DVDebut: Jason Bateman scores again, as actor in and director of THE FAMILY FANG

Jason Bateman has long been one of TrustMovies favorite actors, particularly among those who seem under-rated yet have consistently helped ground a lot of films in which they are not the supposed "star" (remember Hancock?) As a director, Bateman has now made two fine films, the dirty-delight, spelling-bee movie, Bad Words, and now THE FAMILY FANG, which makes its DVDebut this week and proves yet another auspicious outing in which Bateman both directs and co-stars.

Just as he was by Andrew Dodge's fine screenplay for Bad Words, Mr. Bateman, shown above, is helped along by an excellent screenplay for "Fang" by David Lindsay-Abaire, adapted from a novel by Kevin Wilson.

Lindsay-Abaire (shown at left), of the play and movie, Rabbit Hole, is in a much more fanciful mood here, as he weaves themes of family, parenting, art and life together into an alternately witty and moving, often surprising tale of a family of four led by mom-and-dad performance artists who use their two children as part of their continuing "act." The movie opens with one of these early performance art pieces that takes place in a bank (below),

 

in which the kids, mom and dad (all shown above) conspire to give their unsuspecting audience a very big "thrill." When we cut to present day, we learn that the kids have now grown into Nicole Kidman and Mr. Bateman, who play a troubled sister and brother still coming to terms with how their past continues to rumple their present.

Bateman is a blocked writer, while Kidman (above, center) plays an actress who seems to be losing her grip on her career. Their parents (present-day) are played by stage and film vets Christopher Walken (above, left) and Maryann Plunkett (above, right),

and in younger days by Jason Butler Harner (center right, above) and Kathryn Hahn (center, left, above). As the movie evolves, it becomes a tale of art -- maybe good, maybe not so: the movie offers a juicy little argument between two critics about the Fangs' performance pieces -- and parenting, which I think most of us will rate as the not-so-hot sort.

The difficulty of being true to oneself as an artist and true to one's kids as a parent is placed front and center but, as presented by Bateman and Lindsay-Abaire, the theme is never baldly stated. It's simply there. But I suspect the movie will register quite strongly for those of us who've had (or tried to have) a career in the arts, while doubling as parents. The difficulty of doing both well is shown smartly and effectively and the film, for all it seriousness, is also great fun. (Those performance art pieces grow ever more surprising and original.)

As with Bad Words, Bateman draws fine work from everyone on screen, and his movie's resolution, while somewhat positive, is nothing close to feel-good. It suggests that growth is possible, all right, and so is "growing up" -- even with a pair of parents as self-involved as the ones we see here. The Family Fang is a fine addition to Bateman's continuing oeuvre. We await his next installment with anticipation.

From Anchor Bay Entertainment and running 106 minutes, the movie hits DVD this Tuesday, July 5, for purchase or rental. (That's Marin Ireland, above, left, as one of the Bateman character's fans -- and maybe something more.)

Jennifer Prediger and Jess Weixler's APARTMENT TROUBLES hits dvd; nice Chekhov!

OK: The movie's a mess. But, gheesh, it's sort of an endearing mess -- funny in odd ways rather than the expected, and as ditsy, charming and irritating as its two leading ladies, Jennifer Prediger and Jess Weixler, who also wrote and directed the film. You might call this a "vanity production," except that the filmmakers are as apt to show their worst sides as their better ones. Also, they do have a bundle of talent, even if it's oddball rather than mainstream.

Ms Prediger (shown at right) and Ms Weixler (below) both have a barrel of indie-film credits (Weixler has 37, Prediger 22) so they've been around the block a few times. Here, they take a well-known fact of life these days (nobody except the very wealthy can afford an apartment in New York City or its environs) and use it a leaping-off point for their adventures -- which prove to be a kind of first-class road trip to Los Angeles and back again.

That their film lasts only 77 minutes is probably wise, and the fact that it ends on a strange, lovely

and appealing note will send any Chekhov lovers in the audience levitating in a state of grace. The Russian master and his work figure in this film a couple of times and in major ways -- firstly in a weird piece of performance art that the two girls, Nicole (Weixler) and Olivia (Prediger) decide to act out on a kind of America's Got Talent TV show. It's a odd homage to Anton Chekhov and his play, The Seagull, in both the kind of amateur theater production it appears to be imitating and in its use of some of the dialog from the play. What's more, these lines appear again at film's end, this time performed by Weixler in what is the most beautiful rendering of them--visual and verbal--I've yet seen/heard.

I am guessing either or both of these actresses did Chekhov in high school or drama school and probably fell in love with him and his creation, Nina, from The Seagull. In any case, the movie's use of these few lines at the finale gives it a strange and slightly Armageddon-like quality, which is probably not amiss in our current times (just as it would not have been in Chekhov's own).

Also in the cast are three more noted and popular performers who were somehow corralled into joining the cast, which proves all to the good. Jeffrey Tambor -- shown above, right, and currently riding and definitely adding to the heights of Transparent (the double meaning of this terrific title word only became apparent to me as I typed it now). Tambor plays the girls' odd landlord (everything and everybody in this movie is odd), who for some reason enjoys showering in their apartment but is not happy about their consistently tardy and under-market rent payments.

Once they arrive in Los Angeles, they're given a lift by an even odder character played by Will Forte (above, right), who appears again toward the end to goose the movie into a kind of "full circle" thing. Forte is fresh and funny (and real), as usual.

But it is Megan Mullally (above, left) as Nicole's odd aunt, who gives the movie a consistent lift. Clearly sexually attracted to Olivia, as well as wanting to help the pair, she simply can't keep her hands to herself, making Prediger's character as uncomfortable as it makes us viewers amused. (That Mullally and Prediger could pass for mother and daughter adds a soupçon of further naughtiness to the proceedings.)

And that's pretty much it: They come to L.A., they do silly things, and then they leave again for NYC. But beneath the veneer lies longing and frustration of artists and women who cannot express themselves and be heard, so the expression comes out in, yes, odd ways. In a sense, both these young women are Ninas -- but let's hope as in the earlier, rather than the later, portion of Chekhov's play.

Prediger, looking like a lost little girl struggling to grow up, has a lovely, true and dulcet singing voice, which we hear only haphazardly at the aunt's dinner party. I'd like to hear it again.

Weixler, whom I have in the past compared to a young Meryl Streep, here looks more like the youthful and oddly beautiful Bette Davis. The actress has an edge that she knows how to use, and she does so quite purposefully here.

If it sounds like I am raving about this strange little mistake of a movie, well, so be it. It certainly will not prove to be to most audiences' tastes. But for those willing to take a chance, or who love Chekhov, or enjoy any of all of the performers mentioned above, it is worth that chance. As a whole, it may go right by you, but certain little scenes, I swear, you'll remember for quite some time (particularly if you're a cat person).

Apartment Troubles, from Anchor Bay Entertainment and Gravitas Ventures, will appear on DVD this coming Tuesday, October 6, for purchase or rental.    

CLOUDS OF SILS MARIA: Olivier Assayas' great film about women, celebrity, aging, performance

One of the strengths of filmmaker Olivier Assayas (shown below) is how he manages to make his movies so often seem off-the-cuff, almost improvised, while at the same time bringing home their themes gently but fluently. His new movie CLOUDS OF SILS MARIA manages this particularly well, as did Summer Hours and Something in the Air.

Occasionally he'll come a cropper (remember Boarding Gate), when his themes never coalesce into believability, or with Clean, in which his command of the English language was not nearly up to the level it appears to have reached in his latest endeavor. He'll also surprise/shock us now and again with something memorably crazy like Demonlover, where themes (the evils of globalization) are hammered home rather bluntly but the movie is such bizarre, devilish fun that we don't care. In Clouds of Sils Maria, Assayas is working at or near his zenith, and the result is bravura.

This writer/director has long shown a special affinity for women, their needs and desires, along with how they "operate." I'd say he's done this better than most male directors. He also, as might be expected, understands quite a bit about international movie-making, celebrity and (as he just this year turned 60) aging.  His new film juggles all these themes with such wit, dexterity and expositional slight-of-hand that you can only sit back and marvel at his splendid dialog, lovely visuals and the wonderful performances he gets from his three women stars -- and everyone else in this terrific movie.

The three women here would seem to represent the ages of the late teens, 20s and 40s -- with Juliette Binoche (two photos above, who has worked with the writer and director several times before), as Maria, the oldest of the three (Ms Binoche just turned 50 last year); Kristen Stewart (above, and now 25 years old) as Valentine, Maria's smart, unusually truth-telling personal assistant; and Chloë Grace Moretz (below, who is currently at the end of her teen years) as a young actress named Jo-Ann, who has just risen to the realm of superstardom.

I give the actual age of these three performers not to be dishy but because the line between art and life in this film seems intentionally unclear, sometimes transparently so. In a scene or two in which Maria and Val have line rehearsals for a play in which Maria will star, you may initially imagine the pair are simply talking about their own lives, rather than reading dialog, so attuned to art mimicking life is M. Assayas.

That play is a sequel to an earlier play -- which became a hit film, thereby sending Maria's star into orbit some decades back -- involving a young girl and the older woman who becomes her mentor and lover. Having won initial acclaim playing the young girl, now the actress is set to perform the role of the older woman. That the younger woman will be played by the hugely successful Jo-Ann simply adds to the repressed trauma that our aging actress must face.

The men who inhabit, somewhat cursorily, these women's lives are written in brief, smart strokes and portrayed very well by a number of fine actors (including Lars Eidinger, above, right, as the play's hotshot director; Hanns Zischler as an old and much-loathed co-star; Johnny Flynn, below, left, as Jo-Ann's current wunderkind writer boyfriend; and Brady Corbet, who has a marvellous little penultimate scene with Binoche involving, yes, age and acting. The film's first "event," in fact, has to do with a man, the playwright in question, who gave Maria her start. Yet the guys are all satellites; it's the women who command and control the film.

They do this by questioning, arguing, insisting, relenting -- then rethinking the whole thing. It's a brilliant conception on Assayas' part, and the execution is sterling. Ms Binoche is so real (and often not so nice), alternately appealing and wise and then annoying and foolish. Her Maria is struggling, and she makes us a party to that struggle. Ms Moretz, one of our most interesting young actresses, is delightful here: as poised and gracious in person as her character is lewd and insulting during her forays with the media. (The movie's various prattle about "the industry" and how it works is generally hilarious.) Moretz represents youth in all its passion and eagerness, as well as its indiscretions and selfishness -- and she nails this state of mind and action beautifully.

Most surprising of all, however, is Ms Stewart, who has given a number of good performances in her career, but nothing that matches this one. She is so alert and on-point throughout, so "unglamorous" and real, full of surprise and spiked intelligence that she all but steals the movie. You can understand why the French were so floored that they gave her their Best Supporting Actress award -- the first time in history that an American has won a César.

What M. Assayas has done, finally, is to give us a look at performing in its many incarnations -- in theater, film, rehearsal, and life (that's right: we do indeed perform for friends, family and even strangers). Yet how thoughtful and egalitarian is this filmmaker, as he allows his characters to stop, start again, grow and finally change. One of the prize scenes comes near the end, as Maria and Jo-Ann face each other down regarding how to play a certain scene. The result is a kind of blessed few moments that allow the pivotal character (and us) to more deeply relate and understand.

Oh, yes-- what about those titular clouds? They are said to exist at early morning hours as air masses move around the mountain range of Sils Maria -- the gorgeous area of Switzerland in which much of the film takes place -- creating a kind of billowy "snake." The trek to see this phenomenon that Maria and Val make leads to one of the movie's several climaxes. It's a wonder, as is most of this amazing, mysterious movie.

From Sundance Selects/IFC Films and running a just-about-perfect 124 minutes, Clouds of Sils Maria opens this Friday, April 10, in New York City at IFC Center and the Lincoln Plaza Cinemas, with openings in the top national markets throughout April and early May 

Matthew Akers' MARINA ABRAMOVIĆ THE ARTIST IS PRESENT opens at Film Forum

TrustMovies has never seen performance artist Marina Abramović in person, as did those thousands of art-loving patrons who visited MoMA from March through May, 2010, to get a little one-on-one eye contact with the artist, during which she and that visitor simply sat across a small table and stared into each other's eyes without any other form of communication. TM, however, had seen one other film about Ms Abramović some years back, and it -- and she -- proved interesting enough that he has never forgotten it. (He has, unfortunately, forgotten the title of the film: According to the IMDB it most probably was Seven Easy Pieces, in which the venue was the Guggenheim Museum.)

Abramović, shown on poster, top, and above, is quite a woman: beautiful, strong, assured and willing to disrobe and throw her body every and any which way for her art. She tells us that she's now spent nearly 40 years trying to get people to take her seriously, coming up against the question, asked time and again: "Why is this art?" I must admit to having asked this question myself, finally taking refuge in the fact that hers is performance art. Honestly, though, I have asked that same question (and still do) about most of the work of Andy Warhol and certain other artists of the modern stripe, and the only answer I can come up with is this: If the work makes you look at the world in a different way, maybe that -- rather than the definition a long-ago junior-high-school friend once voiced: "She can draw good" -- is what it takes to make something "art."

In his film MARINA ABRAMOVIĆ THE ARTIST IS PRESENT, director Matthew Akers (shown at left) weaves together the artist's past and present, her earlier works (a moment from which is shown two photos below), her performance partner and (ex-) lover, and mostly the preparation for and performance of the MoMA show. This is quite a challenge but Akers and his crew, together with the artist herself, rise to it and give us a wonderfully inclusive look at how and why Abramović does what she does, what she gets out of this, and finally, what her audience gets from it, too. It's this last part that, for me at least, proved most problematic, even a little annoying, but certainly quite interesting.

In this MoMA show, above, the audience, one by one, has the chance to interact with the artist by gazing for a few minutes into her eyes (or elsewhere, I suppose) and thus connecting. The response to this, from quite a number of people -- or at least those the filmmaker chooses to concentrate on -- comes off as awfully close to something approaching a, well, "religious" experience. It's almost as though the artist is being touted as a deity. (Since early times, artists have considered, in some societies, at least, closer to the divine.)

People come away from the table in tears, transfigured, and clearly shaken up. Is this due to the force of Ms Abramović or to the relatively unusual situation, in our current days, of taking the time to simply look at another person, deeply and quietly, without verbal communication? I am guessing that it's the latter rather than the former, and that if Abramović were substituted with me or you or even the film's director -- really, wouldn't it be lovely to gaze into that beautiful face (two photos above), with its direct and open visage? -- that people might find this activity pretty entrancing, too. Of course, none of the rest of us come freighted with the advance reputation of "artist" that Abramović carries, and since marketing is often "all," this probably would play a major part in those disciples getting quite carried away in the presence of their leader. This is all based on "if," of course, and is not really provable. But it seems to me certainly worth considering.

Not everyone in the audience is there to fawn or cry. Some have rather special agenda. One young woman disrobes before being carted away by the guards, and celebrities also show up -- James Franco, noted for his own performacne art -- for instance. Golly: Even Fox News, that great upholder of art in our time, gets into the act! Finally, the movie says rather a lot about the audience (and the media) in addition to what it tells us about the artist. Which is probably as it should be. I would hope that Ms Abramović is pleased with how interestingly encompassing the movie has turned out. In that sense, the film is about, as another performance artist once put it, Me and You and Everyone We Know.

In any case, these three months proved a grueling time for this performance artist doing this particular performance. You can see, from the photo above, how the days and weeks were highlighted on the wall of the museum (this shot was taken at around the halfway point). I cannot remember whether the shot below, with Abramović under the table, stretching or maybe communing, was taken before or after she began her days's work. Either way, the strain of sitting quietly the whole damn day, as one after another visitor parades in front of you, demands some easing, and the artist, who has long used her body as her best artistic tool, certainly knows how to take care of her equipment.

The movie -- from HBO Documentary Films and running one hour and 46 minutes -- opens for a two-week run this Wednesday, June 13, in New York City at Film Forum, and on Friday, June 15, in Los Angeles at Landmark's NuArt. Even considering the many art-themed documentaries we've seen of late, I don't think you'll have witnessed anything quite like this one.