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Out in Theaters: STALINGRAD

“Stalingrad”
Directed by Feder Bondarchuk
Starring Mariya Smolnikova, Yanina Studilina, Pyotr Fyodorov, Thomas Kretschmann, Sergey Bondarchuk, Dmitriy Lysenkov, Andrey Smolyakov, Aleksey Barabash, Oleg Volku
Russian, Action, War
131 Minutes
R

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Stalingrad, Russia’s first foray into 3D fare, is not without its problems but nonetheless offers an entirely visceral and well-balanced, if a touch patriotic, view of the bloodiest war in human history. Rather than speak in terms of us versus them, Feder Bondarchuk‘s film looks beyond the stars and stripes (er, hammers and sickles) of nationality and into the souls of a band of warriors, harrowed and hopeful anew as they were. Our ragtag team of note is no glorified troop of super soldiers, just a collection of tramps culled from all walks of life, as flawed and yet human as the enemy Nazi.

Bondarchuk’s fair hand gives credence to both sides of the war effort, allowing us the chance to meet a Nazi antagonist, Kaptain Kan (Thomas Kretschmann), who’s not the familiar shade of Nazi (a.k.a. unscrupulous evil without bound). Kan is far more a person than he is a villain. He doesn’t have a red skull. He doesn’t love throwing out down the ol’ sieg heil. His pupils aren’t made up of little flames. It’s even hinted that he’s ashamed of his party affiliation. He’s a man at the end reaches of humanity, living out the end of days in a foreign country, waking to the cacophony of explosions and commanding a stockade of troops to take down an enemy fortification where our Russian heroes have holed up.

Offering a painterly depiction of the Russian’s landing at Stalingrad that matches, and even eclipses, the visceral horror of Steven Spielberg‘s famed Normany Beach scene, Bondarchuk’s 3D war-ravaged cinemascape presents a view of Earth splitting open and hell spilling out. The cinematography is crisp and diabolical; a bleak canvas of greys accented with the stark pops of flaming color. It’s intensely cinematic and arguably makes for some of the best war sequences this side of Saving Private Ryan.

The 3D aspect works aptly, especially for a nation’s first outing, but the more notable technical wonder comes in the whopping sound design. In the belly of the PACCAR IMAX theater, the theater roared, splitting our sense of orientation with a bombastic soundtrack of fire lapping and rifles burping. With the scope of these sequences what they are, if given a choice, preference IMAX over 3D. With most of these early proceedings cloaked in a torrent of fire (even the troops duke it out set aflame), you’ll believe the “bloodiest” bit of hyperbole that’s come to define this Russian vs. Nazi war field and seeing it unfold on the big screen is a must if you’re the least bit interested in this story.

But rather than weave the tale over the explosive turns of war or the dramatic camaraderie discovered in fox holes, the script, penned by Sergey Snezhkin and Ilya Tilkin, takes an unexpected detour to uncover a narrative where loyalty is not to country, but to new found loved ones. On both sides of the fence, they’ve hung their horses to figures of salvation, unveiled in the beauty and soulful fortitude of women, those motherly creatures left behind in the scramble of warfare.

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To our Russian comrades, Katya (Mariya Smolnikova) is that maternal symbol of hope. To Kaptain Kan, it’s Masha (Yanina Studilina). Both women represent different sides of the same coin; one willing to endure at all costs, one too weak to take a stand. And though Masha’s eventual arc suggests a feverish descent into Stockholm Syndrome, both women form symbiotic relationships with their armed men. In a literal and eventually metaphorical sense, they keep each other alive; the men protect the women, the women preserve the men’s souls. These young women are the reminder of the good in the world; that which is worth saving. In this literal hellhole that rains ash like it’s Chernobyl or, dare I mention its name so soon, Pompeii, everyone needs a savior.

Since there’s no real central hero, save for maybe Pyotr Fyodorov‘s Kapitan Gromos, we get to know the Russian ensemble in fits and starts, often only slightly scratching the surface and yet getting just enough details in to care about them as characters. We know them mostly through their actions though and, as the saying goes, actions speak louder than words. But we’re never led to think of these men as infallible (except maybe Angel, he’s a pretty good dude). Rather, they’re normal men turned into machines of war. The product of man’s inclination towards warfare.

I’ll admit that it’s often more difficult to cross examine an actor’s performance in a foreign-language film and that’s somewhat the case here. Great work often transcends language but it’s hard for me to distinguish decent from dreadful. Admittedly not knowing Russian, I’d still be willing to put forth that these guys are all closer to the solid side of the fence. Still, having said that, it’s no actors showcase but neither will you be able to notice anything actively off about their thespian feats.

Having already caught a bit of early flack from critics stateside, I have a sneaking suspicion that one’s willingness to accept this will depend largely on demographics. Girls are somewhat more likely to fall for Stalingrad than your run-of-the-mill war movie since there’s such a strong female presence but I can’t help but feel that the normal military crowd that’s wont to fall for these kinds of movies will leave this one out of their rose ceremonies. (Ruskis and Nazis? and I don’t automatically hate all of them?!) Like Nazis, there’s a stigma built into our perception of Russians in cinema (particularly within this time period) so to sit on their side of the fence may prove too much a task for some. If you’re willing to turn the blinders off (or at least down) though, Stalingrad is an undeniably rock solid war film that aptly balances action set pieces with lofty drama.

B-

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Out in Theathers: SON OF GOD

“Son of God”
Directed by Christopher Spencer 
Starring Diogo Morgado, Sebastian Knapp, Darwin Shaw, Greg Hicks, Roma Downey, Amber Rose Revah 
Drama 
138 Mins 
PG-13

In the beginning, there was a voice-over, and the voice-over was long, and the film was without thought.

So often, directors confuse narration for exposition, pontification for perspicacity. What initiates Son of God is irreverence. To unfurl the tale, John (Sebastian Knapp) begins by reciting his own gospel. But speaking his own verse doesn’t create depth, it barely brushes the surface. As the beginning goes, so the rest of the work follows. In a matter of seconds, director Christopher Spencer opens a box he never thinks to unpack.

There’s a mural in the heart of Minneapolis, painted on an old building that sits right on the I-35W highway exit. No one really knows how long it’s been there or who painted it, but it’s withstood time’s trying test and Minnesota’s endless winters. And, just like anything that can brave the cold, Minneapolis has taken it in as its own.

My mom and I used to drive past it when she would drop me off at school. I’d see it every day: that warm bearded face, the rainbow and those ominous words—”Love Power.” He always had his arms spread, asking “So, what?” as if I were missing something. The mural became a lost fragment of my childhood, a curious symbol I never understood. It never stopped smiling.

In Summer 2007, Bridge 9340—the I-35W Mississippi River Bridge my mom and I used to cross—collapsed, just blocks away from that damned mural. Fourteen people were killed, 145 more injured. My mom drove over it that day. Yet there was Jesus on the wall, still smiling in the faded light with his arms spread wide. “So, what?” 

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The Bible is a clamshell pack of questions just waiting to be cut open. Anyone can repeat the gospel, but what good does that do if nothing is being questioned or held in critical doubt? Who is John? Why is his word important? And who is this Jesus guy? All questions that need to explored. Spencer handles these inquiries as delicately as a UPS guy handles a package; his film delivers as much substance as a packing peanut.

Son of God’s main problem is that it never gives thought to anything. The film is being marketed as a powerful, compelling, epic retelling of Jesus’ life from birth to resurrection. Truly, truly I say to you, Spencer’s latest work is none of those things.

How this film was even made requires some kind of deep noetic exploration into Christopher Spencer’s mind. Confusion and incongruity are his tools, awful storytelling his trade. He’s the master of “tell, don’t show.” Even with the Bible as source material, he somehow manages to flummox everything. For someone whose name means “Christ-bearer,” all he does is trample Him and befuddle us.

Most scenes quote Jesus (played catastrophically by Diogo Morgado—we’ll get to him later) word-for-word, but their meaning doesn’t seem to matter or even fit into the narrative. We’re made to believe his every word is profound, but he just seems dazed and protean. Even for those who know the Bible it’s hard to follow Spencer’s vision as he sloppily slams ambiguous scenes together like pegs into round holes. As such, Son of God essentially becomes a cinematic SparkNotes for the Lord’s Word—the Jesus Storybook Bible of biblical films. Call it the Caption of the Christ

Spencer’s first feat in confusion comes early on and never relents. Everyone in this film is apparently veddy-veddy British, as if they were all cast at the local London Actors’ Studio. Whether this was intentional or Spencer just said “fuck it,” and gave up isn’t clear. For a story that tries to adhere to Biblical truth, this choice is so foolish and so absolutely bad so as to discredit the entire work on its own. Overall, the acting is putrid, especially given the whole British-accent-in-Jerusalem thing, which exacerbates the terribleness of it all. Roman governors and Jewish priests are more British than Emma Thompson, and Jesus’ cast of disciples seem taken out of a Monty Python skit. They’re certainly just as (unintentionally) funny.

There isn’t much to say about Jesus Himself. A Portuguese guy, Diogo Morgado, is dreadfully miscast as the bearded messiah. Morgado is to Jesus as Juan Pablo is to The Bachelor. His jumbled, mangled English locks him into a constant perplexed state whereby a prophet becomes a muddling fool. Frankly, he had some good moments, but he just wasn’t right for the part. Especially considering, well (Spoiler Alert for the Heaven-bound), that Jesus wasn’t white. 

Visually, this film looks as if it were filmed on sandpaper in place of 35mm film. Buildings look grimy, the “stunning locales” are butt-ugly, and the shot selection is atrocious. Credit to Spencer, I actually felt like I had sand in my pants. As if that weren’t enough, even the CGI is a special kind of awful. Which is cute until you realize that this film had a $22 million budget. Where that money went? No clue, but it definitely wasn’t spent on making the buildings look like they weren’t stolen from Journey of Jesus: The CallingSon of God isn’t homily: it’s homely.

Spencer stamps his own dramatic flair on every moment. Clearly he’s a fan of the extreme close-up, as it was used almost half the time. After Jesus dies (SPOILER), we get an on-screen “3 Days Later” in Arabian font. Really. Nice. Touch. Not even Hans Zimmer (The Dark Knight, Inception) can save this piteously boring dreck; his doleful score peppers every moment with fallacious feeling. Boy, did that dulcimer’s minor chords communicate depth of emotion. Then, an eagle cry: GYAHHH. 

Look, Son of God didn’t need to be a hermeneutical Bible study, it just needed real emotion, real passion and real questions. Without thought, word is fallow. For a film that promises an epic, truthful retelling of the Bible, all it did was leave me hungry for actual answers. Give me the real Jesus.

We’ve all got a “Love Power:” our own figure in the light, our symbol for hope and security that we keep deep inside. Connecting with that figure in the light is religion; doubting it is faith. Ultimately, Son of God never cared to ask “so, what?” Yet, somehow, somewhere, Jesus is still smiling.

Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.

D

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Out in Theaters: NON-STOP

“Non-Stop”
Directed by Jaume Collet-Serra
Starring Liam Neeson, Julianne Moore, Scoot McNairy, Michelle Dockery, Nate Parker, Corey Stoll, Lupita Nyong’o, Omar Metwally
Action, Mystery, Thriller
106 Mins
PG-13

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Perfectly adequate entertainment, slyly primed to keep you guessing and anchored with deliciously smarmy stars, Non-Stop is exactly the kind of in-flight, mile-high thriller you’d expect attached to the name Liam Neeson. From Neeson and Julianne Moore to Corey Stoll and Scott McNairy, there’s a bevy of great performers lining the rows from business class to coach, each given their fair share of silliness to weave into stakes-laden seriousness. While the script may leak the occasional nonsense into the proceedings of this 3,300 mile Transatlantic trip, thankfully none of the performers are caught with their pants down. If the goal is to keep the ball up in the air as long as possible, they’ve done their jobs right, helping make Non-Stop a perfectly suitable one-and-done thrill ride sure to please the masses.

Non-Stop Neeson might as well be Brian Mills at some different stage in his life – a bizzaro version whose daughter never made it to France (…or out of grade school). Instead of honing his particular set of skills, he stooped into a depressive alcoholic state. Still preserved is his towering frame and inimitable Irish-American cadence, making him the kind of pensive brute that you’ll believe can snap a neck with his bare hands, the brand of machismo that you can easily muster up a scenario in which you’d submit to him like a field mouse to its prey. If Neeson’s new found persona as an action hero relies on him domineering opponents in a mental wrestling match, he’s the E. Honda of intimidation. With this half-drunk, gunslinger of the sky growling at you in meaty garbles, you’d find yourself cowering in the fuselage corner too.

To call it “Taken on a Plane” would be an oversimplification but it’s a easy distinction to make for people with about a half-second attention span; a quick soundbite to consume for the inattentive rabble, so let’s run with it. But while Taken steered Neeson’s career in wildly unexpected places, having him dash around France at neck break speeds to, uh, break necks, Non-Stop is a good step outside the same categorical genre. Where Taken is an all-out actioner, this is much more of a suspense-thriller; reserved, predatory and only sparsely violent. As Non-Stop rarely relies on action beats, it’s ability to skirt around said beats makes it all the more intriguing to our somewhat quelled intellect and, more importantly, the film’s internal sense of suspense.

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Confronted with the threat that an anonymous hijacker will kill someone on the plane every twenty minutes until $150 million is deposited in an account, Neeson’s Bill Marks stirs with questions of “How do you kill someone on a crowded plane and get away with it?” Indeed. Cleverly enough, writers John W. Richardson, Christopher Roach and Ryan Engle manage to dovetail the promise of in-flight demise with the need to keep the antagonist anonymous. As we get to know the crowded plane load of colorful potential suspects, our suspicions waver like a compass on a magnet, never quite showing us true north and sporadically pointing in new directions. At times, we’re worried that the threat may not even be on the actual plane but thankfully we’re never confronted with this “waking from a dream” cop out of a twist. No, everything is rather succinctly handled in the as-promised confines of the airplane, allowing this Chekov’s gun to be as tightly loaded as possible and ready to spring at any moment.

When (s)he inevitably comes out of the closet, the perfunctory villain’s explanation is undeniably underwhelming, but it’s nice to see something other than the one-trick pony that’s become the man “who wants to watch the world burn” or, even more boring, those who “are just in it for the money.” Even though the worldview-cocking, diatribe-spewing conclusion feels half-baked, at least our villain musters up an excuse for their passenger-offing dickishness. As convoluted and circumstantial as their plan may be, at least there is a plan and a semblance of an ideology.

Demanding a mention is the addition of soon to be Oscar-winner Lupita Nyong’o who is also onboard for no particular reason other than to rock a relic of the past by way of hairdo, a glib style only suitable for runway models or Bond girl May Day. For someone primed to add a trophy to her shelf by the end of the weekend, she’s barely juiced for more than a line, a reality that I lament for little more than the fact that I wanted to see her flex her acting chops outside the realm of slavery.

While most of the film’s logic can be punted through with the mention of a black box, it’s not one of those omnipresent nags that won’t allow you to enjoy watching the events unfold as they do. The circumstantial implications throughout are hazy though, delving into the increasingly present question of whether security is worth the cost of sacrificing one’s personal liberties. 9/11 anxiety or no, I think we can all safely agree that we don’t want random security checks in the midst of our commutes, be they on board an airplane or otherwise. Pushing those bits of moralistic ponderances aside, Neeson again shows a knack for straight-faced comedy and his couple of off-the-cuff jokes roped the audience into easy stitches. Undeniably ripe for a sequel (or even franchise), Non-Stop is exactly what it ought to be: fun, fizzy and forgettable.

C

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Lena Dunham to Play Sith Lord in STAR WARS 7

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Taking a decidedly more mumblecore approach to this next gen of Stars Wars films, J.J. Abrams has cast Girls‘ creator and star Lena Dunham as a sith lord and the main antagonist for Star Wars 7 and beyond. Of Dunham, Abrams said, “While certainly not what most people were expecting, casting Lena will bring in the much missing female audience for the next installments of the Star Wars franchise. With her relatable quirk and everygirl persona, we hope to tap into a whole new sector of what Star Wars can mean in the zeitgeist of pop culture.”

Dunham is expected to wield one-liners about how hard it is being a white, middle-class girl living in NYC (in a parallel galaxy far, far away) alongside lightsabers that only work some of the time. When asked why the franchise would take such a drastic left turn from the traditionally evil and more, ahem, composed sith, Abrams shrugged and started pitching a new television concept involving sci-fi and Damon Lindelof: Photon 13. “It’ll be very mysterious,” he promised.

(Actual report: Dunham’s Girls‘ co-star, Adam Driver will in fact play the big bad sith.)

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FANTASTIC FOUR Reboot Casts Four Rising Stars

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Castings for the upcoming 2015 FOX-produced reboot Fantastic Four were released Friday last week and look very promising. Michael B. Jordan and Miles Teller are teaming up again after their recent collaboration in Tom Gormican‘s misogynistic mess That Awkward MomentFortunately for Fantastic Four fans and moviegoers alike, Teller and Jordan were just hyper-talented victims of Gormican’s hyper-awful script. 

 
Joining them are Kate Mara (127 Hours) and British actor Jamie Bell (Billy ElliotJane Eyre). This reboot also represents a reunion for Jordan, Mara and director Josh Trank, who worked together on 2010 UK success Chronicle
 
Jordan, who has been burning his way into the public eye as of late, will play “The Human Torch” while Teller will have to flex his acting muscles as the elastic “Mr. Fantastic.” Bell will do a lot of CGI work as “The Thing,” and it remains to be seen how his plié and coup-de-pied work  in Billy Elliot will carry over in his portrayal of the orange rock-man. Mara, the oldest main casting at 30 years old, will try not to be too invisible as “Sue Storm.”
 
This latest announcement comes on the heels of Marvel’s first trailer release for Guardians of the Galaxy last week, as Marvel is loading their plate for the upcoming year. The Fantastic Four‘s cast of young actors represents a much different direction and tone for the series than the original Jessica Alba and Chris Evans-led F4 series. The cast is notably younger than the 2005 cast, continuing Marvel’s recent trend in shifting to a youthful, less serious, more dynamic culture, as seen in recent reboots like The Amazing Spiderman and X-Men: First Class or in more unconventional billings like the aforementioned Guardians of the Galaxy.
 
Things are looking good for the comic world and 2015 looks to be action-packed with Age of UltronAnt-Man and now The Fantastic Four all billed for release.

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2nd Annual Silver Screen Riot Oscar Prediction Contest

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Before I go ahead and spoil the fun for everybody by posting my own predictions, I’m giving you guys a shot to predict the Academy Award winners. While I feel like I have a solid handle on my predictions, there’s definitely a few categories that I’m still not 100% confident in so don’t be alarmed if you’re feeling a little wary staring sideways at your ballot.

While calling this the second annual may be a bit of a misnomer considering I’ve changed platforms since last time, I do it so that we can take a moment to recognize the winners of last year: Nate Thibeault and Stefanie Schneider – both of whom went 20 for 24. Anyone think that can one up it this time? This time around though, we’ll only be taking the major 21 non-short categories into account with shorts only functioning as tie-breakers. So even if you get 20/24 it still might end up being a 17/21 depending on where you fell short.

The glorious winner will get a DVD/Blu-Ray of the film that wins Best Picture. Second place will receive a DVD/Blu-ray of one of last year’s Best Picture nominees (select options).

The Rules

  • You must submit your predictions Saturday, March 1st at Midnight anytime before the Oscar ceremony starts.
  • Only one submission per person.
  • Only submissions placed via page comment (at the bottom of this page) will count. Do not post on the Silver Screen Riot Facebook wall or send me an email or message. Your predictions are only valid if they’re in the right spot. 
  • Vote for every category in order to win. While it’s all well and good to only care about the primary battlefields, if you only submit predictions for Best Performers and Pic/Director, you’ll miss out on all the other categories and will have a small shot at winning.
  • The shorts DO NOT count towards your final tally and will only be accounted for in the case of a tie-breaker. So while it might not matter in the end, if it comes down to a tie, the person with the most wins in shorts will take home gold.
  • In case of a super-way tie (after shorts), the person who predicted first will win, so get your submissions in early.
  • Please be sure to follow us on Twitter and Facebook (at least one of the two) in order to be eligible to win.

The Prizes

  • First place will win a DVD/Blu-Ray of the film that wins Best Picture
  • Second place will receive a DVD/Blu-ray of their choice from last year’s Best Picture nominees (select options)

The nominees are as follows.

Best Picture
American Hustle
Captain Phillips
Dallas Buyers Club
Gravity
Her
Nebraska
Philomena
12 Years a Slave
The Wolf of Wall Street

Best Actor in a Leading Role
Christian Bale (American Hustle)
Bruce Dern (Nebraska)
Leonardo DiCaprio (The Wolf of Wall Street)
Chiwetel Ejiofor (12 Years a Slave)
Matthew McConaughey (Dallas Buyers Club)

Best Actress in a Leading Role
Amy Adams (American Hustle)
Cate Blanchett (Blue Jasmine)
Sandra Bullock (Gravity)
Judi Dench (Philomena)
Meryl Streep (August: Osage County)

Best Actor in a Supporting Role
Barkhad Abdi (Captain Phillips)
Bradley Cooper (American Hustle)
Michael Fassbender (12 Years a Slave)
Jonah Hill (The Wolf of Wall Street)
Jared Leto (Dallas Buyers Club)

Best Actress in a Supporting Role
Sally Hawkins (Blue Jasmine)
Jennifer Lawrence (American Hustle)
Lupita Nyong’o (12 Years a Slave)
Julia Roberts (August: Osage County)
June Squibb (Nebraska)

Best Animated Feature
The Croods (Chris Sanders, Kirk DeMicco, Kristine Belson)
Despicable Me 2 (Chris Renaud, Pierre Coffin, Chris Meledandri)
Ernest & Celestine (Benjamin Renner, Didier Brunner)
Frozen (Chris Buck, Jennifer Lee, Peter Del Vecho)
The Wind Rises (Hayao Miyazaki, Toshio Suzuki)

Best Cinematography
The Grandmaster (Philippe Le Sourd)
Gravity (Emmanuel Lubezki)
Inside Llewyn Davis (Bruno Delbonnel)
Nebraska (Phedon Papamichael)
Prisoners (Roger A. Deakins)

Best Costume Design
American Hustle (Michael Wilkinson)
The Grandmaster (William Chang Suk Ping)
The Great Gatsby (Catherine Martin)
The Invisible Woman (Michael O’Connor)
12 Years a Slave (Patricia Norris)

Best Directing
American Hustle (David O. Russell)
Gravity (Alfonso Cuarón)
Nebraska (Alexander Payne)
12 Years a Slave (Steve McQueen)
The Wolf of Wall Street (Martin Scorsese)

Best Documentary Feature
The Act of Killing (Joshua Oppenheimer, Signe Byrge Sørensen)
Cutie and the Boxer (Zachary Heinzerling, Lydia Dean Pilcher)
Dirty Wars (Richard Rowley, Jeremy Scahill)
The Square (Jehane Noujaim, Karim Amer)
20 Feet from Stardom (Nominees to be determined)

Best Film Editing
American Hustle (Jay Cassidy, Crispin Struthers, Alan Baumgarten)
Captain Phillips (Christopher Rouse)
Dallas Buyers Club (John Mac McMurphy, Martin Pensa)
Gravity (Alfonso Cuarón, Mark Sanger)
12 Years a Slave (Joe Walker)

Best Foreign Language Film
The Broken Circle Breakdown (Belgium)
The Great Beauty (Italy)
The Hunt (Denmark)
The Missing Picture (Cambodia)
Omar (Palestine)

Best Makeup and Hairstyling
Dallas Buyers Club (Adruitha Lee, Robin Mathews)
Jackass Presents: Bad Grandpa (Stephen Prouty)
The Lone Ranger (Joel Harlow, Gloria Pasqua-Casny)

Best Original Score
The Book Thief (John Williams)
Gravity (Steven Price)
Her (William Butler, Owen Pallett)
Philomena (Alexandre Desplat)
Saving Mr. Banks (Thomas Newman)

Best Original Song
Happy (Despicable Me 2)
Let It Go (Frozen)
The Moon Song (Her)
Ordinary Love (Mandela: Long Walk to Freedom)

Best Production Design
American Hustle (Judy Becker, Heather Loeffler)
Gravity (Andy Nicholson, Rosie Goodwin, Joanne Woollard)
The Great Gatsby (Catherine Martin, Beverley Dunn)
Her (K.K. Barrett, Gene Serdena)
12 Years a Slave (Adam Stockhausen, Alice Baker)

Best Sound Editing
All Is Lost (Steve Boeddeker, Richard Hymns)
Captain Phillips (Oliver Tarney)
Gravity (Glenn Freemantle)
The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug (Brent Burge, Chris Ward)
Lone Survivor (Wylie Stateman)

Best Sound Mixing
Captain Phillips (Chris Burdon, Mark Taylor, Mike Prestwood Smith, Chris Munro)
Gravity (Skip Lievsay, Niv Adiri, Christopher Benstead, Chris Munro)
The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug (Christopher Boyes, Michael Hedges, Michael Semanick, Tony Johnson)
Inside Llewyn Davis (Skip Lievsay, Greg Orloff, Peter F. Kurland)
Lone Survivor (Andy Koyama, Beau Borders, David Brownlow)

Best Visual Effects
Gravity (Tim Webber, Chris Lawrence, Dave Shirk, Neil Corbould)
The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug (Joe Letteri, Eric Saindon, David Clayton, Eric Reynolds)
Iron Man 3 (Christopher Townsend, Guy Williams, Erik Nash, Dan Sudick)
The Lone Ranger (Tim Alexander, Gary Brozenich, Edson Williams, John Frazier)
Star Trek Into Darkness (Roger Guyett, Patrick Tubach, Ben Grossmann, Burt Dalton)

Best Adapted Screenplay
Before Midnight (Richard Linklater, Julie Delpy, Ethan Hawke)
Captain Phillips (Billy Ray)
Philomena (Steve Coogan, Jeff Pope)
12 Years a Slave (John Ridley)
The Wolf of Wall Street (Terence Winter)

Best Original Screenplay
American Hustle (Eric Warren Singer, David O. Russell)
Blue Jasmine (Woody Allen)
Dallas Buyers Club (Craig Borten, Melisa Wallack)
Her (Spike Jonze)
Nebraska (Bob Nelson)

Best Animated Short Film
Feral (Daniel Sousa, Dan Golden)
Get a Horse! (Lauren MacMullan, Dorothy McKim)
Mr. Hublot (Laurent Witz, Alexandre Espigares)
Possessions (Shuhei Morita)
Room on the Broom (Max Lang, Jan Lachauer)

Best Live Action Short Film
Aquel No Era Yo (That Wasn’t Me) (Esteban Crespo)
Avant Que De Tout Perdre (Just Before Losing Everything) (Xavier Legrand, Alexandre Gavras)
Helium (Anders Walter, Kim Magnusson)
Pitääkö Mun Kaikki Hoitaa? (Do I Have to Take Care of Everything?) (Selma Vilhunen, Kirsikka Saari)
The Voorman Problem (Mark Gill, Baldwin Li)

Best Documentary Short
CaveDigger (Jeffrey Karoff)
Facing Fear (Jason Cohen)
Karama Has No Walls (Sara Ishaq)
The Lady in Number 6: Music Saved My Life (Malcolm Clarke, Nicholas Reed)
Prison Terminal: The Last Days of Private Jack Hall (Edgar Barens)

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Please remember to submit predictions in the comments section below and good luck!

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Weekly Review 41: NEVER, SOLARIS, BACKBONE, HUDSUCKER, MONSTERS, SUICIDE, KILLS, BEAUTY

Weekly-Review
I’m almost ashamed to admit how much media I’ve consumed in the past week. In addition to keeping up with recent episodes of True Detective (so good) and The Walking Dead, I polished off the most recent season of House of Cardsand that’s before any of the following movies. I only made one trip to the theater though for a screening of Pompeii on Tuesday and then again to the local second-run theater to catch a showing of The Great Beauty before it fights its way to the top of the foreign language films for next week’s Academy Awards.

 

NEVER LET ME GO (2010)

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Well-acted drama with a sci-fi bent, Never Let Me Go deals with the impossibility of knowing your own fate. Keira Knightley, Carey Mulligan and Andrew Garfield each play clones raised to adulthood and then harvested for their organs, always aware that their end will come sooner rather than later and yet ever searching for a means to extent their short stint on earth. It’s occasionally powerful and offers all three of the actors a chance to stand in the spotlight but its shade is too relentlessly black and the absence of hope too primed to get its audience down.

C

SOLARIS (2002)

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Dark and contemplative to a fault, this Steven Soderberg film deals in themes of humanity and society, guilt and hopelessness. George Clooney plays a troubled psychologist sent to a space station orbiting the eponymous, mysterious planet with strange powers, Solaris. In the furtherest reaches of human ambition, Solaris is manifest destiny to the Nth degree, it’s the extension of what we can achieve and at what cost. Sound vague? So is the film. As Clooney’s isolation is mimicked with the backdrop of the desolation of space, he encounters someone from his past that throws everything that he believes into the garbage disposal and turns it on high. It’s an eerie and unsettling film but never shakes the feeling that Soderberg is holding his hand back a little too far. We’re left too emotionally distant to feel the metaphysical welts he’s trying to deliver but good on Clooney for putting so much effort in.

C+

THE DEVIL’S BACKBONE (2001)

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Guillermo del Toro made his name with horror dramas of this ilk and for good reason. The Devil’s Backbone is the perfect precursor for Toro’s later masterpiece Pan’s Labyrinth as both deal out horror in the confines of historically accurate, war torn landscapes. This time around, Toro sets his sights on the Spanish Civil War as he tracks Carlos, a 12-year old recent orphan, who encounters a child ghost. Toro is at his most atmospheric here, offering creepiness and tenderness in equal measure that all adds up to a rather intriguing feature.

B

THE HUDSUCKER PROXY (1994)

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A slapstick farce of the absurdist bent, the Coen Bros channel Frank Kapra, reminding us of what makes satire satire and why Adam Sandler as Mr. Deeds is a completely futile effort. Biting lampoon of Corporate America at its most corruptible, the Coen Bros are on point moreso than not and deliver sidesplitting gawuffs in healthy dollops. The first twenty minutes or so are solid gold and it kind of peters out towards the middle but the kooky performance from Tim Robbins keeps it hustling along and keeps the laughs coming.

B

MONSTERS (2010)

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A road trip adventure masquerading as a monster movie, Monsters is a razor sharp satire on border policy. Gareth Evans, the man responsible for the upcoming Godzilla film, directs with searing panache, putting the human drama at the forefront and letting the presence of “monsters” help to bring more gravitas to their spiritual venture rather than drive the action. It’s the kind of genre-defying film you don’t see coming and it’s well worth checking out if not just to acquaint yourself with Evans’ talent.

B+

MACHETE KILLS (2013)

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On the wrong side of the satire fence, this grindhouse-born sardonic action flick is too heavy on exploitation and too light on payoff. Demian Bichir though almost singlehandedly makes it a must-see as his manic villain is a big standout in an otherwise star studded but phoning it in and hamming it up cast. While Robert Rodriquez‘s latest really tries to drive home the necessity of a sequel in which Machete kills again…in space, after this absolutely tanked at the box office (it made a hair over ten million on a twenty million dollar production budget) there’s a snowball’s chance in hell that Danny Trejo will ever wield a machete in full feature form again. Then again, that’s probably for the best.

C-

THE GREAT BEAUTY (2013)

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Absolutely gorgeous cinematography frames what is sure to be this year’s Best Foreign Language Film Oscar winner. Lead Toni Servillo is fantastic as fading writer but mostly uppity socialite Jep and he’s the perfect guide to stroll around the offerings of Rome with. Surreal and ponderous, Paolo Sorrentino‘s film is the kind that makes us see the trees for the forest, that begs us to realize that life is happening all around us, not something waiting to happen. Best of all, he doesn’t spoon feed any conclusions to his audience but allows them the breathing room to weave their own message from. There’s a little flack in the last act but it doesn’t take away from the monumental impact of this absolute wonder.

A-

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ANCHORMAN 2: THE LEGEND CONTINUES Super-Sized R-Rated Version Hitting Theaters for Limited One Week Run

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Ron Burgundy’s latest breaking-news announcement can only signify one thing for an America still recovering from the torrid heap of dung that was Anchorman 2: more Ron Burgundy. Depending on your affinity for condom jokes and racial wisecracks, this latest newsflash will either leave you scrambling for your glue-on mustache or covering your eyes and ears in despairing attempt to escape the advertising torrent that’s sure to drown us all in Burgundy’s cologne and cocksurity.

With exactly 763 new jokes and thirty more (now R-rated) minutes, collaborators Adam McKay and Will Ferrell‘s latest installment looks like it could be just as obnoxious as its overly-long title. McKay and Ferrell have been saying for months that they could make another movie from all the content that didn’t fit in the The Legend Continues. Just imagine how much better this extra-long version will be with the improvised dick humor and shark-wrestling thatdidn’t make the first cut. At least they’re true to their word.
 
If Anchorman was asucculent filet mignon, then Anchorman 2 would be whatever it looked like coming out in the men’s room. Anchorman 2: The Legend Continues was two full hours of glorified fart noise, and its shit-bouquet somehow managed to ravage one of this century’s funniest movie concepts. Now we can look forward to the dysenterial constipation Super-Sized is likely to be.
 
This limited edition release only lasts a week and is said to include a new musical number. As one of the highlights of the “original” version of Legend Continues was Ferrell’s shark sing-a-song “Doby”, hopefully this is sign of good things to come. Maybe, if we’re lucky, it’ll have all the humor Anchorman 2 didn’t.

Check out the trailer for this new cut and see if it’s something you’d be willing to shell out full ticket price for (again) when it hits theaters on February 28.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ph9NMC2wK50

 
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Out in Theaters: POMPEII

“Pompeii”
Directed by Paul WS Anderson
Starring Kit Harrington, Emily Browning, Kiefer Sutherland, Jared Harris, Adewale Akinnuoye-Agbaje, Jessica Lucas, Carrie-Anne Moss
Action, Adventure, “Drama”
98 Mins
PG-13

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If you’re willing to overlook an awful script, torpid acting and cheeseball direction, Pompeii packs the requisite fireworks and dimwitted gumption to glide through its 100 minute screen time. Told with the panache of an envious porno production assistant, Pompeii is the equivalent of a kid hopped up on candy trying to recount the events of Gladiator but getting a handful of plot points confused with Armageddon. It’s a disaster of wonderful proportion and, quite simply, a blunderous marvel to behold.

Director Paul WS Anderson‘s chutzpah is a blunted sword that he wields like it’s Excalibur, hacking through logic like Theon Greyjoy taking off Sir Rodrick’s head. (If that one went over your head, let’s just say it’s a mess.) There’s nothing necessarily redeeming about the self-serious way the material is approached except the beautiful irony of it all. It’s the perfect storm of narrative retardation unaware of the extent of its disability. At least the poor thing isn’t sentient enough to know it’s severe limitations. Rather than bring it out to pasture though, we’re stuck playing the schoolyard bullies who circle and laugh. At least pointing and mocking here is acceptable.

No one deserves our disapproving derision more than swooning stars Emily Browning and Kit Harrington who make use of their screen time ogling one another; eye fucking like its Jr. Prom all over again. Doe-eyed and bitterly boring, each takes their acting lessons from the book of Stares and Glares 101. Their chemistry is always overshadowed by the mountain in the distance, a spark to the raging conflagrations surrounding them. Their romance, a dog shit hue of puppy love.

Certifiable shame that it is, Harrington can’t survive outside the confines of Game of Thrones, a magical realm where he’s nothing short of awkwardly charming. Armed with a sword and shambling in sandals, Harrington’s Milo is the gladiator’s version of rebel without a cause. “Are you not entertained?” his character plagiarizes, but with the snarky attitude of a hipster teen. No John Snow, we’re not. Stick to your side of the Fire and Ice equation. No matter what ridiculous number of abdomen muscles you’ve packed on, things just work out better when you’re buried in furs and adventuring in a perma-snowstorm.

Browning on the other hand is all kinds of bad news bears. She’s supposed to be brave and rebellious as Cassia but comes off as a little girl playing princess. She’s a vacuum of talent, a worm hole of thespianism, a black thumb for film. Does everything she touches wilt into a bouquet of poison oak or does she just have an agent with a grudge against her? Seriously, the girl hasn’t touched a good project with a ten foot pole and Pompeii is no exception. Seeing her on the receiving end of a half-dozen bitch slaps is as magical as things get.

Dishing out those slaps is Kiefer Sutherland‘s General Corvus, a poorly acted douche of a man who we meet at the top of the story slicin’ and dicin’ through Milo mum’s windpipe who later, quite conveniently, stews a bit of a rapey crush on Cassia. Apparently suffering from a knack of amnesia, Anderson forget to include the bit where Corvus stumbles across the fountain of youth. How else can you explain the fact that Corvus hasn’t aged a day in 17 years? There’s no way the people making this behemoth could have just forgotten a detail like that. RIGHT?!!

Then again, the script does seem like the result of a late night session the writers spent with a bong, a bag of Doritos and a Gladiator DVD. Seriously, there are lengthy scenes airlifted directly from Gladiator. It’s one thing to homage and another entirely to play something off as your own work. Let me give you a particularly face-palming example: During a prominent gladiator showcase, the slavemaster attempts to recreate a Roman massacre from recent past where a slew of barbarians were slaughtered like caged chickens. Milo and friends are primed for the pointy end of a skewering stick, but wait! the enslaved gladiators band together to overcome momentous odds, defying the will of their superiors and winning the goodwill of the people. Sound familiar? I guess at the very least, they’re ripping off some solid stuff.

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The only other character of note, Atticus, is also the one we’re left pining for more time with. As a African gladiator brute, Adewale Akinnuoye-Agbaje is immensely watchable and the easy star of the show. His is the only character we don’t want swallowed up by a wall of lava, the only one we’re hoping won’t be sworded to death. Spoiler: both happen. 

Throughout the affairs, Mr. Anderson doesn’t ever let us forget that there’s a volcano involved and with CG technology what it is now, Mt. Vesuvius is clearly a main character (or at least the one we’re supposed to pay the most attention to). It must feel robbed then that it didn’t even get an IMDB billing. If CG characters were eligible for a share of their awards gold, old ‘Suv’ would be a clear early frontrunner.

Watching the computer generated Mt. Vesuvius blow is destruction porn at its most bukakesque. Gobs of moltenus rock spew from the hot top like a 12-year old Paul WS Anderson discovering his manhood. If this is his take on a pissing contest, he proudly strikes a pose and demeans your fifth grade science experience. Baking soda and vinegar ought to be ashamed.

Writer team Janet Scott Batchler (Batman Forever), Lee Batchler (Batman Forever) and Michael Robert Scott (Sherlock Holmes) are the lack of brains behind Anderson’s unwieldy brawn, the Tonto to his rebooted Lone Ranger, the brain dead Himmler to his logic-genociding Hitler. Theirs is the glory of this spirited romp through seven levels of screenwriting purgatory. “King logos is dead, long live computer graphics!” they collectively chant. Together, they have ushered in a nuclear meltdown of a story, ineffaceably half-witted and boldly dopey.

A hotpot of narrative no-no’s hyped up on its own garishness and blinded by the Hot Pocket consumerism driving the thing, Pompeii is a disaster of a disaster movie in the best of ways. The cart is miles before the horse as this movie is no more than an excuse to see a volcano go boom-boom. Like a toddler experimenting with an Easy Bake Oven, Pompeii is majorly overcooked, a hot mess of epic proportion. But Anderson’s is the rare and wonderful movie that transcends the expression “it’s so bad, it’s good”. It’s literally a masterclass on the topic. One could write a thesis on how Pompeii proves Paul WS Anderson is the new Ed Wood and likely walk away with a honors degree. Simply put, I loved and hated it in equal measure. It was so dumb that I applauded.

C-

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Out in Theaters: 3 DAYS TO KILL

“3 Days to Kill”
Directed by McG
Starring Kevin Costner, Amber Heard, Richard Sammel, Tómas Lemarquis, Connie Nielsen
Action Crime, Drama
113 Mins
PG-13

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When 3 Days to Kill first rolled, I was convinced I’d mistakenly wandered into another Taken sequel. The premise is pretty much exactly the same save the kidnappings; instead, “dangerous” international spy Ethan Renner (Kevin Costner) only has three months to live. Just like in Taken, the protagonist has been separated from his wife and now wants to reconnect with his teenage daughter (Hailee Steinfeld, True Grit) whom he doesn’t spend much time with. 3 Days to Kill is even conveniently set in Paris, and director McG (Charlie’s Angels, We Are Marhsall) makes no attempt to conceal that fact. And, of course, just like Neeson’s bad-ass Bryan Mills, Costner’s Ethan tortures and/or kills everyone. The comparisons never stop.

Beyond that, exposition in this film is so hurried and obscure that any sort of motive or coherent plot is hard to follow. Along with Vivi, — a “sexy” CIA agent portrayed by Amber Heard — Ethan is assigned to hunt and kill two guys codenamed “The Wolf” (Richard Sammel) and “The Albino” (Tómas Lemarquis). In exchange, the CIA gives him an “experimental drug” to cure his brain cancer, which comes in an overly ominous 20ml syringe and has some nasty side-effects. Ethan is left to juggle his job (and life) while trying to keep a hold on his family.

A steam-rolling, no-frills killer, Ethan dresses like an off-duty World War I fighter pilot: he’s outfitted with a grey wool scarf, faded blue jeans and a brown bomber jacket. He’s everything a spy shouldn’t be: grizzled, garish, gasping and God-awful looking in a suit. Sweaty and paunch-bellied, Costner always looks like he needs a nap. He’s James Yawn, the Worn Identity.

Costner’s set of skills isn’t as particular as Neeson’s were, either. In fact, he doesn’t seem to be good at much other than murdering Frenchmen and blowing shit up in plain sight without anyone noticing. To top that off, his reaction to the experimental drug’s side-effects always kicks in right when he’s about to cap the baddies, leaving him woozy and wheezing before blacking out on the floor. As such, Ethan finishes missions like a nice guy with a vasectomy.

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His inability to get the job done doesn’t really matter though; it’s never quite clear what exactly his mission is even supposed to be except a way to conveniently draw the plot out long enough for Ethan to teach his daughter how to ride a bike and dance the waltz.

Why the bad guys even need to be killed in the first place is so poorly established that it’s preposterous. The Albino is presumed to be debauched due to his austere fetish for murder by eccentric decapitation — at one point he takes a female agent’s head off via descending elevator shaft — though why that makes him an enemy of the state is beyond me. Maybe his hairlessness presents an unknown challenge to the American livelihood.

As for The Wolf… Well, I have no clue what Sammel’s role even was. He only appears for the film’s first and last five to ten minutes, and by the end his character or importance is completely forgotten. The Wolf’s only crime in the entire film was ruining a nice dinner party. It’s never made clear why the CIA wants him dead. That’s never a good thing for a supposed main villain.

Most spy films these days are predictable and formulaic, and 3 Days to Kill was no exception. Apart from some original moments, the plot was stagnant, unoriginal and pretty much the concept Taken would have been if Neeson’s family had remained intact instead. At 100 minutes, McG seemed to feel like he had three days to fill. It certainly felt longer than that.  

All that said, everything besides the makeshift plot and confusing narrative was actually really well executed. In addition to the beautiful mise-en-scène — McG took every opportunity to show off the Eiffel Tower — this film was surprisingly French, which is probably the reason why it wasn’t all terrible.

With almost an entirely French cast and crew, including writers Luc Besson and Adi Hasak, cinematographer Thierry Arbogast, and a score by Guillaume Roussel, 3 Days to Kill had all the familiar elements found in famous French spy series such as Le Gendarme and OSS 117 (which starred Jean Dujardin before he was a Swedish bank mogul laundering Jordan Belfort’s money or a silent film superstar). For an action film, it’s got enough not to bore. Costner kills like the plague: his body-count hits the half-century mark about 20 minutes in and rises exponentially from there.

The comedy is decidedly Français: clumsy, maladroit, and filled with foolish situational and corporeal humor. McG probably banked a little too much on over-the-top sound effects and old-man-on-a-girl’s-bike humor, but there were plenty of funny moments. Costner is more of a comical figure than he ever is badass, so he milks it.

3 Days to Fill is well-acted and McG made certain to have a resolution for every character involved. No stone was left unturned, and the film wraps up the mangled plot as cleanly as possible. Costner as a poor man’s Liam Neeson works fairly well, and the father-daughter relationship between him and Steinfeld is heart-warming at times. The Wolf and The Albino are terrible villains, but they’re at least entertaining. There’s talent in nuggets here; McG does a good job of mining it.

When it comes down to it, 3 Days to Kill exceeds expectations like a 4th grader jumping hurdles at the district track meet. Costner has come a long way since his Ta Tanka and Two Socks chasing days with the Dakota Souix, but this Dance With Wolf just didn’t make me howl.

C-

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