Oh, Canada

As you can judge from the small number of reviews, this movie has not been popular. That is due to a rather foggy concept of what was to be said, and why it was worth saying. The acting is fine; the organization is doubtful; the objective is invisible.

To make a long story short, we have here a man on the verge of death from cancer who has undertaken to correct a widespread mythology about himself by filling in gaps missing from the heroic public version of his life. His thesis at this moment is that, unlike public perception of him, he was a callous, cruel, craven individual.

So, assuming you, the viewer, are among the enraptured fans misled by belief in a creative hero, with that assumption you might be quite engaged to discover your idol has clay feet, and hang breathlessly for each shoe to drop.

But if you are simply an observer of this movie, trying to piece together at the same moment both the myth and the reality, you might well wonder whether the exercise is interesting.

My opinion is that the story told of comparing a myth with reality is not the gist of this exercise. Rather, the attraction here is all about cinematic technique and interest in technical expertise. If you are not captivated by study of film methodology, skip this movie.

Perusing the reviews already on here regarding this movie. I notice there are a wide range of scores and views. Some giving it 8 or higher pronouncing it a work of genius. Where as others are giving it a 3 or less. Claiming it a bunch of pretentious rubbish.

Where do I stand? Hmm. I've just watched it and I am still digesting. It is possibly a movie to be watched several times to get the true meaning. Although I must admit there is no way I would sit through this film again. I'm pleased I have seen it but it certainly will not be going in my bag of films to watch again.

I'm going down the middle with a 5. That's possibly being too kind.

At best, this appears to be a case of Paul Schrader reading a novel and getting so impressed by it that he leapt straight into adapting the parts he seemingly considered most relatable, and somewhere along the way, he appears to have forgotten most of his audience would not have read that novel and so be lost when it comes to what he considers "obvious". At worst...well, consider that a director who just two years ago claimed "woke Oscars mean less each year" had now made a film where the moral center of its universe is a pillar of 1960s medium enterprise capitalism, and we are effectively told outright the main character's life had been a failure ever since he abandoned his chance to succeed in his footsteps and pursued filmmaking instead. Quite a coincidence, don't you think?

To clarify, I am fine with the premise that the main character is a jerk. Lots of great fiction features a badly (at times overwhelmingly) flawed protagonist - but to be great or at least good, it needs to be interesting! "Leonard" here is shown to be unsympathetic so early and so decisively, the narrative then proceeds to simply compound the point we already know, and not in captivating ways either. Perhaps the novel was more careful about building Leonard Fife up first so that knocking him down would actually be dramatic but Schrader neglected it; perhaps, he assumed viewers would associate the main character with himself (some reviewers certainly appear to have made that connection, even I very much doubt it) and thus project the films Schrader directed IRL onto him. However, it is just as possible this is simply how Schrader thought the story ought to be, with no other caveats.

Even worse is that the film is actively hostile to not just him as a person, but also to his work and seemingly the entire field of documentary filmmaking. A talented artist being an awful person is a frequent, completely believable story - but here, he effectively stumbles into success. Even after his first lucky break, he is never shown doing anything which requires skill (other than perhaps being able to quote Sontag) - and yet, he is feted as an icon by the Canadian society as a whole and by his colleagues. The unmistakable implication is that the other documentarians work even less than he did, and the effete Canadian society is unable to tell a real talent from a fraud. Considering that Schrader has little connection to Canada and the only thing he ever made which can charitably be called a documentary is a 5m short about his painting, it's hard to avoid viewing this as a reflection of personal beliefs.

Funnily enough, the strongest parts of the film all involve what would ordinarily be a mere framing device. The film would unironically be better if it never left that one house in the present day, if it was just Richard Gere rambling on aloud and in his internal monologue while Uma Thurman is trying in vain to hold him back and we never got to see a single flashback play out on the screen.

A movie about a selfish, fictionalised, elderly, frail, ill and once-heralded documentary filmmaker (played by Richard Gere), whose docs seem to have been all but forgotten bar the aficionados, agrees to an all-day interview to recount his life and career, and which the producer pitches as a means to re-establish his credentials for a new generation.

Sadly, it's nothing more than an ego trip for Gere, perhaps hoping this film will get him an Oscar nomination, which is risible given he can't act and is the same bland baloney sandwich in everything. Uma Thurman plays his wife and supposed muse but she has so little to do and say with such a two-dimensional character, it's inexplicable why she even bothered to do this. The same can be said of Michael Imperioli's role, and all those of All the other characters - they're nothing but shadows: no depth or complexity or shine.

Worse, the ploddingly insipid-sounding songs (reminiscent of Nick Drake but with none of the talent) as scene music/ambience are as dull as the script - or rather, the "pretentious literary drivel" as the filmmaker once accurately remarks of his own pathetic, early and failed attempt at being a novelist - and the tiresome, vacuous flashback scenes all pile one atop another to hammer home the same banal point: that Gere's character is utterly selfish, feckless and incredibly dull. Why anyone of the women in his life ever wanted to sleep with him, or spend time with him, is as incomprehensible as why anybody would want to speak with such a bland blancmange of a personality.

Unless you're looking for a cure for insomnia, or a good reason to throw/shout something at your screen while watching this, save yourself six hours of your life - ok, so it's 90 mins -but it Feels like six - and do something more meaningful instead, like watch Pity (2018), the brilliant foreign film by Babis Makridis.

It's bad enough when a film disappoints and doesn't live up to expectations. But what's perhaps worse is when a picture not only fails to live up to expectations, but also validates the negative reputation that precedes it. Such is the case, regrettably, with the latest feature from filmmaker Paul Schrader, an embarrassingly bad production from an artist who has written and/or directed such masterful works as "First Reformed" (2017), "American Gigolo" (1980), "Mishima: A Life in Four Chapters" (1985), "The Last Temptation of Christ" (1988) and "Taxi Driver" (1976). This miserably unfocused slog struggles to tell the story of Leonard Fife (Richard Gere), a famous but terminally ill director who's being interviewed for a made-for-TV biography discussing his legendary life and career as a revered documentary filmmaker. However, the protagonist doesn't see this so much as a congratulatory tribute to his accomplishments but as a cathartic, unburdening confession about the life he led that virtually no one knows anything about. To complicate matters, his rapidly failing health and cloudy memory keep him from fulfilling this objective, especially when he reveals secrets about himself not known by even those closest to him (most notably, his wife, Emma (Uma Thurman), and his protégé, Malcolm (Michael Imperioli), director of the biography), revelations that they're quick to attribute to faulty recall. Leonard's previously hidden back story comes to life through a series of clumsy, disjointed flashbacks featuring his younger self (Jacob Elordi) presented in a largely unintelligible fashion that brings new meaning to the term "nonlinear." What's worse, though, is that the relevance of these admissions largely goes unexplained and unresolved, bearing seemingly little relation to the nature of his character or his career as an auteur. His flight to Canada and experience as a conscientious objector during the Vietnam War, for example, receives surprisingly little attention given that his defection from the US is essentially responsible for what made his vocation as a filmmaker possible. Then there are snippets from his many passing dalliances with women that make for a story more like "Oh! Calcutta!" than "Oh, Canada." Taken together, these elements make for a hodgepodge of moments from a life undefined, one that viewers are likely to care little about in the end. Such work is highly uncharacteristic for an artist like Schrader, which makes the impression it leaves all the more worse. Whatever the director was going for here, it's not particularly clear. And that's too bad, given that the filmmaker appears to have had plenty of good material and resources to work with here, including a cast of players who turn in some of their best-ever on-screen performances, the dreadful script that they've been handed notwithstanding. For what it's worth, the result is a major disappointment, one that exceeds the negative impressions it has already left on so many movie lovers who expect more from a talent like this.