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Out in Theaters: PHILOMENA

“Philomena”
Directed by Stephen Frears
Starring Judi Dench, Steve Coogan, Sophie Kennedy Clark, Mare Winningham, Barbara Jefford, Michelle Fairley, Peter Hermann, Sean Mahon
Drama
98 Mins
PG-13

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Philomena Lee’s true story is the stuff of nightmares. Her baby stolen away by nuns and sold to the highest bidder, the path to that forfeited son swept clean, locked inside the tight-lipped vault of one particularly malevolent Catholic nun, Philomena has been through hell on Earth. And yet, she won’t condemn those who have brought so much suffering upon her. Instead, she passes absolution down like Jesus himself. She may not ever forget but she is willing to forgive and from her untainted spirit, we can all learn a valuable lesson.

In Philomena, Martin Sixsmith’s not quite disgraced but he’s been let go from his cushy position over at the Labour party. Unsure where to start on his long-gestated novel of Russian history, he’s offered a chance to turn Irish elder Philomena’s life story into a personal piece by an old friend editor, Sally (Michelle Fairley). Intent on maintaining his journalistic pride, he refuses to touch her story on the grounds that it’s a human interest story and “human interest stories are read by weak-minded, ignorant people and written by weak-minded, ignorant people.” But when Martin meets Philomena, he is equally captivated by the unspeakable calamity that she’s just now opening up about for the first time in sixty years.

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Judi Dench
 drops the crusty but caring shtick she’s perfected over the course of her career to embody this foundation of life of a woman. Bubbling over with enthusiasm and accidental wit, Philomena is like Pinocchio – a wooden figurine  magically brought to life who, now finally living, can’t stop ogling at the wonders of the world. As she hops around the globe with Martin trying to unearth the mystery of her lost son, she lives out the childhood she never had, a childhood she spent slaving away at a nunnery. Even though Philomena’s story is a tragedy, she prefers to think of it as a work in progress, a perspective guided by her unflinching glass-is-half-full optimism. Though initially mocking Philomena’s rose-colored perception of the world, Martin begins down his own road of internal modulation that may turn around his raincloud ways.  

A zesty screenplay from star Steve Coogan adapts the real Sixsmith’s “The Lost Child of Philomena Lee” balancing doses of meaningful character drama amongst potent religious commentary and stark moments of comedy. His acid wit underscored with her tender naivety, they are the quintessential odd couple.
 
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But as the film pokes along, it only really finds its footing when Philomena emerges as a comic presence. Her unexpected sexual asides catch the audience off guard and proves that there may be more behind her mousy-mopped facade than we expected at first glance. And once this Philomena as comic is out of the box, anything less from her feels flat – a sour disappointment.

Moving from one act to the next, the film begins to feel fundamentally disjointed. The first act is moody and glum, a mirror of the cloud-raked weather of their London setting. The second Washington D.C.-set act reveals newfound buoyancy after discovering the humor of the piece. But comedy is interrupted by tragedy and by the time the third act rolls around and we wind up in Ireland, the inflammatory and revelatory conundrum we’re put in finds both audience and characters doing a bit of a ballet on eggshells.

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We want to stand in Martin’s corner, lambasting the outrage of it all but we can’t help but marvel at Philomena’s incredible gifts of serenity. She’s the one who has been wronged and yet she is the only one capable of Biblical forgiveness. “I don’t want to be like you,” Philomena says, “I don’t want to spend my life hating people.” Hers is a power message to be sure but I’d be damned if it all the injustice doesn’t make you want to jump up and strangle someone.

Controversy stirred up by the MPAA and the Weinstein Company over the film’s rating – it was originally R but contested and changed to PG-13 – may have been a play to put this film more in the public eye but it’s clearly not a film that many youngsters will find much interest in. It’s thoughtful, sweet, and even challenging at times but it’s far from exciting and even tetters on the edge on boring at times.

Stephen Frears‘ effort is good at twisting our emotions but it’s not always clear which way he wants to twist them. Whether or not he’s intended to leave his audience feeling muddled and unsure, that is what he achieves. There’s tightly packed power packed in Philomena but I’m not entirely convinced that Frear knows where to aim his punches.

B

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Out in Theaters: FROZEN

“Frozen”
Directed by Chris Buck, Jennifer Lee
Starring Kristen Bell, Josh Gad, Idina Menzel, Jonathan Groff, Santino Fontana, Alan Tudyk, Ciarán Hinds, Chris Williams, Stephen J. Anderson

Animation, Adventure, Comedy
108 Mins
PG

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Although still lacking the gilded touch that made the likes of Aladdin, Lion King, and Beauty and the Beast such timeless classics, Frozen is a rock solid addition to the post-hand-drawn Disney musical stable and is the best animated feature of the year by a good margin.

Made up of a relatively unknown vocal talent, Frozen values story and song more than an all-star cast and kitschy pop culture jokes, making it an experience that’ll warm the most curmudgeonly of hearts and a film rich with beautifully-realized animation that keeps the wow factor buzzing for children and adults alike.

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The new roster of tunes sound inspired by an alluring amalgamation of Inuit folk songs and bubbly fad-pop songs the likes of Katy Perry. And while some songs are a little too bright for the taste of a self-respecting mid-twenties male, each has a narrative purpose accompanying its infectious melodic tendencies that all blend perfectly into the fabric of the story.

Eight new songs from Kristen Anderson-Lopez (In Transit, Winnie the Pooh) and Tony Award winner Robert Lopez (“The Book of Mormon,” “Avenue Q”) are sure to inspire a whole new generation set to commit these catchy songs to memory. The best of which is the opening, near teary-eyed, “Do You Want to Build a Snowman?” and the witty anthem courtesy of reanimated snowman Olaf (Josh Gad)- who is destined to be a favorite for all – in the openly hysterical “In Summer.”

Listening to these tunes, it’s clear why A-list celebrities have been sidelined for more undecided stars – they can all sing…and they can sing well. Unlike earlier Disney musical endeavors, no voice performer is swapped out for a sound-a-like. Keeping this narrative bridge consistent allows character to enliven their songs with the necessary emotional weight or comic vibrancy needed for the scene. But will they stand the test of time to join the ranks of “Tale as Old as Time,” “Circle of Life,” or “A Whole New World”? Probably not.
 
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Loosely based on Hans Christian Andersen’s “The Snow Queen,” a non-Grimm fairy tale from 1845 that sees evil trolls, amnesiac kisses, and the Devil himself, Frozen pursues the sugarcoated stylings we’ve come to expect of Disney that champions heart over heinousness and works all the better for it.

In the royal town of Arendelle, we meet a newly crafted version of Andersen’s Snow Queen in Elsa (Idina Menzel), a withdrawn but hopeful young girl with magical powers of icy consequence. Quartered out of site after a childhood accident that nearly saw the death of her fearless younger sister, and this story’s other central heroine, Anna (Kristen Bell), Elsa’s loving but misguided parents instill in her a mantra the close cousin of Gandalf’s “Keep it secret, keep it safe.” But throbbing beneath Elsa’s poised veneer is an unflinching desire to break free of the taut regulations that years of secrecy have instilled in her.

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Since we all know the most perilous job in the Disney kingdom is parenthood, it’s no surprise that the young princesses’ parents are lost in a storm at sea, leaving Elsa to take up the mantle of Queen when she reaches the ripe age of womanhood. Years later, on her coronation day, Elsa’s buried abilities are shaken loose by an overeager Anna whose heart is newly set on marrying prince Hans (Santino Fontana), whom she met just hours earlier. Unhinged by a sense of crumbling familial guardianship, Elsa unwittingly lets loose years of repressed icy powers to cover her island community in a blanket of eternal winter. Finally, the town’s people see her for what she really is – a sorceress lacking the most basic semblance of control.  

Deemed a monster by the unscrupulous tradesmen passing through Arendelle on a business trip, fatally cute, and morbidly naive, Anna employs the help of ice salesman Kristoff (Jonathan Groff) and his reindeer BFF Sven to locate her escaped sister and return the city to prosperity before it’s too late. The normative fairy tale lessons of “Don’t judge a book by its cover” and “Be true to yourself” are pounded home but the dichotomy of two princesses each struggling with their own separate but equal identity crises is a new chapter in the Disney princess manual.

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After absolutely dominating the 90s with some of the best animated features, Disney suffered a nosedive in quality that saw the likes of Treasure Planet, Bolt, Atlantis: The Lost Empire, and Meet the Robinsons flail and fall into obscurity, a side effect of their unwillingness to change with the ebb of culture. Halting their dominant reign (that unarguably stopped after 1998’s Mulan), newcomers Pixar started their own golden age which took the wind out of Disney’s sails. Bookending the period of Disney’s supremacy and the coming of Pixar’s rising star, Disney faded from the spotlight.

But with their recent string of successes, made up of 2010’s Tangled, last year’s Wreck it Ralph and now Frozen, it seems that Disney is finally back on top as the animation studio to beat. Although the hand-drawn days of animation have come to a close, the same immaculately rendered, noticeably loving detail is put into each and every breathtaking sequence in Frozen. This not only has resulted in an animated feature worthy of Disney’s legacy but it’s essentially is assured Frozen a win at this year’s Oscar ceremonies.

Adapting to a new generation of tech-savvy, open-minded youngsters, the House of Mouse also gives some much-needed wiggle room for Frozen to step away from Disney’s legacy of antiquated sexual identities, chartering a new and exciting course for post-feminist Disney princesses. Our main heroine may still be a landlocked princess but a smooch from a prince may not be the ultimate life bandaid we’ve seen in a thousand children’s tales before. Rather, true love is found in self-discovery, or simply etched in the fiber of the nuclear family. This is a new brand of lesson in a new social climate, one where the tenants of yesteryear cease to dictate the values of tomorrow.

B+

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Out in Theaters: NEBRASKA

“Nebraska”
Directed by Alexander Payne
Starring Will Forte, Bruce Dern, June Squibb, Bob Odenkirk, Stacy Keach, Mary Louise Wilson, Kevin Kunkel
Adventure, Drama
115 Mins
R
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Nebraska
starts with the old school painted mountains of the Paramount logo, a veiled reminder of the golden days of the USA, and jumps into an austere black-and-white landscape of Montana as Bruce Dern‘s Woody Grant stumbles down the snowy strip of government manicured grass between some train tracks and a largely vacant highway. Convinced he has won a million dollar prize, Woody’s intent on claiming his winnings in Nebraska even if that means walking the entire eight hundred mile trip on foot. A reminder of how off the tracks his life has veered, Woody sees his not-too-good-to-be-true grand prize as a means to a life he never had – a golden ticket to meaningfulness and utility long lost.

Reinvention is not that simple though, a fact illustration by the simple reality that Woody’s prize is very clearly a scam – the stuff of Mega Sweepstakes mailing centers intent on pawning off China-made trinkets or magazine subscriptions. His family knows the truth of this hollow sham and treats his bullheaded demand to head southeast as a warning sign that he might be more than ready for a retirement home but Woody remains steadfast in his plans for great fortune.

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Not ready to admit that his dad may have one too many screws loose, David (Will Forte) knows that there is nothing to come from Woody’s scam of a prize slip and yet agrees to take his grumbling father to Nebraska as a sort of last hurrah, a goodbye bonding road trip – a final way to spend some time with his seemingly fading pops. Along the way, they stop off at Rushmore where the cantankerous Woody hysterically riffs on America’s great monument (“It doesn’t look finished to me”) before then misplacing his teeth along, yet another, set of railroad tracks. Buzzing along towards impending disappointment, the camera eyes static horizon shots, with endless stretches of bleak farmland serving as visual commentary of the washed up wasteland that industry America has become. It’s left in its place a black-and-white relic of the once prosperous plains.

In these bowels of middle America, Alexander Payne finds sidesplitting humor in banality. Scenes of awkward family tension are as side-splittingly funny as watching people on their deathbeds count their many losses is tragic. Seeing how dreams wither and disappointment sets so deep in your bones it becomes indistinguishable from your DNA may prove too heavy a task for those seeking a sunshine and smiles kind of ride. No matter how jet-black the comedy and how biting the drama, it’s the careful balance of the two that makes Payne’s admittedly glum work shine so bright. Searching for the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, Woody, and by extension Payne, sees tomorrow as an unwritten page.

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Woody is a man of principles, no matter how skewed they may be and how stubbornly he sticks by them. He drinks too much and is a champion of his own independence (even though at this rate he will most like be on a Depends regiment in the next few years) but it’s clear that he is not a man who can live on his own. Enter wife Kate Grant. The realist ying to Woody’s eternally confused and tragically hopefully yang, June Squibb‘s Kate is the foundation for both Woody as a character and Dern as a performer. Without her blunt tell-em-as-it-is attitude, his blundering air-headed status would lack grounding.

Surly and confused as he may seem, Woody is more than meets the eye though, a fact that David learns when they visit Woody’s hometown. As people catch wind of Woody’s “good fortune” and flock to him looking for handouts, we see the real Woody as he welcomes family and friends coming out of the woodwork to beg like smiling buzzards. And as Woody claims his 15 minutes of fame, we also begin to realize that for all of his knuckle-headed nincompoopery, he’s a man who gives without regard, all brought to life by Dern’s hilarious and heartbreaking performance.

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For this leading role, Dern is poised for some serious recognition. Even if he misses an Oscar shot (2013 has quickly become an extremely crowded year for Best Actor), he’s secure in nabbing nominations for the Indie Spirit Awards, Emmys and the like. There are few that would disagree that he’s earned it. And although her role isn’t as immediately noticeable as Dern’s, June Squibb has us convinced from moment one that she is Kate Grant. Foul-mouthed and sassy as she is heavy-set, she waddles her way to an inevitable showcase of Oscar moments and should be counted amongst those assured a nomination for Best Supporting Actress. For this part, Will Forte too becomes more than just a comedian. Although he’s the rock from which these other performers vault, his own performance is reined in and earnest – the mark of an actor who has matured greatly since his tenure as MacGruber at SNL.

Rolling sharp comedy and painstaking commentary into one is no easy task, but it’s one that Payne has all but mastered. Nebraska may not be as biting and manic as Sideways or as graceful and beautifully filmed as The Descendants but it has a life and energy all of its own, one that, much like Woody, is entirely unpredictable.

A-

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Out In Theaters: DELIVERY MAN

“Delivery Man”
Directed by Ken Scott
Starring Vince Vaughn, Chris Pratt, Cobie Smulders, Andrzej Blumenfeld, Bobby Moynihan, Britt Robertson, Jack Reynor, Dave Patten, Adam Chanler-Berat
Comedy
103 Mins
PG-13

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Whether our viewing sensibilities are just outgrowing Vince Vaughn or people just aren’t writing good showcases for him, it is undeniable that his career is not what it once was. Wedding Crashers came out eight years ago. Let that sink in. I’m of the opinion that the problem has been the material. Ken Scott directs the remake of his own 2011 film Starbuck, which provides an avenue for Vaughn to branch out a little from his typical snarkiness. The result is a surprisingly heartwarming film, if not a bit on the forced side. With some serious revisions, this could have been a great film.

 Comedies these days have such farcical plots that you have to just roll with it. If the idea of a man being hunted down by over a hundred of his own illegitimate children doesn’t instantly set off your BS meter, you can probably handle Delivery Man’s multitude of plot holes, inconsistencies, and “yeah right” moments. In reality, the contract of an anonymous sperm donor is rock solid. In the world of Delivery Man, however, David Wozniak has to deal with the fact that 142 of his 500 plus sperm donations are suing to know his identity. On top of this, he has to deal with becoming a “real” father as he accidentally knocked up his on-again-off-again girlfriend.

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After Vaughn learns the identity of the lawsuit children, he takes to stalking them and playing guardian angel. Stalking one of his “daughters”, he defends her from catcalls. For a musician “son”, he encourages donations to his street performances. One particularly offensive thing is the way Scott portrays a daughter who overdoses on heroin. Vaughn has the opportunity to send the 17-year old addict to rehab, but instead chooses to take it on faith that she can handle it herself, making it painfully obvious that Scott has never dealt with drug addiction in any capacity. For anyone reading this, in case you didn’t know, send them to rehab. Disappointingly (for the films own potential), she keeps her word to this man she has never met before, presumably kicking her nasty drug habit and becoming a tax-paying citizen overnight. What a great opportunity to teach Vaughn’s character a harsh lesson about parenthood wasted.

Parks and Recreation star Chris Pratt plays opposite Vaughn, as his comically stupid lawyer friend. Their exchanges are often hilarious, but still fail to carry the necessary weight, given how much screen time they take up. Pratt brings much of the films comedy, but might conflict a little too much with the realism of the film. It seemed the writers could not decide whether to make Pratt the responsible one of the duo, or to make him Homer Simpson. He alternates between the two, but plays both roles well. In some scenes, he gives lucid legal advice to Vaughn, while other scenes show him being entirely cartoonish. It may be a nitpick, but it just shows another symptom of a sloppy screenplay, that such a crucial character is not entirely focused. His childlike demeanor in the courtroom scenes exist to show just how open-and-shut this case is.

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Vaughn’s character also owes 80 grand to some seedy folk, adding a sense of urgency to the film that feels artificial. This is basic screenwriting 101 stuff. A plot device like this should be more ingrained within the film. It ends up being his reason for countersuing the sperm donation facility for defamation. Wouldn’t greed be a much more interesting motivator, though? Also, this falls flat because the stakes of his trial aren’t that serious. There should be some consequences when his children find out who he is. Instead, they are joyous and relieved. This is all fine and good for the feel-good factor, but I wanted some more authenticity added to the stakes.

In the end, Delivery Man doesn’t quite have the comedic chops to be a great comedy, nor does it have the dramatic chops to be a great dramedy. And that is the problem. No matter how much I was enjoying the movie, I just felt it wasn’t something I would ever want to come back to. When I think of any film that I love, I think of those classic moments, moments which were sorely missed in Delivery Man. Still, there are a lot worse films in theaters right now and this one is quite enjoyable.

C

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Out in Theaters: THE HUNGER GAMES: CATCHING FIRE

“The Hunger Games: Catching Fire
Directed by Francis Lawrence
Starring Jennifer Lawrence, Josh Hutcherson, Liam Hemsworth, Woody Harrelson, Donald Sutherland, Stanley Tucci, Lenny Kravitz, Paula Malcomson, Willow Shields, Elizabeth Banks, Phillip Seymour Hoffman, Toby Jones, Jeffrey Wright
Action, Adventure, Sci-Fi
144 Mins
PG-13

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Katniss Everdeen may be the girl on fire and Jennifer Lawrence may be Hollywood hot stuff (du jour), but this second installment of The Hunger Games is only slightly smoldering. In fact, the embers have already started to go cold. All the requisite franchise pieces are there to stoke the billion dollar conflagration this dystopian blockbuster is sure to light, but the overwhelming feeling that there is little spark behind the bark leaves us chilled to all this talk of fire.

Katniss and Peeta (Josh Hutcherson) have returned “safely” from the 74th Hunger Games but now they face the red hot wrath of President Snow (Donald Sutherland), who’s now breathing down their necks. Their final act of near-berry-gobbling defiance in the last film has led to stirrings of revolution across the districts. Through Katniss’ willingness to sacrifice herself to preserve her moral scruples, the country stands newly empowered. Unwittingly, Katniss has located a kink in the armor of Snow’s totalitarian society and must now suffer the price.

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The seeds of hope Katniss and Peeta have planted, Snow plans to stomp out. He supposes that the country’s cautious optimism towards a new tomorrow can be quelled if Katniss and Peeta maintain the facade of their romance. By making them one of his own kind, they will become symbols of corruption – a constantly broadcast morphing into the upper class. But all of this is predicated on their selling their “true love” like it’s Oprah Winfrey coach hour. Anything that would even suggest their affection is a muse would be the equivalent of open rebellion and would lead Snow to “take care of” both Katniss and Peeta’s families mobster style. When Snow realizes that the country may not turn against the star-crossed apples of their eye, he launches a new scheme that will pit them, and former victors, again each other again. 

In spite of these constant death threats, Catching Fire lacks breathless moments of white knuckle suspense. No matter how many times the dialogue, aided by Sutherland’s ripe delivery, insist that Katniss and her loved ones are teetering on the precipice of danger, there is little to convince us that anyone could actually be offed. In a franchise like this, everyone is too padded to actually face death. No harm will last more than a few hours, no scar will be too deep to heal. We know Katniss has no expiration date as the franchise train booms towards a fourth film and so any threat towards her – or her cohort’s – life feels paper thin.

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And while the first film held a flicker of filmmaking as rebellion, everything about this one screams studio control and designed realism. It all feels so reined in, so calculated in its darkness, and so badly wanting to break free of its PG-13 constraints that it can’t help but lose track of the meaning behind the books. In trying to reel in the masses (and their wallets), Catching Fire as Hollywood product is almost exactly what “Catching Fire” as commentary rages against – turning its back on the central message of stoic individualism against the oppressive tyranny of the elite. The hand of the studio is omnipresent – although hardly malevolent – and there seems to be little to no room for creative flair in the directorial department. Again, big business trumps individual spirit.

Sorely missing is Gary Ross’s urgent camerawork and tight closeups that gave The Hunger Games such a sense of realism. Instead of jammed close in on character’s faces and sharing in their ghastly horror, we feel distant, an observer. With edge-of-your-seat scenes largely tabled, Francis Lawrence goes for something much more horrific – a near 12 Years a Slave for kids. One scene depicting poisonous fog is particularly distressing and uncharacteristically grim for a film of this rating. On the brink of being “too dark,” there is little artistry behind the darkness that feels more like “gritty per popular demand.”

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Shying away from the close quarters, almost independent film-esque combat of the first flick, the violence in Catching Fire is staged like the many CGI heavy blockbusters of late. Much violence take place offscreen, in a wide zoom, or in rapid, random bursts, making death almost as inconsequential as it is in a Pierce Brosnan James Bond movie. While the first film saw Katniss struggling with the murder of other children, this film sees her adversaries stripped of that very feature that made their slaughter so perverse and unsettling in the first place. Instead, these adult competitors become faceless baddies in another adventure film.

This franchise middle-child also suffers a pretty rough case of inbetweener syndrome, where it only works within the context of a larger story and not as a standalone film. While it propels what began in the first film into the coming finale, it lacks the finesse of a great middler. Without the pure adrenaline of The Two Towers and the tonal twists and turns of Empire Strikes Back, Catching Fire just carries on the torch, readying it for the next billion dollar installment. Although the bleak-o-meter has been cranked up, the stakes remain largely the same: do or die. 

As sets the gears to full throttle for the inevitable two-part conclusion, we ask, “Haven’t we seen this all before?” The skies have darkened and life on Panem is more unbearable than ever but for all the barrels of darkness and grit-drenched scenery, there is familiarity to this racetrack of escalation that we’ve seen in greater franchises (Lord of the Rings, Star Wars, Harry Potter).

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But for all of my complaints and griping, The Hunger Games: Catching Fire is still a smarter than average blockbuster. It’s hard to finger where the $140+ million budget went – none of the special effects are noteworthy – but hopefully most of it is going towards the performers, as they continue to be the strongest selling point of this franchise. However, it’s the supporting characters who outshine the love-locked trio. Stanley Tucci is simply a riot (and possibly the best part of the film) and Elizabeth Banks is as wacky and invisible in her character as ever. Even Woody Harrelson‘s haunted alcoholic Haymitch has more depth than before and seems to be more commited to the emotional toil of his role than many of his co-stars. And however lackluster some of the CGI is, the set design gives us a rock solid sense of place and tone.

Finally, fans of the source material will have little to complain about since the book is adapted to the T. But when all is said and done, it’s just not a terribly exciting movie and one which I don’t expect to return to. Really feeling the sting of its “part of a whole” status, Catching Fire is better at blowing smoke than fanning the flames. 

C+

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Out In Theaters: THE BEST MAN HOLIDAY

“The Best Man Holiday”
Directed by Malcom D. Lee
Starring Taye Diggs, Morris Chestnut, Monica Calhoun, Melissa De Sousa, Regina Hall, Terrence Howard, Sanaa Lathan, and Nia Long
Comedy, Drama
123 Mins
R

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The Best Man Holiday is half of a fun Christmas comedy. The other half is a way-too-long, predictable, cliché of a drama. It’s fitting that Malcolm D. Lee is Spike Lee’s cousin, as they are the opposite kind of black filmmakers. Spike’s films focus on social problems and have something to say, while Malcom makes crowd-pleasers. This isn’t to say that there isn’t a place for crowd-pleasing films aimed at aging black women, they’re just not necessarily my cup of tea. If internet demographics are any indications, and you are reading this, it probably isn’t for you either.

That said, the screening I attended was the most packed I’ve ever been to. A crowded venue laughed endlessly, hooted, hollered, and cracked jokes the entire way through, while absolutely eating up Lee’s work, making the experience much more enjoyable. As I have not seen The Best Man, I felt like I wasn’t in on some of the jokes, but the film starts with a summary of the first that did a good job of catching me up. I half expected it to say, “Previously on The Best Man” like a new season of a BET series.

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To be as objective as possible, the first half of this is a clever comedy script, with several good laughs. Every character has a distinct personality, their own agenda, and they riff off each other well. Terrence Howard stole the show in his scenes, playing the comic relief in a film where every character has Whedon syndrome (they are far too clever for their own good). He also provided some of the only enjoyable moments in the awful second half. Taye Diggs returns as Harper, the intellectual writer, desperate for money, who is trying to cash in on his famous football star friend Lance. Of course, every character is ridiculously famous and successful because this film is predicated on pure realism.

Unfortunately, the women in the film are defined by their male counterparts. They exist to mediate misunderstandings and scarcely talk about anything other than men, while also being at each other’s throats over previous sexual encounters with some of their respective spouses. Make no mistake, these characters were written by a man.

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A convention that really needs to go, because it is pure lazy writing, is this: the misunderstanding that would be easily explained away, but the character does not try to explain it or the other party won’t listen. For example, every romantic comedy, where the protagonist gets kissed for a split second by a drunken girl, right as his significant other walks in. She will walk out and he will say, “No. Wait.” But he won’t do anything else. This convention is used three times in this film and every times it is so poorly executed that you see it coming miles away. Making it more disgraceful is how blatant it is. The character literally says, “Wow it would really look bad if so-and-so saw this out of context.”  Gee, I wonder what’s going to happen. The problems inevitably work themselves out, even though the easy explanation never happens.

All of this isn’t enough, as Lee wants to drink your tears. The serious turn in the second half is so laughable that it was like one of those extremely satirical “dramatic” South Park episodes. To call it a spoiler would be as big an insult to your intelligence as calling your inevitable aging a spoiler, but I will refrain. This plot device brings everyone together, making everyone bummed out, before making them eventually triumphant. It wouldn’t be shocking to find out that Judd Apatow was responsible for the final cut of this nonsense.

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Meandering, preachy, and cliché, there is nothing else to say about it. Every serious scene ends with a Terrence Howard line to try and lighten the mood, but it’s not enough in a film stuck dragging its feet in an otherwise pleasant Christmas comedy. The only thing Christmasy about this film, though, are the religious overtones at the end, as some of the characters talk at length about the importance of faith and prayer, while briefly touching on the problem of evil. Other than that, this has more penis jokes and cat fights than any other Christmas movie I’ve ever seen.

I know I’m repeating myself here, but there is really so little about this film that isn’t surface and contrived. If there were more to warrant a merit-based discussion, this wouldn’t be such a scathing review. Hey, though, if you only have 50 minutes and like this kind of humor, catch the first half and read a synopsis of the second. If you loved the first film, you will probably like this, as you probably have a lot more investment in these characters. For a first time viewer, though, it fails to build that bond. It’s one of the few movies I recommend seeing with a crowd. That means it’s bad.

D+

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Out in Theaters: BLUE IS THE WARMEST COLOR

“Blue is the Warmest Color”
Directed by Abdellatif Kechiche
Starring Adèle Exarchopoulos, Léa Seydoux, Salim Kechiouche, Mona Walravens, Jérémie Laheurte, Catherine Salée, Aurélien Recoing
Drama, Romance
179 Mins
NC-17

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Before seeing Blue is the Warmest Color, ask yourself: am I interested in seeing two women in the buff pleasuring each other in unprecedented NC-17 fashion? Even if the answer is yes, there’s still a good chance you’ll find yourself squeamish, crunched in a theater surrounded by strangers as two au naturel ladies hump on screen like jackrabbits OD-ing on Viagra. Although Lars Von Trier‘s slated 5-hour sexual odyssey Nymphomania (sigh) will probably outdo anything set to screen here, Blue is the Warmest Color certainly charters new ground in terms of sexual depictions onscreen at this particular moment in time. But regardless of how risqué the scenes of full-blown love making are here, they add nothing to the context of the story and in one fell swoop redefine masturbatory filmmaking.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for some girl-on-girl action but I’d much rather experience that in the comfort of my own home rather than sitting next to a 65-year old gawking geyser who’s probably never heard of the internet. All the spanking, rug-munching, and disappearing fingers makes the audience uncomfortable and, it seems to me, that that is not the intention of filmmaker Abdellatif Kechiche. I’m not one to balk at gratuitousness in movies so long as it services the film. Here though, they’re just servicing each other. 

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The film centers on Adèle (Adèle Exarchopoulos) and how her sexual self-exploration parallels her growth as a person so it’s no wonder that we are to witness to some of the more carnal of her erotic acts. But by the time we get to these controversial lesbian love-making scenes, the hope is to unearth some kind of new found passion – a natural rigor unlocked from the union with another woman. Kechiche wants his audience to feel the explosive force of their love as we curl into our voyeur’s chair and watch the lovemaking unfold, but this “making love” looks a lot more like banging, and there’s little to “feel” other than a rumbling in your pant’s region. The lengthy scenes to follow are simply pornographic, making this just about the worst movie in the world that you could see with your mother.

Criticism of controversy aside, Blue is the Warmest Color itself stands out for its down to earth look at human relationship and depth of character. However easy it may be for some feeble-brained individuals to simplify Adèle down to the most basic elements of her lesbianism, she is remarkable because of her sexual complexity. More than being straight or gay or bi, Adèle is sexuality as experimentation. A pinch of this, a taste of that, all’s good in her witch’s brew of fleshy exploration. Rather than stick to the narrow road society has laid for expectations of lesbian culture, Kechiche sees his characters as people first and foremost, women second, a gay lastly. No matter what label we adhere to, he says, we are all sexual beings overflowing with desire and helplessly jealous. After all, we’re just human.

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From her electric blue hair to her eccentric allure, Léa Seydoux‘s Emma’s unorthodox simplicity is a puzzle for Adèle. While Adèle sorts out her way through her world, Emma is steadfast in hers, a statue of self-secure lesbianism. Adèle can’t quite seem to get a read on the doting Emma and her personal brand of traditionalism. They are ying and yang, point and counterpoint – a memento of a familiar relationship we’ve all had. Every time Adèle shies away from watchful eye of the masses, Emma embraces it. As the film winds on, they circle each other, souls intertwined but never blended into one. However close they come, they cannot see the world through each other’s perspective.

Adèle‘s internal confusion is counterbalanced with a wholesome dose of curiosity. She’s eternally insecure, never really willing to commit to one side of herself or another before she’s sampled every treat in the candy shop. Society’s resolute demand for conformity is probably what prompts her to torture herself with thoughts of self-identification. Is she gay? Is she bi? Is she straight? Kechiche’s film says: it doesn’t matter either way. At any rate, it’s the process of trying to fit everything into a box that causes this toxic brand of internal confusion.

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As Adèle navigates her way down the long path of figuring herself out, we gain incredible insight into the mind of a fence-sitter – a woman gravitating towards that with the strongest pull in the moment. Years pass and Emma’s electric hair fades to cool blue and eventually into a mousey brown mop as Adèle spirals in her own sink of sexual trial and error. We witness the ups and downs, the roots and fading foundations, and see a relationship raw and rounded.

But that intimacy comes with a price as the three-hour time tag is more than enough to drive people away. And for good reason. Adèle‘s introspective saga is complicated but unnecessarily lengthy, another example of excess in a film brimming with it. With 15-minutes or so of pure porn (which has already become more of a talking point than its victory at this year’s Cannes Film Festival) there is more than enough that could have easily been cut to produce a sharper, cleaner film. Sadly enough, it seems that the allure of the NC-17 might be more provocative than the result.

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Seydoux and Exarchopoulos are so unwaveringly committed to the roles that there is no question as to how far they go to with each other, raising questions about where the line ought to be drawn between method acting and smut. But beyond their bare-bodied romps, they each offer intimate portrayals of flawed characters, embodying their characters with the stuff of masters – suffering their inadequacies and reveling in their joy.

Despite how fleshed out Adèle, Emma, and their relationship are, we still only need to know them so well to get the message and three hours gives us a much larger window than we ever need. Strangely enough, the story was adapted from a graphic novel by Julie Maroh and that probably accounts for the episodic, long-drawn nature of the film. But as this cuming-of-age story goes round and round, monotony sets in and we slowly start to not really care where Adèle and Emma get dropped off.

C+

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Out in Theaters: THE BOOK THIEF

“The Book Thief”
Directed by Brian Percival
Starring Sophie Nélisse, Geoffrey Rush, Emily Watson, Roger Allam, Nico Liersch, Kirsten Block
Drama, War
131 Mins
PG-13

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It’s not the first time we’ve seen a World War II movie rife with Holocaust themes and the omnipresent horrors of war nor will it be the last, but The Book Thief manages a healthy dose of thoughtful introspection and rock solid performances amidst extraneous narration a la the Grim Reaper. This narrative tactic might have worked fine in book form but in the film only serves to interrupt the sense of immediacy inherent to the lifeblood of film. Death the narrator comes in unannounced to smooth over the rough edges, blunting the emotion impact of sequences that should have been the most shocking and gut-wrenching. Each time the film reaches an emotional apex, Death takes the stage and narrates us through what we ought to be feeling like we’re reading a storybook about pretty ponies.

There is nothing wrong with finding beauty in death (look no further than American Beauty for proof) but this heavy-handed dictation is not the way to go about it. All attempts to undercut the passing of life with this kind of silver-lining holistic circle of life BS just reaps diminishing emotional return and sours the visceral oomph that the actors have worked so duteously to illicit. Blending high-art performances with scribbling story-booking, the prospects of greatness sour like milk in the sun. It’s truly a shame because there are elements of excellence peppered throughout the film and the inherent power of WWII’s history, which is never something to balk at, is explored from an interesting internal perspective.

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More than anything, the film could have used a more thorough editorial sweep to really hone in on tonal consistency as some elements, such as the grating voice over, jut out like sore thumbs. Rather than tug us deeper into the emotional climaxes, the premeditated status of “death as inevitability” only serves to only take us out of the moment and draws our attention to the bumbling, childlike side of the storytelling. When the saga should soar, it instead sags.

Based on the 2006 novel that stretches 550 pages long, The Book Thief begins with a slow pan through the billowy smoke of a  train tumbling towards Germany like a black bullet. On that train rides Liesel, a shy illiterate girl, and her younger brother. Before they arrive at their destination, Liesel’s little brother dies, presumably a result of malnutrition sustained during his lengthy journey through the bowels of pre-war Germany, and sets in motion her vibrant and intuitive moral compass. On cue with her arrival to a country on the brink of a wicked social reinvention, the passing of Liesel’s younger sibling is an appropriate welcoming into this darkening realm that will soon breed sorrow and loss.

Although her adoptive mother, Rosa, is at first as stony as a Felsenbeisser, her new foster papa, Hans, is a heart barely dressed in human skin. He radiates love and understanding and quickly takes Liesel under his paternal wing, teaching her to read and cultivating her love of books and knowledge with his subterranean wall-to-wall chalkboard. Just bristling with spindles of affection, Geoffrey Rush is a fountain of warmth as Hans. His performance is perfectly balanced – a potpourri of optimism and grief, empathy and anguish. For as much eternal hope and internal goodness wells within him, he can’t help but recognize society morally melting around him.

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And as cantankerous as foster mother Rosa (Emily Watson) may seem as first, her character arc is one of the most satisfying and nuanced of the film. Even young Sophie Nélisse is quietly magnetic as Liesel, transcending the label of child actress and putting in a performance well beyond her years. As 2013 ends, she ought to be positioned at the forefront of emerging young talent because her work here is nothing less than staggering. As much as we appreciate and empathize with the core supporting characters, it’s Nélisse who guides us through the visceral darkness – a beacon of light in a vacuum of hope.

As antisemitic currents sweep through Germany, Liesel intuitively picks up on the silent horror of a changing ethos. A scene where she is singing an ironically sweet, almost songbird, antisemitic anthem and then halts her warble mid-song picturesquely captures the dawning of a new understanding. All this preaching of hatred, however cloaked in the angelic voices of children, is poison.

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But for every two steps forward the film takes in terms of thoughtful impact, it takes one back. Without fail, every time the story peaks, it reveals just how hard it’s trying to invoke an emotional reaction. Miscalculating more for more, the film has an unfortunate tendency to overstay its welcome and beat the dead horse black and blue. The most egregious instance of this comes in the final moment where the film pulls a Return of the King triple ending. Had it ended a scene or two earlier, sans voiceover, it would have been an extremely powerful and poignant statement. As it is, it’s overdrawn and self-defeating. Instead of going out with understated subtlety, it reminds you over and over again of its intention, as persistent as a politician.

Closing the book on this slipshod endeavor, The Book Thief is a film divided against itself. There are many elements of the film deserving of love but director Brian Percival is constantly sucking the wind from beneath his own wings. At once emotionally sound and fiercely melodramatic, the film, had it underwent a quick trip to the reel barber, could have been shaved into something truly excellent. As it stands, it’s modestly good and mildly powerful but lacking the vitality of a more tactful director.

C+

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Out in Theaters: DIANA

“Diana”
Directed by Oliver Hirschbiegel
Starring Naomi Watts, Naveen Andrews, Douglas Hodge, Cas Anvar, Daniel Pirrie, Charles Edwards, Geraldine James
Biography, Drama, Romance
113 Mins
PG-13

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A princess locked away in her castle has never been quite as dull as in Diana. Even her knight in shining armor is a touchy troglodyte, so petrified of being in the public eye that he’d sooner bury his passion under a callused doctoral turtle shell than mumble “I love you” one more time. Diana keeps telling us to root for this unlikely and spotted relationship and yet we see it clearly for how fickle and irrevocably broken it is, eviscerating all emotional attachment and leaving its audience with cold feet.

While Diana the woman was a visionary humanitarian, Diana the movie is blind to its own half-baked inconsequentiality – a relic of biography as bore that has no place in the rom-com market it nearly exists in. A shining example of the tail wagging the dog, Diana is tugged through the mud with its lackluster “universal love story” front and center, a mistakenly proud icon of this flunky biopic.

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Rather than focusing on Princess Diana’s chest of civil achievements, Oliver Hirschbiegel contents himself with this turkey of a love story. In doing so, he misses out on establishing historical interest and wholly makes us wonder why he chose to make a film about Diana at all since this lame love story could have belonged to pretty much anyone else.

Entirely uninterested in stirring the pot, Diana presents events that take place behind closed doors as fact and headlines as monuments to her character. With a narrative that’s pierced by moments of tabloid iconography and held in place by the glue of hearsay, there’s nothing to learn about Diana here apart from that one fated schoolgirl crush on an unlikable doctor.

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As Diana, Naomi Watts is sadly unremarkable. Rather than a woman of action, she drifts like a puppy dog, hopping from cause to cause like they’re islands in the tropics, never taking a moment for deeper introspection. While Watts assumes some of Diana’s physical tendencies, there is little to award for her performance as Diana: The Princess of Tedium. Naveen Andrews is similarly disappointing, embodying a character that you never really like much less fall in love with. It’s hard to tell though how much fault belongs to Andrews though as his character is unfitting of this love saga – his hardened, driven persona incongruous with the stuff of true love fables.

Worse than the parts of their two fruitless performances is its sum. Even a blind man could see that there is no great love here. In fact, there hardly seems to be any love at all. Chemistry between Andrews and Watts is mostly invisible and consistently as sultry as a wool blanket. Little more than a wet dream fantasy overcooked in an Easy Bake Oven of delusion, their relationship is borderline pathetic, much less inspiring.

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Having based the entire film around this floundering relationship, Hirschbiegel has set it up for inevitable failure. In romance, there is joy, but there is no joy here. No, just a wandering stream of historical conscientiousness built on a creaky foundation of overwrought infatuation.

Perhaps most unforgivable of all is how long Diana seems to stretch on – it’s an endless desert of enjoyment without the mirage of anything better to come. A mere ten minutes in, I was checking my watch. From there on out, it hardly improves.

The most harrowing aspects of Diana’s life are surely found in her relationship with her celebrity status but even that is treated with clumsy hands. For Diana, every outing is a exercise in dodging her inescapable fandom. The claustrophobia of the public forum – a space that’s constantly transformed into the most intimate of photo shoots – is palpably noxious. But as she waffles between celebrity and infamy, her relationship with the press remains largely unchanged, as if no one thought to account for the impact of her shifting public persona.

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For all the psychological trauma that these snapping cameras seem to cause Diana, little light is shed on her emotional burden. Rather, Hirschbiegel vilifies the press – here seen as an animalistic force operating solely under the “sharks to blood” mentality. Like a maiden set for sacrifice, Diana’s destruction comes across as inevitable. As if her high horse was just waiting to buck her off while everyone snapped photos and passed judgment. But for all of the supposing about Diana’s frail mental state, nothing ever sets. There’s nothing definitive about Diana in Diana, a film that is definitively dull.

There must have been some attempt along the way to reciprocate Diana’s perpetual boredom, a state brought upon by her princess locked away in a tower qualities, but boring your audience is something else entirely – something you steer clear of at all expenses. Closer in kind to a Hallmark movie than any biopic of substance, this torpid film gives ennui the royal treatment.

D-

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Out in Theaters: THOR: THE DARK WORLD

Between Chris Hemsworth‘s washboard abs and the razzle-dazzle signature FX of Marvel‘s brand, Thor: The Dark World uses blinding awesomeness to cast shade on its portended plotting. First and foremost a Marvel movie, this second (or third if you’re counting The Avengers) outing for the God of Thunder rounds all of the superhero studio’s likely bases, but a gilded touch from Game of Thrones director Alan Taylor helps bring an epic scope to the proceedings. Far exceeding the first film in terms of visual panache and high stakes action beats, the crowning gem of the Thor camp continues to be Tom Hiddleston‘s Loki. Deviant, seething, and locked away for treason, Loki may not be as much of a focal point as he was as the big baddie in The Avengers but he persists in being the most complex and unpredictable character in Marvel’s stable. Read More