Hollywood hardman Bruce Willis stunned TV audiences on Tuesday (30Jul13) when he took part in an interview while wearing a dressing gown. The Die Hard star clearly wanted to stay comfortable as he donned the unusual garb for a pre-recorded interview, which aired on British morning show Daybreak, but kept his shirt and trousers on beneath the towelling robe.
Host Kate Garraway managed to keep her composure throughout their chat, but her colleagues in the studio joked about Willis' odd outfit choice after the segment had aired.
Presenter John Stapleton said, "What was with the dressing gown?" while his co-presenter Helen Fospero added, "I don't know... He looked dressed underneath. He's quite eccentric though I think."
It is not the first time Willis' weird antics on the show have left his interviewer Garraway looking uncomfortable - in February (13), he spat water over the floor during their chat to show how he keeps his baby daughter Mable entertained.
Willis was previously slammed for his lacklustre appearance on BBC programme The One Show in February (13) when he responded to interview questions with disinterest while promoting his movie A Good Day To Die Hard. He later apologised, blaming jetlag for his listless behaviour.
Making an earnest cinematic argument for the immortality of the soul and the existence of an afterlife without delving into mushy sentimentality is a difficult task for even the most gifted and “serious” of filmmakers. Oscar-winning director Peter Jackson discovered as much last year when his sappy grandiose adaptation of the ethereal bestseller The Lovely Bones opened to scathing reviews. Critics by and large tend to bristle at movie renderings of what may or may not await them in that Great Arthouse in the Sky.
And yet filmmakers seem determined to keep trying. The latest to make the attempt is Clint Eastwood who throughout his celebrated directorial career has certainly demonstrated a firm grasp of the death part of the equation. His filmography with a few notable exceptions practically revels in it: of his recent oeuvre Invictus is the only work that doesn’t deal with mortality in some significant manner. With his new film Hereafter Eastwood hopes to add immortality to his thematic resume.
The film's narrative centers on three characters each of whom has intimate experience with death and loss. Their stories in true Eastwood fashion can ostensibly be labeled Sad Sadder and Saddest: Marie (Cecile de France) is a French TV news anchor who’s haunted by disturbing flashbacks after she loses consciousness — and briefly her life — during a natural disaster; George (Matt Damon looking credibly schlubby) is a former psychic whose skills as a medium are so potent (the slightest touch from another human being triggers an instant powerful psychic connection a la Rogue from X-Men) they’ve left him isolated and alone; Marcus is a London schoolboy who retreats into a somber shell after losing his twin brother in a tragic car accident (both brothers are played rather impressibly by real-life twins Frankie and George McLaren).
Humanity offers little help to these troubled souls surrounding them with skeptics charlatans users and deadbeats none of whom are particularly helpful with crises of an existential nature. Luckily there are otherworldly options. Peter Morgan's script assumes psychics out-of-body experiences and other such phenomena to be real and legitimate but in a non-denominational Coast-to-Coast AM kind of way. Unlike Jackson’s syrupy CGI-drenched glimpses of the afterlife Eastwood’s visions of the Other Side are vague and eery — dark fuzzy silhouettes of the departed set against a white background. Only Damon’s character George seems capable of drawing meaning from them which is why he’s constantly sought out by grief-stricken folks desperate to make contact with loved ones who’ve recently passed on. He’s John Edward only real (and not a douche).
Marie and Marcus appear destined to find him as well but only as the last stop on wearisome circuitous and often heartbreaking spiritual journeys that together with George’s hapless pursuit of a more temporal connection (psychic ability it turns out can be a wicked cock-blocker) consume the bulk of Hereafter’s running time. We know the three characters’ paths must inevitably intersect but Morgan’s script stubbornly forestalls this eventuality testing our patience for nearly two ponderous and maudlin hours and ultimately building up expectations for a climax Eastwood can’t deliver at least not without sacrificing any hope of credulity.
It should be noted that Hereafter features a handful of genuinely touching moments thanks in great part to the film's tremendous cast. And its finale is refreshingly upbeat. Unfortunately it also feels forced and terribly unsatisfying. Eastwood an established master of all things tragic and forlorn struggles mightily to mount a happy ending. (Which in my opinion is much more challenging than a sad or ambiguous one.) After prompting us to seriously ponder life’s ultimate question Eastwood’s final answer seems to be: Don’t worry about it.
The time is 1950. Tyrone Purvis (Danny Glover) lives in a small Alabama town with his wife Delilah (Lisa Gay Hamilton) and teenage stepdaughter China Doll (Yaya DaCosta) running his own small bar called the Honeydripper. Despite his piano playing and the presence of a fabulous blues singer (Mable John who sang with Ray Charles as one of the Raelettes) the place is empty losing business to the livelier joint down the road. As the plodding and predictable story unfolds the stereotypes of the era emerge including the prejudiced and self-aggrandizing white sheriff (Stacy Keach) a group of disgruntled black farm workers and even a hellfire-and-brimstone traveling preacher who sets up shop in a revival tent. In his attempt to save his bar from going under Purvis resorts to a series of less-than-legal moves aided by his trusty right-hand man (Charles S. Dutton) and a mysterious young man (Gary Clark Jr.) who arrives in town toting a newfangled guitar--and who eventually plays a whole new kind of music: rock and roll. The assembled cast of Honeydripper is normally a talented group of actors but in this film they mostly seem to be going through the motions. Danny Glover looks like he is sleepwalking through his role as the bar owner who can’t make ends meet. As his wife Lisa Gay Hamilton does a familiar slightly histrionic variation on the put-upon spouse who retreats into religion as an escape from her family problems. And Stacy Keach is a total caricature of the bad southern sheriff. The brightest lights in this mostly dismal film are the two younger actors Gary Clark Jr. and Yaya DaCosta whose romance is a subplot of the central story. And the hands-down best performance is given by blues guitar great Keb’ Mo’ as a blind musician who offers up much-needed musical interludes throughout the film. At least he seems to be enjoying himself while most of the others onscreen struggle to deliver the hackneyed dialogue that riddles Sayles’ yawn-inducing script. It is hard to believe that John Sayles--the same man who wrote directed and edited wonderful movies like Lone Star Passion Fish and City of Hope--is the person behind Honeydripper. Sayles one of the cinema’s truly independent filmmakers has always had a very specific vision and voice a point of view that has garnered him two Academy Award nominations for screenwriting. But Honeydripper is just a disappointment with its completely predictable plotline and deathly slow pace. The one bright light in this plodding tale is the music. Early on Mable John lights things up with a couple of great old blues tunes then Keb’ Mo’ throws in some terrific riffs midway followed (finally!) by Gary Clark Jr.’s rousing rock and roll set that closes out the picture. If only the whole film was as interesting and fun to watch as the last 10 minutes when the music really ramps up. Sadly as it is by the time those final moments arrive the viewer is barely awake.