Todd Gilchrist

Bitter Review: William Kunstler: Radical Lawyer Disturbing the Universe

by Todd Gilchrist on November 20, 2009 in Columns

[Ed. Note: Weekends are for movies. So we turned to our film critic friend, Todd Gilchrist, for a review from the court of critical opinion.]

William Kunstler: Disturbing the Universe is a documentary about William Kunstler, a lawyer as confounding as he is inspiring. After decades of service as a civil rights attorney and activist, he inexplicably wrapped up his career defending some of the most dubious and dangerous men in New York. While a normal portrait of such a man might chronicle the events in his life and offer historical and political context, Disturbing the Universe was written and directed by Kunstler’s daughters Emily and Sarah, offering not only an in-depth but deeply emotional chronicle of their father’s fascinating life.

The film opens with a description of his achievements that essentially forms the core of Emily and Sarah’s story: Kunstler used the courts to advance justice, even when it wasn’t attainable through law, and later utilized his deep-rooted understanding of the legal system to secure the releases of some incredibly dangerous, seemingly undoubtedly guilty men. He famously defended the “Chicago Seven” against charges of inciting riots at the 1968 Democratic National Convention; he attempted to broker a deal between the police and inmates who took over Attica Correctional Facility in 1971; and he drew up demands for members of the American Indian Movement at Wounded Knee in 1973.

But in the 1980s and ‘90s, he began to represent defendants whose behavior and motives seemed to contradict the values he once fought for so strongly. These included Omar Abdel-Rahman, the head of the terrorist organization responsible for the 1993 World Trade Center bombing, El-Sayyid Nosair, who assassinated Jewish Defense League leader Meir Kahane, and the “Central Park Five,” a group of black teenagers who were accused of raping a female jogger. The Five were later vindicated in 2002 when the real assailant confessed to the crime, but what gives this timeline emotional substance is Sarah and Emily’s personal anecdotes and perspective on Kunstler in the context of each of these events—their pride over his fearlessness in the face of racism, their dismay over being “punished” because of his work, and eventually, their exasperation at the sight of his increasingly erratic and unpredictable behavior.

At the same time, while their point of view offers an intimacy that an objective or outside viewpoint simply wouldn’t have, their opinions are not necessarily more informed or insightful, especially after he makes his transformation into a publicity-hungry attorney-for-hire. That’s not to say they don’t speculate intelligently about some of his other motivations—in particular, their observations about the impact of the Attica riots on his work later in the 1970s is heartbreaking and powerful—but even between their insider point of view and a cross-section of Kunstler’s colleagues and pundits, there seems to be little concrete explanation for why he veered away from the beliefs he once held dear and put himself at the center of the media circus.

There is, however, one thread that Sarah and Emily discover, albeit causally, which effectively provides a real foundation for his entire career and his motives, even if their results were varied. According to the two women, Kunstler spoke often and passionately about the untold depths of racism not only inherent in the U.S. legal system or the government itself, but in every single person, all of the time. For their part, the girls seem to acknowledge this in the admission of their initial “conviction” (their word) of Yusef Salaam, who was eventually exonerated; but in a larger context, one gets the sense that Kunstler was constantly trying to come to terms with, and combat, what he perceived to be his own racist impulses, and felt that the only way he could do so was to look into the faces of people who were condemned and considered monsters, whether they deserved it or not, and understand them as human beings rather than reflections of profiling, assumption, generalization or prejudice.

How audiences read this motivation—if they detect it at all—remains to be seen, but suffice it to say, the film as a whole may sway some viewers’ feelings about Kunstler’s accomplishments, no doubt in both positive and negative ways. Unsurprisingly, the documentary is exceedingly fair to Kunstler—albeit in less flattering ways than one might expect—but it produces a more complete portrait of the man for folks outside his immediate family. Ultimately, William Kunstler: Disturbing the Universe is a fascinating portrait of idealism gone awry, filtered through his daughters’ deliberate but never dull perspective, which is why it’s neither a platitude-filled celebration of the man’s life, nor a nuts-and-bolts critique of his technique or intentions, but it’s nevertheless as inspirational as it is informative.

William Kunstler: Disturbing the Universe opens in select cities today, expanding through January.

Todd Gilchrist is a member of the Los Angeles Film Critics Association. He contributes regularly to AOL’s Cinematical blog as well as Sci Fi Wire. His reviews frequently appear on Rotten Tomatoes.

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Bitter Review: Amelia

by Todd Gilchrist on October 23, 2009 in Columns

[Ed. Note: Weekends are for movies. So we turned to our film critic friend, Todd Gilchrist, for a review from the court of critical opinion.]

Watching Amelia, it’s hard to know what’s more generic—the rise, fall, and redemption story structure that director Mira Nair adopts in order to examine the life of Amelia Earhart, or the aviatrix’ life itself. Having seen virtually every major (and plenty of minor) Hollywood biopics in recent years, and despite knowing nothing about Earhart except that she was a prominent female pilot who died in the 1930s while trying to circumnavigate the globe, there’s not a single new detail that surprised me in the film.

But as one of the few major movies about women whose achievements are genuinely worthwhile—even if they’re otherwise utterly conventional—Amelia modestly succeeds at inspiring its audience and provides a remarkably well-rounded role model for modern women, thanks to a terrific performance by Hilary Swank.

Swank plays Earhart in exactly the way she needs to be remembered, regardless how accurate such a portrayal might actually be: Liberated, sensitive, reflective, poetic, and above all else, self-assured. She sells herself to publisher George Putnam (Richard Gere) with a mix of intelligence, charm and gumption. After she convinces him to let her be the first female pilot to fly across the Atlantic, albeit as a passenger, she becomes a national celebrity, and Putnam not only makes her a superstar thanks to book, lecture and endorsement deals, but eventually makes her his wife, despite her protests that she’s “not the marrying kind.”

While George gladly maintains her celebrity empire from behind the scenes, Earhart’s star continues to rise, eventually drawing the attention of Gene Vidal (Ewan Macgregor), with whom she has an affair. But as personal distractions mount and professional obligations continue to keep her earthbound, Earhart increasingly longs to return to the skies that she calls home, ultimately leading her to take on a challenge—flying around the world—that will certainly immortalize her in the history books, whether or not she lives to tell the tale.

As interesting as Earhart is as a person, it’s disappointing to see her life reduced to the conventions of a three-act structure, which, like most biopics, offers way too much hindsight to give her final days a credible sense of catharsis. Bypassing the majority of her childhood, Earhart appears to us full-grown and fully developed as a person, confident and plucky and indefatigable for no greater reason than her ongoing, overwhelming desire to be “free.” This of course plays directly into her personal relationships, particularly those between her and George and later, Gene—dalliances with the latter of whom are viewed more as a reflection of her modernity than legitimate infidelity.

Mind you, it’s genuinely admirable to watch the story of a woman who took charge of her sexuality, especially since so many biopics of men (much less fictional dramas) forgive their philandering. But cinematically speaking, the decision not to vilify her for sharing herself with two men at the same time, in the process hurting her husband, feels more like a concession to the film’s theme that women can do everything that men can…and then some—even if that particular story development was based firmly in fact.

Moreover, for a film about a self-possessed woman essentially taking on a completely male-dominated industry at a time when such outspokenness was almost unheard of, Amelia feels too free of real friction or conflict, save for the emotional confrontations in her private life. After her initial conversation with George convinces him to take her seriously, we never see her face real oppression or challenges except for monetary ones. Further, given the fact that even the least familiar audience members know the broad details of her life, her incidents during flights all have the polished veneer of artificial, calculated drama, since we know at the very least she’ll make it though this particular (and literal) storm en route to her rendezvous with destiny over the South Pacific Ocean.

That said, Swank is typically amazing in the title role, giving Earhart dimensions that the script fails to provide, and elevates automatic treacle like a final conversation with her husband to the stuff of stern and satisfying melodrama. And Gere continues to evolve after decades of smugness into a compelling character actor, supporting Swank’s performance both as her on screen partner and formidable and pragmatic force to bounce her idealistic optimism against. Together, they really expand the emotional palette of the film far beyond anything that screenwriters Ron Bass and Anna Hamilton Phelan come up with, and occasionally—if not consistently—turn that familiar structure into something substantive.

Ultimately, however, Amelia’s unobtrusive approach to the aviatrix’ life may be a result of fealty to a different, if also entirely, familiar convention—namely, as bait for awards season voters who wet their pants when actors and actresses do convincing impressions of real people. And truth be told, I’d be hard-pressed to recall many other performances from actresses this year that are serviceably better than Swank’s. But as Pavlovian fare for future AMPAS votes, a softball inspirational story or just a chronicle of Earhart’s life that’s predictable whether or not you already know the details, Amelia flounders too often when it should be flying because it creates a biography that’s elegant, handsome and safe, even though the life that inspired it seems like anything but.

Todd Gilchrist is a member of the Los Angeles Film Critics Association. He contributes regularly to AOL’s Cinematical blog as well as Sci Fi Wire. His reviews frequently appear on Rotten Tomatoes.

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Bitter Review: Law Abiding Citizen

by Todd Gilchrist on October 16, 2009 in Columns

[Ed. Note: Weekends are for movies. And if Jamie Foxx is acting the part of an impassioned lawyer opposite real-life lawyer Gerard Butler (he was fired as a first-year in Scotland and picked up acting), we need to talk about it. So we turned to our film critic friend, Todd Gilchrist, for a review from the court of critical opinion.]

While it would be a serious mistake for any moviegoer to take too seriously F. Gary Gray’s new film Law Abiding Citizen, about an attorney who squares off against a criminal who’s disillusioned with the U.S. legal system, it’s suffice it to say that Gray’s film doesn’t paint a particularly flattering portrait of lawyers.

Jamie Foxx plays the legal eagle in question, and his character commits enough offenses to ensure that his name and “justice” should probably never be mentioned in the same sentence. But then again, the whole film is pretty much an affront to anything resembling appropriate behavior, much less moral rectitude or even just common sense, that Gray’s latest should hardly be called out for offending any particular group—especially when so much of it manages to be surprisingly fun.

Foxx plays Nick Rice, an attorney for the Philadelphia D.A.’s office who cuts a deal with a couple of lowlifes in order to preserve his 95 percent prosecution record—much to the chagrin of his client, Clyde Shelton (Gerard Butler), who wants the murderers of his wife and daughter brought to justice. Ten years later, both of the defendants die under mysterious and grisly circumstances, and authorities apprehend Clyde as a murder suspect.

Nick takes the case and expects a quick conviction, but before Clyde will admit to the murders, he confesses that he has an ulterior motive for allowing himself to be captured by the authorities: He wants to take down the entire legal system piece by piece, starting with the folks responsible for helping his family’s murderers go free. Before long, Nick finds himself in a deadly game of cat and mouse with Clyde that will not only shatter his spot at the top of Philadelphia’s legal food chain, but potentially literally destroy the lives of everyone around him.

A little over ten years ago, director Gray made his name as a mainstream moviemaker with The Negotiator, and if you’ve seen it, then you’ve seen most of Law Abiding Citizen. Both feature experts in their specialized fields turning the tables on the folks they collaborated with or worked for. More importantly, both movies create vaguely sympathetic figures out of characters whose behavior would otherwise be considered criminal.

What is interesting about this film, as opposed to its predecessor, is the fact that Clyde’s quest for revenge starts off somewhat understandably—initially hunting the criminals who ruined his life—but then moves on to less specific or relevant targets. No matter how outraged you might be about the rape and murder of Clyde’s family, it seems excessive, if not plain bonkers, for him to subsequently take out the defense attorney, a judge, and some of Nick’s colleagues.

Ironically, there’s a certain kind of visceral enjoyment to be gleaned from Clyde’s indefatigable inventiveness, his irreverence, and his overall bloodlust. In his dismantling of the legal process (at least surrounding his own case), he turns Nick and his team into gophers for his personal appetites, even as he coordinates an elaborate string of murders that are far too entertaining to hold much emotional meaning. But that may also be the point of their glossy, epic execution (no pun intended)—to engage in the escapist pleasure of explosions and violence as a way of distracting the audience from the fact that Clyde has morphed from a mourning husband searching for justice into a homicidal madman who will stop at nothing to make his point.

Meanwhile, of course, there’s Nick, who’s designed to embody the persona of a soulless bottom-liner, even though Foxx desperately does his damnedest to imbue him with humanity. Among his personal and professional infractions, there’s making a deal with opposing counsel without consulting his client; failing to recognize the lack of a confession until it’s pointed out by the person making it; repeatedly neglecting to take seriously a guy who successfully commits several murders not only while in prison, but incarcerated in solitary confinement; and, worst of all, missing his daughter’s cello recital. The whole point is to obviously teach Nick the value of “true justice,” whatever that means, but his arrogance and ineptitude in dealing with Clyde is so egregious that it would almost be enough for him just to learn a little bit of humility.

Ultimately, however, the film is too busy being clever to be truly smart, which is why it’s ultimately better than bad, but not really good. Screenwriter Kurt Wimmer (who created the criminally-underrated 2002 science fiction film Equilibrium, manages to construct daring, invigorating set pieces that entertain audiences and pay off the story’s superficial concepts, but confined in the context of the physical (or even just logical) world, much of the real friction in Nick and Clyde’s showdown disintegrates. For example, would a guy who has all of the angles covered everywhere else forget to set up a defense system for a secret hideout? And if he would, why would he?

The lack of consideration for questions like that, much less their answers, is why Law Abiding Citizen is preposterous at best; but then again, as Nick might say, some justice is better than no justice at all. All of which is why even if it’s not an open-and-shut classic, it occasionally makes a compelling argument for the kind of movie that thrills your pulse while not quite making you think.

Todd Gilchrist is a member of the Los Angeles Film Critics Association. He contributes regularly to AOL’s Cinematical blog as well as Sci Fi Wire. His reviews frequently appear on Rotten Tomatoes.

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Bitter Review of The Informant!

by Todd Gilchrist on September 26, 2009 in Columns

If any further proof was needed that the concept of corporate integrity is only marginally different than malfeasance, then The Informant! provides it and then some. Based on the true story of a whistleblower who gets too consumed with lying to recognize the truth himself, director Steven Soderbergh’s latest turns anti-capitalist fare into commercial entertainment, crafting a studio charmer cut loosely from the mold of his Ocean’s movies while recontextualizing residual ideas he previously explored in his independent, two-part opus about Che Guevara.

But while the filmmaker brandishes both the hatchet and the scalpel in this particular portrait of corporate recrimination and personal redemption, what makes The Informant! so effective is less its political subtext or even commercial appeal but the complete and comically terrifying portrait of its main character, embodied by Matt Damon as a guy who knows all of the angles but doesn’t possess enough guile to know quite what to do with them.

Damon plays Mark Whitacre, an executive at an agricultural-industry giant who inexplicably becomes a whistleblower after informing his bosses of a plot to blackmail the company for several million dollars. Whether because of altruism or desperation, Whitacre eagerly complies with the requests of Brian Shepard (Scott Bakula) and Bob Herndon (Joel McHale), the two FBI agents assigned to him, including wearing a wire and carrying recording equipment. But before long, Brian and Bob begin to realize that Whitacre isn’t telling the whole truth, and moreover, has helped himself to some of the company’s money without their knowledge. Soon, the FBI’s attempt to uncover corporate corruption has become completely lost in an expansive (and expensive) legal morass, with Whitacre only confusing things more with his escalating series of half-truths and full-on falsehoods.

After a long stretch of speculation, investigation, and often, fabrication about the motivations for characters’ bad behavior, it’s good to see Hollywood get back to the days when it just plain happens and audiences are left alone to figure out why. The difference between a movie like The Informant! and its predecessor, however, is that it provides a much more complete portrait of the character in question, even if it doesn’t purport to be a concrete or definitive one. (Not to mention, in this case, it’s hard to imagine you would get one more accurate, even – or especially – if you got it from the actual guy it was based upon.)

In addition to documenting his real actions, screenwriter Scott Burns (The Bourne Ultimatum) provides a running commentary of non-sequitur observations in the form of voiceover by Whitacre himself – a stream of semi-consciousness that proves surprisingly informative about how and why Whitacre’s doing what he’s doing, even when he’s musing about polar bears or duty-free ties.

But Soderbergh’s movie isn’t merely a chronicle of one man’s manufactured truth, it’s a deconstruction of it, and further, an indictment of a system – economic, legal, and political – that endorses or rewards behavior that is expressly designed to be confusing. Notwithstanding the specific technical demands of Whitacre’s job, which involves feeding sugar to microbes to create lysine, he functions in a corporate hierarchy that doesn’t maintain clear designations of responsibility, much less straightforward communication. The very fact that Whitacre believes he will be promoted by the selfsame company whose business practices he’s blowing the whistle on speaks not only to the extent of his self-delusion, but the sense of superiority and entitlement that seems to be reflected in the surprise and outrage disgraced executives have demonstrated when their actions were condemned or punished.

What’s more remarkable is that rather than merely (if rightfully) being outraged by this behavior, Soderbergh documents it with comical incredulousness, not only not taking it seriously himself but suggesting the audience doesn’t either – which somehow seems far more damning despite the film’s collective light-heartedness. Composer Marvin Hamlisch, who similarly turned a high-stakes con into comic fun with his score for The Sting, alerts the audience to Soderbergh’s unexpectedly satirical tone, but it’s also in much of the casting that the director’s meta-commentary on the film’s true-life events (and their relevance to current ones) gains deeper resonance.

Specifically, Soderbergh casts comedians in many of the film’s key roles – especially attorneys, both for and against Whitacre; and while he doesn’t seem to be targeting any particular profession as a subject of derision, our familiarity as audience members with the day jobs of folks like Joel McHale (TV’s The Soup), Patton Oswalt, Paul F. Tompkins, and the Smothers Brothers among others exerts a reductive effect on the seriousness and substance of Whitacre’s legal battles. Even playing their roles straight and without comedic affectation, these performers highlight the ludicrousness of Whitacre’s efforts, and turn the escalating scandal into little more than a circus.

Ultimately, however, the film is only a comedy by a matter of degrees, both because the source material is stuff you couldn’t make up more effectively, and Matt Damon’s subtlety in the role of Whitacre is often as exasperating as it is entertaining. But as one of the few filmmakers in Hollywood who can still inject ideas (artistic or intellectual) into populist entertainment, leave it to Soderbergh to offer a case study in integrity by telling a story about the total lack of it. Truth be told, Soderbergh may have crafted only a minor work with The Informant! given the rest of the entries in his remarkably well-rounded filmography; but as a thoughtful alternative to Hollywood thrill rides or an unconventional crowd-pleaser in anticipation of artsy fare yet to come, it feels like the right kind of movie at the right time – for him, and especially for us.

Todd Gilchrist is a member of the Los Angeles Film Critics Association. He contributes regularly to AOL’s Cinematical blog as well as Sci Fi Wire. His reviews frequently appear on Rotten Tomatoes.

Read about the inner workings of the case that became The Informant in Circuit Court Judge James Epstein’s Chicago Tribune review, where he chronicles his experience being a lawyer representing the real-life Mark Whitacre (Matt Damon’s character) on the case 14 years ago.