Category: Entertainment

Whit Stillman has been often called the Waspy Woody Allen. As in some of Allen’s earlier work, Stillman’s films are, at their core, autobiographical. Mostly taking place in New York, these films depict with clarity, intelligence, sensitivity, and gentle humour and irony the manners, mores, morality, and style of a certain subset of New York society. That is to say, waspy upper-class and upper-income preppies, trust funders, and Hamptonites — and the women who want to date them, bed them, and marry them.

In such terrific 1990s films as Metropolitan, Barcelona, and The Last Days of Disco, Stillman, from an insider’s perspective, sets up the strict societal rules within which his characters must operate. Stillman then slyly comments upon and satirizes theses very same societal conventions, especially through his alter ego, played by the sardonic Chris Eigeman (who appeared in each of the aforementioned films).

In Love and Friendship, Whitman has rediscovered his unique singular voice. Stillman has taken Jane Austen’s pre-Pride and Prejudice minor epistolary novel, Lady Susan, her characters, and some of her very sharp observations, and has crafted a brilliantly funny and pointed comedy of manners … or ill manners.

Austen/Stillman’s dialogue sparkles and pops with cutting observations and insightful yet cynical societal comments.

It’s positively Oscar Wilder-ian.

Take, for example, Lady Susan (Kate Beckinsale) describing an unsuitable suitor as “too old to be governed, too young to die.” Or when she positively describes her one true friend and confidante, American-born Alicia Johnson (Chloe Sevigny), as “an American who has none of the uncouthness, but all of the candor.” Yet another time, Lady Susan describes Americans (who at the time had recently became independent of England) as “ingrates,” and wisely states that “only by having children we can understand that dynamic.”

So smart!

The film is in part a late-18^th century costume comedy set in various lavish English country estates, replete with servants and large estate rooms. In terms of setting, think Downton Abbey.

But instead of the moral and honorable Lady Mary, Kate Beckinsale’s Lady Susan is a totally captivating, cunning, scheming, and seductive widow, dressed in gorgeous, long and flowing black dresses. She exudes style and grace, and her manners are outwardly impeccable. But due to her unfortunate impecunious state, Lady Susan’s only goals goal in life are to secure a rich husband for herself and her only daughter, Frederica.

In my opinion, this is Beckinsale’s best film role. She is simply brilliant as the very strong, intelligent, and manipulative Lady Susan, who knows and understands the strict societal rules under which she must survive and attempt to succeed. And she does it all without losing her independent spirit or compromising her strong sexual desires.

Chloe Sevigny’s portrayal as Lady Susan’s co-conspirator in societal crime is also excellent. As is the role of the idealistic suitor for Lady Susan, Reginald. Played by Xavier Samuel, Reginald is totally smitten with the beautiful Lady Susan. This brings much horror to his wealthy sister and even wealthier parents, who rightfully fear that the conniving Lady Susan is only interested in Reginald’s bank account and material assets, not in his heart.

Comic relief is provided by the outrageous Sir James (Tom Bennett), a very wealthy and young(ish) land owner. His cluelessness about all things “normal” (describing peas as green little balls), his bizarre discovery that the estate Churchill is not a separate Church and Hill, and his off-the-wall commentary of the Twelve Commandments steal the show.

Ironically, the buffoonish Sir James delivers Whitman’s underlying core message that morality, or what is right, should supersede mere societal mores or fashion.

Throughout the screening, the packed audience at the Varsity Cinema chuckled and responded to every brilliant repartee and riposte. This is a film worth seeing more than once, chock full of witty lines and laugh-out-loud ironic asides. (Some of which I unfortunately missed on first viewing.)

I predict this brilliant script will be nominated for an Oscar for Best Adapted Screenplay.

Welcome back, Sir Whitman of Stillman.   

Italian director Luca Guadagnino has taken the original 1969 French psychological thriller La Piscine (The Swimming Pool) and has, quite literally, fleshed out the main characters.

The film stars Tilda Swinton in the lead and Ralph Fiennes as her hot, younger lover Matthias Shoenaerts, as well as Dakota Johnson as Swinton’s former lover as the sexual ingénue. They spend most of the film naked, or semi-naked, in and around the villa’s sumptuous pool — swimming, sunning, fighting, and shagging.

Guided by a sexually charged screenplay penned by American writer David Kajganich, Guadagnino has helped Tilda Swinton and Ralph Fiennes craft some of their best, most memorable, and, in my opinion, most Oscar-worthy performances in years.

Swinton (Academy Award for Best Supporting Actress in Michael Clayton) is superb as Marianne, a female David Bowie-like rock star who is recuperating from throat surgery and chilling out in a gorgeous, sprawling villa in the island’s hills. Along with her is her bearded and brooding lover, Paul (Belgian actor Matthias Shoenaerts).

Under doctor’s orders, Swinton has been forbidden to use her voice, so she, as Marianne, must wordlessly express her feelings throughout the film: of love, anger, fear, doubt, confusion, jealousy, betrayal, contentment, and orgiastic ecstasy. To do so, Swinton draws upon all her formidable acting skills. It is truly a tour de force of artistic achievement.

In the past, Swinton has typically played weird, asexual androgynous roles. As rock star Marianne, who George (Ralph Fiennes) describes as someone who loves to “fu*k, fu*k, and fu*k”, she is very sexual and sensuous. In one of the opening scenes, she and her lover Paul are naked in the pool. Swinton’s back is against the wall, and Paul thrusts inside her with her fully exposed and wonderful breasts all ablaze. A great scene that perfectly sets the stage for the wild ride to follow.

Fiennes, normally known for his powerful and dramatic roles in The English Patient, Schindler’s List, and The Constant Gardener, lets it all hang out as the bearded, bombastic, and brash George Hawes. A wild and crazy music producer, George is a control freak with a devilish, snake-like smile. He is hedonistic, egotistical, sexist, selfish, narcissistic, abrasive, and, for most of the film, annoyingly obnoxious.

But he is very hard to look away from. He is, simply, captivating. George’s over-the-top, cock-walking, Jagger-like dance at poolside to The Stones’ “Emotional Rescue,” is one of the true highlights of this film.

In other words, Fiennes, as George, is channeling the headline-grabbing Trumpster. I am not sure that this portrayal is by design or just mere coincidence.

Talk about art imitating life.

Seen through flashbacks, the viewer learns that years ago, George helped produce Marianne’s music. They were also coke-sniffing lovers. As George ruefully admits, he lost Marianne back then because he cheated on her. He was always “slutting around.” As a last attempt at controlling Marianne’s life and fate, George introduced his then-young documentary filmmaker friend, Paul, to Marianne.

Now fast forward back to the present. George invades Marianne and Paul’s idyllic and monogamous hideaway, nymphet daughter Penelope in tow. George has an agenda, and so does the sly Penelope. Both George and Penelope will force Marianne and Paul to deal with their respective addictions.

Ugly truths are revealed. Chests are bared. This story will not end well.

Interestingly, this story is set among the more serious and contemporary one of foreign migrants escaping the Middle East and trying desperately to reach Italy’s shores. And dying in the process.

As George tries to rekindle Marianne’s love for him during a shopping trip, the television in the background reveals that several migrants have drowned off the shore Pantelleria Island, the same on which the villa sits. Those who survived the voyage from nearby Tunisia have been penned in detention centres on the island.

Was the screenwriter and director trying to make a more important point? That the lives and loves of these languorous four do not amount to a Sicilian hill of beans in the greater scheme, or “Bigger Splash,” of things?

Or did the film director simply intend to take the original La Piscine and go deeper, bigger, and bawdier?

As I have previously reported, the Seddiqi Brothers, Alex and Wally, owners of 70 Down, are gradually transforming their place from a very popular Thursday-through-Saturday urban-hip after hour’s club to a more mainstream Middle Eastern bistro.

Now, with the help of very talented local entertainers, 70 Down is also a jazzy, R&B dinner club on Friday and Saturday evenings. Just last night, I stopped by around seven-thirty and stayed to watch Errol Fisher and the Errol Fisher Band play a great set until ten.

Back in the day, in the 70s and 80s, Errol owned and operated a very successful dinner jazz club. Appropriately called Errols, it was located on Richmond Street East, near the then-legendary jazz place The Montreal Bistro. In my younger days I used to hang out at Errols, who of course would perform regularly at his own club.

Errol was awesome then. He is still awesome now.

It was great to see and hear the incomparable Errol Fisher go “old school” and sing some memorable James Brown, Marvin Gaye, and Bob Marley’s “Jammin.” Ya, Mon! Joining the party were some of Errol’s long-time woman friends, and we danced away the night to Errol’s voice, superbly backed by Larry Gould on guitar and Jeff Beauchamp on bass.

The evening was magic.

Errol and the Errol Fisher Band play every other Fridays at 70 Down. A very talented and amazing entertainer, it is a show definitely worth checking out.

I first experienced Anne Marie’s brilliant comic artistry a few weeks ago when she performed her new one-woman play, MILF Life Crisis, at the Red Sandcastle Theatre. (Read the full review.) In the show, Anne Marie finds herself suddenly divorced with two young boys in tow and is thrown back into the casual hookup/Tinder dating pool—with uproariously funny results.

In her original one-woman show, Suddenly Mommy, Anne Marie jumps back in time to the origins of her tragicomic journey. One moment she is a naïve, innocent young woman looking to “get lucky” with some handsome dude; the next she is pregnant with child (by said new guy), who is also moving in with his nasty teenage stepdaughter. Instant family. (Watch clips from Suddenly Mommy.)

Oy Vey! Two years later, another baby boy joins this hilariously dysfunctional family

Anne Marie’s character (coincidentally called Anne Marie) is completely unprepared for motherhood: the late night feedings, the constant demands by her selfish kids to be fed at least once a day, the lack of sleep, the non-existent sex. Anne Marie comes to the funny yet sad realization that unlike her hero, Céline Dion, she cannot have it all. (That is, a kick-ass acting career and well-behaved, well-trained, and well-fed children.)

Some of the funniest, gut-busting, and heart-wrenching scenes involve Anne Marie channeling the great diva Céline as she advises her, in Quebecois-inflected English, how she navigates a fabulous Vegas career with raising her beautiful son, René Charles. It is, simply, comic gold.

In Suddenly Mommy, Anne Marie brings back her wise lesbian mother/friend Terry (we enjoyed her in MILF Life Crisis) who bluntly throws a lifeline to the drowning young mother. Terry wisely advises, “No matter what you do, Anne Marie, your kids will hate you.” While Anne Marie’s other close girlfriend, the super-hot supermodel Chanel, surveys the scene of Anne Marie’s mud-stained boys under foot and her expanding waistline says, “What happened to you, Anne Marie? You used to be a ‘small,’ now, you are (horrors!) a ‘medium’.” She absurdly advises Anne Marie to get out, before it’s too late.

Anne Marie also introduces us to her sister Belinda. She’s the perfect mom. Martha Stewart on steroids. The type who churns her own butter and feeds her perfect children wholesome and freshly prepared food, all from scratch.

In Suddenly Mommy, the jokes, sketches, and laughs come fast and furious. (They of course hit home to us married and single dads as well. You’re not the only one who is sleep-deprived and sex-starved, Missy!)

The show is a very smartly written, beautifully paced, and wonderfully acted piece of comic theatre. And the very sexy Anne Marie does a great impromptu striptease on stage, shaking her bodacious booty. Bonus.

Deep down, Anne Marie is a great mom with adoring kids and an audience that cherishes every step of her crazy journey. I, for one, can’t wait for the sequel when her oldest, Nathan, is now a strapping high-school senior who knocks up the head cheerleader … and Anne Marie is “Suddenly Grandmommy.” Epic.

But for now, Anne Marie is returning to the Red Sandcastle Theatre in Toronto with her outrageous MILF Life Crisis from June 7 to 11. I am once again bringing my single, recently separated, sex-starved, angry, but fabulous-looking female friends. This show speaks to them and the horny men who harass them on Tinder.  I hope to see you there.

On Saturday night, I was flying solo. I was about to head to the Four Seasons d/bar when

I noted on Bloor Street, that the local Bloor Street Hot Docs theatre was planning on showing Prince’s iconic

film. The 10pm show was fully sold out, but I had a shot at the later 12:45 am show. So I took it.

Like most Prince fans, I was caught up with the sadness and tragedy of his sudden death and I wanted to share the experience of watching Prince, at his peak, at his most Purpleness, in his well-known film, “Purple Rain”.

With fellow true believers.

You had to be a really hard-core Prince fan to wait in the friggin cold outside the Bloor Street theatre for about one hour to cop one of the 700 seats in that old theatre. I am such a crazy, irrational fan.

So here is my take on the film and the whole scene. Experienced through a purple haze of nostalgia, sadness, and heavy weed, man, that the majority of the fans were smoking and had been smoking prior to the show. One theatregoer, in line, shared with me, “It looks like this whole place is full of people, young and old, “fully ripped”. She then offered me “one toke over the line”. Purely medicinal, I was assured. I declined, but appreciated the offer.

I suddenly realized I was in Justin Trudeau territory. Oy Vay!

The Good: the extreme, unshakeable loyalty to Prince, and love of Prince, the artist, the man and above all, his music- by his fans. I was standing in line for an hour talking to all sorts of Prince fans- aging 60ish rockers, 50ish Italian suburban types having made the long trek down from Woodbridge, hipster college dudes in hoodie, baseball caps and requisite beard, hot yuppie Annex couple, a whipsmart 40 something black woman, Lina and her multi-ethnic friend, Riva.

Lina has been following Prince for years. She had been to multiple concerts. Had most of his records and CDs. She could sing out all his top hits. She said that Prince’s lyrics and music got her through some tough times in high school, in college and in life. Most of my fellow Prince lovers shared those same heartfelt sentiments. She was a true believer as were most fans in the cold that night.

The Better: The penultimate moment of “Purple Rain”, loosely based on Prince’s life, is of course at the end of the film. Prince has gone through all kinds of shite with his family. His father, in the film, a songwriter and pianist, frustrated by his life and his failed dreams, was physically abusive to Prince’s mom and to Prince himself. (In real life Prince’s father, a songwriter and pianist had separated from his own mother at an early age and Prince was shuttled between two homes for years)

Prince, in turn upset by his girlfriend, Apollonia, joining a rival girl group, hits her ( shades of his abusive father) and thoroughly alienates her. Prince also alienates his own band and refuses to consider their own material for the band.

After his father’s attempted suicide, Prince seeks redemption, he adapts his band members’ work. Hence the song Purple Rain, whose lyrics deal astutely and sensitively with his father, Apollonia and his band mates.

See the full lyrics below.

This song and the whole score won the Academy Award for best original score, that year. And rightfully so.

It is powerful. It is moving. It is timeless. And its lyrics resonate. This song became Prince’s signature song in most of his future concerts.

The Ugly: my major beef with the actual film is the writing is boring, predictable and derivative.

Prince was a brilliant composer, singer, musician, and performer, but his screen acting is mediocre and weak.

And Apollonia’s acting is worse. The love and sex scenes between these two are cringe worthy.

The chemistry between them is non-existent. Their love and lust- unbelievable.

Prince was a unique genre-bending and gender-bending phenomenon. More Michael Jackson, then Action Jackson.

His slight 5’2” frame did not lend itself to leading man/romantic/lover status. Perhaps that is just me.

Lina, a die-hard Prince fan, admitted much the same. The music was memorable in the film, “Purple Rain”, but the rest, including Prince’s acting, was lame. She astutely observed the film was produced to promote and support the music.

Bang on.

I don’t mean to purple rain on Prince’s eulogy parade. But Prince should be remembered for his great music and his amazing talent. His actual film career-not so much.

Purple Rain

(written and performed by Prince and his band, Revolution)

I never meant to cause you any sorrow
I never meant to cause you any pain
I only wanted to one time to see you laughing
I only wanted to see you
Laughing in the purple rain

Purple rain, purple rain
Purple rain, purple rain
Purple rain, purple rain
I only wanted to see you
Bathing in the purple rain

I never wanted to be your weekend lover
I only wanted to be some kind of friend
Baby, I could never steal you from another
It’s such a shame our friendship had to end

Purple rain, purple rain
Purple rain, purple rain
Purple rain, purple rain
I only wanted to see you
Underneath the purple rain

Honey, I know, I know
I know times are changing
It’s time we all reach out
For something new, that means you too

You say you want a leader
But you can’t seem to make up your mind
I think you better close it
And let me guide you to the purple rain

Purple rain, purple rain
Purple rain, purple rain
If you know what I’m singing about up here
C’mon, raise your hand

Purple rain, purple rain

I only want to see you

In the purple rain.

For the past few weeks I have been holed up in a beautiful (and warm) cottage in the beach town of Innisfil, within a chip and putt of the slowly melting sea.

A windswept oasis. Literally far from the madding crowd of downtown Toronto.

This weekend I discovered a small gem of a Canadian film. Scrolling through the channels in my cottage hideaway, the words Rare Birds came across the screen. Filmed in 2001, it is a relatively unknown Canadian film set in Newfoundland, and stars two of my favourite and quirky actors:  Molly Parker and William Hurt.

William Hurt, a little paunchy, his hair thinning, is several years from his role as the charismatic teacher of the deaf (and lover of his fellow deaf employee portrayed by Marlee Matlin) in Children of a Lesser God (1986). Hurt is also light years from the good-looking but dim southern lawyer who attracted the attention of the very sexy and nubile femme fatale Kathleen Turner in the classic, steamy, and heavily erotic Florida noir thriller Body Heat (1981). But this Hurt dude can still act! Even in a relatively low-budget Canadian flick with a pseudo Newfie accent.

Set along the rocky shores of a small Newfoundland town, Hurt is the owner/chef of a failing restaurant, literally in the middle of nowhere, called The Auk. The premise is that Hurt is apparently a brilliant and talented chef who, for some reason, fled to the rocky shores of Newfoundland to own and operate his own high-end bistro. But the place seems to be invisible to customers, and most locals believe the place has been closed for months.

Hurt is separated from his wife (played by Sheila McCarthy), who apparently prefers the high-powered life of Washington to watching her husband spend his days alone and pitifully drinking wine in his empty bistro.

Then, one night at a friend’s house, Hurt meets the alluring and red-headed Molly Parker. She is an architecture student, temporarily staying with her family until her return to the big city of Montreal.

Full disclosure: I love Molly Parker as an actress.

I have loved her ever since she blew my socks off in Kissed (1996) when, as a mortician’s assistant, she literally mounted a freshly embalmed body of a handsome young man and had her way with him. If this guy had been alive, he would have thought he had died and gone to heaven … multiple times.

But I also love Parker because she is fearless and she takes on eccentric and totally unique roles in off-the-wall productions, such as the Jewish female rabbi Ari in Six Feet Under or the “hard as nails” widow in the very wild, lawless, and profanity-filled western Deadwood. Fans can currently find Parker as ex-Majority Whip Sharp, going toe to toe with the evil, venal American President Francis Underwood in House of Cards.

And in this Canadian independent flick, Parker does not disappoint. She dominates the screen with her naturally flowing red hair and her mischievous, devilish, and very wise and quick eyes.

In Parker’s first meeting with Hurt, across the dining room table, she initially feigns interest as Hurt, the food and wine buff, holds forth on a special wine he had brought for the occasion. Reluctantly, Parker takes a glass and expertly sniffs the liquid. Rolls it around her full mouth. She then opines on its taste, and slyly suggests its deep penetrating bouquet, ripe pinot fruit, and earthiness is evocative of a hardwood forest and the losing of one’s cherry. Wow … this girl’s got serious game! (Watch the scene for yourself.) Hurt, whose coq au fin has lain dormant for years in a loveless marriage, begins to pulsate in its rich juices.

As a result of a fake sighting of a rare bird, the small Newfoundland community is suddenly inundated by ravenous birdwatchers. They in turn begin to populate the only decent bistro for miles around. Hurt’s little failing bistro, is now awash in American Express-carrying birders who love his Michelin-starred renderings of local fresh fish. To deal with the influx of customers, Parker decides to lend a hand in the front of the room and we immediately sense that love and romance have also clearly invaded this quaint inlet.

In a beautiful and private moment, Hurt, looking in from the outside, watches Parker in the bistro, moving her hips to a bluesy beat, unaware of her lover’s gaze. Another time, after a long day on her feet, Parker favours her sore foot. Hurt motions Parker to sit in a chair across from him, then gently removes her shoe and messages the balls of her foot. Parker is clearly struck by his gentleness, kindness, and coiled sexiness. You can tell from her eyes that she wants this guy … real bad.

You know, these two just want to rip each other clothes off and devour each other among the frozen cod.

But this is Canada, damn it!  No Fifty Shades of the Maple Leaf, malheureusement!

Finally, the night before Parker must return to Montreal, she prepares a candlelight dinner for Hurt. The twosome barely finish a swig of vodka and a mouthful of caviar when Parker mounts Hurt, still seated in his chair. She confesses that she has wanted to jump his bones from day one. Hurt, now recreating his role as the horny lawyer in Body Heat, is ready to take Parker then and there. But once again, Canadian values intercede. Some stranger knocks on the door of the darkened bistro and the highly sexually charged moment passes.

But let me tell you, folks, twenty-nine at the time of filming, Parker is amazingly and wildly hot. It’s her strong and high cheek bones that get me. Her wild eyes. Her totally uninhibited, go-for-broke nature. And the explicit suggestion, that with Parker anything, and I mean anything, goes.

I urge you to catch Molly Parker in Rare Birds. She is not only a rare Canadian actress, she is truly a rare and unique actress in her own right.