Is any one as confused by this as I am? Anyone not give it ****, like I don't?
Still Here can't answer, Why now?
Arts/Life
JIM SLOTEK QMI AGENCY
I don't know if it's considered a spoiler to say what doesn't happen in a movie, but here goes.
At no time in I'm Still Here -- Casey Affleck's documentary of the ****-fuelled meltdown of his *******-inlaw, Joaquin Phoenix -- does he pull the curtain away and reveal the whole thing was a hoax.
That, of course, was the story after a monosyllabic, gum-chewing Phoenix showed up on Letterman, muttering his confirmation of retirement from acting in favour of a rap career.
C'mon, he had a camera crew following him. It had to be a punk, a Borat- like mockumentary in the making. No one would throw away an Oscar-nominated perch atop Hollywood's A-list to become possibly the worst white rapper ever. What could Affleck have been thinking, filming his inlaw at apparently the lowest depth of his life?
Affleck didn't really answer the question at a testy and short news conference when the film debuted at the Venice Film Festival earlier this week. And neither Affleck nor Phoenix were in town when I'm Still Here debuted Friday at the Toronto International Film Festival.
After seeing the film, I'm inclined to agree with, among others, Roger Ebert, in concluding that this film is legit.
I'm Still Here comes off as a way of taking his loved one outside of himself, of shaming him and making him look at what he's become, in all his ******, whoring, ****-snorting, defecating, ingloriousness. (There is, for example, a scene with two hookers that is Exhibit A for the deleterious effects of ******* on the libido).
Naturally, the infamous David Letterman interview is there. But the follow-up right after the show is worth seeing; a sobbing, fit of self-pity in Central Park is followed by a complete mood-swing where he screamingly blames everything on his hapless personal assistant, Antony.
If I'm Still Here is supposed to be some sort of ********* version of Scared Straight, it has the double intent of skewering ********* culture.
Except, no one wants to hear a ********* complain about how tough they have it.
Turned down by both Rick Rubin and Dr. Dre in his attempts to become a rapper, Phoenix finds a willing ear in Sean (P. Diddy) Combs, who informs him that a career in music is like movies -- it requires money.
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"You need studio time. You need me," he says.
"How much money?" Phoenix asks. "How much you got?" Diddy replies, echoing the centuries-old call of the con-man.
In time, however, even Diddy sees the hopelessness of Phoenix's delusions and lets him know as much -- either out of guilt or standards.
If you cut through the slurring in Phoenix's raps, you can catch snippets about his tough years as a ***** actor. That's still a long way from any kind of hip-hop street cred.
And in an infamous scene where Phoenix throws himself into a Miami crowd after a woman heckler, he yells, "I have a million dollars in the bank. What do you have?"
Ben Stiller comes out badly. His spoof of the Letterman-Phoenix interview on the Oscars is made to look like mean-spirited payback for an earlier encounter, when Stiller tried to get Phoenix to go for the Rhys Ifans role in Greenberg and was mocked for his efforts.
And Edward James Olmos gives Phoenix a somewhat fatuous pep talk about the inner light making its way through the cracks in our facade.
But mostly, I'm Still Here is tin-eared social commentary.
Why did Phoenix melt down? The answer is the one thing missing from I'm Still Here. It opens and closes with idyllic Central American waterfall scenes, from his ********* and present, when he visits his ****** in Panama.
In the end, I'm Still Here is little more than a 108-minute car wreck, albeit one that may intrigue the conspiracy-minded.
Still Here can't answer, Why now?
Arts/Life
JIM SLOTEK QMI AGENCY
I don't know if it's considered a spoiler to say what doesn't happen in a movie, but here goes.
At no time in I'm Still Here -- Casey Affleck's documentary of the ****-fuelled meltdown of his *******-inlaw, Joaquin Phoenix -- does he pull the curtain away and reveal the whole thing was a hoax.
That, of course, was the story after a monosyllabic, gum-chewing Phoenix showed up on Letterman, muttering his confirmation of retirement from acting in favour of a rap career.
C'mon, he had a camera crew following him. It had to be a punk, a Borat- like mockumentary in the making. No one would throw away an Oscar-nominated perch atop Hollywood's A-list to become possibly the worst white rapper ever. What could Affleck have been thinking, filming his inlaw at apparently the lowest depth of his life?
Affleck didn't really answer the question at a testy and short news conference when the film debuted at the Venice Film Festival earlier this week. And neither Affleck nor Phoenix were in town when I'm Still Here debuted Friday at the Toronto International Film Festival.
After seeing the film, I'm inclined to agree with, among others, Roger Ebert, in concluding that this film is legit.
I'm Still Here comes off as a way of taking his loved one outside of himself, of shaming him and making him look at what he's become, in all his ******, whoring, ****-snorting, defecating, ingloriousness. (There is, for example, a scene with two hookers that is Exhibit A for the deleterious effects of ******* on the libido).
Naturally, the infamous David Letterman interview is there. But the follow-up right after the show is worth seeing; a sobbing, fit of self-pity in Central Park is followed by a complete mood-swing where he screamingly blames everything on his hapless personal assistant, Antony.
If I'm Still Here is supposed to be some sort of ********* version of Scared Straight, it has the double intent of skewering ********* culture.
Except, no one wants to hear a ********* complain about how tough they have it.
Turned down by both Rick Rubin and Dr. Dre in his attempts to become a rapper, Phoenix finds a willing ear in Sean (P. Diddy) Combs, who informs him that a career in music is like movies -- it requires money.
Advertisement
"You need studio time. You need me," he says.
"How much money?" Phoenix asks. "How much you got?" Diddy replies, echoing the centuries-old call of the con-man.
In time, however, even Diddy sees the hopelessness of Phoenix's delusions and lets him know as much -- either out of guilt or standards.
If you cut through the slurring in Phoenix's raps, you can catch snippets about his tough years as a ***** actor. That's still a long way from any kind of hip-hop street cred.
And in an infamous scene where Phoenix throws himself into a Miami crowd after a woman heckler, he yells, "I have a million dollars in the bank. What do you have?"
Ben Stiller comes out badly. His spoof of the Letterman-Phoenix interview on the Oscars is made to look like mean-spirited payback for an earlier encounter, when Stiller tried to get Phoenix to go for the Rhys Ifans role in Greenberg and was mocked for his efforts.
And Edward James Olmos gives Phoenix a somewhat fatuous pep talk about the inner light making its way through the cracks in our facade.
But mostly, I'm Still Here is tin-eared social commentary.
Why did Phoenix melt down? The answer is the one thing missing from I'm Still Here. It opens and closes with idyllic Central American waterfall scenes, from his ********* and present, when he visits his ****** in Panama.
In the end, I'm Still Here is little more than a 108-minute car wreck, albeit one that may intrigue the conspiracy-minded.
