Foxcatcher (2014, Bennett Miller)

Hulking bodies and broken psyches drive Foxcatcher, Bennett Miller's fourth film and fourth based on a true event.  This is an unrelenting American horror story in which misplaced longings build to unbearable levels, giving way to upmost tragedy.

Combining the cold blooded nature of the killings centred upon in 2005's Capote and the sporting world of his last film - Moneyball -  Foxcatcher tells the torturous relationship between self-appointed wrestling coach John DuPont and the talented Schultz brothers who he came to manage. Manage, not by talent but through sheer wealth and an illogical determination to mend his once great but now flailing country to make it prosperous and proud once again. 

DuPont means to do so by training a team of talented young wrestlers to compete and win the 1988 Seoul Olympics. This team would be headed by star player Mark Shultz who won Olympic gold in '84 who after had been thrown on the junk pile. Shultz, played here by Channing Tatum, is a towering neanderthal like man with a pronounced lower jaw, hunched shoulders, and hanging arms. There's a big heart to match his other large muscles here but he's a broken childlike man looking for a place in the world. Introduced by making ends meat, Mark attends schools to motivate youngsters with his accomplishments, being paid small cash to do so, then returning to his grim lodgings to eat packeted noodles -  hardly the food of champions. One day, like a scene out of some classic noir, he receives a mysterious phone call beckoning him to the DuPont residence where he's offered his place in team Foxcatcher. Coaxed by the words of patriotism by John DuPont in person, Mark inevitably succumbs. 

Unlike his younger brother, David Schultz (Mark Ruffalo) isn't as impressed and decides to decline despite the teaming of the two brothers being what DuPont really desires. It's here that the brother's nomadic upbringing comes into the picture as from an ever moving broken home, David has settled with a family and has used this to overcome his childhood while Mark is still living it, remaining tortured by its lack of parental figures and roots. This also reveals the gravitational pull of DuPont's influence on Mark as he's week, looking for a purpose and love beyond his brother.

Steve Carell is almost unrecognisable as John DuPont and against the golden boy wrestler he's the antithesis of a man built for such a sport: he's meagre and bird like in appearance, as if his bones would shatter like glass. He speaks in broken sentences that only hint at the broken man behind the words. It's a remarkable performance, like an amalgamation of Travis Bickle and The Simpsons' Mr. Burns, and like Tatum is a performance largely built around physical idiosyncrasies that would be too easy to fall into caricature but feel truly lived in by these actors.

It's mostly in the silence of the film that Bennett and his actors allow for the story to develop. Take for instance the first time we see the Schultz brothers training together, which is also the first time they share the screen; it's one of the film's opening scenes and in it Ruffalo and Tatum convey such a wide spectrum of emotions that you realise early on you're in the company of a team of filmmakers at the top of their game.

Too call Foxcatcher a film about wrestling would be accurate as long as you were referring to the wrestling of demons throughout. Ultimately this is what E. Max Frye and Dan Futterman's screenplay boils down to - an exploration of the collateral damage from such demons with the innocent suffering the largest casualties. DuPont's choice of wrestling in the first place is odd given his naturally fragile demeanour and being the future of an elite American dynasty, as his mother (a wheelchair-bound Vanessa Redgrave) refers to the sport as below her son in one of many examples her looking upon her only offspring in a mixed look of icy bafflement and disappointment. This venture into the world of wresting makes sense when looking at it as a defying gesture to a controlling matriarch, however the homosexual subtext that the film has garnered thus far seems misplaced. While it's true there are moments of uncomfortable master/slave like power shifts between John and Mark (Hitchcock's Marnie came to mind several times) this is a film, I believe, that explores DuPont's venture as one seeking intimacy of any kind and not the sexual variety. By using the same means that destroyed his childhood, DuPont uses wealth to get what he wants and buys players for his games instead of developing any kind of interpersonal skills and relationships. From a man who found out at the age of 16 that his best friend had been paid all along for his services, this tragically maladjusted millionaire uses the sport as a means to be close to others, whether that be on the mat individually or part of a team. The most striking example showing DuPont administering the same parental behaviour that corrupted him in the first place is best shown comparing two scenes that lodge in the memory. The first is a beautifully shot sequence in which John releases his mother's horses from their stables soon after her passing; a moment of simple subtext as a son lets go of his emotional baggage except we soon learn that letting go for John is impossible as he's cursed to being consumed by it instead. The second scene contain a simple framing of Mark as he's visited by brother David in his outhouse located on Foxcatcher Farm; Mark is framed in his doorway -  a stable door in which the top section is opened so he can converse with his brother, his hulking top half sticking out indeed like that of a horse. Kept on the farm like the other wrestlers, DuPont merely collects people like his mother's precious horses and like the many antiques of the main house. Kept for their function and aesthetic purpose but stored either at a distance or on display. His view of human companionship beyond this purpose is alien to him.

Foxcatcher appears overly loose and meandering at times and on reflection could be argued to needing tighting - however this is also the film's key to power as the taunting and misdirection almost cancels out the suspension (though never the tension) before hitting a deathblow. Unlike those in Foxcatcher Farm who failed to notice the warning signs, we the audience have foresight into the tragedy unfolding before our eyes and  the signposted deterioration of DuPont as he grows increasingly detached and erratic. His love of guns becomes unruly and his day-to-day demeanour more subdued perhaps by his cocktail of drugs along with his eroding psyche.

Like his Capote, Bennett Miller has a real knack for creating an atmosphere of dread and manages to give his films a quality in which you're taken back to these moments, no matter how mundane or painful they are, there's a sheen to his biopics and yet they're beautifully balanced with the candid. Foxcatcher sees Bennett go three for three in his feature films so far and while it's a draining and bleak venture this time,  it's becoming somewhat of a joy to see this filmmaker's take on seismic moments of American history, even as each subject appears more esoteric than the last.

Side Effects (2013, Steven Soderbergh)

Quietly confident as it navigates various twists and power shifts in a deceptively convoluted plot, Steven Soderbergh's final film is a nightmare parable taking it to the heart of the pharmaceutical industry while disguised in genre make-up. Side Effects makes for an intelligent and ultimately impressive final bow to an illustriously varied career.

An exquisitely 'old-school' title sequence reminiscent of Rosemary's Baby slowly draws us in from a wide shot of a city to an apartment window, an apartment with a once pristine interior now sprayed with blood. Taking us through a three week build up to the aforementioned bloodletting introduces Emily Taylor (Rooney Mara) as she relapses into depression as she anticipates her husband, Martin (Channing Tatum), who is soon to be released from prison. After attempts to end her life Emily is put on a new drug programme by psychiatrist Jude Law that should clear up the deep-set negativity at the heart of the problem, however, as the title alludes, there are complications in Emily's relationship to this new drug as the film takes a narrative nosedive down the rabbit hole.

Side Effects succeeds in subverting the rather familiar set-up laid out so early on, revealing layer after layer in its development with a growing level of power plays at its heart. Beginning as a paradigmatic psychological thriller, Soderbergh and writer Scott Z. Burns dismantle connotations of genre and take the wheels off, pushing the story into unexpected territorial shades. What the film manages, something that the best thriller/mysteries do so well, is keeping the audience one step behind as the narrative unfolds while maintaining intrigue throughout so as not to alienate. After regaining a sense of creative fulfilment with Magic Mike after a string of un-involving projects, it's therefore vital that again Soderbergh is tightly behind the controls to match the precision of his visuals with a schematically astute delivery this time around. Shooting as usual under the pseudonym of Peter Andrews, Side Effects is Soderbergh's most visually seductive film of his career, surpassing anything he's made in the last 13 years.

The cast are all of a piece here and deliver everything needed for a film of such wavering dynamics; fans of Magic Mike may be disappointed that Tatum doesn't get as much to play with, Rooney Mara adds more evidence to the pile that she's simply an unmissable young performer as she manages a wide spectrum of emotions/perceptions, and Law does some of his best work as he carries much of the film on his own steam. Thomas Newman also delivers some of his strongest material in years, a composer of an often benign nature, his work here brilliantly brings about menace and foreboding but in an enticing and lulling manner. Like Emily Taylor, the cataclysmic and beautiful centrepiece of Side Effects, Newman's score is both morose and irresistibly inviting.

Magic Mike (2012, Steven Soderbergh)

This story of the dreams and efforts of a self proclaimed 'entrepreneur' who moonlights as a male stripper certainly has nothing new to say in its allusions to the American dream and current economic climate, but with grace and modesty the film carries itself with upmost confidence, never feeling the need to announce its intentions as boldly as the tacky neon lights that permeate it. Magic Mike is pure Americana, a story that feels destined in its Floridian setting; with high respect for its characters, some fine performances, and a feel good natured story that neither forces itself or fears losing itself in some grit. Magic Mike is a rare example of populist American cinema, a film that would have been right at home during the 1970s film renaissance. 

The titular character of Mike is played by Channing Tatum, an actor whose past experiences in the profession forms the basis of the film. Mike dreams of one day starting his own furniture business, one in which every item is unique and irreplaceable. For 6 years he's been stripping down to his bare essentials for women in aid of his dreams, the profession certainly brings a lot of dough home but this isn't nearly enough. Mike works as a builder during the day as well as another business involving automobiles that isn't wholly revealed; he is a hardworking man who knows where he wants to go and does everything in his power to do so, but as this parable reveals it's easy to get trapped within the system you think is working for you, have no illusions that at any time its you who works for it, and it doesn't want to let you go.

While tiling a house one day Mike meets a new upstart in Adam (Alex Pettyfer), a down on his luck younger man staying on his sister's couch with a knack for destroying his chances and a mild disrespect for authority. Before long in pure 'buddy movie' exchanges Mike has taken in Adam to have him work as a production assistant for his show that night. Of course its not long before Adam is thrust upon the stage to in turn thrust himself at the rambunctious female crowd. In more buddy movie cliches we're treated to a montage where stripping gang leader Dallas (Mathew McConaughey) teaches Adam how to perform; in a prolonged and hilarious moment Dallas teaches him how to work his pelvis in front of a mirror, McConaughy is pure unashamed dynamite as he is throughout, the action is absurd, and the homoerotic levels through the roof. The unbearable exchanges between John Travolta and Jamie Lee Curtis in Perfect (1985) spring to mind.

On the side of Adam's rise to stripping glory is Mike's relationship with Adam's protective sister Brooke (Cody Horn). Brooke is the grounded sensibility to Mike's wild party persona and his instant attraction and pursuit of her is at first nonsensical, her 'square' lifestyle and over protective nature hints at possible past traumas and lessons learned. For a film of pure Americana such as this it's also surprisingly European in characterisation; no backstory is provided for any characters and despite the frontrunners feeling distinctly human they still tinker as mere entities. Cutting the unnecessary expositional cues that neatly explain why characters act the way they do is refreshing here as their actions are left to speak for themselves. It's never revealed why Brooke is so protective of her brother and though Mike promises to take care of him Adam begins a slippery slope with drugs, taking the film to darker territories. Director Steven Soderbergh tackled drugs perfectly in his oscar winning masterpiece Traffic (2000) and despite the issue of drugs being less relevant here, the scenes depicting Adam's drug-use are of upmost sincerity and accuracy, never using judgmental shock value and exaggeration to force impact. 

There's more than a hint of Boogie Nights (1999) to Magic Mike - the rise and fall story of American values, descent into drugs, the tacky nature of a much criticised profession, even a minor but well endowed character brings to mind Dirk Diggler's 'gift'. But the comparisons don't stop there as both films mark a return to pure American story telling that puts character before plot, stories that manage to maintain social commentary through their entertainment. Above all, like Boogie Nights the film never judges its characters and their profession, sure it never shies away from the pitfalls but it never condemns either. Clearly a passion project for Tatum, Magic Mike is clearly loved by all involved. From the joyous often breezy chemistry between the cast (McConaughey is especially a riot here), to Reid Carolin's thoughtful script, everyone seems to be having a great time. Even Soderbergh, the super talented and equally prolific filmmaker seems to have added a little more of himself this time round compared to any output of the past 10years. His handling of the dance numbers provide laughs rather than cringes as many actions seen to be seedy are brushed off with carefree ease, depicting a man dry humping a woman's face was never going to be an easy task but never is the film unpleasant. Tatum's own dance/stripping experience adds a certain showbiz quality as we witness him performing without stunt/body doubles, his talent as a performer in clear view as he loves every second.

It's a stretch to laud Magic Mike as a 'great' film but there's no question of its entertainment value and dramatic weight. The film doesn't aim high and for that it fails to be exceptional but also allowing itself success - after all, how high can a marginally categorised dance movie about strippers aim? It's a joy to see a film as predictable and hackneyed as this be such fun due to the simple care of its craft and excellently realised soundtrack. By the end you'll realise you haven't ceased smiling in quite some time.