Tag Archives: Sean Astin

That Seventies Show

The Man in the White Van

by Hope Madden

A teen prone to exaggeration is disbelieved when she tells of a white van following her around her small Florida town. Working from a script he wrote with Sharon Y. Cobb, director Warren Skeels recreates a time when doors were left unlocked, and rebels were listening to Credence instead of the Partridge Family for his true crime thriller The Man in the White Van.

It’s 1975, but as Annie (Madison Wolfe, The Conjuring 2) tries to protect herself, Skeels takes us back to 1974, 1973, 1972, 1971, 1970 with the menacing van and the other girls nobody believed.  

The story is ostensibly based on Billy Mansfield Jr.’s Seventies era crime binge, although no name is given to the driver stalking Florida streets. Skeels’s framing device—present-day Seventies storytelling punctuated with vignettes from across the murder spree—is reminiscent of Anna Kendrick’s Woman of the Hour. But where Kendrick used cutaways to serial killer Rodney Alcala’s previous victims to deepen our understanding of the psychopath and humanize his victims, Skeels uses it to tweak tension as we wait for what is to come for young Annie.

Skeels also develops anxiety with Seventies style hijinks—the frustration of a busy signal and rotary phone dialing when in a real hurry.  

Ali Larter and Sean Astin, who also serve as executive producers, help to generate a believable family dynamic as Annie’s loving but skeptical parents. Though the balance of performances are not bad, the writing is superficial enough that the ensemble can’t carve out much in the way of personality. Worse, scenes last a beat too long, the camera often lingering on each line long enough that the unnaturalness, the performance itself, becomes evident.

Interestingly, there’s something about this particular falseness and the sloppiness in the script that actually reflects Seventies horror, which is kind of fun—sort of the The Town that Dreaded Sundown era, before tropes dug in and determined every story beat.

Where Kendrick attempted to push the conversation about serial murder and horror in a fresh direction, Skeels reaches back toward an older version of the story. It doesn’t make for as compelling a film, but The Man in the White Van has its charm.

iCaramba

iMordecai

by Tori Hanes

Ah, the great dismay of reviewers everywhere: putting to word the film that is, in all respects, just fine. 

Good intention, beating heart, a splattering of fine performances… a contrived story, weird relationships, and dramatically confusing decisions. Comme ci, comme ça. 

Holocaust survivor turned Miami Beach grandfather Mordecai Samel is played by Judd Hirsch – and let’s be honest here. The man’s 88 years old. This in and of itself is worthy of praise.

Mordecai is forever changed by the purchase of an iPhone. This singular point sprouts approximately 12 plots that messily attempt a parallel run, including: 

  • A flailing cigar business run by Mordecai’s perpetually disgruntled son, Marvin (Sean Astin)
  • A wholeheartedly strange relationship with a member of a Nazi bloodline
  • A bizarrely convenient dementia diagnosis 
  • A budding, introduced-and-forgotten art career

Any of these could’ve, and probably should’ve, been the primary plot. Instead, they bob and weave to and fro, knocking each other off course for the chance at a fleeting moment in the sun. 

The contexts surrounding this film are, unfortunately, more interesting than the movie itself. Filmmaker Marvin Samel created iMordecai as a joyous tribute to his father, and that palpable love is present throughout the 102 minute run time. Mordecai Samel did survive the Holocaust in a Siberian orphanage, and he did create a happy life in sunny Miami. His son claims to have learned the craft of filmmaking through online classes, accumulating his knowledge to create the cinematic experience of his father’s golden years.

Hilariously, iMordecai is touted as a “true story – the bold, true story of an older man learning how to use an iPhone.” Of course this is a hyperbolic simplification, but the nature of the claim feels about as asinine as that. It’s a glaring example of the lack of perception toward what makes this movie interesting. Mordecai Samel, the man at the center, is the heart, pumping blood to every far reaching vein. When the film turns a tourniquet on itself, it loses.

Overall, the plot’s messy but comprehensible. The direction is jarring but understandable. The cast is stacked, the performances are solid, but the characters are left-footed. iMordecai is digestible in every way but forgettable just the same.