Point of No Return.

It’s a good time to live in New York: Not only are the Knicks suddenly playing winning basketball again, but Match Point is, as rumored, a return to form for that consummate Manhattanite (and unabashed Knicks fan), Woody Allen. Mining the same misanthropic vein as Crimes and Misdemeanors, the movie nevertheless feels — aside from a few nods to Allen’s usual high-culture influences and the occasional Annie Hall-ish quirk by Emily Mortimer — unlike anything Woody’s done in years. Gone are the Upper East Side setpieces (we’re in London this time) and that quintessential Allen stammer. (Heck, Ewan Bremner, a British Allen analogue if there ever was one, is in this movie and even he’s not doing it.) Instead, we’re left with an increasingly dark amorality play about ambition, adultery, and the considerable, if not terrifying, role of blind luck in organizing the universe.

Unfortunately, Match Point suffered from one of those three-minute summary-type trailers. If you’ve seen it, you probably already know more than you want about the story. If you haven’t, here’s the abbreviated version: Chris Wilton (Jonathan Rhys Meyers, more believable as a tortured soul than a romantic lead), a former tennis pro who gives lessons at the club by day and reads Dostoevsky by night, befriends Tom Hewett (Matthew Goode) one of his more dissolute upper-crust students, and, over opera and cocktails, wins the heart of Tom’s sister Chloe (Emily Mortimer). Soon, with his good graces and acquired cultural literacy, Chris has managed to seduce the whole Hewett family, including Tom and Chloe’s father (Brian Cox, surprisingly not chewing the scenery) and mother (Penelope Wilton, surprisingly — to me — not chewing on flesh.) But, trouble arises in the second set when Chris meets a kindred spirit in Tom’s fiancee, the vampish American Nola (Scarlett Johansson, better-than-usual). Soon, Chris finds himself laying his new life on the line in order to get closer to Nola, with potentially disastrous results…

As the paragraph above attests, Match Point is in part a tale of scheming class climbers skulking about London’s higher social echelons, a conceit that still paid dividends in Henry James’ day but may seem relentlessly dated now, at least as it’s presented by Allen. And, indeed, what with the high-culture name-drops (Strindberg, Sophocles) and all the old-money accoutrements favored by the Hewetts, this often seems like London by way of Merchant-Ivory more than any real place on the globe. But, I think this stylization is forgivable, particularly since, ultimately, Woody is hunting bigger quarry than class and its pretensions anyway. Giving away the details of the third act would be a crime, but Allen aficionados won’t be surprised to find that Chris eventually finds himself wrangling with an — or the — existential dilemma. And it’s with this final act that the film itself leaps a notch and joins the upper ranks of Allen’s oeuvre. Who knows? Perhaps Woody just got lucky this time. After all, chance favors the prepared mind…or are we all just fortune’s fools?

Down and Out in Paris and London.

As our GOP Congress looks to shoot the messenger over secret prisons, England’s House of Commons rejects an anti-terror bill pushed by Prime Minister Blair — his “first defeat” after 8 years in office — which would allow terrorist suspects to be held for 90 days without charge. Meanwhile, France approaches the two-week mark of youth rioting, despite curfews, increased jail time, threats of deportation, and the shutdown of instigating blogs, and the rest of Europe looks on with trepidation…

7/7 and the G8.

“This is a war of the unknown warriors; but let all strive without failing in faith or in duty.” Only a day after Olympic euphoria, London suffers its worst attack since the Blitz, resulting in 38 dead and 700 wounded. Many condolences to the people of London and the families of the fallen, and I hope these cowardly and reprehensible bombings won’t overly divert Tony Blair and the G8 from their larger agenda (even if Dubya refuses to play ball on global warming.)

Downing to the Wire.

“‘A post-war occupation of Iraq could lead to a protracted and costly nation-building exercise.’ The authors add, ‘As already made clear, the U.S. military plans are virtually silent on this point.’” Using the Dubya administration’s blatant lack of postwar prep as their news-peg, the Washington Post finally headlines the Downing Street Memo on their front page, over a month after the story broke overseas. Well, better late than never, I suppose.

Welcome to the layer cake, son.

Disgruntled supporters of mutantkind, take heart: X3 is in very good hands. I caught Matthew Vaughn’s Layer Cake this afternoon, and it’s a smart, stylish, and sublimely smooth British crime film that does Guy Ritchie’s Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Barrels and Snatch one better. Well, ok, Layer Cake isn’t as laugh-out-loud funny as Lock Stock can be at times, but it’s much cleverer than Snatch and, frankly, better-made. And, for that matter, it takes less joy in violence for its own sake than Ritchie’s oeuvre (one grisly scene set to Duran Duran’s “Ordinary World” notwithstanding.) In fact, in terms of tone, Cake is probably more akin to Jonathan Glazer’s Sexy Beast.

Layer Cake centers on cocaine dealer Daniel Craig (burnishing his possible Bond credentials), a consummate smooth operator who treats his criminal enterprise like a business and, as per the usual, is just looking forward to an early retirement around the corner. But his best-laid plans are interrupted by two ugly developments: 1) His boss Jimmy (Kenneth Cranham) enlists him to track down the junkie daughter of even bigger crime-lord Eddie Temple (Michael Gambon, relishing the dark side), and 2) a loose cannon flunky known as the Duke (Jamie Foreman of I’ll Sleep When I’m Dead and Roman Polanski’s forthcoming Oliver Twist) has just rolled in from Amsterdam trying to unload a million doses of Ecstasy (a drug haul with a nefarious history of its own.)

The rest of the movie consists of Craig trying to navigate the increasingly narrow straits between these two troubles, with the occasional aid of muscle Colm Meaney, middle-man George Harris, and a host of other ne’er-do-wells. Essentially, you know the drill — this is a puzzle film in which you’ll have to listen carefully and learn to distinguish between various delinquents with names like Tiptoes, Kinky, Slasher and Shanks. And, while the final few grifts just get a bit too big to be believable, for the most part the story holds together with intelligence and verve, in no small part to Daniel Craig, who’s a magnetic presence here, and Matthew Vaughn, who displays a crisp, confident direction that’s all the more impressive for being showy without ever seeming flashy. To him, his X-Men.

All’s Blair.

Upon Tony Blair’s third election victory (albeit one that may well lead to his ousting), the WP‘s Dan Balz makes the case that the Dems could learn much from Labor “Blairism”. I don’t think simply moving to the center is the right answer for the wayward Dems — We need to focus less on that type of protective camouflage and more on articulating our own principles, particularly as they differ from those of the GOP, who routinely and as a matter of pride put corporate profits before the American people. Still, there is some food for thought here.

One intriguing passage: “Where Blair, Brown and Labor cannot help the Democrats is on the social issues or the intersection of religion and politics. There is nothing comparable in British politics. Howard tried to make abortion an issue at one point but quickly abandoned it under pressure from all parts of the spectrum. When Blair proposed using the words ‘God bless’ in a speech before the Iraq war, his advisers hooted him down.”

English Cheddar.

Another Smoking Gun? Casino Jack‘s credit card (and that of another prominent DeLay-connected lobbyist, Edwin A. Buckham), apparently paid for Boss DeLay’s recent boondoggles to Britain, contradicting what the Hammer has earlier said about them being covered by non-profit organizations. The situation being what it is, this likely won’t knock DeLay out by any means, despite its obvious and flagrant illegality…but it will add fuel to the fire? Inquiring minds want to know…

Ain’t Gonna Work on Maggie’s Farm No More.

“[F]or many investors Thatcher’s plan has fallen flat. Many investment funds charged huge commissions and fees, leaving contributors worse off than they would have been in the state system. The stock market collapse four years ago compounded their losses. Meanwhile, many private pension plans have gone bust, after companies drained those plans to pay off rising debts.” As England’s experience since Margaret Thatcher suggests, Dubya’s desired privatization of Social Security will likely cause more problems than it solves. (Somebody tell the nation’s business associations.)

The Doctor Meets the Grid (and the Matrix).

Filming on the new Doctor Who runs afoul of British anti-terrorism forces. The article also has one of the first pics up of Christopher Eccleston as The Doctor. Between this and the Batman post above, I know I’m starting to sound like the fanboy Joan Rivers…but what’s up with the lousy costume? Surely, any Time Lord worth his salt would wear something a mite more quirky.

June 6, 1944.

“People of Western Europe: A landing was made this morning on the coast of France by troops of the Allied Expeditionary Force. This landing is part of the concerted United Nations’ plan for the liberation of Europe, made in conjunction with our great Russian allies …I call upon all who love freedom to stand with us.” – Dwight Eisenhower