Drama hits the wrong notes
Boychoir Choristes. So appallingly predictable and laughably earnest, I was tempted just to write ‘‘This Film Is Dreadful’’ – but that’s not entirely fair.
The music is sublime (provided you’re not pedantic about Zadok the Priest inheriting a few extra bars and then consisting only of the opening stanza).
There are moments where sound meets picture and you are almost transported to heaven, thanks to the casting of the real American Boychoir School.
But the plot, which in fact houses a tragic narrative for its fresh-faced protagonist, is undermined by a total lack of originality and an emotionally unconvincing ending.
‘‘Inspiring’’ monologues from Hoffman fail to stir, while senior actors like Kathy Bates and (*cough*) Eddie Izzard basically phone in their one-note performances.
Boychoir is fine if you like just a touch of plot wrapped around your classical concert experience, but otherwise you’d be better off playing a CD at home.
Only Collette could pull off such a character, inhabiting the eyerolling, bad-decision-making Ellie, whose leather-jacketed cliches might otherwise irritate, and only Church can get away with such hilariously deadpan lines (‘‘I’m cooler now,’’) as his Charlie earnestly mbarks on a new career as a documentary film-maker.
Under the sure hand of director Megan Griffiths, the story moves apace, as the whole cast delivers a witty, believable script.
With in-jokes aplenty, Lucky Them may not provoke pause for thought, but it should keep the Gen-X viewership chuckling. THOSE AFTER a wide-ranging, soup to nuts dissection of the life and times of the Nirvana frontman are in for something of a disappointment. Instead Brett Morgen’s bravura documentary focuses on just a few voices, and most notably, Kurt’s own, to paint an intimate portrait of a troubled, hypersensitive young man more interested in avoiding humiliation than being ‘‘the spokesman for a disaffected generation’’.
Making full use of a treasure trove of Cobain ephemera, Morgen (whose past documentary montages include the astounding ESPN 30 for 30 documentary June 17, 1994) limits the use of the traditional talking heads technique, preferring instead to use alternate and unheard recordings of Nirvana and Cobain allied to Cobain’s paintings, journals and an amazing collection of the family’s home movies.
It allows both the casual observer and Nirvana groupies a chance to see, if not fully comprehend, why an energetic and empathetic toddler became such a soulful songwriter and selfdestructive adult. Plus, the soundtrack is killer.