Spotlight: The Class

Hey movie lovers! I'm back from a brief hiatus to demand that you go see The Class at Angelika before it's too late. This movie is a truly rare wonder, so full of vitality and pure cinematic vision that it would be criminal to miss.

François Bégaudeau plays himself in this screen incarnation of his book Entre Les Murs, written about his experiences as a schoolteacher in a rough Parisian neighborhood. We follow him and his students--themselves played by real teenagers--through the ups and downs during one year at an ethnically diverse school in a country still plagued by very real racist sentiments. We become immersed in the world of the classroom and the teacher's lounge alike and, by virtue of Bégaudeau's writing and Laurent Cantet's eminently capable direction, experience their distinct pleasures and difficulties with an open-mindedness so consistent that these disparate worlds merge into a unified whole rarely seen onscreen or anywhere at all.

That The Class is not a documentary observation of real events witnessed on camera is nothing short of miraculous. Bégaudeau's moments of pure enthusiasm in his teaching, the sometimes heated exchanges between him and his students, and the dramas unfolding in and out of the classroom are so spontaneous and genuine--and Cantet's filmmaking so wonderfully transparent--that we have the sensation of watching quietly from the back of the room. The teenage students bring character and flair to their roles that are at once entertaining and unsettling, as they evoke a sense of what it feels like to be fourteen in the twenty-first century. François is remarkable as himself, and creates no illusions about his sincere desire to teach or the palpable frustration that must come with that passion.

The effortless realism of the characters makes their struggles all the more fascinating, and it is in these difficult situations that the movie transcends its fiction. A student with an attitude problem sinks further into trouble, François and his fellow teachers grapple with the difficulties inherent in student discipline, the home lives of children spill over into school, and the tensions between them all come to a head; in these and other crises of daily life The Class addresses the fundamental issues of education in a way that is nothing if not global and incisive. And all the while, the movie reveals the sins and the virtues of students and teachers with an equally objective precision that is truly shocking; during the final thirty minutes I had to completely reevaluate my frustration with the students and sympathy for their teacher, and could not have been more thrilled for it. 

In describing this movie to friends, I have told them that it is the single most honest, true-to-life, relevant, and important movie I can recall seeing, and I stand by that statement. The Class is a reminder of what the very best movies achieve: they hold a mirror to reality, grab onto you with memorable characters you can't forget, and force you to reevaluate the things that are right in front of you. If you see a movie in the near future, see The Class while it's still on the big screen, and be glad that you have had the chance.

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Spotlight: Doubt

It is a sad fact that a priest and a youngster raised in religion can no longer coexist without the near-certain suspicion of today's society. Stories of sexual abuses perpetrated by Catholic clergymen have shocked the world by exposing a very real flaw in an institution depended on by millions for moral guidance and spiritual strength. Doubt, adapted from the successful Broadway play and directed by its playwright John Patrick Shanley, at once preys on the cultural suspicion aroused by these crimes and challenges the virtue of that blind distrust. This parable of Father Flynn (Philip Seymour Hoffman) and Sister Aloysius (Meryl Streep), the authoritarian principal who suspects him, thrives on the tension between these opposing points of view as much as on the determined performances of its key players. But the film succeeds most strikingly as a window into the conflicting cultures of men and women in a religious community struggling to adapt to a more secular age.

Set in Brooklyn in 1964, the central controversy of the story surrounds the relationship between Flynn and a young boy who struggles to find his way as the first black student at St. Nicholas parochial school. Sister Aloysius, a strict disciplinarian who monitors her students with an aim " to outshine the fox in cleverness", plants the seed of doubt in the mind of Sister James (Amy Adams), an enthusiastic and caring younger nun. Her misgivings about Flynn come to fruition when Sister James reports on his questionable interactions with the boy, and the movie's web of intrigue is set.

While Flynn fervently defends his innocence against the ruthless certainty of Sister Aloysius, the dramatic differences between the lives of priests and nuns reveal the polarizing effects of modernity on a church founded on a firm dedication to devout propriety. The aging women of St. Nicholas live the simple, virtuous lives that generations of nuns lived before them. With Sister Aloysius perched watchfully at the head of the table, they eat their meals and drink their milk  together in near silence, only speaking when she invites them to. These women are even forced to renounce their names upon entering the clergy, instead assuming those of the male saints revered in their patriarchal community. 

Sister Aloysius, played in a wonderfully loathsome turn from Ms. Streep,  represents the archetype of classic Catholic conservatism. Armed with a dedication to her religious tradition and a righteous faith she mistakes for moral certainty, Aloysius defies the changes of the outside world and molds her fellow women into the firm leaders she expects members of the clergy to be.

Of all of the nuns, Sister James in particular struggles with the old-fashioned code of conduct she is expected to live by; she genuinely cares for her students but cannot breach an unspoken student-teacher to offer them any support or guidance they might need. Under the supervision of Sister Aloysius, she learns to spy on students using the glass-framed portrait of a pope while she writes on the chalkboard, and somewhat hesitantly emulates her strict control of the classroom. At one critical moment, she snaps at a student for speaking out of turn, only to be overwhelmed by intense feelings of guilt. Ms. Adams skillfully expresses the conflict of parochial obligations with her own innocent goodwill, here and throughout.

In contrast with the stoic culture of nuns, the priests of St. Nicholas live much more comfortable lives. Their meals, shared over cigarettes and beers, are loud and lively, full of jokes and masculine banter. They are younger, more vital, and are more willing to forgive and understand than to punish and suspect. Where Sister Aloysius marks the pinnacle of conservatism, Father Flynn happily embraces change in the relationship of the church with the outside world. He believes in establishing a more familial quality in interactions with churchgoers and students, and seeks to act as a mentor and friend to his parishioners. 

Unlike Sister James, Flynn seizes opportunities to guide his male students through adolescence, mixing lessons on personal hygiene and proper free-throw technique on the basketball court and sharing insights into the strange new world of girls and school dances. Hoffman lends a warm face and glowing spirit to this new sense of community he hopes for in the church, making his argument for compassion all the more compelling. Sadly, it is this compassion that leads him to take young Donald Miller under his wing and face the damning suspicion of Sister Aloysius.

The tension between Flynn and Aloysius smolders onscreen as personal convictions about religious identity collide.  Perhaps the clearest statement of their antagonism appears in a clever sequence early in the film. Aloysius, framed in a low angle close-up at her desk, looks down coldly to off-screen left; a cut to a medium shot looks down on Flynn in a stairwell, who seems to return her gaze looking upward with an expression of reverent meditation. We expect the next shot to complete the eyeline match between the two, but instead of Aloysius' face, we see the golden glow of a stained-glass window featuring a heavenly image of the Virgin Mary. 

The order of this sequence seems to demonstrate the fundamental difference in perspective between Aloysius and Flynn: where she glares downward with suspicion upon her fellow man, he gazes upward to the heavens with warmth and kindness. This fundamental difference in tone influences the film's perspective (and inclines the viewer to ally with Flynn in my opinion), and makes the opposition between the two all the more compelling.

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Spotlight: Frost/Nixon

I know very little about Richard Nixon, and only slightly more about the Watergate scandal that incited one of the more tumultous periods in recent American history. What I do know about both subjects is an amalgam of anecdotes, hearsay, grade-school history lessons and a dash of Wiki-knowledge, a strange combination that leaves me less than prepared for, say, a discussion of the subject around the dinner table.

Frost/Nixon, Ron Howard’s account of the publicity standoff between a television talk show host and the recently resigned president, offers a similarly disjointed approach to the facts and fiction surrounding the improbable interview that unfolded in the spring of 1977. The film alternates between a faux-documentary style, in which the characters share their recollections of the event, and a glittery world of heightened emotions, where a character’s fuzzy sense of intellectual disorientation can manifest itself literally in soft focus on the screen. It is unclear whether Howard intends for his film to be a glorified slice of American lore or an honest history of four men who successfully extracted an admission of responsibility from one brilliant but reticent politician.

This opposition appears most clearly in the performances of Frank Langella and Michael Sheen who, in their respective turns as Nixon and television personality David Frost, bring contrasting degrees of theatrical brilliance and historical accuracy. Langella, whose utterly transcendent effort in the film’s final twenty minutes makes the complete limpness of the first hundred entirely worth bearing, invests his character with an intoxicating personal conviction and profound thoughtfulness that did not arise so readily from his real-life counterpart. In the actual interviews, Nixon spoke in a softer, more candid tone that lacks the resonating depth of Langella’s version. The actor, whom I had very regrettably failed to see onscreen until this movie, heightened every element of Nixon’s delivery, bringing a tremendous significance to every word and hinting at, for the sake of a supposedly uneducated audience, an intellect beyond the awareness of an angry public.

Unfortunately, Sheen has neither the luxury of a well-written part nor a similar interest from the director in embellishing the character’s persona. His role, despite his best efforts, seems to suffer from a perceived need to balance Langella’s heroic performance with historical integrity. Sheen, from his confident charm to the part in his hair, is every inch the David Frost that brought his far-fetched project to millions of viewers worldwide. He conveys the requisite determination in brining his idea to fruition, his famous womanizing, and (not surprisingly) succeeds in acting as the doormat for Nixon’s preaching in their first two interview sessions.

We learn very little about the man himself during the trials he experienced, as his glamorous lifestyle keeps him largely absent from the film in the days leading up to his bouts with Nixon. During these moments, the story turns to the busy preparations of the sadly underutilized Sam Rockwell and always funny Oliver Platt. While the beautiful and talented Rebecca Hall never has the opportunity to become anything beyond the girl on Frost’s arm, Kevin Bacon makes the most of a small opportunity as Nixon’s devoted chief of staff.

Thanks to Langella, the final act of Frost/Nixon humanizes the disgraced president, whose blunders overshadowed a sincere desire to make a positive mark during his term. In my book, any viewer who can stay awake until the final interview will be rewarded with what is surely one of the most stunning performances of this year. For those who would prefer to save themselves the time, you can get your little dose of history by catching the highlights on YouTube.

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