The Fountain - Movie Review
The Fountain 2006
Way back in 1998, when our dear friend Evil Scotty told us we simply had to watch “л” we acquiesced (‘cause we’re a little bit afraid of him) and witnessed the cinematic birth of Darren Aronofsky, the then hot new “auteur”. We had to agree that he definitely had a sense of visual flair and was a competent director who didn’t completely drive us mad with indie yearnings. When somebody finally threw him some cash and he gave birth to “Requiem for a Dream”, we thanked him profusely for providing one of our favorite acting divas, Ellen Burstyn with a pseudo comeback role that nabbed her an Oscar nomination for Best Actress . . . that she ended up losing to Julia Roberts for “Erin Brockovich”. Excuse us a moment while we throw up our dinner at the memory of the Academy thinking Julia Roberts is a better actress than Ellen Burstyn. Moving on.
Well, now Darren is back with a . . . what the hell would you call this? A science fantasy rumination on the fluidity of time, love and memory? A visually exotic rambling on the mystery of life, the afterlife and infinity? A masturbatory fantasy by a ten year old geek that did a book report on Ponce de León and his legendary search for the “Fountain of Youth” in fourth grade history class and is trying to force it down our throats as art? Or just an incredibly boring, vapid, featherweight movie that attempts to ask a lot of questions bordering on mysticism and fails completely? Yes, let’s go with that one.
For Darren has written a fantasy film centered on the yearning that mankind has experienced to solve the mystery of death by cheating it via an elixir of everlasting youth. Be careful what you wish for young man! While we would never question Mr. Aronofsky’s ability to paint a lovely picture, and he does have a very nice sense of composition that shows he actually paid attention during one or two film courses, but he clearly missed his screenwriting classes. Or maybe he just failed them.
“The Fountain” is a joke. A joke on the audience, the actors and the producers of this film. It is an infinitely bad movie masquerading as a love story for the ages and beyond. It features some talented actors, some not so talented and an all too brief role for our beloved Ellen Burstyn who must still be so thankful for her sixth Oscar nomination that she has agreed to sleepwalk through her role as the trusted mentor figure / doctor. But we’re getting ahead of ourselves.
“The Fountain” concerns three ages of man. One man in particular. One Tomas, a Spanish knight out to search for the mysterious “Tree of Life” that will provide the magic nectar to save mankind from death. At the behest of his Queen Isabel, Tomas braves the jungles and Indiana Jones style traps riddled with flying arrows and death hungry natives defending the exact whereabouts of the Tree.
Tomas will one day return as Tommy, the beloved of one Izzi who is slowly succumbing to Ali McGraw syndrome and dying a beautifully soft focus death. Tommy is a research scientist who is just seconds away from discovering a cure, or magical restorative drug that can repair and heal the damaged body. A godsend for Izzi if he can crack the code in time.
Tommy will later become a bald, neutered monk-like creature floating in a giant snowglobe along with the Tree of Life cascading across the galaxies to only God knows where, if there is still a God at this point, ‘cause we were honestly beginning to doubt His or Her existence by the amount of bile that had built up in our chest after watching even one half hour of this dreck. Sadly, the film chooses to drift as aimlessly through the night as Tommy Monkboy in his floating bubble. In reality, when we glanced at our watch after the films dismally trite ending, we realized the movie was only 96 minutes long! You know when a film is 96 minutes long and plays like its “Shoah Part II”, you’re in trouble.
As Tomas / Tommy / Dr. Creo / Monkboy, Aronofsky has cast that tap dancing feral superhero cum Broadway star, Hugh Jackman. Now, we consider Hugh to be a very underrated actor. His hunky exterior has been given short shrift in the movies, outside of his starmaking role as Wolverine in the “X-Men” franchise. Here, as the wandering night errand for his dying mistress, he doesn’t embarrass himself and actually manages to be quite believable in all his drag getup, but he is acting off an empty plate. The words are simply not there. This film is about imagery, which can be a good thing if you are a truly visionary director or it can be an insufferable bore. If you picked option number two, you would be correct.
As the regal death maiden, Queen Isabel / Izzi, Oscar winner (Ouch, that hurts. Twice in one review?) Rachel Weisz does a nice Ali McGraw imitation and that’s about it. Seriously, people. Does nobody else remember Rachel in “The Mummy” series? Because pretty much anything outside of that she seems to barely get by in. Here, she is opulently decked out in the appropriate queenly jewel encrusted robes and finery, and alternately shaved and plucked to convince us of her near death like state as the cancer ridden Izzi. Unfortunately, she might have dropped a few pounds for that role, since she is the healthiest looking dying girl we’ve seen since Shelley Winters in “The Poseidon Adventure”.
Our beloved Ellen Burstyn barely glimmers in the eviscerated role of Dr. Lillian Guzetti, the overseer of the testing done by Tom. She is on hand to give friendly but stern advice, and little else. Although compared to the rest of the cast, we were prepared to hand her an Oscar for merely showing up and not embarrassing herself.
The embarrassment we will leave to Darren Aronofsky. Darren. Listen. Yes the snowglobe is pretty to look at. So are many actual snowglobes, it doesn’t make them terribly interesting as drama however. If your point was to make an interesting film about time travel, you failed. If your point was to make a meditative examination into the everlasting quality of love and spirituality, you failed miserably. If your point was to make us laugh out loud at the most inopportune moments, congrats you succeeded!
For once we finally witness Tomas discovering the secret to the Tree of Life, as he throws himself with wanton abandon upon its hefty trunk, pierces the bark with his unsheathed sword calling forth the hot, creamy liquid and upon bended knees begins to guzzle the brew oh so hungrily and greedingly until he is spent and lying prone on his back. Well, this scene is not exactly doing Hugh Jackman any favors with the tabloids, is it now?
We don’t know what to make of this mess of a movie. While some of the floating snowglobe visuals were pretty in a hidden porpoise kinda way, the visuals are in complete misalliance to the rest of the movie. There is no movie here. Perhaps the whole crew was still zonked out on the leftover drugs from “Requiem for a Dream”, and short of taking turns on the oversized double headed black dildo from that film’s finale, decided to go with the tree and the globes. Well, shame on you Darren. You should have stayed home. As you should, dear reader. Simply do not waste your time on a filmmaker that is more considered with making indecipherable movies that attempting to entertain his audiences with real ideas. Bless you all!Directed by Darren Aronofsky
Story by Darren Aronofsky and Ari Handel
Starring
Hugh Jackman as Tomas / Tommy / Dr. Tom Creo
Rachel Weisz as Queen Isabel / Izzi Creo
Ellen Burstyn as Dr. Lillian Guzetti
Mark Margolis as Father Avila
Stephen McHattie as Grand Inquisitor Silecio
Sean Patrick Thomas as Antonio
Donnna Murphy as Betty
Ethan Suplee as Manny
Cinematography by Matthew Libatique
Film Editing by Jay Rabinowitz
Original Music by Clint Mansell
Costume Design by Renée April
Production Design by James Chinlund
Art Direction by Isabelle Guay, Michele Laliberte, Nicolas Lepage & Jean-Pierre Paquet
Set Decoration by Paul Hotte and Philippe Lord
Labels: Movie Review
posted by The Bloody Red Carpet at 4:03 PM
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When Robert Altman passed away on Monday, November 20th he left behind five decades worth of directorial projects ranging from his earliest work as a gun for hire director from the salad days of television to his later film masterpieces. Yes, we said masterpieces.
A while back a good friend of ours (Hi, Ollie!) asked us what we thought was the last great breakthrough in film. We ruminated for a moment, and said: “M*A*S*H”. For like many breakthrough films throughout cinema history, “M*A*S*H” coalesced various techniques – the camera as character, overlapping dialogue, multi story plotlines – all of which filtered through Altman’s lens quickly became not only his calling card, technique, what have you but an altogether new shortcut for the feel and texture of a movie. Altmanesque was born.
No other director working in the 1970s can claim to have been more of a symbol for that era, or responsible for better films. Not Scorsese, Coppola, Forman, Fosse, Bogdanovich nor Spielberg. Beginning with “M*A*S*H” in 1970 and ending with the underrated “A Perfect Couple” in 1979 nobody else came close to capturing the changing times. For you see kids, the grand and glorious studio years were over and the rise of the young maverick director was upon us. Sadly, that would lead to the death of good mainstream storytelling ability and the birth of film school graduates armed with handheld cameras, a healthy dose of nausea inducing herky jerky movements that only served to distract the viewers and a complete lack of the very essence of great moviemaking – visual storytelling.
When asked about his famed style, Altman showed himself to be a class act:
But the true earmark of a great director is not necessarily their ability to reinvent the medium, it has more to do with recognizing the universal film language brought forth by earlier giants and melding the right ingredients into a brave new vision.
Robert Altman was a man who was never afraid of tackling any genre, from Westerns to Comedies to Musicals, almost always employing his signature techniques and a rotating cast of character actors that became his film family. Many famous stars appeared before his camera: Paul Newman, Sophia Loren, Lauren Bacall, Marcello Mastroainni, Anouk Aimée, Glenda Jackson, Jack Lemmon, Warren Beatty, Julie Christie, Harry Belafonte, Meryl Streep, Julia Roberts, Bruce Willis, Kim Basinger, Whoopi Goldberg, Cher. But it is for his exemplary use of such talented character actors as Maggie Smith, Helen Mirren, Derek Jacobi, Sissy Spacek, Shelley Duvall, Lily Tomlin, Elliott Gould, Donald Sutherland, George Segal, Karen Black, Geraldine Chaplin, Joel Grey, Barbara Harris, Scott Glenn, Ned Beatty, Kenneth Branagh, Jennifer Jason Leigh, Robert Downey Jr., Lili Taylor, Keith Carradine . . . the list is endless and equally impressive, that he will always be fondly remembered.
Here was a director who relished fine acting and brought out the best in his talented casts. Always living up to the idea of “the more the merrier”. While it is certainly true that the great Howard Hawks and Jean Renoir were masters at manipulating large casts themselves, Altman brought this style to a heady peak with such groundbreaking films as “
Even with the Academy’s version of a consolation prize, the master was grateful and humble. "I can't think of a better award - to me it's better for all of my work than for just a couple of things."
With his passing, many have begun to comment on his being the last true giant of film directing. He was certainly this countries best living director, one that lesser men and women looked up to with reverence. We will not argue the point. We merely suggest that you run to your nearest video outlet and purchase or rent some of his great films to bathe in their brilliance. Besides the aforementioned flicks, we would like to point out our own favorites – some recognized as masterpieces in their own right, some overlooked but equally worthy.
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In closing, we only wish to note that even Altman’s weaker films such as the infamous flops “
We leave you with this wonderful quote from the maestro himself:
“Filmmaking is a chance to live many lifetimes.” In that case, Bob, your life has yet begun. Bless you all!
Legend has it that when President John F. Kennedy was asked by a reporter which books he enjoyed reading, he replied the James Bond thrillers by Ian Fleming. Little did he realize he would help launch a craze for 
Boy, do we ever. When we heard that our future husband Daniel Craig would take over the tuxedo, we nearly slid off our barstool in moist anxiety. When the production photos began to leak like a syphilitic whore onto the internet, we contemplated undergoing hypnosis to calm our nerves. When, finally we sat in a darkened theatre with two of our bestest pals, ProPain and Kokolicious awaiting the much hyped “new look” Bond flick, we calmly removed our undergarments to prevent soiling. And thank God we did. (Well, Koko and I did - ProPain went for the exploding cars and busty babes. None of us were disappointed.)
From the opening scene which sets the tone for a darker, edgier, and less gadgetry laden Bond, we knew that Daniel Craig was not only the best choice to play James, he is the only choice. While we’ll let the Bond nerds debate the merits and minuses of 
But, back to our future husband Daniel Craig. Danny has managed over the years to build himself quite an impressive resume by portraying a variety of bounders, cads, 
Daniel Craig is no exception. His steely blue eyes locked fiercely upon his targets coupled with a buffed physique that assures the audience of his derring do makes him the most authoritative Bond in decades. The fact that he is equally at home donning the requisite tuxedo and swirling a martini glass seals the movie deal completely.
By now if you were expecting a completely revisionist Bond, you obviously fail to understand the meaning of the word “franchise”. This is no revision. If anything, it is a clearing of the detritus of excess that has been building since Bond sailed into 
The plot, as in most Bond flicks is simple and secondary. International terrorism backed by multi million dollar manipulations responsible for a global connection of baddies that demand to be kicked hither and yon by one lone British agent. Instead of a “Goldfinger” or “The Man with the Golden Gun”, we have the return of the dastardly Le Chiffre, a personification of evil replete with a glaucoma laced stare. As played with a calm malevolence by 
For this Bond, the grand showdown occurs behind the table of a high stakes poker game held at . . . the Casino Royale! (Quelle surprise!) While we miss the original novel’s 
Also, whoever was in charge in of the opening title sequence needs to stop playing with his Mac and learn from the master. 
As the latest Bond girl, Eva Green lands the plum role of Vesper Lynd. We simply adored Mademoiselle Green for her deliciously flowing performance in Bernardo Bertolucci’s “
The success of this film rests squarely on the shoulders of our future husband, Daniel Craig. When we finally composed ourselves enough to leave the theatre, assisted by ProPain and Kokolicious dangling a bottle of Grey Goose to help restore the blood that had completely drained out of our crotch – we heard perhaps the most wondrous and sought out sound that any film maker desires. Buzz. Everywhere you turned, men, women, small children were muttering Daniel Craig’s name. Clearly the huddled masses yearning to be entertained had never attended Mr. Craig’s artier hits, but now that he was made his name known to the movie going public at large – one thing was clear. A new star was born.
So, hopefully, twenty years from now with the Bond franchise behind his tight little behind . . . (whew . . . pardon us, while we collect what’s left of our thoughts) he will be able to return to the meatier . . . (there we go again.) roles that helped launch his career and be able to collect his long deserved Oscar for some piddling action film directed by a misunderstood auteur. 
For now, do yourselves the favor of spending a couple of hours and a half in the dark with our future husband . . . just don’t touch him, or drool too loudly or we’ll be forced to jab the stem of our martini glass into your bleeding eyeballs. For James Bond is back, in a truly entertaining outing that left us longing for more. Bless you all!
There is one reason to run out and see the latest “Mockumentary” from the now legendary Christopher Guest troupe of players. 
For the second time in film history, it is more than likely that an actress will be nominated for an Oscar for portraying an actress who desperately wants to win an Oscar! It happened once before with the divine 
Sadly, the remainder of the film is an uneven hodgepodge of stale jokes and contrived stereotypes that more than often misses the comic mark. Or rather, it fails to match the peerless Miss O’Hara who turns out all the stops in her delicious performance.
Since movies began, filmmakers have been enthralled with examining the treacherous backstory of making movies and the pitfalls of stardom. From such delightful classics as King Vidor’s “
In using the art of filmmaking as a bitter comedy of the foibles of fame and stardom, Christopher Guest follows Blake Edwards in his turgid black comedy “
The main problem with “For Your Consideration” is that it is simply not that funny. It's pleasant in a notch above sitcom level. It certainly skips along at a brisk pace. But rarely did the smile on our face turn into an out and out laugh. Guest & Co. have always seemed most successful in their attempts at examining niche worlds that most of us would have little previous knowledge of, including the filmmakers themselves. Their “
“For Your Consideration” at times seems to retread the amateur theatrics that was the domain of their earlier work on “
For in examining the worlds of dog shows and folk singing, the players themselves seemed to be taken out of their own vocation enough to flesh out wholly distinct characters that seemed to have walked out of a traveling circus of 
By lampooning actors who fall prey to their own desires of fame and adoration, where does one draw the line between actor and character? Is Catherine O’Hara the closet diva she portrays in “For Your Consideration”? God, we hope not. For it would not only ruin our enjoyment of her performance, it borders on psychosis.
And more importantly, for this flick to make sense shouldn’t the film within the film be less of a cartoon throwback to bad “B” 
And while their work may not be the subtlest onboard, 
And God bless 
A special nod must also go to 
But, in the final analysis, this film belongs to Catherine O’Hara. Her final transformation into a 
O’Hara and Posey deserve a better film than this for their comic talents. The fact that both of them not only rise above the material but actually manage to compose fully rounded characters, four of them actually is wonderful to behold. We would actually adore it if both actresses names were called out one cold winter morning early next year, and what a fitting tribute to their skill if they were. Bless you all!
Directed by Christopher Guest
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