The Bourne Legacy

Baby, We Were Bourne To Run
Or
Pursued By Our Inner Damons

The "Bourne" series laterals the ball to another player in The Bourne Legacy, the fourth film of the series, which, by now, has nothing to do with the Robert Ludlum books on which they are titularly based (which is fine, as I read the first one decades ago and found it one of the worst reads ever).

When last we left Jason Bourne, he'd jumped into the East River to make a desperate escape from his pursuer/handlers, a nice turnaround from when the series started with him being fished out of the water with no clue as to his identity.  We start there again, but this time, we're Bourne again in another body of water with Aaron Cross (Jeremy Renner) on a training mission way out in nowhere, Alaska (all the better to see Russia, apparently), while the events of the previous Bourne trilogy play out in the States, sending a panic through the intelligence community and an order to purge the Treadstone Project (or is it Operation Outcome...or Operation Blackbriar...only Tom Clancy could keep track of this...and then he'd start a book-series (ghost-written) on each one!).  Whichever project is being scorched to the Earth, the talents from the previous movies (Scott Glenn, Joan Allen, David Straithairn) are dealing with the ramifications of Bourne's re-appearance, another intelligence head* (Stacy Keach-welcome back, sir) puts another middle-management type (Edward Norton) in charge of damage control (an impossible task in any recent spy film).**

As it becomes readily apparent on Renner's training mission, we didn't know diddly about the Bourne project (whatever name it was), as there are other agents like him, who are not only trained, but drugged to enhance their physical endurance, but also mental faculties (take the green and blue pills, but the yellow one you should really take with water or it gets stuck in your throat, evidently).  Just as Cross is about to rotate stateside, he and another agent get a drone-launched nasty-gram stating unequivocally that the mission is over.

That's how it starts, and goes all over the world, subsequently, even while it doesn't really go anywhere.  Oh, things happen, and things explode and people run around a lot (Rachel Weisz is a really good runner, by the way), but it's mostly just movement without any story momentum.  Most movies have a beginning a middle and an end, but this one is content to merely have a beginning, a middle and a chase.  

Tony Gilroy (who cracked the code for the first film—taking the germ of the idea and stream-lining it into a bare essentials man-on-the-run movie—directed the brilliant Michael Clayton and the disappointing Duplicity, one of those "I-get-the-drift-but-it-doesn't-work" movies) co-wrote this one and directed, employing the same kind of Paul Greengrass "run and shoot" style, but taming it down a bit, so it can be followed, as opposed to experienced in barely discernible flashes.***  It's a risk because the Greengrass adrenaline-fueled style keeps one from asking too many questions about the slowing-down factor of injuries and leaps in story-logic.  All well and good, I suppose, but one still gets the sense that Legacy is half-baked, with the kernel of an idea, some complications to keep things from getting too stale and large holes in the script filled with "a fight breaks out," "a chase happens," and "hero jumps from a fire escape into a window."  These all happened in the previous films, but I'll be damned if I can remember which specific ones—I suspect the answer is: "All of them."  They all blur together as the most memorable things are the action sequences, and there's a remarkable...uh...consistency to them.  The stakes are only the agent's own and most of the film's have very little resolution to them.  Legacy has none.  It just ends.

While one can admire the proficiency with which it is done, there's nothing all that memorable about this one...or the last one.  Even with fresh faces and a new idea of two, it's the same old thing, hardly worth being "Bourne" at all.

The Bourne Legacy is a Rental

  * You know, one could make a case for the excesses of "Big Gov'mint" just by noting the cast of good character actors in the "Bourne" series and all the different intelligence branches and mid-levels.

** Who fixes things in these films-and why haven't the unemployment rates dropped as a result?

*** This helped by a change in the style of Dan Bradley, who seems to have taken a film directing class in the interim, because his second unit direction in the chase sequences actually have some shots that feature relationship perspective going so far as to even including both participants in the chase in the same frame.  That's some kind of break-through after his disastrous work on Quantum of Solace.

Moonrise Kingdom

A Troubled Young Person's Guide to Themes of Defiant Youth (ala Antonioni) with Kubrickian Stylistics (as interpreted by Wes Anderson)
or
Full Metal Jackasses


Moonrise Kingdom might be my favorite Wes Anderson film yet.  The films of Wes Anderson have gotten more and more juvenile, regressing in sensibility, but progressive in terms of connecting with a child-like world-view.  Like his dark companion in film, Tim Burton, Anderson chooses subjects and styles that appeal to his inner kid, pulling in favorite things from his growing up years  to include in his films.  But, unlike Burton, he doesn't concentrate on the dark and morose, focusing instead on a sense of wonder, even if in his world-view the adult act like children and the children try to act like adults.

So, Moonrise Kingdom, co-written by Anderson and Roman Coppola (Francis' iconoclastic kid), set in the mid-60's and involving an East coast island community.  There are two factions, the authorities, represented by island law enforcement—Captain Sharp (Bruce Willis) and the troop leader of a group of "Khaki Scouts"—Scout Master Ward (Edward Norton).  There is a dysfunctional family, the Bishops (led by Bill Murray and Frances McDormand).  Both factions represent authority, and empty authority at that.  Their worlds are controlled, regimented, but still subject to outside forces and acts of God, like weather—there's a storm approaching as the film's exposition expert (played by Bob Balaban) is only too quick to report.

Into this mix come a pair of star-crossed likers, outcasts from both houses, like Romeo and Juliet.  Sam (Jared Gilman) is an orphan with enough issues that his foster parents no longer want him; Suzy (Kara Hayward) is the oldest child of the Bishops and already is labeled as a "very troubled child."  They meet at an amateur production of Benjamin Britten's "Noye's Fludde"*—he's on a scout outing, she plays a raven.  They begin corresponding in secret, and then both escape their cloisters, he from the Khaki Scouts camp, she from her family home.  They live off the land, he with his survival skills and supplies, she with her books and records, a mutually dependent family with different roles.  It doesn't take long for their disappearance to be discovered and the search parties form, the police led by Sharp and the Scouts, led by Ward, with the Bishops poking, prodding and threatening lawsuits.  The kids lead them all a not-so-merry chase, and there are casualties along the way. But, the fugitives press on, despite the fact that, on an island, they can never really escape.

It's a romantic's version of 'the barefoot bandit" story, but without the issues of ego, narcissism, and general public nuisance, and Anderson couches it all in an idiosyncratic format with scrupulous Kubrickian stylistic fluorishes—the measured tracking shots, the hand-held shots of freedom and chaos; the stylized expressionless acting, the structured mise en scene, perfectly balanced on a central fulcrum.  On top of that, it's hilarious, with dialogue that's formal, distinct, played absolutely straight, betraying no irony, delivered in a deadpan lack of elevation.

It's charming-no wonder these kids want out, left to their own devices.  They still want structure, just their own structure, and, although self-imposed outcasts, seem far more together than those of their "betters."

Fun, odd, and rebellious in Anderson's over-stated understated fashion.  Wonder what he'll do when he grows up.


Moonrise Kingdom is a Full-Price Ticket.


* Britten is the classical composer-thread rolling throughout Moonrise Kingdom, and his "Young Person's Guide to the Orchestra" is the starting theme for the film's opening sequence—a gliding, tracking tour of the Bishop's house.  They'll also do a version of it over Alexander Desplat's closing music over the credits.

Down in the Valley

Down in the Valley (David Jacobson, 2005)  A stranger moseys into town and things get all disrupted.  It's the clap-board foundation for lots of westerns, and Jacobson's character study bears a resemblance to the genre, complete with gun-play, white hat/white horse, a girl and a hero-worshipping kid.

Except that it is set in the hard-as-concrete reality of the modern day San Fernando Valley and instead of open plains and buffalo, it's highways and SUV's guzzling from strip-mall to strip-mall.  And The Big Sky is full of jets on final approach to Hope Airport.

Tobe' (short for "October," so you already know her family is dysfunctional), played by Evan Rachel Wood is a bored teenager feeling trapped by her family, her baby-sitting schedule watching her brother (Rory Culkin)—we don't know where Mom is, but Dad is a security guard played by David Morse—and those damn mountains on all sides.  On an outing to the beach where she's a fifth wheel, Tobe' and her friends encounter the older Harlan Fairfax Curruthers (Edward Norton), who sticks out...well, like a cowboy in the San Fernando Valley.  Laconic, unassuming and gentlemanly, Harlan decides to leave his gas-station attendant job and go with the five on their outing, where Harlan and Tobe become fixated on each other and start a torrid affair, unbeknownst to Dad.

That's not good enough for Harlan.  Determined to do right by the lady, he visits her house to take her on a proper date and meet "the old man," who is immediately suspicious of the guy and his folksy ways.  Completely under Harlan's spell, Tobe openly defies her father, and pretty soon he forbids her from ever seeing him again.

Like that's gonna happen, Dad.

Down in the Valley slots right into Western territory (Harlan's the "outlaw" and Dad's the Sheriff) with a stetson tip to the teen romance genre, circa 1950's, as, in some segments Norton seems to be channelling James Dean.  It's another technically proficient, mercurial performance out of Norton who, despite being one of our better actors, never manages to jump into the mainstream or awards competition lists.  This might be due to his choice of projects, but it always seems that he is one likable character away from achieving the audience affection that, say, Robert Downey Jr, has achieved recently.

Whatever the reason, Norton's Harlan is the linchpin of this movie, an enigmatic figure around which everything revolves.  Once he enters an occupied frame (or a family situation that has an empty space in it), everything changes and not always for the better, and that begins with the first time Tobe and Harlan share the same frame, separated by car-window glass, suddenly noticing, pulling each other out of each other's minds and into each other's lives.

But, there are wide open spaces and "wide open spaces." For Harlan, his crowded mind has not much to do with reality, so much as fantasy, and the real reality is there is not much difference between the exterior-only movie-sets and and the housing developments under construction that he comes to occupy towards the end of the film.  When reality and fantasy clash, the result can be just the frame of a construction—looks good, but it can't hold up for very long. 

As pretentious and fantasy-driven as some of the mind-sets of his characters are, Jacobson's direction isn't—things happen in a flash and some of the confrontations are staged and executed in as unshowy and pragmatic a way as possible.  A life-long fan of The Movies, Jacobson does a lot of cribbing, from Westerns and Butch Cassidy, specifically, but also from Taxi Driver, which gives the film a dark tone, no matter how scouring the sunlight of Southern California can be.

Interesting film, one that stays with you for awhile before moseying on.



Boom.  Fantasy and reality clash



Everyone Says I Love You

"Everyone Says I Love You" (Woody Allen, 1996) First off, the title of Woody Allen's attempted musical should read "Everyone...Says I Love You" because the meter is essential. It comes from the song that takes a large junk of time-spanning narrative from the Marx Brothers comedy "Horse Feathers." That haunting and addicting song by Bert Kalmar and Harry Ruby** stays in the mind a long time. And the songs Allen employs, a mix of 20's/ 30's standards ("Makin' Whoopee," "My Baby Just Cares For Me") drop the narrative to a dead stop in a way that the musicals being emulated never did.* The musical pieces feel like an interruption rather than an extension of the story, or a poetic expression of the character's thoughts, though brief attempts are made to do so. The song that works best is the first one ("Just You, Just Me") that starts without warning, out of Allen's standard white-on-black opening credits (in silence). Then Boom! We're singing...actually Edward Norton is singing in a gentle, reedy pleasant voice. Norton comes off best, genuinely attempting to "sell" the song and sentiment (and it's fun to see a joyful Norton--early in his career--galumphing out of the way of dancers, and doing a better version of the Woody Allen stammering switch-backs than the director can manage***). Everyone--save Drew Barrymore--sang their own songs, and they do pretty well, though Julia Roberts is very off-key, and Tim Roth, playing a recently paroled con, sings inconsistently sweetly. The biggest disappointment is Allen's number sung in a barely-there voice. His song is not so much plaintive, as shy and non-committal...and wrong.

The plot is as slim as anything Allen's done: a series of brief encounters with the engagement of Holden Spence (Norton) and Skylar Dandridge (Barrymore) at its hub. But Allen undercuts the effervescence of the musical format by basing the main story on the efficacy of inspired love, or love-at-first-sight. Love is an illusion he says, just like breaking into song with a full orchestra backing you up in a movie. Great. It's a bit like being inspired to song by reading The Wall Street Journal. The cast is the usual first-rate one: Alan Alda, Goldie Hawn, Lukas Haas, a young Natalie Portman and Billy Crudup, Julia Roberts, Gaby Hoffmann, and Tim Roth

Besides that opening plunge into musical-land, the charm of it all is only sporadically amusing, if warm-hearted--Allen, during instrumental portions of the songs, intercuts beautifully shot (by Carlo Di Palma) landscapes ala Fox musicals. But, there seems a long, dry spell before further joys, and, as it does so often in Allen's films, the best is saved for last--a dance between Hawn and Allen by the river Seine, which nearly matches in grace what Astaire and Rogers achieved by mixing dance and story through the use of movie-magic--the one kind of magic Allen does believe in. Although the two are far, far less capable dancers, Allen compensates by putting Hawn on a wire-rig, and she, seemingly effortlessly, floats high into the air with a natural gracefulness, and alights to earth as if weightless. It is pulled off with such suddenness and beauty that one is caught off-guard, and stunned, like that sudden drop into song at the film's beginning. It's one of the most charming...and surreal moments in the body of Allen's work. ****

*But the elephantine musicals of the 60's and 70's--that's another story.

**
Groucho: Everyone says I love you
but just what they say it for I never knew
it’s just inviting trouble for the poor sucker who
says I love you

Take a pair of rabbits who
get stuck on each other and begin to woo
and pretty soon you’ll find a million more rabbits who
say I love you

When the lion gets feeling frisky and begins to roar
there’s another lion who knows just what he’s roaring for

Everything that ever grew
the goose and the gander and the gosling too
the duck upon the water when he feels that way too
says quack quack quack

Chico: Everyone says I love you
the great big mosquito when-a-he sting you
the fly when he get stuck on the fly paper too
says I love you

Every time the cow says moo
she’s a-make the bull-a very happy too
and the rooster when he holler cock-a-doodle-doodle-doo
says I love you

Christopher Columbo he write the queen of Spain a very nice a-little note
and he’s a-write I love you, babee and then he get himself a great a-big a-boat
he’s a wise-a-guy

What do you think Columbo do
when he’s a-come here in 1492?
he said to Pocahontas achi vachi vachi voo
that means you little son of a gun, I love you

Zeppo: Everyone says I love you
the cop on the corner and the burglar too
the preacher in the pulpit and the man in the pew
says I love you

Every one, no matter who
the folks over eighty and the kid of two
the captain and the sailor and the rest of the crew
says I love you

There are only eight little letters in this phrase you’ll find
but they mean a lot more than all the other words combined

Everywhere the whole world through
the king in the palace and the peasant too
the tiger in the jungle and the monk in the zoo
says I love you

***

****

The Incredible Hulk

The "Maybe-Not-So-Much-Incredible-But-Certainly-An-Improvement-Over-The-Last-Time" Hulk

Don't get me wrong. I admired what Ang Lee tried to bring to the, by now, here-to-stay "Superhero" sub-species (meta-species?) of action-adventure films. Taking his cue from Bryan Singer's "no, it's really about something" furrowed-brow approach to the "X-men," Lee (no relation to Smilin' Stan) made an examination of the rigors of the scientific mind, battling inner demons brought on by a repressed memory of child abuse, and made manifest in the form of a big green berserker id, The Hulk, equal parts Mr. Hyde and the Frankenstein monster.

Good thoughts. But we're talking "The Incredible Hulk" here. These films should take their cues from the "Superhero" epithets espoused by the characters, like Superman's affirmative "Up, Up and Away" or Batman's introspective "criminals are a superstitious, cowardly lot" (these days he just says "Hrn."). "The Hulk" (in one of his incarnations) never got beyond "Hulk SMASH!" He's not the most sophisticated of heroes,* he's as pure a power-fantasy for nerds as can be--a three-year old with super-strength. So to pile on the daddy-complex psychology, when what people basically went to see was the Big Guy punch holes in things was putting a lace doily on a trash-compactor. Lee had fun bringing back split-screen to simulate comic panels (which was nifty), but "Hulk" was depressing...and not in a good way, like the "Batman" films. If you want angst, best take it only as far as "The Seven Samurai."

So, three years later, with "Marvel Studios" in control of (most of) their characters, and an eye towards creating an "Avengers" film in the future, comes a re-vamped "Hulk," with Ed Norton replacing Eric Bana, Liv Tyler for Jennifer Connelly, and William Hurt (made ruddy and silver-maned) for Sam Elliott. As good as those performers can be, the substitutions are all improvements. And this "Hulk," has no other agenda than to be a chase-and-fight film, and succeeds quite well in its humble goals.

Some Hulking thoughts:

The credit sequence re-writes the Hulk's origin-story (always a drag on these films, and is patterned after the TV-series), and gets going with Banner on the run. He's hiding in Brazil, working at a bottling plant in the densley populated box-city of "Rocinia Favela," in computer contact with a research scientist, and working on breathing disciplines to make sure he "don't go changin.'" It makes Banner a less helpless character than the last film, and gives him a goal.

Norton's re-write of the script (by Zak Penn--who wrote the last two "X-men" films and "Elektra" and gets full script credit on the film), is clever, detailed, and plays to the actor's calculating strengths. Plus, his Bruce Banner is a sickly-thin, not buff, scientist--in good shape, but not super-hero material. Nice contrast with the uber-defined Hulk.

The cameos all work terrifically, are integrated well, and show obvious affection for their subjects: Stan Lee (though not a drooling fan of his, one has to admit this is his best cameo, and he's terrific in it), Lou Ferigno (he looks great!), and, in an "Aw!" moment, the late Bill Bixby. Plus, Robert Downey, Jr. makes an appearance as Tony Stark (Iron Man).

Tyler and Norton do wonders with the stormy (heh) Betty Ross-Bruce Banner romance. Connelly and Bana never seemed to connect in the first film, and seemed quite diffident to each other. Not here.

Hulk does more than roar and punch. Here he is quite capable of using collateral damage as a defense and weaponry (and kudos to the sound design team for the police car sequence). There is one scene of Hulk being attacked by "sonic-blast" weaponry that is as enjoyably "comic-booky" as in any of these films.

Tim Roth makes a very effective villain, green with envy for The Hulk's power, and the simple monster a monster plot is stream-lined and moves along while not feeling very draggy (as the battle sections of "Iron Man" did).

Director Louis Leterrier keeps the pace going, as one would expect of a director of the "Transporter" films, and there are extended chases through that Brazilian slum-town that recall the run-downs of the "Bourne" series and the parkour scenes of "Casino Royale."

Leterrier also treats the Hulk like the shark in "Jaws" (or "Batman" in "Batman Begins"); we only get glimpses of him in the dark, as big pieces of machinery go hurtling through the air, placing the audience in the same disoriented mode as the "wet" squad sent to capture him.

Bruce Banner has a Blue Heeler like I do. How cool is that?

It made me happy, right? I enjoyed myself, right? So, why not as high a rating as, say, "Indiana Jones?" Because, as fun as it is, the effects scenes tend to look a bit shoddy on the big-screen. The Hulk, himself, looks a bit too much like one those plasticene statues of "the Hulk" you see at comic-shops, and things like helicopter inserts have a video-game quality to them. Everything about it is fine, but I don't think the film will suffer on the small screen. You don't need to spend full-bore on "The Incredible Hulk" to get the most out of it. The decision is economical, rather than artistic, and for that, "The Incredible Hulk" goes down a notch.

"The Incredible Hulk" is a rental--he'll look better on the small screen, and you won't miss much.

* Face it, "The Incredible Hulk" is "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde" (in the comic book and the first film, the transformation is accidental, while in the tv series and this film, Banner does it to himself). And it's always creeped me out a bit that you could make a "hero" out of "Hyde." But combined with the "poor, poor monster" aspects of Frankenstein (Kirby's early flat-topped Hulk looked an awful lot like Karloff), and the tv series' driving it further, by using "The Fugitive's" running victim conceit, you could tame the brute.

The Painted Veil - Take Two

The Painted Veil seems to have a lot of the elements that could result in a decorative but trifling piece: it's set in the most gorgeous Chinese landscape imaginable, it takes place in the 1920's, one of the most trodden-over eras in movies, and it's based on a novel by some British guy who likes to bang on about relationships rather than have some nitty-gritty adventure story going on. Added to that, it was produced by its two co-stars and was something of a labor of love for one of them, Edward Norton, who labored indeed for many a year to bring this to the screen. Under these circumstances it might be expected to be an over-indulgent vanity project. However, while this isn't Indiana Jones and the Painted Veil, it's not Indochine either. It is a movie that fairly zips along to the extent that when we are faced with shots of Naomi Watts looking bored surrounded by luscious landscape, it is entirely consistent to the world of the movie: she is bored and this in part leads her to want something to do to redeem the mistakes of her life and pretty soon she is going to find a way to do it. In fact, the movie seems to reflect the male lead's disdain for anything superfluous to the matter at hand. Things are so telescoped at one point that what seems like an initial seduction scene turns out to be the pivotal in flagrante moment that moves us from reel one to reel two. Like the good doctor, the conversations are often kept to the minimum needed to move the story along. Norton's character is a true action hero - one who makes his point through his medical skills rather than by pointing a gun at someone (the kind of movie I would like my nerf-toting kids to see if it weren't for the ucky kissy-face stuff). Yet, he is not quite the stereotypical shy virginal character who falls for the vivacious bad girl - he reveals himself as not only capable of jealousy and violence once his bored bride embarks on an affair with a local lothario but also of a cruelly- calculated revenge. He is everything of the man of science though he seems capable of love too. Maybe it is not really clear why he should have fallen so hard for Kitty, though one can imagine an inhibited man with little experience of dealing with the opposite sex to be just the type to harbor romantic dreams of unattainable women. Of course in the best tradition this revenge turns out to be transformational for his wife who eventually comes to not only appreciate her husband's virtues but also to find a meaning to her life beyond rebelling against her comfortable existence. The movie even seems to resonate with current events - set against the time of the nationalist uprisings in China, it puts the story against the backdrop of a colonial occupation and the increasingly vociferous and violent moves of the local population to throw off their oppressors, there is even a local warlord who is appeased by the army and the imperialists as a bulwark against the populist uprising - sounds familiar huh? It's a compact and well-acted movie that utilizes its assets rather than indulges in them.

The Score

"The Score" (Frank Oz, 2001) It's notable for being the last movie Marlon Brando was in, and his presence is probably why DeNiro and Norton and Bassett signed on, because, really, this is no great shakes as a film. It's a simple "heist movie," with some interesting switch-backs along the way, which works as an effective metaphor for a bunch of people generating a paycheck for themselves. But if you expect to see sparks fly between DeNiro and Brando (The Two Don Vito Corleones) the way they did between Pacino and DeNiro in "Heat," you're going to very disappointed. Bassett is completely wasted in the movie as "The Girlfriend," and Norton pulls off one of his "so-good-it's-scary" impersonations, this time as a retarded kid, which borders on the cruel. No, the only sparks are the ones that happened between Brando and director Oz. Brando didn't like the way he was being directed, so he decided he'd play games calling Oz "Miss Piggy" (of course, Oz played her in "The Muppets") It's just another indication of how far Brando was slipping--a perpetual jokester and lover of comedy, he couldn't even be charitable acknowledging Oz's gifts as a performer. "The Score" is not a great indicator of anyone's work (except the cinematographer's), but it's a shame that Brando went out on this one.

The Painted Veil

The Painted Veil (John Curran, 2006) Maugham's tough. A restrained writer of underlying passions and the complications of class and personality, he has had little luck in adaptations for the screen, which when separated from the civility of his tone, tend to look all the more melodramatic. Filmmakers have combated this in a number of ways when adapting works by Maugham. They either are as dry as dust, the juice sucked right out of them (The Razor's Edge, 1947), played to hysterics, overcompensating for the former (The Razor's Edge, 1987...with a "jokey" Bill Murray performance), or just the basic idea used and the rest transmuted to some other end (Hitchcock's "Secret Agent"). However, we're gradually catching up to him. With time, his themes have seen better, more fulfilling adaptations, but Maugham needs a director like Elia Kazan, who wasn't afraid to walk the fine line of good/bad taste. "The Painted Veil" has been lensed twice before--once with Garbo in 1937, and, as "The Seventh Sin" (more box-officey title) with Bill Travers and Elanor Parker in 1957. Both films emphasized the soap-ish, melodramatic aspects of the story, but this one is a huge improvement. It's obviously a labor of love, because it cost $17 million to produce and it looks like three times that much, at least. Filmed mostly in China, "The Painted Veil" tells the story of a spiteful marriage between a cold physician, and a spoiled society girl, who must adapt to a life of sacrifice and want in the Far East, and in the process find their priorities shift and their expectations shattered. It's one of Maugham's "too little, too late" stories, but I've rarely seen one better acted (the cast includes Naomi Watts, Edward Norton--sacrificing salaries as producers--Liev Schrieber, Toby Jones, and Dame Diana Rigg) or realized so well. This may be the best movie deal in years from a production and audience stand-point.

The Illusionist (2008)

"The Illusionist" (Neil Burger, 2006) The other turn-of-the-century "magic" movie (the other being "The Prestige"), and although a much simpler story has a much more artful time in presenting its story. Filmed in the half-light sepia tone of a daguerrotype, it boasts fine performances by Edward Norton (probably the best actor of his generation, although he still rarely generates sympathy) and Paul Giamatti (whose purring formal police captain is far removed from the usual schlubs he plays--the guy has great range). Jessica Biel trades up from her role in the "Texas Chainsaw Massacre" remake, and Rufus Sewell makes a terrifically evil Prince Leopold. Worth seeing.