Hello from the Hub, a Boston nickname that sits much better with the cinetrix than, say, "Beantown." After a day spent diligently grading papers offline at the Diesel Cafe in Davis Square, I thought I'd get down a few thoughts about Rian Johnson's sophomore effort, The Brothers Bloom, before the overwhelming offerings at this year's iteration of the Independent Film Festival of Boston wash them away.
Longtime readers may remember I was disappointed by Johnson's first feature, Brick, finding the concept outstripped the execution. So I was wary heading into the Somerville Theatre last night. Would Johnson take his place alongside Todd Solondz in my world as a filmmaker with a gift for premises I find alluring until I figure out who's behind the camera?
Yes and no. Points in the confidence men tragi-comedy's favor: the cast and narrators. Cuddly indie boy Mark Ruffalo plays overconfident elder brother Stephen to living Giacometti Adrien Brody's melancholy Bloom.* Longtime [March 1993 West End revival of Noel Coward's Design for Living] girl crush Rachel Weisz is their daffy rich-girl mark, Penelope, and scholar of scams Ricky Jay narrates the opening sequence, detailing the orphaned brothers' peripatetic childhood conning the "playground bourgeoise." Check, check, and check.
Then there's secret weapon [munitions grade] Rinko Kikuchi as Bang Bang. Penelope's madcap clothes are frequently covetable, but Bang Bang's wardrobe seemingly originates in a parallel universe, one I'd like to move to post haste. But even those threads take a distant second to the incredibly sly and almost entirely wordless performance Kikuchi delivers. She simultaneously anchors a frequently feather-weight plot and sends it into an absurdist stratosphere with a single eyeroll.
But about that plot. The brothers have risen to the top of their chosen profession, but Bloom, the front man for Stephen's elaborate long cons, yearns for what he calls "an unscripted life." He manages one for all of three drunken months on the coast of Montenegro before Stephen summons him to New Jersey for a final con that promises to give all parties what they want.
The mark is Penelope, another orphan and a heiress, who whiles away her lonely days wrecking banana yellow Lamborghinis and collecting "hobbies," which are rendered in a montage that smacks of Rushmore's Max Fischer and Edward Scissorhands. Did I mention she's epileptic?
Anyway, Penelope takes the bait and follows the "antique dealer" brothers to sea on a steamer named Fidele. On board she is approached by a mysterious Belgian named Melville and, rather than taking his warnings about Stephen and Bloom's past seriously, blithely remarks on the odd coincidence of meeting him on craft named after the ship in Melville's The Confidence Man. This after absent-mindedly doing card tricks while talking with Bloom that'd put Jean Harrington's card-sharping skills to shame. It's that kind of movie, kids.
In fact, The Brothers Bloom is drunk on its cinematic antecedents, which makes it mostly a charming affair as it bounces from Europe to Mexico to the United States to St. Petersburg. But for every pleasurable quotation -- thrill as the brothers battle in a shadowy sequence that swipes its canted angles, if not its femme fatale, from Out of the Past's cabin in the woods! -- there's a tin-earred echo of another film that pulled me right out of the story. Underscoring Bloom's first day with Penelope to Bob Dylan's froggy Nashville Skyline track "Tonight, I'll Be Staying Here With You" just made me wonder what the music rights must've cost this indie. Signaling Bloom and Penelope's growing affection for each other with Cat Stevens' "Miles From Nowhere" was far worse. Quirky romance. We get it.
Perhaps more distracting on a subliminal level was some awkward cutting during conversations. Continuity error or poorly executed intentional abandonment of the 180-degree rule? Got me, but it was particularly jarring during an early scene between Brody's Bloom and Brick femme fatale Nora Zehetner. And I'm still not sure about the tonal shift -- is this just another con or is it really happening? -- at the end.
Yet, with all my day-later critiques, I can't help feeling affection for this cock-eyed movie. All potential "sophomore slumps" should be this winning.
*What I'd really like to know is why Johnson opted to swipe his characters' names -- Stephen, Bloom, Penelope -- from Joyce's Ulysses. If I manage to buttonhole him [if he hasn't headed back to New York already], I'll be sure to ask.
