“Submarine,” directed by Richard Ayoade and adapted by him from Joe Dunthorne’s novel, is a bittersweet British comedy in the deadpan vein of “Harold and Maude” and “Rushmore.” Like those two films, it features a shaggy-haired, never-smiling teenage protagonist (Craig Roberts) who loves himself unconditionally but bewilders most others—including his parents. Trying to woo an aloof female classmate, for instance, he mumbles such precocious, ahead-of-his-years things as “Here’s to us and a wonderful evening of lovemaking.” The film, which also stars Noah Taylor (“Flirting,” “Shine”), Sally Hawkins (“Happy-Go-Lucky”) and Paddy Considine (“Hot Fuzz”) opens Friday nationwide.
The soft-spoken Ayoade—who stars in the beloved British sitcom “The IT Crowd”—drew on Louis Malle, Jean-Luc Godard and Francois Truffaut, all lovers of deadly serious, affected youths, in developing his oddball hero. At a press conference last week in New York City, he mentioned “Taxi Driver’s” Travis Bickle as the character’s main influence, as both speak in “an uninflected voice-over, seeing the least important thing [that’s happening on-screen]. He’s an unreliable narrator, linguistically idiosyncratic.”
Ben Stiller received the script for “Submarine” and was asked by the Weinstein Company to be an executive producer. “I said, ‘What does that mean? Do we have to do anything?’ and they said we just had to support [Ayoade]. I liked the script and liked Richard’s other work, so we took a chance with it.”
Casting Roberts in the lead role was, Stiller and Ayoade agree, practically a no-brainer. “He’s like a young old man,” Stiller said.
“I’m not a terribly social person, so I want to work with who I like,” said Ayoade. “I don’t think I’d be the natural director for ‘The Bon Jovi Story.’”
Ayoade, who debuted as feature film director for “Submarine,” is currently working on an adaptation of Fyodor Dostoevsky’s novella “The Double: A Petersburg Poem.”
(full review in Friday's edition)
Alex Gibney's riveting documentary "Catching Hell," part of ESPN's "30 for 30" film series, centers on the ruthless scapegoating that high-strung, frenzied fans of ill-fated sports teams often resort to. It's about the ugly side of underdogs, about understandable but misplaced rage at avoidable—yet consistent—failure.
No sports movie will likely achieve the psychological depth that "Catching Hell" does any time soon, or the pathos. The variety of subjects Gibney interviews is staggering—from sportscasters to authors like Scott Turow to former Boston Red Sox and Chicago Cubs players. And they all share a common, hilarious humility, the instinct for anticipating the death knell that's been sounded at all too many near-victory playoff and World Series games.
During Game 6 of 2003's National League Championship Series, Steve Bartman, a meek, turtleneck-wearing Cubs fan, tried to catch a foul ball hit by the Florida Marlins' Luis Castillo, accidentally blocking Cubs' outfielder Moisés Alou from retrieving it. There was one out in the top of the 8th inning and the Cubs were up 3-0; Alou's catch would have left the Cubs—who had not won the World Series since 1908—four outs away from entering the Series.
As noted by Gibney (pictured), several other blunders—a botched double play, a wild pitch—led to the Marlins scoring eight runs that same inning, defeating the Cubs. Yet ultimately, Bartman became the fall guy for keeping this long-doomed team from winning.
No actor has mastered the art of muttering obscenities under his breath more expertly than Dennis Farina. In “Get Shorty,” “Snatch” and other films about low-life criminals, Farina, with his eagle-eyed glare, Charles Bronson-like mustache and clenched-teeth diction, has stolen every scene he’s in merely by spouting off an array of expletives. “The fucking airport,” he barks at a cab driver in “Get Shorty,” disgusted at being put upon to give simple directions. His every eyebrow twitch, stiff-necked shrug and sarcastic overemphasis on every word—as if he’s already explained what he’s saying three times—deliver the message: “I don’t give an inch for you—you give an inch for me.”
Happily, Farina’s signature macho style is put to good use for much of “The Last Rites of Joe May.” But the film, directed and written by Joe Maggio, stretches Farina’s range to an unexpected level: for the first time, he’s showing genuine hurt and weakness, with astonishingly powerful results. Joe May certainly bears the same hostility and bitterness as Farina’s other characters, but he’s a man with a conscience, a soul, and his brooding takes on a tragic dimension.
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