Here’s the pitch: what if Brad Pitt’s Flintstones-watching stoner from True Romance was actually a highly trained government operative who can kill you with nothing but a spoon and a cup of soup?
Intrigued? Me, too.
So why can’t American Ultra fully capitalize on that promise?
Okay, its not really Floyd from True Romance – he’s baking comfortably in the stoner Hall of Fame – it’s Mike (Jesse Eisenberg) from the Cash and Carry mini-mart in Liman, West Virginia. Mike plans to propose to his live-in girlfriend Phoebe (Kristen Stewart) during a romantic trip to Hawaii, but they never make it on the plane.
Mike suffers strange panic attacks anytime he’s about to leave town, but that seems like a minor problem once CIA agent Victoria Lasseter (Connie Britton) visits Mike at work and keeps repeating a strange phrase. Turns out Mike is really a sleeper agent who’s been suddenly branded a liability, and Victoria needs Mike to wake up before he’s taken out.
Writer Max Landis, much as he did with Chronicle, pieces together a winning premise from parts of differing genres. We think we know what to expect from weed-soaked characters, but breaking out the MacGyver shit to bust open some heads is not on the list. Throw in plenty of spy game skullduggery, and there’s ample opportunity for black comedy that the film only partially explores.
Director Nima Nourizadeh (Project X) seems equally caught in a pattern of two steps up and one back. He unleashes stylish, well-paced bursts of action, followed by slow-moving exposition and then back again, sometimes punctuated by isolated bits of sharp comedy just looking for a home.
On paper, Eisenberg seems miscast, but he’s able to make both extremes of Mike’s character blend surprisingly well. Stewart continues her recent winning streak in the film’s early going, excelling as Mike’s sweetly sympathetic love. Once Phoebe’s true motives come to light, though, it’s back to the well worn K-Stew pained expression once too often.
A little too slow to be action packed, a bit too nasty to be fun-filled, American Ultra seems held back in a familiar haze. It’s got plenty of good ideas, but just when they really start to gel, it decides to just watch some cartoons instead.
Lebanese poet Kahlil Gibran’s 1923 classic volume The Prophet has been turned into a tranquil animated feature by writer/director Roger Allers (The Lion King) and producer Salma Hayek. Suggested viewing for those who require a respite from the routine and petty frustrations of life.
The movie frames Gibran’s poems with the story of a little girl, Almitra (Quvenzhane Wallis), mute since the death of her father. Her mother (Salma Hayek) works as a housekeeper for the imprisoned artist/poet Mustafa (Liam Neeson) and takes her to work one day.
It happens to be the day that Mustafa is released from his confinement and promised safe passage to a ship that will take him back to his homeland. But all is not what it seems. Almitra discovers that authorities have ulterior plans for Mustafa and his supposedly treasonous writing.
As Mustafa is marched from the house where he has been confined for seven years, his jailors (Alfred Molina and John Krasinski) allow him the occasional break to visit with the community he loves. Each communion becomes the occasion for a poem meditating on a theme: freedom, children, marriage, work, nature, love, compassion, the nature of good and evil, life and death.
Each of these meditations is illustrated by a different animator: Tomm Moore (The Secret of Kells), Nina Paley (Sita Sings the Blues), Bill Plympton (Guide Dog), and others. In their work you can see the echoes of Escher, Indian shadow puppetry, van Gogh, Klimt, Matisse, and Chagall.
Although the frame story of Mustafa and Almitra is a bit weak, the poems—featuring music from Glen Hansard (Once), Damien Rice, and Yo-Yo Ma; and the buttery, lilting voice of Neeson—make the majority of the film a serene delight for the eyes, ears, mind, and heart.
Here’s an unusual list, not because it’s out of the ordinary to ironically appreciate bad horror movies, but because Madd and Wolf disagree so vehemently about a) the movies on this list, and b) the entertainment value in bad movies. So just know that, though there are bones of contention aplenty, we’re still happy with the final six. How about you?
6. House (Hausu) (1977)
If Takashi Miike’s Happiness of the Katakuris were to marry Pee-wee’s Playhouse, this would be their offspring.
A spoof of sorts, Hausu tells the story of six uniform-clad high school girls named Gorgeous, Fantasy, Sweet, Melody, Kung Fu, and Mac. The nomenclature alone should clue you in on the film’s lunacy. The giggling sextet spend spring break at an aunt’s spooky house – or, in fact, a cheaply made set of an aunt’s spooky house. Not a single thing that follows makes sense, nor is it really meant to.
Expect puppets, random musical sequences, remarkably bad backdrops, slapstick humor, and an amazingly sunny disposition given the sheer volume of human dismemberment. The trippy nonsense wears a bit thin eventually. Luckily director Nobuhiko Obayashi’s film clocks in at under 90 minutes, so the screen goes dark before the novelty wears off.
Score: Hope does not consider this a bad movie in any respect. George considers it so bad it’s just bad.
5. Motel Hell (1980)
It takes all kinds of critters to make Farmer Vincent’s fritters, so swingers looking for a cheap motel in which to swing – be warned! Fifties heartthrob Rory Calhoun plays Farmer Vincent, who, along with his sister Ida (a super creepy Nancy Parsons) rid the world of human filth while serving the righteous some tasty viddles. Just don’t look under those wiggling, gurgling sacks out behind the butcherin’ barn!
Motel Hell is a deeply disturbed, inspired little low budget jewel. A dark comedy, the film nonetheless offers some unsettling images, not to mention sounds. Sure, less admiring eyes may see only that super-cheese director Kevin Connor teamed up with Parsons and Calhoun – as well as Elaine Joyce and John Ratzenberger – for a quick buck. But in reality, they teamed up to create one of the best bad horror films ever made.
So gloriously bad!
Score: Hope and George agree completely on the absolutely entertaining badness afoot in this one.
4. Sleepaway Camp (1983)
A seriously subversive film with blatant homosexual undertones, Sleepaway Camp is a bizarre take on the summer camp slasher.
It may be the shocking finale that gave the film its cult status, but it’s writer/director Robert Hilzik’s off-center approach to horror that makes it interesting. Dreamy flashbacks, weirdly gruesome murders, and a creepy (yet somehow refreshing) preoccupation with beefcake separate this one from the pack.
It’s not scary, certainly, but it is all manner of wrong. The kill sequences are hugely imaginative, and the subversive approach to the entire film makes it hard to believe more people haven’t seen this gem.
Score: Once again, George and Hope are in total agreement. This one’s a keeper.
3. Squirm (1976)
Writer/director Jeff Lieberman drops us off in rural Georgia, where small town hottie Geri (unrepentant ginger Patricia Pearcy) receives a visit from big city pal and possible boyfriend Mick (Don Scardino). Natch, the down home folk don’t take kindly to this city slicker – especially Roger, a menacing rube who wants Geri for his own.
So, the low budget gem creates a little of that Deliverance dread, but the payoff is, of course, the worms brought out by the pantload via voltage from a downed power line.
Lieberman does a fantastic job with the worms. They are everywhere, they’re nasty, they make that gross gummy noise as they squirm around on top of each other, and they may not only eat you but bore right into your face to turn you into a monster. That’s what happens to poor, lovelorn Rog, and it is awesome!
The acting and writing entertain, if ironically, but the movie offers a few real freakout moments and it goes in unexpected directions more than once. It’s weird, start to finish, and that’s always welcome.
Score: George does not care for Squirm, ironically or otherwise. Hope’s still smiling with joy just thinking about this movie.
2. Slugs: The Movie (1988)
Mike Brady (Michael Garfield) must save himself, his town, and his lustrous waves from the menace of man-eating slugs– acting ability or no! And if Sherriff Reese and Mayor Eaton can’t get their heads out of their asses, then dammit, Mike Brady will take care of this himself!
Once it’s discovered that the entire population of mutant slugs is in a single area, Mike Brady makes the level-headed, finely coiffured decision to literally explode the entire town from beneath. Why not dose their hive with salt, you ask? What are you, a wuss?!
But that’s beside the point because Mike Brady has a town to save! He’s getting scant help from the Brit chem teacher who can’t even lift a manhole cover. Weak limey! Do Mike Brady and his hair have to do everything?
The epic saga finishes with a hearty embrace. Mike Brady squeezes his puffy-coat wearing wife, and we all ignore the untold damage he’s just done to the town he singlehandedly blew to pieces. People were killed, certainly. Perhaps an arrest was more in order than a hug. But Mike Brady doesn’t do arrested.
Score: George really hates this movie and considers it an almost criminal waste of his time. Slugs: The Movie fills hope with glee and she’d gladly watch it again right now.
1. The Night of a Thousand Cats (1972)
Oh my God.
This one has to be seen to be believed. It moves at a dreamlike pace, as chopper pilot/monk/playboy/cat lover Hugo (Hugo Stiglitz!) flies his helicopter menacingly close to sexy women lounging poolside, and they act like that’s not weird at all. He mouths flirtations toward them as their towels and lawn furniture blow hither and yon. Eventually they find this dangerous harassment charming enough to be wooed.
Oh, you trusting, slutty ladies.
But things don’t always go smoothly for the handsomely wooden Hugo – as flashbacks to Head in the Jar #2 attest. It’s a deeply weird movie full of cannibalism, bad parenting, questionable facial hair decisions, and a blatant disregard for the dangers of sun damage. Plus, a thousand cats.
I know. Bad movies are often just not worth it. This one is. I swear it.
Score: Even George has to admit that the awe-inspiring incompetence of this film begs for your viewing.
Listen to the whole conversation on the FRIGHT CLUB podcast.
“Speak a little truth and people lose their minds.”
The members of N.W.A. were hardly the first artists to learn that lesson, but in the late 1980s, they lived it. Straight Outta Compton tells their story with enough honesty, humor and style to make it not only utterly compelling and completely entertaining, but also a damn good history lesson.
N.W.A. became both heroes and villains in 1988, when their album Straight Outta Compton (and specifically their song “Fuck tha Police”) set off a national firestorm. While much of white suburbia clutched their pearls, group members Ice Cube, Dr. Dre, Eazy-E, MC Ren and Dj Yella explained they were just writing what they knew, and expressing just how it felt to live their lives.
Director F. Gary Gray (Friday, The Negotiator, The Italian Job, Be Cool) wastes no time getting your attention, opening with a terrifically tense drug raid sequence followed by Eazy-E (Jason Mitchell) running from the police on Compton, California rooftops.
Gray, aided by screenwriters Jonathan Herman and Andrea Berloff, keeps up the brisk, thoughtful and surprisingly funny pace early on, as we see the group form and take their street knowledge to the recording studio, propelled by Ice Cube’s lyrics, Dr. Dre’s production skills and Eazy-E’s cash flow. Their rise to headline status is endlessly watchable, filled with defiant music and often interspersed with actual news reports from the era.
Mitchell is outstanding as Eazy-E, bringing the swagger required of the group’s early leader, as well as the deeper layers of character that make his downfall as sympathetic as it is expected. The only thing stopping Mitchell from stealing the movie is O’Shea Jackson, Jr,’s breakthrough performance as his real-life father Ice Cube.
The resemblance is uncanny even for a father/son duo but even more than that, Jackson, Jr. embodies the restlessness and rage behind those early rhymes. You can feel his understandable pride in telling this story, and the camera is simply drawn to his charisma. Expect much more from this kid.
The film has many balls in the air, and Gray manages a deft juggling act for most of the nearly 2 1/2 hour running time. It would be understandable, if not outright forgivable, to belabor the point that current headlines only confirm N.W.A. were reporting their present, not seeing the future, but the film gains more power from subtlety.
Melodrama does sneak into the moments when tragedy strikes the group’s inner circle, the pace begins to drag in the third act, and making Dr. Dre’s mother a cliched, forced character seems a desperate attempt to feature at least one positive female. But there’s irony in the missteps.
The film does so many things well, the sudden speed bumps feel more damaging than they end up being.
And, of course, music is the ace in the hole. You hear familiar songs begin to take shape, then acquire a new power as they form in the studio or explode onstage via sweaty, fist-pumping performance pieces. Kudos, too, to whoever decided (I’m guessing it was co-producers Cube and Dre) to pepper the soundtrack with plenty of George Clinton music, giving a much-sampled legend due credit.
This is a musical biopic with some pretty high stakes. It’s at once a universal story of expression, and an intimate American journey, as vital to its own time as it is to ours.
High stakes can bring a big payoff, much like the one you’ll find one in Straight Outta Compton.
The 100 Year Old Man Who Climbed Out the Window and Disappeared
by George Wolf
By the time a man reaches the wise age of 100, he learns to appreciate the simple joys in life: good friends, traveling, finding millions of dollars stuffed in a suitcase, blowing stuff up.
Meet Allan, The 100 Year Old Man Who Climbed Out the Window and Disappeared.
Allan (Robert Gustafsson) has lived quite an adventurous life, and isn’t too happy about marking his big birthday in a nursing home. So, while the staff is busy getting his cake ready, he slips out a window and heads for the bus station for a ticket to wherever his pocket money can take him. But before his bus takes off, he’s handed a suitcase to hold while a tough-looking biker squeezes into a tiny bathroom. The bus arrives before the biker returns, so Allan gets on it and leaves, taking the suitcase full of cash that belongs to a local crime boss.
And with that, director/co-writer Felix Herngren kicks off two zany adventures, both full of madcap hi jinks, dark humor and droll witticisms that won’t all successfully translate to American sensibilities.
Based on the Swedish best-selling novel, the film parallels Allan’s birthday shenanigans with flashbacks to incredible incidents in his life, many of which turn out to be pivotal moments in world history.
The film can’t hide the Forrest Gump similarities, but while Gump‘s emotional string-pulling hasn’t aged well, Herngren gives his film shades of mayhem to offset the nuttiness. This does result in some sequences that are a bit awkward stylistically, but there are damn funny bits here, too.
Gustafson, despite some rough old age makeup (why is this so hard to get right when Bad Grandpa did it so well?) is wonderful, with an able supporting cast that keeps you interested in how everyone will fare as the mob, and the cops, close in on Allan and the loot.
Just think of The 100 Year Old Man as a fractured fairy tale, full of enjoyable mischief and quickly forgettable fun.
Back in 2009, Guy Ritchie used intriguing casting, slick editing, and a hint of bromance to spark what seems like an endlessly reinvigorated interest in Sherlock Holmes. He employs the same basic formula to the less well-remembered franchise The Man from U.N.C.L.E., with similar results.
Filmed in the actual Sixties, the TV series ran for four years, pairing American and Russian super spies to show that we really can all work together when there are nefarious evildoers to thwart. Ritchie has fun taking us back to the swinging side of the Cold War, generating an affectionate retro vibe that compliments his upbeat, sometimes droll action comedy.
Henry Cavill (Superman) and Armie Hammer (The Lone Ranger) gadget-up as American Napoleon Solo and comrade Ilya Kuryakin, respectively. Cavill impresses as smooth ladies’ man Solo. His timing and dry humor recall a particular type of leading man rarely seen outside the Sixties, and he’s a blast to watch.
Hammer makes a fine foil, although he doesn’t leave nearly as distinct an impression. His Ilya comes off as a bit of a sociopath, which should probably be funnier than it is.
Ritchie cannot figure out what to do with a wildly miscast Alicia Vikander, which is a shame. Her performance in this year’s brilliant SciFi thriller Ex Machina marked her as one major reason to look forward to UNCLE. Her character Gaby – a conflicted single/double/triple agent with an attitude and a crush – should offer enough layers for fun adventure, but Vikander can’t seem to flesh her out at all.
The plot is pretty typical fare – baddies have nuclear capabilities. (Oh, wait. It’s 1963 – make that “atomic capabilities.”) An international organization of good guys has to bring them down, but since these good guys are all spies from different countries with different motivations, well, who can be trusted?
“Inspired by a true story” is a tag line that has been used beyond the point of meaninglessness. If you google “true story horror movies,” Dracula will come up, for lord’s sake. But there are some films that can take true events and mine them for the psychological underpinnings that chill us all. Here’s a list of our five favorites.
5. Stuck (2007)
A nasty tabloid feature boasting both gallows humor and blood by the gallon, Stuck is an underappreciated gem from director Stuart Gordon (Re-Animator). Mena Suvari plays a role based on a real life woman who, inebriated, hit a man with her car. The victim became lodged in her windshield. She chose to park her car in the garage and wait for the man to die rather than face the consequences and save his life.
While this sounds unbelievable, the fact that it’s based in true events helps the story build credibility. Stuart’s direction makes the most of the mean laughs available given the subject matter, never taking the situation too seriously, but never treating the victim’s predicament as an outright joke, either.
More impressive, though, is the commitment the cast brings to the proceedings. Suvari offers almost uncalled for nuance and character arc, while Stephen Rea’s crumpled, hangdog appearance belies an intestinal fortitude the driver didn’t see coming.
This is a wild movie, and one that’s far more watchable than the premise may suggest. Like any tabloid trash or car accident, you know you shouldn’t watch, but you just can’t look away.
4. Wolf Creek (2005)
Though Greg McLean wrote the story for Wolf Creek years before the film was made, by the time he polished the screenplay he’d blended in elements from two different Aussie marauders. Ivan Milat was a New South Wales man who kidnapped hitchhikers, torturing and killing them in the woods. Much closer to the time of the film’s release was the case of Bradley John Murdock. He had a tow truck, forced two British tourists off the road, murdering one while the other escaped. Wolf Creek’s actual release was delayed in the northern part of the country where Murdock’s trial was still going on.
Using only digital cameras to enhance an ultra-naturalistic style, McLean’s happy backpackers find themselves immobile outside Wolf Creek National Park when their car stops running. As luck would have it, friendly bushman Mick Taylor (John Jarratt) drives up offering a tow back to his camp, where he promises to fix the vehicle. The two different murderers influenced McLean’s tale and Jarrett’s character amiable sadist, but it’s at least comforting to know that this isn’t 100% nonfiction.
3. The Snowtown Murders (2011)
First time filmmaker Justin Kurzel’s movie examines one family’s functional disregard for the law and hinges on the relationship between a charismatic psychopath and a quiet, wayward teen. Unfortunately, The Snowtown Murders mines a true story. John Bunting tortured and killed eleven people during his spree in South Australia in the Nineties.
An unflinching examination of a predator swimming among prey, Snowtown succeeds where many true crime films fail because of its understatement, its casual observational style, and its unsettling authenticity. More than anything, though, the film excels due to one astounding performance.
Daniel Henshall cuts an unimpressive figure on screen – a round faced, smiling schlub. But he brings Bunting an amiability and confrontational fearlessness that provides insight into what draws people to a sadistic madman.
2. Compliance (2012)
Compliance is an unsettling, frustrating and upsetting film about misdirected and misused obedience. It’s also one of the most impeccably made and provocative films of 2012 – a cautionary tale that’s so unnerving it’s easier just to disbelieve. But don’t.
Writter/director Craig Zobel – who began his career as co-creator of the brilliant comic website Homestar Runner (so good!) – takes a decidedly dark turn with this “based-on-true-events” tale. It’s a busy Friday night at a fast food joint and they’re short staffed. Then the police call and say a cashier has stolen some money from a customer’s purse.
A Milgram’s experiment come to life, the film spirals into nightmare as the alleged thief’s colleagues agree to commit increasingly horrific deeds in the name of complying with authority.
Zobel remains unapologetically but respectfully truthful in his self-assured telling. He doesn’t just replay a tragic story, he expertly crafts a tense and terrifying movie. With the help of an anxious score, confident camera work, and a superb cast, Zobel masterfully recreates a scene that’s not as hard to believe as it is to accept.
1. Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer (1989)
Like Snowtown Murders, released more than two decades later, Henry is an unforgivingly realistic portrayal of evil. Michael Rooker is brilliant as serial killer Henry (based on real life murderer Henry Lee Lucas). We follow him through his humdrum days of stalking and then dispatching his prey, until he finds his own unwholesome kind of family in the form of buddy Otis and his sister Becky.
What’s diabolically fascinating, though, is the workaday, white trash camaraderie of the psychopath relationship in this film, and the grey areas where one crazy killer feels the other has crossed some line of decency.
Director John McNaughton’s picture offers a uniquely unemotional telling – no swelling strings to warn us danger is afoot and no hero to speak of to balance the ugliness. He confuses viewers because the characters you identify with are evil, and even when you think you might be seeing this to understand the origins of the ugliness, he pulls the rug out from under you again by creating an untrustworthy narrative voice. It’s a genius technique given the subject, a serial killer who confessed to as many as 3000 killings, most of those discredited as fiction. His film is so nonjudgmental, though, so flatly unemotional, that it’s honestly hard to watch.
Whatever the outcome, you’ve got to give a filmmaker some props for trying something most audiences have never seen before.
Miroslav Slaboshpitsky does just that with The Tribe, and the results are damn near unforgettable.
His film follows a teenager trying to fit in at a Ukrainian boarding school for the deaf, and is filmed entirely in Ukrainian sign language with no captions, apparently to appease those picky American audiences that don’t like subtitles.
In all seriousness, it is an incredible piece of storytelling, particularly with Slaboshpitsky himself being an outsider on his own set. A sign language interpreter was needed to communicate with his cast members, but all deliver deeply affecting performances, and the lack of spoken expressions only enhances narrative layers in Slaboshpitsky’s ambitious script.
From the start, Slaboshpitsky’s focus is on the new boy at school, and the social hierarchy he must navigate to be accepted by the clique of boys on the top rung. The wide-eyed boy makes good progress, but then falls for a girl he shouldn’t, which sets off a dangerous, sometimes brutal chain of events.
Slaboshpitsky’s camera is unforgiving, driving home the primal instincts that nearly leap off the screen. The landscape, including the school facilities, is harsh, and the entire film uses a limited number of shots, often with extended, wide-angle takes to enhance the resonance of what you’re witnessing.
You quickly realize how little the spoken word is needed, and this power struggle could just as easily be at work in a board room, drug cartel or wild animal kingdom. No character action is explained, thus the sum of all parts is a basic quest to adapt to your surroundings and survive.
The Tribe is gripping, dead-silence-when-the-credits-start-rolling-stuff. It is unlike anything you’ve seen, and a film experience that should not be missed.
Joel Edgerton is determined to set our nerves on edge with The Gift, and he succeeds pretty well. The writer/director/co-star knows just how to push the audience’s collective buttons.
The tale revolves around Simon and Robyn (Jason Bateman and Rebecca Hall), who no sooner move into their new California home than they run into one of the husband’s old classmates: Gordo. Thanks to Edgerton’s subtly creepy portrayal, we instantly distrust this guy—to the extent that our stomachs tighten a little when Gordo overhears the couple’s new address.
Sure enough, he’s soon showing up unannounced, invariably when Robyn is home alone. Annoyed, Simon recalls that Gordo was always a “weirdo” and suggests that he has the hots for the pretty Robyn. She, on the other hand, thinks he’s just trying to be helpful.
Robyn, as we eventually learn, is not an accomplished judge of character.
As Gordo’s behavior grows more and more erratic, director Edgerton builds tension by supplying a series of shocks constructed in the time-honored fashion: He primes us with scenes of quiet dread followed by a sudden sight or sound. These are fun, especially when experienced with a vulnerable audience.
But Edgerton’s goal ultimately extends beyond eliciting Pavlovian responses. We learn that Simon has more history with Gordo than he’s willing to admit. It’s an ugly history that Simon would like to forget and that Gordo is unable to let go.
Frankly, there’s a bit of a disconnect between the early scenes, with their stock shocks, and the third act, with its unexpected complexity. That’s one of the few signs that this first-time director has more to learn.
A bigger disappointment is that the tale’s female lead is less interesting than her male counterparts.
Edgerton’s Gordo, as stated, is wonderfully creepy, while Bateman’s Simon has a tendency toward ruthlessness that becomes increasingly obvious as the story unfolds. As for Hall’s Robyn, we never quite get a handle on her.
We know she’s an accomplished interior designer, mostly because her husband tells us she is. We also know she has a history of pregnancy-related trauma and addiction. But she mainly comes across as simply a woman in danger—more of a plot device than a flesh-and-blood character.
Hall makes her watchable, but Edgerton’s script fails to make her knowable. The result: Even though The Gift continually scares us and surprises us, it never quite moves us.
It’s always exciting when the next Woody Allen movie screens, but it’s best to keep expectations in check. Remember, for every Midnight in Paris, there’s a Cassandra’s Dream; for every Vicky Cristina Barcelona, there’s a Scoop.
The question is, on which side of that coin will his latest, Irrational Man, fall?
As is generally the case, Allen draws an exceptional cast. In this go-round, the always magnificent Joaquin Phoenix plays Abe Lucas, an alcoholic philosophy professor entrenched in an existential crisis. To his aid come the fresh, bright undergrad Jill (Emma Stone), and understanding, morally loose professor, Rita (Parker Posey). But their attention isn’t enough – Abe doesn’t feel himself again until he finds purpose.
What’s his purpose? Or more to the point, what’s Allen’s purpose? It’s to spin a familiar, albeit black, joke about the relative morality of getting away with murder.
Allen’s premise is actually fairly slight and not at all unique, but he pads it with loads of philosophical ponderings. We wrestle with the existential toxin of inaction, the impotence (literal and figurative) of writing instead of doing, and the messy leap from strictly philosophical ideals to life in a real, concrete world.
Irrational Man would sink into verbal tricks and intellectual nonsense were it not for three compelling, grounded performances and Allen’s sudden interest in Hitchcock.
Phoenix and Stone deliver something both pretentious and earnest enough to befit the project. Being from Allen’s pen, there’s something in their May/December relationship that works as both self-deprecation and excuse.
Posey steals every scene with a slyly comical and perfectly realized character.
The film slogs a bit through its first act, but gradually picks up steam, offering a bemused and somewhat detached observation of a mystery as it unfolds.
Though the film is listed as a drama, in many ways it is one of Allen’s cosmic jokes, and not just because he’s again toying with how to get away with murder. It’s more the laugh of, what would it be like if Woody Allen made a Hitchcock movie?
