20 January 2002

The Lord of the Rings The Fellowship of the Ring

A powerful ring causes trouble for the inhabitants of Middle Earth. I was never tempted by the writing of Tolkien and never read any of the books. Nevertheless, I accepted the positive recommendations of colleagues. From the perspective of the non-fan, then, I observe that Middle Earth differs from our Earth in that there are a number of species occupying the phenotype of sentient upright biped: hobbits, elves, men, dwarfs, orcs, and on and on. However, they don’t describe themselves as species (like they did on Star Trek The Next Generation when they meant nationality) but rather as being of different races. It doesn’t take too much attention to notice that, despite all the talk of different races, all of the performers qualify as white. For all that, the background to the story is explained efficiently, if not too convincingly, as a narrated prologue. Life among the Hobbits in The Shire has some disconcerting visual effects to depict their stature. There’s a lot of fighting and swordplay and just plain killing as battle follows battle. Don’t ask me to watch the second and third installments.

Update:

I have been reminded that Hobbits have at least two breakfasts and a number of other mealtimes during the day. Which brings me to the second observation that occupied me while the mayhem transpired on-screen: when did this fellowship on its quest eat? And what did they eat? You never see them at a market, or foraging, or trapping, or fishing, or anything. Their boats have hardly anything in them. Days go by and no one eats. Guess that’s why it’s a fantasy. There are a few campfires that I remember, so I might have missed something.

176 minutes.

01 January 2002

La Bûche (1999)

Three sisters, a mother, temptation everywhere… didn’t I just see this movie in Vietnamese a few months ago? From a Paris profusely decorated for Christmas and the most banal (English-language) crooning on the soundtrack we hard cut to a burial. Yvette (Françoise Fabian) and as many of her daughters as she can corral are mourning the death of her second husband. Louba (Sabine Azéma) is the oldest. She teaches Russian and dances in a supper club, but still lives with the father, Stanislas (Claude Rich, looking like a dissipated George C. Scott). Sonia (Emmanuelle Béart, looking a little carroty up top) is the middle one with the handsome pilot for a husband and the adorable children. Bourgeois is the all-purpose insult tossed at her. Milla (Charlotte Gainsbourg) is the youngest (born in 1967). She can barely stand life as it is, she’s late for the burial, and Sonia’s maneuvering to reunite their mother Yvette with their father as her big Christmas dinner (where the cake, la bûche, will be served) just ticks her off. As the countdown to the big dinner proceeds day by day, Louba’s affair with a real estate agent, Sonia’s plans for the dinner and reunion, and Milla’s attraction to the father’s other tenant Joseph (Christopher Thompson) will hit snags of greater and lesser severity. The actresses are attractive (the lack of an evident age gap between Yvette and Louba is explained as a facelift long ago), the men are largely amusing (except for the one pathetic liar), but the cars are a little pedestrian (but Joseph’s ex-wife Danielle is having a hard time herself so her Ford Escort may be excused).

107 minutes.

The Royal Tenenbaums

The Tenenbaums are one messed-up family. Allegedly set in Manhattan, the New York flavor, such as it is, is limited to the tops of the trees of what might be Central Park. The father, Royal (Gene Hackman) and mother, Etheline (Anjelica Huston) have, mostly through her efforts, raised three children (not all of them theirs) who reached their potential and beyond quickly but now, after many years, are fearful, aimless, drifting: Chas (Ben Stiller), Margot (Gwyneth Platrow), and Richie (Luke Wilson). Royal tries one last scam, to claim that he is dying of stomach cancer, and thereby restore the family (and join them back in the family mansion). There is a husband trying to understand, a secret lover to be hidden, a suitor to challenge. Wes Anderson must be an acquired taste. The formal, balanced widescreen compositions (much of the movie is shot symmetrically) echo the stilted writing and the mannered performances. No hint of naturalism. But if I immediately recognize Alec Baldwin’s voice as the narrator, why do I have so much trouble with his role in Final Fantasy?

109 minutes.