THE LUCKY ONES (2008), dir. Neil Burger

It’s been six years since the Iraq War began, and during that time, cinema has explored it from the perspective of soldiers on the ground (“Redacted”) as well as back home (“Stop-Loss”). Now here comes “The Lucky Ones,” a road movie about a trio of soldiers on leave from combat. As the title indicates, they’ve been fortunate enough to survive this long, but as writers Neil Burger and Dirk Wittenborn point out, that doesn’t mean they aren’t the walking wounded physically, emotionally, and psychologically.

Audiences won’t find a paraplegic Jon Voight shuffling around on a hospital gurney, but all three main characters – Army soldiers on 30-day leave from Iraq – are having to cope with some part of their life or identity lost. For an ambitious lieutenant named T. K. (Michael Peña), it’s the function of his private parts; for Private Colee (Rachel McAdams), it’s a close friend whom the movie insinuates may have been her lover.

Meanwhile, the older Cheever (Tim Robbins) starts off as the most level-headed of the three, looking forward to returning to his suburban St. Louis life after a two-year tour of duty. But after agreeing to give his fellow soldiers a lift when JFK Airport is grounded by a blackout, Cheever’s happy homecoming turns out far from that: in rapid succession, his wife requests a divorce; his son needs $20,000 to attend Stanford; and the factory where he used to be employed has just gone under.

Luckily, the military sticks together. Floundering Cheever has a brother in Salt Lake City he can visit, and as it happens, both T. K. and Colee are heading westward to Las Vegas, anyway: the former to see a sexual “professional” as a last-ditch effort to cure his impotence; the latter to return her dead beau’s guitar to his family, which strangely enough, doesn’t know she’s on the way.

The road trip part of “The Lucky Ones” could have been tired, fish-out-of-water stuff, as the characters drive their rented van through states where everyone talks in southern drawls. However, the filmmakers go in the opposite direction: rather than treat them like strangers, many of the people encountered go out of their way to be hospitable to servicemen, be it inviting them to a fancy garden party, providing them the last rental vehicle, or as T. K. discovers at one point, offering him free sexual services.

In the face of these situations, which are dramatic, humorous, but never quite hysterical, all three leads do credible work, especially McAdams, who conveys unspoken loneliness beneath her unbridled enthusiasm. Peña, on the other hand, manages to keep a straight face through repeated digs at his precious manhood, the most subtly-funny one involving a car crash where he’s nearly impaled on an erect pipe.

All in all, the movie has its heart in the right place, fully supporting the average fighting man despite its opinions about the war itself. There’s also a not-too-subtle message the military is one big family capable of giving us back what we’ve lost. Now if only the screenplay weren’t occasionally spotty: through the characters on the periphery, Burger and Wittenborn run the gamut of attitudes about the Iraq War and those fighting it, some being supportive, others indifferent.

Unfortunately, the characterizations are also a bit shrill at times. In one instance, Cheever encounters a war-hawk who bites his head off after he says they’re “just trying to survive” in Iraq. “With an attitude like that…,” the hawk starts off, implying the soldiers abroad suffer from a loser mentality.

There’s another scene involving a barroom brawl instigated by McAdams’ otherwise good girl, where it’s a little too easy siding with her, given the obnoxious teenie-boppers who push her too far could qualify for Worst Human Beings Ever status. Bad enough they look down on her serving in the military instead of attending prestigious Indiana University (yeah, that’s sarcasm); one of them mimics Colee’s limp behind her back. Clearly, this stuck-up bitch is not supposed to be an example of observed human behavior, but rather, a punching bag we’ll take satisfaction in seeing worked, especially if our brave fighting men and women are doing the working.

Overall grade: *** (out of ****)

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ROPE (1948), dir. Alfred Hitchcock

Another Hitchcock film, another nefarious act taken place in seemingly-mundane surroundings: this time, a pair of upper-crust, New York City-types murder their friend in their own apartment, hide the body in a large trunk, and in a sick twist, host a dinner afterward using the trunk as a serving table.

Why commit such an appalling deed in the first place? According to Brandon (John Dall), murder should be reserved for the intellectually and culturally-superior. Given his and fellow perpetrator Philip’s (Farley Granger) refinements – as opposed to their victim’s, who had been an underachieving heir – the act itself was justified. Meanwhile, since they are so smart themselves, they should be able to get away with the crime, even if the trunk has a broken lock making it easy to open.

“Rope” was released in 1948; I don’t know if the source material, a play by Patrick Hamilton, had been a reaction to the mass killings of Jews by the Nazis, but the movie’s message does seem like an appropriate response to the Holocaust. As Brandon and Philip’s former prep school teacher, a character played by James Stewart, asks them, “Did you think you were God?” Do mental, financial, or cultural advantages entitle anyone to deprive another of the right to live and be happy?

Along with being relevant for its time, “Rope” is worth watching just as an exercise in style, as Hitchcock manages to take a screenplay restricted to a single set and wring plenty of tension out of it. Beginning with the murder, moving forward to the dinner party, and ending with Stewart’s detective-like turn, the filmmakers forgo much editing, which makes the movie feel like it’s progressing in real time. Indeed, despite the 80-minute running time, I only counted a handful of clear cuts; otherwise, the camera tracks restlessly around and between rooms in the apartment, and between the foreground and background to keep the experience from stagnating.

By shooting in what seems more or less like real time, however, Hitchcock does the opposite of boring the audience: he raises the tension. Indeed, during the dinner party itself, the camera circulates like another guest, observing the others – a list that includes the victim’s parents, some mutual friends, and the aforementioned former school teacher, who once espoused the same theory that inspired his ex-charges to murder – as they grow increasingly agitated waiting for the heir to arrive, and at not knowing exactly what the dinner party is commemorating. The viewer spends enough time around these characters that their emotional changes feel genuine, from the deceased’s girlfriend’s growing strain at being confronted by an ex-beau, the parents’ mounting worry, Stewart’s character’s growing suspicions, and one of the murderer’s slowly cracking under the strain of guilt.

Hitchcock also throws in a few great camera flourishes, including one shot that uses both foreground and background in tandem: Mrs. Wilson, the housekeeper, walks back-and-forth between the kitchen located at the back of the frame and the serving table at the front. The viewer is invited to watch as she slowly clears away candelabras, silverware, and other items, teased by the knowledge that, once she has finished with those, she’ll put the plates in the trunk, where unbeknownst to her the body is hidden.

Another notable moment is when the camera switches from third-person to first-person, reflecting James Stewart’s perspective as he imagines what Brandon and Philip did with the corpse. In a neat twist that not enough modern directors try, he doesn’t say exactly what he is thinking, not being sure what his former students are capable of, and because he’d rather give the murderers enough of the titular item to hang themselves with. In fact, the ending reinforces the notion a guilty conscience wants to be found out, which may have nothing to do with how intellectually or culturally well-bred one is.

Overall rating: **** (out of ****)

15 (2003), dir. Royston Tan

From an outsider’s point of view, “15” is a fascinating film, depicting the alienated and dangerous lives of older boys in Singapore, who flock to gangs as a means of escaping loneliness and – it is implied – academic pressure. Perhaps every scene is not as fresh and shocking as it would have been, say, 15 years ago, but there are some brilliant moments, and the hyper-stylized nature of the whole production gets across an appropriate tone of alienation, to a certain point.

Through a blitz of jump cuts, bells and whistles, and music video-style editing, Royston Tan’s film follows the exploits of a handful of youths through three loosely-connected narratives: The first involves two gang “brothers,” one of whom is on the precipice of failing school. Out of loyalty, the other offers to help him cheat, promising that if one has to go down, the other will, too. A second thread involves a youth named Shaun (Shaun Tan), who had been a friend of the first two boys until one became jealous. Forced away from their bond of intimacy, he joins a rival gang, befriends another gang brother, and becomes involved in drug-dealing.

The latter storyline gets particularly harrowing, while a third thread mixes some dark humor with a similarly-bleak premise: Shaun and his new gang brother Vynn (Vynn Soh) meet Erick (Erick Chun), a wayward hood looking for a building to commit suicide from. In my opinion, this is the best of the three narratives, and not just because it gets the characters out and exploring the urban metropolis. On one level, it’s funny to watch Shaun and Vynn get every gang in Singapore involved helping stage this death spectacle; at the same time, it’s genuinely heartbreaking watching Erick march solemnly towards oblivion, seemingly unaware of the fact he has made new friends, which in theory, would cure his need to end it all.

Along with scenes of fighting, self-mutilation, menacing, gang songs, and quiet emoting, “15” keeps coming back to two themes: the alienation supposedly being felt by youth throughout Singapore, and how the bond between “brothers” is so intimate it veers close to homosexuality. Although Tan never says so explicitly, his film seems to argue the two are connected, that parental pressures to succeed, as well as either too strict or a non-existent home life are driving youth to either suicide or gangs, which provide the love and acceptance they aren’t getting anywhere else. Hence, the irony of Erick’s situation: initially, when Shaun asks Erick why he wants to kill himself, all he says is the equivalent of, “If you were in my shoes, you’d want to do it, too.” However, the film’s closing coda reveals the real reason is a girl dumped him.

Overall, the movie has a definite emotional impact, especially the middle and final thirds, in which the slick polish gives way to something more visceral, and the narrative takes the obsessive love between “brothers” to its most logical and tragic conclusion. But if “15” has any glaring weakness, it’s that the film is so overdone, it occasionally obscures whatever statement Tan is trying to make. There are too many scenes like the drug use sequence, which features a neat CGI-generated flower petal floating around characters’ heads, but goes on for so long that it starts feeling less like the perspective of the film’s disconnected protagonists, and more like the point-of-view of a director trying to be “cool.” Less style would have gone a long way toward making “15” a more effective eye-opener.

Overall rating: *** (out of ****)

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