Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close Review: Fallen Father and a Kid with a Key

There is sort of a running joke about what types of movies typically do well during Oscar season. They usually involve the Holocaust (as prophetically joked by Kate Winslett on Ricky Gervais‘s show Extras), contain a serious bio-pic, or provide most notably a picture about someone overcoming a challenge, especially if they have a mental or physical disability. The latter here is the centerpiece of Stephen Daldry‘s (who coincidentally directed Winslett’s winning performance in The Reader) latest feature Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, a film that attempts to tackle a sometimes taboo subject in 9/11. Attempts, however, is the right word here, pitting family calamity with a young boy’s frantic search to restore his shattered life. Instead of building an emotionally vivid and translucent image into that fateful day and its lasting effects, it is content to tell us that because it falls into one of the abovementioned categories, it doesn’t have to.

Based off the novel by the same name, the film opens with a funeral, a burial of an empty casket in remembrance of Thomas Schell (Tom Hanks), the fallen father of 9-year-old Oskar Schell (Thomas Horn) who refuses to take part in the service- upset over the worship of a vacant box. This is the early indication that something is not exactly sound with Oskar, who we later find out has indefinitive tests for Asperger’s syndrome, a brightly intelligent boy who also lacks noticeable social skills. His father’s memory becomes an integral part of storytelling as Oskar recalls their time together, a dad treating his son to intricate puzzles and city scavenger hunts, mobilizing Oskar’s distinct gifts. Oskar’s mother Linda (Sandra Bullock) is considerably vacant from her son’s life and feels incrementally less a part until some later plot twists, a mother challenged with raising an emotionally disconnected son.

Then occurs what Oskar calls the “worst day,” September 11th, 2001, shown in a conglomeration of mediated screens and burning recreations. Thomas is trapped inside one of the Twin Towers and frantically leaves six voice-mails on the home phone for Oskar before some disturbing images of his plummet from the building. Oskar refuses to tell his mother about the messages, setting up a small shrine for his dad in his bedroom cupboard. After some exploring in his dad’s closet he finds a blue vase with a key inside, wrapped in a small envelope with the word “black” written on it. This he thinks is a message from his dad, potentially believable, and goes to a locksmith to find out what it fits. It seems capable for a safe deposit box, but the locksmith provides Oskar with the idea that “black” refers to someone’s last name.

Thus enables a five-borough search, 472 names to search for, 472 residences to locate. It’s an astronomical amount, one that gets categorized and labeled with precision by Oskar, who devotes every Saturday to finding what this lonely key could unlock. The first person he meets is a middle aged woman played with profound sincerity by Viola Davis (she has an inescapable ability to provoke an authentic depiction of whichever role she is handed). Oskar is unable to realize her marital turmoil at the present time with her husband (a gravitating Jeffrey Wright). She doesn’t have an answer for him and unwillingly begins to shed some tears, flowing for potentially multiple reasons. He continues to move on to every side street of New York by himself, an almost non-sensical thing to let a child of nine years do. His quirks, like shaking his tambourine to calm his incessant fears, specifically of public transportation, make him a memorable guest to his many big city hosts, all types of people giving hugs, prayers, and hope to this fatherless child.

Daldry provides some disjointed levity to a harrowing tale, but in the process gives us more questions than answers. Do we really believe this kid is unharmed or more importantly, unphased in his unending search? Granted he gets some help from his grandfather (Max von Sydow), first known as “the renter” for an apartment across the street where Oskar’s grandmother lives. He provides a jovial punch to a sometimes dragging pace, and an even more awkward chronological narrative. The director moves back and forth between Oskar’s journey and his memories of  his father. This method can sometimes be effective but in this case it serves only as a jumbled collection, not serving a directional poignant moment.

Thomas Horn is strong as a mildly autistic lead, his narration and on-screen exuberance can create cringing interactions with the people he meets, but most notably his mother. Bullock shares little time on screen, which is a shame, but it is an effort to describe Oskar’s outside journey. The problem is its trite effort to create a connection, to bridge the still vibrating currents to the fateful shock of that day. The collections of lives that encounter Oskar and understand his loss have the ability to create a redeeming and spiritual journey. Instead, this film folds as another humdrum retelling of an American tragedy, capable to produce tears, but more conclusively disappointment.

Related articles

• Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close: Oscar-Trolling 9/11 Kitsch (seattleweekly.com)

The Ides of March Review: A Dirty Game of Political Chicken

A hopeful, promising, and certainly liberal air resides in Governor Mike Morris, and why not? His George Clooney mug appears in Obama-esque red and blue “Believe” posters.  He’s in a close Ohio primary race against a barely seen Senator Pullman, battling for the Democratic nomination for President. Morris is a fervent environmentalist, promoting non-combustible engines, and is also a secularist. Instead of sidestepping theological morals, Morris smoothly professes his religion is to the Constitution. His goals seem plausible, except his temerity feels too fictitious, ideals that would be harshly severed in today’s uncompromising congress.

That’s not to say that “The Ides of March” insists upon sending a political message. Instead it looks at the inner-workings of the political process, it’s ideological claims falling to the wayside in light of its internal operation. In this sense, the urgency and cunning intelligence this film depicts finds some authenticity. Its glamorous exchanges of confidence are balanced by sweaty, apprehensive poll results that get constantly updated throughout. The steady flow of words proclaimed and then actually practiced muddies the Governor’s persona, but becomes ever more intriguing.

Morris, in his heated primary battle, embodies a cherished candidate, a strong contender that appeals to a striving middle class. Clooney, who directed and help write the film, begins to tarnish this figure, basing his creation off of the play Farragut North by Beau Willimon and focuses his lens upon the dirty side of bureaucratic business. This takes center stage in the middle of Morris’s campaign, where the cold blood of politics infiltrates Stephen Meyers (Ryan Gosling), the governor’s campaign staffer and slick savaant. His indeterminable eyes infuse him with his shady characteristics, even though he blatantly proposes that Morris has to win.

Stephen obtains tutilage from his boss Paul (Phillip Seymore-Hoffman), who squares off with his counterpart Tom Duffy (Paul Giamatti) representing Pullman. Both Paul and Tom play the crafty veterans, using their logical cynicism to express their maniacal means. Stephen observes the up-close the tricks of the trade and also discovers the conditional realtionship between insiders and the press. Marisa Tomei plays Ida Horowicz, a New York Times reporter trying to scoop up any juicy hunches, specifically if the Morris campaign can garner the approval of a self-righteous North Carolina senator (Jeffrey Wright) and his plentiful delegates. Her early, friendly banter eases Stephen into a comfortable friendliness, but gets quickly exposed in exchange for a hearty headline.

These types of encounters only intensify the campaign trail, and Stephen’s growing hubris pushes him to audaciously make independent choices. These include a conspicuous encounter with Duffy and also kindling a relationship with Morris’s head intern Molly (Evan Rachel Wood). She seduces, then plays coy, but ultimately magnetizes the young staffer into bed. Her father is in charge of the DNC, but her ominous past begins to peel away and has potential to send Stephen and Morris’s campaign into the gutter. With every meeting, with every pundit’s opinion, comes a chilling, dramatic scare, emphasized by dark, gloomy winter weather. Clooney’s extreme close-ups attempt to penetrate the external masks each politico wears, whether in public debates or casual dinners that exude the fallibility each person tries to suppress.

The writing is clever and insightful, giving an unrelenting realism that emanates through each scene, leaving you searching for redeeming nature that tries to squeak out through questionable ploys. The intelligently adapting dialogue, that zooms through witty campaign discourse and then slows during passionate political improv, is held up remarkably in its acting. Clooney the actor handles the open forums and TV spot debates with sleek severity, and is best during his drawn out discourse with his staff. Gosling, with his glossy and impenetrable gaze, steals the show. He molds himself proportionately to the changing tide of the film, taking on a heavy, vengeful tone each day that toys with with his sense of entitlement and loyalty. The sensuous displays of affection gracefully lured by Wood exaggerate this mental divide and spark impulsed reactions that allude to its iconic title.

These heightened ethical indecisions however lack a few early morning, intern-run espresso shots. It inventively comments on a dignity-exhausting process but the jogging pace lets the disappointing imposition of a still-corrupt Washington seep its way in. The intrigue of its moral ambiguity controls a bleak, exposing process, relying on cynicism that is pursued, avoided, and then becomes a last resort. Stephen, who wades into murky waters between pursuing personal ambition and giving it up for a stronger good, loses his innocence and hides a darkness we will find just as hard to disguise.

Maybe the biggest point the film works to explain is the indecisive individual/societal complex.  Morris, in one of his public Q and A’s, converses with a pundit about the death penalty. He admits that if someone murdered a member of his family he would take action, responding atypically,  ”I would commit a crime for which I’d happily go to jail.” Yet, he adds, “Society has to be better than the individual.”

The Ides of March pushes this logic but also backs off its difficult premise, keeping its plot suspenseful yet only mildly challenging. Do we trust in the cause or is it lost in the dirty vessel that carries it? I’m still trying to figure that out.