Note: This is the first videogame I've posted a review for here at Dirkflix. While I've played many games, some with interesting stories, since starting this blog, the purpose of this site doesn't really lend itself to games in general. However, I'm making an exception here because, as you'll soon read, this isn't really a game and more like a story you walk through. Also I'd posted this to my FaceSpace page and figured, why not toss it here as well? Booyah!
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Just finished "playing" Gone Home. The reason for the quotes is because it's not really a game as much as a guided interactive narrative story. You are a 21-year-old girl who's gone home (heh) in June 1995 from a lengthy trip across Europe to find the huge family home empty with a note on the door to not look for your younger sister.
As you walk around you can pick up objects (most are irrelevant) and read many, many notes and letters; listen to cassettes; hear what seem to be audio diaries from your sister as she tells a tale of her falling in love. As you discover secret passages and learn about supposed ghosts, the tension builds and the "game" frequently gets spooky.
While game critics have fallen all over themselves to shower Gone Home with effusive praise, a LOT of gamers are hating on it pretty hard. Part of it is because many gamers are caveman mookheads who are used to shouting profanities at their Madden Warfare peeps and a story where you aren't the real protagonist that deals with grunge-era riot grrrls and middle-aged marital and life troubles doesn't interest them.
A greater part though is that it is an extremely short experience, taking no more than 2-3 hours to complete. For a game that retails for $20 - it's currently $5 on Steam; I got it for $3 on a Flash Sale - that doesn't really have you do much more than walk around looking at stuff, that's a hard sell. (The excellent Spec Ops: The Line is another example. It takes about 6 hours to beat and at $60, that's a terrible deal, regardless how good the story is. However for the $6 I paid on sale, it's a must-play.) Other than a couple of locked areas that need combinations to open, there's almost no "gaming" in Gone Home.
I was fascinated by how they laid out the story and understand why screenwriters I've heard talk about it enjoyed it. While it sets out a clear trail for you to follow, it relies on you to pick up the crumbs and understand the loaf they fell from. (OK, that's a yellow card for terrible metaphors there.) I think I missed a few things judging from the reviews and videos I looked at elsewhere; I never found one safe's combo. The way some things are scattered around are clearly for storytelling than logic's sake and the way the sister's journals are presented doesn't make sense until the very end and even then doesn't make total sense.
That said, if you can pick it up for cheap (like $3) and you understand what you're signing on for (i.e. not a GAME game) and you want to hear some Bratmobile, then you might want to give Gone Home a home in your home's game collection. (Suck it, Gene Shalit!)
Score: 7/10. Play it.
UPDATE: After writing this I remembered that there's a Commentary Mode. I haven't played it yet, but will update the review if/when I do.
"Edge of Tommorow" Review
Sunday, June 8, 2014
Somewhere in the marketing department of of Warner Bros. is a group of supposedly smart people who managed to make the brilliant Tom Cruise sci-fi action flick Edge of Tommorow into a box office disappointment. They need to be unemployed immediately and frankly should've been cashiered last year when they came up with the fatal mistake of renaming it from the source graphic novel's awesome title: All You Need Is Kill. How badass is that title? A: Muy badass! Hell, they should've called it Live Die Repeat (the tag line) because it sums up the plot succinctly and to call it Starship Groundhog Troopers Day may give the wrong idea though that's pretty much what it is.
Cruise is Major Bill Cage, a spokesman for the United Defense Force who goes on television to talk up the war effort against the Mimics, an alien race that has captured all of Europe. Summoned by the Supreme Commander in London he is informed that he is to be part of the media team covering the invasion of France (shades of D-Day) with the soldiers. He's never actually served in combat (he did ROTC in college) and only joined the military media relations team after his ad agency folded post-invasion, so he's not inclined to go where the real danger and he tries to blackmail the General into letting him off. It does not go well.
He wakes up finding himself in handcuffs at an army base the day before the invasion is to occur, with Master Sargent Bill Paxton (who is now Apone!) believing him to be a deserter, stripped of rank, a green private. Assigned to the squad of colorful misfits and unable to even figure out how to turn off the safety on his mech armor suit's guns, he's not long for this world but neither are anyone else as the invasion is a total calamity for the Mimics seem to have known they're coming. He manages to blunder across the landing beach until he is ultimately killed.
Then wakes back up where he began at the base the day before.
As he rapidly learns from Emily Blunt's kickass "Angel of Verdun" - aka Full Metal Bitch, the face of the war effort - when he died, blood from the Mimic that took him out mixed with his and now he had the Mimics ability to reset time, reliving the previous day endlessly and thus allowing him to learn by trial-and-error. And there are a LOT of errors. LOTS. Various people have tried to figure out how many Groundhog Days Bill Murray lived through (this guy has almost 34 years) and I'm sure someone will try and figure out how many laps Cruise takes here, but it's clearly a mind-boggling high number.
What makes Edge of Tomorrow work so brilliantly is a combination of factors beginning with a very sharp script adaptation by The Usual Suspects scribe Christopher McQuarrie and brothers Jez and John-Henry Butterworth (who also penned the upcoming James Brown biopic Get On Up?!) which cleanly sets up the rules of the universe (though the aliens powers and motives aren't clear, but generally irrelevant) and then trust the audience to keep up. What the ads don't show is just how funny the movie is in its telling.
Next star goes to Cruise for his subtly layered performance. For this story to work, we have to sympathize with the jerk whose initial poor decision makes saving the world possible and in lesser hands, the balance could've been thrown off. I don't get some people's aversion to him - yeah, the Xenu stuff and couch-jumping is wacky packs, but people manage to get past a LOT of reprehensible stuff about other celebs (drugs, cheating, cuddling with Third World dictators) while putting their foot down hard on Cruise. (My girlfriend adamantly refuses to watch this despite my enthusiasm because she can't stand his face.)
Finally, kudos to director Doug Liman who brings the steady action chops that made The Bourne Identity and especially Mr. & Mrs. Smith successes, clearly conducting the kinetic action in a comprehensible manner. When you realize how much is VFX - I can't wait for the making-of stuff on the Blu-ray - it's that much more impressive.
If there's a fault, it's in the ending which can be called predictable or perhaps a cheat, but when you consider the predictable menu of binary options (i.e. he saves the day or doesn't; he lives or he dies for good) available, they went with the least awful combination platter. I've seen some complain; I'm cool with it. Ignore the title and have a blast.
Score: 9/10. Pay full price.
Cruise is Major Bill Cage, a spokesman for the United Defense Force who goes on television to talk up the war effort against the Mimics, an alien race that has captured all of Europe. Summoned by the Supreme Commander in London he is informed that he is to be part of the media team covering the invasion of France (shades of D-Day) with the soldiers. He's never actually served in combat (he did ROTC in college) and only joined the military media relations team after his ad agency folded post-invasion, so he's not inclined to go where the real danger and he tries to blackmail the General into letting him off. It does not go well.
He wakes up finding himself in handcuffs at an army base the day before the invasion is to occur, with Master Sargent Bill Paxton (who is now Apone!) believing him to be a deserter, stripped of rank, a green private. Assigned to the squad of colorful misfits and unable to even figure out how to turn off the safety on his mech armor suit's guns, he's not long for this world but neither are anyone else as the invasion is a total calamity for the Mimics seem to have known they're coming. He manages to blunder across the landing beach until he is ultimately killed.
Then wakes back up where he began at the base the day before.
As he rapidly learns from Emily Blunt's kickass "Angel of Verdun" - aka Full Metal Bitch, the face of the war effort - when he died, blood from the Mimic that took him out mixed with his and now he had the Mimics ability to reset time, reliving the previous day endlessly and thus allowing him to learn by trial-and-error. And there are a LOT of errors. LOTS. Various people have tried to figure out how many Groundhog Days Bill Murray lived through (this guy has almost 34 years) and I'm sure someone will try and figure out how many laps Cruise takes here, but it's clearly a mind-boggling high number.
What makes Edge of Tomorrow work so brilliantly is a combination of factors beginning with a very sharp script adaptation by The Usual Suspects scribe Christopher McQuarrie and brothers Jez and John-Henry Butterworth (who also penned the upcoming James Brown biopic Get On Up?!) which cleanly sets up the rules of the universe (though the aliens powers and motives aren't clear, but generally irrelevant) and then trust the audience to keep up. What the ads don't show is just how funny the movie is in its telling.
Next star goes to Cruise for his subtly layered performance. For this story to work, we have to sympathize with the jerk whose initial poor decision makes saving the world possible and in lesser hands, the balance could've been thrown off. I don't get some people's aversion to him - yeah, the Xenu stuff and couch-jumping is wacky packs, but people manage to get past a LOT of reprehensible stuff about other celebs (drugs, cheating, cuddling with Third World dictators) while putting their foot down hard on Cruise. (My girlfriend adamantly refuses to watch this despite my enthusiasm because she can't stand his face.)
Finally, kudos to director Doug Liman who brings the steady action chops that made The Bourne Identity and especially Mr. & Mrs. Smith successes, clearly conducting the kinetic action in a comprehensible manner. When you realize how much is VFX - I can't wait for the making-of stuff on the Blu-ray - it's that much more impressive.
If there's a fault, it's in the ending which can be called predictable or perhaps a cheat, but when you consider the predictable menu of binary options (i.e. he saves the day or doesn't; he lives or he dies for good) available, they went with the least awful combination platter. I've seen some complain; I'm cool with it. Ignore the title and have a blast.
Score: 9/10. Pay full price.
"Tucker & Dale vs. Evil" Review
Monday, May 5, 2014
How many horror/slasher films have been about college kids going camping, encountering hillbillies in the woods, and ending up dead? Now what if all that death was the college kids' fault? That's the premise of the cute indie cult comedy-horror flick Tucker & Dale vs. Evil.
As the spoiler-heavy trailer gives away, Tucker (Alan Tudyk, Wash on Firefly) and Dale (Tyler Labine, Sock from Reaper) are a pair of hillbillies heading to a ramshackle cabin in the woods that Tucker has bought as a vacation spot to fix it up. Encountering a group of college kids at a gas station, Dale attempts to chat up Allison (Katrina Bowden, Cerie on 30 Rock) but because of his shy awkwardness and low self-confidence, he ends up scaring the kids. (Perhaps it was the giant scythe he was holding at the time?)
That night they're fishing on the pond when the kids show up to go skinny dipping. They spy Allison stripping down, but she becomes aware of them and tumbles into the water, hitting her head. Dale rescues her, getting her into the boat, but the kids mistake their actions and their calling out, "We've got your friend," as an abduction and set out to rescue her, with catastrophic and hilarious consequences.
While the concept is simple and the execution predictable (and the trailer gives away half of the movie), Tucker & Dale vs. Evil coasts on a charm driven by Labine's guileless performance. He's a fuzzy puppy who wins over the girl while the popped collar preppie jerkbags operate on stereotypes and tales of previous hillbilly massacres. While gory, it's cartoonish and tasteful; if you can handle Evil Dead 2, this is cake.
Score: 7/10. Catch it on cable.
As the spoiler-heavy trailer gives away, Tucker (Alan Tudyk, Wash on Firefly) and Dale (Tyler Labine, Sock from Reaper) are a pair of hillbillies heading to a ramshackle cabin in the woods that Tucker has bought as a vacation spot to fix it up. Encountering a group of college kids at a gas station, Dale attempts to chat up Allison (Katrina Bowden, Cerie on 30 Rock) but because of his shy awkwardness and low self-confidence, he ends up scaring the kids. (Perhaps it was the giant scythe he was holding at the time?)
That night they're fishing on the pond when the kids show up to go skinny dipping. They spy Allison stripping down, but she becomes aware of them and tumbles into the water, hitting her head. Dale rescues her, getting her into the boat, but the kids mistake their actions and their calling out, "We've got your friend," as an abduction and set out to rescue her, with catastrophic and hilarious consequences.
While the concept is simple and the execution predictable (and the trailer gives away half of the movie), Tucker & Dale vs. Evil coasts on a charm driven by Labine's guileless performance. He's a fuzzy puppy who wins over the girl while the popped collar preppie jerkbags operate on stereotypes and tales of previous hillbilly massacres. While gory, it's cartoonish and tasteful; if you can handle Evil Dead 2, this is cake.
Score: 7/10. Catch it on cable.
"Sound City" Review
Tuesday, April 29, 2014
Dave Grohl, leader of the Foo Fighters and former drummer for a band few people have heard of (i.e. Scream) makes the leap to directing with Sound City, a documentary about the legendary recording studio. While sporadically interesting with some fascinating info nuggets, it's ultimately a muddle.
Sound City was a nondescript studio located in Van Nuys, CA that became a magnet for bands to record because of two things: A great-sounding live room that made drums sound excellent and one of only four Neve 8028 mixing consoles to funnel the sounds down to tape. A veritable who's who of rock royalty from Tom Petty to Fleetwood Mac to Rick Springfield mined gold and platinum records in the seedy place, proving like Muscle Shoals did that the music is in the hands, hearts and gear, not the decoration and glitz.
One of the early revelations is that if Mick Fleetwood hadn't been checking out the studio, he may never have heard the Buckingham-Nicks album which had been recorded there which led to their joining Fleetwood Mac and enough stardom to make the cocaine super-abundant. As the Eighties brought digital technology, the studio started to fall on hard times until a three-piece band from Seattle (name escapes me) recorded there, setting off a rush of bands wanting to record where Nevermind had been tracked. (There's a quick clip of Rage Against The Machine recording half of their debut album in one night live in the studio with a bunch of friends serving as an audience.)
Eventually, the cheap power of ProTools and laptop recording along with the shrinking label budgets put the studio out of business in 2011. Not wanting to let that magic Neve, which was instrumental in launching Grohl's career, slip away, he bought the board to install in his home studio and then christened it with an all-star marathon jam session with the likes of Paul McCartney, Trent Reznor, Josh Homme, Springfield, Lee Ving, Stevie Nicks and others to write and record tunes on the spot. This segment makes up the back third of the film.
While the anecdotes are cool, the fundamental problem of Sound City is that it's too scattered in its approach. Is it about a mixing board and a studio? Is it about the changes technology have forced? Is it about the need for musicians to learn their craft? Is it about pretending Stevie Nicks doesn't sound like that screaming goat that was editing into that Taylor Swift video for viral lulz? Yes to all. While it's well photographed, it's not a well focused film.
Score: 5/10. Catch it on cable if you're a recording nerd and musician trivia junkie; otherwise skip it.
Sound City was a nondescript studio located in Van Nuys, CA that became a magnet for bands to record because of two things: A great-sounding live room that made drums sound excellent and one of only four Neve 8028 mixing consoles to funnel the sounds down to tape. A veritable who's who of rock royalty from Tom Petty to Fleetwood Mac to Rick Springfield mined gold and platinum records in the seedy place, proving like Muscle Shoals did that the music is in the hands, hearts and gear, not the decoration and glitz.
One of the early revelations is that if Mick Fleetwood hadn't been checking out the studio, he may never have heard the Buckingham-Nicks album which had been recorded there which led to their joining Fleetwood Mac and enough stardom to make the cocaine super-abundant. As the Eighties brought digital technology, the studio started to fall on hard times until a three-piece band from Seattle (name escapes me) recorded there, setting off a rush of bands wanting to record where Nevermind had been tracked. (There's a quick clip of Rage Against The Machine recording half of their debut album in one night live in the studio with a bunch of friends serving as an audience.)
Eventually, the cheap power of ProTools and laptop recording along with the shrinking label budgets put the studio out of business in 2011. Not wanting to let that magic Neve, which was instrumental in launching Grohl's career, slip away, he bought the board to install in his home studio and then christened it with an all-star marathon jam session with the likes of Paul McCartney, Trent Reznor, Josh Homme, Springfield, Lee Ving, Stevie Nicks and others to write and record tunes on the spot. This segment makes up the back third of the film.
While the anecdotes are cool, the fundamental problem of Sound City is that it's too scattered in its approach. Is it about a mixing board and a studio? Is it about the changes technology have forced? Is it about the need for musicians to learn their craft? Is it about pretending Stevie Nicks doesn't sound like that screaming goat that was editing into that Taylor Swift video for viral lulz? Yes to all. While it's well photographed, it's not a well focused film.
Score: 5/10. Catch it on cable if you're a recording nerd and musician trivia junkie; otherwise skip it.
"Inside Llewyn Davis" Review
Monday, April 28, 2014
Remember when bluegrass/Americana music had that big resurgence among Volvo-driving NPR listeners in the wake of the Coen Brothers' O Brother, Where Are Though? in 2001? Did you happen to notice a similar boom in folk music in the past few months? No? Well that's because the Coens new movie, Inside Llewyn Davis simply isn't as good for reasons far beyond its porno-sounding title.
It's 1961 in New York's Greenwich Village folk scene and Davis (Oscar Issac) is a virtually homeless mess, couch-surfing from one friend and family member to another, rapidly wearing out his welcome with his prickly personality. When crashing his friends Jim and Jean's (Justin Timberlake and Carey Mulligan) place, the latter informs him she's pregnant and she blames him as if she had no participation in the matter. His manager doesn't seem to be doing anything for his career and he embarks on a surreal road trip to Chicago with a blustering jazz musician (John Goodman) and his monosyllabic driver/valet Johnny Five (Garrett Hedlund), who isn't the robot from Short Circuit. There's also a cat.
While writing the previous paragraph, I realized I was both leaving out some stuff to not spill the entire plot, but also that there isn't really that much more to it. If it wasn't for the numerous full performances of the tunes eating up about 45 minutes of the 105-minute run time, the "story" as it is would only take an hour and it's not exactly a jam-packed hour. It plays out more as a serious of vignettes and misadventures as Llewyn stumbles from self-inflicted disaster to self-inflicted disaster, but while he's a prickly jerk, it's poorly motivated and explained. He can sing and the soundtracks pre-Dylan tunes are sweet, but no explanation as to his lack of success is provided. Most damning, Llewyn not only doesn't really have a character arc but literally ends up exactly where he began the movie, confusing the timeline badly.
The performances are good, especially Mulligan who I've never thought of as anything by wanly cute, but she's one note as are pretty much all the other characters who just serve as totems for Llewyn to pass by. There are several amusing chuckles and the running gag with the cat is amusing, but the Coens manage to make that a bummer. Mostly nothing pays off. One amusing scene has Llewyn recording a novelty song with Timberlake and Adam Driver (from the Lena Dunham horror anthology series Girls) and is clearly intended to show him making a terrible business decision for short-term gain, but it never resolves due to the short timeline of the movie. If we're going to make our hero suffer, let's seem him suffer; let's get some conflict between him and the universe.
I've been critical of what I call the "pity-f*cking" of Martin Scorsese beginning with his overdue Oscar for The Departed (which wasn't that good) and subsequent mediocrities like Hugo and especially Shutter Island (which I contend would've been torched by crix if it was by Martin Smith), but it's even worse for the Coen Brothers as they are just fawned over despite their output becoming more banal and tiresome. Just look at the quotes in the trailer below; yeesh. Woody Allen used to automatically get nominated for his screenplays (he as 16 nominations, including 13 in a 20-year span; 3 wins) but while critics tend to evaluate his work on a film-by-film basis, the Coens have been getting a pass since they returned from the wilderness with the screamingly overrated No Country For Old Men, a movie which proved you can win a Best Picture Oscar with one good scene with one memorable line in it. (i.e. The coin toss scene at the gas station and the line about how long it took the quarter to get there.) Some critics were horrified that Inside Llewyn Davis wasn't nominated for everything at the Oscars this year. It would've been more unjust that it had been.
Score: 5/10. Skip it unless you're a total Coen fanboy or folk fiend.
It's 1961 in New York's Greenwich Village folk scene and Davis (Oscar Issac) is a virtually homeless mess, couch-surfing from one friend and family member to another, rapidly wearing out his welcome with his prickly personality. When crashing his friends Jim and Jean's (Justin Timberlake and Carey Mulligan) place, the latter informs him she's pregnant and she blames him as if she had no participation in the matter. His manager doesn't seem to be doing anything for his career and he embarks on a surreal road trip to Chicago with a blustering jazz musician (John Goodman) and his monosyllabic driver/valet Johnny Five (Garrett Hedlund), who isn't the robot from Short Circuit. There's also a cat.
While writing the previous paragraph, I realized I was both leaving out some stuff to not spill the entire plot, but also that there isn't really that much more to it. If it wasn't for the numerous full performances of the tunes eating up about 45 minutes of the 105-minute run time, the "story" as it is would only take an hour and it's not exactly a jam-packed hour. It plays out more as a serious of vignettes and misadventures as Llewyn stumbles from self-inflicted disaster to self-inflicted disaster, but while he's a prickly jerk, it's poorly motivated and explained. He can sing and the soundtracks pre-Dylan tunes are sweet, but no explanation as to his lack of success is provided. Most damning, Llewyn not only doesn't really have a character arc but literally ends up exactly where he began the movie, confusing the timeline badly.
The performances are good, especially Mulligan who I've never thought of as anything by wanly cute, but she's one note as are pretty much all the other characters who just serve as totems for Llewyn to pass by. There are several amusing chuckles and the running gag with the cat is amusing, but the Coens manage to make that a bummer. Mostly nothing pays off. One amusing scene has Llewyn recording a novelty song with Timberlake and Adam Driver (from the Lena Dunham horror anthology series Girls) and is clearly intended to show him making a terrible business decision for short-term gain, but it never resolves due to the short timeline of the movie. If we're going to make our hero suffer, let's seem him suffer; let's get some conflict between him and the universe.
I've been critical of what I call the "pity-f*cking" of Martin Scorsese beginning with his overdue Oscar for The Departed (which wasn't that good) and subsequent mediocrities like Hugo and especially Shutter Island (which I contend would've been torched by crix if it was by Martin Smith), but it's even worse for the Coen Brothers as they are just fawned over despite their output becoming more banal and tiresome. Just look at the quotes in the trailer below; yeesh. Woody Allen used to automatically get nominated for his screenplays (he as 16 nominations, including 13 in a 20-year span; 3 wins) but while critics tend to evaluate his work on a film-by-film basis, the Coens have been getting a pass since they returned from the wilderness with the screamingly overrated No Country For Old Men, a movie which proved you can win a Best Picture Oscar with one good scene with one memorable line in it. (i.e. The coin toss scene at the gas station and the line about how long it took the quarter to get there.) Some critics were horrified that Inside Llewyn Davis wasn't nominated for everything at the Oscars this year. It would've been more unjust that it had been.
Score: 5/10. Skip it unless you're a total Coen fanboy or folk fiend.
"Rush" Review
Saturday, April 26, 2014
Ron Howard's Rush was initially touted as a big Oscar contender, but it stalled in the pits, getting few award nominations and only modestly successful at the box office. I was vaguely familiar with the story of Niki Lauda, the Austrian Formula One racer who was horribly burned in an auto accident, but returned to racing only six weeks later, but knew little of his rivalry with British racer Jim Hunt which makes up the story of Rush.
Hunt (Chris Hemsworth, reminding that he's more than just Thor) is a brash hunky playboy with a way with the ladies including Natalie Dormer and Olivia Wilde. (Acting is just breaking rocks, innit?) Lauda (Daniel Brühl) is a rodentish, unfun taskmaster who alienates many with his brusque manner, but he knows his stuff; how to tune cars for maximum performance and then race them to victory. The early stage of the film traces the pair's rivalry as they work their way up from lower classes to the premiere F1 circuit.
Lauda wins the world championship in 1975, but in 1976 Hunt is nipping at his heels despite struggling with car troubles of his own. The fateful race is the German Grand Prix when heavy rain prompted Lauda to lobby for its cancellation since the track is already dangerous under optimal conditions. Hunt rallies the drivers to reject this call because he thinks Lauda is trying to shorten the season and protect his lead. The race goes on and there is a spectacular fiery crash. In case you suspect it's been juiced up for movie, take a look at this comparison with the real event:
Yikes! With 3rd degree burns over his face and severe lung damage due to the heat and toxic smoke, Lauda is lucky to survive, but as Hunt begins to rack up victories in his absence, he is driven (ha, pun) to get back behind the wheel as soon as possible which he does, leading up to the climatic final race, again in a pouring rain, with Lauda's point lead over Hunt not insurmountable. Rush could be suspected of tarting up that final race's results, but it's a historical fact.
Both leads are excellent though the script by Peter Morgan never truly gets us inside the drivers heads. They talk about the need for speed and their dedication/obsession with victory is visible, it's mostly surface. The women in their lives are also mostly surface as Wilde (as supermodel Suzie Miller, who'd go on to leave Hunt for Richard Burton!) and Alexandra Maria Lara as Lauda's wife (who gets a great sequence when they meet and then have to flag down a ride when their car breaks down) are just kind of there. Ron Howard has never seemed right after his Oscar win for the extremely overrated A Beautiful Mind (I actually sold the DVD and I keep almost every crappy movie I've bought) and there's not a lot of spark here, but it manages to stay in its lane efficiently.
Finally, could there be a lamer, more generic title than Rush? It says nothing; means nothing; and there are probably 50 other movies with the word in their title beginning with that Jason Patric/Jennifer Jason Leigh movie that Eric Clapton's "Tears In Heaven" originated. A better title? Race Through The Fire. It has flair and actually relates to the story. You're welcome.
Score: 7/10. Catch it on cable.
Hunt (Chris Hemsworth, reminding that he's more than just Thor) is a brash hunky playboy with a way with the ladies including Natalie Dormer and Olivia Wilde. (Acting is just breaking rocks, innit?) Lauda (Daniel Brühl) is a rodentish, unfun taskmaster who alienates many with his brusque manner, but he knows his stuff; how to tune cars for maximum performance and then race them to victory. The early stage of the film traces the pair's rivalry as they work their way up from lower classes to the premiere F1 circuit.
Lauda wins the world championship in 1975, but in 1976 Hunt is nipping at his heels despite struggling with car troubles of his own. The fateful race is the German Grand Prix when heavy rain prompted Lauda to lobby for its cancellation since the track is already dangerous under optimal conditions. Hunt rallies the drivers to reject this call because he thinks Lauda is trying to shorten the season and protect his lead. The race goes on and there is a spectacular fiery crash. In case you suspect it's been juiced up for movie, take a look at this comparison with the real event:
Yikes! With 3rd degree burns over his face and severe lung damage due to the heat and toxic smoke, Lauda is lucky to survive, but as Hunt begins to rack up victories in his absence, he is driven (ha, pun) to get back behind the wheel as soon as possible which he does, leading up to the climatic final race, again in a pouring rain, with Lauda's point lead over Hunt not insurmountable. Rush could be suspected of tarting up that final race's results, but it's a historical fact.
Both leads are excellent though the script by Peter Morgan never truly gets us inside the drivers heads. They talk about the need for speed and their dedication/obsession with victory is visible, it's mostly surface. The women in their lives are also mostly surface as Wilde (as supermodel Suzie Miller, who'd go on to leave Hunt for Richard Burton!) and Alexandra Maria Lara as Lauda's wife (who gets a great sequence when they meet and then have to flag down a ride when their car breaks down) are just kind of there. Ron Howard has never seemed right after his Oscar win for the extremely overrated A Beautiful Mind (I actually sold the DVD and I keep almost every crappy movie I've bought) and there's not a lot of spark here, but it manages to stay in its lane efficiently.
Finally, could there be a lamer, more generic title than Rush? It says nothing; means nothing; and there are probably 50 other movies with the word in their title beginning with that Jason Patric/Jennifer Jason Leigh movie that Eric Clapton's "Tears In Heaven" originated. A better title? Race Through The Fire. It has flair and actually relates to the story. You're welcome.
Score: 7/10. Catch it on cable.
"A Band Called Death" Review
Sunday, March 23, 2014
People who know nothing about music think punk started in England with the Sex Pistols and The Clash. Those who know a little about music think it started in New York City with the Ramones and the CBGB's crew. Those who really know music and can get past the media's insistence that nothing of merit comes from anywhere between the coasts know that punk's roots started in Michigan with The Stooges and the MC5. However, there was another band that could've laid claim to Founder status...if only anyone had heard of them before 2008 and that is the subject of A Band Called Death.
The trailer below gives the Reader's Digest version of the story: The Hackney brothers - David (guitar), Bobby (drums) and Dannis (bass) - were three black guys growing up in Motown-era Detroit who, inspired by The Who and Alice Cooper, shifted from R&B to what would be considered now to be proto-punk/garage rock. Dubbed Death by David, they literally picked a recording company by throwing a dart at the Yellow Pages and cut a 7-song album that was shopped and rejected by every label, partially because of their raw sound, but mostly because of their gloomy-sounding name. Clive Davis was very interested in taking on the band, but they'd have to change the name. David refused to compromise and that was pretty much that for the band.
The irony is that the name Death wasn't meant to be a downer and when they tried rebranding themselves as The 4th Movement with an overtly Christian theme (so that's where ICP got it from!), they were panned for being a good rock band, but could they keep the preaching to themselves? The brothers moved to Vermont, though David moved back to Detroit and basically drank and smoked himself to death (no pun) from lung cancer in 2000 at age 48. The remaining brothers had been touring as a reggae band and started families and their days as Death remained in their distant past until a copy of their single landed in the hands of Dirtbombs drummer and rock writer Ben Blackwell, who set off a chain of events leading to the release in 2009 of their album on Drag City Records. The part where Bobby's son relates hearing his father's voice on a record being played by a collector pal is a hoot. It also shows that it only takes one person to change fortunes as if Blackwell had just listened to it, but not told anyone, we never would've known about them. (It reminds me of how Clerks and Kevin Smith owe their fame to one man who caught a screening at a NY film festival and recommended it to Sundance's programmers.)
If there is a problem with the story of A Band Called Death it's that as interesting as the long, twisted road to notoriety for the band may be, they weren't influential to anyone because no one saw them to be influenced. The all-black hardcore punk band Bad Brains sounds similar, but they appear to have formed their sound themselves. Unlike Rodriguez, subject of the Oscar-winning doc Searching For Sugar Man (and another Detroit who had to wait 30+ years for fame to knock), who was a huge seller in South Africa (not that he knew about it), Death only became a footnote to music history by a fluke.
While the surviving brothers say they credit David for being true to the Bible verse admonition, "For what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?" it's hard to see the upside of throwing away a record deal from Clive Davis over a name that was, pardon the pun, commercial death.
The trailer below gives the Reader's Digest version of the story: The Hackney brothers - David (guitar), Bobby (drums) and Dannis (bass) - were three black guys growing up in Motown-era Detroit who, inspired by The Who and Alice Cooper, shifted from R&B to what would be considered now to be proto-punk/garage rock. Dubbed Death by David, they literally picked a recording company by throwing a dart at the Yellow Pages and cut a 7-song album that was shopped and rejected by every label, partially because of their raw sound, but mostly because of their gloomy-sounding name. Clive Davis was very interested in taking on the band, but they'd have to change the name. David refused to compromise and that was pretty much that for the band.
The irony is that the name Death wasn't meant to be a downer and when they tried rebranding themselves as The 4th Movement with an overtly Christian theme (so that's where ICP got it from!), they were panned for being a good rock band, but could they keep the preaching to themselves? The brothers moved to Vermont, though David moved back to Detroit and basically drank and smoked himself to death (no pun) from lung cancer in 2000 at age 48. The remaining brothers had been touring as a reggae band and started families and their days as Death remained in their distant past until a copy of their single landed in the hands of Dirtbombs drummer and rock writer Ben Blackwell, who set off a chain of events leading to the release in 2009 of their album on Drag City Records. The part where Bobby's son relates hearing his father's voice on a record being played by a collector pal is a hoot. It also shows that it only takes one person to change fortunes as if Blackwell had just listened to it, but not told anyone, we never would've known about them. (It reminds me of how Clerks and Kevin Smith owe their fame to one man who caught a screening at a NY film festival and recommended it to Sundance's programmers.)
If there is a problem with the story of A Band Called Death it's that as interesting as the long, twisted road to notoriety for the band may be, they weren't influential to anyone because no one saw them to be influenced. The all-black hardcore punk band Bad Brains sounds similar, but they appear to have formed their sound themselves. Unlike Rodriguez, subject of the Oscar-winning doc Searching For Sugar Man (and another Detroit who had to wait 30+ years for fame to knock), who was a huge seller in South Africa (not that he knew about it), Death only became a footnote to music history by a fluke.
While the surviving brothers say they credit David for being true to the Bible verse admonition, "For what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?" it's hard to see the upside of throwing away a record deal from Clive Davis over a name that was, pardon the pun, commercial death.
Finally, the makers commit a sin way too many other documentaries do in failing to inform us what year things are happening or how old people are. While band dates are fairly well presented, the ages of the band members aren't.
Score: 6/10. Catch it on cable.
Score: 6/10. Catch it on cable.
2014 Oscars Livesnark
Sunday, March 2, 2014
Another year, more snark, mostly on Twitter. Refresh for updates...
- If you had Ellen wearing a dress in the
#Oscars pool, what were you thinking? - Matthew McConaughey and Jared Leto are both wearing white tux jackets, so it appears they'll be serving drinks at the after-party.
#Oscars - The Somali guy from Captain Phillips is this year's Hang S. Nygor, except he won't be winning.
#Oscars - Yummy Girl! Short hair looks decent.
#Oscars - Jared Leto wins and dedicates it to his mom and bro first. Shouts out to Ukraine and Venezuela and has to be running long.
#Oscars - Ellen's opening monologue was OK. Missing Seth McFarlane now.
#Oscars Jim Carrey is scaring me. - At the rate of one award per 1/2 hour, they won't be done with the
#Oscars until sometime Tuesday. Pharrel's wearing his Malcolm McLaren hat. - At this rate, I could watch Walking Dead & Girls and only miss 3-4
#Oscars. Naomi Watts looks like she's auditioning for Young Hillary Story. - How does Catching Fire not get nominated for Costumes or Makeup
#Oscars? How about The Hobbit being snubbed for Hair & Makeup? Lame. - Channing Tate-yum comes out to intro contest winners which is the only way he'll be at the
#Oscars. Dude, your Magic Mike bro's gonna win! - It's ironic that Kim Novak is out there for animation considering her face is absolutely immobile. Scary
#Oscars time! - Kim Novak is 81. Her face is not.
#Oscars - Frozen wins for Best Animated Feature, a category Pixar's weak Monsters University wasn't even nommed for. Good. Pixar blows now.
#Oscars - Gravity wins Best VFX, filling in the Free Space on your
#Oscars bingo card. Just as with Life of Pi, if it didn't win, it was riot time. - Wouldn't it be awesome if Pharrell's dancers came out behind Karen O and whoever that guy is at the
#Oscars? Total mood clash! - Haven't seen 20 Feet From Stardom yet, but it's interesting to see the
#Oscars go for a non-political film, like Sugar Man or Motown. - Whoa, whoa, Darlene Love; who said you could mention God in front of all these people at the
#Oscars who think they are? - This Ellen wandering the audience stuff at the
#Oscars is the worst Samsung Galaxy Note 3 ad ever. OK, let's see that selfie! - Down in front, you're blocking AJ! RT If only Bradley's arm was longer. Best photo ever.
#oscars http://twitter.com/TheEllenShow/status/440322224407314432/photo/1pic.twitter.com/woVVmWVXDn - Lupita Nyong'o is the first Klingon to win at the
#Oscars. (That's what the apostrophe in her name means, right?) - Does anyone think this pizza delivery running gag that's holding up the
#Oscars show is funny? Lame callback to when Steve Martin did nosh. - HELL YEAH! Bill Murray shouts out to Harold Ramis at the
#Oscars. I don't think Gravity should've won Cinematography; it's all VFX, like Pi. - Why is Pink singing at the
#Oscars? Haven't wasted enough time been wasted on Ellen's phone ad wandering? Double-sided tape is the most worn. - Does this Oz dress blow the Ellen
#Oscars pool? Jennifer Garner is wearing Anne Hathaway's old Oscar-hosting dress. Make it swish! - Boy, sleep with the director (Baz Luhrman) and win
#Oscars! Two of them! It appears they're not going to play anyone off for talking long. - Once again, the
#Oscars People Who Died montage isn't backed by Jim Carroll's "People Who Died." It's a gimme, folks! Make it happen! - Suck it, Obama!
#Oscars https://www.inside.com/oscars/u2ejf/ellen-degeneres-selfie-shatters-retweet-record-rec - I wonder who else noticed Sarah Jones, the 27-year-old camera asst who was hit by a train the other day, when the
#Oscars went to break? - AAAIIIEEEEEEE!!!!!! Goldie Hawn, STOP WHAT YOU'RE DOING!!!! Scary
#Oscars again. - Why does Idina Menzel sound like a pitchy American Idol contestant with mushy diction when she sang it so well in the movie? Weird.
#Oscars - Glad Gravity's score won. Really did what music is supposed to do. Steven Price got a handshake from John Williams, who IS Movie Score God.
- So glad "Let It Go" won over U2's drab pander. And the writers got the EGOT! Cute acceptance speech!
#Oscars - From Undercover Brother to winning an Oscar for 12 Years A Slave. Way to go John Ridley. Whoa! Spike Jonze won?!? Play "Cannonball!"
#Oscars - Sidney Potier is 87. So is his face. Thank God for that. Alfonso Cuaron wins Best Director for his 2nd
#Oscars. Will he turn the hat trick? - Cate Blachett's
#Oscars dress looks like it has fishing lures all over it. Haven't seen Blue Jasmine yet, but Amy Adams was great in Hustle. - Matthew McConaughey (yeah, I have to Google the spelling) completes his career overhaul at the
#Oscars. 6 years ago he was in Surfer, Dude. - I guess those billboards playing the White Guilt Card - "It's time." - paid off for 12 Years A Slave at the
#Oscars. Guess I'll watch it now - Overall, Ellen was pleasant, but bland. The
#Oscars show lacked surprises and could've been under 3 hours if they'd cut the schtick.
"Dallas Buyers Club" Review
Sunday, February 23, 2014
The march through Academy Award nominee territory continues with Dallas Buyers Club, the fact-based (as far as movies go, there's loud anger from the LGBT community over changes that were made) story of Ron Woodroof (Matthew McConaughey), a rowdy Texas good ol' boy in 1985 who likes to bang women two at a time at the rodeo (uh, what happened to them?) and works as an electrician until an accident sends him to the hospital where he discovers he has full-blown AIDS and about 30 days left to live, so get your affairs in order, Tex.
In the first of several credulity-straining details, he heads to the library (Texans can read? j/k) and within days knows of experimental treatments from around the world, none of which are approved for use in America. While participating in a clinical trial of AIDS drug AZT, he meets Rayon (Jared Leto), a transgendered woman who he initially lashes out at (cuz he's a homophobe, donchaknow?) but eventually teams up with in forming a "buyers club" to distribute drugs purchased from Mexico and elsewhere. He's hoping to skirt the legal issues by charging "memberships" to join the club, but giving away the bundles of drugs and vitamins.
McConaughey and Leto are strongly favored to win Oscars for their work for good reason. While much of the attention to McConaughey's shedding of over 40 lbs for the role, he navigates the transition from roughneck to savior better than the script gives him motivation for. Ever since The Lincoln Lawyer, he's been racking up one interesting performance after another as if he turned 40 and decided he didn't want to be a joke anymore. Leto's been on a lengthy hiatus from acting while concentrating on his band, 30 Seconds To Mars, but he's going to be getting more calls for acting as he never seems to be playing Rayon (a composite character) as a drag role.
While the acting is strong, even from Jennifer Garner as a kindly doctor, the script is lacking. No one seems to have had lives before the beginning of the movie and while some have scoffed at the transition of Woodruff from stereotypical homophobe to the bestie of the Friends of Dorothy, the greater problem is the rapid expertise he seems to develop and some vagueness over whether he's a selfless humanitarian or ruthless profiteer as he sends a sick man with only $50 away with the admonition to come back with another $350. It really could've benefited from more getting to know the characters overall lives scenes to better contextualize their current struggles.
Score: 6/10. Catch it on cable.
In the first of several credulity-straining details, he heads to the library (Texans can read? j/k) and within days knows of experimental treatments from around the world, none of which are approved for use in America. While participating in a clinical trial of AIDS drug AZT, he meets Rayon (Jared Leto), a transgendered woman who he initially lashes out at (cuz he's a homophobe, donchaknow?) but eventually teams up with in forming a "buyers club" to distribute drugs purchased from Mexico and elsewhere. He's hoping to skirt the legal issues by charging "memberships" to join the club, but giving away the bundles of drugs and vitamins.
McConaughey and Leto are strongly favored to win Oscars for their work for good reason. While much of the attention to McConaughey's shedding of over 40 lbs for the role, he navigates the transition from roughneck to savior better than the script gives him motivation for. Ever since The Lincoln Lawyer, he's been racking up one interesting performance after another as if he turned 40 and decided he didn't want to be a joke anymore. Leto's been on a lengthy hiatus from acting while concentrating on his band, 30 Seconds To Mars, but he's going to be getting more calls for acting as he never seems to be playing Rayon (a composite character) as a drag role.
While the acting is strong, even from Jennifer Garner as a kindly doctor, the script is lacking. No one seems to have had lives before the beginning of the movie and while some have scoffed at the transition of Woodruff from stereotypical homophobe to the bestie of the Friends of Dorothy, the greater problem is the rapid expertise he seems to develop and some vagueness over whether he's a selfless humanitarian or ruthless profiteer as he sends a sick man with only $50 away with the admonition to come back with another $350. It really could've benefited from more getting to know the characters overall lives scenes to better contextualize their current struggles.
Score: 6/10. Catch it on cable.
"American Hustle" Review
Sunday, January 26, 2014
(Note: Because I let this sit in Draft for over a month without hard-coding the date and time of watching, this is only a guess as to when it was viewed. I'm pretty sure it was before Her, so I've put it here. Boo for sloth!)
David O. Russell has been a bit of an Oscar factory lately with his past two films - 2010's The Fighter (which won Best Supporting Oscars for Christian Bale and Melissa Leo, and a nomination for Amy Adams) and Silver Linings Playbook (Best Actress J.Law, nominations in all the other acting categories including Bradley Cooper) - continues his streak for actors with American Hustle which reunites Bale, Adams, Cooper and J.Law for a trip to 1978 to revisit the barely remembered AbScam (for "Arab scam") sting which roped in several Congressional critters.
The veracity meter is tempered right out of the box with the helpful title card stating, "Some of this actually happened," but Russell clearly isn't super interested in a history lesson as much as crafting a character study of various grifters and desperate people, though he isn't very successful because in creating his menagerie of characters to play with, he didn't really give them much to do. There's a weird timeline jump right off the bat only because it seems Russell wanted to do a long bit about Bale's ridonkulous combover hairdo. Everyone in this movie seems defined by their hair from Bale to Cooper's permed curls to J.Law's blowsy blondeness to Adams Farrah-esque waves; there's more attention to the hair than plot at times.
Muddying things further is the use of narration by some, but not all of the characters. If we're going to know what some are thinking, why not everyone? So interested in the surface elements Russell is, we never really know what's motivating the relationships. While it makes sense for single mother J.Law to latch onto a sugar daddy and Bale's dry cleaning grifter snagging a hot young MILF sorta makes sense, why not find a less ball-breaking, unencumbered woman? It feels as if a half-hour of interesting story details have been trimmed out to leave enough time for the hair and plunging necklines.
The reason the story even holds our interest is due to the stellar performances across the board. Oscar buzz is that Cate Blanchett has Best Actress locked up, but if it wasn't for her, I can't see how Amy Adams wouldn't win. Her character has a look of steely desperation in her eyes and she's so hungry for the good life, she's lost her grip on who she really is. I've seen reviews dissing her dodgy British accent, but those critics clearly weren't paying attention as to why that is. J.Law is a blowsy hoot and if she hadn't won an Oscar last year and wasn't so young, she'd probably win here. Cooper, Bale, Renner and even Louis C.K. are money. Too bad the story doesn't groove as much as it hustles.
Score: 5/10. Catch it on cable.
David O. Russell has been a bit of an Oscar factory lately with his past two films - 2010's The Fighter (which won Best Supporting Oscars for Christian Bale and Melissa Leo, and a nomination for Amy Adams) and Silver Linings Playbook (Best Actress J.Law, nominations in all the other acting categories including Bradley Cooper) - continues his streak for actors with American Hustle which reunites Bale, Adams, Cooper and J.Law for a trip to 1978 to revisit the barely remembered AbScam (for "Arab scam") sting which roped in several Congressional critters.
The veracity meter is tempered right out of the box with the helpful title card stating, "Some of this actually happened," but Russell clearly isn't super interested in a history lesson as much as crafting a character study of various grifters and desperate people, though he isn't very successful because in creating his menagerie of characters to play with, he didn't really give them much to do. There's a weird timeline jump right off the bat only because it seems Russell wanted to do a long bit about Bale's ridonkulous combover hairdo. Everyone in this movie seems defined by their hair from Bale to Cooper's permed curls to J.Law's blowsy blondeness to Adams Farrah-esque waves; there's more attention to the hair than plot at times.
Muddying things further is the use of narration by some, but not all of the characters. If we're going to know what some are thinking, why not everyone? So interested in the surface elements Russell is, we never really know what's motivating the relationships. While it makes sense for single mother J.Law to latch onto a sugar daddy and Bale's dry cleaning grifter snagging a hot young MILF sorta makes sense, why not find a less ball-breaking, unencumbered woman? It feels as if a half-hour of interesting story details have been trimmed out to leave enough time for the hair and plunging necklines.
The reason the story even holds our interest is due to the stellar performances across the board. Oscar buzz is that Cate Blanchett has Best Actress locked up, but if it wasn't for her, I can't see how Amy Adams wouldn't win. Her character has a look of steely desperation in her eyes and she's so hungry for the good life, she's lost her grip on who she really is. I've seen reviews dissing her dodgy British accent, but those critics clearly weren't paying attention as to why that is. J.Law is a blowsy hoot and if she hadn't won an Oscar last year and wasn't so young, she'd probably win here. Cooper, Bale, Renner and even Louis C.K. are money. Too bad the story doesn't groove as much as it hustles.
Score: 5/10. Catch it on cable.
"Gravity" Review
Tuesday, January 14, 2014
My original review is here and my overall impression and score remain the same, but after watching a very clean, Blu-ray quality copy - I'll definitely be buying the BD if it comes loaded with extras as it should - I've got some further thoughts, pro and con with some light spoilers:
If the damn dialog wasn't so clunky I probably would've bumped my score up a point. Gravity is a breathtaking thrill ride with stunning visuals, but it tries so hard for metaphor on one hand and spoon feeds us like we're idiots with the other that it gets weighed down when it should float. (Yes, I see what I did there.)
Score: 8/10. Watch it.
* In my review of the Avatar DVD I thrash the terrible Basil Exposition Hall of Shame handling of the "This is Unobtainium. This is why we're here." scene which has people who already know this stuff talking to each other in order to inform the audience.
- The Visual Effects Oscar goes to this or there will be (or should be) riots. Just as with Life of Pi, if the VFX don't work, you literally have nothing. I've seen only one thing showing how it was done, but can't find it online. If people knew how this movie was made with almost nothing on the screen being real, they'd really be impressed.
- Same goes for Sound Mixing (or whatever its called) because the subtle and realistic use of audio. Notice that you only hear the people breathing or the mechanical vibrations of things that are touched. This isn't Star Wars where things go boom; there are scenes where massive destruction is occurring in silence other than the effective score.
- When the movie came out, nerd killjoys like Neil deGrasse Tyson whined about the "inaccuracies" of the movie like how Bullock's character was undertrained and the orbits were wrong and the space stations aren't that close and astronauts wear diapers so those hot bike shorts she's wearing are wrong and her hair wasn't floating correctly and blah-blah-woof-woof. We don't have a space program, there was no shuttle Explorer and IT'S A MOVIE, not a documentary, but woe to a dramatic story not being shot on location say the nerds. Screw 'em.
- On second viewing, the clunky Unobtainium* dialog in the early going really, really sucks. When Clooney asks Bullock how long she trained (A: 6 months) it pretends shuttle mission crews don't train together, but when Mission Control explains that the shrapnel from the satellite is "traveling like a high-speed bullet up to your altitude," that's simply terrible. Are there "slow-speed" bullets? Why would MC say this? If Bullock asked and the incoming trouble, "How bad is that?" and Clooney replied, "Pretty bad. We've got a scrapyard coming our way at 17,000 per hour," it would've told viewers what they needed to know in an organic manner with some color.
So many movies are packed with such terrible dialog these days it's as if during the writing, development, rewriting and filming (or even post as dialog patches could be applied in ADR), no one noticed that this is drivel. I'm not asking for Paddy Chayefsky-caliber speechifying; just not clunky trash. - Sandra Bullock really does good work here and it was lucky for the production that they got her over the super-human Angelina Jolie because she brings a sense of normalcy some larger-than-life stars may've had their outsize lives adding baggage to our perception. Bullock is likeable, so we're already rooting for her, but as she gets put through the mill, we really feel for her pain. She spends most of the movie alone and the only duff notes are those the script occasionally makes her sing. She's going to get an Oscar nomination for this in a couple of days. Don't know if she'll win - haven't seen Cate Blanchett in Blue Jasmine yet - but as my girlfriend noted, "She was better than Tom Hanks talking a volleyball for 2 hours." Indeed.
- I was watching this on a 60" HDTV and it really made me want to road trip back to the theater I suffered my theatrical experience at and junk-punch the manager and projectionist. While I had proper brightness, it simply deserved to be seen properly on a huge movie screen. Jerks.
If the damn dialog wasn't so clunky I probably would've bumped my score up a point. Gravity is a breathtaking thrill ride with stunning visuals, but it tries so hard for metaphor on one hand and spoon feeds us like we're idiots with the other that it gets weighed down when it should float. (Yes, I see what I did there.)
Score: 8/10. Watch it.
* In my review of the Avatar DVD I thrash the terrible Basil Exposition Hall of Shame handling of the "This is Unobtainium. This is why we're here." scene which has people who already know this stuff talking to each other in order to inform the audience.
"Broken City" Review
Monday, January 6, 2014
For some reason, Hollywood keeps making potboiler thrillers about corruption in New York's City Hall set in an alternate universe version of NYC where the Mayor isn't someone everyone is aware of by default. While fictional Presidents have always happened and not felt weird (though it's gotten more political in the past 15 years; face it, 24's David Palmer is why Obama is President; people thought he'd be like the TV version; whoops!), the four men who ran NYC over the past 36 years (Koch, Dinkins, Giuliani, Bloomberg) are so familiar, it just seems nuts to pretend Al Pacino or Russell Crowe is living in Gracie Mansion.
Anyhoo, in Broken City, Mayor Gladiator hires small-time private detective Marky Mark to follow his wife (Catherine Zeta-Jones) whom he suspects is having an affair. Marky used to be a cop until a shooting under sketchy circumstances ended his career 7 years earlier, but connected him to the mayor, which is why he was brought in. With election day coming and a strong challenge based on populist class-warfare rhetoric by City Councilman Barry Pepper, Marky is under pressure to find out what the wife is up to in time. However, she catches on to her being tailed and warns Marky that things aren't what they seem. Of course not.
With a convoluted script about shady real estate dealings and mostly flat performances with the exception of Crowe (who's weirdly random) and Jeffrey Wright (who seems to know he's in a crappy movie and goes for it), Broken City just goes nowhere slowly. Subplots about Marky's actress girlfriend ring false and his relationship with his Girl Friday (a spunky Alona Tal, who was Jo on Supernatural) at the end seems tacked on needlessly. Marky is too deadpan and the rest of the cast is wasted.
Score: 4/10. Skip it.
Anyhoo, in Broken City, Mayor Gladiator hires small-time private detective Marky Mark to follow his wife (Catherine Zeta-Jones) whom he suspects is having an affair. Marky used to be a cop until a shooting under sketchy circumstances ended his career 7 years earlier, but connected him to the mayor, which is why he was brought in. With election day coming and a strong challenge based on populist class-warfare rhetoric by City Councilman Barry Pepper, Marky is under pressure to find out what the wife is up to in time. However, she catches on to her being tailed and warns Marky that things aren't what they seem. Of course not.
With a convoluted script about shady real estate dealings and mostly flat performances with the exception of Crowe (who's weirdly random) and Jeffrey Wright (who seems to know he's in a crappy movie and goes for it), Broken City just goes nowhere slowly. Subplots about Marky's actress girlfriend ring false and his relationship with his Girl Friday (a spunky Alona Tal, who was Jo on Supernatural) at the end seems tacked on needlessly. Marky is too deadpan and the rest of the cast is wasted.
Score: 4/10. Skip it.
"Room 237" Review
When is a documentary not a documentary? (No, not like when liars like Michael Moore or Al Gore release polemics and fairy tales with a “documentary” label.) A: When instead of, you know, documenting a subject but instead have a bunch of apparently crazy people wildly speculate as to the meaning of something, in this case Stanley Kubrick’s version of Stephen King’s The Shining, which gets some freaky interpretations in Room 237.
In case you're unaware of The Shining's plot, it's about Jack Nicholson going insane while working as a winter caretaker in a Colorado hotel with his wife and son. He's a novelist working on his latest book, but evil forces, redrum, all work and no play and here's Johnny! Well, if you think it's about evil spirits and a weird kid, you're totally wrong according to the nuts featured here. The Shining is about the Evil White Man genocide of the Injuns. No, wait, it's about the Holocaust. Hold on, it's about a minotaur! You're all wrong, it's Kubrick's confession that he faked the Moon landing!!! Oy vey.
Making the tinfoil-hatted speculation even more surreal is the use of footage from multiple Kubrick films beyond The Shining and other footage to illustrate the narration of the never-seen crackpots. The film opens with Tom Cruise in Eyes Wide Shut looking at a club window which has posters for The Shining cleverly composited into the shot. My first reaction was, "How did they get all this footage cleared?" but as things got more removed from reality, that was the least of my worries. They all seem to believe that because Kubrick was so brilliant and obsessive with detail, there is no way that anything and everything on the screen is anything but a coded message they can't believe everyone else isn't seeing.
The basic problem, other than it's nothing but a collection of obsessive Rorschaching of the movie where every picture on a wall "proves" whatever nutty concept they've projected onto it, is that it stays long past its welcome, cramming perhaps 75 minutes of content into a 102-minute box. I've seen a lengthy thing online about the Moon landing theory which went way more in depth than what gets mentioned in Room 237 and it's too bad because it's better "reasoned" than the stuff about a German typewriter meaning Holocaust. The most-interesting segment involves the juxtapositions that occur when a copy of the movie is projected reversed (i.e. starting at the end) atop a forward-running copy. The snippets are intriguing, but mostly in the way playing Dark Side of the Moon over The Wizard of Oz is.
Since movies - as with any art - can be open to interpretation, what's crazy about The Shining weirdos isn't that they're seeing something, but they've gone all the way down the rabbit hole elevating what are probably continuity errors into Rosetta Stones for their fevered imagination.
I've always read the ending of Ghost World, when Enid gets on the bus out of town, represents her committing suicide. (Go to the bottom for full explanation.) I've pitched this interpretation to several friends and no one agrees, but they acknowledge my reasoning isn't particularly kooky. The difference is that I'm not making a Federal case out of it like these shining happy people.
Score: 3/10. Skip it.
Throughout Ghost World there is a running bit where Enid (Thora Birch) encounters an old man sitting on a bench waiting for the bus. She tells him that the bus no longer runs through here, but he dismisses her saying she's wrong and one day she eventually sees the bench empty, the man gone. At the end of the movie, after pretty much thoroughly trashing her life and friendships, she packs a suitcase and goes to the bench. A bus comes along and she gets on it, riding out of town into the credits.
I've always thought the man's disappearance meant he'd died and her going to the bench and getting on the bus meant she killed herself. While putting this part together, I Googled and found a lot of people apparently share my interpretation, though the Wikipedia page reveals this: "Enid’s eventual fate in Ghost World is not explicitly shown; however, she does pack her bags and leave the city on a bus after her relationship with Rebecca ends. In a 2002 interview[5] Daniel Clowes and Terry Zwigoff were asked if the ending of the film adaptation was a metaphor for suicide. Daniel replied "Yeah, it could be. It’s hard to figure out why people have that response. The first time I heard that I said, 'What? You’re out of your mind. What are you talking about?' But I’ve heard that hundreds of times."
Maybe his subconscious slipped it in and he can't see it, mang!
In case you're unaware of The Shining's plot, it's about Jack Nicholson going insane while working as a winter caretaker in a Colorado hotel with his wife and son. He's a novelist working on his latest book, but evil forces, redrum, all work and no play and here's Johnny! Well, if you think it's about evil spirits and a weird kid, you're totally wrong according to the nuts featured here. The Shining is about the Evil White Man genocide of the Injuns. No, wait, it's about the Holocaust. Hold on, it's about a minotaur! You're all wrong, it's Kubrick's confession that he faked the Moon landing!!! Oy vey.
Making the tinfoil-hatted speculation even more surreal is the use of footage from multiple Kubrick films beyond The Shining and other footage to illustrate the narration of the never-seen crackpots. The film opens with Tom Cruise in Eyes Wide Shut looking at a club window which has posters for The Shining cleverly composited into the shot. My first reaction was, "How did they get all this footage cleared?" but as things got more removed from reality, that was the least of my worries. They all seem to believe that because Kubrick was so brilliant and obsessive with detail, there is no way that anything and everything on the screen is anything but a coded message they can't believe everyone else isn't seeing.
The basic problem, other than it's nothing but a collection of obsessive Rorschaching of the movie where every picture on a wall "proves" whatever nutty concept they've projected onto it, is that it stays long past its welcome, cramming perhaps 75 minutes of content into a 102-minute box. I've seen a lengthy thing online about the Moon landing theory which went way more in depth than what gets mentioned in Room 237 and it's too bad because it's better "reasoned" than the stuff about a German typewriter meaning Holocaust. The most-interesting segment involves the juxtapositions that occur when a copy of the movie is projected reversed (i.e. starting at the end) atop a forward-running copy. The snippets are intriguing, but mostly in the way playing Dark Side of the Moon over The Wizard of Oz is.
Since movies - as with any art - can be open to interpretation, what's crazy about The Shining weirdos isn't that they're seeing something, but they've gone all the way down the rabbit hole elevating what are probably continuity errors into Rosetta Stones for their fevered imagination.
I've always read the ending of Ghost World, when Enid gets on the bus out of town, represents her committing suicide. (Go to the bottom for full explanation.) I've pitched this interpretation to several friends and no one agrees, but they acknowledge my reasoning isn't particularly kooky. The difference is that I'm not making a Federal case out of it like these shining happy people.
Score: 3/10. Skip it.
Throughout Ghost World there is a running bit where Enid (Thora Birch) encounters an old man sitting on a bench waiting for the bus. She tells him that the bus no longer runs through here, but he dismisses her saying she's wrong and one day she eventually sees the bench empty, the man gone. At the end of the movie, after pretty much thoroughly trashing her life and friendships, she packs a suitcase and goes to the bench. A bus comes along and she gets on it, riding out of town into the credits.
I've always thought the man's disappearance meant he'd died and her going to the bench and getting on the bus meant she killed herself. While putting this part together, I Googled and found a lot of people apparently share my interpretation, though the Wikipedia page reveals this: "Enid’s eventual fate in Ghost World is not explicitly shown; however, she does pack her bags and leave the city on a bus after her relationship with Rebecca ends. In a 2002 interview[5] Daniel Clowes and Terry Zwigoff were asked if the ending of the film adaptation was a metaphor for suicide. Daniel replied "Yeah, it could be. It’s hard to figure out why people have that response. The first time I heard that I said, 'What? You’re out of your mind. What are you talking about?' But I’ve heard that hundreds of times."
Maybe his subconscious slipped it in and he can't see it, mang!
"Prisoners" Review
Thursday, January 2, 2014
A veritable murderers row of Oscar-nominees - Hugh Jackman, Mario Bello, Terrance Howard, Viola Davis, Jake Gyllenhaal - plus Oscar-winner Melissa Leo star in the Oscar-baiting, but overlooked Prisoners.
Jackman and Bello are a Pennsylvanian couple who spend Thanksgiving with Howard and Davis. While the family relaxes after dinner, the young daughters of both couples go outside and disappear into thin air. While out walking with their older siblings (both families also have a teenager; son for Jackman, daughter for Howard), a creepy RV was spotted and is immediately suspected of being involved and is promptly spotted and its driver (Paul Dano) apprehended.
However, there is no forensic evidence of the girls inside the and Dano's character has the mental capacity of a 10-year-old. It doesn't seem possible that he was involved, so the police turn him loose over Jackman's objections and when Dano says something to Jackman on the way out, the latter decides to take matters into his own hands, abducting Dano and sequestering him in an abandoned building where he proceeds to cajole him into cooperating and by that I mean brutally beat and torture him to the great angst and consternation of Howard.
While the performances across the board are top-notch - forget his nomination for Les Miz; Jackman should've been nommed for The Fountain - and the cinematography by the ever-a-bridesmaid-never-an-Oscar-winner Roger Deakins (Skyfall, The Shawshank Redemption, 11 Coen Brothers movies!) is beautifully gloomy, there is something airless in the tension that director Denis Villeneuve spreads out over a 2-1/2 hour length which never feels slow as much as moving in place.
With all the time spent, we never really get inside the heads of most of the characters and their motivations. Gyllenhaal's Detective Loki (really, no one thought that post-Avengers that a different name might be appropriate?) has supposedly solved every case he's had, but misses a HUGE detail connecting a seemingly unrelated discovery to his case (that I spotted) until dramatic necessity allows him to connect those dots. A second suspect adds to the mystery, but ultimately matters nada. When all the pieces fall into place, it turns out the picture isn't as compelling as it was when half-assembled.
Score: 7/10. Catch it on cable.
Jackman and Bello are a Pennsylvanian couple who spend Thanksgiving with Howard and Davis. While the family relaxes after dinner, the young daughters of both couples go outside and disappear into thin air. While out walking with their older siblings (both families also have a teenager; son for Jackman, daughter for Howard), a creepy RV was spotted and is immediately suspected of being involved and is promptly spotted and its driver (Paul Dano) apprehended.
However, there is no forensic evidence of the girls inside the and Dano's character has the mental capacity of a 10-year-old. It doesn't seem possible that he was involved, so the police turn him loose over Jackman's objections and when Dano says something to Jackman on the way out, the latter decides to take matters into his own hands, abducting Dano and sequestering him in an abandoned building where he proceeds to cajole him into cooperating and by that I mean brutally beat and torture him to the great angst and consternation of Howard.
While the performances across the board are top-notch - forget his nomination for Les Miz; Jackman should've been nommed for The Fountain - and the cinematography by the ever-a-bridesmaid-never-an-Oscar-winner Roger Deakins (Skyfall, The Shawshank Redemption, 11 Coen Brothers movies!) is beautifully gloomy, there is something airless in the tension that director Denis Villeneuve spreads out over a 2-1/2 hour length which never feels slow as much as moving in place.
With all the time spent, we never really get inside the heads of most of the characters and their motivations. Gyllenhaal's Detective Loki (really, no one thought that post-Avengers that a different name might be appropriate?) has supposedly solved every case he's had, but misses a HUGE detail connecting a seemingly unrelated discovery to his case (that I spotted) until dramatic necessity allows him to connect those dots. A second suspect adds to the mystery, but ultimately matters nada. When all the pieces fall into place, it turns out the picture isn't as compelling as it was when half-assembled.
Score: 7/10. Catch it on cable.
"Sellebrity" Review
Wednesday, January 1, 2014
Kicking off the New Year with Sellebrity, a documentary by celebrity photographer Kevin Mazur about the pernicious and symbiotic relationship celebrities have with the paparazzi who hunt them. Mazur is a A-list shooter and that allows him to get a good batch of AAA stars to sit for interviews including Jennifer Aniston, Elton John, Jennifer Lopez and Marc Anthony, Kid Rock and Secretariat Jessica Parker as well as an assortment of paparazzi, publicists, magazine editors and others from this interconnected world.
While it's a fast-moving and fairly focused exploration of how the celebrity publicity racket has evolved (devolved) from tightly-controlled product from studios to anyone with a cell phone able to snap celebs 24/7, it doesn't really dig too deeply into how, if it's even possible, to break the cycle. When you see a small army of shooters aiming at SJP while she walks her son to school or the large armies staking out clubs and nail salons, it's hard to not sympathize and think things are out of hand and something needs to be done about it.
It really comes down to the public not buying the magazines and visiting the sites that traffic in the minutia of celebrity. No demand, no need for supply, and I'm speaking as someone who has sold "paparazzi" photos to major publications for some nice coin.
Score: 7/10. Watch it.
It's available on Amazon Instant Video, free for Prime members. I don't know if Netflix has it because CanIStream.it doesn't return any hits.
While it's a fast-moving and fairly focused exploration of how the celebrity publicity racket has evolved (devolved) from tightly-controlled product from studios to anyone with a cell phone able to snap celebs 24/7, it doesn't really dig too deeply into how, if it's even possible, to break the cycle. When you see a small army of shooters aiming at SJP while she walks her son to school or the large armies staking out clubs and nail salons, it's hard to not sympathize and think things are out of hand and something needs to be done about it.
It really comes down to the public not buying the magazines and visiting the sites that traffic in the minutia of celebrity. No demand, no need for supply, and I'm speaking as someone who has sold "paparazzi" photos to major publications for some nice coin.
Score: 7/10. Watch it.
It's available on Amazon Instant Video, free for Prime members. I don't know if Netflix has it because CanIStream.it doesn't return any hits.
"Don Jon" Review
Monday, December 30, 2013
Joseph Gordon-Levitt has sure come far from being "the kid on 3rd Rock From The Sun" and he now adds "writer/director" to his CV with the impressive, but ultimately not-totally-satisfying Don Jon.
He also stars as the titular Jon, a stereotypical Jersey Shore-esque Italian-American Guido who likes to work out, hang with his bros, score with the hot ladies at the club and watch and jerk off to lots and lots and LOTS of online porn. You know, typical male guy stuff or something. His crank-yanking habit hits a snag when he starts dating Scarlett Johansson, who doesn't let him bed her immediately and who seems to be The One though she has some MAJOR problems with his looking at porn. (This isn't as crazy as it sounds. I once dated a girl who was appalled that 19-year-old me was a Playboy subscriber because she thought she should be enough for me.)At her urging (read: badgering), he starts to take a night class and cuts back on the porn (his real extramarital sex vs. porn wanking ratios are tracked via his confessions), but there's something wrong with how this is happening, so problems ensue.
There's a lot to like about Don Jon. JGL has a snappy eye and ear and the cinematography and editing are ace. However, there are some tonal issues which really threaten things late with the character played by Julianne Moore. She's set up sketchily and there is a detail about her that is too heavy (no, she's not fat) for the overall light tone of the rest of the film and frankly, what she teaches Jon seems rushed and too pat. I just didn't quite buy what she was supposed to represent; it's as if JGL wanted to end with a Deep Thought About Love when the previous 85% of the movie was of a different stripe.
That said, there are some astute observations, particularly about how rom-coms are the woman's version of pornography, presenting unrealistic images of what relationships are about. (I'm not going to spoil who the cast of Special Someone is but to say that the guy is sure getting around for wacky cameos.) ScarJo is also very good as a gum-cracking ball-breaker and it's interesting to see her play what is ultimately a beyatch. It's too bad that JGL totally passes on the appropriate comeback for their final scene; both my girlfriend and I agreed on what the line should've been.
Score: 7.5/10. Rent it.
He also stars as the titular Jon, a stereotypical Jersey Shore-esque Italian-American Guido who likes to work out, hang with his bros, score with the hot ladies at the club and watch and jerk off to lots and lots and LOTS of online porn. You know, typical male guy stuff or something. His crank-yanking habit hits a snag when he starts dating Scarlett Johansson, who doesn't let him bed her immediately and who seems to be The One though she has some MAJOR problems with his looking at porn. (This isn't as crazy as it sounds. I once dated a girl who was appalled that 19-year-old me was a Playboy subscriber because she thought she should be enough for me.)At her urging (read: badgering), he starts to take a night class and cuts back on the porn (his real extramarital sex vs. porn wanking ratios are tracked via his confessions), but there's something wrong with how this is happening, so problems ensue.
There's a lot to like about Don Jon. JGL has a snappy eye and ear and the cinematography and editing are ace. However, there are some tonal issues which really threaten things late with the character played by Julianne Moore. She's set up sketchily and there is a detail about her that is too heavy (no, she's not fat) for the overall light tone of the rest of the film and frankly, what she teaches Jon seems rushed and too pat. I just didn't quite buy what she was supposed to represent; it's as if JGL wanted to end with a Deep Thought About Love when the previous 85% of the movie was of a different stripe.
That said, there are some astute observations, particularly about how rom-coms are the woman's version of pornography, presenting unrealistic images of what relationships are about. (I'm not going to spoil who the cast of Special Someone is but to say that the guy is sure getting around for wacky cameos.) ScarJo is also very good as a gum-cracking ball-breaker and it's interesting to see her play what is ultimately a beyatch. It's too bad that JGL totally passes on the appropriate comeback for their final scene; both my girlfriend and I agreed on what the line should've been.
Score: 7.5/10. Rent it.
"Runner Runner" Review
Saturday, December 28, 2013
Runner Runner is one of those movies that isn't bad as much as inconsequentially not very good. Justin Timberlake stars as a Princeton business student who attempts to make his tuition bill - which apparently is $60,000 in one lump due - by playing online poker, only to lose despite the odds. He discovers he was cheated by the site and decides to go to Costa Rica to confront the elusive operator (Ben Affleck) whom he meets rather easily and is immediately ushered into the inner circle of money and more money. Unfortunately, there's an FBI agent (a snappy Anthony Mackie) leaning on him to help bust Affleck, problems with his gambling addict father, the hot woman (Gemma Arterton) he works with who may be Affleck's squeeze, too, and corrupt local officials demanding a bigger cut of the action.
And that's pretty much it and you can probably guess how the major story beats play out. It's a short 90-minutes long and that brevity comes at the expense of anything like deep characterizations, understandable motivations, or logical schemes and counter-schemes. Everything just sort of happens without much impact. Timberlake is OK but I was looking at Affleck with an eye as to how he's going to play Batman in the Man of Steel sequel. (He's definitely got the chin.) There's just not enough there there to get involved with or offended by.
Score: 4/10. Skip it.
And that's pretty much it and you can probably guess how the major story beats play out. It's a short 90-minutes long and that brevity comes at the expense of anything like deep characterizations, understandable motivations, or logical schemes and counter-schemes. Everything just sort of happens without much impact. Timberlake is OK but I was looking at Affleck with an eye as to how he's going to play Batman in the Man of Steel sequel. (He's definitely got the chin.) There's just not enough there there to get involved with or offended by.
Score: 4/10. Skip it.
"Elysium" Review
Wednesday, December 11, 2013
Neill Blomkamp's 2009 feature debut, District 9, would've garnered my vote for Best Picture out the Academy Awards nominees that year. It was a sharp sci-fi tale whose political undertones were the antithesis of Avatar's heavy-handed clobbering of the audience with a placard; if you got the allegories or not, the story worked. However, as word started seeping out that his big-budget follow-up Elysium was a class-warfare story tapping into the envy madness of the Occupy Wall Street morons, I became concerned and when reviews confirmed it was pretty much as I feared - even some liberal critics were complaining about how heavy-handed it was - I decided to give it a miss in the theaters. Why should I shell out cash to be lectured by a multi-millionaire celebrity like star Matt Damon about how greedy I am when he himself is part of the rich elites who are supposedly the villains ruining everything?
While watching Elysium from my couch, I rapidly realized that its biggest problem wasn't the simple-minded "Poor people GOOD! Rich people BAD!" politics as much as it was a stupid story filled with unsympathetic and poorly-motivated characters. Matt Damon's dying poor man driven to desperate measures is an ex-con who brings a lot of his misfortune upon himself and if Blomkamp was trying to make him a complicated and conflicted reluctant hero, he fails, partially on the page and in Damon's meathead performance. (Note: While Damon is a douche offscreen, I generally like his work. Unlike some, I can cope with the toxic hypocritical politics of most celebutards and enjoy their work, but he's just weak here.)
Then there are the myriad dumb things we're supposed to just accept like Jodie Foster's evil defense director of Elysium ordering renegade shuttles bringing dirty poor people to the station shot down by her sleeper agent Kruger (an off-the-chain Sharlto Copely who appears to have decided to be in his own movie) with a shoulder mounted rocket launcher and we're supposed to believe the rockets were able to catch up to speedy ships with a couple hundred mile head start. (Aren't there defense guns on the station if this is a problem?) That badass exoskeleton bolted to Damon is put on over his clothing raising the question of how he ever showers or changes clothes. The top of Elysium's ring world is open to space, but the air doesn't leak out. Huh?
Where the world-building really fails is explaining how this system works. Yeah, yeah, the rich suck and built a space station (think: gated community) to get away from the po' folks (think: Detroit) and they hog magic medical beds in every house that can cure cancer or reconstruct broken bones and blasted faces in seconds, but if the filmmakers were trying to make a statement about the need for universal health care, they don't really explain why this magic devices aren't ubiquitous. We're just to accept that it's Mean Rich People being mean and rich, but at the movie's end we see shuttles filled with beds heading to Earth to cure the peasants. Why do these ships exist? Heck, why do people have med beds in their homes to eradicate their skin cancer cells; can't they have a community bed at the clubhouse like a tanning bed?
Even Foster's scheme begs the question: How is Elysium's government set up that a chunk of computer code can reboot the station, replace the President and allow someone to change the status of the billions of people on Earth to citizens. I get that there isn't time to explain everything, but Elysium explains absolutely nothing about how the world came to be that way. It's just, "Things sucked, so the evil rich people moved out, leaving us noble poor folks behind to suffer." Just as Avatar refused to explain what was so important about Unobtainium so as to not cloud the Manichean preaching, Elysium begs the question and hopes we'll just accept it and get on with the bone-crunching bone-head story.
Speaking of Foster, she's simply awful here; even more cartoonish than the rest of the cartoons. Sporting a severe coif and an accent even more indeterminate than Idris Elba's mess in Pacific Rim. I don't think I've ever seen a performance from her that could be described as bad, but I guess there's a first time for everything. Granted, lousy characters begin on the page, but she's nearly twirling her metaphoric mustache here. (If you want to see a better version of Jodie being sexy bad, check out Spike Lee's Inside Man.)
With all the dumb, noisy stuff going on, the excellent production design and visual effects work gets lost in the shuffle. District 9 had a very natural look in the way its prawns were integrated into the environments (though I've got to imagine the poor VFX artists trying to keep the aliens feet on the ground within the handheld camera work weren't too thrilled with the task) and that carries over here as well with few exceptions. Whether its the way the Mexico City and Vancouver locations are altered and extended to be the slums of LA and the space station or the robot cops oppressing the people, it looks and feels real which only makes the dunderheaded script feel worse.
As "income inequality" is being hyped up by a liberal media desperate to distract from their President's failed ObamaCare disaster, we'll probably see another attempt to have Elysium propped up as an Important Parable after it disappointed at the box office. While that's BS, the fundamental problem with Elysium isn't its trite politics but it's flaccid and thin story.
Score: 3/10. Skip it.
While watching Elysium from my couch, I rapidly realized that its biggest problem wasn't the simple-minded "Poor people GOOD! Rich people BAD!" politics as much as it was a stupid story filled with unsympathetic and poorly-motivated characters. Matt Damon's dying poor man driven to desperate measures is an ex-con who brings a lot of his misfortune upon himself and if Blomkamp was trying to make him a complicated and conflicted reluctant hero, he fails, partially on the page and in Damon's meathead performance. (Note: While Damon is a douche offscreen, I generally like his work. Unlike some, I can cope with the toxic hypocritical politics of most celebutards and enjoy their work, but he's just weak here.)
Then there are the myriad dumb things we're supposed to just accept like Jodie Foster's evil defense director of Elysium ordering renegade shuttles bringing dirty poor people to the station shot down by her sleeper agent Kruger (an off-the-chain Sharlto Copely who appears to have decided to be in his own movie) with a shoulder mounted rocket launcher and we're supposed to believe the rockets were able to catch up to speedy ships with a couple hundred mile head start. (Aren't there defense guns on the station if this is a problem?) That badass exoskeleton bolted to Damon is put on over his clothing raising the question of how he ever showers or changes clothes. The top of Elysium's ring world is open to space, but the air doesn't leak out. Huh?
Where the world-building really fails is explaining how this system works. Yeah, yeah, the rich suck and built a space station (think: gated community) to get away from the po' folks (think: Detroit) and they hog magic medical beds in every house that can cure cancer or reconstruct broken bones and blasted faces in seconds, but if the filmmakers were trying to make a statement about the need for universal health care, they don't really explain why this magic devices aren't ubiquitous. We're just to accept that it's Mean Rich People being mean and rich, but at the movie's end we see shuttles filled with beds heading to Earth to cure the peasants. Why do these ships exist? Heck, why do people have med beds in their homes to eradicate their skin cancer cells; can't they have a community bed at the clubhouse like a tanning bed?
Even Foster's scheme begs the question: How is Elysium's government set up that a chunk of computer code can reboot the station, replace the President and allow someone to change the status of the billions of people on Earth to citizens. I get that there isn't time to explain everything, but Elysium explains absolutely nothing about how the world came to be that way. It's just, "Things sucked, so the evil rich people moved out, leaving us noble poor folks behind to suffer." Just as Avatar refused to explain what was so important about Unobtainium so as to not cloud the Manichean preaching, Elysium begs the question and hopes we'll just accept it and get on with the bone-crunching bone-head story.
Speaking of Foster, she's simply awful here; even more cartoonish than the rest of the cartoons. Sporting a severe coif and an accent even more indeterminate than Idris Elba's mess in Pacific Rim. I don't think I've ever seen a performance from her that could be described as bad, but I guess there's a first time for everything. Granted, lousy characters begin on the page, but she's nearly twirling her metaphoric mustache here. (If you want to see a better version of Jodie being sexy bad, check out Spike Lee's Inside Man.)
With all the dumb, noisy stuff going on, the excellent production design and visual effects work gets lost in the shuffle. District 9 had a very natural look in the way its prawns were integrated into the environments (though I've got to imagine the poor VFX artists trying to keep the aliens feet on the ground within the handheld camera work weren't too thrilled with the task) and that carries over here as well with few exceptions. Whether its the way the Mexico City and Vancouver locations are altered and extended to be the slums of LA and the space station or the robot cops oppressing the people, it looks and feels real which only makes the dunderheaded script feel worse.
As "income inequality" is being hyped up by a liberal media desperate to distract from their President's failed ObamaCare disaster, we'll probably see another attempt to have Elysium propped up as an Important Parable after it disappointed at the box office. While that's BS, the fundamental problem with Elysium isn't its trite politics but it's flaccid and thin story.
Score: 3/10. Skip it.
"Snitch" Review
Sunday, December 8, 2013
Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson plays somewhat against type in Snitch, a drama that wants to crusade against mandatory minimum drug sentences, but can't quite make the supposedly fact-based story gel effectively despite a solid cast.
The Rock is a small businessman, running a trucking and construction business when his teenaged son from a previous marriage is busted after receiving a box full of Ecstasy pills from his best friend. It turns out the Feds had caught the friend while shipping the pills and in order to reduce his sentence, he set up Sonny Boy. Unfortunately, Sonny can't try the same gambit because the only person he knew with drugs was the one who screwed him over. His son facing a mandatory minimum sentence of 10 years and getting beaten in jail frightens The Rock into taking desperate measures and he offers the prosecutor (Susan Sarandon) a deal: If he can go out and find drug dealers, she'll have his sentence reduced. (This is also a plot problem, if judges hands are tied, but prosecutors have so much leeway in charging, why send first-time offender dumb kids away for a dime when they clearly aren't kingpins?)
With no knowledge of the underworld, he combs through his employee's applications until he discovers one (Jon Bernthal, Shane from The Walking Dead) with two convictions for drug trafficking. Shane's trying to avoid getting his third strike and failing his wife and young son, but gets sucked into introducing Rock to a former drug dealing pal who tests him by having him run a small shipment from Missouri to El Paso, which then attracts the attention of a Major Drug Kingpin who has Big Plans for The Rock.
Snitch is a mixed bag because while the script is subtle in some spots, it's ham-handed and soapboxy in others, as when the son's lawyer walks up and immediately rattles off a bunch of factoids about mandatory minimum laws. Also, the leap from a small-time dealer to a kingpin is instantaneous and not credible. A better aspect is how they initially reveal Sarandon's prosecutor is running for higher office by having a campaign poster unobtrusively in the background of a scene. The climax feels tacked on to throw a bone to people who were wondering when The Rock was going to get into some action and reminded me of Jason Statham in The Bank Job at the end when he's suddenly beating the crap out of some guys. The ending is also unsatisfying because the good guys have to live in fear forever for what they did. Huh?
The Rock does OK with a primarily dramatic role, but his physicality wars against the story of a desperate father trying to help his son. When he's getting beaten up by some street toughs, my girlfriend exclaimed, "They're beating up The Rock?!" While not as jacked as he is in say the Fast & Furious movies, it's still hard to believe he doesn't just go in and tear bad guys in half.
Score: 5/10. Catch it on cable.
The Rock is a small businessman, running a trucking and construction business when his teenaged son from a previous marriage is busted after receiving a box full of Ecstasy pills from his best friend. It turns out the Feds had caught the friend while shipping the pills and in order to reduce his sentence, he set up Sonny Boy. Unfortunately, Sonny can't try the same gambit because the only person he knew with drugs was the one who screwed him over. His son facing a mandatory minimum sentence of 10 years and getting beaten in jail frightens The Rock into taking desperate measures and he offers the prosecutor (Susan Sarandon) a deal: If he can go out and find drug dealers, she'll have his sentence reduced. (This is also a plot problem, if judges hands are tied, but prosecutors have so much leeway in charging, why send first-time offender dumb kids away for a dime when they clearly aren't kingpins?)
With no knowledge of the underworld, he combs through his employee's applications until he discovers one (Jon Bernthal, Shane from The Walking Dead) with two convictions for drug trafficking. Shane's trying to avoid getting his third strike and failing his wife and young son, but gets sucked into introducing Rock to a former drug dealing pal who tests him by having him run a small shipment from Missouri to El Paso, which then attracts the attention of a Major Drug Kingpin who has Big Plans for The Rock.
Snitch is a mixed bag because while the script is subtle in some spots, it's ham-handed and soapboxy in others, as when the son's lawyer walks up and immediately rattles off a bunch of factoids about mandatory minimum laws. Also, the leap from a small-time dealer to a kingpin is instantaneous and not credible. A better aspect is how they initially reveal Sarandon's prosecutor is running for higher office by having a campaign poster unobtrusively in the background of a scene. The climax feels tacked on to throw a bone to people who were wondering when The Rock was going to get into some action and reminded me of Jason Statham in The Bank Job at the end when he's suddenly beating the crap out of some guys. The ending is also unsatisfying because the good guys have to live in fear forever for what they did. Huh?
The Rock does OK with a primarily dramatic role, but his physicality wars against the story of a desperate father trying to help his son. When he's getting beaten up by some street toughs, my girlfriend exclaimed, "They're beating up The Rock?!" While not as jacked as he is in say the Fast & Furious movies, it's still hard to believe he doesn't just go in and tear bad guys in half.
Score: 5/10. Catch it on cable.
"Trance" Review
Monday, December 2, 2013
I've never been too impressed with Danny Boyle, primarily because he rarely makes movies that don't sh*t the bed in the third act. From 28 Days Later to (especially) Sunshine, Boyle just doesn't seem capable of not botching his stories when they should be paying off. Trance only breaks the usual "2/3rds decent until it falls apart" formula by disintegrating halfway through the proceedings.
James McAvoy stars as a high-end art auction house employee who was acting as an inside man for a heist of a Goya worth tens of millions of pounds (because it's England) by a gang led by Vincent Cassel. However, he has double-crossed his partners and stolen the painting for himself. The problem is that during the heist, Cassel cracked his skull with a shotgun butt and McAvoy can't remember where he hid the painting. In order to recover his memories and the painting he goes to hypnotherapist Rosario Dawson under the close watch of the gang. Stupidity ensues.
While the early portrayals of the hypnosis are interestingly surreal, about halfway through Dawson starts shagging the ringleaders which slows the momentum to a crawl and tips us off that there's going to be a bunch of what Boyle thinks are clever twists ahead, but we can figure them out easily. With the "truth" constantly being messed with, it's hard to stay engaged because it's no longer a story about identifiable characters but just a series of rugs being pulled out despite our having seen the threat and sidestepped them entirely.
Well-shot with enough metaphoric glass walls and reflective surfaces to make even me able to get the joke, Trance is a good-looking flick, but with little under its shiny, cold exterior. While Dawson gives up very brief full-frontal nudity (hardwood floors!) and is good in the role, it's underwritten along with everything else. Trance is a doze.
Score: 3/10. Skip it.
James McAvoy stars as a high-end art auction house employee who was acting as an inside man for a heist of a Goya worth tens of millions of pounds (because it's England) by a gang led by Vincent Cassel. However, he has double-crossed his partners and stolen the painting for himself. The problem is that during the heist, Cassel cracked his skull with a shotgun butt and McAvoy can't remember where he hid the painting. In order to recover his memories and the painting he goes to hypnotherapist Rosario Dawson under the close watch of the gang. Stupidity ensues.
While the early portrayals of the hypnosis are interestingly surreal, about halfway through Dawson starts shagging the ringleaders which slows the momentum to a crawl and tips us off that there's going to be a bunch of what Boyle thinks are clever twists ahead, but we can figure them out easily. With the "truth" constantly being messed with, it's hard to stay engaged because it's no longer a story about identifiable characters but just a series of rugs being pulled out despite our having seen the threat and sidestepped them entirely.
Well-shot with enough metaphoric glass walls and reflective surfaces to make even me able to get the joke, Trance is a good-looking flick, but with little under its shiny, cold exterior. While Dawson gives up very brief full-frontal nudity (hardwood floors!) and is good in the role, it's underwritten along with everything else. Trance is a doze.
Score: 3/10. Skip it.
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