Premieres Fri., Feb. 3, 8 p.m.

Check it out at www.seattlechannel.org/artZone.

Margaret, Dir. Kenneth Lonergan
Now Playing at SIFF Cinema

You Can Count on Me, the Oscar-nominated 2000 directorial debut of playwright Kenneth Lonergan, was a marvel in miniature:  a brilliantly acted, acutely rendered character study that displayed a firm grasp of what to leave unsaid. Margaret, Lonergan’s follow-up, unfortunately accrued some legendarily bad mojo on its way to the screen. Originally shot in 2006, the footage collected dust on the shelf as the director and producer waged a legal war over the length of the final cut, with various running times reportedly ranging from 90 minutes to over four hours. Now finally granted release in 150 minute form (Martin Scorsese apparently lent an uncredited editorial hand), the resulting film is a truly odd experience: a sweepingly expansive post 9-11 reflection that is beautiful and frustrating and insightful and unfocused, sometimes all in the very same scene. I can’t stop thinking about it.

The story follows the wobbly trajectory of Lisa Cohen (Anna Paquin), a privileged Upper West Side teenager whose combination of calculated disdain and vulnerability serve to flummox both her mother (J. Smith Cameron, Lonergan’s real-life wife) and teachers (including a still-dewy Matt Damon).  After she inadvertently contributes to a horrific traffic accident, Lisa finds her carefully constructed universe imploding, with her guilt leading her on a self-serving crusade against the bus driver (Mark Ruffalo) involved in the crash. Any capsule plot description, though, is really only scratching the surface of the filmmaker’s ambition, which combines pungent observations about education and art and performing and racism and the absurdities of the legal system into a heady, sometimes baffling stew. (The title of the film, taken from a Gerard Manly Hopkins poem, should serve as an indicator that the movie is aiming for the intellectual upper decks.)

Great movies are rarely perfect movies, to steal a line from Pauline Kael, and Margaret certainly qualifies for at least the latter category. Not to sympathize too much with the studio folks, but there are some notable flaws present here — most notably some shaky staging, and the relative unlikeability of the majority of the characters — that would rankle regardless of the film’s length. For all of its problems, however, Lonergan’s crazily overstuffed vision contains so many moments that feel just so perfectly, dead-solid right that it makes virtually everything else out there seem safe and toothless in comparison.  Grand folly, or unjustly truncated masterpiece? Both, maybe.

Also opening this week: Liam Neeson dukes it out with wolves in the existential action movie The Grey (Check out my review for the Portland Mercury), and the dopey but fun thriller Man on a Ledge, which I wrote up for Amazon.com.

Questions? Comments? Gerard Manly Hopkins knock knock jokes? Let me know at alwright@gmail.com

Check out the show at www.seattlechannel.org/artZone.

Premieres Fri., Jan. 27, at 8 p.m.

Premieres Fri., Jan. 20, at 8 p.m.

Check it out at www.seattlechannel.org/artZone

The closest thing Hollywood has to a literal definition of Oscar Bait, the biopic genre has long held to a strict blueprint: Find an actor with a slight resemblance to a historical figure, focus on a plot element that reductively informs all of that subject’s accomplishments and stumbles (Johnny Cash’s older brother, J. Edgar Hoover’s taste in clothing, etc.), and sit back and start writing your awards speech. While an engaging anomaly does occasionally make it through the system (personal favorite: Michael Mann’s expressionistic Ali), the prefab nature of the majority of these films makes their viewing seem more dutiful than entertaining: walking out of the theater, it’s hard to feel like history has been properly served.

Taken strictly as an example of the genre, the Margaret Thatcher biopic The Iron Lady feels clunkier than most: an examination of a fascinatingly divisive figure that never really settles on its own point of view. The thing is, however, is that it also has Meryl Streep, who delivers a performance that somehow manages to rise above her own estimable watermark. Whatever the failings of the film, she strides through, fantastic and untouched.

Told in a jumbled, hopscotchy fashion, the script by Abi Morgan (Shame) begins with the former British Prime Minister in her later years, facing both public obscurity and some worrying signs of mental instability. (The symptoms of which include the continued presence of her deceased husband, played by the always welcome Jim Broadbent.) As she reflects on her life, the flashbacks start flying. Director Phyllida Lloyd (Mamma Mia!) displays a nice touch for period detail (many valiant cans of Aquanet gave their lives for this film), but stumbles badly when it comes to capturing the tonal shifts that made her subject both a hero and villain of the people. Whether dealing with the Falkland Islands or showing Thatcher giving her daughter a driving lesson, the film trodges along at the same unvaried, strangely incurious pace.

Man alive, though, does Streep ever bring it. While her impersonations have always been technically flawless (her capturing of her subject’s flutey upper vocal register is a marvel to behold) , the actress’s particular genius lies in understanding and evoking what’s going on inside the familiar mannerisms, with seemingly every small gesture and inflection working to evoke a complete 3D portrait. Although the filmmakers behind The Iron Lady never really show a grasp of how their central character can be both beloved and reviled, Streep brilliantly captures how strength can become weakness, and back again.

Also at local theaters: Roman Polanski’s fantastically nasty Carnage, based on the Tony-award winning play. (My review for Amazon.com can be found here.)

Even among such strong showings from Streep and Polanski, though, the theatrical event of the week undoubtedly comes courtesy of the folks at SIFF Cinema, who have put together a seven-day dip into the mind of one of cinema’s most brilliant and idiosyncratic artists. In Dreams: The Films of David Lynch serves as a comprehensive primer into the filmmaker’s funny and terrifying exercises in dream logic, with results ranging from the early undiluted weirdness of Eraserhead, the fascinatingly odd would-be blockbuster Dune, Blue Velvet’s demonic Hardy Boys antics, and finishing up with what may be his finest achievement, the savage and tender Hollywood nightmare Mulholland Dr. (Lynch’s most recent film, the hallucinatory-even-for-him Inland Empire, is noticeably absent from the lineup, most likely because SIFF doesn’t want to be held liable for people dazedly walking into trees and striking up conversations with squirrels after a viewing.) Highly recommended for die-hard fans, newbies, and anyone looking to take up insomnia. (Click here for my earlier appreciation of Lynch’s short films for The Stranger.)

Thoughts? Comments? Favorite Frank Booth lines? Let me know at alwright@gmail.com, and thanks for stopping by.

Coming up next week: Steven Soderbergh’s Haywire; Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close; and some of the past year’s best documentaries. Note: One of them stars a monkey.

Wake the kids, call the neighbors, and check out the show at www.seattlechannel.org/artZone.

Premieres Fri., Jan. 13, 8 p.m.

Check out www.seattlechannel.org/artZone for this and more!

Premieres Fri., Dec. 16, 8 p.m.

Premieres Fri., Dec. 9, 8 p.m.

Check it out at www.seattlechannel.org/artZone.

Premieres Fri., Dec. 2, 8 p.m.

Premieres Fri., Nov. 18, 8 p.m.
Watch the show online at www.seattlechannel.org/artZone.