Review: "Mark Felt: The Man Who Brought Down the White House"

How do you portray a person whose most notable attribute was remaining an enigma?

That’s the challenge facing the long-gestating cinematic portrayal of Mark Felt, the FBI lifer who was eventually revealed to be “Deep Throat,” a key source to the Washington Post stories on Watergate by Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein, which more than anything else helped end the cancerous presidency of Richard Nixon.

For writer/director Peter Landesman (“Concussion”), the answer is you cast a powerhouse actor in the lead role, show the Watergate saga from the perspective of the government investigators, present a dizzying gallery of players inside and outside the FBI, and hope for the best.

The result, “Mark Felt: The Man Who Brought Down the White House,” is a noble effort that doesn’t quite sing. The film ends up getting caught in the minutia of the investigation, rather than exploring the moral quandary of Washington’s rot, and why a loyal company man like Felt was compelled to speak up (if not out).

Liam Neeson, decked out in a snowy hairpiece and ‘70s executive suits, manages to resemble Felt a wee bit. He’s obviously practiced the real man’s stiff, formal speaking cadence -- though this was maybe a time when it might have been wiser to personify rather than impersonate a historical figure.

(For a contrasting example, see Chadwick Boseman’s brash take on Thurgood Marshall in “Marshall.”)

As the story opens in 1972, Nixon seems to be riding a wave to easy reelection when the Watergate break-in and arrests occur. Almost right away, Felt, the number two man at the FBI, understands the potential for the scandal to go right to the top of the White House hierarchy. He gears up his forces to investigate the crime without fear or favor to any potential consequences.

But then FBI chief J. Edgar Hoover dies after five decades at the top. Felt would seem to be the natural choice to take the director’s chair, but White House flunky L. Patrick Gray is tapped instead. Gray is played by Marton Csokas, who practically seems to drip oily servility. In short order, Felt is instructed to wrap up the Watergate investigation toot suite, and is told who he can and cannot interview.

Felt starts dropping clues for journalists to pick up the thread, including Sandy Smith (Bruce Greenwood) at Time magazine and Woodward (Julian Morris). As his frustration grows, so does the level of detail in his leaks. Soon, on top of the Watergate investigation Felt is charged with discovering the leaker.

Felt eventually outed himself as Deep Throat in 2005, when ill health and the encouragement of his family nudged him to seek a book deal. (Upon which this film is partially based.) Many people had speculated over the years that Felt may have been the Post source, with the shorthand justification being that he was an ambitious man who felt snubbed at not getting the top job.

The film takes a more nuanced approach, suggesting that Felt was less offended over his own status than the injurious tactics the Nixon administration employed against a government agency whose mission he held sacred. On several occasions he brazenly tells White House power brokers, such as chief counsel John Dean (Michael C. Hall), that they have no authority over the FBI, which he declares a completely autonomous agency.

Given today’s political contretemps, such an assertion seems comedically archaic.

An important subplot to the tale, which isn’t well known, is that Felt’s own daughter, Joan, had disappeared during this time. He and his wife, Audrey (Diane Lane), searched desperately for her, fearing she may have thrown in with the Weather Underground, a radical group that he himself had been investigating.

Just how good was Mark Felt at keeping a secret? Let’s put it this way: when he was later put on trial for violating the civil rights of Weather Underground associates -- and convicted, then pardoned -- one of the people who donated to Felt’s legal fund was Richard Nixon.

That sounds like the sort of guy whose head you’d like to get inside. Alas, while “Mark Felt” is an interesting exploration of Watergate’s flip side, the man in the middle remains a riddle.

Review: "Paris Can Wait"

Eleanor Coppola has seemingly had a full life, wife of Francis Ford and mother of Sophia and two others. Over the years she shot footage on their movie sets, which formed the spine of the landmark 1992 documentary, “Hearts of Darkness: A Filmmaker’s Apocalypse,” and a few documentary shorts.

Now, at 81, Eleanor has written and directed her first feature film, “Paris Can Wait,” about an older woman going on an unexpected romantic adventure in France.

What a sheer delight -- the movie itself, and Coppola’s resounding affirmation that it’s never too late to chase dreams.

Diane Lane plays Anne, wife of Michael (Alec Baldwin), a powerful and distracted movie producer. They’re in France for vacation, but Michael spends most of his time on the phone dealing with a production in crisis in Morocco. The director wants a hundred camels for his scene, but the script calls for goats -- and Michael happens to know they work cheaper.

There’s clearly affection between them, but they’ve settled into a late middle age routine of not being fully present even when they’re around each other. They have a grown daughter in college, Anne recently closed up a dress shop when her partner moved away, and she’s standing on a precipice where she has to figure out what form the rest of her life is going to take.

Anne and Michael are supposed to fly to Budapest -- private jet, natch -- before returning to France to stay in a friend’s Paris apartment. But she develops an ear infection and the pilot warns the flight could be very painful for her. Michael’s producing partner, Jacques (Arnaud Viard), offers to drive her to Paris in his car instead.

Since it’s obvious Michael is not going to pay her any attention for the next few days, everyone agrees.

The French version of the road trip is very different from an American one. Jacques owns an ancient, temperamental two-seater. He likes to stop every hour or so to stretch legs, have a smoke and add coolant to the radiator. Anne notes that the first hourly stop actually happens after just 42 minutes.

Jacques is about Anne’s age, a charming bachelor who views flirtation as his civic duty as a Frenchman. He likes to point out landmarks and detail the history behind them. And he loves food, so their detours become destinations as they explore restaurants, grocers, cafes.

They talk a lot about how different the French and Americans are, but without a sense of enmity. To Jacques, it’s perfectly natural to spend two days on a drive that should take a few hours, or to consume everything in life that appeals, without guilt.

“We eat what we enjoy,” he says, clearly inferencing more than just food.

Anne grows gradually suspicious. Is Jacques just toying, or putting moves on her? Frantic phone calls from Michael indicate he’s worried it’s the latter. “Frenchmen have no scruples about married women,” he growls.

There are other concerns. Jacques is having trouble with his credit card, so Anne must pay for everything with a promise of reimbursement when they reach Paris. He also seems to know -- and be known by -- pretty women everywhere they stop.

He’s not especially handsome: thinning gray hair, turkey neck and a paunch. But there’s something about the twinkle in his eye and kind voice, speaking so lightly he barely seems to touch the consonants.

Lane positively glows in the film, playing a woman who’s smart and savvy, but a little unsure of herself. She likes to take photographs of everything she encounters, especially food and fabrics, extreme closeups that suggest the greater whole. The vivid, colorful cinematography by Crystel Fournier is just stunning.

They keep traveling, and Paris never seems to get any closer.

Like “My Dinner with Andre,” “Paris Can Wait” is an entire movie about a conversation, though in this case one that moves all around. Will Anne’s life change after her excursion with Jacques? There’s always time to explore.

Review: "Inside Out"

Up until 2009, Pixar was where you went in Hollywood for original filmmaking. The fact that their movies were animated was merely a byproduct. The studio with the freshest ideas and the most novel concepts churned out great, inventive films one after another: “Finding Nemo,” “The Incredibles,” “Cars,” “Ratatouille,” “Wall·E,” “Up.”

These films were superlative not just because they told terrific stories and featured characters who mattered to us, but because they were unlike anything we’d ever seen before.

Then a curious thing happened. Almost overnight, Pixar stories became derivative – stale, even.

We got three sequels which, even when exquisitely well-made like “Toy Story 3,” lacked the vitality of the originals. “Brave” seemed like a self-conscious rebuttal to the Disney princess tradition, and as such felt more about the things it was not than the things it was. (Not to mention, it essentially stole the plot of another Disney animated flick, 2003’s “Brother Bear.”)

Suddenly, Pixar movies seemed less like ingenuity and more a commodity.

I’m happy to report the latest, “Inside Out,” is a return to form. It’s hardly among the top tier of Pixar movies, but it’s dizzy with wondrous ideas, interesting things to see and places we’d like to visit.

It all takes place inside the head of one kid, Riley (voice by Kaitlyn Dias). The idea is that a person’s personality is ruled by five emotions: joy, sadness, fear, anger and disgust. Each is represented by little cartoon entities, who collaborate and clash with each other and this in turn governs how the person behaves.

They sit in an isolated central headquarters in the mind, watching a TV screen and seeing the world as their person does. Experiences are recorded as memories, which are glass-like orbs, which the emotions help collate, store and recall. The most vital memories form the core of the person’s being.

It’s a rather cerebral concept, but one that small children can take to easily. (My 4- and almost-2-year-olds sat rapt the entire time.) It helps that the emotions each have distinct identities themselves.

Joy (the irrepressible Amy Poehler), a pixie-like waif, is the dominant emotion for Riley, acting as major domo and subtly ordering the others around. Anger (Lewis Black) is a little red rager who literally blows his top with fire. Disgust (Mindy Kaling) is both protective and disdainful, and Fear (Bill Hader) is the kvetching voice of caution.

Then there’s Sadness, terrifically voiced by (Phyllis Smith), who played a somewhat similar character on TV’s “The Office.” A purple nerdy type, Sadness can’t seem to summon much enthusiasm for anything, mostly likes to just lie around and complain, and has the nasty habit of touching the memory orbs and infecting them with her mope.

“Crying helps me slow down and obsess over the weight of life’s problems,” Sadness drones.

But Riley’s parents (Diane Lane and Kyle MacLachlan) move the family from Minnesota to San Francisco, and their daughter struggles to fit in. Joy heroically tries to enforce happiness, but this only makes things worse. Then through a series of events, she and Sadness get exiled to the hinterlands of Riley’s subconscious, leaving the three remaining emotions to deal.

I enjoyed the filmmakers’ elegant depiction of Riley’s mind – and those of others, for we get to go inside the heads of other humans, too, where the same five emotions exist in different iterations. Director Pete Docter (“Up”) co-wrote the script with Meg LeFauve and Josh Cooley. Ronaldo Del Carmel is credited as co-director.

Along their journey to try to get back to HQ, Joy and Sadness have various sorts of adventures, wandering through Riley’s dreams and finding out what happens to faded memories – even an old imaginary friend from Riley’s toddlerhood, Bing Bong, vividly voiced by Richard Kind. We learn that each emotion exists for an important reason, even if it isn’t instantly obvious.

“Inside Out” is a fun, colorful movie that also offers a little insight into each of us might tick. Pixar has got their mojo back.

Video review: "Man of Steel"

Rebooting a superhero franchise is a trickier business than it sounds. People remember the glory of “The Dark Knight” and forget how clunky “Batman Begins” was. Spider-Man fizzled out with one group and came back stronger with another cast and crew. They tried twice to get the Hulk off the ground and only succeeded by making him a supporting player in the Avengers.

Hollywood attempted to bring back Superman a few years ago, and the the movie was just OK, so now they’ve tried again, and the results are similarly so-so.

Don’t flog “Man of Steel” for a lack of effort: there are big, grasping ambitions contained in this version starring Brit actor Henry Cavill. Too many, in fact.

Director Zack Snyder and screenwriter David S. Goyer’s unwisely chose to shoehorn two movies worth of storytelling into one sprawling narrative and ended up with a film showing all the symptoms of a split personality.

Here Clark Kent spends the first half of the movie as a demi-god alienated (literally) from the rest of his world, and the second half trading epic haymakers with evil General Zod (Michael Shannon), a militaristic bully from his home world of Krypton.

Both halves work decently well on their own, but don’t mesh together in any way that satisfies. We’re missing the bridge between the two, where Clark adopts the persona of Superman and takes on the mantle of humanity’s noble protector.

(The original “Superman” from 1978 faced similar issues, and chose to shoot the two movies back-to-back, giving Zod and his henchman their own sequel to fill out.)

Personally, I preferred the first portion where Superman must find his own way between the paths laid out by his two father figures, his Kryptonian dad (Russell Crowe) and his adoptive family on Earth, with Kevin Costner making a strong turn as Pa Kent.

“Man of Steel” isn’t a bad movie, but it certainly doesn’t soar like it should have.

Video extras are quite good, though as is often the case, the best stuff costs more. The DVD version comes only with three featurettes on the mythology of Superman, training regimen for the action scenes and a rundown of Krypton technology.

Upgrade to the Blu-ray level and  you add “Journey of Discovery: Creating ‘Man of Steel,’” a feature-length making-of documentary film. You also get “Planet Krypton,” which goes into the history and sociology of Superman’s doomed home planet.

Movie:

Extras:

Review: "Man of Steel"

A grand, and grandly disappointing venture, "Man of Steel" reaches for the sun in trying to reset the Superman franchise, then plummets to earth in a storm of hyperactive CGI action sequences and overstuffed plotting.

It begins with hope and even a touch of awe, a story of fathers and sons, less about a man who can lift buildings than a wayward soul seeking to find a home on an alien world. But then the bad guy arrives, even before the main character has had a chance to establish himself, and the movie is overtaken by standard villainous sneering and apocalyptic dooms.

This film, directed by Zack Snyder and written by David S. Goyer, has a couple of main problems. The most obvious is that it's two movies worth of material shoehorned into one. And this leads directly to the other:
Superman never really gets to be Superman.

Oh, Henry Cavill does eventually don the familiar blue-and-red costume -- though, like everything else from the dead planet Krypton in the movie, it's reimagined with a hard-edged militaristic texture, less apparel than armor. The British actor has a quietly commanding presence onscreen; he believably personifies a demigod.

(Though his lean, almost emaciated face seems incongruously perched atop the mountain of muscles he packed onto his torso for this role.)

No, what I mean is that Clark Kent, aka Kal-El of Krypton, spends the first half of the movie trying to find out who he is, and the second half trading epic haymakers with his enemies -- laying waste to half of Metropolis in the process. There's a missing second act where Superman reveals himself to the world, earns their trust, and is embraced as humanity's champion.

Indeed, some of the film's most powerful scenes involve Clark receiving tutelage from his two fathers -- Jonathan Kent (a strong Kevin Costner), the Kansas farmer who found his crashed spaceship and raised him up, and Jor-El (Russell Crowe), the enlightened Krypton scientist who dispatched him as a babe to Earth to be mankind's savior.

(Underlining the notion of Kal-El-as-Christ, in this version of the Superman mythology he doesn't declare his extraordinary abilities until the age of 33, the same as a certain other celestial pilgrim.)

There's a push and pull between the two men's teachings: Jor-El (who communicates through a holographic representation of his consciousness) daring his natural-born son to embrace his potential for greatness, constantly testing his limits, while Kent urges caution and forbearance, forcing his adopted child to absorb the pain of being an outcast rather than inflicting society with a knowledge they're not ready to bear.

Really, this is all the film needs in terms of narrative to take flight, and for awhile at least, it soars.

Things are complicated by the infiltration of a nosy journalist, Lois Lane (Amy Adams), who comes asking questions about a mystery man who turns up here and there, performing amazing acts before disappearing. Clark and Lois form the beginnings of an important friendship, and we expect her to be the vehicle through which he emerges to the public.

But then General Zod arrives, and the quiet power the movie has built up is blasted away by a cacophony of explosions and destruction -- not to mention Hans Zimmer's bombastic musical score.

A usurper imprisoned by the Krypton leadership for an attempted coup, Zod sees himself as the true redeemer of his people, with dreams of establishing a new generation on this planet. (Of course, the existing species must go.)

Zod has about a dozen followers, each of whom replicates Superman's powers in Earth's atmosphere, or nearly so. And he's got an obligatory end-of-the-world plan ... actually, two: terraform the planet into a copy of Krypton, and some screwy twaddle about extracting the entire genetic plans for their race from Kal-El's cells.

Michael Shannon is terrific as Zod, a combination of arrogance and perseverance that allows him to justify unspeakable cruelty. And their fight scenes have a certain kinetic urgency, sometimes overindulged by Snyder, as their bodies slam through buildings like flotsam spun out of a tornado.

But this doesn't change the fact that Zod belongs in a separate movie, where his malevolence can sprawl and take root. Here, he shows up and immediately sets about his destructive plans, like a Cliff's Notes version of a cinematic scoundrel.

Superman may be capable of many astounding feats. But one thing he can't do is turn two films worth of storytelling into a single good one.

Vide review: "Secretariat"

Secretariat may have been the greatest racehorse ever. But as horse movies go, "Secretariat" comes in a distant second to "Seabiscuit."

Comparisons between last year's drama starring Diane Lane and the 2003 film are perhaps inevitable. Both are about iconic horses with similar-sounding names, whose owners, riders and trainers were on some level outsiders in the elitist sport. Both rode against all odds to glory in the winner's circle.

"Seabiscuit" strides ahead for its more ambitious portrait of the three men whose lives were rekindled by that horse. But "Secretariat," while sometimes predictable and too pat, is still a moving tale worthy of at least a rental.

Lane gives a strong, confident performance as Penny Chenery, the owner of Secretariat who literally bet the farm on him. When estate taxes threaten to gobble up the family farm, Chenery is backed into a corner and told to sell her promising but unproven stallion.

Instead, she came up with a bold plan to franchise Secretariat's breeding rights for a then-unheard of sum, with the proviso that if he failed to win any leg of the Triple Crown, all bets were off.

Less about the horse than the woman behind him, "Secretariat" still sets hearts to racing.

Video extras are OK on DVD, but rather impressive with the Blu-ray/DVD combo pack.

The DVD has a music video, three short deleted scenes and "Heart of a Champion," a 15-minute doc about the horse and the effort to capture him cinematically.

In addition, the Blu-ray has four more deleted scenes, a six-minute featurette on filming the races (which reveals that five different horses were used to portray Secretariat) and a neat multi-angle feature that shows Secretariat's Preakness race from several different perspectives. Director Randall Wallace also offers a feature-length commentary.

Topping the goodie list is a 21-minute conversation with the real Penny Chenery, in which she discusses how the film differed from her experiences. She reveals that the family of Ogden Phipps, who famously won a coin toss with Chenery for pick of the best foal and didn't choose Secretariat, never quite got over the loss.

They're civil, Chenery says, but "don't expect a dinner invitation."

Movie: 3 stars out of four
Extras: 3.5 stars

Review: "Secretariat"

"Secretariat" is a horse tale like "Seabiscuit," but the movie it better resembles is "The Rookie," another sports-themed film from Disney about an underdog taking on the world. Despite the title, the subject is not the thoroughbred who won the 1973 Triple Crown and is widely considered the greatest racehorse ever, but his owner, Penny Chenery.

It's a solid performance by Diane Lane in a movie that's just a little bit too slick for its own good, where all the pieces fit together with premanufactured precision. Still, when that horse starts to run, we can't help cheering for him, and for the willful woman who believed in Secretariat so much she bet the farm (literally) on him.

There's a neat scene early on where Secretariat's trainer, Lucien Laurin (John Malkovich), assesses the colt's many faults -- too fat, lays back in the gate, etc. -- while recognizing that he's got a winner on his hands. I could say the same about this movie.

Movie critics are much like horse traders in that way: You can check the teeth and press the horseflesh all you want, but you don't really know what you've got until the animal runs his race.

On paper, "Secretariat" is riddled with problems, but the sum is much more than its wobbly parts.

The screenplay by Mike Rich (who also penned "The Rookie") unspools with machine-like exactness, hitting story beats with predictable rhythm. When Secretariat loses a race right before the first leg of the Triple Crown, it's the classic Darkest Before the Dawn moment.

Malkovich's loopy Lucien dresses like a plaid pimp and mumbles a stream of advice and curses in French. He's a standard-issue cinematic outsider, secretly yearning for mainstream success in the winner's circle.

When Penny's husband (Dylan Walsh) shows up every 20 minutes or so to lament all the time she's spending away from their family, we know it's only a matter of time before his big denouement where he tells her what an inspiration she is.

Director Randall Wallace ("We Were Soldiers") lets his cast wander off into hagiographic pronunciations about how each of them is wonderful in their own way.

Consider this line from Penny, after she refuses to let her dad's (Scott Glenn) noble-but-unsuccessful horse farm be sold off: "My father's legacy isn't money. It's the will to win, and to live with it if you can't."

There's a barely-concealed religiosity to the proceedings, what with all the talk about "lifting up," and a gospel-heavy soundtrack. Loyal groom Eddie Sweat (Nelsan Ellis) even sanctifies the Kentucky Derby track before the race.

Secretariat's nemesis was a brown stallion named Sham, but it's hard for a horse to play the heavy. Ditto for Sham owner Pancho Martin (Nestor Serrano), who's portrayed with such cartoonish boastfulness and male chauvinism -- dismissing Penny as a "housewife" -- that he doesn't feel particularly threatening.
The real villain of the movie is estate taxes.

After the government demands $6 million after her father's passing, Penny is pressured by her husband and brother (Dylan Baker) to sell Secretariat. Instead, she comes up with an innovative plan to franchise the horse's breeding rights to a select group of investors, at a then-unheard of price of nearly $200 grand a pop (so to speak).

The catch: It was the ultimate pay-for-performance deal. If Secretariat failed to win any leg of the Triple Crown, the Chenery farm would have been liquidated.

This is where "Secretariat" really sparkles, as the story of a unique woman who was willing to bet all her chips and defy the establishment. The tale may have been executed in a cookie-cutter fashion, but this rousing yarn still breaks away.

3 stars out of four