Natasha Lyonne

  • The Intervention (2016)

    The Intervention (2016)

    (In French, On TV, September 2020) There are a few actresses out there that may not be household names, but have attracted my attention one way or another. I make a half-hearted effort to follow what they’re up to, especially when they leave the world of big-budget movies to do smaller movies. The Intervention not only brings together four of those actresses, but is also written and directed by none other than Clea DuVall, an actress whose first decade in the business was filled with roles in big-budget pictures, and then switched to lower-profile projects and TV series. With The Intervention, she works on both sides of the camera and delivers what could be called a Hollywood home movie: a low-stakes drama set in a secluded location, featuring an ensemble cast of characters played by friends and acquaintances. As a strategy to become a writer-director, it’s a clever one: the budget stays low, the friendships between the actresses translate into screen chemistry and the film can be approached as an actor’s showcase without the logistical complication of big costly sequences. The flip side of Hollywood home movies, however, is that they often feel similar: As with a theatrical piece, we get a first half of growing complications, and a second half of detonations. The camera moves in traditional ways, the script is good enough to provide a template, and the focus is on the performances. The Intervention does not escape the mould and, at times, feels like half a dozen other movies. Still, it does have its advantages. It’s set in Georgia rather than in the Hollywood Hills, and the cast is filled with recognizable names. You may not care as much as I do about Melanie Lynskey and Natasha Lyonne (here reuniting with DuVall seventeen years after the classic But I’m a Cheerleader!), or Alia Shawkat and Cobie Smulders, but here they are playing off each other. I found the overall result more interesting than entertaining, but it’s true that I’m far from the target audience for the film. I wish the film could have taken more cues from theatre plays in setting up and then playing off its interpersonal conflicts: there’s a tendency here to pull back from confrontation that I found annoying, but only in the context of wishing for a harder-hitting piece. If DuVall wanted to deliver something softer, then it’s up to her, and The Intervention accomplishes those objectives.

  • Addicted to Fresno (2015)

    Addicted to Fresno (2015)

    (On Cable TV, July 2020) The weirdest stuff pops up on cable channels once in a while, especially when focusing on those smaller movies without strong genre elements—it’s not rare to see a direct-to-video movie on steady rotation years later, as it’s rediscovered by a programming director looking for more unusual titles. So it is that Addicted to Fresno made it on Canadian Cable TV channels this month, featuring a can’t-miss cast headlined by none other than Judy Greer and Natasha Lyonne. Any of those two would warrant a look as far as I’m concerned, but the two of them playing sisters in a dark comedy? Yes, I will definitely watch that. But the cast doesn’t stop there: With such notables as Aubrey Plaza, Ron Livingtone (playing a very Ron Livingtonesque role), Fred Armisen, Molly Shannon and a short but memorable turn by a then-lesser-known Kumail Nanjiani, it’s the cast that keeps on giving throughout the film. Greer and Lyonne are also interestingly cast against persona, with Lyonne as the cheerful level-headed one and Greer as the flighty unstable sister. Addicted to Fresno spares no moment in establishing its raunchy (but fully clothed) brand of dark humour with the language alone earning the film’s R-Rating. But it’s fun, and seeing these comic actors bouncing against each other is fun as well. Director Jamie Babbit keeps things going in a straightforward fashion, and if the actors aren’t all up to the task (while I like Plaza a lot, her deadpan style can’t quite stretch to accommodate her character) there’s a good-natured sweetness that emerges from its initially irremediable characters right in time for the conclusion. Addicted to Fresno won’t set the world afire nor will it find a large audience—the humour and characters can be off-putting. But it’s a nice example of a little character-driven comedy and the ending does wrap things up nicely. Stay for the few outtakes at the end, including a reprise of Lyonne’s can’t miss “Cousin Itt” moment.

  • American Pie (1999)

    American Pie (1999)

    (On DVD, May 2016) Everyone has their list of movies that other people can’t believe they haven’t seen (“What, you haven’t seen Star Wars?!?”) and American Pie was high on mine. For years, I thought I didn’t need to see the film because I felt as if I had seen it all already: Hadn’t I heard enough pop-culture references, suffered through endless imitators? But there’s no substitute for the actual experience of watching the film itself, especially given how it still has a charm that has eluded many of its copycats. It remains one of the definitive teenage sex comedies of the past few decades, focusing on the pursuit of sex as a rite of passage, and the conclusion that it’s not that important compared to love. Despite then-cutting-edge Internet jokes (early streaming humour!), it has aged surprisingly well, largely because it’s so heartfelt. The structure is squarely built on embarrassment set pieces, with comic sequences strung one after another within a solid but unspectacular plot. I am far away from the target audience for this film now, but it’s refreshingly free of smirking in how it treats its characters. Despite being male-centric, American Pie isn’t cruel to its female characters—in fact, the males usually take up the brunt of the humiliation, while the women are too smart to embarrass themselves. Standout performances include Sean William Scott, Natasha Lyonne, Eugene Levy and Jason Biggs as the much-humiliated protagonist. Surprisingly enough, many of the pop-culture references about the film actually concern bits that took bigger importance in the sequels: I’m particularly thinking about Stifler’s character and his mom, not to mention Alyson Hannigan’s quasi-cameo considering her role in latter movies. (The MILF thing is the MILF thing, though, even though I was surprised to be reminded that John Cho is the one who made it mainstream.) Still, even more than fifteen years later, American Pie holds up relatively well … as long as you can stand the sex = humiliation comedy equation.