Why do we ask so many questions?

L’ECLISSE (1962)

Part of me regrets not taking in more of Michelangelo Antonioni’s filmography before tackling L'avventura and now L’Eclisse – the head and tail of a trilogy that includes La notte – because in retrospect I'd say these films belong in a class of their own, a class that perhaps requires a special taste only acquired after viewing and really appreciating the Italian director's prior films. The territory that both L'avventura and L’Eclisse cover is so alien and almost barren of human emotion that investing interest in the sparse developments that occur becomes a bit exhausting. Having not seen La notte, I can only assume that it breathes the same air of emotional indifference, and considering the period these films were released – in the throes of the Cuban Missile Crisis – it’s not hard to understand why optimism seemed absent on Antonioni’s agenda.

It was a bleak period not only for the working class, but also for the bourgeoisie and unlike most neorealist directors who focused on struggling proletarians, Antonioni chose to scrutinize the upper crust of Italian society. The final act in Antonioni’s trilogy examines social alienation in the modern world and while certain moments are hauntingly meditative, for the most part the story's quite simple. L’Eclisse introduces us to Vittoria (Monica Vitti), a woman who finds herself at the end of an affair that her significant other makes little effort to reinvigorate. Unable to make a connection, she leaves him and eventually falls for an enterprising, but shallow young stock broker named Piero (Alain Delon). After relishing momentary flashes of bliss and passion, the two eventually realize they have nothing concrete to offer each other.

There’s this sense of isolation that swells in L’Eclisse and although that sense is at its peak during the finale, the bulk of the film is essentially one large metaphor for being alienated by the looming modern world. The two scenes that take place in the stock exchange are absolutely primitive, depicting a mob of brokers and investors as jostling pawns of the capitalist machine. Vittoria responds to both the hustle bustle of the exchange and the effect it has on its dependents – one being her distant mother – with a curiosity denoting a growing fear that isolates her further from the fast-paced society she lives in.

Antonioni holds no reservations when it comes to forcing his arctic cold atmosphere upon the audience. It’s the antithesis of classical romance, in stark accordance with reality, but not quite authentic enough to pass for a documentary on failed relationships. Delon and Vitti exhibit these characters in ways that convey pure heartache and a desire to break free from routine, but they seem far more interested in preserving their individualism than seeking refuge in someone else. They’re lost, and as viewers we find ourselves lost in their digressions throughout the film – which ends on an obscure, sort of open-ended note. It’s a common dilemma only made disturbingly eerie and real by the utter loneliness Antonioni subjects these characters to. What Piero and Vittoria seem to be after in life is a question Antonioni fails to bring up, but perhaps it’s a question that's impossible to answer.

7/10

Who says Santa's pants have to be red?

HAPPYTHANKYOUMOREPLEASE (2011)

In an age where it’s practically the norm for actors – both highly and just moderately successful – to try their hand behind the camera, I’ve become virtually unfazed when I hear word that the likes of Angelina Jolie or Jennifer Love Hewitt are planning to helm their first feature film. It’s become a pattern in Hollywood and if an actor has the funds and means necessary to realize a script, why not take a stab at directing it as well? Will it result in a sloppy, lumbering mess? Probably, but credentials aren’t often taken into account when actors experience these whims of inspiration and creative impulse. Audiences don’t seem to care either as it’s the name on the poster – directed by insert-overexposed-celebrity-here – that tends to garner their interest, the very same interest studios need come opening night. But who would be interested in seeing a film directed by Ted Mosby?

I’ve seen less than a handful of How I Met Your Mother episodes and the material honestly does zilch for me. So when Josh Radnor, who plays Mosby on the show, decides to follow in the footsteps of his credential-less peers, I’m not exactly overwhelmed about what he has to offer. If anything’s getting my attention it’s an interesting script with fleshed out characters, which the trailer for Radnor’s debut film Happythankyoumoreplease appeared to boast. Unfortunately, while watching Radnor’s ridiculously scrambled presentation of plotlines, I slowly began to realize that this first effort of his was the furthest thing away from the indie comedy I anticipated and more along the lines of mainstream melodrama.

Happythankyoumoreplease tries to sell itself as an ensemble piece, but clearly Radnor – who is the Jerry Seinfeld of his own Seinfeld show here; the indisputable weak-link – is our focus. I say “ensemble piece” because not unlike those sappy romantic comedies that revolve around some commercialized U.S. holiday, Happythankyoumoreplease moves several related, but unrelated (story-wise) characters down a very obscure path made even more obscure by the film’s slew of disjointed themes.

First up is Radnor who plays Sam, a freelance writer in a rut who’s suddenly burdened with the responsibility of caring for an abandoned foster child named Rasheen (Michael Algieri); a rather absurd concept that just becomes less conceivable as the story progresses. Through Sam, we’re introduced to his best friend Annie (Malin Akerman), a loveless, but animated young woman coping with alopecia – a form of hair loss. Her arc is the typical “true love standing right in front of you” archetype that we’ve seen plenty of times, but lucky for us her “true love” is played by the spectacular Tony Hale – there's an outstanding monologue of his towards the end that reaches unexpected dramatic territory for an Arrested Development alum. The least interesting, but most genuinely performed arc finds a twenty-something couple (Zoe Kazan and Pablo Schreiber) soldiering through an emotional disconnect after Schreiber is offered a lucrative partnership that would force him and Kazan to relocate to Los Angeles; something Kazan, a proud New Yorker, is openly averse to.

About a quarter way through Radnor’s uneven attempt at wheedling sympathy for these characters, you begin to realize that separately these stories could have possibly succeeded as standalone films rather than a mishmash of arcs, especially Hale and Akerman’s. Alas, Radnor chose to go with what seems to be the rage these days – ensemble films – and compress these outwardly complex individuals into such a short timeframe that they're ultimately served up as two-dimensional cutouts of three-dimensional characters.

Take Radnor’s love interest Mississippi (Kate Mara) who’s been “feeling a little fragile.” You'd expect that remark to develop into something, but being pressed for time, Radnor bypasses this profound angle to concentrate on his other players. Why is she so emotionally fragile? Why should we care? It’s the ultimate foil and my single greatest irk in films: poor characterization. It riddles this film, and instead of growth and introspection, Radnor’s cast is subjected to the most banal clichés and romantic comedy conventions, making it difficult to take any of the film too seriously.

6.5/10