The Necessity of Lisbeth Salander

Noomi Rapace and Rooney Mara

Lisbeth Salander has multiple piercings across her face. Her eyebrows are bleached and her skin is whiter than Ramona Singer’s attempts at belly dancing. Like the majority of her wardrobe, her hair is jet black. It’s purposefully jagged and sharply frames her thin face. The makeup that circles her eyes is dark enough to make Taylor Momsen and Johnny Depp cry Lauren Conrad-esque mascara tears of jealousy. She wears ripped t-shirts that read “Fuck you, you fucking fuck” (a quote from David Lynch‘s 1986 classic Blue Velvet) and she literally kicks ass with the lace-up combat boots she tucks her baggy cargo pants into. She travels by motorcycle and, despite her gaunt figure, lives off a diet consisting primarily of McDonald’s Happy Meals. Her body is a canvas that she tattoos as a physical manifestation of the incredible amounts of pain she’s experienced. She is the girl with the dragon tattoo.

So how did such a seemingly anti-mainstream punk chick steal the interests and hearts of millions of readers and film audiences across the globe?

It’s quite simple, really. Because Lisbeth is not the ingénue of the stories she stars in. She’s the hero. The hero who is so ruthless in her actions that she makes a femme fatale like Lara Croft look more like the damsel-in-distress Princess Zelda.

In the American adaptation of The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo, which hit theaters last week (there was a Swedish version back in 2009), Lisbeth (Rooney Mara) is an expert cyber-hacker who finds herself assisting Mikael Blomkvist (Daniel Craig), an investigative reporter hired as a personal detective by an elderly man (Christopher Plummer) looking to discover the truth behind his grand niece’s disappearance forty years earlier.

With this film, director David Fincher has crafted a piece of art that will play a central role in the continuing evolution of Hollywood’s portrayals of women. At the core of this movie’s significance is the character of Lisbeth, who propels The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo to the forefront of feminist cinema. After all, this is a woman whose SIDEKICK is literally James Bond.

Much like a honey badger, Lisbeth is fearless. When she is brutally raped by her state appointed guardian, she has no problem tazering him, shoving a metal dildo in his ass and tattooing “I’m a rapist pig” on his chest. When she thinks she’s found a serial killer, she doesn’t blink twice before entering his home. In fact, she doesn’t even come armed and instead relies on finding a random object in his house to protect herself with. And when she wants to take down one of Sweden’s most powerful and corrupt businessmen, she has no trepidations about putting on a Lady Gaga-esque wig for the cameras while she drains all of his bank accounts.

In the bedroom, Lisbeth does not limit herself to the parameters set by a particular label. Instead, she makes emotional connections with people regardless of their sex. In one scene, she wakes up naked next to a woman named Miriam (who fans of the books know plays a much larger part in the next two installments of the story). In another, she strips for Blomkvist and proposes that they sleep together. And what middle-aged single, heterosexual man would turn down a sexy and dangerous 23-year-old woman already half way done unbuttoning his pants? Exactly. And obviously, Lisbeth is always on top.

Part of what makes Lisbeth so captivating is that she refuses to be a victim. When someone wrongs her, she doesn’t sulk. She takes matters into her own hands and regains the power that was stolen from her in the moments when she was wronged. For instance, she could have easily reported her guardian for raping her. But instead, the prey becomes the predator as Lisbeth exacts a degree of revenge and punishment that no amount of time behind bars could. Her actions ensure that not only will her guardian never rape someone again, but also that he’ll be forced to live for the rest of his life with a constant reminder of how disgusting a person he is.

It’s women like Lisbeth that Hollywood needs more of. Women who refuse to be subservient and are unafraid to be completely self-sufficient. Too often, movies employ Sex and the City-like clones that “just want to find Mr. Right.” And sadly, many of the films that pride themselves on their “progressive feminist stance” in fact still adhere to patriarchal values.

In 2010, the movie Salt was released and was marketed as a female counterpart to The Bourne Identity. Originally written as a starring vehicle for Tom Cruise, it was ultimately Angelina Jolie who stepped into the lead role. But as Scott Mendelson of Salon.com pointed out, an Entertainment Weekly article by Chris Nashawaty about the film’s alleged “pro-feminism” actually confirmed how flawed it really was.

“‘In the original script, there was a huge sequence where Edwin Salt (the original male protagonist) saves his wife, who’s in danger,’ says Noyce. ‘And what we found in the new script, it seemed to castrate his character a little. So we had to change the nature of that relationship.’ In the end, Salt’s husband, played by German actor August Diehl (Inglourious Basterds), was made tough enough that he didn’t need saving, thank you much,” the article read.

In other words, if Tom Cruise is playing the main character, it’s okay for him to save his helpless wife. But if Angelina Jolie is playing that same character, the spouse no longer needs saving due to a fear of emasculation. Oh.

It’s comments like these that make it easy to picture industry people like Noyce and Nashawaty lighting up cigars with the boys as they congratulate themselves on their “liberalism.”  It’s also comments like these that really hit home the idea that the art we subject ourselves to is still skewed towards preserving the idea that men are on a higher level than women.

Thus, films like The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo are far more necessary than one may even initially realize. We’re in dire need of female characters like Lisbeth Salander who are defined by their actions and not by their genitalia.

When the novel was first published in Sweden, The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo had a different title – one that translates to Men Who Hate Women. While it’s actually quite infuriating that author Stieg Larsson’s original title wasn’t kept for the English translation (most likely due to a fear of a lack of commercial appeal), the film remains a powerful tale about that theme—and, of course, about the woman who retaliates against the men who hate women.

The success of the franchise proves that audiences want to read about and see women like Lisbeth. In fact, she’s become such a cultural icon that people are even willing to physically emulate her by purchasing the Lisbeth-inspired collection at H&M (which – as a side note – I find hysterical and completely ironic because the idea of a fashion line designed after her is something that Lisbeth would absolutely detest).

But the point is that The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo is a story that is exposing a huge void in our pop culture psyche. And audiences are beginning to take notice.

Lisbeth Salander, I salute you.

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo

See ‘The Artist’ this holiday weekend!

If you haven’t seen my favorite movie of 2011, The Artist, now is your chance, the critically-acclaimed film is expanding to over twenty new markets this holiday weekend! It was recently nominated for six Golden Globe awards, and is bound to garner a number of Oscar nominations, hopefully walking out with a bunch of well-deserved wins. It’s such an incredibly joyful film, I can’t say enough about this cinema lovers treat, plus to be honest I wasn’t all that keen on seeing a silent black and white film yet now I’m proclaiming it as the best picture of the year! We’ve already posted two glowing reviews of The Artist, which you can read here and here, plus be sure to watch the new featurette below about the making of the film.

After opening in limited release in New York, Los Angeles and San Francisco to great success, The Weinstein Company is expanding the release of The Artist to over 20+ markets this Friday, December 23rd.

The Artist

Review: Carnage

Carnage Goes For The Jugular … And The Funny Bone

Carnage

Adapting theater to cinema is never an easy task.

With theater, there’s a degree of intimacy that film lacks. When the actors hit the stage, they don’t get to have multiple takes of a scene. When a scene is over, it’s really done. If they flub a line or trip over a prop, there is no re-shoot option. And the audience gets to experience the story simultaneously with the actors.

Film allows for a different type of intimacy – one that is often difficult for theater to provide. By placing cameras where theaters would have its audience, movies give their actors a free pass to act more naturally. They’re able to utilize their bodies more, trusting that the camera will pick up every little character tick or subtle facial expression. Their actions don’t need to be big enough to make sure someone in the last row of an amphitheater can see what they’re doing.

That’s why the transition from stage to screen is not a simple one. The source material needs to be modified to accommodate a medium that has very different strengths and requirements.

Based on Yasmina Reza‘s Tony Award-winning play God Of Carnage, director Roman Polanski’s new film Carnage is the latest Hollywood adaptation of a story that made its debut behind a Broadway curtain. And it’s the first one that I’ve seen that’s managed to integrate the fundamental qualities that make these two forms of art so individually captivating.

With an all-star cast that boasts three Academy Award-winners and one nominee, Carnage tells the story of two couples who meet to discuss a schoolyard spat between their sons. Set entirely in a Brooklyn apartment (although filmed in Paris due to Polanski’s … “issues”), the movie traces as the couples begin to argue and progressively unleash their inner beasts, resulting in a riot-filled and wildly entertaining dark comedy.

When the film opens, we are invited into the home of Michael and Penelope Longstreet (fantastic turns by both John C. Reilly and Jodie Foster). There, they are writing up a summary of their allegations against the child of Alan and Nancy Cowan (played unsurprisingly without flaw by Christoph Waltz and Kate Winslet). Allegedly, Zachary Cowan struck Ethan Longstreet in the face with a stick, temporarily “disfiguring him,” as Penelope likes to point out.

Each character is a completely exaggerated version of the “real life” counterpart they’re meant to represent, establishing the grounds for the ensuing absurdity in this masterful farce.

Penelope is the frigid, politically correct control-freak who you can tell forces her kids to stay at the dinner table until they’ve finished their brussel sprouts. Michael is the epitome of “Joe The Plumber.” He’s a decent, simple-minded man with a blue collar job, conservative views and his wife’s leash around his neck. Alan, on the other hand, is the businessman who can’t part ways with his Blackberry or designer suit. And Nancy is the passive one who’d rather smile and stay calm in the face of conflict than let it disrupt her daily routine.

Predictably, when four strangers with such diverging personalities come together to attempt to solve a problem, the tensions are immediately palpable. And as these tensions inch closer and closer to the surface, the characters begin to unravel and revert to their primal instincts.

To help convey this devolution, Polanski uses the metaphor of the fighting children to represent the chaos that occurs in the film. Upon first hearing the story of Zachary hitting Ethan, most people’s gut reaction is to assume that Zachary is the villain. Yet what prompted Zachary to behave this way? To what extent was he bullied that he felt it necessary to retaliate so brutally?

While the film does not provide a definitive answer to this (although we do learn that Ethan wouldn’t let Zachary be part of his “gang”), it certainly raises questions about what constitutes justified self-defense. To what limits can we be pushed until we start to fight back and protect ourselves? Our families? And to what degree can we expect those we love to side with us?

If you assume that the allegiances formed in Carnage put the Longstreets and Cowans in opposite ends of the rink, you’d be gravely mistaken. While the movie starts out that way, the bonds that hold the teams together begin to crumble until the brawl becomes an “every man for himself” power struggle. But not before there’s a dividing line drawn between the men and women when Penelope cheers on as Nancy drops Alan’s constantly ringing cell phone into a water-filled flower vase.

“Why don’t you ever stick up for me?” Nancy complains to Alan as she pours herself yet another glass of liquor – despite having previously projectile-vomited all over the Longstreets’ living room, the result of a combination of unsettled nerves and bad apple cobbler. A few drinks in and suddenly Nancy really feels completely exposed and abandoned.

When Penelope accuses Nancy of this transformation being a result of how “fake” she is, Nancy has no buttons left to push. “I am glad our son kicked the shit out of your son and I wipe my ass with your human rights!” she drunkenly shouts back at her condescending attacker.

Aside from its impeccable dark humor, what makes Carnage such a treat is that it really is the perfect marriage of Broadway and Hollywood. By having the screenplay remain faithful to the stage version and setting the whole film in one apartment, that level of intimacy you feel watching stories unfold in the theater is almost replicated for the movie-going audience.

Additionally, the film is shot in real time. Meaning that each of the film’s 79 minutes is accounted for as a minute of the conversation had between the four individuals, a rare tactic used in film-making. This also means no blackouts or fancy editing to guide the transition between scenes. And to maintain that feeling of intimacy, Polanski had the actors rehearse for two weeks prior to shooting. Another theater-standard not often adhered to in the film world.

“Some directors don’t like rehearsal,” Winslet explained in a recent interview with The Wall Street Journal about the movie.  “I don’t ordinarily like pre-planning things or blocking things. But sometimes things can really be revealed to you as an actor about your character that come out of an idea or a question that another actor has, and that’s fun. I would happily rehearse for three days and never stand up out of a chair, just to be in a room with everybody.”

Carnage is a film that delves into the psyches of four distinctly different people when placed in a situation that causes them to remove the masks that guide them through their daily lives. It’s a movie that shows that if provoked enough, the social etiquette we’re expected to follow as adults becomes irrelevant and we’re all capable of being savages.

As a result, the crimes committed among the four lead players are not only on par with the actions of their children, but on par with those of any animal attempting to survive in the wild. It’s just that in this case, the wild is Brooklyn and the animals we need to defeat are our fellow human beings.

Carnage opens in theaters on December 16th.

Carnage

Review: The Artist

The Artist

I’m going to be honest with you.

When I first saw the trailer for The Artist, I didn’t think it was a movie I’d want to pay to see. The concept of an entirely silent movie about the death of silent movies seemed a little too pretentiously cute for me, all the way to its title. “How very meta. We get it,” I thought to myself as I dismissed it from my “must-see” list. “This is obviously just trying to be different for the sake of being ‘artsy’ and drumming up awards-season hype.”

I remember reading an article prior to the film’s release that praised it for its originality due to its removal of dialogue. It discussed the challenges the movie presents for its actors by forcing them to understand and communicate with one another without having lines to memorize.

I was annoyed at the article because it made it seem like nobody has ever had the idea to write a script that placed an emphasis on the communicative tensions created between people when they don’t have the assistance of language. Obviously this journalist had never seen Love Actually, The Little Mermaid or the Buffy The Vampire Slayer episode, “Hush,” to cite just a few examples where this idea had been explored on screen before. In my mind, The Artist was just another entry on an already long-running list.

But damn was I wrong.

The Artist doesn’t only challenge its actors. Part of what makes it so brilliant is the degree to which it challenges its audience. Can we as moviegoers, who are used to constant explosions of color and sound, sit through–let alone enjoy–a 100-minute black and white movie sans the cushions of our expected storytelling tools? After all, our basis for comparison has evolved quite a bit since the time of silent cinema. Mainly in that we now have one.

The answer is “Yes we can.” Just like Obama called it.

The Artist follows the story of the sinking career and life of George Valentin (a captivating Jean Dujardin), a megastar in the silent movie business whose star loses all its shine with the injection of sound into film. Starring in these “talkies,” as they are dubbed, is Peppy Miller (an engrossing Bérénice Bejo), an up-and-coming actress who gets her start as a dancer on the set of one of Valentin’s films.

Like a cause-and-effect reaction, Peppy’s name inches closer to the headlining marquee spot while George’s slips off the credits of anything Hollywood is churning out. Especially after the stock market crashes in 1929 and production on all silent films meets its abrupt end. So how do these two physical embodiments of the “old” vs. the “new” feel about one another? Romantically invested, of course.

Combining equal parts comedy, drama and romance, The Artist packs in a storyline so solid that the audience forgets that they usually rely on alternative methods of storytelling to remain engrossed. It’s a film that intrigues you with its novelty, hooks you with its honesty and turns unforgettable with its majesty.

Accompanied by Michel Hazanavicius’ masterful direction and Ludovic Bource’s beautiful score, The Artist is not just a uniquely crafted commentary on the anxieties that loom with the emergence of new technology. Sculpted from a nostalgic lens, it’s a gorgeous and intricately layered homage to cinema. I’d try to describe for you the feeling of warmth seeing this movie produced in me, but alas, I have no words.

The Artist is playing in select theaters now.

The Artist

Review: Another Happy Day

Another Happy Day

Every so often, a movie comes along that completely crushes you. It’s the type of movie that hits every mark on the emotional spectrum. You know what type of film I’m talking about. The movie that leaves you staring at the screen long after the credits have stopped rolling, challenging someone to be the brave audience member to stand first. The movie that makes your soul feel totally drained when you step out of the theater. The movie that triggers a four-hour heart-to-heart with your best friend. The movie that reminds you of the impact cinema can have.

Written and directed by  26-year-old Sam Levinson, Another Happy Day is one of these movies. The plot of the film is one we’re all familiar with: a dysfunctional family reunites at a wedding and all hell breaks loose. Secrets start to come out. Grudges are resurrected. Claws are sharpened. Total chaos and misery ensues for all. You get it.

So how did such a seemingly cliché story win the “Best Screenwriting” award at the Sundance Film Festival this year? The key reason is that, unlike similar movies such as Rachel Getting Married, Another Happy Day is an intricate character study of not just an entire family, but of depression as a whole.

At the core of the film is Lynn Hellman, played immaculately by Bill O’Reilly’s favorite actress, Ellen Barkin, as she travels to her parents’ small-town Maryland estate for her estranged son’s wedding. There, she must deal with not only demons from her own past, but also from the pasts of her four children.

Despite his many trips to rehab, Lynn’s teenage son Elliot (played fantastically by We Need To Talk About Kevin’s Ezra Miller) still can’t resist the desire to use anything he can to get high – including the prescription medication of Lynn’s dying father. And where most movies would cast a drug addict like Elliot as the black sheep of the family, Another Happy Day defies convention by making him the wise character. Besides, there can’t really be a black sheep in a family without any sense of unity to begin with.

“So basically, the only things connecting us are these fucked-up moments that all of us would rather forget?” he asks his mother. And with this question, Elliot sums up the basic plot structure of the film.

Later on in the movie, Elliot questions why people seem to only be able to come together during tragedy. “Maybe we’d all get along if we were here for a funeral instead of a wedding,” he astutely points out to his grandmother (a marvelous Ellen Burstyn). Heavy, right?

But what Elliot truly embodies is the degree of self-sacrifice Lynn must make to keep the shards of what’s left of her family intact. In a particularly poignant scene, Elliot calls his mother a “cunt” before pushing her to the ground. Seconds later, the two of them are sitting together on the floor, consoling one another as they dissect their conditions. It’s little moments like this that make Another Happy Day such a brutally honest film. It’s little moments like this that demonstrate what a martyr Lynn has to be. After all, her children are the only members of her family that haven’t completely rejected her. Yet.

Levinson’s script also expertly showcases the generational pass-down of depression, all the way from Lynn’s mother to the youngest member of the family, her son Ben, who suffers from Asperger’s Syndrome. It’s the various types of depression and the coping mechanisms each member of the Hellman clan have that draw the dividing lines among them.

In some way or another, all of the characters have been the catalysts of one another’s broken lives, triggering chain effects of regret and severed ties. For instance, there’s a reason Lynn’s daughter, Alice (Kate Bosworth at her finest), hasn’t seen her father, Paul (Thomas Hayden Church), since her parents’ divorce nearly a decade earlier. And it’s no mistake that she has sleeves specially sewn onto her maid of honor dress so as not to reveal her bare arms.

By the actual day of the wedding, the audience is already queasy from their ride on an emotional rollercoaster. After watching the days leading up to the event, they have cranked up their anxiety dials to their maximum levels. Just as Elliot wonders the night before, the audience contemplates whether the Hellmans will be able to put aside their issues long enough to celebrate one happy day. Or are everyone’s wounds too raw and deep to be ignored?

With the spotlight on them, the Hellmans must be on their best behavior. But that doesn’t negate the fact that you can still stab someone with a smile on your face. Take Paul’s second wife (a freshly scorned Demi Moore). Although she may not be the groom’s biological mother, she was the one who raised him. After giving a toast full of childhood memories, she challenges Lynn to come to the stage to give a toast about her son. The son who picked Lynn to fill the role of the groom’s mother in his wedding ceremony (#REVENGEALERT!).

Without giving too much away, I can tell you that when Another Happy Day was over, I did not for a moment get the sense that the problems in the family had been patched up. I didn’t think that Lynn would stop crying or that Elliot would stop doing drugs or that Alice would stop mutilating herself. But I appreciated that. Too few films are willing to cut that close to the truth we seem to be culturally afraid of. And in life, we don’t always get that “everything is going to be fine” moment that we count on in the movies.

That being said, a lot of mainstream audiences are uncomfortable with films that end without any happy–or at least just–resolutions. In The Basketball Diaries, for instance, Leonardo DiCaprio’s former drug addict character is redeemed by becoming an anti-drug motivational speaker. In Requiem For A Dream, the characters are punished for their illegal habits. But too rarely do films choose not to resolve the conflicts at hand. Too seldom are the questions asked throughout a movie not answered.

Little wonder that Another Happy Day has received a rather lukewarm critical reception thus far. Hearing audience member’s inappropriate bursts of laughter throughout the movie and reading other reactions to it online, I felt that many viewers weren’t prepared for the detailed and often grim accounts of mental illness depicted here. But the sad reality is that a lot of the problems we have in life can’t be wrapped up simply because we crave closure. So why should film representations of these situations imply otherwise?

Yet at the end of the day, Another Happy Day is not a movie that will make you relinquish your sense of hope. In fact, despite the enormity of their problems, the Hellmans are there for one another. They take care of one another in their own unconventional and dark ways. And there’s certainly something extraordinary to say about that.

Another Happy Day is now playing in select theaters in New York and Los Angeles.

Another Happy Day

Now Playing: The Artist

The Artist

If you told me last year that I’d be proclaiming a silent B/W film the best picture of 2011, I’d call you crazy but that’s exactly what I’m doing! When I was sent a pitch about The Artist a few weeks ago, I watched the trailer and slowly realized that no one was talking! I asked my contact if this happened to be a silent film, he fessed up immediately but was convinced that I’d enjoy it and should definitely see it. Lo and behold, he was completely right, not only did I enjoy it, I loved every minute – the best film I’ve seen in awhile. I can’t ever recall watching an entire silent film, the concept was one of those yesteryear things you heard about yet never experienced, if you happen to be a film buff, you simply cannot miss seeing The Artist.

Starting out in 1927, it tells the bittersweet tale of a popular silent film star (played to perfection by sexy French actor Jean Dujardin), who takes a young starlet (French actress Bérénice Bejo) under his wing, she ends up becoming a huge talking cinema star but never forgets the man who first took notice of her as he’s carelessly tossed aside with the advent of talkies. I don’t want to reveal too much about the plot, you just need to go see it (it opened strong this past weekend in limited release and will slowly expand over the next few weeks), it was such an unexpected treat, I can’t praise it enough! Kudos to director Michel Hazanavicius who obviously faced an uphill battle making this film, which turned out to be pure movie magic, sure to garner a bunch of Oscar nominations, hopefully snagging a ton of wins!

Hollywood 1927. George Valentin (Jean Dujardin) is a silent movie superstar. The advent of the talkies will sound the death knell for his career and see him fall into oblivion. For young extra Peppy Miller (Bérénice Bejo), it seems the sky’s the limit – major movie stardom awaits. The Artist tells the story of their interlinked destinies.

The Artist

Marilyn Stripped Bare: ‘My Week With Marilyn
’ review

My Week With Marilyn

It’s no wonder that Marilyn Monroe is one of the most famous women of all time. She wasn’t just the star of such classics as Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, The Seven Year Itch and Some Like It Hot. Monroe was an international symbol of femininity, sexuality and the American dream.

But as is the case with so many stars, the public Marilyn Monroe was very different from her tortured, fragile private persona. Her life followed the classic script about the Hollywood starlet whose life becomes overrun by fame, substance dependency and loneliness.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t skeptical when I first heard that a film about Monroe’s life was in the works. We’ve all seen Valley of the Dolls. We all watched as Britney Spears was forcibly removed from her home as a result of her mental instability. By now, we all understand that Hollywood has a reputation for building up its key players only to smirk as they crash and burn. So how was Monroe’s story going to be told without torturing a cliché or exploiting her legacy?

Simple. Instead of crafting a full biopic of the tragic star, My Week With Marilyn paints an honest portrait of Monroe by focusing (as the title states) on merely one week of her short life. By honing in on her daily struggles, the film provides the audience with pieces of a puzzle which, when put together, helps them understand this deeply troubled woman as a whole.

While Monroe is obviously the focal point of the film, My Week With Marilyn is equally the story of Colin Clark (played with fervor by Eddie Redmayne), an assistant on the 1956 British set of Monroe and Lawrence Olivier’s co-starring vehicle, The Prince and the Showgirl. During the shooting of this film, Monroe’s then husband, Arthur Miller, left England to go work in America, resulting in her very brief affair with Clark.

To Monroe, Clark represents a type of innocence. He’s a boy who idolizes her for her celebrity status yet is also able to protect her from it by seeing past her façade. He hasn’t been corrupted by the pressures and politics of Hollywood and provides an alternate reality: one in which she can be free from the “Marilyn Monroe” mask she’s burdened with wearing. It’s a fantasy to which Monroe, self-aware as she is insecure, can briefly escape. Yet, despite Clark’s best efforts, she knows that it’s not one where she can stay.

As a result, Clark becomes Monroe’s puppet of sorts. He attempts to soothe her insecurities by providing her a level of attention that he witnessed Miller failing to give her. When she’s lonely, Clark is at her beck and call. He tells her that she’s the world’s greatest actress. He confesses how much he loves her. He tells her the truth about The Prince and the Showgirl, explaining that it isn’t the movie that’s going to launch her as the serious actress she so longs to be. He convinces her that he understands who she really is at the core. But to Monroe, Clark is nothing more than a hologram – a pretty illusion that acts as a projection of what she desires. Someone to fill the void until her real savior shows up.

It’s impossible, however, to continue writing about this cinematic achievement without discussing its extraordinary lead actress, Michelle Williams. The amount of rawness and passion that Williams brings to the role provides for such a razor-sharp foray into Monroe’s psyche that it’s hard to watch her and not feel intrusive. To not feel like you’re trespassing on a stranger’s innermost private moments.

As she did last year in the devastatingly gorgeous Blue Valentine, Williams demonstrates a firm grasp of her character, conveying an unsurpassed degree of truth. Even in a year of exceptionally strong female performances–Kirsten Dunst in Melancholia and Ellen Barkin in Another Happy Day–Williams soars above her awards season competition. She does so by channeling this real-life woman with such authenticity that even Monroe’s friends and companions are singing her highest praises.

Williams doesn’t even appear on screen until well into the film. Instead, director Simon Curtis brilliantly sets up Monroe’s arrival in England by showing the hype surrounding it, paving the path for the events to come. And it’s not until nearly half of the movie has gone by that Williams explicitly struggles with over-medicating or feelings of solitude.

Yet, even when she is first presented as the bubbly Marilyn we all know, Williams masterfully displays a subtle vulnerability that suggests we’re only seeing the surface of this incredibly complex character. She masters Monroe to such a degree that even her smallest facial expressions reveal to the audience that this was a woman in the midst of unraveling.

It’s interesting to think of Williams playing this despondent role. After all, Marilyn Monroe was a much deeper and more elaborate character than any part Monroe herself ever played. And where Williams shines brightest is by showing the juxtaposition of the real-life woman and the hollow character she tries to make into a believable person.

Another reason why My Week With Marilyn succeeds so well is that it is an actor’s movie. And I don’t just mean because of the phenomenal performances from Williams, Redmayne, Kenneth Branagh, Judi Dench and Emma Watson. Similar to The Artist, one aspect of My Week With Marilyn I found to be especially fascinating was the narrative it employed about the tensions between “old” and “new” Hollywood – or rather classical vs. modern methods of acting.

In the movie, Olivier is portrayed as a classically trained actor struggling to adjust to a post-Stanislavski climate. Monroe, on the other hand, is the quintessential manifestation of the contemporary actress. She even has an acting coach on set to walk her through her beats and objectives as she attempts to understand Elsie, her seemingly one-dimensional The Prince and the Showgirl character.

During a particularly memorable moment of the film, Olivier becomes increasingly frustrated with Monroe with each failed take of a scene. Monroe is not able to understand her character’s motives, let alone agree with them. Therefore, she can’t bring herself to shoot the scene because it defies the idea of truth she believes acting is all about.

“Can’t you just be sexy? Isn’t that what you do?” Olivier barks at her in a fury. It is clear that Olivier, as both the director and co-star of The Prince and the Showgirl, is far less concerned with Monroe’s craft than he is with her spectacle.

To a woman who wishes nothing more than to be taken seriously, this is the cruelest directive to be given. It is made obvious that, even among her peers, Monroe was seen as nothing more than a toy to be objectified at the public’s disposal. Her happiness and health were irrelevant as long as she could remain the blonde bombshell who seductively pouted her lips and winked at the screen.

What makes the movie even sadder is that every viewer knows about Monroe’s eventual lethal overdose. A biopic would have documented all the specifics of Monroe’s downward spiral. My Week With Marilyn takes a different approach—and packs a more concentrated punch. Williams’ stellar performance, Curtis’ direction and Adrian Hodge’s script showcases just how depressed, misunderstood and frail a person Monroe really was. The result is a truly heartbreaking, beautiful, original piece of art that should be on every Academy voter’s radar this season.

My Week With Marilyn is playing in select cities now.

Michelle Williams as Marilyn Monroe

Michelle Williams as Marilyn Monroe: Brilliant!

If you’re a fan of brilliant performances then you simply cannot miss Michelle Williams turn as legendary bombshell Marilyn Monroe in My Week With Marilyn which opens on Wednesday! I saw an advance screening last week and was literally blown away by Ms. Williams’ incredible portrayal of one of the most prolific yet mysterious celebrities of all-time! Set in 1956, it tells the true story (with some liberties) of when Ms. Monroe came to London to shoot The Prince and The Showgirl with Laurence Olivier, where she meet a young man named Colin Clark (an assistant on the film) and the two developed a personal relationship, which was later told in his books The Prince, the Showgirl and Me (1995) and My Week With Marilyn (2000) upon which the film is based. I thought the film was very well done, definitely an interesting peek into the private life of Marilyn, but Michelle Williams totally steals the show, she must be nominated for an Oscar for her work, she truly captured Marilyn’s charisma and vulnerability to a tee!

My Week With Marilyn

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