A Devilish Good Time

I was determined not to watch The Devil Wears Prada. The title was a total turnoff, the subject matter anathema to me. When, however, in the course of human events, it becomes necessary for domestic felicity to compromise or dwell in splendid isolation, one caves, or at least, I do . . . and now I'm glad I did.

The end is inevitable in the setup, yet the vehicle is beautifully carried by an amazing cast. There is little that Meryl Streep cannot do well, which makes her perfect for the tyrannical Miranda Priestly, high priestess living in splendid isolation amidst the chaos of frenetic subordinates that swirls around her. Anne Hathaway serves as the viewers' eyes peering into the mysterious world of high fashion and the publishing industry that provides the lenses through which the majority are given to perceive and to understand the subject, be it ever so dimly. Stanley Tucci walks a very thin line between caricature and class as a functioning male cog in this matriarchal community. Emily Blunt is impressive in her ability to continue to convey her character's emotions despite the decreasing of lines as her character's career spirals downward in response to Andy's rise.

Okay, I'm drooling. Let me wipe up my spittle a bit...

Truth to tell, Streep keeps startling laughter out of me with her deadpan deliveries in scene after scene. Sometimes it's just her reaction without even recourse to dialogue. There are times when I just want Hathaway to get out of the way so that we can get back to Streep, who steals scenes without trying, without malice, without intent. She simply is - - no direct object required.

My awareness of Tucci's restraint only came upon reflection, a tribute, I suspect, more to the director than to the actor, who has chewed more than one piece of scenery in his career. Reflections on the other performers and performances are likewise hindsight thoughts. It's not that they can't keep up with Streep so much as that she just outclasses everyone, which is exactly what her character is supposed to do. She's just so impressive when she goes full tilt at top of the line stuff. She is the personification of an irresistible force, much as some male actors specialize in being immovable objects, though to their detriment and pigeonholing.

Okay, guess I've found another rental I'm gonna want to buy eventually... what a waste of money!

Another Movie Review

The other day I had a chance to acquire Little Miss Sunshine but, not having heard or read anything about it, I declined. Then it arrived in the mail, courtesy of Netflix, on the same day that a longtime Filmfun friend happened to mention it. That night I resigned myself to sitting through what promised to be an irritating movie. I was never so glad to be so wrong.

The title promises something along the lines of those irritating JonBenet-style contests, but this road trip film is actually a wonderful skewering of that reprehensible genre and competition. The casting of Alan Arkin, Greg Kinnear, and Toni Collette would have tipped me off, had I paid initial attention. Their presence perked me up as the opening scenes unfolded.

What I found particularly interesting was Collette's (relatively) unusual turn as the emotional anchor around which three flailing males revolve, a nice change from the drowning female I have more frequently seen her portray. I spent the whole movie waiting for her character to fall apart; I was ultimately pleasantly disappointed.

Greg Kinnear is an actor I have enjoyed for a very long time. I consider him to be intelligent and talented in many ways, a rarity in these days of mere celebrity. To see him playing shallow and substance-free was, again, an interesting turn. I found his epiphany believable.

Alan Arkin I have enjoyed since I first saw him in Freebie and the Bean. He has a way of delivering outrageous lines that tickles me immensely. While some may find his character's demise both unexpected and implausible, I see it as very much in keeping with the narrative's persistent skewering of Kinnear's character's "9 Steps" nonsense. Life is, after all, unpredictable, not something absolutely controllable. Despite a person's best efforts, loss does occur, but it doesn't necessarily make a person a Loser. Along those lines, losing can be a source of subsequent humorous situations, especially if one has a proper appreciation of irony.

Steve Carell, who I have primarily seen playing an idiot, takes a beautifully subdued and understated turn as a gay Proust scholar on the comeback trail from a broken heart and a failed suicide attempt - nothing like a double failure to fuel a character's background... I particularly appreciate that his chin doesn't drag (no pun intended) through the whole film.

Paul Dano doesn't have many lines, but he holds up well enough in some pretty heady company in this cast. Sure, he gets away with pouting a bit much, but as Carell's character says, he's not as unintelligent as he looks...

Abigail Breslin didn't make much of an impression on me as she trotted down the Golden Globes Red Carpet, but then, who does? Her performance in the film is another matter. Behind those coke bottle glasses lurks a young girl able to exude confidence and vulnerability well enough for this role. One can only hope that she gets the message of the film and not the industry as she continues to mature.

Of course, one can question just what the film intends in her case, but still...

A fun, thoroughly delightful film that I found continually causing me to catch myself in startled amusement - I highly recommend it, though I wouldn't necessarily call it the absolute best of the year. Suffice it to say, this is a film worth seeing. (Look past the obvious gags.)