Elysium

Neill Blomkamp’s “Elysium” is a smart sci-fi heavy on parallels to contemporary American social politics.

The futuristic sci-fi “Elysium” may be the most modern and topical movie of the year. With tense action movie thrills and a jaw-dropping CGI backdrop, it not so subtly refers to the political hot spots of immigration, the poverty divide, the environment and universal healthcare in modern America. That it doesn’t forget to be a creative and compelling sci-fi in the process is part of the fun.

In the early 22nd Century, the wealthiest humans have fled the now deeply polluted and over populated Earth to an orbiting space station known as Elysium. In their space resort, the synthetic grass is green, the pools are shimmering blue and healing pods have effectively eliminated death, disease and aging.

Meanwhile on Earth, specifically in Los Angeles, everyone is poor and working class, “Soylent Green” levels of people roam the ghetto and abusive, snarky robots police the streets. This life is not the apocalypse; it’s simply the new normal.

That “Elysium” feels less like dystopia and more like an extension of contemporary ills will be the dividing line between those feeling Director Neill Blomkamp is beating a dead horse and those prepared to accuse it of a socialist agenda. Continue reading “Elysium”

Man of Steel

“Man of Steel” neglects to provide Superman with personality or a sense of wonder in its depiction of doom and gloom CGI mayhem.

If Superman’s outfit were not originally a bright blue and red, in Zack Snyder’s world it would be gray. It would be dampened and washed of color along with the sky palace vistas on the planet Krypton, the vast Kansas prairies and even Amy Adams’s hair.

Red and blue do not represent the doom and gloom Snyder is trying to convey in “Man of Steel.” And although the “S” on Superman’s chest is actually a symbol for hope, “Man of Steel” is more content to bludgeon us with tragedy and CGI devastation to the point that it neglects a compelling origin story, a sense of wonder or even the idea of heroism.

Superman’s origin story is inherently richer and darker than that of say, Spiderman, and producer Christopher Nolan has imbued in it the same grim overtones that he did in his Batman trilogy. Rather than childhood bullying and crushes on redheads that live next door, Superman’s origin begins with the destruction of his home planet, the tearful abandonment from his parents as he is jettisoned to Earth and the military coup by General Zod (Michael Shannon) that leads to the death of his father Jor-El (Russell Crowe).

And yet after Krypton implodes in spectacular display and engulfs his mother in horrifically apocalyptic images, the movie does not dial back to a time when Clark Kent, now of Kansas, is at peace. Rather, Snyder’s idea of melodrama is cataclysm, with a pre-teen Clark being forced to rescue his classmates from drowning in a crashed bus, followed by a teenage Clark watching his father (Kevin Costner) die in a tornado and finally an adult Clark with a healthy beard (Henry Cavill) rescuing workers from an exploding oil tanker. Continue reading “Man of Steel”

Rapid Response: Shoot the Piano Player

“Shoot the Piano Player” is Francois Truffaut’s goofy, oddball noir sandwiched between his two masterpieces, “The 400 Blows” and “Jules and Jim.”

Sandwiched in between two of Francois Truffaut’s most famous and enduring classics, “The 400 Blows” and “Jules and Jim,” was a movie that resisted classification in much the same way those two did, but did so without any of the granular realism or genre bucking ideas. “Shoot the Piano Player” was released in 1960 and was Truffaut’s specific way of going against the grain of “The 400 Blows,” a movie that was mostly noir but had a dash of humor and more than a few lapses in coherence.

Of course that’s all intentional on Truffaut’s part, and the film crackles with urgency, personality and style through its visual aesthetic and editing techniques, all of which pay heavy homages to the history of cinema.

Look no further than an image that features not one, but three pinhole shots in the frame, a little visual joke on Truffaut’s part. There’s also long, unbroken tracking shots of people walking and talking down the street, a camera that bobs and weaves around the bar and an eye that edits with alacrity as to keep the pace high. It’s a playful, detatched, even unique film to watch, but it maintains some of the down to Earth naturalism that would make the French New Wave what it was.

“Shoot the Piano Player” tells the story of Charlie Kohler (Charles Aznavour), a piano player in a dive bar performing trashy soft shoe music each night. When his brother Chico (Albert Remy) comes in one evening on the run from two gangsters, he reveals that Charlie has a deep past as a virtuoso pianist and a hidden secret. He tries to keep this hidden from the bar’s waitress Lena (Marie Dubois) but as they get more involved, she becomes a target for the two gangsters pursuing Charlie’s brother.

Truffaut’s knack is not so much blending genres and styles but mashing them together. Charlie’s first walking date with Lena drifts from sinister to comical to solemn in a flash, with Charlie’s inner monologue tensing the mood until he begins silently counting until it’s long enough for him to make a pass at her again. In the mean time, the gangsters are following behind, but the movie seems to forget their presence as quickly as they arrive.

That energy makes “Shoot the Piano Player” so much more than intellectual and arty; it’s genuinely visceral, invoking back stories and shootouts and nonsense lyrics to a bar sing-a-long that beg to interpreted less seriously than “400 Blows.” That it achieves that goal and feels no less inconsequential as a film is a testament to Truffaut’s wonderful gift.

Rapid Response: Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown

“Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown” put Pedro Almodovar on the map with its strong and wacky female lead.

“Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown” could be the title to a number of female-fronted comedies both old and new. “Bridesmaids” and “30 Rock” come to mind, but then so do “My Man Godfrey” or “The Awful Truth,” to an extent.

That’s because unlike men, who are often simply extremely irritated by a comic foil in such movies, women tend to display an utmost level of poise and steadfast resolve about how they are going to change their life right before it implodes.

Or at least that’s how they act in screwball comedies. Maybe that’s seen as a bad thing, but leave it to Pedro Almodovar to overcome the stereotype. Ever since “Women” he’s been making female fronted movies with as much color and surreal charm as is on display here. Continue reading “Rapid Response: Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown”

The Spectacular Now

James Ponsoldt’s “The Spectacular Now” channels John Hughes-era dramas but is challenging, thought provoking, touching and has a rich subtext.

I’d like you to meet Aimee Finicky. She’s the girl you didn’t notice in high school. She doesn’t wear makeup, but she also doesn’t wear glasses like you maybe expected. She’s nice, smart, responsible, has never had a boyfriend and enjoys reading manga comics. Aimee is kind of adorable in her own way, but then she’s also fairly soft-spoken, timid, without any quirks or real passionate interests. She’s like the anti manic pixie dream girl, which is its own special blessing.

So who is Aimee? What’s her thing? “I’d like to think there’s more to a person than just one thing,” she says, which is a more mature, adult thought than any high school kid will give her credit for.

James Ponsdolt’s third film “The Spectacular Now” is filled with such universal wisdom. It channels John Hughes era dramas but embeds its coming of age tale with challenging, thoughtful and moving subtext that makes it anything but a “teen movie.”  It’s a light, good-hearted, beautiful and romantic film that feels spectacular both now and forever. Continue reading “The Spectacular Now”

Stoker

“Stoker” is a twisted, perverse thriller of sinister and sexual undertones all accomplished through precise filmmaking.

The best scene in Chan-wook Park’s “Stoker” is not one of its several murders or Hitchcockian set pieces or psychotic outbursts. It’s a piano duet between its two leads, the timid teenager India and her creepy, suspicious uncle Charlie.

She starts, and he joins in, silently squeezing his way onto a cramped piano bench. They play with speed and beauty, stealing glances at one another when not focusing on the keys. Suddenly, he crosses her body to reach the high octave, and the sexual tension is palpable as the music continues. Considering their relationship, it’s a twisted, perverse sensation that turns out to be a dream sequence, but it begins to hint at the tingling feelings of something worse than naughty, and “Stoker” does so with the precision of a ticking metronome.

“Stoker” is the first English film from Director Park, whose “Oldboy” is a recent cult classic that currently sits at #83 on the IMDB Top 250 and is being remade this year by Spike Lee. His violent legacy runs deep, and although “Stoker” minimizes on some of the bloodshed, it’s effortlessly textured with horror movie staples and Hitchcock set pieces. A butcher’s knife, garden shears, an ominous person-long freezer in a dark cellar and a hazy, flickering chandelier lamp paint a familiarly sinister world.

Hitchcock’s “Shadow of a Doubt” serves as inspiration on a narrative level as well. On India Stoker’s (Mia Wasikowska) 17th birthday, her father is tragically killed in a car wreck. At the funeral, she meets her Uncle Charlie (Matthew Goode), a perpetually smiling, unblinking young man with an attractive face and disarming voice. Immediately something rubs the timid, spiteful, skinny and goth India the wrong way, more so because her mother Evie (Nicole Kidman) has gotten over husband’s death a bit too quickly with Charlie’s arrival. Coinciding with his arrival, a housekeeper and visiting relative suddenly vanish, and India slowly sinks into even more vicious behavior. Continue reading “Stoker”

Only God Forgives

“Only God Forgives” is unapologetically frank and vulgar, but its real flaw is forcing us to sit listlessly as it blows steam.

To assess Nicolas Winding Refn’s “Only God Forgives” as a bad example of a “style over substance” film would be reductive. Refn’s masterpiece “Drive” could not be called any different, but those stylistic flourishes at the very least evoked fear, thrills and painful emotions for its nameless hero.

“Only God Forgives” is so shallowly repugnant because it stoically, passively and slowly evokes nothing at all. Refn’s film is so often unapologetically frank, vulgar and violent, but its real flaw is forcing us to sit listlessly as it blows off steam.

The story involves a boxing club manager and drug dealer named Julian (Ryan Gosling) who is seeking retribution for the death of his older brother. His brother Billy (Tom Burke) was killed after he raped and murdered a 16-year-old girl (he wanted a 14-year-old). Billy was murdered when a sword-wielding Bangkok cop named Chang (Vithaya Pansringarm) held him hostage so that the 16-year-old’s father could have his justice. Although a sufficient story for Julian, Julian’s mother Crystal (Kristin Scott Thomas) wants Chang’s head regardless of Billy’s deed.

The lack of a real compelling justification for so much bloodshed will not escape most viewers and likely does not escape Refn. These characters are not made to be sympathized with. The point seems to be that the Bangkok they live in is already a darkly rendered hellscape, with red filters, exotic wallpaper and neon lighting lining every corridor; any retribution to be found does not exist in this world.

So if you are looking for a reason as to why Julian decides to drag a bystander out of a strip club by his upper jaw, you will not find it. But my question lies with how Julian can sit in front of his masturbating girlfriend or his mother hurling around vulgarities about the size of his penis without eliciting any reaction at all. Continue reading “Only God Forgives”

Side by Side: The Sea Inside and The Diving Bell and the Butterfly

“The Diving Bell and the Butterfly” and “The Sea Inside” both look at devastating disabilities, but their characters have internal differences.

A disabled person should not be defined by their disability. This much we know, especially in the movies. But should they be defined by the fate they’ve chosen, or should family, friends and society have an impact on what someone stuck in this position should be able to say and do with their life?

“The Sea Inside” and “The Diving Bell and the Butterfly” are two Oscar nominated foreign films about people who have suffered accidents and are now rendered immobile, but not incommunicable. Yet they differ in terms of how they express themselves, their internal dreams, ambitions and wishes for their body, and the movies follow suit.

Alejandro Amenabar’s “The Sea Inside” won the Foreign Language Oscar in 2004 for Spain, and it’s a tear-jerking crowd pleaser about an overall good man who simply wants to die, not out of misery but out of tranquility.

Julian Schnabel’s “The Diving Bell and the Butterfly” on the other hand is much more surreal, art house and assertively French. Its themes and its story may scream Oscar bait, but its presentation certainly does not. That however did not prevent it from picking up four nominations in 2007 anyway. Its character is miserable enough that he would likely kill himself if he could, or if he could communicate it, but his reasons are much more cynical.

I watched these two films in succession because my sister is currently in a summer psychology course. It points out through these films that there are numerous thought processes that would influence a person to want death, and neither of them have strictly to do with circumstances.

What I found curious about the films is that each plays with its melodramatic overtones, and the tearjerker is not always the most exploitative, nor is the art film the most firm. Continue reading “Side by Side: The Sea Inside and The Diving Bell and the Butterfly”

No one really cares about the Superman/Batman movie

The ensuing hype for the Superman and Batman movie will be far greater than the quality or lasting legacy of the movie itself, and it’s ruining cinema.

The announcement of a Superman/Batman movie yesterday morning and confirmed at Comic-Con is exactly the reason why cinema is hemorrhaging viewers, quality and general interest to television: no one honestly cares.

No, please do tell me how excited you are for the follow-up to “Man of Steel,” how long you’ve waited to see this mash-up finally happen, how Zack Snyder is by far the greatest choice to helm this sure to be new franchise and how whomever they eventually pick to play both Superman (will it still be Henry Cavill?) or Batman (will it be Christian Bale? Probably not. Maybe Joseph Gordon Levitt? Who knows?!) will somehow eventually be wrong.

I know you’re foaming at the mouth. I know you’re stoked. It’s great that you have something you’re passionate about. It’ll probably be good. It could even be great!

But the fact is, this movie is a hype and dollar machine. As has been true of nearly every Hollywood tent pole comic book franchise, the hype and speculation is greater than the movie is actually interesting, and it will evaporate as soon as the next one is announced, which will be post-credits.

I haven’t counted to be sure, but I have probably seen fewer major Hollywood releases this summer than in any year since I started seriously writing as a movie critic. Chalk that up to me being an adult and not a college student with all the free time, but at the end of the day, I simply no longer care.

I do not care about “Man of Steel.” I do not care about “Pacific Rim.” I do not care about “The Lone Ranger” or “White House Down” or “The Hangover Part 3” or “Fast & Furious 6,” and I will not care about “The Wolverine,” “Thor: The Dark World,” “Kick-Ass 2” or “The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug,” even if I end up seeing them.

Why? These have talented directors and stars attached. They could be above average. They could be fun enough to be worth my 10 bucks or yours.

But like a chocolate bar you quickly scarf down, they are immediately thrown away and forgotten such that you’ll grab for another. They have no sustaining value or reason to exist other than because they fill a void and enough people will buy them. Continue reading “No one really cares about the Superman/Batman movie”

Rapid Response: Bullitt

“Bullitt” has not fully achieved the iconic status of some of its other ’60s cop movie peers.

Despite “Bullitt” being one of the definitive ’60s cop movies and being hailed as the starting point for all modern car chases, Peter Yates’s film lacks many of the in-movie charm and out-of-movie extras that would make it iconic.

No sequels, no catch phrases, no spin-offs or copycats, not even a classic villain. It does have the green Mustang, which Ford released as a special edition model in 2008 to commemorate the film. But for all “Bullitt’s” original critical accolade and box office success in 1968, perhaps the film has simply not aged well.

That’s not to call it bad, but it’s approach does not even begin to embellish the more cathartic pleasures of the action genre. Steve McQueen as Lt. Frank Bullitt is one of the era’s flatter male leads. He lacks a backstory, an attitude and even much dialogue, regardless of McQueen’s steely glances and reserved delivery. We realize how quiet he really is when he finally does have an “outburst” near the end of the film. He does have a girlfriend in the lovely Jacqueline Bisset, but her appearances seem superfluous.

I see “Bullitt” not as a gung-ho cop mystery with a salty Clint Eastwood as Dirty Harry, nor as a gritty, hard-nosed thriller like “The French Connection” (which in my view tops “Bullitt’s car chase), but as a strict procedural designed to show a cop immersed in the job, one whose tragedy is that he has no outside life. Continue reading “Rapid Response: Bullitt”