4 out of 5

The Oscars are less than a week away, and Lori and I have ventured out to see four of the five Best Picture nominees. Juno interests neither one of us so if we do see it, we'll wait to Netflix it. The following are my thoughts about the four we have seen, in the order in which I liked them. Lori would flip flop the bottom two. If you haven't seen them, be wary of some spoilers.

1. There Will Be Blood
The historian in me loves Anderson's drama about the battle between America's two great driving forces, gloriously self-absorbed capitalism and putatively self-denying Protestantism. Daniel Plainview's drive to make himself a multi-millionaire, his success in raising himself up his own bootstraps from a past that he effectively refuses to admit exists, the hate that informs his competitiveness corroding into simple misanthropy, his need to beat his competitors ultimately becoming the need to physically beat his competitor for the American soul.... Many critics have likened the film to Citizen Kane, but an as apt comparison is Chinatown; both are about the corruption at the heart of California's (and by extension the nation's) growth into an economic superpower.

The film is full of so many beautiful moments: Plainview's fall into his mineshaft (a hint of his eventual fall into despairing misanthropy?), his adoption of the baby after his employee dies, his protection of Mary, his baptism. The two things that stand out to me are his apparent real concern for children -- he obviously cares deeply for H.W. (at least until the adult H.W. sets out on his own) and for Mary, to whom he promises to never let her father beat her again (which he says in front of her father), and whom he holds after his baptism -- and the baptism, where he confesses the one sin he feels, that of sending H.W. away. When Paul Sunday begins to strike him, Plainview looks at him with this face full of relief and rage that makes clear -- puts on plain view -- the hatred he harbors, usually for others but now, we recognize, for himself as well. Daniel Day Lewis's performance is invigorating, even when he dances about drinking metaphorical milkshakes at the end. With this and Gangs of New York (a far inferior film), Day Lewis positions himself as perhaps cinema's prime conduit of the wrongs that fuel the American spirit.

That said, I don't think the film is perfect, or even Anderson's best film. Paul Dano makes for a very uncharismatic preacher and nemesis for Plainview; that the oilman would win out was never in doubt, and Sunday's transformation into a successful if overextended radio preacher was more a necessary plot development than a natural progression of the character. In short, Dano is just to emo to pull off this character. And Anderson strikes me as far too urban a filmmaker to feel completely comfortable in rural California at the turn of the 20th century. His best film in my mind, Magnolia, is a beautiful evocation of what makes Los Angeles such a frighteningly beautiful city -- the human disconnect, the pain, the longing that the city thrives on also offers true moments of unexpected human connection (the scene with "Wise Up" chokes me up every time). But Blood is certainly the best of the major films released this year, even though my guess is it will lose to the next film on this list.

2. No Country for Old Men
As with Blood, I remain a little underwhelmed by this one. I've seen it twice, and the second viewing made its themes a little clearer. But the film still seems disjointed to me, the proverbial attempt to have one's cake and eat it too. Much of the film's pleasure comes from Javier Bardem's performance as the insanely fucking scary Chigurh and Chigurh's facility with the ultraviolence. Thematically, the film is about Ed Tom Bell, the ever-one-step-behind sheriff who, when confronted with ultraviolence, retreats to his ranch with his wife. Given that Ed Tom is behind the times, it makes sense for him to be behind on this particular case as well. But it also made for a somewhat unsatisfying film for me. Because Bell's narration disappears after the beginning of the film, his subsequent appearances seemed more like comic relief to me: Much of the time, he's sitting at a diner table or a desk, ruminating on how unbelievable all of this violence is. But because the film spends most of its time following Llewelyn as he experiences the violence and Chigurh as he causes it, Ed Tom's shocked awe seems at best naive (perhaps the point that Ellis makes at the end of the film). And, when he and the El Paso sheriff discuss Llewelyn's death, their awe seems almost a condescension on the directors' parts. Mutterings about green hair and a lack of manners being "signs and wonders" of a coming apocalypse are comical in the context of Chigurh's air-gun and murderous ethical system.

In other words, I think the film is less than the sum of its parts, a film that is far better made than it is. As noted, Bardem is truly terrifying as Chigurh; I almost pleaded with him not to kill the poor gas station owner. I was saddened and comforted by Tommy Lee Jones's description of his dream at film's end. The shootout between Chigurh and Llewlyn in the hotel is impressively staged. The scene between Chigurh and Carla Jean, where she refuses to play by his rules, startled me a bit. But for all of this, I have to say I appreciated the film more than I liked it. For the first time, I feel that the Coens' formalist virtuosity has overwhelmed the film and made it a lot of sound and fury that signifies far less than it should.

3. Atonement
This film reminded me somewhat of Away from Her. Both at first seem to be about someone else -- Away from Her at first suggests it will be a character study of Fiona as she descends into dementia, and Atonement appears to be about the almost heroic love of Cecilia and Robbie. But each film is actually about another character's need to preserve a constructed memory of a happier, unifying past. Gordon cheated on Fiona (perhaps in a serial fashion), and Briony destroyed any hope of union between Cecilia and Robbie. But as actual memory fades -- in both Fiona and the aging Briony -- Gordon and Briony work to preserve the construct. Gordon's decision to let Fiona go, to give her what she needs, allows him to remember their relationship as devoted and selfless. Briony, by refashioning history into an epic love story (it reunites two ill-fated lovers on the backdrop of England temporarily dropping class barriers to unite as a nation in the early days of World War I), ironically transforms herself into the pair's uniter, not their divider.

This isn't a great film, but it is an interesting one methinks. Keira Knightley is all sorts of wrong for Cecilia (for one thing, in any of her love scenes I worry that she will stab her co-star with her chin), but I find Briony as a child to be a heartbreaking character, someone so sure of herself but scared of the world that her decision to betray Cecilia and Robbie made perfect sense. In a far more effective way than in No Country, the film harmonizes the difference in its narrative and thematic focus, as the narrative is never more than Briony's textual expression of those themes. This is why the film's final images, of Cecilia and Robbie at the seaside cottage, don't bother me. They're nothing more than the postcard Robbie carried with him, the fixed bit of happiness that Briony has created for herself and which she hopes to share with the nation and world at large.

I also found interesting the argument that a hopeful falsehood might be more important -- more truthful -- than the dismal reality. In other words, the truth can be adjusted. Which brings us to...

4. Michael Clayton
I know most everyone liked this movie, and I apologize in advance if this seems overly harsh, but I think this is one of the stupidest movies in a long while. It's not so much a conspiracy thriller as it is a character study in the mantle of a conspiracy thriller. But would it have been too much to ask to not have the conspiracy mantle riddled so full of holes? Michael Clayton is never presented as the incredibly effective fixer that he has the reputation as being -- we have several people talk about how effective he is, but doesn't one of the truisms of storytelling state that one should show, not tell? All we see him do is muff the handling of Arthur and piss off Karen enough that she hires hitmen.

The hitmen are shown to be professional and discreet, yet pick the one assassination method (car bomb) that is sure to draw a criminal investigation. Clayton's "death" is widely reported as fact when no body was found in the car (though his watch and wallet were; it would be an odd bomb that would completely obliterate the human body yet leave the wallet and watch unscathed enough to be identifiable). I've read elsewhere that the car bomb was an acceptable method because of Clayton's mob debts. On the one hand, Lori didn't realize he was in debt to the mob; on the other, the mob/bar subplot has little relevance to the story other than to make the car bomb slightly more plausible and give him a ne'er-do-well brother to pick him up. Finally, he effectively entraps Karen at the end of the film by demanding that she pay him off for things that she never quite admits to.

Although I was surprised that he's presented as a caring father, Clayton is badly written in general. I thought his surprise to learn that UNorth was actually a bad company was a doltish attempt to make him seem humane and above the company's fray (he specializes in the company's dirty work!). In fact, the moment I knew the film was going to be boody was when he has the bucolic moment after being chastised by the hit-and-run client. I'm so angry! My life is meaningless and I hate my job! I think I'll drive aimlessly around the Westchester backroads! Oh, look! Horsies!

So, no, I won't be rooting for Michael Clayton to win anything this Sunday. But since I had so much fun doing it last year, I'm going to down a bottle of wine and live blog the ceremony again this year.

Oh, and Aqua Teen Hunger Force Colon Movie Film for Theaters was robbed.