ERIC LaRUE (2023) Michael Shannon. Writer: Brett Neveu, based on his stage play / Cinematographer: Andrew Wheeler (1.85:1) / Designer: Chad Keith / Editor: Mike Selemon / Composer: Jonathan Mastro / Title Designer: Adam Brustein / Cast: Judy Greer, Paul Sparks, Alexander Skarsgård, Alison Pill, Lawrence Grimm, Tracy Letts, and Nation Sage Henrikson / Distributor: Magnolia Pictures / Not Rated / Length: 119 mins.
One question immediately leapt to mind: don't any of these characters pay their electric bills? Cinematographer Andrew Wheeler’s exterior night-work is exquisite; not overlit, and dusky enough to replicate the way the eye sees in the dark. But move the camera indoors, and you may find yourself joining me in wondering why patrons of a grocery store should need guide dogs to differentiate between canapés and cans of peas. Question #2: who is the target audience here? Advocates of the Second Amendment aren’t likely to spend their entertainment dollars being guilt-tripped over a fictionalized reenactment of the aftermath of the 1999 Columbine High School massacre. Nor are the choir of gun control proponents in all likelihood going to spend Saturday night at the movies being preached to like the proverbial Sunday morning choir.
Not unlike Denzel Washington’s directorial debut Fences, Michael Shannon’s first time behind the camera proves to be a most humbling experience. What plays well on a stage doesn’t necessarily work when splashed across a wide-screen. For one thing, Shannon has focus issues. As with every tool in a filmmaker’s bag of tricks, the use of rack focus, or using a zoom lens rather than moving the camera, is best used solely for drawing attention — and then only sparingly. Ditto relying on shallow-focus, as opposed to lighting, to make a character or object stand out in the frame. The rest is coverage, an endless stream of actor-friendly, chest-up reverse angles.
As the mother of the assassin who gunned down three classmates, Judy Greer gives us a front row seat to the inner-workings of a woman steeped in guilt-by-association. Her performance is a revelation. As for the rest, I knew the lessons to be learned going in. What followed was an exercise in sitting face-forward in a dark room. *
ERIC LaRUE (2023) Michael Shannon. Writer: Brett Neveu, based on his stage play / Cinematographer: Andrew Wheeler (1.85:1) / Designer: Chad Keith / Editor: Mike Selemon / Composer: Jonathan Mastro / Title Designer: Adam Brustein / Cast: Judy Greer, Paul Sparks, Alexander Skarsgård, Alison Pill, Lawrence Grimm, Tracy Letts, and Nation Sage Henrikson / Distributor: Magnolia Pictures / Not Rated / Length: 119 mins.
One question immediately leapt to mind: don't any of these characters pay their electric bills? Cinematographer Andrew Wheeler’s exterior night-work is exquisite; not overlit, and dusky enough to replicate the way the eye sees in the dark. But move the camera indoors, and you may find yourself joining me in wondering why patrons of a grocery store should need guide dogs to differentiate between canapés and cans of peas. Question #2: who is the target audience here? Advocates of the Second Amendment aren’t likely to spend their entertainment dollars being guilt-tripped over a fictionalized reenactment of the aftermath of the 1999 Columbine High School massacre. Nor are the choir of gun control proponents in all likelihood going to spend Saturday night at the movies being preached to like the proverbial Sunday morning choir.
Not unlike Denzel Washington’s directorial debut Fences, Michael Shannon’s first time behind the camera proves to be a most humbling experience. What plays well on a stage doesn’t necessarily work when splashed across a wide-screen. For one thing, Shannon has focus issues. As with every tool in a filmmaker’s bag of tricks, the use of rack focus, or using a zoom lens rather than moving the camera, is best used solely for drawing attention — and then only sparingly. Ditto relying on shallow-focus, as opposed to lighting, to make a character or object stand out in the frame. The rest is coverage, an endless stream of actor-friendly, chest-up reverse angles.
As the mother of the assassin who gunned down three classmates, Judy Greer gives us a front row seat to the inner-workings of a woman steeped in guilt-by-association. Her performance is a revelation. As for the rest, I knew the lessons to be learned going in. What followed was an exercise in sitting face-forward in a dark room. *