Opening this week:
Only the Brave—Wildland
firefighting is regarded, on the whole, as more strenuous and demanding than
structure firefighting, and usually more dangerous. But it isn’t more
cinematic. A structure firefighter with a hose gets to enact one of the iconic
cinematic dynamics—shooting at an enemy. But the methods of wildland
firefighters, while no less agonistic, are subtler—digging in the dirt, cutting
trees and brush with chainsaws, and sometimes, counterintuitively for us
laypeople, actually setting fires.
This is what we get in the firefighting sequences of
Only the Brave,
the story of the Granite Mountain Hotshots, the wildland crew connected to the Prescott, Arizona
fire department. Nineteen of these young men—all but one member of the active
crew—died in the Yarnell Hill Fire in June of 2013, in the worst loss of firefighters
since 9/11, and the worst loss of wildland firefighters since the ‘30s.
There’s terrifying spectacle, certainly, in a wildfire, but the response to
it is guys hiking, digging, sawing. So the meat of the film is less this
drudgery than the lives of hotshots, and especially that of Brendan “Donut”
McDonough (Miles Teller), who was assigned as a lookout that day and thus
became the Ishmael of the Granite Mountain Hotshots. McDonough had a history of
substance abuse and petty crime until he became a hotshot, and was mentored by
Granite Mountain Superintendant Eric Marsh (Josh Brolin).
Despite the hopeful outcome of McDonough’s story, there’s no good way to
present this material that isn’t horrifying and heartbreaking, and director
Joseph Kosinski doesn’t try. There’s a sense of restraint and dignity to his
work, and that of the actors. The flavor for much of the movie’s length is that
of a John Ford/Howard Hawks/Raoul Walsh male bonding drama, and there’s action
and humor and touching sentiment and inspirational uplift, but a somber tinge
hangs over it, at least for viewers who know where the story’s heading.
This is reflected in Brolin’s performance. The movie’s Marsh has a look in
his eyes that suggests a foreknowledge of disaster, and a sad acceptance of it.
It’s an old-school star turn in the Henry Fonda vein, one of Brolin’s best. He
even gets a Sam Shepherd-ish Oscar-clip monologue about the flaming bear that
haunts his dreams. But Teller also does strong work in the “tenderfoot” role of
McDonough, Taylor Kitsch throws a charge into his scenes as hotshot Christopher
Alan MacKenzie, and Jeff Bridges, as wildland chief Duane Steinbrink, has a
great moment, a small groan of grief that’s like a gut punch.
I had the opportunity to talk with Kosinksi and Brolin before the film’s
opening, and they both stressed how they spent a lot of time in Prescott with the
families and friends of the hotshots, and became close to them, in order to
achieve authenticity. But this may have led the filmmakers, in understandable
deference to the feelings of the survivors, to omit or soften errors or
interpersonal conflicts within the crew that maybe had a bearing on the disaster.
The climactic scenes, though inevitably powerful, also leave it unclear as to
what led to the decisions that placed the crew in the path of the fire.
Partly, no doubt, this is because it remains unclear even from reports of
the official investigations. But in terms of the movie’s narrative, it’s just
confusing, and it’s about all that keeps this well-crafted, well-acted movie
from feeling like a triumph.
You can check out
my
interviews with Brolin and Kosinski, by the way, on the
New Times blog.
On a lighter note...
Killing Gunther—Saturday Night Live alumnus Taran Killam
wrote, directed and stars in this broad, zany comedy about murder. Killam plays
Blake, a high-end assassin leading a plot to kill a legendary veteran
hitman known as Gunther (Arnold Schwarzenegger).
Blake's team includes a bomber (Bobby Moynihan), a sniper (Hannah Simone), an
insufferable tech whiz (Paul Brittain), a poisoner (Aaron Yoo) and other wacky
specialists. The central absurd gag is that Blake has hired a film crew to
chronicle the mission, so that as with
The Office and
Modern Family,
this movie can employ faux-documentary devices, including
straight-to-the-camera monologues.
It's possible that
Killing Gunther simply suffers from unfortunate
timing; its bloody shootings and mayhem didn't seem as funny to me right now as
they might have at another time. That said, just about any six or seven minute
stretch of this movie would make a servicebly amusing
SNL sketch, and
is good for a few chuckles. The cast is strong, but Schwarzenegger, who
doesn't show up until quite late in the proceedings, probably shows more
gleeful comic energy than anyone.
Killam's principal comedic mechanism here is deflation. Again and again,
someone will be on the verge of a dramatic flourish, and they'll be
interrupted, or forget what they were going to say, and the mood will be
broken. It's as if the anger under the gags is at life's failure to be like the
movies.
One more note: In case you haven't had your fill of me, you can check out
my
very short article, on The PHiX, about Arizona Opera's production of
Hercules
vs. Vampires this weekend.
