Three Unseen Films That Might Be Worth It

"The Deep Blue Sea"
starring: Rachel Weisz, Tom Hiddleston, Ann Mitchell, Simon Russell Beale
written and directed by: Terence Davies

Terence Davies has made a movie that's cinematography plays out like a love-note to a London only the filmmaker knows and remembers. If per chance, you were lucky enough to live through the time period this London portrays, perhaps you'll be struck by the film, but unfortunately, there are really no characters that you can ultimately relate to or feel much sympathy for. It's a remake of a film from 1955 with Vivien Leigh, too. Rachel Weisz has always impressed me as an actress. She knows how to really dig herself deep into each role, for the most part- even in "The Mummy."

The film is based on a play by Terence Rattigan, which tells the story of Hester Collyer (Rachel Weisz), an attractive but inward young woman (dealing with some internal struggles) who is married to Sir William Collyer (Simon Russell Beale), a judge much her senior. The story all takes place on a single day some 10 months after she left her husband for a young lover, Freddie Page (Tom Hiddleston), an RAF pilot whose usefulness ended with the war. There's something helpless about Freddie that appeals to Hester.

Neither man is a villain, which makes Hester's internal struggle that much harder to find a true reason for her depression. Sir William must be a deeply unhappy man, judging by a painful flashback scene where he dines with his wife and his mother (Barbara Jefford). Every word, every gesture, every intonation of his mother's conversation is designed to exhibit rejection and contempt for her daughter-in-law, and we imagine Sir William himself has been a disappointment to this implacable woman. A perfect set-up for the play, but as a film's story projection it doesn't really work, for me. 

There are signs that Hester is fond of Sir William and indications that he was a non-starter at marital relations. Freddie, however, brings great passion to her bed, but a fellow can't subsist on passion alone, and recently he has been neglecting Hester for the more reliable pastimes of drinking and golf. Her days, at least the one in the film, are passed in Freddie's musty brown bed with a gas fire, which she uses early on that same day to attempt suicide.

The film tries hard to evoke emotion and sympathy for Hester, but it comes up short. It just seemed rather boring, to me. I was perhaps as bored as Hester was awaiting her man to come home and play with her.
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"Concussion"
starring: Robin Weigert, Julie Fain Lawrence, Janel Moloney, Funda Duval, Claudine Ohayon, Magie Siff, Johnathan Tchaikovsky, Kate Rogal
written and directed by: Stacie Passon

The challenge with this indie film, which is quite daring and surprisingly well-done without being too explicit given its subject matter, is how can a filmmaker take such a worn-out story subject and make it seem fresh and bold- well, apparently the answer can be found in making the married couple struggling with their ordinary, routine lives: lesbians- but, it's done in such a way that the viewer doesn't really bat an eye at the switch. It's crafted perfectly to just come off as any other relationship/marriage.

The story is old and familiar: Married couple, busy with work and raising children, lose the passion and start taking each other for granted. One person strays, seeking sexual thrills. Events then unfold in a predictable fashion. The couple either re-connects or disintegrates. We've read it in great literature, we've seen it in more movies than be counted.

"Concussion"takes this well-worn storyline and makes something unique out of it, something fresh and bizarre. It's not just because "Concussion" is about a marriage between two women, although that is part of it. The lesbian marriage pictured here has all the trappings of good happy suburban life, but with the same underlying malaise we have come to expect in such portrayals. Abby and Kate's lesbianism is treated as a given, barely worth dwelling on. Abby and Kate (Julie Lawrence) are married, and living in the suburbs, raising two kids. After Abby gets a concussion in the first scene, bonked on the head by her kid's baseball, things change. Rifts that were probably there before crack open into gigantic crevasses. Great use of metaphor. The spark is gone from the marriage. Abby is sexually hungry, Kate seems to prefer celibacy. Kate has a demanding job as a divorce lawyer, and Abby has a business flipping apartments in nearby Manhattan.

One day, almost on a whim, Abby makes an appointment with a prostitute. The experience is not pleasing, but it sparks something in her. With the help of her contractor Justin (Johnathan Tchaikovsky), whose girlfriend just happens to run a call-girl business out of her pre-law dorm room, Abby sets herself up as a belle du jour, using one of her properties in Manhattan as a workplace, and calling herself "Eleanor." And thus, begins the escapades that set Abby along a new, dangerous, exciting path in her life, all the while, she keeps up normal appearances for the most part in her marriage. 

Abby has developed a keen ability to compartmentalize her life and worlds, but in this new adventure, she finds it hard to balance the worlds and sees them eventually collide. But, maybe she ultimately wanted to be discovered because she is tired of pretending so much. It's like all cheaters, liars, etc. They all seem to have this desire to be found out. 

The build up throughout the film seems to deflate at the end and the pay-off after watching Abby rediscover herself through some excellent sexual scenes, where the sex isn't so much graphic as it is sensual- kind of a stereotype when it comes to lesbian sex, or so I've been told. 

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"Big Sur"
starring: Jean-Marc Barr, Kate Bosworth, Josh Lucas, Anthony Edwards, Balthazar Getty, Stana Katic, Patrick Fischler, Radha Mitchell
written and directed by: Michael Polish
Novel by: Jack Kerouac

"Big Sur" as a film is based on Jack Kerouac's 1962 novel of the same name, which is a recollection of his time spent in a friend's cabin in Bixby Canyon. Jack Kerouac used a fictional name for himself to retell his story of mental and physical deterioration. Here-within, he refers to himself as Jack Dulouz- and all his comrades have pseudonyms as well.

During this time, Kerouac was quite depressed (by the success of "On the Road"?) and had become an alcoholic. The novel is written in a great stream-of-consciousness style, which I relate to as a writer myself, because it really lets the reader get into the mind of the man losing his mind, thanks in large part to drinking. The trouble with turning this kind of novel into a film is that the filmmaker has to be talented enough to find a balance between the story on the page and the story being portrayed on the screen. Unfortunately, Michael Polish relies almost solely and far too much on the "voice-over" as his major technique for allowing the audience into Jack's head. The voice-over really creates a distance between the viewer and the character, and I think this is a universal understanding, whenever a filmmaker chooses to use this technique. It's dangerous, and with this film, it never works to its advantage.

There are some great performances in this unseen film, starting with Jean-Marc Barr's portrayal of Jack Kerouac's Jack Dulouz. And then, there's Jack's friend, Neal Casady played by Josh Lucas (who often finds himself cast in many romantic comedies- here he shines); as well as Kate Bosworth (a really untapped acting resource, given the films she often finds herself in) playing Billie, the one time mistress to Neal Casady, who gets passed off to Jack, whom she eventually falls in love with, but its an unrequited love. Billie ends up being the character you feel bad for because no matter how much she loves Jack, he'll never love her that much, or more than alcohol/himself.

This film could have been much stronger in its portrayal of a famous man's downward spiral, if it had not been for the voice-over telling us how to feel about it all. I think Kerouac, himself, would have been disappointed.