Brooklyn

Emory Cohen and Saoirse Ronan in "Brooklyn" 

Watching "Brooklyn", I was reminded of stories told by an old relative, something familiar and romantic, about the past and how times were different. And yet "Brooklyn", directed by John Crowley, and adapted from Colm Toibin's 2009 novel of the same name by Nick Hornby, is timeless. When we first meet Eilis Lacey (Saoirse Ronan) her demeanor and appearance are one of resignation and compliance, working for a grouchy old woman at a local Grocery in a small village in Ireland. We notice her potential immediately. Her beauty remains untapped, waiting to spill out, and her surroundings, while comfortable, suffocate her. Eilis is an outsider with local ties. Is it possible that there are no suitors, or no jobs for this intelligent and poised young woman? For Eilis, Ireland is only family and familiarity. When the opportunity to make a change, and take the trip that so many have before her, to New York, to the land of possibility arrives, the journey proves irresistible and our story leaps to life. But of course with that change comes the realization of what was left behind, chiefly, her mother and sister, and the promise of what could have been her life in Ireland. Once established in America, she says to her local Priest, "I wish I could stop feeling like I want to be an Irish girl in Ireland." And even though Eilis appears to be taken care of once in New York: she has a room in a boarding house, a job at a department store, begins taking classes at night for accounting, and attends Irish dances weekly, her aching for home is palpable. Home sickness is something real. What could cure it? Love. Enter Tony Fiorello (Emory Cohen), an Italian sap, made for the movies. Eilis and Tony's courtship is out of time, a reminder of restraint and chivalry, it's shocking in its innocence. When Eilis has to return to Ireland and becomes entangled in another potential romance, the conventions of "Brooklyn's" narrative begin to show. But it's the actors, and particularly, Ronan, that make "Brooklyn" something special. Saoirse Ronan is 21 years old, an appropriate age for the character she's playing, and yet she is an actress of remarkable self possession and grace. She provides Eilis with a serene wisdom, and we look to up to her as an audience, we want whats best for her. Ronan's eyes are an alien shade of ice blue, and they pop out at you in every scene. One moment they well up, wet with emotion, the next, they're fiery, brimming with new confidence. It's a quiet performance, but an incredibly moving one. Seeing Eilis fall in love is perhaps the most satisfying thing I've seen in movies this year. And in its depiction of a young Irish immigrant coming to America in the early 1950s, "Brooklyn" reaches through generations, touching on a subject that is prescient today. Its specificity expands and brings to life the immigrant experience while also speaking to any of us who have ever left home, who have ever felt out of place, who have ever wanted to be in love. It has the spontaneity, the tinge of sadness, and the expectation of happily ever after that come with all old stories. 

The Martian

Matt Damon in "The Martian"

"The Martian" has everything going for it: a compelling narrative, a charismatic movie star at its center, incredibly well-realized special effects, and most welcoming, an ample amount of humor. An astronaut left and presumed dead on our dusty orange neighbor in the solar system, Mars, doesn't exactly scream comedy, yet the director, Ridley Scott, has decided that rather than playing on the mysteries of space, and the tragedy of solitude and abandonment, to ground "The Martian" in humanity and science. The science, as far as I'm concerned, is real (as real as it can be), the emotions are real (people make jokes, make mistakes, do the wrong thing), and therefore the stakes become real. Our hero is Mark Watney (Matt Damon), a botanist/ astronaut. His problems are given to us like a shot, quick and painless. How can he make water in a planet with no water? How can he make his own food on soil that can't sustain it? How long can he survive with the resources he has? The best parts of "The Martian" are watching Watney problem solve, and listening to him talk to himself, shouting out into the void, hoping the world (aka NASA) is listening. We want Watney to survive because we believe he can survive, that he's smart enough, and that he has the skills to do so. "The Martian" is based on a science fiction novel of the same name by Andy Weir, which was initially rejected several times by various publishers, only to find life and success through the blogging platform Tumblr. Weir is a science nerd, and his novel was consumed with the technicalities of space travel and the logistics of actual manned missions on Mars. (Perhaps something not far off in our future?) The film doesn't shy away from the science, and Drew Goddard, who adapted the novel, does a remarkable job balancing the way we come to understand Watney's predicament, while also showing us Watney as a human being. Watching "The Martian" I couldn't help but think about "Gravity", another space opera with a lone astronaut trying to survive, yet the two movies couldn't be more different. "Gravity" is a poem, where "The Martian" is a short story. And also, Sandra Bullock WAS "Gravity" while "The Martian" has a sprawling ensemble cast, with actors ranging from Donald Glover and Kristin Wiig, to Jeff Daniels and Jessica Chastain. It uses this cast very well, and the act of telling not only Damon's story on Mars, but also the nightmare of the NASA headquarters on Earth, and the solemness of the rest of the crew on their way back to Earth is very effective in it's way of telling the story from multiple angles and perspectives. Even still, Damon remains the movies beating heart, and his Mark Watney is a wonderful hero to root for. We problem solve right along with him, and we laugh and get frustrated. Our hopes ebb and flow as the characters' does. And by taking its audience seriously, and giving us characters who work out their issues not through sentimentality and character tropes but through human emotion and scientific facts, "The Martian" rises and surpasses much of the Hollywood glut that is so prevalent on movie screens today.

Steve Jobs

Michael Fassbender in "Steve Jobs" 

"Steve Jobs", the new movie written by Aaron Sorkin and directed by Danny Boyle, never wants to be the birth to death portrait of a famous person the way we normally see them filtered through the Hollywood studios. It's much more deliberate and planned. Watching it is like the equivalent of upgrading from the Blackberry to the iPhone: all the bumps are gone, and nothing but smooth edges remain. And it's intentions are noble, not unlike its subject, Steve Jobs, the mastermind behind Apple the company, and especially, Apple the way of life. It's divided into three acts, like an opera, going behind the scenes of three major public events in the history of Apple. We begin in 1984 before the release of the Macintosh, jump to 1988 for the failed release of NeXT Inc., and finish in 1998, before the world was subjected to that see-through, colorful machine of dreams, the iMac. Each of these events is given an equal amount of time, and therefore an equal amount of importance. We see Jobs, played by Michael Fassbender, transform from an asshole with slicked back hair and pressed white shirt to an asshole with buzzed gray hair and suffocating black turtleneck. Jobs doesn't really change and we recognize this. Sorkin, who so expertly opened up our minds to the frustrations and passions of Mark Zuckerberg in his screenplay for "The Social Network" five years ago takes almost complete control from director Danny Boyle. The dialogue, more than any other aspect of the movie, is the star. Everything we want from an Aaron Sorkin script is here: dialogue spoken at break-neck speed, witty asides, polemical speeches, even man-splaining. Taking inspiration and telling details from the bestselling Walter Isaacson biography from 2011, Sorkin remains deeply preoccupied with our collective imagination of Steve Jobs and Apple as he was with Zuckerberg and Facebook. Why do you think Sorkin had Zuckerberg constantly refreshing his friend request to an old girlfriend at the end of "The Social Network"? The billionaire who creates a company that connects the world isn't relatable, but you know what is relatable? The billionaire who doesn't have a girlfriend. That scene worked and "The Social Network" (an appropriate companion piece to this film) struck the absurdly difficult tone of mixing modern history with real human emotion, something that "Steve Jobs" does not. Throughout its three-act structure we see Jobs' daughter, Lisa Brennan, increasingly become part of humanizing this man. She begins as a rejected offspring and somehow becomes his ultimate savior, even inspiring the invention of the iPod for goodness sakes. Joanna Hoffman (Kate Winslet), his dedicated assistant and confidante, tells him that she should be the most important thing, and that she should be the priority, not the computer, not the ideas, not the ambitions. The other Steve, Steve Wozniak (Seth Rogen) even speaks out loud the films thesis statement: "You can be brilliant and decent at the same time." Or something along those lines. But do we believe any of this, did any of it really happen this way? That doesn't matter to Sorkin, he needs Jobs to be this way, in order to make sense of his influence, his power. Yet it feels false, and the film, while brilliant in spurts becomes just decent in the end. What truly matters is that this man existed at all, that his ideas took flight. What matters is what he gave the world, and you know what doesn't matter, if he cared about his daughter and was a nice guy.

Mistress America

Greta Gerwig and Lola Kirke in "Mistress America" 

I want to be friends with the new Noah Baumbach movie "Mistress America". I want to give it a hug. I can't explain it, but I want to say its jokes and I want to walk along the streets of New York bouncing to its music, arms linked with my best friend. I want it to inspire me and I want to inspire it. I look at this movie in much the same way Tracy Fishko (Lola Kirke) looks at Brooke Cardinas (Greta Gerwig), with wide eyes and curiosity, skepticism and admiration. Watching "Mistress America", you lean in to catch every joke then back off to notice each facial expression and response. People talk over each other as much as they talk to each other. But you can't be friends with a movie unfortunately, and Tracy cannot be Brooke. But she can be inspired by her, she can use her. She's a short story writer, and a frustrated one. Tracy doesn't fit in at her new dorm, she doesn't know anyone in the city, and she doesn't know what to write about. Enter Brooke, an impossibly irresistible girl-about-town, whose Father is marrying Tracy's Mother. Brooke quickly becomes something of a muse to Tracy, a character ready made for the page. All of this is unbeknownst to Brooke, of course. To Tracy, she appears fully formed, a literary creation and screwball heroine all at once. She's everywhere but nowhere, flighty and focused, dizzying yet stable. She lives in Times Square of all places, knows everyone, dances on stage at concerts, and to Tracy she's everything she needs at this exact moment. She is a sea of contradictions, happily ever after. Who wouldn't want to write about her? Baumbach co-wrote the screenplay with the film's star, Greta Gerwig, this being their second collaboration after 2012's "Frances Ha", and third film working together. ("Greenberg" came out in 2010.) "Mistress America" is about art, ambition, and most importantly, youth, much like Baumbach's film from earlier this year, "While We're Young". In that one, Ben Stiller and Naomi Watts begin a friendship with a much younger couple played by Adam Driver and Amanda Seyfried, in the hopes that their enthusiasm and lust for life may rub off on them, age be damned. "Mistress America" turns that story inside out, we now have someone very young, 18, looking to someone just entering their 30s hoping for a way in, a way to be. As a portrait of youth, "Mistress America" doesn't condescend to young people the way "While We're Young" did. Tracy is serious but curious,  a freshman already poised and graceful. She clearly wants to fit in, but she sees that Brooke, by stepping away from convention, has created a life out of never fitting in, being herself, looking inward, being a character. Does Tracy want to be like Brooke though, or just watch her, humor her, be there for her? Does she really believe in Brooke's business idea: a bar/ restaurant/ salon/ library called Mom's? The answer isn't very clear, and it's a testament to Baumbach and Gerwig that this brief 83 minute cloud of a movie probably can't answer that question either and doesn't want to. Personally, I loved Brooke, but I could never be her friend, I could never actually believe anything she said. I couldn't even say I respect her. One of the best scenes in the movie is when Brooke and Tracy are at a bar, and Brooke is approached by an old classmate from High School. Brooke doesn't remember the girl, but the girl remembers Brooke, and it turns out she was awful to this person. A bully, but a popular one. The scene made me laugh. Brooke's obliviousness was hilarious, but essentially the moment was painful. Tracy's reaction was my reaction, supportive laughter combined with pity and disgust. That's the problem with inspiration, it usually fizzles out. How we want to be changes, and how we see others changes, regardless of age and perspective. Baumbach and Gerwig know this and "Mistress America", their best film yet, knows this too.

Trainwreck

Amy Schumer and Bill Hader in "Trainwreck" 

Attention all modern women living in the 21st century, according to "Trainwreck", the new Judd Apatow movie written by Amy Schumer, you can be an alcoholic, pot-smoking, narcissistic, and emotionally immature mess just like most men. And that's ok, because ultimately you'll find the right person to settle down with. You'll change for the better. You'll give up drinking, smoking, sleeping with whatever loser smiles at you and you'll want the happy relationship with stability and children and blah blah blah. But does Amy Schumer really want this? I know our heroine Amy Townsend, played by Schumer, does. Yet anyone who has watched "Inside Amy Schumer", the Comedy Central sketch series created by and starring Schumer that just finished its third season earlier this summer, might be scratching their heads at this shockingly old-fashioned and formulaic romantic comedy. I know I was. I still liked the movie, even if I didn't believe a word of it. It was sweet, but left a familiar and bitter aftertaste. Amy Townsend, a writer for a magazine called S'NUFF, is assigned to write a profile on Aaron Conners (Bill Hader), a sports medicine doctor, who is too good to be true. He's level headed, super tall, friends with LeBron James, lives in Soho, and is a freaking doctor, for famous athletes. They fall for each other, of course. And surprisingly he's not an asshole, or closeted, or a freak, like most of the men Amy sleeps with. The rest of the movie I won't spoil for anyone wondering how it could possibly end. Why is "Trainwreck" getting so much attention if at its core, is like every other romantic comedy, reinforcing the same moralistic relationship tropes we see again and again? Simple, because of Amy Schumer. Through her Comedy Central series with its post-feminist commentary, wickedly sharp observations, and devastating delivery, Schumer has earned the reputation as the most daring and progressive comedian working today, male or female. No one is off limits, especially young women, and even more so, Schumer herself. Is Amy Townsend, the character in this movie, the same as Amy Schumer, the persona from her series? I don't think so, if anything she is Judd Apatow's Amy Schumer. You can't deny his influence. He is the director after all. And "Trainwreck's" retrograde ideas about an idealistic family life with monogamy at its center, which we've seen in Apatow's other films like "Knocked Up", "This is 40" and to a lesser extent "Funny People", can't help but shape the film. It's becoming increasingly evident that Apatow is a crusader for funny, outspoken women. He is a producer of Lena Dunham's HBO television series "Girls" as well as being one of the producers behind 2011's "Bridesmaids". Yet, why does it seem like he's holding Schumer back, reigning her in? "Trainwreck" contains flashes of her brilliance. There are small asides and moments, and jokes that linger, and not just because they're laugh out loud funny, but because they say something new. But "Trainwreck" isn't the story of a modern woman finding happiness. Almost 15 years ago we had Carrie Bradshaw in "Sex and the City", who at the end of that series second season is seen letting go of Mr. Big, or vice versa, depending on how you watched it. He walks back to his boring, brunette fiance in front of the Plaza Hotel, and Carrie is left wearing a form fitting white dress, without irony, walking away slowly, her blonde curls swirling in the wind, as she wishes for someone just as wild as her to be with forever. Bradshaw was a modern creation, and so is Schumer. Sadly though, the heroine of "Trainwreck" isn't. So what is there to like? The cameo by John Cena and LeBron James' easy chemistry with Bill Hader. What about Tilda Swinton's tan, or Vanessa Bayer smiling, or New York City in the summer. And I believe most importantly, the emotional authenticity of Brie Larson, who plays Amy's kid sister Kim. (Amy Schumer's actual sister, Kim Caramele, is a writer and producer of "Inside Amy Schumer".) Why couldn't we have gotten a movie about that relationship? Growing up with a sick father and the different paths they took, their different ideas about men and relationships forming their adult selves. Or how about instead of "Trainwreck" we got a movie called "Trailblazer", the story of a young and gifted female comedian who rises to cultural importance through the sheer force of her talent and jokes, not a story about some girl who gets a boyfriend. 

Inside Out

Joy and Sadness (voiced by Amy Poehler and Phyllis Smith) in the new Pixar movie "Inside Out" 

How many ideas can the folks at Pixar have? They've given us talking toys, a lonely robot wandering through outer space, a monster corporation, a forgetful blue fish lost at sea, a Parisian rat who's also a chef, a house of floating balloons, a dysfunctional superhero family, and now "Inside Out". 11 year old Riley (voice of Kaitlyn Dias) is forced to move from Minnesota to San Francisco because of her Dad's new job. It's a major transition. She misses her old life, her friends, hockey. Her parents are distracted, and she's always been their happy girl. She hasn't experienced real life change yet. She's only 11. The story is simple. But not really. We don't see too much of Riley, instead, we spend most of our time in her brain, following the five primary emotions that make up her developing mind. They are: Joy (Amy Poehler), who has canary yellow skin and a cerulean pixie cut, Sadness (Phyllis Smith), a blue bespectacled librarian, Anger (Lewis Black), a crimson red square, Fear (Bill Hader), a purpled anxious bean sprout, and Disgust (Mindy Kaling), a kelly green sass with pursed lips and coiffed scarf. Joy is clearly at the helm of this motley crew, but the others have their moments too. Each touches memories that forever leave their stamp. Some memories (they look like glowing marbles traveling through multiple tubes) can be forgotten, falling down into a dark pit, to fade away, lost forever. Others though, the most important ones, become core memories, they shape Riley's personality. These are the five Islands of Personality: Family, Hockey, Honesty, Friends, Goofball. The big move causes Sadness to come to the forefront, every memory she touches turns a faded shade of blue, leaving Joy bewildered and confused, and the five Islands at risk of falling apart. How any of this makes sense is due almost entirely to the director, Pete Docter, and his genius collaborators at Pixar, who are working at a level of invention and imagination that is dizzyingly complex, going in a million creative directions and never losing steam. "Inside Out" is a major achievement; it speaks to children and adults equally, as most Pixar films do. A wholly original idea, in itself quite an accomplishment, it soars above and beyond its boundaries as just an animated feature by changing the way we think about our minds. Why we feel certain ways, why some memories fade, and some change. And also how you process experiences into emotions, which in turn, shape who you are as a human being. Docter, with his co-director Ronaldo del Carmen, and screenwriters, have worked through all the kinks the story could have stumbled upon. The screenplay is a miracle of organization, and it covers different aspects of the mind like train of thought, dreams and imaginary friends to comic and often very emotional results. There are many things to admire about "Inside Out". Besides the exquisite animation, eye-popping design, rainbow of colors, and a score by Michael Giacchino that bounces around as effortlessly as the character Joy, there is the story of a young girl, who miraculously is NOT a princess. She doesn't have superpowers. She's just an average girl, and that is ok. It does something else too. Something that not many children's movies even go near. It embraces sadness, allowing it to be an emotion both necessary and vital. Watching this movie, with my nephews and niece sitting close by, I couldn't help but think about how they were experiencing the story. Did they see what I saw? I can't be sure. During a particularly sad moment, my 4 year old nephew said practically out loud, "This movie is really sad." I leaned over and said, "I know, this part's almost done." But he wasn't frowning, there were no tears, and his eyes never left the screen. It's amazing what happens when you take children seriously, they'll really surprise you. They stop being children, and start being people.

Jurassic World

Chris Pratt in "Jurassic World" 

The main attraction of the new "Jurassic World" isn't a Tyrannosaurus Rex, or a raptor, or even Chris Pratt, although he tries very hard. It's a genetic hybrid, a mutation, something cooked up in a lab, the Indominus Rex. Very pale, very toothy, very aggressive. But who names a dinosaur Indominus Rex? It sounds like something from a Transformers spinoff or maybe the Abominable Snowman's distant relative. But the "Jurassic World" park needs this creature apparently. The crowds aren't satisfied with just dinosaurs anymore (if you can believe that). And just like Hollywood movies today, "Jurassic World" needs to be bigger, louder, and bloodier, in order for everyone to make more money. That's what it's all about you guys. Once again, we have a hero, Owen (Chris Pratt), with leather vest, and since its 2015, snugger pants. He knows a lot, enough to be able to wrangle and control a group of raptors, I'm guessing telepathically. Yet somehow the Operations Manager of the entire park, Claire, played by a buttoned up and bobbed Bryce Dallas Howard, doesn't appear to know much about anything, especially dinosaurs. How she got her job is never quite explained, which makes sense, she obviously doesn't deserve it. And on top of that, she's a pretty terrible Aunt to two pre-pubescent young boys, sent to the island by their parents to have fun, while they sign divorce papers. How convenient for them. The director Colin Trevorrow, and the screenwriters (credited to four individuals including Trevorrow) have somehow made a movie that not only insults women and the integrity of the original picture, but actually insults dinosaurs. How can the sight of a Brontosaurus or a Triceratops land with a thud? Barely show them, or when you do, show them dying. "Jurassic Park", when it was released 20 plus years ago, inspired a genuine awe in its audience. We came to expect no less from Steven Spielberg, its director. Technically it was revolutionary. Structurally is was tight as a drum. Remember the water glass going from still to shaking, or the scene in the kitchen? The raptor just barely peeking around the corner of the cabinets. I still have nightmares. And shockingly, the dinosaurs appeared only briefly, for approximately 14 minutes of that films 127 minute run time. And when they did, Spielberg made it count. "Jurassic World", on the other hand, inspired no such thrill, and barely any suspense. The plot is thin, the characters even more so. People die, as they should, this is a dinosaur movie after all, but the deaths happen so abruptly or in such an aggressively mean spirited way (the helicopter??), that none of the violence that should be satisfying for us as an audience had any pay off. What happened? What always happens. An ingenious idea whose story was told before, and much better, is retooled and rehashed to play for audiences today. And just because we have an actor as charismatic and swashbuckling as Chris Pratt to cheer on, and just because the CGI is so advanced nowadays that it looks more real than real life, does not mean it needs to be made again, or re-imagined or anything. None of this matters though, because it made 208 million dollars at the box office its opening weekend, more than any movie EVER. What else is there to say? Hollywood is smiling, and the audience is paying. Sadly though, I can't speak for the dinosaurs.

Spy

Melissa McCarthy has been in four starring roles since her breakout screen performance in Paul Feig's 2011 comedy "Bridesmaids". Soon after that film, in 2013, we got "Identity Thief", a shallow and not well received two-hander with Jason Bateman that relied too heavily, no pun intended, on McCarthy as a grotesque. Later that year, she redeemed herself, with Feig again as director, in "The Heat", going head to head with Sandra Bullock. It was lightning in a bottle, or so we thought. That film was an example of two game actresses having terrific on screen chemistry and wonderfully free wheeling dialogue. Both "Identity Thief" and "The Heat" were box office hits. McCarthy had an audience. Yet, only "The Heat" seemed to be interested in McCarthy as a comedienne of merit rather than a punchline. Could she sustain the momentum? Last year's "Tammy" was a success, but it didn't give McCarthy the truly funny material she got when working with Feig. In the new action comedy "Spy" though, Feig and McCarthy have reunited once more, and it may be their best partnership yet.

"Spy" is the most consistently laugh out loud movie I've seen since probably "Neighbors" and a wonderful star vehicle for Melissa McCarthy, who remarkably continues to find new ways to be funny. She can play self-deprecating, tripping over her words, batting her eyelashes, a wallflower in librarian's clothing, as well as she plays outspoken, brazenly vicious wise crackers. Her physical presence is an anomaly in mainstream Hollywood: a large and in charge woman. But through her performances she can uses her body as an asset instead of a liability. She rarely lets herself be the butt of the joke and her mouth is the true weapon. She barks out rapid fire insults as good as anyone. In "Spy", McCarthy plays Susan Cooper, a CIA analyst, who we first see guiding and talking in the ear of Agent Bradley Fine (Jude Law), through a mission in Bulgaria. We notice how much she likes him as they talk back and forth. She's crushing hard, unrequited love. Her talent also shines through though, and her need to do something more than sit in the basement of the CIA. Does the CIA even have a basement? McCarthy is so good at playing knowing and meek, she makes Law better, he becomes a charming doofus. The opening scene is a frenzy of different comic tropes, and it gives us the writer and director, Paul Feig, balancing action, banter, and sight gags like rats scurrying over computer keyboards, and a sneeze that ends in a bullet through someone's head, seamlessly. 

Melissa McCarthy in "Spy" the new comedy directed by Paul Feig

Love and Mercy

When I was young, my mom would drive my siblings and I to the beach practically everyday. It was the same stretch of road, to the same beach. The same routine all summer long and I remember it through the music. She would play Shania Twain's album, "Come on Over", a UB40 record, or a mix of the best of the Beach Boys. It was mainly the latter, it was summer, and we were going to the beach after all. Those songs, and the melodies behind them have cemented in my mind, I don't forget them. They have always and will always be around. As with the best type of art they evoke a feeling, a specific sense of time and place that somehow transcends its origin. I'm positive even people who didn't grow up near the beach amidst the surroundings that Brian Wilson and the Beach Boys sang about, continue to remember "Surfin' USA", "409", "I Get Around", and "Good Vibrations" with fondness. These songs remain eternal, yet what about the five young men behind those songs, and especially Brian Wilson, the band's leader?

The new film, "Love and Mercy", focusing on Brian Wilson, is an exceptionally sensitive portrait of an artist at two different stages of life. In the 1960's, around the time between "Surfin' Safari" and the release of the Beach Boy's masterpiece "Pet Sounds", we get Paul Dano, round faced, endlessly curious, a genius being born. And some 20 years later, after a physical and mental breakdown, and the demise of the Beach Boys, we get John Cusack, sunken eyed, pursed lipped, and in constant risk of falling apart. Shifting back and forth between these two sequences, the director Bill Pohlad, working from a script by Oren Moverman and Michael Lerner, gives us Wilson as an inspired musician and a genius work horse, who through the use of drugs like LSD and the mental abuse of two men transformed into a hollow shell of his former self. Those two central men in his life, his father Murry (Bill Camp), and eventually his personal guardian and doctor Eugene Handy (Paul Giamatti) were horrifically destructive figures. Equal parts overbearing and critical, his father is portrayed as the more subdued villain, yet probably the most damaging. Physical abuse goes a long way. We learn he was fired as the band's manager, now forever undermining and holding a grudge against the group, and mainly Brian. His abuse lays the groundwork for the abuse Brian faces from Dr. Handy after the LSD and after ballooning to 300 pounds. Giamatti does not underplay his evil and the tirades against John Cusack are out of a different film and remain some of the more uncomfortable scenes in the film. 

Paul Dano as the young Brian Wilson in "Love and Mercy" 

"Love and Mercy" does have an angelic figure in the form of Melinda Ledbetter (Elizabeth Banks), who we meet in the very first scene, selling Cadillacs. There, seated in the passenger seat of a car she hopes to sell, she listens to Brian confess that his brother died, not too long ago, his face blank. He comments that blue is a "very calming color". She listens attentively not because she knows who he is but because she senses someone who needs to be listened to. He leaves her a final, frightening note, scribbled on the back of her business card that sets the film in dramatic motion: "Lonely. Scared. Frightened." Ultimately, Melinda becomes Brian's savior, rescuing him from Dr. Handy, who not only verbally abuses Brian, but takes advantage of his bogus diagnosis of paranoid schizophrenia by over drugging him and manipulating his finances. Banks, whose smile radiates kindness, gives a performance of tremendous empathy and warmth. Her presence and face tell us everything we need to know about how to respond to this particular Brian Wilson. Melinda is window that we as the audience look through to get to understand Brian. The scenes between Banks and Cusack are filmed almost entirely in close up, we listen in rapt attention when they speak back and forth. Every twitch in Cusack's mouth, and every emotion in Banks eyes are right there up close for us to see. 

One of the best parts about being a movie fan is learning more about the cultural world in which we come from. I may have endlessly listened to the Beach Boys when I was younger, their songs may have echoed in the background of the restaurant I served at, but I didn't understand their impact, and in particular the genius and ground breaking musical work of Brian Wilson. The most compelling scenes of "Love and Mercy" show the young Brian Wilson in the studio, hearing voices, doing drugs, running laps around the expert musicians that surround him. His constant need to experiment with new sound, test new methods of musical composition, and ring every last potential drop of power from those gorgeous harmonies are shown in montages that are both jumbled and have an extreme emotional clarity. It is quite amazing that the tragedy of Wilson's life as a man undone by drugs and abuse only to rise somewhat again in the future doesn't diminish the power of his legacy as an artist. In one scene we see Wilson playing "God Only Knows" to his father, in a premature version, singing purely, a pitchy falsetto, accompanying himself on the piano. The song hums true, sad. It's hard to even notice his father's disapproving scowl, the song drowns out everything else in the frame. You see the song, instead of hear it. We are left with Wilson at his most vulnerable, alone yet being watched, and he goes beyond the primal immediacy of just singing into something more spiritual, something along the lines of the sacred. Turns out you don't need LSD to know when a song is going to last, or to tell you how to feel. Only God knows that. 

Avengers: Age of Ultron

141 minutes of nonsense and not much else. The second installment of Marvel's Avengers franchise, "Avengers: Age of Ultron", has already made over $400 million domestically after only a month in theaters, and who knows how much overseas. How much money is enough money though? Super hero fatigue has evolved into an ongoing disorder in the film industry with something like 30 plus movies based on comic books coming to theaters in the next 4 years alone. That's a lot of back stories, misunderstood men with powers and the total annihilation and destruction of Planet Earth coming our way people. There's just no fighting it, this is Hollywood today.

"Avengers: Age of Ultron" reunites us with the fabulous six: Iron Man (Robert Downey Jr.), Thor (Chris Hemsworth), Captain America (Chris Evans), Hulk (Mark Ruffalo), Black Widow (Scarlett Johansson), and Hawkeye (Jeremy Renner) and not much has changed. Accept that the world is still under threat like it always is, and instead of a threat from outer space it's now from some country called Sokovia in Eastern Europe. Doesn't Disney have enough money to deface the name of an actual country in Eastern Europe? Of course Sokovia isn't the real issue, something called Ultron (James Spader) is, that, gasp! Iron Man helped to create. Ultron is everywhere and nowhere at once, he is all seeing, and all knowing, a God pretty much, in the form of special effects. If it wasn't for the purring voice of James Spader behind the Ultron facade, this villain, and this second part of the Avengers saga almost completely underwhelms, which really is a bummer.

Chris Evans, Chris Hemsworth, Scarlett Johansson, Jeremy Renner in "Avengers: Age of Ultron"

The first movie, "The Avengers", which was released three years ago, was an anomaly. The super hero movie to end all super hero movies. It did the unthinkable; it merged all of our favorites together. It was a funny action movie, a huge super hero film, and a band of brothers adventure all in one. There was someone for everyone. Iron Man made us laugh, Hulk made us feel, Thor made us swoon, Captain America made us patriotic, Hawkeye made us scratch our heads. And don't forget there's the token girl too, Black Widow. This time though, unfortunately, Black Widow is given a romance to distract, with Hulk no less, and damsel in distress attention that is so sad, I actually felt bad for Scarlett Johansson.

Joss Whedon, the writer and director, gives his actors wonderful dialogue that really sparks, more so than the fiery set pieces. He can make almost any character, even aliens and super heros, sound self aware and funny. These super humans become more human as a result. We like them better. The smaller moments, casual conversation, throwaway remarks, and the party scene early in this new film in particular are the best parts. They're the most fun. I'd much rather watch the Avengers being drunk at a party trying to pick up Thor's hammer, than fighting a computer in some desolate African city. It's all about the explosion, the noise, the next big sequence. Each frame of this film is filled to the brim with spectacle that I was overwhelmed, the images blurred together into one mass of movement. It was numbing, your senses are deadened. Technically, it's expert, you probably won't see more expensive effects in film this year. But in the end, the issue with "Avengers: Age of Ultron" is that I don't know why I should care about the death and destruction, what's at stake, the consequences, when the filmmakers don't seem to either. The stories and films coming out of Marvel studios are going to be with us for along while, so why complain, especially when we paid to see them in the first place, ensuring that more will come.

While I was in the relatively empty theater I kept thinking about how refreshing the first "Iron Man" was when it came out in 2008. Robert Downey Jr. brought humor and style into a genre that seemed stale, about to die. It turns out that "Iron Man" was the little seed that sprouted up, continuing to grow and grow, now a giant oak. In 2015, we are all in the midst of a giant forest of oak trees whether we like it or not. It's all the same, in every direction, and frankly, I'm lost, eager to find my way out.

Nightingale

There are many moments in the new film "Nightingale", that premiered last Friday night on HBO, where we see Peter Snowden (David Oyelowo) looking into the mirror. This mirror has three parts, sits upright, opened up, on the kitchen table in his mother's house. The parts fold into one another, showing different angles, a triptych of self reflection. Peter looks at himself in the mirror and talks, he lectures, and most menacingly, he stares. He asks questions and continues to answer them himself. We aren't sure what he sees when he's looking into them, but almost as soon as "Nightingale" begins we know we are watching someone disturbed.

Something terrible happened in that house, and we know what it is, we're watching its aftermath. Or is it just the beginning? Peter killed his mother. He snapped. There's blood smudged on his glasses, the TV is static in the background, the house emanates ruin. Johnny Mathis plays on loop in the background. No one else is around it seems and no one is coming. It's just Peter, and it's just Peter for the entire duration of this 82 minute movie.

David Oyelowo in "Nightingale" 

In "Nightingale", Peter Snowden is lonely and we quickly learn, repressed. He's confused. He eats fruity pebbles in a rainbow colored robe while lying to his sister about the whereabouts of his mother. He goes over a conversation again and again, obsessively, with various iterations before attempting to call an old friend he was in the army with. Turns out it's not just an old friend, but an unrequited love, one sided of course. He's a recluse, shutting blinds, rushing out to get the mail and scurrying back in, answering calls only to divert messages from his dead mother.

Watching a person mentally come undone with violent repercussions no less, can be an exploitive and even cheap way of exploring the anguish of a character's inner life. It's too easy to just make someone a nut job for dramatic purposes. But when you have an actor as compelling and committed as David Oyelowo, most doubt usually subsides. Oyelowo, who starred as Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. in "Selma" earlier this year, elevates "Nightingale" beyond it's premise and gives a performance I'm not sure the writer, Frederick Mensch, or even the director, Elliott Lester expected they could get. At once frightening, then contemplative, then manic, then charismatic, then quick witted, Snowden the character never stops changing, and Oyelowo, using his remarkable voice, is up to the scripts many shifts in tone, in point of view, in direction.

The novelty of watching a story with one character, in one location, remarkably doesn't begin to wear thin. A large part of that probably has to do with Oyelowo's performance, and the film's surprisingly brief running time. But as the story progresses, and our understanding of the character grows and shifts, the film starts to build in suspense. Even after Peter has shut the real world out, living through his own mind's delusions, trying to forget the people that make it up, it finds a way to remember him. The invisible and silent characters who existed solely on the other ends of the telephone begin to close in on Peter; neighbors and family calling too much about his mother, his old friend's wife asking too many questions. An inevitable, tragic conclusion must come to a head. But the film takes a surprising turn in its final minutes, that I'm not sure entirely worked. It becomes a lecture. This is what I know, Snowden is a killer. He is alone. He is sick. But in the end, he is also a human being. 

Pitch Perfect 2

When "Pitch Perfect" was released towards the end of summer 2012, no one knew what to expect. Collegiate A Capella didn't cause crowds to rush out to the box office. Go figure. The cast, save for Anna Kendrick, was not very famous. The director, newbie Jason Moore, was a broadway hot shot, making his directorial debut. The writer, Kay Cannon, came from the NBC sitcom "30 Rock". All the ingredients were in place for something fresh and new, yet expectations were muted. It turned out it was funny, very funny, a charming mix of sweetness and singing, wit and wisecracks. "Pitch Perfect" was about as irresistible as the first few episodes of the FOX musical television series "Glee" were when they debuted in 2009. We know how quickly that show soured.

And so the few people who told their friends to see it, went back to see it again. And again. And again. And it became even funnier with repeat viewings. As it came and went from theaters, the success surprisingly lingered, and for much longer than most movie life spans nowadays. It gained an entirely new life on DVD, on demand, and on streaming. Soon everyone loved "Pitch Perfect". The Barden Bella's became ubiquitous. The film was a smash.

Did we need to see more? Apparently we did. But I'm not too sure it was necessary. Much of what happens in the first "Pitch Perfect" happens again in the sequel. The film begins with the Bella's led by Becca (Anna Kendrick), Fat Amy (Rebel Wilson), and Chloe (Brittany Snow) suffering a debilitating and quite hilarious set back in their domination of national A Capella competitions in front of the President and First Lady no less. Kind of like how in the first we saw Aubrey (Anna Camp) explosively vomit on the first few rows of an audience during competition, propelling the Bella's on their journey to finding a new sound, and then to Nationals. This time, instead of Becca being our window into this sorority of singing sisters, a new freshman named Emily (Hailee Steinfeld) is introduced. She's a talented song writer, as Becca was a talented producer/ sound mixer. Are we seeing a pattern here?

Brittany Snow, Anna Kendrick, and Rebel Wilson in "Pitch Perfect 2"

Mash ups, mix tapes, and hilarious shenanigans involving a German A Capella group named Das Sound Machine ensue but I was left missing the comic rhythm and musical cohesion that first film so confidently mixed. The director of the first, Jason Moore, staged the musical sequences, such as the "Since You've Been Gone" auditions, the mash up show down, and the final performances at Nationals with a pace and verve that this film does not have. The songs built and built to satisfying crescendos, the performances were staged with a purpose. We could see the action. The main set pieces in the sequel, especially one involving David Cross playing some underground A Capella gangster just don't make sense and are are also just not very funny. Most of the musical sequences don't allow you to respect the performances, it's too busy cutting from one sight gag to another.

One major concern I had, where was Skylar Astin? He played Jesse, the romantic interest to Becca in the first film. Astin moved so well, and had such a mishievous gleam in his eye during the entirety of "Pitch Perfect" I thought he was destined to be a star. Alas, he's since starred in a TBS sitcom. In this film, he barely registers. I like that the story doesn't rely on our heroines to have boyfriends, and that essentially "Pitch Perfect 2" is about female camaraderie and relationships but we do get more of Bumper (Adam Devine), and even a little more of lovesick magician Benji (Ben Platt). But even those very funny actors don't get much to do.

Some scenes unfortunately fall flat entirely, as do some characters. Flo (Chrissie Fit), a new addition to the Bellas, can only talk about her awful childhood and upbringing being an undocumented immigrant from Guatemala. I get what the script is doing, it's attempting to do with Flo what it did with Lilly (Hana Mae Lee), the Asian who speaks barely above a whisper and behaves with bizarre and often creepy mannerisms. That character was just weird enough to work, she made a snow angel in vomit, remember? The other girls balanced her out. They reacted to her. Flo's one liners don't work in the same way, they're genuinely sad, and the other characters barely respond. She doesn't exist. Two other new additions don't even have dialogue, at least they make a joke about not knowing their names. Did they even have one?

This is not to say I didn't laugh at "Pitch Perfect 2", I did, and actually I laughed a lot. But I laughed mainly at the writer Kay Cannon's jokes, and how she tossed them in casually, little asides to punctuate a scene. And I laughed anytime the two very un PC commentators played by John Michael Higgins and Elizabeth Banks (the new director) were on screen. Anna Kendrick can make most line readings sing, and Rebel Wilson is always fearless but mainly "Pitch Perfect 2" left me with memories of the experience I had watching the first. And how I knew I was discovering an instant classic. I hate to do this but, A Ca 'scuse me, lightning doesn't always strike twice.

Mad Max: Fury Road

The last time the Australian director George Miller made a movie with actual human beings, the year was 1998, and even that film, "Babe: Pig in the City", had a pig as its main character. He followed up that one with the two animated "Happy Feet" movies. What do you think possessed Miller to return to human kind, or rather the slow demise of human kind in "Mad Max: Fury Road"? That's anyone's guess. I would assume that after the three previous Mad Max movies, the most recent of which was released 30 years ago ("Mad Max: Beyond Thunderdome"), Miller had a little pent up anger. He already conquered the animal world and the animated world, now he wanted to take on the modern action film.

At the beginning we are mainly told nothing, dropped off in the middle of the story, expected to understand who is who and what is going on. The majority of the action in the picture is a single chase sequence, so you catch on to the action quick. We are on a heavily armed and spiked War Rig driven by Imperator Furiosa (Charlize Theron). She is our hero, a tanned Amazon, primitive and striking. Mad Max (Tom Hardy) may be our guide, but she is our savior. Furiosa is escaping Immortan Joe, the tyrannical leader whose white-caked War Boys kidnapped Max to use as a human blood bag. She is attempting to rescue and change the fate of five young women, stowaways beneath the War Rig, meant for breeding and not much else. She wants to bring them to the 'green place' where she was born. The dialogue is minimal and spare, characters rarely speak other than exposition. This movie is for the eyes, not the ears. Miller hates to explain, he lets the images tell the story. When Max inadvertently joins them on their quest, the film kicks into overdrive, and never loses gas. The quasi-feminist leaning of the film is refreshing and Theron, with one arm, and smeared grease over her forehead is probably the closest thing we'll get to a real action hero this year. Apologies to the Avengers.

Tom Hardy in the fourth installment of George Miller's "Mad Max" franchise

This is a continuation of and not a reboot of the original Mad Max movies, and Miller does this on purpose. Replacing Mel Gibson wasn't hard. Hardy does just fine, he even has some of the young Gibson's smarmy charm. I have only seen the first Mad Max, from 1979, which was vicious and had an frenetic energy in each scene but it didn't have nearly the venom this film spits out. Miller has been building to this. The original is surprisingly tame when viewed today, but 40 odd years ago it was shocking with its realist violence. But in "Mad Mad: Fury Road" everything is amped up to another level, more blood, more extras, more weather, more color, and reality falls to the wayside. 

Each action set piece makes kinetic sense, and the action moves along the story instead of only punching it up. We understand the characters better through the action. Watching Furiosa drive the War Rig, her eyes never leaving the endless road, tells us just what need to know about her. Her focus, determination, and sheer ferocity come through. Much of the credit must go to Theron, whose presence overwhelms you, her eyes holding a world of guilt and deprivation. Then there is of course, Max, with a cage blocking his face for most of the film, teeth gritting, sprouting out from in front of, on top of, and below any number of cars. Max speaks maybe a paragraph of dialogue throughout the duration of the film. Hardy is an impressive actor, with the best mouth in movies today. I am not the first to say what a travesty that this is the second time in recent memory (the first in "The Dark Knight Rises") he had something covering that mug of his. Regardless of the cage face he proves to be a sturdy entry point into the world Miller created. 

Chaos is not an easy thing to explain, let alone film. How many times during any number of super hero films did you actually understand the physical and emotional stakes of any given action scene?Miller manages to create a world filled to the brim with chaotic and disturbing images that have a gruesome sense of poetry. The scenes of the Citadel, where Immortan Joe reigns, with rows of obese women breastfeeding, close ups of warts on emaciated bodies, the tiny disfigured mini Immortan Joe cackling in the background will stay with me a very long time. The colors scream out at you. The desert is an over saturated rusted orange red, the sky an ombre'd cobalt blue. Two colors fighting against each other. You are brought into this world in a startling and quick way and are left just the same. The movie's relentlessly propulsive energy never lets up, you can't wait for what's next. Too many action films today rely on our previous knowledge of the characters, familiar back story tropes and retrograde gender dynamics. These films don't bring anything new to the conversation about movies or the action genre in general. But "Mad Max: Fury Road" does, and it is the best kind of summer entertainment: something fun, something fresh, something dangerous. 

chicago photo diary

The cherry on top of this cross country adventure was ending up in the great city of Chicago, Illinois. I'm a city boy through and through and as much as the drive, and the farm, and the car were definitely experiences, being in this urban metropolis brought back so many feelings of when I was in New York last summer. It was exhilarating and depressing; alas it's not my life. But it is the life of one of my favorite couples and two old friends, Dave and Danielle. They were kind enough to let me stay with them in their beautiful apartment in River North. Here are some pictures from the Chicago part of my adventure, which if you can believe was quite windy. Who would have thought?

the bean, and me being a freak

kelley and justin walking along Lake Michigan 

dog walker 

the "el" 

gotham 

view from W. Huron St

iconic 

navy pier 

danielle and dave 

creeper

*** 

One of the things I feel is most rewarding about writing a blog is being able to absorb and take in the experiences that mean the most to me. This trip was especially rewarding because I was able to share it with good friends, while expanding my horizons and adapting to different environments. It didn't last long enough.

wide open spaces

Polo is a small corn farming town about 90 minutes west of Chicago, Illinois. It has an area of 1.36 square miles and a population of 2,355, according to the most recent census. If you live on a farm (rather than the homes that surround the town's center) your nearest neighbor could be a half mile away. You hear the wind blowing more than you hear the traffic. You recognize every car that scurries by. The roads wind and spin in every direction. The street signs peek up just around bends. Locals make wrong turns, each one looks the same. Kelley and I arrived after three days and around 29 hours of driving, exhausted and anxious. Outside, the air was dusty and humid. The car was a mess, tiny splotches of bug remains covered the windshield, soot layered the car and Kelley's dog Cooper had begun to get restless in the back seat.

He knew where we were. It's funny, the dog recognized the area sooner than Kelley. They had been here before. I couldn't stop staring out the window. You passed one tiny red barn, then the next one was a spec in the distance. Nothing in between. Tractors had to stop to let us pass.

"So what do you think?" Kelley looked at me and knew the answer.

"Um, it's nice." I hesitated.

I was determined to be supportive. It's not my life, it's hers. I continued, my voice got higher, "It's really quiet." Even going 60 mph on an empty dirt road, the silence was deafening. We weren't in San Diego anymore.

"Try to imagine the corn stalks growing up and above your head. This sucks. It's so pretty when it's all green. It glows in the morning." Kelley was trying to be persuasive and I believed her. Timing is everything. This clearly wasn't the moment for photo ops but I have a decent imagination. Winter had just ended, the endless farm land had recently been plowed, leaving huge plots of brown; mixed up dirt and soil. But I could imagine the beauty, the beauty in someplace new and different. Kelley's excitement was strangely contagious.

boots 

molly the mule just taking a nap

Putting yourself in an environment you never thought you'd be in before can have one of two results. The first: enlighten you to a lifestyle you are not accustomed to, letting you embrace something different and grow in life experience. Or the second: terrify you, reconfirming your so definite beliefs. And while my brief one and half days in Polo was enlightening never have I ever been more firm in my beliefs. I belong in a city.

Of course, Polo wasn't for me, it was for my friend and we did everything you're supposed to do on a farm. Look out at the horizon, comment on the weather, make a plan, talk about the plan, have some coffee, and then do the plan. And after all that is finished, which takes about an hour, there's time to think, to ponder, to dream...

How soon until Chicago?

blonde bombshell

molly the mule 

Is there a more beautiful animal than the horse? The farm where I stayed had four horses and one mule. I didn't know the difference, but Kelley's boyfriend's Dad made sure to tell me. Mules are smarter and more keen on the idea of humans as a force of intimidation and danger. They don't scare as easy as horses, yet are much more sensitive and touchy. You have to break them in, as you do with horses, but it's more of a challenge. Molly the mule had her own green pasture to graze, and all the time in the world to just be. She responded to our calls and her eyes were remarkable. Dark pools of grace and strength. Watching Justin (Kelley's boyfriend) ride Molly was a trip highlight, as well as just being around the animals. Kelley and Justin practically threw me into the pen with them and it was an incredible moment that became overwhelming instantly. I was surrounded. They allowed me to feed them, and brush their knotted hair. I danced around the manure below me. The horses were aware of every touch, every move, which in turn makes you more aware. They could crush you, or just kick you really hard. 

The day before we ventured off into Chicago, sometime between playing with the horses and dinner at the Candlelight Diner, Kelley and I took a hike in White Pines Forrest. The trail was empty and I was amazed that all the surrounding flat land my eyes had gotten used to could contain a place like this, with streams and trees, and trails and cliffs. I knew it would probably be the last time Kelley and I would take a walk together, at least for the foreseeable future. We always walked Cooper back in San Diego, and when I was younger always trying to lose weight, she would walk the hills in our neighborhood together, encouraging me along the way. For some strange reason it felt as if I was now encouraging her, moving her forward. We talked about nothing: the trail, what we were gonna have for dinner, what the weather in Chicago would be like. It all was so normal yet profound. I was in such an alien place, a place she was going to call home. I wondered about things, I wondered out loud, "Kelley, are you going to be ok here?" I kicked the dirt below me. 

"I'll be fine." And just like that I was fine too. 

***

There's something to be said about living a simple life. I mean, do we really need Wi-Fi at all times? Is a Starbucks on EVERY corner really necessary? I have lived in what I would describe as a fairly urban, upper middle class beach community my whole life. This is my normal. It's a life that to many people is not normal by any means. When I arrived in Polo and saw the town, the people, the wide open spaces, I thought to myself, this isn't normal. But it is for those who live here, were raised here, were from here. It's all relative right? It may not be a place that I could call home, but it's a remarkable place nonetheless, as all places are if you look at them through the right lens. I may have my city goggles on at all times, dreaming of 5th avenue and giant lofts, but it was nice, if even for a brief moment, to be somewhere where you can see for miles in every direction, where your neighbors wave at you, where nature is in control, and where just living is enough.

the art institute of chicago

Some would argue that the pieces that hang along the walls of the Art Institute of Chicago rival some of the more well known, more visited museums of New York and Paris. I didn't get to have as much time as I would have liked in this historic Chicago Institution but I did make it for a quick visit during my stay. Being a little dense when it comes to art history, I always try to keep an open mind at museums, and let the art speak for itself. I understand that art is important and has functioned as a cultural touchstone that has endured for centuries. Walking through the institute I knew I wasn't just seeing paintings and sculptures from all over the world, but also seeing history unfold. Old worlds becoming new (Van Gogh). Abstraction making sense (Picasso). Beauty being overwhelming (Monet). The psyche splitting open (O'Keeffe). These men and women contributed to history in the most personal way possible. Through their work they said something about their moment, their mind; expressing emotions and passions, dreams and desires through art. Here are share some snaps of the work I appreciated (and who am I kidding, recognized) most.

claude monet 

claude monet 

georges seurat

vincent van gogh

claude monet 

claude monet 

paul cezanne 

rembrandt

georgia o'keeffe 

grant wood, "American Gothic" 

edward hopper, "Nighthawks" 

pablo picasso

henri matisse

marc chagall, "American Windows" stained glass triptych