Another issue is the handling of Cage's son, who gets himself involved in a weird molestation situation with his drug counselor. I'm really puzzled by its inclusion in a movie that on the whole demonstrates a lot of restraint. It introduces us to no useful ideas and is an immensely distracting stylistic departure. The whole thing is presented as if his hotel room window is like a TV on which he is seeing himself. The ugliest problem is a woefully ill-advised quasi dream sequence in which Nicholas Cage sees himself happy and well adjusted as the grand marshal of a parade. Verbinski's trouble comes in just a few isolated areas nevertheless they are important and significantly damage the film as a whole. Along with the performances, it makes one feel that the characters are being not being tortured out of gleeful spite on the part of the filmmakers, but out of profound empathy and understanding of our shared human weaknesses. The pacing is absolutely vital and absolutely brave in a Hollywood film. In contrast with such a harsh statement about life, the pacing serves to lend the film a strange gentleness that allows for us to feel the characters are truly human. He also triumphs in his insistently measured pacing. In tandem with this he uses a fantastically chilly color scheme throughout. One finds the characters in disconcertingly angular frames with vast expanses of empty space above their heads. He has a wonderful and surprising sense of composition. ![]() His most impressive feat though is managing to craft a film that is in some ways highly stylized, yet instinctually feels like the human experience. From the very first shot he creates a perfectly executed world of an ice bound Chicago during the winter months. Nine out of ten times Verbinski hits the mark. I wish with great passion that this film was truly great, but unfortunately it's just inches short. Rather than playing it like it's funny, which it is, Cage seems like he's making a sincere attempt to connect with his former wife in any way he can. When his ex-wife, played with terrific subtly by Hope Davis, remains outside for a moment he suddenly decides to throw a snowball at her, which hits her in the face and cracks the lens of her glasses. At one point he drops his daughter off at his ex-wife's house. One feels at every turn, no matter how disgraceful his behavior, that he's just a guy trying to do what seems right to him in that moment. There's plenty of opportunities to ham it up or play it for laughs, especially because David acts like such an asshole so much of the time, but Cage never falls into those traps. The thing that makes him great in The Weather Man is that he consistently plays the part in earnest. Nicolas Cage, who I don't always like, gives a fantastic performance as David Spritz, a Chicago TV weather man with no degree in meteorology. But in creating one of bleakest portraits of contemporary American life you will ever see, Gore Verbinski also creates a film that is shockingly humane, funny, and beautiful. As you might imagine, this is excruciating to watch. This doesn't happen as a result of some huge disaster or tragic mistake, no, this happens as a result of hundreds of minuscule failures every day. ![]() You will squander potential and become incapable of giving meaningful love to anyone that you care about. It seems to be telling us that over time you become a shell of the person you once were and a pathetic, ever decreasing fraction of the person you one day hoped to be. Here it is: The Weather Man, the new film directed by Gore Verbinski and written by Steve Conrad, is the most relentlessly pessimistic mainstream American film that I have ever seen. I've searched my memory for something to disprove it, but I can't think of anything. ![]() I've thought long and hard before saying what I'm about to say.
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