Crimson Peak

“Crimson Peak” is a Gothic Horror film starring Mia Wasikowska, Tom Hiddleston and Jessica Chastain

CrimsonPeakPosterGuillermo del Toro is one of the few mainstream filmmakers with the vision and foresight to take craft, visuals and artistry into mind in his filmmaking. But since “Pan’s Labyrinth” he has yet to live up to his auteur reputation. “Crimson Peak” is del Toro taking a stab at more modest genre filmmaking, and while the film is bursting with colors, special effects and the finest in set design, Del Toro’s embodiment of them ranges from at best superfluous to at worst meaninglessly pastiche. “Crimson Peak” is horror and the macabre often for its own sake, and it plays more like two hours of concept art rather than a fully fleshed out film.

“It’s not a ghost story; it’s more like a story with a ghost in it,” says the film’s protagonist Edith Cushing (Mia Wasikowska). She echoes the first misnomer about “Crimson Peak”, which has been advertised not as a horror film but Gothic Horror. Yet del Toro is no stranger to traditional horror jump scares or shrieking attacks of strings on the film’s score. It only strives for Gothic horror in that it plasters old-fashioned kitsch everywhere.

The film’s color scheme of reds, yellows and blues seems constantly in conflict with itself. Allerdale Mansion, an English estate where Edith is swept away to by her new husband and sister in law Thomas and Lucille Sharpe (Tom Hiddleston and Jessica Chastain), is an impossible structure of pure malevolence. It has ominous cracks in the ceiling, endless corridors, and massive walls and staircases headed nowhere and only made to impose. Short of writing on the walls, “This house is evil” (wait! we’ve got ominous Latin inscriptions and looming portraits of their vicious mother), it even seeps a red clay ooze from the floor. Points if you can guess that symbolism.

Del Toro’s attention to detail doesn’t stop at his sets. He employs classical editing techniques like a pinhole shot to remind you this is old fashioned, quaint and thus even more sinister. The film opens with a fairy tale warning from Edith’s dead mother and is even bookended with a literal book opening its pages at the film’s open.

And yet del Toro’s style is all superficial. The camera doesn’t particularly move with grace and the set design does all the heavy lifting rather than the framing. Without this, del Toro’s technique and visual references smack of pastiche. The same style without substance claims have been saddled on other movie buff directors like Quentin Tarantino and Wes Anderson in the past, but “Crimson Peak’s” visuals don’t so much set a mood as remind you of one.

“Crimson Peak” concerns how Edith falls in love with Thomas, the mysterious entrepreneur from across the pond. Her father disapproves, but when he’s brutally killed in what is inexplicably thought to be an accident, Edith and Thomas marry and return to England. His intentions though may only be to fleece Edith of her wealth, and Thomas’s sister Lucille seems itching to dispose of her sooner.

But again, everything here is bleak and devilish from the onset. It’s a movie of secrets and ghosts with haunted pasts, but there are no real secrets to be had. The Sharpes’ intentions are so clear that we care little about what they’re hiding in their past. Chastain plays Lucille as so immediately cold and vicious to remove all doubt. She’s dressed out of place in blood red when we first see her, and after playing piano her fingers are crippled and vampiric. Every line of her dialogue is whispered and made to be an idiom with a hidden double meaning. Chastain isn’t bad, but she’s being directed to chew the scenery and play broad.

It’s because Lucille announces her intentions as in it for the money, but also the horror of it. del Toro is invested in “Crimson Peak” for the same reason, not to tell a story of love, ghosts or secrets, or “a story with a ghost in it” as Edith suggests, but to pay an overwrought ode to horror itself.

2 stars

Only Lovers Left Alive

Jim Jarmusch’s vampire film is dripping with style, wisdom and wry, ironic humor.

Jim Jarmusch’s “Only Lovers Left Alive” is as much about vampires as “Night on Earth” is about taxi drivers or “Coffee and Cigarettes” is about either of those things. And if characters in Jarmusch films need a better excuse to be layabouts and wear sunglasses indoors, actually being a vampire is about as good of an excuse as any.

Jarmusch’s films exude coolness, and in a time when vampires are particularly in vogue, Jarmusch has found a unique vessel for his stories of mismatched relationships, affinities for the retro and ironic romance. “Only Lovers Left Alive” is dripping with style. It’s a vampire movie full of intrigue but remains mostly plotless without action or special effects. That the entire thing is absolutely magnetic despite it all is part of Jarmusch’s magic.

Jarmusch splits the time between urban Tangiers and an apartment on a notably empty street in Detroit. The film is so chic, so distinctly colored in every moment, it could belong to any time or place, and yet it is remarkably modern. Living abroad is Eve (Tilda Swinton), whose luxurious, golden, flowing robes are centuries old, and yet she still communicates fluently with an iPhone. Her only real companion is another vampire, Christopher Marlowe (John Hurt), who confirms for us that he did in fact give his plays to Shakespeare. It’s one of Jarmusch’s wry jokes playing vampires allows him to make, with characters taking credit for Schubert’s symphonies and spending time with Mary Shelley.

Her lover for several centuries is Adam (Tom Hiddleston), living alone in Detroit and making droning, melancholy, underground rock and only leaving the house to bribe a hospital worker for blood. He’s assisted by a helpful and adoring human named Ian (Anton Yelchin), clueless to Adam’s real nature but more than willing to get him rare, vintage guitars and bullets made of a fine wood. Only in a Jim Jarmusch film can the characters have conversations about types of wood and the mechanics of a guitar. It’s odd, tedious conversation, as all of Jarmusch’s films concern, and yet it’s dryly eloquent humor no one does better. Continue reading “Only Lovers Left Alive”

The Deep Blue Sea

As “The Deep Blue Sea” opens, it shows the subtitle “London” basking in a glistening lamp light glow as oboe and strings seem to weep over the top of it. The movie fades in and out on a lonely woman as though it were dozing to the sound of the hissing furnace. Based on a play by Terence Rattigan, “The Deep Blue Sea” is about a woman who loves too deeply. And by the look of even the film’s overly maudlin and melodramatic opening, Terence Davies’s movie must be too in love with itself too.

In “around 1950” London, Hester (Rachel Weisz) is living a stuffy, unhappy marriage with an older British judge, Sir William Collyer (Simon Russell Beale), when she starts an affair with a young, chipper air force pilot, Freddie Page (Tom Hiddleston).

It would be impossible not to love Freddie based on how Britishy and “smashing” he is at all times, but it seems as if the two are drawn to each other based on the movie’s musical intensity or their own effervescent glow they seem to emanate from the screen. They are so in love that we see an aerial shot of their pale, naked bodies bathed in soft blue light interlocking and spiraling in an ungainly dreamlike reverie.

Hester begins living with Freddie after a troubling visit to William’s mother’s house. William’s mother is, to put it nicely, a catty bitch who hates Hester and scoffs in a dry, hoity toity way that Hester should replace her “passion” with simply “guarded enthusiasm.”

After a few months together, Hester tries to commit suicide when Freddie forgets her birthday. She says the problem for her extreme behavior is that she loves too much and knows he can never love her the same. Her real problem is that although he has nothing to offer her personally or financially, she seems to love unconditionally without reason or specifics, and it causes her to act irrationally.

The two get into a shouting match at an art museum over little more than a dumb joke, and the movie spends the rest of the time in lonely one-shots and pallid lighting to make Hester look plain insane. You’d like them to deal with their problems in a more civil, timely way, to sleep on it at least, but these people can’t even look at each other without feeling emotionally damaged.

“The Deep Blue Sea” indulges in these overwrought emotions. Its monumental theatricality is all glossy polish and no natural finesse or realism. One critic described it as a visual tone poem, but this tone is erratic. One minute Hester is plain giddy and the next moment she’s a ghost, as if the world has ended around her.

Weisz can turn on and off the intensity and emptiness like a light switch, making her a long shot contender for an Oscar, but she renders Hester a moody, over the top romantic without a shred of the womanly intuition that her landlady Mrs. Elton demonstrates in one late scene.

“The Deep Blue Sea” tries to be lovely, but it’s love is lofty and extreme, a love most normal people don’t want anything to do with.

1 ½ stars

The Avengers

“This intergalactic energy cube ain’t big enough for the six of us,” “The Avengers” says with a forceful tone as it struggles to conceal a smile.

Joss Whedon’s superhero movie equivalent to The Travelling Wilburys fully knows how impossible it is to squeeze all of these massive folklore figures into one film. So when the whole serious side starts to cave and just gets silly, Whedon is there with a zinger to run with the moment.

“The Avengers” is a fun and smart movie in doses, one that surprises and dazzles when it isn’t talking your head off. Continue reading “The Avengers”

Why I’m bitter about ‘The Avengers’

Airing some last minute skepticism about “The Avengers” before the movie premieres and some frustration with Marvel.

Look, I’m seeing “The Avengers” tonight at midnight, and my thoughts will definitely be completely changed after its two 2:20 runtime. I will be able to judge the movie as a movie and not by its ravenous fans.

But I’ve been bitching about this movie for too long with no one listening, so I had to get my thoughts down on paper at some point before this evening.

If I’m not on the same page of enthusiasm for “The Avengers,” it’s because I haven’t bought into Marvel’s ad campaign for the last three years. Yes, “The Avengers” is the final product of a massive hype machine that Marvel has executed perfectly since Day 1. Continue reading “Why I’m bitter about ‘The Avengers’”

War Horse

In “War Horse” Steven Spielberg has made a big, weepy, melodramatic, old-fashioned war epic that gave me giant, black, soppy horse eyes as I watched it.

Time and again its expansive locales, swimmingly patriotic John Williams score, folksy character actors, cloying tearjerker plot developments and dopey comic relief moments typically involving livestock recall how John Ford would’ve done it much better in a number of his movies, and Spielberg knows it.

Perhaps more so than “Hugo,” “Midnight in Paris,” “Super 8” or even “The Artist,” “War Horse” is a throwback to Classical Hollywood in so many ways that from a modern lens the film just feels so phony and unrealistic but oh so right. Continue reading “War Horse”

Midnight in Paris

If Woody Allen were 40 years younger, I can sense him itching to get in front of the camera again for his latest film “Midnight in Paris.”

This time around, he seems to address his critics’ pleas over the last 20 years for him to simply return to the golden age of film making he had in the ‘70s and ‘80s and responds by quelling his own neuroses of nostalgia by optimistically looking towards the future.

He does so in a film dripping with love for his own nostalgic influences and styles. “Midnight in Paris” is classic Allen from the first title card. The opening shots recall “Manhattan” in every detail but the black and white. It stars Owen Wilson as a spot-on Woody Allen surrogate and Michael Sheen (sporting a convincing American accent) in the Alan Alda or Max von Sydow pompous intellectual role common throughout all of his classics. Continue reading “Midnight in Paris”

Thor

As if superhero movies weren’t overblown enough, here’s the bombastically overacted and extravagant “Thor,” starring none other than the Norse God of Thunder. If you thought Robert Downey Jr.’s ego was big as Iron Man, wait until you see the one on the hulking and indestructible alien that helms this movie.

Thor (Chris Hemsworth) is the prince of a sparkling land in another area of the cosmos called Asgard. For eons, they’ve protected the galaxy and maintained order, leading the Scandinavian humans back in ancient times to revere them as deities. Now the throne must pass from the King Odin (Anthony Hopkins) to Thor, but when he tries to wage war on their sworn enemies, the frost giants, he is rightly banished to Earth.

Allow me to describe Asgard, a shimmering, God-like planet of rainbow colors blessed with the features of a glistening waterfall spilling endlessly into the depths of space, floating rock staircases, a golden portal capable of summoning lightning storms and an enormous palace of bronze pipes that would put whatever the Royal wedding cost to shame. The existence of this place and the CGI that depict it are self serving, looking good only as an excuse to look extravagant, because the people that live and act on it are the same cocky, privileged, one-dimensional characters we would find on Earth. They even ride horses.

Yet nothing that happens on Asgard has any bearing to what happens on Earth, and I had no reason to care about the spectacular mayhem that could ensue there. “Thor” wastes more time on this fantasy world and its mythology than I care to count. Continue reading “Thor”