The Ghost Writer

If there is anyone more superficial than a politician, it is his ghost writer. He fakes a person’s style and manner of speaking and rearranges their life’s story to create a specific image of that person; a liar regurgitating another person’s lies. Or at least this is the gloomy truth in the hopeless world Roman Polanski imagines in his latest film, “The Ghost Writer,” adapted from the novel “The Ghost” by Robert Harris.

Pierce Brosnan is Adam Lang, the disgraced former prime minister of Britain living in Cape Cod to keep a low profile in the face of allegations of war crimes. Ewan McGregor plays the ghost writer, never given a name in the film, who takes on the task of finishing Lang’s memoirs after his first ghost writer washed up dead on a beach. Despite knowing nothing about politics, the Ghost is lured by a big paycheck. As the Ghost delves deeper into Lang’s world, he discovers secrets that put his life at risk.

The similarities between Lang and Tony Blair is obvious, but it is his desperate attempts to preserve dignity in the face of overwhelming evidence against him that conjures up uncomfortable parallels to Polanski’s real-life troubles with the law. This is Polanski’s most overtly political work to date. While the liberal political message is not the focus of the story, there is enough of it there to turn off some of the film’s right-wing viewers. The film’s main focus is rather the fickle and twisted world of politics and the people involved in it. But it is not just politics that are corrupt. Publishing moguls exploit people to sell books and romance is nowhere to be found in this world. And our guide through this wasteland is a ghost writer, one with almost no real history or characterization. His entire life is spent telling other people’s tales so that he has none of his own, until now.

McGregor got possibly the least interesting role in the film. The Ghost is the “every man” in the story, his lack of a name representing his lack of an identity. His shocked reactions to the controversies he uncovers are meant to reflect our own, though we are of course in on the game long before the Ghost, and waiting for him to catch up can get tiresome.

Lang’s wife Ruth (Olivia Williams) has a disposition as gloomy as the reliably overcast New England weather. Williams’ portrayal of the frustrated wife of a politician is heartfelt and layered. The other woman in Lang’s wife is his chief assistant Amelia Bly, played by Kim Cattrall in a surprising turn as a platinum-blonde ice queen. She delivers her lines with a chilling calm that pierces the air whenever she’s on screen.

Polanski’s repertoire is defined by his noir suspense-thrillers. His past films, such as “Chinatown,” “Rosemary’s Baby” and “Death and the Maiden,” are filled with flawed characters that make up a medley of moral grays, and “The Ghost Writer” is no exception. There are no heroes in his work, just victims at the whim of powerful evil or ironic fate.

“The Ghost Writer” is rounded out by spectacular lighting schemes and a dramatic score by Alexandre Desplat that rarely ceases. The film is so overpowered by tones of blue, brown and gray that bright colors are rare, and their presence is off-putting and alarming instead of welcomed.

This darkness of this political suspense thriller is already difficult to watch, and Polanski does not make it any easier with his narrative style. It is as if he wants the audience to suffer through the process of the film with him, and so he destabilizes any character or plot point the moment it starts to feel comfortable. And none of this matter, for, in reliable Polanski-fashion, the stakes will be dramatically altered in the film’s final moments. This time around, he hit his mark perfectly.

But aside from a thrilling ending, the film is painfully overt in every plot twist or turn. It reads like a classic detective-thriller where important facts are repeated multiple times (just in case you missed it), characters explicate in detail and there is even a key witness who mysteriously ends up in a coma. A little more subtly would have gone a long way for Polanski in this otherwise well-constructed story. It is the thrill of the chase and masochist pleasure that make “The Ghost Writer” worthwhile.

See Also:

• North by Northwest, dir. Alfred Hitchcock, 1959
• Chinatown, dir. Roman Polanski, 1974
• The Big Sleep, dir. Howard Hawks, 1946
  
• The Third Man, dir. Carol Reed, 1949
  

Percy Jackson & the Olympians: The Lightning Thief

Greek mythology gets a 21st century update in “Percy Jackson & the Olympians: The Lightning Thief.” Directed by Chris Columbus, “Percy Jackson,” based on the popular book series by Rick Riordan, combines the structure of a classic Greek hero tale with a present-day sensibility to some success, but falls prey to Hollywood’s ritual dumbing down of successful children’s literature.

The basic premise for “Percy Jackson” is designed to make Greek myths accessible to a younger audience. These heroes face contemporary challenges they overcome through showdowns with mythical creatures and an adventure that takes them from high school, to the underworld and to Mt. Olympus. There is a lot of potential for a story like this, but unfortunately, the film version fails to capitalize and is troubled by undeveloped characters and storylines that lack fluidity.

Logan Lerman is Percy Jackson, an average teenager struggling with dyslexia and ADHD who hopes to escape the tyrannical hold of his dead-beat step-father. Percy’s dyslexia and ADHD are actually characteristics of his true identity as the son of Poseidon, the Greek god of the seas. Similarly, Percy’s best friend and Satyr guardian Grover (Brandon T. Jackson) is introduced in the film with crutches, which are really just a cover for his goat legs. Their wheelchair-bound teacher Mr. Brunner (Pierce Brosnan) is actually a centaur hiding his true form. It is a world where weaknesses are just hidden strengths, an appealing concept to any kid who has struggled with being different.

Percy’s identity is finally revealed to him when a Fury, a deadly creature hiding in the form of a substitute teacher, attacks him during a field trip and demands Zeus’ stolen lightning bolt from him. Zeus (Sean Bean) has wrongfully accused his brother Poseidon (Kevin McKidd) of using his son to steal the bolt, and the loss of this powerful weapon sends the gods to the brink of war.
A Minotaur sent by Hades (Steve Coogan), god of the underworld, kidnaps his mother as she delivers him to Camp Half-Blood, a training ground for the world’s demigods, and from the improbable number of demigods there, it seems the gods keep very busy with regular visits to Earth. Hades motives are clear: Percy need only give him the stolen lightning bold and his mother will be set free. Despite not having the bolt, Percy embarks on a classic Greek adventure to get his mother back.

But the hero cannot make it through the journey alone. Percy is accompanied by Grover, whose role as the so-called comedic relief is more cringe than laugh-worthy. Then there’s Annabeth (Alexandra Daddario), daughter of Athena the goddess of wisdom, whose tough-girl attitude is a counterpart to Percy’s naiveté and is a natural love interest.

Their journey mixes mythological creatures with recognizable locations, such as Las Vegas or the Empire State Building. Each bump along the road tests different qualities of a hero, such as wit, bravery and selflessness. However, the heroes experiences no real sacrifice or suffering along the way, shielding the film’s young audience from the darker side of Greek mythology and providing zero intrigue for any older viewers in the crowd.

Percy’s mother, played by Catherine Keener in a role unworthy of her talent, is selfless and loving. Her story could have given the story much-needed emotional pull, but it is hardly explored. This film introduces more characters than its plot has room for. Uma Thurman as the snake-haired Medusa is remarkable if only for the 20 minutes or so she is on screen. Rosario Dawson as Persephone, Hades’ reluctant wife, embodies the tragedy of her character, but her performance, like Thurman’s, stands apart from the rest of the film. Both characters are mythological superstars in their own right but are reduced to gimmicks in “Percy Jackson.”

The film’s biggest oversight was with Luke (Jake Abel), son of the messenger to the gods, Hermes, and his troubled view of his father’s abandonment. Luke represents the repressed hate and anger Percy feels towards his father. What could have been a poignant story of childhood pain and confusion is reduced to fleeting moments of intrigue that are never realized.

“Percy Jackson” is a moderate action movie with a wonderful premise that fails to live up to its full potential. Weak characterization and an overly ambitious cast list make the film feel crowded and lose focus too often. The film gets so preoccupied in updating and demystifying Greek mythology that it forgets about the passion and tragedy that made them so appealing in the first place.

The Imaginarium of Dr. Parnassus

Director Terry Gilliam has a knack for making escapism you can’t escape from. The absurd worlds he created in past films, such as “Brazil,” “Time Bandits” and “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas,” grant a freedom from narrative and common sense, but are rooted in deep truths about mankind. His films require an unconditional surrender of the mind in exchange of blissful release layered thickly over often dark tales. “The Imaginarium of Dr. Parnassus” follows a similar formula, but the payoff is tainted in this film, which gets weighed down at times in its own plot.

Dr. Parnassus, played by Christopher Plummer, is an ancient shaman with the ability to send people into a physical representation of their own imaginations with the use of his crafty mirror. His traveling theater troupe is comprised of his daughter Valentina (Lily Cole), who dreams of escaping her life on the road; the love-sick and desperate Anton (Andrew Garfield); and the wisecracking dwarf, Percy (Verne Troyer). They park their richly detailed and dilapidated mobile stage outside seedy bars across London, putting on performances for unappreciative drunken crowds.

Dr. Parnassus, for all his wisdom, can be a foolish man. After a tragic deal made with the devilish Mr. Nick, played by Tom Waits in the films best performance, Dr. Parnassus will lose Valentina to him on her fast-approaching 16th birthday. So he makes one last bet to keep his daughter and embarks on a race to collect five human souls before Mr. Nick, a task accomplished by sending customers into the imaginarium to sacrifice their greed and vices.

Dr. Parnassus wants nothing more than for mankind to think for itself and get rid of material obsessions. A drunk bar hopper that enters the mirror must choose between the hard work of scaling a mountain or popping in for a quick drink at a bar. A wealthy older woman sees a world of designer shoes and handbags and herself as slim and younger. The symbolic, metaphysical plot that drives this story can be pesky. The film lies somewhere between escapism and serious metaphor. This personality disorder could have been a boon for the film by making it a fantasy with an edge, but instead, it oscillates across this spectrum too frequently and it is easy to get lost along the story, and for some, maybe even in the first twenty minutes.

But the reward for persistence is great. The contrast Gilliam establishes between the muted tones and broken down scenery of London and the vibrant colors, angles and curves of the imaginarium is the pleasure center of the story. In his characteristic hyper-real visual style, Gilliam makes it easy to surrender the mind to the delicious contrast of reality and fantasy. But even the so-called real world in “Imaginarium” feels distorted. The use of wide angle lenses exaggerates sizes and creates an incredible deep focus that feels too glossy to be anything from the known world.

This film was Heath Ledger’s final performance, one he did not complete. Ledger plays Tony, a questionable philanthropist rescued by Dr. Parnassus’ gang and who subsequently joins them to hide from a shameful past. It is yet another excellent performance from the late Ledger. After Ledger’s death, Gilliam revised the script to explain that Tony changed physically whenever he entered the mirror and cast Johnny Depp, Jude Law, and Colin Farrell to finish shooting the imaginarium versions of Tony. The rewriting works and each actor does an admirable job fulfilling the character Ledger began. But it cannot be denied that the shift in actors and knowing this was Ledger’s last role has an effect on the experience of the movie. It is no fault of the film, but being briefly removed from the story whenever Ledger is replaced by another actor brings disbelief and logic back to the table, if only for a moment. It is hard to not imagine that the movie would have been better if Tony was played by the same actor.

Gilliam’s wonderful visual style accentuates a tale about rescuing the imagination from worldly objects and desires. Surreal twists and turns give the film enough buoyancy to keep from floating down too close to reality, but running just over two hours, the film is far too long and can overwhelm just as easy as it inspires. Dr. Parnassus’ traveling show is really Gilliam’s manifesto, surprising its participants with a freeing mental escape and a look at how truly incredible the imagination can be.

A Town Called Panic

By the time Cowboy, Indian and Horse balance precariously in the middle of an ocean on a floating snowball that is steadily melting, which was flung there by a giant robotic penguin operated by snowball-happy mad scientists, it’s readily understood that “A Town Called Panic” is highly incomprehensible.

Or maybe it’s long before then, when the trio plummets miles toward the center of the Earth on a slab of rock playing a card game because the fall seems to be taking a bit longer than expected.

This delightful film about a town’s high-strung residents is a childish adventure with little plot and a lot of insane fun. “A Town Called Panic” is based on a popular Belgian television show by Stéphane Aubier and Vincent Patar that uses a style of stop-motion animation with plastic toys.

The story begins when Cowboy and Indian try to make their roommate, Horse, a barbeque as a last-minute gift for his birthday, but instead, end up destroying his house. Horse, the only level-headed one in this trio, forces Cowboy and Indian to help rebuild the house, but the walls they construct are stolen every night.

A chase ensues to catch the mysterious, bat-like thieves. Their journey takes them to through lava, ice and water, and no matter where they are, there is always a reason to panic.

All the while, Horse longs to be with Madame Longray, a mare who teaches music and has caught the eye of Horse. The other residents of Panic, such as the farmer, Steven, and his wife, Jeanine, notice the three missing and (unsurprisingly) panic. The town bands together against the thieves with an army of farm animals complete with parachuting cows.

“A Town Called Panic” resembles the slapstick styles of The Three Stooges and the Marx Brothers, but at a considerably more frantic pace. The movie is packed with ridiculous and downright nonsensical gags that work because of the inherent zaniness of the characters and their environment. The characters never expect a normal day in Panic, and you shouldn’t either.
Many of the things in the town are “people-sized,” such as a hair-dryer three times the size of Cowboy or a dining-table sized slice of toast that Steven devours for breakfast. It is as if Panic were a play set that a child mixed together with things around his room that are far too large for his toys.

Bold colors and textures that are a delicious sample platter for the eyes fill the town, making each scene as much a joy to look at as it is funny. Everything from how the toys hop around the vibrant landscapes to their squeaky, rapid ramblings in French is carefree and fun. The animators succeed in visually conveying all the reactions and emotions from the characters even though the plastic faces never move. The entire story and every characterization can be understood without one glance at the subtitles. Like a silent Buster Keaton films, this movie needs no dialogue to be funny, but what is there makes the experience that much better.

This surprising treasure of a film is a welcomed escape into hysterical absurdity that proves a little—or a lot—of crazy, can be very good for the nerves.