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Out in Theaters: A MILLION WAYS TO DIE IN THE WEST

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Seth McFarlane‘s go-for-broke comic stylings looked to have runs its course when Fox pulled the plug on Family Guy in 2001. But like a zombie on the rise, McFarlane rose from the grave and has gone on to infest America with two spin-offs show (American Dad, The Cleveland Show) and two feature length films, each predicated on crass sight gags, a barrage of cultural references, and poop jokes. Somehow, McFarlane has saved some of his best – and most immature – material for his latest: A Million Ways to Die in the West. It’s a comedy in the crudest sense, a smorgasbord of pee-pee jokes and doo-doo gags. But, damnit, I laughed. 

McFarlane’s western comedy – one of the few in a genre that includes Mel Brook‘s love-it-or-hate-it Blazing Saddles and the Chris Farley and Matthew Perry-led Almost Heroes – starts with the most boring credit sequence I can recall in recent history. Skill-less heli-shots of rising Arizona plateaus superimposed with serif-heavy, western-style font declaring a tome of names is almost lifeless enough to snuff out any anticipation for what’s to come. An un-clever throwback to times when “they didn’t know any better,” this out-of-the-gates launch makes for a starting line lull that nearly derails the proceedings before they’ve even begun, and takes a full five minutes to recover from.

With that downtime behind us, we meet Albert (McFarlane) – a man too clever for his own good, cautiously living in the Wild Wild West. He’s quite obviously a man born in the wrong era, a conceit from which McFarlane mines much of his comedy. Albert is far too progressive to thrive in a society that resolves issues with shoot outs, far too sarcastic for a town where bar fights break out over a sour glance, and far too un-moustiacioed to be considered a man in good standing. Plus, he’s a sheep farmer who can’t even keep his sheep in one place so his pockets are more often filled with sand than pennies (or, God forbid, an entire dollar).

Because of his yellow belly ways, lowly social standing, and (presumably) lack of a mustache, his betrothed Louise (the ever-obnoxious Amanda Seyfried) dumps him for the mustache-twirling Foy (a fitfully funny Neil Patrick Harris.) Albert vents to his only friends and loving couple Edward and Ruth (Giovanni Ribisi and Sarah Silverman respectively) but realizes his situation might not be so bad considering Ruth is a prominent prostitute and yet has not slept with her long-time boyfriend. After all, they’re both Christians saving themselves for marriage. The comedy of their nontraditional set-up is a well oft drawn from but when it works, it works really well. When it doesn’t, let’s just say someone’s scooping seed off someone else’s face. Ew.

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A largely humorless Liam Neeson (who knew he couldn’t be funny?) arrives on the scene as ruthless gun slinger Clinch Leatherwood with wife Anna (Charlize Theron) in tow. When Leatherwood takes off into the sunset (to do lord knows what), Anna befriends down-in-the-dumps Albert and their relationship blossoms into something that resembles a crush, which, you guessed it, causes a bit of an issue when Clinch does ride back into town.

For a movie basically resolving around a single joke – living in the old west sucked – McFarlane is able to mine a good few dozen laughs and reasonably commendable human drama (for what it is at least.) A likable and strangely committed Theron is partly responsible for us feeling any sort of bond with the characters as McFarlane’s Albert is as much a cartoon character as Peter Griffin is. But while Theron grounds us, McFarlane provides comedy in frequent, rapid-fire bursts.

You’d be hard pressed to find anyone arguing that McFarlane’s quality of comedy is anything resembling sophisticated but his quick gag, shotgun style methodology of throwing as much as possible at the wall and seeing what sticks results in an undeniably buffet of giggles. Surely there’s poop jokes mixed in with the more clever one-liners (“Take your hat off boy! Thats a dollar bill!” being the one that made me laugh most) but – as Albert’s shooting skills with attest to – if you fire enough bullets, some of them are bound to hit the target.

That’s not to say however that McFarlane doesn’t occasionally cross the line. His penchant for the occasional racist zinger may land him in a bit of hot water with more liberal-minded audiences but remember this is a movie in which a man fills not one, but two top hats brimming with dookie. Because Seth McFarlane. If you’re not offended, you’re doing something wrong.

As much as I wanted to leave this one with more fodder for my anti-McFarlane campaign, the funnyman titillated my childish side just enough to free the laughs from my hard-worn shell. It’s not necessarily something I’m proud of, but I snickered heartily alongside the (predominantly juvenile) audience members… and fairly often. While A Million Ways to Die in the West may not be a film I actively recommend, it’s one I admit will likely work your funny bone, under the right circumstances.

C

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SIFF Capsule Recap #6: OBVIOUS CHILD, TO KILL A MAN, NIGHT MOVES, THE INTERNET'S OWN BOY

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This Memorial Day weekend brought a bit of a lull to the otherwise onslaught of SIFF domination as I only caught one new film over the three day weekend. Just today though, I capped off one more to bring this sixth installment to a welcome close. Lately (and luckily), my most recent picks have been better across the board, with this batch offering a treasure of great films, each worth seeking out and watching. Keeping up with SIFF procedure, these brief reviews are kept to only 75 words so you can read them fast, I can write them fast and the studio’s happy. In my pursuit to oust my opinion without breaking regulation, look out for mini-review after mini-review as I get closer to hitting that magic number of 40 films for SIFF’s 40th anniversary. So, short and sweet reading for you, much more time for movie watching for me. This could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

Obvious Child

dir. Gillian Robespierre star. Jenny Slate, Jake Lacy, Gaby Hoffmann, Gabe Liedman (USA)

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Gaby Hoffman is dumped, fired and knocked up in the short span of a few weeks. As a stand-up comedian, she takes to the brick-walled stage to bear her scruffy soul to the captive audience of the club she frequents, armed with uncouth non-sequitors and filthy vaginal humor that’ll have some men (and even women) squirming in their seats. Hoffman’s decidedly feminist brand of humor is not unlike the highly trending small-chick-in-the-big-city of HBO’s Girls and its offspring, but her erratic raunch keeps affairs airy and laugh-heavy. (B-)

To Kill a Man (Matar a un hombre)

dir. Alejandro Fernández Almendras star. Daniel Antivilo, Daniel Candia, Ariel Mateluna, Alejandra Yañez (Chile)

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Kubrickian in style and score – with hauntingly symmetrical shots and eerie, creeping soundscapes – To Kill a Man is grippingly adept at manufacturing tension. When a neighborhood terror won’t leave his family alone, feeble everyman Jorge must weigh the social and psychological consequences of taking matters into his own hands. Almendras’ understated film is a thoughtful and poetic piece, achieved slowly and with great care, that never skimps on honest emotional reflection to get to the heart of this chilling true tale. (B+)

Night Moves

dir. Kelly Reichardt star. Jesse Eisenberg, Dakota Fanning, Peter Sarsgaard, Alia Shawkat (USA)

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A quiet, moody thriller that sees a band of three ecoterrorists – though I don’t think they’d take to that moniker – plot to take out a dam and the consequences that follow. At times appearing overindulgent in its environmentalist mindset, the well-defined classical three-act structure unravels into an open-ended nightmare that has destroyed its own political prejudices by the time the credits rolls. Night Moves is The East meets Taxi Driver with Jesse Eisenberg offering a haunted lead performance amidst a welcome return to form for the elder Fanning. (B)

The Internet’s Own Boy: The Story of Aaron Swartz

dir. Brian Knappenberger (USA)

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An excellent documentary focused on Aaron Swartz, an internet whizkid who gave key notes speeches along Harvard professors at only 12 before ending his own life at 25. Knappenberger’s stirring doc amounts to a serious indictment of a disharmonious America that values corporations over citizens and censorship over progress. In a society domineered by dishonesty and boundless enterprising, Swartz’s quest for something more amounts to a unwavering picture of corruption in our country’s prix-fixe adage of “be the best you can be.” (B+)

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Click through for more recap segments and stay tuned for the next collection of four in this whopping ten part series.

Part 1: JIMI: All is By My Side, Zip Zap and the Marble Gang, Hellion, Fight Church 
Part 2: Cannibal, The Double, Time Lapse, Another
Part 3: Half of a Yellow Sun, Mirage Men, The Trip to Italy, Starred Up
Part 4: Difret, The Fault in Our Stars, The Skeleton Twins, In Order of Disappearance
Part 5: Willow Creek, Firestorm, Mystery Road, 10,000 KM

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Out in Theaters: BLENDED

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You know you’re in trouble when people laugh at your production company sequence before the movie even starts. Alas, that’s where we’re at with Happy Madison and Adam Sandler. It’s the same tired schmaltz and shtick and spiel that it’s always been.

Blended employs the same combo we’ve seen too many times before: Drew Barrymore as a cute ditzy blonde, Sandler as the weird funny guy with a hard edge and a soft side. What spark they once had has gone stale. It’s like they’re really stuck in the 50 First Dates love-trap: now they’re trying to find something, anything that works. This combo used to be nougat. Now it just smells like nutsack.

Lauren’s (Barrymore) divorced with two little boys. Their characters revolve around typical boyhood challenges: the older one masturbates to pictures of his babysitter crudely taped to Playboys; the younger one sucks at baseball and his Dad (a douchey Joel McHale) never wants to play catch. Lauren organizes closets for “Closet Queens” with her friend Jen (Wendi McLendon-Covey, who seems to have taken acting lessons from the Grandma in The Room), who’s dating Dick from Dick’s Sporting Goods. Yeah, that Dick.

Jim (Sandler) manages a Dick’s alongside Shaquille O’Neal. His wife died of cancer (the film could’ve gone by the title 50 First Dead Mom Jokes), leaving him to struggle with three daughters: Hilary, Espn (named after his favorite TV network!) and Lou. Espn’s got Haley Joel Osment’s sixth sense when it comes to mommy: she saves a seat at the table for momma, she talks to her in her bedroom. Hilary (“Larry”) is a tomboy teen that daddy won’t let come out of her shell. Lou is a cute little girl who says “butthole.”

Jim takes Lauren on a date to Hooters, which goes swimmingly: she spits out hot buffalo shrimp and spills French onion soup all over herself, he drinks her beer. They end up hating each other. Let’s cut to the chase: afraid of being bad parents, they both get their hands on tickets “TO AFRICA!!!” without knowing that the other family’s going along with them. Typical shenanigans and bonding and romantic tension ensues. Do I have to say it? This premise is fucking terrible.

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“Is everyone ready to see the real Africa?” an African guy asks as they get off the plane. Blended leaves it at that. Sandler’s Africa never goes as far as to mention what part of Africa they’re in, or who these people are. Instead, we’re led to believe that the entire continent is filled with singing and dancing sweaty black folk surrounded by an endless safari of crocodiles, lions and elephants. The fact that Sandler so often uses “Africans” as entertainment and fodder for bad humor is downright offensive. Terry Crews leads an acapella group that follows Sandler and his crew around everywhere while singing stupid shit. Everyone is there to serve the rich white folk that have ventured their way into this “wilderness.” Sandler’s Africa is nothing but cheap accents and cheaper African garb.

But cheapest of all are the jokes, and gosh darn is there slapstick. Grandma’s crash into things on ATVs, Sandler falls into a vat of Dodo urine, Barrymore’s profession is mined for lesbian jokes, Adam tries to out-fart an elephant, the “Africans” say goofy African things, Barrymore catches her kid masturbating…the list goes on. You’d think they would’ve gotten tired of all these crap jokes: Blended is just 50 First Dates Does Africa.

Blended then tries to take on gender identity, in the most basic way possible. Sandler has difficulty as a father of three girls, while Barrymore just can’t figure out how to raise her two sons. Their simple solution: pops can buy the porn while momma buys the tampons. Throughout, there’s the assumption that men and women find figuring out the opposite sex impossible. Sandler doesn’t want to let his daughters out of their tomboy casing, but his girls just want to dress up and look pretty. Barrymore’s boys want to be good at sports and the older one is constantly horny. Screenwriters Clare Sera and Ivan Menchell don’t know what to do with their characters, so they resort to the same conclusion every dimwit always seems to come to: boys have penises and girls have vaginas.

Sandler’s Rotten Tomatoes page is more verdant than a fresh can of Green Giant. You’ve gotta go down a long ways until you can find anything worthwhile. Grown Ups 2? Why is this a thing? That’s My Boy? Try again. Just Go With It? I’ll go without, thanks. Grown Ups? Groan. Jack and Jill? Fuck no.

What’s happened to Sandler is truly a disaster. Trust me; I’ve seen The Wedding Singer at least thirty times. It’s classic Adam: quirky, brooding, clever, timeless slapstick. Happy Madison is the same way. Back then he could afford to gamble, to put himself out there. Now his ruminating, dark comedy shtick just comes off as sad: all that’s left is a depressive sack that can’t cope with getting old, fat and tired while watching his kids grow up. His well ran dry somewhere in between Grandma’s Boy and You Don’t Mess with the Zohan and he’s been scraping at brick since then.

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Funny People
(directed by Judd Apatow) was Sandler’s last great movie: a movie about comedians that’s not funny and doesn’t try to be. There, we saw Sandler’s dark side: George Simmons, a lonely, lost, scared comedian who’s afraid to be a nobody and even more afraid to be famous. Sandler’s Simmons wasn’t funny. His stuff was sad. But his vulnerability came out. Funny People was fitting because we saw Seth Rogen and Jonah Hill—new blood, the hot kids in town challenging him for his thrown—right next to Sandler. The truth is, they were funnier. Sandler didn’t need anyone to tell him that because he saw it up close: no one wants to see a 47-year old guy do a little boy voice anymore.

One has to wonder where the self-reflective Sandler went. Maybe he’s too afraid to be vulnerable, or he’s still clinging to the glory days. Really, the same should be said for Drew Barrymore too. They’ve earned each other. Blended was the appropriate title for this place in their careers: at this point, everything seems to mix together into nothingness.

I’ve been racking my brain trying to find out why Blended was even made, and who it was made for. Really, who is the demographic here? It boggles the mind. Maybe this one will go over well in old folks’ homes and at the zoo. Anyone older than 12 can’t possibly like this stuff, right? I would tell you not to go see this film, but you don’t need me to tell you that: Sandler’s name already did the work for me.

Can you still call yourself a comedian if people are laughing at you?

D

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SIFF Capsule Recap #5: WILLOW CREEK, FIRESTORM, MYSTERY ROAD, 10,000 KM

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With this fifth installment, I reach the half-way point of my 40 film stretch. 20 films down, 20 to go. This turning point though was much more of a mixed bag entry as we have some true greats mixed up with some real junk. Towing the line with SIFF procedure, these brief reviews are kept to about 75 words. It’s all about the broad strokes. In my pursuit to oust my opinion without breaking regulation, look out for mini-review after mini-review as I get closer to hitting that magic number of 40 films of SIFF’s 40th anniversary. So, short and sweet reading for you, much more time for movie watching for me. This could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

Willow Creek

dir. Bob Goldthwait star. Alexie Gilmore, Bryce Johnson (USA)

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There’s a really strong long-form scene in the midst of Willow Creek, much filler surrounding it and a wholly unsatisfying and unintelligible ending. What ought to be provocatively minimalism isn’t as this lo-fi horror borrows heavily from the book of Blair Witch, but without the novelty of being there first, Bob Goldthwait has little to add to the genre. More padding than substance, Willow Creek is overstuffed with the kind of fruitless scenes that make found footage so grating and lethargic and is only worthwhile for diehard horror/Sasquatch fans. (D+)

Mystery Road

dir. Ivan Sen star. Aaron Pedersen, Hugo Weaving, Ryan Kwanten, Tama Walton (Australia)

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Ivan Sen‘s painterly cinematography, marked by brilliant orange sunrises and sweeping casts into endless flatlands, sets the tone for this Australian thinker’s thriller. With a Coen Bros meets Sergio Leone feel to it, Mystery Road is pretty much No Outback for Young Aborigine Ladies, a dark drama that manages to sneak muted undercurrents of racial aggression amongst its larger themes of derelict duty and parental responsibility. Restrained performances from Aaron Pederson and the like set against a manic Hugo Weaving makes for a nice dichotomy of character in a film well worth your time. (B-)

Firestorm (Fung Bou)

dir. Alen Yuen star. Chen Yao, Ka Tung Lam, Andy Lau, Michael Wong (Hong Kong)

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Senselessly expensive – especially by Hong Kong standards – overly-stylized and utterly meaningless, Firestorm is a high-gloss crime actioner that throws the kitchen sink in each of its tactless proceedings. With as many explosions as budgetarily possible and a hero who’s more Robocop than anything resembling a living breathing human, this flunky action movie is derivative, laughable and ceaselessly dumb – a combo that actually works in its favor a small fraction of the time. Nevertheless, it should be actively avoided. (D)

10,000 KM

dir. Carlos Marques-Marcet star. Natalia Tena, David Verdaguer (Spain)

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Anyone who’s lived through a long distance relationship will find alarming truth in 10,000KM, a bittersweet romance stunningly directed by Carlos Marques-Marcet and brilliantly acted by Natalia Tena (Game of Thrones) and David Verdaguer. In truly all accords, it’s a phenomenal film; real, honest, emotional and poised to hit the nerve of lovers living through the e-generation. How people helplessly grow apart with distance is approached from nearly every angle to create an unfathomable experience so intimate, personal and gutting that you’ll be as wrecked as the star-crossed lovers when all is said and done. (A)

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Click through for more recap segments and stay tuned for the next collection of four in this whopping ten part series.

Part 1: JIMI: All is By My Side, Zip Zap and the Marble Gang, Hellion, Fight Church 
Part 2: Cannibal, The Double, Time Lapse, Another
Part 3: Half of a Yellow Sun, Mirage Men, The Trip to Italy, Starred Up
Part 4: Difret, The Fault in Our Stars, The Skeleton Twins, In Order of Disappearance

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Out in Theaters: ‘X-MEN: DAYS OF FUTURE PAST’

The X-Men franchise has always confronted big themes: tolerance, shame, homosexuality, even genocide. At its greatest hours, the series has relied on ideas of deontological ethics and ideologies of self-worth winning over flashy spectacle – although the vast display of superpowers were always welcome icing on the cake. Even the much derided Last Stand shoulders a message of coming together to defeat a greater enemy – about differences paling under the looming shadow of fascism – but that’s hardly something new to a series that juggles laser sight in with race extermination. Days of Future Past takes its place in the crossroads between bold ideas and blockbuster pageantry and though maybe it’s not the most outright fun X-Men film to date (that honor goes to First Class), it might be the most important. Read More

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Out in Theaters: COLD IN JULY

A creak in the night, a foreign, silent cacophony you feel in your gut rather than actually hear; the unmistakable patter of an intruder. Richard Dane (Michael C. Hall) unlocks his Smith and Weston, loading it with trembling fingers. “Stay down,” he warns his wife and creeps into the living room to the unwelcoming invitation of a flashlight gliding over his belongings. He points the uneasy barrel of his shaking gun at the masked figure, wrapped in a thief’s customary black garb; stoic, ready. The sudden din of the clock striking midnight catches Richard off guard and he fires an accidental bullet at the intruder, painting the wall in a crimson puff of brains. Read More

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SIFF Capsule Recap #4 (DIFRET, FAULT IN OUR STARS, SKELETON TWINS, IN ORDER OF DISAPPEARANCE)

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Things just keep on picking up over here in SIFF-land with four mostly great new movies, including two early standouts of the fest. Still following SIFF procedure, these brief reviews only span about 75 meaning-laden words so short and sweet is the word. In my pursuit to oust my opinion without breaking regulation, look out for mini-review after mini-review as I seek to hit that magic number of 40 films of SIFF’s 40th anniversary. So far, I’m at 16. 40 is looking closer by the day. So, short and sweet reading for you, much more time for movie watching for me. This could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

Difret

dir. Zeresenay Berhane Mehari star. Meron Getnet, Tizita Hagere (Ethiopia)

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Difret, or Ethiopia Kidnap Weddings: SVU, beams a chilling political reality where tradition clashes with human rights, courts with all-male elder tribunals. A young girl, Hirut, is kidnapped by a gaggle of men on horseback, locked up and raped before escaping and killing the captor intent on marrying her. Difret, which loosely translates to “raped”, then sees a politic system condemning this child to death and the human rights lawyer who come to her aid. The performances impress but Mehari’s amateur hand leaves much to be desired in the directing department. Hirut’s story will have you up in arms but the story is disappointingly one-sided. (C)

The Fault in Our Stars

dir. Josh Boone star. Shailene Woodley, Ansel Elgort, Nat Wolff, Willem Dafoe, Laura Dern (USA)

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Charmed performances can’t overcome the schmaltzy, melodramatic cancer porn that is The Fault in Our Stars. Pegged as a weepy drama, Josh Boone‘s film is ready to serve up tragedy by the ladle-full. Willem Dafoe stops by for a show-stopping scene but it’s Shailene Woodley and Ansel Elgort who keep us grounded in this otherwise-borrowed Walk To Remember path. It is however decidedly better than its leads’ previous project: Divergent. Stars is not outright bad so much as fundamentally flawed. (C-)

The Skeleton Twins

dir. Craig Robinson star. Bill Hader, Kristen Wiig, Luke Wilson, Ty Burrell (USA)

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Bill Hader just had his coming out party. He may not be gay, but he’s a star. The Skeleton Twins is unabashedly entertaining; a darkly comic, tactfully told dramedy that probes the darkest of places with the funniest of people. Kristen Wiig and Luke Wilson join Hader to round out a cast of unsung heroes taking the spotlight, each firmly on their mark and spontaneously hilarious throughout. For a film that circles suicide, it is the funniest of the year (so far) and the cast’s effortless deadpan will have you in absolute, ROFL stitches. (A-)

 In Order of Disappearance (Kraftidioten)

dir. Hans Petter Moland star. Stellan Skarsgård, Kristofer Hivju, Bruno Ganz, Peter Andersson (Norway)
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Kraftidioten (or In Order of Disappearance) is a Norwegian black comedy that sees a snowplow man/upstanding citizen take justice into his own hands after his son is wrongfully murdered. Featuring a standout performance from the multilingual Stellan Skarsgård, this wintry take on everyman vengeance mixes doses of bleak internal battles in with blood-stained snow and murderous vegans for a darkly satisfying product, further improved by ponderous cinematography and unexpected giggles. Even though the second act loses the adroit pacing of the first, it all adds up to something sickly sweet. (B+)

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Click through for more recap segments and stay tuned for the next collection of four in this whopping ten part series.

Part 1: JIMI: All is By My Side, Zip Zap and the Marble Gang, Hellion, Fight Church 
Part 2: Cannibal, The Double, Time Lapse, Another
Part 3: Half of a Yellow Sun, Mirage Men, The Trip to Italy, Starred Up

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Weekly Review 46: NOWHERE, ICHI, HOW I, ROBOCOP

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It’s been a busy few weeks with SIFF starting and all. So far, I’ve caught 16 screenings at SIFF, all of which are summed up in glorious 75ish word recaps. At this point in the game, The Skeleton Twins, In Order of Disappearance, The Double, Starred Up and The Trip to Italy are the best new films I’ve caught at the festival so be sure to secure tickets to at least one of those if you’re in the area. I also got downtown to one big – some might say monstrous – screening: Godzilla, which I quite enjoyed. As for watching non-festival things in my spare time, I haven’t had a lot of opportunities in the past few weeks so things are sparse. Nonetheless, let us journey down the path of…Weekly Review.

THE MAN FROM NOWHERE (2010)

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Another home run from the camp of South Korean cinema, The Man from Nowhere is a powerful parable on duty and family. Be it blood-born relations or artificially constructed circles, family is a reason to live, to fight, to survive and Lee Jeong-beom‘s film gets to the heart of how these connections guide our lives. Rife with powerful explosions of violence amongst the meaningful relationships it forges along the way, The Man from Nowhere navigates a curvy line between high drama and guff-less action spectacles. 

A-

ICHI THE KILLER (2001)

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Violent for the sake of violence, this Takashi Miike film takes psychosis a little too seriously, delivering a film that revels in its many bloodbaths – like a kid with rain boots in a crimson puddle – but ends up too tangled in entrails to satisfy. Maybe I’m at fault for getting the time lines confused but the trail is often unintentionally confusing and Miike’s blood-soaked touch leaves little to root for. With no heroes to speak of and an entirely evil ethos, Ichi the Killer is more snuff than cinema.

C-

HOW I LIVE NOW (2013)

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Somewhere in How I Live Now a great film is trapped but it’s so repressed and hidden that it seems to have forgotten that it even exists at all. The film follows a small band of family who must stick together as WWIII breaks out in England. The sweeping cinematography is often stunning but polluted with Saoirse Ronan‘s pernicious monologuing. Even though it’s adapted from a novel, the fact that they plunged a hormone-throbbing teenager into the midst of an otherwise fascinating world event nearly ruins the entire affair. Her angsty outbursts makes us wish her amongst the piles of dead and robs us of any wistful emotional climaxes the film expects to impart.

D+

ROBOCOP (1987)

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Having seen the reboot before this original “one that started it all”, I will say that I was more than a smidge let down by Robocop. Like a fan-fic of “What if the T800 had worked with the Detroit police?” this B-movie doesn’t really play around with the more interesting ideas of what makes a man a man? The effects though (aside from that very sophomoric robot chicken drone thing) are certainly appreciated, with all its over-the-top squib-bursting from many chests (many, many, many, many chests). It’s hard to parse my expectations of greatness from my overall disappointment but I can hardly come down on this with too heavy a gavel (for fear of internet pariahship) so a C it is.

C

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SIFF Capsule Recap #3 (HALF OF A YELLOW SUN, MIRAGE MEN, THE TRIP TO ITALY, STARRED UP)

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This third segment is the strongest yet, with four movies totally worthy of seeing. Still following the SIFF procedure, these short-shorts of reviews are kept to a brief nature (75 quick words of glory) until their respective local release. So in my pursuit to oust my opinion without breaking regulation, look out for mini-review after mini-review as I seek to hit that magic number of 40 films of SIFF’s 40th anniversary. So, short and sweet reading for you, much more time for movie watching for me. This could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

Half of a Yellow Sun

dir. Bibi Bandele star. Thandie Newton, Chiwetel Ejiofor, John Boyega, Anika Noni Rose (Nigeria, UK)

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Half of a Yellow Sun features strong performances from Thandie Newton and Chiwetel Ejioforj but after the first hour, it unexplainably loses momentum, and curls into a deep sag in the later third act. A love square between two Nigerian sisters schooled in England, who are dead set on becoming arbiters of social change, occupies the forefront of this saga that also sees the Nigerian civil war ripping their world to shreads, and subsequent creation and deconstruction of Biafra. Occassionally powerful but unsatisfying in structure.  (C+)

Mirage Men

dir. John Lundberg, Roland Denning, Kypros Kyprianou, Mark Pilkington (UK)

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An engaging info-fest that posits a.) aliens exist b.) the US government funded a mild to large-scale disinformation campaign to intentionally mislead UFO researchers. Richard Doty, the former Air Force largely responsible for feeding falsified documents to UFO “expert” Paul Bennewitz – until he snapped into full blown psychosis – comes forward and is our (somewhat unreliable) guide through the proceedings. The triple directing team captures a wide range of testimony on the subject but barely have any video to play with, making Mirage Men a disappointingly “tell, don’t show” experience. (C)

The Trip to Italy

dir. Michael Winterbottom star. Rob Brydon, Steve Coogan, Marta Barrio (UK)

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Rob Brydon and Steven Coogan leave foggy, fried North England behind for the breathtaking Italian coast where they wine, dine, and goof their way through a dream trip (one that inspires deep pangs of jealousy from this critic). The naturalistic hyper-reality they craft thrives on the weathered chemistry between the two stars. Their old-as-they-are relationship paves the way for improvisation prowess so organic its feels more like second natural than performance. More impressions, absolutely stunning vistas, Alanis Morissette’s croon, lazily waxing on life and pasta, pasta, pasta gives intrepid life to The Trip to Italy. (B)

Starred Up

dir. Jack Mackenzie star. Jack O’Connell, Ben Mendelsohn, Rupert Friend (UK)

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A violent and volatile teen, Eric Love, enters a maximum security English prison where the wrong word or glance can end with a cut throat. Rather than submit to his surroundings, Eric thrashes like a caged animal; an unpredictable bombshell armed to blow. Rupert Friend, Ben Mendelsohn and David Ajala ably fill out the supporting cast but it’s star Jack O’Connell who burns brightest; his portrayal of Eric is unblinking and – even behind such thick callous – heartily tragic. While some plot threads are left dangling, the potent performances and probing examination of dehumanizing prison ethos makes Starred Up more than a worthy trip to hell and back.  (B-)

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Click through for more recap segments and stay tuned for the next collection of four in this whopping ten part series.

Part 1: JIMI: All is By My Side, Zip Zap and the Marble Gang, Hellion, Fight Church 
Part 2: Cannibal, The Double, Time Lapse, Another

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Out in Theaters: GODZILLA

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Gareth
Edwards just sucker-punched Guillermo del Toro in his Chewbacca face, punted him right in his spectacle-pushing schnoz, and gave him a big old titty-twister for the whole world to see. To return to 1995 lingo, Godzilla rules. Pacific Rim – the asthmatic cousin panting to keep up, the ADHD-striken, Ridilin child who can’t keep his stories straight – you can go back to your rift where you belong. Godzilla is the alpha predator, the white whale, the great reckoner.

While my throwing down the gauntlet and continued pointed admonishment of Pacific Rim might not be the best means to celebrate Godzilla, I think the two films are wholly representative of where I – and collectively we – should draw the line on monster movies. It’s the triumphant versus the trash; what works and what doesn’t.

Evan’s story begins with a fascinating opening credit sequence setting 1940s-era footage of nuclear testing, and a water-cloaked Godzilla, behind the names and titles of those involved with the production. This is usually a time to tune out but here the names are intersected with brief easter eggs and exposition that are hastily redacted by quick-draw movie ink; it’s Evans’ look at government sanitization meant to keep us “safe”. Peering from one portion of the massive IMAX screen to another to try to take it all in, from the very get go, we’re racing to keep up. Even in the short context of these opening moments, Alexandre Desplat‘s brooding score quickly sinks its hooks in, his foreboding strings painting immediately iconic soundscapes. The stage is set. Let the mayhem begin.
 
We soon meet Joe Brody (Bryan Cranston) a seismologist working at a nuclear reactor site in Japan. It’s his birthday but he’s too wound up in a phone conversation with a co-worker to notice the happy birthday banner his son Ford proudly set up. Sad face. “We gotta shut it down,” Joe barks. Without much spurning, we know trouble is a brewing. Cue an “unnatural” geographical anomaly that knocks out the plant, smothers Joe’s wife in a cloud of toxic waste and makes for some heart-rending Craston tears while effectively turning the city the Brody clan occupies into a cordoned-off, toxic wasteland.

15 years later, Ford Brody (now Aaron Taylor-Johnson) is an army man – an elite soldier specializing in bomb disposal. He’s Sergeant First Class William James without as deep a chip on his shoulder and the boob-padding spacesuit.  “How’s the bomb business?” his father tiredly, maybe scornfully, asks. “I diffuse them, not drop them.” Like the portended atomic bombs of Godzilla yore, Edwards squeezes ample allusions to Ishirō Honda‘s 1954 original. But they find their place naturally, settling into this modernization without feeling tacky or copy-pasted in.

And while the original is an exercise in metaphorical philosophizing that so happens to feature a man in a rubber suit stomping model cities, Evan’s Godzilla is about magical realism: what if a gigantic monster surfaced from the depths of the sea to wreck havoc on the world’s biggest cities? While lesser movies skimp on exploring the implications of destruction to shower FX-heavy candy a la wanton carnage – think Rampage World Tour: The Movie – Godzilla is all about implications. Before he emerges from the ocean, the tides ominously draw back, whipping into a tsunami that pummels the mainland. Before Godzilla even arrives on the scene, his wake is already collecting a body count. Like Honda’s film, Godzilla is no malevolent presence but a force of nature. In his notes, Evans has likened Godzilla to a God. Part the seas, for He is coming.

While Guillermo’s Rim job is happy to service you at the beginning – hell you paid for it, you’re getting the goods upfront – Edwards makes you wait. He’s like the girl you want to marry: he doesn’t put out on the first date. But he’s not above flirting.

Our first sneaking glances at the behemoth are shrouded by scale; a whipping tail, those imposing, prehistoric scales cutting through the waves; but it doesn’t take long for Evans to yank up on the scope and offer halting panoramas of the God lizard in his towering enormity. So what if Godzilla is a little fat, because good lord is he epic.

Bringing to life a towering deity of this size, Edwards cranks everything to 11. The sights, sounds and theater-shaking signature roar are the product of diligent planning and fiercely ambitious blueprints. With the support of Toho Co. (responsible for 28 Godzilla features) Warner Brothers and Legendary Pictures – which first teamed up with Batman Begins – have taken a great risk on Godzilla. They’re betting audiences will be patient, that they don’t need each bite spoon fed to them robot-punch by robot-punch. For critics, the gambit has mostly paid off. Hopefully, general audiences feel the same. All I know is that I was won over. Hook, line and sinker. And even though the characters never transform into the complex people we hope to populate this otherwise consummate spectacle, Edwards is still a saintly architect.

Now with Monsters and Godzilla under his belt, Edwards is here to usher in a new era of monster movie. Long may he rein. He borrows heavily from his earlier work with creeping shots in the jungle essentially replicating the same sights and feel from his inaugural film. He’s a man who knows his talents, who’s confident enough to homage himself. But with so much more to play with from a budgetary stance, his sandbox is that much more fun and the result that much more jaw-dropping. But while he’s able to crank up the dial in terms of special effects, the intimate character study that characterized Monsters withers to something far more flat.

Taylor-Johnson is sufficient as the “hero” type but he has very little to work with outside of running around or looking scared. Playing the role of Asian scientist, Ken Watanbe is equally ineffective, more a stereotyped homage than a character in his own right. He’s having fun chewing through these lines but he’s no Cranston, who, for his limited role, is able to milk most. But no one gets the shaft more than Elizabeth Olsen who is relegated to a shamelessly customary wife in distress role. It’s tired characterizations like these that remind us that we’re watching a blockbuster but those complaints ought to be laid at screenwriter Max Borenstein‘s feet. His characters are archetypes; Army men with young wives and younger children. Anything else just wouldn’t do, would it?

Though the performances are often showed up by the 150-foot beast stomping through the midst of Evans’ film, it is still a certifiable triumph, an idol of what studio films should – and can – do. If Pacific Rim made you feel like a kid again, all the more power to you and your dated nostalgia. I’m quite happy watching Godzilla and cherishing my adulthood, marveling at modern technology. Thankfully, Godzilla is the rare sort of big-scale entertainment that doesn’t dumb down to middle schoolers.

B

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