Movie Review: Out Stealing Horses (2019)

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Last month, after seeing and loving director Joseph Losey's 1971 film “The Go-Between,” I was asked on Twitter just what it was about the movie that I responded to so much. 

“It's hard to sum up in a tweet,” I replied and, by way of explanation of the film's finest qualities, added that I admired “the way that it unfolds slowly like a summer's day, brings you back to childhood being in rooms with adults having conversations you don't fully understand, coming-of-age and discovering love.”

And although those remarks described my reaction to “The Go-Between,” intriguingly, when I watched “Out Stealing Horses” this week to review, I realized that while writer-director Hans Petter Moland's adaptation of the bestselling book by Per Petterson was in no way as narratively successful as “The Go-Between,” what I loved most about Losey's film is exactly what drew me into this one.

A straightforward adaptation of Petterson's novel, “Out Stealing Horses” centers on Trond (played by the always outstanding Stellan Skarsgård), a sixty-seven-year-old grieving widower who moves out to the Norwegian countryside to live a solitary life. Shortly into the film, he discovers that his new imposing, slightly off neighbor (played by Bjørn Floberg) is none other than the younger brother of his best friend from childhood but since Trond chooses not to acknowledge this, we gather that this reunion is anything but joyous. A framing device shot with drab colors, dim lighting, and a general sense of malaise, the more “modern” sequences set in 1999 never really pull us in quite as well as Trond's recollections of life in the 1940s, which make up a bulk of the film.

With the rich shimmer of cerulean hued water and the lush, deep, jade-colored greenery of the surrounding trees, when fifteen-year-old Trond (Jon Ranes) skims his hand over the lake during the film's extended flashback, “Out Stealing Horses” nearly takes our breath away, thanks to the cinematography of Danish cameraman Rasmus Videbæk. Reveling in nature in a way that recalls the work of master director Terrence Malick, as we watch Trond and his father (a fine Tobias Santelmann) rely on rain for showers, boats for transportation, and trees for their prosperity in their wooded existence, we realize that their work chopping down tall trees serves as a terrific metaphor. 

For, just like the two men clear the woods while logging, with each tree they chop down, Trond begins to see the complexities of life a little more clearly as he comes of age. Following a shocking tragedy in the life of his best friend Jon's (Sjur Vatne Brean) family, which he uncovers on the day the two went “out stealing horses” – which just means going for a ride – Trond begins to realize that things aren't always what they seem. 

And this certainly hits home when his father insists that Trond's mother and sister should not join them in the countryside and Trond realizes this rule doesn't apply to all women. Observing but failing to fully process his father's closeness to Jon's mother (Danica Curcic) since – at the exact same time – he's developed a crush on the beautiful married woman as well, “Out Stealing Horses” is a languid yet engrossing account of a fateful summer.

As specifically tied to its time and place as the film is, just like Losey's “Go-Between,” and many other contemplative chronicles of an adolescent being thrust into adulthood when they realize that the most important people in their life are flawed individuals of flesh and blood, the thoughts and feelings that Moland's film conveys are universally relatable. Additionally, by emphasizing the ways that the events of our life – and in particular our role models – can shape us whether we want them to or not, the film will undoubtedly make us think about some of the big early turning points of our lives, which occurred before we could truly understand their significance or impact on others. 

Structurally challenged, while it takes a good half-hour or so to truly become invested in the plight of its characters since the 1999 sequences seem to belong to an entirely different movie, overall, it's an uneven yet ultimately compelling work anchored by Videbæk's romantic cinematography and uniformly strong turns by Ranes and Santelmann, in particular.

The fifth collaboration between Moland and Skarsgård might not be as thrillingly riveting as “In Order of Disappearance,” (which Moland later remade in the states with Liam Neeson as “Cold Pursuit”) or as emotionally draining as “Aberdeen,” but it's still an intensely personal work for the filmmaker.

A moderately cogent adaptation of Petterson's novel, which has been translated into more than fifty languages, the film's shortcomings left me wanting to read the book to get the full impact of the storyline. Yet Moland deserves credit nonetheless for transforming this very Norwegian tale into an emotional saga that we all can feel a kinship with even if we've never showered in the rain or chopped down a tree a day in our life.

Though hindered by the pacing of its opening act, “Out Stealing Horses” is at its best when it flashes back to Trond's life as he moves between childhood and adulthood and discovers the gray between the black and white that exists out there in the countryside amid all that blue and green.

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Mamma Mia! (2008)

Director: Phyllida Lloyd

I was raised in the era of “please and thank you,” “sir and ma’am,” The Golden Rule, and the firm belief that if one doesn’t have anything nice to say, one shouldn’t say anything at all. It’s a thought that goes back centuries to Jane Austen’s time when the women were advised to stick to the topics of either inquiring as to another’s health and/or restricting their comments to the weather.

Unfortunately, as a film critic, I seldom have that luxury and while I feel I’m far gentler than some critics who curse, berate, exaggerate and figuratively crucify films they loathe—although this being said my favorite critic Roger Ebert summed it up best in the title of a new book, I Hated, Hated, Hated This Movie—instead, I turn from those manners implanted in me from my youth and go to an old Hollywood standby.

It’s become a movie premiere joke that if an attendee dislikes a film but doesn’t want to say this to another’s face, they usually begin by complimenting its cinematography in the fierce hope the topic will soon change. It’s a strange custom—“I really loved the cinematography” in Hollywood can be code for “I’d rather have a root canal than sit through that thing again,” yet cinematography is one of my favorite aspects of filmmaking.

However, in the case of the dreadful Mamma Mia! which is only slightly better than another ghastly film I’ve just seen but can’t even bring myself to review (Ellen Page in The Tracey Fragments which is so dreadful that it makes you start to rethink Page’s performance in Juno) but yet still worse than the mirthless comedy The Promotion, the only thing I can think to praise is the cinematography.

And the sad fact is, I’m not even being ironic or coy—director of photography, the amazing Sleuth and Venus lensman Haris Zambarloukos actually topped his underrated work on last year’s Sleuth. His picturesque, exuberant, and breathtaking Mamma Mia! shots that were so jaw-droppingly gorgeous, they helped detract from the much-crucified sadly giggle-inducing awfulness of Pierce Brosnan’s singing. Additionally, like a morally questionable yet talented plastic surgeon, they helped make a film I can only call shockingly “ugly” just by its direction, odd choreography, and off-putting humor, seem like any given frame could be clipped out of the reel and hung in a museum. Indeed, the travel board of Greece’s island Kalokairi, may want to think about hiring Zambarloukos to film any future travel commercials, yet I feel it’s probably superfluous as the monstrous hit, Mamma Mia! has probably garnered enough fans who’ve decided to visit just on their appreciation for the Broadway musical alone.

Before I even begin to address the film itself, let me preface this by saying—at great risk to my already nerdy reputation-- that in the late 90’s, there was no bigger ABBA fan than yours truly. Their greatest hits album Gold and its sequel had a permanent place in both my home and car CD player and I was often busted at stoplights by drivers in other cars who saw me singing my heart out along to the lyrics penned by Sweden’s greatest export, which was especially embarrassing when this very incident happened not only one block from my college but I was caught by my crush of the week who luckily found it charming, yet proceeded to tease me the rest of the semester by belting out the chorus of “Take a Chance on Me” whenever he saw me walk down a hallway. (Naturally, I took this as an invitation!)

In fact, super-fan that I was, I annoyed my DJ cousin for ABBA requests at receptions he worked until he clued me in that in the DJ world, there’s nothing less hip than a woman requesting “Dancing Queen.” While I told him that any other track would suffice, all I got was an eye-roll and a pat on the back but fortunately, after viewing ABBA: The Movie far too many times on VH1, I began to outgrow my love of the band… until-- that is--word came ‘round that their music had been used throughout a new Broadway hit, Mamma Mia!

It took a few years until I saw the show in a touring company in my hometown and while indeed it was fun to see others enjoy ABBA’s music (despite the overabundance of misguided middle aged men and women dancing and singing along in the aisles which instantly cured me of any major worship of the band), I couldn’t get over the feeling that the show itself was a bit forgettable and overrated.

Yet, to misquote the old Elvis slogan, I assumed that millions of fans around the globe can’t be wrong so when I learned it was going to be adapted to film, as a huge Hollywood musical lover (I know, I just get geekier by the minute), I hoped for the best. Initially, I was skeptical when I heard that Meryl Streep had been selected for the lead role of Donna, the film’s heroine whose soon-to-be wed twenty-year-old daughter Sophie (the adorable Amanda Seyfried) has unbeknownst to Donna-- after discovering her mother’s vintage diary--invited her three possible biological fathers to the wedding with the hope of identifying which one is her dear old dad.

While Streep is hands-down one of the finest actresses in the world, I just didn’t see her as the singing, dancing, earthily sexy, free-spirited Donna, imagining someone like the musically gifted Michelle Pfeiffer for her role. Thankfully, Streep's actually quite good in the film, managing to nail not only every required emotion but hit the notes in a nice way that never overpowers, and manages to win over any doubters with the showstopper “The Winner Takes It All,” for which IMDb reports the vocals were recorded in Sweden in just one take.

No, the problem isn’t with Streep—although she’s given some of the most unflattering, unfeminine, and downright ugly direction ever captured in a musical, with pratfalls aplenty and cannonballs into the sea. However, far more irritating is the continuous choreography that finds her landing with her legs in the air numerous times as though she’s overdue for a pelvic exam. This seems all the more grotesque when this is precisely the way that Mamma’s original stage director Phyllida Lloyd (who also helmed the film) decided to have her first encounter her three former lovers, as though she’s figuratively readying herself for a fertility exercise or about to give birth just as they arrive... complete with—and I kid you not—a Lamaze type breath out the side of her mouth to blow her hair off her face.

Yikes, baby, we’ve come a long, sad way from Cyd Charisse wooing with her sexy legs, or a flirtatious laugh by Ginger Rogers, or a come hither look by Catherine Zeta Jones in Chicago. And while the actors all try their best—even poor, pitiful Brosnan who always seems like he’s staring off in the distance, longing to leave the set and go home to his family, not to mention his James Bond residual checks— they’re given very little with which to work in an uneven translation from stage to screen-- making the fault lie squarely with Lloyd.

In the end and despite casting such excellent talents such as up-and-coming hunky British Generation Y star Dominic Cooper, the underrated Stellan Skarsgard and my favorite version of Mr. Darcy, Colin Firth-- overall Mamma Mia! is one over-the-top, bawdy, Fellini like carnvialesque freak-show. I'm not sure about Greece but in the tacky land of Mamma, often the women shriek for no apparent reason (including a wasted Christine Baranski who nonetheless kills in her one showstopper “Does Your Mother Know”) while playing dress-up complete with quirky props that probably would never have even made it into the far campier yet more successful John Waters musical turned film Hairspray from 2007.

In addition, don’t even get me started on a downright embarrassing and desperate sequence featuring Julie Walters crooning “Take a Chance on Me” to a nearly terrified looking Skarsgard, who-- par for the course of male stars in the film-- spends a majority of his time like Firth and Brosnan, trying his damndest not to look at his watch in the hopes that the madness will end sooner rather than later (probably much like a majority of heterosexual males dragged to the film).

And as someone who still knows every single word of every one of ABBA’s classic songs (yes, even the forgettable ones like “Money, Money, Money”), not to mention a film buff who truly makes an effort to champion musical filmmaking in the hopes that we’re given more quality musicals to rival the golden age of those unforgettable MGM classics, it breaks my heart to say that the film is one of the biggest disappointments of the summer.

However, it’s one that I can also say in complete honesty and without just trying to politely evade critique, that man, did I love that spectacular cinematography.

City of Ghosts

Director:
Matt Dillon

After a devastating natural disaster sends policy holders looking for assistance from their insurance company only to realize they’ve been swindled, the FBI steps in. Soon Jimmy (Matt Dillon), one of the deceitful crooks involved who fears he may have been hoodwinked along with the policy holders by his deceitful organization's bosses flees New York and ventures to Bangkok, Thailand where he sneaks into Cambodia.

Once in Cambodia, he checks into the Belleville Hotel, run by Emile (Gerard Depardieu), a tough Frenchman with his own sense of right and wrong and with the help of his driver Sok (Sereyvuth Kem), Jimmy meets up with his associates including the questionable Joseph Kaspar (Stellan Skarsgard) and his father-figure and mentor Marvin (James Caan).

Seemingly inspired by the works of Joseph Conrad and Graham Greene, City of Ghosts also owes a debt to old Bogart movies as Jimmy falls in love with a beautiful foreigner in the form of British art restorer Sophie (Natascha McElhone) and tries to navigate the treacherous terrain of his new homeland which he quickly realizes may be more deadly than the legal justice and outrage awaiting him at home.

Sharply photographed, Matt Dillon’s ambitious debut as a director which was also written by the actor along with David Lynch collaborator Barry Gifford (scripter of Wild at Heart and Lost Highway) at times suffers from its own aspirations as the plot becomes so convoluted and overwrought with each new double-cross and conspirator that it’s nearly impossible to wrap one’s mind around during the first viewing without pressing pause or rewind here and there to analyze events again. Though this situation seems crafted less out of intellectual awe than out of trying to pack too much plot into a film that overall, may not be as contemplative as it would hope. In this case, City of Ghosts begins to suffer from its own weight but its echoes of tales such as The Quiet American, The Year of Living Dangerously and To Have and Have Not help keep us watching. Despite its flaws, it's a terrific vehicle to spotlight the diverse talents of writer/director/star Matt Dillon and one that will surely make viewers who have followed his career for more than two decades see Dillon in a whole new light and look forward to his next creative endeavor.

Goya's Ghosts

Director:
Milos Forman

For his first film since 1999, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest and Amadeus director Milos Forman decided to tell a story about a period of time he felt hadn’t been given proper screen consideration—namely an inside look at 18th century Spain during the last part of the harrowing inquisition. For his structural link-pin, he and his auspicious French co-writer Jean-Claude Carriere whose filmography includes collaborations with auteurs such as Bunuel and Godard decided to focus on controversial painter Francisco Goya, who, a court painter when the film opens has a unique first person view of the goings-on. Swedish star Stellan Skarsgard portrays Goya as a blank canvas—unassuming, hard to read and mild—a man who just happens to be in the center of the drama when the lives of two individuals whose portraits he has painted intersect in shocking ways.

Cast for what according to IMDb Forman felt was her uncanny resemblance to the “Milkmaid of Bordeaux,” Natalie Portman stars as Goya’s lovely young muse Ines, the daughter of a wealthy family who is subjected to the horrors of the inquisition after she’s called to testify. Her crime isn’t her association with Goya, whom the church feels has displayed dangerous commentaries on the Catholic Church in his works, but rather what the inquisitors feel is her curious refusal to eat pork while dining with her brothers. While Ines explains that it’s simply a matter of preference and she doesn’t like the taste of the meat, the inquisitors feel that she may be truly masquerading as a Catholic who secretly adheres to Judaism and proceed to torture Ines until she signs a confession thrust in front of her.

Desperate to gain his daughter’s freedom, Ines’s father pleads Goya for help with introducing the family to Brother Lorenzo (Javier Bardem) who they feel will be able to secure her release. While 2007 found Bardem overshadowed by his other villainous role as the sociopath Anton in the Coens’ Cormac McCarthy adaptation No Country for Old Men, he turns in the best performance in Goya’s Ghosts as the cunningly devious Lorenzo who manipulates all he meets for his own gain.

Although IMDb noted that Forman chose not to film in Spanish since he doesn’t speak the language, the film’s anachronisms in language do take the viewer out of the piece as we’re confronted by the various accents from Bardem’s authentic Spanish to Skarsgard’s posh British meets Swedish tones and Portman along with Randy Quaid’s (who portrays King Carlos IV) American accents that make one wonder why Forman didn’t instead have the actors at least work on creating convincing accents for their roles. Further curious is the title of the piece and the erroneous idea that Goya is in fact the main character as viewers ultimately end up walking away from the film with the same amount of knowledge they had on the painter going in or as Los Angeles Times writer Carina Chocano wrote in her review, “The biggest ghost of the movie is Goya himself.”

Nominated for three Spanish Goyas, the film’s ultimate saving grace aside from terrific portrayals by Bardem and also Portman playing dual roles is the sumptuous period photography by Spanish cinematographer Javier Aguirresarobe who has not only been tapped to shoot the upcoming adaptation of Cormac McCarthy’s The Road but also shot two of Spain’s biggest critical hits of the decade, The Sea Inside and Talk to Her.