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At first glance, Before the Devil is one of those post-Memento neo-noirs that believes it's necessary to tell its story in a fragmented style that skips between past and present. But as played out, this technique isn't merely for show but as an immediate way to pinpoint how each dire consequence is the result of several major and minor decisions.
This film is as bleak as No Country for Old Men, but the difference is that whereas that picture leaves viewers feeling haunted by its denouement, this one merely leaves them feeling cheated. Like many superb works, No Country demonstrates that a shaggy-dog ending can work wonderfully, but a similar attempt here results in one plotline feeling rushed and another feeling abandoned. Still, while Masterson's script might come up a hair short, Lumet remains firmly in control: Even at 83, there's nothing arthritic about his ability to engage our emotions or our intellect.
IN 2004, 4-year-old Binghamton, NY, native Marla Olmstead became a minor global celebrity when it was discovered that she was a child prodigy, a born painter who looked as if she could have provided Jackson Pollock with serious competition in abstract art. It began with her parents Laura and Mark selling her pieces to friends; a gallery showing followed, then a local newspaper piece, then a New York Times feature, then a full-out explosion within the arts community. The value of her works climbed into the thousands, and there was a waiting list of collectors eager to pay big bucks for her paintings.
But then along came 60 Minutes, which ran a blistering segment questioning whether the canvases were really painted by Marla or whether her dad played a significant part in their creation. Suddenly, Marla's stock plummeted, and the Olmsteads had to brace themselves against the nasty backlash even as they attempted to salvage their reputations and their family.
My Kid Could Paint That follows every moment in this intriguing tale, and a movie that began (according to director Amir Bar-Lev's on-camera assertion) as a look at modern art becomes, in the words of a frustrated Laura Olmstead, "documentary gold," a probing film not only about the subjective nature of art but also about the hypocrisy of the intelligentsia, the pervasiveness of modern media, and the sincerity of two parents who, whether innocent or guilty, have clearly been thrust into the spotlight in a manner they didn't expect. "[We're] not stupid," insists Mark, "just naive."
Taking a cue from Michael Moore, Bar-Lev eventually injects himself into the story, since he also forms doubts about Marla's abilities and requires proof that she really did create all those paintings. I won't reveal his discovery, except to say that the movie doesn't tie everything up with a pretty bow. Bar-Lev knows that the truth is often hard to ascertain: After all, life is messy, just like Marla's little hands as she creates art -- or maybe just plays around -- with all that colorful paint.
FOR THE RECORD, this isn't a review of Beowulf. It's a review of Beowulf in Digital 3D, and I have to assume that might make some degree of difference.
Director Robert Zemeckis, whose 2004 The Polar Express felt like an animated feature that had been embalmed, again employs the "performance capture" technique (or "digitally enhanced live-action," per the press notes) with far greater success, overlaying real actors with a cartoon sheen and placing them in the middle of a CGI landscape. In 2D, which is how the film is being shown in most theaters nationally, this runs the risk of looking as soulless as many other CGI works, but in 3D (presented only at select venues), it results in a positively astonishing experience. Tossed coins roll directly toward the camera, spears poke directly out at audience members, and even an animated Angelina Jolie's, umm, assets seem more pronounced than usual.
Based on the ancient poem, a staple of most school curriculums, the script by fantasy author Neil Gaiman and Pulp Fiction co-writer Roger Avary doesn't always match the movie's visual splendor (burp and piss scenes show that the makers are clearly hoping to attract the fanboy crowd), but their modifications to the ancient text are more often than not respectful. After the gruesome monster Grendel (voiced, or, more accurately, snarled by Crispin Glover) wreaks havoc on the castle of King Hrothgar (Anthony Hopkins) and his followers, the heroic (and boastful) Beowulf (Ray Winstone) arrives to save the day. Yet he finds himself not only having to confront Grendel but also the misshapen creature's mother (Jolie), envisioned here as a seductress with the power to lead any noble warrior astray. As if these two characters didn't present enough of a challenge, Beowulf also has to battle a dragon in the movie's climactic pièce de résistance.