Change Your Image
MovieDude1893
Reviews
Love & Mercy (2014)
One of the absolute treasures of 2015
Let's start with some honesty, shall we? I came into this wanting it to be amazing. I think Brian Wilson is one of the few true American musical geniuses, a pop pioneer with an ageless sensibility. I wanted it to be amazing, but had my doubts. Dano and Cusack are odd casting to say the least and the biopic genre has all sorts of pitfalls baked right into its very formulas. Therefore, all the excitement leading into Love & Mercy was tempered by an equal if not greater dose of apprehension (this sort of confused cocktail will be even worse once The End of the Tour drops). Now, the film has been playing for well over a month and here I am just getting around to it.
Two hours later and any doubts or apprehension I had has been wiped away. Love & Mercy is the best possible screen version of Wilson's life story that I can imagine, even more than I had hoped for. But, more importantly, it's a remarkably well-made film-- lively, smart, and thoughtful. This is director Pohlad's first major film after making a career bankrolling films for the likes of Terrence Malick and Robert Altman. He distinguishes himself with his directorial work here, offering a series of perfectly judged scenes coalescing into an immensely satisfying portrait.
Nearly every gambit pays off. The hopscotch structure of Oren Moverman and Michael Alan Lerner's delicately observed script energizes the film and lend it a harmonic musicality, complete with counterpoint and occasional dissonance.
John Cusack does his best work in a long time and Dano does his best work ever put to film. 1980s Wilson is both a quintessential Cusack hero-- a quirky romantic out of place in the world-- but with added layers, a softness and hesitance previously seldom used in his arsenal. What he lacks in immediate resemblance Cusack makes up for with physicality, creating a character by modulating his entire body. You can trace Wilson's arch by only paying attention to Cusack's eyes in each of his scenes. Back in the 1960s, Dano embodies Wilson's overflowing sonic imagination as well as his deep internal demons. I've felt Dano to be out of place in every other movie he's been in, but like Cusack he disappears here, falling into Brian's passionate drive. Together the two create a performance of absolute humanity.
Banks is given her meatiest role in a while and Giamatti returns to the screen with typical vigor. Both giving performances that provide complex and unexpected shading to characters whose outlines are familiar, but whose particulars ring true. The same goes for Bill Camp who gives Murray Wilson, the domineering father and erstwhile manager of The Beach Boys, rich psychological dimension with a bare minimum of screen time. His malignant presence lingers over the film just as it did over Brian's life.
Yet the sound is the real star here. Whether its the actual music of Wilson and the Beach Boys or the adapted and interweaved score-- AO Scott more accurately termed it a series of sonic collages-- by Atticus Ross, this film uses sound as well as anything this year.
The true achievement of Love & Mercy is the way it continually finds cinematic counterparts to the experience of listening to Wilson's best work. In that sense, it is as much a tribute to the act of listening to the artist's music as it is to the creation of that music. Indeed, this is one of the few films to ever make the act of hearing so vividly and gloriously cinematic, particularly when that act consists of a woman hearing a lonely, sad, frightened man's plaintive cries for help and responds with compassion.
Jurassic World (2015)
Little life finds its way into this lousy sequel
Remember the scene in the original Jurassic Park where the lawyer gets eaten while cowering on the toilet? Of course you do. It's a fun little moment. But it's also an easy joke and a sour, callous moment in a film that otherwise is pretty respectful of the life and death stakes at play in its scenario. Well, the makers of Jurassic World, mad little scientists of cinema that they are, take all the narrative DNA of the original film they can get their mitts on and pump in a whole lot of the toilet scene DNA to fill gaps in the chain and beef it up to modern standards. The resulting film is occasionally enjoyable on the lowest level of sensation, but mostly an onerous exercise in empty spectacle devoid of wit or humanity.
Despite the lip service this pays to Spielberg's comparably towering original, this new dino epic inverts nearly every element that made the first entry work so well and endure to this day. Chief among this is the original film's absolute love of science. Yes, the ultimate message is the danger of science overstepping its boundaries, but our main characters were two paleontologists and a mathematician. Here we must settle for Chris Pratt's ex-Navy man (I never thought a film could put me in the position of finding Chris Pratt unlikeable, but here we are) and a host of faceless paramilitary jug-heads. The strain of militarism runs deeply in the film (despite its pretensions otherwise) and combined with a general lack of humanity forcing me to the point of outright rooting for every human to be gobbled up whole and never heard from again.
Colin Trevorrow, likely in a misguided attempt to apologize for not being Spielberg, throws limp dick semi-satire all around the periphery to no real avail. It's telling that this film cues up John Williams iconic theme with shots of a theme park thoroughfare dotted with corporate logos. Hey, Starbucks. 'Sup, Brookstone. Hiya, Samsung. Hang loose, Jimmy Buffett's Margaritaville. For all its hip po-mo posturing, this is an oppressively imagination-free affair, a sponsored dinosaur of a film, Comcast/NBC/Universal Pictures Presents Nostalgia Tinged Blockbuster 2015.
In his 1993 review of Jurassic Park, Ebert lamented that film's lack of awe and wonder. Perhaps he was right, but there was genuine terror and at least a cursory streak of humanity. The only such sensations dredged up by Jurassic World are a blood-thirsty cackle here and there. The problem isn't that the film appeals to our most base instincts, it's that it fails to satisfy them fully.
The Immigrant (2013)
A beautiful film that feels palpably conjured out of the past.
I was spellbound from the first, though I'll freely admit some of it sprung from the sheer gobsmacking beauty of the period recreation and the tactile, grainy quality of the images. Yet these surface pleasures gave way to the captivating narrative, which is unapologetically melodramatic. Gray has faith in his story, though, avoiding ironic detachment and other arty pretenses at most every turn. He emulates the classical style (this is a movie that makes beautiful, expressive use of simple fades in and out) but he also seems to genuinely believe in its power, never succumbing to the temptation to wink or nudge at the ribs of the audience. He's admitted to consciously modeling the film on the women's pictures of Hollywood's Golden Age and the unabashedly female perspective really makes this a special film. Given the recent climate of re-surging sense of feminism and its role in popular art-forms. It vividly conjures an environment of palpable peril for Cotillard's Ewa; the threat of violation-- sexual, spiritual, moral-- lurks in every development. However, the movie is not content to portray Ewa as a mere victim in waiting. She is the film's luminous center, a locus of strength and conviction. As Ewa, Marion Cotillard is fierce and nuanced. Gray suffuses the film with close-ups of Cotillard and she holds them beautifully, not just in the sense that she conjures memories of the classic beauties of days long gone by, but in the force and undying intellect of her gaze. As her benefactor and eventual pimp, Phoenix's Bruno is a man who must be both lecherous and somehow sympathetic, sometimes all at once. Phoenix pulls it off, adding another complexly shaded character to his gallery of sexually frustrated raging bulls. A film of great aesthetic and narrative confidence.
Gone Girl (2014)
A twisting and twisted popular entertainment
Full disclosure: I've read the book and think this is more than a cracking adaptation-- It's a near total improvement across the board. That said, I became so caught up with the shape of the adaptation that a second viewing will better clarify the meanings at work.
What GONE GIRL is about more than mystery, misogyny, money, or any other m-word: If you think you have "truth" on your side, you're clueless. I spent so much of it grinning from ear to ear. The humor is as pitch black as you've heard, with one punchline near the end that's way too easy (you'll know it when you hear it). But still, Fincher's in fine form; he and editor Kirk Baxter massage the 2.5 hour runtime into a steadily compelling thriller. Affleck and Pike are both excellent, each walking the emotional razor's edge that Fincher and writer Flynn have established for them. The script is a marvelous adaptation in the sense that it keeps so much of Flynn's original text and improving on it in more than a few cases. Still, if there's a reason GONE GIRL can occasionally strike its points a little too explicitly it can be linked to the script. These instances are few and far between, however. The lasting impression of GONE GIRL is that it's a twisting and twisted popular entertainment likely to see few equals on American cineplex screens this year.
Boyhood (2014)
Renews your faith in the movies.
Roger Ebert once wrote that he walked out of ALMOST FAMOUS wanting to hug himself. I emerged from a screening of BOYHOOD wanting to embrace everyone I know or have known. I also wanted to hug the makers of the film for creating an experience so rich and textured as to renew one's faith in cinema.
I believe that all art is, in some sense, autobiographical. Not in the sense that it reproduces or even re-contextualizes moments or facets in the life of the artists, but rather that the art (art worth discussing, at least) expresses something about the artist's sensibility and ethos. In that sense, BOYHOOD is a pure expression of the heart, mind, and soul of Richard Linklater. His reputation casts him as the most philosophically and romantically loquacious of a certain generation of indie auteurs; BOYHOOD reveals him to be the best American cinematic humanist currently going. This is his benediction.
The audacity on display here is both self-evident and not. Aside from the logistical headaches and sheer risks of the design of the film, the decision to root it so firmly in its own time and place could threaten the power of the universal moments. And yet, both exist harmoniously. Mason, Samantha, Olivia, and Mason Sr. are at once our on-screen avatars making it day to day through life and thoroughly interesting, developed characters worth investing in. Coltrane is a real find and hardly a moment of his work here feels remotely coached or false. Frequent Linklater collaborator Hawke has tended to seem slightly over-matched in past Linklater films (particularly BEFORE SUNRISE) but here he sketches Mason Sr.'s gains and loses vividly. Arquette too easily slides into the role as a thoughtful, well-educated woman trying to honor her evolving vision of herself and how to best raise her children.
The pace really sings on a second viewing, as the film relaxes into its own grooves and rhythms. The narrative strategies evolve in tandem with Mason's own understanding of his world. Perhaps it isn't the masterpiece that many are proclaiming it to be. It has some rough edges that are unavoidable with an unabashedly curious Linklater at the helm. Instead, it's something much better. This review (such as it is) began with a personal admission and that is what this film inspires. It reaches deep within us, maybe even deeper than critical inquiry, and dredges up some vivid emotional sensations. It's a beguiling treasure of a movie.
August: Osage County (2013)
Cast and script overcome studio softening
August: Osage County (Wells, 2013, B)
An absolute clinic in terms of a studio not understanding the property from which they've decided to make a movie. The tacked on final moments and the downright bizarre closing credits aren't enough to poison the rest, though. But, I feel like those unfamiliar with the source material will be left with a fundamental confusion about what they just saw.
The rest, however, is good, compelling drama. It's an outstanding play that's visualized without any particular imagination or energy. The geography if the house is clearly laid out, but never really develops into a tonal force of the film. The heavy lifting here is done by the cast and the wonderful script. Letts is wise to retain most of the play's best lines and the dinner scene centerpiece is an absolute marvel of ensemble acting. Streep has come under fire for her supposed scenery-chewing in the role of Violet. Those criticisms, however, seem to misunderstand the role itself, or at least the purpose of the role as it pertains to the lives of the other characters. She is a wild, vitriolic, malignant force to be reckoned with. Streep plays it with aplomb and a notable current of humanity. Roberts is impressive as well, often incorporating subtle echoes of Streep's performance into her own. Nicholson does very well in one of the more subtly difficult roles. Martindale and Cooper are also both outstanding, but these roles are both firmly within their comfort zones and by now their excellence is a forgone conclusion.
Much of the film retains the affecting nature of the play. Yet, too much of it is hindered by intrusion or softening for it to be the play's equal.
American Hustle (2013)
Slapdash, but fiercely entertaining
American Hustle (O. Russell, 2013, B)
Here's an endlessly likable, shaggy, fizzy cartoon of a picture. The acting is so good here that it makes up for the lumpiness of the screenplay. It's lifeless for the first 20 minutes or so, working at an energy level that doesn't really grab the audience. Then, once thing starts cooking, it zigs and zags into various moments of suspense and lunacy to varying degrees of success. I'm convinced this is the best Cooper has ever been; his scenes with Louis CK are all direct hits. Lawrence is purposefully obnoxious (although the inter-cutting of her crooning "Live and Let Die" with Bale's situation feels forced and falls flat). Bale is strong as usual. The most revealing aspect of his performance is that he still has a sense of humor, thank God. Perhaps the finest here, though, is Adams who takes a manic character and steers it toward the believable. As an expression of her range and ability, it's a total star turn.
I dunno if I can say this is a very good film, though. There's something in the script's messiness that's at once too apparent in the film, but also crucially missing in the aesthetic. It's slapdash, but not in any meaningful way. Still it's fiercely entertaining and the first O. Russell film I've really enjoyed since THREE KINGS. That's worth something.
Don't Look Now (1973)
Unforgettable Ghost Story
Don't Look Now (Roeg, 1974, A)
What is this movie about? One viewing and I'm not sure I can say but I'll do my best.
It's about grief. It's about coping. It's about the loss of a child. It's about a marriage. It's about belief. It's about confusion. It's about Venice. It's about fog whispering just slightly above cobblestone streets. It's about ghosts. It's about language. It's about dark corners and blind alleys. It's about canals. It's about paranoia. It's about the ripples between past, present, and future. It's about unease. And boy, oh boy, is it about the color red.
That may not have clarified much, but that's for the best. What's important: see this rare movie. Few horror films can match its unique craft and intelligence. Go in without expectation and see what it's about for yourself.
Room 237 (2012)
One of the great movies about why we love the movies
Room 237 (Ascher, 2013, A)
Take a moment to separate some things in your mind-- namely the film and its intentions from the interviews included. Even the most convincing theories presented aren't air-tight, but the film is more procedural then the negative reviews give it credit for. It is a celebration of taking part in the game of interpretation: approaching a work of art and making meaning, your own meaning. It's also consistently fascinating to watch and terrifically unsettling. Yet the entire production (assembled mostly as a collage of footage from other films) evinces such a love of the form. It approaches the hypnotic pull of film as a form and honors it. It's revealing, it's fascinating, and it's provoking.
The Way Way Back (2013)
Slight, but highly entertaining
The Way, Way Back (Faxon & Rash, 2013, B+)
Every beat of the story is familiar and its resolution is facile, but there's that nagging sensation in my gut. I enjoyed this film, the experience of watching it, the joy of the performers and performances (Janney is clearly having a blast), the occasional flourish in filmmaking, and the more than occasional burst of wit from the script. And that sense of sheer enjoyment places this ahead of most of what American movies circa summer 2013 have offered so far. When it comes right down to it, this is a well executed coming-of-age picture with no pretensions toward anything greater. Even the saggier moments are buoyed by this-it must be said again-stellar cast. And any film that gives Sam Rockwell a plum role like this deserves a look.
Before Midnight (2013)
Love is A Many Splintered Thing-- The richest film of the series
Before Midnight (Linklater, 2013, A)
What other filmmaker besides Linklater has the ability to craft a romance so exquisitely painful and so painfully exquisite? His use of space and extended takes really make what could have been stagy and plodding into something lively and cinematic. This reminded me of a less opaque CERTIFIED COPY. Fine company, indeed. There are few characters more fully fleshed out and rigorously believable than Jesse and Celine and the naturalism with which the actors write and play these characters has never been more apparent or appreciated. If 2013 offers a single scene better than the climatic argument between Delpy and Hawke, we are in for some lively, edifying cinema.
Gravity (2013)
Gripping tension and visual splendor. A true movie event.
Gravity (Cuaron, 2013, A)
To my mind, those who knock the script are mostly failing to see the forest for the trees. Problems are there to be sure, but to avoid seeing this would be a regrettable miscalculation. For me, the script worked in a terse, elemental sort of way as it pokes toward transcendent themes that are better evoked through the visual and aural landscape than the dialog. But I think the story elements stand solely because Bullock lifts them on up on her shoulders and ultimately her performance not only deeply impressed me, but moved me. I believe most writers (and I fall squarely within this camp) lack the necessary vocabulary to express the wonder of these visuals. Thankfully, they speak for themselves. Yet, perhaps I am most pleased to find a film, so rare in the current American mega-production model, that is precisely as long as it must be. I can't speculate how this one will age (even four years have not been kind to AVATAR) but for now it is miraculous.
Final thought: For a much more eloquent assessment, I suggest you consult MZS's review at RogerEbert.com (www.rogerebert.com/reviews/gravity-2013) or AO Scott at the New York Times.
The Great Gatsby (2013)
Fine Fluff, but a thoroughly unremarkable adaptation
The Great Gatsby (Luhrmann, 2013, C+)
There is enough good here to make the miscalculations (and a few of them are colossal miscalculations) even more apparent. However, the film has a few virtues. One is DiCaprio, who gives a usual sturdy performance, even if it only ranks near the middle of the best work. Also, the film's back half is much stronger than it's opening. It's the best screen Gatsby to yet be made, but it's still only a little better than half way there.
Here's the real issue, though: Luhrmann labors under the delusion that GATSBY is a love story between a man and a woman and not a love story between a man and a dream. He takes a source rich with symbol and metaphor and creates a distressingly literal adaptation. His camera wings gleefully through party after party, luxuriating in the decadence of these mansions. He is in love with the excesses of the roaring twenties. He makes the exact film that Gatsby the character would want made about himself and in doing so bypasses richer thematic avenues. To borrow a phrase from both the novel and film versions, Luhrmann is far too occupied with his count of enchanted objects.
Yi dai zong shi (2013)
American cut is muddled, but brilliance shines through
The Grandmaster (Wong Kar-Wai, 2013, B)
NOTE: This reaction refers to the 108-minute American release cut and I'm inclined to believe the rating would go up were I to see the original cut.
It's fitting that Wong Kar-Wai elects to pilfer "Deborah's Theme" by Ennio Morricone for a key sequence in his latest film and not only because it's one of the most beautiful pieces of music ever written for film. In fact, I was thinking a lot about Leone's "Once Upon a Time in America" during the course of this film. Both films are highly personal epics from legendary cinematic stylists, both cover large expanses of time, and both were re-structured and re-edited for American distribution. In the case of "The Grandmaster," much of the power has been retained, but I felt as if there were plenty lost in translation. The storytelling is certainly muddled in this version. Still, the film's final third is heartbreaking. It reveals that, like the quoted Leone film, this is a story about the ravages of time, chances taken and passed, and about the style in which we choose to live our lives. I desperately want to see it again, but you can be sure it'll be in it's original, unadulterated form.
The Butler (2013)
In a timid year, this film is a flawed, but essential, jolt to the system
The Butler (Daniels, 2013, B+)
This should have been a punchline. At least, that's what I was walking in expecting. From the overblown marketing to the downright bizarre cast, it had all the trimmings of a pure turkey. Here's the thing, though... It's not. The film is not a facsimile of historical events, it is an invigoration of them and despite the relatively classical style on display, Lee Daniels brings a real brio to the proceedings. It helps that he has Whitaker to make it all stick as the film's unfailingly warm and engaging center. Even in the first 20-30 minutes when the film is struggling to find its legs, his performance is an unmannered beauty. The rest of the actors are also galvanized into action, proving that verisimilitude is not the highest criteria for historical fiction. This is a film as powerful, as beautiful, as unlikely, and as raggedly imperfect as the country it chronicles.
The Place Beyond the Pines (2012)
Bid For Trancedence Doesn't Quite Make It, Still Worth Seeing
The Place Beyond the Pines (Cianfrance, 2013, B)
You'll leave this film convinced of a few things:
1. Derek Cianfrance is a filmmaker of great ambition and occasionally one of great talent.
2. His ideas are enticing, his ability to direct actors is extraordinary (I cannot recall a better performance from Eva Mendes), and he is capable of crafting a great set-piece.
3. At his best, he knows how to make a scene significant, but not portentous. In other words, the man can move an audience.
4. He knows what he's doing with the camera.
5. Someday he could make a great film.
6. "The Place Beyond the Pines" is merely a good one.
Spring Breakers (2012)
Oh! You Pretty Things
Spring Breakers (Korine, 2013, C+)
Some beautiful photography here to be sure; the "Malick goes to Cancun" designation is apt in that sense. There is also an attempt at lyricism that mostly falls flat. But I picked up on more "Easy Rider"-ish thematics going on. Franco is fully invested and provides momentary flashes of low comedic hilarity while also imbuing the character of Alien with well considered touches of pathetic interest. Still, the film as a whole is slight- entertaining but insubstantial, energetic but flabby and the slick surface camouflages the stolid morality of this music video cum generational commentary. Korine's bravado ensures the experience won't feel like a waste (particularly in a well executed robbery in the films first third) but it isn't enough to warrant a full recommendation. We blew it, indeed.
Side Effects (2013)
A Bitter Little Pill
Side Effects (Soderbergh, 2013, B+)
Typical Soderbergh style elevates a script that borders on exploitation. The cast also goes a long way in further selling the knotty, sometimes ridiculous twists. Law is good, but Mara is even better. She faces a role that is much tougher than even the trailer suggests and pulls it off seamlessly. The same could be said of the director. If this is (as rumored) Soderbergh's final theatrical feature, he could have done worse. This is a sleek and stylish genre entry with a keen sense of irony, impeccably made and paced. In other words, all we've come to expect from Soderbergh: A damn good time at the movies.
Psycho (1960)
Dares You to Look Away
Although his filmography is studded with gems, no other Hitchcock film has lodged itself in the popular consciousness as firmly as Psycho. It provides chills as a ripped-from-the- headlines slasher flick, but its macabre surfaces conceal its deeper mordant cultural resonances. In Psycho, many of Hitchcock's major tactics fall under the wide umbrella of postmodernism. Although made within the confines of the last vestiges of the classic Hollywood studio system, Psycho distinguishes itself as a subversive postmodern cinematic text.
Hitchcock's is the dominating presence in the film. From the beginning we are privy to dastardly deeds done by less-than-savory people. Yet, even as the brutality is ratcheted up (culminating in Marion's death), the audience remains engaged and more specifically entertained. The traditionally positive and pure elements of society when viewed through Hitchcock's lens are rendered resoundingly impure. Caroline, Marion's pestering co-worker, needed tranquilizers to survive her own wedding; Tom Cassidy heartily recommends the practice of "buying off unhappiness" to turn it into something approaching happiness; police and detectives fail to provide satisfactory protection; and in the Bates family one certainly begins to doubt that mother knows best. This is contrasted to the immoralities within the film. Sam and Marion's affair, Marion's theft, and Norman's killings are, without exception, attractively presented. The affair titillates, turning Marion into an erotic symbol. By the time of the theft, Marion has won the allegiance of the audience. Even the film's most legendary element, the shower scene, can today be viewed as more giddy than gory. It plays more as symphony than tragedy. It is a feat of timing and rhythm with precise and effective choreography. Traditional horror films dare the audience to look at the screen; Psycho dares us to look away and we simply cannot.
The film itself defies convention and flaunts expectations at every turn. At the end of the first act, it abruptly transfers the mantle of protagonist from Marion Crane to Norman Bates. The transfer makes sense. After all, these are the only two characters in the film that truly matter. In the words of critic David Thomson, "they are the only two players in the film whom Hitchcock liked or was interested in". As a mainstream Hollywood director, Hitchcock's interest in these two people, one a thief, the other a psychologically fractured killer is in and of itself subversive of audience expectations. Psycho was released in mid-1960 still very much in the shadow of the outwardly wholesome, domesticated Eisenhower era. To have a film focused on such behavior in the era of Leave it to Beaver was not only bold, it was unprecedented in mainstream American cinema. Psycho's low-rent aesthetic of highway towns and motel rooms is unique in the typically more elaborate and glamorous Hitchcock oeuvre. In an era when films were bought and sold based on star power, Hitchcock bumps off poor Janet Leigh (herself only a moderate star at the time) by the close of the first act. Audiences thought they knew what they could expect from the movies, especially the ones made by "Master of Suspense" Alfred Hitchcock; but the moment that shower curtain opens to the ascending strings of Bernard Herrmann's score, all bets are off. No one and nothing is safe, not even the lifestyles of the rich and famous.
Apart from its more coy and wily elements, Psycho is also a film preoccupied with surfaces and appearances. By virtue of the funhouse construction of the film, Hitchcock cannot be bothered with traditional character development. The four major characters of the piece— Norman, Marion, Sam, and Lila— act as doubles for one another. In Lila, we find traces of Marion. Both are traditionally attractive blondes, yet the sexual vivacity of Marion that her screen time so effectively showcases is dulled and diluted within Lila, who can seem pestering and frumpy in comparison.
These parallels perhaps could be written off due to the sister relationship between the two, except that the more interesting parallels between Sam and Norman undermine any sort of quick fix. Norman and Sam share a similar facial structure and hair color. Clearly, Sam is meant to represent the more stereotypically strapping male suitor, whereas Norman is best characterized as meek and uncertain. Yet, throughout the film our impressions of the two men are colored in surprising ways. Norman, despite his compulsions, comes off as a caring and compassionate young man, shy but capable of deep and true understanding. Hitchcock, in a move of swift and delicious irony, makes Norman into the most sensitive and kind person the picture has to offer. Norman's final conversation with Marion before her death is the film's most intimate scene. Although the two start the scene as total strangers, it is clear that they have had a deep effect on one another by the scene's close. In contrast, Sam seems increasingly boorish and bullying as the picture unspools. He's certainly less interesting than Norman. Indeed, we learn precious little regarding Sam in the movie's first half. Despite her claims of love, Marion spends relatively little time considering Sam's views of her actions. His hypothetical thoughts never enter her mind on the run from Phoenix. Her deepest emotional connection in the film is with Norman, and Sam seems to share a more matrimonial relationship with Lila than he does with Marion. Yet, in their momentary connection, Marion and Norman shared something more lively and meaningful than Sam seems to be capable of imagining. This lively connection, of course, must end in death in Hitchcock's world. Hitchcock, ever the ironist.
Psycho's endurance as a piece of popular art is quite a feat. In fact, the very existence of the film is worth championing. It is a film where commercial aims exist in equal balance to artistic ambitions, where those goals are allowed to be complimentary. It holds a mirror to a polluted world in order to reveal the cracks in the surface, an impure subject made enthralling through pure cinema.
The Hangover Part II (2011)
Has its moments, but lacks the chemistry of the original
The anticipation surrounding the release of The Hangover Part Two has been palpable. Benefitting from the surprise blockbuster success of its predecessor and a recent legal kerfuffle, Part Two is poised as one of the year's biggest films. The midnight crowd was abuzz with excitement, they didn't just come to see the movie, they came to love the movie.
This is perhaps why I felt such disconnect while watching the film. I'm someone who enjoyed the original Hangover, yet I took issue with the sometimes detestable characters and their dirty deeds. It seemed that some of the events were structured as random, easy laughs as opposed to being the result of the film's comedic momentum. I laughed, I actually laughed quite frequently. Yet, I could not quite join the chorus of celebration.
Nevertheless, there I was surrounded by people laughing themselves into a stupor. Couldn't they see what was happening? They were watching the same movie that they had quoted endlessly since 2009. This is a sequel that commits the cardinal sin of all sequels; it repeats the story of the original film.
This is the paragraph where I'd usually launch into some basic summary, but honestly, if you're interested enough in this movie to read this article, then you've seen the first film. If you seen the first film, congratulations! You know every basic plot point of The Hangover Part Two. Zack Galifinakis once again steals the film as the destructive man- child Alan. Like everything else in this film, Alan's boorishness is cranked up to eleven. I'd assume all this hullabaloo constitutes the filmmakers' attempts to disguise the completely derivative storyline.
In all fairness, I did laugh more during "The Hangover Part Two" than I would at an average raunch-fest. However, the chemistry too often feels stale, as if the cast is still exhausted from making the first film. Occasionally they manages to recapture the spark that made the original so popular. Yet, when viewed in context of its predecessor this Hangover is easy to shake.
Bridesmaids (2011)
Ticks like a clock
Movie critics are supposed to be the ultimate arbiters of cinematic taste. The stereotypical image of critic is one of a dead-eyed, cynical intellectual, looking down his nose at the mere trifles before him. This is the image I have to live up to: high-minded, snooty, and highfalutin. So, what can I do with something like Bridesmaids, a film so decidedly low class, brimming with fart jokes, innuendo, and other aberrations? Well, if the experience of seeing it proves anything, all I can do is laugh breathlessly and wonder when the barrage of laughter will stop. In the case of Bridesmaids, it never stops. Here is a movie you watch twice – first because it's good, and then again to hear all the lines you missed because you were laughing breathlessly at the previous exchange.
The film begins with Annie (Kristen Wiig), a failed baker who is drifting aimlessly through her life. She's continuously late with her rent; she habitually hooks up with a man who treats her like an appliance, and (to make matters even worse) her best friend is about to get married. Bride-to-be Lillian (Maya Rudolph) enlists Annie as her maid of honor. The inevitable hi-jinks ensue as we meet the rest of the bridesmaids: repressed Rita, innocent Becca, perfectionist Helen, and the sturdy Megan. Take this rag-tag group, a churrascaria, and a posh bridal salon, and you'll get one of the most revolting, hysterical scenes in any comedy.
At its base, Bridesmaids is a comedy of embarrassment, rooted in the steady decline of Annie as she descends into jealousy. The script (written by Wiig and Annie Mumolo) is incredibly knowledgeable about the dynamics of female relationships, culling out every possible chuckle and guffaw. The film is Kristen Wiig's bed for comedy stardom, and she succeeds without reservation, effortlessly toggling between the comedic and dramatic notes. Yet to say the film belongs solely to Wiig does the rest of the cast and crew a major disservice. The ensemble is flawless, and the direction unobtrusive. Timing is everything in comedy, and Bridesmaids ticks like a clock.
I'll be shocked if there's a better mainstream comedy released this year. Is Bridesmaids derivative of The Hangover? Yes. But on a character to character level it surpasses that film, presenting likable, three- dimensional characters played by outstanding actresses. What makes Bridesmaids so refreshing is the fact that every one of its gross-out gags is rooted in the truth of central friendship between the main characters. High or low brow, that's worth celebrating.
Magnolia (1999)
Full Bloom: P.T. Anderson's "Magnolia"
Some movies transcend our world. Some movie shirk any logical concept of "reality" or "fantasy". Some movies spring to such giddy, operatic heights that they completely bypass the intellectual, and exist as wholly emotional experiences. In doing so, they reveal more about the human experience than any gritty, realistic film could.
P.T. Anderson's 1999 epic "Magnolia" is that kind of a movie. Set in a heightened Los Angeles, it tells the interconnected tales of a large cast of characters, each of whom are undergoing a crisis. Anderson (who also scripted the film) is savvy enough to cast the film with recognizable faces, ensuring that the audience has a firm grasp on who these people are and how they connect to one another. The cast is filled out by actors of the highest caliber (Phillip Baker Hall, Jason Robards, Phillip Seymour Hoffman, and Julianne Moore to name only a few) who embody the lives of their characters outside the film.
"Magnolia" relies on cross-cutting throughout the picture, establishing both a frenetic pace, along with a sense of destiny. The camera whizzes around gleefully, while these tragedies unfold before us. It is compelling stuff, even at three hours plus. So compelling that the material could serve to be lengthened. If there is a problem in "Magnolia", it is that there are a few tantalizingly loose ends that I'd like to explore further.
I am consciously trying to avoid plot summary here, because in all honesty, this film defies any sort of condensation. But there is still the question: What is it about? I've seen it three times now, and the closest I can arrive to a theme or message is this: It is about the fundamental sadness and struggle that unites us as human beings. Like flower petals, we all share the same roots. We all endure loss. We all must go it alone. Yet in our loneliness, we are united.
Black Swan (2010)
Plays like Tchaikovsky by way of David Lynch and Douglas Sirk
Darren Aronofsky's Black Swan is reckless, glorious fever-dream of a movie. It is striking, intoxicating, blackly humorous, melodramatic, and beautiful. In short, it is unlike anything else the movies have to offer.
It is set in the cutthroat, isolated world of professional ballet. It chronicles the struggles of young ballerina Nina Sayers (Natalie Portman). She is in her mid-twenties, young by any sane standards, but, ballet standards are far from sane. She is vying for the lead role in a new production of the classic Swan Lake. The role requires her to play the virginal, innocent White Swan and the seductive Black Swan. Nina obsessively perfects her form, but her director (Vincent Cassel) doubts that Nina can convey the alluring nature of the Black Swan. The film details Nina's obsessive drive to achieve total perfection, in the face of mental and emotional breakdown, and physical metamorphosis.
Aesthetically, this film is a stunner. Aronofsky employs hand-held cameras that place us in Nina's shoes throughout the film. We are there for the incessant drilling and rehearsal that ballet requires. The camera swoops and pirouettes to dizzying effect. Aronofsky also succeeds in portraying the intensely competitive world of professional ballet. We hear bones crunch, toes break, and feet crack. He uses fractured editing rhythms and a soundtrack cobbled together from classical and experimental music to create Nina's intense and horrifying world.
However, for all its success, Black Swan is not without its failings. At times, the film risks coherence for the sake of messing with the heads of the audience members. The film also introduces the frame story of Swan Lake in a very clumsy way: a monologue recited by Vincent Cassel. Aronofsky also relies too heavily on the visual contrast of white and black as a visual motif.
Yet, audiences won't leave the theater considering these flaws. Black Swan is a wholly visceral cinematic experience that will spellbind those who are willing to seek it out. It is an uneasy, but fascinating watch that doesn't completely make sense until the end credits. Yet, the film has an impact well past the end credits. It is a movie to provoke discussion, a dark, seductive fairy tale to haunt your dreams. In a year of pale retreads and creative bankruptcy, it is a breath of fresh air.
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - Part 1 (2010)
Half of a masterpiece
There is a pervading sense of doom in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part I. A dark pall is cast over the entire production; even the opening Warner Brother's logo begins to crackle and rust. Harry and his chums encounter their most trying hardships and are forced to face numerous deaths. For a children's fantasy, the first leg of the final chapter shaped up to be fairly dark, and that's hardly a fault. This is the path that all of the other Potter films have led up to, lending the doom a sense of importance. The doom must be there to make the ultimate ending worthwhile.
Yet for all the death and destruction, Deathly Hallows never shies away from moments of touching levity. The film allows the major players moments of tender interaction and light comedy. The fact that these bits actually succeed is a testament to the greatly improved abilities of the three principle actors. Director David Yates has broken from the typical Potter tradition of stately, big budget directorial technique and has thrown in splashes of a more kinetic style with a few well-placed, subtle moments of hand-held photography that make Deathly Hallows seem fresher than a few of its predecessors.
Another first: a completely animated sequence. It is an audacious move and it pays dividends. The sequence (detailing the story of the titular Deathly Hallows) is among the finest moments the series has to offer. It is a frightening and beautiful mixture of shadow-play and stop-motion.
One of the film's major assets is its rouge's gallery of uniformly detestable villains. I can think of few characters or actors that can generate the vitriolic response I have when seeing Imelda Staunton in the role of Dolores Umbridge. Joining her are the usual suspects: Bellatrix Lestrange, Lucius and Draco Malfoy. These baddies add a real sense of purpose to the proceedings; evil seems to emanate from their very cores.
Yet, to the film's key strength is its acknowledgment of the previous chapters. I felt twinges of melancholy while watching Harry look at his old bedroom below the stairs of the house on Privet Drive, and that speaks to the series' successful attempts at fleshing out the inner lives of these characters and this world. For a major blockbuster, this is a fairly emotional ride.
Deathly Hollows, however, is not without imperfections. The tail end of the second act is a bit saggy, and some of the character behaviors seem contrived. I'm looking at you, Ron Weasley. Also, the film seems to be in a state of perpetual build up to part two. As such, I cannot adequately comment on where I'd place it in relation to the other films. But, as it stands, Deathly Hallows is poised to become the crowning jewel of an already distinguished series of films.
The Social Network (2010)
Fincher and Sorkin in complete harmony
Prior to its release, if one peg could be attached to David Fincher's The Social Network, it would be "The Facebook Movie". However, now that the finished product has seen the light of day, the only peg that applies is "work of art". That evolution from opportunism to genuinely fascinating artistic expression is a major part of what makes The Social Network work so well.
So how did this happen? Turns out, good, old-fashioned movie-making can take you as far as you're willing to go. Beginning at a script level, screenwriter Aaron Sorkin has devised a narrative that touches eternal themes of friendship, betrayal, and class. It is also expertly put together by Fincher, who avoids his usual visual trickery-as in the adrenaline fueled, punch drunk photography in his Fight Club- in favor of a more sedate and clinical approach to the material.
The film begins on a chilly late fall evening in a college town dive bar. Wild noise crowds the soundtrack as the audience joins two voices (one male, the other female) in mid-conversation. The scene is a verbal high-wire act between Mark Zuckerberg (Jesse Eisenberg) and Erica Albright (Rooney Mara), who will break up with Mark by the scene's end. The two fire back witty exchanges of dialogue that force the audience to adjust to a much faster pace than they are accustomed to.
That is the method of this movie: moving at high intellectual speeds and expecting the audience to keep up. Sorkin's screenplay forgoes the tiresome process of explain how a website is created and instead focuses on strict character development. It doesn't matter if the audience doesn't know a single line of computer code because it is always so obvious that the main characters know what they're talking about. It is important to know how smart these character are and how passionate they are about what they're doing.
The Social Network is essentially a movie with a revolving point of view, shifting from Zuckerberg to Eduardo Saverin (Andrew Garfield) and the Winkevoss twins (both played, in a feat of stunning special effects, by Armie Hammer). All claim to have a large share in the creation of Facebook, and their legal depositions provide the movie's flashback structure. The Social Network forces the audience to sit up and actively engage in what is happening on screen. This is a movie where allegiance will shift from character to character, and the truth always seems tenuous and uncertain.
Some have claimed that the vague nature of "truth" offered by Fincher and Sorkin discredits the entire picture. Nothing is further from the truth. A movie, even one based on a true story, can do what it wishes with the facts, so long as it remains compelling. Other articles have termed the film a hack-job against Facebook-founder Mark Zuckerberg. I would completely disagree with that notion. Both Fincher and Sorkin are notorious perfectionists in their given fields, and their empathy for Zuckerberg is what lingers with audience well after the closing credits. We may never like Zuckerberg, but Sorkin and Fincher let us in on trying to understand him. That is the true story of the movie. It's not 'The Facebook Movie", it's a character study of the highest order.