Hey, it’s October! The big money winners start rolling out this week. The season kicks off with the first real Oscar contender. Is A Star Is Born as good as the hype? Yes! We also have the next big comic book movie, Tom Hardy’s Venom. Is it as bad as they’re saying? No!
Plus, we share a rundown on all that’s new in home entertainment.
Listen to the full podcast HERE.
by Hope Madden
We don’t need another superhero. That’s what the Venom trailers told us, and it’s pretty true.
So, what Venom had to offer—an antihero, a Jekyll/Hyde thing starring a brilliant actor who excels with complex, dark roles—felt like a great change of pace.
Tom Hardy was the ideal choice for the dual role of Eddie Brock, semi-doofus reporter, and Venom, flesh-eating alien symbiote. This should have worked, partly because Hardy knows how to mine villains for their humanity, and watching him wrestle with the good v evil duality never ceases to be impressive.
What Venom suffers from more than anything is the expectations set by a Marvel release. Don’t be mistaken, were this the DC universe it would be the second best comic book film released since Christopher Nolan cast Hardy as a super villain.
But it is, indeed, Marvel. (If you forget, Stan Lee shows up to remind you.) And for that reason, regardless of the fact that Venom boasts superior acting, FX, story arc, action choreography and writing than anything DC has done this century besides Wonder Woman, its regrettably traditional execution makes it feel a bit stale. Because it is Marvel.
A characteristically committed Hardy elevates scenes, indulging a far more humorous tone than what we’ve seen lately from the versatile actor. Riz Ahmed (Nightcrawler, Four Lions) is a solid choice to play Eddie/Venom’s nemesis. Never campy or over-the-top, Ahmed evokes a type of lifelong genius who cannot be persuaded that his ideas are at odds with the ideals he alleges to support.
Michelle Williams is uncharacteristically flat, and the balance of the cast is mainly forgettable, but the real problem with the film rests on uninspired direction.
Ruben Fleischer showed a flair for action, colorful theatrics and humor with his 2009 breakout Zombieland, but the joy of carnage and camaraderie that infected that flick is sadly missing here.
Zombieland was aided immeasurably by writers Rhett Reese and Paul Wernick, whose irrepressible irreverence made the Deadpool films such a riot. It’s a tone sorely lacking in this screenplay, penned by a team of four whose output includes a Fifty Shades film, Kangaroo Jack and Fleischer’s abysmal 2013 mob flick, Gangster Squad.
Venom is not a bad movie. It’s fun, competently made entertainment.
And a disappointment.
by Christie Robb
Emotional, entitled, white men seem omnipresent these days. They’re on the news. They’re on social media. They’re on the big screen. At least with the biopic Colette, they are confined to an historical period safely a century behind us.
Colette gives us the origin story of French novelist Sidonie-Gabrielle Colette (Keira Knightley), a Madonna-like figure of the early 1900s who emerged from a small provincial village to become the toast of Paris, reinventing herself over the years as a novelist, mime, actress and journalist.
She wrote frankly about women’s independence, sexuality and aging. She sparked a riot at the Moulin Rouge in 1907 when she performed a lesbian love scene in a pantomime. She was nominated for the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1948. She wrote the book Gigi, which was adapted for the stage where she personally selected a then-unknown Audrey Hepburn for the leading role in 1951. The book then became an MGM musical that won nine Academy Awards in 1958 (including Best Picture). When she died, Colette was the first woman in France to be given a state funeral.
But before all that, Colette married a bully named Willy (Dominic West). Over a decade her senior, Willy was a popular writer who put out music reviews, stories and novels. Quite a bit were written by other people in a factory system where Willy provided the brand, but others produced the work. He compelled his wife to join the team, asking her to mine her childhood experiences so he could publish them under his name. Once the Claudine books became popular, he would lock Colette in a room until he was satisfied she had written enough.
The movie tells the story of Colette’s time with Willy and traces an arc from her awkward introduction into Paris salon society to an eventual break with the abusive hack and first steps toward an independent life.
Knightly is masterful inhabiting the multifaceted Colette, using her eyes to hint at the hurt she’s experiencing while wielding a bold bravado as a shield in her constant verbal fencing matches with her husband. West presents as a believable blowhard—initially charming, then volatile, narcissistic, abusive, and ultimately self-pitying, sniveling and weak.
Given the breadth of Colette’s life and its many acts, it makes sense that director Wash Westmoreland would focus on a distinct part of it. However, because of his desire to give screen time to so many of the big Personalities of the Belle Époque and to keep the focus squarely on the time period of the Colette/Willy relationship, the movie seems simultaneously thinly-sketched and agonizingly long. With so much of the movie involving Colette being shit on, the movie verges on indignity porn. How much can this woman take, before she snaps?
But when she snaps…it’s so good. Oscar-bait good.
Given this week, I’d have vastly preferred it if more of the movie had focused on the glorious and adventurous life Colette led after she dumped Willy and struck out on her own. But, even so, it’s a story of liberation and the claiming of a woman’s power. Something that’s needed.
I just hope there’s a sequel.
by George Wolf
A few weeks ago, for homework, I revisited the 3 previous versions of A Star Is Born. A friend later asked me which one was best.
I have a different answer now.
Director/co-writer/co-star Bradley Cooper brings a new depth of storytelling to the warhorse, with a greater commitment to character and the blazing star power of Lady Gaga.
Cooper is Jackson Maine, a booze-swilling, pill-popping rock star who wanders into a random bar post-gig and catches Ally (Gaga) belting out “La Vie en Rose.” Jack’s entranced, and begins coaxing Ally to sing her own songs instead of covers. Everyone’s got a talent, he tells her, the real gift is having something to say.
Each previous film version represented its era well, but with the rock music setting and several recognizable homages, it’s clear Cooper has a fondness for the Streisand/Kristofferson take from ’76. His new vision carries a raw authenticity that eclipses them all.
The battered star’s instant infatuation with the young talent has never felt more understandable, the undeniable chemistry between Cooper and Gaga fueling the feeling that in Ally, Jack sees a better version of himself.
Cooper, with a lower-range speaking voice and the musical talent from nearly 2 years of tutelage, is every bit the weathered rocker, on a misplaced search for redemption. Watch him when Jack is not the focus of a scene to see a character become complete.
But then, another outstanding acting performance from Bradley Cooper is not a surprise. His remarkably instinctual directing debut here, though, must now place him among the premier talents in film.
Nearly every scene, from stadium rock concert to intimate conversation, is framed for maximum impact. His camera can be stylish but not showy, with seamless scene transitions fueling a forward momentum that will not let the film drag.
The melodramatic story has been stripped of pretense and buoyed by more layers of humanity, and not just between the two leads. Jack’s brother (Sam Elliot), his boyhood friend (Dave Chappelle) and Ally’s father (Andrew Dice Clay) emerge as important characters despite limited screen time.
And then there’s Gaga.
The voice is, well, it’s a force of nature, and the songs (some co-written with Cooper) are memorable. But if a star already shining can be born, welcome Gaga the movie star. She is electric, taking Ally from wide-eyed stage fright to SNL headliner with both tenderness and ferocity, giving this character the strength and nuance she has never had before.
This film has talent everywhere, but it also has stirring things to say about love and sacrifice, about art and commerce, ambition and fame.
I’ll say this: A Star is Born is among the very best of the year.
Big week, people. Huge new flicks in theaters, awesome array of choices in home entertainment. Looking for horror? Independent gems that flew sadly under the radar while they were in theaters? Mildly disappointing blockbusters? We have them all! Here’s the skinny:
Before you worry: no, we have not run out of real topics. It’s just that, every so often we need to indulge a weird little voice that says things like, “Ever noticed how many people die on toilets in horror movies? Wonder what kind of deep-seated fears that explores.”
And there are a LOT of people who die on toilets in horror movies. Michael Myers really likes to freak people out in public restrooms. We know Norman Bates likes to dispatch folks while they’re in the shower, but he is not above preying on someone while they’re just trying to pee. Jason Voorhees and Freddy Krueger have also done it. (The poor guy falls asleep on the toilet. Don’t judge—we’ve all been there.)
Here, however, are the best instances of nature calling you to your death.
Phil (Omar Epps) just wants to take his girl to a scary movie. Still, he does get up in the middle of it to pee. I’m not saying that’s cause for murder. I’m not saying it’s not, either.
The whole Scream franchise does an excellent job of taking the mundane moments in life and drawing your attention to all the ways in which you are actually vulnerable. This scene plays not only on the vulnerability involved in our social contract to allow others to urinate in peace, but also touches on the ways in which anonymity (by way of the costumes everyone is wearing at the theater) emboldens people. Usually the wrong people. The kind that whisper weirdly from the next stall.
Mike White makes such a great doofus victim, doesn’t he? Here he is, minding his own beeswax, taking a leisurely in a filthy public toilet during the zombiepocalypse…No part of this really sounds wise, does it?
It’s all in keeping with one of Zombieland‘s great gimmicks: the rules. The reason the rules work so well for the film is that each one is actually an excellent piece of advice. Get some cardio, people, because zombies don’t tire out.
And for the love of God, beware of bathrooms.
Everybody hated Philip Hardin (J. Downing) anyway, didn’t we? He knew. Sure, he claimed that his little monster gravy train, the only reason his dying carnival attracted any customers at all, had nothing to do with all those dead bodies. But, come on.
The nasty little muppety creatures from Luca Bercovici’s surprise 1984 hit (and Gremlins ripoff) have left town. They’ve found a hunting ground better suited to them alongside the carnies at the Satan’s Den attraction.
The film is not good—sequels to sloppy derivatives rarely are. It’s a mixed bag of kills and puppet hijinx. But there is something about a monster in the toilet, man, and it ain’t good.
This iconic Troma film sees the homeless population of a town turn from cheap liquor to cheaper god-knows-what, Tenafly Viper. It’s old, but this is not the kind of wine that ages well. Those who drink it, well, it’s like looking directly at the Ark of the Covenant.
The hobo-melting is honestly the least interesting and least offensive thing happening in this envelope pusher. But there is this one poor bastard who just takes a seat, just wants to rest a bit and enjoy a lovely beverage. The FX are laughable, and yet sort of genius.
Yes! Every single thing the previous films were trying to capture, all handled here with inspired (and brilliantly hideous) claymation. It’s perfect. It’s sadistic, funny, tender, mean, goofy and pretty clearly Australian.
It was not a dingo that ate the baby.
Thirty effing years. That’s insane. The Simpsons has become such a faded and well-worn thread in our cultural tapestry that it’s easy to forget how important it is. You could make the case, and many have, that it has featured the most consistently excellent writing in the history of series television.
And of course, any discussion of the show brings instant debate, from hipster-inspired cries of long-lost relevance to the nearly impossible attempt to rank the best episodes.
Okay, we won’t try to rank them, but we can come up with our 10 favorite episodes…
The Itchy & Scratchy & Poochie Show 1997
Homer joins the voice cast of Itchy & Scratchy, and what follows is not only hilarious, but a spot-on skewering of media pandering.
Quote: “My name’s Poochie-D and I rock the telly, I’m half Joe Camel and a third Fonzerelli. I’m the kung-fu hippie from gangsta city, I’m a rappin’ surfer…you the fool I pity.”
Homer at the Bat 1992
Monty Burns assembles a star-studded group of Major Leaguers for the company softball team. Extra points for Terry Cashman re-recording his “Talkin’ Baseball” to memorable effect.
Quote” “Not once, not twice, but thrice!”
Simpson and Delilah 1990
A new wonder drug gives Homer a full head of hair and he begins to climb the corporate ladder, with a big help from his new secretary Karl (a terrific Harvey Fierstein).
Quote: “You are nature’s greatest miracle! Say it!”
The Shinning (from Treehouse of Horror V) 1995
The Simpsons take on Kubrick’s classic horror film and the results are perfect, right down to the picture of the tartan-clad lass hanging above Groundskeeper Willie’s bed.
Quote: “No TV and no beer make Homer something something..”
Kamp Krusty 1992
When Bart and Lisa are away at Kamp Krusty, Homer and Marge are enjoying an ideal life..until Kent Brockman’s special report clues them into the erupting camper rebellion .
Quote: (Kamp counselors preparing a toast) “Gentlemen, to evil!”
Mr. Plow 1992
Homer finds great success as snowplow operator “Mr. Plow”, only to face stiff competition from Barney as the new “Plow King.”
Quote: “Are you tired of having your hands cut off by snowblowers?”
Homer to the Max 1999
After the TV show Police Cops uses the name “Homer Simpson” for a fat, stupid detective, Homer changes his name. Taking inspiration from a hair dryer, he becomes to “Max Power” and begins getting new-found respect…so much so that he changes Marge’s name to “Hootie McBoob.” Classic.
Quote: “Max Power doesn’t snuggle, Marge, you just strap on and feel the G’s!”
Cape Feare 1993
A triumphant return for Sideshow Bob (Kelsey Grammar), as he resumes his quest to kill Bart. The Simpsons enter the witness protection program as “The Thompsons,” and a flawless parody of Cape Fear takes shape.
Quote: “I think he’s talking to you”
Two Dozen and One Greyhounds 1995
Bart and Lisa discover Mr. Burns’ plan to use the fur from a litter of Greyhound puppies for his wardrobe, which leads to Burns singing “See My Vest,” one of the nest songs in the entire series.
Quote: “They all look like little Rory Calhouns!”
Colonel Homer 1992
Reflecting the country music boom that was exploding at the time, Homer becomes the manager to struggling country singer Lurleen Lumpkin (Beverly D’Angelo). An endlessly quoteable (and singable) episode.
Quote: “As much as I hate that man right now, you gotta love that suit”
Honorable Mention: RV Salesman in The Call of the Simpsons 1990
A satire of the Bigfoot TV specials of the time, this episode isn’t one of the best, but it contains one of our favorite segments ever seen on the show: Albert Brooks as Bob the RV salesman.
Quote: Homer, applying for credit: “Is that a good siren, am I approved?”
Bob: “You ever known a siren to be good?”
Okay, we’re going to stop now before our top 10 list becomes a top 50…which episodes did we miss?
by Matt Weiner
So a screenwriter, the president of France and a spy walk into a café… have you heard this one? If so, you might have read the book La Douleur (War: A Memoir for the English translation), an autobiography by Marguerite Duras based on diaries she allegedly wrote during World War II.
Duras rose to fame as a writer, garnering a screenplay nomination for the Alain Resnais-directed Hiroshima mon amour. That film’s novel treatment of memory and chronology echoes throughout Memoir of War, adapted from Duras’s book and directed by Emmanuel Finkiel.
Mélanie Thierry plays the film version of Marguerite, whose recollections span the waning days of Vichy France through the Liberation of Paris, the end of the war and the immediate aftermath of Europe reckoning with news of the Holocaust.
If this sounds like a lot of history to cover for one movie, it would be—except Marguerite’s reflections are unconcerned with straightforward chronology. Her diaries and narration compress time and memory into one long, all-consuming reverie for her captured husband, Robert (Emmanuel Bourdieu).
It makes for a deliberately disorienting experience, one that Finkiel pulls out a few tricks to heighten: there’s the nauseatingly atonal strings of the soundtrack, as oppressive as a horror score. But most effective is the way Marguerite’s memories of these monumental years unfold so frequently in claustrophobic interiors.
We get the entire moral arc of world war by way of smoky Parisian rooms. As the war winds down and Robert’s fate seems more and more dire, Marguerite retreats both mentally and physically. And we experience the two most triumphant moments—the Liberation of Paris and what should be another happy occasion after the war—through Marguerite’s furtive glances out the window, like gossamer filters keeping the reality of the world at large a step removed from ever being something she can attain herself.
It’s a demanding role, and it rests almost entirely on Thierry to hold everything together even as her character seems to slip in and out of time. She pulls off resolve with gusto, and even tempers it with a haunted uncertainty that feels completely natural as the enormity of the Holocaust becomes clear.
Memoir of War is a difficult film to get a handle on. The Resistance intrigue is discarded as quickly as it starts to take shape. The historical romance is mostly MacGuffin. And the war barely leaves the cafés, let alone the city.
The slipperiness is apt though. Marguerite’s memories are their own fog of war, and the author’s real-life diaries play coy with authenticity vs. artistic liberty. Finkiel pieces together a fitting adaptation, and if the parts never hold together long enough to say some cohesive whole, at least he can say he makes us feel something Marguerite would recognize.
by Hope Madden
Hell Fest is not the first film to point out that it would be really dangerous if any of the masked meanies inside a Halloween haunt were, indeed, a murder-happy maniac. It’s not a bad premise, just not a new one.
In keeping with the not-so-fresh theme, this film is a straight-up, unapologetic slasher. Not a nostalgia-seeped, homage-laden satire or meta-commentary. Nope. Hell Fest is an unironic slasher. Six nubile youths drink some shots and head into a situation that should be fun but does, of course, hold the potential for serious danger. But they’re young, they’re immortal, they’re so hot and horny.
Why so much groping, by the way? They aren’t that drunk, they have homes, none of them just got out of prison. That’s the thing about slashers: we’ve seen so, so, so many of them over the years that the cracks in the formula are gaping holes by this point.
Nevertheless, Hell Fest stays its by-the-numbers course. Director Gregory Plotkin (Paranormal Activity: The Ghost Dimension) manages to keep the energy high, even as the story weaves tediously through an amusement park.
The script, penned by a committee of five, doesn’t burden itself with much in the way of backstory or the need for character arc. Of the six, Natalie (Amy Forsyth) is the smartest and least slutty. She is, therefore, the target of our slow-moving, weirdly strong, masked marauder.
Her friends are mainly over-the-top caricatures of humans, but there’s an almost believable camaraderie among them. Forsyth fares best, clumsily flirting with the equally awkward Gavin (Roby Attal) as their overdressed friends drink from flasks and tell us how very excited they are.
While a couple of the attractions are fun, the main problem with Hell Fest is that it is not scary. Not for a minute. Nor is it gory—for a film with an R rating, there’s almost no blood, absolutely no nudity and very few F-bombs. It’s as if they hoped for a PG13 rating, didn’t get one and now they’re stuck with a movie that can’t entertain the wee ones and won’t entertain adults.
They do have Tony Todd, though. When has that ever been a bad idea?
I know, October is basically here and you just want to find some new scary movies to put you in the mood. Dude, seriously, Halloween comes out in two weeks. Just hold your horses.
by George Wolf
So, while we’re down here debating the existence of Sasquatch/Yeti/Bigfoot, an entire community of them lives above the clouds, wondering the same about us shorter, wee-footed folk.
That’s a cute and clever conceit for a family tale that might look a lot like Pixar’s Monsters, Inc., which makes it even more surprising when WB’s Smallfoot instead flirts with becoming the most ballsy, subversive animated film since Zootopia. It’s a film with big ideas, some generic and some risky, but just too many to juggle into a truly memorable takeaway.
Channing Tatum leads the voice cast as Migo, an affable Yeti who has always bought in to everything his village’s “Stonekeeper” (Common) was selling, including the fact that the legendary Smallfoot wasn’t real. But then Migo sees one, which raises some questions, and questions themselves are a problem.
Migo, like all the Yeti, has been taught to suppress any questions he may have about the stones the Stonekeeper is keeping. Those stones guide the beliefs of the Yeti through the various statements written on each. You might even call them…commandments.
Woah.
Smallfoot raises eyebrows early, but once Migo manages to bring smallfooted Percy (James Corden) back to his village, it settles into a pleasantly entertaining mix of messages, music, and Looney Tunes-worthy pratfalls.
Tatum gives our hero a fine voice (though his singing is a bit thin), Corden is always fun and the support cast (including Zendaya, Danny DeVito, Gina Rodriguez and LeBron James) is capably unique, but co-directors Karey Kirkpatrick and Jason Reisig chase too many snowtrails.
Some moments, like the Stonekeeper telling Migo about the ease of deception, find their mark, while others such as Percy’s struggles with reality TV become overly familiar distractions.
The driving theme here is truth, and how very hard it can be to find. Question, be brave, explore science as well as faith. Maybe sing a song. Though Smallfoot doesn’t deliver on its radical beginnings, it finds a comfort zone less likely to spark partisan rancor in the aisle.
