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This fascinating documentary takes us inside the mystery
of one of the most intriguing wonders of the world.  Imagine an army of over 8,000 warriors,
comprising the largest pottery figurine group ever found.  Now imagine that each figure reflects
individual characteristics, and no two are exactly alike. This amazing army was
constructed for the first emperor of China, Qin Shi Huang, in the third century
BC to accompany him in the afterlife.  In
reality, he had used vast armies to conquer and unify warring factions, and
molded the disparate states into what we recognize today as modern China.

Construction of the warriors began as soon as Qin Shi Huang
ascended the throne at the age of 13 and was completed upon his death at the
age of 49.  To accomplish this monumental
task he used the forced labor of at least 7,000 artisans.  It is thought that the least skilled workers
were part of an assembly line that produced arms, hands, heads, legs and torsos
from molds, with the finishing detail work being done using slip clay by more
accomplished artisans.  Like the pyramids
in Egypt, and Stonehenge in England, the exact process remains a mystery, so researchers
can’t be exactly sure how this feat was accomplished.   The documentary emphasizes
the frustration of contemporary artists who tried repeatedly to replicate the
ancient process, and failed.

Only about 1,000 of
the life-sized warriors have been unearthed to date because the brilliant paint
that was used to lend expression to faces, and distinction to clothing,
oxidizes almost immediately and flakes off within minutes once the figures are
exposed.  Scientists are working on
solving the problem, and have decided not to excavate any more warriors until a
solution is found.

Imagine the sheer impact of full scale horses, chariots,
warriors, bowmen, swordsmen and horsemen thundering into the afterlife and you
will have a vision of the amazing terracotta warriors of China.  There is no doubt that Emperor Qin Shi Huang
was ushered into eternity in imperial style. Secrets of the Dead: China’s Terracotta Warriors is like a
satisfying behind- the -scenes tour of a celebrated natural history museum.

Joan

The Apartment was the last black and white film to win the coveted Best Picture award, and there is no better film to act as that era’s swan song. Jack Lemmon plays C.C. Baxter, the man so nice they named him twice. Baxter is an insurance salesman with a Rolodex as big as his heart, but his ambitions outweigh his dignity. In order to get ahead in his company, he has agreed to lend his apartment to various upper-level managers for their extramarital affairs in exchange for promotions within the company.

When Mr. Sheldrake, the personnel director of the company, suspects that all the praise for Baxter reeks of outside factors at work, he summons Baxter to his office to get to the bottom of it. Of course, when Baxter’s special arrangements are revealed, Mr. Sheldrake wants in as well. Mr. Sheldrake gives Baxter two tickets to see a production of “The Music Man” to secure his night away from the apartment. Baxter sees this as an opportunity to finally ask Miss Kubelik out, an elevator girl that is the talk of every man in the company. The catch: Miss Kubelik happens to be the woman Mr. Sheldrake is going to be bringing to Baxter’s apartment, unbeknownst to Baxter and to Miss Kubelik.

The Apartment was written and directed by Billy Wilder, who won the awards for both aspects of the film. It’s a genuinely sweet film that deals with some pretty dark topics, rendering itself light and dark at the same time. It’s billed as a romantic drama, and there is no denying the chemistry between the two leads, but ultimately it’s about Baxter’s road to self-respect. Baxter leads a lonely life but is oblivious to the fact that he only has himself to blame. Eventually he comes to a crossroad, where he has to choose what’s more important: his career or his dignity?

Although it clocks in at a little over two hours, this is a perfect Friday night movie. It has a little bit of everything, and is expertly crafted for maximum entertainment. Jack Lemmon gives a fantastic performance, and he makes you sympathize with a character that in reality would come off as quite pathetic. The script is very tightly constructed despite its fairly long running time, and fires on all cylinders. This is one of those films where every piece of it fits together perfectly. They don’t make films like this anymore, and I suspect that’s because it’s harder than it appears.

-Nick

Five Easy Pieces rests entirely on Jack Nicholson’s shoulders, and it’s a weight he carries with ease. Nicholson plays Bobby Dupea, and his performance is nothing short of a revelation. Bobby is an oil rigger, and he’s never made much time for anyone or anything. His girlfriend, a waitress with a fondness for commitment, only adds to his daily despair and anger, though inadvertently. With no real plans for the future or use for his past, it seems as though Bobby is destined to lead a mundane life devoid of any passion.

When he gets word that his father is dying, he reluctantly makes the obligatory trip to see his ailing father, who is now mute due to his illness. His family reunion resembles nothing like a vacation, and instead plays out as a coming-of-age story, for a man in his thirties. It turns out that Bobby (or “Robert,” as his family identifies him) comes from a wealthy family whose members are all classically trained musicians, including Bobby. When Bobby falls for a sophisticated music student of his brother’s, he is faced with the problems and complexity of what loving somebody else entails. 

Jack Nicholson takes a character that has been painted with stereotypical strokes, and elevates him into a rich and complex portrait of a man struggling with failed ambitions and familial pressures. The script leaves enough details ambiguous that viewers are left to form their own opinions about Bobby, but this is to the film’s benefit. With such strong writing, it isn’t simply a question of whether Bobby is “good” or “bad,” it’s a character study of a flawed human being.

It’s also worth noting that the film boasts a fantastic soundtrack. Switching between Tammy Wynette country ballads and the titular five classical music pieces from Bobby’s childhood, the soundtrack’s tonal shifts are an extension of the main character himself, a man stuck between two lifestyles: his former and his current.

Five Easy Pieces was released in 1970, and it has aged incredibly well. It paved the way for the slow-moving independent films we take for granted these days. With a strong central performance, uniquely fitting soundtrack, and a script that lends itself to numerous readings, Five Easy Pieces makes for a durable masterpiece.

- Nick

I’ll admit up front that I’m a Giamatti fan in extremis.  Mr. G. switches personas for this film which is the antithesis of the irascible, curmudgeonly Barney Panofsky character he played with such aplomb in  Barney’s Version.  As Mike Flaherty he is a struggling middle class New Jersey lawyer who is trying to keep his one man practice afloat, while worrying about the strange noises coming from the basement of his building.  His thinking is that is if he ignores them, his problems will vanish, just like his concern about the dead tree in his front yard that is likely to take out his roof in the next big storm.  His worries are consigned to the back burner.  He slips through the days putting one foot in front of the other, a roof over his head, and an IOU to his daughter’s college fund.

In addition to his money woes, Mike is a harried wrestling coach at the local high school, and his team is an embarrassment to say the least.  Talk about stress!  Magically, the answer to his problems seems to appear in the form a a pre-Alzheimers client and his grandson.  HIs elderly client Leo Poplar, played by Burt Young, pleads with Mike to keep him out of the nursing home, but  when Mike finds out that Leo’s guardian is paid $1,500 a month to manage the estate, Mike petitions the court and wins the guardianship.  Mike’s income has just been given a healthy infusion of cash, and Leo finds he must pack his bags and move to the nursing home.  Mike justifies his deception by convincing himself that Leo will be better off in the home.  After all, they have a huge flat screen TV.

In fact it’s Mike who finds himself better off when Leo’s grandson Kyle arrives to stay with his grandfather, and ends up living with Mike and his family by default.  Would it surprise you to learn that Kyle is a former high school wrestling champion?  Mike’s life is moving forward at full speed.  He has more disposable income, and a potential standout for his wrestling team.  Kyle blends well with Mike, whose mild dysfunctional family is a blessing compared  to the drug-hazed disaster that was his childhood.

The film does not fall victim to the sports cliched “underdog wins” movie format, as least not entirely.  Although it was nominated for best sports movie by  ESPY, it is so much more than a jock flick.  At once sweet, funny and deeply human Win Win is a charming slice of flawed humanity.  A natural for Giamatti who plays everyman so well
.

Barney’s Version is a
cinematic memoir of the life of Barney Panofsky played with great sensitivity
by Paul Giamatti, who perfectly captures the essence of his character, a man who is at once irascible
and likeable, if not lovable. His father, played by Dustin Hoffman, is a
standout as the coarse beat cop who never fails to embarrass Barney at every
turn. Barney has stepped up a class as a successful businessman who owns Totally
Unnecessary Productions, but his dad is blissfully unaware that his blue collar
manners will not cut it with the upper crust. 
Never mind, Barney loves him anyway.

Barney relates “the true story of my wasted life” recounting
his three failed marriages beginning with Clara (Rachelle Lefevre), whom he marries because she is supposedly pregnant
with his child.  But Barney is shocked to
find that his offspring is of a different ethnic origin.  The doctor tells him that “unless the real father
is albino” this could not be his child. 
Exit wife number one.

His second wife, played by Minnie Driver, is the consummate
Jewish princess, a shopaholic and a shrew, who constantly reminds him that she  is his intellectual superior because of her
master’s degree. When Barney finds her in bed with his drunken best friend, he
happily initiates divorce number two.

His third wife, and the love of his life, is the luminous
Miriam (Rosamund Pike).  She is tranquil,
sophisticated, beautiful, and speaks in the hushed tones of an NPR
interviewer.  The irony is that he meets
her during his own wedding to the second Mrs. P, and falls immediately,
hopelessly in love with her, even going so far as to suggest they elope
together despite it being the eve of his honeymoon.

Post divorce, Barney succeeds
in winning Miriam after bombarding her with an avalanche of flowers and phone
calls.  She finally agrees to lunch with
him on the pretext that he will cease his unrelenting pursuit if she decides to
end it.  Blessedly, they do connect and
have a good marriage which only erodes slowly over time because of Barney’s
lack of consideration, his obsession with hockey (this is a Canadian film after
all) and the appearance of a co-worker in her life.  You know the minute he steps into the frame
that Blair (Bruce Greenwood) and Mariam are perfect for each other, and Barney
can only wear beige and sit in the back seat. 
So ends marriage number three.

There are subplots involving an accidental murder, and a
creeping case of dementia, but this is Barney’s story.  It is the story of everyman whose life can be
summed up by the good and the bad of a mundane existence.  The film is based on a novel of the same name
by Mordecai Richler.  It is comic and
sadly tragic at the same time.  It has
been critically acclaimed as one of the best films of 2010, and deserves your
time and attention if you’re interested in hearing Barney’s version.

~ Joan

How does each of us handle personal loss, resulting in a
grief that plunges us into the dark night of the soul?  That’s the pivotal question being asked in
Rabbit Hole starring Nicole Kidman (Becca) and Aaron Eckhart (Howie) who have
suffered the unthinkable loss of their four-year-old son due to a tragic auto
accident. 

Former businesswoman Becca consoles herself by devoting her
energies to gardening and baking. 
Perhaps this is a typical woman’s response by nurturing life, and
creating something new from almost nothing, just as she did when she helped
create her beloved child.   Howie, on the
other hand immerses himself in a grief therapy group. (Becca has already
dropped out because she finds too many there whose grief has become a living
entity, an entity that sits darkly among them occupying a virtual seat). At
the group Howie finds solace in befriending Gaby (Sandra Oh), who numbs her
feelings by smoking pot.  In one scene
she and Howie share some weed in her car before the therapy session, and
embarrass themselves by laughing uncontrollably at the heartfelt outpouring of
a group member.  Just say NO people!

Having made the joint decision to sell the house, Howie
insists on following the real estate agent around during an open house.  He ushers an interested young couple with a
young son in tow, into his child’s former bedroom, and answers hesitantly, but
truthfully, when asked the age of his son. 
Understandably, the couple can’t wait to leave.   The look on the real estate agent’s face says
it all. In the midst of grief there is humor, because this is life, after all.

Becca, on her part further distances herself from Howie by
consoling Jason (Miles Teller) the guilty teenager who is responsible for her
son’s demise.  Jason has created a graphic
novel, whose title bears the name of the film.  In his world, life exists in a parallel
universe where accidents don’t happen, and little boys don’t run into the
street.  Becca’s expression when viewing
the novel is a wistful one, revealing just how much Becca longs to follow Jason
down that Rabbit Hole.

The film is based on the Pulitzer Prize winning play by
David Lindsey-Abaire, who lovingly shows us that each of us deal with the
grieving process in our own unique way. 
It is above all a survivor’s story. 
Becca’s mother, who has also lost a son, tells us that grief is like a
brick that is always carried, that never quite disappears, but the weight of it
can be shifted so the burden can be borne. 
As the denouement approaches you have the sense that Becca and Howie
will share that burden and move on, as all of us must eventually.

Note: Nicole Kidman was nominated for best actress for her
performance in Rabbit Hole.

Joan

Welcome to corporate America in the throes of a deep
recession.  Welcome to the world of
McMansions, a Porsche in every garage, and a steak on every grill.  Welcome to the latest round of downsizing at
transportation conglomerate GTX.   In The Company Men, Bobby
Walker (Ben Affleck) is a successful district manager who suddenly finds
himself without a job, pink slip in hand, a severance package, and twelve weeks
at the local job search center. 
Initially, Bobby is confident that, given his degree and his experience,
snagging a job should be a snap. 
Eventually, like peeling the petals of an onion, his ambition, and his
worldly possession are stripped away. 
First to go is the incarnation of his male ego, the silver Porsche that
he so identified with.  Next, packing
boxes appear, and the  for sale sign is
taken down.  Bobby finds himself once
again under his father’s roof, this time with a family in tow.  It seems finding a comparable new position is
a lot more difficult than he’d anticipated, and the only jobs potentially
available to him are well below his standards.

Bobby’s fate is mirrored by other GTX execs, played by Tommy
Lee Jones and Chris Cooper, who find themselves on the skids, but without the
family support that Bobby enjoys.  They
have all fallen victim to the American obsession of conspicuous
consumption.  One character laments the
folly of working so hard to accumulate possessions, and then spending the rest
of the time worrying about losing them. 

Bobby, who once chided his brother-in-law Jack (Kevin
Costner) for being a manual laborer, is humbly grateful to him when he puts
their differences aside, and offers Bobby a job as a construction worker. Never
mind that Bobby proves to be a “lousy carpenter” in Jack’s words, he still
finds some extra dollars in his pay envelope thanks to Jack’s generosity.

John Wells’ timely film touches on the loss of industrial
America, where real men worked real jobs, and had a real product to show for
their labor.  It’s a statement about
corporate America that cares more about the bottom line, and shareholder
reaction, than it does about the lives of its employees.  What shines through are the fail-safe family
values that support Bobby, who ultimately realizes the importance of the real
treasures in his life.  Although the
ending is a bit contrived, and a bit too neatly bundles the plot in a palatable
resolution, this is still a film to savor for its candor and authenticity.

Joan

This lush sepia-toned classic is a biopic of the cloistered life
of Hildegard von Bingen, set in the medieval convent she’d envisioned as a
devout Benedictine nun.  Her talents as a
musician, poet, herbalist, educator and playwright soon propelled her to the
head of the order, where she proved to be worthy of her role as Magistra, or
Mother Superior.  As spiritual mother
Hildegard passionately tended her flock of postulants and novices and guided
them through the rough waters of a staunchly patriarchal church (medieval clerics were prone to view her
mystical visions as female delusions, and to undermine the
contributions of her sisters in general). 
Hildegard shows us a woman who is grounded in her spiritual vocation,
and yet is steeped in human frailty.  One
the one hand, she is a fierce independent who adamantly defends the authenticity
of her visions before a tribunal of skeptical church fathers.  On the other hand, she reveals her deep
attachment in emotional scenes involving the postulant she’d mentored and whom she
regarded as her spiritual daughter.  It’s
this duality of her nature that makes Hildegard a multi-dimensional screen
presence. 

Director Margarethe von Trotta
compassionately shares with us the luminous saint who was Hildegard von Bingen,
who is both submissive and strong, passionate and stern,  thereby avoiding  the temptation of waving the feminist banner
which would have undermined the true nature of this visionary.

Note: Movie is in German with English subtitles

Joan