Category Archives: New In Theaters

Reviews of what’s out now

Three’s a Crowd

Z for Zachariah

by Hope Madden

If you are unfamiliar with Craig Zobel, google him immediately. Hopefully you’ll discover Homestar Runner, which will clue you into Zobel’s particular mad genius. Go ahead and spend some time. Take in the glory that is Teen Girl Squad. Then prepare yourself for an amazingly different experience and watch the filmmaker’s third feature, Z for Zachariah.

Based loosely on Robert O’Brien’s award winning adolescent novel, the film is a meticulous examination of human behavior masquerading as a SciFi flick. Sometime after an undisclosed apocalypse (radioactivity suggests a nuclear war), Ann Burden (Margot Robbie) tends her farm alone, her valley somehow spared of the radiation. She believes she may be the last living soul until scientist John Loomis (Chiwetel Ejiofor) appears in the distance in his radiation suit.

What evolves is a fascinating character study blessed with two excellent performances.

Ejiofor is incapable of a weak turn, and as is always the case, he manages to wear the character’s entire backstory in his countenance, posture, wordless reactions, and eyes. He’s almost capable of presenting a fully realized character without a word of dialog, and his Loomis is a mysterious, weary guest whose undisclosed, recent experiences have made him a little distant, even as Ann has to contain her joy at finding a companion.

Robbie has never been better in a role that is sometimes almost aggravatingly naïve, and yet this is a character with the grit to survive on her own, to plow a field – to create the film’s Eden.

Nissar Modi’s screenplay sometimes treads too heavily with the biblical metaphors, but Zobel never does. While the film explores ideas of science versus religion, male versus female, intellect versus emotion, white versus black, Zobel’s real interest – as he showed with brilliantly frustrating results in his previous effort, Compliance – is to examine human foibles, resilience, and self-destructive tendencies.

Z examines the nervous but sweet blossoming of a relationship, then upends the comforting narrative with the arrival of a third survivor – handsome Caleb (Chris Pine).

Pine’s third wheel is a less developed character, but the actor manages to convey the right amount of manipulative aw-shucks and just the hint of menace the film needs to generate tension.

The film’s minimalism is both welcome and problematic, as it seems to work against much of the built-in tensions and drama that could enliven the running time.

Fans of the novel will be irritated by the many liberties taken, but Zobel’s film stands firmly on its own. Told with realism and simplicity, and boasting an intriguing amount of ambiguity – especially at the climax – Z abandons the traditions of the post-apocalyptic film in favor of something modest and moving.

Verdict-4-0-Stars

Fast, Faster and Disaster

Being Evel

by George Wolf

What would possess a bunch of kids in the 1970s (myself included) to build two makeshift ramps, hop on their bikes and try to jump over a row of their friends lying on the ground?

All the answers can be found in Being Evel.

Before Robert Craig Knievel became the motorcycle daredevil named “Evel,” he was a hell raiser/insurance salesman/huckster in Butte, Montana. Blessed with a gift for self promotion, he rode it and a slew of Harley Davidsons on a path to fame, fortune, and inevitable burnout.

If you didn’t grow up in the 70s, believe Johnny Knoxville (one of the film’s producers) when he says, “Evel Knievel was the 70s. I thought of him as a superhero.”

Regardless, director Daniel Junge (Oscar winner for the 2012 documentary short Saving Face) gets behind the myth in fascinating, informative and entertaining fashion. Knievel’s life truly is a classic American success story, and Junge gives us a wide-angled look.

From setting sales records at his insurance company, to actually convincing the Czech national hockey team to come play his semi-pro squad in Montana, Knievel moved through life with an intentional swagger a good-sized shoulder chip. After conning his way into a Vegas motorcycle jump, he caught the eye of ABC’s Wide World of Sports, and a legend was born (along with a line of some of the greatest action figures ever made).

Back in the ancient time of only 3 TV networks, Knievel’s “you don’t want to miss it if I kill myself” act was a perfect fit for ABC, and vice versa. Still today, Knievel owns seven of the top ten most-watched episodes in the history of the show that defined “the thrill of victory, and the agony of defeat.”

Junge’s presentation is stylish, and his archival footage enlightening, getting us close to team Knievel as he bought into the immense hype leading to a 1974 attempt at jumping over Utah’s Snake River Canyon in his custom-made rocket powered “Skycycle.” In short, Knievel became a world class SOB, a horrible husband and a distant father, all while representing true American freedom to legions of fans.

Knoxville’s frequent presence does become a bit tiresome, though Knievel’s weighty influence on his Jackass antics, as well as today’s entire action sports industry, is rightly noted.

Fascinating not just for the well-rounded treatment of its subject, but also for a glimpse into the disillusioned era that created him, Being Evel is a satisfying flight.

 

Verdict-3-5-Stars

 

Don’t Turn Around – Der Samurai’s in Town

Der Samurai

by Hope Madden

Writer/director Till Kleinert’s atmospheric Der Samurai blends Grimm Brother ideas with Samurai legend to tell a story that borders on the familiar but manages always to surprise.

Jakob, an entirely unintimidating police officer in a remote German berg, has been charged with eliminating the wolf that’s frightening villagers. Moved by compassion or longing, Jakob can’t quite make himself accomplish his task – a fact that villagers and his commanding officer find predictably soft. But a chance encounter with a wild-eyed stranger wearing a dress and carrying a samurai sword clarifies that the wolf is probably not the villagers’ – or Jakob’s – biggest problem.

Pit Bukowski cuts a peculiar but creepy figure as the Samurai – kind of a cross between Iggy Pop and Ted Levine (The Silence of the Lambs’s Buffalo Bill). His raw sexuality offers the perfect counterpoint to the repressed Jakob (Michel Diercks). As their cat and mouse game gains momentum, it appears the Samurai is here to upend all of Jakob’s inhibitions by eliminating anyone keeping him from embracing to his primal urges – getting “rid of the blockage once and for all.”

That’s what the sword is for.

Kleinert’s sneaky camera builds tension in every scene, and the film’s magnificent sound design echoes with Jakob’s isolation as well as that of the village itself. And though much of the imagery is connected in a way to familiar fairy tales or horror movies, the understated approach gives it all a naturalism that is unsettling.

Not that Kleinert’s content to take a naturalistic path all the way through. His tale has roots in old Germanic folklore, so the director peppers the film with enough magical realism to evoke that dreamy – in this case, nightmarish – childhood logic.

It’s a beautiful film about embracing or forever suppressing your inner monster, but this is no ordinary Jekyll and Hyde retread. Kleinert’s vision is steeped in sexuality and sexual identity, giving it a fascinating relevance often missing in this style of horror film.

The film pulls you along with a “Will he or won’t he? Is he or isn’t he?” kind of tension, and at times you’ll fear that you’ve figured out a plot twist in advance, but Kleinert is never that obvious. Though the resolution is not as surefooted as the rest of his film, the overall effort is a uniquely memorable affair.

Verdict-4-0-Stars

Bourne and Chong

American Ultra

by George Wolf

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.

 

Verdict-3-0-Stars

 

 

 

 

Liam Neeson, You Can Read Me Poetry Anytime

Kahlil Gibran’s The Prophet

by Christie Robb

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.

Verdict-4-0-Stars

Street Knowledge

Straight Outta Compton

by George Wolf

“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.

 

Verdict-3-5-Stars

 

Kids Today!

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.

Verdict-3-5-Stars

 

Spy Versus Spy

The Man from U.N.C.L.E.

by Hope Madden

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?

For a fun waste of time, Guy Ritchie can be.

Verdict-3-0-Stars

Wild Kingdom

The Tribe (Plemya)

by George Wolf

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.

 

Verdict-4-0-Stars

 

 

Beware of Ex-Classmates Bearing Fish

The Gift

by Richard Ades

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.

Verdict-3-5-Stars