Spotlight: Too Depressing for a Funny Title

Watching Spotlight feels like watching the functioning of an efficient and well-oiled machine. A nuts & bolts procedural from a suitably restrained director that's supported by a top notch cast of actors delivering grounded and realistic performances.

There's almost no directorial flair or intense moments of theatrical performance. In fact you'd be surprised to realise that for a journalism drama there's not even that much in the way of actual drama. For a subject as provocative as child abuse in the catholic church the film remains surprisingly muted. Nobody on the Spotlight team reporting on the church end up publicly shamed for their investigation. Nobody is harassed on the street, ostracised from their community or driven out of their home by angry churchgoers. Hell, the characters even remark with surprise that The Boston Globe isn't being picketed once the scandal is revealed. Yet as santised as the film is it still somehow works as a compelling story.

A big part of that is the clever script by Tom McCarthy and Josh Singer. It presents the real life events of Spotlight's investigation as accurately as possible but with a coherent beginning, middle and end. Opening with the arrival of Marty Baron (Liev Schrieber) as the new editor of The Globe. Baron's role is not only to organically establish the Spotlight Team and what they do (basically long-term investigations of major scandals) but also position him as the outsider, to whom things are done differently, who can encourage the team in ways they ordinarily wouldn't thinks. While the focus then mainly shifts to Spotlight and its investigation Baron remains on hand as the 'big picture' guy, the one less concerned with the individual priests and more the system that allows them to avoid prosecution.

The central theme at play here is willful ignorance. The fact that all of Boston could have seen what was going on if they had the will or consideration to look. So it's no surprise that once Spotlight does look, the evidence begins to pile up and up. Witnesses are brought out of the shadows, patterns in the movement of priests from parish to parish start to emerge and important documents, thought to be sealed under court order, quickly come to light. Information that Spotlight thought buried was, in fact, right under their noses the whole time. The almost effortless success of their investigation soon reveals that the films key conflict is not 'Will this come to light?' but 'Can we really stomach what we're about to discover?'.

To its credit Spotlight is never gratuitous with the grim reality it is unearthing. Most of the crimes committed are discussed in retrospect but with the long-term damage visible in it's victims. It's a testament to the emotional weight that even bit players like Michael Cyril Creighton and Neal Huff can bring to an already stellar cast. The only downside it that this has little impact on the Spotlight team themselves. There are a few tidbits here and there, including Mark Ruffalo's big climax that will likely feature whenever an awards show reaches the film in its nominations. However the scarcity of these scenes causes them to clash with he film's otherwise down-to-earth aesthetic and dialogue.

Yet for all its faults Spotlight works as a piece of journalistic drama. Communicating the procedures and perils of investigative work in the modern era (albeit the modern era of the early 00s). More a process of arranging appointments and tedious legal battles. It may not be cinematic but it is damn compelling.

Tangerine: Like a Familiar Dream

The most shocking thing about Tangerine-currently being touted as one of the best films of 2015-is just how conventional it feels. Once you get past the novelty of a film providing some representation of an oft-marginalised group plus the iPhone aesthetics you realise that Tangerine is just another 'crazy day in LA'. And sadly it isn't one that's particularly dramatic or even funny. Which isn't to say the film is bad, simply underwhelming and leads one to wonder exactly what the fuss is about.

But to the film itself. The film is centred on Sin Dee (Kitana Kiki Rodriguez) and Alexandra (Mya Taylor), two trans-women and prostitutes whose friendship is very much the emotional core of the film. Sin Dee has just finished a brief stint in jail only to discover that Chester, her boyfriend and pimp, has been cheating on her with a 'fish' (a cisgender female). So they embark on a haphazard voyage across LA to track down the fish and confront Chester. Meanwhile Alexandra is focused on singing at a local club and trying to encourage her friends to come.

What follows feels like a rather bog-standard succession of encounters among the denizens of Los Angeles mostly other transgender people until Sin Dee finally finds her fish. The problem being that while most films would use each scene to construct a comic set-piece or flesh out its characters to Tangerine they're merely stepping stones. Each new character is a chance for Sin Dee to demonstrate her obnoxiousness and Alexandra her exasperation. There are no surprises, Sin Dee finds the woman and drags her across town, stretching out suspension of disbelief in the process, before at least trying to reconcile things with Alexandra.

Alexandra's show is the tragic peak of her character. Something she's been putting considerable time and effort into an in the end is just another seedy LA bar that she had to pay to sing at. It's a small, sad performance only attended by a late Sin Dee and the fish she's literally dragged into the situation. To Tangerine's credit there's no pat moment of reconciliation, no revelatory turn that will redeem these characters of their bad behavior. This is a film about loud, rude angry people in a world where the only thing they have of value is their own bodies. It would be disingenuous to suggest some greater change or arc is going to come across two people who exist as the flotsam of an abusive industry.

The friendship between Sin Dee and Alexandra is the film's strongest quality. Two people with only each other whose loyalty is tested by Sin Dee's temper and Alexandra's aspirations. Alexandra is definitely the better characterised of the two, just as outspoken as Sin Dee and quick to anger but tempered with a desire to do better. She's past being sick of her life as a prostitute and has little time for Sin Dee's antics but is still ashamed to disappoint her.

The film also takes time out for a subplot about Razmik (Karren Karagulian), an Armenian cabdriver with an interest in Sin Dee and Alexandra, unbeknownst to his wife and child. Early scenes of Ramik picking up passengers, all with their own comic moments to experience, feel inorganic to the actions of Sin Dee and Alexandra. And while his story does eventually payoff it doesn't stop the character feeling like a distraction from the main action.

Eventually the disparate characters of  Sin Dee, Alexandra, Chester and Razmik come together for a farcical showdown at a local donut shop. While the scene does bring the film to some sense of a climx there's little in the way of drama in a scene about five or so people yelling at each other. Secrets are revealed and everyone hurls verbal abuse at each other until they can no longer stand it. Funny yes, but without any kind of dramatic context to make it meaningful.

Tangerine is an exceptional film, but it's exceptional only for its courage and the circumstances which brought it about. The fact that it was shot on an iPhone certainly gives it a unique look but one devoid of the suspense, amusement or engagement we get from clever uses of cinematography and editing. I am glad that Tangerine exists and that contemporary culture is recognising transgender people as a part of our society's fabric but this is not a film I'll be returning to soon.
 

A Grim Session with The German Doctor

The greatest fault of The German Doctor, originally titled Wakolda is perhaps that it relies too much on your knowledge going in. To truly understand just how chilling a film about a struggling Argentinian family and the mild-mannered physician who comes to lodge at their hotel in 1960 you must already know a little about who the man is.

The German Doctor is shrouded in mystery for much of the film, with focus instead thrown on the relationships that the doctor, who goes by the name Helmut Gregor, forms with the family. He takes a scientific interest in their diminutive daughter Lilith, identifying a growth defect that he can treat. Mother Eva is wary of allowing a virtual stranger to experiment on her child but being fifteen weeks pregnant with another she knows she may need his help. While the father, Enzo is made predictably anxious by this newcomer’s increasing involvement with his family. Even when Gregor offers to invest in a business venture together, mass producing the doll Enzo made for Lilith, named Wakolda from which the film gains its Spanish title.   

Then comes the twist, that this seemingly average German doctor is in fact escaped war criminal Joseph Mengele. While some may know Mengele as the villain in The Boys from Brazil he is in fact the kind of Nazi scientist that other Nazi scientists thought insane. On top of the unknown number of people he killed Mengele amputated his victim’s limbs, infected them with Typhus and injected chemicals into their eyes among other horrific crimes. However The German Doctor chooses not to outline the depths of Mengele’s evils, most of his work is conveyed in a handful of graphic drawings in his notebook. Assuming this information is either common knowledge or simply already implicit in his association with the Nazis.

Whatever the reason it feels like The German Doctor could have pushed its subject matter for greater dramatic tension. This is a film about a collection of innocents coming to the realisation that they have colluded, however unknowingly, with a monster. The theme of lost innocence is felt most profoundly with Lilith who gains the most from Menegle’s presence and so becomes the most enamoured with him. At the threshold of puberty she takes an interest in this charming older man, eventually coming to learn about his work and ideologies. Thankfully their scenes never possess a Lolita-esque vibe, Mengele views her more a subject of study than anything. And it has to be said Florencia Bado gives a charming, naive performance as Lilith without becoming overly precocious.

The real star though is Alex Brendemuhl with the unenviable task of playing one of history worst menaces with zero menace. His cold, still eyes suit more and alien with an understated curiosity about other people. His Mengele is calculating about everything, wanting to be liked but only to maintain his cover, wanting to help but only to further his research. It is not until he finds the net closing around him that Mengele breaks out the hissing villainy, at which point it feel like a jarring turn of character. It is a performance which doesn’t plumb the depths of his psyche but it is effective nonetheless.

Before he flees though there is baggage to resolve with the family as Eva goes into labour and Mengele is the only physician available. A glimmer of a good deed forms in an otherwise black pit of evils as Mengele resolves to help the struggling newborn twins even with Isreali agents closing in. Meanwhile the family, with Enzo in particular, have to resolve accepting the help of a man who has committed atrocities. Will the lives of his children be forever tainted by this man’s influence? Will they be able to forgive themselves for not doing more to bring him to justice? For the family there are no easy answers.

In the end The German Doctor does not do anything new with its well-trod subject matter. It doesn’t have the big dramatic performances of Schindler’s List or the insights of Downfall. It does however provide a tense and occasionally compelling microcosm of the effects of the Holocaust. A slow-burning character piece that examines how easily it is for the devil to assume pleasing forms.

Trance: Like most therapy sessions sterile, wayward and discourages repeat visits

Danny Boyle’s a weird one, on par with Ken Loach and Shane Meadows as a truly notable British auteur. Like most directors I admire his distinctiveness is very conducive to narrative flow with rapid fire editing and chameleonic musical accompaniment that always sets you in the often schizophrenic mindset of his characters. The man’s name alone can get me into the cinema and the thought of him doing a contemporary film noir as a means of blowing off steam during the Olympic ceremony was an exciting prospect.

But alas everyone has their limits and Boyle’s, in my opinion, is adapting a relatively thin crime narrative into a feature length thriller. A similar feat was managed in 127 Hours by painstakingly detailing the tribulations of its trapped protagonist while fleshing out his character through flashbacks and hallunicinations. Trance however doesn’t have time for that, it’s got a mystery to solve, complications to provoke and a forgettable supporting cast to mess around with. Not to mention the titillating love triangle the film weaves between its protagonist Simon (James McAvoy) an art auctioneer who steals a painting for East End mob boss Franck (Vincent Cassel) only to lose it after a bonk to the noggin and attempts to divine its location with the help of sultry hypnotherapist Elizabeth (Rosario Dawson), who (least necessary spoiler warning) has her own agenda and begins playing both men against each other.

The problems with Trance's, frankly stupid, ménage a trios, involve spoiling a lot of plot revelations from late in the film. Thankfully though there are other problems I can go through before we have to cross that bridge starting with the main character. First things first, McAvoy gives a great, convincing performance as Simon, a character that undergoes a number of changes to persona without delving into split personality syndrome. Shifting seamlessly from charming lad about town, to impotent runt, to borderline psychotic all while ultimately staying the same person. The problem though is that we’re never introduced to Simon as a person of depth on a journey we want to follow. We know he’s confident, meticulous and something of a gambler but that’s it, it’s all external never showing the heart of it. Why he is stealing the painting, what pressure is he under, what will be the consequences of him failing?

In Vertigo we feel for Scottie because he’s a man of action now crippled by fear. In Oldboy we feel for Dae Su because he’s an innocent man imprisioned for a dehumanising amount of time. Simon however is a handsome young man with a good job and a modern London flat. He’s the victim of entirely his own circumstances and no amount of fingernail pulling will make us engage with him. The result is that much of the qualities you associate with a film noir; empthy , tension, intrigue are completely absent because you simply don’t care.

It’s possible this would have been avoided by simply opening with Simon post-concussion. It would have allowed us to piece together his character and sympathise with his situation before thrusting him into the plot. An episode of Charlie Brooker’s Black Mirror did this to great effect earlier in the year though for some reason it also gets ludicrous once Tuppence Middleton shows up.

A far better mystery is Rosario Dawson as the hypnotherapist who, right off the bat, is established as knowing more than she lets on and quickly becomes master manipulator of both Simon and Franck. The problem here though is that there’s little indication of seduction and every indication of farting around. Her therapy session seem built around not rebuilding Simon’s memory but positioning him and Franck into a state of vulnerability, which would only encourage suspicion and hostility (towards her, not each other). At one point Franck even comments that they’re not making any progress while she lives out her power fantasies, which stood out because I was thinking the exact same thing.

See, and this is where I throw up the SPOILER WARNING, it’s easy to write this off as part of the real plot, which is Elizabeth’s ridiculously convoluted revenge against Simon, who is revealed to have been an abusive ex-boyfriend she alludes to in the film. Elizabeth not only hypnotises Simon to forget their relationship but also to orchestrate the heist and double cross the criminals he is conveniently acquainted with to steal a famous painting that he spent a few seconds of screen time talking about.

Now I’m of the opinion that a lot of the time plot holes aren’t a massive problem. Questions of how over the top this plan is, how much omniscience it demands of Elizabeth and how perfectly everything is already in place to enact it shouldn’t matter. They shouldn’t matter if the reveal is of dramatic and devastating consequence, NOT if it’s some random nice painting the protagonist happens to like. This twist is so random and impersonal that I can’t help but think about how many plot holes have manifested in pursuit of such a pointless endgame.

After that what else is there to say? As established the supporting cast are little more than sacks of meat counting down to the point where they have to take a bullet to demonstrate a characters descent into darkness. Apparently one of them is associated with Simon before the events of the film, I say ‘apparently’ because I don’t think he ever actually speaks to any of them. Maybe he isn’t real, maybe none of them are real, mere figments in what must be the least imaginative dream sequences since Inception. The action is of almost cartoonish quality, sucking up any real threat of death like a Dyson. So in short let’s call this one a rare misstep for Boyle and ask that he not try to overdo it on his next film which, in spite of everything, I still eagerly anticipate.