DY-NO-MITE

 A House of Dynamite, has arrived at Netflix, courtesy of director Kathryn Bigelow (Academy Award winner for The Hurt Locker) and it is… as one might well expect from this talented director… a well-made thriller; a  “whodunit” in the world of apocalyptic tales… a mystery in that no one in our nation’s defense system is able to discern which one of our ever-increasing list of enemies has precipitated this doomsday scenario.

The metaphor that explains the title is spoken near the end of the film “… everyone acts as if it is safe living in a house of dynamite simply because it hasn’t exploded yet.”

Do we need another film that explores that theme? I am gonna guess yes since I cannot remember when I last felt a sense of security about our interactions with other nations.

Everyone is good in the movie but I would single out Idris Elba who plays the President of the United States for his performance. In fairness to his fellow actors, Elba’s character is given the broadest range as we see him as a true politician and a loving husband before he gets the awful news of an imminent atomic attack.

And how is that possible? How is it that the President of the United States of America is among the last to learn of all that is going on? That is where filmmaker Bigelow challenges her audience. With hardly any warning that the timeline has changed and that the part of the story now seen on screen takes place hours before its predecessor, the director artfully moves her story along.

There is nothing so mundane as a message on the screen, or a clock on the wall. The decision to so subtly introduce an achronological narrative may prove confusing to some… many might even say “most” … but in retrospect there are clues along the way that this is how this powerful story is to be presented. Bigalow demands as well as commands your attention. Whatever the complaints… I have also heard folks questioning the film’s ending… the movie does work. It serves as an important reminder that while we are not truly safe in our house of dynamite, we can be secure in the knowledge that Ms. Bigelow’s Oscar nomination for direction of a motion picture is all but guaranteed.

Another current motion picture now streaming on Netflix is something else altogether. The film is Jay Kelly, starring George Clooney and Adam Sandler. I watched it twice. Not because I liked it, but because I could not believe… given all the hype I had heard about the film… that the movie could be such a bore.

Had I unwittingly dozed through some critical parts? Did I somehow miss an underlying subtle theme? Having just turned 88 years of age it is, I think, understandable that I might wonder about such possibilities.

As a fella who enjoys writing commentaries about films and such, I was also concerned about my built-in bias. I had avoided the movie for as long as I felt I could, simply because Adam Sandler was in it.

(A moment is herein provided for readers to take a pause and think of performers they simply cannot stand to watch.)

My first was Dorothy Malone. Trust me, you would have had to have been around in the 1940s and 50s to appreciate that reference. Next for me was Karen Black in the1970s. Twenty-some years later, after two decades sans any noted bias, Adam Sandler made his debut on Saturday Night Live and I stopped watching the late-night series until he was fired in 1995.

Having pretty much avoided anything in which Sandler appeared for almost thirty years, it was not easy for me to contemplate watching a movie in which he co-starred with anyone… not even George Clooney… but I persevered. And you know, Sandler wasn’t half bad. I understand he received some rave reviews (probably from folks who were grateful he did not play his usual juvenile idiot). Whatever the reason, this sub-standard movie is not his fault. While being generous, I will not blame George Clooney either. Who then gets the dubious credit for this mediocrity?

Noah Baumbach and Emily Mortimer wrote the screenplay and Baumbach was also its “director.”

Baumbach spent 132 minutes exploring his lead character’s angst as if Fellini had never made 8 ½, or Birdman had not already picked up four Academy Awards for a similar theme. It would appear Baumbach would be surprised to learn of Arthur Miller’s Death of a Salesman, or Bergman’s Wild Strawberries, or even Shakespeare’s King Lear.

Of course, it is perfectly appropriate to explore or even merely revisit a theme such as this, but one would hope that a fresh look at the subject of a man looking back over the wreckage of his life would be able to add something… anything… to the basic idea.

Filmmaker Baumbach? He drones for 132 minutes. And me? Other than the unregainable loss of those 264 minutes was the disbelief that so much energy had been invested in such tripe that I watched it again to see what I missed in that first screening.

Nothing.

Betty Comden and Adolph Green would say it best in Wonderful Town, “…what a waste of money and time.”

Barney Rosenzweig