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.

Review: "Chuck"

Chuck Wepner was a big ugly mook who became semi-famous as a footnote in both the sports and entertainment worlds. You may not think you know me, he narrates at the beginning of his biopic, “Chuck,” but you do.

It’s long been said that Muhammad Ali and his manager, Don King, picked the New Jersey boxer out of obscurity in 1975 as his next opponent after downing George Foreman in “The Rumble in the Jungle” because they wanted a white opponent. But as this enlightening new film directed by Philippe Falardeau (“Monsieur Lazhar”) and starring Liev Schreiber shows, Wepner may have been a blue-collar club fighter, but he was hardly a nobody.

Wepner was the eighth-ranked heavyweight fighter at the time, a 6-foot-5-inch brawler known for his uncanny ability to take punch and not go down. “The Bayonne Bleeder,” they called him, a nickname Chuck detested but accepted when it bought him a round of free drinks or a salutation on the street.

As skillfully depicted by Schreiber, Chuck is somebody who revels in the affirmation of others. He carouses his little corner of Jersey, puffed up by locals who call him “The Champ,” accepting overtures from women not because he’s a philandering cad at heart but because he’s almost genetically incapable of not returning any affection shown to him.

He’s the man who bleeds -- from his face, prodigiously, but also his heart.

Liev, an elegantly handsome actor, is surprisingly convincing as Wepner, with his permanently swollen features, arched eyebrows and fu Manchu mustache. His face resembles last night’s hamburger. Mostly, he seems like a guy trying desperately not to embarrass himself.

The story -- screenplay by Jeff Feuerzeig, Jerry Stahl, Michael Cristofer and Schreiber -- actually wraps up the Ali fight about a third of the way through. Chuck never harbored any illusions about beating possibly the greatest of all time -- he was already 36 and losing a step -- but was determined to go the full 15 rounds to prove the naysayers wrong.

Instead, the rest of the movie focuses on Chuck’s life after, when he coasted on his bit of celebrity as the nobody who stood toe-to-toe with the champ. (Pooch Hall plays Ali.)

Then, of course, “Rocky” happened.

The similarities between Sylvester Stallone’s breakout movie and Wepner’s real life are too close to pass the credulity test that Sly made it up on his own. In the film’s version of events, Chuck saw the movie winning a boatload of box office and a trove of Academy Awards as his own victory, too.

But he was too embarrassed to tell anyone, even his best friend, John (a fine Jim Gaffigan), that he wasn’t paid a dime for his story. Eventually, though, pride gets the better of him and he reaches out to Stallone (Morgan Spector), and a surprising connection forms.

One of the film’s disappointments is it completely sidesteps the legal wrangles and war of words between Stallone and Wepner, which went on for decades after “Rocky” came out. In some ways, “Chuck” takes too many pains not to make anybody look bad.

The movie gets the look and feel of 1970s Jersey right -- the loud clothes, the big Cadillacs, the dim bars.

Wepner’s relationship with his wife, Phyllis (Elisabeth Moss), follows the familiar up-and-down tropes of cinematic married couples, and we can’t wait for the marriage to end fast enough. Chuck runs into Linda (Naomi Watts), a hard-scoured bartender, who continually puts him off. But there’s something there, so we’re not surprised when she keeps turning up.

I also liked Ron Perlman as Al, Chuck’s manager and cut-man. Al uses Wepner as a piece of meat he could stitch up and put out there, just trying to get through the next round and the next fight, but genuinely cared about the man underneath the scar tissue. When his boxing career is clearly over, Al sets up a bout with wrestling star Andre the Giant to keep the money and the attention flowing.

“Chuck” stands out from a pantheon of boxing movies, the story of a guy who wasn’t the most skilled fighter or possessed of drive far above his talent level. Wepner was a guy who stumbled into and out of trouble, became famous almost by accident and struggled with that, too. Chuck always took his lumps, and endured.

Video review: "The Good Lie"

Reese Witherspoon is the star of "The Good Lie," but she's not the main character. In fact, she's rather off to the side and in the background, which is where she belongs.

That's not a knock on Witherspoon's appeal as a movie star, which is considerable. It's just that this is a film about Sudanese refugees, and I'm glad director Philippe Falardeau and screenwriter Margaret Nagle chose to keep their focus on the African characters. Too many movies of this ilk feel compelled to tell black stories through the unnecessary prism of a white protagonist.

The real main character is Mamere (Arnold Oceng), the leader of a ragtag group of refugees from the Sudanese civil war who end up being placed in Kansas City to start new lives. These young men, who literally grew up fighting lions and tigers, find themselves helpless against the modern challenges of bus routes, telephone answering machines and the like.

The other two main figures are Jeremiah (Ger Duany), who flirts with the idea of entering the priesthood, and Paul (Emmanuel Jal), who is a savant with machines but has trouble keeping his impulses under control. They also have a "sister," Abital (Kuoth Wiel), forced to live in a faraway city.

Witherspoon plays Carrie, a social worker put in charge of helping them out. Over time, she finds herself drawn ever more into their lives, becoming friends rather than just part of her job.

The most powerful section of the movie is the first half-hour, as we follow the characters as young children trekking hundreds of miles across the African continent to find sanctuary. I won't give away what happens, other than to say the events are life-changing and have a profound impact on their progress in America.

Though the proceedings occasionally wander into sappy territory, "The Good Lie" is a heartfelt story told well and true. The movie didn't sell a lot of tickets, but hopefully will find the audience it deserves on video.

Extra features are rather slight, and are confined to the Blu-ray edition. They include deleted scenes and a making-of featurette.

Movie:

Extras:

Review: "The Good Lie"

I admit I was cringing when I went in to see “The Good Lie,” the based-on-truth story of the Lost Boys of Sudan – refugees of war, thousands of whom eventually made their way to the U.S. and built something positive out of the ashes of their orphanhood.

I was leery not because of its touchy subject matter, but because Hollywood movies about people of color so often employ a white protagonist to make the troubles of the subjects seem “relatable,” or whatever ridiculous reason they provide. Even good, sincere efforts like “The Help” have relied upon this insidious crutch, and when I saw cutie Reese Witherspoon in the cast credits, I thought “Here we go…”

I’m happy to report that Witherspoon, while a key part of the story, is a supporting character and the focus remains squarely on the African actors, most of whom are actually Sudanese. She doesn’t even show up until a half-hour into the movie, acts as the boys’ guide in finding jobs and settling into America, then cedes into the background where she belongs.

Director Philippe Falardeau’s last movie, the wonderful “Monsieur Lazhar,” was nominated for the Oscar for best foreign film, and TV veteran Margaret Nagle supplies the screenplay. The final result is heartfelt, occasionally dipping a toe into maudlin, but also surprisingly funny and wise.

The first part is the best and most harrowing, as we watch a group of Sudanese children escape the destruction of their village and the death of all of their parents. (Only a few are actually siblings, but they refer to each other as “brothers” and “sisters.”) They must trek 1,000 miles on foot to Kenya, more of their number dying along the way, just so they can become ensconced in a massive refugee camp.

At first we think this will be the story of Theo (a terrific Okwar Jale), the eldest child who, by rite of all the adults of the tribe being killed, is made Chief and leader. He is patient and kind, pushing the little ones to great lengths on their perilous journey but also serving as their unwavering protector. There’s an incredible moment where Theo holds a piece of glass, the group’s only real tool, under the noses of his sleeping charges to see if they still draw breath.

But circumstances change and impetuous Mamere (Peterdeng Mongok) becomes chief. They eventually make it to Kenya and, after growing to adulthood, are selected for a church program that sends lost boys (and girls) to America. Though they are separated from their beloved sister Abital (Kuoth Wiel), the three resolve to start new lives in Kansas City.

The middle part of the movie is largely a fish-out-of-water story, as young men who literally grew up fighting off lions must take on the First World challenges of telephones, buses and crabby bosses. Mamere (now played by Arnold Oceng), dreams of becoming a doctor and feels guilt over his actions regarding Theo.

The other two are Jeremiah (Ger Duany), tall and soulful, and Paul (Emmanuel Jal), a mechanical whiz who is prone to impetuousness and despair. Mamere, still acting as chief, tries to keep his little tribe from splintering further.

Witherspoon plays Carrie, a young-ish woman with a messy life and messier house, who helps the lost boys get jobs but keeps finding herself circling back to offer a hand and, eventually, friendship.

There’s a point late in “The Good Lie” where someone must fly back to Kenya and navigate the nightmarish diplomatic bureaucracy in order to right a great wrong. In a lesser movie it would be the perky blonde heroine who has taken up the cause of the helpless Africans. Here, the Sudanese make their own choices.

Review: "Monsieur Lazhar"

In "Monsieur Lazhar," the eponymous Bachir Lazhar has the ideal temperament to be a teacher. A reserved man who holds respect and courtesy as almost sacred ideas, he adores children (though not in a creepy way) and values knowledge and learning.

Lazhar shows up at a Montreal school a week or so after a horrendous event: a popular teacher has committed suicide, hanging herself in her classroom while the children are at recess. One can only fathom the mind of a person who commit such a gruesome act with the obvious intention that her students discover her that way.

Lazhar (Mohamed Fellag) is an immigrant from Algiers, and claims 19 years of teaching at university. The harried principal (Danielle Proulx), desperate both to protect the psychologically wounded children and to get bureaucratic pressures off her back, hires him as the replacement.

Cultural differences, not to mention the understandably extreme emotional turmoil of the class, make for rough going at first. Lazhar gives one unruly boy and light cuff on the back of the head, and learns that the Canadian educational system frowns upon such things. Indeed, political correctness has taken things to such an unwieldy extreme, teachers are not allowed to touch students at all -- even disallowing the P.E. coach from steadying a child during gymnastics exercises.

This is a film of quiet joys and hidden sadness, of frustrations that bubble to the surface and emotions kept carefully tucked away. "Monsieur Lazhar" was an Oscar nominee for best foreign language film, and its spare grace is easy to see.

Writer/director Philippe Falardeau mimics the reserve of his main character, eschewing loud emotional epiphanies for moments of quiet struggle and resolution. The result is a movie lacking sweeping, syrupy catharsis -- and sometimes that's a good thing.

Two students among the 11- and 12-year-olds stand out from the rest. Alice (Sophie Nélisse) is the smartest in the class, and also the most willful. She approaches the suicide with a forthright maturity lacking among the students -- and even the adults.

Simon (Émilien Néron) is the class cut-up, whose jokes have taken on a nasty, bullying tinge as of late. He was especially close to his former teacher, and takes her death as some sort of attack.

In terms of plot, there really isn't much. Falardeau focuses almost exclusively on the school and its lessons, though there are a few scenes that give some insight into Lazhar's mysterious background, which contains its own tidal forces of sadness.

"Monsieur Lazhar" reminds me somewhat of "The Illusionist," a French animated film that was nominated for its own Oscar a couple of years ago. It's the sort of rare movie that chooses not to focus on the dramatic, pivotal moments that happen in life, but what comes after. It's not the wave crashing upon the shore, but the gradual receding back into the ocean.

3 stars out of four