Saw
Carol last week. Wish I could recommend it more enthusiastically because I'm a great admirer of Haynes' previous melodrama
Far from Heaven and Blanchett is by some distance my favorite studio actress, but its politics are too problematic to be rendered secondary.
Let's set aside the highly implausible premise that an upper-class dame like Carol (played by Blanchett) would become the lover of a working-class ingenue like Therese (Rooney Mara) following a chance encounter (the very first sequence in fact). In the end whatever progressive leanings the film may claim turn out to be rather hollow, as the titular heroine (and she is indeed portrayed as such, even though she insists she isn't being a martyr during her child custody hearing) barely puts up a fight against the injustices visited upon her for being who she is and opts instead for expediency in both matters of love and parenthood. Therese hardly comes off as deserving of more respect as she possesses so little of it regarding herself, willing to go where the ride takes her (quite literally in the case of the climatic road trip West) with nary an initiative of her own. And though money isn't the movie's main concern--Therese's upward mobility from shopgirl to NYT photographer is largely glossed over and has little effect on the eventual hopeful outcome, though it could be argued, not convincingly, that it is this very upward mobility of hers that makes her a better fit for Carol in the end--one could also describe the two protagonists' relationship as transactional (there's no need to clarify who paid for the trip), or at least as one that began thus, however unknowingly.
I've yet to read the Patricia Highsmith source novel and probably never will, so it's hard for me to say who should be taken to task for such glib hedonism. Also while I vastly prefer the forcible understatement of Blanchett to the insufferable Oscar-mongering of Meryl Streep, Cate comes perilously close to imitating her colleague here, her character's constant mystery offensive of velvety voice and come-hither gaze gradually overstaying its welcome until it becomes almost a self-parody (of course most of the critics ate it up). On the plus side Mara herself shows exemplary restraint as the charming, naive and vulnerable Therese.
Still, this is the best love story I've seen in the past year (it's easily got the steamiest sex scene, gay or straight--BTW Cate remains largely hidden, if there were ever any doubt about her A-list status, which inadvertently reveals the wide gap between Blanchett and Mara both on- and off-screen) and deserves to be seen beyond the queer body politic, definitely preferable to the PC earnestness and/or schmaltz of
Suffragette and
The Danish Girl. I just wish it were as illuminating as it is seductive. Also an honorary mention must be made of Carter Burwell's ravishing score, shades of Philip Glass but with superior melodic invention:
Despite his association with the Coen brothers Burwell is not yet a household name, and while I'm not sure his score deserves an Oscar (the whole thing is admittedly rather repetitive, which means it doesn't escape its Glassian influence entirely) I'll be rooting for it just to remedy this situation. Recommended viewing and listening, despite said reservations.
(and I think he calls his films entertainment, not art)
And where was he when criminals kill police, children, and your next door neighbours?
Selective violence protest?
Tarantino was right to protest the police violence, but he can't possibly pretend to be an entertainer only when he hasn't at all discouraged the depressingly widespread discussion of his films as "rewritten history" worthy of serious analysis. For his last two execrable movies (have yet to see
The Hateful Eight) he takes fascism (in fact its virulent form there is) and slavery and out of these two most serious subjects weaves childish revenge fantasies that he invites his audience not only to laugh but to cheer about. And of course he peppers all his works with indiscriminately offensive language and cartoonish violence (quite literally in the
Kill Bill series), both of which have earned raves from the supposedly grown-up critics. (I'm still waiting to hear what's so edifying about the on-screen brutality of
Reservoir Dogs, which strikes me nothing more than an infantile middle finger to the movie conventions.)
So Tarantino indeed deserves our scorn and charges of hypocrisy, but so does the same press that bemoans the sad state of affairs which it itself has contributed to.
Personally, I did not think much of Leo's acting in The Revenant, or even Revenant the film. But yes, 12 nominations!!!
Given their infatuation with Meryl Streep it was only a matter of time before the Academy warmed up to DiCaprio's histrionics. And in the same year they showed Tarantino with an Oscar for the aforementioned kiddie revenge flick
Django Unchained they named the almost equally repulsive and xenophobic
Argo the year's "Best Picture." Unfortunately giving a fat stamp of approval to "history" and short shrift to the "others" is the Academy's stock in trade.