Director: J.J. Abrams
Runtime: 135 minutes
Everyone who cares even a little about Star Wars has their own set of expectations for the next wave of films. Films 1 - 6 (technically 4-6/1-3) spawned such a vast empire of media that story options for a new trilogy seem endless. And yet, by reaching back to what made audiences flip out for A New Hope in 1977, director J.J. Abrams has taken on a herculean task and somehow delivered. The Force Awakens, despite years of expectations and millions and millions of dollars powering it, carries the same scrappy spirit of George Lucas' first journey to a galaxy far, far away. The final product, regardless of whether or not you were caught up in the hyper machine, has its flaws, mostly when it comes to balancing the old and the new. And unlike the much-maligned prequels (galactic senate meetings, midichlorians, the shadow of Jar Jar Binks), The Force Awakens is a legitimate fresh start for the series, with a speedy plot that takes audiences from planet to planet and starship to starship. Even with nods and winks to the audience, this is, finally, the 21st century Star Wars movie we both wanted and needed.
Abrams, Disney, and Lucasfilm have tried to keep as much of The Force Awakens under wraps, and even though the movie is out now, I'll do my best to refrain from spoilers. Even so, in terms of structure, there isn't much to spoil. For better and for worse, Abrams and co-writer Michael Arndt have stuck with Lucas' concept of having the trilogies "mirror" each other in terms of plot developments and character arcs.
This concept has ups and downs, but it mostly works as a pleasing middle ground compromise. Despite the PG-13 rating, The Force Awakens doesn't try to get away with as much as it can (versus, say, The Dark Knight), as it's trying to bring in old fans and stir the imaginations of new ones who might not even be 10 yet. Diehards looking for the franchise to leap forwards and mature (in the way the Harry Potter books and then films did) might be left wanting. When making a movie that's designed to please as many people as possible while also playing to a core fanbase, it's hard to come up with something that checks off every box.
The sense of compromise (pandering seems a bit too harsh/negative) that permeates The Force Awakens might seem like a red flag, but it's far from a dealbreaker. When it comes to the "mirroring" aspect, the film's hit-to-miss ratio winds up being rather good. This is especially true of the first hour or so, which is almost entirely filled with the next generation of heroes and villains. Among the good eggs are desert scavenger Rey (the instantly-winning Daisy Ridley), AWOL stormtrooper Finn (John Boyega, a charming and bumbling accidental do-gooder), and ace pilot Poe Dameron (Oscar Isaac, cutting loose and having fun with limited material). If ever there was a sign that this Star Wars was a creation of modern times, it's the much needed diversity found among this key trio.
Yet where there is light, there is also darkness. The Sith and the Empire may be extinct, but that hasn't stopped a new wave of devotees from arising. Most compelling is the masked and hooded Kylo Ren (Adam Driver...yes the guy from Girls), a temperamental student of the Dark Side with a Darth Vader complex. He is the film's own mirror for Rey, a mysterious loner drawn to the supernatural gifts of the Force, and his desire to hide his past is one of The Force Awakens' most compelling angles.
And with so much going on in The Force Awakens (starting anew while also tying into the original films), the actors deserve immense praise for being so charismatic in their roles. The film hops and skips around so much, and the characters could have gotten lost in the shuffle. Yet even when Abrams pushes his young leads to go a little too broad (we get it, they're in over their heads/wide eyed with amazement), the actors still deliver. Ridley and Boyega are a great deal of fun as a pair of loners forced together by chance (or maybe fate...), and Isaac's swagger further grounds the film in a tone more in line with the adventure serials that originally inspired Star Wars. Driver is a hoot as well, especially as his mood and presence adjusts when he removes his helmet.
So much of what's new is so invigorating that the arrival of characters from the first films throws off The Force Awakens' balance. As pure nostalgia it's bliss to see Harrison Ford back as Han Solo. But as Solo becomes integral to the plot, The Force Awakens starts sliding a little too far backwards. The new torchbearers of the franchise slip into the backseat for a while, leaving the midsection a bit rudderless. Seeing Han and Leia together is great on its own, but it's hard not to think that such scenes might have been better spent developing Rey, Finn, etc...
Despite this issue, Abrams brings it all home in the final stretch, even though the conclusion boasts the most overtly derivative moments from a structural standpoint. It takes a while to get there, but Abrams and Arndt do thankfully get around to resetting the chess board for future installments. Like any good adventure saga, The Force Awakens wraps up enough to function as a self-contained story, yet also ends in a way that begs for another chapter. In these final stages, Abrams restores the earnestness and charm of the series while also boldly positioning it for bigger and better things. And, at the very least, Abrams managed to combine a 'hello' to the next generation with a proper 'goodbye' to the old. It's hard to ask for more than that.
Grade: B
Director: Alex Garland
Runtime: 110 minutes
Though more successful as an acting showcase and atmospheric exercise than as a thought-provoking drama, Ex Machina nonetheless represents a promising directorial debut for screenwriter Alex Garland (28 Days Later, Sunshine). Though Garland's efforts as a writer have previously been met with criticism for their finales, Ex Machina suffers instead from a mid-section in need of further development. Even so, this sci-fi drama is never less than engaging, thanks to a trio of strong performances and a polished aesthetic.
Young programmer Caleb (Domhnall Gleeson) finds his modest life turned upside-down when he learns that he's won a contest at his company, an internet search engine that has apparently toppled Google (this is your first clue that you're watching science fiction). He'll get to leave his sleek Manhattan office and cramped apartment for a week to visit the estate of Nathan (Oscar Isaac), the company's brilliant and reclusive founder. Upon arriving at the rural estate (shot in Norway, though in the story it's never clear), Caleb finally learns the purpose of the trip. He has been chosen to perform the Turing Test on Nathan's android, to determine whether the machine possesses actual AI. That machine is named Ava (Alicia Vikander), and from "her" first appearance Caleb is entranced. At this point, he likely doubles for the audience.
Garland structures the film by interjecting title cards (Session 1, Session 2, etc...) not only to track the passage of time, but to slowly turn Caleb's journey from one of awe to one of queasy uncertainty. Though Caleb and Ava's first sessions are routine (well, as routine as groundbreaking human/robot interactions are...), a power outage changes everything. With the closed-circuit cameras down (and the facility on lockdown), Ava informs Caleb that Nathan is not to be trusted. Then the lights and cameras go back up and the two carry on as if nothing has happened.
Where Ex Machina stops short of truly reaching for greatness is that Garland doesn't nurture Ava's revelation to create something more complex. There are hints of malice and deception, but a more urgent sense of conflict never arrives. Caught between making a straightforward mystery and a richer, thornier character piece, Garland choses the former path. So it's a good thing that the relative lack of adventure in the writing is handled well on all fronts. Even when Ex Machina reveals that it's not committing to going the extra mile with its premise, it remains a satisfying piece of sci-fi drama.
This is largely due to the wide range of strong work from Gleeson, Isaac, and Vikander. All three roles are wildly different, and the script knows how to play them all off of each other. Isaac is the most enjoyable of the lot, creating a tech genius who's part Steve Jobs, and part frat-boy jackass. With his true intentions shrouded in ambiguity, Isaac has the juiciest role, and he makes it count (he also gets a hilarious dance sequence that I desperately wish could have been longer). Gleeson is ideally cast as well, making for a solid everyman finally getting a taste of what it's like to participate in something meaningful. Vikander, who had a much different relationship with Mr. Gleeson in Anna Karenina, is every bit as good as her male co-stars, working quiet wonders with a role that could have been stifling.
As mentioned above, technical aspects are strong across the board. Rob Hardy's photography richly captures the contrasting sides of the settings (half ultra-sleek modern, half woodsy forrest retreat), seamlessly blending actual locations and sets together to create a cohesive setting. Ben Salisbury and Geoff Barrow's electronic score is an essential part of drawing one into the scenario, sometimes relying on nothing more than a single repeated note to signal a shift in mood. And despite the lack of larger-than-life science fiction elements in Ex Machina, the sound team deserves significant praise for the subtle work put into everything from Nathan's house to the little whirrs and blips that emit from Ava's internal machinery. Even in small-scale sci-fi, it's the technical details that can make or break one's investment in a narrative, and Mr. Garland's collaborators have done a marvelous job without distracting from the story.
Ex Machina's short-comings explain why it doesn't deserve to be ranked among the best of the sci-fi genre, but they're also unobtrusive. There's little that disrupts one's engagement with the plot and with these characters. Ex Machina doesn't make major mistakes with its storytelling, but rather with the nature of its substance. To call Garland's film a noble failure is too harsh a judgement. It's not that Garland fails with his debut, but that from early on he makes the decision to opt for palatable ideas and themes rather than truly challenging ones.
Grade: B
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
Director: Hossein Amini
Runtime: 96 minutes
When source material is too highly regarded and too indebted to the specifics of prose, cinematic translations often stumble. For Patricia Highsmith, however, that's often not been the case. Hitchcock's Strangers on a Train and Anthony Minghella's The Talented Mr. Ripley are both exemplary adaptations that retain the voice of the original text, all while standing as separate cinematic entities. Because Highsmith's stories have translated to the big screen with such stellar results before, however, it's disappointing that the latest adaptation of her work is such a middling piece of filmmaking. Making his feature debut as a director, Oscar-nominated writer Hossein Amini (The Wings of the Dove) has turned Highsmith's The Two Faces of January into a moderately engaging, yet wholly unmemorable film that plays like a half-hearted attempt capturing what made something like Ripley work so well.
The Ripley-esque figure (minus the capability for downright evil) this time around is American ex-pat Rydal (Oscar Isaac), a tour guide in Greece who has a habit of getting extra money out of gullible tourists. When Rydal spots wealthy-looking couple Chester and Colette MacFarland (Viggo Mortensen and Kirsten Dunst), he immediately sets them as his next mark, and starts encroaching on their carefree vacation. In part, Rydal is drawn to the MacFarlands because Chester reminds the former of his recently-deceased father. Yet the MacFarlands have ulterior motives of their own, and one accidental death later the trio find themselves bound by a dark secret.
There are so many themes that Ripley and January share, yet there's a sizable gulf in quality when it comes to the actual results. Isaac has what should be a juicy role, yet his mild duplicity and parental estrangement issues are quickly thrown overboard in favor of getting the plot moving. The film's focus is in constant flux, leaving neither Rydal nor Chester particularly well-rounded by the time everything wraps up in the admittedly tense finale. To their credit, Isaac and Mortensen play off of each other well, although the latter sometimes struggles to convince as the sort of man who's not terribly sharp on his feet. Mortensen has a reserved intensity about him, and it doesn't lend itself well to a character who's occasionally written as, as one minor character puts it, "without a clue." Isaac, meanwhile, does his best to create a convincing portrait of a man being pulled in multiple directions, yet he's ultimately unable to overcome the crushingly superficial and unfocused writing.
As for Colette/Dunst, she's left in a majorly watered-down version of Gwyneth Paltrow's Ripley character, with hardly any legitimately compelling material left over for her to work with. At the outset, it seems like Dunst is either miscast or simply not trying. The actress does prove her commitment in her one big emotional scene, revealing that the rest of her material gave her almost nothing to do.
Though Amini has proven himself as a capable screenwriter, his first stab at directing finds him putting not enough effort into, well, the writing. Character-building is abandoned in favor of either moving the plot forward or spilling exposition. This leaves little room for a little thing called subtext, meaning that the underlying issues are hammered home in the exciting, yet far too hurried final act. Amini has done well when it comes to the visual and sonic aspects of directing, yet his handling of actors and underlying emotions tends to be rather wobbly.
Foundational flaws aside, Amini has at least assembled a handsome looking production. Though the visuals have limited variety, January does for Athens and Crete what Ripley did for San Remo and Venice. Ancient ruins, seaside towns, and rugged coastal terrain all contribute nicely to the atmosphere (certainly more than the writing), with the photography, art direction, and costume design all working perfectly in sync. Composer Alberto Iglesias contributes an effective score to help move things along, even though some of it sounds like rejects from his work on Almodovar's Broken Embraces.
So even though The Two Faces of January isn't a complete failure as far as Highsmith adaptations go, it's still a rather underwhelming effort, despite a handful of strengths. Yet in focusing so heavily on his duties as a director, Amini has left his debut without much emotional heft. Minor plot developments take precedence over authentic relationships among characters, robbing the narrative of a consistent sense of danger. January looks and sounds the part, and it never drags, but it's also too light on its feet to leave its own mark.
Grade: B-/C+
Director(s): Joel and Ethan Coen
Runtime: 105 minutes
Though undoubtedly a small movie, it would be a mistake to dismiss Inside Llewyn Davis, Joel and Ethan Coen's folk music character study, as a forgettable or minor work in their careers. Firmly anchored by Oscar Isaac's lead performance, this melancholy story is filled with typical Coen quirks, yet ventures into a level of sincerity the brothers rarely tackle. Bound to deepen upon reflection and/or repeated viewings, this deceptively small movie makes its mark thanks to its gently played undercurrent of resilience in the face of sadness.
The titular Llewyn Davis (Isaac) likely won't go down as one of the Coen's more likable protagonists. Though certainly no villain, Llewyn is a great deal less sympathetic than the brother's last lead, True Grit's Mattie Ross. Though he's far from old, Llewyn carries himself like a man who's already been pushed to wit's end (this is nicely complimented by Bruno Delbonnel's blue-hued, wintery images). When we first meet him, Llewyn is singing his heart out into a microphone, and for a while it looks like he's performing in a vacuum as he pours out his soul. As the scene pulls back, however, we see that all of Llewyn's passion is being put forth in a dingy bar, with an audience that is appreciative and engaged, but not exactly enraptured. Llewyn's doing his best to communicate the only way he really knows how, but the gulf between artist and audience is quite a large one.
If Llewyn's interaction with his audience is lacking, his ability to interact with friends and family is even more dire. There are friends like Jim (Justin Timberlake) and Mitch (Ethan Phillips), but they seem like distance acquaintances at best (although not too distant that Llewyn won't abuse their hospitality). Then there are people like Jim's wife Jean (Carey Mulligan), who rightfully has nothing but contempt for Llewyn or anything he stands for. Through a series of tautly written, intelligently acted scenes, the Coens establish a whole host of relationships from Llewyn's POV, thus firmly planting him in his head. We spend time viewing events from his perspective, even as the direction is wise enough to avoid siding with Llewyn's thoughts and actions.
The surprisingly fleet pacing, with conversations often ending with hard cuts to a new shot, is what gives Inside Llewyn Davis a defiant lack of heaviness. The Coens aren't interested in misery porn or yanking at heart strings. Though the story's setting and music make it ripe for noxious sentimentality, the directors never betray their own level of emotional restraint, even as they branch into more sincere territory. Rather than blast emotions at the viewer, the film mostly underplays things - events, backstories, details - thus allowing them room to reverberate with the viewer throughout (and after) the whole film.
For all that there is to say about the writing and directing, it would be foolish as well to say that the film isn't an actors' piece of sorts. Isaac, in his first real leading role, is nothing short of outstanding, whether he's singing, arguing, or merely observing and laying low. Isaac's turn is so key to the film, that whether or not you respond to it will likely come down to how to connect (or don't) to the actor's approach to him, as well as the film's.
Supporting roles, meanwhile, often feel like hazily sketched satellites orbiting Llewyn's life. This is true of some (Jim and Mitch, Mitch's wife), but in characters like Jean the film is able to communicate so much with so little. In large part, that's due to what Mulligan pulls off, starting with bigger, noisier scenes before quieting down and hinting at a fuller, more authentic personality. Even F. Murray Abraham, who only appears in one scene, gives a performance that feels lived in. It's just not his life that we as a viewer are oriented around.
The most valuable supporting player, however, is the music. Though little (if any) is original, music supervisor T. Bone Burnett (along with Isaac) has done a beautiful job of compiling a series of songs that work perfectly in sync with the story. It's hard to imagine swapping any songs in terms of order, given how carefully they've been positioned throughout the film. Details like this emphasize what makes Inside Llewyn Davis so special, despite its narrative and emotional modesty.
The level of care present in every scene and shot may not always be immediately apparent, but the film moves in ways that have a confident sense of purpose. Llewyn hops from place to place, and the film hops from scene to scene, yet no excursion is without purpose. Inside Llewyn Davis is undoubtedly a small film, but it's anything but minor. It's an understated dark comedy handled with unparalleled restraint, which is precisely why it's so deeply felt.
Grade: A-
