-type radio producer. He captures well the unrealistic job description of the modern journalist — part reporter, part audio technician, part philosopher, part therapist.
Into this mix comes an even more difficult role: father figure. When his sister (the always-good Gaby Hoffman) calls him in to watch over her son for a few days (which turns into a few weeks), Phoenix’s character gets a crash course in teaching, and learning from, a young boy (played exceptionally by Woody Norman, whose future looks bright).
The movie isn’t much of a movie at all, making very little attempt to construct plot or structure and cribbing a dreamy black-and-white aesthetic to double-down on the surreal nature of the concept. None of that stops it from being one of the most profound and heart-warming movies of the year, using that mix of fiction and reality much like Nomadland to explore the human condition — namely, the fact that none of us know what we’re doing and or how to cope with bad stuff that happens for seemingly no reason.
That function-over-fashion ethos makes it a movie version of what we in the inky business call “service journalism,” a term used to describe pieces that “serve” the viewer in some practical way (“the 10 best restaurants in Los Angeles,” etc). The term carries a derogatory meaning in this era of listicle junk, but the reality is these are the stories we need. Same goes for C’mon C’mon.
And it’s not like the movie is without style. Phoenix’s performance as an empathetic but damaged fish-out-water is fantastic, no surprise, and his chemistry with Norman carries the movie in moments both hilarious and emotional. And several of the scenes do an excellent job maximizing the black-and-white contrast, creating some beautiful shots.
Your enjoyment with the movie will depend on whether you connect to it emotionally, which will probably depend on both your station in life and your relationship with your own parents. It’s certainly left me thinking about its themes several days after walking out of the theater.
King Richard
(Theaters, HBO Max)
The Best Picture hype surrounding this Williams sisters biopic started in earnest after the movie’s premiere at AFI Fest, but my take then and now was that it was a kind of cynical, proactive backlash against what’s still considered to be a mostly Old White Guy voting body.
Of course “they” would love this movie. It’s remarkably old school, the kind of mid-budget, middle brow, competently constructed and formulaically structured story that would’ve probably been a big hit 20 years ago both critically and commercially.
Sometimes you have to just appreciate a well done movie for movie’s sake, regardless of whether the whole thing lacks any sense of urgency or electricity. Each aspect is just as it should be, creating moments that each elicit the reaction they’re meant to.
I suppose the reason I didn’t fall in love with the movie was the authorized nature of the project, executive produced by Venus and Serena Williams (and, one would have to imagine, heavily consulted by them).
Despite the fact that the movie does depict some less-than-flattering aspects of Richard Williams, it comes across feeling like strategic concessions in service of a more righteous mission. And it certainly makes a compelling defense of Williams, whose reputation previously skewed harsher, toward crazy sports parent, but it’s hard to shake the feeling throughout the movie that you’re being sold a bill of goods. In terms of evaluating the movie, I do find it very telling that all of the conversation I’ve seen about is about the Williams sisters themselves rather than the filmmaking.
Let’s not lose sight, however, of the fact that this movie exists as a star vehicle and more specifically an awards vehicle for Will Smith.
Smith has been very candid throughout his career about his ambitions of being the biggest movie star in the world, with little regard for critical or awards appraisal. And yet, similar to Adam Sandler, every now and then he pops in to remind us that he can be one of the best actors in the world when he wants to be. This performance harnesses his incredible charisma and presence to heighten his very specific choices about the King Richard character. All told, he nails it and deserves his status as Best Actor front-runner.
It’s enough to make the movie well worth your time, a lovable yet forgettable (to me) down the middle sports movie. Love it and leave it.
Get Back
(Disney+)
If ever there was a movie project that needed less of a sell, it’s “hey we have 60 hours of behind-the-scenes footage of The Beatles nobody has ever seen.”
Originally, director Peter Jackson had planned a feature film, but the decision was made (wisely) that people just really want to experience as much of this treasure trove as possible.
The resulting project feels much more like an archaeological dig than a narrative movie, or even a limited series. There’s a loose story by way of circumstance — the band has two weeks to write a new album before performing it live in a world-televised special — but more or less it’s 7.5 hours of The Fab Four sitting in a tight circle around their instruments.
They laugh, they bicker, and they improvise music. Witnessing their dynamic is as fascinating as any story could be. At various points they get angry with each other and the band seems to break up, at other times they display remarkable friendship. And pretty much all the time, their genius is on display. To see a random guitar strum slowly turn into a song as iconic as “Get Back” isn’t just like seeing a magic trick, it’s like witnessing actual magic.
To hear George being jealous of Eric Clapton, or Paul imitating Elvis, or John strumming the theme song to my all-time favorite movie (The Third Man!) is the kind of casual vulnerability that celebrities today would never allow. Really, that’s the thing that makes this documentary so electric. In 1968, rock stars were far less media savvy (in an awesome way!), and don’t know any better than to just act like themselves while on camera.
Admittedly, I’ve only seen the first 2.5-hour “episode,” but I can’t wait to binge the rest this weekend.
Trailer Watch: Marry Me
I haven’t been this blown away by (and laughed harder at) a trailer since the first time I saw Mel Gibson in Fatman. Let me be clear, in this instance that’s not necessarily a good thing. I just can’t believe a movie this ridiculously stupid exists, and on top of that they got Jennifer Lopez and Owen Wilson to star in it?!?! At least Fatman was intentionally campy.
This literally looks like a Saturday Night Live sketch! Am I being punk’d??