Frank

FRANK (Lenny Abrahamson, 2014)

Art in general--and rock and roll in particular--fosters the image of the tortured genius, but in the age of the internet it’s now harder for the cult musician to build and maintain an aura of mystique than it was even twenty years ago. Except for the rare few, like the fame-indifferent group in FRANK, unknown and emerging bands establish social media presences to reach the music-obsessed. The art they produce matters, but being savvy about gaining awareness may be as critical to success as good songs. Because anyone with a laptop has the ability to record a single or an album, knowing how to cut through the clutter has become an important skill.

Jon (Domhnall Gleeson) desires to be a songwriter, but the best he can muster are fragments of basic compositions with insipid lyrics literally describing what he sees. He catches a break when he comes upon the members of the alphabet soup-named band Soronprfbs watching their keyboardist being taken away by medical personnel after trying to drown himself. Jon’s offhanded mention that he plays the keyboards earns him an invitation from their manager Don (Scoot McNairy) to perform with them at their next gig. He has no idea what to expect, least of all that the avant-garde rock band’s singer Frank (Michael Fassbender) wears a big papier-mâché mask that he never takes off.

Although their concert doesn’t last more than a minute or two because theremin-playing Clara (Maggie Gyllenhaal) gets into a fight on stage with guitarist Baraque (François Civil), Jon learns that Frank likes him and wants him to join the group. Jon thinks he’s tagging along for a couple shows in Ireland but finds himself moving in with them to a house on an island as Soronprfbs prepare to record an album. Everyone else in this band of misfits regards Frank as brilliant. Don and Frank met in a mental institution, and the others have their own eccentricities. The conventional Jon doesn’t exactly get it but rolls with the situation and tries to assist as he can. He ends up bankrolling their nearly year-long stay away from society, yet his most significant contribution is documenting their process. Jon’s posts, tweets, and videos attract attention online and lead to an invitation to play at South by Southwest.

Jon is a striver who simply may not have what it takes, and FRANK expresses humorous contempt for dilettantes like him who possess more of an aptitude for promotion than artistry. He mistakes experiencing crisis for expanding creativity. Frank stands in as a mascot of sorts for Jon’s conception of the artist, but as more comes to be known about Frank, his weirdness is revealed to be something other than an affectation. The quirks Frank and the other band members exhibit inform their work but can also be the obstacle to completing it.

Jon Ronson and Peter Straughan’s screenplay has fun poking the music scene, even if it’s tough to let the air out of absurd band names when acts like !!! exist. Frank’s attempt to make his music more accessible yields a hilarious version of a supposedly likable song. Clara’s insistence that she will not take up the ukulele clobbers an easy but merited target in the current state of indie rock. While FRANK takes aim at untalented careerists in the industry, the film’s experimental rock music credibly demonstrates the filmmakers know what they are critiquing

Grade: B-

Anna Karenina

ANNA KARENINA (Joe Wright, 2012)

ANNA KARENINA begins in 1847 imperial Russia with Anna (Keira Knightley), wife of government official Count Alexei Karenin (Jude Law), traveling from St. Petersburg to Moscow to comfort her sister-in-law Dolly (Kelly Macdonald) for the infidelity of her brother, Prince Stepan “Stiva” Oblonsky (Matthew Macfadyen).  While Anna pleads with Dolly to forgive Stiva, something she suggests her relative must do to regain her own happiness as much as anything, the promise of unspoiled love eases the tension in the home.  Dolly’s 18-year-old sister Princess Ekaterina (Alicia Vikander), otherwise known as Kitty, has two suitors.  In anticipation of rich cavalry officer Count Alexei Vronsky (Aaron Taylor-Johnson) asking for her hand to be his wife, Kitty declines the proposal of Stiva’s friend Konstantin Levin (Domhnall Gleeson).

The prospect of Kitty and Vronsky marrying is dashed when he and Anna unexpectedly connect with an animal magnetism that shocks and thrills her.  Although the scandalous affair taints Anna in society’s view and threatens to destroy her, with Vronsky she finds the passion that has been lacking in her relationship with Karenin.  In response, her husband approaches Anna’s relationship with Vronsky as if it is a policy matter. Karenin shares his perspective and a clear set of consequences if she is to continue it.  

Director Joe Wright’s entry to the film world came with his fresh cinematic treatment of PRIDE & PREJUDICE.  The Jane Austen novel seemed as though it had been adapted to death by the time of Wright’s version, but he lent immediacy to the period piece with modern touches and filmmaking verve.  ANNA KARENINA is another giant of the literary world that would seem to invite a staid, classical style, yet once again the director’s bold vision shakes up what might have otherwise been a fusty filming of the canon.

In their version of ANNA KARENINA Wright and screenwriter Tom Stoppard deliver an audacious adaptation of Leo Tolstoy’s classic of Russian literature.  Much of the realist fiction’s action--everything set in cities--is transposed to the artificial confines of a theater.  Scenery and costume changes occur on camera in elaborately choreographed transitions.  Characters wander into the wings, the auditorium, and above the stage. With nothing incapable of being put on view, the visual strategy makes plain the hypocrisy between the public and private as well as the male and female.  It also pokes fun at urban progress, such as the lengthy tracking shot punctuated with the delivery of an ashtray.

Yet for all of the flashy staging indebted to Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger, gorgeous cinematography, and sumptuous production design, ANNA KARENINA relies on small, human gestures to convey the depth of feeling and judgment.  Emotional expression tends to be clipped and indirect, with much being communicated through glances and the subtlest of movements.  

Paced like a surging locomotive, ANNA KARENINA plays like the ultimate CliffsNotes, which is both testament to Stoppard’s exceptional adaptation and abridgement of Tolstoy’s novel and acknowledgment of the film’s somewhat superficial center.  Anna’s choice to sacrifice everything for Vronsky merits more inspection but is shortchanged for the sake of expediency.  Even with portions rendered in shorthand, ANNA KARENINA is a stylistic triumph in its exploration of the collisions between love and passion, the rational and irrational, and the moral and sinful.     

Grade: B+