maxo.baxo

Go Kings Go! (Taken with instagram)

My 5 to 7 (Taken with instagram)

My 9 to 5 (Taken with instagram)

salesonfilm:

I’m sorry these are so frightfully delayed. Post-surgery I was in no condition to form a coherent thought, let alone write them down. As a consequence, my Films in 2011 posts are weeks behind schedule. I will endeavor (fingers crossed) to catch up quickly and post two reviews a day. 

#003 — Rabbit Hole (John Cameron Mitchell, 2010) 

Rabbit Hole has thus far failed to gain much awards season traction, which is a damned shame because it’s one of the finest films of 2010. It’s a triumph for as much as it gets right as it is for as much as it doesn’t get wrong. Stories of grieving parents, of loss, of mourning and all its attendant melodrama, are usually schlock minefields where every director’s tendency is to hold for long takes on the actors’ Big Emotional Scene, noses wet from minutes worth of tears and snot because Dammit, our son is dead! 

Mercifully, and perhaps even miraculously, the film avoids such theatrics—everything in Rabbit Hole is pitch-perfect. Becca (Nicole Kidman) and Howie (Aaron Eckhart) are beginning to rebuild their lives after having lost their five-year old in a tragic car accident. It sounds bleak, it sounds horrible. By all rites, the film should be oppressive and mournful and interminably meditative—it’s not. Although genuinely moving, Rabbit Hole doesn’t fall (haha) into the trap of many similar films. Becca and Howie are trying their damnedest to come to some catharsis. No longer in the throes of abject grief, the kind that grips and consumes you for the first six months or so, they’ve moved into the dissipated, dull void of post-tragedy, everyday existence. It’s an odd no man’s land, a sensation unfamiliar to those who have not gone through such an experience themselves. 

Director John Cameron Mitchell has clearly felt the numbing pain of this kind of loss. (Indeed, the death of his brother as a child convinced him he could direct the project.) Despite Mitchell’s personal connection, there’s never a tinge of exploitation or a hint of issues being worked out mid-movie. Mitchell’s skillful directorial hand is in every frame of the film; it’s a subtle and near-imperceptible quality of self-assurance, of knowledge and familiarity with the emotional and physical landscapes of his characters. Never is it too heavy, never is it too showy. He also navigates the sometimes problematic milieu of an upper-middle class, upstate New York couple (all pastel-colored polos, luxury vehicles and absurdly well-furnished rooms) with proletarian ease. Which is not to say he condescends to making value judgements on Becca and Howie’s obvious wealth and privilege; the way in which Mitchell’s camera lingers on the suddenly empty house suggesting the absence of a child’s laughter goes a long way towards eliminating the distance between viewer and subject without forcing the issue. The couple may be rich, but their son is still dead.

Anchoring the emotional authenticity of the film are Kidman and Eckhart, both of whom have seldom been better. They accomplish something truly rare playing a long-married couple (they met in college) who actually love each other, despite going through the most destructive trauma any couple could endure. They don’t collapse into the screaming/distant, divorce-imminent cliches. Their one on-screen fight is a master class in control and precision character work. Eckhart is especially good in the scene as a husband who’s so tired of being frustrated, who yearns so badly to return to normalcy, who loves his wife so much he wants to give her the peace he knows she needs but may never find. The two are so well-cast, it surprises you when you realize how rarely actors ever behave like a real couple would. Rabbit Hole’s unpretentious, steadfast commitment to realism catches you off guard; it’s such a refreshing novelty. 

Realism belies a lack of singular emotion and the film is not just painful or dour or mournful. Kidman and Eckhart’s comedic chops are also on display, especially during scenes of a group therapy session for grieving parents. Both give finely tuned comedic performances which help innumerably to lighten the mood. You get the sense these are real people who had actually laughed and loved and enjoyed themselves before we were privy to their problems. 

But Rabbit Hole is also an incredible ensemble piece. As Becca’s mother Diane Wiest gives a classic supporting performance, tackling a moving and insightful speech about coping with loss that should become an instant classic. Anyone who has lived through a death will be nodding along in agreement; it’s sage wisdom, all the more bittersweet for its resonance. My favorite performance in the film, however, goes to a young actor with whom I was entirely unfamiliar: Miles Teller. He plays Jason, a high school senior whom Becca begins stalking, for lack of a better word. They strike up an unlikely friendship (I won’t spoil why), meeting every so often on a park bench. Jason and Becca have a bond that excludes anyone else from understanding their unique regrets; together they serve as therapist and patient. Teller, in these park bench scenes in particular, is absolutely riveting. Just watching and listening to him tell stories is one of the most mesmerizing, enthralling experiences of the year. Jason is immeasurably damaged, a quiet and studious young man who made one terrible mistake which will never leave him. Like Becca, change was thrust upon him; every pent-up sorrow and shame is telegraphed on Teller’s face. No doubt the actor’s relative obscurity aids the character—I’ve never seen a teenager portrayed exactly like this: essentially honest and kind, without a hint of cynicism but a world-weariness that’s carefully earned. 

Rabbit Hole caught me entirely by surprise; it’s one of the most successful mood pieces I’ve seen in years, exquisitely cast and executed by a strong ensemble of fine actors at the peak of their powers, and skillfully shepherded by a director whose style aids in setting the tone instead of overpowering it with visual excess. 

(via legoexpress)

gypsyville:

i wish. i wish. i wish.

littlemovienerd:

oldfilmsflicker:

just Hitchcock being cooler than you.

third time I’ve reblogged this.  I have no regrets.

jayparkinsonmd:

The Hazards of the Couch (NY Times):

Many of us sit in front of a computer for eight hours a day, and then go home and head for the couch to surf the Web or watch television, exchanging one seat and screen for another. Even if we try to squeeze in an hour at the gym, is it enough to counteract all that motionless sitting?

A mounting body of evidence suggests not.

Increasingly, research is focusing not on how much exercise people get, but how much of their time is spent in sedentary activity, and the harm that does.

The latest findings, published this week in The Journal of the American College of Cardiology, indicate that the amount of leisure time spent sitting in front of a screen can have such an overwhelming, seemingly irreparable impact on one’s health that physical activity doesn’t produce much benefit.

Photo of my friend Noah Brier from Gabriela Herman’s portraits of bloggers.

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