By Jake Howell jake.howell@utoronto.ca

Sundance 2014 Review: Boyhood

000040.2776.Boyhood_still2_EllarColtrane__byBoyhoodInc_2014-01-10_12-13-48PMA little after 1 AM on Monday, January 20, 2014, in a 1,296-seat high school auditorium in Park City, Utah, a piece of cinema history was made: the lights came up on the world premiere of Richard Linklater’s Boyhood, a film in production for more than a decade.

Boyhood is, undeniably, a landmark achievement in cinema. Shot on 35mm film on 39 separate days over a 12-year span, the film captures the real-life maturation of child actor Ellar Coltrane as he portrays Mason, a boy we watch grow into a fully-developed adult through the course of an astonishing 161 minutes. Coltrane is 19 now; he was six when filming began. I’ve seen a lot of movies, but I’ve never seen anything like this.

We become uniquely attached to Mason and his family through their visible aging and relative milestones. Year in and year out, the wrinkles and cycles of domestic drama are believable, relatable, and perfectly acted. Of course, this is to be expected after Linklater’s Before series, which more than showcased the director’s ability to remain centered on a saga with restraint and focus. There is not a false performance to mention (praise be to Coltrane for carrying such a picture), save for a single scene involving some underage drinking on a weekend trip with friends. It’s the lone example of lesser dialogue, but even then, it still holds moments of truth.

With Boyhood, Linklater ran the risky possibility of constructing a film based on a gimmick; as if chronicling something of this magnitude was the end, not the means. In other words, if the finished product had been trite or maudlin, we would be praising Boyhood as an accomplishment in its experimentation, not as a story. I am overjoyed to report that the leap of faith from everyone involved paid off: the narrative is served by this production “gimmick” in a way that other films simply are unable to, and it’s overwhelming.

From the outset, it’s immediately clear that Mason and his older sister Samantha (Lorelei Linklater) don’t have it easy. Their underemployed mother (Patricia Arquette) has a history of dating men that she is too good for; these suitors have either an unhealthy problem with alcohol or simply difficulty maintaining a regular job and schedule. Inevitably, through the course of Mason and Samantha’s life at home, a number of moves and divorces fragment their family unit, though their biological father Mason Sr. (Ethan Hawke) remains in the picture (albeit on the sidelines).

It’s on these weekend visits—camping trips, bowling excursions, etcetera—where we see Mason Sr. and Mason Jr. develop their father/son relationship. Outside of these paternal cameos from his senior, however, Mason Jr.’s various stepfathers at home never seem to click with him, so he’s forced to do a lot of learning on his own. It’s in this learning, this living, that the film becomes something that is so true to life. Watching it summons a tidal wave of personal memories, and as I had the distinct privilege of watching Boyhood alongside my father, there were several times throughout the screening where we shared laughs and knowing nods as the film struck a chord. Whatever role you play in your current family dynamic, there is much to relate to here; oftentimes it feels like Linklater cribs directly from your life itself.

“Life Itself.” Funnily enough, that’s the name of another film here at Sundance (a documentary on the life and times of the inimitable critic Roger Ebert) but it’s a title that feels wholly appropriate here. Let it register for a second that before our eyes, Mason—and Ellar Coltrane—transforms from a precocious child into a brooding adolescent until finally a handsome high school graduate. The transitions from year to year to year are seamless, and there is immense pleasure in trying to situate yourself in the innate passing of time through haircuts, top 40 songs on the radio, technological innovations, and major cultural issues. Linklater lets you piece together on your own the timeline of the last 12 years, and it’s awesome to reminisce where you were during certain touchstones. Did you attend a midnight “Harry Potter” release? Did you argue about the possibility of a seventh Star Wars movie? Otherwise, it’s with fondness and sadness and nostalgia that we revisit certain points of our lives vicariously through Mason and his family.

This film is a cinematic time capsule, and Linklater has again proven he is one of the greatest American filmmakers working today. I want to say it is a miracle that this movie is as superb as it is, given how many years it took (just think of the institutional memory required to come back to this project year after year). But calling it as such, I think, undermines Linklater’s masterpiece. This is not luck. This is something organic and powerful and unstoppably beautiful, sculpted meticulously by an artisanal storyteller’s vision and utterly sublime direction.

000040.2776.Boyhood_still1_EllarColtrane__byBoyhoodInc_2014-01-10_12-13-38PM

3 Responses to “Sundance 2014 Review: Boyhood”

  1. waterbucket says:

    Wow, I really want to see this.

  2. Spikeymom says:

    Your excellent review really made me want to see this movie.

  3. PJ Power says:

    Based on your articulate review I now want to see this film! Thanks.

Quote Unquotesee all »

This is probably going to sound petty, but Martin Scorsese insisting that critics see his film in theaters even though it’s going straight to Netflix and then not screening it in most American cities was a watershed moment for me in this theatrical versus streaming debate.

I completely respect when a filmmaker insists that their movie is meant to be seen in the theater, but the thing is, you got to actually make it possible to see it in the theater. Some movies may be too small for that, and that’s totally OK.

When your movie is largely financed by a streaming service and is going to appear on that streaming service instantly, I don’t really see the point of pretending that it’s a theatrical film. It just seems like we are needlessly indulging some kind of personal fantasy.

I don’t think that making a feature film length production that is going to go straight to a video platform is some sort of “step down.“ I really don’t. Theatrical exhibition as we know it is dying off anyway, for a variety of reasons.

I should clarify myself because this thread is already being misconstrued — I’m talking about how the movie is screened in advance. If it’s going straight to Netflix, why the ritual of demanding people see it in the theater?

There used to be a category that everyone recognized called “TV movie” or “made for television movie” and even though a lot of filmmakers considered that déclassé, it seems to me that probably 90% of feature films fit that description now.

Atlantis has mostly sunk into the ocean, only a few tower spires remain above the waterline, and I’m increasingly at peace with that, because it seems to be what the industry and much of the audience wants. We live in an age of convenience and information control.

Only a very elite group of filmmakers is still allowed to make movies “for theaters“ and actually have them seen and judged that way on a wide scale. Even platform releasing seems to be somewhat endangered. It can’t be fought. It has to be accepted.

9. Addendum: I’ve been informed that it wasn’t Scorsese who requested that the Bob Dylan documentary only be screened for critics in theaters, but a Netflix representative indicated the opposite to me, so I just don’t know what to believe.

It’s actually OK if your film is not eligible for an Oscar — we have a thing called the Emmys. A lot of this anxiety is just a holdover from the days when television was considered culturally inferior to theatrical feature films. Everybody needs to just get over it.

In another 10 to 20 years they’re probably going to merge the Emmys in the Oscars into one program anyway, maybe they’ll call it the Contentys.

“One of the fun things about seeing the new Quentin Tarantino film three months early in Cannes (did I mention this?) is that I know exactly why it’s going to make some people furious, and thus I have time to steel myself for the takes.

Back in July 2017, when it was revealed that Tarantino’s next project was connected to the Manson Family murders, it was condemned in some quarters as an insulting and exploitative stunt. We usually require at least a fig-leaf of compassion for the victims in true-crime adaptations, and even Tarantino partisans like myself – I don’t think he’s made a bad film yet – found ourselves wondering how he might square his more outré stylistic impulses with the depiction of a real mass murder in which five people and one unborn child lost their lives.

After all, it’s one thing to slice off with gusto a fictional policeman’s ear; it’s quite another to linger over the gory details of a massacre that took place within living memory, and which still carries a dread historical significance.

In her essay The White Album, Joan Didion wrote: “Many people I know in Los Angeles believe that the Sixties ended abruptly on August 9, 1969, ended at the exact moment when word of the murders on Cielo Drive traveled like brushfire through the community, and in a sense this is true.”

Early in Once Upon a Time in Hollywood, as Leonardo DiCaprio and Brad Pitt’s characters drive up the hill towards Leo’s bachelor pad, the camera cranes up gently to reveal a street sign: Cielo Drive. Tarantino understands how charged that name is; he can hear the Molotov cocktails clinking as he shoulders the crate.

As you may have read in the reviews from Cannes, much of the film is taken up with following DiCaprio and Pitt’s characters – a fading TV actor and his long-serving stunt double – as they amusingly go about their lives in Los Angeles, while Margot Robbie’s Sharon Tate is a relatively minor presence. But the spectre of the murders is just over the horizon, and when the night of the 9th finally arrives, you feel the mood in the cinema shift.

No spoilers whatsoever about what transpires on screen. But in the audience, as it became clear how Tarantino was going to handle this extraordinarily loaded moment, the room soured and split, like a pan of cream left too long on the hob. I craned in, amazed, but felt the person beside me recoil in either dismay or disgust.

Two weeks on, I’m convinced that the scene is the boldest and most graphically violent of Tarantino’s career – I had to shield my eyes at one point, found myself involuntarily groaning “oh no” at another – and a dead cert for the most controversial. People will be outraged by it, and with good reason. But in a strange and brilliant way, it takes Didion’s death-of-the-Sixties observation and pushes it through a hellfire-hot catharsis.

Hollywood summoned up this horror, the film seems to be saying, and now it’s Hollywood’s turn to exorcise it. I can’t wait until the release in August, when we can finally talk about why.

~ Robbie Collin