Showing posts with label The Catch-Up. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Catch-Up. Show all posts

Tuesday, December 30, 2014

The Catch-Up: 2014 Awards Season

I try to see as many movies as I can, so sometimes I need to purge the queue.  In this edition: three biopics with award aspirations.



The Imitation Game
Dir. Morten Tyldum

3.5 out of 5

The miracle machine at the center of The Imitation Game is an amalgamation of dials, wires, plugs, and rotors, searching ceaselessly for the combination that will crack Nazi Germany's "unbreakable" Enigma code.  The film, like the hardware, is likewise fixated on testing many narrative permutations to achieve a greater understanding of its subject, British mathematician Alan Turing (Benedict Cumberbatch), telescoping the man's life into three major story threads - his contributions as an Allied codebreaker during World War II; his life as a lonely, awkward schoolboy smitten with one of his classmates; and his conviction for indecency in the 1950s under a 19th century law prohibiting homosexual relationships.  The Imitation Game whirs and clicks and clacks all these pieces into place, capturing a sentimentalized story arc of an irascible genius.


But what separates it from, say, The Theory of Everything, is that there are several more glitches in its cold, mechanical replication of the biopic form.  The frayed wires and loose plugs are the instances of dashing wit and droll humor that distract the characters from their grim business of counting the lives lost for each day the code remains unbroken.  The movie also aspires to be more than a simple chronicle of a misunderstood hero.  By focusing its main efforts on the defining era of Turing's life, The Imitation Game illuminates a bigger story about the wages of war, especially for scientists, philosophers, and other visionary thinkers.  It's an amoral calculus that, although sometimes rendered clumsily onscreen, portends the serious questions that would continue to arise in the computer age - an age that Turing was largely responsible for launching.

There are certainly criticisms to be made about how the filmmakers decided to tell this story: a shaky framing device involving a sympathetic cop (Rory Kinnear) feels calculated to foster weepy Cumberbatch monologues, and the influence of Turing's beard/lab partner (Keira Knightley) is stretched to fit the script's demands.  But none of that really diminishes the verve of the story that director Morten Tyldum chooses to tell here.  The Imitation Game is a film constantly shifting gears, modulating its levels of triumph and tragedy and sacrifice and sainthood, but it does so in a way that makes sure these emotions are truly felt.



Wild
Dir. Jean-Marc Valleé

3.5 out of 5

Wilderness survival stories are almost always predicated on some type of physical deprivation.  So it's charming to see Wild start with a scene featuring its heroine, Cheryl Strayed (Reese Witherspoon), struggling to hoist the excess of supplies in her overloaded pack as she prepares to hike the Pacific Crest Trail, an 1,100-mile route stretching between America's borders with Canada and Mexico.  She's chosen to take the journey alone as a form of psychic therapy following multiple life-altering traumas, seen via flashbacks - the cancer diagnosis and eventual death of her single mother (Laura Dern), and Cheryl's subsequent descent into drug addiction.  But even though Cheryl fully intends to exorcise her grief in solitude, Wild is a redemptive tale that actually posits a world that does not lack for helping hands.


However, just as in Dallas Buyers Club, director Jean-Marc Valleé's previous film, Wild tends to get lost in the weeds of its own heavy-handed tone.  Witherspoon and Dern both do a fine job with their mother-daughter material, but its sledgehammer subtlety is often grating.  (After mom dies, Valleé gratuitously juxtaposes it with her children having to euthanize her beloved horse.)  Yet Witherspoon's gritty, unsentimental performance also keeps the earthy, saccharine tendencies of Wild at bay.  The film is always most fascinating when it decides that Cheryl is more important as a feminist symbol than as a character.  Despite the general goodwill of most people she meets, there is always a latent sense of danger she feels as a single female hiker, and for good reason; every encounter with a man is fraught with implications that would not exist were this a man's story.  Wild may not be the revelatory character study of its creators' intent, but it succeeds at placing Cheryl's specific, individual trials in the context of the ones that women face every day.


Dir. Angelina Jolie

2.5 out of 5

Imagine watching Unbroken from the perspective of someone completely unfamiliar with its subject: athlete, World War II veteran, and inspirational icon Louis Zamperini.  In an ordeal that almost strains credulity, Zamperini (Jack O'Connell) rises from humble immigrant origins to become a U.S. Olympian and a decorated war hero, surviving a deadly plane crash that left him adrift in the Pacific Ocean for 45 days until he was "rescued" by the Japanese, and detained in various prison camps where he was tortured by a sadistic enemy officer (Miyavi).  It's beautifully photographed, well-acted, and tastefully scored.  You know it's been reverse-engineered to win golden statuettes, but you can't deny the sincerity of its intent - classically inspiring, it's the kind of movie that causes critics to utter phrases like "triumph of the human spirit."

Now imagine learning that Unbroken adapts only half of the late Zamperini's memoirs, omitting his battles with PTSD and his eventual decision to forgive his captors, even returning to Japan to personally bury the hatchet with his former enemies.  Which story sounds more intriguing?  The immediately inspiring but incomplete one, or the messier one that subverts the traditional rewards of the war narrative?  This being middlebrow Oscar bait, however, first-time director Angelina Jolie wisely chooses to focus on the most visually empowering material.  Still, Unbroken is not compelling enough to coast on pedigree alone.  A fatal lack of characterization plagues its second half, as O'Connell is given little to do besides pound a single note of grim resignation, punctuated by periodic moments of uplift.  Unbroken proudly wears its heart on its sleeve, but it doesn't offer much more than surface-level emotion.  You'll leave with a very clear idea of what Zamperini endured...and only a vague notion of who he actually was.

Saturday, November 1, 2014

The Catch-Up: Summer/Fall 2014

I try to see as many movies as I can, so sometimes I need to purge the queue.  In this edition: films straddling the blockbuster/prestige picture divide.



Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles
Dir. Jonathan Liebesman

2 out of 5

When you're making a film about giant talking reptiles using martial arts to protect New York City from a flamboyantly evil metal-suited samurai warlord, you're automatically given a lot of leeway.  So it's disappointing to see the latest stewards of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles franchise - including producer Michael Bay and Battle: Los Angeles director Jonathan Liebesman - churn out a film that's a completely jumbled tonal and visual mess.

TMNT's problems start with a lazy script that lavishes attention on reporter April O'Neil (Megan Fox) while ripping off several story beats from, of all things, The Amazing Spider-Man.  April's investigation into the turtles' origin is both excruciatingly dull and frustratingly convenient: her father once worked with the film's villain, industrialist Eric Sacks (a bored William Fitchner), on the mutagen that eventually turned four box turtles into hulking karate masters.

Given the odd limitations on the heroes' screentime, the action sequences should be an ideal time to showcase their personalities.  Unfortunately, Liebesman has an established reputation for visual incoherence with films like Battle: Los Angeles and Wrath of the Titans that Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles won't do much to improve.  Any flourishes that might make the film momentarily fun and buoyant are quickly overwhelmed by noisy, interminable chases or beatdowns that serve mostly to pad the runtime.  Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles seems in a hurry to get nowhere and is happy to meet a minimum standard of entertainment: a hyper-slick, colorful bit of nonsense that will distract its target demographic for 90 minutes while struggling to please anyone else.



The November Man

Dir. Roger Donaldson

3 out of 5

Pierce Brosnan's run as James Bond could be characterized as a stellar performance frequently in search of good material.  It's no surprise that immediately after shedding the Bond mantle, Brosnan moved (admittedly slowly, but that's the Hollywood machinery for you) to develop something that might play more to his strengths: Bill Granger's down-to-earth series of spy novels, the seventh installment of which serves as the inspiration for The November Man.  It's a staunchly old-school revenge film masquerading as an espionage thriller; Brosnan's character, retired CIA operative Peter Devereaux, is given agency to do more than just run and shoot stuff as he tries to outrace the younger agent (Luke Bracey) he used to mentor in a bid to capture a Russian war criminal.

The November Man has plenty of meat on its bones, layering an institutional conspiracy and the complicated backstory of a social worker (Olga Kurylenko) who may hold the key to nailing Devereaux's man.  In fact, there's a little too much going on if the film's truly aiming to reveal more of it's protagonist's psyche than the typical spy movie.  The November Man has keep several balls in the air as it races from target to target, offering Brosnan fewer chances to unwind and ultimately falling back on a single-minded pursuit of justice, always surging ahead with guns drawn.  It's got far more in common with a Liam Neeson beat-em-up than a Le Carre adaptation - an off-brand cloak-and-dagger thriller that could've been more with the right focus.



Gone Girl
Dir. David Fincher

4 out of 5

The emotional hysteria of our modern spoiler-averse culture is a great hindrance for film critics who have to tiptoe around PR embargoes and an ultra-sensitive public.  That being said, the less foreknowledge you bring to Gone Girl, the better, particularly if you are unfamiliar with the story from Gillian Flynn's bestselling novel.  Working from a script by Flynn, director David Fincher puts his own clinically cynical spin on marriage of Nick (Ben Affleck) and Amy Dunne (Rosamund Pike).  When his wife - the inspiration for a series of fictional children's books written by her patrician New Yorker parents - disappears from their suburban Missouri home, Nick struggles to navigate the media firestorm developing around the story, searching for his missing spouse while trying to keep the secrets of their relationship away from the public.


Gone Girl unravels with the seductive sensationalism of a Dateline mystery combined with the icy confidence of a master cinematic string-puller.  As the twists pile up, the film pivots from zeitgeist-y crime drama to unabashedly nasty, sexy, pulpy farce.  Any questions about how Fincher is interpreting the material - including the stilted scenes of Nick and Amy's early romance to the Way We Live Now monologues - should be answered by the time Tyler Perry shows up as a high-powered lawyer/image consultant tossing gummi bears at Affleck's face.  Gone Girl is wickedly fun and a great yarn, but it's merely good Fincher: terrific, but not transcendent.  As in so many of his films, Fincher holds up a mirror to the more monstrous aspects of the human condition - it just happens that this time his looking glass is more suited to a carnival funhouse.



Horns
Dir. Alexandre Aja

1.5 out of 5

The late Roger Ebert loved pointing out whenever a movie employed the Idiot Plot: a story kept in motion by characters withholding or not recognizing some basic information that would otherwise resolve the conflict.  Or, in other words, a story where everyone must necessarily be an idiot for the movie to exist.  What might he have thought of Horns, in which a young man named Ignatius "Ig" Perrish (Daniel Radcliffe) begins growing satyr-like horns that lend him supernatural powers of persuasion?  Here is a plot device that could create a truly omniscient protagonist - people literally cannot lie if Ig compels them - yet it still takes an interminable two hours to arrive at its wholly dumb conclusion.

Horns is essentially a paranormal twist on a basic crime procedural conceit.  After being falsely accused of raping and murdering his girlfriend (Juno Temple), Ig becomes a pariah, descending into a spiritual malaise that lifts only when his horns begin to grow.  There's definitely potential to be found in this premise: veteran horror director Alexandre Aja adds a sardonically playful edge to the obvious Satanic metaphors, and it's fun to see Radcliffe get to cut loose and indulge his inner devil.  Unfortunately, Horns has issues with its softer side.  The tangled web of teenage relationships that drives the film is nowhere near as convincing as its (far too infrequent) moments of dark comedy.  Its understanding of love is oblivious to the point of callousness, and fatally undermines the weight and relevance of Ig's quest.  Really, a nice honest chat between a few of the characters could have ended the movie much earlier, providing a great benefit to these fictional people - and an even greater benefit to the audience.

Tuesday, August 19, 2014

The Catch-Up: Summer 2014

I try to see as many movies as I can, so sometimes I need to purge the queue.  In this edition: films seen in between summer vacations.



Happy Christmas
Dir. Joe Swanberg

3 out of 5

When twentysomething party girl Jenny (Anna Kendrick) moves into the suburban Chicago home of thirtysomething mother Kelly (Melanie Lynskey), it's difficult for the latter to observe the former without feeling a creeping regret, even in times of disapproval.  Sure, Kelly has a loving husband in Jenny's older brother, Jeff (writer-director Joe Swanberg), as well as an adorable toddler and a cozy home with a retro-kitschy tiki bar in the basement.  But she's also a former novelist who feels her dream slipping away - even more so now that the unmoored Jenny, with seemingly no expectations or aspirations in life, has crashed her nuclear family fantasy.  It's a dynamic that's beautifully rendered by Kendrick and Lynskey, who absolutely nail the awkward distance between two women not quite close enough to be sisters and too contemporary to play mother-daughter.

But that's only half the story with Happy Christmas.  The other half is the misadventures of Jenny, a shambling, episodic tale of an indecisive quarter-lifer that's more than a little reminiscent of Frances Ha.  While Happy Christmas shares an inviting, low-key comedic vibe with Noah Baumbach's film, it doesn't have the same dramatic conviction.  The movie's high point is a boozy conversation between Jenny, her friend Carson (Lena Dunham), and a reluctant Kelly, who eventually admits that she's not exactly happy about sacrificing her writing career to raise a family.  However, Swanberg unwisely switches gears to Jenny's halting attempts at personal development, turning the film into a predictable bell curve of maturation and emotional regression (with a disappointingly abrupt ending).  And I'm a little baffled by Kelly's arc, which seems to go off-message as she acquiesces to Jenny's terrible advice and rehabilitates her creative muscles by writing a trashy romance novel.  Happy Christmas has all the pieces of a sensitive, superior indie drama, yet its adult sensibilities can't hide the fact that it's still seeking a sense of purpose.



Lucy
Dir. Luc Besson

3.5 out of 5

Only Luc Besson would dare to make an 80-minute Hong Kong-Hollywood action movie hybrid that begins like Midnight Express and ends like 2001: A Space Odyssey.  Lucy is a reliably bonkers outing for the prolific French filmmaker, juxtaposing scientific seriousness and adolescent silliness in its tale of a young American woman (Scarlett Johannson) in Taiwan forced to be a drug mule for the Korean mafia, with a bag of the goods sewn into her tummy for transport to the West.  The substance in question is a new synthetic that, in large doses, unlocks the full capacity of the human brain, allowing for a massive boost in the user's intelligence (which seems like the exact opposite of what a club drug usually does).  When the bag begins to leak, Lucy starts to rapidly use more and more of her "true" intellect - a development that eventually gifts her with telekinetic powers and the ability to manipulate space and time.


The gag here is actually quite inspired.  Johannson portrays an action hero who doesn't do much muscle work once she gets on the Mensa escalator.  A simple flick of the wrist is all it takes to incapacitate these foolish men and their guns.  Her affectless, robot-like performance stands in stark and hilarious contrast to the usual Besson tomfoolery going on around her, particularly an artillery-laden shootout between French police and Korean gangsters in a university corridor.  What you think of the ending and its unexpected dive into Tree of Life territory depends on how seriously you've been taking the pseudoscience sprinkled throughout the preceding hour.  Still, this is the pulpy neuroscience - slick and satisfying - that Transcendence could never be.  Lucy might be shallow, but it contains multitudes.

Dir. Brett Ratner

2.5 out of 5

At the lowest point of the titular character's struggle against adversity in Hercules, a wily old soothsayer (Ian McShane) encourages the hero to persevere by finding "the truth behind the legend."  Considering how confused and manipulative the film get about facts, embellishments, and flat-out lies, it's difficult to know what that even means.  And it's too bad, because Hercules really tries to work a clever angle on the familiar myth, positing Hercules (Dwayne Johnson) as the leader of a band of Aegean mercenaries that ropes in clients with exaggerated tales of his exploits.

Director Brett Ratner finds this conceit only intermittently interesting.  The movie succumbs to a paint-by-numbers backstory involving the hero's dead family members, and populates its conflict with too many flat characters on both sides.  Structurally, the script is actually trying to do something unorthodox in the context of a modern (read: simplified) sword-and-sandals saga; and Hercules can also satisfy in conventional ways with well-choreographed action and jaunty supporting performances from the likes of Rufus Sewell and McShane.  It's a pity, though, that the movie in unclear on what is real and what is myth - and even less compelling in regards to why the audience should care.

Wednesday, July 30, 2014

The Catch-Up: Amblog Extracurriculars

Question: What does an Ambler do when he's not Amblogging?

Answer: A lot.

Comic-Con 2014

I recently traveled to America's Finest City to experience San Diego Comic-Con for the fifth time and my second trip as a member of the press.  Covering the event for Screen Invasion, I met more fascinating artists, creators, writers, actors, cosplayers, journalists, and fans than you could fit in a TARDIS.  I partied on a decommissioned aircraft carrier.  I sang along with a backpacking troubadour who knew Weird Al's entire discography by heart.  I saw a sports bar overrun by sweaty nerds gyrating to the soundtrack from A Goofy Movie.  And I did a little bit of writing:

- The minds behind the beloved cult sitcom Community expressed optimism and bemusement about their miraculous renewal by Yahoo.  (I also interviewed showrunner Dan Harmon a while back about his new documentary.)

- I learned that '90s metal gets Daniel Radcliffe in touch with his darker side at a press conference for the horror/fantasy/dark comedy Horns.

- LAIKA Studios is (almost) single-handedly keeping the stop-motion animated feature alive, and the roundtable interviews for The Boxtrolls renewed my confidence in their mission.

- Mike Tyson talked about his new animated series for Adult Swim...as well as a bunch of other stuff.  Hands down the most unpredictable encounter to be had at this (let's face it) glorified trade show.

- And in my biggest coup of the Con, I had a wonderful conversation with Guardians of the Galaxy screenwriter Nicole Perlman, who had plenty to say about writing, the Marvel Cinematic Universe, and science in popular culture.


What Were We Watching? Podcast

Oh, you want more?  How about a brand-new podcast where I join forces with the analytical genius of my filmmaker friend Cam Siemer (@CinematicESP)?

On What Were We Watching? we re-examine the movies of our childhood and find out how much of them we're still carrying with us today.  It's more biographical than critical - it's not about good and bad, but then and now.

The podcast accessible on our new blog as well as through iTunes, and you can reach out to us via our Twitter account, @w4podcast.  The first episode, tackling Good Burger, is already available for your listening pleasure, with episode two coming in the next couple of days.  New episodes will post every other week.  Subscribe, and hold onto your butts.


Blog-iversary 3: Senior Year

I continue to get worse at recognizing my own milestones, so here's where I belatedly mention that Ambler Amblog celebrated its third anniversary last month.  I started this project primarily as a creative outlet with no expectations/delusions of becoming anyone's trusted source for movie reviews, so I'm genuinely touched that you all continue to read and discuss and have faith in what I write.  Without you, the reader, this would have faded into obscurity (well...a greater obscurity) a long time ago.  I sincerely thank you.  Now go to the movies!

Tuesday, June 24, 2014

The Catch-Up: Late Spring/Early Summer 2014

I try to see as many movies as I can, so sometimes I need to purge the queue.  In this edition: smaller movies trying to stand out against the big studio tentpoles.



Obvious Child
Dir. Gillian Robespierre

3.5 out of 5

Though it's admittedly reductive to say so, it's hard not to see Obvious Child as one big "take that!" to the concept of the cinematic Meet Cute.  When the film's recently-dumped protagonist, part time bookstore clerk and stand-up comedian Donna (SNL alum Jenny Slate), falls into bed with a nebbishly handsome WASP named Max (Jake Lacy), the revelation of their one night stand is not some comically stark but ultimately meaningless incompatibility.  Instead, there are slightly different results: Donna is pregnant!  By a guy she barely knows, and might not even like!  And once she examines her dire financial prospects and her generally shambolic lifestyle, she comes to a quick, firm decision: she's getting an abortion.  Unfortunately, she keeps bumping into Max, who wants to pursue a more "serious" relationship but has no idea exactly how serious things really are.


Taking a premise from her 2009 short film of the same name, writer-director Gillian Robespierre has made a movie about the alchemy of turning pain and tragedy into comedy in a very literal way, as Donna's on-stage monologues begin drifting from the candidly observational to the recklessly confessional.  It's never overbearing, however, thanks to the clear-eyed script and the talented Slate, whose repertoire of facial expressions alone (in Donna's stand-up, she says her kisser looks "like a menorah had sex with Natalie Imbruglia") makes you wonder how she doesn't already have a cable sitcom.  And though Obvious Child can feel like slight and under-dramatized - Donna has privileged, supportive parents (Richard Kind and Polly Draper) to fall back on, and a loyal best friend (Gaby Hoffman) - it successfully maintains an intimate authenticity that makes her easy to love, never forcing her to represent anything bigger than the one funny, flawed, and spirited human being that she is.



Chef
Dir. Jon Favreau

2 out of 5

Jon Favreau jumps out of the frying pan of big-budget blockbuster misfires and into the kitchen with Chef, writing, directing, and starring as Carl Casper, a stressed-out, thin-skinned head chef at a Los Angeles hotspot who finds himself again with the help of food trucks and social media.  Though he's exploding with culinary creativity, Carl's boss (Dustin Hoffman) who puts a clamp on his artistry by forcing him to stick with a pedestrian menu of crowd-pleasing favorites.  When said menu is sampled and savaged by a smarmy online food critic (Oliver Platt), Carl's nuclear reaction becomes a viral video hit.  The ensuing embarrassment forces him to rebuild his career from the ground up as Carl embarks on a dual crusade to rekindle his passion for cooking and repair his relationship with his 10-year-old son (EmJay Anthony).


The ironies here are thicker than Hollandaise sauce.  Carl explodes when his cooking is called "cloying" and "needy," which are the two adjectives that best describe Chef.  It's also retrograde, dull, and unforgivably sappy, sometimes all at once.  It has a strange obsession with the mystical powers of the Internet, treating us to a scintillating scene where Carl learns how to use Twitter.  At the same time, Chef desperately tries to convince its audience of its hipness and authenticity, associating itself with the street food revolution in Carl's route back to personal and professional bliss.  Amazingly, Chef is often quite nice to look at, especially for fans of foodporn.  However, it's not nearly enough to make up for the movie's many weaknesses, which range from a lack of compelling scenes or convincing dialogue to the flimsy parts for Favreau's A-list friends (Scarlett Johansson; Robert Downey Jr.).  For a movie pitched as a feel-good love letter to foodies, Chef serves up little more than leftovers.



The Sacrament
Dir. Ti West

2.5 out of 5

In House of the Devil and The Innkeepers, a couple of the freshest horror films in recent memory, writer-director Ti West established on appealing style based on two elements: relentlessly slow-burning action laying a subtle breadcrumb trail to a bone-chilling payoff; and a refreshingly empathetic stance toward his doomed characters.  I wondered where that filmmaker went throughout The Sacrament, a predictable potboiler with a gimmicky found-footage twist.


When a fashion photographer (Kentucker Audley) receives a letter from his estranged sister (Amy Seimetz), a member of a group preaching a back-to-nature lifestyle free of economic and technological encumbrances, a VICE news reporter (AJ Bowen) and cameraman (Joe Swanberg) join him to investigate the group's secluded jungle compound located in an unnamed tropical country.  When the men arrive, they're creeped out by the commune's unquestioning devotion to their leader (Gene Jones) - addressed only as "Father" - and begin to witness even more unsettling events over the course of their one-night stay.

Anyone familiar with the popular history of cults and fringe religious movements will not be surprised by the eventual direction of The Sacrament - it hews so closely to its main inspiration, in fact, that it would likely be a spoiler to identify it by name.  But the main issue isn't the familiarity of the story.  Rather, it's the way West needlessly sensationalizes it beyond the bounds of his typically stark yet humanistic horror and pushes it way over the top.  At least Jones gives a fantastic performance, oozing oily charisma through gold-tinted aviator shades and delivering anti-capitalist harangues in his buttery Southern drawl.  In these moments, The Sacrament shows flashes of promise, but it mostly lives up to the less desirable parts of Father's catchall critique: flat, decadent, and uninspired.



The Immigrant
Dir. James Gray

4 out of 5

Polish Catholic immigrant Ewa (Marion Cotillard) faces multiple dilemmas upon arriving at Ellis Island in 1921.  Her sister, Magda (Angela Sarafyan), is sick with tuberculosis and immediately gets whisked away to a quarantine unit, facing eventual deportation if her condition does not improve.  Before Ewa can protest, she lands in trouble of her own: some of her shipmates accused her of being a "woman of low morals" and her family members in Brooklyn appear to have vanished, leaving her alone, destitute, and in line for deportation herself.  In jumps the concerned Bruno Weiss (Joaquin Phoenix), who bribes the right officials to release Ewa into his care - only to force her into the ranks of his bawdy burlesque showgirls who he also pimps out on the side.


With its gaze fixed on the dark corners of urban life and its rollercoaster of worm-turning melodrama, The Immigrant feels like an adaptation of a lost Upton Sinclar or Theodore Dreiser novel.  Ewa and Bruno's relationship becomes more complicated as the latter begins to develop a romantic attachment.  Joining in the sentiment is Bruno's illusionist cousin, Emil (Jeremy Renner), the white knight of this scenario who pledges to rescue Ewa from the clutches of a nefarious pimp and two-bit hustler.

But there are many narrative curveballs before the men's inevitable conflict boils over, and much more for Ewa to assert than the typical damsel in distress.  The film takes its time establishing a unique emotional texture - a kind of faded rococo melancholy that matches the keenly-observed details in the period surroundings of early 20th century New York City.  It's a triumph for director James Gray, whose obsessions with immigrant communities (The Immigrant was reportedly inspired by firsthand accounts of Gray's own relatives) and the self-destructive behavior of individuals are ideally realized here.  And though Gray still has a tendency to elide character motivations that lead to sudden changes of heart, he can fall back on the offbeat machismo of Renner and Phoenix, as well as Cotillard's magnificent tour de force.  Even couched in the euphemism of a different and more discreet era, The Immigrant pulses with raw, confused human passion.

Friday, May 2, 2014

The Catch-Up: Spring 2014

I try to see as many movies as I can, so sometimes I need to purge the queue.  In this edition: that very special window between awards season and summer blockbusters.



300: Rise of an Empire
Dir. Noam Murro

2 out of 5


The sword-and-sandals sequel 300: Rise of an Empire was, perhaps, an inevitability given the mad rush of copycat productions that followed Zack Snyder's wildly successful thunderdome of highly-stylized Hellenic ultraviolence.  Unfortunately, Rise is little more than an officially-sanctioned knockoff.  The packaging is right, but the favor is conspicuously bland.  Taking place around the same time as the events of 300, the sequel focuses on the Athenian general Themistocles (Sullivan Stapleton) who is attempting to arrange a unified naval defense of the Greek city states.  While King Leonidas and his 300 Spartans slow the Persians' land advance, Themistocles leads his own outnumbered forces against Artemisia (Eva Green), a Greek woman allied with the Persian god-king Xerxes (Rodrigo Santoro) and commander of his warships.


The film does show promise in its impossibly bloody fight scenes, of which there are many.  And Green gives a fine performance as the surprisingly complex Artemisia, a tough, vengeful woman who enjoys roughing up her enemies and sexual partners alike.  But the rest of the movie is strictly direct-to-DVD quality: endless digital blood splatters, cluttered visuals, soporific acting, and purely functional dialogue.  That last one is partly Snyder's own fault - though he didn't return to direct, he co-wrote the script with Kurt Johnstad - and it's indicative of the film's failure to effectively engage with what made the original 300 a surprise hit and bro-culture touchstone.  Returning cast members like Santoro, Lena Headey, and David Wenham pop up for a couple scenes each, and give off the vibe of college students returning to visit their old high school, finding it nostalgic and quaint while also a little beneath them.  At least 300: Rise of an Empire doesn't act like it's doing them a favor - it's unapologetic action schlock, and seems genuinely appreciative of the chance to borrow even a small amount of their luster.




Need for Speed
Dir. Scott Waugh

3 out of 5


Ironically, Need for Speed's biggest issue is its pacing.  Setting up Toby's cross-country scramble takes a lot of ponderous exposition.  The filmmakers' insistence on such a thorough, serious introduction is particularly puzzling in light of all the logic and physics-defying action thereafter.  Take for example the mysterious radio host - played with scenery-chewing aplomb by Michael Keaton - who runs the film's big underground racing competition.  Where is his broadcast center?  Does he sit there all day, filling time between big scoops in the underground street racing world?  Why don't the cops listen to his show?  How does he know about Toby's dead friend - was he famous or something?  And so on.

At the same time, Need for Speed is much better for ignoring the answers to these and other reasonable questions, fulfilling the audience's desire for wild stunts and reckless chases in photogenic locations.  It also understands the importance of levity, surrounding Paul's vanilla hero with a crew of cut-ups including Rami Malek and Scott "Kid Cudi" Mescudi, as well as a likable sidekick/love interest (Imogen Poots) who's a knowledgeable and worthy foil.  Though Need for Speed manages a bit of unexpected emotional resonance, it's an enjoyable addition to the canon of car movies whose affinity is more with the speeding metal objects than the people piloting them.


Cheap Thrills
Dir. E. L. Katz

4 out of 5


People degrading themselves for money is not a new concept.  However, the provocative pitch-black comedy Cheap Thrills argues that more research is necessary and enthusiastically investigates the idea via a twisted social experiment.  Married mechanic Craig (Pat Healy) and shakedown artist Vince (Ethan Embry) are old high school friends who randomly cross paths at a bar on the same day Craig loses his job.  While commiserating about their financial woes - Craig is on the brink of being evicted from his apartment, Vince struggles to find steady employment after a stint in prison - a wealthy stranger (David Koechner) invites them to join a birthday celebration for his young wife (Sara Paxton), which involves giving the two downtrodden men gobs of cash for completing a series of escalating dares.


Beginning with standard juvenile mayhem (drink that shot, slap that stripper’s ass) and steadily progressing to more dangerous and violent tasks, Cheap Thrills likewise turns from an exaggerated satire of reality TV and game show antics to a probe of the more sinister aspects of capitalism.  Craig, the more reluctant participant of the pair, has many opportunities to walk away, but views his fiscal obligations as a never-ending treadmill that justifies all sorts of immoral behavior.  That psychological spin is also how the movie justifies its visceral envelope-pushing; the splatter scenes may be front-and-center, but they have a purpose beyond shock value.  Even at a tautly-edited 85 minutes, Cheap Thrills is a surprisingly comprehensive and disconcerting look at nihilism in all its guises.

Friday, December 27, 2013

The Catch-Up: Holiday 2013

I try to see as many movies as I can, so sometimes I need to purge the queue.  In this edition: four holiday season films with year-end award aspirations.


Dir. Brian Percival

2.5 out of 5

Based on the best-selling novel by Markus Zusak, The Book Thief is the latest in a long line of films to filter horrific historical events through the guileless viewpoint of a child.  Here the tyke is named Liesel (Sophie Nélisse, last seen in Monsieur Lazhar), an illiterate orphan who suffers the misfortune of coming of age in Nazi Germany.  Parked with a new set of foster parents, Rosa and Hans Hubermann (Emily Watson and Geoffrey Rush), about a year before the German invasion of Poland, Liesel learns to read and write with encouragement from her adopted father as well as the young Jewish man (Ben Schnetzer) taking refuge in her basement, finding a refuge in literature amidst an increasingly bleak wartime landscape.

A staunchly middle-of-the-road World War II drama, The Book Thief hits all of the requisite beats on its deliberately-paced journey toward tasteful mediocrity.  Director Brian Percival (Downton Abbey) eschews literary affectation – save for the intermittent use of arch narration provided by the voice of Death (Roger Allam) – in favor of cloying moments signaled by the swelling of strings on the movie’s pedestrian score composed, shockingly, by none other than John Williams.  It’s a massive indictment of The Book Thief’s lightweight nature to have the man who created some of the most memorable film scores of all time reduced to yeoman-like status, not to mention the movie’s casual argument that the Holocaust was also a total bummer for the nicer Gentiles.  Though The Book Thief champions the lifelong pursuit of knowledge, its impact could scarcely be more superficial or ephemeral.


Dir. Stephen Frears

3.5 out of 5

Slyly concealing a social issues exposé within a cocoon of mismatched-pair humor, Philomena tells the inspired-by-true-events story of the eponymous Irish woman (Judi Dench) searching for the son she bore as a teenager in the 1950s and was forced to give up by nuns who ran a kind of penitence sweatshop for young, unwed mothers.  She’s aided in her quest by Martin Sixsmith (Steve Coogan), a former “hard news” journalist and recently sacked government adviser who considers Philomena’s puff piece a necessary evil on his journey back to relevance. 


Despite his many charms, Coogan – who co-wrote Philomena with Jeff Pope – is not the typical comedian that films are built around.  Though he’s portraying a version of a real person in Sixsmith, there’s still a healthy dose of his ferociously intellectual and perpetually jaded character from The Trip, another road movie where annoyance and jocularity are often intertwined.  There’s definitely more sweetness in Philomena, but Coogan and Dench don’t overreach for big emotional payoffs, reacting to the ever-evolving scenario like human beings instead of Odd Couple caricatures.  This subtlety pays off in the film’s surprisingly feisty climax as Coogan goes for the jugular of the Catholic Church, lending a strong editorial perspective to a well-constructed yet by-the-book heartwarmer.  It’s oddly comforting to see that a movie with class can have balls, too.  



Her
Dir. Spike Jonze

4 out of 5


"Black mirror" is a catchy neologism - already immortalized in song and on television - to describe the screens, computers, and other iDevices that facilitate the human race's indulgence in cheerful solipsism.  Spike Jonze's technological romance Her takes that idea one step further, imagining a lonely man, Theodore Twombly, (Joaquin Phoenix) who falls in love with his new state-of-the-art operating system, sonorously voiced by Scarlett Johansson.

But within that catchy boy-meets-computer logline lurks something even better - a sharp satire of socialization in the digital age.  Though it doesn't share the structural trickery and absurd wit of his collaborations with screenwriter Charlie Kaufman, Her still finds Jonze pressing heavily against expectation with a vision of a near-future that's both thrilling (visit Los Angeles' extensive subway system!) and uncomfortably familiar. The film keenly reflects an era where personal information is mined by machines to create a virtual space that supersedes reality.  There's no great rhetorical leap to make when Her's sensitive protagonist crosses the last boundary of intimacy between man and computer.  Forty years ago, these topics would've been fodder for a dystopian thriller.  Now, it's simply amusing.

Alas, the concept loses a bit of its freshness over Her's two-hour runtime.  Jonze is as love-blind as Theodore, enamored by mannered production design and a quivering pace - minor flaws that parallel the intentionally humorous fallacy of the film's central romance.  The computer understands Theodore like no other human because she already is Theodore, programmed with all the data that betrays his needs and desires.  Still, Her is a unique film that truly captures the zeitgeist: a humane, funny, and touching exploration of how difficult it is to keep a binary relationship from turning into a one-way feedback loop.



Dir. John Wells

4 out of 5

Misery is company for the fighting Westons of August: Osage County.  Rare are the moments when two or more family members can kibbutz without emotions boiling over - light needling and gentle insults are about as nurturing as this brood gets.  So conflict is unavoidable after the sudden suicide of patriarch Beverly (Sam Shepard) forces his immediate family - led by his caustic, pill-popping widow Violet (Meryl Streep) and daughters Barbara (Julia Roberts), Ivy (Julianne Nicholson), and Karen (Juliette Lewis) - to assemble the clan at the family homestead in Oklahoma, where Violet's lowered inhibitions and fading sense of dignity prompts her to begin airing out decades' worth of dirty laundry.

Adapting his own work for the third time (after Bug and Killer Joe, both directed by William Friedkin), Pulitzer Prize-winning playwright Tracy Letts once again shows how adept he is at creating claustrophobic operettas of discord.  August: Osage County happens to be his most accessible screenplay yet, though it underlines the difficulty of mercy by refusing to sugarcoat the suffering of the Weston family.  (Much of that suffering is courtesy of Violet, whose chemically-induced state adds a hint of tragedy to her cruelty.)  Director John Wells mostly stays out of the way, letting the powerful source material speak for itself.  Streep is typically superb as the cornered Violet, but it's Roberts who shines brightest with her strongest work in years, combining righteous anger and tortured sympathy that perfectly suits the movie's level of Shakespearean dysfunction.

Monday, November 25, 2013

The Catch-Up: Fall 2013

I try to see as many movies as I can, so sometimes I need to purge the queue.  In this edition: four films with strong authorial points of view on civil rights, masculinity, relationships, and...um...Disney World.



Lee Daniels’ The Butler
Dir. Lee Daniels

2.5 out of 5

While “history is biography” no longer flies as a maxim in the academic world, the movies just keep on trying.  Case in point: Lee Daniels’ The Butler, a film that takes its inspiration of the life of an actual long-time White House servant and molds it into a Forrest Gump-esque journey through the African-American experience of the late 20th century.  Part family melodrama, part fabric-of-America saga, The Butler stars Forest Whitaker as Cecil Gaines, who rises from a traumatic childhood in the sharecropping fields of Georgia to become a domestic worker at the residence of the most powerful person in America.  

The director of Precious and The Paperboy remains uninterested in subtlety, as Cecil eavesdrops on a succession of presidents from Eisenhower to Reagan (played by a variety of stars in supremely distracting cameos, though John Cusack makes a delectable Nixon), while his radicalized son (the underrated David Oyelowo) takes a Zelig-like journey through every crucial moment of the civil rights movement from 1960 to 1985.  It’s an overstuffed, frequently corny history lesson sprinkled with some truly powerful, emotionally affecting sequences.  

That’s just another way of saying it’s unmistakably Daniels, bursting with ambition and passion yet hamstrung by several off-key moments and sloppy filmmaking - his idea of attention to detail is to put a Rubik’s Cube on the desk of a Reagan-era administrator.  The Butler is yet another Daniels film carried by its talented cast, but not even they can hide the movie’s significant flaws.



Dir. Randy Moore

4 out of 5

There's a lot of psychological baggage to unpack in writer-director Randy Moore's Escape from Tomorrow, a nightmarish farce of a family vacation gone awry.  Jim (Roy Abramsohn) is a middle-class dad accompanying his wife and two young children on a trip to the Walt Disney World Resort in Florida.  And while Jim is cast in the mold of Clark Griswold from the Vacation films - right down to his futile attempts to salvage no-win situations - he shares none of Griswold's chipper enthusiasm.  Jim's trip is a hallucinatory descent into family man hell, as his long-suppressed id begins to revolt against the stresses of fatherhood and marital fidelity.

For first half of the movie, it feels like Moore is intent on recycling tropes about the "dark side" of the Disney empire.  He revels in depictions of unwholesome behavior at the Happiest Place on Earth: Jim ignores his family to follow two nubile French teenagers around the park, succumbs to a temptress on a park bench, and gets embarrassingly shitfaced on a spin around Epcot Center.  It all builds to a bizarre interlude in an imagined secret bunker underneath the Spaceship Earth attraction, where it's finally made clear that Moore's agenda is much broader than a takedown of corporate conformity.

Moore filmed much of Escape from Tomorrow on Disney property in Orlando and Anaheim without the company's consent (some complex/objectionable scenes are achieved via unconvincing green screen), a fact that has generated praise for the sheer chutzpah of his guerrilla filmmaking style.  It's quite a feat, but it's not inherently impressive until Moore establishes a genuine emotional imperative for his efforts to achieve such realism.  The last twenty minutes of Escape from Tomorrow introduce themes that are both personal (drawing on Moore's memories of spending time with his father at Disney World) and universal (the psychic effect of a break from the "real world").  The location is not at fault; rather, it's the notion of indulging fantasies that distort our perception of reality, creating a disconnect that lingers long after the vacation is over.




Dir. Joseph Gordon-Levitt

3.5 out of 5

Few young stars can boast a work ethic as tireless as Joseph Gordon-Levitt, the director, writer, and star of Don Jon, a movie equally inspired by the famous Renaissance libertine and the hyper-masculine fitness and laundry enthusiasts of MTV's Jersey Shore.  Packing pounds of muscle onto his cherubic frame, Gordon-Levitt transforms himself into the titular cocky, slick-talking womanizer whose litany of conquests still doesn’t satisfy him as much as his beloved internet porn.  Jon vows to turn a new leaf when he starts dating the stunning Barbara (Scarlett Johannson), but finds his porn habit hard to break, even as his new girlfriend is able to exert a considerable influence on his life in several other ways.

Originally titled Don Jon’s Addiction, the movie’s romantic conceit is really a stalking horse for an exploration of sexual expectations in the digital age.  For someone with a résumé as diverse and idiosyncratic as Gordon-Levitt’s, Don Jon isn’t much of a curveball - this is still a world where female characters exist mainly to trigger the epiphanies of a male protagonist.  But credit JGL for his open-mindedness and sense of humor.  Jon is a man whose life is defined by a routine that starts off as faintly ridiculous (he counts off weightlifting reps by reciting that week's assigned Hail Marys), but it's not until he forms an unlikely bond with night school classmate Esther (a pleasantly warm Julianne Moore) that he recognizes the severity of his emotional disconnect.  It’s a simple message, but one told affably and with conviction and without castigating Jon’s other lifestyle choices - about what you’d expect from a nice, hard-working showbiz kid like Gordon-Levitt.




Dallas Buyers Club
Dir. Jean-Marc Vallée

3.5 out of 5


A frank yet earnest snapshot of the AIDS crisis, Dallas Buyers Club dramatizes the life of Ron Woodroof (Matthew McConaughey), a macho electrician, hustler, and part-time rodeo cowboy who, after contracting HIV at a time that it was still considered a “gay disease,” circumvented FDA regulations to obtain unapproved pharmaceutical treatments for the illness – first for himself, then for a community largely ignored or marginalized by the medical establishment.  Directed by Quebecois filmmaker Jean-Marc Vallée, Dallas Buyers Club repels treacle thanks to its setting – unmistakably Texan, but also indicative of the disease’s nationwide impact – and its mostly unsentimental tone.  The latter is attributable almost entirely to Woodroof, an indomitable and deeply flawed individual played in a bravura performance by a wiry, gaunt McConaughey.  Woodroof doesn’t simply want to survive, he wants to live, and his compelling struggle practically turns the film into a character study.

In fact, it may be preferable to think of Dallas Buyers Club that way instead of as a white heterosexual narrative of the early battles against ignorance and misinformation in the AIDS epidemic.  The movie’s portrayal of the gay community is by no means monolithic – Woodroof eventually partners with a transgender woman named Rayon (Jared Leto) to market his alternative remedies – but it’s stuck playing second fiddle.  There’s also the film’s distinct libertarian streak which, although unique, sets up a number of straw men to be blown away by the colorfully offensive Texan’s bluster.  The enemy is not only Big Pharma, but also doctors – save for one sympathetic physician played by Jennifer Garner – and government regulators loyal to a self-serving system that keeps individuals from seeking their own solutions. 

Still, Dallas Buyers Club triumphs by focusing on the changes in Woodroof.  The disease precipitates a complete personal transformation, a motivation to learn more – about AIDS, about medical research, about the world (he becomes incredibly well-traveled for a guy who starts the movie in a trailer park), and about himself.  Like any good social issue drama, Dallas Buyers Club views controversy as a teachable moment: one that’s equally instructive for its characters and its audience.