How to Lose Friends & Alienate People (Robert Wiede, 2008) - B-
Worth seeing for a bunch of disconnected reasons: a) Simon Pegg's hilarious physicality; b) the occasional bit of deadpan weirdness that had me rolling ("there are seven rooms"); c) dead-on supporting turns by Danny Huston, Max Minghella, Gillian Anderson, Jeff Bridges... even Kirsten Dunst, allowed to let loose a bit in an R-rated context, is more than just her usual adorable self. But Pegg's transformation from obnoxious boor to lovable scamp is less than convincing, and the whole romantic plot is a bit uneasy. Very funny though.
Quarantine (John Erick Dowdle, 2008) - B-
Okay, so the whole virus-that-makes-people-bite-one-another thing is clearly played, and this doesn't have the political subtext or technical virtuosity of, say, 28 Weeks Later to make up for it. The first-person stunt is also rapidly approaching "played" status, and creates myriad logistical problems. All that said, Quarantine provides enough decent visceral thrills for me to recommend it to horror junkies. Goes to hell in the last act, which is more hysterical than scary and resorts to infuriating exposition-by-newspaper-clipping, but even that doesn't kill the thing.
Eden Log (Franck Vestiel, 2008) - C
I like the story (i.e. what we get in the occasional bursts of exposition) and it's too bad that the movie constructed around it is so murky and boring. I've read the video game interpretation -- nearly-silent character wanders through levels dodging bad guys on his way to a big finale -- but it doesn't make the film any better, I'm afraid. Final shot verges on self-parody.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Saturday, October 4, 2008
Blindness
Blindness (Fernando Meirelles, 2008) - C-
This has to be the most jury-rigged Lord of the Flies scenario ever devised. The government locks a bunch of newly blind people in a prison, with little food, no assistance, no sanitation, no communication with the outside world, and they descend into chaos and disorder? No kidding. And how, exactly, do things go downhill? Well, half of the quarantined suddenly become evil. Really? That's the great insight into human nature? By the time it turned out that the illness had just come to teach everyone a lesson -- LIVE AS A FAMILY, DAMN YOU! DON'T STEAL CARS! -- I was long past taking anything seriously. The interesting question that the movie doesn't remotely explore is why the fictional government react the way it does: just human selfishness? Or something else?
This has to be the most jury-rigged Lord of the Flies scenario ever devised. The government locks a bunch of newly blind people in a prison, with little food, no assistance, no sanitation, no communication with the outside world, and they descend into chaos and disorder? No kidding. And how, exactly, do things go downhill? Well, half of the quarantined suddenly become evil. Really? That's the great insight into human nature? By the time it turned out that the illness had just come to teach everyone a lesson -- LIVE AS A FAMILY, DAMN YOU! DON'T STEAL CARS! -- I was long past taking anything seriously. The interesting question that the movie doesn't remotely explore is why the fictional government react the way it does: just human selfishness? Or something else?
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Miracle at St. Anna
Miracle at St. Anna (Spike Lee, 2008) - C-
No one runs hot and cold quite like Spike Lee. He can still make a good movie (Inside Man), or even a great one (25th Hour), but the time when he was able to tackle race head-on with a measure of nuance, restraint and moral complexity seems to have passed. This is sledgehammer stuff, preachy and obvious (black soldiers in World War II were mistreated and unappreciated, the end); he did seem to realize that he couldn't fill nearly three hours with outrage about this topic, so there's a whole bunch of general war movie stuff too, which is largely unremarkable. A few recognizable Spike Lee moments (most notably the montage involving the sultry German broadcaster trying to tempt black soldiers to lay down their weapons), and a few tense stretches, but mostly it's really freakin' tedious. Features Michael Ealy in one of the year's most irritating performances; on the other hand, having seen this and the surprisingly strong The Express, I'm very impressed with Omar Benson Miller.
No one runs hot and cold quite like Spike Lee. He can still make a good movie (Inside Man), or even a great one (25th Hour), but the time when he was able to tackle race head-on with a measure of nuance, restraint and moral complexity seems to have passed. This is sledgehammer stuff, preachy and obvious (black soldiers in World War II were mistreated and unappreciated, the end); he did seem to realize that he couldn't fill nearly three hours with outrage about this topic, so there's a whole bunch of general war movie stuff too, which is largely unremarkable. A few recognizable Spike Lee moments (most notably the montage involving the sultry German broadcaster trying to tempt black soldiers to lay down their weapons), and a few tense stretches, but mostly it's really freakin' tedious. Features Michael Ealy in one of the year's most irritating performances; on the other hand, having seen this and the surprisingly strong The Express, I'm very impressed with Omar Benson Miller.
The French Connection
The French Connection (William Friedkin, 1971) - A-
The quibble that knocked the grade down a notch for me: what self-respecting foreign drug dealer thinks that a good way to get the cops off your back is to get on the roof of a building with a rifle and try to snipe one of them down? Obviously a great procedural though, and when was the last time you saw cop characters who genuinely love their work -- live for it -- beating up junkies, tailing perps, chasing elevated trains, the works. Worth watching just for the little dance Doyle and Russo do after their wire comes through. The ending knocks everyone down a peg, of course, including us, but part of the reason it works so well is that the nitty-gritty of the police work is so exhilarating to begin with.
The quibble that knocked the grade down a notch for me: what self-respecting foreign drug dealer thinks that a good way to get the cops off your back is to get on the roof of a building with a rifle and try to snipe one of them down? Obviously a great procedural though, and when was the last time you saw cop characters who genuinely love their work -- live for it -- beating up junkies, tailing perps, chasing elevated trains, the works. Worth watching just for the little dance Doyle and Russo do after their wire comes through. The ending knocks everyone down a peg, of course, including us, but part of the reason it works so well is that the nitty-gritty of the police work is so exhilarating to begin with.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Righteous Kill
Righteous Kill (Jon Avnet, 2008) - D-
UNGGGGH! BLECH! This is the last Jon Avnet film I'll be watching. Such a narrative debacle that I can barely describe it; engages in whopping misdirection that makes everything before the "surprise" ending boring and suspense-free, and everything after it (and by extension before it) nonsensical. Someone please explain to me why the villain sits the hero down and has him make that recording, given what he does moments after? And what exactly was he trying to accomplish by beating up Carla Gugino? Ugly and poorly edited to boot, and Pacino becomes almost a caricature of himself. Astonishing that he and De Niro can't find better work than this, though I watched this right after seeing De Niro in Barry Levinson's relatively pleasurable What Just Happened, so who knows.
UNGGGGH! BLECH! This is the last Jon Avnet film I'll be watching. Such a narrative debacle that I can barely describe it; engages in whopping misdirection that makes everything before the "surprise" ending boring and suspense-free, and everything after it (and by extension before it) nonsensical. Someone please explain to me why the villain sits the hero down and has him make that recording, given what he does moments after? And what exactly was he trying to accomplish by beating up Carla Gugino? Ugly and poorly edited to boot, and Pacino becomes almost a caricature of himself. Astonishing that he and De Niro can't find better work than this, though I watched this right after seeing De Niro in Barry Levinson's relatively pleasurable What Just Happened, so who knows.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Hamlet 2
Hamlet 2 (Andrew Fleming, 2008) - B
Kept me on my toes for 90 minutes with an off-kilter style I could never quite pin down. Obviously intended as a parody of the Inspirational Teacher Movie, about a wacky theater instructor who bands together a bunch of (mostly gangsta) misfits and saves drama by putting on a show. But as parody, it steers a constantly intriguing middle-ground: Coogan's Dana Marschz (the "z" is NOT silent) is manifestly insane, but only some people seem to know that (it's never quite clear if his wife, played by a hilariously out of it Catherine Keener, is one of them); the movie launches a direct attack on some of the genre cliches (e.g. the parents who pull their kid out of drama class because he lives in a rough world where drama is useless) but takes others seriously. Not a model of tonal consistency, to be sure, but a) it's very funny, and b) it's actually kind of challenging if you're engaging with the film. Elizabeth Shue: best self-effacing cameo since John Malkovich.
Kept me on my toes for 90 minutes with an off-kilter style I could never quite pin down. Obviously intended as a parody of the Inspirational Teacher Movie, about a wacky theater instructor who bands together a bunch of (mostly gangsta) misfits and saves drama by putting on a show. But as parody, it steers a constantly intriguing middle-ground: Coogan's Dana Marschz (the "z" is NOT silent) is manifestly insane, but only some people seem to know that (it's never quite clear if his wife, played by a hilariously out of it Catherine Keener, is one of them); the movie launches a direct attack on some of the genre cliches (e.g. the parents who pull their kid out of drama class because he lives in a rough world where drama is useless) but takes others seriously. Not a model of tonal consistency, to be sure, but a) it's very funny, and b) it's actually kind of challenging if you're engaging with the film. Elizabeth Shue: best self-effacing cameo since John Malkovich.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
The House Bunny
The House Bunny (Fred Wolf, 2008) - D+
In theory I could have rolled with the amiably cartoonish tone (a villain named Mrs. Hagstrom; a brothel soup joke; "I've got to meet that fucking bird!"), but the thing is so sloppy that rolling proved hard. Why is it that movies about misfits who try to be popular but learn it's okay to be misfits always make the misfits horrid caricatures instead of the types of people it's actually okay to be? (See also Sydney White.) Here I guess the message is a bit different since the characters learn moderation -- being neither the abominations they were at the beginning of the film nor the bimbos the title Playmate tried to make them (you can be beautiful AND brainy, see?) -- but that doesn't make the movie any less aggressively dumb; what purpose is served by making the "loser sorority" consist of a trailer park stereotype, a girl with a full-body brace, etc.? And come on, guys: if you're going to treat the hundred bullshit conflicts you introduce (Scheming Playboy Bunny! Unmailed envelopes! Realization that the Zetas have become what they hated!) so perfunctorily, why even bother? There are enough laughs to make it bearable (Anna Faris is very funny, and I really liked one joke in the climax), but I got the sense that the film's supposedly endearing gee-whiz stupidity wasn't an affectation. And how absurd to even pretend that the adorable Emma Stone is an unattractive outcast.
In theory I could have rolled with the amiably cartoonish tone (a villain named Mrs. Hagstrom; a brothel soup joke; "I've got to meet that fucking bird!"), but the thing is so sloppy that rolling proved hard. Why is it that movies about misfits who try to be popular but learn it's okay to be misfits always make the misfits horrid caricatures instead of the types of people it's actually okay to be? (See also Sydney White.) Here I guess the message is a bit different since the characters learn moderation -- being neither the abominations they were at the beginning of the film nor the bimbos the title Playmate tried to make them (you can be beautiful AND brainy, see?) -- but that doesn't make the movie any less aggressively dumb; what purpose is served by making the "loser sorority" consist of a trailer park stereotype, a girl with a full-body brace, etc.? And come on, guys: if you're going to treat the hundred bullshit conflicts you introduce (Scheming Playboy Bunny! Unmailed envelopes! Realization that the Zetas have become what they hated!) so perfunctorily, why even bother? There are enough laughs to make it bearable (Anna Faris is very funny, and I really liked one joke in the climax), but I got the sense that the film's supposedly endearing gee-whiz stupidity wasn't an affectation. And how absurd to even pretend that the adorable Emma Stone is an unattractive outcast.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Transsiberian; Boy A
Transsiberian (Brad Anderson, 2008) - B+
Fortunate enough to see three fantastic movies in a row over the course of two days -- this, Vicky Cristina Barcelona (see last entry), and Boy A (below). The remarkable thing here is Anderson's flair for evocative bleakness, also on display in The Machinist. Everything constantly straddles the line between beauty and menace: Eduardo Noriega's good-natured drifter, Emily Mortimer's reformed bad girl (Mortimer is wonderful, by the way), but most of all the snowy, foreign desolation of the Siberian setting -- the heart of the film. Some of the plotting is a bit unlikely, and Anderson should have gone easy on the explanatory flashbacks to events we've already seen, but the plot is really just a function of the scenery, which is a moody, malevolent character all its own. A few amusing points: casting Woody Harrelson as a genial yokel, Ben Kingsley teaching Harrelson Russian pronunciation. But mostly scary and haunting; left me in a sad, unsettled funk. Anderson clearly cares more about mood and (sometimes inarticulable) emotion than about story, but he's so good I'm actually cool with that.
Boy A (John Crowley, 2008) - A-
Immensely powerful, and almost a masterpiece; the reason it's not is the overly schematic nature of the crucial subplot involving Mullan's son, with Crowley hellbent on forcing a thematic parallel to the A-story. (I kept wondering why the son was in the movie, and rolled my eyes when it became clear.) The rest is gold; a thoughtful, understated rumination on punishment, forgiveness, and the criminal justice system's (and the media's) insistence on letting juvenile convictions haunt people for the rest of their lives. Maybe the most impressive thing about it is that it doesn't pull any punches about the protagonist's crime -- he did what he did, and note that the movie provides the sexual abuse "excuse" to his psychopathic friend, but not to him. Garfield's performance is as awesome as everyone says, in a hugely difficult role. The last few minutes are a masterfully manipulative knock-out, bringing me to tears. One of the best films of the year; go see it immediately.
Fortunate enough to see three fantastic movies in a row over the course of two days -- this, Vicky Cristina Barcelona (see last entry), and Boy A (below). The remarkable thing here is Anderson's flair for evocative bleakness, also on display in The Machinist. Everything constantly straddles the line between beauty and menace: Eduardo Noriega's good-natured drifter, Emily Mortimer's reformed bad girl (Mortimer is wonderful, by the way), but most of all the snowy, foreign desolation of the Siberian setting -- the heart of the film. Some of the plotting is a bit unlikely, and Anderson should have gone easy on the explanatory flashbacks to events we've already seen, but the plot is really just a function of the scenery, which is a moody, malevolent character all its own. A few amusing points: casting Woody Harrelson as a genial yokel, Ben Kingsley teaching Harrelson Russian pronunciation. But mostly scary and haunting; left me in a sad, unsettled funk. Anderson clearly cares more about mood and (sometimes inarticulable) emotion than about story, but he's so good I'm actually cool with that.
Boy A (John Crowley, 2008) - A-
Immensely powerful, and almost a masterpiece; the reason it's not is the overly schematic nature of the crucial subplot involving Mullan's son, with Crowley hellbent on forcing a thematic parallel to the A-story. (I kept wondering why the son was in the movie, and rolled my eyes when it became clear.) The rest is gold; a thoughtful, understated rumination on punishment, forgiveness, and the criminal justice system's (and the media's) insistence on letting juvenile convictions haunt people for the rest of their lives. Maybe the most impressive thing about it is that it doesn't pull any punches about the protagonist's crime -- he did what he did, and note that the movie provides the sexual abuse "excuse" to his psychopathic friend, but not to him. Garfield's performance is as awesome as everyone says, in a hugely difficult role. The last few minutes are a masterfully manipulative knock-out, bringing me to tears. One of the best films of the year; go see it immediately.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
A bunch of stuff
Mirrors (Alexandre Aja, 2008) - D+
Really, really bad -- really bad -- and I'm stunned, since I had come to think of Aja as the most artful of the "Splat Pack," a genre wizard with an eye for genuinely haunting imagery; a horror director who actually pays attention to stuff like shot composition and the color palette. Still looks good, I guess -- the Laurie Holden jawbreaker sequence is one-of-a-kind, and the (obvious) use of reflections can be striking, though the resulting set pieces are often more confusing than Aja, I think, intended. The problem is the screenplay, which is hideously clunky and lazy: every line of dialogue is expository or explanatory, and most plumb the depths of horror flick cliches ("You think I'm crazy, don't you?" "I don't know what to think!"); several crucial story points are conveyed via conveniently placed newspaper clippings (the protagonist actually receives a package full of them at one point); worst of all, the movie never figures out what it's supposed to be about. It's got two things going on simultaneously, as best I could figure out: some sort of vague demonic possession plot, and a just-as-vague alternate universe story; the movie clearly thinks it brings the two of them together, but, uh, it doesn't. Twist ending is laughable, presenting the least creative ever vision of a parallel universe.
Man on Wire (James Marsh, 2008) - B
This is excellent, though not really for the reasons everyone says. I was struck by its portrayal of the sort of passion that can spur extraordinary collaboration -- the most stirring moments in the film aren't Petit's (admittedly incredible) tightrope walking but the footage of him and his cronies frantically, gleefully working out the head-spinning details of their WTC coup. Amazing what driven, adventurous people can accomplish. Also a surprisingly thoughtful exploration of the divide between morality and the law, and the notion of doing something illegal but not "wicked or mean"; listen for the police officer's awed response to Petit's escapades after he worked to put a stop to them, and the "punishment" meted out by the DA. Not really all that inspiring as a Portrait of an Artist: Petit comes off as infectiously enthusiastic but also self-absorbed and kind of crazy, and too much time is given over to gushing, vapid talking heads, like the girlfriend. But the logistics are loads of fun, Nyman's score is beautiful, and the insights are surprising.
Vicky Cristina Barcelona (Woody Allen, 2008) - B+
Woody Allen's more serious efforts this decade have all been about ambition in one form or another, and the contrast between the previous two, both thrillers about working-class strivers who get into trouble chasing dreams of wealth and comfort, and this one, about overprivileged Americans searching for other kinds of fulfillment, is fascinating. Allen is not, as some would have it, against commitment; rather, he's made a(nother) film about satisfaction, and the often self-destructive human tendency to grab for things beyond one's reach -- precisely the theme of Cassandra's Dream, and roughly of Match Point as well. And there's so much else that's interesting too, like the best performances of Javier Bardem and Penelope Cruz's careers, a remarkable discovery in Rebecca Hall (as the obligatory Woody stand-in), unexpectedly careful and lovely cinematography, and the droll voiceover that pointedly undercuts the film's woozy romanticism. On par with Match Point as the best Allen of the 00s.
Elegy (Isabel Coixet, 2008) - C+
Hoo boy. A touching if simple story defeated by unrestrained excess and shameless jerry-rigging. An aging playboy slowly discovers what he's been missing and learns love and companionship -- fine. But seriously, did he have to also be a world-renowned expert on hedonism (I am not making this up), just to drive the point home? Stuff like that. Still compelling for a while, exploring the paradox of how a man so devoted to commitment- and care-free living can simultaneously be so paranoid and jealous; for a while Ben Kingsley looks like he is less likely to kiss Penelope Cruz than devour her (which might be the point), but a character soon starts to emerge, and his gradual awakening is sweet. Then the ridiculously contrived, overwrought ending comes along and sinks the film -- the sort of cheap, out-of-the-blue, totally unearned stunt that can only come from the mind of a supremely arrogant screenwriter. I don't recall Coixet's My Life Without Me being this oppressive. Patricia Clarkson is still awesome.
Really, really bad -- really bad -- and I'm stunned, since I had come to think of Aja as the most artful of the "Splat Pack," a genre wizard with an eye for genuinely haunting imagery; a horror director who actually pays attention to stuff like shot composition and the color palette. Still looks good, I guess -- the Laurie Holden jawbreaker sequence is one-of-a-kind, and the (obvious) use of reflections can be striking, though the resulting set pieces are often more confusing than Aja, I think, intended. The problem is the screenplay, which is hideously clunky and lazy: every line of dialogue is expository or explanatory, and most plumb the depths of horror flick cliches ("You think I'm crazy, don't you?" "I don't know what to think!"); several crucial story points are conveyed via conveniently placed newspaper clippings (the protagonist actually receives a package full of them at one point); worst of all, the movie never figures out what it's supposed to be about. It's got two things going on simultaneously, as best I could figure out: some sort of vague demonic possession plot, and a just-as-vague alternate universe story; the movie clearly thinks it brings the two of them together, but, uh, it doesn't. Twist ending is laughable, presenting the least creative ever vision of a parallel universe.
Man on Wire (James Marsh, 2008) - B
This is excellent, though not really for the reasons everyone says. I was struck by its portrayal of the sort of passion that can spur extraordinary collaboration -- the most stirring moments in the film aren't Petit's (admittedly incredible) tightrope walking but the footage of him and his cronies frantically, gleefully working out the head-spinning details of their WTC coup. Amazing what driven, adventurous people can accomplish. Also a surprisingly thoughtful exploration of the divide between morality and the law, and the notion of doing something illegal but not "wicked or mean"; listen for the police officer's awed response to Petit's escapades after he worked to put a stop to them, and the "punishment" meted out by the DA. Not really all that inspiring as a Portrait of an Artist: Petit comes off as infectiously enthusiastic but also self-absorbed and kind of crazy, and too much time is given over to gushing, vapid talking heads, like the girlfriend. But the logistics are loads of fun, Nyman's score is beautiful, and the insights are surprising.
Vicky Cristina Barcelona (Woody Allen, 2008) - B+
Woody Allen's more serious efforts this decade have all been about ambition in one form or another, and the contrast between the previous two, both thrillers about working-class strivers who get into trouble chasing dreams of wealth and comfort, and this one, about overprivileged Americans searching for other kinds of fulfillment, is fascinating. Allen is not, as some would have it, against commitment; rather, he's made a(nother) film about satisfaction, and the often self-destructive human tendency to grab for things beyond one's reach -- precisely the theme of Cassandra's Dream, and roughly of Match Point as well. And there's so much else that's interesting too, like the best performances of Javier Bardem and Penelope Cruz's careers, a remarkable discovery in Rebecca Hall (as the obligatory Woody stand-in), unexpectedly careful and lovely cinematography, and the droll voiceover that pointedly undercuts the film's woozy romanticism. On par with Match Point as the best Allen of the 00s.
Elegy (Isabel Coixet, 2008) - C+
Hoo boy. A touching if simple story defeated by unrestrained excess and shameless jerry-rigging. An aging playboy slowly discovers what he's been missing and learns love and companionship -- fine. But seriously, did he have to also be a world-renowned expert on hedonism (I am not making this up), just to drive the point home? Stuff like that. Still compelling for a while, exploring the paradox of how a man so devoted to commitment- and care-free living can simultaneously be so paranoid and jealous; for a while Ben Kingsley looks like he is less likely to kiss Penelope Cruz than devour her (which might be the point), but a character soon starts to emerge, and his gradual awakening is sweet. Then the ridiculously contrived, overwrought ending comes along and sinks the film -- the sort of cheap, out-of-the-blue, totally unearned stunt that can only come from the mind of a supremely arrogant screenwriter. I don't recall Coixet's My Life Without Me being this oppressive. Patricia Clarkson is still awesome.
Saturday, August 16, 2008
La Dolce Vita (Federico Fellini, 1960) - B
I'm no Fellini aficionado, but this is an awful lot like 8 1/2, isn't it, with the same rambling quasi-narrative that goes off the meta-deep end in the last half hour? It's less compelling, I think -- possibly because I saw it second, but also because the Fellini/Mastroianni lover protagonist just isn't as interesting as the other movie's filmmaker/solipsist. Mastroianni weirdly goes the lovable puppy dog route, standing around looking all pouty and forlorn as he takes stock of his broken dreams, his pointless career, his empty womanizing, and the artifice that surrounds him. Some of the vignettes are pretty brilliant (I love the circus that develops around the rural Virgin Mary sighting), others just seem like showing off (the weird dungeon sequence is absurdly overstuffed); too many end on the same glibly ironic note, with Marcello calling or otherwise reconnecting with another of his women. The three hours feel more like two, and I'll keep watching Fellini, but 8 1/2 made me hope for something a bit stronger.
I'm no Fellini aficionado, but this is an awful lot like 8 1/2, isn't it, with the same rambling quasi-narrative that goes off the meta-deep end in the last half hour? It's less compelling, I think -- possibly because I saw it second, but also because the Fellini/Mastroianni lover protagonist just isn't as interesting as the other movie's filmmaker/solipsist. Mastroianni weirdly goes the lovable puppy dog route, standing around looking all pouty and forlorn as he takes stock of his broken dreams, his pointless career, his empty womanizing, and the artifice that surrounds him. Some of the vignettes are pretty brilliant (I love the circus that develops around the rural Virgin Mary sighting), others just seem like showing off (the weird dungeon sequence is absurdly overstuffed); too many end on the same glibly ironic note, with Marcello calling or otherwise reconnecting with another of his women. The three hours feel more like two, and I'll keep watching Fellini, but 8 1/2 made me hope for something a bit stronger.
Saturday, August 9, 2008
Platoon
Platoon (Oliver Stone, 1986) - B-
Hysterical in a very Oliver Stone sort of way, every shot filled with blood, angst and anger; the characters lament the corruption of the System ("and we're stuck in the middle sucking on it") when they're not surrendering to their bloodthirst, screaming "it's fucking beautiful!" while unloading on the NVA. Charlie Sheen seems a bit goofy here, though that may have been the point; Kevin Dillon is terrifying; Tom Berenger way over the top. Actually one of the better Stones (I'm not a big fan), though useful mostly for its admirable grasp of military logistics, and for making you ask (once again) what the fuck we were thinking fighting a war in the jungle. Features one of the laziest uses of voiceover in movie history.
Hysterical in a very Oliver Stone sort of way, every shot filled with blood, angst and anger; the characters lament the corruption of the System ("and we're stuck in the middle sucking on it") when they're not surrendering to their bloodthirst, screaming "it's fucking beautiful!" while unloading on the NVA. Charlie Sheen seems a bit goofy here, though that may have been the point; Kevin Dillon is terrifying; Tom Berenger way over the top. Actually one of the better Stones (I'm not a big fan), though useful mostly for its admirable grasp of military logistics, and for making you ask (once again) what the fuck we were thinking fighting a war in the jungle. Features one of the laziest uses of voiceover in movie history.
Monday, August 4, 2008
Some Catch-Up
Brideshead Revisited (Julian Jarrold, 2008) - B
Catholicism is the villain, a monster capable of consuming entire families. Took me a while to realize this was where the movie was going -- I haven't read the Evelyn Waugh novel -- but then it all sort of came together. Before that I couldn't figure out if this was supposed to be a doomed love story (in which case it was an awfully languid, dispassionate one) or a Faulkneresque saga of an aristocratic clan's gradual downfall (in which case the dully good-natured protagonist was a meaningless distraction); in reality it's sort of a combination of the two, with religion as the unexpected focus, which turns out to make a lot more sense. Ben Whishaw remarkable; Matthew Goode a blank slate.
The Wackness (Jonathan Levine, 2008) - C+
Couldn't quite get behind this morose bit of 90s nostalgia, despite being intrigued by the notion of 90s nostalgia -- could this be the first avowed example of same? Too aggressive with the cultural signifiers, straining to shoehorn them in where they don't really fit, and the quirkiness seems forced; it's hard, from a screenwriter's perspective, to make a character like Ben Kingsley's "weird old guy" work, and Levine's not up to the challenge -- "weird old guy" is all he ever is. Josh Peck and Olivia Thirlby are winners, and the movie rose at least half a grade in its last five minutes. But were summers in New York City in the early 90s really this depressing?
Mamma Mia! (Phyllida Lloyd, 2008) - B-
ABBA songs + Meryl Streep = entertainment. That's about all I have to say about this one. Stupid, laughable even, but the music is great, the director seems to have had a pulse, and the cheese factor and Pierce Brosnan's inability to sing a note are part of the charm. However, it's stupid to sing "Chiquitita" to someone not named Chiquitita.
Swing Vote (Joshua Michael Stern, 2008) - C-
First of all, dreadful as a character piece -- the swing voter is an insufferable, irredeemable dimwit, and there's nothing remotely charming (or human) about him. For a while, I thought it would be serviceable as political commentary, a statement on the way modern politics makes it impossible for anyone involved with it in any capacity to hold on to a shred of dignity and principle. But then it ends with a weird bit of ass-kissing, Costner suddenly telling both candidates how much he admires them and wishes he were more like them -- what? That's your ending? Talk about pulling your punches. Also not very funny, though Lane, Tucci, Grammer and Hopper are entertaining to watch, as usual.
Catholicism is the villain, a monster capable of consuming entire families. Took me a while to realize this was where the movie was going -- I haven't read the Evelyn Waugh novel -- but then it all sort of came together. Before that I couldn't figure out if this was supposed to be a doomed love story (in which case it was an awfully languid, dispassionate one) or a Faulkneresque saga of an aristocratic clan's gradual downfall (in which case the dully good-natured protagonist was a meaningless distraction); in reality it's sort of a combination of the two, with religion as the unexpected focus, which turns out to make a lot more sense. Ben Whishaw remarkable; Matthew Goode a blank slate.
The Wackness (Jonathan Levine, 2008) - C+
Couldn't quite get behind this morose bit of 90s nostalgia, despite being intrigued by the notion of 90s nostalgia -- could this be the first avowed example of same? Too aggressive with the cultural signifiers, straining to shoehorn them in where they don't really fit, and the quirkiness seems forced; it's hard, from a screenwriter's perspective, to make a character like Ben Kingsley's "weird old guy" work, and Levine's not up to the challenge -- "weird old guy" is all he ever is. Josh Peck and Olivia Thirlby are winners, and the movie rose at least half a grade in its last five minutes. But were summers in New York City in the early 90s really this depressing?
Mamma Mia! (Phyllida Lloyd, 2008) - B-
ABBA songs + Meryl Streep = entertainment. That's about all I have to say about this one. Stupid, laughable even, but the music is great, the director seems to have had a pulse, and the cheese factor and Pierce Brosnan's inability to sing a note are part of the charm. However, it's stupid to sing "Chiquitita" to someone not named Chiquitita.
Swing Vote (Joshua Michael Stern, 2008) - C-
First of all, dreadful as a character piece -- the swing voter is an insufferable, irredeemable dimwit, and there's nothing remotely charming (or human) about him. For a while, I thought it would be serviceable as political commentary, a statement on the way modern politics makes it impossible for anyone involved with it in any capacity to hold on to a shred of dignity and principle. But then it ends with a weird bit of ass-kissing, Costner suddenly telling both candidates how much he admires them and wishes he were more like them -- what? That's your ending? Talk about pulling your punches. Also not very funny, though Lane, Tucci, Grammer and Hopper are entertaining to watch, as usual.
Monday, May 5, 2008
Iron Man
Iron Ban (Jon Favreau, 2008) - B+
Very good -- really. If I'm not creaming myself like some other folks, it's because the action never quite reaches Raimi levels of transcendence, and because the movie indulges in a few too many winks to the comic book fanboys that just play like enormous red herrings to the rest of us. (I gather that the Clark Gregg character is somehow significant to the Iron Man mythos, but I had no idea what the hell he was talking about or why he kept showing up.) At its best, though, it's actually quite moving: if Spider-Man and its sequels have been about heroism and responsibility, Iron Man is about conscience, and holding on to it even if the System would have you throw it in a ditch. Downey's ceaseless sarcasm masks a touching fragility, and the screenplay gives the protagonist time to bloom -- his conversion from cynical arms dealer to justice-seeker is about as convincing as superhero character development gets. And I'm immensely grateful for the ending, which is note-perfect and brilliantly ties together the movie's theme while setting up a sequel. Well-played.
Very good -- really. If I'm not creaming myself like some other folks, it's because the action never quite reaches Raimi levels of transcendence, and because the movie indulges in a few too many winks to the comic book fanboys that just play like enormous red herrings to the rest of us. (I gather that the Clark Gregg character is somehow significant to the Iron Man mythos, but I had no idea what the hell he was talking about or why he kept showing up.) At its best, though, it's actually quite moving: if Spider-Man and its sequels have been about heroism and responsibility, Iron Man is about conscience, and holding on to it even if the System would have you throw it in a ditch. Downey's ceaseless sarcasm masks a touching fragility, and the screenplay gives the protagonist time to bloom -- his conversion from cynical arms dealer to justice-seeker is about as convincing as superhero character development gets. And I'm immensely grateful for the ending, which is note-perfect and brilliantly ties together the movie's theme while setting up a sequel. Well-played.
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
The Band's Visit
The Band's Visit (Eran Kolirin, 2008) - C
So deliberately understated that it's almost an affectation. Lots of pained silences and awkwardness played for laughs, pushing hard on how out-of-place these Egyptians feel in Israel's version of Podunk, Ohio, though of course the Israelis have all the same problems as the Arabs and maybe they can all help each other because we're all human, etc. Draws the obvious parallels (uptight colonel's son committed suicide because dad was too hard on him; cue scene where the colonel shares a tender, understanding moment with the wild, insubordinate young recruit whom he had previously threatened with firing) and never fails to make metaphors explicit (the speech about how the clarinet player's unfinished concerto = life is really rather shameless), but there's no real insight; everything's surface-level and aggressively wistful. Miscalculates weirdly in spots -- Khaled is supposed to be charming, but he's actually creepy; the scene where he coaches a hapless Israeli kid on how to flirt is more performance art than narrative cinema -- and can't even create a sense of place: it places so much emphasis on what a downscale suburban hellhole Bet Hatikvah is, but gives us no feel for it whatsoever. Couple of strong performances, and the clean, spare compositions look nice (especially in the first half-hour), but this is a pretty bland, stereotypically "arthouse" piece of business.
So deliberately understated that it's almost an affectation. Lots of pained silences and awkwardness played for laughs, pushing hard on how out-of-place these Egyptians feel in Israel's version of Podunk, Ohio, though of course the Israelis have all the same problems as the Arabs and maybe they can all help each other because we're all human, etc. Draws the obvious parallels (uptight colonel's son committed suicide because dad was too hard on him; cue scene where the colonel shares a tender, understanding moment with the wild, insubordinate young recruit whom he had previously threatened with firing) and never fails to make metaphors explicit (the speech about how the clarinet player's unfinished concerto = life is really rather shameless), but there's no real insight; everything's surface-level and aggressively wistful. Miscalculates weirdly in spots -- Khaled is supposed to be charming, but he's actually creepy; the scene where he coaches a hapless Israeli kid on how to flirt is more performance art than narrative cinema -- and can't even create a sense of place: it places so much emphasis on what a downscale suburban hellhole Bet Hatikvah is, but gives us no feel for it whatsoever. Couple of strong performances, and the clean, spare compositions look nice (especially in the first half-hour), but this is a pretty bland, stereotypically "arthouse" piece of business.
Sunday, March 2, 2008
Storyville
Storyville (Mark Frost, 1992) - C+
Came to this due to Twin Peaks-related loyalty to Mark Frost, and for a while dug it as a Twin Peaks fan: Frost learned a lot from David Lynch, giving his version of New Orleans an airtight and totally singular sense of place, and sustaining a tone of subtle, something-is-wrong-but-it's-not-clear-what creepiness (the ambient noise and constant whooshing of ceiling fans on the soundtrack helps). When a mysterious Asian woman lures an old-money political candidate into a darkened Aikido studio for some steamy hot tub sex, I was gleefully on board. When the plot got going and the movie turned into a sub-Grisham courtroom melodrama, complete with a climactic shoot-out, I jumped off. Fun for setting and mood, but any number of movies have done this sort of dark-family-secrets-down-south thing better.
Came to this due to Twin Peaks-related loyalty to Mark Frost, and for a while dug it as a Twin Peaks fan: Frost learned a lot from David Lynch, giving his version of New Orleans an airtight and totally singular sense of place, and sustaining a tone of subtle, something-is-wrong-but-it's-not-clear-what creepiness (the ambient noise and constant whooshing of ceiling fans on the soundtrack helps). When a mysterious Asian woman lures an old-money political candidate into a darkened Aikido studio for some steamy hot tub sex, I was gleefully on board. When the plot got going and the movie turned into a sub-Grisham courtroom melodrama, complete with a climactic shoot-out, I jumped off. Fun for setting and mood, but any number of movies have done this sort of dark-family-secrets-down-south thing better.
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