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The Badness of King George

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Rampage

by Matt Weiner

Here’s something I never thought I’d say: I miss the cohesive vision of Battleship, a movie that is no longer the dullest adaptation of a game. That’s because Rampage exists, the latest video game adaptation to suggest that Hollywood is intentionally tanking these things to convince audiences that movies are a superior medium.

To be fair, there are far worse adaptations out there. Rampage reunites director Brad Peyton with disasters, Dwayne Johnson and green screen destruction, last seen together in San Andreas (2015). Peyton knows how to keep the action moving along, and Johnson is extremely adept by now at oozing charm no matter how nonsensical the material.

Johnson plays primatologist Davis Okoye, whose beloved gorilla George is one of three beasts who fall victim to rogue genetic engineering and cut a destructive path through the country as they all converge on the company responsible for their mutation.

Because some tension is needed to pad out the sparse story, Okoye is joined by genetic engineer Dr. Kate Caldwell (Naomie Harris) and government agent Harvey Russell (Jeffrey Dean Morgan), who all have reservations teaming up at first but come to learn that they have more in common than not. For example, they are the only three people involved in the relief effort who think maybe it’s not a good idea to level a major American city.

Sure, the plot is inane and the dialogue breaks new ground in expository heights—especially from the film’s human antagonists, corporate baddies Claire and Brett Wyden (Malin Åckerman and Jake Lacy, who do about as much as possible for being tasked with Explaining Things We Just Saw a Minute Ago).

Rampage’s script-by-committee strives to meet some golden ratio of one-liners and world-ending peril. And the cast is game, plainly knowing what they’ve signed onto. But something still feels off, and it’s a fatal problem for a movie like this when the biggest tension isn’t onscreen but rather a nagging conflict between millions of dollars and who knows how many studio honchos never quite committing to whether this should be a serious property or a popcorn flick.

While the Rampage video game series managed to pay tribute to its monster movie conventions as much as it tore them down, all of that gets ignored for something so by-the-numbers that the number of people credited for the screenplay is the only thing less believable than the movie’s treatment of genetics. (Also physics.)

And as if Rampage needed any more off-screen problems, Warner Bros. isn’t doing themselves any favors by reminding people of King Kong and Godzilla at a time when the studio’s “MonsterVerse” is giving those properties insightful, visually distinct and even daring reboots.

If you’re under the age of 13 and might enjoy seeing The Rock swap crude jokes with a CGI gorilla—or if you’re over the age of 30 and have an inexplicably intense connection to a niche video game series—then there’s a chance Rampage is for you.

Otherwise, it’s a muddled genre substitute for the real thing. Save your quarters.

 

 

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Unsane Worldwide

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12 Days

by Rachel Willis

Like a fly on the wall, Raymond Depardon takes his audience inside a world most will never see, and many may never want to see again.

In France, anyone committed to a psychiatric hospital without consent must be seen by a judge within 12 days. At that time, the judge will decide whether to continue their treatment or release them from care. Each patient’s doctor, or group of doctors, provides recommendations to the judge. In every case Depardon is privy to, the doctors never recommend release for their patients.

Only one woman is okay with this decision. She admits she needs additional care and seems happy with the judge’s decision to continue her treatment for another six months. For the rest, they desire their freedom.

Many of the patients are lucid. They argue their cases before the judge, promising to seek treatment from their own doctors, find jobs, and do what they can to lead healthy lives. When they’re remitted back into the care of the hospital, they promise to appeal the decision (they have ten days to appeal any decision made by the judge).

For others, it is clear their mental health is poor. One man is unable to answer questions from the judge; it’s as if he is having a separate conversation, one that only makes sense to him. Another man begs the judge to find his father and have his father come visit him. Only after he leaves the room does the judge comment on why his father will never visit.

It’s an interesting conundrum for the judges, who must rely on the recommendations of the doctors to make their decisions. Do they struggle with their decision when patients have clear goals for their lives outside of the hospital?

Depardon doesn’t give us any answers. He remains an unbiased observer never offering a narrative to sway the viewer. We’re never given any information outside of what we see inside the small, claustrophobic courtroom. This may irritate some viewers who may wish to know more about each of the individuals seen before the judges or the circumstances surrounding their care. For those open to simply taking what Depardon gives, the film is likely to raise many important questions about the nature of mental health care.

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Zen and the Art of Channel Changing

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95 and 6 to Go

by Alex Edeburn

There is a silent poetry contained in Kimi Takesue’s fly-on-the-wall documentary focusing on the daily life of her aging grandfather, Tom. 95 and 6 to Go is the calm portrait of this widowed Japanese immigrant who carries on through his calisthenics, coupon clipping and channel surfing.

The film portrays these apparently mundane activities with a zen-like attitude through Takesue’s simple and elegant camera work. There is a hushed beauty in the director’s approach, which allows us as the audience to soak in and associate with Grandpa Tom’s life in his house.

There is one rather eye-catching shot of Tom flipping through TV channels. In the foreground of the shot, we see Grandpa’s tanned, leathery hands clutching the blockish television remote. It almost looks archaic compared to the sleek designs we are so used to with today’s 55-inch flat-screens. Grandpa presses down every half-second, unimpressed with whatever program he comes across. There is a layer of grain in this shot (and several others), a choice that adds a faded element to correspond with the nostalgic texture of the project.

Takesue explores a central theme of reinvention, as when she asks Grandpa Tom to revise a film script she has written. The more he discusses his own ideas on how the script should evolve, the more his eyes flicker with youthful vigor.

Tom is also reinventing himself as he copes with life as a widower. He does not seem like the man to wallow in despair following the death of Kimi’s grandmother, but rather he seeks action in those ostensibly ordinary tasks we notice early on. It all seems like a practical process to Tom, readying himself for whatever may happen in the following chapter of his life.

95 and 6 to Go is a reserved documentary focused on the small aspects of day-to-day living. The film captures something essential and human through its quiet observation of Grandpa Tom and his placid routine toward reinvention.

For Your Queue

I Don’t Want to Go Out—Week of April 9

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Good looking week this week for those of us too damn lazy to get off the couch. Oscar nominees, great directors, brilliant actors, songs, dances…hard to go wrong.

Click the movie title for the full review.

Phantom Thread

All the Money in the World

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YCSNwXMpntg

Molly’s Game

The Greatest Showman

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Shush!

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A Quiet Place

by Hope Madden

Damn.

So, John Krasinski. That big, tall guy, kind of doughy faced? Married to Emily Blunt? Dude can direct the shit out of a horror movie.

Krasinski co-writes, directs and stars in the smart, nerve-wracking gut-punch of a monster flick, A Quiet Place.

Krasinski plays the patriarch of a close-knit family trying to survive the post-alien-invasion apocalypse by staying really, really quiet. The beasts use sound to hunt, but the family is prepared. They already know sign language because their oldest, played by Millicent Simmonds (Wondertruck) is deaf.

A blessing and a curse, that, since she can’t tell if she makes noise, nor can she tell if a creature comes calling.

Simmonds is wonderful as the conflicted adolescent, her authenticity matched by the tender, terrified performance given by Noah Jupe (Wonder) playing her younger brother.

As their expecting mother, Emily Blunt is magnificent, as is her way. Simultaneously fierce and vulnerable, she’s the family’s center of gravity and the heart of husband (onscreen and off) Krasinski’s film.

But you expect that from Emily Blunt. She’s amazing.

What you may not expect is Krasinski’s masterful direction: where and when the camera lingers or cuts away, how often and how much he shows the monsters, when he decides the silence will generate the most dread and when he chooses to let Marco Beltrami’s ominous score do that work for him.

The script, penned by Krasinski with horror veterans Bryan Woods and Scott Beck, stays one step ahead of your complaints. Just as you think, “Why haven’t they done this?” a clear explanation floats across the screen, either as translated sign language, a prop on a table or a headline in Dad’s gadget-laden basement bunker.

It’s smart in the way it’s written, sly in its direction and spot-on in its ability to pile on the mayhem in the final reel without feeling gimmicky or silly.

And the monsters are kick ass. That’s a big deal.

At its heart lies a sweet sentiment about family, but sentiment does not get in the way of scares. A Quiet Place works your nerves like few films can.

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Who’s a Good Dog?

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Isle of Dogs

by Hope Madden

First note in my Isle of Dogs screening notebook: God damn it, I want a dog.

Second note: Wait, Scarlett Johansson and Tilda Swinton are in another film that appropriates Asian culture? Come on!

And that about sums up the conflicting emotions Wes Anderson generates with his latest stop-motion wonder.

Isle of Dogs is Anderson’s second animated effort, coming nearly a decade after another tactile amazement, 2009’s Fantastic Mr. Fox. A millennia-long feud between the Kobayashis of Megasaki and dogs comes to a head when corrupt Mayor Kobayashi uses a dog flu outbreak to whip up anti-canine sentiment and banish all dogs to Trash Island.

But his orphaned ward Atari (Koyu Rankin) steals a miniature prop plane and crash lands on Trash Island looking for his beloved Spots (Liev Schreiber).

The little pilot is aided in his quest by a scruffy pack including Rex (Edward Norton), Boss (Bill Murray), gossipy Duke (Jeff Goldblum, a riot), King (Bob Balaban), and reluctant helper/lifelong stray, Chief (Bryan Cranston).

Other voice talent as concerned canines: Johansson, Swinton, F. Murray Abraham and Harvey Keitel.

Explained via onscreen script in typically Anderson fashion, dog barks have been translated into English and Japanese remains Japanese unless there’s an electronic, professional or exchange student translator handy. The choice shifts the film’s focus to the dogs (in much the way Peanuts shows remained focused on children by having adults speak in squawks). It also means that moviegoers who speak Japanese are afforded an enviably richer experience.

But for a large number of American audiences, it means that Japanese characters are sidelined and the only human we can understand is the white foreign exchange student, Tracy (Greta Gerwig). From Ohio, no less.

Between an affectionate if uncomfortably disrespectful representation of Japanese culture and Gerwig’s white savior role, Anderson’s privilege is tough to look past here, even with the scruffy and lovable cast.

The animation is beyond spectacular, with deep backdrops and meticulously crafted characters. Atari’s little teeth killed me. The voice talent is impeccable and the story itself a joy, toying with our dictatorial nature, the need to rebel and to submit, and how entirely awesome dogs are.

Set to an affecting taiko drum score with odes to anime, Ishiro Honda, Akira Kurosawa and every other Japanese movie Anderson watched as a kid, the film is clearly an homage to so much of what he loves. His skill remains uniquely his own and nearly unparalleled in modern film.

And Isle of Dogs is a touching, flawlessly crafted animated dream. That probably should have been set in America.

For Your Queue

I Don’t Want to Go Out—Week of April 2

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What’s new in home entertainment? Three movies you probably missed in theaters that deserve your attention and one dog. Choose wisely. Let us help.

Click the movie title for the full review.

Jane

Thelma

Sweet Virginia

Insidious: The Last Key

The Screening Room

Screening Room: Game On!

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This week’s Screening Room Podcast looks at Spielberg’s latest, Ready Player One, plus Tyler Perry’s Acrimony, Flower and what to look for in this week’s new home entertainment releases.

Check out the full podcast HERE.

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Bury Your Gold

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The China Hustle

by Cat McAlpine

Are you still upset about the 2008 housing crash? Of course you are. We all are. Ten years ago banks put the American dream up for sale and the market inevitably collapsed in on itself.

But when the American people were trying to pull themselves back up by their bootstraps, the financial industry had already moved on. To China.

Get ready to look up at the glistening spires of capitalism only to realize we’re all huddled under a house of cards.

Writer/Director Jed Rothestein weaves a thrilling, terrifying tale about the next financial disaster awaiting our country. Some of your neighbors have already lost their life savings. The current administration is actively stripping away financial regulations between the average investor and billions of dollars in fraud. Shady deals are happening now, and honestly, there’s probably nothing you can do about it.

Rothestein calls on the full spectrum of documentary devices: talking heads, voice-over narration, cartoon re-enactments, visual graphics, and more. They work for the most part, but some of the b-roll seems out of place. The most effective and evocative imagery is a series of long, sweeping drone shots of cities and factories.

Rothstein really hits his stride when short-seller Dan David tours his hometown of Flint, MI. Flint is the poster child of blue-collar suffering for white-collar crimes. The camera captures haunting images of the town that really reflect the tangible repercussions of corporate fraud.

China Hustle warns us of a new danger on the horizon. Billions of dollars are propped up in the empty shells of defunct American companies, waiting to collapse.

And then there’s the warning of a larger danger, entrenched in the very fabric of our society. No one is looking out for the American people. The SEC, the accreditation firms, the lawyers, and the bankers—they all invest in their own interests. Even the men blowing the whistle on fraudulent Chinese companies first make money off of them.

“Companies have companies’ best interests at heart.”

And that’s the real hustle.

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Great Outdoors

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Leaning Into the Wind: Andy Goldsworthy

by Rachel Willis

Patience.

It’s the first word that comes to mind while watching Thomas Riedelsheimer’s documentary about artist Andy Goldsworthy. But that’s not a critique on the film itself, rather a reflection on the meticulous nature of Goldsworthy’s work, as well as Riedelsheimer’s.

Crafting art from nature, Goldsworthy spends a lengthy amount of time gathering his materials—leaves, flower petals, branches—then fastidiously arranges and assembles his materials into stunning works of art. It’s not only an exercise in creativity, but patience. When a gust of wind destroys hours of work, Goldsworthy takes it in stride, even though it’s the kind of setback that would leave many fuming.

To truly sink viewers into Goldsworthy’s world, into his thought process, Riedelsheimer is with Goldsworthy from start to finish as he assembles each new piece. Interviews and time spent on the sidelines observing while he works is as close as one can get to being inside the mind of an artist.

With breathtaking cinematography, the film itself is a work of art. As the viewer follows Goldsworthy around the world, the film captures the beauty of nature as Goldsworthy sees it. Knotted tree roots take on deeper meaning. Ants marching become more than insects on the ground, but a reflection of society. One of Goldsworthy’s more impressive installations is sparked by the ants. Riedelsheimer is there to capture the moment of inspiration as it turns into a stunning work of art.

There are times when the film covers the same ground. Much of the viewer’s time is spent watching as Goldsworthy (sometimes alone, sometimes with his daughter, at times with an entire crew) works on different installations. While interesting to see, it’s also repetitive, and the documentary is most engrossing when we’re allowed to follow Goldsworthy as he mines the continent for ideas.

Often the film has the feel of a nature documentary. The camera fades into the background as Goldsworthy works, becoming a silent observer, which gives the viewer an intimate look into his world. Goldsworthy becomes a part of the environment around him. Using his body, he becomes absorbed in the environment. The viewer feels the same absorption as we’re drawn deeply into his universe.

Leaning Into the Wind is a gorgeous, glorious film.