Out in Theaters: THE IMITATION GAME

December 24, 2014 by Matt Oakes Posted in Out in Theaters Tagged Allen Leech, Charles Dance, Keira Knightley, Mark Strong, Matthew Goode, Morten Tyldum, Out in Theaters, Reviews, The Imitation Game

At the onset of The Imitation Game, Alan Turing asks if we’re paying attention, not dissimilar from Hugh Jackman in Christopher Nolan‘s The Prestige.The Prestige played its B-movie twisty route with a kind of goofy, self-aware panache, knowingly stringing you along for a series of loony forks in the road. David Bowie played Nikola Tesla. We rightly paid attention. By point of comparison, The Imitation Game is dreadfully forthright. Almost unaware that the subtext that we’re supposed to be looking out for is already right there on the surface. There’s no code to track to understand the meaning of the film, it’s just all there. Plain and simple. And boring. That’s not to say the result isn’t an admittedly lovingly made historical piece destined for awards buzz. The thing has Oscar noms tramp stamped all over it. And yet with all its attention paid to the effect of the film, there’s no hiding the fact that it’s a contrived work of old-fashion non-fiction, one without much depth of intention. Believe me, there’s no need to pay close attention.

Benedict Cumberbatch again steps into the shoes of a man cripplingly bad at being normal (a la Sherlock and his turn as Julian Asange in The Fifth Estate.) He’s an unintentional misanthrope, a nerdy megalomaniac, a puzzle genius sans a lick of understanding for social graces. Back under the whip of imitating an existing figure, Cumberbatch offers his all but it’s a SSDD situation at best. We’ve seen the best of Cumbie struggling with crippling genius in the wingtip shoes of Sherlock. There’s simply no need to return to the well again, and again, and again. Seriously, this guy’s more typecast than Arnold.

Tasked with cracking the uncrackable German Enigma code, Turing must race against the clock (as American lives are lost by the second) all while withstanding political pressure from all sides. Add to that his secret homosexuality and you have a character who should be indefinitely rich in layers but winds up seemingly as complex as a Boston Creme Pie.

Morten Tyldum‘s old-fashion biopic finds an entry point into Turing by expounding upon three turning points in his life: his childhood, his secretive wartime activities and a post-war investigation into his private life. The three periods poke holes in a seemingly steely character but it’s most often only the meaty middle bits that are genuinely compelling. Young Al (Alex Lawther) develops a did-they-or-didn’t-they FWB situation with classmate Christopher and though the lil’ Lawther handles the material aptly, there’s nothing in those segments to propel the narrative forward without a dollop of clunky platitudes. The scenes exist to highlight the challenge of Turing’s latent gayness and suss out what makes him such an isolated being but it’s a hokey tactic that wrestles in even hokier speeches. “You know,” Christopher says to Alan, “it’s the people no one imagines anything of who do things that no one can imagine.” Thanks for the advice Lionel Logue.

Similar feel-good hokum can be found splattered throughout the bulk of Graham Moore’s tidy script, revealing The Imitation Game for the covetous awards hog it truly is. WWII? Check. Unsung but crucial historical figure? Check. Demons in closet? Check. “Wrap it up fellas, the Oscar’s in the bag.” Even the unwieldy CGI seems like an inside joke.

The idea of Keira Knightley as a era-smashing woman code-breaker threatens to upend the carefully formatted Oscar tedium but when she’s relegated to hiding her intelligence in the shadows, her character turns mostly moot. Knightley’s brainy Joan Clarke is certainly no Joan of Clarke, allowing the predominant belief that women can’t be nothing but seamstresses and baby-makers to shape her destiny. While Turing stuffs his unlawful preference in the closet (homosexuality was illegal in England until 1967) Clarke is his similarly secretive counterpart, solving puzzles by candlelight because the idea of a codebreaker with a vagina is just too much for those old snooty white guys to handle. Plus, cooties.

There’s an intriguing by-product to Clarke and Turing’s unorthodox union in which they both recognize and accept each other for who they are (Turing being gay and Clarke being…a smart woman?) but it’s mostly shadowed in an offscreen haze, only truly rearing its head for a late-stage Oscar moment scene. Clarke mostly becomes a fulcrum point around which Turing’s character evolves but is never substantial in herself, much like upper-decker officers Mark Strong and Charles Dance and inside team members Matthew Goode and Allen Leech. The pieces are all there but they’re as shaped and wooden as pawns, which Moore’s script plays them as.

In 1952, Alan Turing was convicted of gross indecency due to the investigation that bookends the film. In trying to prove that Turing was a spy, the local law reveled a romantic relationship with a 19-year-old boy. In a moment of Oscar glory, a discredited Turing admits he’s chosen to take “straight” pills rather than a prison sentence. Tears are had and I was reminded that this was the first time in the film that I actually felt much. For a film that tries to tackle so much within such a limited spectrum, The Imitation Game is as dated about its politics as it is about its filmmaking. Where it should have been brave, bold and pioneering, it’s clunky, squeamish and ultimately forgettable.

C

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The Absolute Worst Films of 2014

December 20, 2014 by Matt Oakes Posted in Lists Tagged Brick Mansions, Divergent, Gimme Shelter, Hercules, Horns, If I Stay, Lists, Maleficent, Ouija, That Awkward Moment, They Came Together, Worst Movies 2 Comments

As the year comes to a close, most critics hover around their keyboards blasting out lists on this or that – Top Tens, Best Performances, Coolest Stunt Involving a Bunny Rabbit – and cutting through all the praise is the purely gleeful opportunity to take aim at the worst of the worst – those films that left us shuttering, that inspired us to reach out to friends and family and warn them off, that wouldn’t just melt away with time but rather forced us to remember their terribleness throughout the entire year. And though many may expect the likes of Haunted House 2, Tammy, Heaven is for Real, Blended, God’s Not Dead, The Identical, The Best of Me, etc. to make an appearance here, they won’t make the list because I didn’t subject myself to their nominal abject horror.

Last year, our Absolute Worst of 2013 List included Getaway, Oz, All the Boys Love Mandy Lane, Movie 43, The Hangover: Part 3, The Fifth Estate, After Earth, The Mortal Instruments, The Canyons and The Host and though this year’s worst weren’t quite as bad as last’s year putrid bunch, they were still some bad, bad mommas. So before we get to the worst of the worst, let’s blast through a quick list of films that were quite thoroughly offputting but not quite enough to crack the top ten. Nonetheless, avoid these trash piles whole-heartedly.

Dishonorable Mentions:

Annie
The Foxy Merkins
Ping Pong Summer
Leading Lady
The Purge: Anarchy
Into the Storm
About Last Night
Labor Day
The Better Angels
Annabelle
Jack Ryan: Shadow Recruit
Bad Words
Decoding Annie Parker
300: Rise of an Empire
Stage Fright
Pompeii
Exodus: Gods and Kings

10. GIMME SHELTER

Vanessa Hudgen‘s scrubby mop and her horrendous Jersey accent aren’t really to blame for the emotional wash-out that is Gimme Shelter. Nor is Brendan Fraser and his Brendan Fraser-iness. Director Ron Krauss, on the other hand, is. Coming off a human trafficking billing, Krauss wrings the welts of abused children for every weepy sentiment he can and in doing so makes a despicable and entirely ugly product. Miles from the brilliant Rolling Stones song from which it takes its name, Gimme Shelter paints the wholly wrong picture of child abuse with boorish abandon, mixing ice-cream parlor super-88 montages with a cracked out, stanky skanky Rosario Dawson.

9. BRICK MANSIONS

Were it not for the untimely passing of star Paul Walker, I’m convinced Brick Mansions would have been a straight-to-DVD release. It’s a parkour movie that edits out the parkour, an action thriller without any octane, a remake of a French film that keeps its French star inexplicably intact, supplanting him in a racially divided Detroit. There is literally a moment where the two leads simultaneously backflip over the bad guys. This actually happened. In an actual movie. Not to mention the entire plot is one big borrowed MacGuffin from other Walker franchise, the wholly more enjoyable Fast and Furious. The whole thing is frustratingly scrubbed of life and energy, mistakenly betting on the starring power of Walker and a red-pepper-slicin’ RZA.

8. THAT AWKWARD MOMENT

In terms of chemistry gone wrong, none can top That Awkward Moment. With 3/4 of its cast entirely likable (Miles Teller, Imogen Poots, Michael B. Jordan), this rank “comedy” supports a borderline violent, totalitarian anti-feminist worldview in which woman are doormats to be treated as such. I can’t think of another film this year that so actively tried to disarm womankind and did so with such gross snarkiness. I found the film distasteful to say the least and even borderline damaging for those unfortunate enough to mistake its message for reality. That Awkward Moment presents a backwards zeitgeist that needs to be put in the rear view as a prize to be won. Zac Efron has never stooped so low.

7. THEY CAME TOGETHER

I make a point of avoiding movies that will too easily make its way onto this year end list of worsts. I don’t see Sandler nut-kicking vehicles. I don’t watch Seltzer-Friedberg spoofs, I don’t bathe in Nicholas Sparks waters. I won’t bother with Christian-pandering flickolas. I go into movies fully expecting some modicum of entertainment and if I know that I’m going to be sighing and watch-checking for a number of hours, I just don’t bother. Then came They Came Together, a well-disguised trap; a nut-twisting landmine that reels you in with promises of satire only to deliver brain-crushing wallops of stupidity. Even the oddball charm of Amy Poehler and Paul Rudd couldn’t wash away the stench of absolute failure in this Larry the Cable Guy-level spoof. The amazing thing is some people actually liked this. Critics recommended it. I don’t know if I watched the film in an alternate universe or if some critics were getting paid off to hand out passes but there was nothing in this movie that made me even think about cracking a smile.

6. OUIJA

To me there’s a monumental difference between bad movies and lazy movies and my disdain for the later far outweighs the former. Transcendence was a bad movie – it got jumbled up, dotted the T’s and crossed the I’s and went haywire – but at least it tried something. It wasn’t a rehashed conglomerated of old parts mashed together clumsily and without regard. Oujia represents this other side of the spectrum, the side in which nothing new is attempted, where everything reeks of lethargic malaise. Entirely lacking in inertia and completely devoid of novelty, it’s the kind of film that gives horror a bad name, that has the nerve to off its hapless teenagers in the most predicable of ways, that fails to present even one reason for its existence. In a word, it’s shameful.

5. HERCULES

Disney’s 1997 animated Hercules is a thing of magic. The gospel-fed songs are inspiring and catchy as all hell (“Herc was on a roll”), the hero’s journey is handled with a weighty, classical approach, the animation absolutely soars and Danny Devito was a half-man, half-goat. I love it. Now take Brett Ratner‘s shatner of a flick and try and describe just one thing about it. It stars a man named The Rock. He battles stuff ‘n’ things. He pulls down a pillar at one point. I’m not sure if he was a God or not. It didn’t really matter. 2014’s Hercules is so bad because it’s so nothing. There is not one single memorable thing about it. Too bloodless to revel in and too thoughtless to engage with, it’s a white-washed mash of “Who gives a shit?” I’ll tell you who, not me.

4. MALEFICENT

Angelina Jolie‘s inhuman cheekbones stars amidst a wash of CGI in an origin story that takes a meaty dump on the beloved Sleeping Beauty fairytale lore of yore. This revisited Disney saga is a Frankenstein’s monster of blockbuster glitz that batters its audience with allusions to rape and then has trees fighting men. Utterly without a voice and any discernible perspective, Maleficent rests on the starring power of Angelina Jolie, an actress more apt to strike a pose than to, ya know, act and you feel the strain of the film’s weight upon her underfed shoulders. Yucky, grossly dull and entirely fake, Maleficent represents rock bottom for Disney’s live action re-tellings and is an absolute task to endure.

3. IF I STAY

Chloe Grace Moretz is a darling. She is not however dramatically inclined and the wholly incompetent If I Stay is bitter proof of that. The story is tragi-porn city, with a plot that involves a coma, dead parents, a dying brother and, gasp, an on-the-rocks teenage romance. 2014 has been the year of shoehorning calamity into romance – cancer cough, Fault in Our Stars, cancer cough – but none did it worse than If I Stay. Like a battering ram trying to bust down the gateway to our tears, the film wears its cheesy intent on its sleeve and is all the worse for wear for it. There’s a threshold for how much an audience will believably endure before we just begin to snicker and If I Stay crosses that line early on and proceeds to cross it again and again and again.

2. DIVERGENT

At 139 minutes, Divergent is the most punishing motion picture of the year – a recklessly lengthy stretch of kids jumping over shit and yelling “dauntless”. Plastered in black pleather and smeared with Jai Courtney grimaces, this popular kids book turned wannabe hit franchise is the worst derivative young adult dystopia of the (growing) lot in many parts because of its utter narrative incompetence. There’s class-based factions, shifting power structures, social uprisings – basically the makings for timely political intrigue – but it’s all handled with the good grace of a date with Bill Cosby. Did I mention Jai Courtney was in this?

1. HORNS

Joe Hill’s novel Horns was warmly met by fans and critics, receiving a nomination for the 2010 Bram Stoker Award for Best Novel, a prize that had in the past gone to the likes of Thomas Harris and Steven King. Alexandre Aja, director of The Hills Have Eyes remake, Piranha 3D and last year’s widely panned Maniac takes Hill’s novel and bastardizes its mania into harebrained stupidity. Daniel Radcliffe sports an anaconda boa and horns that make people confess their wildest sins (like wanting to eat a whole box of donuts!), religious allegories saunter into and out of frame and I think the whole thing is supposed to be some wildly miffed commentary on puberty and masturbation. But who the fuck knows. The result feels like a vision distilled down more times than good vodka, losing parts and pieces along the way until it wound up the ugly, pointless, plodding movie it was, one that is aggressively frustrating for its absolute missed potential and even worse for supposing all the while that it does have a point, a heart and a brain.

So there we have it, the worst flicks according to moi. On the way out the door though, we’ll take two more quick pot-shots, this time for the worst performances.

Worst Actress: Cameron Diaz “ANNIE”

The singing. The acting. The faces. I don’t know which was worst. In a movie crammed with a brazen lack of charm, Cameron Diaz added log after log to the awful fire, hamming her way to this man’s Razzie chart-topper. As I noted in my review, there’s a very fine line between satire and mockery and it’s one that Diaz tragically misunderstood in the role. An actor’s journey is to find the humanity in their character – no matter how despicable, cold or inhuman – and from that understanding create a living, breathing human. We buy into the fact that this is not just a celebrity caked in makeup and dressed funny to be captured on camera so long as they ready themselves to convince us. It’s an unspoken contract that actors make with their audiences, one that Diaz violently violates as the ham-fisted Ms. Hannigan, a puppet of a character that’s more Oscar the Grouch than woman.

Worst Actor: Jai Courtney “DIVERGENT”

The latest in “let’s make him a Hollywood “it” boy” (following in the footsteps of the somehow infinitely less dull Sam Worthington) Jai Courtney is the most fruitless actor working today. With a resume that includes franchise bed-pooper A Good Day to Die Hard, I, Frankenstein and Divergent, he’s got very little talent and even less pathos, set with the kind of face that invites a hearty punch. His work may not ever be aggressively bad but it’s always been aggressively careless. Maybe it’s because we got in a tiff before the premiere and I was harboring feelings of distain towards the Aussie actor but I earnestly can’t think of a performance that annoyed me more than his work in the endlessly punishing Divergent.

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Out in Theaters: FOXCATCHER

December 19, 2014 by Matt Oakes Posted in Out in Theaters Tagged Bennett Miller, Channing Tatum, Foxcatcher, Mark Ruffalo, Out in Theaters, Reviews, Steve Carell

On the most recent season of American Horror Story (Freak Show) there’s a depraved foil by the name of Dandy Mott, a highfaluting, affluent shut-in with a penchant for inflicting violence on those his physical inferior. His tailored suits and slickly oiled part stand in stark contrast to the tattered, deformed calvary of freaks that make up the namesake of the season, but beneath the perfumed facade of opulence and manicured sophistication is a reeking air of base barbarism. His is a most brutish proclivity nurtured utmost by an uninhibited sense of entitlement. In possessing all, nothing has value. Not even human life. With great money comes great power… and little responsibility. As King Joffrey infamously teased, “Everyone is mine to torment.”

Since the most recent economic collapse and subsequent Occupy movement, those in the upper echelon, the “one-percenters”, have become a sort of nationally derided myth. They jet around the world in lavish abandon, attending lush fundraisers, imbibing impossibly priced champagne and banging it out with gaggles of Eastern European models. Maybe slashing the throats of homeless vagabonds every once in a while for good measure. They’ve become caricatures, long teeth and all; braggarts removed from reality; personified wallets who can’t fold into the ebb and flow of middle-class normality. In this folklore view of the uber-wealthy, Patrick Batemans are hiding everywhere. If ever there was a symbol for the recklessly moneyed lifestyle of the criminally wealthy, it’s John du Pont. He’s pretty much the Batman of being a douchey trust-fund baby.

Watching interviews with Du Pont, it becomes immediately clear how out of his depth he is in just about any situation. From charities to coaching, he fumbles his way through his affairs unconvincingly. Writing checks his brain can’t cash. Like a special needs kid quoting Rudy. It’s almost heartbreaking how bad this guy is at being human. Droning on about discipline, responsibility, ornithology, or philately, there’s something to the way he speaks (so soft, so mindless) that makes you want to tune out. That demands it. His patterns of speech may be polished but they’re oh so hollow, like a Kenny G record. He’s basically a walking, talking Ambien with stubby teeth and a quality for malfeasance. There’s no question that were he not quite literally made of money, no one in their right mind would give this loon the time of day.

Foxcatcher follows the true story of du Pont and his relationship with Olympic gold medalists Mark and Dave Schlutz. After winning the top prize for wrestling at the 1984 summer games, Mark (Channing Tatum) still exists in the shadow of older brother Dave (Mark Ruffalo) until mysterious millionaire John du Pont invites Mark to take part in a training initiate known as “Foxcatcher”. While training at du Pont’s world class facility for the upcoming Worlds championship, Mark and Du Pont strike up an odd relationship that doesn’t fit neatly into a coach-pupil/father-son/boss-employee box. At times, their connection is that of an upsetting bromance. It’s odd but in a very specific, unclassifiable way. Picture an out-of-shape bag of man “pinning” down an Olympic athlete – who rightfully can’t mask his disdain for this lesser act of ego-masturbation – and you’ll get a general sense of their relationship. The whipping boy and the mutt seems as close as I can get.

If you didn’t live through the ’80s (or watch the trailer) you might not know how this story ends and I’m not going to spoil it for you here. We’ll just say that things get a little messy. In a first-degree kind of way. But it’s a quietly devastating tale, more than worth the journey.

As Du Pont, Steve Carrell is a frightfully vacuous vessel of self-righteous delusion. So he’s Michael Scott without the punchlines. (That’s what she said!) He’s the kind of guy who pats himself on the back and won’t stop until you join in on the patting. A pasty, flat-faced, shark-nosed, long-gummed mama’s boy with drug-fueled paranoid fantasies, he’s a misanthrope at an arm’s length from reality. Director Bennett Miller approaches his character with similar distance.

We’re never privy to the anecdotal insanity of Du Pont’s most colorful acting outs- the sociopathic multimillionaire reportedly drove around his property in a tank, paid off wrestlers to search his attic for ghosts, and “used dynamite to blow up a den of fox cubs” – rather our time spent with Du Pont is as vacuous as Carrell’s many thousand yard stares. It’s hollow by intention.

But this isn’t a movie interested in condemning a man for blowing up a den full of perhaps the most objectively cute critters in the world (though my heart whimpers at the thought of this heinous act), this is a film about a mental disease: affluenza. To call into question the legitimacy of said “disease” is part and parcel of the intrigue of Miller’s slow-moving character study. Miller invites us to form our own opinion on du Pont’s guilt, he avoids taking a definitive stance on the matter. Rather, we’re left to our own devices to piece together whether this man is really a monster. Or really even a man at all.

Du Pont’s numbered relationships and bipolar posturing clue us into a kind of deep-seated mental trauma and gives us a lick of sympathy for the character but it’s the same sympathy we feel towards Artificial Intelligence – like when you yell at Siri for misunderstanding the name of your favorite Mexican restaurant. He’s a character without character; a shell of a being that feeds on praise and trophies like sustenance.

Perhaps it’s the absence of any perceivable inner monologue that makes him such a distressing piece of work. Carrell plays him like a half-lobotized goof with cobwebs and dust bunnies kicking around his noggin with a physical stature to match. Not only is he a tabula rasa of talent, he demands praise for his talentlessness. A scene where du Pont “wins” a wrestling match for the elderly shows he’ll pay off competitors to lose and still do a victory dance in the end zone. There’s something severely twisted about that notion.

And while Du Pont may have traded in his tailored four-piece for a custom gold-and-powder-blue track suit, there’s still a kind of self-dignified manner to the way he slumps himself. The way he demands the love and respect of his wrestling team is that of a neglected boy torturing his stuffed animals. In his mind, he’s Atlas, balancing the future of the world on his checkbook. For Du Pont, it’s praise or die.

With a measured dose of restraint, Bennett Miller‘s Foxcatcher offers ample insight into a complexly noncomplex character, staging an acting showdown for Steve Carrell, Mark Ruffalo and Channing Tatum (the former two should and will earn Oscar nominations.) It’s withdrawn and quiet – Rob Simonsen‘s melancholy score is a spider, trapping us in Miller’s sobering web; absent more often than naught – the kind of Oscar bait that clearly registers as such but is still ultimately devastating. Dandy Mott might be a parody of this type of affluent sociopath but there’s something much more terrifying to du Pont’s long silences and labored breathing, especially when it holds up against archival footage of the man himself.

Some people collect stamps. Others Beanie Babies. John du Pont wanted to collect talent. He wanted to bunch it all up in his verdant Pennsylvania farm and own it for good. The result is the quietly explosive Foxcatcher; a somber rough-and-tumble look at moneyed mannerisms; the banality of clean white tennis shoes. And if it doesn’t leave you shaken and stirred, you might just already be a Bond martini.

B+

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Out in Theaters: ANNIE

December 16, 2014 by Matt Oakes Posted in Out in Theaters Tagged Annie, Cameron Diaz, Jamie Foxx, Jay Z, Will Gluck, Zachary Woodlee

There are three elements to Annie that sum up the 2014 remake: producer Jay Z, Glee choreographer Zachary Woodlee and Cameron Diaz‘s gum-smacking pie-hole. It’s a melting pot of bad taste that assumes putting a black girl in the titular ginger role is all it needs to account for its yucky existence. With music that’s bubblegum poppy even by Disney standards – all auto-tuned and ironed out to mimic the electro-caw of Billboard toppers – eruptions into song-and-dance that make no sense in the context of director Will Gluck‘s (Friends With Benefits) telling of the tale – sometimes other characters are cognizant of the songsplosions and they aid in propelling the narrative forward, other times the numbers are existential blobs of magical realism – and Cameron Diaz misunderstanding the difference between campy and straight up obtuse, Annie is a poorly intentioned money grab, pivoting away from family values and towards an indefensible thesis that dollar signs equal happiness.

The once adorable Quvenzhané Wallis of Beasts of the Southern Wild has sprouted into a proportionally adorable 11-year old and she’s the least to blame for the failure that is Annie. She’s not “good” in the role but she’s cute enough to make us go “Awww.” This being 2014 though, the concept of lil’ orphan Annie has gone out the window, replaced by a more contemporary and PC notion of lil’ foster kid Annie. Because orphanages are so 1982. But all the shady conditions of Ms. Hannigan’s orphanage carry over to Ms. Hannigan’s foster home – borderline child slavery, condescension more evil than snarky, a bevy of lil orphans dreaming of the day their parents will return. But with Gluck’s clumsy hand, these grim circumstances come wrapped up in pretty bows. There’s no authenticity here, only bold-faced mockery.

As Hannigan, Diaz spits her lines like a drunk on the subway, missing the mark of subtle commentary by a country mile. She is awful. Jamie Foxx, playing a twist on Daddy Warbucks, is Will Stacks, a cell phone mogul (and is inexplicably (secretly) bald)) intent on blanketing the city in cell phone towers. He’s even got one in the Statue of Liberty. Huzzah! For an update as seemingly significant as this, there’s no underlying purpose to his career or commentary about the fact that a business man has literally planted his product inside the physical representation of freedom. How is something like that brought up and just tabled?! I digress but for a reason; this misstep provides an ample example of just how clueless the film ultimately is. In the end, Stack”s driving force is boiled down to a desire that no calls will ever be dropped. He shares his motivation with the Verizon Wireless test man.

Foxx isn’t bad so much as tired-looking, like he’d rather be somewhere else, and his musical numbers – though aggressively affected and disparate stylistically (he’s straight soul baby) – provide a significant step-up from tuneless compatriots Diaz and Bobby Cannavale (who isn’t otherwise bad in the role.) Rose Byrne amps up her effortless charm even if she’s saddled with one of the most aggressively WTF dance serving of the film (arms swingin’, fingers snappin’) though her character struggles with a (never explained) crippling bout of friendlessness that’s hinted towards perhaps being schizophrenia (her only friends were imaginary…)

There’s more plot holes as big as the sun (Spoiler: why would Annie’s orphan friends help audition fake parents for her? Seriously, why?! Are they just the worst friends ever? Also, how the f*ck can she not read?! How is she texting her friends then? And why is Foxx bald? WHY?!) and an overt smugness to Gluck’s proceedings. It’s a sliced bread family film with blinders on, entirely lacking in the purpose department and that’s largely because Gluck’s is one big game of assumption – assuming existing fondness for the character will allow this redressing to gloss over a floppy script, assuming that a pop-update to all the songs is necessarily a good, or even welcome, thing, assuming that we won’t notice how much this stinks of white people trying to write black people (the honky jive is just embarrassing.) It’s false, it’s lifeless and it’s unnecessary.

D

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Out in Theaters: THE HOBBIT: THE BATTLE OF THE FIVE ARMIES

December 14, 2014 by Matt Oakes Posted in Out in Theaters Tagged Ian Holms, Ian McKellan, Luke Evans, Martin Freeman, Orlando Bloom, Out in Theaters, Peter Jackson, Reviews, Richard Armitage, The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies

For all the huffing and puffing we’ve done over Peter Jackson‘s Hobbit trilogy, The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies is one big juicy payoff. For story look elsewhere, as Jackson’s latest is a smorgasbord of VFX battle scenes, one right after the other for practically the entire running time. Those not looking for elf-on-dwarf-on-man-on-orc action ought to look elsewhere as this is literally the foundation, the studs and the dry wall of this movie. Those thinking that sounds pretty, pretty good, rejoice, as this third Hobbit installment is Jackson’s most bombastic to date. Somehow it’s also his most restrained and the tightest of the series as well; it’s shorter and battle-ier than any LOTR-related installment and only has one ending. Color me satisfied.

Picking up in the midst of the Smaug v. Laketown populace face-off that Desolation of Smaug capped off on, The Battle of the Five Armies wastes little time dispensing with the namesake of the second film. From the get-go, this is a narrative charged with finality and doesn’t purport to drag its feet getting there. In past Hobbit installments, Jackson has made brevity his enemy and this opening pre-title card sequence makes fast work of ejecting old habits while setting the stage for that golden payday at the end of the tunnel. Call it a marketing strategy if you must but I believe Jackson’s claim that this third entry is his favorite of the prequel trilogy. You can finally taste his passion again.

In the smoldering ashes of a battle equally won and lost, Bard the Bowman (Luke Evans) is now a certifiable hero while Thorin Oakenshield (Richard Armitage), atop an insurmountable pile of loot, battles a monkey on his back that’s poisoning him against his fellow Dwarf companions and the increasingly faithful Bilbo (Martin Freeman). Dragon’s gold is said to hold that kind of sway and within this internal battle Armitage is afforded the opportunity to flesh out the themes of paranoia and addiction that have been bubbling to the surface in these Lord of the Rings prequels. Studying the not-so-subtle nuance of J.R.R. Tolkien‘s source material and his very specific in-book relationship to the idea of addiction, it’s clear that there’s no short pathway to redemption in Tolkein’s Middle Earth. For all his struggles, Gollum is never redeemed. Boromir ends up a pincushion for his once ring-craving. And Frodo and Bilbo ultimately end up shipped off to Elf rehab because they can never escape the sway of the ring. Ownership always ends in bloodshed and torment.

Jonesing over a stupid amount of wealth, Oakenshield’s internal battles get a touch hokey (the golden whirlwind of bad choice) but it’s his character’s pig-headedness and his fellow race’s predilection towards greed that becomes the fulcrum point of this five armies affairs. Everyone’s got their own legitimate or illegitimate claim to the fallen Smaug’s treasury and even in light of advancing enemies forces, struggle to band together to defeat a far greater foe. It’s thematic even if it does hit the nail on the head.

But what am I on about? Jackson’s sixth never pretends to be anything more than smashing time at the Hulk convention. There’s enough f*cking battle to make Hitler jealous (guy was a big fan of CGI.) An intercut twofer of big baddie fights pretty much occupies the entire third act. Turns out Orlando Bloom engaged in more gravity-defying elf-crobatics matches up with Armitage playing CrossFit with Azog the Sword-Armed like peanut butter and chocolate. For once in this series, I wasn’t just waiting for it to end. I was engrossed.

In chaos, Jackson excels. He makes big spectacle set pieces look grand beyond belief. From Smaug’s beautifully-rendered firebreather to copious stretches of advancing Orcs, The Battle of Five Armies is earmarked by a preeminent sense of technical mastership. The large-scale cacophony of peoples is a marvel to behold. Though 48 FPS (rightfully) went the way of the Balrog, I can imagine that this action-hectic film would have been breathtaking under the cowl of those next-gen glasses.

Rather than bake everything in a long string of fanfare, Jackson manages to tie things up rather quickly once the armies and their battles subside. Thank goodness. I don’t think the franchise could withstand a Return of the King triple decker ending.

From the humble (boring) beginnings of An Unexpected Journey to the foot-dragging musings of Desolation of Smaug, Jackson and Co. have depended upon a sense of nostalgia for the far superior Lord of the Rings to propel events forward in this cousin trilogy. Old characters have lent their personages and many, many moments of foreshadowing have splayed themselves like a cheap whores (“They call him Strider but you’ll have to figure out his real name for yourself”) but while Five Armies hits on more of the same notes – more steely-eyed, bratty-boy Legolas, more “remember him?” Ian Holms, more Gandalf scraping his pipe and packing a bowl – it does so with a dreadful amount of fun.

B-

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Weekly Review 66: MOTIVATION, COPS, FOLLOWS, BELLE, WILD, EXPENDABLES, JOURNEY

December 14, 2014 by Matt Oakes Posted in Weekly Review Tagged Belle, It Follows, Let's Be Cops, Reviews, The Expendables 3, The Hundred-Foot Journey, Weekly Review, Wild, Zero Motivation

It’s been a long week – a final homestretch towards officially calling 2014 – that capped off in a very long flight, so this weekly is as stuffed as ever. After screenings of Into the Woods (review to follow) and Top Five, I watched a few films at home that I’d been meaning to get around to and a few that I had only heard of when the studio reached out to see if I wanted to review them. Included in this category is Tayla Lavie‘s excellent Zero Motivation. A 22 hour flight afforded me the chance to take in Expendables 3, Let’s Be Cops and The Hundred-Foot Journey (none of which I’d seen) as well as rewatches of Guardians of the Galaxy and Edge of Tomorrow (both of which I enjoyed almost as much the second time.) So let’s boogie down and Weekly Review.

ZERO MOTIVATION (2014)

An Israeli take on Joseph Conrad‘s seminal novel “Catch 22”, Zero Motivation looks at the hijinks of a female unit inside a Tzahal military base. Directed with zany aplomb by female Israeli director Tayla Lavie, this chaptered saga of woman in uniform vs. ennui is characterized by a soaring sense of voice and sees stars Dana Ivgy and Nelly Tagar face down the clock as they Minesweep their way through their deafeningly dull military assignment – paperwork. A dark comedy with as many barbs as points, Zero Motivation is a delicious and original vision, percolating with purpose. (B+)

LET’S BE COPS (2014)

I was expecting some horrendous abortion of a comedy with Let’s Be Cops after Fox canned our press screening back in August but what I encountered was an earnest, though underwritten, nugget of an idea. Though as untimely as can be – has there ever been a worse time to glorify copwork? – Cops potential is never fully realized even when it’s defined by an almost boundless sense of commitment from its leads. Riffing on the buddy cop subgenre, this perfectly affable comedy throwback may be short of laugh out loud moments but it kept afloat by the goodwill and easy chemistry of stars Jake Johnson and Damon Wayans Jr. With a smarter edit. a more joke-heavy script and better timing, this could have actually been something special. (C-)

IT FOLLOWS (2014)

One of 2014’s best horror films, It Follows imagines a STD unlike any other, one that claims the life of its victims not by whacking blood cells but by pathogenic haunting. You see, whomever the curse is passed onto is “followed” by a mysterious supernatural being sans discrimination. Like the leisurely-trotting slasher baddies of yore, the titular “it” is a beast of slow-footed intention, always marching towards its victim with its idle cadence. Director David Robert Mitchell deals in wild abstractions while still managing a very real grip on reality, allowing his characters to live on a plane of existence parallel to ours, rightfully ripe with many of the same headaches. Teenage angst and sexual frustration are equally important to the doubtlessly endeavored antagonist in It Follows making a horror film that’s largely inspired by the genre’s past and yet not quite like anything else before it. (A-)

BELLE (2014)

A pretty costume drama dealing with ugly subject matter, Belle tells the true story of a mixed-race daughter of an aristocrat, with enviable fortunes and unenviable skin tone. Even with wealth beyond measure to her name, Dido Elizabeth Belle deals with upper-class racism like 1.) not being able to dine with her family when guests were present 2.) dealing with a handsy Draco Malfoy 3.) carriage rides. My greatest issue with the film is the territory left unexplored. For instance, the dichotomy of being too “low” to dine with the aristocrats but too “high” to dine with the maid staff. Or further exploring that dynamic between those employees of fellow race and her. Alas, Belle deals its Dark Equality Rising card with cliche, overly perfumed turns between fine performances and brusque costumery. (C)

WILD (2014)

Wild tells the true story of Cheryl Strayed, a wildly unprepared woman who embarks on the Pacific Coast Trail (PCT) in search of her salvation. Following her mother passes away, a bout with freebased heroine and a nether-region looseness even a porn star wouldn’t envy, Strayed has alienated her way to middle-class pariah status and seeks a kind of fool’s gold redemption out amongst the wilderness. Her transformation is Kafkaesque in nature, with nightmarish reality checks that make us cringe and an sense of her own evils floating just outside the screen. Busy editing keeps us engaged as does Jean-MarcVallée’s adroit eye for drama, even when the Malicky whisperings almost get out of hand, but it’s a fine performance from Reese Witherspoon that anchors it all together and makes it great. Humming with spirit and sure to leave even the grumpiest humbuggers somewhat inspired, Wild is a powerful tale of reclaiming the soul. (B)

THE EXPENDABLES 3 (2014)

Somewhat entertaining although completely and totally lacking in art, The Expendables 3 represents the most base of PG-13 action fare. With a cast of names that would have been awesome in the 80s, this star-studded third take on New Year’s Eve for dudes is a bloodless, often ball-less affair with weightless violence and fair measures of dumb fun. A committed Wesley Snipes, a batshit Antonio Banderas and a scenery-smacking Mel Gibson try to make matters worthwhile as Sly Stallone grunts and bellows amidst a sea of washed up wash-boarders like Randy Couture and Dolph Lundgren. Mindless and frustratingly soulless – though still just the kind of mind-numbing inflight entertainment it purports itself as – at least this third Expendables film shows off Terry Crews‘ absolutely inhuman muscle mass. (D+)

THE HUNDRED-FOOT JOURNEY (2014)

Lasse Hallström, he of the reckless sentiment, takes on food porn in The Hundred-Foot Journey, a foodie movie more interested in relationships than it is in cuisine. The director of two too many Nicholas Sparks adaptation finds romance amidst good eats as hungry Indian cook Hassan (Manish Dayal) scales the great wall of Michelin stars while courting sous chef compatriot Marguerite (Charlotte Le Bon), all the while battling off the fervor of rival restaurateur Madame Mallory (Helen Mirren.) It’s hokey, predictable and totally unbelievable – essentially Ratatouille without the rat – but its not without its flavorful perks. As far as comfort food, it’s as easy to consume as mac and cheese, even if it does contain the equivalent artistry and is as easy on the eyes – and just as old fashion – as its headlining British actress. (C)

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Out in Theaters: TOP FIVE

December 10, 2014 by Matt Oakes Posted in Out in Theaters Tagged Adam Sandler, Cedric the Entertainer, Chris Rock, J.B. Smoove, Jerry Seinfeld, Kevin Hart, Out in Theaters, Reviews, Romany Malco, Rosario Dawson, Top Five, Tracy Morgan, Whoopie Goldberg

Of Top Five, comedian all-star Chris Rock notes that he wanted to make a movie that felt like his stand up routine. Rather than divvy up the goods – this joke for the movies, this one for a live show – as he had done in the past, Rock melts all the goods down, like an aging alchemist performing a do-or-die swan song. He stirs a fair share of heavy drama amongst the renown comedic fare, throwing flashbacks to hitting rock bottom amongst games of jump rope, providing narration to stories that end in semen-stained bedsheets and rectal tampons while illustrating a battle with a wicked case of the alchies.

Back in 2003, Rock released his directorial debut Head of State – in which an inner-city politician (Rock) becomes president, pre-Obama era – to middling reviews. The bombastic, leather-jacketed motherf*cker from the stage had turned his style on its head, offering watery gags over ripe satire in a politically doltish comedy that stank of his Grown Ups‘ compatriots fare. 2007 wasn’t much kinder to his directorial work as I Think I Love My Wife was met with even less enthusiasm. It seemed the world had given up on Chris Rock the actor.

Since then, Rock has been seen lending his visage to the vacation-bait Grown Ups “franchise”, borrowing out his voice for Marty the Lion in the popular-with-kids Madagascar series and offering an unexpectedly potent dramatic turn in Julie Delpy‘s adroit 2 Days in New York. His return to the director’s chair could not have seemed less warranted and yet could not have been more inspired. With Top Five, he’s finally hit his groove.

Debuting at this year’s Toronto Film Festival, Rock’s latest inspired a bidding war for the distributions right for his film, raising eyebrows across the nation as to just what Rock the director, the writer and the actor had in store.

The anticipation was warranted as Top Five arrives a bombastically hilarious, meaningfully introspective assault on the funny bone. Rock plays a shade of himself; a quasi-washed-up comedic actor famed as the title role in the critically flattened Hammy the Bear buddy cop films. Alfie Allen (Rock) has more recently turned his eye to dramatic roles, starring in a serious – and seriously awful – Haitian revolutionary film he keeps referring to as “the Haitian Django.” With a televised Bravo wedding on the uptick and a make-or-break interview with a noted NYT reporter, played by a half-shaved Rosario Dawson, Allen’s losing it.

Featuring a Who’s-Who of comedy cameos (Jerry Seinfeld, Kevin Hart, Tracy Morgan, Whoopie Goldberg, Adam Sandler, J.B. Smoove, Romany Malco, Cedric the Entertainer), Rock’s struggle is one of finding his voice. In the comedy cellars where he earned his bread and butter and became a fast rising star, he feels lost. As parallel, Rock hasn’t done a comedy special in half a decade. We’re well beyond the shouting, Chris is bearing his soul.

For a three-time Emmy winner who’s performed more sold out shows than The Beatles, Rock bears emotional welts – the scars of easy money; the busted ego of a sell-out. Here, he’s repenting for his comedic sins. Here, he proves he’s worth sticking around with.

As news of the Sony inner circle and their utter distain for Adam Sandler films makes the unfortunate internet rounds, there couldn’t be a better time for Chris Rock to split off and reassert himself as the proud, angry, shrewd, tender comedian that he can be. Top Five is a must – for Rock’s career and comedy fans both.

B

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Out in Theaters: EXODUS: GODS AND KINGS

December 10, 2014 by Matt Oakes Posted in Out in Theaters Tagged Aaron Paul, Ben Kingsley, Ben Mendelsohn, Christian Bale, Exodus: Gods and Kings, John Turturro, Out in Theaters, Reviews, Ridley Scott, Signourney Weaver

If there’s one thing Ridley Scott‘s Exodus: Gods and Kings gets right it’s the amount of hairstyles Christian Bale can rock in one movie. I stopped counting after about the eight iteration of mangy hair/trim beard to mangy beard/trim hair transformation. Eventually some gray enters the mix. It’s very life affirming.

That ever changing facial hairiness belongs to Moses, the badass war commander from the Bible. See you may mistakenly remember Moses as a peace loving, water-parting, commandment-carrying lover of all things Hebrew but Scott’s film reminds us of his true roots: slicin’ and dicin’ Barbarian hordes. Because what is a Ridley Scott movie without scene of “civilized” warriors running down rudimentary inferiors? In 3D, it’s all the more punishing.

Moses starts the film as a Prince of Egypt, a devout servant to the Egyptian throne and underling to the one and only Jesus (John Turturro with drawn on eyebrows). Moses is the cousin to hairless heir Rhamses, an antagonist with a serious case of the Charlie Browns and an even worse case of miscasting. Moses advices Rhamses in matters of … uh… untold things? and tries to quell his overly developed Commodus qualities by being sword twinsies. Plucked right from Gladiator, Jesus (ok fine, Turturro’s real name is Seti) tells Moses he wishes that it could be him who takes the reins after his demise, but alas! that vexing bloodline thing! After a fraudulent Ben Mendelsohn ousts Moses as a Hebrew with a birthright (that being a birthright to drown in a river like all those other pesky Hebrew babies), Rhamses throws a hissy and gives Moses the boot from his kingdom of pyramids and cat statues. Plagues follow.

For what feels like forty days and forty nights, the film is as much of a slog as its title implies. The diaspora of narrative is as thinned out as Moses’ herd of hungry hungry Hebrews. No stone is left unturned as the screenplay by committee (four credited screenwriters) make room for just about every uninteresting element in Moses’ 120 year long life. See Moses struggle with leaving his (Muslim?) family, Moses trekking there and back again and then back again and then back again, Moses’ teach his flock to rise and rise again until lambs turn to lions and, finally, Moses waiting horrified in the wings as God unleashes a lashing of super gnarly pandemics.

Squatting somewhere on a fence between super-naturalism and realism, Exodus never can make up its mind about how pragmatic it wants its divinity to be. The whole celestial curse comes with a footnote of “How the Plagues Could Have Actually Happened” (narrated by the film’s best Ewen Bremmer lookalike) that mostly involves alligator fights and acne. As things heat into a realm of “don’t mention it” magical realism, a deathly hallow of blackness consumes the lives of first borns a big fat dementor. When Scott gets around to revealing God as a neatly shaved, petulant child with an overdeveloped sense of vengeance, things get laughable.

Bale, as always, is up to the task, even if the film itself is not. He gives his all to Moses. Both the battle-worn soldier and the identity-confused harbinger of commandments are juicy with Bale’s overzealous commitment to character. The rest of the performances are disposable at best. Jesse Pinkman (Aaron Paul, who FEELS NO PAIN!!!!) peeks around corners and catch Moses in the act of talking to God (aka talking to a bush like a madman) not once, not twice but a heaving four times.

Ben Kingsley shows up because it’s a movie about Egypt so Ben Kingsley has to show up. Signourney Weaver is stuffed inside some horrendous Egyptian dress to spout out some vitriol about something or other and then never reappear. But it’s Edgerton who suffers most under the weight of Rhamses’ stupidly whitewashed part. The character is dumb enough before draping itself in pale yellow anacondas.

To watch Exodus is to endure exodus. At 150 mins, it’s easily one of the most taxing films of the year and surely one of its least inspired blockbusters. Darren Aronofsky struggled to find his footing in Noah and misstepped more than once, but at least there was some kind of palpable driving force behind that film. Here, it’s a challenge to make heads or tails of the intent. It seems like a $140 million dollar tax write off starring Christian Bale’s hair-growing abilities.

D+

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Weekly Review 65: DEBORAH, BIRDCAGE, THIN, BEST!, GIRL

December 8, 2014 by Matt Oakes Posted in Weekly Review Tagged A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night, Reviews, The Birdcage, The Taking of Deborah Logan, The Thin Blue Line, We Are the Best!, Weekly Review

It’s an insanely busy time of year as I’m rushing to see the remainder of 2014 flicks, preparing for a Top Ten Horror Films of the year and bustling to get ready for a trip around the world. Last week in theaters meant two big blockbuster with colons screenings, The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies and Exodus: Gods and Kings. I enjoyed one more than I thought I would and one quite a bit less. This paved the way for our long awaited release of Ranking Ridley where we put the films of Mr. Ridley Scott to list form. At home, a few heavies, a horror and a pair of wonderful new hits made up the heart and soul of this installment of Weekly Review.

THE TAKING OF DEBORAH LOGAN (2014)

Adam Robitel‘s found footage horror begins in convincing manner with a graduate’s students dissertation taking her to the home of Alezheimer’s patient Deborah Logan. Logan’s, played by the ably creepy Jill Larson, affliction is causing her to do some unorthodox things but when she starts peeling off her skin and speaking in tongues, those studying her are left to assume that there’s something more than meets the eye going on. Released to almost no fanfare (and unceremoniously dumped on Netflix) Logan may not be all that original but it’s wildly effective at deliciously blending body horror with surprisingly eerie FX. (B-)

THE BIRDCAGE (1996)

With the recent passings of Mike Nichols and Robin Williams, The Birdcage seemed ripe for a watch and what a joy that experience was. Uproarious and tender, this Williams-Nathan Lane starrer is a LGBT film ahead of its time – if you ignore the fact that the son is supposed to be sheepish about his parent’s orientation but comes across as heavily pigheaded. Nonetheless, The Birdcage‘s warm center shines through, offering a poignant piece that’s equally emotionally and explosively funny. (B+)

THE THIN BLUE LINE (1988)

My recent obsession with Sarah Koenig‘s Serial Podcast had me craving some more true crime and The Thin Blue Line is a real doozie. While I’m filled with doubt as to what the ultimate result of Serial may be (I fear, like the rest of the listeners, that it will all have been for naught) Errol Morris‘ groundbreaking film proved a precedent for documentary-style investigative journalism inflicting a real impact on judicial proceedings. Morris’ film is so effective at discrediting the jailing of a man wrongfully convicted of a life sentence for murdering a police officer that he was RELEASED FROM PRISON 12 years after his incarceration. Though dated, Blue Line is a cornerstone for the importance of the documentaries and a must-see for anyone who’s a fan of true crime. (A-)

WE ARE THE BEST! (2014)

A trio of 80’s Stockholm misfit band together to ignite a punk group even though they have no talent to speak of. Lukas Moodysson adapts the story with the help of his wife Coco Moodysson from graphic novel “Never Goodnight” and what is lost in translation is made up for by a seething sense of fun. The young performers are always on their mark, adding pathos to the sense of timeless adolescence captured on film. Screened at last year’s TIFF Special Presentation section, We Are the Best! has won over the hearts of critics and audiences who’ve heard the punk gospel and the reason couldn’t be more clear. It’s wholly lovable. (B)

A GIRL WALKS HOME ALONE AT NIGHT (2014)

Check your expectations at the door, A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night is some kind of wonderful lightning in a bottle. How Ana Lily Amirpour takes familiar elements from vampire romance and morphs them into something wholly novel is sight unseen. This slow-moving Iranian art film makes way for a non-stop display of impeccably gorgeous celluloid, black-and-white images dancing against a grainy hi-fi score that’s in part Sergio Leone spaghetti Western and equally a rave scene. It’s eerie and beautiful, creepy and delicate, like Winding Refn taking on Jim Jarmusch. Quite unlike anything else you’ll see this year, Girl also holds the honor of being one of the most important, forward-looking flicks of the year. Who would have expected vampires to ever mean so much (B+)

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Ranking Ridley Scott: The Good, the Bad and the Ugly

December 5, 2014 by Matt Oakes Posted in Lists Tagged 1492: Conquest of Paradise, A Good Year, Alien, American Gangster, Black Hawk Down, Black Rain, Blade Runner, Body of Lies, G.I. Jane, Gladiator, Hannibal, Kingdom of Heaven, Legend, Matchstick Men, Prometheus, Ranking, Ridley Scott, Robin Hood, Someone to Watch Over Me, The Counselor, The Duellists, Thelma and Louise, White Squall 1 Comment

When asked about his diversity of films and if he himself had any idea what constitutes a Ridley Scott film, the 77-year old director admitted, “There never was a plan and there still is no plan. I just jump into what fascinates me next.” His fly-by-the-seat-of-his-pants attitude towards picking projects is illustrated by his definitively wonky filmography. Read More