Showing posts with label Margaret qualley. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Margaret qualley. Show all posts

Wednesday, March 3, 2021

Review: "My Salinger Year"

 

I was pleasantly surprised by "My Salinger Year," a based-on-true literary story with a lot of heart and terrific performances by Margaret Qualley and Sigourney Weaver.

This is one my "afterthought" reviews, meaning I hadn't planned on doing it but unexpectedly found some time in my schedule. I've really stepped up the frequency of my reviews this year, and hopefully you've appreciated the effort. 

It's doubly pleasing when I stumble across a film I admire so much during these moments of serendipity.

Qualley plays Joanna Rakoff, an impressionable young woman who ditches grad school and her boyfriend in California to move to New York City and pursue a writing career. She winds up working as an assistant to the boss of a storied literary agency, Margaret (Weaver), who counts among her client list the famously reclusive J.D. Salinger, author of "The Catcher in the Rye," a book that has become a rite of passage for young intellectuals.

Joanna is bright and enthusiastic while Margaret is old-school and imperious. The obvious comparison will be made to "The Devil Wears Prada," with Weaver's silver-streaked tresses matched to Meryl Streep's.

But this film, adapted for the screen from Rakoff's book by writer/director Philippe Falardeau, quickly diverges in tone and intent. It's not a denunciation of an entire sick industry and way of thought, but a very specific story about people who move about in a a cloistered society.

The story is set in 1996, a time by which Salinger had already gone three decades without publishing anything. His reticence to engage with his adoring public or submit to interviews only heightened his mystique, as the throngs felt certain he was continuing to write but just not sharing it with the world. 

It's ironic that the creator of Holden Caulfield, a kid who seemed to reject everyone around him, was celebrated for being so withholding.

In the course of the movie Salinger is a minor figure, only heard on the phone or glimpsed from behind. He does decide to publish his first book in many years (actually just reprinting an old New Yorker piece), though that event and his relationship to Joanna are not really central to the piece.

It's more about Joanna finding herself and the courage of her own convictions, evolving from reticent mouse of a girl to a bold woman who asserts her independence -- from her job, the men in her life and even Margaret, who becomes a mentor to her, surprising both of them.

Margaret only reluctantly allows one computer in the office, preferring to do business over the phone and Dictaphone. She initially hesitates to hire Joanna because it's bad business to have aspiring writers in a literary agency. She's very much part of the Old New York world of restaurants, conversations and connections.

Joanna is given two main assignments: transcribe Margaret's dictations and answer the mail sent to Salinger. "Answer" is not a completely accurate description of her role, since Salinger has instructed that the exact same form letter be sent to every writer explaining that he will not respond to any correspondence. Then, Joanna is to shred the fan mail.

The only reason they even go through this step is because of John Lennon's murderer, who infamously had a copy of "Rye" when he was arrested and was among those who wrote to Salinger and was rejected. Of course, Joanna becomes enthralled with all the emotion and thought these people put into their missives. 

Falardeau cleverly casts these writers as characters who show up in the middle of Joanna's day, reciting their letters to Salinger and to her, his reluctant stand-in. Of course, she is soon tempted to respond in a more meaningful way.

On the side she becomes involved with Don (Douglas Booth), another aspiring writer who works in a "socialist bookstore" and considers the commerce of publishing (represented by Margaret) as contemptible. Don is a heel who is selfish but charming in a gruff proletariat sort of way, and Joanna goes along with the relationship without really embracing it. 

Like her job, it's an affair lacking any real romance.

Joanna speaks occasionally on the phone with Salinger, who encourages her to invest in herself, both as a writer and a person (despite calling her "Susanna" early on, owing to wartime hearing loss.) Gradually, she starts to listen to this distant muse. Interestingly, she has never actually read "Rye" and hesitates to do so, preferring to bask in others' love for it.

A few other figures float around in the background of the movie. I really liked Seána Kerslake as Jenny, Joanna's friend, roommate and fellow writer wannabe, who is first to see and grasp her future. Colm Feore pops up as Daniel, Margaret's kindly, well-dressed companion -- brother? boyfriend? we're not really sure, but enjoy having him around. Brían F. O'Byrne plays Hugh, who once had Joanna's job but graduated to Margaret's legal-guru-slash-protector.

But really the focus is on Joanna and Margaret. They are two women who seem very different, one at the end of her turning and the other right at the beginning, who come to find more in common than they'd ever thought possible. Margaret doesn't exactly melt into a bowl of warm empathy -- it's just not in her DNA -- but she realizes that Joanna has a promise and resolve in her that needs to be tapped, even if it's not by her.

I only know Qualley from her temptress role in the enjoyable but vastly overrated "Once Upon a Time in Hollywood," so I was glad to see her do something more substantive and emotive. Joanna isn't the easiest character to play as someone who is just learning to access her own emotions, but Qualley finds a way to let us see past that timid exterior.

The real Joanna Rakoff has indeed gone on to a notable writing career, including the memoir upon which this film was based. In the end it's less about the mystery of J.D. Salinger than the woman whose barest brush with greatness gave her the courage to chase her own.




Wednesday, February 26, 2020

Review: "Seberg"


Jean Seberg was an "It Girl" before we really had a name for that. She was a struggling American actress who went overseas and became an overnight success in the French New Wave, with an iconic role in "Breathless."

With her short pixie blonde haircut and torrent of real-life affairs and marriages, Seberg was also on the bleeding edge of the sexual revolution. Her career stalled in the late 1960s and early '70s, and by 1979 she was dead at the age of 40 in an apparent suicide.

Her story has largely been forgotten, but the biopic "Seberg" gives us a fuller telling, including the reason for her disgrace: a vicious and deliberate campaign by the FBI to discredit Seberg for her alliance with the Black Panthers, including her relationship with leader Hakim Jamal.

Kristen Stewart plays Seberg in a nuanced role that reflects her long, slow slide into paranoia and dispiritedness. At the start of the story she is so powerful and independent, driving her expensive sports car into hostile black neighborhoods without any fear of reprisal. She is in command of her own choices.

By the end, she has been withered down to a fearful, spiteful creature who feels very much at the mercy of circumstances beyond her control.

Anthony Mackie plays Jamal, and their early romance -- while both are married -- is quite torrid and erotic. There's one red-hot scene where they practice her acting lines with a real gun as Seberg casually flaunts her body to him: part enticement, part declaration of her sole ownership of her womanhood.

Otto Preminger picked Seberg from obscurity as a teenager to star in "Saint Joan," a traumatic experience both emotionally and physically. She learned to move past her victimhood, using men as they seek to use her.

But then the feds get their hooks into her, for really the slimmest of reasons. It was their (illegal) practice in those days to infiltrate and discredit upstart political organizations that threatened the status quo. Their surveillance of Jamal reveals their affair, and FBI Director J. Edgar Hoover (never seen but felt) seeks to use it to sow dissention among the Panthers.

Jack O'Connell plays Jack Solomon, the young FBI agent put in charge of the case. At first he sees it as part of the job, but comes to resist the hard tactics against a woman choosing her own causes and associations. He eventually takes steps to warn her, though they are not accepted for obvious reasons.

Vince Vaughn plays the mercenary partner, drinking hard and caring little about anything except following orders. His ethos is simple: do the job, reap the rewards. Colm Meaney plays a higher-up who has to crack the whip on Solomon's waffling.

Zazie Beetz plays Dorothy Jamal, Hakim's wife, who can accept a certain amount of philandering from her revolutionary spouse but draws the line at a famous white (in her eyes) dilettante. The women's eventual clash is bone-deep in its impact.

It's a well-acted movie, a slow-burn dramatic thriller than some may need time to warm up to. Director Benedict Andrews and screenwriters Anna Waterhouse and Joe Shrapnel opt for mood and lingering moments over move-the-ball plotting.

My main complaint about the film is it becomes too much the story of a G-man's conflict about participating in a starlet's destruction than the psychological terror she is experiencing. The movie needed to keep the focus on Seberg with Solomon as a tertiary character, but instead the middle section in particular almost feels like "The Lives of Others."

The revelation of the campaign against Seberg was actually revealed by the FBI literally days after her death, and figured into Congressional investigations of the time. her memory was pretty well mislaid after that, until now.

A disclaimer: I saw "Seberg" almost three months ago during the busy runup to the awards cycle. I didn't have time to rewatch it before writing this review, so my recollection for details may have frayed though I think my emotional memory is solid enough to write about it. Do with this information as you will.




Sunday, November 24, 2019

Video review: "Once Upon a Time... in Hollywood"


More than anyone else working in Hollywood today, Quentin Tarantino makes movies strictly for himself. The audience’s reaction is a mere afterthought.

His latest, “Once Upon a Time… in Hollywood,” falls about in the middle of his oeuvre. It's a big, sprawling, unfocused mess that nonetheless contains moments of Tarantino-esque intensity and entertainingly unhinged moods.

The story more or less centers on the duo Leonardo DiCaprio and Brad Pitt. DiCaprio is Rick Dalton, a fading actor clutching to the last scraps of fame from a long-canceled cowboy TV show, and Pitt is Cliff Booth, a laconic stuntman who is his stunt double, driver and gofer.

Dalton is outwardly McQueen-esque bravado but is inwardly Woody Allen-ish neuroticism. Booth lives in a scrap-heap trailer and has just a dog for companionship. Their relationship is part boss/flunky, part drinking buddies, part nanny/child.

DiCaprio has the showier part, swinging through wild moods while being spectacularly unappreciative of a career that's superior to that 99.99% actors enjoy. But ultimately I felt drawn to Pitt's character, an aging cowboy tooling around in a Champion spark plug T and Hawaiian shirt slip-on, never seeming to worry about what tomorrow will bring.

The movie never really seems to focus on either character, trading back and forth on their solo movements while occasionally bringing them back together. I yearned for the latter sections and mostly suffered through the former.

The tie-in with the Manson murders seems concocted just to have something to bounce the boys off of, or give the piece a semblance of a narrative. Margot Robbie barely has any speaking lines as Sharon Tate, who lives in the house up the hill from Rick along with her husband, Roman Polanski. She is sometimes seen and barely heard.

Like "Inglorious Basterds," the historical record is used as a mere springboard for Tarantino’s fevered imagineering.

The writer/director/noted amateur podiatrist flies his foot fetish flag freely this go-round, with lots of close-ups of filthy hippie hooves. I wonder why at some point these big-name actors don't say, "Hey dude, sorry but I don't want to do this scene with some girl's feet in my face."

Hey, ya like tootsies, that's fine by me. I just find it distracting and icky to have a scene where half the screen is Margot Robbie's face reacting to stuff and the other half is her soles. And the fact that nearly every woman who appears in the movie has a scene like this.

There are certainly some entertaining parts to it, but my guess is the person who will most enjoy Quentin Tarantino’s latest movie is Tarantino himself.

Bonus features are rooted in additional scenes that pad another 20 minutes onto the film’s already ample run time, bringing it to a full three hours. There ae also five making-of documentary featurettes:
  • “Quentin Tarantino’s Love Letter to Hollywood”
  • “Bob Richardson – For the Love of Film”
  • “Shop Talk – The Cars of 1969”
  • “Restoring Hollywood – The Production Design of Once Upon a Time… in Hollywood”
  • “The Fashion of 1969”

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Extras: