By Amy Tetreault

Julie & Julia – 2009 – dir. Nora Ephron

Julie and Julia weaves together the stories of two very different women: “My Life in France,” Julie Child’s autobiography and Julie Powell’s “Julie and Julia: My Year of Cooking Dangerously.”

We all know Powell’s story by now: She aspires to cook all 524 recipes from Julia Child’s “Mastering the Art of French Cooking” over the course of a year, maintaining a blog of her mishaps. Powell kicks off the project because she hates her job, feels inadequate compared to her friends, and doesn’t have much else going on. That’s a tough spot to be in – and she knows that writing a blog about cooking food that’s beyond her technical ability isn’t going to fix everythin, but at least it’s a distraction.

As Powell, Amy Adams is adept and sweet and witty, but can also be self-absorbed and irritating. More importantly, she’s a realistic character. The interesting twist? The real Julie Powell is rumored to be even more compelling than her film depiction. Her new book “Cleaving: A Story of Marriage, Meat and Obsession” tells the story of her extramarital affair (and apprenticeship at a butcher’s shop) and is currently causing a firestorm of opinions. I mean, most of us don’t condone cheating…but don’t you find it interesting how people expect someone they’ve never met to act a certain way?  As blogger Sara Freeman wrote in Chicago Now, “Powell’s audience is absolutely infuriated with her because she failed to live up to their expectations for a proper follow up to “Julie and Julia”. What should she have done? Hosted her own cooking show about baking cupcakes while wearing a pink apron? Should she have birthed a few children and wrote a memoir about introducing them to French cuisine?”

Perhaps it’s because I’m young and identify more with Powell (well, Adams), but watching her strange story is more entertaining than Child’s. After all, Child was blessed with an amazing career, a doting husband, more travel opportunities than necessary, and enough cash to sustain my student loans. Obviously Child is an iconic and fantastic woman, but her storyline in the film occasionally seems fluffed. The film moments that are intended to solicit empathy from the audience can be irritating. Personally, I don’t feel bad when a major publisher doesn’t immediately buy her cookbook, and I certainly don’t feel her pain when she’s forced to move to another part of France. Those aren’t problems.

But let me be clear: Watching Julia Child’s story on screen does not reflect on Child’s real life or on Meryl Streep’s portrayal of the famous chef. As Child, Streep is unparalleled. Rolling Stone said it best with “Meryl Streep — at her brilliant, beguiling best — is the spice that does the trick for the yummy Julie & Julia,” In fact, Streep has already won the Golden Globe for best supporting actress and was nominated for her 16th Oscar acting nomination last week for her role in Julie and Julia. Imagine what she could have accomplished if director Nora Ephron provided her with a more substantial script!

But what’s done is done. And after watching this film, I’ve learned a few important lessons. Most importantly: Although I want to be Julia Child in real life, I prefer to watch Julie Powell.

And never try to cook Beef Bourguignon. I have a feeling it would be a disaster.

By William Benker

District 9 – 2009 – dir. Neill Blomkamp

District 9 holds a steady hand in the evolution of the “mockumentary” genre, with Neill Blomkamp at the helm.  The film depicts a harsh contemporary allusion to present segregation, racism and corporate power, but its inherent thread follows bumbling protagonist Wickus Van De Merwe (Sharlto Copley) who (both figurative and literally) transforms into the desperate anti-hero over the course of the film.  At first glance, it appears as though Wickus is a humanist, or a man of lesser evil.  That is, until his job goes from bad to worse, with the bulk of his character’s complexity presented within the first hour.  But the genius is found not in the mirrored reflection of today’s society (or South Africa’s Apartheid), but rather the extreme transformation of District 9’s protagonist, where the audience discovers empathy on a far greater level than where they began.

A variety of mediums serve to contextualize the controversial situation on which the film centers (the arrival of the alien ship above the run down city of Johannesburg).  In true mockumentary form, (mock) historians and sociologists feed viewers exposition, each providing their own speculations regarding District 9.  The Prawns (a derogatory name for the alien species) are being evicted from their current land to a more secure location (concentration camps) funded by the government.  Wickus attempts to reason with the Prawns, who we learn  (through subtitles) have little understanding of the concept of eviction.  Only when a particularly “sharp” Prawn “Christopher,” understands his legal rights, and presents a counter-argument to the unlawful procedure does the plot really take off.

This post-modern Jurassic Park doesn’t stop there.  MNU, the company in charge of the eviction, has other goals in mind.  While the Prawns have become a problem alongside inter-gang warfare of the slums, they also harbor a vast array of highly advanced technical weapons.  The problem: only Prawn’s can fire them, leaving the company with nothing to launch financial success.  That is, until Wickus gains the ability to fire them, (without giving too much away) transforming him into a highly valuable necessity to the evil Biological/Weapons Corporation.  The most horrific action you’ll find is at the hands of the cold corporate scientists, who maliciously attempt to harvest all they can from Wickus – if they can catch him.

No corrupt facet of society is left out of this brutal sci-fi statement.  While the media provides commentary inside and outside Wickus’ situation, the term “terrorist” garners new light from the victim’s perspective.  The mockumentary turns action-film, following Wickus’ grisly transformation.  The special effects are exceptionally well placed, particularly with the Prawns themselves.  These creatures bear similar resemblance to both human and insect, allowing viewers to engage in understanding rather than distraction by their appearance.  The last half of the film shifts into a climax that (though slightly dragging) provides plenty of explosions, rapid gunfire and relentless killing of both aliens and humans.  However, it’s safe to assume who does most of the killing: the humans.  District 9’s locations are well contained and unfortunately, not too difficult to imagine; the film was shot on location in the impoverished suburbs of Johannesburg.  While the story teeters throughout the second act, Blomkamp’s well-developed special effects carry various ongoing shootouts. The action paints a gory picture of the inner-district warfare.

The film’s surprisingly low budget (allowing careful concentration on effects) is something of a toss-up.  Extras in the South African district were paid a fair wage for each day’s work (better than fair, actually, compared to their usual standards) that leaves the film open to a broader interpretation of the film industry in general.  Still, Blomkamp’s vision of grit is well delivered.  But what isn’t said in regard to the Prawns’ segregation is supportive to the film’s integrity.  Never do we find out why the Prawns came to Earth.  In the little knowledge we attain from the Prawns themselves, we find one ruling theme of the film is inherently within miscommunication.  While humans bare some understanding of the Prawns’ foreign language, the Prawns are never seen rationally conversing with the human race.  Only through Wickus and the intelligent “Christopher” (Prawn) does the audience see a shift in understanding between the two species, and only through a common goal do they find reason.

Certainly the definitive polarization of District 9 provides a natural perspective for the viewers’ loyalty, (empathizing with the Prawns for obvious reason), but it’s only through Wickus that their empathy is allowed to grow.  While Wickus drives the narrative in a desperate attempt for self-resolution (ostracized and hunted by his own human society), it is only after an ill-fated attempt at escape that he learns he must sacrifice his own cause for another’s.  There the magic lays, for the compassion lost in Wickus is resurrected in the film’s ultimate conclusion.  Blomkamp goes beyond the usual compassion for the anti-hero Wickus and reaches further into the examination of the innate understanding of the Prawn protagonist, “Christopher”, and his alien child.  Therefore the audience is allowed an engaging look at their own compassion from a definitive stance between right and wrong, to a more complex understanding of the alien race, both figuratively and literally.

By William Benker

Why Adaptations Still Work (When Done Properly).

Fantastic Mr. Fox – 2009 – dir. Wes Anderson

Adaptations of nearly forgotten children’s stories are a complicated process.  It requires certain tools, one could say, in order to “re-invent” the story in an appropriate way.  It must be done carefully, not daring too far from the original heart of the book, yet driving the narrative towards a more theatrical climax, properly combined to invigorate not only the audience, but the depth of the story.  While many other adaptations and remakes have both succeeded and failed to do this in the past decade, the stop-motion genre has invariably avoided such defeats.  Unlike recent hits Coraline & Tim Burton’s The Nightmare Before Christmas (both directed by Henry Selick,) Wes Anderson’s Fantastic Mr. Fox looks gritty, perhaps even haphazard, if fans weren’t aware of the director’s impeccable career (The style more closely resembles 1988 Czech film Alice by Jan Svankmajor). The Fantastic Mr. Fox goes beyond exploring the classic tale through a more contemporary perspective. Through the expansion of the original narrative, Anderson amalgamates the story into modern thought, meticulously transfusing both Roald Dahl’s original message and his own artistic vision, proving once again that the auteur is still at the top of his game.

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By: Victoria Large

Arizona Dream - 1993 – dir. Emir Kusturica

“But what’s the point of breathing if somebody already tells you the difference between an apple and a bicycle? If I bite a bicycle and ride an apple, then I’ll know the difference.” That’s one of the first of many philosophical musings from Axel Blackmar, the searching twenty-something protagonist of Emir Kusturica’s willfully strange 1993 film Arizona Dream. It’s a statement that prepares the audience for all that comes next. That is, at least well as the audience can be prepared for all that comes next.
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By Melvin Cartagena                      

The Long Goodbye – 1973 – dir. Robert Altman

“If being in revolt against a corrupt society constitutes being immature, then Philip Marlowe is extremely immature. If seeing dirt where there is dirt constitutes social maladjustment, then Philip Marlowe has inadequate social adjustment. Of course Marlowe is a failure, and he knows it. He is a failure because he hasn’t any money…A lot of very good men have been failures because their particular talents did not suit their particular time and place.” – Raymond Chandler

In the first shot of The Long Goodbye, Marlowe (Elliott Gould) wakes up as if from a deep sleep. In time he demonstrates he is a stranger in a strange land, an intruder from a different time attempting to grok the  free-floating morality of the sprawling city of twenty-four hours supermarkets and Laundromats, and neo-flower children practicing yoga naked, and new-age healers. Marty Augustine (Mark Rydell) punctuates this temporal dislocation in Marlowe when he refers to the gumshoe as Rip Van Marlowe, the victim of a long sleep that has thrust him into a time and place that has no love for a man of ethics, a man who cares. This is more than can be said for the police, who in typical noir-pulp fashion first arrest Marlowe, then grill him relentlessly for three days about Terry Lennox’s (Jim Bouton) escape to Mexico hours after the brutal killing of his wife Sylvia, and finally cut him loose after Terry’s confirmed suicide down in Mexico. One more for the books in the precinct, but this makes no sense to Marlowe, so it’s up the world-weary knight in tarnished armor to set things right in his mind.

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