Short Take:"Moneyball" and "Tuesday After Christmas".

Moneyball is a good movie but its sensibility is unquestionably, perhaps exclusively, American given that it centers around the world of baseball. Screenwriters Aaron Sorkin and Steven Zaillian do a superb job of trying to sketch out the universal in the real-life story of Oakland Athletics' general manager Billy Beane (Brad Pitt) who single-handedly tried to revolutionize the sport by recurring to mathematics and statistics.

Jonah Hill plays Peter Brand, the Yale graduate who was hired by Beane to scout players using a strange method that has them choose players who have been rejected by other teams based on their "on base percentage". The Athletics become the laughing stock of the baseball world until they suddenly begin to go on a winning streak the likes of which had never seen before in baseball history.

If you see past the baseball lingo and all the mathematics and numbers, you will discover a movie that's essentially an example of how we try our best to excel in the face of adversity. Pitt is exceptionally magnetic as Beane, finally showing some signs of rugged wisdom beyond his pretty boy looks. The rest of the cast does a wonderful job circling around him, Kerris Dorsey is particularly good as his daughter Casey, but the film can't tap into the universality to make it really work outside the American context. Sorkin and Zaillian try to make its outer layer become more accessible, but the end result is quite marred by one's own tolerance for sports, particularly because director Bennet Miller keeps everything under such precise control that you can't help but feel unwelcome. "How can you not get romantic about baseball?" asks Beane, if you agree with him, then this is the movie for you.

The Romanian New Wave might just be the singular, most exciting film current to have occurred in decades! Every film coming from the formerly troubled country, feels like a breath of fresh air in the midst of all these pre-produced, highly disposable works done all over the world. What results so strange about these movies is that they're essentially telling us stories we've heard a million times before; even the fact that they often seek to portray the social angle makes us wonder what makes them superior to similar schools of thought. Can it be maybe, that having been repressed for so long gave these young filmmakers the ability to see the world with fresh eyes? To find uniqueness in what's become so ordinary and unnoticeable to others?
Take Tuesday After Christmas for example, an exercise in Bergmanian restraint that's as dark and strangely humorous as the master's best works. The film opens with a naked couple engaging in post-coital conversation. Raluca (Maria Popistașu) teases her lover Paul (Mimi Brănescu) about his stamina, the size of his penis and then wonders when she will see him again. Paul it turns out, has a wife (Mirela Oprişor) waiting for him back home.
The film, which takes place in the days leading to Christmas Eve, has none of the usual twists we'd expect from plots in which infidelity is a major theme, perhaps precisely because the film isn't about cheating. It's a carefully constructed slice of life that gives us access to lives that could very well resemble ours. Watching Paul and his wife arguing about what to get their daughter for Christmas makes for a slightly disturbing nod to what we might see every day at the mall. These people, we are constantly told, are not special or unique, they are pieces of a larger universe.
Perhaps director Radu Muntean is emphasizing the blasé fascination with others' lives as a way to encourage us to empathize with others. The film isn't even "interesting" in strictly superficial terms; there are no insane plot twists, sudden shocks or scenes that alter the main landscape, yet somehow watching these parents take  their daughter to the dentist becomes more thrilling than watching alien-robots fight each other, watching the wife cut her husband's hair as he stands naked, rings with more urgent humanity than a dozen activist documentaries and the camera's stillness throughout the film is a perfect reminder that cinema might be the ultimate window to the soul.

Grades:
Moneyball **
Tuesday After Christmas ***½

The Tree of Life ****

Director: Terrence Malick
Cast: Brad Pitt, Sean Penn, Jessica Chastain
Hunter McCracken, Laramie Eppler, Tye Sheridan, Fiona Shaw

They say that before you die, you see your entire life flash by before your eyes. Those who have "come back" tell how in a second, their whole earthly experiences appear in a sequence, as if to remind them of how they did during their time here. Most speak of receiving a taste of heavenly bliss: a certainty that there is much more to life than we think, always has, always will.
Regardless of one's own personal spiritual beliefs, near-death experiences all have one thing in common: they are the closest to creating cinematic moments, that non-filmmakers ever come to.
In The Tree of Life, Terrence Malick has done something even more impressive, he has captured that all-encompassing feeling within a single piece of art. It's not common to have physical reactions to movies but The Tree of Life has the ability to move you, to take you to places you never knew existed within you.
It is the closest cinema has come, in a very long time, to recreating the feeling once conveyed by religious artists, who with a single stroke of the brush, could encompass entire universes.
The film feels more like a visual poem than a movie, with every single cut, every single frame perfectly placed, evoking the cadence and rhythm of verse. Shot with delicate authority by the amazing Emmanuel Lubezki, every scene becomes a play of light and camera movements. The camera, like life on the planet (as we are told in a stunning sequence), never stops moving. It approaches its subjects, it explores its surroundings, it gets so close to them that we think it'll cut right through them, then it ascends towards the skies trying to get nearer to whoever inhabits it.
"That is where god lives", says a mother (Chastain) to her baby, as she points towards the skies. His father (Pitt) meanwhile holds on to him lying on the grass, as if trying to keep him closer to the ground, to earthly existence. It makes sense that when the baby grows up, he has troubled recollections about his upbringing. "Father, mother, always you wrestle inside me, always you will" says the grownup Jack (Penn) as he revisits his memories (or is the whole movie the flash before he dies?). Growing up in Texas, the young Jack and his brothers deal with the different thought currents in their house. Their mother is a sweet woman who urges them to always do good, their father is an authoritative figure who constantly reminds them that in order to succeed you can't be too good.
She takes on the shape of grace, he takes on the shape of nature; both aspects of life then become the center battle in the movie. What will the children choose?
It might be easy to say that Malick has made his choice, after all one of the first lines in the movie tells us that "no one who loves the way of grace ever comes to a bad end", but instead of delivering an obtuse sermon, Malick explores how those who choose grace must live in a world that's so heavily ruled by nature.
The film then works as a harrowing coming-of-age story and as a spiritual exploration of how we got to where we are. As with any piece of art, the film can be approached from endless levels succeeding in addressing each and all.
Besides the obvious Christian undertones that permeate the film, the family dynamics also make for a fascinating take on Freudian theories of castration. What results breathtaking is watching Malick create a synergy between both currents, as we see Jack seemingly overcome his father's brutality but never finding peace with the god he turns into a father figure.
All through the film he wonders how god could go on creating, while he was suffering and we understand that in his narrow world view as a child, he transferred his father's duties to a being he wasn't even sure existed in the first place. The whole movie then plays with the idea of free will as both a burden and a gift.
The only movie that resembles The Tree of Life, in terms of scope and ambition is Stanley Kubrick's 2001: A Space Odyssey, both of them explore creation, evolution and "what's next", but while Kubrick's work remained on the purely cerebral, Malick's tries to capture what a soul - if they exist - might be like. Does god exist? Does god exist if he makes us suffer? Malick addresses these questions looking for answers. Kubrick explored them with more accusatory tones. Both movies end on a similar note, but only one is able to convey a deep sense of humanity by giving us the power of choice. Malick might just be our greatest living optimist. 

Inglourious Basterds ***1/2

Director: Quentin Tarantino
Cast: Brad Pitt, Christoph Waltz, Eli Roth
Diane Kruger, Michael Fassbender, Mélanie Laurent, Daniel Brühl
Til Schweiger, Mike Myers, Julie Dreyfus
B.J. Novak, Gedeon Burkhard

Some believe that art has the ability to influence history and change its course. Quentin Tarantino takes this belief to the extreme by making a movie that literally changes the way history occurred.
"Inglourious Basterds" is a revenge fantasia that selfconsciously acknowledges its deep love for film while questioning the very notions of its existence.
Set in Nazi occupied France, the movie opens when SS Colonel Hans Landa (Waltz) arrives to the house of farmer Perrier LaPadite (Denis Menochet who in one scene gives the most haunting performance in the movie) searching for hidden Jews.
"The Jew Hunter" as Landa is known sits with Perrier as an ongrowing menace fills the air. We discover that the farmer is indeed housing Jews and after delivering a monstrous metaphor (only more monstrous because it makes Nazism "comprehensible") his team shoots the hidden family.
But he lets one of them escape, Shosanna Dreyfus (Laurent), who grows to become a theater owner in Paris still harboring a desire for revenge towards the Nazis.
Her opportunity comes when German soldier-turned movie star Fredrick Zoller (Brühl) is smitten by her and decides that he wants his movie premiere (a piece of propaganda called "Pride of the Nation") to be held in her theater.
With the assured presence of Propaganda Minister Joseph Goebbels (Sylvester Groth) and the rumor that Adolf Hitler (Martin Wuttke) himself will attend the premier, Shosanna begins to plot a macabre plan that would finally settle differences between her and the SS.
But she ignores that there are more people with their sight set on her theater.
A special OSS army force known as the "Basterds", who specialize in killing Nazis, come up with a mission of their own to end the war in Shosanna's theater by blowing everyone up.
Led by Lt. Aldo Raine (Pitt) the Basterds are comprised of Jewish Americans and Germans for whom Nazi killing is personal (Raine is of Native American descent, he's also known as "Aldo the Apache").
Among its most prominent members are, second in command, Donny "the Bear Jew" Donowitz (Roth who embodies raw macho qualities and mythical deity hatred) and Hugo Stiglitz (a fantastic Schweiger) a sociopath German officer who turned against the Nazis before being recruited by the Basterds.
Other allies include British Lt. Archie Hilcox (a scene stealing Fassbender, you end up wishing he was in the movie much more), a film critic turned soldier who goes undercover to France and German screen siren Bridget von Hammersmark (a luminous Kruger) performing Mata Hari duties for the Allies.
Tarantino frames both missions with surprising efficiency, establishing their differences without making them too episodic.
As usual he indulges his characters in overlong talks (the man lives for words) and complimentary flashbacks that provide more quirk to already eccentric characters (one vignette explaining the combustible qualities of nitrate film is a delightful piece of trivia).
However his maturity shows in the fact that this time more than ever his characters seem driven by something that exists outside the iconoclastic director.
With Shosanna for instance he goes beyond making her a "Quentin Tarantino creation" and more of an actual human being; the farfetchedness of her revenge plan makes sense with her.
Laurent of course helps make Shosanna so memorable, her performance is magnificent and moving. When she dresses for the night of the premiere, the combination of femme fatale glamor and hatred she channels like tribal cannibalism is especially powerful.
She shines in her scenes with Waltz who turns in a villain with instantly iconic characteristics. He plays him like a maniacal Mephistopheles who enunciates with contemptuous diplomacy.
His kind of sadism is the one that can make you be on the edge of your seat for ten minutes, only to have him leave without a single act of violence.
You understand why he is so feared by the people he hunts down. Waltz fills him with so much life that he literally jumps out of the screen.
And as for Tarantino-esque cameos, few things are as delightful as Rod Taylor and Samuel L. Jackson in blink and you'll miss them performances.
With them he reminds us, again, of his vast knowledge of cinema. In the opening scene he pays homage to Sergio Leone, Stanley Kramer and "The Searchers" within ten minutes and the rest of the film throws more B movie, macaroni combat and classic Hollywood movie references than you can even count.
What makes this movie different is that this time he's not in it merely for the geeky show-off-ness. He knows occult movies, we get it, but why should we care about it? With "Inglourious Basterds" he actually has something to say using this meta language.
For the first time he actually questions his points of view using the medium he knows the best.
In a scene where Zoller watches his movie he turns around to see how everyone is loving the way he inhumanly shoots other human beings following army orders.
As the others cheer his actions, he seems to become disgusted by this glorification of violence and we know he is being stirred by something unexpected.
For him it's perhaps his realization that the Nazis have imposed an agenda of hatred upon him and only now does he see beyond his political loyalties.
But as an audience member take a look around the room and see how other viewers are also relishing in hos the Basterds torture and murder Nazis.
Is "Pride of the Nation" self criticism with a wink?
Tarantino lets us know that he understands a line must be drawn between art and the artist's beliefs, even Shosanna acknowledges the genius of Leni Riefenstahl, but what compromise can be reached when mind and heart battle at the same time?
"Inglourious Basterds" only achieves brilliance when Tarantino, who has so far thrived in his B movie violence, wonders if he in fact has the last word on WWII.
Is his ending better than history's? Tarantino from the 90's would probably have made every possible attempt to justify his vision, this more mature filmmaker abstains from chewing the ideas for us and forces us to leave the movies with a dilemma: as pleasing as his resolution is, does it offer any actual redemption?

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button **1/2

Director: David Fincher
Cast: Brad Pitt, Cate Blanchett
Taraji P. Henson, Julia Ormond, Elias Koteas, Jason Flemyng

There is something unnatural about watching a child die, which is why from the minute this film sets its premise you just know it's headed for a difficult place where you will be either deeply moved or disturbed.
Benjamin Button (Pitt) is a man who is born old and ages backwards, meaning that he will die young. As a baby, his father (Flemyng) conveniently abandons him in a nursing home where he is raised by Queenie (Henson in full Hattie McDaniel mode) who looks after the residents of the house.
He meets Daisy (Elle Fanning) with whom he develops a crush all the way until she becomes Cate Blanchett (who not so curiously gives the film's best performance).
The romance between Daisy and Benjamin is supposed to give the film its epic feel and while it certainly makes for some of the most compelling drama the plot offers it isn't completely able to shake off the awkwardness of the movie.
Penned by Eric Roth as an extension from F. Scott Fitzgerald's short story, the screenplay takes only Fitzgerald's twist and crafts something completely new, a sort of requiem for the 20th century shaped after a classic Hollywood epic.
Roth who also wrote "Forrest Gump" seems to be the go-to-guy for stories about life-through-the-eyes-of-out-of-the-ordinary-men and with Benjamin is never able to justify what exactly makes the world through his eyes seem worthier than through anyone else's.
Why is the story relevant only when the narrator isn't ordinary if later the film will try to convince us that what matters the most is what we have inside?
The suspension of disbelief is awkward because the audience at first takes for granted the fact that nobody seems to make an issue out of Benjamin's situation.
Nobody ever thinks it's weird that a little girl and an old man are hiding under a table or that this same girl will grow old and have feelings for a child. If nobody makes a deal out of it, why to even use the gimmick, why not make Benjamin an average Joe?
Roth aims to make the doomed lovers approach the one that makes the story easy to sell, but with David Fincher directing this never materializes, especially because they never make it through to the fact that if it wasn't for the growing backwards novelty, there isn't much of a story to tell here.
With Claudio Miranda's cinematography which bathes everything in a golden fablesque light, the look of the film makes us view at the cruelty of death under a honey dipped innocence.
The movie also becomes a benchmark for visual effects and makeup (Pitt's entire performance is owed to these departments), as the digital process used to manipulate Pitt's look is pure cinema magic and we never doubt what we're seeing is actually happening.
Production wise, it's a real treat for the senses as every aspect is carefully taken care of, but at the center of it all lies a colliding contrast between what we watch and what we feel, or don't feel.
Fincher who is more cerebral becomes fascinated with the essence of time and visually makes a motif out of the way it passes us by (a beautiful prologue starring Elias Koteas encompasses what the latter two hours and forty minutes never come close to).
The director who is an expert at creating moods goes for the least expected road here and practically obsesses with the need to control time.
When the plot becomes too extensive, it's as if Fincher is so fascinated by controlling the lives of his characters that he just looks for more ways to manipulate their lives.
While in "Zodiac" he practically recreated the frustration of not getting where you want, in this movie his reluctance to accept the passing of time and what can be taken as fear of death makes him completely detach from his material. The film like Benjamin has the wrong soul in the wrong body.
While Roth is giving us conventional, somewhat contrived and lazy, storytelling (including tacky Hurricane Katrina references), Fincher is tackling on to the metaphysical so much that he refuses to even care for his characters.
What is the point if they too will go away once the projector stops running?

Burn After Reading ***

Director: Ethan Coen, Joel Coen
Cast: George Clooney, Frances McDormand, John Malkovich
Tilda Swinton, Richard Jenkins, J.K. Simmons, Brad Pitt

Gym employees Chad Feldheimer (Pitt) and Linda Litzke (McDormand) find a disc containing information they assume to be highly classified CIA information.
They link the disc to former CIA analyst Osbourne Cox (Malkovich), who has just been fired from his job and has decided to write his memoirs, to the disapproval of his wife Katie (Swinton) who is having an affair with Treasury agent, womanizer, Harry Pfarrer (Clooney) and has decided to divorce Osbourne.
Dim witted Chad sees the opportunity to get a reward for the safe return of the information, while Linda would finally get the cosmetic surgeries she desires in order to enter the next stage of her life as she sees it, but when they get rejected by Osbourne they approach the Russian Embassy unleashing screwball comedy that gets as dark as the Coen brothers can deliver.
"So we don't really know what anyone is after" goes CIA superior (J.K. Simmons who is in the film for two scenes but might be the ones you remember the most) when one of his employees briefs him on the actions of the other characters. Truth is we really don't know where anything is going, which doesn't diminish the joyful rush of the ride.
"Report back to me when it makes sense" he asks later on with no better results.
Aimlessly, but not purposely, throwing their characters into the plot like mice inside a labyrinth, the Coens seem to be having the time of their lives (and with reason considering their previous film) also providing the ensemble with some of the most entertaining roles they've played.
Clooney, who now seems part of their filmography is at his underrated best, playing a man who has found in sex the thrills he's lacking in his married life. What's wonderful about his character particularly is that the Coend don't turn him into a dislikable sex fiend, just as someone who is looking for what he needs in all the wrong places but has a real soul.
If the Coens planned to create characters exemplary for their idiocy, their plan backfires as they can't help but inject a certain amount of sincere emotional ache in all of them.
When we find Harry is building a gift for his wife we can't help but go aww, when we see what the gift is (where Clooney's eyes sparkle with puppy like fervor) we cringe while we go aww and when he leaves his lover's house offended, sex pillow under his arm, we know this could very well represent his heart.
Malkovich, at his neurotic best, is the poster boy for upper middle class failure. An alcoholic in denial, he moves into his yacht where he drinks and does aerobics as he plans his comeback to the world that shunned him. You laugh at him more than with him, but Malkovich doesn't really care, he's like a human version of Tom the cat.
Swinton is magnificent combining her ice queen qualities with an irresistible sex appeal. With Malkovich she reminds us that familiarity breeds contempt as she is disgusted by everything he does. Swinton doesn't even need to roll her eyes to let us know her apathy.
Pitt's Chad is a genius comedic creation, as the actor vanishes into this bleached blonde muscle machine who smiles when he has no other way of defense.
He never stops chewing gum or moving to what one can only assume is some sort of 90's Eurotrash piece on his iPod, he is ditzy and, scarily reminiscent of some political juggernauts (one whose picture is featured in the film), harmlessly likable.
McDormand's Linda is also some sort of small miracle, the actress absolutely devoid of any vanity becomes this insecure woman whose lack of self esteem comes off as a bizarre, almost admirable determination. "I've gotten about as far as this body can take me" she says and can you really blame her for seeking options instead of just moping?
The Washington D.C. in this film is some sort of bubble where bureaucracy and patriot paranoia gets in the way of common sense.
Everyone seems to think they're part of a bigger picture and with this the Coens (with a wicked eye for comedic detail) poke fun at the mindless fear that pervaded post 9/11 America, Carter Burwell's selfonsciously selfimportant score does a brilliant job highlighting this.
But they also deliver an acute observation of how people face aging; you might very well argue that "Burn After Reading" is a midlife fantasia, both for the Coens who have become filmmakers of whom one expects only great cinema amidst their undeniable flops and of all the characters to whom their actions, as idiotic as they result, might be their last chance of making a difference for self and country.

The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford ***1/2

Director: Andrew Dominik

Cast: Brad Pitt, Casey Affleck

Paul Schneider, Sam Rockwell, Mary-Louise Parker, Zooey Deschanel

"Now or never is your chance. If you don't get him now he'll get you tonight."

from Robert Ford's letter to Governor Thomas Critteden (April 1882)

A film that reveals its plot in its title must have something else up its sleeve. Andrew Dominik's sophomore film is a meditative look at the last days of the outlaw gang led by Jesse James (Pitt), but it is also a raw look at the sinister double moral that served as foundation for the American myth.

The film is set in 1882 where James' reputation has become so vast, that it's making it impossible for him to work without fear of betrayal.

The government has put a price on his head and the members of his gang have become fearful that Jesse will doubt them.

Among them is the young Robert Ford (Affleck) who joined the gang after a life long adoration of James. Under his bed he has a cardboard box filled with Jesse James memorabilia which is object of constant mock from his brother Charley (a great Rockwell).

Robert develops a love/hate relationship with his hero that gives path to his eventual betrayal, powered by pressure from the governor who recruits him as a double agent of sorts.

While the film takes its time taking us there (its languid pace might very well evoke the empty feeling of dread held in those days) it sets points along the road which make the experience feel like so much more than historical trivia.

Pitt has rarely been better than in his unflattering glorification of a man who at one point becomes smaller than his reputation. The actor's unusually beautiful features become enigmatic when the camera concentrates on his slow weathering. The moment that Pitt decided to play James like a normal man, who had an outlandish job, was when his performance became so profound. Driven by anger, violence and a fear he can't hide for long, one has to wonder what made him so fearsome.

Affleck is a revelation whose battles take place inside his head. From the beginning of the film he has a creepiness to him that is only bigger than his admiration for Jesse James. In one of the film's best moments, Robert begins counting all the similarities he and Jesse have. His conviction and shy excitement are terrifying and moving at once, which is why the film establishes a huge dilemma that Ford has to carry.

When exactly did the murder of a criminal becomes betrayal? By film's end, Ford has become infamous, instead of heroic.

The supporting cast creates a more full portrait of the era including a pervy, eager and complex performance by Schneider, a giggling anxiety filled Rockwell and Parker who as James' wife, in a role with almost no dialogue, effectively states gender politics of the era.

The parallels drawn between those early times and our constant public bashing of celebrities we have put on pedestals couldn't be more appropriate or disturbing.

And what better way for Dominik to make his point clearer than by using the American genre by excellence?

This revisionist western dissects the concepts that made its genre rise as a questioning of the system. By the time depicted in the film, the wild west had given path to industrial progress and the characters are also caught in a limbo between playing by their rules or those the world is imposing on them.

Gorgeously shot by Roger Deakins, the film feels like an eye into the past. Deakins' amber palette and unfocused edges recall the stereoscope pictures of which Jesse James' corpse would become an icon.

Filled with melancholic beauty and decaying urgency, the visuals sometimes speak more than any line of the script and their manipulation as means to fit into a contraption (whether it be a stereoscope or a film projector) only make us more conscious of human nature's irrevocable fade out.