"Ford v Ferrari": B+. I'll admit I had a few reservations about spending good money to see Ford v Ferrari. First of all, I found the film's title to be rather blah. But then I remembered you can't judge a book by its cover, so the same precept must apply to movies. Secondly, I'm not a big auto racing fan. Watching guys making left turns for two hours is not a big turn on for me, even if they are approaching the speed of sound. But then I remembered the key race is LeMans where the unique, eight and a-half mile track requires right turns as well; plus, the event is an all-day-and-night proposition. Thirdly, I was concerned that the automotive jargon would pose a language barrier. I don't know a piston from a crankshaft or a shock from a strut. But then I figured this immensely popular movie is probably being viewed, and praised, by other people like me whose mechanical know-how amounts to being able to read a dip stick. Oh, and regarding that "good money" I was hesitant to part with? My ticket cost a grand total of $2.50 at the Hopkins Theater.
Ford v Ferrari is a buddy movie of sorts, and the two leading men are nearly perfect. Matt Damon is Carroll Shelby, known among industry professionals as a world class automobile designer. Christian Bale is Ken Miles, one of a select group of drivers whose uncanny, intangible instincts give him an accurate assessment of how his car will perform under race conditions when he calls on his machine to rise to the next level. Miles is also an astute strategist, banking on his unmatched big race experience to know when to lie back and when to throttle his adversary.
The story abounds with villains, or at least men who are at odds with the aspirations of our two heroes. My favorite adversaries, naturally, are the Italians, led by Enzo Ferrari (Remo Girone). He negotiates with Ford Motor Company's representatives, led by none other than future Ford president and Chrysler Corporation CEO Lee Iaccoca (Jon Bernthal). Ford is trying to form a merger with Ferrari. The proposed deal falls apart ostensibly over post-merger control issues relating to future races, but it's possible if not likely that Enzo is simply playing Iacocca to get a better deal from Fiat. The sly, cunning Enzo not only dismisses the Ford representatives with a waive of his hand, but hurls insults at its CEO, Henry Ford II (Tracy Letts), aka "Deuce," who has remained home in Detroit. When word of Enzo's personal invective gets back to Deuce, its Game On.
Deuce and Iacocca are counting on Shelby to steer Ford's racing division to international glory. Shelby is reluctant to take the job mostly because the corporate bureaucracy would interfere with how Shelby prefers to conduct business. When Deuce assures Shelby that he will only have to answer to one executive, Shelby accepts the challenge. Shelby naively assumes that the one big shot will be Deuce himself. Wrong. Enter the conniving Leo Beebe (Josh Lucas), an executive vice president of Ford. The "one guy" Deuce promised to Shelby as his only boss turns out to be Beebe, who throws one roadblock after another into Shelby and Miles' way.
The film is based on the true story of how Shelby and Miles combine to help Ford Motor Company reach the pinnacle of international auto racing, putting it in the same lofty stratum as Ferrari. Therefore, when director James Mangold chronicles many singular moments and incidences which seem too far fetched, we wonder if those things really happened, or if they're products of Hollywood fiction whose purpose is to add to the intensity of their respective scenes. For example, when Shelby needs to convince Deuce that not just any ol' race car driver can get the job done, but rather someone with the rare talent and experience of Miles, Shelby takes Deuce on a death-defying high speed chase around an airport tarmac. Deuce, a proud and cocky "suit," is reduced to tears of fear. It is no doubt an exciting minute or two on film, and provides Letts an opportunity to show some range versus the impression he had theretofore exhibited playing the part of Deuce, but I doubt the race car romp actually happened. I also seriously doubt that Shelby would go so far as to wager ownership of his own company, Shelby American, on the outcome of the Daytona 500, but in Ford v Ferrari, that's what happens. Finally, do racers hurtling side-by-side at speeds exceeding two hundred miles an hour really stare each other down making menacing faces? Miles and Ferrari's driver, Lorenzo Bandini (Francesco Bauco), make a habit of it. Well, their focus may have been lacking but at least they weren't texting, perhaps only because cell phones were still thirty years into the future.
It turns out I should not have worried about being clueless regarding the use of automotive intricacies. Director Mangold must have had viewers like me in mind when he chose the kind of racing dilemmas to film. For example, when Miles can't get the door of his racing car to stay closed, one of the engineers in the pit crew, Phil Remington (Ray McKinnon), bludgeons the door shut with a mallet. Problem solved. That I could understand! When there are problems with Miles' brakes, the crew simply replaces the entire brake system rather than extricating and replacing the faulty part. If you, the viewer, knew nothing at all about the innards of brake systems, it made no difference here. There are continual cautious references to 7,000 RPM. We are alerted that if a driver forces his engine to exceed that threshold, expect bad things to happen. Foreshadowing? Again, easily decipherable, especially since the camera shows us the RPM level on the dashboard plenty of times.
There are a smattering of minor negatives which detract from the quality of Ford v Ferrari. How many times do we need to see the drivers stomping on their accelerators or manipulating their gear shifts? There is an overdose of Miles' family reacting to the race they are watching on their little televisions back home. And most importantly, the last ten minutes of this 152 minute movie are arguably trite and unnecessary. Nevertheless, I was very impressed with the performances of Damon and especially Bale. Whatever deficiencies may be present, I can say without reservation that I was entertained, thanks to a large extent to those two gifted actors.
Saturday, February 29, 2020
Sunday, February 9, 2020
Twelfth Annual Movie Ratings Recap
Isn't it something that the three most eagerly awaited film events of the year all take place on the same day? That day is today! You can place these in any order of importance you feel is justified, but in chronological order they line up as follows:
* The Quentin Chronicle's annual Movie Ratings Recap.
* The Red Carpet entrance into Hollywood's Dolby Theatre, where the Academy Awards ceremony will take place.
* The Academy Awards ceremony itself.
It's kind of like Super Bowl Sunday, Final Four Monday and Game 7 of the World Series all rolled into one.
Last year I lamented the fact that my attendance at movie theaters had sunk to an all time low of thirteen times. I wrote in my February 28 MRR, "My wish for the coming year is that movie makers become more attuned to the fact that the baby boomer generation has an unquenched appetite for down-to-earth stories without the necessity of super heroes with supernatural powers, comic book characters, over-the-top special effects, locker room humor, one dimensional characters (many of whom are armed), and story lines which don't come close to passing the Logic Test." The bad news is that, generally, Hollywood and its foreign counterparts have failed to heed the call. Most of the previews and advertisements I've seen for the past year's films are aimed at a demographic of which, sadly, I am not a part. The good news is that, notwithstanding my continued disappointment with what the studios have offered for consumption, I did manage to take in fifteen movies during the twelve month period which ended January 31, 2020. According to my Norf Dakoter high school math, that's a 15% uptick over last year's tally.
Following custom, I have listed those fifteen films in descending order of my ratings, including within each grade level. I've also listed the month of my review.
A:
Linda Ronstadt: The Sound Of My Voice (September '19)
Knives Out (December '19)
A-:
The Highwaymen (March '19)
Love Them First: Lessons From Lucy Laney Elementary (June '19)
B+:
Vice (February '19)
1917 (January '20)
The Lighthouse (November '19)
B:
Hotel Mumbai (April '19)
Rocket Man (August '19)
The Quiet One (July '19)
B-:
Booksmart (June '19)
Uncut Gems (January '20)
Long Shot (May '19)
C+:
Little Women (January '20)
C:
After The Wedding (August '19)
Monday, February 3, 2020
A Case Of Mistaken Identity
I cannot tell a lie, Father.
It was I who chopped down your cherry tree.
- George Washington (1738)
Today we finally reach the long-anticipated Iowa Caucuses. For many it will come as a welcome diversion to the coverage of President Trump's impeachment and Senate trial. In the seven-plus years I have been writing this blog, I have seldom posted anything about my three year sojourn in Iowa, but, this being a kind of National Iowa Day, it seems like an appropriate time to do so. I have checked the Iowa statute of limitations laws, and I believe I'm good to go.
My family moved to Bettendorf, Iowa, one of the Quad Cities, in the winter of 1961. We lived in a development comprised of roughly ten townhouses on the northwest edge of town. Each townhouse had four units. Therefore, with so many families occupying those dwellings, I figured there would be at least a number of kids my age. Wrong. Down the street from us lived the only other teenage boys in the neighborhood: Bud, who was my age, and his brother Kevin, one year older. We did not attend the same school, but we hung out when we were home.
Kevin had a job delivering the Times-Democrat, the major daily newspaper published in Davenport, the largest of the Quad Cities. About six weeks after my family arrived, Kevin presented me with what he called a "great opportunity." His family was going out of town on the following Saturday and would not return home until Sunday evening. How would I like to make some "easy money" by taking care of his route that Sunday morning? His route was in a residential neighborhood about a half-mile away, and there would be 50 to 60 houses. The only downside, according to Kevin, was that I was supposed to start the route at 5:30 a.m. He conveniently avoided mentioning the bitter cold forecast for that day. He also failed to mention one other salient fact which bore heavily on the matters at hand.
Although I can't remember the exact monetary compensation involved, this would be way more money than I had ever earned in a single day. At age 13, I had not had a real job at that point. As for the early pre-dawn start, I wasn't all that concerned, as I had served as an altar boy for dozens of 6:30 masses in Libertyville not that long ago. The time of day for the paper route gig did not seem that different. I told Kevin I would accept his offer.
I was instructed to pick up the papers at a particular corner, the "stack corner," very near the start of the route. After walking the half-mile from home I arrived at the appointed time, 5:30, and sure enough there were the stacks which the newspaper truck had deposited next to the curb. The wind chill had to be below zero, and the pitch black night was still two hours before sunrise. It was all I could do to snag the list of addresses out of my pocket. Even with gloves on, my fingers were so cold that I had little feeling in them when I tried to hold a pencil to check off the houses as I made the deliveries to their front doors.
I didn't realize how much thicker and heavier the Sunday newspaper was compared to the other days' papers until I started to stuff them in my bag. The combination of weight and space meant I would have to make several trips back and forth to the stack corner in order to complete my route. As I was returning to the stack corner after the fourth or fifth round of deliveries, the eastern sky was beginning to display a glint of sun. "Just one more round," I told myself, "and then I can go back to bed and thaw out."
I expected to find on the corner a small stack of the remaining papers, the last ones needed to finish my route. Instead, there were two surprises awaiting me. The first surprise was that instead of just the eight or nine Sunday papers I expected to find, there was a whole other supply of newspapers piled high next to them. This supply was nearly as copious as the stack which I first saw at 5:30. To say I was dumbfounded would be an understatement. But yet, that was only the half of it.
The second surprise was that there was another kid, about my age, who was standing at the stack corner. I had never seen him before and had no idea what he was doing, other than standing there shivering. "Are you here to deliver Kevin's papers?" he asked. I replied that I was. It wasn't until his next statement that the light bulb went off for me. "I'm supposed to have 42 Registers here, but the truck only left me 8." I walked up closer to the paper stacks and could not believe my eyes. Sitting by the curb were two distinct stacks of newspapers: 56 Times-Democrats and 8 Des Moines Registers. I had mistakenly spent the last 90 minutes delivering the wrong newspapers!
I am embarrassed to confess that I played dumb, claiming ignorance. That was not one of my proudest moments. Other than to rationalize that my body was practically frozen solid, I can't, even now more than a half-century later, excuse my denial of any knowledge regarding the missing Registers. The alternative would have been to retrieve the Registers which I had delivered to Kevin's Times-Democrat customers, maybe even help the other kid deliver the Registers to the correct houses, and then deliver the 56 Times-Democrats to their rightful owners. The only one of those three things I did was the last. It was well past 9:00 by the time I finished.
I never saw that poor kid again and don't know how, or even if, the issue of the "missing" Registers was resolved. Kevin never brought it up when he paid me. I wanted to say to him, "Why didn't' you tell me the Des Moines Registers were going to be dumped on the Times-Democrat stack corner?" but I didn't dare bring up the subject. Besides, the blame was obviously more mine than Kevin's. If I had only bothered to look at the top of the newspapers before I started my route, I would have realized the Times-Democrat truck was very late; there would have been no ensuing mixup. I decided to let well enough -- at least for me -- alone.
According to legend, a day of reckoning arrived for George Washington at the age of six. A day of reckoning arrived for me at the age of thirteen. We handled it in two vastly different ways. One of us went on to become a great war general, a Founding Father, and the first President of the United States. The other went on to become the Functionary of the Quentin Estates.
It was I who chopped down your cherry tree.
- George Washington (1738)
Today we finally reach the long-anticipated Iowa Caucuses. For many it will come as a welcome diversion to the coverage of President Trump's impeachment and Senate trial. In the seven-plus years I have been writing this blog, I have seldom posted anything about my three year sojourn in Iowa, but, this being a kind of National Iowa Day, it seems like an appropriate time to do so. I have checked the Iowa statute of limitations laws, and I believe I'm good to go.
My family moved to Bettendorf, Iowa, one of the Quad Cities, in the winter of 1961. We lived in a development comprised of roughly ten townhouses on the northwest edge of town. Each townhouse had four units. Therefore, with so many families occupying those dwellings, I figured there would be at least a number of kids my age. Wrong. Down the street from us lived the only other teenage boys in the neighborhood: Bud, who was my age, and his brother Kevin, one year older. We did not attend the same school, but we hung out when we were home.
Kevin had a job delivering the Times-Democrat, the major daily newspaper published in Davenport, the largest of the Quad Cities. About six weeks after my family arrived, Kevin presented me with what he called a "great opportunity." His family was going out of town on the following Saturday and would not return home until Sunday evening. How would I like to make some "easy money" by taking care of his route that Sunday morning? His route was in a residential neighborhood about a half-mile away, and there would be 50 to 60 houses. The only downside, according to Kevin, was that I was supposed to start the route at 5:30 a.m. He conveniently avoided mentioning the bitter cold forecast for that day. He also failed to mention one other salient fact which bore heavily on the matters at hand.
Although I can't remember the exact monetary compensation involved, this would be way more money than I had ever earned in a single day. At age 13, I had not had a real job at that point. As for the early pre-dawn start, I wasn't all that concerned, as I had served as an altar boy for dozens of 6:30 masses in Libertyville not that long ago. The time of day for the paper route gig did not seem that different. I told Kevin I would accept his offer.
I was instructed to pick up the papers at a particular corner, the "stack corner," very near the start of the route. After walking the half-mile from home I arrived at the appointed time, 5:30, and sure enough there were the stacks which the newspaper truck had deposited next to the curb. The wind chill had to be below zero, and the pitch black night was still two hours before sunrise. It was all I could do to snag the list of addresses out of my pocket. Even with gloves on, my fingers were so cold that I had little feeling in them when I tried to hold a pencil to check off the houses as I made the deliveries to their front doors.
I didn't realize how much thicker and heavier the Sunday newspaper was compared to the other days' papers until I started to stuff them in my bag. The combination of weight and space meant I would have to make several trips back and forth to the stack corner in order to complete my route. As I was returning to the stack corner after the fourth or fifth round of deliveries, the eastern sky was beginning to display a glint of sun. "Just one more round," I told myself, "and then I can go back to bed and thaw out."
I expected to find on the corner a small stack of the remaining papers, the last ones needed to finish my route. Instead, there were two surprises awaiting me. The first surprise was that instead of just the eight or nine Sunday papers I expected to find, there was a whole other supply of newspapers piled high next to them. This supply was nearly as copious as the stack which I first saw at 5:30. To say I was dumbfounded would be an understatement. But yet, that was only the half of it.
The second surprise was that there was another kid, about my age, who was standing at the stack corner. I had never seen him before and had no idea what he was doing, other than standing there shivering. "Are you here to deliver Kevin's papers?" he asked. I replied that I was. It wasn't until his next statement that the light bulb went off for me. "I'm supposed to have 42 Registers here, but the truck only left me 8." I walked up closer to the paper stacks and could not believe my eyes. Sitting by the curb were two distinct stacks of newspapers: 56 Times-Democrats and 8 Des Moines Registers. I had mistakenly spent the last 90 minutes delivering the wrong newspapers!
I am embarrassed to confess that I played dumb, claiming ignorance. That was not one of my proudest moments. Other than to rationalize that my body was practically frozen solid, I can't, even now more than a half-century later, excuse my denial of any knowledge regarding the missing Registers. The alternative would have been to retrieve the Registers which I had delivered to Kevin's Times-Democrat customers, maybe even help the other kid deliver the Registers to the correct houses, and then deliver the 56 Times-Democrats to their rightful owners. The only one of those three things I did was the last. It was well past 9:00 by the time I finished.
I never saw that poor kid again and don't know how, or even if, the issue of the "missing" Registers was resolved. Kevin never brought it up when he paid me. I wanted to say to him, "Why didn't' you tell me the Des Moines Registers were going to be dumped on the Times-Democrat stack corner?" but I didn't dare bring up the subject. Besides, the blame was obviously more mine than Kevin's. If I had only bothered to look at the top of the newspapers before I started my route, I would have realized the Times-Democrat truck was very late; there would have been no ensuing mixup. I decided to let well enough -- at least for me -- alone.
According to legend, a day of reckoning arrived for George Washington at the age of six. A day of reckoning arrived for me at the age of thirteen. We handled it in two vastly different ways. One of us went on to become a great war general, a Founding Father, and the first President of the United States. The other went on to become the Functionary of the Quentin Estates.
Friday, January 31, 2020
Quarterly Cinema Scan - Volume XXXVIII
Since my last Quarterly Cinema Scan of October 28, there has been a major development in my little world. At the Quentin Estates we no longer get Turner Classic Movies ("TCM") as part of our cable package from Comcast. This unfortunate development is important because most of the movies I have watched on the Quentin Estates idiot lantern, and subsequently have graded on this blog, have been on TCM. Now, in order to receive TCM I would have to pay an extra charge on top of an already outrageous cable fee, courtesy of Comcast. I am not willing to do that. Of the twenty or so bills I pay each month, the one which brings me to tears is Comcast's. I am too embarrassed to publish here exactly what the dollar amount is, but it is more than $200. Whenever I write a check to Comcast I feel like I am being played for a sucker and a rube. I am convinced if there is cable television in heaven, the provider will not be Comcast.
Now that we can no longer avail ourselves of TCM movies, we have turned to Netflix. Momma Cuan, who is totally into the British royalty sagas of which there are plenty on Netflix, is certainly getting her money's worth with our Netflix subscription. I have watched only a few films on Netflix, but am delighted that the current trend is for Netflix to show more new feature length films. These films are showing up on Netflix because of a change in the way films are adjudged to be eligible for Academy Awards. In order for a movie to be eligible for Academy Award consideration, it must be shown in theaters for at least a limited time. Some studios have jumped on the opportunity to show their new movies in a very limited theater release (say, two weeks in a handful of cities), and then make it available via streaming on Netflix. The theory for the movie moguls is that you get the best of both worlds: Their movies are less expensive to distribute, yet still eligible for the all-important accolades.
Of the movies released to Netflix, I was most impressed with Marriage Story. Scarlett Johansson and Adam Driver play a couple who, despite their continuing affection (if not love) for each other, decide to terminate their marriage. He is a producer/director in a small New York City playhouse. His career is close to hitting the big time, namely Broadway. She is a California girl who never cut her West Coast ties, and still dreams of an acting career of her own. She moved to NYC to accomsodate her husband, but still thinks of herself as a Californian. Most importantly, they have a son (Azhy Robertson) who is an innocent victim in the tumult presented by his parents' breakup.
The first thing which stands out in Marriage Story is the excellent script written by director Noah Baumbach. The dialogue is very real and even-handed. Never once did I doubt that someone in either spouse's position would say what was said. Each side's position has merit, and therefore it is impossible for viewers to pick sides. Other than Kramer vs. Kramer, I do not recall seeing a film regarding the painful subject of divorce which impressed me so much.
The second highlight is the performance by Laura Dern as the wife's attorney. If Dern does not win this year's Academy Award for Best Supporting Actress, I just might file a complaint with my congresswoman.
Of the movies released to Netflix, I was most impressed with Marriage Story. Scarlett Johansson and Adam Driver play a couple who, despite their continuing affection (if not love) for each other, decide to terminate their marriage. He is a producer/director in a small New York City playhouse. His career is close to hitting the big time, namely Broadway. She is a California girl who never cut her West Coast ties, and still dreams of an acting career of her own. She moved to NYC to accomsodate her husband, but still thinks of herself as a Californian. Most importantly, they have a son (Azhy Robertson) who is an innocent victim in the tumult presented by his parents' breakup.
The first thing which stands out in Marriage Story is the excellent script written by director Noah Baumbach. The dialogue is very real and even-handed. Never once did I doubt that someone in either spouse's position would say what was said. Each side's position has merit, and therefore it is impossible for viewers to pick sides. Other than Kramer vs. Kramer, I do not recall seeing a film regarding the painful subject of divorce which impressed me so much.
The second highlight is the performance by Laura Dern as the wife's attorney. If Dern does not win this year's Academy Award for Best Supporting Actress, I just might file a complaint with my congresswoman.
****
Here are the films I viewed at the Quentin Estates during the final quarter of the last decade.
1. The Bounty Hunter (2010 comedy; Ex-cop Gerard Butler, now a bounty hunter, still has feelings for his ex, Jennifer Anniston, but that doesn’t stop him from tracking her down when she skips bail.) B
2. Charlie And The Chocolate Factory (2005 fantasy; Johnny Depp resurrects a factory by staging a world wide contest which attracts aspiring youngsters, some nice like Freddie Highmore, and others spoiled brats like Julia Winter.) B
3. Echoes In The Canyon (2018 documentary; In the late 1960's, the Laurel Canyon neighborhood of Los Angeles became the creative cauldron of music artists including Roger McGuinn of the Byrds, Stephen Stills of Buffalo Springfield, Michelle Phillips of The Mamas And The Papas, and Jackson Browne, all of whom are interviewed by Jakob Dylan.) B
4. The Irishman (2019 drama; Robert DeNiro gets entangled with criminal activity overseen by mob boss Joe Pesci, and later becomes the body guard of union strong man Al Pacino.) B-
5. Fiddler On The Roof (1971 musical; Israeli milkman Topol has his hands full raising three daughters while his strong-willed wife Norma Crane often ignores the tradition which calls for establishing the “papa” as head of the household.) B
6. La Bamba (1987 biopic; Lou Diamond Phillips is Ritchie Valens, a California high school kid whose brief music career came to an abrupt and sad end in an Iowa cornfield on the day the music died.) B-
7. Marriage Story (2019 drama; Adam Driver and Scarlett Johansson are married with a son, but their career aspirations are on different coasts, leading to a dissolution.) A-
8. The Two Popes (2019 biopic; Jonathan Pryce plays Argentinian Cardinal Jorge Mario Bergoglio who arrives in Rome to seek permission from Pope Benedict XVI (Anthony Hopkins) to retire to simple parish work, but the pope has other ideas.) B
Here are the films I viewed at the Quentin Estates during the final quarter of the last decade.
1. The Bounty Hunter (2010 comedy; Ex-cop Gerard Butler, now a bounty hunter, still has feelings for his ex, Jennifer Anniston, but that doesn’t stop him from tracking her down when she skips bail.) B
2. Charlie And The Chocolate Factory (2005 fantasy; Johnny Depp resurrects a factory by staging a world wide contest which attracts aspiring youngsters, some nice like Freddie Highmore, and others spoiled brats like Julia Winter.) B
3. Echoes In The Canyon (2018 documentary; In the late 1960's, the Laurel Canyon neighborhood of Los Angeles became the creative cauldron of music artists including Roger McGuinn of the Byrds, Stephen Stills of Buffalo Springfield, Michelle Phillips of The Mamas And The Papas, and Jackson Browne, all of whom are interviewed by Jakob Dylan.) B
4. The Irishman (2019 drama; Robert DeNiro gets entangled with criminal activity overseen by mob boss Joe Pesci, and later becomes the body guard of union strong man Al Pacino.) B-
5. Fiddler On The Roof (1971 musical; Israeli milkman Topol has his hands full raising three daughters while his strong-willed wife Norma Crane often ignores the tradition which calls for establishing the “papa” as head of the household.) B
6. La Bamba (1987 biopic; Lou Diamond Phillips is Ritchie Valens, a California high school kid whose brief music career came to an abrupt and sad end in an Iowa cornfield on the day the music died.) B-
7. Marriage Story (2019 drama; Adam Driver and Scarlett Johansson are married with a son, but their career aspirations are on different coasts, leading to a dissolution.) A-
8. The Two Popes (2019 biopic; Jonathan Pryce plays Argentinian Cardinal Jorge Mario Bergoglio who arrives in Rome to seek permission from Pope Benedict XVI (Anthony Hopkins) to retire to simple parish work, but the pope has other ideas.) B
Wednesday, January 29, 2020
Movie Review: "Little Women"
"Little Women": C+. I am 50% Italian. Both of my maternal grandparents were born in the old country. Italians like to hug. I am no exception. There are few things I like better than being on the receiving end of a hug, especially if it’s coming from one of the Plethora Of Pulchritude, i.e., my four granddaughters. But even hugging has its limits. For example, if I’m watching a movie, I don’t want or need to see the characters embracing in virtually every scene. But that’s what you get in the latest version of Little Women. Two-plus hours of almost perpetual hugging. The four sisters and their mother can’t be in the same room without administering a big ol’ hug. What ever happened to a nod, a wave or even a simple, warm smile? Do those gestures not sometimes suffice? And these characters are not Italian! Are they pretending to be? I wish writer-director Greta Gerwig had switched it up a little bit, just for variety’s sake.
Now on to more serious reflections. Almost exactly a year ago I watched the 1994 version of Little Women, directed by Gillian Armstrong. As most adults already know, it is the story of the March household with four mostly disparate daughters lovingly headed by a mother whose husband is away fighting in the Civil War. I gave it an A-, as noted in my thirty-fourth Quarterly Cinema Scan posted last January 31. The Armstrong film was the sixth time a full length motion picture adaptation of Louisa May Alcott's 1868 classic had been produced. Given the critical and commercial success of that movie, I wonder what the primary motivation was for yet another film adaptation so relatively soon after its predecessor. Did the story of the March family really need to be told again? Both the '94 and the '19 films follow Alcott's novel. Unless a filmmaker is going to significantly depart from the original source material, thereby offering a new "take" on a well known and beloved story, I believe the answer to my posed question is "no." Despite misgivings, in my perpetual quest to be a cooperative spouse I accompanied Momma Cuardito, at her request, to the screening.
The aspect of the 1994 film which I found most memorable was the acting by Winona Ryder, who plays Jo, the smart and spunky second oldest March daughter. Most literary scholars consider Jo to be Alcott's alter ego. Ryder's performance won her an Academy Award nomination for Best Actress, thus presenting a high bar for her successor in the 2019 film, Saoirse Ronan, to surpass. Ronan is equally good as Jo and, just like Ryder, is the strongest attribute in her respective movie. In the last five years Ronan has been nominated for a Best Actress Oscar three times, including this year for Little Women. Such a resume is even more amazing when you consider that the red headed actress is only twenty-five years old.
Gerwig's film has other strong points, such as the comfy costuming by Jacqueline Durran, the rich interior set decoration by Claire Kaufman and the New England cinematography by York Le Saux. Laura Dern is an excellent choice to play mother Marmee. Her work here may be overlooked, however, because she was spectacular as a divorce lawyer in the contemporaneously released Marriage Story. Florence Pugh has been nominated for Best Supporting Actress for her portrayal of youngest daughter Amy, an honor which surprised me a little for reasons I'll explain below. The Academy voters have selected the film as one of its nine Best Picture nominees.
The most problematic facet of Gerwig's script is the confusing and totally unnecessary jumping back and forth among various years. As I have written before, I don't object if a narrative is not presented in chronological order provided that the choice works to the advantage of the viewers. Here, it fails. Two examples in Gerwig's film substantiate my objections. There is a funeral scene in which one of the female characters is buried. Seconds later, the scene switches to a wedding in which the deceased is celebrating with the bride. Huh? To further complicate matters, Gerwig decided to have Amy played by a single actress, twenty-three year old Pugh. When the story opens Amy is a very young girl -- you might say a "little woman." At the end she is a married woman. By comparison, Armstrong, the '94 film's director, wisely chose to have Amy played by two different actresses, twelve year old Kirsten Dunst and twenty-four year old Samantha Mathis.
A quick note about three other things which don't add up. The March family owns a beautiful house, and appear to have many of life's comforts without having to perform hard labor. They wear extremely nice clothing and are well educated. Yet when Marmee needs to travel to visit her wounded husband in Washington, D.C., Jo cuts her own hair which she sells to help pay for her mother's train ticket. (This sets up the funniest line in the film when one of Jo's younger sisters, referring to Jo's hair, laments, "Oh, Jo, your one beauty!") Secondly, the story includes the romantic interests of the sisters with young men. Why aren't those guys off to war instead of the girls' middle-aged father? And thirdly, why does one of the sisters hurriedly and surprisingly get married en route from Europe back to Massachusetts instead of in the presence of her loving family? Whose fault are these puzzlements, Alcott or Gerwig?
Although I did not enjoy this movie as much as I'd hoped, Momma Cuandito "absolutely loved it." In the grand scheme of things, that's what counts the most. Happy wife, happy life.
Now on to more serious reflections. Almost exactly a year ago I watched the 1994 version of Little Women, directed by Gillian Armstrong. As most adults already know, it is the story of the March household with four mostly disparate daughters lovingly headed by a mother whose husband is away fighting in the Civil War. I gave it an A-, as noted in my thirty-fourth Quarterly Cinema Scan posted last January 31. The Armstrong film was the sixth time a full length motion picture adaptation of Louisa May Alcott's 1868 classic had been produced. Given the critical and commercial success of that movie, I wonder what the primary motivation was for yet another film adaptation so relatively soon after its predecessor. Did the story of the March family really need to be told again? Both the '94 and the '19 films follow Alcott's novel. Unless a filmmaker is going to significantly depart from the original source material, thereby offering a new "take" on a well known and beloved story, I believe the answer to my posed question is "no." Despite misgivings, in my perpetual quest to be a cooperative spouse I accompanied Momma Cuardito, at her request, to the screening.
The aspect of the 1994 film which I found most memorable was the acting by Winona Ryder, who plays Jo, the smart and spunky second oldest March daughter. Most literary scholars consider Jo to be Alcott's alter ego. Ryder's performance won her an Academy Award nomination for Best Actress, thus presenting a high bar for her successor in the 2019 film, Saoirse Ronan, to surpass. Ronan is equally good as Jo and, just like Ryder, is the strongest attribute in her respective movie. In the last five years Ronan has been nominated for a Best Actress Oscar three times, including this year for Little Women. Such a resume is even more amazing when you consider that the red headed actress is only twenty-five years old.
Gerwig's film has other strong points, such as the comfy costuming by Jacqueline Durran, the rich interior set decoration by Claire Kaufman and the New England cinematography by York Le Saux. Laura Dern is an excellent choice to play mother Marmee. Her work here may be overlooked, however, because she was spectacular as a divorce lawyer in the contemporaneously released Marriage Story. Florence Pugh has been nominated for Best Supporting Actress for her portrayal of youngest daughter Amy, an honor which surprised me a little for reasons I'll explain below. The Academy voters have selected the film as one of its nine Best Picture nominees.
The most problematic facet of Gerwig's script is the confusing and totally unnecessary jumping back and forth among various years. As I have written before, I don't object if a narrative is not presented in chronological order provided that the choice works to the advantage of the viewers. Here, it fails. Two examples in Gerwig's film substantiate my objections. There is a funeral scene in which one of the female characters is buried. Seconds later, the scene switches to a wedding in which the deceased is celebrating with the bride. Huh? To further complicate matters, Gerwig decided to have Amy played by a single actress, twenty-three year old Pugh. When the story opens Amy is a very young girl -- you might say a "little woman." At the end she is a married woman. By comparison, Armstrong, the '94 film's director, wisely chose to have Amy played by two different actresses, twelve year old Kirsten Dunst and twenty-four year old Samantha Mathis.
A quick note about three other things which don't add up. The March family owns a beautiful house, and appear to have many of life's comforts without having to perform hard labor. They wear extremely nice clothing and are well educated. Yet when Marmee needs to travel to visit her wounded husband in Washington, D.C., Jo cuts her own hair which she sells to help pay for her mother's train ticket. (This sets up the funniest line in the film when one of Jo's younger sisters, referring to Jo's hair, laments, "Oh, Jo, your one beauty!") Secondly, the story includes the romantic interests of the sisters with young men. Why aren't those guys off to war instead of the girls' middle-aged father? And thirdly, why does one of the sisters hurriedly and surprisingly get married en route from Europe back to Massachusetts instead of in the presence of her loving family? Whose fault are these puzzlements, Alcott or Gerwig?
Although I did not enjoy this movie as much as I'd hoped, Momma Cuandito "absolutely loved it." In the grand scheme of things, that's what counts the most. Happy wife, happy life.
Tuesday, January 21, 2020
Movie Review: "1917"
You're old enough to kill, but not for votin',
You don't believe in war, but what's that gun you're totin'?
- "Eve Of Destruction," Barry McGuire (1965)
"1917": B+. As I was exiting the screening room of the Icon West End Theater, I was confident in my appraisal that 1917 deserves a grade of B+. The story of two young British soldiers sent on a perilous mission into German occupied France in the early stages of World War I easily manages to maintain an interest level sufficient to carry through two hours. Much of the media hype surrounding this film was about the "single shot" technique used by director Sam Mendes. Employing a style occasionally used by Alfred Hitchcock and Robert Altman, the camera work is so fluid and mobile that the viewer never loses sight of at least one of the two infantrymen. Some critics have found this method to be superficial and distracting, while others feel that the perpetual up-close motion adds to the intensity. Not to be a weenie, but I am in the camp which looks upon Mendes' choice as being neither a distraction nor a huge benefit. There are other reasons to favor this movie irrespective of its single shot filming technique.
Unfortunately for me as a reviewer, the facet of the film which I found most unforgettable and impactful is one which I can not describe as much as I'd like without spoiling the viewing experience for you, the readers. (I wonder if I should have used the singular, "reader.") About as far as I dare go is to write this: An event occurs approximately a third of the way into the story which utterly takes me by surprise, partly because of the movie’s pre-release marketing. Hint: If you have ever seen Hitchcock's 1960 film Psycho, you might discern a similarity.
Also in 1917's plus column is the endearing magnetism of the two leading men, Lance Corporal Tom Blake (Dean Charles Chapman) and especially Lance Corporal Will Schofield (George MacKay). This is not your typical war story. Although there certainly are battlefields, they are deserted. In fact, the rolling French meadows are beautiful, seeming as if they don't belong in something as horrible as a war. Few soldiers are killed on the screen, and yet corpses abound, some draped over barbed wire fences, others piled in shallow troughs. The focus is not on generals, or for that matter, any officers at all. The concentration of 1917 is strictly on the two lance corporals who appear barely old enough to tote a rifle. It is this simplicity which personalizes the drama for us.
The story arc of 1917 is straightforward. Blake and Schofield are charged with getting word to another British battalion several miles away that the purported recent withdrawal by the German troops from a land sector is not what it seems. The Germans, unbeknownst to the battalion, are lying in wait to ambush the Brits as soon as they advance to the territory exited by the Germans. To prevent the slaughter of sixteen hundred of their countrymen, one of whom is Blake's older brother, the two buddies must make their way across the treacherous landscape, replete with places an enemy sniper might be hiding. Blake and Schofield's mission is ordered by General Erinmore, played by Colin Firth in a two minute cameo. (Note: The only other "big name" in the cast, Benedict Cumberbatch, also makes a cameo appearance near movie's end.)
The script has some head-scratching features which prevent it from attaining a grade in the "A" range. From my list of six or seven, here are three. First, if the lives of 1600 men are at stake, why did Erinmore send only two foot soldiers to deliver the warning? And why not use an air drop?
Second, Blake and Schofield risk life and limb to maneuver slowly from General Erinmore's long trenches to an abandoned small farm. Several minutes after their arrival, a convoy of British military trucks rumbles down a dirt road which runs next to the farm's property as if their drivers were out for a holiday lark. They are traveling from the same direction as were Blake and Schofield. If it was so easy for the truckers to get to the farm, why did the two lance corporals have to endure such a miserable walk to get there? Apparently hitching a ride was out of the question.
Third, there is a pre-dawn scene occurring in a bombed out village. A woman, her baby and a couple of combatants are the only ones around. But near sunrise we hear the tolling of church bells. It's hard to imagine that a Jerry or a Brit took it upon himself to perform that task. It must have been Quasimodo in the belfry.
1917 received ten nominations for the upcoming Academy Awards, including Mendes for Best Director and Roger Deakins for Best Cinematography. The much-acclaimed Deakins is considered a favorite, while Mendes has already won a Golden Globe for direction of this film. The movie itself is one of nine nominated for Best Picture; it has already won the recently presented Golden Globe Award for Best Motion Picture - Drama. MacKay might have a beef for not being recognized with at least an Academy nomination, but at age twenty-seven he will have more opportunities.
You don't believe in war, but what's that gun you're totin'?
- "Eve Of Destruction," Barry McGuire (1965)
"1917": B+. As I was exiting the screening room of the Icon West End Theater, I was confident in my appraisal that 1917 deserves a grade of B+. The story of two young British soldiers sent on a perilous mission into German occupied France in the early stages of World War I easily manages to maintain an interest level sufficient to carry through two hours. Much of the media hype surrounding this film was about the "single shot" technique used by director Sam Mendes. Employing a style occasionally used by Alfred Hitchcock and Robert Altman, the camera work is so fluid and mobile that the viewer never loses sight of at least one of the two infantrymen. Some critics have found this method to be superficial and distracting, while others feel that the perpetual up-close motion adds to the intensity. Not to be a weenie, but I am in the camp which looks upon Mendes' choice as being neither a distraction nor a huge benefit. There are other reasons to favor this movie irrespective of its single shot filming technique.
Unfortunately for me as a reviewer, the facet of the film which I found most unforgettable and impactful is one which I can not describe as much as I'd like without spoiling the viewing experience for you, the readers. (I wonder if I should have used the singular, "reader.") About as far as I dare go is to write this: An event occurs approximately a third of the way into the story which utterly takes me by surprise, partly because of the movie’s pre-release marketing. Hint: If you have ever seen Hitchcock's 1960 film Psycho, you might discern a similarity.
Also in 1917's plus column is the endearing magnetism of the two leading men, Lance Corporal Tom Blake (Dean Charles Chapman) and especially Lance Corporal Will Schofield (George MacKay). This is not your typical war story. Although there certainly are battlefields, they are deserted. In fact, the rolling French meadows are beautiful, seeming as if they don't belong in something as horrible as a war. Few soldiers are killed on the screen, and yet corpses abound, some draped over barbed wire fences, others piled in shallow troughs. The focus is not on generals, or for that matter, any officers at all. The concentration of 1917 is strictly on the two lance corporals who appear barely old enough to tote a rifle. It is this simplicity which personalizes the drama for us.
The story arc of 1917 is straightforward. Blake and Schofield are charged with getting word to another British battalion several miles away that the purported recent withdrawal by the German troops from a land sector is not what it seems. The Germans, unbeknownst to the battalion, are lying in wait to ambush the Brits as soon as they advance to the territory exited by the Germans. To prevent the slaughter of sixteen hundred of their countrymen, one of whom is Blake's older brother, the two buddies must make their way across the treacherous landscape, replete with places an enemy sniper might be hiding. Blake and Schofield's mission is ordered by General Erinmore, played by Colin Firth in a two minute cameo. (Note: The only other "big name" in the cast, Benedict Cumberbatch, also makes a cameo appearance near movie's end.)
The script has some head-scratching features which prevent it from attaining a grade in the "A" range. From my list of six or seven, here are three. First, if the lives of 1600 men are at stake, why did Erinmore send only two foot soldiers to deliver the warning? And why not use an air drop?
Second, Blake and Schofield risk life and limb to maneuver slowly from General Erinmore's long trenches to an abandoned small farm. Several minutes after their arrival, a convoy of British military trucks rumbles down a dirt road which runs next to the farm's property as if their drivers were out for a holiday lark. They are traveling from the same direction as were Blake and Schofield. If it was so easy for the truckers to get to the farm, why did the two lance corporals have to endure such a miserable walk to get there? Apparently hitching a ride was out of the question.
Third, there is a pre-dawn scene occurring in a bombed out village. A woman, her baby and a couple of combatants are the only ones around. But near sunrise we hear the tolling of church bells. It's hard to imagine that a Jerry or a Brit took it upon himself to perform that task. It must have been Quasimodo in the belfry.
1917 received ten nominations for the upcoming Academy Awards, including Mendes for Best Director and Roger Deakins for Best Cinematography. The much-acclaimed Deakins is considered a favorite, while Mendes has already won a Golden Globe for direction of this film. The movie itself is one of nine nominated for Best Picture; it has already won the recently presented Golden Globe Award for Best Motion Picture - Drama. MacKay might have a beef for not being recognized with at least an Academy nomination, but at age twenty-seven he will have more opportunities.
Thursday, January 9, 2020
Movie Review: "Uncut Gems"
"Uncut Gems": B-. Collectively, Adam Sandler movies, most of which are comedies, have a reputation among critics as a mixed bag. His reputation as an actor mirrors that of his films. He has won more Razzies for poor acting than any star not named Sylvester Stallone, yet he’s no doubt laughing all the way to the bank. (His net worth is estimated to be $420 million; his current asking price is $20 million per film.) Uncut Gems, a serious drama with few comic elements, may signal a new direction for the comedian’s career path.
Sandler plays Howard Ratner, a jewelry store owner who repeatedly makes one horrible decision after another. It starts the day his business associate, Demany (Lakeith Stanfield), brings Kevin Garnett (playing himself) into the shop, which is located in Manhattan's Diamond District. The year is 2012, and KG is the key cog on the Boston Celtics. Demany has informed KG about a mysterious rock roughly the size of a beer can, mined in the mountains of Ethiopia. It contains many gems of various colors still imbedded therein. For reasons not fully explained, the rock is now in the possession of Ratner. It had apparently been smuggled to him inside the body of a fish. The curious KG arrives with his entourage and is quickly fascinated by what he sees. He feels lots of mojo emanating from the rock; he's got to have it, at least on a trial basis for his next game. The rock clearly has more upside potential as a talisman than a rabbit’s foot or other good luck charm. Ratner knows KG is worth millions, but then so might the uncut gems, or so he has reason to believe. He agrees to allow KG to leave with the rock on the condition that Garnett put up collateral in the form of his beautiful emerald world championship ring from 2008, embossed with the Celtics logo.
That transaction sets off a chain of events which, given Ratner's circumstances and makeup, are almost inevitable. Ratner is in debt up to his ears, and to make matters worse, he has a gambling addiction. His creditors, one of whom is his brother-in-law, Arno (Eric Bogosian), are short on patience, the type who will get physically rough if they aren't paid. To get the tough guys off his back, Ratner resorts to what amounts to a quasi-ponzi scheme. He unwisely takes Garnett's championship ring to his favorite pawn shop. In exchange for entrusting the ring with the pawnbroker, Ratner gets cash. Their deal is that Ratner has until the end of that week to buy back the ring. Otherwise, it's the pawnbroker's. As soon as that little factoid is revealed to us, we can guess where this is going to lead.
When Ratner gets the money, he has two options. He can either repay some of his financial obligations, or use the money to place a bet with the hope of increasing his cash position. For a man with a gambling addiction, the choice is obvious. Not only does he make a huge wager, but he picks Garnett’s Celtics. Maybe he believes, as does KG, that the basketball gods will bestow good fortune on the player with the Ethiopian rock. As the two-plus hour movie goes on, Howard is faced with several more dilemmas, rarely making the right move.
In addition to the jeweler’s financial and gambling challenges, his love life is a mess. His wife, Dinah (Idina Menzel), turns a deaf ear to his seemingly sincere plea for another chance. Sandler has made a career playing the sad sack. Here, he makes us hope Dinah will change her mind, but she is steadfast in her decision. She's tired of his lifestyle, watching him fritter away their money for too long. As soon as Passover is done, she is filing divorce papers. However, we can't feel too sorry for poor Howard. He is having an affair with the comely Julia (Julia Fox), his store clerk who is twenty years his junior. This man has clearly outkicked his coverage.
Although the movie does not lack for intensity, or even excitement to some extent, I found it to be repetitive and overly long. The film editors should have had one more go at it -- maybe more Fox and less Sandler? No, I guess that proposal would not work, as Sandler's acting is a strength of the film. One aspect in which the directors, brothers Josh and Benny Safdie, spend too much time is showing actual footage of the Celtics game on which Ratner has bet a small fortune. Watching guys watching a pro basketball game on a small television screen does little to entertain me. (Disclosure: I would rather watch professional bowling than pro basketball.) I found the story to be jumbled. I almost wrote "a jumbled mess," but drew back. It's not quite a mess, so let's put it this way: The writers have crammed in too many chaotic events, twists and turns, several of which do not advance the story.
Two of the minor characters merit a quick comment. I was surprised to find Menzel cast as the wife in this movie. The famous singer from the Frozen animated films and award winning Broadway plays has a small, non-singing part in a movie that falls on the opposite end of the decorum spectrum. Also, one of Arno's henchmen is Phil, played by Keith Williams Richards in his debut role. The actor has a presence about him that reminds me of Hollywood icon Kirk Douglas. I learned that Richards had never acted at any level, amateur or professional, before he was discovered by an assistant casting director, Michele Mansoor, while walking through a subway station in New York.
Finally, a caveat. I recently watched The Irishman on Netflix. Other than movies starring the late Dennis Hopper, I hadn't recalled a movie in which the effenheimer was used by more characters in such a variety of circumstances. That "record" is threatened by Uncut Gems, in which blue dialogue flows naturally from the lips of the majority of its characters.
Sandler plays Howard Ratner, a jewelry store owner who repeatedly makes one horrible decision after another. It starts the day his business associate, Demany (Lakeith Stanfield), brings Kevin Garnett (playing himself) into the shop, which is located in Manhattan's Diamond District. The year is 2012, and KG is the key cog on the Boston Celtics. Demany has informed KG about a mysterious rock roughly the size of a beer can, mined in the mountains of Ethiopia. It contains many gems of various colors still imbedded therein. For reasons not fully explained, the rock is now in the possession of Ratner. It had apparently been smuggled to him inside the body of a fish. The curious KG arrives with his entourage and is quickly fascinated by what he sees. He feels lots of mojo emanating from the rock; he's got to have it, at least on a trial basis for his next game. The rock clearly has more upside potential as a talisman than a rabbit’s foot or other good luck charm. Ratner knows KG is worth millions, but then so might the uncut gems, or so he has reason to believe. He agrees to allow KG to leave with the rock on the condition that Garnett put up collateral in the form of his beautiful emerald world championship ring from 2008, embossed with the Celtics logo.
That transaction sets off a chain of events which, given Ratner's circumstances and makeup, are almost inevitable. Ratner is in debt up to his ears, and to make matters worse, he has a gambling addiction. His creditors, one of whom is his brother-in-law, Arno (Eric Bogosian), are short on patience, the type who will get physically rough if they aren't paid. To get the tough guys off his back, Ratner resorts to what amounts to a quasi-ponzi scheme. He unwisely takes Garnett's championship ring to his favorite pawn shop. In exchange for entrusting the ring with the pawnbroker, Ratner gets cash. Their deal is that Ratner has until the end of that week to buy back the ring. Otherwise, it's the pawnbroker's. As soon as that little factoid is revealed to us, we can guess where this is going to lead.
When Ratner gets the money, he has two options. He can either repay some of his financial obligations, or use the money to place a bet with the hope of increasing his cash position. For a man with a gambling addiction, the choice is obvious. Not only does he make a huge wager, but he picks Garnett’s Celtics. Maybe he believes, as does KG, that the basketball gods will bestow good fortune on the player with the Ethiopian rock. As the two-plus hour movie goes on, Howard is faced with several more dilemmas, rarely making the right move.
In addition to the jeweler’s financial and gambling challenges, his love life is a mess. His wife, Dinah (Idina Menzel), turns a deaf ear to his seemingly sincere plea for another chance. Sandler has made a career playing the sad sack. Here, he makes us hope Dinah will change her mind, but she is steadfast in her decision. She's tired of his lifestyle, watching him fritter away their money for too long. As soon as Passover is done, she is filing divorce papers. However, we can't feel too sorry for poor Howard. He is having an affair with the comely Julia (Julia Fox), his store clerk who is twenty years his junior. This man has clearly outkicked his coverage.
Although the movie does not lack for intensity, or even excitement to some extent, I found it to be repetitive and overly long. The film editors should have had one more go at it -- maybe more Fox and less Sandler? No, I guess that proposal would not work, as Sandler's acting is a strength of the film. One aspect in which the directors, brothers Josh and Benny Safdie, spend too much time is showing actual footage of the Celtics game on which Ratner has bet a small fortune. Watching guys watching a pro basketball game on a small television screen does little to entertain me. (Disclosure: I would rather watch professional bowling than pro basketball.) I found the story to be jumbled. I almost wrote "a jumbled mess," but drew back. It's not quite a mess, so let's put it this way: The writers have crammed in too many chaotic events, twists and turns, several of which do not advance the story.
Two of the minor characters merit a quick comment. I was surprised to find Menzel cast as the wife in this movie. The famous singer from the Frozen animated films and award winning Broadway plays has a small, non-singing part in a movie that falls on the opposite end of the decorum spectrum. Also, one of Arno's henchmen is Phil, played by Keith Williams Richards in his debut role. The actor has a presence about him that reminds me of Hollywood icon Kirk Douglas. I learned that Richards had never acted at any level, amateur or professional, before he was discovered by an assistant casting director, Michele Mansoor, while walking through a subway station in New York.
Finally, a caveat. I recently watched The Irishman on Netflix. Other than movies starring the late Dennis Hopper, I hadn't recalled a movie in which the effenheimer was used by more characters in such a variety of circumstances. That "record" is threatened by Uncut Gems, in which blue dialogue flows naturally from the lips of the majority of its characters.
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