Category Archives: Archived Movies

Archived Movies

FADING GIGOLO

Grade: B

On the surface “Fading Gigolo” doesn’t sound particularly promising. After all, it’s about a failed book dealer recruiting his friend, a part-time florist, to become a lover-for-hire to needy women. The possibilities of what might develop from such a premise are pretty horrendous. But contrary to expectations, the film turns out to be a sensitive, often touching yet funny fable about people searching for connection in lives that have grown increasingly solitary and unsatisfying.

Part of the reason for its success is the setting—an area of New York City with a very Woody Allen ambience. That’s hardly a surprise, since Allen offered suggestions about the script to John Turturro, who actually wrote the screenplay, and also plays Murray Schwartz, the rare book seller who’s forced to close his shop after many years in the trade. In a casual conversation with Fioravante (Turturro), who’s known Schwartz since his boyhood, Murray remarks that Dr. Parker (Sharon Stone), his wealthy dermatologist, had mentioned her interest in a three-way involving her, a female friend (Sofia Vergara), and a man other than her husband, and he suggests that Fioravante might be a perfect choice for the job. Initially Fioravante is taken aback at the idea, of course, but eventually agrees; and his quiet, solicitous demeanor proves a distinct change for Parker, who’s apparently accustomed to something brasher and more mechanical.

Thus is a business partnership born, and Murray, fussing over the monetary needs of his family, identifies another possible client in Avigal (Vanessa Paradis), the beautiful young widow of a Hasidic rabbi and the mother to six children. Murray senses her loneliness during an appointment to have his kids de-loused, and arranges a session for her with Fioravante that consists of nothing more than a back massage but reawakens in the fragile woman, controlled by the constraints imposed on her by the highly regimented community to which she belongs, a longing for human contact. And Fioravante finds himself moved by her as well.

Avigal’s uncharacteristic trips beyond the neighborhood catch the eye of Dovi (Live Schreiber), a neighborhood-watch officer who’s clearly enamored of her but unable to express his feelings. His investigation of what’s going on eventually results in Murray’s being hauled before a Hasidic court where he and his amiable lawyer (Bob Balaban) find themselves questioned by a trio of stern elders. The outcome is not what one might expect.

Turturro and Allen prove a nifty couple here, with the latter generating chuckles if not belly laughs with his usual snappy patter and nervous delivery, while the former—hardly a matinee-idol type—exudes a tender, gentle side that one can actually believe women find attractive. (Fioravante’s way with women is further demonstrated by his affable relationship—outside the escort orbit—with a lovely Tunisian singer played by M’Barka Ben Taleb. Meanwhile Paradis brings a soulful quality to Avigal and Stone a pragmatic edge to Parker. Schreiber, meanwhile, makes Dovi convincingly bewildered, and Balaban contributes a delicious cameo as Schwartz’s lawyer. The supporting cast is filled with memorable types, with David Margulies, Abe Altman and Sol Frieder standouts as the ancient rabbis in the courtroom sequence.

The picture is technically proficient, with lenser Marco Pontecorvo making fine use of the New York locations and the interiors realized by production designer Lester Cohen, art director Sarah Frank and set decorator Sheila Bock. Simona Paggi’s editing lets the story unfold in a leisurely fashion, even when Allen is stammering, and the score by Abraham Laboriel and Bill Maxwell mixes nicely with the pop tunes selected by music supervisor Chris Robertson.

With its potentially unsavory premise and mixture of comic and dramatic overtones, “Fading Gigolo” is a cinematic high-wire act that constantly threatens to slip into tastelessness but manages to keep its footing, emerging as amusing and even moving.

Archived Movies

THE GRAND BUDAPEST HOTEL

Grade: A-

Like a Faberge egg or an antique music box, Wes Anderson’s “The Grand Budapest Hotel” is a delight to the eye, intricately designed and flawlessly crafted. Bu also like such artifacts, it carries a strong aura of nostalgia for past eras more elegant and graceful than the coarse and brutal modern age. In doing so it shows a streak of tenderness and melancholy to go along with Anderson’s characteristic whimsy and wit, and thus continues the writer-director’s departure from mere preciousness that began with the enchanting “Fantastic Mr. Fox” and the lovely “Moonrise Kingdom.”

The film’s tone can be partially explained by the inspiration of Viennese author Stefan Zweig, whose work epitomized the old world but who was forced to flee Austria after the Anschluss, eventually committing suicide in 1942 in grief over how the civilization he esteemed was collapsing around him. But it also owes a good deal to the work of Ernst Lubitsch, especially “To Be or Not to Be,” which found humor and sophistication even against the backdrop of the Nazi takeover of Poland.

Plot-wise, the picture is basically a zany caper centering on M. Gustave H. (Ralph Fiennes), the ultra-precise, supremely arrogant, incredibly articulate (and sometimes surprisingly foul-mouthed) concierge at the titular hotel—located in the non-existent state of Zubrowska somewhere in Eastern Europe—in 1932. But the narrative is twice removed from these wild events. The central story is introduced by a revered Zubrowskan author (Tom Wilkinson) in 1985, in a tape made during the epoch of communist bleakness. He recalls how, as a younger man (Jude Law) in 1968, he visited the hotel, meeting and dining with its peculiar owner Zero Moustafa (F. Murray Abraham), who—as the then concierge (Jason Schwartzman) confides—curiously insists on residing in a small servant’s room during his stays.

It’s Zero who relates the tale of M. Gustave, whom he served as a devoted lobby boy (Tony Revolori) three-and-a-half decades earlier. (It’s a perfect example of Anderson’s delicious attention to detail that he and cinematographer Robert Yeoman shoot the picture in three different aspect ratios according to the time in which scenes are set—the so-called ‘Academy’ ratio of 1:37:1 for the boxy thirties, widescreen 2:35:1 for 1968, and 1:85:1 for the eighties scenes. Movie buffs will eat the tactic up.)

While Gustave is a paternalistic martinet to the staff of the ornate establishment, it seems he’s also a sexual libertine, enjoying all sorts of assignations. He’s especially partial to rich, elderly women like octogenarian Madame D. (an almost unrecognizable Tilda Swinton). So taken with Gustave is the dowager that when she expires—leading Gustave, with Zero in tow, to go to her estate in order to pay their respects—the reading of her will by lawyer Kovacs (Jeff Goldblum) reveals that she’s left the concierge a supposedly priceless painting called “Boy With Apple” (attributed to one Johannes Von Hoytl the Younger).

Of course her son Dmitri (Adrien Brody) will not hear of this, so with the connivance of the late woman’s butler Serge X. (Mathieu Amalric) Gustave absconds with the masterpiece, leading Dmitri to send the family’s brutal enforcer Jopling (Willem Dafoe) to retrieve it and settle scores with Gustave. That leads to a madcap pursuit also involving Captain Henckels (Edward Norton) of the proto-fascist military police (with a character name certainly meant to recall Hynkel of Chaplin’s “The Great Dictator”); a prison break led by a brooding convict named Ludwig (Harvey Keitel); the intervention of a secret society of master concierges (among whose members are Bill Murray, Bob Balaban, Fisher Stevens, Waris Ahluwalia and Wally Wolodarsky); a surrealistically funny ski-and-toboggan chase, ending with a homage to Hitchcock’s “North by Northwest”; and a gun battle at the hotel itself.

Along the way Zero proves endlessly supportive of his boss, as does his girlfriend Agatha (Saoirse Ronan), a beauty even if she does have a most peculiar facial birthmark. Most of what transpires is amusing in the skewered tone typical of Anderson, but there are numerous moments—a nasty interrogation in a railway car, a chase through a darkened museum—that take on a distinctly dark, sinister feel, and others—Zero’s recitations of his own childhood and of the eventual fate of Gustave and Agatha—that are abruptly poignant, causing the chuckles to catch in your throat. They remind us that while the film is essentially a lark, it’s one set at a time when the old European civility the film recreates in fairy-tale style was being undermined by new, very ugly forces that would blossom as the century wore on.

Thus while “The Grand Budapest Hotel” is mostly as light, airy and delectable as the pastries that play a small but important role in the plot, it has some layers with almost acidic bite. The cast respond to the various flavors expertly, especially Fiennes, who gives a beautifully controlled performances, bringing a subtly manic quality to Gustave and responding gleefully to the role’s myriad physical demands. Newcomer Revolori, with his charmingly deadpan style, makes a perfect sidekick for him. And though those two dominate, the supporting cast is almost uniformly superb as well. The only exceptions are Norton, a fine actor who looks more uncomfortable than callow, and Wilson, whose surfer-dude persona is at odds with his short stint as Gustave’s replacement near the close.

As important as the actors are the behind-the-scenes crew—production designer Adam Stockhausen, art directors Gerald Sullivan and Steve Summersgill, set decorator Anna Pinnock and costume designer Milena Canonero, along with the special and visual effects team—who outdo themselves in realizing Anderson’s fantastical, singular visions. A strong contribution also comes from composer Alexandre Desplat, whose eclectic score allows for passages of classical music, like Vivaldi’s mandolin concerti.

Visually “The Grand Budapest Hotel” represents an explosion of artifice, and one can simply immerse oneself in it and enjoy the accompanying stream of wit and slapstick. But it also possesses a strain of seriousness beneath the frothy exterior. In creating such a glitteringly unreal picture of a fabulous past, it doesn’t ignore the darkness that will overwhelm it. The combination makes for an extraordinary whole.