Capote, The Family Stone, Syriana, and that Brokeback Mountain

All right, I'm giving this another shot (if only because I'm waiting for South Park, the newest thing that I can self-loathe myself for adoring, isn't on for another half an hour). In the midst of Finals Week (what a torturous device that is), I managed to catch the following films: here's a take on them.

Capote-Philip Seymour Hoffman, I'm fairly certain, lives only to irk me. His fimography would be impressive (Cold Mountain, Boogie Nights, and Magnolia would be a grand resume for most), if it weren't for the fact that he mucks up anything he enters. Those scenes in Cold Mountain may have been the worst distraction in a movie I may have otherwise liked since Mickey Rooney wandered onto the Breakfast at Tiffany's set (not that I'm comparing the fine but long Cold Mountain to the sparkling and polished Tiffany's, but you see my point). He continues on with his quest in Capote, a film that disects an interesting man into a heap of ticks and mannerisms. Sure, Hoffman manages to mimic Capote's lilt and walk, but he never allows the viewers inside of this complex individual. When the doors are shut, Hoffman is still performing, not letting Capote's guard down. As a result, the emotional tugs at the end aren't pulling hard enough. Catherine Keener and Clifton Collins wish to step and give it their all, but with Hoffman keeping everyone at a distance, it is impossible to connect to anyone. The feeling is indeed cold at the end, but it is not over Perry Smith's blood-it is simply from never being allowed into the movie. (C)

The Family Stone-From cold to warm: chestnuts-roasting-on-the-fire while I try on the latest sweater from Eddie Bauer warm. The Family Stone is too cute for its own good, and never really puts itself together, but the pieces it tries to assemble are worth investigating, at least for a while. Diane Keaton, in her matronly best, treads through the familiar territory of a matriarch; Craig T. Nelson, absent from his blase Coach, is all heart and home as the too-good-to-be-true father; and of course, Rachel McAdams, devilish and witty as the wicked sister. The only major character who doesn't work is Sarah Jessica Parker (yes, Carrie Bradshaw can fail at something other than not choosing Aidan)-she's a bitch without much of a reason to react the way she does. In the end, I found myself hoping that they'd throw her out on her coutured derriere and leave me to my hopelessly hip Stone Family. (B-)

Syriana-Traffic, so fresh and exciting in 2000, left an imprint that many other issue films would do well to look into: it's a multi-charactered story that manages to pull together a plot, as well as instill the urgency of its political hot potato. Syriana, while not quite the smooth sailor that Traffic is (Syriana gets a little too bogged down in the politics of its presentation, and doesn't allow for as full of character arcs), still manages to capture the basics of a good flick. The standouts include Damon's desert breakdown, Clooney's cool-under-pressure agent, and the omnipresent essence of Chris Cooper (seriously, are he and William Hurt going to be in EVERY movie I see this year?) Syriana's ending may be a little bit long, but the rest snaps. (B+)

Brokeback Mountain-As always, I saved the best for last, and I just don't mean in this column. Brokeback Mountain may be the best movie of the decade that Peter Jackson didn't have a hand in. It's timeless love story between Jake and Heath is complex and starts plainly enough-Lee spends the first twenty minutes of the movie carving out his own little world, and then gives the audience the love that they will be recalling for the remainder of the film. The movie itself reads as if it's sixty years old and made yesterday all at once, mastering scene after classic scene as if it's appealing to both today's and tomorrow's audiences: Heath's breakdown after their first goodybe, the passionate reunion, Alma's (Michelle Williams) "you don't go up there to fish" speech. By the time the movie has begun to reach its climax, it has crescendoed to such extraordinary lengths, it just washes over the audience. The ending proves that movies can become better with every passing frame, but its the entire work that proves that movies, well, they just can't get any better. (A+)