The story of Pulitzer Prize-winning poet C.K. Williams, The Color of Time is told through a series of flashbacks, voiced over at times by the poet’s own works read aloud by James Franco, who also stars in the film. Walking us through various elements of Williams’ life in no particular order, the film attempts to slowly unravel his existence into a series of experiences that not only inspired his poetry, but combined to make his work a visceral reflection of life as he knew it. Yet problematically, the film fails to do so in a way that delves into who Williams was as an individual, instead allowing his story to blend into the commonly held, stereotypical understanding of troubled young men becoming troubled old poets.

Written and directed by twelve students from Franco’s class at NYU, The Color of Time is a film for students; its heavily filtered aesthetic and non-linear structure will appeal far more to the artistic undergraduate than the average cinema-goer. This is not merely the result of a film that is too intellectual or abstract to appeal to a mainstream audience, but rather a fundamental flaw in the established style that has been liberally applied to the entire piece. While on the one hand it is commendable that a film created by twelve individuals is so cohesive, on the other it could certainly be argued that this is simply a uniformity born of a lack of originality. Indeed, the film is clearly inspired by the picturesque beauty of Terrence Malick films, down to the sepia-toned fields of long grass. In allowing the film to be thus influenced to the point of detraction from its core subject, the filmmakers make sure that though it may be a beautiful imitation, it will never stand out. Rather than remaining honest to the needs of the story, the different aspects of Williams’ life have been manipulated to fit a stereotypical understanding of how such biopics tend to go.

Jessica Chastain also stars in the film, but appears to essentially be reprising her role from The Tree of Life; she performs admirably, but even this does not distract from the knowledge that we have seen this character before. There is only one point at which the film seems to truly break out of its self-imposed shell, and this comes through the portrayal of a drug-induced stupor that Franco, as a young Williams, finds himself in. It is, ironically, a breath of fresh air – a reminder that the film does in fact have some creative minds behind it. Yet just as we come to hope that the film might continue to break away in such a fashion, it snaps back to what the filmmakers have no doubt decided is the “tried and true” method.

The biggest problem with all of this, however, is not simply audience exasperation, but in fact the disservice it does to Williams’ poetry. Poetry as an art demands a personal reaction: an interpretation through which it can become a powerful force in our own lives. Few would expect that film could be the medium to reduce it to little more than a series of platitudes set to melancholic piano music. Perhaps the poignancy lies only in the poetry, and not in the film—an implication only made further apparent by the lingering feeling that The Color of Time should have been far more thought-provoking than it was. Though Franco seems to have attracted other stars to the project, including Mila Kunis as his wife, and Zach Braff, they are all evidently underused, functioning as fleeting moments in Williams’ life and with no real identities of their own.

Biopics, regardless of how artistic or loosely interpreted they are, are stories about people—namely, real people. The Color of Time is not a story about people, but a story about what we expect certain people to have been. Masquerading under the honesty of Williams’ poetry, it is a confirmation of our assumptions, and a pretense of profundity. By rejecting creativity in its vision, it becomes, at its core, a superficial film that–though visually appealing—does neither itself nor its subject justice.

The sheer ambition on display in Third Person, from Crash writer-director Paul Haggis, is staggering and admirable without question. It’s actually a very, very rare thing to behold, with Haggis carefully constructing an intricately woven ensemble love story set in three famous cities with just a hint of supernatural mystery blanketing the entire thing. Despite the film feeling earnest and being a clear labor of love, it also manages to feel absolutely wrong in so many ways that it’s quite painful to sit through. Haggis had a beautiful vision in mind, but the elements used to deliver it from his brain to ours are, frankly, unsightly.

Liam Neeson leads the ensemble of A-listers in the tri-story drama, starring as a Pulitzer Prize-winning writer who’s struggling desperately with writer’s block while piecing together his latest novel in an extravagant hotel room in Paris. This battle with creation is one of the film’s two major themes, the other being the unmerciful nature of love and longing. Representing love’s viciousness for Neeson is Olivia Wilde, who plays his nutty mistress staying in a suite a couple floors below his.

Their story line consists of them alternating between them being comically cruel to each other and hysterically in love, having wild sex at the drop of a hat. Nothing about their relationship feels authentic, believable, or natural, with them pinball-ing from brutal to enamored way too quickly to take seriously. Yes, there are couples in real life who have similar up-and-down, abusive relationships, but Wilde and Neeson’s relationship is so hammy, desensitizing, and exhausting you’ll want to take a nap. They’re just not relatable enough to make investment in them worthwhile. The pair’s acting does have energy, however, and in isolated moments they’re quite magnetic.

More interesting is a second love story involving Adrien Brody, playing an American in Rome who’s so unimpressed with the city all he wants is a burger, which he waltzes into a pub called Bar Americano to find, but with no luck. Instead, he meets a beautiful gypsy (Moran Atias), the first thing he’s found in Rome he actually likes (though he claims the shot of limoncello they share to be the first as a pick-up line). His attraction to her is so strong that he’s compelled to help her when her daughter’s life is threatened and she must come up with ransom money somehow. This is easily the most enjoyable strand of the three stories, as it mixes elements of danger and betrayal with Brody and Atias’ potent chemistry. It also heavily recalls the work of Antonioni (one of Haggis’ favorites) in a good way.

Mila Kunis leads the third story as a hotel maid in New York entrenched in a custody battle over her son with a cold-hearted painter played by a vacant James Franco. Kunis’ character is positioned to be the film’s most sympathetic, with everyone in her life having zero belief in her, but again, the obtuse way in which her plight is presented derails it early on. The final showdown between she and Franco is as overblown and numbing as the climactic gunshot in Crash.

The supernatural element I mentioned earlier comes in the form of Haggis interconnecting the three stories when they couldn’t possibly be, as they take place thousands of miles apart. We see Kunis, who’s supposed to be in New York, clean up Neeson’s Paris hotel room, for instance. The revelation that makes sense of all this is clever and actually ties in to the film’s themes nicely, but by the time we get there we’re so depleted it barely leaves an impression.

Third Person trailer

Writer-director Paul Haggis (Crash, In the Valley of Elah) spoke with us in San Francisco about his new film, Third Person, which follows three interlocking stories of love, taking place in New York, Paris, and Rome. A labor of love, the script took two and a half years to complete, with Haggis writing and re-writing the intricately woven story incessantly. The film stars Liam Neeson, Mila Kunis, Adrien Brody, James Franco, Kim Basinger, Moran Atias, and Olivia Wilde.

In Part 1 of our video interview, Haggis speaks with us about the nature of love, his love for flawed characters, the selfishness of artists, the painful process of writing the script, the influence of Blow-Up, and more.

WATCH OUR PAUL HAGGIS INTERVIEW PART 2

Darren Aronofsky does it again. If you thought a film about ballet could not possibly be entertaining, think again. Black Swan overcomes the hype that surrounds it, a difficult and rare feat. It is a seductively sophisticated film with many layers that transforms from innocent to darkness.

Black Swan is about a ballerina named Nina (Natalie Portman) who works for a New York City ballet company. She is completely devoted to ballet and strives for absolute perfection, qualities that are well suited for ballerinas.

The director Thomas Leroy of the ballet company announces that a new rendition of the classic Swan Lake is the next production. He selects Nina for the lead, the Swan Queen. When the director announces that he is changing up the production of Swan Lake, he announces that the Swan Queen would play both the White and the Black Swan, we see the director’s body doubled in the mirror. Undoubtedly showing the contrast of personalities between good and evil.

Because Nina needs everything to be perfect in her eyes, it poses a problem when trying to get the Black Swan part down. She has a very fitting personality for the White Swan but The Black Swan is not supposed to be perfect, rather completely opposite. The Black Swan is also supposed to trick and seduce, which is exactly what the film does to us.

As she struggles with the demanding role, she gains added pressure as a new dancer Lily (Mila Kunis) threatens to steal the lead role. This new dancer is Nina’s competition and rival as Leroy takes notice of her Black Swan playing ability.

Yet the two dancers find themselves in a twisted friendship. Nina sees it as a chance to get into touch with her dark, Black Swan side. Lily sees it as a chance to get closer with the enemy. But in the end only one can succeed and play the lead role and both will go as far as they need to accomplish this.

Duality is showing throughout, sometimes even overwhelmingly. The film is about the contrast between black and white and good and evil. Nearly everything in the film, especially the clothing, is in black and white, giving us subtle clues of what is right and wrong. The amount of mirror shots are constant reminders of self reflection.

You can even see it in Portman’s character when she transforms from innocence to darkness. Which is why I think Natalie Portman deserves (and will win) an Oscar for the Best Female Lead. Portman is phenomenal and does it like no one else could. You can tell that she trained for 10 months for the role. She did most of her own dancing in the film.

What I found most interesting was how the production of Swan Lake was in a lot of ways what the film Black Swan is about. That adds layers in the theme of seduction and deception. Aronofsky brilliantly transforms a story about Swan Lake into itself.

Cinematography in the film is much like ballet; it was close, tight and perfect. The shots effectively showed the art behind ballet and not so subtle hints of contrasts of color. The visuals can be most effective with a well done score. Thankfully, Black Swan has that covered as well. Although, one cannot help but wonder why Thom Yorke’s Black Swan was not featured in this film. It would have been a near perfect fit for the film.

Black Swan is a wonderfully captivating film from beginning to end. It constantly tries to blur the black and white line between what is real and what is not. Much like Nina’s character, the film itself transforms from an innocence one to a dark and terrifying one. Although, I would not call it a masterpiece, it contains many elements of one. Easily one of the best films of the year.