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Rogue One (2016)
Where are all the women?
Gareth Edwards must have thought that by having Felicity Jones in the lead role, a couple of two-line actresses in robes and a few mothers running about his film would be female enough. By keeping his character arcs on an all-time shallow, and avoiding all banter between these bands of rebels, he has systematically removed all chance of any emotion for the viewer as one by one they fight, die, and form alliances. While Star Wars has always been for the boys, it's ridiculous to presume that there would be zero female rebel volunteers, female imperial scientists, or anyone of note here when half the population or more is female. And why Jyn would choose to hug the biggest idiot man of them all at the end is amazing to me when they basically spent most of the film despising each other. Three stars for Felicity Jones and Riz Ahmed, who act their socks off. But thumbs down for the blatant waste of an opportunity to add women to the cast, even in the background. Seems pretty sexist. Ya boo for not utilizing the wondrous Forest Whitaker. And yuck to the CGI characters. I was bored out of my mind in general, and was glad when the end credits rolled. What a shame.
Nymphomaniac: Vol. I (2013)
True and raw - a challenge to viewers
Although this is not LvT's best by far, it is yet again a vast showcase of what he does best. In fact, von Trier is one of Scandinavia's top porn directors, and early in his career, would fund his movies with TV and porn work. To this end, he has combined this experience with his best skill - provoking those he dislikes.
Here, anyone with a problem with sex, women or sexuality is going to have a problem with this movie because the main character has a problem with sex. She doesn't "love sex", and this movie is not, as the stupid reviews on here say, "a porno". In fact there are only three fleeting scenes of sex in the whole running time, and these reviews just prove the film remains unwatched by such cowards who fill their time complaining about things they know nothing about; namely, the intricate relationships between those with true problems in their lives - people that live deep and far and broad. People such as the two characters who unveil the story - Seligman, the scholarly virgin and Joe, the satanic nymphomaniac.
As usual with LvT this film is going to haunt me days after I watched it. That's the way LvT designs it. Have you the stamina to look inside yourself? One chapter is called The Mirror, and another, The Gun. The very symbols you may come across in spirit at the end of your journey with this film. A harrowing watch, with mind-blowing performances from all, especially Slater and Thurman.
Jodorowsky's Dune (2013)
A stunning film about passion
If you've ever dreamed of making a movie, this story is the dream. Except, despite Chilean-French filmmaker Alejandro Jodorowsky's epic drive and commitment to make "Dune", the sci-fi novel by Frank Herbert, a reality, Hollywood could not bend to allow the film to go ahead.
It's truly unbelievable that any of Jodo's dream becomes a reality in every way. Until, unfortunately, he dreams too big. And he blows it.
But his legacy continues. Not only does Hollywood use his amazing team of artists, they use shot after shot from the bible he created. With interviews with director Nicolas Winding Refn and basically everyone involved in the project, the world of Jodo is laid bare - and it's a breathtaking sight.
Director Frank Pavich simply lets Jodo talk - and that is what makes the documentary such a success. The piece also features amazing animations of Jodo's storyboards, that bring his version of "Dune" to the big screen at last - proving that his vision was indeed epic and beautiful.
There is a sense of campaign here, in that "wouldn't it be great if someone would fund this movie now?" and Jodo quips how ripe it is for a feature-length animation. Let's hope this happens, because if it does, it would change the way we see art on the big screen forever. A stunning film about passion, obsession and life itself that has to be watched by anyone involved or with a love of filmmaking.
The Green Inferno (2013)
Idiots eaten by cannibals
Amazing vistas shot Kubrick-like (Think The Shining) are sharp in perfect HD 4k, dizzyingly beautiful forests lay the path ahead – wonderful as a bloody tribesman's foot crosses the view.
Cut to a college in the USA.
Now, this hi-def is great for seeing leaves on trees in the forest and fleshy, bloody gore, but not so great when used on actors with little to no makeup and without any kind of filter or lens – it seems an oversight until you wonder if it had been Roth's intention.
Because here he uses horribly behaved ugly-skinned teens-rude, sullen and hysterical -even using the drugged-up Sky Ferreira as UC roommate Kaycee, obviously way high on screen, to spoiled Daddy's girl, our heroine Justine (Lorenza Izzo) . Slobbering on greasy pizza and stropping through lectures with cold sores, bad hair, peeling zits and huge inverse entitlement, the script is as poor as the characterization as a group of misguided students decides to take on the loggers in Peru, led by the completely narcissistic Alejandro (Ariel Levy), who Justine kind of takes a fancy to despite him being a huge idiot and having a girlfriend who is a complete bitch.
Despite this, and egged on by a female circumcision video in class (yes, this movie really does go there) Justine decides to take up a place on the latest planned "direct action".
It takes Green Lantern over thirty-five minutes to hit the Peruvian jungle, literally. You'll see. Poor lines with more ham than a pig sandwich add to the jawing discomfort. If this discomfort at the sight and sound of these awful college students is intentional, then Roth is a genius. If not then he's a hack. And I don't know which right now. I know it's a horror trope to hate most of the cast before they start dying – The Descent is a great example of a bunch of stupid people doing exceptionally dumb stuff to end up in peril. So now we can visualize the act heading, written on a matchbook, "Rich idiots get eaten by cannibals".
And when the promised cannibal action hits, it's predictable theater, reminiscent but only a third generation faded Xerox of Cannibal Holocaust or Apocalypto. There's nothing groundbreaking in the choreography of scenes, nothing peerless. Every part of the piece seems to be a nod to something else, much like the Grindhouse/Death Proof/Planet Terror projects from Rodriguez/Tarantino that Roth was part of some years back. It's just a little too steeped in its predecessors to come off as anything peerless.
When Roth does attempt some groundbreaking it is by going cruelly further than necessary; for example I'm not sure I ever wanted to see sharp objects going up girls parts ever, let alone for entertainment, let alone on the massive screen.
There is little tension because we know Roth will go the full way most times. When he doesn't, it seems bland for some reason. There are more indirect ways he creates a narrative – storytelling from offscreen regarding one death is interesting, as the victim's tattoos become Ed Gein-esque play for the native kids. And there's some cooking detail that adds texture. But it needed more, earlier.
This movie is not fun. It leaves an icky feeling all over you in many ways; the bad actors, the terrifyingly abandoned setting, the direction given as relentless pain and unhidden messages. It's too much. And if Roth, like Noe, for example, hoped to cause real discomfort he succeeds.
The instruments he uses to do this are crude and too obviously on point. I am not sure if all this secondary cerebral effect Roth has created is by accident or design. Anyway round, you will still be thinking about this movie for days after you allow it into your brain. If you dare.
The Unknown Known (2013)
An important fingerprint in contemporary American history
Donald Rumsfeld is something of a prose writer, a philosopher and a thinker. He plays with language and was known in press conferences for his linguistic play during question times. Errol Morris questions whether playing with words is the best approach when their meaning decides war and the fate of a nation.
The lure of Errol Morris is, like his contemporary Werner Herzog, his ability to cut deep into his subject to find the juice. I cannot think of any documentary makers except the two of them that are able to craft facts and history into such a glorious narrative to the point that it feels like a beautiful, fictional screenplay.
Donald Rumsfeld is framed simply, in the same light blue shirt and tie throughout. He speaks with purpose and poetry as if he is convinced he is weaving historical quotes on every breath – he probably is.
Famed for his "snowflakes" in The Pentagon, philosophical memos typed on white paper which amounted to millions over his almost half-century career, serving in various senior roles from Nixon to W Bush. Using stock footage of war, presidential history and photos from within the sanctum of The Pentagon and The White House, Rumsfeld talks about the most important of those memos and what they mean.
A fantastic gem of a film deserving many awards; the icing on the cake here is a soundtrack by Danny Elfman no less to elevate this factual interview piece to a work of art. Thoroughly unmissable and an important fingerprint in contemporary American history.
The Heat (2013)
Laugh out loud silly funny
I expected The Heat to be a pile of crapola. I really did. It looked hackneyed and stale. But I had a moment so I thought, okay, let's see if this actually has any funny to it. I haven't watched " Bridesmaids" by the same director, Paul Feig either. For the same reason.
It does have funny. Laugh out loud silly funny. There's no point going in with any dignity. This is one of those " f*ckit I'm a blank canvas" kind of watches. A Sunday evening lying around sort of watch. Because it's not politically correct or up for women's rights, and it's brash, cheap and lazy. And as a woman, I really enjoyed it. Why? Because instead of making the mistake of the women being all righteous and excellent, they are good at their jobs – but pretty rubbish people. Neither of them have a boyfriend or a love interest. And it shows it was written by a woman, actress Katie Dippold (Mindy in Parks and Recreation) The "fat girl", the cop Mullins (McCarthy) is promiscuous and attractive. The slim "preppy" one, the FBI agent Ashburn (Bullock) is uptight and awkward. It's not, as some have suggested, women "fucking up" again and again – they are actually getting the job done and being hated for it by their male colleagues, a bunch of jocks so awful and tacky that it's no surprise Mullins takes on such a strong attitude.
Melissa McCarthy is fantastic as the potty-mouthed Boston-Irish Mullins. One-liners are strong and come fast (to Ashburn, "My fear is that I'm gonna put you in a bikini and you'll still look like a f*cking bank teller."). Her family are hilarious here, with a Shameless vibe – featuring one of my recent Netflix discoveries, comedian Bill Burr. (anyone who's seen his stand-up will want to catch his performance here) There's a great scene where the Mullins clan ask Bullock if she's a man, post or pre-op. And rapper Spoken Reasons is brilliant as the oft-times caught felon Rojas – he should do well in films to come. And not to be missed is the cameo by Arrested Development's Tony Hale as The John.
My gripes. Sandra Bullock made a mistake getting all that whatever it is done to her face. It hurt me to look at her in Gravity and it hurt me here. The main issue is that the characters she plays just wouldn't do it to themselves. And so here she looks like she might be heading down that Barbra Streisand route of facial "improvement". It's a shame because she is a great comic actress – only now she can't move her face. In the same way Jennifer Aniston has taken on that surprised fat baby look lately that ruined any hope of her looking like a real stripper in " We're The Millers"(not that that film has much going for it in my opinion anyway).
The plot here is silly. It could have been written on a matchbox in a hailstorm using an eyeliner. It's carefully divided into three acts: set up, fall down, pick up. But it's not the plot that counts. The funny is in the relationship between the actresses, and the throwaway stuff they add as they go along.
I wouldn't have been very happy about paying to see this at the cinema, but as a DVD release it's well worth a watch.
The Panic in Needle Park (1971)
A destroying watch
The Panic in Needle Park is a 1971 American film directed by Jerry Schatzberg and starring Al Pacino in his second film appearance. The screenplay was written by Joan Didion and John Gregory Dunne, adapted from the book by James Mills.
The story of a rather empty and silly girl with no life who hooks up with a charming loser junkie somehow comes off as the eternal love story. Bobby (Pacino) and Helen (Kitty Winn) meet through the pretentious Mexican artist Marco (Raúl Juliá), Helen's boyfriend, a man so narcissistic he would rather score drugs from Bobby than worry about Helen's back alley abortion, leaving her bleeding on the floor of his studio while he scouts for blow – ironically leading to her turning to Bobby for support and romance.
Shot in the cinéma vérité-style without any music whatsoever, many passerbys look straight at the camera – this is a documentary, with Winn and Pacino sliding into the world that existed in Needle Park in the 70′s – Needle Park being Sherman Square and surrounds, named for the amount of heroin users jones'ing about the area. Pacino improvises with a tall African pimp on the street, " I got nothing'" he says, with a quick smile as he bowls along 72nd Street. They sit on a kerb, Bobby wearing a headscarf like an old peasant woman, cold and bored as feet rush by their noses. New York seems utterly futile and flat – with no hope for the likes of these underachievers.
Thought to be the first movie in which full-on real drug injection is seen, this is as stark as it gets – but there's no humor or irony here as in Spun or Pulp Fiction. This is nasty, bleak, boring drug-taking with nothing people in void lives. New York is grim, sludgy with old snow; cold and gray. The addicts live in an alternate reality like ghosts as commuters go about their day – they only see each other as if anyone not on heroin is invisible.
The Panic is a term used to describe a drought of supply – and there's a big shortage coming. But also The Panic is about their habit. As Bobby is "chipping" – a term to mean using recreationally – he develops a $50 a day habit – and this, so his brother, the burglar Hank (Richard Bright) tells him, is going to be an issue. Where's the money going to come from? What if he can't get a fix? Helen, bored of waiting for Bobby, gauched out in bed for hours on end when she wants sex, starts using too. Their relationship is so distant despite their close proximity 24 hours a day that Bobby doesn't notice straight away, only seeing her eyes eventually and asking " When did that happen?" Of course, it's not long before Helen is addicted too – and takes a job as a waitress to support their habit. Obviously a junkie waitress isn't going to do too well, and she quickly turns to hooking to make the vast amount of cash they need to sustain their drug bingeing.
Performances are straight A all round, with Pacino turning in the performance that landed him The Godfather, and Winn was awarded Best Actress at Cannes that year, going on to star as Sharon Spencer, Regan's tutor in The Exorcist.
Some ratings boards gave this film an X rating, such as in Germany and Britain, leading onto a spate of X-rated movies such as A Clockwork Orange and Deliverance. For me, it's the truth that lies inside the screenplay that makes this an X-rated movie – that there are people out there who live like this – a prostitute hides her baby in the toilet with Helen and Bobby, who is at that moment OD'ing and puking in the bowl, so she can let in her john for his appointment; Helen and Bobby find it funny when they rob a young guy after her turning a trick with him. They beat each other, cheat on each other, steal from each other – and yet they stick together like glue.
There's obvious comparison to Requiem For A Dream, but this is even more bleak and realistic – these people aren't charming or good-looking or even interesting – there's no poetry. The co-dependency is so strong that Helen freaks and runs to the streets searching for Bobby when she wakes up alone in the apartment they share. They writhe on dirty old blankets in moldy rented rooms and pass out in greasy street diners. The neon sign " Drugs" hangs red through the window as Bobby consoles Helen with banana cake when she comes down.
A terrible scene where a puppy dies – which reminded me of the Apocalypse Now puppy that disappears after the shoot-out on the boat and makes me cry every time. Even when a narcotics cop Hotch (the late Alan Vint) takes a fancy to Helen and tries to help her, it seems out of lust rather than any genuine care for her situation – because who cares about these rotten souls? And that is why the movie keeps on turning like a horrible carousel to the very end – without each other, Bobby and Helen would not even exist.
A destroying watch.
The Counselor (2013)
Strangely satisfying, albeit totally ruthless
The Scott-McCarthy union is far from a train wreck it's been proclaimed in certain corners. In fact, it's often quite enjoyable, even as it blatantly flies in the face of your average viewer's expectations.
Plenty of great novelists have made bumpy transitions to screen writing. McCarthy is no exception, but in Scott's hands The Counselor is a strangely satisfying, albeit totally ruthless, tale of greed and its consequences.
Like so many of McCarthy's novels, The Counselor is set near the Texas-Mexico border, and involves its share of shady figures with opaque agendas. This time, however, the author has turned his attention to the grisliest possible side of human decay: drug trafficking, and the violence that goes with it.
As much as the film has been promoted as a blood-soaked thriller, there's very little violence over the nearly two hour duration. With no room on the page to fill with gorgeously-wrought passages about grand themes, McCarthy sticks a great deal of it in the mouths of his characters. It's a decision that provides any number of strong moment, but is still the film's Achilles Heel. As best as the cast try, there are some lines that are just too "written," and they feel clumsy coming out of the mouths of human beings, even ones as broadly symbolic as these.
Thankfully, Mr. Scott and his collaborators keep the whole thing moving along quite nicely, and deliver a polished, if frequently imperfect film. For all of its broader elements, The Counselor is still classic McCarthy, and Scott attacks the pulpy material with enough gusto so as to ensure more than a few stand-out moments. Working with recent collaborator Dariusz Wolski, the film is as rich and glossy as Scott's best, without ever suffocating the material. And, for a director known for staging marathon-length action sequences, he's able to rattle off the film's few flashes of violence with elegance and brevity. Relatively new composer Daniel Pemberton also makes a powerful impression with his ghostly score, which lends even the plainest of dialogues an undercurrent of impending catastrophe.
One of the Counselor's most frequently used words in the film is "Jesus." Whether hearing something outrageous (a scene with Malkina and car that's sure to leave one talking), or horrific, this invocation of a deity is perhaps his last line of defense from the inky black world in which he's enmeshed himself. At first Fassbender's delivery is almost casual, as though he has no true need of the same religion that Laura holds so dearly. Yet as things inevitably go south, that delivery becomes gradually more panicked. Yet a hollowness remains, but with a purpose: the Counselor needs the intervention of a benevolent higher power, yet also realizes that he's gone past the point of saving.
That's the sort of world that Scott mercilessly plunges one into, and it's certainly not for everybody. But either way, it's likely to leave you talking about something. In one early scene, the Counselor visits a diamond dealer (Bruno Ganz), who informs him that what defines a diamond are its little flaws, and that "The perfect diamond would be composed of nothing but light." That sentiment also applies to this icy gut punch of a film. It may be littered with imperfections, some particularly disappointing, but in a sense they help define what makes this film – Scott's best in quite some time – work so well. Jordan Baker, FMR
Nebraska (2013)
Another comfortably executed dramedy from Payne
Director Alexander Payne's follow-up to The Descendants is an amiable, bittersweet family comedy that turns its overwhelming slightness into an advantage. While it may not have attention-grabbing stars or subject matter, Payne's latest is another comfortably executed dramedy, even though it's hardly essential viewing for anyone but Payne's biggest fans.
The opening shots of Nebraska show Woody Grant (Bruce Dern) hobbling along on foot in his hometown of Billings, Montana to the state of Nebraska. He's on his way to claim a (bogus) reward of $1 million, much to the frustration of his sons David (Will Forte) and Ross (Bob Odenkirk), and his wife Kate (June Squibb). Rather than dwell on the reasons for Woody's determination, Bob Nelson's script has David give in to the idea of propping up Woody's fantasy for a few days. This gives the film an early chance to jump to the bulk of its limited story, set among Woody's relatives in his hometown in Nebraska.
And, try as David (and eventually Ross and Kate) may, no one else in the family wants to give up the idea that Woody has suddenly become a millionaire. Like a group of cuddly, wrinkly parasites, the Grant family starts cozying up to Woody in hopes that they can get some of the winnings. Folks outside of the family, like Woody's old business partner Ed (Stacy Keach), are less pleasant about it. David remains uneasy during the entire journey, while Woody nods along, too worn down and generous to say 'no' to anyone.
Even though it's tempting to nag and ask why David never cuts the journey short, Payne and Nelson make the open-ended journey a pleasant one. Though the film was hit with claims of patronizing its mid-Western characters, there are enough little details that give the ensemble enough plausible humanity. Some, like a pair of David's creepy cousins, are broader than others, but Payne's simple direction keeps things from sliding into cheap mockery. The films's vision of its setting is best encapsulated in a lengthy shot of the men in the family sitting, stone faced, as they watch TV and make conversation that would barely pass as small talk.
When Nebraska arrives at scenes like this, it can be enormously entertaining. Despite the tinge of melancholy inherent in the premise, there are any number of laugh out loud scenes, many of which come from Squibb as the feisty, unfiltered Kate. With so much glum small talk and sinister sucking up, Kate's interjections enliven the film and provide Nebraska with its high points.
What keeps Nebraska from being a more memorable addition to Payne's resume is the work from the film's pair of leads. Forte, known for his outrageous Saturday Night Live characters, is effectively understated. There are hints in the performance that he's capable of mining even richer characterization if given stronger material. Dern, meanwhile, is reduced to being distant and occasionally crotchety. In a year with any number of powerful, dynamic male performances, it's puzzling that Dern has gathered such acclaim, even picking up the Best Actor prize at Cannes earlier this year.
Once the film arrives at its conclusion, and all of the emotional secrets are dragged out into the sunlight, you can already feel it evaporating. Woody's determination is so single-minded and lacking in interesting angles or details that he becomes a mere sounding board, rarely able to throw anything back. The role is passive to a fault. Just as Woody sits around while others talk, bicker, and scheme, Dern mostly sits and nods while others act. With such a paper-thin core, it's no wonder that Nebraska doesn't linger on the mind once the credits roll. Whether this or not this ends up being a transitional film for Payne, it's also an unquestionably unmemorable, albeit enjoyable, outing. Jordan Baker, FMR
Carrie (1976)
Surprisingly inappropriate in a modern age
Only, three minutes in, I was shocked – I didn't remember the pervy, * literally * soft porn scene. High school girls run naked through a gym locker, soaping themselves and whipping each other with towels. Sissy Spacek rubs suds in between her legs as she starts her period.
Elevator music and Vaseline lens shots are turned on their head when she get " The Curse", and thinks she is dying because nobody told her about it. Enter a bunch of classmates including Amy Irving in her screen debut as Sue (later Mrs Spielberg) and Nancy Allen as Chris Hargensen, the school pin-up. None of whom are under 18. In fact, Spacek was 27 the year Carrie was made. Amy Irving was 24, and Nancy Allen, 26 (two years later, she was Mrs De Palma). Not really the 17 year-olds they are meant to be here. Thank God, after all that nudity and soaping.
And so we debate the poetry of " The Curse". Carrie is a gifted telekinetic – or is she cursed? The others smell her difference; like a pack of wolves on an injured deer, they taunt her as she wails in the still-running shower – saved at last by the pneumatic Miss Collins (Betty Buckley, also an ex of De Palma's). A woman barely older than the "girls", cast as their teacher. I let this one slide. But.
When we come to the ridiculous "detention" scene, the girls are berated by Miss Collins, and the viewer is subjected to several minutes of girls in tight shorts bouncing, bending and stretching. Another misogynist bit of movie making by De Palma. This scene is not only completely hammy, but is accompanied by terrible comedy music I can only describe as some weird organist beating off to Sesame Street. He employs the deep field, "split screen" effect here, probably egged on by cinematographer Mario Tosi and his Panavision Split Diopter Lense, which gives this look used in many horror and sci-fi movies such as The Andromeda Strain and The Boston Strangler. And – um, a Hitchcock look.
The issue in general here is there is no story left – Stephen King's original tale is so pared down by De Palma that the viewer is just waiting. Waiting for the big Prom scene at the end. Why this is, maybe, is that De Palma didn't mine that treasure chest of female angst deep enough – and unlike Stephen King who had wife Tabitha at his side filling him in on female psyche (He dedicated "Carrie" the novel to her: "This is for Tabby, who got me into it – and then bailed me out of it.") De Palma misses the mark without this personal input. Wide.
So The PROM. Frankly, I don't remember it being this lame. Carrie is kind of covered in blood with her big shot breaking out a fire hose and dousing everyone *to death* with water. Not really very scary. Somehow everything is aflame after a mic sparks and kills two male teachers we don't care about. She kills poor Miss Collins who did really nothing to deserve it, and actually comes across as the most ealistic actress here, with a board, cutting her in two.
De Palma, with Tosi, more or less trademarked split screen depth of focus for this type of horror action. He uses it many times in the film, both to highlight Carrie's utter alienation – or indeed the alienation of Miss Collins from her students.
But as much as he pioneers, he apes. Every time Carrie uses telekinesis, the Psycho shower violins creak up. The high school is called "Bates High School" instead of Ewen as in the Stephen King novel. It's a bit obvious, and not in a good way. And he uses the "multiple ending" as in Hitchcock's Topaz, "forming a kind of syllogism", says the book Hitchcock, Past And Future. Is the film over, or is there more? I jumped only once, a minute from the end – and many other horror movies have used these tropes to varying degrees of success – this is certainly an influence on the fantastic "Drag Me To Hell"'s end scene.
Despite this version of Carrie being thoroughly dumb and having script dialogue that reads like Murder, She Wrote or worse (at one point Amy Irving's mother says " Oh, I didn't hear you come in" despite them being seen clearly in the kitchen together for around three minutes immediately beforehand), there are reasons, albeit car-crash-viewing reasons, to check this version out – it does give origin to many horror clichés and it's entertaining to discover them first time around.
I can't bring myself to call it a classic, and you may feel you need to skip huge swathes of the film just to get to the prom scene, which you will probably find disappointing. I felt that the women in this film had been used to make De Palma's vision in a way that left a dry taste in my mouth: the nudity and sexual overtures are presented in a voyeuristic fashion that voids their value immediately.
I can't help thinking that in the hands of director Kimberly Peirce, known for her profound understanding of women in Boys Don't Cry will do a much deeper and broader job of the material, and with the sorts of technology used in 2013, surely she can do something more sinister with the prom scene than the humongously spraying penile extension of De Palma's fire hose... Cate Baum, FMR
Man of Steel (2013)
Struggles to completely soar to new heights
The great irony of Superman's status as a true all-American superhero is that he's not even from our world. As has been pointed out in more than a few essays over the years, Kal-El is a true immigrant from among the superhero pantheon.
If anything, his immigrant status is what allows him to best rise to the lofty (and often unreachable) heights of American ideals. It truly takes an otherworldly, yet still characteristically human, figure to save the day, time and time again. The trick with Superman, however, is how much times have changed. Despite the relative levity of the current Marvel franchise, the shadow of Christopher Nolan's Dark Knight Trilogy still looms large over the cinematic landscape.
For the most part, the film is broken up into three parts, beginning with a surprisingly extended sequence detailing the fall of Krypton. Wondrously designed (shades of H.R. Giger are present), Krypton is on the brink of total destruction after aggressively exploiting its natural resources. Complicating things is a last-second military coup by General Zod (Michael Shannon). The planet's last hope is Jor-El (Russell Crowe), who sends his son off into space as the planet continues to violently fall apart.
Yet as much time as Krypton gets on screen, Man of Steel moves rather briskly though episodes of Kal-El/Clark Kent's young life. In a refreshing structural choice, Clark's childhood is largely seen through flashbacks, often triggered by small incidents in the adult (and insanely sculpted) Clark's life as a wanderer. On one hand, it lends the film a constant sense of movement. The editing across timelines is often quite slick, keeping the film eventful. The downside is that Goyer's dialogue construction isn't quite as effective as his plot structure. Snyder does his best to overcome this with some Malick-inspired camera-work, and more often than not he succeeds, although just barely.
All the same, Goyer's writing remains a problem across the highly eventful (and never, ever dull) runtime. All other aspects of the film seem so finessed and in control, and it's a shame to see the film occasionally stumble through Goyer's awkward dialogue exchanges. The result is a film that looks great (even with a slightly oppressive blue-grey tint flooding every frame), and is often entertaining, yet still not able to reach its full potential. Moments that should hit hard feel obligatory than genuinely emotional, even as the cast tries their best to make something out of thin material.
Whatever problems Goyer contributes, however, are frequently compensated for by engaging work across the ensemble, and Snyder's relentless storytelling. Cavill, though not given much to say, makes a nice, albeit understated, impression as the titular hero. Rather than make him a blank figure of simplistic patriotism, Cavill's Superman is a man torn between his two identities. Although not given much substance on paper in regards to this dynamic, Cavill does have some nice moments as he struggles to reconcile his split identity (even as some of these scenes end too abruptly). It's not big enough performance to be a true star-making turn, but the handsome actor does prove that he's worthy of donning the (smartly redesigned) iconic outfit and cape. He may not erase Christopher Reeve from anyone's memory, but as a more forlorn, wary Superman, he fits right in with the Nolan-ized aesthetic of the film.
More outwardly engaging is Amy Adams as Lois Lane. Though Superman does save her several times, Man of Steel's treatment of the character is refreshing. She's not just a spunky reporter who stands up to her boss. Rather, she's a journalist willing to go to great lengths to get what she wants. And, later in the game, she even plays a pivotal role in devising a plan to help stop Zod. And speaking of Zod, Michael Shannon deserves his share of credit for crafting a villain with a mix of bug-eyed fervor and understandable drive. His mentality may be inflexible, yet there is a (rather dark) logic to Shannon's character and performance that fits in with the mythology of the dying world of Krypton. His will is to ensure the survival of his race, no matter the cost. He may pose a threat to the humanity, but his destruction isn't just for kicks: it's to save a proud race that is sitting at death's door.
The real surprise of the film, however, are Superman's two fathers. The first 20 minutes of the film are basically a mini-action movie for Mr. Crowe, and he lends his role a palpable, but never overbearing, level of gravitas befitting of an alien lord. On the other end of the spectrum is Kevin Costner as Clark's Earthbound father. Though he isn't afforded much screen time, Costner (along with Diane Lane as his wife) brings a comforting, low-key presence to the role. Despite Superman's foreign origins, his relationship with his adoptive parents is where his true character comes from. Thanks to Costner and Lane, that character rings true when it's displayed on screen.
And even as Goyer's script underwhelms, Snyder manages some stirring moments as a director, even though the impact is largely visceral, rather than emotional. Often criticized as prizing style over substance (to an extreme), Man of Steel isn't exactly a huge detour into hard-hitting character work. However, jarring product placement aside, the film does show Snyder as capable of effective self-control. Rather than become a slave to comic book frames (as he did in his adaptation of Watchmen), his imagery is energetic and muscular, resulting in an impressive, if exhausting, visual assault. Aiding him the whole way is a tremendous score from Dark Knight composer Hans Zimmer. Alternating between thunderous horns and delicate pianos, Zimmer creates a perfect compliment to Superman's humble humanity, as well as his larger-than-life abilities.
Jordan Baker, FMR
Dallas Buyers Club (2013)
A gritty, efficient film
This isn't the sort of film that wows with writing or directing (especially the former). Instead, it's a simple, issue-driven drama that serves as a vehicle for some first-rate performances. Dallas Buyers Club isn't likely to stand the test of time, but it does provide an effective platform for Matthew McConaughey's continuing career renaissance, as well as a return to the silver screen for actor/singer Jared Leto.
Any number of films have covered some aspect of the AIDS crisis, including last year's documentary How to Survive a Plague. This true-life story, however, tackles the topic with a protagonist who's anything but what one would expect. Ron Woodroof (McConaughey) is a free-wheeling, hard-living Texas good ole boy, as heterosexual as they come. In the opening scenes, he drinks, fights, participates in the rodeo, and throws a few homophobic slurs at Rock Hudson. Suffice it to say that he's far from an ally to the LGBTQ movement.
That doesn't exactly change when, after collapsing in his trailer park home, he's diagnosed with HIV. Initially offended by the mere idea that he could even have the virus, Ron eventually comes to grips with his situation. The fire in his eyes, initially a lust for life, suddenly becomes a burning desire to survive. Of course, obstacles abound, namely the medical establishment. Even kind-hearted doctor Eve (Jennifer Garner) is initially determined to make Ron stick to a trial medicine that seems to do more harm than good. Ron, not content with the timeline of his so called treatment, decides to take things into his own hands with a trip into Mexico.
At its core, Dallas Buyers Club is a classic story of a rebel railing against part of the establishment. With conversations about healthcare taking up so much space in current public discourse, the film couldn't feel more contemporary, even though it begins in the early 80s. Having the AIDS crisis as a backdrop proves to be fertile ground for director Jean-Marc Vallee and writers Craig Borten and Melisa Wallack. Neither the writing nor directing handle the setting with histrionics or melodrama.
This is a gritty, efficient film, and a complete 180 from Vallee's last film, the stuffy and unremarkable The Young Victoria. Proving himself an adept chameleon of a director, Vallee lends a (sometimes overeager) energy to the proceedings that gives the story a sense of urgency. With its hand-held photography and reportedly brief shoot, Dallas Buyers Club certainly feels kinetic and alive, even as it tackles a story with painful, life or death consequences. Every now and then Vallee's energy threatens to overwhelm the film – as in a montage of Woodroof traveling abroad – but by and large he gets the job done with just enough flair, all while leaving room for his actors.
Whatever Dallas Buyers Club may be lacking in its overall execution, it makes up for with McConaughey and Leto's committed performances. McConaughey lost a frightening amount of weight for the role, but his appearance is dealt with so matter-of-factly that it's never used as lazy characterization. So many films involving body transformations fail to provide actors with anything to really do beneath their transformations.
Dallas Buyers Club, at the very least, gets the transformative aspect out of the way without any pretense. McConaughey is allowed to be active, physically and emotionally, and the film is better off for it. While I'm still partial to his terrifying turn in last year's Killer Joe, his work here is another excellent addition to his current critical resurgence. Leto, as the cross-dressing Rayon, is also effective in his sheer commitment to his character's mannerisms. Just when the film seems ready to leave Leto with nothing to do on an emotional level, the script throws out some material to give the actor a chance to show why we should be glad that he's acting again. There are tears and pained expressions in Dallas Buyers Club, but they're all a far cry from cheap, manipulative melodrama.
Ultimately, part of what keeps the film from being more than a performance showcase is its reticence to dig deeper into the far-reaching consequences of Woodroof's illegal ring of unapproved HIV medication. Other "buyers clubs" are mentioned, but for the most part Borten and Wallack's script is almost entirely focused on Woodroof's world. The man's story, and his gradual adjustment from his worst homophobic tendencies and attitudes, is compelling, but it also feels as though it needs to be grounded in a fuller context.
Admittedly, it's a difficult balance to strike, but in this case the small focus does rob the film of deeper, more lasting impact. As a story of righteous anger and rebellion, Dallas Buyers Club has enough heart and intelligence to make it recommended viewing. But as a look at a major social movement in a turbulent decade, it can't help but feel like a footnote, despite the excellent performances leading the way. Jordan Baker. FMR
12 Years a Slave (2013)
12 Years a Slave's triumphs do more than make up for failures
12 Years a Slave is a film that rights itself so powerfully that it manages to meet, and possibly surpass, its overwhelming hype.
When a movie has you doubting its quality for its first half hour, it tends to send up more than a few red flags. That was the experience I had with Steve McQueen's third feature film, 12 Years a Slave. All of the festival hype about this being a masterpiece didn't even seem remotely present. Yet over the course of its grueling duration, the movie has a way of getting under your skin long before you fully realize it.
Arriving nearly a year after Quentin Tarantino's Django Unchained, Slave is quick to position itself as a polar opposite. Tarantino's take on slavery was brutal, but so stylized that it quickly arrived at winking hyperbole. That tongue-in-cheek revisionism is nowhere to be found in McQueen's film, which sternly cements itself as one of the definitive cinematic portraits of the horrors of American slavery.
Yet for all of the brutality, emotional and physical, on display, 12 Years a Slave's approach is remarkably restrained. McQueen, working off of John Ridley's adaptation of the novel of the same title, has ample opportunity to bludgeon the viewer into numbing submission. As we follow Solomon Northrup (Chiwetel Ejiofor), a free man captured and sold into the southern slavery machine, we are witness to unspeakable violence, as expected. But rather than reflect Northrup's own horror, the film spends most of its time depicting its atrocities with quiet detachment. Rarely has the concept of the banality of evil been so maturely transferred to the silver screen.
The effect is distancing at first, and it can make 12 Years a Slave difficult to fully engage with at times. There are moments made to elicit gasps of horror, but also any number of scenes presented so matter-of-factly that they appear determined to keep the viewer at arm's length. It's a strategy that could have proved damning in the long run. Instead, it all builds to a finale that packs what has to be the biggest emotional wallop of the year, and by quite a wide margin.
The academically rigorous treatment that takes up most of the runtime is, secretly, the key to the film's success. By refusing to indulge in exploitation and wallowing in awfulness, the story clips along, capturing evil as ordinarily as possible, as though it were just another part of the day. The intelligence with which Ridley treats his characters, coupled with McQueen's vision, allow the film to work as an accessibly arty drama, as well as an honest and unflinching portrait of one of the biggest travesties in American history.
And as the glue holding the story together, Mr. Ejiofor is tremendous, infusing Solomon with hope, determination, and despair without mugging. The middle of the story sees Solomon – with a new name, and reduced to little more than a cotton picker – as an observer and occasional victim. Rather than slip into laziness, Ejiofor infuses Solomon's defeated passivity with a tragic grace that only becomes more impressive as time passes.
While Ejiofor carries the movie on his shoulders, he allows his co-stars the bulk of the film's flashier moments. As Mr. and Mrs. Epps, Michael Fassbender and Sarah Paulson make up one of the most despicable, yet frighteningly believable, couples in recent memory. Whatever their quarrels with each other, they have no problem abusing and manipulating the slaves as a means of attacking each other. As Mr. Epps watches, with mocking delight, his slaves dance, his wife catches him eying young Patsey (Lupita Nyong'o, also excellent). Her retaliation is to pick up a glass decanter and toss it at the girl's head, with all of the effort of tossing paper into a waste bin. It's a moment horrifying for its basic cruelty, the chillingly casual manner of its depiction, and implications it has about the Epps' world views. That the moment lasts but 10 seconds only magnifies the scene's blunt force.
At this point it almost seems pointless to point out the films flaws, considering how contained they are to the beginning of the movie. However, though the initial missteps don't undercut the power of the conclusion, they do start the film off in a puzzling manner that feels at odds with what follows.
Rather than proceed in strictly linear fashion, the opening begins with a few vignettes of Solomon already on the Epps' plantation. Later, the film inserts brief flashbacks to Northrup's time with his wife and two children as they go about their life as free and respected members of society. The "payoff" that this structure delivers is little more than a condensed repeat of the opening scenes in a bizarre attempt to generate a moment of psychological tension. Compared with the elegant frankness of the film's majority, these moments can't help but feel rough around the edges. Hans Zimmer's early scoring contributions don't help matters, and threaten to send certain scenes careening off of the rails with their horror movie intensity.
Thankfully, 12 Years a Slave's triumphs do more than make up for its failures. They absolutely demolish them. With all of the accumulated pain and suffering built up over the course of more than two hours, the film arrives at its shattering conclusion. It's an otherworldly combination of hopefulness about the story's end, as well as a cathartic end to a profoundly wrenching journey. McQueen's film could derisively be deemed his broadest and most accessible. However, by tapping into such a difficult subject matter with such precision, he has delivered a challenging, gripping story by staring evil in the eye and never once backing down.
Jordan Baker, FMR
Ruby and the Dragon (2013)
Could easily pave the way for feature funding
Louisiana-set Ruby and the Dragon tells the tragic tale of a young girl, Ruby, as she struggles with the death of her mother and her father's collapse into a silent state in this harrowing and wistful tale from Phillip Jordan Brooks.
Ruby lives in her own world as she uses shadow puppets and fairy stories to deal with life without her mother. But her life is about to get a whole lot more complicated when tragedy strikes once more.
Leah Catherine Thompson as the eponymous Ruby is something of a young Juliette Lewis at only eleven years old, with her old-soul eyes and husky delivery, perfect for the difficult emotional range required for the role. Supporting characters are pleasingly diverse, and all add texture in a succinct way that creates a narrative for a judgmental small-town mentality as the family tries to survive Ruby's mother's suicide.
Brooks gives an astounding performance as good as any actor in the A-list today as her father Oscar, to the point that I wonder if his character's name is a clue he should go headlong into a career in front of the camera instead of behind it, because performances are truly flawless here on both accounts.
Having said that, Brooks is a bit of a triple threat. Direction is tight, especially given he's directing as he's acting in nearly every scene, and the writing, if a little on point, is clean storytelling.
Personally, I didn't much care for the plot, which is basically one massive terrible event after the other culminating in a plot point that is startling in its conception, and which may lead some viewers to feel it goes a little too far. It would have been nice to see Ruby involve herself more deeply in her fairytale puppetry, which at times is far too fleeting. I don't think it would hurt to delve into this a little more and expand that world – there are minutes to be had here, as the film is only sixteen minutes long. Twenty maybe would be the charm. There's a great singing sequence as she cleans the house in the trailer that could have lent some light relief in the actual film.
Camera-work is excellent. The use of black and white instead of color is reminiscent of The Wizard of Oz, in which Dorothy lives out her staid and sad life in grays. But here, dolefully, Ruby never gets to escape to the color. Angle work is used to create perspective and opinion throughout, without milking the drama. Minimal and effective, the actors stand out from the framing, able to breathe life into the piece unfettered by any such go-to's so often employed in low-budget filmmaking.
But I do think going deep into sadness in a short lends an advantage. The viewer has only a quarter of an hour to be steeped in death and misery. Ruby and the Dragon is a poem to death, faith and the afterlife – but it could not be a feature (Philip Ridley's " The Reflecting Skin" did this for 96 minutes and I remember the audience audibly crying out for it to stop after about an hour). However, it does showcase Brooks' talents and could easily pave the way for feature funding for this name to look out for.
Polypore (2013)
Polypore sets out to reach epic heights.
With a sprawling cast and in five languages, Polypore knows what it wants to be: somewhere in between A Scanner Darkly, Jumper, Rendition, 24 and LOST. However, the budget is spread too thin to achieve this colossus of an idea.
Cinematography is sometimes amazingly exquisite when Barack applies his true skills, such as cityscapes, time lapse nightscapes with glorious pans across countryside and forest. Other times, locations are lit poorly and left uncolored in post, revealing huge spotlight shadows on actors and overexposed areas making the shot too sharp and "HD" ish.
There is an animation sequence, which is an excellent explanation to the convoluted plot – Kill Bill in conception. But I felt this should head up the movie. I would have loved more of this animated stuff – really, a first-class job here.
The script needed tightening long before shooting, and needed to decide on its tone also. Is it a parody? Is it a serious thriller? It was pretty entertaining in parts; sometimes slick and gorgeous like a music video, sometimes like a teen TV show, other times, I was rueful and critical. Occasionally I was embarrassed. But I'd like to know what genre I am looking at by the end of the first act and have the palette make sense throughout.
Another holdup is the huge cast. It's difficult to know who was who by the end. Many new characters would appear without telling the viewer who they were, often with guns.
Barack could stick with the gold and have a tight movie. Kyle Barry as Sebastian is great but woefully under-used (maybe because he was busy writing the soundtrack) The two doctors in Paris are humorous and could have been instrumental in describing what was going on – they seem most rounded out of all the characters. Trent (Barack) could have spoken more – he's got some screen presence. There's also a fantastic Tarantino-esque meditating assassin near the end – and a nice kill involving a car is sheer brilliance.
There are an amazing amount of good shots here to be mined in more detail. A paring down and a re-edit would make this a festival crowd pleaser no doubt, but in its current form it's more of a chore – and no festival crowd wants to work at a story, even if there are moments of genius. The film rollicks along and is terrific in places, and you can see the immense pleasure the entire cast and crew must have had making it: and to director Barack's credit, it must have been an epic task to pull this off especially considering this was "Kickstarted". Massive props for that.
The Pact (2011)
Well acted, and the audience is fully engaged throughout the film
Written by Matt and Aaron Toronto, The Pact is centered on two brothers, Grant and Ancel. Grant, wallowing in despair at his favorite bar, because his girlfriend dumped him, is shocked to see his brother Ancel, also in a drunken stupor after his wife left him for one of his band members. Furious and devastated, Ancel and Grant in the height of their drunken state make a pact to swear off women for an entire year. The aftermath of the pact had entirely different results for the two brothers. Grant is surrounded by beautiful interested women, he even has a stalker at work. While Ancel, desperate to break the pact, is unable to consummate relations with any woman. Mysterious forces seem to be hard at work to destroy Ancel's chances, while Grant would be on top of the world had he not made this pact. Together they resist temptation, and continue to abide by the pact until a beautiful woman named Charlie causes trouble between the two. In the end they find that the pact was so much more than about women, or love, it was about helping each other and bonding as brothers.
I could not turn away from this charming sweet comedy about these bothers and their loss at love. The protagonists are lovable, and we desperately want these brothers to stay committed to each other and the pact. I can't emphasize enough how well written the story is. The director, Matt Toronto, did a magnificent job at focusing on the story. Utilizing all the elements at his disposal to tell a simple story well. The film is well acted, and the audience is fully engaged throughout the film.
Another element I noticed was the great use of a budget. Clearly a low budget film, the filmmakers did a phenomenal job at using the same locations, but never having a dull moment. They made sure not to become too repetitive, and have everything make sense with the story. Everything in this picture is structured exceedingly well.
Romantic comedies have taken a serious dive in the last decade, and that could simply be because we have run out of new ideas, or Hollywood stopped caring. What this film does exceptionally well is it made a genuine effort in persevering the quality of story, and strayed from anything over the top, crude, or trite. The twist in this story is that the protagonists focused on their "pact," meaning they focused on themselves, and what they needed to do in order to be happy and find love. They had a slew of external barriers they needed to get through in order to be happy. So much better than the onslaught of stale Gerard Butler, Katherine Heigl films we see nowadays that are lacking in terms of quality. If you are interested in a solid comedy that is delightfully pleasing, grab a few snacks, friends, and enjoy The Pact.
S.I.N. Theory (2012)
A micro-budget thriller shot entirely in black and white
With the gorgeous Toronto backdrop of university buildings and cherry blossom, echoes of "A Beautiful Mind" thread through this story as widowed math professor Michael ( Jeremy Larter) and his intern, the beautiful and geeky Evelyn (Allison Dawn Doiron) discover a theory that predicts the future using math – through research they come across a program that runs this theory further, meaning they can look up any point in history, such as the first female president or first A.I. – but also can predict anyone's death.
As they become romantically entwined, two mysterious men start following them – and that's not all. Michael has discovered a horrible prediction – Evelyn will die in two days' time, and he doesn't know how to stop it. And when the men start appearing outside his window, the situation is about to get even more dangerous.
With a tiny cast and minimum locations with only a few thousand dollars budget, this work is fully fledged and has some nice nods to Aronofsky's "Pi", with an understated and quite haunting soundtrack that is both modern and somehow orchestral, the quiet approach pays off. Actors are well-versed and chosen with integrity, and editing is now tighter and works with dialogue over montage to give the viewer a sense of what came before without acting out every detail.
Although the story is huge compared to the resources available and would obviously benefit from a much bigger budget, Mitchell has pulled it off in terms of what this movie is: a DIY indie project achieved with little assistance and a lot of soul. I think it would be easy to question decisions on plot points and rip this movie apart, but basically I've seen blockbusters with only an ounce of the dignity given to this piece.
The only criticism would be that the film has been plumped in places and maybe tucked in a little in others: for instance, the actual theories given at the beginning would be great more fleshed out and some of the sweeping scenes of Toronto could be pulled up. Other scenes spell out plot points in a too-labored fashion while others left me confused.
The use of chat and text is interesting and not to be scoffed at, and the cinematography at times is decent and accomplished.
S.I.N. Theory is what micro-budget filmmaking is all about: pushing the boundaries of creativity and seeing what it is possible to achieve without all the whistles and bangs a studio would offer. It is a genre by rights, that moves into the new DIY age of technology we now live in. Good for you, Richie Mitchell.