The Insider

For this blog's 500th review, we'll revisit The Insider (1999). Michael Mann is best-known as an action director but this superlative thriller is his finest hour. Raising questions of corporate malfeasance and journalistic integrity, it's a gripping watch.

Jeffrey Wigand (Russell Crowe) is fired as chief researcher for the tobacco company Brown and Williamson. 60 Minutes producer Lowell Bergman (Al Pacino) approaches Wigand, who's reluctant to violate his confidentiality agreements. But the cajoling of his boss (Michael Gambon) and a series of anonymous threats convince Wigand to turn whistleblower over the company's use of nicotine additives, only to find Brown and Williamson checkmating his every move. They institute a gag order to interdict his deposition by Mississippi prosecutors and threaten to sue CBS for interviewing him. As Wigand's life falls apart, Bergman stands up to his bosses Mike Wallace (Christopher Plummer) and Don Hewitt (Philip Baker Hall) for selling out their source.

The Insider paints a chilling picture of corporate power. Brown and Williamson's denial of nicotine addiction and chemical tampering shows naked contempt for their customers, putting profit ahead of smokers' lives. Yet the company is so big that it's virtually untouchable, with armies of lawyers, private investigators and a multibillion-dollar war chest. An individual like Wigand scarcely has a chance, when he has so many vulnerabilities (a family, his reputation). Even whistleblowing only achieves so much against a resourceful corporation.

More interesting still is the portrayal of CBS, a far cry from All the President's Men's reporter-worship. Reporters see themselves as public watchdogs, and certainly 60 Minutes can claim that title. But journalism is also a business, and CBS News proves no less susceptible to corporate pressure and litigation. The network attorney (Gina Gershon) points out that once Brown and Williamson finish suing them, they'll be well-placed to buy CBS out. Mike Wallace and Don Hewitt objected to their portrayal but it's hard to think the compromise between integrity and business is far off.

Those apt to bash "the liberal media" may quibble with Mann's view of journalistic integrity. Certainly Bergman goes to extreme lengths in helping Wigand, even hiring private security and arranging for his deposition. Five years after the movie's release, CBS was rocked by the Rathergate scandal, which damaged their reputation far more than any tobacco company. On the other hand, why shouldn't journalists expose corporate corruption or protect their sources? With their media budgets and PR firms tobacco companies don't need mollycoddling.

Mann provides suitably tense direction. He goes for some showy montage work and a brief fantasy sequence which doesn't break the oppressive atmosphere. Elements of the story feel familiar (no points for guessing how Wigand's wife [Diane Venora] reacts to the pressure) but Eric Roth's screenplay is slickly packaged and never less than compelling. There's also a wonderfully moody soundtrack, with standout tracks by Lisa Gerrard and Massive Attack.

Al Pacino gives a fine performance but Russell Crowe steals the show. Besides radically changing his appearance, Crowe gives a subdued turn as a man nearly broken by guilt, uncertainty and paranoia. Somehow he won an Oscar for his far less demanding work in Gladiator instead. Christopher Plummer makes a joyfully catty Mike Wallace, a prima donna with a heart. Mann assembles a dynamite supporting cast: Diane Venora, Colm Feore, Michael Gambon, Philip Baker Hall and Debi Mazar. Bruce McGill (W.) has a standout bit as a fiery prosecutor.

The Insider makes an excellent thriller with some disquieting food for thought.

Kill the Englishmen: The Last of the Mohicans and Braveheart

I was in the mood for period action films this weekend and picked out The Last of the Mohicans (1992) and Braveheart (1995). There's not much in common between them, save one thing: lots and lots of English soldiers dying. One's good and one's dross; read on to discover which.

The Last of the Mohicans (1992, Michael Mann)
Michael Mann got his first major big screen break with The Last of the Mohicans. This handsome adaptation of James Fennimore Cooper's adventure novel is a treat, with a good cast, sumptuous period detail and a flare for action which became Mann's trademark.

Nathaniel "Hawkeye" Poe (Daniel Day-Lewis) is a white living with Mohican Indians. The three hope to stay out of the ongoing French and Indian War, but end up saving Cora (Madeleine Stowe) and Alice Munroe (Jodhi May) from a Huron ambush organized by Magua (Wes Studi). Hawkeye and Co. escort the Munros to Ft. William Henry, where their father (Maurice Roeves) commands a garrison besieged by the French. When Hawkeye helps the milita desert to protect their homes, Hawkeye is arrested for sedition. But after the fort's surrender, French commander Montcalm (Patrice Chereau) authorizes Magua to wreak havoc on the English survivors.

The Last of the Mohicans scores as an old-fashioned adventure film. It makes a few noises about tensions between the British and their colonial subjects but this is part of the texture, not its raison d'etre. The film is lean and quick-paced at 117 minutes, providing enough exposition and character development between action scenes to keep its story grounded while focusing on excitement.

Like all good action movies, Mohicans' primary complexity comes through its characterization. Mann and Christopher Crowe's script mostly avoids stereotyping: Munro and Major Heyward (Steven Waddington) initially come off as stuffy Brits but each proves to have a human side. Unlike Dances With Wolves, there's no PC posturing re: Native Americans. The good and bad Indians are relatively balanced, all seeking the best advantage from the European conflict. Even Magua has reason for his bloodthirstiness, being a product of brutal, unsparing frontier warfare.

Mann shows a sure directoral hand far removed from Miami Vice. He makes use of an impressively-rendered Fort William Henry set, with Dante Spinotti providing beautiful shots of the lush, verdant North Carolina wilderness. The movie has enough action to satisfy anyone, from the forest ambushes and personal combats to the large-scale nocturnal battles at the fort, all expertly-staged by Mann. Trevor Jones and Randy Edelman provide a lovely period score.

Daniel Day-Lewis came up short in this bid for super-stardom: he didn't become a household name until Gangs of New York a decade later. Regardless, Day-Lewis makes a perfectly charismatic frontier hero. Madeline Stowe handles Cora's character's arc reasonably well. Steven Waddington (The Tudors) is superb in a thankless role. Top honors go to Wes Studi (Geronimo: An American Legend), making Magua a fierce yet believable antagonist. Supporting roles go to Russell Means, Eric Schweig, Patrice Chereau, Maurice Roeves (Young Winston) and Pete Postlethwaite (The Town).

Braveheart (1995, Mel Gibson)

I saw Braveheart back in high school, and remember being impressed by it. Revisiting it now I found it surprisingly lame. At best it's a poor man's Spartacus, replacing the Kubrick film's brains with stilted melodrama and obtuse homilies.

As a child, William Wallace (Mel Gibson) witnesses his father and brother killed by England's brutal Edward I (Patrick McGoohan). As an adult, Wallace is content to live rustically with his gal pal Murron (Catherine McCormick) and friend Hamish (Brendan Gleeson). When English troops kill Muron, Wallace instigates a revolt that spreads throughout Scotland. After Wallace defeats English troops at Stirling and York, Edward marches north, defeating Wallace at Falkirk. Wallace remains at large, and Princess Isabella's (Sophie Marceau) efforts at negotiation only lead to their falling in love. The Scottish nobles, led by Robert the Bruce (Angus Macfayden), dither on supporting Wallace and ultimately betray him.

Braveheart is a cannily packaged crowd-pleaser. The film is crammed with bloody action, *two* doomed romances and archetypical characters. It turns history into an action movie, beautifully shot, magnificently scored by James Horner and dramatically simple, with enough pathos and sloganeering ("Freedom!") to provide a facade of depth. The movie's ongoing critical and popular success is easy to understand.

What everyone remembers from Braveheart is the impressive battle scenes. From Gladiator on the epic genre became diluted by CGI, so it's really refreshing to see hundreds of extras queing up to fight. Gibson provides ample scope without skimping on the bloody details. The combat has an undeniable visceral thrill, with slit throats, severed limbs and fountains of blood. Historically accurate? No. Exciting and effective? Definitely.

All the bloodshed can't detract from Braveheart's dramatic deficiencies. Randall Wallace's sophomoric script mines every conceivable cliche, from the cornball dialogue to the comic book villains. One pathetic bit has Wallace pulling a Looney Tunes trick to evade English soldiers. That's not to mention five separate dream sequences. For all the film's ponderousness, it largely reduces history to a vendetta: Wallace will oust the English oppressers, and this time it's personal!

Braveheart drew much ire for its Anglophobia (a recurring theme in Gibson's filmography) and historical inaccuracy. The real Wallace wasn't a proletarian patriot but a Scottish noble somewhat more idealistic than his peers. Edward's intervention came largely at the behest of Scottish nobles, rather than simple English villainy. Nor does Robert the Bruce's portrayal do justice to the historical figure. Edward's prima nocturne plot, designed to "breed" out the Scots, has more to do with modern "ethnic cleansing" in the Balkans than medieval Scotland.

Worst of all is the conception of William Wallace. He's an ass-kicking hero for men, a chiseled, romantic lover for the ladies. He's a sensitive fella who can woo a girl in Latin, and a military "genius," though his greatest strategem involves mooning. For pathos he gets a death to avenge, a lame pastiche of Henry V's Agincourt speech and later ignores entreaties to repent like a dime-store Sir Thomas More. The hamfisted finale "crucifies" Wallace repeatedly as he's hanged, drawn and quartered. What a guy.

Mel Gibson was Hollywood's biggest star in 1995, a good actor who enjoyed pushing his boundaries. Anyone who can play Hamlet between Lethal Weapon films (and not come off ridiculous in either) deserves immense credit. There's nothing wrong with Gibson's performance: few actors do intensity and self-righteous anguish better than Mel. It's the character that doesn't quite work. Gibson's roles got less interesting from here on, as he settled into lazy star vehicles, vanity projects and offscreen nuttiness.

Patrick McGoohan (Mary, Queen of Scots) steals the show with reptilian nastiness. Angus Macfayden's solid performance provides some dramatic weight. Sophie Marceau's Isabella is an underdeveloped character, her romance with Wallace badly contrived. Catherine McCormick makes a stronger impression despite being offed half-an-hour in. Peter Hanly's Edward II is a mincing stereotype and Brian Cox (Rob Roy) barely registers in his tiny role.

* * *

To all the fictitious Englishmen who passed away this weekend, we salute you. Next time, a Very Special Groggy post!

Public Enemies - Second Viewing Musings

In want of anything else to do, I went to see Public Enemies for a second time today, this time with my brother. Rather than a re-review of the film (I still stand by what I wrote here), here are a few other observations and criticisms of the film that stood out in the rewatch. This after a rewatch, a re-read of the book, watching a History Channel docu and much discussion/argument about the film in the meantime.

- The film's overall sound quality seemed significantly better - maybe enough people complained that they tweaked it for subsequent viewings, but I picked up on a lot that I missed the last time due to better audio if nothing else.

- Historical inaccuracies didn't bother me nearly as much, if only because I knew they were coming this time. I still had a problem with Nelson's death scene, mostly from Purvis personally shooting him full of holes. Otherwise I mostly got over it.

- That being said, I didn't get a lot more out of the viewing besides some details about characters/dialogue that I missed the first time around. Some examples: I spotted James Russo's character this time (he gets wasted in the jailbreak); the crooked cop Martin Zarkovich getting a prominent supporting role; Dillinger historically shooting a cop during one of the bank heists; and Alvin Karpis's buddies are indeed the infamous Barker gang. But these aren't enough to significantly change my opinion of the film, most of them being little more than curios. The plot, story and characters affected me about the same, though I did get a bit more enjoyment out of the Little Bohemia shootout than my first viewing, perhaps for the reasons named above.

- Another thing that struck me this viewing: it stood out that the silly scene where Dillinger infiltrates the Chicago PD is supposed to that he's the last of a dying breed. However, the movie directly contradicts this by showing Dillinger planning another heist with what is fleetingly identified as the Barker Gang. So, what gives? Karpis isn't given a prominent enough role to really do anything, and given the film's twisting history to suit its theme, why the hell is he even featured in the film? It only seems to muddle whatever point the film is trying to get across.

- It struck me how little Billy Crudup was actually in the film - I somehow remembered him having a lot more screen time. I guess his performance was that good. Best Supporting Actor anyone?

- In a similar vein: Peter Gerety really stood out this time as Louis Piquet, giving a hilarious, pitch-perfect turn as the sleazy, hambone mob lawyer.

- The shooting of Dillinger at the end was as effective as it was the first time I saw it. I called that scene the one truly transcendent moment of the film and a rewatch confirmed it.

- I think the last scene between Billie and Winstead was uber-cheesy. I didn't mind it first time but it really bothered me this time around. The movie should have ended with Dillinger's death or a Hoover/Purvis epilogue.

- I still sat a row in front of chattering old douchebags providing their own running commentary on the film - almost as annoying as it was the first time.

- My brother thought it was an okay movie except he hated the shaky cam and didn't like the romance. We disagreed also as to the quality of Depp's performance.

Overall, my opinion is basically the same as it was after my first viewing: It's a good enough film, but it could have been a lot better.

Will I get back to writing substantiative things in the near-future? Perhaps, but you'd better quit bitching first.

Public Enemies

Michael Mann's Public Enemies arrives on the heels of much hype and personal anticipation. It's the third major Hollywood film to focus on Depression-era outlaw John Dillinger, after the 1945 effort with Lawrence Tierney and John Milius's 1973 cult classic with Warren Oates. Being familiar with the book on which the film is ostensibly based, I was even more excited, if a bit leery about the casting of Johnny Depp and the eternally wooden Christian Bale. Unfortunately, while I was reasonably entertained by the film, I was also significantly let down.

To be sure, there are several strong moments in Public Enemies which hint at what could have been, and the film ends (or climaxes, rather) on a positively transcendent note. Unfortunately, although the film is decent enough as a piece of entertainment, it fails to live up to the potential offered by its cast and crew, and one suspects it could have been a lot more.

John Dillinger (Johnny Depp) is a dashing ex-convict who, along with a large gang of henchmen (including Stephen Graham, Jason Clarke, Stephen Dorff and David Wenham), begins a robbery spree in the Depression-era Midwest, knocking off banks and stores with impunity. The Bureau of Investigation, whose ruthlessly ambitious director J. Edgar Hoover (Billy Crudup) is itching to expand his nascent agency into a national police force, sends hotshot Special Agent Mevlin Purvis (Christian Bale) to track down Dillinger, with a team of inexperienced recruits - more accountants than lawmen - in tow. Dillinger falls for coat-check girl Billie Frechette (Marion Cottiliard), with whom he begins a passionate but doomed relationship. After Dillinger is arrested and almost immediately escapes, Purvis goes on the offensive, with Dillinger's gang gradually decimated - leading ultimately to the final showdown between the two men.

Bryan Burrough's source book is a wonderful, well-written and comprehensive account of the Depression-era crime wave, encompassing an entire time period and all its notables - not only Dillinger and Purvis but also Pretty Boy Floyd, the Barker Gang, Bonnie and Clyde, Machine Gun Kelly, and the elusive Alvin "Creepy" Karpis, and the birth of Hoover's FBI. The book is comprehensive, well-researched, and perhaps too large and detailed for a feature film; it would perhaps take a miniseries to fit in all of the complexity, but it would certainly be worth the effort. Thus, Mann and his screenwriters focus solely on the Dillinger/Purvis showdown, with decidedly mixed results.

Focusing the film on Dillinger is perhaps understandable given the restraints of a feature film, but the film seems to dodge any complexity. In this film, the Kansas City Massacre, which really kickstarted the "War on Crime", is not even mentioned; Alvin Karpis (Giovanni Ribisi), who served as a nexus between the various robbery gangs (including the Dillinger and Nelson gangs, but also the Barkers, Pretty Boy Floyd, Machine Gun Kelly, and the Chicago Syndicate) and was essentially the book's central character, is made an inconsequential bit character. The role of the growing Syndicate is represented (the film implies the Mob help set up Dillinger), but is done obliquely and seems a distraction rather than part of the plot proper. The movie touches upon the FBI's evolution from inept greenhorns (basically gun-toting accountants) to ruthless no-hold's-barred killers, but again it's done in such a tertiary manner that the transition never seems convincing. Perhaps too much time is also spent on Dillinger's budding relationship with Billie, which isn't convincing enough to work as the film's emotional rock.

Now, let's be clear: If the film had wanted to be a slim, trim Dillinger film, it would be fine. And certainly a more comprehensive portrayal of the period would be wonderful if done well. But Public Enemies tries to be having it both ways and doesn't quite succeed at either.

The film has a number of egregious historical errors as well; Purvis is shown gunning down Pretty Boy Floyd (Channing Tatum) in the film's second scene, when Floyd was killed three months after Dillinger. The Little Bohemia shootout, while fairly well-staged, seems to be more modelled on Heat than the historical record, with several Dillinger co-horts ahistorically biting the dust. This may be a personal problem, and I doubt most viewers will notice or care, but then I myself usually don't mind historical inaccuracies in films. If this movie were, say, The Untouchables, where accuracy is of little importance and the story is for fun, it would perhaps be excusable. But the film's pretensions to accuracy and seriousness make such egregious gaffes stand out, and leave a bitter taste in the knowledgable viewer's mouth.



Perhaps it's unfair, though, to be overly harsh on Mann for not adhering to the historical record. The movie knows what it wants to do and generally does it well, even if Mann seems to be recycling his earlier Heat at times. The film has a number of nice individual scenes (Dillinger's second jailbreak, the one face-to-face meeting of Dillinger and Purvis, the Little Bohemia shootout, Dillinger watching himself on a newsreel) but the only truly great sequence is the fatal showdown between our protagonists, which is a brilliantly-staged, instantly iconic sequence. Other big set pieces, particularly Dillinger's incognito visit to the Chicago police station, come off as false; the audience I saw the film with was laughing through the whole scene and I don't think that was intended. Still, the good generally outweighs the bad, and I would doubt the average viewer would have many of these problems.

The movie's portrayal of Dillinger is interesting. It tries to avoid the usual Robin Hood cliches associated with the Dillinger myth and portrays him in a complex light. He's sympathetic to an extent but the film doesn't shy away from his violent and unpleasant sides; he's basically a crook who nourished a public image. The film portrays Dillinger's obsession with public relations (highlighted by the well-done scene where he and his cohorts watch a Dillinger-oriented newsreel in a theater), and the influence of the media and films on his actions; in fact he was slain just after watching Manhattan Melodrama, a gangster flick starring Clark Gable. Some have criticized the film for a lack of depth in the characterization, but this seems silly. Dillinger and his contemporaries were essentially violent, reckless sociopaths; the FBI, looking to make their name and unable to take out the slowly-growing Syndicate established through Prohibition, went after these easy targets with devastating results. There wasn't much depth there to find, really, and the film does a good job of showing this; Dillinger was mostly what people saw him as, whether a Robin Hood-style hero or a ruthless criminal in need of extermination. He's certainly a much more compelling figure than the bland Purvis or his own mostly colorless associates.

A lot of people have complained about the use of digital video in filming the movie, but I can't say I had a problem with it. Although the handheld camera work is occasionally annoying, for the most part it's done rather well, and the HD visuals are quite striking at times. Shootouts and action scenes are well-staged by Mann, but nothing comes close to, say, the bank heist in Heat. The film is briskly paced, aside from a few draggy spots; the 140 minutes fly by, perhaps too quickly. The screenplay by Mann, Ronan Bennet and Ann Bidermann is full of dry, subtle humor (helped immeasuribly by Depp) and lots of quotable dialogue, though story structure and character development are a bit muddled. The period detail in costumes and art direction is virtually flawless, which makes the bigger inaccuracies even more odd. However, Elliot Goldenthall's score is mostly bland and forgettable synth-and-guitar riffs.

What makes the film work is Johnny Depp. I am by no means a Depp fan, but he excells as Dillinger, even if he occasionally veers towards the Jack Sparrow-esque. He injects the role with a perfect blend of humor, romance, charisma and violence, making the character an interesting, layered screen presence. Even when the script itself is unsure on what to say about Dillinger, Depp's talent and charisma makes the character work, and he remains a compelling (if not especially sympathetic) protagonist to the end.

The rest of the cast is mostly wasted. Christian Bale is his usual stiff self, which fortunately works well-enough for the film's characterization of Purvis. Marion Cottiliard has a few nice scenes but she mostly comes off as a perfunctory love interest, and her big emotional payoff seems forced. The supporting cast is mostly wasted, with a few gems shining through: Billy Crudup as a ruthlessly determined J. Edgar Hoover, Jason Clarke as Red Hamilton, Dillinger's most dilligent sidekick, and Stephen Graham as the psychotic Baby Face Nelson. Other fine character actors like Stephen Lang, Lili Taylor, and Peter Geraty get nice (if rather brief) grabs of screen time, but the rest are wasted.



In the end, my enjoyment of the picture is largely clouded by disappointment at the opportunity lost. A really great film could have been made from this material, but sadly this isn't it. I recommend Public Enemies as a good enough summer action film, but mourn the loss of a potentially great crime epic.