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Vol. II, No. 42 - May 24, 2012

O N   S T A G E

Keepin' it real

Globe's Nobody Loves You is formulaic,
but the cast knows everybody's next move

BY MARTIN JONES WESTLIN

In this day and age and space and time, the die is cast. Mr. or Ms. Right exists only on reality TV, which has replaced planet Earth as the mental and emotional sphere of choice. Just ask Tanya, whose boyfriend Jeff can’t stand her favorite dating show—in fact, his hatred has downright estranged her, so much so that she tries out for the program to find a real man.

But the tables will turn. Tanya’s tryout is a failure, while Jeff (who auditioned for the program in a bid to win Tanya back) gets on. He turns his circumstance into a positive, using the show as the topic for his grad philosophy dissertation. In time, he’ll become a captive of his own fame, which he says feels a lot like love. Therein lies the story to The Old Globe Theatre’s current world-premiere musical Nobody Loves You, which the cast (especially Adam Kantor, who plays Jeff) tells with eminent self-assurance—they’ve learned one another’s parts, and the clever lyrics and bright tunes take things from there.

The cast has a difficult balancing act ahead—this piece is clearly a reality show parody, trivializing dating-based programs like Average Joe and The Bachelor (in fact, this show takes its name from the title of the play). These characters, in fact, wouldn’t know reality if it hit ’em in the kishkash, and sometimes, they don’t seem to care. Check out host Byron (Heath Calvert), who unapologetically guides us through the activities like the prime-time shill he is, or Megan (Lauren Molina), an alcoholic whose looks and self-absorption color her perception about the kind of guy she wants.

A few slips into weightiness, and librettist Itamar Moses and lyricist-composer Gaby Alter might open the door to satire, holding the reality TV genre (and our own inability to distinguish reality from fantasy) to outright scorn.

But this show’s too light for all that. If the lyrics to songs like “You’re Incredibly Real” and “Jeff’s Confessional” don’t steer the proceedings in that direction, the acting does. Director Michelle Tattenbaum and choreographer Mandy Moore have done a beautiful job of coaching here, fueling the cast with a thorough take on not only each actor’s character but also everyone else’s. Molina is cute and vampy as she puts a hit on befuddled Christian (Kelsey Kurz), and Kurz’s Christian reflects every move she makes. Dowdy production assistant Jenny (Jenni Barber) somehow remains above the fray; Kantor masterfully fields her preoccupation.

Michael Schweikardt’s flexible set design leads a strong technical effort, although Vadim Feichtner’s music direction grapples with too much amplification. No music should be so loud in this 200-seat climate that the actors have to be mic’d.

On too many levels, America’s cultural mindset is a basically vapid world, where the slightest distraction can easily morph into the most obtrusive flora on the landscape. Nobody Loves You neither satirizes nor condones this—it may be legitimate commentary on pop consumerism, but at least it presents its story with an objective, friendly face.

This review is based on the opening-night performance of May 17. Nobody Loves You runs through June 17 at The Old Globe Theatre’s Cheryl and Harvey White Theatre, 1363 Old Globe Way in Balboa Park. $29 and up. 619-23-GLOBE, oldglobe.org 

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O N   S C R E E N

Slobber-free zone

Whedon's restraint and an outstanding cast
capture The Avengers' superhero aesthete

Michael Burgin is the film critic at Paste.com magazine. We like what he says about Joss Whedon here. Meanwhile, The Avengers, which opened May 7 and took in a record opening-weekend $207 million, has become only the 11th movie in history to top the $1 billion worldwide receipts mark, doing it in a mere three weeks.

BY MICHAEL BURGIN

Too often, a superhero film is an exercise in missing the point. This can have as much to do with a failure in basic, dramatic execution as it does with the oft-challenging prospect of translating gaudy costumes, monstrous forms and wildly diverse powers from printed page (and fan imagination) to the Big Screen. That’s why for every Batman Begins there’s a Batman Oh-God-Make-It-Stop; for every X-Men 2 and Spider-Man 2, there’s, alas, an X-Men: The Last Stand and Spider-Man 3.

Granted, at least for the studios behind the Marvel titles, there hasn’t been much reason to sweat missing the point. Of the 21 or so films, all but four have grossed more than double their budgets, with only Elektra barely breaking even and Punisher: War Zone posting a clear loss. Obviously, there’s plenty of money to be made whether or not one “gets it.”

Fortunately for both casual moviegoer and comic book aficionado alike, Joss Whedon gets it. As a result, The Avengers not only stands out as one of the best efforts in the modern era of “super” movies; it also represents the most complete manifestation of the superhero team aesthetic yet seen on film. (Apologies to the X-Men films—and as far as I’m concerned, the Fantastic Four films owe me an apology.)

To be fair, Whedon had plenty of help, both from long-term studio strategy and cast. Regardless of what one thinks of the single-hero titles that preceded it, Marvel Studios’ steady roll-out of Iron Man, Thor, Hulk and Captain America movies allows The Avengers to be blessedly unburdened by the crippling “origin-itis” that afflicts so many initial efforts in the genre.

They’ve also given time for the principals to establish their take on some of Marvel’s most iconic characters. For Chris Evans (Captain America) and Chris Hemsworth (Thor), this has meant mainly reaching a “works in that role” consensus. For the Hulk, it’s allowed valuable tweaking of the CGI technology that brings him so smashingly to life. (And in The Avengers, Hulk smash. Hulk smash sooooo good!) But it’s with Robert Downey Jr.’s quip-happy Iron Man that the approach has borne the most fruit.

Unlike Thor and Captain America, whose actors stay well within the personality profiles proscribed by their characters, Downey’s Tony Stark is pretty far removed from Marvel’s often morose, dependably self-destructive industrialist. And honestly, it’s a welcome change. Downey may be the ideal delivery system for Whedon’s signature banter—a banter that permeates and propels the plot of the two-hour film along just as effectively as the set action pieces.

As for the plot, it’s the stuff of which basic, dependable comic book arcs are made.

Thor’s mischievous half-brother, Loki (Tom Hiddleston), gets his hands on the Tesseract (the more alliteratively named Cosmic Cube in the original comics) and promises some good, ol’-fashioned world conquering by means of an alien army. (Forget Zod—kneel before the guy in the silly helmet.) Nick Fury (Samuel L. Jackson) gathers the most powerful folks he knows—and the Black Widow (Scarlett Johansson)—to fight the threat.

Before that can happen, of course, the good guys have to bicker and fight among themselves. Though a time-honored component of most hero ensemble pieces (regardless of medium), such clashes are too often tedious and forced, a hackneyed means of fleshing out a second act. That’s not the case in The Avengers. Thanks in large part to the Downey-powered snark-generating machine, the friction between the heroes actually makes sense.

While Whedon smartly recognizes how key Downey’s Stark is to the story, he also allows most all of his cast, heroes and villain, ample opportunities to shine, both in dialogue and action. (Hawkeye and Nick Fury, not so much.) It can’t be overstated how crucial such balance is to a team film.

As Loki, Hiddleston may be the best-cast archvillain since Ian McKellen’s Magneto. (This bodes well for the “shared universe” Marvel Studios is building. Just as in its comic books, Marvel needs its villains to emit suitable levels of dastardliness. Let’s just hope there are enough British stage and screen actors to supply its needs.)

The rest of the principals—particularly Hemsworth, Evans and Ruffalo—inhabit their characters so seamlessly, the viewer can just move straight to the wonder and fun of it all.

But The Avengers’ impending blockbusting will not just be the result of stellar casting. Throughout the film, Whedon allows much of the action to proceed at superhero pace—“placing” the camera for best vantage rather than overindulging in bullet-time and other tricks. When he does slow things down—such as when Thor lands the first hammer-to-yo’-face blow on Hulk—there’s an obvious dramatic advantage gained. (It helps that three of the Avengers—Thor, Hulk and Iron Man—are basically invulnerable battle machines.) This is as groundbreaking as any box office numbers, no matter how high they climb.

Finally. A director who understands that one doesn’t shoot each and every use of a superpower, or the clash between them, as some rare event the camera must slobber over in slow motion. And finally, a director who gets the point instead of misses it—and a studio that is smart enough to hand him the reins.

The Avengers is produced by Marvel Studios and others and is rated PG-13. It’s playing at the Grossmont Center 10 and elsewhere. 619-465-3040, fandango.com

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The Oldies Show

Man in the middle

A Boston crook walks a very fine line
in violent, tender, well-cast The Town

BY KARINA MONTGOMERY

If you, like me, were perplexed and put off by the ads and posters for 2010’s The Town (think cars full of weird, wrinkly nun figures as the only salient image), please rectify your loss and see it if you can. Star and director Ben Affleck has given us a film with a great premise and execution and a load of solid performances.

The titular town is Charlestown, a neighborhood in Boston famous for producing bank robbers and thieves. Affleck plays Doug MacRay, one of these local lowlifes, rolling with a tight-knit crew that includes human powderkeg James Coughlin (Jeremy Renner). The grungy charm of these men belies the laserlike efficiency of their bank jobs (by “bank jobs,” I don’t mean that they are tellers).

Something changes for Affleck early in the film, after a robbery goes not quite according to plan; the crew takes a hostage, and she ends up getting under his skin. His character is put in a precarious position of protector—protector of himself, his crew, a woman, secrets. He walks a fine line of lies while also being very true and solid to each of his divergent loyalties.

Meanwhile, FBI Special Agent Adam Frawley (an uncharacteristically de-glammed Jon Hamm) tries to track down the perpetrators through the one real witness of any use, a fragile yet resilient Claire Keesey (Rebecca Hall). Renner does not disappoint as usual, providing a boyish ferality as a foil to Affleck’s sympathetic slick guy. Everyone dances a seemingly unpredictable dance, yet all the steps are perfectly managed in the end.

I have to say, this film sucked me in—in simple terms, I just disappeared into the narrative and didn’t think about Affleck directing himself or what was likely to happen. I just rode The Town for its full duration and marveled at its centered and even charm. As a director, Affleck has bottled the same lightning he did for Gone Baby Gone. With the additional challenge of being the lead (a one-two punch normally reserved for stalwarts like Clint Eastwood), Affleck brings his all. We all know his close ties to Boston; he effectively uses the same strategy of letting the town and its people be as important as the script.

The caper aspect of the robberies was interesting, but watching our lead balance his life was just plain fascinating. The Town is cool, violent, tender, nuanced and cast with unexpected and welcome faces: Victor Garber, Titus (Man in Black) Welliver, Pete Postlethwaite, Blake Lively (well against type), and Chris Cooper! I regret the ad campaign killing it at the box office, and I urge you to check out this very clean and elegant film about wife-beater-clad roustabouts and hooligans.

The Town was produced by Warner Bros. Pictures and others and is rated R. It’s available from Netflix for $7.99. 

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