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Out in Theaters: ’71

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On the ground during 1971’s deadly Belfast riots, a British solider is separated from his unit in Yann Demange‘s strategically taut ’71. Proving that not all action thrillers need over-the-top set pieces or larger-than-life villains, ’71 is an exercise in tactful realism that bleeds intelligence and authenticity between harrowing sequences of true blue terrorism, askew nationalism and boundless tension. Demange’s gripping piece of historical fiction is served sizzling hot with its hero positioned in a constant state of explosiony danger, giving new life to the phrase “out of the fire and into the frying pan.” Read More

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Out in Theaters: WILD TALES

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Damián Szifrón
‘s unabashedly violent anthology Wild Tales is total guano. The nutrient-rich, black market, Ace Ventura “they use it to make everything” guano. That is, Szifrón’s smokin’ opus is batshit in all the rights ways – it’s ironic, smart, blisteringly funny and downright brutal. It’s a concoction of true madness and borderline genius, shaken up and exploding onto the screen in gory, imaginative splashes.

Like any anthology, you’re always going to have some segments that succeed more than others and that fate doesn’t escape Szifrón. His best material is used up first with a trio of fast-paced, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it sketches that set up the hilariously violent and deeply serendipitous world that Wild Tales takes place in. Though the closing sequence is one of the most masterfully constructed, even it cannot match the decadent fun of that initial three step tango.

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The first segment, which can be loosely considered a twisted prologue, is called “Pasternak” and deals in the currency of coincidence. Having consumed it, just the name “Pasternak” is likely to induce a smile. Soon after boarding a flight, two passengers discover that they have a peer of sorts in common. It just so happens that neither of them ended their relationship with said peer on particularly pleasant terms. When a third and fourth passenger reveal that they too know the party in question, events quickly veer towards black humor at 600 mph. To reveal anymore about this high-flying farce would be to rob “Pasternak” of its punch but let’s just say that it sets the bar improbably high.

In my screening, Pasternak evoked fits of rampant laughter amongst my audience, a group of mixed ages who were positively tickled. I admittedly was as well. The dark humor and sly satire is presented with a smarmy self-awareness that totally summons the delightfully offbeat tendencies of director and Wild Tales producer Pedro Almodóvar (The Skin I Live In). You can feel the hot, toying breathe of Almodóvar all over this Argentine-Spanish feature.

 

Rat poison, road rage, tow trucks, hit and runs and a supremely botched wedding all follow with each “wild tale” tucking into the deliciously devious nature that Szifrón has brewed up to various extent. Each short explores a different theme but is done with such a tongue-in-cheek, satirical form that  you might be too busy laughing to catch the point. Many deal with the notion of “the breaking point,” be that in a professional-sense, with the government or with a random passerby. What is that final straw that tips up towards madness? What motivates us towards revenge? Is there ever such thing as a clean getaway? Szifrón doesn’t plan to answer these questions so much as raise them as one might an eyebrow.

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While I would be hard pressed to deem any of the shorts unworthy, the middle portion of the film hit a bit of a lull with “The Proposal”, a segment that provided a low point in terms of creativity and comedy both. As the most straight-faced of the bunch, it sticks out as melodramatic, save for a heavily forecasted twist of Grecian fate in its closing moments. With so many other fantastic elements in the film, “The Proposal”‘s existence within its middle makes the tail end drag and forces the film beyond the two hour mark. Were a more time-conscious editor on board, I would think it would have crash landed like a certain pilot onto the cutting room floor.

Although the anthology film has seen a bit of a revival of late withiin the horror genre (three V/H/S films, ABCs of Death 1&2), Wild Tales seeks to raise the bar on the narrative gimmick like he’s James Cameron in a South Park episode. Gone are the multiple directors and in its place is a much more focused, singular vision. No Szifrón doesn’t define his feature by narrative consistency but much like the BBC’s Black Mirror, the shorts are stitched together through their overarching sense of exaggerated realism. In Black Mirror, this narrative trope can be seen in the explorations of technology’s pitfalls and the dangers of our reliance on such. Wild Tales also exaggerates the idea of violent and revenge but is much more nonchalant about its purpose. In large part due to this, Szifrón is able to comment like a certified peanut gallery member. He truly has his cake and blows it up too.

A-

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Weekly Review 74: MAPS, FRENCH, DEATH

Weekly Review

When it rains, it pours and this last week (much like the Seattle weather) held very little rain. A casual week at the theater held a screening of the tragically misunderstood Chappie as well as gripping British war film ’71 (review later this week.) At home, I consumed some new Cronenberg in the form of Maps to the Stars and a fledgling William Friedkin crime drama – The French Connection. Capping off my run at the Seattle Cinerama’s Fists and Fury Festival, I caught Bruce Lee‘s “final” unfinished film Game of Death. Web screenings have been flooding my inbox in preparation for SXSW so I’ve also had to dive head first into those, but more on that later. For all you who follow from here, there be Weekly Review.

MAPS TO THE STARS (2014)

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With Maps to the Stars, Canadian experimentalist maestro David Cronenberg extends his middle digit to the Hollywood lifestyle and its fuddy-duddy inhabitants without much nuance, or style for that matter. The film deals in stark shades of excess, featuring a cadre of Hollywood cliches – the burnouts, the up-and-comers, the desperate wannabe stars – stumbling into or out of fame. Cronenberg’s characters are about as deep as those supporting figures in Bret Easton Ellis’ Glamorama’s stock and just as poisonous. The whole Hollywood’s a cesspool commentary is nothing new with Bruce Wagner’s faltering script feeling at least two decades out of date. Solid performances from the likes of Julianne Moore, Mia Wasikowska, John Cusack, Robert Pattinson, Evan Bird and Olivia Williams help to keep Maps afloat, as does Cronenberg’s knack for dark excess, but it’s too little too late in a film that is as fundamentally confused about its identity as an aspiring Hollywood starlet on her knees at some producer’s house and is, in many instances, just about as desperate. (C-)

THE FRENCH CONNECTION (1971)

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Armed with a snub-nosed revolver and a bowler cap, Gene Hackman‘s Jimmy Doyle is a nigh misanthropic narc cop who roughs and tumbles in the darkened back alleys of NYC with partner Buddy Russo (Roy Scheider) in tow. Doyle is a dick of a previous era – a shoot first, sneer later lawman – and Hackman is near iconic in the role. The Exorcist‘s William Friedkin directs with steady panache, including a pulse-pounding subway chase sequence that is framed just perfectly. Composer Don Ellis though brings the whole thing home with his absolutely sinister score, pulsating and scraping like it itself is possessed. The conceit – Doyle and Russo stumble upon a smuggling ring associated with New York-based French foreign nationals – isn’t anything all that new or special but Friedkin’s inverted take on the crime drama gives the material more intrigue. (B)

GAME OF DEATH (1978)

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To call Game of Death Bruce Lee‘s final movie isn’t entirely true, considering that he only completed 12 minutes of usable footage before he died. The remainder – stitched together from other unused Lee material, additional material filmed with not one but two separate stand ins and a truly despicable scene that actually takes place at Lee’s actual funeral – is a wholly laughable, arguably meta kung fu flub-up. Released five years after Lee’s death, Game of Death tells the story of a martial-artist-cum-actor whose success has him sought after by a shady organization. Said organization is quick to unleash henchmen upon Lee (or rather, his body doubles) in scenes that are so comically senseless and gravity-defying that you can’t stop the flow of giggles. It’s a true shame because the final three-level battle features some of Lee’s finest high-flying action yet, particularly in a whip-cracking nun chucks scene. (C-)

 

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Out in Theaters: CHAPPIE

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Chappie
star Yolandi Vizzer said of the “Zef” movement that defines Cape Town rave-rap group Die Antwoord, “It’s associated with people who soup their cars up and rock gold and shit. Zef is, you’re poor but you’re fancy, you’re sexy, you’ve got style.” Her home-on-the-Afrikaans-range expressionist sentiments on Zef appropriately sum up Chappie, a mouthy sci-fi lark that manages to exist in the schizophrenic space between philosophy class and the thug lyfe. Narcotic in design, Chappie has the ability to be thoughtful, sardonic, batty, stupid, far-fetched, irreverent, intoxicated and absurd in the same sentence. To get a feel for what’s in store, imagine  Chappie grabbing his robot junk, slouching like a gangster and wiping at his nonexistent nose before rapping on the heady notions of psychological impermanence and the potential of conscious transference. Those of lesser imaginative are damned to misunderstand the intent in such a film, a “how did this even get made” kind of product whose deranged sensibilities are delirious by design, but that’s their problem. In the “in” circles, they pity such handicapped imaginations. So hollers the hip-hopper handbook, haters gonna hate.

Much like Christopher Nolan and Hans Zimmer worked in tandem on Interstellar – Nolan gave Zimmer “feelings and themes” he wanted the film to communicate without ever revealing to Zimmer the genre of Interstellar. Zimmer then cooked up the backbone of a score and his work went on to influence Nolan’s developing script, etc. etc. – Chappie and Die Antwoord are intrinsically unified. They’re brothers from another mother. Droogs of the same breed. To drawn a line in the sand between the perfectly ironic poppiness of Die Antwoord’s counter-culture movement and the Hollywood blockbuster construct of Chappie is a hopeless exercise that I don’t seek to understand. Basing estimations of Chappie on existing models and traditions of big-budget (Chappie‘s was apparently 50 million) filmmaking is impossible since those models and traditions have been promptly, purposefully rocketed into space like they’re Ellen Ripley at the tail end of Alien. Neill Blomkamp‘s screenplay for Chappie talks about evolution and, ironically, it sails so much in the face of traditional movie-making models that it in itself is a kind of a quasi-evolution of the movie-making game. It’s so f*cking meta.

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The Antwoord duo preserves their stage names in Chappie because why not? Ninja (played by Ninja) sports his customary military mullet – a hairstyle that came to him in a dream – and slurs his way through chunky Afrikaan slang not too far off from the head-scratching lexicon of Clockwork Orange or, more recently, Attack the Block. Expect a BuzzFeed article titled “What the What Do These 21 Chappie Phrases Mean?” Female-half Yolandi rocks the same violently pink “Who Wants Tits?” belly shirt she does in Antwoord’s deliciously off-color “Baby’s On Fire” music video. A later wardrobe change has her sporting a “CHAPPiE” crop top. Even robo-Chappie himself has got a not-so-subtly spraypainted “ZEF” tramp stamp. Blomkamp’s movie self-promotes both itself and Die Antwoord like a hungry hip-hop artist. It’s so f*cking metal.

We’ve rapped about Chappie as counter culture in film form but in the same vein, it’s also very much Blomkamp’s attempt to define a foreign zeitgeist in a very specific place and time. His efforts to justify, or rather rationalize, South African’s prominent underground civilization to the world appears lost on many and I would like to assume that that’s also part of the point. Not everyone’s going to get it but no worries here. Good riddance. In that line of thinking, Chappie is an intentional affront to good taste. Where we expect our hero robot to zag, he zigs. We expect him to mature out of a pubescent state but he’s too busy twisting up zig-zags. What Mad Max did for dystopian MCs, Chappie does for punk-samurai robots. What Star Wars achieved for flowy robes, Chappie pulls off for in-your-face neon. If you boiled down the guttural madness of the Matrix Reloaded rave scene, dosed it with some golden-toothed slang and outfitted its doltishness with automatic weapons, you’d have something resembling Chappie. “Radical” attempts to describes it but I think only “Zef” can properly sum it up.

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But what the hell is Chappie about, Matt? Well anyone who’s heard the electronic mumblings of “I am Chappie” through their radio waves know that Blomkamp’s third features a robot. Anyone who’s seen a Chappie poster knows that said robot sports bling bling. Peeps who be trolling the trailers are probz aware that Hugh Jackman‘s skull sprouted a maybe-mullet for the film and he’s basically the heavy here, though very much not in the way you might at first have thunk. What you don’t know is that Chappie is not in the least bit the film you expect it to be. Especially if you’ve tapped into the overwhelming negative reception of the film. Chappie is way more weird, way more bonkers, way more gaga than you would anticipate of a movie with this kind of budget and backing. Were Chappie to meet ET, he’d ask him to politely bite the curb. If he paired up with Mac, he’d put his deformed visage gently “to sleep.” If you thought Matt Damon in a mech suit was wackadoo, wait until you get a load of Chappie. He’s so f*cking manic.

And that’s really what it comes down to, Chappie as a character is worth the price of admission alone. With Sharlto Copley voicing the character, he’s got more grit to him than a offroader’s fender and is far from the innocent robot the promotional material paints him as. Sure, he initially wields paintbrushes instead of PPKs but his jive-talking mannerisms arrive with a limited learning curve and soon enough he’s parroting the gangbangin’ verbiage of his too-so-Kosher mommy and daddy. Comedy cometh.

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In an age that is so obnoxiously focused on franchise world-building, Blomkamp excels in the thematically exacting specificity of his future-set pasquinades. He’s clearly having fun but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t also have an agenda. In District 9, we got a taste for an “inventive” history of South Africa in Blomkamp’s straight-faced satirical portrait of refuges. Camps thick with burned trash and thin on food rubbed up against legal boundaries blurred by racist governmental ordinances. Blomkamp recently ousted himself for “f*cking up Elysium” though I’m not willing to dismiss that work just yet as it provided one of the more provocative pictures of the institutional evils of bureaucracy. And (did I mention??) had Matt Damon in a mech-suit. Chappie gets to ideas of bankrupt corporate morality and existential crises that also stops to ask how we can live with the knowledge that we will die? I’m…intrigued? It also features a kind of ED-209, appropriately named the Moose, stomping on a character and pulling him gorily in half. It’s about something until it’s not. It’s self-involved and batshit until it’s genuinely provocative. It’s that improbably rare, inimitable kinda “WTF was that?!” movie.

Look, I’m not here to convince you that you’re going to like Chappie because in earnest, this is not a movie with the masses in mind. It’s the kind of “hey, welcome to the party” film that attempts to ask big questions but winds up with concepts infinitely more silly – a la how many Playstation 4s does it take to house a person’s consciousness – but that doesn’t derail the intrigue that exists there in the first place. At least not for me. We cannot dismiss the stoner without at least hearing him out. Sometimes, he has a hell of a point. Occasional narrative poverty gives way to a much more important feeling of style, expressionism and innovation – the “gold and shit” – in what is most assuredly a one-of-a-kind, totally berserk robot gangster misadventure for the anals of f*cking history. On the coolness/acclaim axis, Chappie‘s lightning in a bottle existence gangsta leans towards being impenetrably hip and so be it. My mom doesn’t understand hip hop and that’s ok with me. I don’t bother trying to convince her because that’s missing the point. If you’re not in on the whole shebang, that’s your problem.

B+

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Weekly Review 73: BURGUNDY, VIRGUNA, MULHOLLAND, SAMURAI, WINDOWS

Weekly Review
A not-so-eventful week in the theater meant I had some time to consume some serious film this week at home. Hitting wide release this past weekend were the aggressively underwhelming Focus and The Lazarus Effect. I also caught screenings of Disney’s new Cinderella and Wild Tales but can’t yet talk about them beyond alluding to the fact that I enjoyed them both. At home, I took in some top-notch erotica, an Oscar-nominated documentary, a David Lynch mindf*ck, a faltering, gimmicky horror and a classic in the theater. All in this issue of Weekly Review.

 

THE DUKE OF BURGUNDY (2015)

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On the tail of Fifty Shades of Grey, any onscreen erotica would seem elevated by proxy. But Peter Strickland‘s The Duke of Burgundy succeeds not only by compassion but by its own ubiquitous merit. Sensual, erotic and mesmerizing, Strickland’s sensational sensual sexploration is the anti-Fifty Shades of Grey for its fair treatment of the dominant-submissive lifestyle, its apt character development and singular cinematic flair. The score from Canadian group Cat’s Eye is a hot water bottle of sound, blanketing Strickland’s carefully hypnotic visuals with a beautiful but uneasy sonicscape. Performances from Sidse Babett Knudsen and Chiara D’Anna help sell the drama as Strickland’s script amplifies their emotional connection in increasing clarity as the minutes tick onward, mining the depths of sexuality and love in this tonally unique yet totally relatable bond to striking, poignant effect. (B+)

VIRUNGA (2014)

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Netflix‘s first horseshoe toss into the Academy Awards game might not have been a dead ringer but it scored a nomination and was a dark house for the win behind Laura Poitras’ Citizenfour. Virunga tracks the harrowing political situation unfolding in the Congo’s Virunga National Park. One of the last homes of the mountain gorilla and a sanctuary for those animals orphaned or injured, Virunga has been a hotspot of rebel conflict in large part due to British Corporation Soco International exploiting the situation for its oil. Documentarian Orlando von Einsiedel exposes the extent of the corruption in wire-wearing scenes of hot tension though partially fails to connect all the yarn on the cork board. But von Einsiedel’s film thrives in the beauty of Virunga and its gentle warriors, the selfless park rangers, willing to put their lives on the line to defend it. (B-)

MULHOLLAND DRIVE (2001)

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David Lynch
‘s vision of Hollywood starlets and duplicitous murder has been a source of debate, study and speculation for more than a decade. To think that I could add anything to the discussion would be presumptuous (even for me) so I won’t try to get into the heavy themes so much as express my enjoyment of the flick. Naomi Watt‘s gives half of a brilliant performance with Laura Harring matching her step-for-step as a distraught amnesiac with a purse full of money and a blue key. Mulholland Drive is deeply surrealistic and narratively wishy-washy adding up to a pocket full of “Whaaaa”. Meaning, this is not your grandma’s expressionism. Dark, cryptic, episodic and engrossing, Mulholland Drive is Lynch’s puzzle without a key and, for better or worse, it’s truly something to behold. (A-)

SEVEN SAMURAI (1954)

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The assembling of the heroes has become such a narrative standard that it arrives on our modern day screens unquestioned and without much fanfare. Akira Kurosawa did it first in Seven Samurai. Imagine a world before the misfit heroes joining together for a singular cause. You can’t, can you? Kurosawa also introduced the idea of the central hero embarking on a mission unrelated to the central narrative before they launched into the meat of the story, a trope that has been duplicated in everything from James Bond to Indiana Jones to The Dark Knight. The effect of Seven Samurai is so vast and so all-encompassing that it’s hard to imagine what film would look like today without it. In fact, Seven Samurai is such a cultural cornerstone that just today, Antoine Fuqua announced that he would be remaking Magnificent Seven (the 1960 Western remake of Samurai) with Denzel Washington, Ethan Hawke and Chris Pratt. Even without its extensive butterfly effect on film culture en masse, Kurosawa’s landmark film is an epic to behold, especially on 35mm in Seattle’s Cinerama Theater (now one of the most advanced, hi-tech theaters in the world.) At 202 minutes, Seven Samurai invests time in characters worth investing in, offering a meaty narrative that builds its cast in the first act and then sets them to war in the second (complete with intermission). Takashi Shimura gives a masterful performance as Kambei, the elder leader of a ragtag team of ronins, banded together to stave bandits off from a village of peasants and his final moments in the film are as effective and affecting as any Oscar-nominated performance this year. (A)

OPEN WINDOWS (2014)

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Elijah Wood
continues a string of experimental, misconceived, poorly written horror thrillers. Maniac saw the entire film from Wood’s POV to ill-effect, Grand Piano sat him in one location and forced him to stab at black and white keys lest an explosion make a fortune go poof and 2014 Sundance premiere Cooties had a bunch of TV actors try their hand at grander schemes. It didn’t work. The grand scheme here all takes place within Wood’s laptop with Nacho Vigalondo‘s “camerawork” prying between various computer windows. A hacker conceit comes to head with a kidnapping plot with Wood racing to save actress Jill Goddard (porn star Sasha Grey) from a malicious internet hacker with devious intents. The proceedings are as bad as you might expect from such a premise with the dull “in screen” gimmick running its course quickly and leaving the piss-poor writing and cruddy acting on full, embarrassing display. It seems that even with her new acting career, Sasha Grey has found a whole new glory hole. (D)

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Out in Theaters: THE LAZARUS EFFECT

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There are some movies that are actively bad and others that are actively nothing. The Lazarus Effect falls in the later category. The tripping-over-its-own-feet script from Luke Dawson and Jeremy Slater is a hodgepodge of horror movie tropes that fails to deviate from the path most traveled. In following that oh-so-familiar road to nothingness, they prove they came prepared without anything new to say, much less add to the genre.

The characters within Lazarus are fine, more too-well-defined horror cliches, and are notably bolstered by a quartet of compelling actors including Mark Duplass, Olivia Wilde, Evan Peters and Danny Glover all giving the DOA material a faint jolt of life. As the bands research into coma patients and DMT begin to prove viable to reanimate animals from beyond the grave, the lazarus serum is born and a series of one-location events are set in motion.

Before long, the ragtag team of scientists – followed on camera by student documentarian Eva (Sarah Bolger) – are able to bring a pooch that had been put down back to life through the Frankensteinian power of electricity and potassium. Yay bananas. As its heart starts beating again, the dog’s aggression levels spike as does its ability to pull a Lucy and control 100% of its brain – whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean. Psychic shit happens.

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As you’ve probably gathered, the experiment goes even further awry and Olivia Wilde’s Zoe is killed by a surge of electricity because she (awwww) forgot to take off her engagement ring. Unable to resuscitate her, hubbie-to-be Frank (Duplass) slaps her on his science slab and demands the group assist in injecting her with their very much still-in-development serum. As one would anticipate from a mile away, his shoot-first-ask-questions-later approach to science has some nasty, horror-moviesque implications when Zoe wakes up and doesn’t quite feel like herself.

Up to this point, The Lazarus Effect has only committed the horror cardinal sin of, well, not being very scary. It has a few thing-appears-out-of-nowhere moments to surprise the crowd into a yelp or two but absolutely nothing actually scary or even worthy of note. But as the movie continues, it’s as if it actively tries to disarm its own internal sense of spookiness. Themes of science and the divine are explored in the context of hell but that plot-thread is all but abandoned before anything of worth comes from it. As for the inevitable kills, there is nothing imaginative or memorable in the slightest of ways, just a series of underwhelming, ashen disposals seemingly at the hands of a real pacifist .

The PG-13 horror movie hasn’t had a hit in a long while and with the MPAA stamping The Conjuring with a R-rating simply because it was deemed “too scary”, these all audience entries into the horror genre such as The Lazarus Effect and last year’s much worse Ouija make me question whether it’s even truly possible to have an effective PG-13  horror flick. Because if the bloodless, scareless nature of The Lazarus Effect serves as any indication, it surely doesn’t seem like it.

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In the annals of horror past, the greats stand out in large part because of their inventive spirit. Something that Lazarus has almost none of. It’s Hollow Man (Hollow Woman) means Reanimator (ReanimateHer) and if the film didn’t have the good fortune of Duplass, Wilde and co. working for it, it would be even more dismissible and dopey. David Gelb was able to do something truly special within the documentary world with Jiro Dreams of Sushi making it just that much more of a shame to see him fail so acutely with his dull attempt.

Exiting the theater, one man turned to another and said, “It was alright but I can’t imagine paying $10 to see it” and that pretty much hits the nail on the head. At only 83 minutes, The Lazarus Effect is filmic premature ejaculation embodied, suffering from creative ED and hardly able to justify even half of its theatre asking price. For the real h-buffs, there’s nothing here worth seeing on the big screen so if you’re inevitably going to gobble it up, make sure you do so at home.

D+

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Out in Theaters: FOCUS

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Focus lacks almost entirely in its namesake, flopping from one light-fingered narrative point to another, despondently coasting off the star power of its two sugary leads until its thinly veiled, ill-constructed story finally peters to an unsatisfying halt. As a discernible comeback vehicle for Will Smith‘s equally stalled career, Warner Bro’s one hundred million dollar gamble is just that; a hundred million dollar gamble. The blue chips come piled high on Smith’s stock but all the flash and pizzaz in the world can’t distract us from the real pressing questions at hand: where did all that money go?

A motif of Focus is to keep your eyes on the prize but the sheer impenetrable nature of Hollywood budgets is more than sufficient to keep us from ever being able to answer that posed question with any degree of clarity. As Focus attempts to pull off a magic trick on screen, the only slight of hand I see is transforming a hundred million dollars into this utterly disposable lark. Though undeniably stylish and as easily digestible as baby food, Focus ultimately lets down the intoxicating and downright sexy promise of Will Smith and Margot Robbie with blasé character arcs and vapid twists that come nowhere close to conjuring the imaginative, cunning power they ought.

As with any film predicated on gambits, a ruse can only be as astonishing as it is purchasable. The prestige only works if we sign off on the pledge. You can’t properly make the turn when the road is this straight and narrow. Focus gambles on its intelligence, assuming it’s slick enough and smart enough to shake off our suspicions. But upon entering, we taste the rank stench of bankrupt storytelling on our tongues the air is so thick with it. For all ye who enter, surprised ye shall not be.

Trying to pull the wool over our eyes is Smith’s tactfully reckless Nicky Spurgeon. Operating solely on a vast ocean of charisma, Nicky is a notoriously cold-blooded machine running on pilfered Rolexes and swiped wallets. Maintaining a mild empire of looters and cheats, Nicky’s illegal enterprise runs as smoothly as a Mercedes-Benz assembly line, flipping nabbed billfolds and eBaying stolen iPads to the syncopated beat of a factory whistle. The arrival of amateur con-artist Jess (Robbie) threatens to overturn Nicky’s emotionless ways as he takes her under his wing to teach her the tricks of the trade and ends up with more than he bargained for.

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The official synopsis of Focus describes Nicky’s latest scheme interrupted by a femme fatale from his past. What it fails to mention is that the history between Nicky and Jess is established in the first 60 minutes of the film and the whole “latest scheme” thing is a rushed hustle that gets less than half of the film’s run time. Thusly, the meat of the picture is contained in Focus‘ final 44-minute helping, a frustratingly humdrum afterthought of a narrative appendage that is tasked with the impossible function of making up the second and third act. By the time the laughably lengthy introduction flips its “Three Years Later” card, it feels like the movie has already ended. And our patience is more than well worn.

Tit for tat, Focus isn’t all bad though. For every misstep writer/director team John Requa and Glenn Ficarra take, Smith and Robbie amp up their alluring sorcery to compensate, selling their product as a genuine Fudgsicle when we can tell it’s really a dressed-up poopsicle. Smith’s cocky charm is a suit that fits him nicely and it’s nothing short of a relief to see him back on the big screen trying it on again while Margot Robbie continues to shape herself into a coveted Hollywood figurine. Powered by so much more than just her angelic looks, she oozes chemistry like a broken DIY science kit.

With enough charm in the tanks to partially power a date night, Focus intermittently manages to overcome a narrative buckling under its lack of realism and forethought but only in periodic fits and starts. Will it be enough to jump start Smith’s downward-trending career? Probably not. Though he hardly comes out of the wholly lackluster picture blemished.

C-

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Weekly Review 72: GAMBLER, VOICES, GIRLHOOD, FRIDAY, COFFEE

Weekly Review

My oh my, has it been a busy week. With the Oscars dominating most of my watching hours over the course of the past few weeks, last week had too little Weekly Review material to post and so all that material was pushed back. At home, I revisited Birdman, Whiplash and Gone Girl, three of my favorite films of last year and found that my love for the first two has only intensified while my feelings for Gone Girl have ever-so-slightly quelled. I still really like it but would definitely notch it lower in my year’s end rankings if there were such thing as a do-over in life.

The theater held screenings of the punishing Hot Tub Time Machine 2, Disney’s running Mexicans underdog story McFarland, USA, and the absolutely hysterical vampire mockumentary What We Do in the Shadows but I managed to discover an absolute wonder at home with Girlhood, nowing playing in select theaters including Seattle’s SIFF Uptown. All that and more to come, this time on Weekly Review.

THE GAMBLER (2014)

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A perfect example of a movie that thinks its playing with a full house and winds up with two dinky pairs, The Gambler is a trump card short of being any good. In a role that he dropped an unnecessary forty pounds to play, Mark Wahlberg does the part of douchey gambler justice though the despicable nature of his selfish, implosive character is more likely to curl audience members’ patience than attract them and win over their empathy. As a pitiable genius/offspring of old-world money, Wahlberg’s Jim Bennett gets in over his head with gambling debts just to sample the many flavors of chaos. Only once someone he truly cares about/respects life is put on the line does he even attempt to get his head out of the proverbial toilet bowl. This supplies The Gambler some screwy, cigar-chewing, money-loaning antagonists but also flaunts its fundamental and fatal flaw: it’s hard to root for a guy who’s jamming at his own self-destruct button. (C)

THE VOICES (2015)

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For my money, there’s two Ryan Reynolds: the studio lackey – a big ball of ham too willing to play fetch – and the actor – the deeply buried thespian who’s fitfully reared his head in Reynold’s past. Buried underground, Reynolds can be quite brilliant. In The Voices, the snark is gone, the sarcasm has said sayonara and in its place, Reynold’s outlook reflects a damaged, tender psychopath battling dark desires with an urgently comic tinge. Urged on by his evil anthropomorphized cat (he of the pesky, titular voices), Jerry falls into a little bit of a killing spree and the resulting internal turmoil is both laugh-out-loud funny and heartbreaking. Director Marjane Satrapi‘s atmosphere is brightly foreboding and yet often psychedelic and humming with dark humor. She allows Reynolds to shine a crazy shade of diamond in this weird, off-kilter murder comedy sure to be enjoyed by fans of Dexter and Barton Fink. (B)

GIRLHOOD (2015)

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Last night, we saw Boyhood lose the Oscar and if all goes according to the law of averages, 2015’s losers will have to include Girlhood. Unfortunately, it won’t likely even be in the conversation. Girlhood, despite being an all-around phenomenal look at a girl hood living in a hood going through girlhood, digs much deeper than the premise of Boyhood in terms of its cultural breadth. Céline Sciamma‘s portrait of the hard knocks in the dead-end district of Parisian projects breathes life into corners that don’t often get their moment in the spotlight and for it is both illuminating and heartbreaking. Girlhood follows Marieme’s 16th year of life as she contents with low grades at school, an abusive brother, a troop of new, older, “badder” friends and, ultimately, the prospect of taking the easy route. Sciamma’s tale is rousing and pure – accented by her fine-tuned ear for musical numbers (including a near-breathtaking sequence to Rihanna’s “Diamonds”) – and most certainly one that’ll undeservedly be seen by far too few patrons. Do yourself a favor and find this diamond in the rough. (A-)

FRIDAY NIGHT LIGHTS (2004)

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I’ll admit that I hate-watched my way through all of Friday Night Lights‘ five season run. That’s not to say that I “hated” the show, it just happened to make me roll my eyes and scoff at the screen with its middle America values and blatant close-mindedness more than any other show that I watched in its entirety. Assuming it was time to finally check out where it all came from (and take in another Billy Bob Thornton performance), I turned to the 2004 flick that inspired it all, to mixed results. The film itself charters no new territory and is surprisingly congruous to the television show in terms of its storyline. It’s not that that was a surprise so much as the story works so much better stretched out over the course of an entire season. Billy Bob’s good in the role, though lacks the complexity of Kyle Chandler’s Coach Eric Taylor. Ultimately, it’s a minorly fine film that just lacks much oomph, especially in light of the series that followed it.  (C)

COFFEE TOWN (2013)

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I’d heard stirrings of the College Humor produced comedy Coffee Town starring It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia‘s Glenn Howerton from quite a few sources and when a screener I needed to watch was bugging out, decided to pop it on HBO for a viewing. First things first, the comedy itself is offensive and off-colored, including unfunny AIDS jokes and “retard fights”. So if you’re easy jarred by this brand of low-brow humor, you’re advised to steer clear because there’s not much else here. Howerton proves that he doesn’t have to play the churlish playboy as he’s given much more of an everyman role here and does fine with the material – though I’m not convinced that it’s quite the role his CV needs to make a convincing Hollywood case. As Will, Howerton bands together with immature friend Chad (Steve Little) and unscrupulous cop Gino (Ben Schwartz) to rob their local coffee shop to prevent it from being converted into a hip bistro. What these boys do for their coffee. The one saving grace of this largely dead-in-the-water comedy is Josh Groban, playing a d-bag barista and proving once and for all that Opera singers can indeed play bit parts in low-budget comedies. (D+)

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Oscar Wrap Up: Winners 'n' Thoughts

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Well, as I predicted, this year was a big bust for me. My prognosticating digits went down the toilet with a paltry 16-8 (my worst year in half a decade, especially in light of my 22-2 numbers of last year) but at least I knew going into the ceremony that I was taking some gambles. Boyhood barely got a sniff at Oscar gold and Whiplash managed to steal fire in a few slots (taking home the third most awards with three total wins) but the big winners of the night were Birdman (4) and The Grand Budapest Hotel (4).

As for the actual entertainment value of the show, this critic would give it a resounding “meh.” It had its moments – Graham Moore‘s stirring speech, “Glory”, Jack Black‘s musical interruption, hammered Terrence Howard, the realization that Common’s real name is Lonnie Lynn – but its pitfalls were ever more memorable – including an impressive but overlong and unnecessary Sound of Music tribute, Neil Patrick Harris‘ wet blanket of a magic trick, John Travolta latching onto Idena Menzel‘s face like an Alien facehugger. Can we just not invite him back?

And though NPH was an all-around bust of a host, this year’s ceremony did manage to award some of the best films in a long while. Consider this year’s trio of Birdman, The Grand Budapest Hotel and Whiplash and compare to last year’s Gravity, 12 Years a Slave and Dallas Buyers Club. I know which threesome I would pick up at the video store.

As for our Oscar contest, this year’s winners were r0ckwithme and FilmActually‘s Shane Slater. Congrats! You win prizes!

You’ve likely already seen the winners list but below are the trophy-takers in bold and my incorrect predictions in red. Here’s hoping that next year I have much better numbers on the board.

BEST PICTURE
Boyhood
The Imitation Game
Birdman
The Theory of Everything
The Grand Budapest Hotel
Whiplash
Selma
American Sniper

BEST DIRECTOR
Richard Linklater, Boyhood
Alejandro González Iñárritu, Birdman
Wes Anderson, The Grand Budapest Hotel
Morten Tyldum, The Imitation Game
Bennett Miller, Foxcatcher

ACTRESS IN A LEADING ROLE
Julianne Moore, Still Alice
Reese Witherspoon, Wild
Rosamund Pike, Gone Girl
Felicity Jones, The Theory of Everything
Marion Cotillard, Two Days, One Night

ACTOR IN A LEADING ROLE
Michael Keaton, Birdman
Eddie Redmayne,
The Theory of Everything
Benedict Cumberbatch, The Imitation Game
Steve Carell, Foxcatcher
Bradley Cooper, American Sniper

ACTRESS IN A SUPPORTING ROLE
Patricia Arquette, Boyhood

Emma Stone, Birdman
Keira Knightley, The Imitation Game
Meryl Streep, Into the Woods
Laura Dern, Wild

ACTOR IN A SUPPORTING ROLE
J.K. Simmons, Whiplash

Edward Norton, Birdman
Ethan Hawke, Boyhood
Mark Ruffalo, Foxcatcher
Robert Duvall, The Judge

ORIGINAL SCREENPLAY
Alejandro González Iñárritu, Nicolás Giacobone, Alexander Dinelaris, A
rmando Bo, Birdman
Richard Linklater, Boyhood
Wes Anderson and Hugo Guinness, The Grand Budapest Hotel
Dan Gilroy, Nightcrawler
Dan Futterman and E. Max Frye, Foxcatcher

ADAPTED SCREENPLAY
Graham Moore, The Imitation Game

Anthony McCarten, The Theory of Everything
Damien Chazelle, Whiplash
Jason Hall, American Sniper
Paul Thomas Anderson, Inherent Vice

FILM EDITING
American Sniper
Boyhood
The Grand Budapest Hotel
The Imitation Game
Whiplash

FOREIGN LANGUAGE FILM
Ida (Poland)
Leviathan
(Russia)
Tangerines
(Estonia)
Timbuktu
(Mauritania)
Wild Tales
(Argentina)

ANIMATED FEATURE FILM
Big Hero 6
How to Train Your Dragon 2
The Boxtrolls
Song of the Sea
The Tale of Princess Kaguya

ANIMATED SHORT FILM
Daisy Jacobs and Christopher Hees, The Bigger Picture (National Film and Television School)
Robert Kondo and Dice Tsutsumi, The Dam Keeper (Tonko House)
Patrick Osborne and Kristina Reed, Feast (Walt Disney Animation Studios)
Torill Kove, Me and My Moulton (Mikrofilm in co-production with the National Film Board of Canada)
Joris Oprins, A Single Life (Job, Joris & Marieke)

LIVE ACTION SHORT FILM
Oded Binnun and Mihal Brezis, Aya (Chasis Films)
Michael Lennox, director, and Ronan Blaney, Boogaloo and Graham (Out of Orbit)
Hu Wei and Julien Féret, Butter Lamp (La Lampe au Beurre de Yak)(AMA Productions)
Talkhon Hamzavi and Stefan Eichenberger, Parvaneh (Zurich University of Arts)
Mat Kirkby, director and James Lucas, The Phone Call (RSA Films)

DOCUMENTARY FEATURE
Citizenfour
Last Days in Vietnam
Virunga
Finding Vivian Maier
The Salt of the Earth

DOCUMENTARY SHORT SUBJECT
Perry Films, Crisis Hotline: Veterans Press 1

Wajda Studio, Joanna
Warsaw Film School, Our Curse
Centro de Capacitación Cinematográfica, The Reaper (La Parka)
Weary Traveler, White Earth

CINEMATOGRAPHY
Emmanuel Lubezki, Birdman

Dick Pope, Mr. Turner
Robert D. Yeoman, The Grand Budapest Hotel
Ryszard Lenczewski and Łukasz Żal, Ida
Roger Deakins, Unbroken

ORIGINAL SCORE
Johann Johannsson, The Theory of Everything
Alexandre Desplat, The Imitation Game
Alexandre Desplat, The Grand Budapest Hotel
Hans Zimmer, Interstellar
Gary Yershon, Mr. Turner

ORIGINAL SONG
Gregg Alexander, Danielle Brisebois, Nick Lashley, and Nick Southwood, “Lost Stars” (Begin Again)
John Legend and Common, “Glory” (Selma)
Shawn Patterson, Joshua Bartholomew, Lisa Harriton, and The Lonely Island, “Everything Is Awesome” (The Lego Movie)
Diane Warren, “Grateful” (Beyond the Lights)
Glen Campbell, “I’m Not Gonna Miss You” (Glen Campbell … I’ll Be Me)

COSTUME DESIGN
Colleen Atwood, Into the Woods
Anna B. Sheppard and Jane Clive, Maleficent
Milena Canonero, The Grand Budapest Hotel
Jacqueline Durran, Mr. Turner
Mark Bridges, Inherent Vice

PRODUCTION DESIGN
Adam Stockhausen and Anna Pinnock, The Grand Budapest Hotel

Suzie Davies and Charlotte Watts, Mr. Turner
Dennis Gassner and Anna Pinnock, Into the Woods
Nathan Crowley, Gary Fettis, and Paul Healy, Interstellar
Maria Djurkovic and Tatiana Macdonald, The Imitation Game

MAKEUP AND HAIRSTYLING
Bill Corso and Dennis Liddiard, Foxcatcher
Frances Hannon and Mark Coulier, The Grand Budapest Hotel
Elizabeth Yianni-Georgiou and David White, Guardians of the Galaxy

VISUAL EFFECTS
Interstellar
Dawn of the Planet of the Apes
Guardians of the Galaxy
X Men: Days of Future Past
Captain America: The Winter Soldier

SOUND EDITING
Alan Robert Murray and Bub Asman, American Sniper

Martín Hernández and Aaron Glascock, Birdman
Brent Burge and Jason Canovas, The Hobbit: Battle of the Five Armies
Richard King, Interstellar
Becky Sullivan and Andrew DeCristofaro, Unbroken

SOUND MIXING
American Sniper
Birdman
Unbroken
Interstellar
Whiplash

 

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2015 Oscar Predictions (Or the Unexpected Virtue of Winning Your Oscar Pool)

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It’s that magical time of year when film come to a head, colliding in a battleground of prestige, vying for golden statuettes that boast careers and fatten paychecks. This year’s Academy Awards nomination met with controversy out of the gate – most notably for the exclusion of noted female and African-American directors, actors and screenwriters – but that hasn’t stalled the herds of celebrities literally waiting in the wings to reward each other and today is the biggest and easily the most important of the awards season. So don your fanciest dress, pop your priciest wine and set out the stinkiest cheeses because today months and months of speculation and prognostication end to the tune of shiny statues. Read More