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Bret Easton Ellis Penned THE CAYNONS With Lindsay Lohan and a Real Life Pornstar and You Can Watch the Trailer

 

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Bret Easton Ellis
(American Psycho, Less Than Zero) is famous for digging up dirt and tossing it in his audience’s face. He may not be the most commercial or popular write, in fact he’s openly trounced by legions of authorial purists, but he definitely has a staunchly original voice. His name alone generates my interest in The Caynons, an indie film starring Lindsay Lohan and real life pornstar James Deen, that debuted at SXSW and Sundance earlier this year.

Described as “a violent, sexually-charged tour through the dark side of human nature,” The Canyons seems like classic Ellis territory. Even though it’s hard to look past the fact that Lohan is playing front and center, the floozy Hollywood-spoiled girl that she’s playing her does fit her perfectly and, who knows, it might even be a role that is seen as career-defining for her. Oh and it definitely looks like she’s gonna be stripping down for this one alongside James Deen, a pornstar known for onset masochism. I don’t know about you but I, for one, am titillated…and a little repulsed.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b5uTtNLUmCA

The Canyons
is directed by Paul Schrader and written by Bret Easton Ellis. It stars Lindsay Lohan, James Deen, Nolan Gerard Funk, Gus Van Sant, Amanda Brooks and Tenille Houston and hits limited release on August 9.

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Cap's Shield Needs a Paint Job in Teaser Poster for CAPTAIN AMERICA: THE WINTER SOLDIER

 

Apparently the little kerfuffle back in The Avengers where Thor leaped through the air and brought his Godly-powered magical hammer down on Captain America’s shield was horseplay compared to the carnage going down in this sequel, Captain America: The Winter Solider, as the All-Americano custom job on Cap’s shield is chipping away like bargain-bin paint. While this teaser hardly gives us much to go on in terms of character or plot, it seems pretty congruous with the dark-horse sophomore picture that superhero films seem to be so fond of nowadays.

If the first films in a planned franchise are now exclusively origin stories, the follow-ups seem to be finding their own pattern where the hero is faced with a breed of “darkness” that they never could have imagined. Since Batman Begins, the whole genre has undergone a categorical shift in tone with everyone and their mother trying to emulate the dark, gritty nature of Nolan’s franchise. But up to this point, Marvel has done a good job at keeping things light (almost too much at times) so we’ll see have deep down the rabbit hole they plan to take us with this second installment.

Captain America: The Winter Solider is based on the popular comic line in which Cap’s old friend and war buddy Sebastian Stan returns as his arch-nemesis; an assassin also frozen in time, the Winter Soldier. So long as he’s not spouting off lines like “Ice to meet you*,” or “You are not sending me to the cooler*” or worst of all, “What killed the dinosaurs? The ice age! (proceed to blast freeze ray)*” then I’ll give this a shot.

*These are all actual lines from Batman and Robin‘s Mr Freeze, as is “Allow my to break the ice,” “Stay cool, bird boy,” “Let’s kick some ice,” “Cool party,” and the classic “Revenge is a dish best served cold.”

Captain America: The Winter Soldier is directed by Anthony Russo, Joe Russo stars Chris Evans, Anthony Mackie, Frank Grillo, Cobie Smulders, Samuel L. Jackson, Sebastian Stan, Scarlett Johansson, Toby Jones, Emily VanCamp and Robert Redford. It hits theaters April 4, 2014.

 

 

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Out in Theaters: DESPICABLE ME 2

“Despicable Me 2”
Directed by Pierre Coffin, Chris Renaud
Starring Steve Carrell, Kristen Wiig, Benjamin Bratt, Russell Brand, Miranda Cosgrove, Moises Arias, Elsie Kate Fisher, Ken Jeong, Steve Coogan
Animation, Comedy, Crime

98 Mins
PG

It’s hard to muster any more than a “meh” for Dreamwork’s latest animated pic as Despicable Me 2 has accomplished very little. Capitalizing on ripe affection for the first entry, this follow-up falls deep into the sophomore slump…even though it’s destined to earn one metric boatload of money. But rather than earning the sequel through must-be-told storytelling, this is a requisite afterthought – a blueprinted follow-through. Any semblance of inspired innovation is lacking and sidelined is the one element that gave the franchise launcher such unexpected heart – Gru’s relationship with the girls. Shifting to a romantic plot and a moral re-alignment for Gru leaves this animated flick bland and over-reliant on color-by-numbers plot points punctuated with mindless slapstick gags.

Now that Gru (Steve Carell) has officially adopted Margo, Agnes and Edith, he’s a man who plays by the rules. Instead of attempting to steal the moon and engaging in a spy vs. spy game with fellow super villains, Gru has set his sights on canning sub-par jellies…and jams. Sounds boring? Well it is. Gone are the nefarious world domination schemes. Gone are the kooky gadgetry. Gone are the moral quandaries. Most importantly, gone is the driving force of Gru’s unlikely father-figure role. In their place is a very safe, very average detective story and a very bland emerging romance.

When an unknown villain up and steals a research facility responsible for producing a serum capable of turning mild mannered organisms into jitter-bugging eating machines, the AVL (Anti-Villain-League) recruits Gru for his once villainous mind. Teamed up with AVL newcomer Lucy (Kristen Wiig), Gru inherits a cupcake shop in order to infiltrate the mall where the serum is suspected of being held. As Gru and Lucy work together to stop this evil plot, they become friends…and maybe more.

While the first film found heart in Gru’s improbable relationship with the three young girls, installation numero dos digs around in Gru’s heart trying to find a different kind of love. With a nose like a hook, legs like pins and a body like a barrel, Gru knows he isn’t a lady killer and has, for the most part, given up any sort of quest for romantic love.

Lucy though seems dazzled by Gru’s spotted past, offering blushing compliments on Gru’s greatest feats of villainy. To her, Gru’s attempt to steal the moon is as debonair as it is evil-genius. This back-and-forth yearning becomes the main foil, which is underscored by the unearthing of the villain, but both have been done so many times before, and in better ways, that neither plot bearing resonate nearly as well as they should.

With the major focal point focused on this budding relationship, Gru and his charming rapport with the girls gets little attention, adding up to a major detraction. There are minor moments when Gru plays the role of the watchful father but most of these are centered on Margo (Miranda Cosgrove) and her developing interest in Antonio (Moises Arias). Again, love takes the stage and usurps the simply adorable nature of Gru’s interaction with youngest girl, Agnes (Elsie Kate Fisher).

Even the irksome minions get more attention than the girls here. They seem to have become a much more significant part of the film this time around and their prepubescent act may be scene-stealing for the younger audience but it doesn’t work if you’re not a fan of humor aimed solely at children. All the fart jokes, butt jokes, and pratfall comedy just serve to indulge the kiddies and condescend the adults wanting their humor earned. There are little moments where their breed of comedy works for the 10-and-up crowd (particularly a very random but fairly amusing musical rendition of a Boys To Men song) but, most often, it is loud and obnoxious.

When all is said and done, I asked, “Is that it? Is that really all that they had up their sleeves?” The end result just feels like amateur hour. However well animated it is and however extensive the celebrity voice cast, this is a sequel story that just doesn’t feel like it needed to be told. It’s lazy screenwriting at its most unnecessary and while it’s not the worst example of animated movies aimed towards the youngest common denominator at the chagrin of the parents, it is an example of totally disposable cinema – another spiky spur of sequelitis.

C-

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Spike Lee's OLDBOY Remake Gets an Artsy Poster


Ten years after Chan-wook Park’s Korean film Oldboy made waves internationally, American filmmaker Spike Lee‘s remake is closing in on its October release date. Starring Josh Brolin as a man who is kidnapped, held for twenty years and then suddenly released, Oldboy is a bloody story of vengeance. The film co-stars Samuel L. Jackson, Elizabeth Olsen and Michael Imperioli.

This first official poster is rather metaphorical and I like it. Brolin looking cool bustin’ out of a box? I’m sold.

Oldboy is directed by Spike Lee and stars Josh Brolin, Samuel L Jackson, Elizabeth Olsen and Michael Imperioli. It hits theaters on October 25.

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SIFF Review: UNFINISHED SONG

“Unfinished Song”
Directed by Paul Andrew Williams
Starring Terrence Stamp, Vanessa Redgrave, Gemma Arteton, Christopher Eccleston, Orla Hill
Comedy, Drama, Music
93 Mins

PG-13

 

Piggybacking on the recent success of films skewing towards retirees, Unfinished Song is an unabashed play towards the tissue box. The tear-jerking gimmicks are all there; a bout of cancer, strained familial relationships, death in the family and heartfelt serenades; but Terence Stamp doesn’t allow weepy schmaltz to drag his character down the maudlin road and drown in a glittery polish. Rather, Stamp gives it everything he’s got and puts in one of the finer performances of his career. The pity is that his standout performance is surrounded by a film that just isn’t very good.

 
Director Paul Andrew Williams, who up to this point has been mostly responsible for a number of B-slasher movies, embraces the drama genre stereotypes rather than trying to flip them on their head. It seems that at every opportunity, Williams takes the road most traveled. While this tactic is inoffensive in its broad appeal, this meek course threatens to upend the gravitas welling from Stamp. As Williams turns towards the easy road, Stamp eyes the challenging route.

 

Grump to the bitter end, Stamp’s unwaveringly dismal Arthur leads one hell of a sheltered life. The last vestige of humanity left in Arthur is his relationship with his wife Marion (Vanessa Redgrave). Although Arthur never comes outright and declares his love for his wife, his undying devotion is clear in the little things. The way he forces her to bed every night or whenever he over-protectively throws her friends out when she’s not feeling well are indicative of his overbearing but deeply loving nature. He’s not particularly well versed at making a good impression, or being anything short of an ass at that, but Redgrave’s unfaltering love for him never budges. She sees him for the man he is ten-levels deep; the wee-onion at the center of the tear-inducing skins. Her dedication to him amidst his snooty humbug mannerisms is as improbable as it is unconditional but Redgrave sells the performance amply.

When Marion’s cancer returns, she’s told to turn to the chips and ice cream treatment. Essentially, she hasn’t got long to live, so her medicine will be to enjoy life, and all the chips and ice cream she wants, while she can. Their grown son James (Christopher Eccleston) is silently devastated by the news but Arthur is unwilling to lend the smallest gesture of comfort to him. Their strained father-son relationship goes on to become more emotional fodder for a redemptive arc to play out in the third act but this play for dramatics is hardly anything novel. It’s yet another facet of the film that’s been done before and just another slice of the melodrama pie that Williams is so eagerly serving up.

While Arthur sees his wife’s imminent demise as a prescription for her to stay home in bed, Marion doesn’t want to waste a second of the fleeting remains of her life. Against Arthur’s wishes, she returns to her glee club to do what she loves best: belt out some tunes amongst a host of pensioners ticking off the dates on their own longevity calendars.

Leading this troop of balded-headed men and gossiping old birds is the youth, sweet and beautiful Elizabeth, an impractically endearing do-gooder who can’t seem to find a place amongst people her own age. Even though Elizabeth bookends the tale with some unnecessary voice-over narration, this is hardly her story. Gemma Arterton does the limited capacity of the role justice but she is a throwaway hotplate; just there to help the others catalyze but otherwise flat in her own character arc.

 

When we get to the actual glee club that inspires so much joy in Marion’s life, it seems like we’ve walked onto a Glee set 60 years in the future. The elder ensemble sing-a-longs are hokey and their intentionally uncouth but soulful nature make them grating to say the least. But when the group quiets down and Marion steps forward, the tone changes to a more reflective and somber state for Redgrave to flex her chops. Even in the throes of her looming death, Marion’s musical solo glimmers with life.

When Marion does croak (which I won’t consider a spoiler since it’s featured in the trailer and synopsis), it fractures the already limping relationship Arthur holds with his son and Arthur becomes a man left afloat in his own misery. Seeking out an unlikely friendship with Elizabeth, Arthur starts down the rocky road to redemption in the community center he once mimicked so openly. It seems he has quite a little singing voice boxed inside his grumbling Scrooge-like mouth and he seems to find joy in finally letting it loose. Overcoming his caustic nature is more a challenge than he thought as the smoke-slicked grim is so thick on Arthur’s persona that it’s hardened like a stone.

 

When the clandestine Arthur’s finally emerges from his shell and join the AARP gleefulites, it’s in an effort to pay tribute to his deceased wife and to find a sense of enjoyment that has always escaped him. While Redgrave’s performance was a burbling brook of tears, the real treat is contained within the stoney depths of Stamp which elicits tears by the buckets. When he finally does open up, his act is spellbinding. Stamp’s solo act is deeply personal and ultimately touching. Fearlessly, Arthur’s warbling tenor captures the audience on and off screen. It’s a soul-searching moment that reveals his true colors while extending a symbolic olive branch to his estranged son and however cliché , Stamp owns it.

The overall impression of been-there-done-that handicaps Stamp’s otherwise illustrious performance but it does allow Unfinished Song to eek by as a passable addition to the over-50 genre. One can’t help but regret the final result though. Had Williams axed the cutesy gags and allowed Stamp’s grim complexity to shape the tone of the film, this would have been much deeper than the gushing mush holding a great performance executed here. But however simple-minded and cutesy the glee-filled formula is, Stamp’s powerful and complicated performance drags Unfinished Song out of the kiddy pool and into the freeing depths of character study.

C+

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SIFF Review: THE WAY WAY BACK

“The Way, Way Back”
Directed by Nat Faxon, Jim Rash
Starring Liam James, Sam Rockwell, Steve Carell, Toni Collette, Robb Corddry, Amanda Peet, Maya Rudolph, Allison Janney, River Alexander and AnnaSophia Robb
Comedy, Drama

103 Mins
PG-13

While The Way, Way Back has a firm handle on its supporting cast, it leaves the plot to the dogs. It’s that strange breed of hybrid – commonly known as a dramedy – that refuses to settle with just being funny and in reaching for something more, comes up short. In a way, the experience is akin to hanging out at your parents’ beach house: you have to wait in suspended restiveness until the vacation is finished, pretending to enjoy yourself the whole time. At least the weird, beach-deserted manboy trying to be friends with you is actually funny here. 


The film opens up on the back of Steve Carell‘s head as he chastises teenage Duncan. He breaks the rule that is holiest of holies and calls blossoming teen Duncan ugly. Not physically ugly so much as emotionally ugly. Oh and he throws in that he doesn’t respect him either. All the while, Duncan’s mom sleeps in the front seat oblivious. Within these few introductory moments, we’ve established an uncomfortable familial triangle funk and know that we’re all in for a long summer vacation at the beach.

The screenwriting duo of The Descendants, Nat Faxon and Jim Rash, take their inaugural directors chairs here and show promise in their ability to harness the brighter elements in the film but allow those without as much luster to get kicked around in the dirt. The emotional oomph precedes itself and the all-too-familiar sense of teenage angst that permeates the film is kind of like having a teenager around – that is, it’s annoying. Not in an egregiously annoying manner so much as a “that kid is having so little fun that he’s sucking the air out of the room” annoying. The uncomfortable in-laws annoying.

We remember that there’s a reason we all wanted to escape the trials and tribulations of teenagedom as we watch the gloom and doom of that self-defeating mindset pervade the mind of our protagonist Duncan. Caught between being rebellious and putting in the minimal amount of effort to please your parents because you still have to live with them for another four years (which seems like eternity), it simply is not a pleasant time. Unfortunately, neither is watching one of these floundering teens.

When you let an animal thrash, it spoils the meat. Even in muted misery, your guests are in store for some sour filling. As so much of the film tries to get us into the head of a pressure-cooking teen boiling over with early-life angst, it shouldn’t really be a surprise that you’re left with a bad taste in your mouth.

Slashing through the acrid flavor is an off-the-wall Sam Rockwell let loose to do what he does best: rant and ramble. Continuing his streak of winning performances, Rockwell gets to play with some emotional gravity here but is really only allowed to scratch the surface. His character bobs in a pool of quick comedy and in it, thrives. Without a doubt, Rockwell is the highlight of the film.

In stark contrast to Rockwell’s easy-breezy-beautiful sensibilities, Liam James of The Killing crumbles under the bulk of the film and his moody, mopey, reluctant character is more pitiable than relatable. We understand his plight and don’t envy his position but he’s helplessly awkward without being helplessly cute. James shows promise but it’s not yet realized.

Towering over him is Carrell whose overbearing potentially-to-be-stepdad is as repugnant as he is potent. He doesn’t have one iota of humanity and surely offers an easy to hate character, depth be damned. Toni Collette is similarly thin on character but we suffer alongside her as the pieces making up her makeshift family collide and drift apart, collide and drift apart.

In a film about relationships, many here are shallow and unbelievable. Collette and Carrell have no chemistry, I’m not buying that Rockwell is into the strict, fugly succubus that is Maya Rudolph and there’s no one on Earth that could convince me that Rob Corddry could land Amanda Peet. But through all the super-glued relationships, the comedy continues to shine. Allison Janney, the only party without a counterpart, is perfect as the drunken-overbearing neighbor and brings us right back to the days of dreading the uncomfortable crazy lady next door. Between Janney and Rockwell, there’s enough solid comedic lunacy to make up for the otherwise failed dramatic gravitas.

The Way, Way Back is a victory but a small and silent one, the kind only a hermit crab or a loner teen could celebrate. Settling to skim on the water’s surface rather than dive into it, Faxon and Rash’s film fails to be brave. Trying to harness love for Little Miss Sunshine thematically and even in the casting, Faxon and Rash have made a festival film that’s more derivative than standalone. The story is a sapling, waiting to flourish into something more. Something more never comes and in the end, we’re no richer having seen it nor are we any worse for the wear.

C

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Another Trailer for INSIDE LLEWYN DAVIS

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Early word on the Coen Bro‘s Inside Llewyn Davis has been overwhelming positive so I feel confident saying that not only will it be one of the more enjoyable films of the year but will definitely get some Oscar play next March. Joel and Ethan Cohen have a tendency to waffle between the cinematic fare they dabble in, a one-from-them, one-for-us tactic.

Although they never stray far from their indie roots, more accessible films like No Country for Old Men and True Grit often get a lot more attention and accolades than more left-field work like A Serious Man and Burn After Reading. Inside Llewyn Davis seems to promise to both deliver to the masses while leaving their indelible Coen mark.

Take a look at the trailer and see if you’ll be rushing to see the Coen bros latest.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i-VG5IZGwT4

Inside Llewyn Davis is directed by the Joel and Ethan Coen and stars Oscar Isaac, Carey Mulligan, John Goodman, Justin Timberlake, F. Murray Abraham, and Garrett Hedlund. It hits limited theaters on December 6 and goes wide on December 20.

 

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Vince Vaughn is a Sperm Donation Maestro in the Trailer for DELIVERY MAN

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In this Dreamworks-financed, Vince Vaughn-led comedy, Vaughn plays an average delivery man with relationship problems who discovers that a mix-up with his sperm bank donations 20 years ago have led to him amassing 533 biological children. On a quest to be a guardian angel of sorts to this small town worth of children, Vaughn’s David Wozniak makes important discoveries about his own life decisions and the parents he may have been.

Delivery Man is a remake of the 2011 French-Canadian film Starbuck written and directed by Ken Scott who will again be directing and penning this one. It’s rare that a director will remake his own film in another language, the only other example that comes directly to mind is Michael Haneke‘s Funny Games which was originally done in German and remade 10 years later in English (which I hated), so we’ll see how this one turns one.

The original version didn’t quite light the world on fire but it was a mild success for what it was. Seems like Scott and Dreamworks are banking on the star power of Vaughn to propel this one to mass appeal. Have a look at the trailer and see if you would be willing to invest 12 bucks to see this in theaters.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V1lZKDNJ4aQ

Delivery Man is directed by Ken Scott and stars Vince Vaughn, Cobie Smulders, Britt Robertson, Chris Pratt, Jack Reynor and Bobby Mornihan. It opens November 22.

 

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Out in Theaters: THE LONE RANGER

“The Lone Ranger”
Directed by Gore Verbinski

Starring Armie Hammer, Johnny Depp, William Fichtner, Ruth Wilson, Helena Bonham Carter, Tom Wilkinson, James Badge Dale, Barry Pepper, Mason Cook
Action, Adventure, Western
149 Mins

PG-13

 

One of the many problems The Lone Ranger faces is that it doesn’t feel modern. The Wild West that audiences have begun to again embrace with films like True Grit and Django Unchained thrive not because of their niche western setting but because of their steadily unique voice. In a genre where everything has been done before, they divided and conquered simply by doing something audiences haven’t seen before.

In The Lone Ranger, everything feels retread, tired, and ready to boot. As a winking tribute of sorts, it works to an extent, but tonally it’s stretched like an old rubber band ready to snap. The souring riff on the noble savage, played with tone-deaf readiness by Hollywood’s favorite eccentric, Johnny Depp, is off-putting, head-scratching, mildly offensive and entirely dated. The kitschy elements of the 1930s icon could have been celebrated and preserved, even in light of a modernized overhaul, but instead director Gore Verbinski and go-to cohort Johnny Depp have gone for broke and come up with bags of sand. 

 

 
 

On a visual level, The Lone Ranger looks pretty good but it is essentially just more of the same from the House of Mouse. Instead of the seascape cinematography, Bojan Bazellis Great Plains and vast plateaus give a nice backdrop to the old west and paint a vision of the unbound expansiveness that characterized not only the landscapes but the people as well. However, his scenic vistas are often spoiled with inorganic CGI. A scene attempting to induce wonder, where a group of train passengers are privy to a stampeding herd of buffalo, looks as fake and poorly executed as the CG monkeys in Jumanji. It’s one thing to make a computer generated Kraken that only looks half believable but we’ve all seen buffalo before and they don’t look like that. It’s missteps like these that take us right out of the moment and exact attention on the anecdotal mildew eating away at the scenes.

After Jack White backed out from his anticipated rendition on an original score here, maestro Hans Zimmer steps in to do his own little ditty on old timey westerns that is largely out of his comfort zone. Particularly in the opening act, his musical choices seem strangely dour and simple in uncalled for places but a late stage rendition of the Gioachino Rossini old time classic “William Tell Overture” gives the finale a sense of unrestrained joy largely lacking throughout.

As a sandblasted counterpart to Pirates of the Caribbean, The Lone Ranger capitalizes on the same whimsical sense of adventure that characterized that blockbuster hit. While Verbinski’s gilded and sterile touch is noticeable throughout, missing is the sense of wonder and gleeful spectacle that made the original Pirates film such an unexpected hit.

Gone are the pirate ships swirling at sea and the over-the-top mannerisms of Captain Jack Sparrow and in their place are trains swirling on their tracks and the over-the-top mannerisms of Tonto. Instead of a drunken pirate slurring through his lines whilst whimsically walking the plank, Depp is sporting an antiquated dialect hardly short of full-blown racism and yet he preserves his signature teeter-totter shambling and the kooky gestures that he thinks serve as ample substitutes for character development in his recent career.

Depp’s Tonto may be a passive attempt at a revisionist facelift but the update isn’t working. Firstly and lastly, it is simply impossible to get past the fact that Depp is a white man (a well-known white man at that) playing dress-up as a Native American and masquerading as if his work here is earnest. Even his baseless makeup job is a caricature of savagery and otherness and in one fell swoop alienates his character’s underlying humanity while hammering in a false cultural cornerstone. Even his name Tonto translates to “stupid person” in Spanish.

 
 

The performance and costumery, almost helplessly seeping from Depp is disingenuous to the point of being a modern-day equivalent of black face. The trouble is you can almost tell that Depp’s heart is only half in this and he seems to be questioning the principle of his performance in the midst of it. Whoever put their stamp of approval on letting Depp play the noble savage (and yes, he is actually referred to as the noble savage) must have known they were playing with fire. Distasteful farce though it may be, this fire burns.

Armie Hammer, on the other side of the equation, seems to embrace the tongue-and-cheekiness with open arms and presents a lone ranger who is more of a shrieking Brendan Fraser-type than a hard-boiled hero. He’s a protagonist of circumstance whose biggest battle is escaping his own stilted notions of lawful sentencing in a land dictated by power-hungry manipulation and quick-draw justice. There is a fundamental disconnect between Hammer and Depp and their distinct acting sensibilities that adds up to a vacuous lack of synergy between these two leading men.

 
 
 

Hammer vies with a satirical riff on the dated concepts of wild west heroism, largely breaking expectations of the hardened western hero. His great asset is uncoordinated serendipity and he has an ethical aversion to firearms even though he is constantly in need of them. He’s gimmicky to be sure but Hammer’s self-awareness makes the experience far more pleasurable than Depp’s straight-laced quirk and Tim Burton-trained anti-spontaneity. As a man who refuses to ever watch his own work, it must be difficult for Depp to tell that the jig is up but someone needs to clue him in that the drug-addled kook he’s been playing for years must be put down Old Yeller style.

Like the characters meant to be working with each other, the film itself is fundamentally disjointed. It often feels like a piecemeal collective of set pieces strapped together with circumstantial artifices that only serve to bring our heroes into their impending action sequences. No wonder that no less than six screenwriters are responsible for this behemoth mess. Five must have been commissioned to write an action sequence each and the last must have been responsible for gluing this Humpty Dumpty back together again.

The true shame is that even with so much talent involved and a massive money-belt, the watered down result is hardly minor enjoyment even in light of some padded but fun moments. There are simply too many cooks in the kitchen and any enjoyable escapism is too little, too late. There are just too many instances of the unforgivable, mainly with Johnny Depp’s Tonto and the cringe-worthy narrative egg that encases the story, in which Tonto recounts the tale to a young boy at the fair, to give this one a pass. The Jerry Bruckheimer age of disposable Disney cinema has again balked on its chance for transcendence and has instead delivered derivation at its most sanitary.

D

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Weekly Review 27: JESSE AND CELESTE FOREVER, FAST FIVE, MAMA, UPSTREAM COLOR, OZ: THE GREAT AND POWERFUL, THE LAST EXORCISM: PART 2


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

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

Jesse and Celeste Forever (2012)

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

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

B-

Fast Five (2011)

 

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

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

C

Mama (2013)

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

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

C-

Upstream Color (2013)

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

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

B

Oz: The Great and Powerful (2013)

 

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

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

D-

The Last Exorcism: Part 2 (2013)

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

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

F

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