Finishing the Game (review)
There’s little intriguing or surprising here…
There’s little intriguing or surprising here…
It’s no rare thing that a film gets buzz for its director. It’s a rare thing when that director has never made a film before. It’s an even rarer thing when the film by that first-timer turns out to be as astonishingly confident and shrewd as actor-turned-director Ben Affleck’s *Gone Baby Gone.*
Powerful and pitiful performances make this a must-see for fans of stars Joaquin Phoenix and Mark Ruffalo…
Okay, maybe it’s a tad too Hollywoodized. Maybe the ending is a tad too upbeat, a tad too facile to be satisfying or even believable in a story based so closely on horrific reality. But maybe that’s okay for the moment.
The concept? Brilliant… The execution? Oh, dear.
There is an ache to the movies of Wes Anderson, a quiet but bone-deep longing for *feeling.* These movies appear, in their flip quirkiness, to be about people looking for a reason to feel anything at all, but scratch their surfaces just a bit, and it turns out their problem is that they feel too much…
So drenched in raw, ineffable male anger and love, so perfectly pitched, that it howls with authenticity.
You sell out and you sell out and you sell out until you can’t do it anymore. And that’s when things gets interesting.
Torture! Intrigue! Sex! Treachery! Holy war! Cate Blanchett in royal drag! Clive Owen in pirate drag! We are highly amused. If 10th-grade history was as much fun as this, no one would ever cut class.
Based on the 1972 movie — and Neil Simon’s 1972 screenplay — much in the same way that a breakfast of Pop Tarts and Mountain Dew is based on a petit dejeuner of fresh-baked croissants and cafe au lait.