Burn After Reading

So I saw Burn After Reading. There are some movies that are very sweet and wholesome, yet not saccharine or sentimental, and that engage audiences across all demographics, young and old, rich and poor, those on the mainstream and those on the fringes.

This is not one of those movies.

There is something insanely wonderful about a movie that, taken as the sum of its parts, makes perfect sense, but, taken as a whole, is largely meaningless and pointless, and yet somehow ends up being deliciously wicked and fun.

When I say "insanely wonderful," I mean that in both senses of the word "insane" - insane in the sense of being beyond normal expectations, and insane meaning lacking rationality or logic. The Coen brothers have made a ruthlessly whimsical movie, with smart, beautiful stars playing people who are stupid, or clueless, or both, and alternately charming and nasty.

John Malkovich plays a CIA agent, Osborne Cox, who has been "reassigned" to the State Department, against his wishes. He's not happy about this. You have the feeling he's not happy about much. He's married to Katie Cox, played by Tilda Swinton, who owes the cinematographer and costume designer some big favors for a couple of shots where she is simply stunning. She's gorgeous, the shots are gorgeous, and you have the feeling that the Coen brothers said to themselves "You know what? We're going to make this gorgeous just because we can." Most fortunately, they take that attitude with gleeful abandon at random points throughout the movie. Even when they're not having ridiculous amounts of fun with lighting and camera angles and production design, they're still having fun. This is an exceptionally well-directed movie.

Kaite Cox is not happy about the fact that she's married to Osborne, so she's having an affair with Harry Pfarrer, played by George Clooney, who of course needs no help looking gorgeous. He's married, too, and not terribly happy about that, either, although he's not super-thrilled with this affair, either. Which is one reason he has several others.

Including one with Linda Litzki (Frances McDormand), a trainer at a local gym. She's not happy with her body, and desperately needs cosmetic surgery, although her HMO won't pay for it, which she's not happy about, either. She's also not happy with her romantic prospects, despite the fact that her boss, Ted (Richard Jenkins) all but lays roses at her feet to try to get her attention. Naturally, he's not that excited about the fact that he's invisible to her.

One of Linda's coworkers is Chad Feldheimer (Brad Pitt). He's actually not that unhappy. He's pretty much grooving through life, not thinking too much about much of anything, except how much fun he's having on the treadmill (oh the metaphors) until someone finds a CD with lots of weird data on it in the gym locker room. He and Linda decide to have a little fun with it. This is what some people, usually law enforcement officials, refer to as "blackmail." Don't try this at home.

All this unhappiness and lack of good sex makes for some volatile people and even more volatile situations. Individually, everyone is mostly normal, or at least not that abnormal. The things they do are not that weird. Lots of people have affairs, particularly in movies. Lots of people try online dating. Washed-up alcoholics get fired from the CIA all the time.

Not that many people, however, try blackmail when they have no idea what they are doing, or who they are trying to blackmail, or even what they are trying to blackmail with. Linda and Chad (I love the name "Chad Feldheimer") decide to engage in a little extemporaneous fundraising for Linda's cosmetic surgery needs when they find Mr. Cox's CD. Things don't go as planned.

At this point I have to stop describing the plot, because we are now entering who-cares-what-makes-sense territory. I don't think I have ever been so happy that I did not care one iota that the plot was basically pointless. The performances are just so good, the directing is so good, that I just enjoyed the experience. The actors are clearly having the times of their lives. I think John Malkovich has been waiting his entire career for this combination of self-destructiveness, articulate rage, wildly misdirected competence, and impotent ennui. Frances McDormand throws off an endless stream of cliches, deluding herself that she's smart with all these great insights wrapped up in succinct, trite little packages.

J.K. Simmons has a cameo as some kind of boss at the CIA, who is trying to follow this without the benefit of great cinematography or editing. People he's never heard of are doing strange things for reasons he can't begin to understand. He finally tells his underling, the one feeding him the details, "Report back to me when it all makes sense."

It never does. It never will. At least not to someone outside all the nonsense. To someone on the inside, however, watching this madcap explosion of absurdity turning semi-normal people's lives inside out, it makes perfect sense.

Not that you want it to. That might ruin the fun.

So I saw Leatherheads

So I saw Leatherheads, because I'm in love with George Clooney. Actually, that's not true. I didn't see Leatherheads because I am in love with George Clooney. I saw it because I'm in love with Jonathan Pryce.

Actually, that's not true either. I didn't see Leatherheads because I'm in love with Jonathan Pryce. Or because I'm in love with Renee Zellweger. Which I'm not. I'm not in love with Renee Zellweger, Jonathan Pryce or George Clooney. I like all of them, but I think to say that I am in love with any of them would be pushing it. Let's leave it at like.

I saw Leatherheads because my parents were in town and they wanted to see it, and I wanted to see it, so we saw it. There was no ulterior motive, no hidden agenda, no secret desire. All there was, was three people, me, my Mom, and my Dad, who wanted to see a good movie, a movie that wouldn't insult our intelligence, and yet would make us laugh. That's why I saw Leatherheads. And you know what? We got exactly what we wanted - a good clean comedy that didn't insult our intelligence, but did make us laugh. It also left us a little confused, but in a way that made us want to see it again, not in a way that left us bitter and angry or disillusioned. Just a smidgen curious, and intrigued, not furious or disappointed. I'm definitely still on the "like" planet.

So I didn't see Leatherheads because I am in love with George Clooney, although I am coming to the realization that sometimes it's OK to have a man-crush, even if you're completely straight and the object of your semi-affection is completely straight, too. In this enlightened age, I am comfortable admitting that I am not in love with George Clooney, and I am comfortable admitting that, even though by doing so I am sure that I am raising suspicions about whether or not I am trying to hide something or if maybe there’s something that maybe I need to be dealing with.

There isn't. I saw Leatherheads not because I am in love with George Clooney, but because I trust him. I realize that trust is an essential part of love, but, at the same time, I don't think that trust is necessarily an essential part of a man-crush, so I think I'm still on safe territory here.

But still, why am I obsessing about Mr. Clooney? Because, if you're going to write about Leatherheads, you have to write about George Clooney, and you have to write about him a lot, because not only does he stare in it, he also directed it. And although I have enjoyed George Clooney's performances in the movies that I have seen him in, I actually, believe it or not, think he's more interesting as a director than as an actor. I think he has much more range as a director than he does as an actor.

George Clooney is, for me, a much better performer than actor. I always feel like I am watching a variation on George Clooney's persona up there on screen - competent, passionate, slightly sardonic, a tad rebellious, a bit of a hustler. Maybe more than a bit of a hustler. Maybe a lot of a hustler. Clooney is almost always at his best when he is leading a band of outlaws/criminals/outcasts/rebels, particularly against impossible odds. The more absurd the idea, the greater the obstacle, the more fun he’s going to have.

Which is what he is doing in Leatherheads. He's the captain/quarterback/head honcho of the Duluth Bulldogs, a team with little equipment, less talent, and fewer prospects of profitability. Clooney, doing what he does best on screen, hustles himself into a crazy scheme to make a bundle of cash that involves a group of rebels, wannabes, and assorted marginally educated, but determined, bundles of meat calling themselves football players letting themselves be abused for the privilege. It's a professional team, but the college game is where it's at, attracting crowds and enthusiasm. So Clooney convinces the best college player in the country, Carther Rutherford (John Krasinski), to play for the mighty Duluth Bulldogs. Carter Rutherford is not just a good-looking guy with the brains to be a good student at Princeton, but he's also a war hero! He captured a bunch of Krauts in what they then called the Great War or some such, and what we now refer to as WW One. He's Mr. All-America! He's good to be true! Actually, he is - the war hero story is a tad inflated, but it's been getting him lots of attention and endorsement deals, so he's going along. Wouldn't you? Of course you would. The girl, a reporter for a Chicago paper, is Lexie Littleton (Renee Zellweger), who is supposed to bring the legend down to earth, or, to put it a little less delicately, is supposed to puncture Mr. Rutherford's balloon. Or, to put it even less delicately, her assignment, the successful completion of which will get her a promotion, is to destroy the myth, take down the man if necessary, and, in the process, generate lots of scandal and thereby sell lots and lots of newspapers.

How does it all end up? Ah, here things get a shade complicated and more than a tad muddy. Not quite as muddy as the uniforms in the final game, but definitely less than ideally clear. And this is frustrating, because most of the movie is sharp and well-paced. The dialogue between Zellweger and Clooney in a couple of key scenes is particularly good. If you had to find an example from the last 10 years of "witty banter," the barbs these two throw at each other could fill the bill quite nicely. Several of the tangles that could possibly require moral compromise/destroy careers/break hearts involve our three leads, who, of course, weave a tangled web of jealousy, betrayal, lust and money. Nothing original about a good old-fashioned love triangle, but Clooney manages to keep it fresh.

The best thing about George Clooney as a director is that he knows what he's doing, he's not afraid to take risks, and he makes strong choices. OK, that is several best things. The not-so-best thing about George Clooney as a director is that sometimes he's just a tad too smart for his own good. He knows the story so well that he sometimes skips a narrative moment here or there, and clearly feels confident that the audience will get whatever's missing. This isn't always a great practice for a director, but it's a minor issue here. The bigger issue is that he knows how to make a movie that is just good enough to be entertaining, and he knows that's what he should be doing here. So that's what he does. He's made a movie that is just good enough to be entertaining.

The movie works on its own terms. It's good that it works, but its own terms are that everyone wants to have a good time, and nobody really wants to see anybody get hurt, because, at the end of the day, we're all good friends here. Maybe too good. It's all quite comfortable, but doesn't have a lot of edge at the end. George Clooney took some risks making a period piece about football, and took another risk casting himself. And then he took a bunch more risks along the way, the kind that every director takes. And the vast majority of those risks paid off. And then he took one last risk, which was that he wanted everyone to feel comfortable, and didn't really feel the need to deliver a strong message or moral, because that would make somebody the bad guy (other than Jonathan Pryce), and that was too much of a risk. So what we have here is a good, solid, entertaining movie that will do well and last and not stir up any controversy. Which is very nice. No controversy is sometimes great, and I think George Clooney did the right thing by making a movie that won't generate any controversy, or at least not very much, although you never know. I really like George Clooney. But I'm not in love with him.

FT Weekend #2: Rock Stars and Chaos

In last weekend's FT: An interview with Patti Smith about an exhibit of her visual art work at the Foundation Cartier in Paris. That sounds interesting. If you're in Paris, check it out and let me know. Michael Stipe, promoting REM's latest album, Accelerator, thinks that "You’re only as big as your battles." Not sure I agree with that, but it's something to consider. I'm not sure I want to define myself in terms of who I am opposed to. The man is a master of good quotes, as befits a writer, which I wrote about earlier. More evidence that it's a good album - apparently they are experiencing something of a comeback. And in an interview, George Clooney says that he thinks Obama is going to be president. On this he agrees with Smith and Stipe. No surprise.

Susie Boyt has a wonderful column about finding inspiration for cooking in classic literature. That's a great idea. So much potential there. Almost too bad she had to limit herself to one column. Harry Eyres writes about Itzhak Perlman. Lunch with the FT is with Nassim Nicholas Taleb, a writer who takes on the subjects of risk, unpredictable events, and the limits of forecasting. His point apparently is that we underestimate risk if we discount the limits of our knowledge, because we are unable to deal with massive, sudden change. I buy that. I am going to have to keep this guy on my radar.