The primary difference between a photograph and a film is that the photograph captures a moment while the film expresses a feeling. In the best-case scenario, either one is capable of doing a significant amount of both (because what is a film, really, if not a series of moving pictures?). In that spirit comes Terrence Malick’s To The Wonder – an immaculately-conceived piece of cinema that struggles to maintain a strict balance between essence and feeling, very often missing the sweet spot in between.

Front and center, newborn Oscar-darling, Ben Affleck, whose character doesn’t utter an audible line of dialogue until a full 40 minutes into the film. Contextually speaking, Malick is riffing on the crucial role of communication here, or perhaps the general lack thereof. Out of all the major characters in this film, Javier Bardem’s says the most, and – at least in the majority of cases – Bardem is either speaking rhetorically to himself, his congregation or his God. Olga Kurylenko plays the female lead (Rachel McAdams only appears in the film for a little over 15 minutes), and it would seem as if the Ukrainian-born actress was specifically cast in an effort to exploit the language barrier between her character and Affleck’s.

It probably bears noting that Christian Bale was originally attached to play Affleck’s character, and – as a result – it’s difficult to watch To The Wonder without considering how Bale might have approached the role differently. It’s also difficult to watch without wondering whether Terrence Malick’s persistent threat of dogma might have chased Christian Bale away (Oddly enough, Bale is already attached to play a role in one of Malick’s upcoming projects, and he also worked with Malick on The New World, so perhaps it was just a case of right director, bad timing).

To The Wonder deals with a number of elaborate themes, each of them hedging toward the notion that Love – love of anything, whether it be love of life, love of self, love of others, love of work – is both desperate and fleeting, at best. In the end what we’re left with is a barren, almost-empty landscape, one in which most characters hopscotch from one uneven square to another, just trying their utmost to do the least amount of damage in between. God is here, God is there, God is everywhere. But the only way you’ll find him is if you’ve somehow given up on just about everything else along the way.

It’s a somber message, to be sure. And yet Malick delivers it with such gravitas that it’s difficult to argue against him. The main sticking point with To The Wonder is that – unlike a photograph – Malick’s film does not allow viewers the constant freedom to simply walk away before the feeling fades. And the shame of that is, Malick may very well have stumbled onto something here, if only he hadn’t muddled around with it so long as to render the overwhelming splendor completely lost in translation.

(To The Wonder arrives in limited release this Friday, with plans for a rollout in most major cities to follow.)      Continue reading →

Click through for full-size gallery.

Continue reading →

Click through for full-size gallery.

Continue reading →

Hello. My name’s Bob Hill. And a week and a half ago I posted what was supposed to be the opening edition of Moving On: Season Three. The only problem being, it absolutely sucked. I know it. You know it. We all know it. What can I say?

This particular installment was not fun or funny, or even interesting, for that matter. And it fell far short of any, if not all, of the balanced, laid-back standards I’ve generally maintained throughout the series. The only rationale I can provide is that I felt a little overwhelmed at the time, what with life and work and five straight months of winter bearing down. But Spring has sprung, and so have I. And in that spirit, I’ve just gone ahead and tossed that entire piece right out (I can do that, y’know.). For anyone who might be interested (and I have absolutely no idea who that might be), you can still find a slightly cleaner, revamped version of the piece under the Moving On section of this website (i.e., “Bonus Features” section). Otherwise, we shall not ever speak of it again.

Onward. Upward. Let’s get back to having fun.

And thank you so much for reading. It means more to me than you will ever know.

All The Very Best.

Bob Hill

Continue reading →

Robert Redford still has important stories left to tell. And what’s more, he’s apt to tell them. So apt, in fact, that he’s willing to bypass the Hollywood system entirely. Redford not only appears in most of the films he directs, he lends a hand to co-producing, as well. That’s quite a triple bill, especially for a big-screen icon in his 70s.

And the irony of it is, age appears to be the lone sticking point that keeps Redford’s latest film from reaching great heights. The Company You Keep is a well-written, oddly relevant tale about a group of 70s radicals (i.e., The Weather Underground), many of whom are suddenly forced to revisit the sins of their past. The film boasts a remarkable senior cast (Susan Sarandon, Robert Redford, Nick Nolte, Chris Cooper, Richard Jenkins, Sam Elliott, Julie Christie, Chris Cooper, Brendan Gleeson, etc.).  But the average age of said actors is somewhere around 66. And the rust, well, the rust is on pretty embarrassing display here. You can see it in every aspect from the awkward delivery to the slow-moving chase scenes.

While Redford deserves credit for remaining true to who these characters might be, the on-screen interaction does not make for easy viewing. And the truth is, I feel extremely bad saying that, specifically because this movie triumphs on so many other levels (including its ability to rise above Shia LaBeouf). Company takes a holistic view on a number of issues, including the long-term expense of injuring someone else to achieve your own goals. Much like he did in Lions for Lambs, Redford really plays up the student-teacher aspect in this film, drawing specific attention to the role of mainstream media in the age of website journalism. In the end, what it all adds up to is a fairly unique study in the long-lingering effects of running away from one’s past, if not a modern parable about the spoils of avoiding that type of a past altogether.

(The Company You Keep arrives in limited release today, with plans for a national rollout to follow.)  Continue reading →

AIPAD (The Association of International Photography Art Dealers) has been holding its annual mixed media exhibition for well over 30 years now. Over time, the show has morphed into something more akin to an art-world happening, attracting major galleries across the globe. The beauty of AIPAD resides in how eclectic the photography is. Regardless of whether you’re an investor or an enthusiast, an art dealer or art lover, chances are you’ll find a piece to fall in love with at this show.

There’s gelatin and transfer, Photorealism and print, celebrity portraiture and essay, video installation and beyond. And while there are far too many photogs on display to give each one their due, it certainly bears mentioning Stephen Wilkes (of Ellis Island fame) is featured wall-to-wall at this year’s show. Between his coverage of Hurricane Sandy (see featured image above) and his subsequent photos from Obama’s recent inauguration, Wilkes has had what one might refer to as a banner year. And that’s a good thing, to be sure, especially given how eye-catching most of his new work is.

Like most shows of this magnitude, AIPAD’s major drawback is a general lack of ambiance. The spaces are confined, the thoroughfares are limited, and you feel like you’re constantly pinballing from one competing interest to another. But in terms of depth and quality, there simply is no worthwhile substitute. AIPAD represents a veritable treasure trove for top collectors and small fans, alike. And it’s highly recommended for anyone who falls between.

(The AIPAD Photography Show runs through Sunday, April 7th @ the Park Avenue Armory, $30 daily admission/$50 for a weekend pass/$10 student admission, Park Avenue at 67th Street.) 

Five More For the Offing:

• Disturbing the Peace by Margaret Bowland @ Driscoll BabcockGalleries (Free, through 4/13, 525 West 25th Street)
• Affordable Art Fair featuring work by various artists @ Metropolitan Pavilion ($15, through 4/7, 125 West 18th Street)
• Original Mad Man by Bert Stern @ Staley Wise Gallery (Free, 560 Broadway)
• New Work by Il Lee @ Art Projects International (Free, through 5/4, 434 Greenwich Street)
• Off Beat by A-Chan @ Steven Kasher Gallery (Free, through 5/4, 521 West 23rd Street)

Click through for full-size gallery.

Continue reading →

It’s pretty fascinating to trace the long-term impact of Ingmar Bergman’s Seventh Seal. In terms of modern cinema, it would probably make sense to dive right in with Woody Allen. Allen pulls symbiotically from Bergman, time and time and time again – most notably toward the end of Love and Death (if not throughout the play, Death Knocks). Dig a little deeper and you’ll find certain aspects of The Seventh Seal playing out via Bill & Ted, popular episodes of Seinfeld, and even during the final scene of The Sopranos: Season One. And that’s really just the tip of the iceberg, so far as direct homages are concerned.

While Death has held a constant place in mainstream cinema for years, The Seventh Seal cracked the yoke on turning Death into a caricature. Bergman lightened the load, so to speak, persuading the audience to accept death as an extension of humanity. In that spirit, The Seventh Seal features dark comic jabs throughout. A priest turned surly vagabond? A lowly squire playing liege? A classic game of Chess and Death amidst the backdrop of Black Plague? These were highly questionable themes back in 1957, so much so that Bergman’s script was rejected several times.

To that end, it’s probably worth noting The Seventh Seal has lost some of its cinematic appeal over the years. I mean, keep in mind, we’re talking about a 56-year old screenplay here – one that was filmed in black and white with Swedish subtitles, no less. Bergman’s film was originally released during a time when Dwight Eisenhower was still in office, Father Knows Best ruled the roost, and (leading actor) Max Von Sydow was busy reveling in the wonder of his youth. Given the constant movement toward split-second gratification, it’s difficult to watch a film like this without escaping the sense it drags. In fact, these days, watching a movie like The Seventh Seal requires an investment of focused time and undivided attention. The good news is, Bergman’s film provides an unequivocal return, if not a much more stringent understanding of its connection to the greater whole.

(The Seventh Seal is currently available as part of Hulu’s Criterion Collection.)

Continue reading →

You’ve really gotta hand it to James Gandolfini – in the iron-hot days immediately following his 10-year run as the greatest television character of all-time, dude had the prudence to step back and allow his typecast image some much-needed room to breathe.

When at last Gandolfini did emerge (at least as an actor way up on the big screen), it was via a string of off-beat roles that spoke much more to rebelling against that image than they did his clinging to it (e.g., In the Loop, Where the Wild Things Are, Welcome to The Rileys, etc.).

And yet slowly, over the past few years, Gandolfini has subtly immersed himself in those waters once more, only this time via a cadre of supporting turns, in films like Killing Them Softly, Not Fade Away, and (available in limited release as of this coming Friday) the 2011 indie drama, Down The Shore.

Forget about the fact this type of role represents Gandolfini’s stock-in-trade, and consider for a moment how much it speaks to innate depth. I mean, in a sense, James Gandolfini has taken that whole “do-one-for-them-and-then-do-one-for-me” thing and turned it on its ear. What’s more, given his highly-documented disdain for all-things-Hollywood, one can only assume Gandolfini accepts these roles out of sheer reverence for the work.

According to past interviews, Gandolfini worked his way up on the nightclub circuit prior to breaking into film. To assume this offered much-needed fodder would be to miss the point entirely. The more likely scenario would be that Gandolfini cottons to a specific mold because it speaks to who he is – to where he’s from, and what he’s done.

In that spirit, Down The Shore presents the actor in that classic Jersey brand – sporting the accent, assuming the lumber, even removing that partial cap from his front tooth. And yet, the circumstances surrounding this film are really anything but nostalgic. There’s death and double-cross, betrayal and deceit, all set against the backdrop of a modern-day class war. Socialism, Capitalism, all for one or none for all? These are the themes Down The Shore is consumed with, and they’re at the very heart of Gandolfini’s role.

The reality is, if you’re familiar with any of the small-town politics surrounding the New Jersey shore, then you also understand why it’s a fool’s errand to keep any outdoor amusement open after November (much like Gandolfini’s Bailey does throughout Down The Shore). Metaphorically speaking, I imagine that’s kind of the point. The only problem being, Guskin’s movie hinges itself far too heavily on that premise. And the damage is only compounded by the way the last half hour just kind of forces everything together, running roughshod over all the delicate care it took to get there.

And yet, despite that, Down The Shore is still a semi-entertaining affair, thanks in large part to the actors who stepped up to fill each role. There’s that kid who played Gandolfini’s son in David Chase’s Not Fade Away. There’s the gorgeous Famke Janssen, who’s dressing down to fit the bill. And then, of course, there’s Gandolfini, who just keeps right-on giving till it hurts. In the end what it all adds up to a middling small-town drama, steeped in the rather bold presumption that we are all our brothers’ keepers, and – as such – we are all stuck in this together.

(Down The Shore arrives at The Quad in New York City this coming Friday.)

Continue reading →

“The responsibility is on the artist, even when he tries to evade responsibility. If, so far, American experimental and ‘little’ films haven’t received much support, most of them haven’t deserved it, either. All too frequently, after an evening of avant-garde cinema, one wants to go see a movie (at least a little fresh air comes in through the holes in Hollywood plots). Though avant-garde filmmakers don’t always know what they’re doing when they make a film, they demonstrate a marvelous talent for the post-factum scenario; often their greatest effort at composition is in explaining away the lack of it in their films. They become so adept at escaping consideration of their failures and limitations that they rarely develop at all; what they fail to put in they deride you for not seeing there. You’re supposed to find a whole world of meaning in that three-minute cinepoem. The times are out of joint: The poisonous atmosphere of Hollywood premieres is distilled to pure pretension at avant-garde premieres. Object to the Hollywood film and you’re an intellectual snob; object to the avant-garde films and you’re a Philistine. But, while in Hollywood, one must often be a snob; in avant-garde circles, one
must often be a Philistine.”