Review: "Crimson Peak"

Director: Guillermo Del Toro
Runtime: 119 minutes

In an early flashback in Crimson Peak, a ghost whispers to young Edith Cushing (Mia Wasikowska) that she should beware of the titular location. A similar warning should be given out to those going to see Guillermo Del Toro's latest film under the wrong impression. If you want to be either scared witless or grossed out by blood and gore, look elsewhere. But if you want to see a film that gorgeously translates the themes and tropes of gothic romance to the screen - albeit with flashes of the supernatural and R-rated content - look no further. Mr. Del Toro courted mainstream appeal with his last film, the glorified machines vs. monsters B-movie Pacific Rim. Let his newest endeavor, despite being made in English and through the studio system, sees the Mexican auteur returning to his roots, with sumptuous and haunting results.

The first ghost appears only moments into Crimson Peak, and past that point, you'd be forgiven for thinking you were in the wrong theater. The amber-tinted images the capture the hushed romance of Edith and the mysterious Thomas Sharpe (Tom Hiddleston) feel more in line with The Age of Innocence than anything remotely connected to the horror or supernatural thriller dramas. Despite the increased appearance of ghouls and ghosts later, the romance portion of the film is where Mr. Del Toro's attention really lies. Wasikowska's Edith is an aspiring novelist, and in one scene she is met with confusion from an editor who tries to pigeonhole her short story as a "ghost story." "I like to think of it as a story with a ghost in it," is her reply, and the line doubles as Del Toro's mission statement for Crimson Peak as well. 

It's fitting that Wasikowska plays the story's hero, seeing as she's already proven her worth playing the eponymous role of Jane Eyre, subject of one of the most revered Gothic romances in literature. In this new venture, Wasikowska and Del Toro have created a protagonist who remains fiercely independent and inquisitive, even as her situation deteriorates. The reasons for Edith's eventual endangerment are best left unclear, but - quite obviously - they stem from the presence of Thomas and his standoffish sister Lucille (Jessica Chastain). 

Del Toro has melded a variety of influences (Jane Eyre, Hammer horror films, Rebecca) that could have proven unwieldy. But even when the influences are obvious or expected, the delivery is fresh when filtered through the director's vision. Del Toro, working with a wide range of new technical collaborators, has put his visual stamp on every inch of Crimson Peak, and it's often ravishing to behold. Even if the mix of genres fails to fully convince, you can always get lost in the immaculately designed sets. In typical Del Toro fashion, Crimson Peak's settings, clothes, and even people, are simultaneously gorgeous and grotesque.  

Equally impressive is how elegantly Del Toro and co. keep the story moving. The director's English-language films, to date, have all been his weakest from a pacing standpoint. Crimson Peak, thankfully, bucks that trend. Enough time is given to Edith and Thomas' courtship to make it convincing, yet the film is never bogged down by the period details. There are moments of visual wonderment, but they are often captured through smoothly edited passages and informative camera movements that never allow Crimson Peak's atmosphere to stagnate. 

Fantastic sets are one thing, you may ask, but what about the people inhabiting those densely designed settings? Crimson Peak's characters are largely meant to evoke other iconic roles, meaning they lack a true specificity. But that doesn't stop the cast from have a grand time vamping it up, all while staying sincere. Wasikowska does the wan intelligence bit superbly, keeping Edith sharp(e) even when she (and the audience) are left in the dark. Personally, Hiddleston is the biggest surprise of the cast. As somehow who has repeatedly left indifferent by his work, I was delighted by how well he captured Thomas' Byronic facade. The role could have called for nothing more than a handsome face, but the actor does some splendid work opposite his co-stars. And speaking of co-stars, he has two excellent ones in Wasikowska and Chastain. The latter is ultimately the film's MVP, despite a misleading one-note approach at the outset. Lucille's raven hair, like her psyche, comes unraveled over the course of the story, and to watch Chastain (affecting a mostly solid British accent) play such an overtly creepy (and later menacing) character is another testament to her range. 

The three central characters are tasked with charting a psychological game that is constantly shifting gears, and Del Toro does a marvelous job of subverting audience expectations. Crimson Peak's eventual payoff is not immediately impressive when compared to, say, The Sixth Sense. But it is a rewarding all the same. Del Toro's script prepares to go big, but then pulls the rug out from under the viewer in favor of a twist that plays more on ideas than plot developments or supernatural gotcha moments. Ghosts may be real in the world of Crimson Peak, but they, like Thomas and Lucille, a far from what they seem. The film's opening warning specifies what Edith should beware at Crimson Peak. It never specified whom...

Grade: B+/A-

Review: "The Martian"

Director: Ridley Scott
Runtime: 141 minutes

For a movie about terrifying circumstances, Ridley Scott's The Martian has something you wouldn't normally expect: a sincere, deeply-entrenched air of optimism. Without straining too hard for 'feel-good' moments, Scott's adaptation of Andy Weir's best-selling novel is an exhilarating adventure because it refuses to get bogged down in existential crises. Seeing as how many of Scott's films are laced with either fatalism or downright nihilism, there is something truly invigorating in seeing the 77 year old make a movie that is basically a love letter to human ingenuity. 

Set several decades in the future, The Martian wastes no time in dropping us off on the Red Planet and getting the ball rolling. Hardly a few minutes have gone by before a high-spirited NASA team is forced to abandon their mission and set course for Earth. But in the chaos of their escape (the cause of which is a colossal Martian storm), astronaut Mark Watney (Matt Damon) is struck by debris, and left for dead. Which, of course, he isn't.

There are so many points in the first act of Drew Goddard's screenplay that look like gateways to despair. Will we anguish with the NASA crew over their inability to rescue their colleague before take off? Will Mark Watney spend his final days on Mars pondering the meaning of life millions of miles away from home? The answer to both prompts is a resounding and triumphant 'No.' From the moment Watney drags himself back to base camp, he's on the go, thinking of what he has to do to survive long enough for the next NASA mission to reach Mars. 

Scott -  along with editor Pietro Scalia and cinematographer Dariusz Wolski - plunges headfirst into Watney's enthusiasm, to the film's great benefit. For a director who has long been regarded as a visual craftsman, he has scaled back rather marvelously. This is not a pretty or lush film, even with all of the sleek sets. It's an immersive, get-your-hands dirty endeavor that, like Mark Watney, likes to simply get the job done. The film may lack obvious moments of cinematic innovation or poetry, but it still thrills as an expertly calibrated and engagingly old-fashioned crowdpleaser. 

Better yet, it's a crowdpleaser with actual smarts. The Martian is a tribute to human perseverance, but it's also a gushing ode to the unifying power of scientific progress. Characters throw around plenty of technical talk, but the smooth editing and dynamic performances (even the smallest roles are filled by actors who seem thrilled to be involved) erase the possibility of the film turning into a NASA training video.

First and foremost, The Martian would not work as well as it does without Damon's performance. Mark Watney can be a bit of a smart ass, but Damon keeps the character grounded, and nails all of Goddard's one-liners and off-the-cuff remarks. Even when facing life or death odds, the characters in The Martian still have room for laughter. Damon's co-stars all bring their charisma, ranging from Jessica Chastain's guilt-ridden commander to Kristen Wiig as NASA's prickly head of PR. 

Yet none of these characters are especially well-rounded, and that includes Mark. And yet The Martian proves to be such rousing entertainment because it balances a cast of one-note characters with a smart sense of its story's stakes. There isn't too much to write about any of the individuals on screen, but we can sense their intelligence, their drive, and their desire to succeed and survive. Scott's latest cinematic foray into space hasn't produced another Ellen Ripley, and that's perfectly fine. What matters is that he's assembled a cast of charismatic actors who make for solid stand-ins for humanity as a whole. The Martian may start as Mark Watney's story, but it ends as joyous statement of what humanity is capable of when the lines between individuals and entire communities vanish in the name of survival. The dangers of space are terrifying, but The Martian reminds us that in the face of overwhelming odds, sometimes the perfect antidote is just a touch of optimism.

Grade: B+

Review: "Miss Julie"

Director: Liv Ullmann
Runtime: 129 minutes

During one of the climactic scenes of Miss Julie, the titular character implores her valet to stay by her side because he understands her. She may very well be right about her assessment, considering the tumultuous evening and morning spent with her servant over the course of the film. But even if the valet does understand Miss Julie, that same understanding of character appears to elude writer and director Liv Ullmann in her adaptation of August Strindberg's play. Powerful (though sporadically overheated) performances from the three main actors are the only real draw in this uneven and often stagey production.

Tensions between the sexes have appeared in numerous recent releases, but Miss Julie has the advantage of working in a discussion of class. Over the course of a midsummer night in 1890s Ireland, wealthy Miss Julie (Jessica Chastain) will do her best to coerce her valet John (Colin Farrell) into seducing her while his fiancee Kathleen (Samantha Morton) watches. With Julie's father, a baron, gone to a party and the rest of the servants at their own celebration, it doesn't take long for tensions to rise. The baron's estate is quite spacious, even encompassing a wide stretch of lush forrest, but the characters are increasingly trapped by their surroundings, with only each other as company.

The first 15 minutes or so don't bode terribly well, and may be enough to convince some that spending time with these three isn't worth it. The opening passages of the story are written and performed in a halting, stiff manner that seems like the work of a nervous theater troupe on opening night. When Miss Julie charges into the kitchen to start toying with her two servants, scenes are cut together with amateurish abruptness. Revealing a character's motivations over time is hardly new, but Miss Julie's initial, erratic behavior rings false because there's nothing to latch onto. A brief prologue with Julie as a child adds nothing until the film is almost over. It creates a series of rushed histrionics, rather than a clear arc for the character. Chastain does the best she can, but the character is too unformed at the start for anyone to really make sense of.

This isn't helped by the structure of the first half of the film, which positions Julie as a listener and observer instead of an active participant. The writing is so enraptured with John's past that at times one wonders why the story was named after Miss Julie at all. Pitting two characters against each other for long periods of time can be powerful stuff, but it tends to work better if both sides are engaged at the same time, rather than standing idly by as if they're in a formal debate.

The subject and setting, with its isolated characters confronting their own demons and each other, certainly seems like an ideal fit for Ullmann. As the longtime partner of Ingmar Bergman, she's had her fair share of experience with stories like Miss Julie, albeit in front of the camera. Yet even Bergman's smallest, simplest stories with captured with a visual dimensionality that transcended the limitations of the stage. Miss Julie, by contrast, is often quite flat. The subject matter doesn't demand any flashy tricks, but at times Ullmann's framing is so mundane that you might as well be watching the actors on a stage. More curious is how the staginess of the direction has seeped into the performances. The cast appears to have been directed to over-emphasize every huff and puff and gesture (good god, the hand gestures) as though they're trying to make sure people in the nosebleed seats can hear them. They're playing to the rafters, when there's a perfectly good camera and sound team only a few feet away from them.

Yet even though the performances boil over, they remain compelling. The longer Miss Julie goes on, the more consistent all aspects of the filmmaking become. The first half belongs to Farrell, who delivers some of the best acting moments of his career as the lowly valet turned unwilling seducer. There's an earnestness and vulnerability to the performance that shows a different side of the actor after his strong work in a few dark comedies. It's through John that Strindberg's ideas about class and equality first appear, and Farrell makes the most of his early monologues. 

And after a rocky start, Chastain really takes hold of the titular role. The character gains considerable dramatic breathing room as the film progresses, which benefits the actress considerably. As Miss Julie starts to lose control of herself and come unraveled, Chastain goes in the opposite direction and begins to dominate the movie. She captures Julie's mix of haughty superiority and deeply buried fragility with powerful results. When Julie is pushed to her breaking point, she explodes with a volcanic fury that Chastain turns into what might be the most harrowing piece of acting she's done yet. The calm that follows Julie's storm is equally wrenching, finally adding some uncomfortable emotional heft to the stodgy storytelling.

Samantha Morton, meanwhile, is less fortunate. The character is an important wrench in John and Julie's bleak little duel, but Morton has even less room for nuance than her co-stars. With more to do, Morton's Kathleen could have been an invaluable supporting player. Instead, she's a distraction from the appetizing possibilities of John and Julie's emotional sparring. Thankfully, Morton's final appearances are worthwhile, adding a religious perspective to Miss Julie's notions of power, wealth, and servitude.

From a technical standpoint, Ullmann's film looks and sounds adequate, never getting in the way of the performances. With its limited time frame, Miss Julie doesn't have lots of opportunity for change, so costumes and sets are kept to a bare minimum. The lone noteworthy behind the scenes contributor is cinematographer Michail Krichman, who has at least lit and shot everything quite nicely. Several key shots involve harsh white light falling on the sides of the actors' faces, and they lend a stark beauty to images with limited visual possibility.

Miss Julie certainly ends much stronger than it begins, but the ideas of Strindberg's play still lack elegance. Somewhere in the original text is the potential for a well-rounded examination of the author's themes, but this version isn't quite up to the task. It hits its points in fits and starts, and saves too much of most powerful material for the end, leaving the early stretches quite malnourished.

Grade: C+

AFI Fest 2014 Review: "A Most Violent Year"

Director: J.C. Chandor
Runtime: 135 minutes

Though perhaps not a great film, the 28th AFI Fest has gotten off to an appropriately glamorous start. The AFI is a training ground for up and coming voices in film, so it only makes sense to kick off the festival with A Most Violent Year, the third film from rising writer/director J.C. Chandor. Jumping genres once again, this time to the world of classic New York gangster drama, Chandor has created a solid story out of familiar parts that is best when it focuses on leading man Oscar Isaac.

Set in 1981, one of the deadliest years in New York City's history, the film derives its central tension from its characters resisting violence, rather than engaging with it. Abel Morales (Isaac) is determined to expand his family oil business, even as unknown forces keep getting in the way. Though Morales' business, which he bought into, has a good reputation and threatens to eat away at the competition, a string of attacks threaten to wreck everything he's worked for. But Abel refuses to heed the advice of his fellow businessmen or the teamsters and arm his drivers and salesman. Even when an attack comes right to the Morales' doorstep and his wife Anna (Jessica Chastain) finds their youngest child playing with a loaded gun, Abel remains committed. Whatever illegal or ethically dubious details might be in his company's books, Abel refuses to go down a road that will turn him into an outright gangster.

Like some minor Sidney Lumet drama that the master never got to make, A Most Violent Year takes its time to build up its narrative momentum, allowing a few choice moments to really hit hard. Set up as a classic family-crime drama, Chandor fares far better when he just sticks to the business and crime angle than with the personal relationships. The more the film zeros in on Abel, the better the film works, whether in tense negotiations or a fantastic car-turned-foot chase. A Most Violent Year is easily Chandor's best work in terms of establishing a fully-realized world and infusing said world with a gripping atmosphere.

Yet it's Isaac who props the film up through its two hour duration. Doing a complete 180 from his breakout performance in Inside Llewyn Davis, Isaac brings a quiet confidence to Abel, even as the character endures various hardships and pressure from multiple angles. If Chandor is loosely channeling Lumet in A Most Violent Year, then Isaac's work calls to mind a young Al Pacino in his iconic collaborations with the director.

Isaac is so central to A Most Violent Year's success that it's disappointing to step back and realize how underserved the rest of the ensemble is. The most underwhelming is Chastain, especially given her top billing. In the scattered glimpses the film affords into Anna's personality, one can see the beginning of a red hot, scene-stealing performance. Instead, Chandor sidelines the character for long stretches of time, leaving Chastain with little to do other than pepper on a Brooklyn accent, be a little sassy, and let solitary tears streak down her face. Smaller supporting roles don't get much better. David Oyelowo, playing a D.A. investigating the Morales' business, has the makings of a compellingly ambiguous antagonist, but winds up with even less to do than Chastain. Albert Brooks, as the family's lawyer, has a few decent lines (and at least has enough to do), but more often than not he appears to be sleepwalking through his role. 

Compensating for the lackluster supporting characters, thankfully, are Chandor's work as a director on the big picture issues. However thin the characters, Chandor's work with his actors (Brooks aside) at least gives the impression that everyone is invested in their material, no matter how scant. And when it comes to Abel's story, the storytelling really clicks, tipping its hat to crime dramas of the 70s and early 80s without flailing around as a work of hollow mimicry (I'm looking at you, Blood Ties). 

The film is also a technical marvel, largely thanks to its visuals. With each passing film, cinematographer Bradford Young proves he's the real deal. The versatility he's displayed in such a short period of time is astounding, and his green and yellow tinted visuals here are some of his strongest to date. The choice to keep the camera slowly pushing forward heightens the underlying tension of the various forces inching Abel towards his breaking point. If Roger Deakins and Emmanuel Lubezki are the current kings of the cinematography world, then Mr. Young deserves to be named as their heir apparent. Returning Chandor composer Alex Ebert does a nice, albeit unmemorable job with scoring duties, while editing is smoothly handled. Beyond Young's contributions, the costume department deserves the most credit, subtly capturing the styles of the early 80s with sharp suits for the men and a few dynamite outfits for Chastain to strut around in.

Despite the promise of the title, A Most Violent Year is not an all out orgy of violence. Chandor takes the more interesting route, exploring how outside violence ensnares its protagonist pushing him deeper and deeper into a corner until he has to make a critical choice. Everything else around that dilemma may feel extraneous, but the main story is enough to maintain investment in Chandor's story. A Most Violent Year misses out on greatness, but its strengths - namely Isaac and Young - are prominent enough that it's worth a look, even with the weaker elements that are trapped in orbit around the strong center.

Grade: B

Review: "Interstellar"

Director: Christopher Nolan
Runtime: 169 minutes

How do you solve a problem like Christopher Nolan? So much expertise with complicated plotting, yet such a mechanical approach to flesh and blood characters. The answer is at once simple and daunting: outer space. The characters of Nolan's latest, Interstellar, journey into the cosmos for solutions to problems facing mankind on Earth. Meanwhile, Nolan takes his characters into the beyond while looking for answers of his own. Interstellar is not perfect, nor is it the sort of flawed masterpiece that initial hype and a thrilling marketing campaign promised. Instead, it's a honest step forward for Mr. Nolan as both a director (where he was already far stronger) and as a writer (where he tends to flounder). 

One of the big complaints lobbed at Nolan has been his impersonal touch with characters and his reliance on exposition in the form of dialogue. Interstellar sees more progress with the former than the latter, but both show an improvement that was missing from Inception and The Dark Knight Rises. Better yet, he has evolved without going too far to the opposite end of the spectrum. Interstellar is the first of Nolan's films to get a genuine emotional reaction out of me, and it's nowhere close to being schmaltzy. Turns out, Nolan himself is capable of feeling human emotions (or at least, his programming has finally allowed him to understand and communicate them).

Nolan's previous films have touched on familial relationships before, but they've never really registered until now. Though Insterstellar still relies on Nolan's love of Dead Wife Syndrome, it still connects as a story about a family against its epic narrative canvas. Cooper (Matthew McConaughey) spends the majority of the film's three hours away from his two children, but the bond between parent and children is effectively conveyed through juxtapositions with the main story line.

Plus, it's not like Cooper doesn't have a good reason for heading off into space for an unknown amount of time. Set somewhere in the future (40 - 100 years), Earth's population has dwindled, and a plague known as Blight has wreaked havoc on crops. Terrifying dust storms are a regular occurrence, and the entire world is living in conditions that vaguely resemble the Dust Bowl. While Cooper maintains a living as a farmer (corn is the one of the few crops not wiped out by Blight), his real ambitions lie far off of the ground. So it's a mixed blessing when, thanks to his daughter Murph (Mackenzie Foy), he pieces together a series of coordinates left behind by unexplained phenomena. Those coordinates lead him to a secret NASA base, where the space-faring organization is mounting a desperate mission in hopes of saving mankind, without necessarily saving the Earth. 

It's not long until Cooper's old mentor Dr. Brand (Michael Caine) lays out exactly what's at stake with NASA's clandestine operations. Earth is becoming increasingly incapable of supporting human life, and the time has come to look beyond for a new home. Either through coincidence or some higher design, a wormhole has appeared near Saturn, opening a gateway to a galaxy with several planets that may be the solution to humanity's dire situation.

The arrival of the mission, with its explanations of relativity, wormholes, and disruptions of the space time continuum, should be the point when Interstellar starts to stumble. There's a lot of detail to cover, and the initial stages seem like the perfect moment for Nolan and his brother Jonathan (who co-wrote) to drown the viewer in scientific blather. Yet unlike the overbearing explanations of dream layers in Inception, the details of Interstellar come across as far more valuable. The tendency to explain story-oriented details over character development is still present, but it feels more focused, streamlined, and more confident in the audience. Inception covered so many little details of Nolan's dream world logic that it became ludicrous. Minor aspects were explained away just to make sure that everything was most definitely thought out by the screenplay. The Nolan brothers may not leave much to the imagination, but the explanations doled out by the talented cast are mostly worth hearing. Space is an incomprehensibly large and terrifying place, so the details of how a black hole affects time is not only valuable, but critical in raising the stakes of the mission.

Interstellar is built on a race-against-the-clock foundation, which ultimately serves the story quite well. The film taps into plenty of very real concerns about the future of our species, and ties them in to an epic adventure full of white-knuckle intensity. Nolan's space sequences are rarely flashy, but there remains an awe to the execution. Even with the presence of Hans Zimmer's towering, pipe organ-driven score, the crushing silence of space is still a thrilling and disturbingly neutral antagonist. Watching Cooper and Dr. Brand's daughter Amelia (Anne Hathaway) try and dock a landing vessel to an out of control hub unit is both graceful and chaotic. Nolan is an uneven director when it comes to staging action sequences, but his zero-gravity set pieces here are never less than thrilling and nerve-wracking here. More rewarding is when Nolan ventures outside of his visual comfort zone. The scene where the main crew (which includes Wes Bentley, David Gyasi, and a robot voiced by Bill Irwin) passes through the wormhole has a level of visual imagination that's been sorely missing from Nolan's previous work. 

Just about everything in space is so powerfully rendered (the visual effects work is so good that I never even thought about it), that it's slightly disappointing when Nolan jumps back to Earth. Though the return trips to our pale blue dot end up being important to the film's universe-spanning endgame, they tend to let the wind out of Interstellar's sails. The plot complications that arise from the Earth scenes, which feature Jessica Chastain and Casey Affleck as the adult versions of Cooper's children, are a mixed bag. Affleck's initial appearances, in video messages to his father, are lovely, but later scenes turn him into a hardheaded jackass for no real reason. Chastain fares better if only because her character's actions are germane to the plot. Having joined NASA despite her resentment toward her father, Murph's actions salvage the Earthbound material, though this has more to do with Chastain's abilities as an actor than the material she's been given.

Nolan's work with his space explorers fares much better. McConaughey refuses to let his current winning streak die, and his work here fits right into the role of the typical blockbuster leading man through Nolan's gloomier lens. Cooper's position as lead pilot of the mission represents a chance to fulfill a life long dream, but at a potentially terrible cost. McConaughey wears that struggle beautifully, flipping between hard-nosed strategist and homesick parent without missing a beat. Hathaway is quite strong as well, and her interactions with McConaughey provide some of Interstellar's emotional highlights. The actress even manages to sell a slightly gooey monologue about love transcending time and space, which says a lot about her talents. Though Bentley and Gyasi are stuck in pretty dry roles, Bill Irwin's voice work as robot aide TARS is surprisingly effective. TARS' programmed attitude helps ignite a few moments of humor, which keeps Interstellar from being crushed by its space opera severity.

From a technical standpoint, the film is mostly aces, although a few areas are in need of some polishing. Cinematography is noticeably rougher, which actually works in the film's favor. Too often, the future is presented in bright and sleek shades of color. The dingier look of Hoyte Van Hoytema's lighting is a smart change of pace from Nolan's recent, overly polished aesthetic. The art direction reflects this as well. The interior of the space vehicles is futuristic, yet has the look of technology that hasn't been cleaned or updated too recently. Zimmer's aforementioned score is absolutely beautiful adding extra doses of wonder and terror when needed. And, despite one prolonged bit of overbearing cross-cutting between Earth and space, Lee Smith's editing keeps the adventure moving along over the course of the film's butt-numbing three hours.

Interstellar gets off to such a strong start, yet it's almost a relief to see Nolan go for the conclusion he delivers here. Intentionally or not, Interstellar's climax will provoke lots of discussion over whether or not it imploded during its landing. Given the mind-stretching nature of the adventure, finding a properly balanced ending was always going to be a tricky prospect. Instead of trying to please everyone, Nolan has unapologetically made the movie he wanted to make, regardless of all the references that may be present. For the first time, one of Nolan's movies is inviting legitimate discussion, drawing some further into his orbit while pushing others clear out into space. It's the Nolan movie we deserve, whether or not it's the one we all wanted, and at the end of the day, that's something to be thankful for, flaws and all.

Grade: B+

Review: "The Disappearance of Eleanor Rigby: Him/Her"

Director: Ned Benson
Runtime: 189 minutes

Usually, when producers and filmmakers have different ideas on how to edit a film, the victorious side tends to be taken as gospel among the movie-going public. The losing version is either relegated to a special edition DVD, or is never seen again. However, for first time director Ned Benson, the journey has been more rewarding. After premiere his two-film drama The Disappearance of Eleanor Rigby - two back to back films that cover the events and perspectives of different characters - he was forced to created a combined version, subtitled "Them." Luckily, just over a month after Them arrived in theaters, Benson's original design, subtitled Him and Her, has been given a life of its own outside of the festival circuit. Even though Benson's admirable passion project isn't without faults in its original form, Eleanor Rigby: Him/Her is still a striking character piece that resonates in in unexpected ways as it traverses well-worn terrain.

One has to wonder if there wasn't some plot to start Him/Her's release on the same weekend that Showtime's promising new drama The Affair premieres. Benson's film and the cable channel's TV show operate on similar levels, despite some differences in tone and execution. Him/Her and The Affair (more true of the latter), utilize the Rashomon method of storytelling, with events being replayed multiple times from different perspectives, with key details changed or omitted. 

Yet when it comes to replaying scenes versus filling in the gaps of opposing points of view, the two take radically different approaches. Benson's film(s?) does its best to avoid dramatic redundancy, instead crafting two films that intersect at a select few moments, but otherwise tell very different stories. 

Him opens with a memory of the early, carefree days in the life of Conor Ludlow (James McAvoy) and Eleanor Rigby (Jessica Chastain). The young couple spend the delightful opening sequence in a near constant state of newfound romantic joy. They run down dark streets, make out in the park, and watch as lightning bugs put on an impromptu show before their eyes. And then the present day arrives, and those moments of ecstatic happiness are wiped away like steam from a mirror.

Long before definitively revealing the tragedy at the center of Him/Her, Benson - working on a meager budget - handles the shift from jumpy past to solemn present with what can only be called elegant bluntness. The change in mood is instantaneous, and even though we don't know the ins and outs of what's happened in the interim, Him/Her still gets the point across that Conor and Eleanor aren't quite who they used to be. In the first 10 minutes, we see Conor and Eleanor in drastically different emotional places, and McAvoy and Chastain's restrained work conveys the months, even years, of hardship in a manner that speaks volumes. 

Though stray lines of dialogue feel a bit baroque for the gritty style, Benson's writing is largely effective at capturing what makes his leads click, even if the answers are a little on the broad side. Conor is more determined to keep moving forward, pouring his energy into his flailing bar. Eleanor, on the other hand, can't shake her recent trauma, and comes to the conclusion that the only way out is to tear her self down and start from scratch. Both exemplify different parts of a fascinating spectrum of human behavior that occurs in the face of truly shattering heartbreak. To tap further into this, Benson utilizes silence in a way that is absolutely crushing. Scenes - mostly for the better - seem to take place in a vacuum, even though much of the film takes place in Manhattan.

Combine this with Christopher Blauvelt's murky visuals, and Him rather quickly develops an all-consuming gloom, despite the flashes of humor. Though consistently well-acted by McAvoy, Chastain, and the rest of the ensemble, Him ultimately emerges as the weaker of the two-part puzzle. There is no mystery to Conor's actions, and therefore almost no sense of discovery in anything that happens in his side of the narrative. Conor's interactions with his semi-estranged father (Ciaran Hinds) are repetitive, adding little of value to the psychological dimension of the film. We wait for Eleanor to make her brief appearance in Him solely because they bring us just a little closer to what most of Conor's story dances around. Despite running 11 minutes shorter than Her, Him often stagnates thanks to Benson's commitment to an unwavering, funereal sense of pace.

Once Him goes through its final fade to black and Her begins, Eleanor Rigby really starts to come to life. The weighty silence is still there, but it's countered by Eleanor's livelier encounters with her sister Katie (Jess Weixler) and her wealthy, withdrawn parents (Isabelle Huppert and William Hurt). Real life friends Chastain and Weixler, despite their very different looks, are ideally cast as sisters. Watching them comfort each other or share a laugh over a stupid joke is the sort of thing that compels one to stick with Her. Then, of course, there's Chastain's performance, which is as complete and acutely observed as any of her other recent performances. After blasting out of the gate in 2011, the actress continues to impress, able to draw one in without manipulatively tugging at heartstrings.  

Put simply, Him is the question and Her is the answer. The former exists mostly to allow for the latter to fill in the blanks, and expand on what we thought we knew. Conor, like the audience, is left trying to piece things together and see through Eleanor's opaque new persona. By contrast, in Eleanor's scenes with her family or her new professor (Viola Davis), the films make actual, observable headway in terms of realizing the scars on its characters' collective psyches. Mr. McAvoy is excellent, but the ordering of the films ultimately leaves him with less to do. A climactic scene in Him belongs to Chastain's painful confession. When Her revisits the same scene, Eleanor's confession only hits harder, while Conor's reaction achieves no greater impact. 

This issue extends to the dual narratives as well. By the time Her finishes, Him is left fighting a losing battle for relevance in the grand scheme of the story. It makes for a solid set up and secondary story, but the balance ought to have been tipped much more heavily in Her's favor. Benson has insisted that the two parts should be able to exist separately or be played in any order, but to do so seems unwise. 

Whatever its faults, when Eleanor Rigby works, it tends to soar. The oppressive mood can be numbing, but when Benson zeroes in on a particular moment and unpacks his characters' emotions, the film becomes more than just a gritty-looking downer. It can be a difficult watch (though it's nowhere near as searing as something like Blue Valentine), but deep down there's a glimmer of realistic, measured optimism at the film's core. Like Rabbit Hole, Eleanor Rigby wants nothing to do with easy answers and notions of getting back to an idealized sense of "how things used to be." It's about confronting the past, so that we may move forward. The shadows of trauma always linger, but that doesn't mean that it's impossible to shrink them by letting in a little light. 

Grade: B/B+

Review: "Zero Dark Thirty"

Director: Kathryn Bigelow
Runtime: 157 minutes

It's difficult to write about Kathryn Bigelow's Osama Bin Laden drama Zero Dark Thirty after what's happened over the past few weeks. With the reviews, the controversies, and the responses to said controversies, what on earth is left to say? Well, let's start with the basics: it's a really damn impressive piece of film making that stands tall in a year filled with diverse narratives.

If you've missed any coverage of the film whatsoever, the story essentials are little more than the fictionalized account of the decade-long hunt to locate and kill Osama Bin Laden. And even though Bigelow's film, which reunites her with The Hurt Locker scribe Mark Boal, runs over 2.5 hours, Zero Dark Thirty knows how to make every moment count. Whereas The Hurt Locker truly was a character study, Zero is much more of a procedural set against our so-called War on Terror. 

Yet even though the center of the story, Jessica Chastain's Maya, is often reserved and completely consumed by her job, Bigelow and Boal haven't forgotten to make her a character as well. When Maya first enters, she's practically a blank slate. Fresh off of the plane in Pakistan, Maya witnesses the much-discussed torture of a detainee. To answer the question of whether or not the film glorifies torture, I'll merely offer this much: Maya has no problem telling a detainee that giving honest answers will make his life easier, but she doesn't exactly look on with icy approval as she watches that detainee suffer at the hands of CIA agent Dan (Jason Clarke). What Bigelow and Boal have pulled off, along with Jessica Chastain's work in front of the camera, is one person's journey from being an outsider doing an uncomfortable job, to becoming unwavering in her determination to see everything through. 

Where Zero Dark Thirty could have been simplistic, sugar-coated, and jingoistic, it is instead meticulous, blunt, and intense, without emotional manipulation. One could accuse the film of trying too hard to be objective, but that all gets blow away by the film's masterstroke: the raid on Bin Laden's compound in Abbottabad. Bigelow's strength comes from her ability to generate tension without going overboard, and the tactic pays off grandly here. The raid is intense, but not without the appropriate grimness (women shot and killed, children left crying and alone, etc...). Yet best of all is the treatment of Bin Laden's death. In different hands, such a moment would be completely overwrought. Bigelow and Boal, however, allow the death to unfold in a relatively anti-climactic fashion that couldn't be more fitting for the movie's tone and themes. Yes, the SEALs got the "bad guy," but what now? Where do they have to go next? What repercussions could this death have? Answering those questions would need a completely different film, yet it's important that Zero doesn't wrap everything up so neatly that it gives a sense of complete and total closure.

However, the film does allow the right level of closure for Maya. Chastain is mostly front and center here, and turns in another performance that capitalizes on her wide emotional range. As reserved as Maya often is, Chastain's work never feels lazy, and just because she's putting up a poker face doesn't mean she's not present. If anything, it means the exact opposite. Being present and listening is what Maya does in order to inch towards her goal, through every disappointment and disaster. The rest of the ensemble turn in perfectly convincing work, although few truly have much to work with. Stand outs from the supporting cast include the above-mentioned Clarke, as well as Jennifer Ehle as an older, more experienced operative. 

But at the end of the day, the film is mostly a showcase for Chastain to quietly carry the film, and for Bigelow's extraordinary storytelling and atmosphere to shine through. The aesthetic may be roughly the same as The Hurt Locker, but there's no way to walk out of Zero Dark Thirty and think that she's made the same movie twice. The Hurt Locker used its characters to paint a portrait of various kinds of soldiers. With Zero Dark Thirty, Bigelow moves a step up the ladder in terms of authority. She's looking at the people behind the scenes, the little pieces that have to be assembled before the troops undertake missions like the Abbottabad raid. In doing so, Zero Dark Thirty, which opens with audio from 9-1-1 calls on 9/11, feels applicable to a wider range of people, because of how it weaves in the broader implications of the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq. It takes us from the moment of no return, all the way through an act of collective revenge, one that ellicits not cheers and grins, but solemn contemplation on what happened to us as a nation, and what we did, for better and for worse, because of those actions.

Grade: A/A-

The straggler - Cannes '12 Review: "Lawless" [Competition]

A solid piece of film making that marks its director's most commercial outing to date, Lawless may not wind up a major awards contender come year's end, but it does provide an engaging ride through bootlegging in the Prohibition Era. Directed by John Hillcoat (The Proposition, The Road) with a nice sense of narrative momentum, this is a sturdy, entertaining, nicely acted film, even though it represents a less original, independent point of view than his previous films. Gone is the harsh poetic tone, replaced by lots of talk and lots of shooting.

Based on the, allegedly, true story of the Bondurant brothers, the film charts their run-ins with a dandified new officer (an eerily commanding Guy Pearce) as they attempt to maintain their bootlegging enterprise in Virginia. The plot is straightforward, yet right from the outset, Hillcoat and his collaborators create a palpable atmosphere and a sense of pacing that keeps things moving, without ever rushing. It may not really dwell on character the way Hillcoat's previous films did, but the characters come across nicely. Shia LaBeouf and Tom Hardy deliver nice work as the film's leads, with LaBeouf proving surprisingly charismatic. The characters may not be strongly fleshed out, but the actors at least inhabit them comfortably. The scene-stealer is easily Pearce, in a broadly played yet still scary-as-hell role. Less successful, through no fault of their own, are the film's two female roles, played by Jessica Chastain and Mia Wasikowska. They're mostly used as objects of potential romantic affection for the men, and little else, although Chastain does get one nice, complicated scene toward the end. From a technical standpoint, everything looks and sounds nice, save for a moment or two where Nick Cave's score comes in far too loud. Not the sort of film that will truly amaze you, but it will hold your attention and remain engaging, even when the epilogue hangs on just a hair too long.

Grade: B

Trailer: John Hillcoat's "Lawless"

Now that the Cannes Film Festival lineup for 2012 has been unveiled, the countdown begins to see which competition entries will release trailers and clips first. Near the front of the pack is John Hillcoat's Lawless (formerly known as The Wettest County until Terrence Malick gave up the title from his forthcoming film), which looks like a shot of gangster-ized adrenaline.


With a stellar cast (...and Shia LaBeouf) and a fun setting/subject matter (Depression Era bootleggers), Lawless always held a lot of appeal for me. What really caught my eye, however, was director John Hillcoat, whose two previous films (The Road and The Proposition) were simultaneously elegant and brutal. So, knowing Hillcoat's previous work, I thought I had an idea of how Lawless would look and feel. If the trailer is indication, I'm completely wrong. Lawless looks both talky and fast paced, and marks a major departure from the director's previous work. Granted, part of being an artist is the chance to explore new styles, but I can't help feel that some of Lawless looks a little ordinary, and that we're losing a chance to see what his previous style could have had on this sort of story. Granted, the cast looks to be in fine form, and Gary Oldman and Guy Pearce look like excellent villains, but as much as there is to like here, I can't help but feel that we might be headed for something of a missed opportunity.


Trailer Grade: B-

Review: "Take Shelter"

It's fitting that the narrative structure of Jeff Nichols' Take Shelter, which involves images of violent weather, resembles a hurricane. The opening act is filled with jarring lightning, followed by weaker rains, before settling into the eye, and then moving back into the storm. It's not so much a constant path of escalation as it is a big cycle. And this cycle, in addition to any number of elements, is part of why Nichols' film stands as one of the best offerings of the year.

Take Shelter centers on Curtis LaForche (Boardwalk Empire's Michael Shannon), a man who lives in the Midwest with his wife Samantha (the delightfully ubiquitous Jessica Chastain) and the couple's deaf daughter Hannah (Tova Stewart). As the film opens, Curtis witnesses a monumental wall of storm clouds approaching, and finds himself drenched in murky, oily rain. Are these visions, or a sign that Curtis himself may be succumbing to mental illness? Without spoiling anything, let's just say that writer/director Nichols does gives solid enough answers to the film's central question, but it does little to mitigate the film's power.

In the opening act, the first wave of the above-mentioned metaphorical hurricane, we get these dreams/visions surprisingly frequently. Had the film continued with this frequency, it could have easily lost its potency, and devolved into some art house cousin of a silly, big-budget paranormal thriller. Instead, after grabbing our attention and thoroughly unnerving us, Nichols grounds the film, saving the character development for the middle portion of the story. It's an interesting structural choice that pays off beautifully, as it gives us a taste of what is to come, without sliding into full-blown insanity strictly in the final act. And it's in this oh-so-vital middle section that Take Shelter is able to truly evolve and make its two major climaxes feel earned.

Having been wrongfully snubbed by the Emmys for his stellar supporting work on Boardwalk Empire, star Michael Shannon is given a moment in the spotlight to shine, and the way he takes the reins makes his performance a force to be reckoned with. It's generally subdued work, but when Shannon really needs to emote, whether in a series of confessions to friends and family, or in his one outburst, it all comes through. There are two critical aspects to Curtis: the man who wants to find a solution to the problem, and the man who is so afraid of upsetting his idyllic family life that he withholds information. Shannon captures these two facets with exceptional skill, resulting in a performance that mixes elements of naturalism and theatricality so as to make it all feel seamless. Backing him up is break-out actor of the year Jessica Chastain, in her 400th (4th? Eh, close enough) role of the year. As in The Tree of Life and The Help, Chastain once again plays a house wife, but it speaks volumes about her skills as an actress that there's not one ounce of Mrs. O'Brien or Celia Foote to be found in Samantha. Though the character initially starts off as a standard supportive-but-confused spouse, she evolves over the course of the film to become a strong standalone character, even if the script isn't entirely as concerned with her as it is with Curtis. I mean it as the highest compliment when I say that Take Shelter is the weakest of her four performances this year; if ever someone deserved to be an It Girl, it's her.

The rest of the cast equips themselves quite capably, though the only other figures of note are Curtis' co-worker Dewart (Shannon's Boardwalk co-star Shea Whigham) and Curtis' mother (Kathy Baker), who has one but one nicely played scene. Aside from Shannon (and to some extent, Chastain), Take Shelter is Jeff Nichols' show, and the director's skill with creating atmosphere resonates from the first frame to the last. Bolstered by a pitch perfect score by David Wingo, there's a quiet sense of foreboding, and even dread, to almost every scene in the film. The opening act so effectively gets in your head (without being over the top), that the comparatively mundane middle remains flooded with varying levels of tension. I will admit, however, that while Nichols' skills as director are just about faultless, the film's few minor flaws do stem from his work as a writer. Though generally tightly structured in its detailing of Curtis' mental instability (and quite well-edited), the script feels as though it needs just a few minor revisions. A scene involving Samantha telling Curtis to get his act together comes off as a rush of exposition, one that Chastain seems to want to hurry through as quickly as possible to get on to the next scene. A second incident, one involving Curtis' older brother Kyle (Ray McKinnon), though not bad in its own right, feels redundant. There are enough encounters where people ask Curtis how he's doing, and by the time Kyle shows up, it feels like Take Shelter should be onto something else. And just when the film seems like it's ready to end on a more open-ended note, Nichols segues into the actual conclusion. The actual ending is strong (although a bit on the blunt side), but the transition is in need of a little smoothing-out.

All that said, these are but minor dents in the film's armor. Having won raves at Sundance and Cannes earlier this year, Take Shelter has been high on my radar for quite some time. Thankfully, this is one of those times where the hype has been justified. There are elements of the supernatural in Take Shelter, but Nichols keeps it all grounded to the point where it mesmerizes, rather than distracts. What could have flown off of the rails into bombastic insanity emerges as a beautifully rendered character study underscored by an intense atmosphere of doom. By the time it's over, Take Shelter will leave you shaken, to the point where, the next time you see dark clouds on the horizon (like the ones I saw when I left the theater), you might stop for a moment and think about a good hiding place.

Grade: A-/A

Review: "The Debt"

Originally set for release in 2010, John Madden's The Debt, an English language version of Israeli film Ha-Hov, has had its release date moved more than once. Such delays are usually not a good sign, especially when the move is from fall to the end of August, usually considered a dumping ground for projects that studios want to die quietly. However, Madden's film actually belongs in the company of The Road and this spring's The Adjustment Bureau, in that it's a very solid film with generally effective direction and performances.

Opening in the late 60s, before quickly jumping to 1997, The Debt traces lives of three Mossad agents tasked with tracking down Dieter Vogel, who earned the nickname the Surgeon of Birkenau during World War II for his sadistic experiments on prisoners. In the years since the mission, Rachel (Helen Mirren/Jessica Chastain), Stephan (Tom Wilkinson/Marton Csokas), and David (Ciaran Hinds/Sam Worthington) have become heroes; Rachel's daughter has even written a book detailing the lives of the trio over the course of the mission. Unbeknownst to everyone but the three, however, is a secret that may or may not be coming back to haunt the three agents.

Before I continue, I'll confess that it doesn't really take much work to figure out the most basic details of the agents' secret. Thankfully, Madden and co. play the script, adapted by Matthew Vaughn, Jane Goldman, and Peter Straughan, straight to the point where the film's effectiveness does not hinge on the twist. Instead, The Debt is more concerned with creating the right atmosphere, which it certainly does. From the shabby looking interiors in the main flashback, to the muted colors in nearly every frame, Madden and DP Ben Davis more than convincingly capture the bleak look and feel of East Berlin. There may be a certain slickness to the story telling and editing, but the film is still appropriately gritty and free of sensationalism. Even when we're shown a key scene twice, almost shot-for-shot, there's still a sense of foreboding tension. It also manages to jump between time periods without resorting to cheap amounts of summary about the past. What could have been an overly-talky, exposition-filled story is instead a very well-paced Cold War thriller that breezes through its 114 minute run time with few dips in energy.

The generally fine ensemble is but another plus. Characters are not rendered with as much depth as the script suggests (young Rachel's moments of fragility, young David's unexplained distance from others), but the actors are more than convincing with what they're given. Mirren, as always, is reliable as the tough and conflicted Rachel of the film's present, while Wilkinson and Hinds do what they can with what amounts to barely any screen time. But if the older versions of the agents aren't given as much time to make an impression, thankfully their younger selves do. Chastain, in yet another completely different role, is both graceful and tough as Rachel, while Sam Worthington gives a surprisingly solid turn as David. Csokas is good as well, although his role feels the least conflicted of the three, so he's given less to work with. The real star of the film, though, is none other than its villain, played by Jesper Christensen. As Vogel, he makes a compelling shift from deranged hostage to sly manipulator. The way he tries to wear down his captors is supremely unnerving to watch, even if he too is somewhat lacking in depth. So even though the character might at times verge on being a dark cartoon, Christensen makes it convincing to watch. The writing may never effectively bring out Rachel's occasional breakdowns, but when Chastain and Christensen interact, the film at least shows us how intimidating certain people can be, even when they're completely helpless.

It's these interactions that make me wish that The Debt had given its characters more room to become fully rounded. The material here could be nicely expanded into a longer film, or maybe even a three or four part miniseries, quite comfortably. Watching Vogel mess with the agents is one of the film's highlights, but it could have allowed for some truly masterful filmmaking and acting had it been given more room to play out. Instead, the film reduces itself to being more of a fun and gritty, albeit inconsequential, potboiler. There are issues of truth and justice raised, but the film only introduces them in key moments, never delving deeper. When Wilkinson and Mirren have an argument regarding what ought to be done, it feels much too quick considering what's at stake. And despite its generally strong execution, there are a handful of scenes that get overheated, with jarring cuts and unnecessary amounts of noise. I suppose this was Madden's way of showing the stifling nature of the agents' lives once they become trapped inside their own headquarters, but when put up against the film's less bombastic scenes designed to do the same thing, it feels out of place.

All in all, though, it's hard to deny that The Debt is ultimately a success. It tackles its subject matter appropriately, if a bit on the shallow side, and has a cast full of solid performances, even if not everyone is used to their best ability (Ciaran Hinds in particular). And, by not letting the story exist solely to build up to a twist, the film feels more watchable. There's no big surprise that would make the The Debt less compelling on a second viewing, and the story goes to a rather effective, unhurried ending once the twist is revealed. So even though it may not be the potential awards contender that some were once predicting it to be, The Debt is a nicely executed, mature thriller, even if it isn't necessarily must-see filmmaking.

Grade: B/B-

[Short] Review(s): "Rise of the Planet of the Apes," "The Help," "The Devil's Double," & "30 Minutes or Less"

Rise of the Planet of the Apes dir. Rupert Wyatt: You'd think that a franchise like Planet of the Apes was long past its expiration date. Despite the original's status as something of a science fiction classic, the subsequent films seemed all-too-eager to jump down the rabbit hole into absurdity. If ever there was a series that needed to be retired from the silver screen (aside from Transformers), it was this one, right? Well, not exactly. The latest entry, a prequel/origin story, takes audiences back to where it all began, with surprisingly successful results.

Opening with a PETA approved scene that demonstrates the EVIL nature of man, we follow a captured primate who is taken to GenSys, an American drug company currently on the threshold of a cure for Alzheimer's. Here we get a rather cliched set up, involving two different men in the company. Will (James Franco) wants the cure to go through for science/humanity, while Steven (David Oyelowo), wants it to succeed for the money (guess which one gets his comeuppance by the time the film's 105 minute run time is up).

But even though there are plenty of obvious elements in the latest Apes flick, Rise does manage to create a mildly compelling story, never letting itself be overburdened by its we-know-where-this-is-going plot. The human characters may be plain, but thankfully, the film has a secret weapon: the ape Caesar, motion-captured/played by Andy Serkis of Lord of the Rings fame. The more that Rupert Wyatt's film focuses on Caesar, the stronger the story becomes. The ape's interactions may be near-wordless, but they resonate on deeper level, thanks to Serkis' excellent work and the outstanding visual effects work. In an age where so many movies are sunk by their over-reliance on VFX, Rise may be that rare film that benefits (and is saved by) the strength of its computer-captured/generated imagery.

Grade: B-


The Help dir. Tate Taylor: While this adaptation of Kathryn Stockett's best-seller may lack in terms of subtlety, it is, at its core, an effective piece of social-change cinema. Led by Emma Stone, the ensemble is filled with any number of strong performances from Viola Davis (the film's MVP), Octavia Spencer, Jessica Chastain, Allison Janney, Bryce Dallas Howard, and Sissy Spacek.

So even though it runs quite long, and resorts to quite a bit of 'telling,' the film does hit home in the right places, even though it takes longer than expected for the main plot to kick into gear. The Help may indeed be schmaltz at its core, but it never feels like it. There's no overbearing, sappy score or soundtrack, nor are there an overabundance of melodramatic scenes (it's actually laugh-out-loud funny in many places). And with such a talented ensemble to lead you through the story, smaller elements of the plot (like Stone's budding relationship with an oil rig worker played by Chris Lowell) don't seem like too much of a nuisance, even when they appear and then vanish from the rest of the film.

But perhaps its greatest strength may be that, while it's full of hopeful and uplifting moments of personal triumph, The Help never tries to overextend itself. The film's final scene, which took me by surprised when the credits started to roll, certainly holds the promise of tomorrow, but only after one character is confronted with a bitter dose of revenge courtesy of the story's antagonist. By keeping this balance in place, and by not pretending that its characters accomplished more than they did for the Civil Rights movement (it is a work of fiction, after all), The Help is able to simultaneously inform and entertain without shooting itself in the foot.

Grade: B


The Devil's Double dir. Lee Tamahori: It's not every day that an actor is given a chance to play dual roles on screen, so the opportunity has to be taken seriously (see: Nicholas Cage in Adaptation, Sam Rockwell in Moon, etc...). Now it's Dominic Cooper's (Mamma Mia!, An Education) turn to play the double game, in the form of Uday Hussein, and Latif Yahia, the man forced to become his double. But even though his efforts in the two roles (he's on screen as one or the other for almost the entire run time) are admirable, he's undermined by a script that isn't quite on the same level.

Latif's (admittedly incredible) story may be true, but director Lee Tamahori and screenwriter Michael Thomas seem more concerned with turning it into a modern day, Arabic Scarface (albeit with significantly less crazed shouting). In doing so, they've made the film consistently entertaining. The unfortunate by-product is that it renders the story a surface-only historical thriller. Cooper is certainly giving it his all as the increasingly frightening Uday, the trapped Latif, and as Latif pretending to be Uday. In many scenes the characters share the screen, and Cooper plays off of himself quite well. But despite his efforts, he can't quite overcome the shallow writing. Cooper is rarely given much to work with other than "be wary and uncertain," and "be a murdering/raping pyscho"; the roles are played well, yes, but there's absolutely no depth for Cooper to work with as an actor.

This is not to say that the film doesn't tell a compelling story. That much it accomplishes. The problem is, especially considering the story's real-life origins, that The Devil's Double never makes any attempt to go deeper with the material at hand. Thomas' script plays it safe, and keeps the story simple, never raising any larger questions outside of "what comes next for Latif?" So even though Cooper may be working his hardest, The Devil's Double winds up being something of a missed opportunity, as enjoyable as it is.

Grade: B-


30 Minutes or Less dir. Ruben Fleischer: The idea of Jesse Eisenberg reteaming with Ruben Fleischer was definitely appealing on paper. The pair first worked together on Zombieland, one of the great hidden gems of 2009. Sadly, lightning hasn't struck twice for these two. 30 Minutes or Less isn't a terrible movie, but it is vastly inferior to the duo's last collaboration, and barely even memorable.

Based loosely on real events, the film centers around Nick (Eisenberg) a slacker pizza delivery boy who gets roped into a scheme by two idiot criminals (Danny McBride and Nick Swardson). With a bomb strapped to his chest, Nick is given nine hours to rob a bank, lest he be blown to smithereens by his captors. What follows is an appropriately crazy story, filled with car chases, stand-offs, and yes, a bank robbery. Some of the banter (between McBride and Swardson or Eisenberg and Aziz Ansari) is entertaining, and occaisionally worth a good laugh. The problem, though, is that the characters are underwritten from the start, and given the plot, never have time to develop. That Nick is something of a jackass during the first act doesn't help matters.

Fleischer certainly hasn't lost his flair for fun, at the very least. The car chase is well staged and shot, and a scene involving McBride's father creeping through his own home to find and intruder is surprisingly effective in creating some low-key tension. Michael Pena also gets a few laughs as a crazy hit man with a bizarre accent. Other characters, however, aren't so effective. A prostitute who leads McBride to Pena is a complete throwaway, while Dilshad Vansaria (as Ansari's sister) is there strictly to function as a plot device. They feel like flab, which is distracting considering the film's short run time (83 mins). So even though Fleischer's latest is pleasant enough to sit through, it's also proof that less doesn't always mean more.

Grade: C+/C

Review: "The Tree of Life"

In a career spanning nearly 40 years, The Tree of Life only marks Terrence Malick's fifth directorial effort. Known for his strange shooting style and insanely meticulous editing, the director is nothing if not a perfectionist of sorts. And even though he only now has five films to his name (he is currently filming his sixth, which remains untitled), it is difficult to imagine where the divisive auteur will venture next, seeing as his latest seems to tackle, well, just about everything.

Describing the plot of The Tree of Life almost feels unnecessary. I've read review after review that describe the film's plotting as "elliptical," yet this description seems to go a step too far. This is not an easy film, nor is it one that provides easy answers, but labeling the whole thing as ambiguous and obscure is extreme. The great bulk of it, concerning a family in a small Texas town in the 50s, despite having very little dialogue, is certainly not impenetrable or obtuse. Some scenes carry with them (appropriately) a child-like sense of naivete, while others quietly carry the weight of suffering and loss. Because, above all else, The Tree of Life is a film of sight and sound, often in glorious combinations.

To say that it encompasses everything is not an overstatement. After an opening where Mrs. O'Brien (Jessica Chastain) learns that her middle son has died, and some jumps to the present involving her oldest son Jack (Sean Penn), we see the beginning. Literally. For some 20 or 30 minutes, Malick plunges us into gorgeously rendered visions of the cosmos, and of earth's earliest, primordial moments. We see space clouds shine in shades of gold, brown, and red. We see the staggering size of Saturn and Jupiter loom over the screen, set to the glorious sounds of Zbigniew Preisner's "Lacrimosa." We see cells dividing and merging, and blood flowing through veins. In every sense, this is a film that shows us the intimate and the epic, with everything from domestic drama to some soulful, curious dinosaurs.

Throughout all of this, the one unifying element is the sheer beauty of it all. Mr. Malick may be influenced by Christianity (the O'Briens are obviously Christian, and the film opens with a quote from the Book of Job), but this is not a religious film. It is a spiritual film, one that seeks to evoke the glory that life holds, without shying away from its moments of sadness and failure. We witness gentle, playful moments with the O'Brien children as toddlers, which gradually become more serious and nuanced as the children begin to experience the darker side of life. Some of it is direct (the oppressive nature of Brad Pitt's Mr. O'Brien), some of it indirect (a young boy who drowns at a swimming pool). All of it, whether simplistic or strange, somehow rings true through Malick's direction, which creates a spiritual experience out of life's most plain rites, rituals, and routines.

And yet all of it is captured with such quiet elegance, thanks to the astoundingly beautiful work by cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezki. The frequent use of handheld camera work bequeaths even the most mundane of scenes with a sense of vitality, even the more abstract scenes involving Mr. Penn's lost wanderings through Houston skyscrapers. And Mr. Malick's impulses, namely subjective shots of nature, have never felt more appropriate or refined in their usage as they have here. When this technique was used in The New World (2005), a film I was not a fan of, I often thought to myself that Malick should have just made a nature documentary. Here, the establishment of the subjective shots, whether they be for the humans or the dinosaurs, carries more purpose, and further illuminates the wonders of life and creation that Malick is trying to capture. The heavy use of voice over, often rambling and tiresome in The New World (and flat-out irritating in Days of Heaven) is now focused and filled with surer purpose than ever before.

But there is still a great deal of heart among all of the beauty, both mundane and otherworldly, to be found here. Mr. Malick may be more interested in using the O'Briens as a focal point for his gargantuan exploration of existence, but the family still comes through as actual characters. Young Jack (Hunter McCraken), carries much of the film, as his transformation from toddler to pre-teen encapsulates the loss of innocence, and understanding of growing up that is so key to this story. Whether the O'Brien boys are playing music, or silently, tearfully mourning the family's need to leave their home, Malick and his actors capture it all through facial cues. Even in the film's finale, perhaps the most difficult portion to make sense of, it's hard to ignore that we're experiencing something of beauty and magnitude, even if we're not entirely sure what it all means.

This is not a film to be explained (though you can certainly give it a shot), but rather one to be experienced. Its length and pacing are occasionally trying, but for a story with so little dialogue, it accomplishes so much more than any number of more verbose films. It's also not a film for everyone, and I'll confess that I was nervous that I would feel the same towards Tree as I did toward The New World. But any way you slice it, Malick's latest remains a massive achievement. Whether you think that it's completely self-conscious, pretentious, and insufferable, or a luminous meditation on the nature of life itself is up for grabs, but you can't know unless you actually see it. The Tree of Life is, more than any film which I've ever described as such, one that deserves to be seen, thought over, and discussed, even if you come to the conclusion that it's all a load of spiritual and philosophical hogwash.

Grade: A-