20th Century Women briefing
3 ½ (out of 4)
Mike Mills’ previous film Beginners comforted me with warmth like a hearth and 20th Century Women, while appearing to be feminist Awards catnip on the surface, is a correspondingly wry comedy-drama focusing on personal and familial relations, here within a household of misfits. The center of the excellent ensemble is Lucas Jade Zumann as Jamie, a young teenage boy, and Annette Benning as his cigarette-wielding mother Dorothea. Mills has said this is essentially an ode to his own mother and, with forthright insight, he is able to capture the difficulties of parent-child relationships once the teenage years have officially set in.
The other titular women include a punk-rock acolyte and aspiring photographer Abbie, played with ease by Greta Gerwig, who appeals to her own charming gracelessness while channeling a character atypical of her usual Noah Baumbach fare. Elle Fanning also continues to prove an exceptional young talent — perhaps bearing even more promise than her sister had many years back — as Jamie’s attractive, platonic older friend Julie who often stays the night in his bed. Dorothea’s large home is open to both Abbie and woodworker William (a calming Billy Crudup).
The dialogue is moving, funny and unabashedly philosophical in its bend with identifiable characters who slowly become plenty fleshed out. The film's observations on feminism, music and puberty reinforce a slightly strange, stealthy autobiographical coming-of-age film. Mills probably touches on as many existential topics as Woody Allen, Richard Linklater or Charlie Kaufman might in a given script, but Mills is somehow even slyer about working his subtext into exchanges that don’t feel anything like an invisible directorial soapbox but instead play as honest-to-God lifelike conversations. Mills yet again relates his exploration of the human condition in subtle, candid strokes.
Mike Mills’ previous film Beginners comforted me with warmth like a hearth and 20th Century Women, while appearing to be feminist Awards catnip on the surface, is a correspondingly wry comedy-drama focusing on personal and familial relations, here within a household of misfits. The center of the excellent ensemble is Lucas Jade Zumann as Jamie, a young teenage boy, and Annette Benning as his cigarette-wielding mother Dorothea. Mills has said this is essentially an ode to his own mother and, with forthright insight, he is able to capture the difficulties of parent-child relationships once the teenage years have officially set in.
The other titular women include a punk-rock acolyte and aspiring photographer Abbie, played with ease by Greta Gerwig, who appeals to her own charming gracelessness while channeling a character atypical of her usual Noah Baumbach fare. Elle Fanning also continues to prove an exceptional young talent — perhaps bearing even more promise than her sister had many years back — as Jamie’s attractive, platonic older friend Julie who often stays the night in his bed. Dorothea’s large home is open to both Abbie and woodworker William (a calming Billy Crudup).
The dialogue is moving, funny and unabashedly philosophical in its bend with identifiable characters who slowly become plenty fleshed out. The film's observations on feminism, music and puberty reinforce a slightly strange, stealthy autobiographical coming-of-age film. Mills probably touches on as many existential topics as Woody Allen, Richard Linklater or Charlie Kaufman might in a given script, but Mills is somehow even slyer about working his subtext into exchanges that don’t feel anything like an invisible directorial soapbox but instead play as honest-to-God lifelike conversations. Mills yet again relates his exploration of the human condition in subtle, candid strokes.
Hidden Figures briefing
2 (out of 4)
Like its “based on a true story” Oscar bait counterparts Lion and Hacksaw Ridge, Hidden Figures feels like it was inserted into a script generating machine, pretending to celebrate unrecognized black female intellectual achievers while playing to cheap pathos at every turn.
Despite the promising subjects of the space race and empowerment of both African Americans and women at its root, Hidden Figures nevertheless rests on numerous clichés souring the supposed importance and topicality of its racial and gender politics. Relevant as its depiction of inequality is, it doesn't excuse such lame characterization, weak dialogue and simplified — and very softened — examples of segregation-era discrimination.
Taraji P. Henson carries mathematician Katherine G. Johnson through her glasses-adjusting quirks — aside from the awkward setup and laughably hokey culmination of Johnson’s relationship with her future husband played by Mahershala Ali her character has no dimension. Octavia Spencer is serviceable in her underwritten part as Dorothy Vaughan, given an utterly unexciting subplot. Janelle Monáe is the highlight of the lead trio in playing Mary Jackson, who struggled to become an engineer. And as if his potato bread personality didn’t make him toxic as a supporting character, Kevin Costner does his best — about the same as his worst — to direct the audience's moral compass as the no-nonsense director of NASA’s Space Task Force.
Everything in Hidden Figures is safe and unsatisfying. If anything, with a decent cast and an unknown, potentially powerful story to its credit, you'd imagine finding some semblance of entertainment from a movie tailored for easily manipulated general audiences. But if you’re going to stop at routinely realizing an underdog story and refuse to commit to its proper cinematic deliverance, you don’t get a pass for trying no matter how significant the subject.
Like its “based on a true story” Oscar bait counterparts Lion and Hacksaw Ridge, Hidden Figures feels like it was inserted into a script generating machine, pretending to celebrate unrecognized black female intellectual achievers while playing to cheap pathos at every turn.
Despite the promising subjects of the space race and empowerment of both African Americans and women at its root, Hidden Figures nevertheless rests on numerous clichés souring the supposed importance and topicality of its racial and gender politics. Relevant as its depiction of inequality is, it doesn't excuse such lame characterization, weak dialogue and simplified — and very softened — examples of segregation-era discrimination.
Taraji P. Henson carries mathematician Katherine G. Johnson through her glasses-adjusting quirks — aside from the awkward setup and laughably hokey culmination of Johnson’s relationship with her future husband played by Mahershala Ali her character has no dimension. Octavia Spencer is serviceable in her underwritten part as Dorothy Vaughan, given an utterly unexciting subplot. Janelle Monáe is the highlight of the lead trio in playing Mary Jackson, who struggled to become an engineer. And as if his potato bread personality didn’t make him toxic as a supporting character, Kevin Costner does his best — about the same as his worst — to direct the audience's moral compass as the no-nonsense director of NASA’s Space Task Force.
Everything in Hidden Figures is safe and unsatisfying. If anything, with a decent cast and an unknown, potentially powerful story to its credit, you'd imagine finding some semblance of entertainment from a movie tailored for easily manipulated general audiences. But if you’re going to stop at routinely realizing an underdog story and refuse to commit to its proper cinematic deliverance, you don’t get a pass for trying no matter how significant the subject.
La La Land briefing
3 ½ (out of 4)
Though, like Whiplash, La La Land’s primary exploration is music, especially jazz, this new musical is the antithesis of Chazelle’s astonishing debut. The film’s first act is the most enthralling section of film I’ve seen all year and though the film ends with a modest note of regret and melancholy, the evenly old-fashioned and modern depiction of Californian romance serves its simple purpose dutifully and then some.
Though the musical moments lean on the same chords and melodies on repeat, the refrains and progressions are too infectious to get sick of and each time they come back you can feel a bigger lump in your throat than before. And the lyrics are touching and never sickeningly schmaltzy — if you can get past the first and worst scene without a problem, you're golden. Gosling’s moody composure works perfectly in yielding laughs and sympathy and Emma Stone is overall at her most charming, coming off overly precious early on before delivering some devastating performance moments in the final act.
I wanted more from my first watch of La La Land, only to see it again finding myself giving in to every conceptually masterful visual moment, bittersweet tune and even the most sentimental moments of nostalgia. I should rephrase though, as you would think a film abound with references to early Hollywood classics would be wistful to its core, but the film is only thematically nostalgic. Its structure, style and universe are all vehemently 21st century and the film utilizes the simple tradition of its given genre for its wondrous exercise, so much so I hardly consider the film primarily a musical as its second half is dominant in character development rather than showstoppers.
But as a surface-level revival of earlier Technicolor or Cinemascope musicals, the only thing holding this film back — for cynics, not for my romantic self — is the formula it adheres to or, as I see it, updates. Yet this is a film so visually vivid and transporting you could watch it without sound. The swift and assured cinematography is composed of long takes that actually justify themselves, move through real spaces and inform character. This is no Iñárritu-Lubezki visual conception of in-your-face arthouse show-offery. Not a moment feels forced — even the playful laughs and familiar romance beats are but reminiscent grace notes of an altogether virtuoso display of talent.
There is tantalizing filmmaking in countless passages and after several viewings I genuinely believe that, like the reputation of Whiplash has shaped, we may have another modern classic from a superb new auteur. Damn the current backlash and any future backlash. La La Land is too simple, too naive and purely passionate to be perceived as anything other than a film concerned solely with the pleasure of escapism neatly concealing invaluable veracity. It's a cathartic follow-up to a movie that felt like running a marathon, and the most relaxing, relieving way to waste two hours in some time. "Here’s to the ones who dream/ foolish as they may seem” sings Stone in her best scene. Dream on Damien, we’re going to need you.
Though, like Whiplash, La La Land’s primary exploration is music, especially jazz, this new musical is the antithesis of Chazelle’s astonishing debut. The film’s first act is the most enthralling section of film I’ve seen all year and though the film ends with a modest note of regret and melancholy, the evenly old-fashioned and modern depiction of Californian romance serves its simple purpose dutifully and then some.
Though the musical moments lean on the same chords and melodies on repeat, the refrains and progressions are too infectious to get sick of and each time they come back you can feel a bigger lump in your throat than before. And the lyrics are touching and never sickeningly schmaltzy — if you can get past the first and worst scene without a problem, you're golden. Gosling’s moody composure works perfectly in yielding laughs and sympathy and Emma Stone is overall at her most charming, coming off overly precious early on before delivering some devastating performance moments in the final act.
I wanted more from my first watch of La La Land, only to see it again finding myself giving in to every conceptually masterful visual moment, bittersweet tune and even the most sentimental moments of nostalgia. I should rephrase though, as you would think a film abound with references to early Hollywood classics would be wistful to its core, but the film is only thematically nostalgic. Its structure, style and universe are all vehemently 21st century and the film utilizes the simple tradition of its given genre for its wondrous exercise, so much so I hardly consider the film primarily a musical as its second half is dominant in character development rather than showstoppers.
But as a surface-level revival of earlier Technicolor or Cinemascope musicals, the only thing holding this film back — for cynics, not for my romantic self — is the formula it adheres to or, as I see it, updates. Yet this is a film so visually vivid and transporting you could watch it without sound. The swift and assured cinematography is composed of long takes that actually justify themselves, move through real spaces and inform character. This is no Iñárritu-Lubezki visual conception of in-your-face arthouse show-offery. Not a moment feels forced — even the playful laughs and familiar romance beats are but reminiscent grace notes of an altogether virtuoso display of talent.
There is tantalizing filmmaking in countless passages and after several viewings I genuinely believe that, like the reputation of Whiplash has shaped, we may have another modern classic from a superb new auteur. Damn the current backlash and any future backlash. La La Land is too simple, too naive and purely passionate to be perceived as anything other than a film concerned solely with the pleasure of escapism neatly concealing invaluable veracity. It's a cathartic follow-up to a movie that felt like running a marathon, and the most relaxing, relieving way to waste two hours in some time. "Here’s to the ones who dream/ foolish as they may seem” sings Stone in her best scene. Dream on Damien, we’re going to need you.
Manchester by the Sea briefing
3 ½ (out of 4)
It would be easy to dismiss how superbly director Kenneth Lonergan manages to construct Manchester by the Sea, which weaves through the memories of Lee Chandler — a brooding, subdued Casey Affleck — from his tragic, unswerving downfall to his redemptive relationship with his nephew (Lucas Hedges), whom his recently deceased brother (Kyle Chandler) has unexpectedly left as his responsibility.
Affleck himself is utterly believable and a wonder to watch, while the supporting cast around him is just as commendable if not quite so extraordinarily committed. Interrupted by moments of startling humor revealing irony upon irony, it's hard to separate the grim from the realistic here. Though the film is certainly a downer on the whole, Lonergan’s command of the gradually uncovered backstory keeps character development in a constant spin, and the two-hours-plus runtime flies by.
Uniquely structured, quietly powerful and tonally balanced, Manchester's exacting look at grief and how unshakable memories can be — especially the pain of regrettable mistakes — is delicate and knowingly restrained. The film is almost gratuitous in its devotion to an unflattering authenticity, seeking profundity in simple gestures and muted moments of acting. The dialogue, in which drama is never forced and exchanges never turn out quite as you’d expect, is exceptionally close to life; people talk over each other, misunderstand.
The awkwardness rendered from Lonergan’s direction of his own writing makes for a rather uncanny, uncomfortable ambiance. The brief moment of reconnection between Affleck and Michelle William's ex-wife character amounts to the brutal, blubbering climax to a very understated film, and this or one of its other great scenes ("I can't beat it") stir up frustrating, purifying emotions within you.
It would be easy to dismiss how superbly director Kenneth Lonergan manages to construct Manchester by the Sea, which weaves through the memories of Lee Chandler — a brooding, subdued Casey Affleck — from his tragic, unswerving downfall to his redemptive relationship with his nephew (Lucas Hedges), whom his recently deceased brother (Kyle Chandler) has unexpectedly left as his responsibility.
Affleck himself is utterly believable and a wonder to watch, while the supporting cast around him is just as commendable if not quite so extraordinarily committed. Interrupted by moments of startling humor revealing irony upon irony, it's hard to separate the grim from the realistic here. Though the film is certainly a downer on the whole, Lonergan’s command of the gradually uncovered backstory keeps character development in a constant spin, and the two-hours-plus runtime flies by.
Uniquely structured, quietly powerful and tonally balanced, Manchester's exacting look at grief and how unshakable memories can be — especially the pain of regrettable mistakes — is delicate and knowingly restrained. The film is almost gratuitous in its devotion to an unflattering authenticity, seeking profundity in simple gestures and muted moments of acting. The dialogue, in which drama is never forced and exchanges never turn out quite as you’d expect, is exceptionally close to life; people talk over each other, misunderstand.
The awkwardness rendered from Lonergan’s direction of his own writing makes for a rather uncanny, uncomfortable ambiance. The brief moment of reconnection between Affleck and Michelle William's ex-wife character amounts to the brutal, blubbering climax to a very understated film, and this or one of its other great scenes ("I can't beat it") stir up frustrating, purifying emotions within you.
Rogue One:
A Star Wars Story briefing
1 ½ (out of 4)
I was on Rogue One’s side from the offset. Even with director Gareth Edwards’ lackluster filmography (the similarly flawed Monsters and 2014’s Godzilla) and news of pricey reshoots, I was eager to see a stand-alone expansion of the Star Wars universe, free from certain constraints as part of the more operatic installments in the saga. How wrong I was to get my hopes up.
Even if the overdose of fan service and refurbishing of the original film’s narrative held Episode VII back from blockbuster greatness, The Force Awakens is nonetheless properly adventurous and full of effective thrills. Rogue One, buried under drab self-seriousness, overstocked in underdeveloped characters and teeming with numbing action, offers no such fun. Worst of all, instead of refusing to lean on the achievements and pop culture identity of earlier films, Rogue One bridges its story within seconds of A New Hope, ultimately managing to use fan service as a bigger crutch than last year's Disney/Star Wars debut did.
Resurrected characters via CGI, two pointless bits with the most iconic villain in film history — which are exciting in contrast to the rest of the wartime gloom and were unsurprisingly tacked on by Disney executives — and yet another reappearance of R2D2 and C3PO all pale in comparison to the ways in which the film fails conceptually. A plot that involves stealing the Death Star plans could have made for a straightforward heist film, instead of a muddled, self-defeating excursion zapped of tension by its straight cash-grab nostalgia-nuzzling regarding the original film’s established iconography. It's essentially structured as half of a film and this narrative doesn't actually connect to its counterpart.
Felicity Jones’ central talent is wasted, let alone Mads Mikkelsen and the rest of our prominent actors. And so much bland, routine action spacing out an unnecessarily overdone story just contributes to an overblown 'expansion' of a resoundingly finite universe, one that won’t survive if it refuses let go of the Skywalker storyline and tread new galaxies. I fervently await Episode VIII, but all of this gives the concept of future stand-alone films, the Han Solo prequel next, a disenchanting precedent.
I was on Rogue One’s side from the offset. Even with director Gareth Edwards’ lackluster filmography (the similarly flawed Monsters and 2014’s Godzilla) and news of pricey reshoots, I was eager to see a stand-alone expansion of the Star Wars universe, free from certain constraints as part of the more operatic installments in the saga. How wrong I was to get my hopes up.
Even if the overdose of fan service and refurbishing of the original film’s narrative held Episode VII back from blockbuster greatness, The Force Awakens is nonetheless properly adventurous and full of effective thrills. Rogue One, buried under drab self-seriousness, overstocked in underdeveloped characters and teeming with numbing action, offers no such fun. Worst of all, instead of refusing to lean on the achievements and pop culture identity of earlier films, Rogue One bridges its story within seconds of A New Hope, ultimately managing to use fan service as a bigger crutch than last year's Disney/Star Wars debut did.
Resurrected characters via CGI, two pointless bits with the most iconic villain in film history — which are exciting in contrast to the rest of the wartime gloom and were unsurprisingly tacked on by Disney executives — and yet another reappearance of R2D2 and C3PO all pale in comparison to the ways in which the film fails conceptually. A plot that involves stealing the Death Star plans could have made for a straightforward heist film, instead of a muddled, self-defeating excursion zapped of tension by its straight cash-grab nostalgia-nuzzling regarding the original film’s established iconography. It's essentially structured as half of a film and this narrative doesn't actually connect to its counterpart.
Felicity Jones’ central talent is wasted, let alone Mads Mikkelsen and the rest of our prominent actors. And so much bland, routine action spacing out an unnecessarily overdone story just contributes to an overblown 'expansion' of a resoundingly finite universe, one that won’t survive if it refuses let go of the Skywalker storyline and tread new galaxies. I fervently await Episode VIII, but all of this gives the concept of future stand-alone films, the Han Solo prequel next, a disenchanting precedent.
Fantastic Beasts and
Where to Find Them review
2 (out of 4)
J. K. Rowling makes her screenwriting debut in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, very loosely based on the same fictional textbook from the wizarding world she wrote for the British Charity organization Comic Relief back in 2001.
Though she has the ability to spin countless memorable tales throughout thousands of pages in the seven-part Harry Potter series, Rowling, in what sets up another planned four installments for the Warner Brothers property, starts a streak of disappointment following the mixed reception of her recent play Harry Potter and the Cursed Child. Both projects reek of cashing in on the surplus of committed fans at her disposal all clamoring for new content.
Recent Oscar-winner Eddie Redmayne — for his dedicated work as Stephen Hawking in The Theory of Everything — stars as Newt Scamander, the author of all 52 editions of the titular book yet to be written in the period setting of New York in the late 1920s. Director David Yates — the man behind the four films making up the latter half of the eight-part film series, Order of the Phoenix through Deathly Hallows Part 2 — works with his familiar parts comfortably while highlighting the historical elements and action beats whenever possible.
Scamander is traveling from Britain to America for research on his book, a deceptively deep briefcase in hand — à la an undetectable extension charm — full of magical creatures. The plot is set forth when Scamander loses four of the creatures and they begin to cause certain mayhem in the non-magic world of New York. The suitcase of a muggle baker Jacob Kowalski, played by the film’s belabored source of comic relief Dan Fogler, is switched with Scamander’s as the wizard attempts to locate a Murtlap, a sea anemone-like rat.
Scamander’s troubles attract the attention of the Magical Congress of the United States of America, including Auror and Director of Magical Security Percival Graves (Colin Farrell). Graves covertly tries to earn favor from orphan Credence Barebone (Ezra Miller), who represses his magical abilities from his adopted mother and cult leader (Samantha Morton), out to expose witches and wizards as evil. Meanwhile former Auror Porpentina Goldstein, an excellent Katherine Waterston, and her flirtatious telepathic sister Queenie (Alison Sudol) help Scamander in his search.
Fantastic Beasts hardly touches on the more modern mythology of the pop culture staple from which it spawned, but that doesn’t mean the film’s plot spins anything compellingly original or daring. Redmayne anchors an otherwise flimsy and underwhelming fantasy film with some semblance of emotional authenticity.
With only her imagination at her disposal though, J. K. Rowling’s script comes up fairly short. She manages to work plenty of the 75 magical creatures from her short book into her adaptation but Fantastic Beasts is stretched to a generous two-hour plus runtime with an almost exhausting amount of visual effect-driven sequences. All of these are somewhat subdued in provoking suspense when magic is the easiest fix for any situation of danger.
In the film’s favor, the cast is formidably good even if the characters are dull, with the likes of Jon Voight and Ron Perlman taking on smaller roles. The CGI is fairly miraculous as you would expect, and the humor with the creatures is often charming and engaging. James Newton Howard’s score also puts “Hedwig’s Theme” to rest after the opening seconds and his contributions are stirring even if the film he’s accentuating is not.
There is no mention to Harry Potter as there shouldn’t be, though Dumbledore is mentioned in passing and Johnny Depp’s reported turn as young Grindelwald in the sequel unfortunately arrives ahead of schedule. But as far as setup for future installments, this film is in general a closed loop, finding distracting, wand-waving ways to create elaborate chases with digitally animated mystical animals in order to pass the time.
Rowling’s cinematic storytelling, regardless of how many action set pieces she can stage, is both plodding and overindulgent. The author, richer than the Queen of England, has frequently been a fantasy writer of clever pastiche with so many nods to Tolkien and worldbuilding built on playful reinterpretation of classic lore, but here all of her efforts work to her severe disadvantage.
With little sense of a threat and tepid romantic subplots, there is nothing creative enough here that can’t be found in any adaptation of Rowling’s immensely popular series. There are also no payoffs for its outsider scenario wherein it could explore American magical culture.
Fantastic Beasts is too bright and kinetically paced to be called unexciting exactly, but as the first installment of a supposedly long series, the film certainly hits the ground but we’ll have to wait for it to get running.
*Edited version published in The Pitt News / November 17th, 2016
J. K. Rowling makes her screenwriting debut in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, very loosely based on the same fictional textbook from the wizarding world she wrote for the British Charity organization Comic Relief back in 2001.
Though she has the ability to spin countless memorable tales throughout thousands of pages in the seven-part Harry Potter series, Rowling, in what sets up another planned four installments for the Warner Brothers property, starts a streak of disappointment following the mixed reception of her recent play Harry Potter and the Cursed Child. Both projects reek of cashing in on the surplus of committed fans at her disposal all clamoring for new content.
Recent Oscar-winner Eddie Redmayne — for his dedicated work as Stephen Hawking in The Theory of Everything — stars as Newt Scamander, the author of all 52 editions of the titular book yet to be written in the period setting of New York in the late 1920s. Director David Yates — the man behind the four films making up the latter half of the eight-part film series, Order of the Phoenix through Deathly Hallows Part 2 — works with his familiar parts comfortably while highlighting the historical elements and action beats whenever possible.
Scamander is traveling from Britain to America for research on his book, a deceptively deep briefcase in hand — à la an undetectable extension charm — full of magical creatures. The plot is set forth when Scamander loses four of the creatures and they begin to cause certain mayhem in the non-magic world of New York. The suitcase of a muggle baker Jacob Kowalski, played by the film’s belabored source of comic relief Dan Fogler, is switched with Scamander’s as the wizard attempts to locate a Murtlap, a sea anemone-like rat.
Scamander’s troubles attract the attention of the Magical Congress of the United States of America, including Auror and Director of Magical Security Percival Graves (Colin Farrell). Graves covertly tries to earn favor from orphan Credence Barebone (Ezra Miller), who represses his magical abilities from his adopted mother and cult leader (Samantha Morton), out to expose witches and wizards as evil. Meanwhile former Auror Porpentina Goldstein, an excellent Katherine Waterston, and her flirtatious telepathic sister Queenie (Alison Sudol) help Scamander in his search.
Fantastic Beasts hardly touches on the more modern mythology of the pop culture staple from which it spawned, but that doesn’t mean the film’s plot spins anything compellingly original or daring. Redmayne anchors an otherwise flimsy and underwhelming fantasy film with some semblance of emotional authenticity.
With only her imagination at her disposal though, J. K. Rowling’s script comes up fairly short. She manages to work plenty of the 75 magical creatures from her short book into her adaptation but Fantastic Beasts is stretched to a generous two-hour plus runtime with an almost exhausting amount of visual effect-driven sequences. All of these are somewhat subdued in provoking suspense when magic is the easiest fix for any situation of danger.
In the film’s favor, the cast is formidably good even if the characters are dull, with the likes of Jon Voight and Ron Perlman taking on smaller roles. The CGI is fairly miraculous as you would expect, and the humor with the creatures is often charming and engaging. James Newton Howard’s score also puts “Hedwig’s Theme” to rest after the opening seconds and his contributions are stirring even if the film he’s accentuating is not.
There is no mention to Harry Potter as there shouldn’t be, though Dumbledore is mentioned in passing and Johnny Depp’s reported turn as young Grindelwald in the sequel unfortunately arrives ahead of schedule. But as far as setup for future installments, this film is in general a closed loop, finding distracting, wand-waving ways to create elaborate chases with digitally animated mystical animals in order to pass the time.
Rowling’s cinematic storytelling, regardless of how many action set pieces she can stage, is both plodding and overindulgent. The author, richer than the Queen of England, has frequently been a fantasy writer of clever pastiche with so many nods to Tolkien and worldbuilding built on playful reinterpretation of classic lore, but here all of her efforts work to her severe disadvantage.
With little sense of a threat and tepid romantic subplots, there is nothing creative enough here that can’t be found in any adaptation of Rowling’s immensely popular series. There are also no payoffs for its outsider scenario wherein it could explore American magical culture.
Fantastic Beasts is too bright and kinetically paced to be called unexciting exactly, but as the first installment of a supposedly long series, the film certainly hits the ground but we’ll have to wait for it to get running.
*Edited version published in The Pitt News / November 17th, 2016
Moonlight briefing
3 ½ (out of 4)
Emotionally affecting to the point of thinking it must just be pulling your strings, Moonlight’s modest yet grandiose approach to its lead character and his struggles may just be as good as it appears. While the physical aspects of each persona of Chiron (the commendable Alex Hibbert, Ashton Sanders, and, most impressive, Trevante Rhodes) may differ — as if we’d expect Barry Jenkins to wait 20 years for Boyhood-like authenticity — each of the three chapters of his life hold their own weight and render Moonlight almost more complete than it should be.
In the film’s first segment, Mahershala Ali’s role as a drug dealer turned unexpected father figure to a young, terribly quiet Chiron is the film’s strongest display of acting. And Naomie Harris’s marathon performance — acted in only a few days yet narratively spanning over a decade — is another of the film’s most genuine assets, feeling as personal as Jenkins, who based the character’s interpretation on his mother, intended. And as deftly as Jenkins portrays our main character, he only truly brings it home in the homestretch where moments of borderline melodrama beforehand pay off in spades.
In Moonlight's final and most tender act, the natural interplay of Rhodes and André Holland sells the film’s universality without a false gesture. It left me breathless to wait for both the tension of a long awaited reunion to resolve and for the film to devastate me with its parting images.
Identity is a fickle thing and few films address this as clearly as Moonlight does. Not only is the film a great portrait of both contemporary black and gay culture but it's also one that discreetly deconstructs masculinity through the tenderness of genuine intimacy.
Emotionally affecting to the point of thinking it must just be pulling your strings, Moonlight’s modest yet grandiose approach to its lead character and his struggles may just be as good as it appears. While the physical aspects of each persona of Chiron (the commendable Alex Hibbert, Ashton Sanders, and, most impressive, Trevante Rhodes) may differ — as if we’d expect Barry Jenkins to wait 20 years for Boyhood-like authenticity — each of the three chapters of his life hold their own weight and render Moonlight almost more complete than it should be.
In the film’s first segment, Mahershala Ali’s role as a drug dealer turned unexpected father figure to a young, terribly quiet Chiron is the film’s strongest display of acting. And Naomie Harris’s marathon performance — acted in only a few days yet narratively spanning over a decade — is another of the film’s most genuine assets, feeling as personal as Jenkins, who based the character’s interpretation on his mother, intended. And as deftly as Jenkins portrays our main character, he only truly brings it home in the homestretch where moments of borderline melodrama beforehand pay off in spades.
In Moonlight's final and most tender act, the natural interplay of Rhodes and André Holland sells the film’s universality without a false gesture. It left me breathless to wait for both the tension of a long awaited reunion to resolve and for the film to devastate me with its parting images.
Identity is a fickle thing and few films address this as clearly as Moonlight does. Not only is the film a great portrait of both contemporary black and gay culture but it's also one that discreetly deconstructs masculinity through the tenderness of genuine intimacy.
Arrival briefing
3 (out of 4)
With a recent filmography comprised by moody, Fincher-esque thrillers — Sicario, Enemy and my favorite still Prisoners — Denis Villeneuve has become one of our most consistent and exciting directors providing absorbing, morose, pulpy adult dramas. His Contact-indebted adaptation of Ted Chiang's "Story of Your Life" finds the French-Canadian auteur stepping confidently and comfortably into mainstream cinema.
Arrival’s safer PG-13 rating, boiled-down science and flimsy motivations for the titular alien invasion make up all the warts of this otherwise masterfully made modern sci-fi tale. The choice to frame first contact free of needless action and melodrama places Arrival deep in the region of success for both its genre and Villeneuve. However, this movie’s ‘hard science’ doesn’t really add up to anything genuine. Even though the plot is stripped and straightforward, too much of the intricacies in decoding the syntax of a truly foreign language are reduced to montage, voice-over explanation and fairly simple revelations.
That said, Amy Adams is extraordinarily good and her graceful lead performance easily outshines co-stars Jeremy Renner and Forest Whitaker. And Arrival’s entire visual conception is also admirable — the first gravity-shifting steps into the silver alien vessel are reminiscent of 2001, feeling like everything Nolan was trying to achieve in Interstellar without even leaving earth.
The film’s ultimate message of global unity is also comforting in such confused times, but Arrival’s parting twist is slightly more contrived than I would have liked. Nevertheless the starkly contrasted cinematography, believable characters and many grounded, cerebral thrills of Arrival make it difficult to write off its technical and cinematic worth. As a clean dip for Villenueve into the realm of bigger budget sci-fi, this film only makes me more excited for the potential of Blade Runner 2049 this coming October.
With a recent filmography comprised by moody, Fincher-esque thrillers — Sicario, Enemy and my favorite still Prisoners — Denis Villeneuve has become one of our most consistent and exciting directors providing absorbing, morose, pulpy adult dramas. His Contact-indebted adaptation of Ted Chiang's "Story of Your Life" finds the French-Canadian auteur stepping confidently and comfortably into mainstream cinema.
Arrival’s safer PG-13 rating, boiled-down science and flimsy motivations for the titular alien invasion make up all the warts of this otherwise masterfully made modern sci-fi tale. The choice to frame first contact free of needless action and melodrama places Arrival deep in the region of success for both its genre and Villeneuve. However, this movie’s ‘hard science’ doesn’t really add up to anything genuine. Even though the plot is stripped and straightforward, too much of the intricacies in decoding the syntax of a truly foreign language are reduced to montage, voice-over explanation and fairly simple revelations.
That said, Amy Adams is extraordinarily good and her graceful lead performance easily outshines co-stars Jeremy Renner and Forest Whitaker. And Arrival’s entire visual conception is also admirable — the first gravity-shifting steps into the silver alien vessel are reminiscent of 2001, feeling like everything Nolan was trying to achieve in Interstellar without even leaving earth.
The film’s ultimate message of global unity is also comforting in such confused times, but Arrival’s parting twist is slightly more contrived than I would have liked. Nevertheless the starkly contrasted cinematography, believable characters and many grounded, cerebral thrills of Arrival make it difficult to write off its technical and cinematic worth. As a clean dip for Villenueve into the realm of bigger budget sci-fi, this film only makes me more excited for the potential of Blade Runner 2049 this coming October.
Doctor Strange briefing
3 (out of 4)
As much as it may adhere to an identifiable formula, Doctor Strange manages to feel like a breath of fresh air in an age when all superhero films feel the same. This is Marvel’s most daring film to date and most satisfying since the original Iron Man.
Maybe my inclination toward the psychedelic automatically places this film higher in my favor but, as far as Disney’s ever-expanding monopoly of the film industry goes, this is the kind of departure from the norm that I always hoped they would back with a budget upwards of 150 million. The definitive best moment is the spectacular, delectably trippy segment in which Tilda Swinton’s highlight turn as the mystical Ancient One — you’ll forget all the whitewashing hullaballoo — shows Benedict Cumberbatch’s cynical doctor his infinitesimal place in reference to the vast universe and the all the unearthly possibilities that lay beyond the limitations of his mind. The film’s visual effects, while no more impressive than anything in previous caped canon, are still remarkable in their originality and in translating such kooky comic mythos into something worth perceiving with a straight face.
Nailing Marvel’s own spin on the psuedo-space opera more confidently than either Thor film — or at least with a few less winks and quips than Guardians of the Galaxy — Doctor Strange’s faults are really only tied to Marvel's unwillingness to stray off their steady path to box office billions. Our villain is weak, as is the Achilles' heel of many an MCU movie, though Mads Mikkelsen does what he can. And the humor, while not as obvious and overdone as in weaker entries, still panders heavily to the masses. But as someone who can still watch in wonder as a dozen Avengers punch each other pointlessly, this extension of the cinematic universe is the most valuable branch in some time.
As much as it may adhere to an identifiable formula, Doctor Strange manages to feel like a breath of fresh air in an age when all superhero films feel the same. This is Marvel’s most daring film to date and most satisfying since the original Iron Man.
Maybe my inclination toward the psychedelic automatically places this film higher in my favor but, as far as Disney’s ever-expanding monopoly of the film industry goes, this is the kind of departure from the norm that I always hoped they would back with a budget upwards of 150 million. The definitive best moment is the spectacular, delectably trippy segment in which Tilda Swinton’s highlight turn as the mystical Ancient One — you’ll forget all the whitewashing hullaballoo — shows Benedict Cumberbatch’s cynical doctor his infinitesimal place in reference to the vast universe and the all the unearthly possibilities that lay beyond the limitations of his mind. The film’s visual effects, while no more impressive than anything in previous caped canon, are still remarkable in their originality and in translating such kooky comic mythos into something worth perceiving with a straight face.
Nailing Marvel’s own spin on the psuedo-space opera more confidently than either Thor film — or at least with a few less winks and quips than Guardians of the Galaxy — Doctor Strange’s faults are really only tied to Marvel's unwillingness to stray off their steady path to box office billions. Our villain is weak, as is the Achilles' heel of many an MCU movie, though Mads Mikkelsen does what he can. And the humor, while not as obvious and overdone as in weaker entries, still panders heavily to the masses. But as someone who can still watch in wonder as a dozen Avengers punch each other pointlessly, this extension of the cinematic universe is the most valuable branch in some time.
Haze review
3 (out of 4)
Haze, David Burkman’s feature length debut, is a dynamic investigation into the state of modern Greek life and a bracing look at the sociological effects of college in general.
As someone who pledged and was hazed during his college years, Burkman’s film manages to cover all sides of the complicated issues at hand with brave impartiality. The film’s hazing plot is based in part on Burkman’s own experience, but also similar accounts of others involved with the film.
The story centers on Nick (Kirk Curran), a wide-eyed freshman trying to become part of Psi Theta Epsilon, one of oldest fraternities in the country. He and seven others are given the opportunity to pledge but, as is tradition, the price of brotherhood is mighty high.
From within the Greek system he faces steadily mounting psychological anguish from the fraternity’s leader Taylor (Jeremy O’Shea) and sexual manipulation via senior sorority sister Sophie (Sophia Medley).
His personal relationships further the conflict. Nick’s brother Pete (Mike Blejer) has spearheaded an anti-hazing movement in response to the recent death of a fellow student who died of alcohol poisoning, resulting in a gap of trust between Nick and the frat. He is actually guilty, though, of stringing along childhood friend Mimi (Kristin Rogers) who hides deeper feelings for Nick.
Taking advantage of the lo-fi, micro-budget aesthetic, the filmmaking style of Haze fluctuates between mockumentary — as we witness footage of Pete’s documentary-in-progress on hazing — and more cinematic documentary-style realism.
It doesn’t feel schizophrenic like a Bourne movie, but Haze still utilizes whip-pans, zooms and analogous hand-held camera techniques to embrace the grounded naturalism of the film’s depicted college experience. The film will also adjust the hue and filmmaking style of certain sequences to communicate the experience of heavy drinking or, in one case, MDMA.
Of course, the progressive torment of the disturbing hazing process is the film’s main focus. The shenanigans and debauchery of the film’s raucous and funny first act slowly turn sinister and gratuitous. The will of the pledges is tested via countless creative forms of humiliation, physical pain, verbal abuse and — it goes without mentioning — nauseating amounts of alcohol.
Though the film touches at times on hazing in sororities, the girls of the main sisterhood in Haze are little more than exploited accessories to the fraternities’ excessive partying. This is clearly an intentional point, painting an unsettling portrait of contemporary sexism in youth culture where guys still treat women like objects and the girls go along with it.
How the brothers interact with each other is just as scary. The film’s dialogue is wisely unpolished, capturing the fragmented, often unsavory quality with which college-aged boys speak. Not only is the cost of comradeship steep, but through the rigorous hazing process the concept of brotherhood is slowly perverted until the moment when the animalistic qualities of these guys is all you can see.
Going hand in hand with the oft-terrifying mob mentality and chest-thumping masculinity contests between bros, Haze is also unflinching in its few moments depicting rape culture. However, as many of the female characters are only in supporting roles, I feel like the film might have missed an opportunity to make a more explicit stance on this important topic.
That being said, the moral ambiguity of Haze is what makes it so potent — the film can be terribly tense and sometimes very funny. Our protagonist is tested from all angles of the story, and the character, though believable, frequently does not take the high road — the audience is often posed the question of whether they condone what takes place on-screen. Extremely critical of the frat boy character, the specific stereotypes of Haze serve a greater function, and I believe it is something to do with self-reflection.
Though something of a message movie, Haze accomplishes a great deal with a simple premise. The film is fast-paced, tightly edited, well scored and full of stinging social criticisms beneath the façade of a college comedy-drama.
*Edited version published in The Pitt News / October 6th, 2016
Haze, David Burkman’s feature length debut, is a dynamic investigation into the state of modern Greek life and a bracing look at the sociological effects of college in general.
As someone who pledged and was hazed during his college years, Burkman’s film manages to cover all sides of the complicated issues at hand with brave impartiality. The film’s hazing plot is based in part on Burkman’s own experience, but also similar accounts of others involved with the film.
The story centers on Nick (Kirk Curran), a wide-eyed freshman trying to become part of Psi Theta Epsilon, one of oldest fraternities in the country. He and seven others are given the opportunity to pledge but, as is tradition, the price of brotherhood is mighty high.
From within the Greek system he faces steadily mounting psychological anguish from the fraternity’s leader Taylor (Jeremy O’Shea) and sexual manipulation via senior sorority sister Sophie (Sophia Medley).
His personal relationships further the conflict. Nick’s brother Pete (Mike Blejer) has spearheaded an anti-hazing movement in response to the recent death of a fellow student who died of alcohol poisoning, resulting in a gap of trust between Nick and the frat. He is actually guilty, though, of stringing along childhood friend Mimi (Kristin Rogers) who hides deeper feelings for Nick.
Taking advantage of the lo-fi, micro-budget aesthetic, the filmmaking style of Haze fluctuates between mockumentary — as we witness footage of Pete’s documentary-in-progress on hazing — and more cinematic documentary-style realism.
It doesn’t feel schizophrenic like a Bourne movie, but Haze still utilizes whip-pans, zooms and analogous hand-held camera techniques to embrace the grounded naturalism of the film’s depicted college experience. The film will also adjust the hue and filmmaking style of certain sequences to communicate the experience of heavy drinking or, in one case, MDMA.
Of course, the progressive torment of the disturbing hazing process is the film’s main focus. The shenanigans and debauchery of the film’s raucous and funny first act slowly turn sinister and gratuitous. The will of the pledges is tested via countless creative forms of humiliation, physical pain, verbal abuse and — it goes without mentioning — nauseating amounts of alcohol.
Though the film touches at times on hazing in sororities, the girls of the main sisterhood in Haze are little more than exploited accessories to the fraternities’ excessive partying. This is clearly an intentional point, painting an unsettling portrait of contemporary sexism in youth culture where guys still treat women like objects and the girls go along with it.
How the brothers interact with each other is just as scary. The film’s dialogue is wisely unpolished, capturing the fragmented, often unsavory quality with which college-aged boys speak. Not only is the cost of comradeship steep, but through the rigorous hazing process the concept of brotherhood is slowly perverted until the moment when the animalistic qualities of these guys is all you can see.
Going hand in hand with the oft-terrifying mob mentality and chest-thumping masculinity contests between bros, Haze is also unflinching in its few moments depicting rape culture. However, as many of the female characters are only in supporting roles, I feel like the film might have missed an opportunity to make a more explicit stance on this important topic.
That being said, the moral ambiguity of Haze is what makes it so potent — the film can be terribly tense and sometimes very funny. Our protagonist is tested from all angles of the story, and the character, though believable, frequently does not take the high road — the audience is often posed the question of whether they condone what takes place on-screen. Extremely critical of the frat boy character, the specific stereotypes of Haze serve a greater function, and I believe it is something to do with self-reflection.
Though something of a message movie, Haze accomplishes a great deal with a simple premise. The film is fast-paced, tightly edited, well scored and full of stinging social criticisms beneath the façade of a college comedy-drama.
*Edited version published in The Pitt News / October 6th, 2016
Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children review
2 ½ (out of 4)
Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children fits right in with Tim Burton’s filmography — a visually remarkable fantasy film undone by the director’s typical gluttony for aesthetic over storytelling.
The stylized, easily digestible eeriness of the films associated with Burton’s name, as well as his insistence on putting his recognizable stamp on previously existing material, are all present in Miss Peregrine’s. While this adaptation is far more agreeable than recent misfires like Alice in Wonderland and Dark Shadows, the film is still middling compared to the dark pleasures of Sweeney Todd or the uncharacteristic delights of Big Fish.
The Ransom Riggs debut novel and New York Times bestseller on which the film is based has all the trappings of young adult fantasy. It's hard to tell whether Jane Goldman’s adapted screenplay makes better or worse of the derivative nature of Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children's premise and plot. As a distillation of several elements from Harry Potter and X-Men, nearly everything in the film feels familiar.
Asa Butterfield — quickly outgrowing his child star reputation earned from lead roles in Hugo and Ender’s Game — plays misfit 16-year-old Jake, whose grandfather Abe (Terrence Stamp) would tell him tales during his childhood of a safe place for children with extraordinary abilities. Up until Abe’s mysterious death in the present, Jake had grown up believing his grandfather despite a dismissive father (Chris O’Dowd), and the old man’s final words urge him to locate the titular home in Wales.
Upon finding the building long destroyed, Jake still searches the abandoned remnants, only to find the characters from his bedtime stories who lead him through a ‘loop.’ This physical passage in time leads to the home still intact in the past. Sherlock-Holmes-ian falcon-shape-shifter Miss Peregrine, inhabited by the captivating Eva Green, resets the day right before a German bombing so that she may essentially care for her peculiars indefinitely, without them ever aging as well.
Many of the youngsters’ strange abilities are the same you’ve seen in many superhero films — powers involving super strength, invisibility, control of fire and plants. The more unique ones are given either the most screen time — like token romantic interest Emma (Ella Purnell) who will float away unless harnessed in some way and has a mighty breath, and Enoch (Finlay MacMillan) who can briefly animate the dead — or next to no time at all, like the boy who can project his dreams through his one eye or the little girl with a bigger set of chompers on the back of her head.
Needless to say none of the characters feel very special, and keeping up with the hackneyed fantasy rules and long-winded plot — involving conflicts with unimaginative antagonists known as Hollows who are essentially evil peculiars — is something of a chore during the overkill two-hour plus runtime. The Hollows, led by Mr. Barron — Samuel L. Jackson somehow playing the formidable villain and wacky comic relief — need to eat the eyeballs of other peculiars in able to reverse their monstrous natural form caused by an experimentation gone wrong.
Amidst the chaotic landscape of underdeveloped side characters and phony expository dialogue, Butterfield and Green nonetheless make appealing leads. The former is convincing in his troubled teen portrayal and the latter is a pleasure to watch in any scene — even with top bill she is underused.
There is mystery, intrigue and something of a sense of discovery in the early majority of Miss Peregrine’s, but the film’s final act is one unremitting mishap, where breaks in logic and placeholder effects-driven action jumble the momentary wonder into silly, stakes-free chaos.
Collaborating for a third time with four-time Oscar-nominated cinematographer Bruno Delbonnel (Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Inside Llewyn Davis), Burton’s visual panache is in peak form with this film. The extensive use of computer-generated effects melds easily with the frequent WWII-era, steam-punk-laden period setting. The consequent Gothic fantasy ambiance is reminiscent of Lemony Snicket’s A Series of Unfortunate Events, but sadly Peregrine’s story is made defective by a lack of clever worldbuilding, keen humor or a sense of reasonable danger.
It is hard to say whether the film will find an audience as the light PG-13 rating may steer away the younger kids for whom the movie should be aimed. Though there are monsters and fantasy violence, there is an inherent absurdity to the film’s convoluted vision making me suspect tweens might be rolling their eyes.
The film’s epilogue rushes past a thought-provoking time-travel related sequence in a matter of seconds that would have made for a more interesting feature film — or possibly even a good sequel. But I doubt we’ll see another installment of Tim Burton’s peculiarly inadequate YA adaption any time soon.
*Edited version published in The Pitt News / September 29th, 2016
Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children fits right in with Tim Burton’s filmography — a visually remarkable fantasy film undone by the director’s typical gluttony for aesthetic over storytelling.
The stylized, easily digestible eeriness of the films associated with Burton’s name, as well as his insistence on putting his recognizable stamp on previously existing material, are all present in Miss Peregrine’s. While this adaptation is far more agreeable than recent misfires like Alice in Wonderland and Dark Shadows, the film is still middling compared to the dark pleasures of Sweeney Todd or the uncharacteristic delights of Big Fish.
The Ransom Riggs debut novel and New York Times bestseller on which the film is based has all the trappings of young adult fantasy. It's hard to tell whether Jane Goldman’s adapted screenplay makes better or worse of the derivative nature of Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children's premise and plot. As a distillation of several elements from Harry Potter and X-Men, nearly everything in the film feels familiar.
Asa Butterfield — quickly outgrowing his child star reputation earned from lead roles in Hugo and Ender’s Game — plays misfit 16-year-old Jake, whose grandfather Abe (Terrence Stamp) would tell him tales during his childhood of a safe place for children with extraordinary abilities. Up until Abe’s mysterious death in the present, Jake had grown up believing his grandfather despite a dismissive father (Chris O’Dowd), and the old man’s final words urge him to locate the titular home in Wales.
Upon finding the building long destroyed, Jake still searches the abandoned remnants, only to find the characters from his bedtime stories who lead him through a ‘loop.’ This physical passage in time leads to the home still intact in the past. Sherlock-Holmes-ian falcon-shape-shifter Miss Peregrine, inhabited by the captivating Eva Green, resets the day right before a German bombing so that she may essentially care for her peculiars indefinitely, without them ever aging as well.
Many of the youngsters’ strange abilities are the same you’ve seen in many superhero films — powers involving super strength, invisibility, control of fire and plants. The more unique ones are given either the most screen time — like token romantic interest Emma (Ella Purnell) who will float away unless harnessed in some way and has a mighty breath, and Enoch (Finlay MacMillan) who can briefly animate the dead — or next to no time at all, like the boy who can project his dreams through his one eye or the little girl with a bigger set of chompers on the back of her head.
Needless to say none of the characters feel very special, and keeping up with the hackneyed fantasy rules and long-winded plot — involving conflicts with unimaginative antagonists known as Hollows who are essentially evil peculiars — is something of a chore during the overkill two-hour plus runtime. The Hollows, led by Mr. Barron — Samuel L. Jackson somehow playing the formidable villain and wacky comic relief — need to eat the eyeballs of other peculiars in able to reverse their monstrous natural form caused by an experimentation gone wrong.
Amidst the chaotic landscape of underdeveloped side characters and phony expository dialogue, Butterfield and Green nonetheless make appealing leads. The former is convincing in his troubled teen portrayal and the latter is a pleasure to watch in any scene — even with top bill she is underused.
There is mystery, intrigue and something of a sense of discovery in the early majority of Miss Peregrine’s, but the film’s final act is one unremitting mishap, where breaks in logic and placeholder effects-driven action jumble the momentary wonder into silly, stakes-free chaos.
Collaborating for a third time with four-time Oscar-nominated cinematographer Bruno Delbonnel (Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Inside Llewyn Davis), Burton’s visual panache is in peak form with this film. The extensive use of computer-generated effects melds easily with the frequent WWII-era, steam-punk-laden period setting. The consequent Gothic fantasy ambiance is reminiscent of Lemony Snicket’s A Series of Unfortunate Events, but sadly Peregrine’s story is made defective by a lack of clever worldbuilding, keen humor or a sense of reasonable danger.
It is hard to say whether the film will find an audience as the light PG-13 rating may steer away the younger kids for whom the movie should be aimed. Though there are monsters and fantasy violence, there is an inherent absurdity to the film’s convoluted vision making me suspect tweens might be rolling their eyes.
The film’s epilogue rushes past a thought-provoking time-travel related sequence in a matter of seconds that would have made for a more interesting feature film — or possibly even a good sequel. But I doubt we’ll see another installment of Tim Burton’s peculiarly inadequate YA adaption any time soon.
*Edited version published in The Pitt News / September 29th, 2016
Kubo and the Two Strings briefing
3 (out of 4)
Visually vivid and often daringly weird, Kubo and the Two Strings is another substantial addition to the other impressive claymation works under the Laika name.
While the gutless climax of Kubo pads out themes on memory and legacy with kid-friendly sentimentality, the film is a wonder altogether. It doesn’t induce mature, horror-happy pleasure like Paranorman or match Coraline's fearful, cautionary air, but the painstaking production detail and modification on the hero’s quest ensure this Japanese-inspired adventure film is worth its weight in countless hours of handcrafted dedication.
Travis Knight, lead animator of Laika, finally makes his official directorial debut with Kubo, and under his navigation the film successfully straddles the line between the whimsy of a children’s film and the narrative determination of a universal work. The film’s first few minutes are a gorgeous indication of what's in store, and even though some of the emotional instances lack depth, the clear, meticulously arranged action still communicates exceptional gravity. Charlize Theron and Matthew McConaughey lend inspired voice work as our young one-eyed hero’s eccentric protectors, and Rooney Mara’s cold passivity is matched perfectly with the witch-like Sisters Karasu and Washi, Kubo’s nefarious aunts.
Though the plot has a little too much in common with a video game, several moments are often too extraordinary to place Kubo and the Two Stings anywhere near the realm of boilerplate family fare. The film's most inspired and terrifying moments are brimming with epic staging, like a sequence with giant hypnotic eyeballs beneath the ocean as well as the epic, aforementioned prologue.
Visually vivid and often daringly weird, Kubo and the Two Strings is another substantial addition to the other impressive claymation works under the Laika name.
While the gutless climax of Kubo pads out themes on memory and legacy with kid-friendly sentimentality, the film is a wonder altogether. It doesn’t induce mature, horror-happy pleasure like Paranorman or match Coraline's fearful, cautionary air, but the painstaking production detail and modification on the hero’s quest ensure this Japanese-inspired adventure film is worth its weight in countless hours of handcrafted dedication.
Travis Knight, lead animator of Laika, finally makes his official directorial debut with Kubo, and under his navigation the film successfully straddles the line between the whimsy of a children’s film and the narrative determination of a universal work. The film’s first few minutes are a gorgeous indication of what's in store, and even though some of the emotional instances lack depth, the clear, meticulously arranged action still communicates exceptional gravity. Charlize Theron and Matthew McConaughey lend inspired voice work as our young one-eyed hero’s eccentric protectors, and Rooney Mara’s cold passivity is matched perfectly with the witch-like Sisters Karasu and Washi, Kubo’s nefarious aunts.
Though the plot has a little too much in common with a video game, several moments are often too extraordinary to place Kubo and the Two Stings anywhere near the realm of boilerplate family fare. The film's most inspired and terrifying moments are brimming with epic staging, like a sequence with giant hypnotic eyeballs beneath the ocean as well as the epic, aforementioned prologue.
Jason Bourne briefing
1 ½ (out of 4)
A derivative distillation of all the elements of the original trilogy’s former glory — except with none of the believability or breathless espionage payoffs — Jason Bourne is the most disappointing sequel you could ask for from the return of both Matt Damon and Paul Greengrass.
The Bourne Legacy seems terribly adept in comparison to the convoluted plot, stilted dialogue and lifeless performances that add up to this latest entry, nine years out from the franchise high of Ultimatum. Damon looks bored and the main newcomers Tommy Lee Jones and Alicia Vikander can only do so much with their generic lines and shapeless characters — they even got Vincent Cassell to play the film’s hitman antagonist which is about as cliché as you can get. In what feels like one of the most desperate attempts in recent years to sustain the life expectancy of a terminally degraded franchise, Universal’s Bourne series chokes on its last breath.
The script, botched end to end, suffers from a lack of Tony Gilroy and an overabundance of hapless writing on the part of Greengrass and frequent editor and rookie writer Christopher Rouse. This film utilizes every element that defined the taut, thrilling varnish of earlier Greengrass entries — brutal hand-to-hand combat, motorcycle tricks, computer hacking and a nonsensical car crash finale — save for the actual action fireworks or a decent amnesia-induced mystery.
With surface level promise surrounding the whole film, it’s ten-fold more unsatisfying how pathetically Jason Bourne actually plays out on-screen. I know his name now but I wager I’ll soon forget it.
A derivative distillation of all the elements of the original trilogy’s former glory — except with none of the believability or breathless espionage payoffs — Jason Bourne is the most disappointing sequel you could ask for from the return of both Matt Damon and Paul Greengrass.
The Bourne Legacy seems terribly adept in comparison to the convoluted plot, stilted dialogue and lifeless performances that add up to this latest entry, nine years out from the franchise high of Ultimatum. Damon looks bored and the main newcomers Tommy Lee Jones and Alicia Vikander can only do so much with their generic lines and shapeless characters — they even got Vincent Cassell to play the film’s hitman antagonist which is about as cliché as you can get. In what feels like one of the most desperate attempts in recent years to sustain the life expectancy of a terminally degraded franchise, Universal’s Bourne series chokes on its last breath.
The script, botched end to end, suffers from a lack of Tony Gilroy and an overabundance of hapless writing on the part of Greengrass and frequent editor and rookie writer Christopher Rouse. This film utilizes every element that defined the taut, thrilling varnish of earlier Greengrass entries — brutal hand-to-hand combat, motorcycle tricks, computer hacking and a nonsensical car crash finale — save for the actual action fireworks or a decent amnesia-induced mystery.
With surface level promise surrounding the whole film, it’s ten-fold more unsatisfying how pathetically Jason Bourne actually plays out on-screen. I know his name now but I wager I’ll soon forget it.
The BFG briefing
2 ½ (out of 4)
Evoking the digital mastery tested in The Adventures of Tintin, The BFG — Steven Spielberg’s most sentimental contribution in decades — finds the towering director getting comfortable with outright whimsy and warmth once again. It may be about half the fun of Tintin, but such a hiatus from the gravity of an otherwise ambitious recent filmography doesn’t go amiss.
This Roald Dahl adaption allows Spielberg the means to show how strong of a performance he can get out of a child actor, something we haven’t really seen since A.I. — in this case it means watching newcomer Ruby Barnhill assist in assimilating the seamlessly incorporated visual effects in her relationship with the Big Friendly Giant. If anything the most impressive element of The BFG is orphan Sophie’s interaction with the tangible environments of the giant world. Spielberg even throws us a classically elaborate long take as she navigates the chaotic dismemberment of the man-eating behemoths toward the end of the film.
Spielberg’s last straightforward summer blockbuster was the fourth Indiana Jones — so despite the overall triviality of this adaptation, at least he’s covering newer ground while still channeling the kid inside himself and activating the innocence in every moviegoer.
Evoking the digital mastery tested in The Adventures of Tintin, The BFG — Steven Spielberg’s most sentimental contribution in decades — finds the towering director getting comfortable with outright whimsy and warmth once again. It may be about half the fun of Tintin, but such a hiatus from the gravity of an otherwise ambitious recent filmography doesn’t go amiss.
This Roald Dahl adaption allows Spielberg the means to show how strong of a performance he can get out of a child actor, something we haven’t really seen since A.I. — in this case it means watching newcomer Ruby Barnhill assist in assimilating the seamlessly incorporated visual effects in her relationship with the Big Friendly Giant. If anything the most impressive element of The BFG is orphan Sophie’s interaction with the tangible environments of the giant world. Spielberg even throws us a classically elaborate long take as she navigates the chaotic dismemberment of the man-eating behemoths toward the end of the film.
Spielberg’s last straightforward summer blockbuster was the fourth Indiana Jones — so despite the overall triviality of this adaptation, at least he’s covering newer ground while still channeling the kid inside himself and activating the innocence in every moviegoer.
Finding Dory briefing
2 ½ (out of 4)
Though hampered by unoriginality and many more of Disney’s overreaching cash-grab mentalities, the prequel/sequel Finding Dory is nonetheless a vivid visual creation that feels pretty genuine even when some of the emotional aspects seem so forced. Andrew Stanton’s hand is affectionate — perhaps just as much as it was in Pixar’s most popular original feature Finding Nemo — even if the quality is middle of the road for the studio after such an illustrious run.
The film is abundant in memorable supporting characters as Dory searches for her parents and ends up encountering new creatures voiced by Kaitlin Olsen, Ty Burrell and others at the Marine Life Institute. Ellen DeGeneres overcomes the fundamental flaw that made Cars 2 such a poor sequel, wherein the wacky foil side character was improperly handed an entire film as with Larry the Cable Guy. Marlin and Nemo are in a good deal of the film but DeGeneres has no trouble carrying Finding Dory to its predictably tear-jerking ending.
All I want from Pixar is bold originality à la Inside Out, which suggested the studio may still be in its renaissance as one of the greatest innovators of animated feature films — but Finding Dory will do for now. With a very necessary sequel (The Incredibles 2), a very superfluous addition to their brand (Cars 3) and a risky one (Toy Story 4) all on the horizon, the days of nostalgia are far from over.
Though hampered by unoriginality and many more of Disney’s overreaching cash-grab mentalities, the prequel/sequel Finding Dory is nonetheless a vivid visual creation that feels pretty genuine even when some of the emotional aspects seem so forced. Andrew Stanton’s hand is affectionate — perhaps just as much as it was in Pixar’s most popular original feature Finding Nemo — even if the quality is middle of the road for the studio after such an illustrious run.
The film is abundant in memorable supporting characters as Dory searches for her parents and ends up encountering new creatures voiced by Kaitlin Olsen, Ty Burrell and others at the Marine Life Institute. Ellen DeGeneres overcomes the fundamental flaw that made Cars 2 such a poor sequel, wherein the wacky foil side character was improperly handed an entire film as with Larry the Cable Guy. Marlin and Nemo are in a good deal of the film but DeGeneres has no trouble carrying Finding Dory to its predictably tear-jerking ending.
All I want from Pixar is bold originality à la Inside Out, which suggested the studio may still be in its renaissance as one of the greatest innovators of animated feature films — but Finding Dory will do for now. With a very necessary sequel (The Incredibles 2), a very superfluous addition to their brand (Cars 3) and a risky one (Toy Story 4) all on the horizon, the days of nostalgia are far from over.
The Lobster review
3 ½ (out of 4)
The Lobster, for all of its bizarre pleasures, is a film that in some ways defies proper analysis.
After developing a curious reputation for itself since its Jury Prize win at last year’s Cannes Film Festival, The Lobster arrives to puzzle domestic audiences after A24 acquired distribution rights in May.
Delving into the more irrational aspects of love and human desire — both public and private — for romantic connection, The Lobster presents something more vexing than its easily-explained premise communicates. And though Greek director Yorgos Lanthimos labels it “an unconventional love story,” the film’s allegorical subtext implies something more disturbing and Orwellian.
Taking place in a modern-day dystopia of sorts, the population of this other reality imposes strict laws that require every person to be with a partner at all times. The film follows David, played by a chubby Colin Farrell, a recent cuckold who has just entered his stay at the Hotel, where nameless guests are given 45 days to mingle and find love with one another.
If visitors aren’t able to secure companionship in time, the Hotel transforms them into an animal of their choice — David chooses a lobster as his potential form because they live for over a hundred years and are consistently fertile. During their stay, guests are subject to propaganda videos and performances about the benefits of relationships, and the only way they are able to lengthen their stay is by capturing Loners — a society of illegal singles in the woods — with tranquilizer darts. One captured Loner earns the captor one more day at the Hotel.
David has little luck in his stay and watches his new acquaintances struggle similarly. The Hotel punishes a man with a lisp (John C. Reilly) for masturbating by having his hand burnt in a toaster, and a man with a limp (Ben Whishaw) forces himself to have nosebleeds in order to invent a connection with a cute girl who frequently has the same problem.
The narration by Rachel Weisz — whose presence as the female romantic lead doesn’t begin until the film’s midsection — gives this original quasi-sci-fi tale the tone of a black-comedy-fantasy novel thanks to her affected, stately account of David’s inner thoughts.
But her introduction also presents contradictions — we later discover her narration is included in her journal, but how would she have known anything about David before meeting him? The seemingly purposeful gaps in logic only contribute further to the abstraction Lanthimos puts forth.
But even knowing such details beforehand can’t prepare you for the fastidiously arranged strangeness lurking behind every scene of The Lobster. Its themes are slightly obvious but its message is far more interpretational.
The film’s premise and vague, show-don’t-tell universe work to deconstruct the absurdities of love — we are heartbroken at the slightest moment of mistrust yet somehow find meaning in another’s affection through idiotic commonalities. David and Weisz’ character, the primary couple, largely bond over their shortsightedness.
The point proven by Lanthimos’ visually masterful, stylistically daring head-scratcher is up for debate. Its lack of explanation, particularly in its dangling, ambiguous ending, renders the viewer sometimes as disoriented and vulnerable as with his other famous feature, Dogtooth, which was nominated at the 83rd Academy Awards for Best Foreign Language Film.
While the 2010 film was far bleaker and more acute in its direction, The Lobster offers a more entertaining time, and leaves viewers with more questions and curiosities to pick through.
Exhibiting a stellar cast, finely wrought surrealism and touches of humor, exciting unpredictability and an unconventional structure, The Lobster really is one of a kind. Just don’t expect to absorb all of the perplexing idiosyncrasies in one sitting.
*Published in The Pitt News / June 7th, 2016
The Lobster, for all of its bizarre pleasures, is a film that in some ways defies proper analysis.
After developing a curious reputation for itself since its Jury Prize win at last year’s Cannes Film Festival, The Lobster arrives to puzzle domestic audiences after A24 acquired distribution rights in May.
Delving into the more irrational aspects of love and human desire — both public and private — for romantic connection, The Lobster presents something more vexing than its easily-explained premise communicates. And though Greek director Yorgos Lanthimos labels it “an unconventional love story,” the film’s allegorical subtext implies something more disturbing and Orwellian.
Taking place in a modern-day dystopia of sorts, the population of this other reality imposes strict laws that require every person to be with a partner at all times. The film follows David, played by a chubby Colin Farrell, a recent cuckold who has just entered his stay at the Hotel, where nameless guests are given 45 days to mingle and find love with one another.
If visitors aren’t able to secure companionship in time, the Hotel transforms them into an animal of their choice — David chooses a lobster as his potential form because they live for over a hundred years and are consistently fertile. During their stay, guests are subject to propaganda videos and performances about the benefits of relationships, and the only way they are able to lengthen their stay is by capturing Loners — a society of illegal singles in the woods — with tranquilizer darts. One captured Loner earns the captor one more day at the Hotel.
David has little luck in his stay and watches his new acquaintances struggle similarly. The Hotel punishes a man with a lisp (John C. Reilly) for masturbating by having his hand burnt in a toaster, and a man with a limp (Ben Whishaw) forces himself to have nosebleeds in order to invent a connection with a cute girl who frequently has the same problem.
The narration by Rachel Weisz — whose presence as the female romantic lead doesn’t begin until the film’s midsection — gives this original quasi-sci-fi tale the tone of a black-comedy-fantasy novel thanks to her affected, stately account of David’s inner thoughts.
But her introduction also presents contradictions — we later discover her narration is included in her journal, but how would she have known anything about David before meeting him? The seemingly purposeful gaps in logic only contribute further to the abstraction Lanthimos puts forth.
But even knowing such details beforehand can’t prepare you for the fastidiously arranged strangeness lurking behind every scene of The Lobster. Its themes are slightly obvious but its message is far more interpretational.
The film’s premise and vague, show-don’t-tell universe work to deconstruct the absurdities of love — we are heartbroken at the slightest moment of mistrust yet somehow find meaning in another’s affection through idiotic commonalities. David and Weisz’ character, the primary couple, largely bond over their shortsightedness.
The point proven by Lanthimos’ visually masterful, stylistically daring head-scratcher is up for debate. Its lack of explanation, particularly in its dangling, ambiguous ending, renders the viewer sometimes as disoriented and vulnerable as with his other famous feature, Dogtooth, which was nominated at the 83rd Academy Awards for Best Foreign Language Film.
While the 2010 film was far bleaker and more acute in its direction, The Lobster offers a more entertaining time, and leaves viewers with more questions and curiosities to pick through.
Exhibiting a stellar cast, finely wrought surrealism and touches of humor, exciting unpredictability and an unconventional structure, The Lobster really is one of a kind. Just don’t expect to absorb all of the perplexing idiosyncrasies in one sitting.
*Published in The Pitt News / June 7th, 2016
X-Men: Apocalypse briefing
2 (out of 4)
It’s hard to even say what went wrong here, but it did. It appears as though Bryan Singer — the man behind the rest of the best X-Men films as Matthew Vaughn’s First Class is still the standout entry — got too complacent with the elements he’s played around with three times prior. While he made the two commendable originals and streamlined the Wolverine-centric, X-Men Generations time travel movie into one of the best blockbusters of 2014, his limited yet luminous touch (as director; his off-screen touch is the opposite of praiseworthy) doesn’t do the single-cast simplicity of X-Men: Apocalypse any favors.
The all-encompassing monotony of the film is punctuated at times with flashes of wit – the Return of the Jedi joke works so well because it's inside a third installment as mediocre as The Last Stand — but the film is largely contented to simply slide by on standard superhero doomsday dressings for the most faint-hearted attempt at epic escapism. Remember the awesome Quicksilver sequence in Days of Future Past? Prepare for an even bigger set piece, a different era-appropriate pop song and essentially exactly what you got last time, only worse.
Even with the biblical matching of James McAvoy and Michael Fassbender still at its center, the script settles for banalities despite such strong players. Magneto comes out of hiding after another family of his is murdered and even an actor as forceful as Fassbender can’t sell his newest motivations, or should I say the latest excuse for Erik Lehnsherr to go bad yet again.
These past two X-Men prequels have been my favorites of the entire series and it saddens me to see their collective elements churn out something so grandly intentioned yet utterly forgettable. Even the joy of seeing the X-Men who’ve yet to reach cinematic treatment come to life — as well as some talented young actors incarnating previously embodied characters — is stifled by Apocalypse’s tiresome familiarity. As essentially the original Avengers of the world of film, there is so much yet to be done with the series' themes and arsenal of mutants.
Just as Deadpool exploded into pop culture this year, the middling response to Apocalypse on all fronts suggests that the priorities of this 20th Century Fox franchise are in need of urgent reevaluation.
It’s hard to even say what went wrong here, but it did. It appears as though Bryan Singer — the man behind the rest of the best X-Men films as Matthew Vaughn’s First Class is still the standout entry — got too complacent with the elements he’s played around with three times prior. While he made the two commendable originals and streamlined the Wolverine-centric, X-Men Generations time travel movie into one of the best blockbusters of 2014, his limited yet luminous touch (as director; his off-screen touch is the opposite of praiseworthy) doesn’t do the single-cast simplicity of X-Men: Apocalypse any favors.
The all-encompassing monotony of the film is punctuated at times with flashes of wit – the Return of the Jedi joke works so well because it's inside a third installment as mediocre as The Last Stand — but the film is largely contented to simply slide by on standard superhero doomsday dressings for the most faint-hearted attempt at epic escapism. Remember the awesome Quicksilver sequence in Days of Future Past? Prepare for an even bigger set piece, a different era-appropriate pop song and essentially exactly what you got last time, only worse.
Even with the biblical matching of James McAvoy and Michael Fassbender still at its center, the script settles for banalities despite such strong players. Magneto comes out of hiding after another family of his is murdered and even an actor as forceful as Fassbender can’t sell his newest motivations, or should I say the latest excuse for Erik Lehnsherr to go bad yet again.
These past two X-Men prequels have been my favorites of the entire series and it saddens me to see their collective elements churn out something so grandly intentioned yet utterly forgettable. Even the joy of seeing the X-Men who’ve yet to reach cinematic treatment come to life — as well as some talented young actors incarnating previously embodied characters — is stifled by Apocalypse’s tiresome familiarity. As essentially the original Avengers of the world of film, there is so much yet to be done with the series' themes and arsenal of mutants.
Just as Deadpool exploded into pop culture this year, the middling response to Apocalypse on all fronts suggests that the priorities of this 20th Century Fox franchise are in need of urgent reevaluation.
Green Room briefing
3 (out of 4)
Grim and engrossing, this horror-thriller is the freshest proof of Jeremy Saulnier’s budding talent.
Save for the basic characteristics of senseless slaughter wrought upon a group of innocents and the inevitable bloodshed involved, Green Room defies the general horror confines — instead the film is as idiosyncratic as Blue Ruin was as a revenge thriller. The two films are very similar in exploring the sick fascination in acting as voyeur to apathetic strangers in violent opposition, normal people reduced to animalistic concerns of fight or flight.
The result here contains the expected savagery and constantly unspooling tension, with an added touch of the tongue-in-cheek to make the film, stylish and serious as it is, more entertainment than punishment. Imogen Poots as Amber stands out from the rest of our protagonists — a visiting punk rock band, notably including the late Anton Yelchin as the Ain't Rights' bassist — conveying the apprehension and exhaustion of the tortured troupe of murder witnesses, all of whom are trapped by Patrick Stewart's ruthless neo-Nazi ringleader character, relentlessly attempting to eliminate them.
Though not without moments of grisly, visceral violence — please oh please don’t let me die by rabid dog bites to the neck — Green Room is patient, skillfully executed and eminently absorbing.
Grim and engrossing, this horror-thriller is the freshest proof of Jeremy Saulnier’s budding talent.
Save for the basic characteristics of senseless slaughter wrought upon a group of innocents and the inevitable bloodshed involved, Green Room defies the general horror confines — instead the film is as idiosyncratic as Blue Ruin was as a revenge thriller. The two films are very similar in exploring the sick fascination in acting as voyeur to apathetic strangers in violent opposition, normal people reduced to animalistic concerns of fight or flight.
The result here contains the expected savagery and constantly unspooling tension, with an added touch of the tongue-in-cheek to make the film, stylish and serious as it is, more entertainment than punishment. Imogen Poots as Amber stands out from the rest of our protagonists — a visiting punk rock band, notably including the late Anton Yelchin as the Ain't Rights' bassist — conveying the apprehension and exhaustion of the tortured troupe of murder witnesses, all of whom are trapped by Patrick Stewart's ruthless neo-Nazi ringleader character, relentlessly attempting to eliminate them.
Though not without moments of grisly, visceral violence — please oh please don’t let me die by rabid dog bites to the neck — Green Room is patient, skillfully executed and eminently absorbing.
The Jungle Book briefing
2 (out of 4)
Technically ambitious but emotionally hollow, Jon Favreau’s confident live action revamp of the 1967 Disney Animated film seems to set the standard for what these forthcoming retellings will entail, subject matter varying: a barrage of well-orchestrated oversaturation.
By any means necessary Disney has taken Marvel and more recently Star Wars from strong brands to unstoppable pop culture forces, and with new remakes of their animated classics like Beauty and the Beast and many others on the horizon — The Lion King, Aladdin, etc. — so begins another wave of nostalgia-backed entertainment commodities. Though on the whole the masterful visual effects and Favreau’s light but proficient touch propel The Jungle Book past mediocrity, there is little to no reason why this adaptation was needed. And the thin storytelling, tepid dialogue and overreliance on voice cameos — as well as its difficulty balancing a simple children’s film with grand-scale sweep – form to a stretched, unsatisfying whole.
With a whopping 175 million dollar at Favreau's disposal, it’s no surprise the film bears virtuoso CGI — not only that, but voice performances by reliable chops like that of Idris Elba elevate the otherwise derivative qualities enough to constitute a passable, if uninspired, contemporary Jungle Book. I'm just not sure what everyone is so wild about.
Technically ambitious but emotionally hollow, Jon Favreau’s confident live action revamp of the 1967 Disney Animated film seems to set the standard for what these forthcoming retellings will entail, subject matter varying: a barrage of well-orchestrated oversaturation.
By any means necessary Disney has taken Marvel and more recently Star Wars from strong brands to unstoppable pop culture forces, and with new remakes of their animated classics like Beauty and the Beast and many others on the horizon — The Lion King, Aladdin, etc. — so begins another wave of nostalgia-backed entertainment commodities. Though on the whole the masterful visual effects and Favreau’s light but proficient touch propel The Jungle Book past mediocrity, there is little to no reason why this adaptation was needed. And the thin storytelling, tepid dialogue and overreliance on voice cameos — as well as its difficulty balancing a simple children’s film with grand-scale sweep – form to a stretched, unsatisfying whole.
With a whopping 175 million dollar at Favreau's disposal, it’s no surprise the film bears virtuoso CGI — not only that, but voice performances by reliable chops like that of Idris Elba elevate the otherwise derivative qualities enough to constitute a passable, if uninspired, contemporary Jungle Book. I'm just not sure what everyone is so wild about.
Everybody Wants Some!! review
3 ½ (out of 4)
Richard Linklater’s latest Everybody Wants Some!! earns those two exclamation points for sheer entertainment value alone.
This so-called spiritual sequel to Dazed and Confused is like Animal House perfected, a wide-eyed and warmly human slice-of-life on the college experience — at times an overtly idealized version of it.
Recapturing the lived-in nostalgia that made its quasi-predecessor the cult classic it is today, Everybody Wants Some!! trades a 1976 setting for the start of the next decade. The film takes every opportunity to revel in 80s youth culture, particularly in its shameless pop soundtrack (“Whip It” anyone?). Meanwhile Linklater also expresses some semi-autobiographical honesty, as a 20-year-old himself in 1980, through his extensive cast of no-name wonders – in between the hazing and parties of course.
The pleasant everyman Jake (Blake Jenner), a new freshman pitcher, has just arrived to meet his fellow talented baseball teammates at an unspecified college. The 16 players share essentially two frat houses and the film traces the band of characters and their collective one-upmanship, sexual conquests and overall debauchery over the course of the weekend before school starts.
The crux of the film rests in the strength of Linklater’s written characters and the 20-somethings that play out the mostly naturalistic, occasionally dreamlike post-adolescent fable. He incorporates a time-related plot as anyone could expect from his past work, but his trademark down-to-earth humanist philosophy and benevolent sense of humor spin what could have been a sentimental retread into a frequently hysterical, blissfully freewheeling yarn.
The film earns its R rating and them some for the loose language alone — Linklater as always doesn’t shy away from writing dialogue, especially from youngsters, as conversation is in life — loaded with profanities. But sex, drugs and alcohol make the usual rounds on-screen and in dialogue, given the sometimes dangerously inflated amount of attention such indulgences can receive in real college culture.
The film’s cast is uniformly solid, each performer shaping to their character's place in team’s social hierarchy. The first years try to fit in, such as Jake’s high school friend Plummer (comical newcomer Temple Baker), who fares well, and the gullible, bulking Brumley (Tanner Kalina), who does not. Meanwhile Jake befriends the loquacious pseudo-intellectual Finnegan (Glenn Powell) and the token stoner Willoughby (Wyatt Russell), also pursuing romance with theater performer Beverly (Zoey Deutch).
The identity of the athletic assembly adapts to every party they attend, from big-collar disco dancing to cowboy hats and “Cotton-Eyed Joe” to moshing at an underground punk show. Thematically, Linklater touches on tribalism and brotherhood without turning a blind eye to the outdated sexism that comes with the time and place recreated. All that and he manages to make frat guys worthy of sympathy.
Above all, Everybody Wants Some!! is point-blank fun — its sprightly spirit, deft, enlightening script and relaxed pacing fuse together as yet another profound coming-of-age tale from the distinctive director. Like the best under his name, the film mimics reality from the plausible sequence of events to the foibles of common speech and at its best it feels like life truly lived.
More sensational and focused than its cinematic cousin — as we actually have a central character — Everybody Wants Some!! is on par with the quotable delights of Dazed and Confused. At once this film shows us that Linklater has lost none of his creative fervor since his experimental early days and follows the sprawling gamble that was Boyhood with something resonantly blithe.
For a director who constantly looks to define universalities through intimate narratives, it’s a relief to see Linklater still knows when to sit back and simply let the good times roll.
*Edited version published in The Pitt News / April 13th, 2016
Richard Linklater’s latest Everybody Wants Some!! earns those two exclamation points for sheer entertainment value alone.
This so-called spiritual sequel to Dazed and Confused is like Animal House perfected, a wide-eyed and warmly human slice-of-life on the college experience — at times an overtly idealized version of it.
Recapturing the lived-in nostalgia that made its quasi-predecessor the cult classic it is today, Everybody Wants Some!! trades a 1976 setting for the start of the next decade. The film takes every opportunity to revel in 80s youth culture, particularly in its shameless pop soundtrack (“Whip It” anyone?). Meanwhile Linklater also expresses some semi-autobiographical honesty, as a 20-year-old himself in 1980, through his extensive cast of no-name wonders – in between the hazing and parties of course.
The pleasant everyman Jake (Blake Jenner), a new freshman pitcher, has just arrived to meet his fellow talented baseball teammates at an unspecified college. The 16 players share essentially two frat houses and the film traces the band of characters and their collective one-upmanship, sexual conquests and overall debauchery over the course of the weekend before school starts.
The crux of the film rests in the strength of Linklater’s written characters and the 20-somethings that play out the mostly naturalistic, occasionally dreamlike post-adolescent fable. He incorporates a time-related plot as anyone could expect from his past work, but his trademark down-to-earth humanist philosophy and benevolent sense of humor spin what could have been a sentimental retread into a frequently hysterical, blissfully freewheeling yarn.
The film earns its R rating and them some for the loose language alone — Linklater as always doesn’t shy away from writing dialogue, especially from youngsters, as conversation is in life — loaded with profanities. But sex, drugs and alcohol make the usual rounds on-screen and in dialogue, given the sometimes dangerously inflated amount of attention such indulgences can receive in real college culture.
The film’s cast is uniformly solid, each performer shaping to their character's place in team’s social hierarchy. The first years try to fit in, such as Jake’s high school friend Plummer (comical newcomer Temple Baker), who fares well, and the gullible, bulking Brumley (Tanner Kalina), who does not. Meanwhile Jake befriends the loquacious pseudo-intellectual Finnegan (Glenn Powell) and the token stoner Willoughby (Wyatt Russell), also pursuing romance with theater performer Beverly (Zoey Deutch).
The identity of the athletic assembly adapts to every party they attend, from big-collar disco dancing to cowboy hats and “Cotton-Eyed Joe” to moshing at an underground punk show. Thematically, Linklater touches on tribalism and brotherhood without turning a blind eye to the outdated sexism that comes with the time and place recreated. All that and he manages to make frat guys worthy of sympathy.
Above all, Everybody Wants Some!! is point-blank fun — its sprightly spirit, deft, enlightening script and relaxed pacing fuse together as yet another profound coming-of-age tale from the distinctive director. Like the best under his name, the film mimics reality from the plausible sequence of events to the foibles of common speech and at its best it feels like life truly lived.
More sensational and focused than its cinematic cousin — as we actually have a central character — Everybody Wants Some!! is on par with the quotable delights of Dazed and Confused. At once this film shows us that Linklater has lost none of his creative fervor since his experimental early days and follows the sprawling gamble that was Boyhood with something resonantly blithe.
For a director who constantly looks to define universalities through intimate narratives, it’s a relief to see Linklater still knows when to sit back and simply let the good times roll.
*Edited version published in The Pitt News / April 13th, 2016
10 Cloverfield Lane briefing
3 (out of 4)
Tightly wound but spilling at the seams, 10 Cloverfield Lane densely packs stakes-escalating claustrophobic thrills and well-measured paranoia into a ‘sequel’ — actually a script entitled The Cellar redressed for namesake — that is vehemently standalone.
Sure, there’s the wobbly third act and some annoying gaps in logic, but even though the enigmatic premise doesn’t live up to what’s behind the curtain, for a while this Cloverfield is substantially tense and frequently unpredictable. Sometimes the film dumbs itself down just to squeeze in another twist but many of the sharp narrative turns are effectively startling.
John Goodman is exquisite in his ability to oscillate between menace and meekness, his character’s past only extrapolated and pieced together by our resourceful lead heroine played by Mary Elizabeth Winstead. For at least the first hour or so, the film is smart enough to live in the little reveals, steadily amplifying the trepidation and curiosity felt by Winstead’s mostly helpless character. First time director Dan Trachtenberg navigates the clever, less-is-more script, in part touched on by Whiplash conceiver Damien Chazelle, with considerable ease.
Diverting in all ways from the superior, uniquely visceral thrills of the 2008 original, 10 Cloverfield Lane nonetheless takes a great premise and realizes it for its own hard-boiled, character-driven purposes.
Tightly wound but spilling at the seams, 10 Cloverfield Lane densely packs stakes-escalating claustrophobic thrills and well-measured paranoia into a ‘sequel’ — actually a script entitled The Cellar redressed for namesake — that is vehemently standalone.
Sure, there’s the wobbly third act and some annoying gaps in logic, but even though the enigmatic premise doesn’t live up to what’s behind the curtain, for a while this Cloverfield is substantially tense and frequently unpredictable. Sometimes the film dumbs itself down just to squeeze in another twist but many of the sharp narrative turns are effectively startling.
John Goodman is exquisite in his ability to oscillate between menace and meekness, his character’s past only extrapolated and pieced together by our resourceful lead heroine played by Mary Elizabeth Winstead. For at least the first hour or so, the film is smart enough to live in the little reveals, steadily amplifying the trepidation and curiosity felt by Winstead’s mostly helpless character. First time director Dan Trachtenberg navigates the clever, less-is-more script, in part touched on by Whiplash conceiver Damien Chazelle, with considerable ease.
Diverting in all ways from the superior, uniquely visceral thrills of the 2008 original, 10 Cloverfield Lane nonetheless takes a great premise and realizes it for its own hard-boiled, character-driven purposes.
Zootopia briefing
2 ½ (out of 4)
Though its sheer exuberance is threatened by overreaching moralizing through conspicuous racial subtext, Zootopia is nevertheless a fine animated film stocked with memorable characters and gag-rich worldbuilding to boot.
The topicality of its themes are fairly on the nose but at least Disney’s heart is in the right place in emphasizing tolerance over fear and empathy over mistrust. I may have had a better time with the simple exhilaration of Big Hero 6 but Zootopia is more than good fun thanks to the tireless effort spent on the roller-coaster-paced animated wonders and the positive brainwashing it imposes on kids who may not quite catch the subtleties their parents might enjoy or even question.
Stellar voice casting, which for example couples Jason Bateman’s sleazy cool with a con artist fox with a heart of gold, is consistent across the board. The imagined anthropomorphic animal society is troubling for the many ways in which the analogy would obviously not reflect our society — and vice versa — yet I doubt I’m supposed to overanalyze the buddy noir spoof.
But for all of the inventiveness, there are moments of laziness, like the clever setup leading to an empty Godfather reference and the fake pop song performance by Shakira as a gazelle named Gazelle included as the film's painful parting. But most of what Zootopia throws sticks, plenty for the kids and just enough for me.
Though its sheer exuberance is threatened by overreaching moralizing through conspicuous racial subtext, Zootopia is nevertheless a fine animated film stocked with memorable characters and gag-rich worldbuilding to boot.
The topicality of its themes are fairly on the nose but at least Disney’s heart is in the right place in emphasizing tolerance over fear and empathy over mistrust. I may have had a better time with the simple exhilaration of Big Hero 6 but Zootopia is more than good fun thanks to the tireless effort spent on the roller-coaster-paced animated wonders and the positive brainwashing it imposes on kids who may not quite catch the subtleties their parents might enjoy or even question.
Stellar voice casting, which for example couples Jason Bateman’s sleazy cool with a con artist fox with a heart of gold, is consistent across the board. The imagined anthropomorphic animal society is troubling for the many ways in which the analogy would obviously not reflect our society — and vice versa — yet I doubt I’m supposed to overanalyze the buddy noir spoof.
But for all of the inventiveness, there are moments of laziness, like the clever setup leading to an empty Godfather reference and the fake pop song performance by Shakira as a gazelle named Gazelle included as the film's painful parting. But most of what Zootopia throws sticks, plenty for the kids and just enough for me.
Eddie the Eagle review
2 ½ (out of 4)
Along with Race which came out this past weekend, the true-life sports drama genre appears to be taking to idolizing past Olympians as its next source for inspiration. Though Eddie the Eagle has a unique athletic setting and dramatic structure, the film manages to hit the same beats that make its class so short on gems.
The story is washed out with worn clichés, but both the true story of Eddie Edwards and the depicted thrills of the Olympic activity of ski jumping are enough to overcome the formulaic flaws and thick sentimentality in its execution.
Soaked in necessary 80s nostalgia, Eddie the Eagle attempts at a lighthearted biopic of Michael “Eddie the Eagle” Edwards (Taron Egerton), from childhood up to his insane amateur performance at the 1988 Winter Olympics, which earned him many admirers for the world spectating community and plenty of naysayers from the professionals in and behind the games.
His early days are glossed over before we find Egerton inhabiting the earnest gawk as he tries to make it as a downhill skier, but the attention turns to ski-jumping when he realizes Britain hasn’t had a representative in decades. At age 22 — when most athletes start learning at five or six — he took to training in order to surpass the lax qualifications to enter the Olympics. While training on his own dime, he ropes in ex-ski-jumper Bronson Peary (Hugh Jackman) to be his mentor.
Jackman phones it in with the same gruff, alcoholic trainer with a heart of gold dance he did in the similarly lukewarm but energetic Real Steel, but the man is mighty charismatic and he delivers sobering humor to a film lost in its optimistic dreaminess. Edwards, in attempting the more devastating jumps of 70 meters in practice and 90 meters for the first time in the 1988 Calgary Olympics (which can get you hospitalized or worse easily), brushed with death without even thinking and it’s only right to be reminded often how reckless Edwards really was.
Egerton is unremarkable, trading his charms displayed in Kingsman: The Secret Service last year for a turn ranging from decent to laughable, with a facial performance — strictly involving scrunching his face together, trying to express Edwards' famously poor vision — that is labored and distracting to watch. The roles of his parents are trivialized away to the stern disapproval of the father and the secret encouragement of the mother, and Christopher Walken sleepwalks through a tiny role as Warren Sharp, the retired Olympic coach to Bronson.
Yet the film’s energy is infectious, and the emotional moments, while predictable, are genuine, as the feel-good underdog tale only begets the schmaltz. The real pleasures are found in the intensity behind the skiing sequences, which is suitably made to look terrifying while the kitschy soundtrack reinforces Edwards’ blindness to fear.
Eddie the Eagle is a light-as-fluff biopic, aggravating me before I succumbed to its corny pleasures. Edgerton’s performance is hammy to say the least, but he sells the stubbornness that must have been the essence of Edwards, an almost idiotically determined amateur athlete. The film is saturated with near-deafening happy-go-lucky vibes, but its eagerness to please, especially over a forgiving running time, maintains that Eddie skates by simply on a fascinating true story.
*Edited version published in The Pitt News / February 22nd, 2016
Along with Race which came out this past weekend, the true-life sports drama genre appears to be taking to idolizing past Olympians as its next source for inspiration. Though Eddie the Eagle has a unique athletic setting and dramatic structure, the film manages to hit the same beats that make its class so short on gems.
The story is washed out with worn clichés, but both the true story of Eddie Edwards and the depicted thrills of the Olympic activity of ski jumping are enough to overcome the formulaic flaws and thick sentimentality in its execution.
Soaked in necessary 80s nostalgia, Eddie the Eagle attempts at a lighthearted biopic of Michael “Eddie the Eagle” Edwards (Taron Egerton), from childhood up to his insane amateur performance at the 1988 Winter Olympics, which earned him many admirers for the world spectating community and plenty of naysayers from the professionals in and behind the games.
His early days are glossed over before we find Egerton inhabiting the earnest gawk as he tries to make it as a downhill skier, but the attention turns to ski-jumping when he realizes Britain hasn’t had a representative in decades. At age 22 — when most athletes start learning at five or six — he took to training in order to surpass the lax qualifications to enter the Olympics. While training on his own dime, he ropes in ex-ski-jumper Bronson Peary (Hugh Jackman) to be his mentor.
Jackman phones it in with the same gruff, alcoholic trainer with a heart of gold dance he did in the similarly lukewarm but energetic Real Steel, but the man is mighty charismatic and he delivers sobering humor to a film lost in its optimistic dreaminess. Edwards, in attempting the more devastating jumps of 70 meters in practice and 90 meters for the first time in the 1988 Calgary Olympics (which can get you hospitalized or worse easily), brushed with death without even thinking and it’s only right to be reminded often how reckless Edwards really was.
Egerton is unremarkable, trading his charms displayed in Kingsman: The Secret Service last year for a turn ranging from decent to laughable, with a facial performance — strictly involving scrunching his face together, trying to express Edwards' famously poor vision — that is labored and distracting to watch. The roles of his parents are trivialized away to the stern disapproval of the father and the secret encouragement of the mother, and Christopher Walken sleepwalks through a tiny role as Warren Sharp, the retired Olympic coach to Bronson.
Yet the film’s energy is infectious, and the emotional moments, while predictable, are genuine, as the feel-good underdog tale only begets the schmaltz. The real pleasures are found in the intensity behind the skiing sequences, which is suitably made to look terrifying while the kitschy soundtrack reinforces Edwards’ blindness to fear.
Eddie the Eagle is a light-as-fluff biopic, aggravating me before I succumbed to its corny pleasures. Edgerton’s performance is hammy to say the least, but he sells the stubbornness that must have been the essence of Edwards, an almost idiotically determined amateur athlete. The film is saturated with near-deafening happy-go-lucky vibes, but its eagerness to please, especially over a forgiving running time, maintains that Eddie skates by simply on a fascinating true story.
*Edited version published in The Pitt News / February 22nd, 2016
The Witch briefing
3 ½ (out of 4)
Solemn, graceful and frightening when required, The Witch is everything modern horror should be.
From the stark portraiture of its cinematography to its talented cast of relative unknowns, the film is so removed from the tropes of the genre that it’s easier to classify it as a grim work of supernatural historical fiction. Only the dissonant violins of the film’s score serve as obvious indications of the ominous intentions of The Witch.
The film’s capacity to scare the shit out of you with minimalist tactics — such as restricting the on-screen moments of the titular she-devil to a few stabs of true terror — renders the rest of the film’s content quietly poetic and progressively nerve-twisting. The film is also prudently implicit of the story's grotesque elements. In an early sequence in which the witch of the wood mutilates the central family’s newborn, the tactful editing — the film’s greatest tool to replace jump scares with chilling cuts — threads together some thoroughly disturbing and equally gorgeous shots.
The Witch, like the smartest films of its breed, puts more stock in suspense than shock. The film is so sparse and methodical that if you nestle into its stoic art-horror ambiance, director Robert Eggers — in a helluva debut — holds you in the palm of his hand. He implements tremors of dread and surprise only when it is essential, and his intelligent craft is informed by intuitive filmmaking gifts — who knows what he has in store for his Nosferatu revamp. Like last year’s It Follows, The Witch follows a tradition of dismantling the basic components of horror; yet Eggers' film is something even more perverse, expressive and modestly beautiful.
Solemn, graceful and frightening when required, The Witch is everything modern horror should be.
From the stark portraiture of its cinematography to its talented cast of relative unknowns, the film is so removed from the tropes of the genre that it’s easier to classify it as a grim work of supernatural historical fiction. Only the dissonant violins of the film’s score serve as obvious indications of the ominous intentions of The Witch.
The film’s capacity to scare the shit out of you with minimalist tactics — such as restricting the on-screen moments of the titular she-devil to a few stabs of true terror — renders the rest of the film’s content quietly poetic and progressively nerve-twisting. The film is also prudently implicit of the story's grotesque elements. In an early sequence in which the witch of the wood mutilates the central family’s newborn, the tactful editing — the film’s greatest tool to replace jump scares with chilling cuts — threads together some thoroughly disturbing and equally gorgeous shots.
The Witch, like the smartest films of its breed, puts more stock in suspense than shock. The film is so sparse and methodical that if you nestle into its stoic art-horror ambiance, director Robert Eggers — in a helluva debut — holds you in the palm of his hand. He implements tremors of dread and surprise only when it is essential, and his intelligent craft is informed by intuitive filmmaking gifts — who knows what he has in store for his Nosferatu revamp. Like last year’s It Follows, The Witch follows a tradition of dismantling the basic components of horror; yet Eggers' film is something even more perverse, expressive and modestly beautiful.
Deadpool briefing
2 ½ (out of 4)
Irksome at times but never loathsome, amusing surely but seldom hilarious, Deadpool tries to push your buttons and show you a good time, but succeeds mostly at the former.
The edgy humor and bloody violence hope to add up to superhero subversion but I wouldn’t really call Deadpool particularly daring. I’m all for destroying the modern standards of censorship, forcing directors into ill-fitted PG-13 ratings simply because it is assumed to be more profitable, and Deadpool’s shocking box office profits could be conducive for more creative liberty in Hollywood's future. But whatever new trends surface in the wake of the film’s success will be a blessing separate from the tireless meta-devilry of Deadpool, which too often mistakes self-awareness for actual shrewdness. The film is a satisfying action comedy but the smugness is pretty purposeless — that being said, what else could have been done with the infamously smart-talking X-Men character? The film’s self-satisfaction is worn conspicuously on its sleeve, affirming its strengths and deepening its flaws.
Like too many movies bearing the promise of breaking the mold of their genre’s clichés, Deadpool foolishly pretends it can have it both ways: assume originality while still employing the worst tropes in superhero movies. Still, Ryan Reynolds is having the time of his life and this surprise career-saving spin-off captures everything remotely endearing about the ludicrously popular actor. Quick-witted, arrogant, so often exasperating yet somehow effectively charming, Reynolds’ incarnation of the character prescribes enough doses of cynicism and tasteless fun to register as a barely likeable lead.
At best Deadpool is a necessary reflection of the immense exhaustion of the near-spent field of comic book blockbuster adaptations, yet Tim Miller's debut can’t help but contribute to the cumulative fatigue.
Irksome at times but never loathsome, amusing surely but seldom hilarious, Deadpool tries to push your buttons and show you a good time, but succeeds mostly at the former.
The edgy humor and bloody violence hope to add up to superhero subversion but I wouldn’t really call Deadpool particularly daring. I’m all for destroying the modern standards of censorship, forcing directors into ill-fitted PG-13 ratings simply because it is assumed to be more profitable, and Deadpool’s shocking box office profits could be conducive for more creative liberty in Hollywood's future. But whatever new trends surface in the wake of the film’s success will be a blessing separate from the tireless meta-devilry of Deadpool, which too often mistakes self-awareness for actual shrewdness. The film is a satisfying action comedy but the smugness is pretty purposeless — that being said, what else could have been done with the infamously smart-talking X-Men character? The film’s self-satisfaction is worn conspicuously on its sleeve, affirming its strengths and deepening its flaws.
Like too many movies bearing the promise of breaking the mold of their genre’s clichés, Deadpool foolishly pretends it can have it both ways: assume originality while still employing the worst tropes in superhero movies. Still, Ryan Reynolds is having the time of his life and this surprise career-saving spin-off captures everything remotely endearing about the ludicrously popular actor. Quick-witted, arrogant, so often exasperating yet somehow effectively charming, Reynolds’ incarnation of the character prescribes enough doses of cynicism and tasteless fun to register as a barely likeable lead.
At best Deadpool is a necessary reflection of the immense exhaustion of the near-spent field of comic book blockbuster adaptations, yet Tim Miller's debut can’t help but contribute to the cumulative fatigue.
Hail, Caesar! briefing
3 (out of 4)
Hail, Caesar! is yet another delectable, baffling and wryly inspired work from the Coen brothers.
The eccentric filmmaking pair exact absolute control over their ideas while maintaining a lackadaisical narrative drift that appears to be discovering itself. The directors are able to beckon an audience to seek details that may not even be waiting there among the touches of Americana absurdity often defining their work’s distinctiveness.
Though marketing showcases the film as a screwball period farce of sorts, the final feature is, of course, far from what could be expected. The Hollywood hangups of real-life fixer Eddie Mannix (Josh Brolin) enact another slice-of-life exploration of a man struggling to cope with existential unrest. On the side of fortune, he is a head honcho at Capitol Pictures, just offered a better job by bigger fish guaranteeing a lifetime of financial security. More interestingly, his misfortune — à la the karmic shitstorms of A Serious Man and Inside Llewyn Davis — involves the abduction of Baird Whitlock (George Clooney), the biggest actor in contract, from the set of the titular epic tale of the Christ mid-production. The Coens largely live in the details of the past rather than satirize them.
Clooney is perfect as the natural leading man whose disgruntlement with his industry is recognized by the collective of communist writers that hold him for ransom. Tilda Swinton, Alden Ehrenreich, Ralph Fiennes and Channing Tatum are all outstanding in their rich supporting roles, shining brightest in a stacked cast with no shortcomings. And Roger Deakins’ enveloping camerawork portrays the outdated fakery of 50s Tinseltown as convincingly authentic. The cinematography is of a quality consistent with Deakins' longstanding cooperation with the Coen’s Two — this is their twelfth collaboration dating back to the thematically adjacent Barton Fink.
Hail, Caesar! is a superb breather for the legendary siblings, feeling at once offhand and delicately crafted.
Hail, Caesar! is yet another delectable, baffling and wryly inspired work from the Coen brothers.
The eccentric filmmaking pair exact absolute control over their ideas while maintaining a lackadaisical narrative drift that appears to be discovering itself. The directors are able to beckon an audience to seek details that may not even be waiting there among the touches of Americana absurdity often defining their work’s distinctiveness.
Though marketing showcases the film as a screwball period farce of sorts, the final feature is, of course, far from what could be expected. The Hollywood hangups of real-life fixer Eddie Mannix (Josh Brolin) enact another slice-of-life exploration of a man struggling to cope with existential unrest. On the side of fortune, he is a head honcho at Capitol Pictures, just offered a better job by bigger fish guaranteeing a lifetime of financial security. More interestingly, his misfortune — à la the karmic shitstorms of A Serious Man and Inside Llewyn Davis — involves the abduction of Baird Whitlock (George Clooney), the biggest actor in contract, from the set of the titular epic tale of the Christ mid-production. The Coens largely live in the details of the past rather than satirize them.
Clooney is perfect as the natural leading man whose disgruntlement with his industry is recognized by the collective of communist writers that hold him for ransom. Tilda Swinton, Alden Ehrenreich, Ralph Fiennes and Channing Tatum are all outstanding in their rich supporting roles, shining brightest in a stacked cast with no shortcomings. And Roger Deakins’ enveloping camerawork portrays the outdated fakery of 50s Tinseltown as convincingly authentic. The cinematography is of a quality consistent with Deakins' longstanding cooperation with the Coen’s Two — this is their twelfth collaboration dating back to the thematically adjacent Barton Fink.
Hail, Caesar! is a superb breather for the legendary siblings, feeling at once offhand and delicately crafted.