Scorsese's Love Letter to Early Cinema

Hugo is a dazzling visual treat that tells the charming story of how a little boy helped rescue the career of Georges Mélies, one of the founding fathers of cinema in the 20th century. Martin Scorsese has given us a marvelous cinematic present with this work, delivering a message that like clockwork, our dreams and passions will be in fine working order at the end of the day. Charming and ever-delightful, this is one of the finest films of this year - as well as the past few years.

Shot in Real 3-D, the film is about a 12-year old boy named Hugo Cabret (Asa Butterfield) who resides at a train station in Paris in 1930. He lives there as an orphan, after his father died in a fire, leaving one of his uncles to take him in at the station, so he could wind the various clocks at that building. Hugo has to steal pastries and fruit from vendors at the station to survive, ensuring a constant surveillance from the Station Inspector (Sacha Baron Cohen, in a subdued performance) and his eager doberman.

One day, Hugo is held by Georges (Ben Kingsley), who operates the station's toy store. Georges calls Hugo a thief and demands that he give back all the various tools he has been taking from him. As Hugo returns some of these, Georges also sees that the boy has a small notebook with numerous drawings, the most intriguing of which are of a human face, each one slightly different, so that when he flips through the pages in a hurry, the face moves as in a motion picture. Georges seizes the book, much to the disappointment of Hugo.

This is critical scene in the film, as we see that Hugo has been stealing tools in order to fix an automaton, a robot that his father and he had been working on for some time. Now following his father's death, the need to repair this robot - and thus learn of an important detail that will open up a new world to Hugo - is  a driving factor in his life. When he soon meets Isabelle (Chloe Grace Moretz), a similarly-aged young girl who is Georges' goddaughter, Hugo will find the missing tool to repair the automaton and realize his dreams.

This sets things up for one of the most delightful scenes in the film, as Isabelle has the heart-shaped key that is the final piece needed to operate the automaton. The machine comes to life, slowly creating an amazingly detailed drawing of an image from the famous film, A Trip to the Moon, directed by George Mélies, who was celebrated for his amazing work on hundreds of films decades earlier, but who then suffered a career downfall and is presumed dead. It turns out he did not die, but is indeed Georges, the owner of the toy store. The drawing that Hugo and Isabelle take to Georges will unlock the mystery of his career.

The film, up to that point a marvelous tale of Hugo's trials and tribulations at the train station, now takes on a new identity, that of Martin Scorsese's love of early cinema, especially that of Mélies. Scorsese goes to great lengths - along with his brilliant production designer Dante Ferretti - to bring to life what Mélies' cinematic work must have looked like. This sequence, showing rehearsals of actors costumed as everything from ghosts to pirates to oversized crustaceans, is simply delightful. Scorsese goes on to show us how some of these scenes were filmed and edited and the result is sheer, unadulterated admiration of Scorsese's love for the trailblazing work of Mélies.

A note on the Real 3D process in this film; it works beautifully and is rarely used to call attention to itself. Speaking simply as a viewer, it's also a lot of fun, especially in the opening sequence, when you are positive that snowflakes from the Paris winter are going to land in your lap - they're that close. Even small pieces of dust are shown flying through the train station and boy, does that doberman look threatening in the foreground of several shots - watch out! The 3D is a lovely addition to this film not only in a surface level way, but also an emotional way, as when we see Hugo emerge from behind the giant clock at the station, looking and feeling quite inconsequential. Leave it to Scorsese to bring 3D technology to a peak, at least so far.

Scorsese has been reunited with several of his favorite collaborators here and what craftsmanship they bring to this film! The cinematography by Robert Richardson is brilliantly accomplished, the costumes by Sandy Powell are just right, the editing by Thelma Schoonmaker is seamless and the lovely score by Howard Shore is very sweet and touching. All of these artists will surely receive Oscar nominations as will Feretti, who seems to me at least, to be a lock for an Academy Award. It's the contributions of these supremely talented individuals along with Scorsese's confident and usual technically proficient direction that add so much to the enjoyment of this film.

So yes, Hugo is a superb film on a visual level, but it is also an enchanting story beautifully told by Scorsese that will enthrall a wide range of audiences. "They'd never seen anything like it before," Isabelle tells Hugo, when recalling the audience reaction to an early film of Mélies. No doubt, you'll be sharing a similar thought after viewing Hugo.

I can't wait to see it again!


P.S. One final note on the performance of Ben Kingsley as George Mélies. This is a touching, lovely, bittersweet turn by the great actor and one of his best. His characterization is one that carries a lot of emotional weight with it and Kingsley finds the perfect balance that helps this film find its grace and captivating appeal.

An Unsettling Existence

There have been many words used to describe the world inhabited by the characters in a Roman Polanski film. Disturbing, disconcerting, alarming and distressing are among the descriptors that are among the most common. To me, the word unsettling is an appropriate adjective for the often bizarre circumstances that identify these scenarios. Of all his works, Death and the Maiden (1994) is about as unsettling and troubling a world as Polanski has presented on screen.

The story, set in an unnamed South American country of recent times, involves only three characters: Paulina Escobar, her husband Gerardo, a distinguished attorney and Roberto Miranda, a prominent doctor. Paulina is at her seaside home, dining by herself, as she waits for her husband to make his way through a particularly violent storm late at night. He has had a flat tire and has been rescued by Dr. Miranda, who drives him to the security of his home.

As Paulina and Gerardo talk, we learn that he will be heading a commission that will investigate ghastly crimes and human rights violations perpetrated by the previous regime. Paulina has a special interest in this, as she was one of the victims, brutally tortured and raped; she befell this fate, as she was a political activist who spoke out against the government. The commission however will only be looking into cases of victims who were killed. She argues with her husband to use his influence to change this so that every case is examined.

Dr. Miranda has left the Escobar house to make his way home, but soon returns with the flat tire belonging to Gerardo. Grateful, Escobar invites the doctor into his home on this gloomy evening for a drink. It is then that Paulina, upon hearing his voice and peculiar laugh, realizes that this is the man who raped her on several occasions.

Revenge is now the primary concern for her and soon after her husband falls asleep, she hatches her plans to exact that payback. She bounds and gags Miranda - even going so far as stuffing the panties she is wearing in his mouth and then taping it shut - and ties him securely to a chair. She pistol whips him, drawing blood and then proceeds to remind the doctor of what he did to her. To make the memory more vivid, she plays a tape of Schubert's "Death and the Maiden" concerto; this is the same music that the doctor played for her during his beastly behavior. (The title of this music is, of course, disarmingly ironic, as is the sweeping beauty of Schubert's melodies being played to accompany such brutality.)

Gerardo awakens to this madness and tells his wife that he must untie the doctor, who is professing his innocence. She refuses and then tells Gerardo in private many of the details of her suffering. This is a critical detail, as she had not previously informed her husband of all the specifics. Though a bit unsure at first, Gerardo slowly begins to believe his wife and takes her side in her actions to force an admission of guilt from him.

During this film, based on a play by Ariel Dorfman, Polanski rarely lets up on the intensity of this macabre chain of events. Paulina (brilliantly portrayed by Sigourney Weaver) is liked a trapped animal who has been briefly let out of her cage and is ready to pounce. Her actions of course are somewhat comparable to that Miranda, though not as deviant. Yet, she crosses the line, acting as judge and jury and  does not care how much she abuses or embarrasses him (going so far as holding his penis while he urinates, as his hands are tied).

This is arguably Weaver's finest film performance, as she finds tremendous emotional range, while always maintaining total control. It is especially impressive to listen to the tone of her voice as she recalls the brutalities of the past. She has portrayed a number of strong women throughout her career, but none as dominating or as disturbed as this and it is her performance that is the centerpiece of this work.

Another brilliant performance comes from Ben Kingsley as Dr. Miranda. You can almost feel his heart beat accelerate through this ordeal, as he steadfastly denies his role in prior crimes. The glazed look in his eyes combined with the slightly off-key delivery of his lines is a memorable presentation of a man who is angry, confused and worried for his life.

Both characters have taken the law into their own hands: Miranda in the past and Paulina in the present. Power and "right" define their actions; Paulina, believing that the commission that will be headed by her husband will do little, thinks that she must decide the fate of Miranda. The doctor, a respected member of the local community (he wears a casual but elegant sports coat), acted as he did for numerous reasons, including the morbid fact that he liked raping Paulina.

I couldn't help but think of the character of Noah Cross in Chinatown (1974), who raped his daughter and then figuratively raped the farmers in the valley, by circumventing their water supply, so as to depreciate the value of their land. He lives on, going about his business in his own charming (in his view) way. Similarly, Dr. Miranda has been living the life of a first-rate individual, his crimes unpunished until this fateful evening.

At the film's end, there is a sense of victory (if you can call it that) for Paulina, but under questionable circumstances. The doctor has been proven guilty, but he is allowed to live. How many other women are out there who were similarly brutalized that will never know their attackers?

In this way, the evil lives on, as it does in Chinatown and several other Polanski films. The world is an unsettling place where uncovering the truth can often lead to the realization that no one is innocent.