What to Expect in the* Hereafter

We've all got our own beliefs -- religious or otherwise -- and theories about what to expect in the Hereafter, the place/ state of being/ time after death. And that's the question at the heart of three separate stories presented in Hereafter, writer Peter Morgan's examination of variations of the theme. But leaving said central mystery behind just for a moment, I've got a mystery much more confounding than issues that merely deal with life after death, and that mystery is: What the hell is wrong with critics and the movie-going public?

Seriously, this movie, whether intended as such or not, seems to be the answer to every one of critics' complaints about modern cinema, and they responded to it with a baffling mixture of (depending on who was reviewing it) hostility or plain indifference. So let's consider this for a moment. What do critics complain about? An excess of action movies, dumb comedies, and slasher films, the three most dominant genres in the box office, all of which require you to turn your brain off if you're to enjoy the film. They complain about special effects that exist for no reason other than spectacle, about lazy and predictable storylines populated by one-dimensional characters, and about Hollywood's tendency to present death, sex, and violence as pure titillation, without pause to consider the consequences.

"And where's the originality?" people cry out (and here I'm talking more about your average IMDb user than about most professional critics, although lord knows the line has blurred lately). "Why does it seem like every movie is either a remake, a sequel, or based on a book, TV show, or graphic novel?" Such complaints inevitably lead to the same conclusion, always phrased as a rhetorical question, "is Hollywood out of ideas?"

Well, Hereafter proves that Hollywood isn't out of ideas, as Morgan presents us with an original screenplay that is both emotionally and intellectually stimulating. This sensitive, patiently paced (which, in this case, does not mean the same as "boring") drama tells three separate stories, carefully balancing all three so that no one ever over-powers the other two, so that we feel like we're watching one continuous narrative.

Ostensibly, the main character is the one played by Matt Damon; that is to say, trailers and TV ads lead us to believe that he's the main character, even though his story is more or less equal to the other two stories, in terms of import and screen time. Damon stars as George Lonegan, a genuine psychic who has turned his back on his astounding gift. At first, his reasons seem like the standard cliches you find in supernatural stories involving psychics -- he feels like a freak, he wants to lead a normal life like everybody else, "it's not a gift, it's a curse," etc. -- but as we follow his attempts to leave the life of a professional psychic behind him, we slowly learn exactly why George has made the decisions he's made. Bryce Dallas Howard's supporting role, as a night school classmate who has the potential to serve as George's love interest, plays a key role in answering some of these questions.

Then there's Marcus, a very young boy whose life is turned upside down when his twin brother Jason, in a very early scene, is killed in a car accident. In addition to this devastating loss, Marcus is forced into foster care, when social workers force his loving but alcoholic and heroin-addicted mother into a rehabilitation program. Screenwriter Morgan gives us an early sign that Marcus's storyline will eventually tie in to George's narrative, when Marcus exhibits his grief through a sudden obsession with psychic phenomenon. An extended sequence in which Marcus, desperate to contact his deceased brother, approaches several psychics, and discovers them all to be frauds, is heartbreaking, but realistic. Marcus is no fool, and he approaches his mission with a touching mixture of determination, hope, and healthy yet sorrowful skepticism. An insensitive viewer might accuse Marcus of being a glutton for punishment, but the truth is that he is merely exhibiting that admirable quality of Hope Against Hope.

Finally, there's Marie Lelay, a minor celebrity and television journalist based in Paris. Marie's story is set in motion by the infamous Indian Ocean tsunami of 2004, which nearly kills her during her vacation in Thailand. Actually, the point of Marie's story is that the tsunami does kill her, at least for a few seconds, and she awakes having experienced a near-death vision that hints at the existence of Heaven. Marie returns to Paris and initially attempts to return to life as normal, but after a briefly successful return to career-oriented goals, she becomes obsessed with researching life-after-death phenomena. This fascination of Marie's eventually jeopardizes both her career and her love life, although, interestingly, refreshingly, it is never depicted as unhealthy; rather, it is the closed-minded skepticism of those around her that is presented as unfair and unwise.

I started this review by contrasting Hereafter with critics' complaints about Hollywood cinema, and I'd like to briefly return to that topic, so that I can wrap up my point. In contrast to the dumbed down material permeating the cinematic mainstream, Hereafter takes a look at some very big questions and examines them with intelligence and sensitivity. There are special effects -- mostly confined to the glimpses of Heaven and the tsunami that sets the story in motion -- but these effects service the plot, rather than the reverse. All three stories are populated by three-dimensional characters in distinct tales, whose connections are (for the most part) more thematic than narrative, thus lacking in contrivance, but serving as a textbook example of how to carefully construct a drama. And, most refreshingly, we are presented with scenes of death and violence which serve not as raw, insensitive entertainment, but rather as important moments of real consequence.

This is all presented with patience, respect, sensitivity, and genuine craft by director Clint Eastwood, who brings out the best in his cast; this film is filled with top-notch performances. Even Jay Mohr, of whom I am no fan, presents a previously unseen level of maturity in his role as George's well-meaning brother. But I was especially impressed by Bryce Dallas Howard, an actress who could have easily coasted through an acting career on the shoulders of her powerful father (director Ron Howard) but instead is turning into one of the finest actresses of her generation. Her performance as the charming but vulnerable Melanie will have you falling in love with her, and if an actress playing a romantic interest has the job of making you want her to get together with the hero in the end, Howard makes the very best possible choices as a performer in every instance; every movement in her face and nuance in her inflection communicates volumes about the character.

Hereafter, in a nut shell, is that most rare of rarities to come out of Hollywood -- an original story that elicits discussion, emotion, and thought in equal measures, presented with love and top craftsmanship, eschewing easy answers and predictability, in favor of hard questions and creativity. And for that, most critics, both amateur and professional, spat on it. I, for one, will not jump on that band wagon. I recognize top quality when I see it.

*movie called

movie review: Eye See You (D-Tox)

There are countless ways a movie can thrill you, but for me, one of the biggest thrills is when you find yourself thoroughly enjoying a direct-to-video flick. When you buy or rent such a movie, something obviously led you to make that selection, but there is also always something in the back of your mind, a little voice constantly reminding you, "don't expect too much, after all, this went direct to video for a reason." But sometimes you can be pleasantly surprised.

Such was the case for Eye See You (a movie, by the way, that has also been released under the title D-Tox, in case the title of this review confused you). The first sign that I was going to be in for a better-than-expected ride: the opening credits. If you are even a casual movie buff, you will find yourself smiling as the credits reveal name after name that is both familiar and welcome. Even if you don't recognize the names, you'll recognize the faces; the supporting cast is filled with some of the most reliable character actors in Hollywood.

Here's the plot (and if the description sounds familiar, it may be because I contributed to the movie's Wikipedia page): FBI agent Jake Malloy (Sylvester Stallone) descends into alcoholism after he is unable to save his wife from a serial killer who specializes in killing police officers. After Agent Malloy slits his wrists in an unsuccessful suicide attempt, his best friend and supervising officer, Agent Hendricks (Charles S. Dutton), enrolls Malloy in a rehabilitation program designed exclusively for law enforcement officers. There, he meets several other current and former police officers suffering from alcoholism, depression, etc. Naturally, most of the officers there are reluctant participants, and a few petty conflicts develop at the drop of a hat. But just as Malloy starts to accept his role as a patient, mysterious things start to happen, and it soon becomes evident that his wife's killer -- whom Malloy thought to be dead -- is alive and well, and stalking the patients and staff of the hospital.

Some aspects of this film deserve special mention, especially the cast. As I mentioned before, the film is well populated with good actors, but what of the lead? What of Stallone? I'd like to submit that Stallone is a better actor than he is often credited for. I think his tendency to star in mindless action flicks hurts his reputation as an actor, and it doesn't help that one of his two signature roles is supposed to be uneducated. But hey, Stallone was nominated for an Oscar for his performance as Rocky, and there's a reason for it. He didn't get that nomination in recognition of playing himself, he got it in recognition of creating an iconic character with the power of his performance. Since then, he has devoted most of his career to explosions and fight scenes, but look at the exceptions -- out-DeNiro-ing DeNiro in Cop Land, showing off his comic timing in Oscar, and such -- and you realize that his career could have taken a very different path.

In Eye See You, Stallone is the lead actor in the extended prologue only; once he arrives at the rehab center, where the vast majority of the film takes place, he becomes less of a lead and more of a part of an ensemble. But pay close attention to his performance, and note the subtle changes in expression.

Kris Kristofferson also deserves mention, albeit for an entirely different reason. Whether he's a bad guy, good guy, or just plain morally ambiguous, Kristofferson always seems to be playing himself, but that's because he does it so damn well. He always has an air of credibility about him. He's introduced as a doctor, and you think, "yes, he feels like a doctor," but when he reveals he's actually an ex-cop, you immediately amend your assessment to "of course he's a cop, what else?" without skipping a beat.

And then there's Sean Patrick Flanery, whose role is small, but whose monologue about a grisly homicide so perfectly communicates grief and horror that the exact same performance in a different movie would have critics murmuring about Oscar buzz.

The only real shame of all these great actors and performances is that they are stuck in stock characters. There's Mr. Chip on his Shoulder, Mr. Vulnerable, Miss Concerned, Mr. Creepy, etc. No, those aren't the characters' actual names, but they might as well have been. Yet the script is constantly finding interesting things for them to do. Take a look at Hendricks, for example, the best friend who drives Malloy to the middle-of-nowhere asylum. In a lesser film, Hendricks would deliver his "pull yourself together" speech, drop the main character off, and disappear from the movie, since the function of his role has been fulfilled.

But the writers, interestingly, decided that wasn't enough. "Alright," they seemed to say. "So he's dropped Malloy off, but where does he go from here? Does he go back to the Big City? But he's a Big City man who is visiting the country for the first time, and even if he is here just to drop off his friend, what if he's intrigued by this new environment? What if all of his earlier jokes about ice fishing get him to thinking that maybe he wants to see what it's like? What if, rather than send him packing as a mere utility character whose use is at an end, we explore him a little bit, by allowing him to explore his surroundings? And what if, rather than using this subplot as a cheap excuse for the tired old "city boy's a fish out of water out here in the country" gags, we actually depict what such an experience might be like?"

On one level, this subplot about Hendrick's impromptu vacation -- and his surprisingly credible sudden friendship with a local old man (charmingly played by Rance Howard) -- has nothing to do with the main storyline involving Malloy, the hospital, the killer, etc. But on another level, it's what makes the movie. It's what reminds us that characters, even action movie characters, are more than mere talking plot points, they can also lead lives that go on after the camera cuts away.

Speaking of cutting away, what does the camera cut away to? Director Jim Gillespie clearly put a lot of thought into answering that question. The rather standard prologue does not prepare us for the visual delights that follow in the majority of the film, but the exteriors are stunning, as Dean Semler's cinematography gracefully captures the stark beauty of the wintery Wisconsin wilderness. And the interiors are equally impressive, as Gary Wissner's production design depicts the rehab center as less of a hospital and more like a prison designed by Frank Lloyd Wright. It may be an implausible setting, but it makes for fascinating visuals, and it's never quite "show-offy" enough to distract from the story (too much).

Speaking of the story, I'd be lying if I told you that it's astoundingly original. It starts out as a standard "burned out cop" flick, and never completely abandons that formula even as it also turns into a very thinly disguised variation of Ten Little Indians. Guess what -- I found myself not caring at all that the story was chock full of cliches. Why? Because I enjoyed playing "spot the guest star" while watching the supporting cast. Because I found comfort in the down-home performance by Kristofferson, and empathy for the grief-stricken character played by Flanery. Because the writers kept me intrigued to see what would happen next for Agent Hendricks, once I realized to my surprise that he was not going to be unceremoniously abandoned as he could have been. Because my eyes wanted to gaze at the beautiful landscapes, and study the fascinating set design. And because I had every reason to expect Eye See You to be nothing more than a standard cop thriller. That's exactly what I got. And yet, in a very good way, it also wasn't what I got at all.