HARRY POTTER AND THE ORDER OF THE PHOENIX<

Directed by David Yates

There's a scene in HARRY POTTER AND THE ORDER OF THE PHOENIX, where Harry is looking into a mirror and he sees a portrait of himself as a young boy with his murdered parents. It was probably the most shocking image in the film, not for its narrative or visuals, but for the fact that Daniel Radcliffe, the actor who plays Harry, was just a wee kid when the first HP film came out, and he's now a young man. It was both alarming and revealing to see that so much time has passed since the Harry Potter books and films have come out, and it was a reminder that we as an audience have grown up with this boy, this school, this wonderful world that J.K. Rowling has so lovingly concocted.

Given this, in the latest installment of the Harry Potter films, there's a decided lack of wonderment with Hogwarts. Many critics have pointed this out as a flaw, that they no longer had the sense of enchantment, that the world of Hogwarts and the Ministry of Magic seemed flat and rather ordinary. But the fact of the matter is that we have been with these books since 1997 and the films since 2000, and so therefore we are familiar with Hogwarts, we comprehend the magic, we know these characters well. There is little sense of discovery about this world, because there is little left to discover. Both the film and the book acknowledge this, and they both make the correct move in delving entirely into character and plot development. The magic is over, and now life in this world can truly begin.

As is tradition, we begin the film with Harry in the world of non-magical humans, the Muggles. He is surly and moody- a typical teenager no less- and he is jolted from his dreary summer when he is attacked by Dementors, the wraith-like specters that guard the prisons at Azkaban. The very tone of this impressive and taut opening sequence tells us that the dream life has ended- rules of children and legislation are no longer applying here, and we're going into dark, murky territory.

Harry is whisked off to a magic safe house owned by his godfather Sirius Black (the always-reliable Gary Oldman), and Harry learns that corruption and fear mongering has beset the governance of the world of magic, and that He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named, aka Lord Voldemort, is actively recruiting an army of dark wizards, whose ultimate intent is to push the world into ruin.

Harry heads off to Hogwarts with much on his mind, and he increasingly isolates himself, buckling under the burdens that have been placed upon him. He is greeted by a new Defense of the Dark Arts professor, Dolores Umbridge (an amazing Imelda Staunton), who is also a representative of the Ministry of Magic. Umbridge bgins a cold and calculated overhaul of Hogwarts, turning it into a place of draconian rule, governed by fear, and controlled by torture and punishment.

It's quite clear what Rowling and Yates are aiming for, as this is a thinly-veiled allegory to the governance of the United States and United Kingdom, where the press is a tool of a corrupted government, and information is the most powerful weapon of change. Throughout the film there are allusions to underground insurgencies, social upheaval, and revolution. There is talk of people's armies, of Orwellian law, and abused authority. All of which has very little to do with magic, but it remains intriguing because these are issues of the human psyche, and to place it within a world where magic and mysterious creature are an afterthought serves to hammer down the point with great force and effect.

For a children's / young adult film, HARRY POTTER AND THE ORDER OF THE PHOENIX is a refreshingly political film, one that can be digested without feeling like they've been pandered to. Yates has proven to be a capable director of actors, but admittedly, his grasp of visuals are not up to the gargantuan standards that the series has set. The film is entrenched in darkness, which is appropriate for the subject matter- Dolores Umbridge has turned Hogwarts into a prison, a dungeon where no fun or exploration can exist. The only scene of joy is a scene of rebellion, marked with impressive fireworks and the laughter of children.

Truth be told, it's lack of visual punch aside, I felt this was the best of the Harry Potter films, and should I venture down this route, I regarded it as the EMPIRE STRIKES BACK of the series. This is because of the human element of the film, the realization that the evil of the dark side is prevalent and very, very real, that sometimes the enemy may very well be our neighbours, and worse yet, ourselves. I have bought into this world of magic completely, and for the first time I could relate, on a very personal level, to the trials and tribulations of the characters within.

Credit for this goes to the actors, who have all matured from pantomime to real dramatic thespians. Particularly strong is the work of Radcliffe, who by now must be so familiar with Harry Potter that he is reacting instinctively as the character. I'm sure these kids have also benefit from working with some of the finest actors in the world in Oldman, Staunton, and the truly remarkable talents of Alan Rickman, Emma Thompson and Ralph Fiennes. Collectively, the cast has successfully populated Hogwarts with real people, and not sketches of characters from a book.

I simply adore this series, its characters, its creatures, and its settings. Even at its darkest, Rowling's sprawling masterpiece of a boy wizard learning to deal with responsibilities of power is something that always lights a fire within my heart. She and her collaborators have managed to capture the true moments of wonderment, joy and pain that growing up entails. Perhaps it is this universal appeal that has made Harry Potter such an icon of the young and the old. Generations from now we will look back upon this body of work and it will have stood the test of time, because its sentiments and heart are timeless.

We can only strive to create such work, and in the meantime we stand in its awe and take from it pleasures and joys that have indescribable value.

THE FOUNTAIN

THE FOUNTAIN
Written and Directed by Darren Aronofsky

There's something to be said about artistic hubris. On one end of the spectrum, it is a driving force to better one's craft, to keep pushing boundaries, to advance the mediums in which we work. The other end of the spectrum drives the artist to levels of erudite arrogance, leading the artist to believe that they see something beyond the mere mortal.

I felt both ends of the spectrum watching Darren Aronofsky's THE FOUNTAIN. Aronofsky is an artist I greatly admire, and I was both impressed and shocked with the direction he has taken his art. Ultimately, I have to view the film as an artistic success, but an intellectual misfire.

Set over a period of 1000 years, THE FOUNTAIN is the story of one couple, spread over three incarnations. In each incarnation, one of the lovers faces the threat of death, and the other is charged with the responsibility of saving their life. The responsibility is not out of obligation, but rather eternal love and the avoidance of the inevitable pains of separation.

The first of the stories is set during the Spanish Inquisition, wherein the Queen of Spain (Rachel Weisz) charges her young conquistador Tomas (Hugh Jackman) with the task of finding the Tree of Life, which has been uprooted from the Garden of Eden to an undisclosed location within the Mayan forests. The tree is the key to the defeat of the Inquisition, and the lock that will seal the love of the Queen and the conquistador forever.

The second story is set in modern times in an undisclosed location, where neurological scientist Thomas (Jackman, again) is fighting time to discover a cure for brain cancer, which his beloved wife Izzy (Weisz) is terminally stricken with. A mysterious substance lends promise to Izzy, but in case the cure is not found, she charges Thomas with the task of completing her novel, which is completed save for the last chapter.

The third story is set in the 26th century, again in an undisclosed location. We see Tom (Jackman, lastly), head shaven and practicing tai chi, floating in a transparent orb that contains a small island and a singular tree. Tom speaks to the baobob and chews on its bark, promising it that everything will be fine. The orb hurtles through space, heading toward a golden light in the distant ether.

The constant theme here is the personal agony of loss, and Aronofsky is relentless in his assault of tears, groans, and frustration. This is a immensely sad picture, one that touches upon the universal fear of losing those we love most. As a theme it is relevant, but the constructs surrounding it are so intellectually overwrought, despite the fact that they are achingly beautiful to look at.

The design of this film is immaculate. Cinematographer Matty Libatique envelopes the film in darkness, punctuating form with sharp blades of incandescent light. The art direction is inspired, reconstructing the past and the present in monolithic shapes and dead tones, and pulling futurescapes seemingly inspired by one half Antoine de Saint-Exupéry's illustrations, and the other half from the liner notes of a Tool album. That's a good thing.

After taking in the aesthetics of the picture, including its handsome leads, we're then unfortunately bludgeoned with the preening pseudo-intellectualism of Aronofsky's bulky script. The principles and logic, while played as sophistication, are in actuality rather elementary. Behind the impressive quoting of Mayan mythology, historical references, and metaphysical posturing lies the base theme that everything must die. Oh, and love lives forever. Well, okay.

I guess watching THE FOUNTAIN gave me the feeling of reading a Wikepedia article on something I vaguely knew about, and after reading the article I know I should be smarter, but in some way I feel I've been had. I've learned nothing new, and there's something hollow about the summarization. It's kind of like saying the Cliff Notes version of Macbeth is better and more accurate than the actual book. And the real turnoff is that Aronofsky and his cast and crew are so committed to believing in the greater, deeper meaning of the film that they come off as silly. It's like a kid watching a puppy being born, and then making the assumption that he knows all there is to know about sex. The filmmakers take intellectual molehills and turn them into preening, foolish mountains, and they read into the perceived complexity of their subject way too much.

I have no doubts that Aronofsky is a brilliant man- his films PI and REQUIEM FOR A DREAM are some of the smartest works I've seen, and the praise for his intelligence has been universal. But perhaps he's bought a bit too much into the praise, and forgotten the one tenant that constitutes a great artist or scientist: curiosity. It's the acceptance of not knowing anything at all, of wanting to discover. THE FOUNTAIN postures to know it all, and thinks that it's our privilege to see it for the first time and stand in its awe.

Alas, I don't think my hubris would allow that.

BRICK

BRICK
Written and Directed by Rian Johnson

To call Rian Johnson's debut feature BRICK overslick is an understatement. The film bursts at the seams with coded, almost indecipherable dialogue and performances that dangerously veer to the realms of pantomime, invoking the spirits of WEST SIDE STORY and CASABLANCA. While BRICK has disparate elements of those aforementioned films, it is perhaps most true to the single most maligned genre in film history: the film noir.

Hollywood's idea of what they consider noir cinema is rooted in the myopic base translation of the word: black film. Films that are shot in the dark, covered in shadows and decrepitude, and dealing with grisly subjects blindly get slapped with the term noir. While it can be verified that film noir does contain a lot of those elements, there is something much deeper to the genre, something which hasn't been tapped since the 60s and 70s.

Watch noir films like LE SAMOURAI (which I personally consider to be the greatest noir film ever made), RIFIFI, TOUCH OF EVIL, THE MALTESE FALCON and THE THIRD MAN and you'll see something else is at play. Much like the cowboy western, the protagonists of film noir run their lives according to a strict set of laws, or credo. The difference is that with cowboys, the credo is based in altruism, and the credo of hard boiled detective in film noir is based in something far more troubling: obsession. This is the heart of noir cinema.

Rian Johnson gets this, and to demonstrate his understanding of the genre, he sets BRICK within sunny Southern California, with nary a shadow in sight. Rather than plumbing the depths of sewers, seedy alleys and warehouses, Johnson's atmosphere is an affluent suburban high school. These choices establish that the darkness of noir comes from within the characters, and not the surroundings. Whether deliberate or not, it is a master stroke by Johnson, whose focus on character is marvelous. He really, really knows what he's doing.

We start the film with the living hell that is the life of the gumshoe, the hard boiled detective embodied within loner and perpetual outsider Brendan Frye, played with ferocious precision by Joseph Gordon Levitt. Brendan Frye is too smart for his own good, and when the girl he loved shows up dead, his obsession to consummate a love he never had takes over him and he will not relent in his pursuit of the girl's killer.

Frye investigates the entire social strata of the American high school set, from the privileged rich kids to the low life stoners. His approach is tough and direct- he knows that to ascertain the truth from fake people, he must bring out their real persona. Frye does this by irritation, by dogged persistence, by clever rebuttal, and he pays the price for such tenacity. He is beaten, broken, and shattered, and he wears his bloodstains and scars as a reminder of his obsession. Like the true hard boiled detective, he won't let a few bruises stand in his way- he will get his man, and if he has to he will die trying.

Frye's journey takes him to the realm of seedy characters who all have ulterior motives. Their names are equally ambiguous- Dode, Tug, Tangles, Biff and The Pin. The only person Frye can trust is his sidekick, the school genius known only as The Brain, who helps him decipher clues and give him the low down. Frye shows little appreciation for anyone, and he knows investing too much in someone could cost him dearly, that is, until he meets a dame named Laura...

I love this stuff. BRICK is a throwback to classic pulp, it lives within a universe populated by scumbags, whores and bastards. It takes itself seriously and laughs at itself at the same time, occasionally reminding us that we are still watching high school kids doing nothing but fucking around. It is a taught yarn, and the dramatic conclusion is one that hits you like...well, hits you like a brick. The brilliant script is aided by Johnson's keen eye for visuals and his inventiveness with the camera and the soundtrack. Cinematographer Steve Yedlin and composer Larry Seymour help create a world of shadows without using overtly harsh light- the atmosphere of BRICK is one thick with miasma, and not literal shadows. The film may not have the stereotypical look of noir but it sure as hell feels like it, and then some.

And a few words about Joseph Gordon Levitt. He is, in my opinion, one of the finest actor of his generation. He is intelligent, he lives in his part, and most importantly, he is fearless. His performance in BRICK is flawless and terrifying, and we are witnessing a performer who is nowhere near the height of his powers. With BRICK and his previous film, the amazing MYSTERIOUS SKIN (one of the best movies I've seen in a long, long time), Gordon Levitt is on his way to building an impressive body of work. He deserves to be recognized, and I stated it before and I'll state it again: he is the next Sean Penn, the next Robert DeNiro. High praise for a guy who was the least appreciated element of 3RD ROCK FROM THE SUN.

BRICK is one of those films that has divided audiences. You either love it or you hate it, and there is little to no middle ground. But that is what classic noir is- straightforward, a descent into madness, a one way ticket to a personal hell. There is no other direction but down, and those looking for redemption need not apply. This is the stuff of nightmares, and when executed properly and with respect, it's one of the most beautiful things in the world to witness. BRICK is no exception.