Out in Theaters: GET ON UP

July 30, 2014 by Matt Oakes Posted in Out in Theaters Tagged Biopic, Chadwick Boseman, Dan Aykroyd, Get On Up, James Brown, Nelsan Ellis, Octavia Spencer, Out in Theaters, Reviews, Tate Taylor 1 Comment

Get On Up doesn’t know how good Chadwick Boseman is. Bursting with energy, filled with soul and one-hundred-and-sixty-nine percent committed, Boseman is a firecracker. Hell, he’s straight dynamite. How appropriate that he plays the man they once called Mr. Dynamite. It’s a certifiable shame then that the movie that surrounds Boseman’s accomplished concerto of a performance is overstuffed, poorly edited and, like the king of soul himself, doesn’t know when to quit.

Tate Taylor‘s (The Help) second feature starts, as all musical biopics apparently must, with the long, lonely saunter up to a final show of sorts. Old and beleaguered with regret, the icon is but a silhouette dwarfed by the enormity of a vacant hallway. Cut to Old Man Brown quite apparently hopped up on something of the Schedule 1 variety ranting at a room full of bootstraps-business folks and waving a shotgun over his head. This made-up Boseman’s all gums and shades but the scene only manages to paint the man as a Looney Tune.

Cut to bedazzled, toe-tapping Brown all get-up and no humility barking at a press conference. Cut to 6-year old Brown and his backwoods family eking by in some pinewood shanty. His momma turns to prostitution and his daddy beats him raw. All he wants is a lullaby. Cut to a teenage Brown stealing a three-piece suit and getting five to 13 years for it. Cut some more.

Cut, rinse, repeat. Cut, rinse, repeat. It allows for some mighty good scenes but makes for some mighty long-winded ones too. And while there’s lots rave-worthy stuck in there like gummies in a Cadbury Black Forest bar, the convoluted mess that is traveling from one scene to the next is an exercise in reckless abandon.

If only the editors had the good sense to slash 30 minutes of the film, we could have been dealing with something great. Had he tightened it up like Brown did his facial skin around the 90s, Taylor might have been working towards a gold statue nomination. Trim the fat, Tate. Trim the fat.

As is, Get On Up is a mostly pleasing patchwork of scenes that each contribute to a time, a place, and a feeling that then gets all that jumbled up and mismatched. Elephant heads end up on rhino bodies. A scene where friends feud with no sign of respite fades into them being immeasurably close confidantes. It’s not that we’re not smart enough to connect the dots, it’s that we shouldn’t be forced to do that work for Taylor and co. It’s like watching someone try to piece a puzzle together with one bright, shining star at its center; a star so massive and so bright, it apparently blinds, distorts and sucks in everything around it.

And boy oh boy is Boseman a star. As the one, the only James Brown, he’s surpassed impersonation, he’s transcended imitation. He lives and breathes James Brown. Every rubbery dance move, every superhuman split is Brown’s. That sagging eye and sneering falsetto; bonafide Brown. His salt-and-pepper speech crackles like a record player. I can’t tell if he’s actually singing or just doing the world’s best lip-synching. In all aspects, he’s Brown reborn.

Usually cloaked in beads of sweat, the character even gestures towards the camera every once in a while, occasionally monologuing in head-shaking fourth-wall breakage, but Boseman’s so catastrophically good that you actually welcome it. And props to the makeup team who for once hit the nail on the head when they age the 32-year old talent well past his prime. He doesn’t look the flour-face abomination that is Leonardo DiCaprio’s J. Edgar. But then again, Brown 55-year old visage looked like a drooping eggplant anyways. He’s a supernova but he’s paying the hefty price of admission for it. You can’t be a sun and not get burned.

But again and again, we must reckon with the fact that Boseman is merely the Shamu to Get On Up‘s Sea World. He’s a mighty presence but you’ll soon discover there’s not much else to the park. His role in Get On Up is the equivalent of using morels to make a cream of mushroom soup. You’ve got the finest ingredient in the world and you’re watering it down with a pool of a blasé, sometimes even flavorless, base.

It’s as if the editors found his each and every scene too indispensable to hack so they just shrugged and left it all in there. But you’ve got to trim even the prized rose if you want to win the trophy. Taylor seems too scared to bust out even the measliest of trimmers and ends up stabbing himself in the foot for it. His repetition of form is so ad nauseum that you’d think the prankster was trying to rickroll us. But goddammit if Boseman is not his savior; his knight is shining purple sequin. He’s so good, I can’t help but hyperbolize some more.

As Brown, Boseman’s got the magnetism of Tom Cruise, the jitters of Jagger, the paranoia of Scarface, the drive of Jordan Belfort and the moves that only Brown can call his own. He’s plays the Godfather of Soul like a black Marlon Brando. Commitment is his cup of tea. You believe it when he tells you he feels good. He even manages to dance circles around Academy Award-nominated co-stars Octavia Spencer and Viola Davis. And how perfectly suiting for a story about a man who the world could never keep up with.

And as much as it’s the story of Brown’s triumph, it’s also the story of his defeat. About his pride getting in the way of friends and family. About his shark and minnow relationship with Bobby Byrd (Nelsan Ellis) and how that would become the defining relationship in a string of failed ones. After all, you can move a million miles a minute but what’s all that fancy footwork worth if you don’t have anyone to share it with at the end of the day?

C+

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Weekly Review 49: AFFLICTED, DELIVER, ANOTHER, PRINCESS, BLOOD, HOMEFRONT

July 29, 2014 by Matt Oakes Posted in Weekly Review Tagged Afflicted, Another Earth, Blood Simple, Deliver Us From Evil, Homefront, Princess Bride, Reviews, Weekly Review

It’s been a good month since I’ve posted a Weekly Review, betraying its namesake once again, so I have a hefty pile to pour on you. This week (read: month) took me through some familiar territory in an old classic, saw some decent recent horror movies and a pair of debuts from indie directors, one of which you’ll most certainly know. But let’s waste no more words, for it is time for Weekly Review.

Afflicted (2014)

If not wholly inventive in its take on the found footage horror genre, Afflicted turns a familiar movie monster trope into something new and entirely addictive. Derek and Clif are two best friends who embark on a journey across the world and happen upon a femme fatale who changes their trip and their lives. In a way, Afflicted is the horror equivalent of Chronicle with enough immersive effects to impress and a taut and unpredictable storyline to guide you through. And though it doesn’t go any place that could quite be labeled new, it’s a lot of fun getting to the end and that certainly scores some duckets for this guy. (B-)

Deliver Us From Evil (2014)

Scott Derrickson didn’t set out to reinvent the wheel with Deliver Us From Evil, an eerie tale of possession and exorcism, but he works the components that he has going for him with craft and care, making for one of 2014’s more unsettling horror movies, if not one of its scariest. Adding Eric Bana to the mix gives Derrickson’s fright fest much needed legitimacy, the only issue is that the saga draws on a little long and sags in the second act. But enough cat crucifixions and snappy bones can right any wrong and by the time the third act rolls around and that final exorcism takes the stage, you must commend Derrickson for not sparing the gory details. Shaved clean and soulless, baddie Sean Harris is pure id and his final freak out moments may need to be watched through your fingers. (C+)

Another Earth (2011)

Having just seen and enjoyed Mike Cahill‘s sophomore effort, I Origins, I decided it was due time to take a peek at his debut, which had scored so highly amongst 2011’s Sundance crowd. Luckily a friend and fellow critic had a copy to lend out, so I got to watching it without my customary timetable which involves drawn out months of putting it off. Thanks Nick. The product, while decidedly more amateur than I Origins, is equally provocative; it’s a tidy look at two people after their lives collide. Picking up the pieces seems impossible, especially when added to the metaphysical crisis that is the discovery of another earth that seemingly mirrors ours. It’s compelling in a philosophical sense and Brit Marling‘s hollowed out performance keeps you silently stunned throughout. (B)

Princess Bride (1987)

One of the best bad movies of all time, Princess Bride is all tongue and no cheek. It’s a brilliantly simple satire that works against incredible odds. The performances are hammy past the point of marrow, the sets drab and cheap-looking. Even that ROUS looks like a man crawling on all fours. But how simply unforgettable is this storybook classic from start to finish? Who cannot quote alongside Inigo Montoya as he monologues about avenging his father? Who can’t picture the Pit of Despair, the Cliffs of Insanity or the Fire Swamp? Who can’t mimic Peter Cook’s marble-mouthed wedding vows? There’s so much unforgettable about this movie that it’s a picture book of highlights, scene after scene. This is sarcasm at its most childish and wonderfully wanton. “To the pain.” (A+)

Blood Simple (1984)

As I’ve been working my way through the Coen Bros oeuvre, I’ve finally made it to their debut feature, which I’ve owned on Blu-Ray for a good while now. I’ll admit that I approached it with modicum of trepidation, not wanting to be disappointed with something that I expected to be not amongst their top shelf, but boy was I wrong. It starts out a touch talky but as it drifts into the second act, it’s as visually arresting as anything the auteur bros have done since, all without help from Roger Deakins. Their tale of lust and revenge takes us to the darkly comic corners they come celebrate later in their career, making this a proper starting mark for the twisted siblings to launch from. (B+)

Homefront (2013)

An 80s-style shoot-em-up revenge story with little new on the story-front but almost enough wham-bam flourish to justify a watch, Homefront represents the best a Jason Statham movie can be. Add to that the fact that James Franco slips into the character of a bayou meth outlaw named Gator and you can see the draw. Where it really fails to deviate from the course though is in the story department as director Gary Fleder brings nothing absolutely new to the table. Too bad. (C-)

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Capitol Hill Block Party Sees Spoon Slay

July 28, 2014 by Matt Oakes Posted in Festival Reviews Tagged Capitol Hill Block Party, Music, RAC, Spoon, The War on Drugs

Spirits were high in Capitol Hill this weekend, as was the ratio of space bar music to instrumental bands.

Celebrating its 18th year as a festival, Capitol Hill Block Party in its current iteration is really only four years old. Or at least that last day is. You see it takes three full days to really call yourself a festival. It’s how you get Jack White, The Flaming Lips or MGMT to play. And while rock ‘n’ roll has been a defining feature of CHBP’s past, there seemed a notable lack of salty musicians strumming on the ol’ geetars. Instead, a population of laptop-wielders seemed to lock down a sizable amount of prime time on the main stage, to this writer’s chagrin.

There’s a magical limbo we get lost in listening to live music; the throb of the melody, the raw energy, the glorious mistakes and snapped strings: each contribute to a sense of communal losing yourself. Play the hits and we promise to dance until bloody-footed and tenitus-stricken. We commit ourselves to sonic hypnosis. Drink your beer, let your hair down. Take out the earplugs. Rock on.

With DJs, the performance often comes in a box. Unpack. Press play. Repeat. The mood is usually drug-addled or bored, or both. The energy, palpably manufactured. At least that was the scene in the hot summer sun, Sunday afternoon when xxyyxx’s set droned on like a bonus track of back-feeding guitars and Enya’s sounds of nature; it was sonic combustion at its most uninspiring.

Thank god then for RAC, an artist who knows how to spin audio flax to gold. He weaves tracks, beloved or not, into pure joy. His remixes are definitive; his style unnaturally respectful. He makes Girl-Talk look like he’s trying too hard. The man is more producer than DJ. But no one ever wanted to see George Martin perform. When RAC hit the stage on Sunday, the crowd had thinned but he quickly won wanderers back. While onstage, the man proved an ability to drink a PBR tallboy while doing his craft. (And is it just me or does a DJ who is constantly fiddling with dials onstage look unprepared?) Ultimately, the same issue befell this power duo onstage: there’s just not much to watch here. There’s no need to project a man twisting knobs on the big screen amiright? Even for a guy with a soundscape this unified and composed, I find little joy in watching a man unpause preprogrammed noise while slurping a likely lukewarm shitty beer. Next.

Closing out my weekend, War in Drugs was an explosion; a wall of sound that couldn’t be taken down by Miley’s wrecking ball. Granduciel’s a great guitarist with a croon like Dylan and an attitude like Gallagher. The War on Drugs is at war with the future of music. They’ve got a foot in the past and a fistful of picks to rip through to prove it. Their nonchalance is borderline epic. Their shredding is sexy. They rock steady and they rock hard. What drones on the album throbs on stage They’re so rock solid in their tempo, you may as well call them the War on Metronomes. They didn’t follow the golden rule of rock and rock: start high energy, mellow out, close out blaring. They lacked the parabola that whips a crowd into a frenzy. They softened more and more as the sun set behind the Shell station.

When Spoon took the stage Friday night, it seemed clear their fan base was thin amongst the crowd of neon-colored ravers. But by the time they busted out “The Underdog” midway into their set, the crowd was already theirs; putty in their hands; proving it takes more than a guy and his laptop to make a show truly magical. Britt Daniel’s stunning vocals sounded lifted from the album. Only those brassy horns went missing. He wailed on crowd favorites like “Don’t You Evah”, “I Turn My Camera On” and “Don’t Make Me a Target” and deep tracks like “Cherry Bomb” and “I Summon You” alike. The energy was magnetic. We committed ourselves to thrash like animals. Seattleites even moshed. Spoon dished out the fest’s salvation in their grandiose rock-steady routine. Rock and roll saved the day. They were the weekend warriors.

Out in Theaters: GUARDIANS OF THE GALAXY

July 25, 2014 by Matt Oakes Posted in Out in Theaters Tagged Bradley Cooper, Chris Pratt, Dave Batista, Guardians of the Galaxy, Out in Theaters, Reviews, Zoe Saldana

In 1977, George Lucas gifted the world Star Wars. Neither studio execs nor film critics could have ever predicted the momentous cultural phenomenon that Lucas’ strange little space opera transmogrified into; how it would touch every corner of the globe to the tune of billions upon billions of dollars; how it would leave an inimitable legacy for people to talk about from Boston to Beirut, Maine to Myanmar; how it would, quite simply, become one of the most important movies to ever be made. Everyone has seen Star Wars and if they haven’t, there’s a 97% chance it’s because they were born blind. Culturally, it’s a behemoth. Socially, it’s a must-know. Taste-wise, you like it or you’re a POS. It is the hive mind dictator itself; the all-encompassing King Shit. I’ve owned Star Wars toys since I could walk because who hasn’t?

Even now, almost forty years later, the prevailing zeitgeist within the science fiction community – from books to movies, TV shows to comic books – is populated by Star Wars‘ DNA, nearly to the point of pollution. Even when Lord Neckfat himself tried to capture lighting in a bottle again by making those junk jettisons that are the prequels, he forgot that his magnus opus was never about the special effects. Consider that Star Wars was for all intents and purposes a space samurai movie that shoed in equal parts Eastern philosophy and glo-stick swords. So what if the effects don’t hold up? We’re still dealing with giant slug gangsters and unforgettable cantina tunes and little green dudes who knew the force. And this is why we’ve witnessed such vehement backlash against Lucas’ irreparable re-tweaks, his ‘special ed’-itions: they take us out of the feeling of his dusty, late 1970s sci-fi sprawl. And it was always all about the feeling. And the feeling was good.

And like that untouchable trilogy, Guardians of the Galaxy may be poorly acted (Chris Pratt aside) but I’ll be damned if it’s not the closely thing we’ve ever got to that 1977 original masterwork. It’s wonky, weird, wild, completely cartoonish and fun as fuck. It’s Star Wars Revisisted. Its space crawl is Chris Pratt dancing to 70s top forty songs. It’s got an emperic baddie lording over all on Hologram Skype. It’s everything that Harrison Ford has every done melted down into one. It’s even got a Chewbacca. There’s quirk overflowing from every end, and enough tips of the hat to Star Wars to make even Sam Elliot nervous. I’m already Indiana Jonesing to revisit it because it feels good and frankly, I’m hooked on a feeling.

Unlike the pantheon that is the MMU, cross-pollination with the outside Marvel Universe is kept to a minimum (with no mention of Tony Stark, Steven Rogers, or that big green head-case). Guardians of the Galaxy is able to stand on its own two feet and for it, I’m willing to stand on mine and applaud. After all, it was this ceaseless commercialization that cheapened the massively over-rated Captain America 2; the same sludge that made Iron Man 2 such a nightmare. Rather than lean on the platform of a larger universe, Guardians creates its own, expanding on the worlds that Marvel’s created naturally and with a sense of lively misadventure largely missing from its more club-footed counterparts.

In this regard, Guardians just might be Marvel’s crowning achievement. It’s pure unadulterated fun, made magical by hundreds of millions of dollars in top-of-the-line computer animation and made lovable by its plenitude of quirk and its narrow-yet-mammoth scope. The guardians may be set to save the entire galaxy but there’s an intimacy that’s lacking in similarly-sized superhero blockbusters. And did I mention how weird it is?

Guardians, more than anything that I can think of in the past decade, celebrates said strangeness like it’s a Gay Pride Parade in San Francisco. It’s not dark, it’s not gritty, it’s not “an untold origin.” It’s double-filtered, locally sourced, FDA-certified organic mirth. An anthropomorphized tree and a shit-talking, gun-firing, whiskey-slugging raccoon aren’t even the weirdest elements of this symphony of strange. I mean James Gunn isn’t known for being reigned in so you better believe there’s plenty of weird to go around.

Michael Rooker (because who better?) is dyed blue and rocks a glowing metallic mohawk. His signature weapon is a magic arrow that zips around when he whistles. Gunn even let Dave Batista try to act. Sure he fails desperately but it’s not like Mark Hamill was ever a shining beacon of thespian promise. But seriously, Batista is a talent vacuum. The guy couldn’t act his way out of a First Grade Thanksgiving play.

As for the story, it starts on Earth with Peter Quill (Pratt). His death-bed occupying mother reaches out for his hand and he runs away, too frightened to face the reality of his mother’s demise. Cue a looking up at the stars bit as the heavens open up, a beam shoots down and little Quill is sucked up into a space ship. Alright, alright, alright.

Twenty years later and Quill’s an outlaw ravager, scavenging planets for goods to pawn. When his sights are set on a mysterious orb, a series of mishaps land him under the gun with a sizable bounty on his head. This is all a MacGuffin to assemble the eponymous Guardians as they all come together looking to score on Quill’s asking price.

This ragtag collection includes Groot (Vin Diesel), the walking, not-so-much-talking tree; Rocket (Bradley Cooper who sounds nothing like Bradley Cooper), a gun-toting, vest-wearing, expletive-yelling raccoon; Gamora (Zoe Saldana), a mean, green, alien-fighting machine; and Drax the Destroyer (Batista), a simple-minded, scarification-covered thug with a dead family. They’re as rag-taggy as the Millennium Falcon’s passengers, as disjointed as the Fellowship of the Ring. Some characters are better than others – I could do without Batista’s Drax ever opening his mouth and Saldana is surprisingly flat – but that’s par for the course.

The whole tree/raccoon angle though works wonderfully, their odd relationship giving weight to what could otherwise feel distant or simply strange. Continuing with my ploy to mainstream Star Wars analogies, Groot is very much the Chewie of the equation. His only utterances consisting of “I am Groot”, he offers little to a conversation other than a sympathetic expression or some much needed shrub violence. It’d be smart to avoid playing him in a round of Dejarik. Rocket, like Han Solo before him, is the only one who understand Groot, a bit that Gunn returns to whenever he needs to conjure up a chuckle or two. It’s weird but dammit, it works.

And for how much we fawn over Groot and his pet raccoon, our relationship with Quill isn’t one that neatly fits a description. There’s a distance we feel to him and his wise-cracking ways, but it’s a distance by design. Born of the general distrust of the world around him, he’s an alien that just happens to be human. Him being an abducted orphan and all, you sympathize with his armor of sharp witticisms, you sneer with him at a galaxy that’s too tidy and needs to be knocked down a couple pegs; you’re ok with him being a butterfingered outlaw.

Chris Pratt’s sarcastic banter is a weapon that he wields like a lightsaber. His each and every retort earns a snicker and Pratt has earned the right to play dumb and bumbling and yet oddly charming, a combination he wears perfectly here. From our first encounter with him, he’s a goon of an explorer, a whiff of an adventurer. He wants to be called Star Lord but he just hasn’t earned the handle (his ongoing relationship with said handle goes on to be one of the film’s many highlights.)

Guardians, in all rights, is about the creation of a mythology. It’s about carving out your stake in the world. It’s about grabbing a whip and a fedora and making the name Indiana Jones mean something. It’s about calling yourself Star Lord and not being satisfied until everyone else calls you that too. Darth Vader didn’t become the most feared name in the galaxy overnight. You gotta hone that shit (*hangs head that this was NOT what the prequel trilogy was about*).

Unlike previous Marvel movies, Guardians doesn’t rely on a cliffhanger; it’s not a sleek, flawless package; it’s not busy setting the table for what’s next; it’s not just another commercial for the inevitable team-up with Iron Man and Thor and Hulk and Black Widow and Hawkeye and Scarlet Witch and Quicksilver and Captain America and The Winter Solider and Falcon and War Machine (er, Iron Patriot?). It’s a well-balanced breakfast in itself: it’s properly buttered toast and scrambled eggs and orange juice and a little bit of Dave Batista trying to act all served up with a smile.

For once, you won’t demand “But where are the other guys?!” Gunn’s triumph is happy to exist in its own little universe and for it, trumps Marvel’s other heroes. In 1977, George Lucas gifted the world Star Wars. In 2014, James Gunn gifted the world Guardians of the Galaxy, in all its strange glory.

A-

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Out in Theaters: HERCULES

July 25, 2014 by Matt Oakes Posted in Out in Theaters Tagged Brett Ratner, Dwayne Johnson, Hercules, Ian McShane, Out in Theaters, Reviews, The Rock

Hercules is the equivalent of hiring a day laborer only to discover them dozing under the cabana 20 minutes later. You weren’t really ever expecting that much, just a tidy little one-and-done job, so you can’t help but flabbergast at the flagrant display of utter laziness. It’s truly an epic tableau of “who gives a fuck?” It’s so imposingly boring, you’d think you walked into a documentary about dust mites. It’s so recklessly rattlebrained that you think the screenplay is the product of ‘Myths by Charlie Kelly’. It’s the Kitten Mittens of sword and sandals movies. Every character and plot line is so mismanaged you’d think Halliburton were producing it.

In such, Hercules is not so much a movie as a movie impersonator. There’s characters and they’re doing stuff, and there’s fight scenes and fire and a CGI lion but when all is said and done, nothing happens. It’s the same story we’ve ignored and forgotten a hundred times before. Plot deviations are as satisfying as zero snickers bar. Surprise “twists” are as curvaceous as Calista Flockheart. It’s so aggressively blah that a cocaine fiend could doze off in the midst of it (because lord knows I did.)

I guess we can cover the “plot”, if for no reason other than to dissuade you from submitting yourself to it. Hercules, you see, isn’t really all he’s cracked up to be. He’s a hulking gun-for-hire; a wig-wearing mercenary. The muscley chump doesn’t even fight solo; that pussy needs a small troop of misfits (whose names we never bother to learn) backing him up at every turn. We’ve all been duped! If you’re gonna give Herc sidekicks, at least toss in Xena Warrior Princess, amiright? And for a guy who’s “half-God”, his bulky shoulders have been all but torn at the seams, with stretch mark highways recoiling against his unnatural mass of “Good God, I didn’t even know those muscle groups existed”.

Speaking of that half-God thing, it’s still unclear by the end of the movie whether “screenwriters” Ryan Condal and Evan Spiliotopoulos (oh ok, so he’s where all these mouth-heavy names are coming from) intended for Hercules to actually be a demi-God or if he’s just rocking the title for namesake purposes. Ian McShane offers something that’s supposed to resemble a stirring speech about Herc taking up the mantle of the name but that just muddies the waters on the matter. But that is characteristic of the whole endeavor. Again, who cares?

And the story goes a little like this: blah blah blah, I only fight for gold, blah blah blah, pretty princess needs help saving kingdom, blah blah blah, villages burned to the ground, blah blah blah, hired for twice his weight in gold, blah blah blah, evil Reeses and his centaur army, blah blah blah, Hercules trains good king’s army, blah blah blah, please make it stop. I mean you name your villain after a candy bar and don’t expect jeers? Come on.

And while we’re on the topic of Reeses (I know his name is actually spelled Rhesus but, again, who cares?), what an abortion of a character he is. I don’t even want to mention where his character goes (spoiler: nowhere.) I quite honestly think they forgot that he existed by the last act.

It’s all well and good to poke fun at Hercules but in all seriousness, it’s an abomination of storytelling, so bereft of skill and care, so mindlessly inconsequential that you will literally (fine, figuratively) be worse for wear having seen. After bearing witness to a completely unnecessary 300 sequel this year, we had hoped that the meat and potatoes warrior action thing had been put to bed for 2014. Brett Ratner manages to dredge it up again and make it improbably more boring than it was there.

But that Ratner guy really does possess an undeniable gift for making movies that lack a soul. Let’s just say he’s swung for the rafters here. So long as you manage to keep your eyes open, he will stun you with his complete and utter lack of storytelling prowess. He will wow you with characters speaking out the “themes” of the movies. He will try to hypnotize you into falling asleep so you won’t remember that you actually paid money to watch this.

If Hercules were a food group, it’d be French Fries. And not those extra crispy, uber-delectable French Fries. We’re talking the limp, soggy, sitting in oil all night French Fries. The “oh god, I’m just gonna throw these away” French Fries. The “did someone re-fry these French Fries?” French Fries. The ‘Rock with a Wig’ French Fries.

But let’s be honest with ourselves here, The Rock is good enough when he’s in something half-decent. Throw him in something with “Fast” or “Furious” in the title and he’s immensely watchable. Hell, I quite enjoyed him in Pain & Gain. Even The Toothfairy pushed the boundaries of…. wait, no, let’s just not go there. But while that formerly mentioned movie is an embarrassment, this is even more of an inglorious let down. I mean every time he’s called on to do something great, it usually involves pushing something huge or pulling on something strong. For both, The Rock sports a face like he’s pitching a legendary deuce.

For a movie all about being fit as shit, he’s only bashing things in the shadows or beating up on CGI. Once more, who cares? It’s a complete and utter waste of what that modern day Andre the Giant has going for him. With Hercules, Dwayne Johnson has hit Rock Bottom.

Driving home from the theater, I passed by a dojo in which a bunch of kids in stark white gis were thrusting their spindly elbows and yelping dramatically. A mom videotaped in the corner. I would rather watch that video than any given five minutes of this movie. It would have more life, energy and nuance than all of Brett Ratner’s Shatner of a film.

Hercules is the movie equivalent of having a pube stuck in your throat, you just want to cough it up and be free of it. Just keep telling yourself it will pass. Its legend will tell of how you’ll never get that 98 minutes back. I went in fully expecting to see a C- movie, too bad it was a full blown….

F

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Out in Theaters: A MOST WANTED MAN

July 25, 2014 by Matt Oakes Posted in Out in Theaters Tagged A Most Wanted Man, BLAH, Phillip Seymour Hoffman, Rachel McAdams, Willem Dafoe

NOTE: I’ve tried to write something about this movie but I just can’t do it. It’s too dull to summon the energy to write more than one lousy sentence about. So that’s what I shall do. Behold: the one sentence review.

“Procedural to the point of blinding boredom.”

That is all.

D+

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Out in Theaters: MAGIC IN THE MOONLIGHT

July 22, 2014 by Matt Oakes Posted in Out in Theaters Tagged Colin Firth, Emma Stone, Hamish Linklater, Jacki Weaver, Magic in the Moonlight, Marcia Gay Harden, Out in Theaters, Reviews, Woody Allen 14 Comments

First of all, one must excuse that Colin Firth is almost 30 years older than Emma Stone (28 years, 1 month and 27 days to be exact) in order to feel the least bit comfortable watching Magic in the Moonlight. After all, a romance with a man twice your age is creepy in all world’s but Woody Allen‘s. If we can forgive him this gross miscalculation of acceptable age gaps – allowing that it’s not some dolled-up plea bargain appealing to our more arcane, patriarchal notions of male-female relationships – then there’s much to love about Magic in the Moonlight; Colin Firth, pithy dialogue thrown away like used handkerchiefs, a prevailing sense of misanthropic disillusionment with the world. Ahhhh, all the Woody standards are carved aptly and well displayed. Well, all but one.

In his celebrated past, Woody Allen has been the harbinger of great female roles. With Annie Hall, he introduced us to a wise-cracking, no-nonsense, nouveau flapper-type that may as well have been beamed in from the roaring 20s. In Manhattan, Woody’s bittersweet, troglodyte edge was a perfect cocktail when mixed with Mary Wilkie’s vibrant, larger-than-life pomposity. Diane Keaton‘s star has never shined so bright.

To this day, that helplessly neurotic, New York, near-messianic Jewish comedian turned filmmaker is still hailed as one of the original feminist filmmakers. Set on a diabolical heading to disprove Hollywood standards that women are but window dressings in a Bechdel Test-less world, Woody introduced the world to the chick with attitude. With Moonlight though, it’s as if he’s forgotten his roots, offering a female character, a la the lovely Emma Stone, who is but a circumstance to the masculine manipulation storming around her. If Woody has neglected one thing here, to the chagrin of his story and film, it’s to round out his leading lady; a charge rarely brought against the man. After all, without Woody’s squally writing to back her up, Cate Blanchett wouldn’t be an Academy Award winner as of this year.

His latest yarn falls into place when a world renown magician, Stanley (Firth), catches wind of a youthful psychic, Sophie (Stone), who’s taken up with a wealthy clan of manicured socialite oafs, predicting future dalliances and offering tranquilizing reassurances on events past. A dear friend of Stanley’s – close colleague and rival magician, Howard (Simon McBurney) – has already been up to visit the bewitching mystic but can’t figure out any of her parlor tricks. Howard insists that she looks like the real deal.

In keeping with past practices, Stanley sets out to debunk her, as he has with many palm readers, seanse-seers and prophets and prophetesses past. Sophie’s the coquettish type but beneath her fawn-worthy veneer, she’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing, or so Stanley is intent to prove. When he lays eyes on her though, he’s just as likely to fall under her spell as he is to reveal her gambit for what it is.

That spell she so casually casts is as much misdirection as erection. Certainly not hard to look at, she’s a soothsayer that soothes his sai of a personality. She may be an oracle but it looks like he just wants to cull some oral from her (Heyo!) And though it’s kinda icky having a 53-year old man ogle the 25-year old Stone, it sets the scene for some rib-tickling comedic beats, particularly when Firth’s firing off in sardonic, breathy outbursts.

As the more carnal elements of unforeseeable affection takes the forefront in the later minutes, Woody’s film turns from a terse zing-fest into a cloying bout of love tennis; a ball-less Match Point, if you will. For it’s not Stanley’s courtship but his crustiness that churns out the chuckles. In truth, the deeper he falls for Sophie, the less compelling his character and the film as a whole.

And then there’s Stone. For all Sophie’s underwritten flatness, Stone gives her all, grasping at straws to give depth to a plateau of a character. It’s unfortunate that Woody of all people would settle on characterization a la strawberry hair and sweet ta-ta’s but Stone’s natural hippy chic aura matches up nicely with Sophie’s blander elements.

Throwaway character though Stone’s may be, Firth’s is an absolute delight. The berserk pragmatist may be far preferable to the man suffering oleaginous love fits, but Firth plays both brilliantly, offering up one of the finest, and certainly most gut-busting, performances of 2014. Manic looks devilishly good on him.

Dissecting Woody’s latest is easier than scalpelling apart a frog. The three acts are built on loose seams, as easily identifiable as cheap Indonesian jeans. And though they might fit together awkwardly, like said pair of Indonesian jeans, you can’t but admire the brilliant recklessness of those first two acts. The result is further entrancing when backed by Darius Khondji‘s delightfully dated cinematography – characterized by a preternatural sense of natural lighting – and Allen’s delicately crafted old-timey but sultry musical score. Though Woody slips towards something far more muted and monochromatic in the third act, the beginning is so full of magic that you can almost let it slide. Almost.

B

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Out in Theaters: I ORIGINS

July 21, 2014 by Matt Oakes Posted in Out in Theaters Tagged Astrid Bergès-Frisbey, Brit Marling, I Origins, Michael Pitt, Out in Theaters, Reviews

David Hume was a Scottish Empiricist who believed that knowledge comes only from those things that we can directly observe. We know that double bacon cheeseburgers exist because we can see them, we can smell them, we can taste them (Mmmmm.) God on the other hand cannot be seen, smelt or tasted, so his existence is improvable (not to be confused with impossible.) Something like love though is more tricky for the empiricist philosophers because, we experience it acutely but not through any of those five basic senses. So what is love? Hell if I know. Thankfully, that’s pretty much what director Mike Cahill has to say as well.

Our Mr. Hume also made an important correlation between the advancement of scientific progress and a decreased frequency of miracle reports. In essence, as we became more prone to understanding the world through scientific means, mankind’s knee-jerk reaction to label anything beyond the ordinary as “miraculous” became more tempered. So while a volcanic eruption once seemed like the wrath of God manifested in hot globular chaos, we now know that it’s simply the result of pressurized magma forced out of mountains because of tectonic shifts. Still, the miracle doesn’t become the mundane; it’s equally mind-rending to behold a volcano blowing its top for the casual observer and even that “scientific” explanation is pretty insane and magical when you really think about it. Faith, in a way, can be science.

I Origins‘ Ian (Michael Pitt) is a substitute for Hume. He’s a molecular biologist who lives by the belief that he will someday find scientific fact to disprove religious cornerstones. One particular religious cornerstone that Ian has set his sights on disproving is that of the human eye being a creation of intelligent design. All he and lab partner Karen (Brit Marling) have to do is build an eye for a non-seeing creature and wham, bam, thank you ma’am, there goes the intelligent design argument. It’s not that Ian necessarily has a vendetta against the idea of faith so much as he sees himself and his field of study on a crash course with religious zealotry and has set out to safe-guard his work with indisputable facts. In his mind, you can’t be a scientist and a spiritualist. Accordingly, his secular mindset is all-encompassing. The scientific approach, the only one worth his time and thought.

But this concept becomes irreversibly challenged when self-occupied, occasionally magnanimous and always very French Sofi (Astrid Bergès-Frisbey) meets Ian and an indelible mark on his mind and soul. “What if there were more to the world than what you see?” Sofi ponders. If a blind creature cannot perceive light, isn’t it possible then that you could be “blind” to a sixth, seventh, eighth sense? Hell the mantis shrimp has sixteen color-receptive cones to our three, meaning it sees colors that we can’t even begin to imagine. Like salmon blue, mud pink or white-black. Not gray. White-black. Why can’t there be white-black spiritual beings hovering in and around us all the time?

Mike Cahill isn’t afraid to ask questions like this, nor does he feel obligated to answer them. In effect, I Origin is an exploration into the messy nature of faith that refuses to take a definitive stance and is that much richer for it. Rather than showing us the folly of science and the triumph of faith or vice versa, Cahill’s offered up the shortcomings to each and left us in a morally ambiguous zone that challenges us to flesh out and face our own conclusions. He treats the battle between faith and science as a sparring match between a blind woman and a deaf man. There’s no way for either to win but it’s still fun to watch them duke it out.

Pitt in this lead role has come further out from under the shell of Boardwalk Empire, carving out a character all his own who is totally compelling, especially when faced with crippling mental roadblocks. Ian’s transformation is delicate and played with potent poignancy from Pitt, who is matched every step by Brit Marling. This is largely due to Cahill’s more sensitive side showing through as across the board, the performances are largely elevated; the characters, clearly deeply cared for.

The empiricist can only know what’s there in front of them and on that basis alone, we can deduce that I Origins is a bold, immensely watchable philosophical journey. Rich with thematic nuance and stuffed with just the kind of questions that will keep you up at night pondering, I Origins is a brave addition to a growing collection of heady sci-fact pictures from Mike Cahill. He’s certainly set an intriguing course, one that I’ll look forward to tracking, but for now, we just have to hope he’s not scooped up to direct the reboot of the rebooted Spiderman.

B+

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21 Shows I'm Watching/Have Watched in 2014 RANKED

July 19, 2014 by Matt Oakes Posted in Lists Tagged American Horror Story, Broad City, Fargo, Game of Thrones, Homeland, House of Cards, It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia, Legit, Louie, Modern Family, Orange is the New Black, Parks and Recreations, Ranked, Review, Sherlock, Silicon Valley, Sons of Anarchy, South Park, The Americans, The Leftovers, The Walking Dead, True Detective, TV, Tv Shows

Because people won’t read it unless you rank it, I’ve decided to lay out all the new or ongoing shows I’m watching or have watched this year. As a criteria of sorts, I’m only including shows of which I’ve watched all the episodes of and am up to date on. So nothing that I’ve just taken a peek at, watched an ep here or there, or any shows that are already over and done with.

So even though I’m desperately trying to get in on The Wire, it’s not included on the list. Breaking Bad wrapped last year so it won’t earn a spot here. I’ve been making my way through Freaks and Geeks but that also won’t claim a listing. And though I have my eye on Masters of Sex, Halt and Catch Fire and Ray Donovan, amongst others, I haven’t gotten to them yet so again, ineligible. Likewise, I’ve seen the first episode of The Strain but can’t anticipate what the rest of the season will hold so it’s on the outside looking in.

In addition to ranking the shows based on my personal preference, I’ve also thrown in a favorite episode from the last season that’ll give you a taste of the better elements of the show. I’m sure there will be much disagreement so feel free to join in on the discussion and tell me where I’m wrong.

21. Modern Family (ABC)

Though not as contrarian as its first seasons seemed to be, the newest episodes of Modern Family keeps up the elements of the show that works, even while laying on thick some of those that don’t. Ty Burrell as Phil remains the biggest draw in a show that’s really hit or miss depending on who’s onscreen (I could do with less of the white Dunphy kids.) Though it may be a touch too family-friendly and borderline castrated at times, the stable of writers do manage to tactfully slip in a fair share of guffaw-able double entendres. Best ep: “A Hard Jay’s Night”

20. The Americans (FX)

This FX original sees a pair of Russian spies living undercover in American in the height of the Cold War. Everything about their lives are a manicured lie, all the way down to their marriage. Having kids though has thrown a wrench into the works and, in this second season, has become an obstacle that cannot be overlooked. Featuring strong performances from leads Keri Russell and Matthew Rhys, it’s a ballsy thriller that probes ideas of loyalty, allegiance and sacrifice. It may not be a show that’ll immediately win you over but it’s consistently solid and will have you coming back to check in with this morally ambiguous deuo. Best ep: “Trust Me”

19. Orange is the New Black (Netflix)

After an overrated first season, this second year of Netflix’s most popular show reigned in the more bombastic elements to showcase a smaller, quieter prison character drama. It may be running dry on back story and certainly seems like a show with an inevitable end of the road, so any audience best grow used to this kind of baby-stepping, but in narrowing the scope, the writers have showcased a knack for making those small moments matter. So long as the side characters continue to be fleshed out, Piper continues to grow and change, and that willy Alex manages to keep sticking her nose into things, Orange is the New Black should continue to be a compelling journey worth taking. Best ep: “Thirsty Bird”

18. Parks and Recreation (NBC)

Everyone is forced to watch at least a few cable network sitcom and I’ve place my chips with Parks and Recs for good reason. Although it took a few seasons to really get off the ground, Parks has really hit a stride over the past few years, one that has been admittedly disrupted by the painful departure of Rashida Jones and Rob Lowe. Still, with a crew that includes Ron Offerman, Chris Pratt, Aziz Ansari, Adam Scott and Aubrey Plaza, a writing team with an armada of pun-heavy and visual gag-laden comic beats, and Amy Poehler as the relentlessly enthusiastic Leslie Knope really holding the show together with an iron-strong grip, Parks and Recs continues to represent the best of cable. Best ep: “The Cones of Dunshire”

17. American Horror Story (FX)

With each season going down a whole new rabbit hole, American Horror Story is really like nothing else on television. Grotesque, eerie and lead by a great female cast, Coven may have skimped on some of the more insane elements that earlier seasons provided, but it certainly told the most complete, well-rounded story yet. Jessica Lange returns again, largely because Horror Story quite frankly has some of the best roles for women in all of television, and she simply knocks it out of the park. Series regulars Sarah Paulson, Frances Conroy and Evan Peters all feature heavily contributing to this being a fully compelling, if not always perfect season of a show that’s really off the map. Best ep: “Go to Hell”

16. House of Cards (Netflix)

Netflix hit a nerve with the first season of House of Cards and has now followed it up with an equally bombastic second season. This jet black political thriller sees witness to Kevin Spacey‘s bottom-feeding Frank Underwood skillfully scaling the political ladder. It’s at once deeply unsettling and completely captivating; a tragic yet true satire of the American political system; and yet, it’s impossible to look away from. We find ourselves rooting for that cold, callous politician just to see what is he capable of, despite his crusty, false demeanor, and tricksy, nay evil, deeds. Underwood’s long-con quality of scheming is something that only a show released on Netflix’s “all at once” timetable can legitimize and keeps us from halting the automated onslaught that is “Play Next”. Matching Spacey step for step is Robin Wright, the under-sung, impossibly cold shero of the show who balances the whole thing out like tea to crumpets. Best ep: “Chapter 22”

15. Sons of Anarchy (FX)

Though it’s had a bit of a spotty history in the past, this most recent season of the motorcycle drama brought big change and some huge moments for long-time fans. Season six was quite simply a game-changer and although that meant many “Oh shit” moments, all of the big beats felt earned and inevitable. Nothing speaks more to the fact that violence begets violence than a show about gun-running and all the tragic side effects that go with it. Best ep: “Aon Rud Persanta”

14. It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia (FX)

It kind of blows my mind that It’s Always Sunny has been on the air for nine seasons but, well, I guess I’m getting old. I remember watching the first season and laughing my ass off, becoming a committed fan from there on out. And thankfully, the gang has not disappointed. Though they’ve stumbled a few times over the past couple years, season nine really ratcheted things up, adding new elements to a premise that refuses to quit. Charlie Day might still be my favorite but goddamn if all these guys aren’t the funniest comic actors working. So long as they keep making them, I’ll keep watching them. Best ep: “The Gang Saves the Day”

13. Homeland (Showtime)

The saga of Carrie Matheson and Nicholas Brody made the first season of Homeland an impervious guessing game, fleshed into something even more strange and organic in season two and has morphed into a whole new realm of star-crossed lovership with Showtime’s latest season. Though there were some missteps this season; one which was all about not being ready to let go; they aptly course correct in the closing moments, offering some of the most haunting, soul-rending television you could hope for. Best ep: “The Star”

12. Silicon Valley (HBO)

Mike Judge returns to the sardonic workplace drama with Silicon Valley, a show that showed immense potential that paid off more and more as the season drew on. Nerds get a bad wrap with shows like The Big Bang Theory (spare me) and Silicon Valley shows them in a whole new light: in their crippling aversion to the spotlight. Even with only eight episodes for this first season, Kumail Nanjiani came out of thin air to become one of the funniest characters of the year. If they keep piling on the jokes like they did with the last episode (which featured the best running dick joke of the year), we can look forward to a very fortuitous second season. Best ep: “Optimal Tip-To-Tip Efficiency”

11. Legit (FX)

Jim Jefferies is an Australian comedian who just doesn’t give a fuck. His brand of stoner-playboy comedy is entirely his own and when afforded the creative freedom to really take the show into whatever direction he sees fit, we the audience are rewarded with an oft-kilter, unapologetically hilarious and often emotionally resonant dramedy. Like Louie, you never quite know where any episode is going to go but you can always expect some memorable quirk from Jefferies and his competent co-stars Dan Bakkedahl and DJ Qualls. Best ep: “Love”

10. South Park (Comedy Central)

As politically astute, satirically sound and completely absurd as ever, South Park is a testament to Trey Parker and Matt Stone‘s enduring brilliance. Though the seasons have been getting shorter and shorter, each episode is still as pointed and thorny as ever, refusing to spare anyone or anything in its quest to take a stab at the ridiculousness that is the world and its various systems and characters within. This season had a four-episode arc that turned disdain for Black Friday culture into an all-encompassing, truly epic Game of Thrones satire. Keep keeping on boys. Best ep: “The Hobbit”

9. Review (Comedy Central)

An out-of-left-field home run from Comedy Central, Review is a simple enough premise: a man takes requests to review not movies, books nor food but life experiences. The result is unspeakably comical. Andy Daly owns the role of Forrest MacNeil as he charges into various life outings, each of which becomes a part of his character progression, building into a layer cake of laughs. It’s unlike anything else on television and so single-mindedly funny and wholly original, it’s a challenge not to bust through all nine episodes in one go. Best ep: “Orgy: Road Rage”

8. The Leftovers (HBO)

Damon Lindelof‘s latest outing may have just started, but the first few episodes have been mighty impressive and intensely intriguing. The Leftovers follows the events of a small town after 2% of the entire Earth’s population suddenly, inexplicably disappeared into thin air. The third episode alone will be enough to reel in most new viewers, as it plays like a kind of full narrative film with a ripping three-act structure and a killer performance from Christopher Eccleston. Percolating with mystery and some already complex, rounded characters, The Leftovers looks like it may fill the sci-fi-lite gap left by Lost four years back. Be warned though, Lindelof has already stated that if you’re only around to figure out why everyone off and disappeared, you might as well stop watching now. Best ep: “Two Boats and a Helicopter”

7. The Walking Dead (AMC)

What a divisive year The Walking Dead has had. While many thought the splintering of the group led to less “action”, it meant an increased focus on character development, especially between factors that had not previously interacted. It was a great way to trim the fat and center the show on what really matters: us caring about these people. Sure AMC’s zombie make-up continues to be the pinnacle of horror effects the movie world over but if we don’t care when they chomp into a survivor, it’s all for naught. Season four did a great job at making us care. Best ep: “The Grove”

6. Broad City (Comedy Central)

Forget Girls, Broad City is the sacrosanct, feminist NYC chic comedy you need to watch. Adapted from their popular web series, Abbi Jacobson and Ilana Glazer‘s Broad City is through and through hilarious, taking stabs at cultural norms and flipping our expectations of girls gone wild on its head. In the same vein as Obvious Child or Frances Ha, Broad City is new-age feminist hoopla that happily celebrates how gross it is to be a girl in all its charmless glory. Best ep: “Fattest Asses”

5. Louie (FX)

Louie is brilliant for many reasons. First of all, it’s not really a comedy. Not really. It’s what Judd Apatow‘s Funny People wanted to be. It’s about the trials and tribulations of a comic. More than that, it’s about the trials and tribulations of being a man. Most of all though, it’s about the trials and tribulations of being a human. Uproarious when it needs to be, poignant when it wants, Louie is as philosophical a show as you can get. More importantly, i’s unafraid to go to rather dark and unexpected places and take on some serious issues, when it’s not making doo-doo jokes. It might not be for everyone but everyone should give it a taste. Best ep: “So Did the Fat Lady”

4. True Detective (HBO)

True Detective is easily the biggest “cult” hit of the year, complete with a rabid fan-based that’s poised and ready to attack if one lodges even the smallest complaint at the show, so I’m gonna approach with caution. Did True Detective have some of the best performances of the entire year? Yes. Did it feature some truly outstanding sequences? Absolutely. Was it always “must watch” television? Not always. I mean, let’s be honest, it took a while to warm up to the plot, which was devilishly slow for the first few eps. But by the fourth episode, with that impractically amazing long shot, I was in it to win it with all the rest of you. Matt McCougnahey and Woody Harrelson both deserve buckets of praise and then some, a complicated pleasure to watch from the very first moments. But once the plot thickened, it was impossible to look away from the story they were a part of as well. Truly an achievement but still not the absolute best of the year, I’m waiting in the wings to see what creator Nic Pizzolatto is able to pull off next. Best ep: “Who Goes There”

3. Sherlock (BBC)

Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock. The whole fake death thing may have seemed a bit like jumping the shark to some but only a show written with such smarmy shlock and simple smarts could make you feel silly for ever doubting them in the first place. This most recent season of Sherlock oddly enough turns out to be the best yet, with all three of the monumentally lengthy “episodes” offering something new to the ongoing relationship between Holmes and Watson while ratcheting up the tension to ridiculous degrees. To not watch Sherlock is to do yourself a disservice. Get on it. Best ep: “The Sign of Three”

2. Game of Thrones (HBO)

I make no secret of the fact that I’m a total Game of Thrones nerd so it ought to be no surprise that this one debuts so high on my list. From the impossibly thick stable of characters to the absurdly impressive sets, locations, props and costumery, to the movie-quality visual effects and a hallmark for killing off every character you care for, GoT shows a genre-defying willingness to go where no show has gone before. Nothing is sacred, everything is fluid. If you’re not willing to change, you won’t last long in the world of Westeros just as you won’t last long as an audience member. But what cements the whole thing is show-runners David Benioff and D.B. Weiss‘ ability to keep everything together while also making the show their own beast, and the while pacing the sprawling affair masterfully as they mount George R.R. Martin‘s magnum opus like the great dragon masters of lore. Best ep: “The Mountain and the Viper”

1. Fargo (FX)

An astounding product from start to finish, this FX series masterfully takes the tone of the Coen Bros 1996 classic while bringing new (implausibly more interesting) characters and relationships into the fold. It’s an epic piece of cinema on the small screen, adroit in every department. Writing, directing, acting, you name it, it’s top notch here. Martin Freeman, Allison Tolman, Colin Hanks, Bob Odenkirk, Keith Carradine, Adam Goldberg, Glenn Howerton, Oliver Platt, Key and Peele all offer career best work with Billy Bob Thornton throwing down a show-stopper as the show’s professional antagonist. It’s a must see in the purest of forms and one I would urge you all to seek out immediately. Best ep: ALL OF THEM!

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So if we go ahead and tally up which networks take the cake in this best of list, we’d have:
FX (7), HBO (4), Comedy Central (3), Netflix (2), BBC (1), Showtime (1), AMC (1), ABC (1), NBC (1)

Obviously, I’ve dedicated a good chunk of time to watching my shows and would urge you to steer me towards anything that you would think ought to rank on this list. So there you have it. What would you add?

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Out in Theaters: THE PURGE: ANARCHY

July 16, 2014 by Matt Oakes Posted in Out in Theaters Tagged Carmen Ejogo, Frank DeMonaco, Frank Grillo, Kiele Sanchez, Out in Theaters, Reviews, The Purge: Anarchy, Worst of 2014, Zach Gilford, Zoe Soul 1 Comment

The Purge had a fascinating conceit – that society was allowed to kill, steal, and rape with carte blanche for one 12 hour period annually – but was ultimately a bitter disappointment. The characters were thin, the home invasion plot familiar and it just generally lacked on tension and legitimate scares. For having launched from such a strong starting block, it face-planted like an Olympic athlete with her shoelaces tied together. Read More