Category Archives: New In Theaters

Reviews of what’s out now

His Name is Mud…Really

By Hope Madden

Jeff Nichols’s criminally underseen Take Shelter was the best film of 2011. Poetic and understated, steeped in the mores of small town Ohio, this story of a man haunted by visions of the apocalypse benefitted from a treatment fully at home in its setting. (It was also buoyed by faultless performances from Michael Shannon and Jessica Chastain.)

Nichols relocates to riverbeds in Arkansas for his follow up, Mud, a soulful, Huck Finn-style tale about modernization and the romantic notions that struggle against it.

Ellis (a powerful Tye Sheridan) lives with his parents on a ramshackle houseboat, where they eke out a living selling the fish they catch. His buddy Neckbone (newcomer Jacob Lofland) lives with his Uncle Galen (Shannon), who survives on whatever bounty he can dredge from the river bottom.

To shake off the summer blues, the boys go seeking adventure on a little nearby island. There they find more than they bargained for in Matthew McConaughey as the fugitive Mud.

Last year, McConaughey turned around an increasingly craptacular career with a steady stream of magnificent turns in edgy, unique, independent films like Killer Joe. Mud shows the lanky Texan is still interested in being an actor as opposed to a star, and his charming rogue-in-need commands attention. More than that, his generous performance allows the younger actors to really shine.

Sheridan proved himself in 2011’s The Tree of Life, but here he shoulders the bulk of the film and does so with aplomb. Through his eyes we see the bittersweet beauty, confusion and longing required in any good coming of age tale. His thoughtful performance draws attention to the unhappy truth that the more someone means to you, the more likely they are to inadvertently disappoint you.

With only three films under his belt, Nichols is proving himself a powerful storyteller. Beautiful compositions, lyrical pacing and imagery, a profound sense of place, all animated with raw and engaging performances – his approach simply hasn’t yet misfired.

Mud lacks the disturbing punch of Take Shelter, but replaces it with thematic beauty. It becomes a richly textured image of the punishment and resilience of youth. At the same time, Mud uses that familiar adolescent struggle to mirror the quickly disappearing freedom of those beleaguered souls looking to make a life on the river.

 

Verdict-4-0-Stars

 

Originally published on ColumbusUnderground.com

Beefcake! Beefcake!

 

by George Wolf

In fairness to director Michael Bay (did I just write that out loud?) turning a real life murder case into a comedy is not unheard of. Just last year, Ricard Linklater pulled it off with the delightful Bernie.

It can be done, but judging by Pain & Gain, Bay doesn’t know how.

The film is based on the exploits of two Miami bodybuilders currently sitting on Death Row. In the mid-1990s they  kidnapped and tortured wealthy businessman Marc Schiller until he signed away nearly all his fortune. They attempted to kill him as well, but even though he survived, Schiller struggled to get police to buy his story.

Thinking they got away once, the “Sun Gym Gang” eventually tried the scheme again, and two people died grisly deaths.

In the right hands, this story could become a dark, satirical comedy that uses the wretched excess of South Beach as a platform to skewer the misplaced values of a consumer culture run amok. The possibilities are there, but Bay doesn’t do nuance.

Instead, the gang is sympathetically portrayed as a group of bumbling clowns just taking a kookier path to the American dream. Ringleader Daniel Lugo (Mark Wahlberg) attends get rich seminars and calls himself a “doer” while roping the steroid-crazed Adrian Doorbal (Anthony Mackie) into his plans. For extra muscle, they recruit the gigantic Paul (Dwayne Johnson), a rehabbing, Jesus-loving ex-con character reportedly written as a composite of other real life gang members.

Wahlberg and Mackie are fine, Johnson’s growth as an actor continues to impress, and there is solid supporting work from Tony Shalhoub. All are hamstrung, though, by how their respective characters are conceived. Screenwriters Christopher Markus and Stephen McFeely (the Narnia series) hit a target that’s just a few “nyuk nyuks” away from the Stooges, which is a few miles away from where they should have been aiming.

Ironically, with all the slo-mo, voiceovers and onscreen text, you get the feeling Bay actually thinks he crafted a Natural Born Killers for a new generation.

He didn’t.

Still, he’s trying, in his own misguided way, to say something here. That, along with the capable performances, is all Pain & Gain needs to stand as Bay’s best film to date.

 

Verdict-2-5-Stars
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HvMsuONpTLo

The End is Near! The Quiche is Cold!

By  Hope Madden

Our film opens on a black and white photo. Looks like it could be any grainy old shot of a vacation spot – palm trees, empty beach chair, water in the distance. As writer/director Todd Berger slowly pulls back, we eventually see the mushroom cloud beyond the water.

Sometimes a “couples’ brunch” can feel like the end of the world. I supposed that’s why it makes such a fitting location for Berger’s dryly hilarious It’s a Disaster!

The film follows Tracy (Julia Stiles) and her new beau Glen (David Cross) as they approach the site of Tracy and her buddies’ monthly tradition. It’ll be Glen’s first contact with Tracy’s BFFs, a set of self-absorbed thirtysomethings with their own very lived-in dynamic.

What begins as a comedy of manners (one that expertly showcases Cross’s abilities as a straight man) progress toward something grander.

The dark comedy comes rife with articulate jabs at couplehood, circles of friends, and the balance of harsh judgment and loving acceptance found therein.  Once the party realizes that the apocalypse is nigh – dirty bombs have been dropped in cities all over the nation, including the city center just 12 miles from their very brunch – those elements boil down to their most undiluted.

People show their true colors, secrets are exposed, bonds are broken, others are formed, cocktails are imbibed, duct tape is sought, quiche grows cold. Just as prophesied.

Berger’s concept is large but his handling is confident, and a likeable and well defined ensemble keeps the chaos interesting and the storylines crisp.

Cross’s warm, generous performance casts Glen as the one level head, the one good soul – the guy you want on hand when the world comes to an end. But Berger has more in mind for ol’ Glen, thankfully.

Stiles offers another strong performance (following last year’s ball-buster in Silver Linings Playbook). Meanwhile, America Ferrera gets the chance to show her humanity and comic timing while cooking up some X.

“The world’s about to end and you’re going to do extacy?”

“Can you think of a better time?”

Gallows humor is rarely employed so well, but Berger balances silliness with more insightful and biting comedy to mine his contrived situation for all its gold.

The quick 88 minute run time keeps the necessary claustrophobia from growing too tiresome, yet each character evolves believably. It’s a credit to Berger’s script and to the talent of the cast he’s assembled.

Verdict-4-0-Stars

 

 

Original Title: Lord This Movie Sucks

 

By Hope Madden

Rob Zombie returns to film after a blessed hiatus with the hot mess Lords of Salem. In it, Zombie’s talentless wife Sheri Moon Zombie plays a radio DJ haunted by Salem’s past.

Try to ignore the ludicrous radio station situation: Boston’s most popular DJs are actually based at a Salem station. Sure, they’re patterned after a  hyperbolic morning show – sound effects and all – even though they appear to be a nighttime program. They also play no music save snippets of hardcore weirdness, but I’m sure that’s the kind of thing a major market really goes for.

What can’t be ignored is Zombie’s mishmash of horror gimmicks, recalling Kubrick and Argento as well as the slew of witch films popular in the late Sixties and early Seventies. This is not a knock, really. It’s Zombie’s overt fandom that has defined his directorial style since his first film. But don’t recall Kubrick unless your film can stand up to the comparison. Lords of Salem cannot.

Overly designed sets and loads of disturbing nudity hope to draw your attention away from weak dialogue, weaker plotting, ridiculous acting and general pointlessness. More than anything, though, the film is dull – just a whole lot of nothing really happening.  A lot to look at, but no action at all.

Just Sheri Moon Zombie and her acting prowess. Yeah, that’s really scarier than anything the film does intentionally.

 

Verdict-1-5-Stars

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JEV-I_JWwqU

Looks Great, Less Filling

by George Wolf

 

Honestly, Oblivion is a film that is a challenge to critique.

Not that it doesn’t have weaknesses. The problem is, it’s assembled from parts of many other science-fiction movies, and naming those films would necessitate one big spoiler alert.

Spoiler alerts are for the weak, so let’s tread lightly and say that Tom Cruise stars as Jack (can we give this character name a rest please?) one of the last  “drone repairmen” on Earth. After decades of war with the invading Scavs, the planet was left devastated. Though victorious, most of humanity has relocated to a moon of Saturn, while Jack and his sparse mop up crew hang around to harvest resources and keep the drones working efficiently.

When a strange vessel crash lands, Jack defies orders and investigates, setting in motion a tumultuous chain of events.

While it may be true that sci-fi films have been borrowing from each other forever, Oblivion takes it up a notch. Not only are certain themes and plot devices instantly recognizable, but images and scenes considered at least famous (and at most, iconic) are shamelessly recreated.

Director/co-writer Joseph Kosinski, in just his second feature (after TRON:  Legacy ) expands the story he first pitched as an eight –page treatment for a  graphic novel.  It seems he was thinking visually from the start, and it shows.

Oblivion is gorgeous, showcasing a wondrous sci-fi world full of eye-popping cinematography (especially effective in the IMAX version).  From Jack’s outpost-in-the-clouds to his trips to the Earth’s surface in a pretty bitchin’ spacecraft, there is fertile ground for the type of poetic message Kosinski is after.

For a while, the substance keeps pace with the style, but it’s slowly bogged down by a script that ultimately can’t deliver the profundity it strives for. There is some humanity here, but not enough originality to keep the film from feeling overlong .

Tom Cruise is Tom Cruise, with the usual brand of charming intensity we’ve come to expect. Kosinski is still new to the game, but if his storytelling skills ever match his visual flair, he’ll be a player.

Verdict-3-0-Stars

Weirdly Pro-Viral

By Hope Madden

If you could catch Kim Kardashian’s cold, would you?

This is the intriguing concept behind writer/director Brandon Cronenberg’s seething commentary on celebrity obsession, Antiviral. Young Syd March (Caleb Landry Jones) works for a clinic dealing in a very specific kind of treatment. They harvest viruses from willing celebrities, encrypt them (so they can’t spread – no money if you can’t control the spread), and sell the illnesses to obsessed fans who derive some kind of bodily communion with their adored by way of a shared herpes virus. Gross.

But the ambitious Syd pirates these viruses by injecting himself first, before the encryption. Eventually, his own nastiness-riddled blood is more valuable than he is, and he has to find a way out of quite a pickle. Maybe vitamin C?

As unfair as it may be to compare the work of a son to that of the father, Brandon Cronenberg seems to invite it. He obviously does not worry about suffering by comparison, treading as he does on ground so strongly associated with his father. Antiviral is not just a horror film, but a corporeal horror – a subgenre David Cronenberg basically owns.

Antiviral plays a bit like Videodrome – Cronenberg the Elder’s commentary on his era’s preoccupation with media. In both films, a salesman becomes as obsessed as his clients and watches his own body turn monstrous because of it. Junior inserts celebrity for technology, making his effort more timely, but he lacks the biting humor that elevated his father’s work.

Still, Brandon’s feature debut exposes an assured style uncommon for such an early effort. Visually chilly – all washed out whites with splashes of blood red – and emotionally distant, the world of Antiviral is as antiseptic as a hospital ward.

In lieu of character development, the film is filled with grotesquely fascinating ideas. Unfortunately, the tale is ultimately superficial because its focus is so one-sided. The celebrity-obsessed that populate the film are parasites, even cannibals, but the celebrity is inanimate. While I’m sure there’s a point being made there, the final image lacks any real punch because, while we’re made to revile the non-celebrity population and its vampiric adoration, we have no sense that they feed off anything human at all, so who cares?

Had the filmmaker explored the concept of celebrity – either to clarify their equal responsibility in cultivating this culture, or to hint at their corrupted humanity – the film would have felt fully formed rather than just very clever.

 

Verdict-3-0-Stars

Too Safe at Home

by George Wolf

 

Just this week, Major League Baseball announced the formation of a task force charged with finding ways to reverse the decline of African Americans in the sport.

Even if it wasn’t timed to coincide with the release of 42, that announcement would bring Jackie Robinson to mind.

The story of Robinson breaking baseball’s color barrier is heroic, inspiring, and uniquely American. So why did news of a movie version bring immediate fears of how that story could falter?

Well, precisely because of some of the aspects 42 incorporates into its brand of storytelling.

To be fair, writer/director Brian Helgeland’s film is solid in areas that will most likely move audiences to cheers and applause. Crowd-pleasing aside, though, Helgeland’s biography too often becomes hagiography, casting Robinson as a near-biblical figure in a way that ultimately does a disservice to his achievements.

Helgeland, though more experienced as a writer than director, displays a nice feel for the pacing of Robinson’s story and for the historical details of the era. Rather than crafting the film as a slow build to Robinson’s first game with the Brooklyn Dodgers in 1947, Helgeland takes the tale from Robinson’s days in the Negro Leagues through his first season in “white baseball” with a speed that is brisk but never hurried. Though clocking in at slightly over two hours, 42 never feels bloated.

For baseball geeks like me, the rosters are familiar, the stadiums look great and the on-field play is competent. On those fronts, which are indeed important in a film such as this, thumbs up all around.

But as good as much of it looks, there is little intimacy.  Chadwick Boseman is terrific as Jackie (looks like him, too) but isn’t given the room to explore anything beyond a one-dimensional saint.  Harrison Ford gives a solid, albeit sometimes scenery-chewing performance as Dodgers executive Branch Rickey, leading a supporting lineup that is stacked with talent. The Tenth Man Award must go to John C. McGinley. His dead-on turn as legendary announcer Red Barber provides a joyous reminder of baseball on the radio.

Reminders are fine, but if that’s all Helgeland was after, he needed to aim higher. We know Robinson is an American hero, but he was human.  We see some of the ugliness he faced (most likely a very small, watered-down sample), but we don’t feel his human struggle to the degree that we should.

This lack of depth is surprising, as Helgeland has penned complex, intelligent scripts before, such as Mystic River and L.A. Confidential. With 42, he is tentative, too afraid to stray from the Hollywood formula for fear of swinging and missing.

Ironic, and disappointing.

      Verdict-3-0-Stars

 

Dictatorship Just Doesn’t Sell

By Hope Madden

“We have to find a product that is attractive to the people.”

That may not sound like democracy to you, but in Chile in 1988, advertising became the new democracy.

At least, that is, according to co-writer/director Pablo Larrain’s Oscar nominee, the slyly comical No.

When longtime Chilean dictator Augusto Pinochet caved to international pressure, allowing a national referendum to determine whether he would rule for another 8 years, the wildly fractured “No” campaign decided to employ marketing tactics to strengthen their chances.

Gael Garcia Bernal plays Rene, the young upstart ad exec – rat tail, acid washed jeans and all – who seems to embody Pinochet’s myopic view of Chilean prosperity. His advertising gig keeps all the lures of capitalism at his fingertips. He even has a microwave – the country must be doing OK, right?

But looking beyond his new car and soap opera photo shoot, he can see the oppression masquerading as abundance. So he relies on what he understands – consumerism – to craft an opposition campaign that’s more commercial than anything the world had seen.

Bernal gives his character a fascinating set of traits. He’s shallow enough to recommend boiling down decades of oppression, vanishings and abuse to a jingle and a Pepsi-style ad, but his lost expression and tenderness with his son (Pascal Montero) show a man struggling to do right by his country.

Larrain‘s aesthetic is all ’88 – it feels like you’re watching an overused VHS, but that low-rent quality gives his film more than a throwback feel. It articulates the sense of a population kidding itself about its quality of living.

Not all is as light as it seems in Rene’s world, and the same can be said for Larrain’s film. He builds a real sense of foreboding, of impending danger. When Pinochet’s campaign accepts the popularity of the No approach, they abandon their underestimation and hire Rene’s boss to rebrand them. It’s a pissing contest between two colleagues on one level, but beneath that there’s something sinister, something that illustrates the way a regime’s ugliness spreads by way of quiet acquiescence.

Plus, there are mimes!

No meanders, loses focus, and perhaps undersells Chile’s tragic backstory as openly as the No campaign’s ad exec did, but the film gets points for its clever, layered examination of a precedent setting approach to the toppling of a regime.

All because Chile rocked the vote.

Verdict-3-5-Stars

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=veHCHhRx3Vk

Help Me, I’ve Been Hyp-no-tized!

By George Wolf

 

The head-trippy space so eloquently invaded by Christopher Nolan in films such as Memento and Inception seems to have caught the fancy of Oscar-winning director Danny Boyle (Slumdog Millionaire).  In Trance, Boyle gleefully plays with perception and reality as he unveils a mostly effective noir tale of the hunt for a stolen art masterpiece.

James McAvoy stars as Simon, an employee of an exclusive London auction house who opens the film by explaining his game plan for safeguarding art masterpieces during any heist attempts.  While Simon is narrating, we see a heist being organized, leading up to the moment when ringleader Franck (Vincent Cassel) and his thugs steal a prized work.

Simon owes Franck an old debt, but attempts to pay it off with the location of a lost painting are stalled by Simon’s claim of amnesia.  And so, the group understandably turns to…hypnosis.

Stay with me, because this is when things get freaky. Once Simon begins visiting hypnotherapist Elizabeth (Rosario Dawson), all lines begin to blur.

What is real, and what is a hypnotic suggestion? Who is plotting with whom, and is all that nudity and sex merely subconscious desire?

Boyle, in films such as Slumdog, 127 Hours, Trainspotting, 28 Days Later, and Shallow Grave, has shown that his choices regarding pacing and visual style are often masterful.  With Trance, Boyle seems energized by his new genre playground – so much so that the questionable leaps taken by the script are swept aside with little regard.

The core story was first hatched by current “Dr. Who” writer Joe Ahearne in a TV movie from 2001. Frequent Boyle collaborator John Hodge has expanded the screenplay to keep your head swimming with possibilities, as heroes turn into villains, past becomes present, and then back again.

The solid cast is anchored by Dawson, who reaches beyond anything we’ve seen from her so far with a layered, emotional performance in a role that makes frequent demands. She answers them all, and becomes the film’s center of gravity when too many elements threaten to spin out of control.

Trance is engaging and entertaining, but I’m guessing Boyle was after a bit more. Instead of leaving with a feeling of wonder as you spend days trying to get your head around it, you’re more likely to view Trance as clever, forgettable fun.

Verdict-3-5-Stars

 

Beyond the Pines Live Handsome Fathers and Sons

By Hope Madden

Sure, The Place Beyond the Pines is a bank robber movie starring three weirdly attractive A-listers (Ryan Gosling, Eva Mendes, Bradley Cooper). But this layered, complex film about men and the sins they pass on hopes to be a lot more than that.

What co-writer/director Derek Cianfrance (Blue Valentine) has crafted is a generational drama about fathers, sons and consequences.

The Place Beyond the Pines tells its story in three parts. Each part introduces us to a new, young male lead as he makes a life-altering decision. Their individual tales are aided immeasurably by great supporting turns from Mendes and Ben Mendelsohn (making a name for himself playing the guy our hero would be better off not knowing), but Cianfrance’s interest is in the young men – their choices, how they were affected by their fathers, and how they will affect their sons.

Act 1 follows Gosling’s stunt motorcyclist Luke as he tries to claim the family he didn’t know he had. We move to Cooper’s rookie cop in the second act, who walks the compromised line between justice and ambition. Act 3 brings us full circle.

Cianfrance’s lens casts a bittersweet small town spell, and his actors – an exceptional Gosling in particular – develop fully formed, flawed, compelling characters. The filmmaker’s smart script and patient camera give the talent the time and content they need to mine the depths of each character. Unfortunately, this borderline Greek tragedy just loses steam.

Whether Parts 2 and 3 feel like middling efforts because Gosling’s smolder is missing or because Cianfrance’s interest lies elsewhere is hard to tell. Taken on their own, the second and third acts amount to a solid family drama; compared with the livewire of Act 1, though, they let you down just a bit.

It feels like Cianfrance just bit off more than he could chew, but it’s hard to knock him for ambition. Pines veers as wildly as Handsome Luke’s motorcycle, and it doesn’t always find its way back. Cianfrance tries too hard, covers too much, but he does it with such passion and such cinematic skill that he can be forgiven.

Verdict-3-5-Stars