A Walk in the Woods
by Hope Madden, MaddWolf.com
In 1998, Bill Bryson published the funny human adventure A Walk in the Woods – the tale of a man grappling with his morality by walking the Appalachian Trail. To stave off boredom he invites (perhaps mistakenly) a friend. Though it lumbers at times, the book is a fun odd couple account of human frailty and the vastness of the natural world.
It’s 2015, and Robert Redford has released a broad, uninspired treatment/vanity project. Redford plays Bryson, the travel writer bristling against age and stagnation. Nick Nolte is Stephen Katz, the overweight, gimpy recovering alcoholic eager to accompany him on his journey.
It’s hard to understand what made Redford want to create this wisp of a comedy road trip after last year’s gripping The Wild, a film that treads very similar ground. But where Reese Witherspoon’s Oscar nominated flick illustrated personal exploration and the redemptive power of nature, Redford’s is content with lazy gags and hollow attempts at profundity.
Redford and Nolte lack chemistry, and while Nolte entertains in several humorous moments, Redford’s utter lack of comic timing is itself kind of awe inspiring.
It’s also absurd casting, given that Bryson – in his 40s when he attempted the trail – was facing a midlife crisis, yet feared he may be too old to make the trip. Nick Nolte is 71 and Robert Redford is 79, for lord’s sake.
At least you can expect a breathtaking view, though, right? Wrong. Director Ken Kwapis misses every opportunity to exploit the sheer gorgeousness of the AT, providing no more than 3 lovely, if brief, images of natural beauty. Nor can he authentically express the passage of time, articulate the grueling nature of the journey, or build tension, and he and his writers (Rick Kerb and Bill Holderman) utterly abandon the enjoyably creepy representation of the South you’ll find in Bryson’s text.
An early draft of the script came from Michael Arndt, whose work on Little Miss Sunshine and Toy Story 3 suggests the kind of playful humor and storytelling skill the project deserved. Unfortunately, the end product came from the keystrokes of Redford’s regular contributor Holderman, which may be why Redford so rarely makes decent movies anymore.
Phoenix
by George Wolf, MaddWolf.com
Get some footing on a solid piece of ground, because this one might buckle your knees.
Phoenix is a gripping story of loss, hope, regret and resignation, told in a subtly devastating manner by director Christian Petzold.
Based on Hubert Monteilhet’s novel “Le Retour des cendres,” Phoenix takes us to Germany, not long after the Nazi surrender. Nelly (Nina Hoss) has miraculously survived the concentration camps, but the brutality left her disfigured. Longing to regain her looks and reunite with her husband Johnny (Ronald Zehrfeld), Nelly relies on social worker Lena (Nina Kunzendorf) to help reclaim her life.
After facial reconstruction surgery, Nelly searches the underbelly of postwar Berlin to find her beloved husband, despite Lena’s claim that it was he who betrayed her to the Nazis. Johnny is certain his wife is dead, but is struck by how much this mysterious new acquaintance looks like her, and he hatches a plan.
Petzold also co-wrote the script, and he employs a tantalizing “rope a dope” strategy for much of the film. Though he dutifully delivers all the elements for a polished, effective film, there’s no unique identity to stand out in the crowded field of holocaust-based dramas.
But, as Ali did with Foreman in 1974, Petzold has you where he wants you the entire time. He drops the plot’s first hammer in an almost casual manner, much like Llewelyn’s death in No Country for Old Men, and the result is all the more powerful.
The entire film instantly takes on a greater level of gravitas, and it continues on its determined path even as you’re dizzy from the sudden new level of emotion. Hoss, Zehrfeld and Kunzendorf all give deeply affecting performances, keeping you riveted until the inevitable, shattering conclusion.
Though the film’s title tips the hand of its postwar metaphor, the way Petzold weaves it into themes of identity and intrigue is downright masterful, and it renders Phoenix an experience of simmering emotional power.
