Stiff Schmidt
About Schmidt, dir. Alexander Payne.
Jack Nicholson (above) must have been born with an ironic twist in his brow. I mean, how many people can make the sweep of their receding hairline appear as though it’s laughing at you, or at least having a lend? It’s an enviable talent and one I’m happy to pay to see, but here it’s not about Schmidt, it’s about Jack.
Warren Schmidt is moments away from retiring. The clock on his office wall counts down the final seconds of a well ordered, efficient but boring professional life. Unmoved by the moment, Schmidt collects his coat and goes home to his well ordered, efficient but boring domestic life.
Schmidt would like to stand while he urinates, but his wife won’t allow it. Schmidt wonders why his daughter is about to marry a moron, but he can’t involve himself enough to stop it. Schmidt’s wife dies while she’s vacuuming and he enquires whether it would be cheaper if he drove the hearse himself. Life’s pretty bleak for this recent retiree.
About Schmidt is never moving and that is its downfall. It’s all very well to laugh at the limited lives of others but to laugh too loud from the outside is risky. Payne might want to think a little about casting the first stone. Or he might just need to go see The Castle.
Siobhan Jackson
Shades of Motown
Standing in the Shadows of Motown, dir. Paul Justman.
Ever wondered who created the sublime and unforgettable guitar riff that kicks off ‘My Girl’? His name was Robert White and he played with the Funk Brothers—a loose collection of Detroit session musicians who created the unique Motown sound during the 1960s and early 1970s.
Underpaid and anonymous, the Funk Brothers provided the backing tracks which made the likes of Marvin Gaye, Smokey Robinson and Diana Ross into household names. The Brothers are now either old men or gone forever—White, for example, died in 1993—and Standing in the Shadows of Motown is an act of belated recognition for these unsung heroes of popular music. It is Motor City’s answer to the Buena Vista Social Club, but unfortunately director Paul Justman doesn’t display the same sure touch as Wim Wenders.
Whenever the Funk Brothers themselves are on screen—whether playing from their seemingly endless repertoire of hits with the verve of much younger men or rapping humorously about their days spent slaving away in Motown’s legendary