It’s been a long, long time since the last edition of Weekly Review so this installment should realistically read more like Monthly Review butlet’s just pretend together here. Aside from some at home viewing that included getting through the first season of BBC’s Luther, which I’ve really begun to enjoy, some easily digestible watching with Gordon Ramsey’s Kitchen Nightmares, yet another watch of one of last year’s greatest films, and one of the best horror movies of all time, Cabin in the Woods, I made it to theaters to see screenings of The Heat and The Lone Ranger.

In light of the fact that I have been stockpiling these ones and have about six to cover, each will be a little shorter than usual but I’ll still try to communicate the gist of my feelings on the matter.

Jesse and Celeste Forever (2012)

A rom-com with a throbbing indie heart, this brainchild written by and starring the lovely Rashida Jones is an earnest if minor delight. Lonely Island and SNL funnyman Andy Samberg plays opposite Jones as her ex-husband slash best friend and their oddly close relationship makes people around them a little bit uncomfortable. Even though they are in the throes of a separation, these people are kindred spirits deeply in love with each other even though they know they just do not work as a couple.

The most substantial achievements in the film are rooted in the charming chemistry and clever interplay between Jones and Samberg. They bounce off of each other with a natural courtship that feels like years in the making that elevates this indie fare into a territory of earnest believability not often achieved. While it isn’t game-changing cinema, it’s indie fare at its strongest and is an easy recommendation for anyone, particularly a couple, looking for something funny, pleasant and charming.

B-

Fast Five (2011)

After hearing how piping hot the revitalized Fast and Furious franchise was, I felt compelled to see what all the hype was actually about. While Fast Five wasn’t quite the revelatory spectacle-driven blockbuster I half-expected, it was the irresistible equivalent of lemonade on a hot summer day: simple and spot-hitting. Even though it’s hard to look past the wooden acting, pitiable character development and contrived plot elements, it was exactly the type of high-octane mindless summer flick you need every once in a while.

With the emotional complexity of Transformers (note that the cars here don’t actually transform though), Fast Five does greatly benefit from the physical presence of the Rock, Dwayne Johnson.  The stony-faced Vin Diesel is as dull as ever but director Justin Lin focuses more on the open ensemble so that we’re not stuck alone with Diesel for too much time. Even as an effects piece, Lin’s film is passable but hardly raises the bar for set piece action. Although I’m intrigued to see how long the legs are on this seemingly unstoppable franchise, don’t count me amongst the mindless drones rushing out to blog about F8st & Furi8us.

C

Mama (2013)

From the auspicious roots of his Spanish short film, Andrés Muschietti‘s Mama is a film stilted by its Hollywood notions of dread. Missing are the practical effects that characterized the short and in its place are unconvincing computer generated images that rob us of the looming sense of dread that Muschietti is trying to foster.

With a solid cast that includes Academy Award nominated actress Jessica Chastain and Game of Thrones alum, Nikolaj Coster-Waldau, Mama squanders its talent with a mostly lame-duck script and the self-defeating decision to show too much too soon. Although the actual fright-inducing scares are mostly lacking, taking the backseat to forced jump scares, there is eeriness to the relationships at play. This Guillermo del Toro production does succeed in the atypical treatment of the two young girls abandoned and raised in the woods and their resulting psyches but it doesn’t take it to the level of psychological horror hinted at. Ultimately, even though the acting is better than most within the genre, there just aren’t enough scares and the evil ghost mama at the center is hardly frightening enough to maintain a full-length feature.

C-

Upstream Color (2013)

Shane Carruth‘s follow-up to the head-scratching Primer is a bold step towards wild originality and feverish auteurship. Mostly devoid of dialogue, Upstream Color is a cyclical tone poem that favors moody introspection to outright explanation. In fact, everything is so blanketed with metaphor that it’s essentially impossible to take anything concrete away from it. In many ways, that is what makes it an interesting and challenging experience. This is not the cinema you’ve become acclimated to as the closest thing to its fiercely originality is the more abstract work of Terrence Malick. But what prevails here is a sense of completeness that often alludes the meandering Malick.

In a brief synopsis, Upstream Color follows the journey of a woman who is placed under some drug-induced spell. As she attempts to reclaim her life in the aftermath, she meets a man who may just have undergone the same traumatic thing. Even though that sounds like a somewhat straightforward analysis of the film, it is far more open-ended, contemplative and thought provoking than a brief one-off could provide. While many will probably be frustrated and bored by this shamelessly avante garde style of filmmaking, it represents a step in a bold new direction that is almost universally shied away from.

B

Oz: The Great and Powerful (2013)

In the opening black-and-white moments of Oz, I thought to myself, “I don’t know what people were talking about, this is enjoyably tongue-in-cheek Raimi.” Smugly, I assumed that people were just unfamiliar with the idiosyncrasies of one of Hollywood’s most marketable and yet occult filmmakers. A mere ten minutes later, in the thick of the over-saturated trees of Oz, a facepalming was the only suitable response.

Oz: The Great and Powerful is so tone-deaf to its own childish tone that any play towards seriousness comes across like a knee-slapper for a quadriplegic. It is often shockingly bad and James Franco‘s self-satisfied Oz has the charisma of a stoned lion and the draw of his bombed-out Oscar hosting. His cringe-worthy smirks make you forget about the Franco you love, shifting gears into his being one of the most obnoxious performers in Hollywood. From the god-awful CGI landscapes to the detestable cast of characters completely lacking in any degree of rational or intelligent development, Oz represents the worst of the worst of blockbuster entertainment geared towards children. It’s a wonder that parents didn’t run screaming from the theaters.

D-

The Last Exorcism: Part 2 (2013)

To have gone from such a powerful, creepy first installment to this stick in the mud is almost unexplainable. Nonetheless, this is one of the least inspired, mindless examples of disposable horror cinema I can think of. Dropping the recovered footage framework, director Ed Gass-Donnelly has gone for a more conventional approach that catches up with Ashley Bell‘s Nell after the events of the previous film. She’s attempting to live out a normal life but people just keep creeping on her. For some inexplicable reason, the film takes her struggling to come to terms with life after the fact as the focal point of the feature and we feel like we’re watching an episode of WB television written by a blind monkey.

The Last Exorcism: Part 2 is nigh unwatchable and aside from being one of the most boring film experiences I can recount, it is shockingly poorly acted. Poor Bell reacts to things before they even happen and the cast surrounding her think that opening their eyes really big is a sign of thespian skill. Le sigh. The real shame is that The Last Exorcism came out of nowhere as a genuinely frightful event that deserved some due credibility within the horror community. This film however is like the ugly cousin that tags along, burns down the house and is responsible for all your friends going to jail. It’s hard to be cool after that.

F

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I spent a lot of time at SIFF screenings this week and got a chance to watch Populaire, The Spectacular Now, Ain’t Them Bodies Saints, V/H/S 2, The Way, Way Back and The East, the later of which are awaiting embargo lifts for reviews,as well as Star Trek Into Darkness. For the most part it was a rather exciting and busy couple of weeks at the theater so I didn’t have much time to watch much at home.
 

Jack Reacher (2012)

A tireless slog of a film that was dated the second it hit theaters, Jack Reacher finds a way to squander Tom Cruise‘s good-natured charm with exceedingly dull characters doing exceedingly dull things. From the tired action low-tier sequences to the un-ironically foreign villain, there is nothing original about it. Every beat is straight out of the neo-noir playbook but so misinterpreted and tepid, that it’s no wonder this flat-lined at theaters.

The eponymous Reacher has the appeal of a wet dog and his renegade mannerisms are more obnoxious than cool. This is your grandfather’s kind of hero: boring, grumbling and boring. Did I mention it was boring? Even a faithful defender of Tom Cruise like me can’t stand behind this DOA coal lump.

D

4 Months, 3 Weeks, 2 Days (2007)

Exceedingly difficult to watch, 4 Months, 3 Weeks, 2 Days is so scarring and confessional that it wouldn’t be a surprise if the anti-abortion camp scooped this up as the centerpiece of their political campaign. Following two college-aged girls through the traumatic throes of undergoing an illegal backroom abortion in 1980’s Romania, this is a bleak and depressing narrative seemingly not driven by a veiled agenda. Rather than take a side, director Cristian Mungiu just presents the facts.



Pitch black though it may be, it is a powerful feature with strikingly potent staying power. The desperate pain of the subjects is palpable as is the lurking sense of danger surrounding this already traumatizing event. Although this is not an easy film to recommend, it is an undeniably well made feature with an awfully disturbing title (once you figure out what exactly it’s referring to) that will be sure to haunt your thoughts going forward.

B

In theaters this week, I caught The Great Gatsby as well as a number of films over at the Seattle International Film Festival. While I already wrote up reviews for What Maisie Knew, which is arguably the best movie of the year so far, and Mistaken for Strangers, the quasi-documentary on The National, I also caught Frances Ha and We Steal Secrets: The Story of Wikileaks although they are still embargoed so you’ll have to wait a little longer for reviews on those ones. Other than those, here’s a trio from 2012 that have been lingering on my to-watch list.

Rust and Bone (2012)

Rust and Bone is a difficult film that’s something of an emotional endurance test. While the themes and approach couldn’t be more European, there’s universality to the complexity of people on screen here and both Marion Cotillard and Matthias Schoenaerts give stirring performances.

Director Jacques Audiard deals exclusively in shades of grey and even when the audience is led to be down on someone, Audiard never abandons them to the wolves and pulls them by the bootstraps out of their own emotional mires. Without revealing any of the critical plot points, Rust and Bone deals not only with loss but with recovery proposing that maybe it’s not the fall that matters but how we choose to pick ourselves up afterwards.

A-

John Dies at the End (2012)

Is ita spoiler if I tell you that John doesn’t die at the end? He dies pretty early on…but not really because he comes back to life…or maybe he didn’t die at all. It’s all very confusing, as is the entirety of this mindfuck of a film. Between talking on bratwurst cellphone, fighting meat demons and a driving dog, John Dies at the End is all about independence from the norm and breaking out of traditional elements of narrative…and time…and space. The gooey puppet-driven effects are amiably reminiscent of 80’s David Cronenberg and as a huge Cronenberg fan, you can definitely say it worked for me.

As as absurdist low-budg genre-bender in spirit and execution, John Dies at the End is also crassly comic, endlessly strange and downright fun. Like when you try to make a milkshake and forget to put the lid on, stuff goes just about everywhere and results in one hell of a mess but, hey, it’s still kinda tasty. This is the final product that is JDatE. In time, this daring original film could be something of an underground favorite as it has all the makings of a cult film but cult classic or not, it’s still super weird.

C+

Searching for Sugarman (2012)

In the process of discovering Sixto Rodriquez, who here is given the moniker of Sugarman, a fascinating tale of ill-conceived serendipity in the era of rock rebellion emerges. As an artist, Rodriguez is a mystery, never afforded any semblance of fandom or commercial popularity in the US even though his records were a surging anti-establishment force for the whole of South Africa. Somehow though, Rodriguez never heard tell of his international fame nor did he see one penny of the profit. Thus begins the story of a man who seems to have disappeared off the face of the planet.

Filmmaker Malik Bendjelloul does an acceptable job of tracking the history of Rodriguez, both in historical terms and accompanying rumors, but when it comes to the hard-hitting questions, he’s happy playing softball. He leaves the corporate corruption and music industry undercuts alone and instead focuses solely on this man of mystery. But when all is said and done, the film presents a fascinating man’s mind-blowing experience of rock’n’roll over four decades and the true story is interesting enough to make the film more than worthwhile. What sticks with you most of all though is Rodriguez’s fantastic songs off of his album ‘Cold Fact’ that are amiably peppered throughout.

B+

Just a couple of flicks from 2012 that I never got to see in this week’s installment of Weekly Review. This is 40 seemed to largely divide critics but I found it to be a very ugly, very unnecessary film. Frank and Robot, however, was a nice little independent drama worthy of a worth if not just to watch Frank Langella bad-mouth a robot.

This Is 40 (2012)

 
A rambling and mean-spirited film that should have remained in the rejected ideas pile, This Is 40 stinks. Perhaps it might strike a chord with affluent socialites complaining about the size of their mansions and the middling success of their very own record company but for us ordinary folk, it’s an infuriating load of steamy garbage that ought to play like the anthem for the ‘Occupy’ movement.

The film follows the lives of Pete and Debby, who you may remember from Knocked Up. They have a couple of kids, are “struggling” financially, and pretty much hate each other and themselves. Fortunately for them, the most difficult part of their lives involves downgrading from a multi-million dollar home and eating too many five-dollar cupcakes. It’s hard to swallow someone wallowing in self-pity as they drift between their massive master bedroom and accompanying bathroom foyer before throwing a catered party under a giant tent in their massive backyard and eating a 500-dollar custom guitar cake.



Even though the actors involved seem to be committed to fleshing out this reality, I really wish they had done something else with their time. Leslie Mann is probably not to blame but her character is utterly despicable and a major contender for “biggest bitch of the year” award. The ever-lovable Paul Rudd is, well, in a rut for most of the time and just gets dumped on for anything from playing on his iPad to ruining his crumbling physique with, you guessed it, fancy cupcakes. The problem is, nothing goes anywhere. You just see these miserable people for a while, they do nothing and then it’s over. The film tries to bandage the blaring lack of a plot with numerous little cameo roles and pop-fi references which, again, don’t ever amount to anything.



The seams have started to show on director Judd Apatow‘s projects for a while now but This is 40 is the largest departure from the meaningful dramedies like Knocked Up and The 40 Year Old Virgin that made him a household name. Instead of the geeky and almost whimsical nature of those films, this one seems comfortable whining and wishing ill will on its audience. 



Another minus for This is 40 lays in Apatow’s bloated opinion of his film, a miscalculated assessment of its worth that somehow allowed him to let it stretch on aimlessly for over two hours, whereas most comedies tap out around ninety minutes. I guess that makes sense though considering comedies usually involve laughing and this smelly pile of trash is destitute of any laughs. Maybe worst of all, they spoil the end of Lost. That is a sin I will never forgive.



A quasi-sequel that no one ever asked for, This is 40 is a joyless waste of talent and resources. Near the end, Albert Brooks says: “That was deeply uncomfortable. At least that pretty girl was there to divert our attention.” I don’t think he meant to sum up the whole movie, but he just did.

D-

Robot and Frank (2012)



Jake Screider‘s Robot and Frank imagines a future where robots have taken on assisting roles in human life. They stock the shelves at the library, act as medical assistants and….well I guess that’s all we see, but we can imagine that they carry out a smattering of equally undesirable but helpful roles in this society. Even under its not-so-shiny facade, Robot and Frank has heart and chemistry and is inventive enough to score a sly win for independent film.



When retired thief Frank (Frank Langella) is given a care-taking robot from his estranged son, he attempts to involve his new robotic helper in a comeback heist. Seeing the detailed planning that Frank invests into this operation, Robot (who remains unnamed) decides that it would be good for his deteriorating mental health and agrees to help.


Frank Langella is great as the irreverent old Frank who, however thorny, is both a strong and fragile character. He reminded me a lot of Junior Soprano, a lost man on his last leg who can’t really help himself to his askew world view and grumpy, homebody nature. Filling in the voice for Robot, Peter Sarsgaard is perfect. His robotic monotone is rife with notes of sympathy and understanding – making him more of a lovable Wall-E than any of the fearful AI’s that have dominated robotics since 2001. 



Although it is hardly an important enough film to make many waves outside of its very niche circuit, Frank and Robot is an oddly sweet story that tells a meaningful tale about aging and family. It’s a charmed collision of old school and new age with a bittersweet edge, one of those indie films that you can’t help but be won over by.

B-

This week I had a chance to catch up with some more films filling out that ever-growing list of “movies to see.” I finally got to see Terrence Howard‘s knockout performance in Hustle and Flow, Woody Allen‘s masterpiece Manhattan, a rocky rom-com Like Crazy and a David Hyde Pierce psychopathic-thriller The Perfect Host.
 

Hustle and Flow (2006)

There’s a strange magic to Hustle and Flow, an earnest independent feature that follows a pimp trying to transition from his life of ho slingin’ into the rap game of wordsmithin’. Days after watching it, I still have the song’s hook in me which in turn reminds me of the film. A brilliant little barb to get people coming back for more? If so, I applaud the scheme but one way or another this is good hard-boiled black pulp.

Despicable though his character may be, Terrence Howard injects DJay with an oddly lovable soul. He’s a lost cause, a result of circumstance, and a mash of truly warped proclivities who has turned to a life of back-alley pimpin’ to pay the bills. Instead of passing judgment on DJay, we root for him. We want the world to sweep him off his feet and we want him to change. Without Howard, he could have easily been a one-note character – a thug, a badboy, a gangster – instead he is an atypical soul with his heart written on his sleeve.

By not creating this world as a dour pit with thousand foot walls, with angst as thick as smog and characters that wallow in the self-pitying mire of their circumstance, director Craig Brewer manages to tread lightly and keep the film almost bubbling with hope without ever skewing the sad nature of his characters. It’s a clever bit of maneuvering that really speaks to the nuance of his work and it’s what makes this such a success.

Hustle and Flow is a view of big dreams and aspirations through the eyes of an otherwise lost soul. Walking a fine line between its characters being too cuddly and too jagged, it lands smack dab in the baby-bear “just right” category. The chocolate coating on the whole thing is music that’s alive and memorable, amping up the sense of movement and electricity while planting its hook deep in the viewer.

B+

Manhattan (1979)

Manhattan combines modern romanticism with Woody Allen‘s won’t-back-down bluntness and razor-sharp worldview. Much of the stoic, black-and-white camerawork defy expectation in a simple and loving manner, encapsulating the spirit of Manhattan with the tilt of derelict film techniques. It’s at once an homage to old timey filmmaking and a tribute to the majesty of New York City with a generous helping of oddball humor.

The film feeds on Allen’s eccentric energy both onscreen and behind the camera and it’s clearly evident that he’s at his height of amoral sexual deviance and perverse neuroses. Tracking Allen’s ranting stream of consciousness, Manhattan becomes a constantly evolving narrative on love, sex, and living in the big city. It’s a psychological and philosophical dissection of a time and a place but it’s so lovingly told that even Allen’s critiques come across more as wry musings than condemning judgment.

The worlds that Allen create are populated by people whose relationships are fickle and short-lived. Love is fleeting and infidelities are the norm. It’s a harsh world but at least a lesson is imparted and it’s a place without absolutes; where second chances are still better than nothing at all.

Perhaps Allen’s penchant for romanticizing cities more so than people is becoming more hackneyed lately but Manhattan is him in his absolute prime – razor-sharp, unabashedly sincere, and riotously funny. The bumbling neuroticism which has come to define Allen is perfectly married to his droll perversions and this film thrives somewhere in the intersection of the two. His musings jump off the screen with wit and unique intellect, punctuated with laugh-out-loud funny moments.

As a bittersweet and uncompromising look at love as impulse, Manhattan boldly goes where few other films dare. It teaches us that, occasionally, life doesn’t go as planned and when we find ourselves down and out, you have to roll with the punches and sleep with a 17-year old.

An unflinching stroll through the many phases of a young relationship, Like Crazyhas the rug-swept-from-under-us feel of The Graduate and the unresolved emotional yuckiness of Blue Valentine. All the messy highs and lows that come to define relationships are on full display here for us to peruse through like window-shopping. Though their on-again, off-again love affair becomes frustrating at times, we can all relate to the honest emotions and taxing chagrin of love asunder that define this picture.

While attending the same university, American Jacob and Brit Anna fall madly in love. But when Anna violates her visa, she is sent packing to Britain and their relationship falters. Both Anton Yelchin as Jacob and Felicity Jones as Anna excel at playing with subtle emotions and silent introspection. We’re along for Anna and Jacob’s ride together whether we want to be or not. Thankfully they never cross the indiscernible line into over-dramatics to fecklessly spur the audience on and invite our jeers at their stupid decision-making skills. Rather, each choice they make seems motivated by reason rather than stupidity.

You have to wonder how autobiographical this whole affair is for writer/director Drake Doremus. He seems to know the turmoil and wishy-washy nature of long-distance affairs like the back of his hand and as such, he directs the film with down-to-earth realism. In the end, the illusion is always greater than reality as Doremus’ film is a dishearteningly real take on love as globalization.

For making you feel all that it does, Like Crazy is an unfettered score but it’s limited scope and over-reliance on downright shittiness makes it something I am unlikely to want to revisit.

B

 The Perfect Host (2010)

The Perfect Host is the movie equivalent to a titty-twister. It’s gleefully sadistic and yet you can’t help but laugh in places. After John Taylor robs a bank and makes off with nearly $300,000, he barges in on Warwick Wilson’s (David Hyde Pierce) home. Warwick may be a peculiar and friendly man but as the authorities hunt Taylor down, his little home invasion begins to unravel. As a film that really works best when you go in absolutely dry, I want to tread carefully and try not to spoil any of the fun.

Down to his gait and absurdly hairy hands, Hyde has a pretty original character to sink his teeth into and he happily digs into such a grade-A weirdo. His scattershot performance is easily the highlight of the film as he over-shines co-star Clayne Crawford (playing Taylor) again-and-again to an almost embarrassing degree. Sure, this turn will hardly go down in the books as a “great” performance but at least it’s fun to watch and there is definitely something to be said for that.

As the night goes on, the event becomes a circus and we become a cohort into the festivities. It’s wild, it’s weird, and dare I say zany? All-in-all, the outright silly nature of the film actually works quite well in some places but fails to quite live up to it’s own expectations of itself in others.

At least, The Perfect Host changes pace often enough to keep things unexpected and interesting and while it’s not really breaking into any new territory, it’s a very strange and nontraditional little film that functions quite well under it’s tiny budget constraints that managed to keep me invested for its duration.

C+

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This week in movie watching, I caught up on a few films that I’d been wanting to see from around the world including the French dramedy The Intouchables, Samuel L. Jackson and Christina Rucci deep-south film Black Snake Moan, and a difficult British film that explored some tough issues – Fish Tank.

The Intouchables (2011)

The Intouchables is not only a critical and emotional success; it’s the highest grossing French film of all time. The palpable sense of warmth that comes pouring out of this picture is rooted in the affable chemistry between the two unlikely leads. Omar Sy plays Driss, a street-smart hoodlum with a record who’s just hunting for an easy way out. The only reason he crosses paths with Philippe (Francois Cluzet), a top-1% inheritee/paraplegic, is to get him to sign a form saying that he interviewed for the advertised position of live-in-nurse/assistant to ensure that he gets his state benefits – oh and to steal just a little bit from him. When Philippe unexpectedly employs Driss, these two individuals from different worlds begin to teach each other about life, love, and music.

While this setup could just have easily made for a reheated Hallmark film, the natural chemistry and coolly measured directing from first time director/screenwriters Eric Toledano and Olivier Nakache allow this yarn to be spun sans weepy sentimentality.

It’s musing without committing to quirk and doesn’t depend on sour turns to heighten the emotional stakes. Instead of setting up the film as an epitaph to a somber paraplegic, Toledano and Nakache allow the film to earn your interest, starting off with an opening scene that is both heartwarming and just plain funny. Whereas this could have easily turned towards dour melodrama, it relies on levity of character and arc, battling off the bitterness that could have easily sucked the life out of it.

B+

Black Snake Moan (2006)

I’ll admit that I’ve been intrigued by the title of this film for a long time but never pursued it after hearing tell of its lukewarm reviews. However, after finally watching Black Snake Moan, which really, really, really does sound like a filthy porno, it’s a wholly watchable story of redemption with some fine performances even if it’s rather minor in scope.

Christina Ricci seems born for the role of Rae – who is something of the neighborhood bicycle – and when Justin Timberlake, her totally clueless boyfriend, leaves town for Army she ratchets up her slut-tastic nature, stumbling from party to bedroom to party, half-blacked out. When she gets beaten half to death by a dissatisfied dude and dumped on Lazarus’s (Samuel L. Jackson) property, she becomes something of a pet-project. Lazarus sees her arrival as some sort of last shot at redemption so padlocks her to his radiator and vows to rid her of her evil, dong-gobbling ways.

While their relationship is certainly askew, often cockeyed and riddled with Stockholm syndrome, it’s undeniably great to see party-girl Ricci with her breasts sagging out, running amuck AND Sam Jackson slaying some country blues in the midst of a thunderstorm. It’s often messy but it’s got heart. For been-there-done-that Jackson, it finally seems like autopilot is disengaged.

Whether it be a parable on swamp-bound broken hearts, rife with allusion (Lazarus being a Biblical figure raised from the dead by Jesus), or a simple story of captivity and reinvention of self, there are portions of the film that just don’t make sense. The following example is plainly absurd in the context of character motivation and points to pure laziness in screenwriting. As Rae seems to be making real progress in growing out of her fetish to have sex with anything that moves, Lazarus takes her to his gig where he plays some deeply sorrowful bluesy jams. As he’s rocking away, he looks out in the crowd to see her slugging down drinks and getting double-team grinded on by two burly black men. Naturally, he smiles to himself: “That old girl.” It’s only done to set up an impending scenario involving her boyfriend’s raging jealousy and comes across as lethargic writing.

Though no great wonder of cinema, Black Snake Moan is worth watching just for the absurd title, Ricci’s breasts, and Jackson’s crooning alone. 


C+

Fish Tank (2009)

Awash in grim realism, Fish Tank offers a bleak peek into the lower caste of British society and the twisted relationships that occupy there. At the center of this tale is Mia (Katie Jarvis), a tweenage girl who’s surrounded by a host of unscrupulous adults who offer her the parenting prowess of a roomba.

Under the guardianship of her perma-nipple-blasting Mom and her Mom’s flirty new boyfriend Connor (Michael Fassbender), a duo who would likely parent the primadonna, rat-dog type of the slummiest of slumtowns, Mia gets caught up in a series of situations that put her “but-I’m-an-adult” attitude to the test.

As 14-year-old Mia and 30-something Connor get better acquainted, their interactions start to get a little fishy. Each time they look at each other, there’s some unspoken weirdness and as their budding inappropriate relationship grows, punctuated by a sultry moonlit dance, you begin to realize that we’re settling into something of a 21st century Lolita. Our quiet place on the couch turns into a voyeur’s den and the sense of tense awkwardness is so dense you could just eat it up by the gnarly spoonful.

As things take a turn for the worse, we realize it’s not the fall that’s most interesting; it’s Mia’s own realization that she’s living out of her league. In this pending acceptance of her fleeting youth, Mia wrestles with her own innocence with subtle panache.

Fish Tank is Slumdog Millionaire without the millionaire bit. It’s got the captivatingly trashy aspects of a Maury special on teen pregnancy that’s just so hard to turn away from. A winning first performance from Jarvis coupled with the brutish intensity of Fassbender makes this ugly British drama an understated success.

B+

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This week in movie watching, I finally got around to watching Alfonso Cuaron‘s much laded Y Tu Mama Tambien, the Aaron Paul–Mary Elizabeth Winstead alcoholic indie flick, Smashed, 2011’s overrated horror flop Insidious and the very raunchy and very funny, Bachelorette.

Y Tu Mama También (2001)

What may at first appear to be a tale of sex-driven debauchery and deviance evolves carefully and tactfully into a captivating and steamy exploration of the nature of commitment and friendship. After their girlfriends leave on vacation, two Mexican teenager boys take an sexy, older women on a road trip with hopes of getting laid. As things begin to complicate, their close knit bond is tested and their foundation is deeply shaken.

Even though the lacking budget and rough auditory cuts are clearly evident, director Alfonso Cuaron (Children of Men) manages to make this gritty minimalism all work to his advantage. Much like his other films, his steady camerawork and fierce attention to detail give an added dimension to what is taking place not just in front of us but in the background too. Cruising down the sun-scorched roads the crew chattering away about their sexual conquests but the real focus is outside the car on a gaggle of police officers patting down some blue collar workers. It’s never mentioned again, nor is it amplified but it’s moments like these that really fleshing out and give his films such a lived in and visceral feel.

While these horny teenagers journey on their path to self discovery, our pre-established assumptions as to what this film is begin to fade away. This is no college road trip film, this is a meaningful exploration of the difficulty of growing up.

A

Smashed (2012)

Smashed greatest assets are it’s central performances from Mary Elizabeth Winstead (Scott Pilgrim V. The World), Aaron Paul (Breaking Bad) and Nick Offerman (Parks and Recreations) and it’s sincere, quirky beating heart. Winstead especially is really on her game here and her helpless descent into full blown alcoholism isn’t overtly dramatized or preachy. Instead, it’s just strange and kind of jarring, prioritizing the perspective of the subject rather than trying to wrestle the audience into unwanted emotions. Instead of being told that her character has a problem, we get to see it first hand. The moment she wakes up under a bridge, buzzing from a meth-hangover, confused and ashamed, we know, like her, that there’s a problem. Thankfully, there’s none of the helpless weepy pleading for help or glorification of AA. The crumbling relationships scattered through the film are palpable and tragic but again, not in a downtrodden way. Like life, it just is what it is.

Insidious (2011)

What begins as a somber and moody horror-thriller with the makings of greatness deteriorates piece by piece until it’s hollow core is exposed and you just have to laugh or sigh, clearly the last intention of any horror filmmaker. The recognizable faces involved in this project don’t seem at first to be scooped from the bottom of the barrel but eventually show their lazy approach and complete lack of preparation. Director James Wan of Saw fame abandons the grounded realism that he offers in the first act and descends to weak ethereal scares and D-level special effects. The mother-of-all-evil demonic force behind the whole venture loses all capacity to frighten once the reveal his countenance which looks more like Darth Maul’s retarded cousin than any kind of demon. The biggest disappointment with this film is that the ambitious and innovation are clearly there but are devastatingly let down by cheese ball acting, cheap production design and sheer overexposure to what should have remained shadowy and mysterious.

Bachelorette (2012)

Three single, attractive ladies undergo a manic series of absurd obstacles in Bachelorette, which at it’s most base comparison is a hybrid between The Hangover and Bridemaids, but there’s more sardonic wit here and the laughs come quick and hard.

It takes more risks than The Hangover but captures the same manic spirit that made the film so enjoyable and where Bridesmaids found humor in women doing raunchy things, the laughs here aren’t simplified to sex. It’s not funny because they’re girls, it’s just funny. Star Kirsten Dunst proves to really have a knack for comedy with her authoratative attitude and sparkling comic timing as she commands a ragtag crew of chicks, sporting the classic Charlie’s Angels hair color spread, who are more interested in their next line of cocaine than their old, fat friends wedding.

These people are trashy, desperate, sad and lonely, in sum, pretty realistic, so it’s easier to connect to the comedy and the crew’s half-hearted plight to fix the wedding dress that they drunkenly tore. Nothing is too outrageous or overly amplified so the whole affair seems grounded and believable, earning the barrel of laughs it elicits. Bachelorette doesn’t need tigers or monkeys or star cameos to make the laugh quota, relying on it’s genuinely funny script and shotgun delivery.

This is an apt answer to the shit-in-a-sink comedy of Bridesmaids, a raunchy, real film that actually captures the fleeting, magical thing called friendship and cranks up the comedy to 11. Bachelorette is not only the funniest female-led film in a long time, blowing the over-rated Bridesmaids out of the water, it’s just one of the funniest movies in a while. Even though some of the jokes don’t land quite as they should, offering a few laughless punchlines, there is enough fleet-footed momentum and a restless wealth of gags to patch up any dull spots. As the depravity ratchets up, buckle down because once it pops, it just don’t stop.