Movie Review: "The Fighter"

Full disclosure: When I first saw the trailer for "The Fighter," I groaned and rolled my eyes.

I can hardly be blamed. The boxing genre is not necessarily fresh in Hollywood, pummeled into cliche by one too many Rocky sequels. Since his last critical and commercial hit with "Three Kings" in 1999, director David O. Russell has become mostly known for his tirades on the set of "I Heart Huckabees." Star Mark Wahlberg is fairly inconsistent, following up Oscar-nominated performances in films like "The Departed" with laughable work in drek like "The Happening."

"The Fighter," then, was an underdog in my opinion. So perhaps it's fitting that the film, much like the character at its center, delivers a shocking knockout punch that will leave audiences elated.

The film is the true story of boxer Micky Ward (Wahlberg), who tries to fit in a few fights when he's not paving the roads in his hometown of Lowell, Mass. He's managed by his brash mother (Melissa Leo) and loopy older brother Dicky (Christian Bale), the former "Pride of Lowell," whose claim to fame was knocking down Sugar Ray Leonard in a professional fight. Followed by an HBO documentary crew, Dicky hopes Micky's success will be the start of his own comeback.

Dicky is Micky's hero, the reason why he's content to take fights that pay peanuts and get jerked around by ESPN. Dicky's the reason why Micky won't pursue offers to train fulltime in Las Vegas. Between Dicky and his mom, Micky is compelled to stay in Lowell, keep tight with his family and pursue a boxing career that looks like it will never get him much farther down the roads he paves each day.

But Micky is also well too aware that Dicky could be his undoing. Charismatic and fun-loving, Dicky's a livewire who is rapidly ruining his life with a crack addiction. Pretty much everyone in town knows this except for Alice, who chooses to believe her boy is doing just fine.

After a bungled fight scars his pride and a pretty girl (Amy Adams) captures his attention, Micky begins to take his career into his own hands. But his attempts at moving forward are hampered by Alice, who seems to see management as her maternal duty, and Dicky, whose personal woes begin to capture the attention of Lowell and drag down Micky's reputation.

"The Fighter" may follow the outline of a typical underdog story, but its success is in the way it fills up the space between the predictable beats. Russell captures the crude, brash tone of Lowell, a small town where everyone knows everyone else and is probably related to them. There's a lot of humor and drama to be found in the gang of Alice's sisters that seem to constantly be at her home. Early in the film, as the HBO crew follows Dicky and Micky around Lowell, we get a sense of just how much Dicky's previous success captured the attention of the town and, when the crew's true intentions are later revealed, we realize just how far Dicky's travails have made him a joke in the town that used to revere him.

Wahlberg is effective as Ward, and the tough guy sensitivity that he brings to the role serves him well as a self-doubting boxer. While some may argue that Micky has no personality of his own, the truth is that Wahlberg is playing a man whose personality has been forged by who his family tells him he is. Micky is informed at one point that he is a "stepping stone" - a boxer who basically helps other fighters advance in their careers. But he's been used as a stepping stone for Dicky, to fuel a comeback that everyone knows will never happen.

Micky is shaped by the women in his life. Leo is wonderfully trashy as Alice, who favors Dicky over Micky, and seems to see boxing as a chance for her boys to bond and for Dicky to get the respect she feels he deserves. It's far from a one-note role; there's a heartbreaking scene between Dicky and Alice where Leo reveals that her character knows more about her son's problems than she's letting on, but she's also a mother who sees the promise and potential in her boy.

Adams has made a name for herself as a perky, optimistic young actress and surprises here by how well she plays a tough-talking Boston girl. Her Charlene is the force Micky needs to show him how his family has held him back and challenges him to fight (literally) for what he deserves. It's a new direction for Adams, who shows just as much skill talking trash as she did for being a princess in "Enchanted."

But "The Fighter" belongs to Bale, who entirely loses himself in his portrayal of Dicky. Wiry thin, eyes bugging and unable to stop moving, Dicky is a mess. He has one success story in his life - and there are hints that even that may not have been as he remembers. He sees his brother's career as his shot at redemption, but he can't bring himself to stop his bad habits, confident that what we see as charisma and charm will get him out of trouble. There's a sobering moment when Dicky finally sees the depth of his problems, and it's to Bale's and Russell's credit that the moment comes honestly, not through manipulation. Bale has never been this loose or unpredictable before, and it's the best role of his career.

It's tempting to say that Dicky may have made the more interesting subject, but by putting him as a supporting character, the film maintains a suspense it would not have had were it a typical addiction story. Those tales can end only one of two ways - redemption or tragedy. With Dicky off to the side, Russell creates a great deal of dramatic tension as we wonder what Dicky's impact will be on Micky's career: Will he reform? Will he screw up? Will he die? Go to jail?

"The Fighter" may follow the broad path of a traditional boxing story - complete with training montage - but it zigs and zags on its way to the Big Fight and, like the original "Rocky," succeeds not because of the action in the ring but because of the drama outside it.

Russell tones down his quirks and visual tics, and delivers a realistic, gritty movie - much the same move that Darren Aronofsky made in moving from "The Fountain" to "The Wrestler" (incidentally, Aronofsky is an executive producer of this film). The boxing in the movie is fine, but the personal stories dominating the film are far more involving, something that is refreshingly rare in this genre.

"The Fighter" is that rare film that tells a traditional, crowd-pleasing story, but does it with enough craft and passion to elevate it beyond formula. Fueled by powerful performances and a gripping true-life story, it is one of 2010's best films.

Originally published in the December 19 version of the Advisor and Source Newspapers.

Movie Review: "Black Swan"

Natalie Portman finally delivers on the potential she's only previously hinted at in "Black Swan," a delirious and haunting psychological drama set in the competitive world of ballet.

Ever since capturing audiences' attention as a child in 1994's "The Professional," Portman has been on the cusp of delivering a performance to cement her status not only as a movie star, but as a serious actress. Roles in the "Star Wars" trilogy and "V for Vendetta," plus a popular "Saturday Night Live" digital short, kept her popular with the mainstream and, occasionally, performances in films like "Closer" would hint at what she is truly capable of.

Prior to "Black Swan," however, Portman has failed to deliver a performance that lingers after the credits have rolled. While a capable actress, there's always been a woodenness to much of her work, a coldness that keeps her from totally losing herself in a role and going beyond the poise of mere acting to deliver a truly memorable performance.

Much as he did with Mickey Rourke in "The Wrestler," director Darren Aronofsky points Portman at a role that forces her out of her comfort zone and pushes her to deliver not only the performance of her career, but one of the very best of 2010.

Nina Sayers, much like Portman herself, is an artist too poised and perfect to be phenomenal. A ballerina in New York, she struggles under a womanizing director (Vincent Cassel) and goes home to a mother (Barbara Hershey) who bitterly reminds Nina of all she's sacrificed to support her dream.

After violently rejecting his sexual advances, the director thinks Nina may be perfect for the lead role in "Swan Lake." His concern, however, is that while the artist is precise and perfect enough for the role of the White Swan, she doesn't have the lust and recklessness needed to take on the role of the Black Swan. As Nina struggles to unlock her passion, reality begins to disintegrate around her, and things get even more disorienting when classmate Lily (Mila Kunis) enters the picture. As the performance nears, Nina is unsure whether this new addition to her life is a teammate, competitor, friend or lover. And what, exactly, is she to make of the scratches, cuts and other afflictions that mysteriously show up on her arms, legs and back?

Madness is not a new subject for Aronofsky, who previously tackled the link between insanity and genius in his debut, "Pi," and further examined the disintegration of reality in the haunting "Requiem for a Dream." One could also find a connection between "The Wrestler" and "Black Swan," as the director returns to a world where people sacrifice themselves for their art.

Unlike "The Wrestler's" gritty reality, however, "Black Swan" is filmed with an operatic sense of style and several tricks designed to unsettle audiences as Nina begins to crack under the pressure. Aronofsky skillfully allows reality to crumble around us, be it through startling in-camera trickery in a shot where Nina enters her mother's art studio, quick flashes of a reflection in a mirror or his use of computer-generated effects in the final dance sequence, as dancers sprout feathers, and reality and fantasy blur together in ways that only an artist can totally understand. Aronofsky skillfully filters everything through Nina's perspective, and if we're unsure of what's real it's only because she is as well.

Aronofsky largely keeps things from getting too confusing, although the narrative begins to slip away from him in the film's final act. There's a fine line between disorientation and confusion, and as the film breaks further from reality, the story loses its tenuous grasp on coherence, until many of the relationships and plot threads we've followed throughout the film are abandoned in favor of delivering a hauntingly beautiful dance sequence for the climax.

The film fares much better when it comes to atmospherics. I've already lauded Aronofsky's ability to shift reality and get audiences into Nina's fragile mind. But "Black Swan" also would be a riveting view if it were just about the world of ballet. Aronofsky is drawn to the way dancers' bodies move in the spotlight, the way the skin and muscles react to movement, and the color and light of the stage. It's one of the most beautifully photographed looks at theater I've seen and the final 30 minutes are among the most breathtakingly filmed of the year.

Sexuality is also a tricky subject to tackle in a film so centered on its characters' burgeoning lust and passions. Many have remarked about a scene in which Portman's and Kunis' characters make love, a scene that could easily have been prurient and gratuitous. Aronofsky's approach to Nina's awakening sexuality is vital to the films themes. While unflinching and heated, the film's approach to Nina's rising passions is handled with taste and power, and fuels the movie's emotional backbone.

The film wouldn't achieve that power, however, without a series of fantastic performances. Hershey is effective in her brief role as Nina's overprotective mother and Cassel nails it as the tough, womanizing director. Kunis ("Forgetting Sarah Marshal") has been slowly turning into a star herself and ably goes toe to toe with Portman, with Lily being the uninhibited dancer Nina wishes she could become.

But it's still Portman, wrenching her body and mind apart as Nina tries to unlock her passion, who commands all attention. She's simply never been this powerful, nuanced and unpredictable. By the time Nina takes the stage in the finale, fully embodying the role of the Black Swan, it's not only the character who has transformed. This role marks the arrival of Portman as a serious actress and I can't wait to see what she does next.

Originally published in the December 12 edition of the Advisor/Source newspaper, www.advisorsource.com

Movie Review: "Never Let Me Go"

Science fiction is such a woefully under-realized genre. An opportunity to marry imagination and knowledge to an exploration of the human condition, it was once the realm of of authors who tackled big ideas and deep themes, exploring humanity, spirituality and morality through high concepts and difficult questions.

In today's world--possibly with "Star Wars" to blame--science fiction is basically thought of as lasers, robots and space travel. It is not seen as the realm of thinkers and poets, but as the domain of nerds. Occasionally, a "Dark City, "Matrix" or "Inception" will remind us of what the genre is capable of, but it's not long before it's back to aliens and spaceships.

Mark Romanek's "Never Let Me Go," then, is a film to cherish. Based on Kazuo Ishiguro's beloved novel, the film looks like a standard English drama. It's more concerned with questions of relationships and mortality than with anything fantastical and there are no action sequences or special effects. Running through this art house drama, however, are deep and thought-provoking questions about science, ethics and humanity that will haunt viewers long after the credits have rolled.

Ruth, Kathy and Tommy are three children growing up at an English Boarding School. They're ordinary kids, dealing with bullying, adolescence and a strict headmistress who reminds them to obey the rules because they're very special.

It's not long before a teacher tells them the truth--while most children will grow up to be anything they want and live long lives as adults, the children of Hailsham will never have that opportunity. They have not been born, but created. They will grow up to be donors and after three or four operations, their bodies will begin to shut down and they will reach completion. Hailsham--along with other facilities across the country--is a basically a clone farm.

At this point, most films would kick the plot into high gear and feature a rebellion, a daring escape or an attempt to change the public's mind about the dangers of cloning. But "Never Let Me Go" is less interested in preaching and entertaining than in exploring what the consequences of a breakthrough like this would be on the young men and women who learn they are created to be nothing more than spare parts.

The film follows the three through three separate time periods--their childhood at Hailsham, teenage years at a cottage and the period nearing their completion. They do not seek escape or a change to the situation; they simply accept their fate and spend the film with the knowledge that they will never see old age. The best they can do is make the most of the time they have left.

Kathy (Carey Mulligan), the narrator, pines after Tommy (Andrew Garfield), who instead winds up with Ruth (Keira Knightley), but there are hints that he still may love her and be a better match. Ruth yearns to fit in with a modern couple they meet at the cottage. There's a heart-breaking trip to the city, where they hope to find Ruth's "original" and questions about who they were modeled after--decent people or the nation's forgotten. There's a fallout, a reunion, a chance at hope, the loss of friend and the underlying question of whether a human created in a lab is truly a human--do they have a soul, can they feel love, are they simply carbon copies of their originals?

Romanek, the music video director whose last film was 2002's "One Hour Photo," pulls back on the flashy visuals and instead creates a simple, yet beautiful and poignant film, content to let these characters grow, breathe and deal with the implications of their situation. He allows the questions to come to the audience organically instead of in speeches or ham-fisted exposition, except for an ill-advised moment at the very end where Kathy voices the film's main themes, which careful viewers have likely already begun mulling over.

The film is carried by a cast of three wonderful young actors. Knightley, dressed down and looking plainer than she has since "The Jacket," brings a viciousness and sadness to Ruth, who desperately wants to fit in and feel normal, despite her fears that she's been modeled after trash. Garfield, just weeks after delivering a riveting performance in "The Social Network," perfectly captures the frustration of a young boy who can't control his anger, was always seen as an outcast and aches for connection with the one person who understands him.

Mulligan delivered one of last year's best performances in "An Education" and proves here that the work was not a fluke. She's heartbreaking as Kathy, the outsider who watches everyone else living life while she aches, yearns and questions her existence. She's sympathetic and loving--which plays a major role in her adult role as a Carer--and yet she too wonders where she's come from and why her short life is so lonely and empty.

"Never Let Me Go" provokes questions and thoughts on the issues of cloning, to be sure. But its deeper concern is about the issues of life and mortality. What matters at the end? How do we live in the face of death--an inevitability whether it comes at a young age or old? Do we feel special or are we just fulfilling an obligation here on Earth? Are we here to be used by people or are we here to be useful to them? It's a very deep movie and the one of the strongest meditations on the themes of life and death since "Synecdoche, New York."

I saw this movie on a beautiful, sunny afternoon. I left the dark theater and felt that everything took on a new seriousness or weight. I wanted to call my fiancee just to hear her voice and I wanted to make sure every moment was being lived to the fullest. It's a rare thing when films can produce these thoughts, instead of leaving my brain as soon as the lights come up. I'm very thankful for Romanek for having delivered this movie and have a feeling I'll be revisiting it several times.

Movie Review: "The Social Network"

Originally published in October 3 edition of the Source.

Ironically, the first thing I did upon walking out of the theater after screening "The Social Network" was check my Facebook.

It's almost a reflex. Since becoming one of the social networking site's 500 million users a few years back, it's become a part of my normal life. Whether through a computer or on my phone, I'm constantly viewing what my friends are up to or updating my status. There is hardly a person I communicate with regularly who is not on Facebook. Even my grandfather has a profile.

It's a rare thing to live through a communication revolution like this. Through social networking sites, we have the ability to reconnect with old schoolmates, keep up with our coworkers and learn every little thing about people we barely know in real life.

And if we're to believe "The Social Network," all it cost Facebook's creator to design this online intimacy was every close relationship he had.David Fincher's "The Social Network" is not really about Facebook, even though its creation drives the plot. Digging deeper, Fincher and screenwriter Aaron Sorkin examine a culture in which billions can be made by college students with only an idea and the life of a genius for whom technological revolution was a conduit for revenge.

The film opens with Harvard student Mark Zuckerberg (Jesse Eisenberg, "Zombieland") on a date with Erica (Rooney Mara). In just five short minutes, a cordial date unravels as Mark parades his condescension, impatience and unchecked ambition, ending with Erica delivering a wickedly perfect break up that sets the stage for everything that follows. It's a breathtaking dialogue sequence that spells out everything we need to know about this character and Sorkin's script dares the audience to keep up.

Angry and rejected, Mark returns to his dorm for some drunken blogging. With the help of his roommates, he gets the idea to hack into Harvard's various online photo archives to create a website where users can rate student attractiveness. The site attracts so many hits in such a short time that it crashes Harvard's network. When he's called in front of Harvard administration, Mark simply requests recognition for revealing the network's vulnerabilities.

The incident makes Mark a pariah among the school's females but a hit among the computer elite. Twins Tyler and Cameron Winklevoss (both played by Armie Hammer) enlist Mark's help in setting up a Harvard-only online dating site. At the same time, Mark and his best friend Eduardo Saverin (Patrick Garfield) are busy setting up a Harvard social networking site called TheFacebook in which users can connect to their friends' profiles and trade information. It's a business venture that ultimately attracts the attention of Napster creator Sean Parker (Justin Timberlake).

The fact that the narrative is filtered through litigation between Zuckerberg and his former friends should tell you that Facebook's start was not without a few bumps. The Winklevosses, not without reason, suspect that Mark has appropriated their idea and we quickly learn that things will not end well for Mark and Eduardo's friendship either.

I first read about Facebook's tumultuous behind-the-scenes drama in a magazine article a few years back. While I found the subject fascinating, I never pictured it as a film. It was a story about computer programming, shady business contracts and legal action - not the most cinematically gripping stuff.

But Sorkin, famous for turning Beltway politics into weekly drama on "The West Wing," finds a human element in presenting Zuckerberg as a socially clueless, wounded and ambitious young man who doesn't seem to get the girls or the attention of the popular clubs. His solution: be better, be cooler and attract more attention ... and then use that attention to shut down everyone who he feels has slighted him. Portrayed with fierce brilliance and aloofness by Eisenberg, however, Zuckerberg doesn't come across as being a true jerk - just an overly prideful young man who doesn't fit in and then lashes out when his feelings get hurt. He's like an unfunny version of "The Big Bang Theory's" Sheldon Cooper.

It's a tough role and Eisenberg, best known for his comedic work, tackles it ably. We don't learn much about Zuckerberg except that he's brilliant and driven - and, perhaps, that's all there is to him. When he gets the idea for Facebook, it consumes him. He moves out to California and dedicates himself to the site. But no matter how popular the site becomes, he's always wrestling with insecurity over the friend picked for the club that neglected him, the slight from other students or the girl who just wasn't impressed with how smart he was. He doesn't know how to navigate social situations and gets irritated when others aren't on the same page as him. Eisenberg perfectly captures the condescending character of a man who sees himself as intellectually superior to everyone in the room, yet he also finds a few quiet moments to showcase Mark as a kid out of his element, afraid at how fast his dream is coming true and not sure how to emotionally react.

Sorkin is the rare writer to make legal and computer jargon crackle off the screen. Like on "The West Wing," his dialogue flies out of characters' mouths, daring the audience to keep up. The writing is whip-smart, gripping and surprisingly funny. Fincher's technique of cutting back and forth in the narrative between depositions and the actual event, coupled with Trent Reznor's propulsive score, give it a momentum that rivets attention to the screen and makes two hours pass in an instant. It's refreshing to see a film that respects audience intelligence enough to expect them to keep up and pay attention.Fincher's ensemble is superb, particularly Garfield. As the film's victim, a level-headed economics student who'd rather see Facebook slowly gain a profit rather than peak early, he presents Saverin well as a business-savvy young kid who wants to proceed cautiously and is ultimately betrayed for his wisdom. Timberlake is perfectly cast as Parker, the rock star of the Internet world, a cocky and brash rebel who talks a big game despite being fueled by paranoia and not having a buck to his name.

Fincher, a visual maestro in "Fight Club" and "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button," has to rein in his tricks here. But still, no one shoots darkness on digital better than him and his creation of life on Harvard has a wonderfully edgy, dark tinge to it, taking place in a world where cultural revolution occurs amidst 3 a.m. frat parties and drunken bouts of brilliance. The director, who made three decades of investigative work intriguing in "Zodiac," ensures that despite the legal mumbo jumbo and massive tech talk the audience never loses site of the character drama at play or becomes lost in a maze of dialogue.

The film is peppered with insights that may require a second viewing. It's amusing and a bit sobering to think that the online social network community started by appealing to our attraction to exclusivity and desire meet the opposite sex. There's so much to say about the dangers of online business and intellectual property; the film should be required viewing for anyone thinking of starting a website. But none of this would work without a human story propelling it.

And in "The Social Network," that story is how a young man changed the way we communicate and connect with the people we love, even though it meant his own friends list had no one else on it.

Movie Review: "The Road"

The one thing I remember about Cormac McCarthy's Pulitzer Prize-winning novel "The Road" is the color gray.

Gray is everywhere in the novel, which takes place in a world that has been decimated by an unspecified disaster. Grey ash covers the ground and the characters live under barren skies. The snow is a grey, sooty color and even the ocean has ceased to be blue. It's a desolate, barren world in which a young Man and his Boy traverse a largely-abandoned road, looking for the sea.

If there's one thing Director John Hillcoat gets absolutely right in his adaptation of the novel, it's the gray. Filming largely without the help of computer generated effects, Hillcoat found burned out, ravaged areas of Pennsylvania and surrounding states to recreate a ravaged, dying world where the trees are empty and dying, stalled vehicles litter the roads and starving, hopeless families have taken unspeakable measures to either survive or escape the horror.

The other thought I had upon reading McCarthy's novel is that it was unfilmable. The writer's sparse prose and ungilded dialogue gives the story much of its weight, demanding readers to create the world in their mind and providing a poetry to the narrative. Few writers pay as much attention to the actual craft as McCarthy and he's the rare wordsmith who is able to create such a compelling tale through so few words.

I walked away from "The Road" realizing I was right: in a certain sense, "The Road" is unfilmable. No movie will ever be able to perfectly realize McCarthy's writing because film provides us with images that McCarthy powerfully evokes...something is bound to be lost in translation.

But Hillcoat comes as close as one possibly could to bringing "The Road" to the screen. While it's not the perfect adaptation that Joel and Ethan Coen's "No Country for Old Men" was, "The Road" retains the book's solemnity and quiet and delivers a difficult, brutal and yet surprisingly moving and beautiful meditation on humanity, grace and hope. Just two weeks after "2012" turned the end of the world into spectacle where millions of people died for our amusement, "The Road" captures the sadness and profundity of what it may be like to be among the last human beings on Earth and moves us over the plight over a father and his son.

Much of the film's success comes from Viggo Mortensen, perfectly cast as The Man. This decade has been one in which Mortensen has proven himself as one of the most versatile and dependable actors, able to lose himself in a role be it that of a noble man ("Lord of the Rings"), a father with a brutal past ("A History of Violence") or a vicious killer ("Eastern Promises.") Here, haggard and gaunt, caked in grime, the Man is a walking skeleton, exhausted and on the brink of collapse. But his eyes light with anger, grief, passion and intensity when it comes to the one thing he has left: his son, with whom he is walking the road and teaching to grow up right, to "carry the fire" of goodness, humanity and dignity in a world that has thrown those things aside in an effort to survive. The boy, played by Kodi Smit-McPhee, at first doesn't do much more than register shock and worry as they trudge through the world. But as the father's words sink in and he begins to apply them, there's a fierce anger in the child's eyes as he questions his father's own stubbornness and refusal to treat others kindly in favor of survival.

Of course, one couldn't blame the Man for holding on so tightly and violently to his son. In flashbacks, we see glimpses of the life that existed before the world went gray--ironically, the first image Hillcoat shows us are blooming trees and verdant fields. The Man had a wife (Charlize Theron) who was pregnant with the Boy when the clocks stopped and the fires started. We see her begin to unravel and lose hope, desperately not wanting to give birth to a child in such a dismal world and then finally, when the Boy has grown, leaving and not coming back. The Boy is all he has, the only thing that makes the Man human and gives him hope ("If he is not the word of God, then God never spoke," the Man says in voice-over).

Hillcoat, whose previous film ("The Proposition") also dealt with the plight of desperate people in a hopeless landscape, does not flinch upon showing us the horror that exists in this post-apocalyptic world. Those who survive have largely thrown off humanity in favor of survival, robbing, raping, killing and eating those who still survive. For the most part, Hillcoat shies away from showing us the most brutal and disturbing aspects, alluding to them through a splash of blood or the carnage that remains. But a visit to a farmhouse--possibly the most horrifying sequence in the novel--remains intact, as terrifying and disturbing a moment as any I've seen on the screen this year.

But Hillcoat doesn't exploit the novel's darker moments and turn this into "I Am Legend" or "2012." Rather he's more interested in the same questions McCarthy poses: can The Man and The Boy survive and keep their humanity intact? And, when the time comes, will the Man be willing to kill his son in order to spare him a darker fate?

And while the film, like the novel, is grim, its peppered with moments of surprising hope and subtle beauty, as the Man and Boy experience unexpected graces. A can of Coke. A bunker stocked with food. A hot bath. The memories of mother. A quiet interlude with an old man (Robert Duvall) in which the existence and compassion of God are called into question.

Even more touching is the story of fatherhood that weaves through this story and the moral questions it provokes. For the Man is not simply living for his child to survive. He wants his child to "carry the fire," and grow into a man who does the right thing. When the child asks if they will not eat anyone no matter how starving they get, it's moving because the kid has a deeper problem than survival. The first moments with the old man and an encounter with a thief on the side of the road become occasions for the child to surpass his father in terms of morality, compassion and warmth. In the later sequence, I recalled Christ's words to love our enemies, pray for those who persecute us and turn the other cheek and found tears welling in my eyes at the beauty of this child. If the world were to end, this is they type of boy I'd hope was left.

In the end, the film succeeds not because it recaptures the power of McCarthy's novel (it never could) but because it recaptures the humanity of the story. It presents us a grim, barren and hopeless world and then asks us if goodness and hope can still exist. In such a dark and harrowing tale, I was surprised to find a warmth in my chest as that question was answered.

Movie Review: "Precious"

I will admit to being surprised when Lee Daniels' new film "Precious" opened in third place at the box office this weekend, bringing in $5.8 million on less than 200 screens across the nation.

After all, "Precious" (which opens in Detroit area theaters this weekend) is not the feel-good type of crowd-pleaser that one would associate with a Saturday night at the movies; it's an often-devastating and emotionally wrenching drama that often hurts to watch. The movie is very good, but it doesn't provide the escapism of "2012" that often propels films to the top of the charts.

While some would argue that the support of Tyler Perry and Oprah Winfrey - who signed on as executive producers after seeing the film at the Sundance Film Festival - has driven much of the movie's support, I am going to chose to be more hopeful: Audiences are flocking to "Precious" because it is the rare film experience that gives you a character worth rooting for and a story worth seeing, presented by actors who rocket past any previous expectations we have of them.

Precious (Gabourey Sidibe) is a 350-pound 17-year-old living in Harlem. She attends middle school because she is illiterate. At home she endures a verbally and physically abusive mother (comedian Mo'Nique) who is less interested in Precious' well-being than in the welfare checks that keep food on the table. As the film begins, Precious is about to be expelled from school; she is pregnant with her second child from her father.

The opening scenes are as bleak as any I've endured in a movie theater: Precious' life makes the kids from "Slumdog Millionaire" look like a vacation in Bombay. We learn, through her mumbled and lifeless narration, that she is good at math but doesn't apply herself at school because of her home life. She retreats into a fantasy world where she's a model or movie star and then, when reality comes crashing in, she confides in the audience that she wishes she was dead. After witnessing one of her confrontations with her mother - as shrill, violent and hateful a character as I've ever seen - we begin to realize that death might actually be considered a blessing for Precious.

But hope is glimpsed when Precious, expelled from her classes, is sent to an alternative school where an idealistic inner city teacher (Paula Patton) sees her potential. Despite her mother's put-downs, Precious begins to apply herself for the first time, learning to read and write, and building friendships for the first time among the girls in her class. The rough, vulgar shell that protects her on the street begins to melt away and Sidibe shows us the smiling, funny and beautiful person that is finally given a chance to come out of hiding and dream of a better life for herself and her children.

The description is probably a bit too simple and, on paper, it sounds like "Precious" is another troubled-teen-makes-good story, ala "Good Will Hunting." Yet Daniels' (producer of "Monster's Ball") is wise enough not to make this the story of how Precious becomes a genius; her struggle is not to publish a book or graduate college. Her challenge is to read, write and learn how to navigate life on her own. The story is not so much about Precious' success, but about the very possibility of success appearing to this girl for the first time; as bleak and dark as the story gets, it's anchored by the goodness and hope of those who don't give up on Precious, such as her teacher or a kind-yet-tough social worker (a nearly unrecognizable Mariah Carey).

To see Sidibe in character as "Precious" and then watch her in an interview is as startling a thing as I've ever witnessed; what she accomplishes with this role is one of the strongest feats of acting I've seen in years. In the beginning of the film, Sidibe captures Precious as closed-up, angry and even violent, her voice a series of rough mumbles and expletives. Yet Sidibe lets enough of the character's humor and longing seep through to garner audiences sympathy; the Precious we see at the end of the film is a transformed, hopeful and wiser young woman, but the transformation is smooth because Sidibe lets those seeds exist in the beginning. The story is a triumph not because Precious becomes a different person but because those glimpses we see of her in the beginning are finally allowed to burst forth and shine.

I was shocked by the work done by Mo'Nique here. In films like "Soul Plane," she's always been a loud, brassy stereotype, grating on the eardrums and the patience. Here, the comedienne creates as evil and despicable a character as I've ever seen, not just in her physical abuse, but in the vitriol Precious' mother spews at her own flesh and blood. A confrontation when Precious brings her newborn child home to meet his grandmother quickly escalates into one of the most wrenching, horrific and heart-breaking moments I've ever witnessed onscreen. Yet Mo'Nique refuses to turn the character into a caricature and there is a scene near the end where she moved this reviewer to tears, revealing that Precious' mother isn't so much contemptible as pitiable.

Much has been made of Daniels' use of musicians like Carey and Lenny Kravitz (as a male nurse) in the film. I was surprised at how low-key their performances were; this is not a case of grand-standing but of clever casting. Kravitz is subtle in his minor role, and Carey's small but crucial role is strong and brave, considering that the notorious diva allows herself to be filmed without makeup or a flattering hairstyle.

Daniels himself could learn to dial back on the theatrics a bit; he's a fan of swooping camera tricks and artistic touches when they aren't called for (a glow coming from the classroom is awkward and ham-handed); this is an otherwise gritty film and the auteur tendencies only call attention to themselves. Likewise, the film's final scene feels a bit abrupt and the impact of a third act's revelation is never fully dealt with.Still, with performances as strong as anything I've seen all year and an undeniably gripping story, "Precious" holds the attention. Sidibe creates a character nothing like we're used to and it's a credit to her that we stick with Precious until the end. And it's the rare film where hope feels genuine, happy endings feel earned and the tears are justified.