Scandal Minus Sensationalism: The Girl on the Train

A few months ago, I panned The Headless Woman, a quiet, compact foreign film about a woman, her psychology, and a crime that might or might not have happened. Today I'm here to praise The Girl on the Train, a film with a similar concept, but superior execution. This 2009 French production may derive from a 2004 scandal but, director, André Téchiné, has produced neither a Law and Order, "ripped from the headlines" entertainment nor an over-earnest issue picture. The Girl on the Train may tell us something about the ills of modern French society, but it's far more eloquent about individual problems.

Jeanne Fabre (Émilie Dequenne) lives in a Parisian suburb with her mother, Louise (Catherine Deneuve). For all her efforts – hours pounding pavement, enduring interviews, and scouring job listings – she can't find a job. She cuts an appealing figure with her roller blades, headphones, and casual clothes, but Jeanne's not a terribly happy girl. Nor is she very smart. When she's with her shady wrestler boyfriend, Franck (Nicolas Duvauchelle), she tells obvious lies, but manages to avoid noticing her beau's sideline in drugs. An hour into the film, Jeanne tells the police – and through them, the whole of France – a very big lie.

After Jeanne fibs her way into the national consciousness, one of the film's main subplots almost entirely vanishes. For the first fifty minutes, the film seems to be about Jeanne's relationship with Franck. The surprising end of the relationship appears to be a major catalyst for Jeanne's breakdown, but Franck is almost entirely absent in the film's second part. He has perhaps forty-five seconds of screen time. Those forty-five seconds are very affecting, but I can't help but wish The Girl on the Train had a slightly more elegant structure.

Though the movie's story belongs to Jeanne, The Girl on the Train devotes a fair portion of its running time to lawyer, Samuel Bleistein (Michel Blanc), and his family. Though Blanc is a fine actor, the film's portrayal of Bleistein's dysfunctional family never quite convinces. Bleistein's indefatigable assistant, Judith (Ronit Elkabetz), is his son's ex-wife. Said son has an awful beard and a gruff manner; he's touchy, funny, irresponsible, and hard to accept as Judith's lover. Bleistein's thirteen-year-old grandson, Nathan (Jérémie Quaegebeur), alternates between callow and preternaturally wise; Quaegebeur acquits himself well, however, and surpasses the script's inconsistencies.

Midway through the film, The Girl on the Train tells us that Jeanne's claims have shocked the country and frenzied the media. Where a lesser film might give us shots of rallies, protests, and policemen, this one remains focused on the characters, not the crowds. If anything, the film becomes more sedate in its second act, which moves from Paris and the suburbs to Bleistein's country estate. If the manner of Jeanne's final epiphany feels slightly forced, we never doubt that she would eventually own up to her deception. Her "composition" of her apology/confession is an effective scene, as is her bleakly minimal entrance into a jail cell, though I'm not sure about Téchiné's decision to intercut the latter scene with Nathan's Bar Mitzvah.

Some might complain that The Girl on the Train is too oblique; we hear, but never see, Jeanne's false accusation and the director neglects to film several potentially dramatic scenes. I, however, was much taken with the movie's preference for psychology over spectacle and its way of showing the political as personal. Jeanne might seem to represent a nationwide "pathology," but we never forget that her problems, in the end, are her own. Téchiné never overreaches with grand statements or sententious proclamations. He lets the story speak and leaves interpretation to the audience.

Throughout this review, I've tried to avoid mentioning what exactly Jeanne lies about – what exactly (didn't) happen(ed) to "the girl on the train." Perhaps my reticence is unnecessary; anyone in the movie's French audience would know what to expect from Jeanne's quixotic crime. There's a fair deal of foreshadowing throughout the film's first hour, but I prefer not to divulge the movie's (open) secret. In my mind, the film becomes more interesting if you don't know quite what to expect. Even if one does have a general idea of the plot, Jeanne's crime, and her incompetence in staging it, remain stunning.

The Girl on the Train is neither a great nor an ambitious film; it is well-made, well-acted, and thought-provoking. It stands on the line between art house and popular cinema, and should please partisans of both styles.

I Guess I'll Just Have to Order Another Milkshake

I'll admit it. Some movies scare me. No, I'm not talking about the kind of scare horror movies are supposed to give you. (Well, the "Saw" movies scare me on a certain level, but that's a rant for another day.) What I'm talking about is the kind of scare that comes from having your ego threatened; the kind of scare that I feel when I walk out of a movie thinking, "Damn, I'm happy I don't have to review that one." The best recent example of this sort of film is "There Will Be Blood." It is rare to see a film that is so wildly ambitious, but also widely praised by critics and embraced by pop culture as a whole. Going in, such a film can be rather intimidating for a young film snob. One wonders, "Will I get it?" or, "Will I see what others see in it? And if so, will I be able to build a righteous hatred for it that will allow me to rant for weeks on end about how overrated it is?"

After seeing the Paul Thomas Anderson's "There Will Be Blood" in theaters, I walked away impressed, but baffled. In other words, the answer to all of my aforementioned questions was pretty much, "No." I felt like the film's main character had just sauntered up and delivered on his threats; Daniel Plainview had drunk my milkshake -- drunk it right up -- and I didn't know what to make of the situation. This perturbation has persisted ever since and only last night did I finally get the opportunity to sit down and give the film another go.

Initially, this had an effect that may only surprise me: I found myself understanding the film both more and less. My first reaction was to consider ejecting the disc and throwing it across the room. (Blu-ray discs fly quite well. I suggest trying it with a copy of "Fool's Gold.") After that impulse was repressed, however, I sat down and really thought about why I had ever liked the film at all, and some things finally came together in my head. One of the film's most striking qualities, in my mind, is its similarity to Stanley Kubrick's work. I consider him to be one of the greatest artists of the last century, so seeing flashes of his work in other films always excites me. From the beautifully deliberate pans and zooms of the camera, to the unflinchingly bleak characterization of Plainview, "There Will Be Blood" shows that Paul Thomas Anderson has a cinematic bravado that is only comparable to Kubrick's.

What has always defined Kubrick in my eyes is the fact that his films are, on one level, very simple but astoundingly complex on just about every other. "The Shining" is about a guy who kills his family. "Eyes Wide Shut" is about a guy who is considering cheating on his wife. "2001" is about a ship that travels throughout the solar system to find a giant monolith that -- okay, that one is a bad example. Looking back on "There Will Be Blood," I can see a similar dichotomy revealed when Plainview blithely comments on his inner sense of competition. I was surprised to realize that, on one level, the film is that simple: He is just a selfish, jealous son of a bitch, inside and out.

Obviously, that is not all there is to him, but knowing that there is such a simple framework for the entire film makes it easier for me to accept just how inscrutable the rest of it can be. Daniel's relationships with religion, his son, and even the oil he drills are complex and often seemingly contradictory. Much of the film seems to revel in a murky sort of complexity that only dares to you try and illuminate it. This is what makes films like "There Will Be Blood" so important: they challenge us in new ways. Now I feel a certain sort of comfort in my fear, like that uneasy laughter that washes over an audience after a particularly big scare in a horror movie. This is because I now realize that all great films, regardless of their purported genre, are horror films. They force us to venture into unexplored depths of our own minds. Now that's something of which we can all be afraid.

Resisting the Urge to Compare Walt Disney to the Ayatollah

One reviewer said of the recent French film, "Persepolis" that it was sad it took an animated film to honestly convey Iran's recent history. This statement left me wondering if any other artistic medium is treated with such condescension these days, much less one that was so undeserving of it. Then again, that question seems silly when one skims the glowing reviews for Pixar's latest film, "Wall-E." That film has plenty to say, even if it does so within the bounds of the G rating. So where does animation stand in this country? In short, at the head of the kids' table.

Obviously, that one aforementioned review is not necessarily indicative of our culture's views on animation as whole. (The review is from highdefdigest.com, an obscure source, to say the least.) The indicators, however, of our low opinion of animation are everywhere. All you have to do is look at the dearth of primetime animated television, or the Oscars' relegation of animation to its own category -- a move that simultaneously ensured that animated films would be recognized each year, and that they would never again get a shot at other, more prestigious awards like Best Picture. Animation is clearly second-class filmmaking in the general public's opinion. So, why is it that, looking back on the first half of this year, two of the best new films I've seen are animated?

Well, there isn't one, single answer to that question. Pixar's "Wall-E," however, is a good case study in the American school of animation. When I walked out of the film, I was struggling not to grin, feeling quite moved, and thinking that it was the best film I've seen in a while -- three rare occurrences for me, to be sure. On the ride home, that feeling faded, and by the time I had reached my destination, I realized that I had little else to say about it. "Wall-E" starts out sporting a shocking attribute: silence. There is very little dialogue in the first third of director, Andrew Stanton's the film. This is the sign of a filmmaker that is confident in both his material and his vision. His confidence is not misplaced, either. I defy you not to fall in love with the eponymous character and his touching story.

Thing is, you've probably heard similar praise given to any number of Disney movies (apart from the use of silence). In the quality of its direction and the sharpness of its satire, "Wall-E" easily outclasses anything Disney proper has done in decades. But, that's not saying much. Once the film's ideas on our mistreatment of our planet, as well as our own bodies, solidify, there's very little to parse here. There is something to be said about the fact that a robot is the only truly human character in the film, but this is merely an undertone -- something on which a more ambitious film would have followed through. (Perhaps by way of an ending that isn't so neat as this one's.) Ultimately, "Wall-E" is still clean, family-oriented entertainment that puts accessibility before ambition.

Before I move on, I have to reiterate that "Wall-E" is one of the best movies made so far this year. There is absolutely NO reason to pass up an opportunity to see this film. Let me explain, however, why France's "Persepolis" is even more deserving of your attention.

When I walked out of "Persepolis," I wasn't quite so sure what to feel. Graphic novelist, Marjane Satrapi's story about her growth from a troublemaking Iranian girl to a, well, troublemaking Iranian woman is long, winding and, overall, exhausting. It isn't the kind of film that you walk out of feeling fulfilled -- not on the first viewing, at least. The complexity and sensitivity of its subject matter is self-evident, but nevertheless could have been made easier to swallow. Thankfully, Satrapi and co-writer/director, Vincent Paronnaud understood that doing so would have made the film utterly pointless. Iran has not changed a great deal in the years since Satrapi's youth, and time has not made this any easier for her to grapple with.

While all of this means that the screenplay gives its audience much more credit than the majority of American animation, I must not ignore the animation itself. The film stays very faithful to the visual style of her graphic novels, and is all the more breathtaking for it. The lack of color and extensive use of clean lines creates a bold look that never lets you forget you're watching animation, but only in the best way possible. Pixar's artistic prowess is not to be understated, but their films' technical mastery has always served create to create something ostensibly realistic. (There is even fleeting use of live action actors in "Wall-E.") "Persepolis" uses its inescapable unreality to convey the emotional truths behind the facts. In a sense, this is what all art is meant to do. Who, after all, walks away from "Casablanca" or "The Godfather" saying, "That was so realistic!"?

I was saddened to watch Pixar's previous film, "Ratatouille" beat "Persepolis" for last year's Best Animated Feature award. ("Persepolis" was entered into last year's Oscars, but widely released months later.) "Ratatouille" was, again, by no stretch of the imagination a bad film, but shared many of the flaws "Wall-E" suffers from (and more). This shows that Americans are still not quite ready to embrace animation as the boundless, unexplored creative palate that it is. The major studios continue to crank out computer animated pictures aimed at preschoolers and their overworked parents -- most paling in comparison to even Pixar's work. The burgeoning popularity of "Persepolis" in the States, however, provides hope for the future. Maybe, one day, we'll look back and see that little Marjane wasn't only calling for a political revolution, but a creative one, as well.

If You're Only Seeing Red, "Speed" is More than Meets the Eye

It's safe to assume that you missed "Speed Racer." Waiting for the DVD, are you? Right, and you probably already have the laserdisc on pre-order, too. It's okay; I get it. It had a monkey in it -- a perfectly justifiable gripe. I mean, it's not even a CG monkey and it's not voiced by Bruce Willis. Wake up, Wachowski brothers! Americans demand a certain level of integrity!

Sorry. False start. I'll try and control myself this time around...

"Speed Racer" got a bad rap. It's not that I don't understand why -- I do. But, unsurprisingly to those who know me, I think the fact that everyone seems to hate it only bolsters my argument. First, let's get the concessions out of the way. I freely admit that a monkey is part of the principle cast. The number of scenes featuring the monkey (its name is Chim-chim, but I'll stick with the improper noun) is indeed distressing, and an indicator of perhaps the movie's greatest flaw: someone thought this should be a kids' movie. I don't know if it was the Wachowski brothers' idea or the studio's, but either way, it was a big miscalculation. Nevertheless, it was largely a marketing miscalculation, because the scenes in the actual film that are meant to hook the kids in are mostly isolated and somewhat rare. The rest of the film's two-plus hours are filled with violence, language, tongue in cheek humor and action sequences that are so kinetic they'd probably send an eight year old into seizures. In other words, this isn't really a kids' movie, even if the cereal boxes tell you so.

Those points aside, the film is still anything but perfect. In typical Wachowski style, characters seem to love the sound of their own voice. I would suggest that, in the future, studios bring in someone to edit these guys' screenplays, but it's hard to say if their signature meta-philosophical hokeyness would still come through. The brothers may be self-indulgent, but they're also pretty self conscious. An early scene where Trixie tries to coax a kiss from Speed illustrates this well. The scene becomes tedious rather quickly, but only by design, as you'll probably laughing at the couple's absurd level of chastity long before the obligatory interruption of Speed's little brother and his... monkey. Of course, there are other scenes where the only thing that's funny is the lack of self-consciousness. Who knew discussions of racing could be so plodding?

I have already said far too much about the script, however, because the true strength of the film is in its visuals. Critics complained about them, too, but here's where I think they couldn't be more wrong. They had a field day tearing down what they perceived as an incoherent blur of Warholian "car-fu." (Yeah, I just used that phrase.) Now, you would think with all the invocations of Warhol's name, critics would have some idea of the importance of thinking outside the box, but it's not evident in their closed-minded perception of the film. The Wachowski brothers, for all their flamboyant style, are very adept filmmakers. Where other directors ignore or undervalue the fundamentals (continuity, camerawork, cutting, composition, etc.) for the sake of style, the Wachowskis build upon them.

In some ways, the film may look very similar to other current (genuinely bad) action movies, with its extreme stylization and quick pace. Michael Bay's "Transformers," for example, is all about constant cutting. "Speed Racer" is just as quickly paced, but cuts less often. Ths is indicative of much more succinct direction. More importantly, though, when it does cut in "Speed," it is made blatantly obvious where we are cutting to. You may wonder why this matters, but anyone who has studied film knows that this is absolutely integral to the cohesiveness of a film. When you see someone walk out of a door on the right side of a shot, you expect them to walk into the next room on the left side. Otherwise, it looks like they've just entered the Twilight Zone. Granted, Michael Bay probably knows enough to handle that scenario, but when you have hyperkinetic battle sequences taking place, there is a lot more action to keep track of. When the director fails at maintaining such continuity, it goes from kinetic to chaotic. While the directors of "Speed Racer" may send their camera rocketing throughout the space of the scene, they always avoid such chaos. Thus, they have a very stylized look, but it's not at the expense of cohesiveness.

I could go on all day explaining similar details that speak to the fundamentally adept directing of the Wachowskis versus directors like Bay, but I'll resist. Your average critic is smart enough to notice these things, and accordingly, most recognize Bay as all sound and fury. Some of them may not see what I see in the Wachowskis, however, and this is magnified by one final feature of the style of "Speed Racer": a unique treatment of time. Those who have seen the Wachowskis' "Matrix" films know that they like their slow motion, and employ it not as a dramatic flourish, but as a basic weapon in their directing arsenal. It's simply part of their style -- something borne of the directors' roots in anime. In "Speed," we see a similar fluidity of time's treatment on a larger scale. There are seamless transitions from past to present, a technique that only becomes more prominent as the film progresses. The fluidity exists for a reason, though. Speed's brother, for example, is surely on his mind whenever he returns to the track where his brother died, so memories of a time they spent there together would creep in as Speed is racing in the present. The Wachowskis organize their scenes thematically, not chronologically.

With both time and space being treated in such unique ways, it is easy to see how many viewers will be put off by the film's style. With the brothers doing their basic duties as directors, however, it is clear that it is more a question of taste than it is one of quality. The Wachowskis are delivering something very unique with "Speed Racer" and something, I believe, that is ahead of its time. Just as "The Matrix" is still being echoed throughout modern action films ("Wanted," anyone?), I believe the Wachowski brothers are once again at the bleeding edge with this film. It's hard to see behind the marketing misfires and monkey antics, but I wouldn't be surprised if this film has gained a bit more respect when we look back a few years from now. A few critics noted that "Speed" may indeed be the most expensive art house film ever made. They should have put that on the cereal boxes.

Oh, and it's never too late to order that laserdisc.