At the Movies with General Havoc

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General Havoc
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#701 Re: At the Movies with General Havoc

Post by General Havoc »

And now, a third note from The General

And so we come at last to the final edition of our roundup, after which point I will finally, mercifully, be caught up, and we can get back to our regularly scheduled program of far-too-many-words-being-expended-on-individual-films. In the meanwhile however, let's catch up at last with the movies I saw as the spring transitioned to summer.
The General's Post Spring (and Summer) Roundup, Part 3
[hr]

Finding Dory

Alternate Title: The Octopus is in the Way

One sentence synopsis: Amnesiac fish Dory experiences a memory revelation about her long-lost parents, and sets out on a cross-ocean journey alongside Marlin and Nemo to find them.


The Verdict: Pixar may be a gold standard company, but their sequels are not exactly the stuff of legends. For every Toy Story 2/3 we have a Planes or a Cars 2, which generally serve to remind us why Disney tends (with rare exceptions) to relegate their own sequels to the direct-to-video market. Still, 2003's Finding Nemo (God, has it been thirteen years?) was one of the great triumphs in Pixar's conquest of the 00s, and the hope was that they would find a way to not screw it up this time.

Finding Dory, as the title might indicate, focuses on Ellen DeGeneres' blue tang in a fresh adventure as she gets a fragmented image from the depths of her broken memory, and sets out to find her family, a journey which rather quickly deposits her, Nemo, and Marlin in an analogue for the Monterrey Bay Aquarium. Hijinx proceed to ensue, involving the usual slapstick routines and host of celebrity-voice-acted comic relief characters, particularly a seven-armed octopus named Hank (voiced by Ed O'Neil) who is both an ornery bastard and a chameleon/escape artist (which is true to life for both actor and species, I guess). Other new characters include a Beluga with concussion-induced echolocation problems played by Ty Burrell, a pair of Sea Lions played by Wire alums Idris Elba and Dominic West (goddamn those bribing bastards at Pixar), and a bird named Becky, who is... just off. All of this is done up in the typical Pixar cinematic style, with a rich vibrancy to the color palate and anatomic details of behavior, movement, and structure, for every fish, bird, mammal, and mollusk that crosses the screen. The tropical world, either of the Great Barrier Reef or of the Aquarium and its environs, look gorgeous, from forests of kelp stretching towards the heavens, to swirling constellations of fish within a towering biome-instalation, to the grimy interiors of ducts, sewers, and outflow ports. Action and animation are spectacular, particularly for the aforementioned octopus, who slithers and slides and crawls in a manner that clearly substantiates Pixar's claim that his animation is "the hardest thing we've ever done".

So does this mean that Finding Dory is as good as Finding Nemo was? Of course not. Finding Nemo was one of Pixar's finest movies, from the beginning of a decade they would go on to dominate as part of what we can safely call, with the benefit of hindsight, a golden age comparable to any other (including Disney's three). That age rather definitively ended with 2011's Cars 2, and while Finding Dory is certainly a decent-to-good animated movie, it is not the powerhouse its predecessor was. The problem isn't the writing or the plot, though both are somewhat less fantastic than the predecessor was, nor the lack of emotional resonance, for some sequences in this film veer almost into horrific trauma, as we see the full consequences of a condition such as the one Dory suffers from. The problem is that the intention here clearly isn't to make a revolutionary film, but simply to get the gang back together for another fun romp, interspersed with the occasional moment of existential horror that Pixar fans are accustomed to seeing driven into their guts, just to liven things up. This isn't a bad thing, necessarily, but the movie as a whole feels considerably more ephemeral than its predecessor, with many characters inserted because they let the animators include a sight gag, rather than because the character itself was intrinsically funny or interesting. Fun as the octopus is to look at, for instance, we get no real idea of who he is as a character, or why he wants so desperately to get to Cleveland, and while that may seem like not a big deal from a comic relief character who is also a cartoon cephalopod in a children's film, this is Pixar, who once reduced entire adult audiences to tears and ruin with heartfelt stories about toys, garbage disposals, and grumpy old men.

There's nothing really wrong with Finding Dory, ultimately. But it can't be said that there's all that much really right with it in that old Pixar style either. And in a year that gave us Zootopia, that's not enough to earn the abject praise this company once garnered as a matter of course.

Final Score: 6.5/10

[hr]

Free State of Jones

Alternate Title: Occupy: Swampland

One sentence synopsis: A confederate deserter forms a multi-ethnic militia to fight against requisition agents and the KKK.


The Verdict: Big, sweeping historical war epic? I'm in! War epics are one of my favorite genres and always have been, and this one had the added benefit of actors I like (Matthew McConaughey for instance), and a story that does not get seen an awful lot. Oh there's plenty of Civil War epics out there, but this one seemed to be focused on a side unsung, the southerners who had no truck with betraying the Union, and who rose up against the Confederacy in a strange, second-order rebellion.

Well, it turns out I was wrong in that estimation, because once again, the trailers lied to me. Not about the fact that the movie was about Southern anti-confederate rebels, for it definitely is, but about the fact that the movie was a civil war epic, for it very much is not. Though advertised as some kind of great revolution-film ala The Patriot, Free State of Jones is really more of a study of the life and times of one Newton Knight, a farmer-turned-medic-turned-second order rebel against the confederate authorities in Jones County, Mississippi, and the biggest surprise, to me at least, is that a good half of the runtime of the film takes place not during but after the civil war, during the era of Reconstruction, a period not generally found upon movie screens, as it was an era where, unquestionably, evil triumphed and good men failed. From his origins as just a poor farmer trying to escape a war he wants nothing to do with, we watch Knight become a militant anti-Confederate crusader, as the requisitions of the local confederate authorities, carried out with brutality and callous disregard for the life of the poor locals, pushes him to open, armed rebellion. Meeting up early on with a group of runaway slaves, headed by Moses Washington (Hunger Games and Place Beyond the Pines' Mahershala Ali), he identifies quickly that blacks and poor whites in his neck of the woods have a common enemy in the confederate authorities, and yet the movie goes beyond that, as Knight (and this is all apparently true), follows this line of thinking to its logical end, becoming a John Brown-style evangelist against slavery, racism, and the suppression of civil rights by the KKK, until by the end of the film he has founded a mixed-race co-op of farms in a remote part of the county, married an ex-slave, in violation of the laws of the day, and helped organize voting registers of newly-freed slaves who would march, under arms, to the ballot boxes on election day to exercise their newly-won rights to vote. And just in case the point wasn't made clear enough, the film periodically cuts forward by eighty years to the trial of Knight's Great-Grandson, who was charged, in 1948, with marrying a white woman while being 1/8th black himself.

I try not to let preconceptions filter my experience when going to see a movie, but let me tell you all, it is rare that I encounter a movie that turns all possible expectations on their heads like this. And yet, I remain a historian at heart, and a cinephile, and I have to confess that I really liked Free State of Jones, almost certainly more than I would have liked the Patriot-style homily to the good warrior that I expected it to be. The structure of the film is really strange, what with constant cuts forward and backwards in time, and sections that seem drawn out for purposes unknown, and it's this reason, I assume, why the movie flopped overall and has a poor reputation among critics. Well I've never been one to follow the pack in this regard, and Free State of Jones is a very good film, bordering on an excellent one, thanks mostly to a trio of superb performances by McConaughey, Ali, and English actress and Dr. Who alum (of course in England, who isn't?) Gugu Mbatha-Raw, playing Knight's common law wife and ex-slave Rachel. It's one of the only movies I've ever seen since Birth of a Nation to dive into the Reconstruction period in the south, with all the wonderful historical atrocities that entails, from lynching and cross-burning, to voter-suppression, to the entirely historical scheme of "apprenticeship" that southern plantation owners came up with in the aftermath of Slavery's abolition that, at least for a little while, enabled them to continue to own and sell black people, particularly children. It is also one of the only movies out of the hundreds I've seen on the subject, that managed to make the KKK seem scary instead of ridiculous, something far more in keeping with the actual historical KKK than with the inbred Halloween rejects who don their sheets in modern times.

Free State of Jones is hardly a perfect movie. Even for a biopic I would have liked to see a bit more action, and many scenes or concepts simply seem to come out of nowhere, such as a sequence in the middle of the film, where Knight suddenly has an army with artillery at his disposal, and is engaging in pitched battles against the confederate troops of the area, things he appears to have conjured forth from thin air. But that's all more or less secondary. I know I have a reputation for being lenient towards historical films, and with good reason, but put another way, I have the expertise and experience to tell the difference between a good one and a bad. Free State of Jones is a very good historical film about a period in American history that isn't often seen or heard about. It may not be what I expected to see initially, but given what I generally expect every week, that's hardly a sin.

Final Score: 7.5/10

[hr]

The BFG

Alternate Title: Big Flatulent Graphics

One sentence synopsis: A young orphan named Sophie is abducted in the night by a friendly giant and taken to Giantland, the source of all dreams.


The Verdict: Though my memory of such events is fragmented, I am assured by my mother that the BFG, by Roald Dahl, was one of the first real books I ever read, and I have no reason to believe otherwise. Roald Dalh was a huge element of my childhood, with books such as Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (and it's remarkably stranger sequel), Danny the Champion of the World, The Witches, James and the Giant Peach, Henry Sugar, and a horde of other novels and short stories, child-themed or adult. Many films have been made from Dahl's books, some of them great (Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory), some of them execrable (Charlie and the Chocolate Factory). Now here comes Steven Spielberg, the master of whimsy himself, to put The BFG, one of Dahl's works onto the screen. Well at least it's not Tim Burton again...

The BFG stars Mark Rylance, of Bridge of Spies and The Gunman, as the titular BFG, though of course the character itself is a computer effect, and he's just great. There's a rumor out there that this role was supposed to go to Robin Williams before his death, but Rylance, a veteran actor of stage and screen, knows exactly how to embody the slightly bumbled-up, grandfatherly giant, and lets the animators take care of the rest. He's helped by eleven-year-old Ruby Barnhill, who plays the little girl Sophie whose role is to be abducted by the BFG and ultimately to drive a madcap plot involving flatulence-soda, man-eating giants, dreamforging, the Queen of England, and the British Army. Both Barnhill and Rylance are just excellent in the roles allotted to them, with Sophie the no-nonsense bookworm and the BFG the vocabulary-challenged old man who does his job because that's how he likes it. And in terms of supporting roles, one could do far worse than having the Queen of England (complete with Corgies) played by Dame Penelope Wilton (I know her from Dr. Who and Downton Abbey), or the evil man-eating giants Fleshlumpeater and Bloodbottler played by Jermaine Clement (What We Do In The Shadows) and Bill Hader (Trainwreck) respectively. Everybody does their job perfectly well, at least per my vague recollections of the story.

So... given that, you'd expect me to like the movie an awful lot, and yet... I mean I didn't hate it certainly, but there just feels like there's something missing here. Maybe it's my fault, my own childhood nostalgia fog denigrating the movie for not being some perfect representation of a half-remembered experience, but the movie just feels a little bit pro-forma. Some of the sequences I remember best from the book, the elaborate routine that the Queen's butler goes through when trying to work out how to accommodate and feed a giant in Buckingham Palace, or the crisp, military debates and operations of the Royal Army in devising a plan to capture the evil giants and then putting it into action, both of these sequences seem unduly rushed, in favor of more conventional "false crisis, false resolution" style storytelling that I don't remember being in the book at all. Maybe the slapstick of the evil giants undercuts their menace too much, maybe the BFG's world-weariness just feels a bit too world-weary, without any of the fun adventurous side that the character embodied back when I was five. Maybe I'm being totally unfair, and there's no version of this story that would have satisfied me, and this is just a subject about which I'm unlikely to find any shred of objectivity.

Maybe. Or maybe this is the risk of adapting a beloved children's book to the screen, even when such luminaries as John Williams and Steven Spielberg are involved. Ultimately, as a reviewer, all I can really do is report my findings, and those are that The BFG is a perfectly decent children's film, with nothing particularly wrong, but that I also can't shake the sense that, given this director, this cast, this source material, and this crew, that the result can't help but be less than the sum of its parts.

Final Score: 6/10

[hr]

Independence Day: Resurgence

Alternate Title: Returning to the Well

One sentence synopsis: 20 years after their defeat in "The War of '96", the aliens return to conquer Earth once more.


The Verdict: I don't give a shit who says otherwise, I maintain to this day that Independence Day was one of the great films of the 1990s, a spectacular action-disaster blockbuster that blew me and everyone else at the time completely away with things we had never seen before, a movie firmly in the America: Fuck Yeah pantheon of super-patriotic action movies coupled with all the things that would become touchstones of Rolland Emmerich's career. Casts of dozens, criss-crossing narratives, destruction porn, action showpieces to the accompaniment of stirring patriotic music, the scientist as a hero, the works. Emmerich of course would go on to spend the next twenty years making very dumb movies on similar themes, which varied from the bad (2012) to the really bad (The Day After Tomorrow), to the unwatchable (Godzilla). And yet, I can't hate Emmerich, partly because he gave us one (possibly two with Stargate) legitimately great film, and partly because he's just not a hateable guy. Unlike Michael Bay, Emmerich's failings are usually earnest failures, not filled with ugly stereotypes and bilious contempt for all men, but movies about true-blue heroes doing wholesomely heroic things in the midst of calamity. And so, while I'm certainly no fan of basically anything Emmerich has done this century, I had to go see what returning to the ID4 well would give us.

And... honestly, ID4:Resurgence is exactly what I was hoping for. Not in my wildest dreams, of course, it's no masterpiece to compare with the first, but my sincere hope was that while Emmerich was likely to make a stupid movie, that it would be the right kind of stupid, and it is. Resurgence is in fact a spectacularly stupid movie, but it's a fun movie first and foremost, one that understands exactly what it is and how to play with the conventions of the genre that its own predecessor created. It's a movie with cool action and heroic one-liners and fast pacing and actually funny comic relief (Brent Spiner steals the entire movie and runs away with it cackling), something Michael Bay couldn't generate if you gave him the GDP of Norway to play with. It stars actors I don't much like (Jessie Usher, Liam Hemsworth, honestly Judd Hirsch), but softens their presence by giving them formula plots to enact that never really get in the way, and instead focuses on actors I love (Jeff Goldblum, William Fichtner, Bill Pullman, Brent Spiner, and a crazy Deobia Oparei, playing a central African warlord who fights aliens with twin machetes and kung fu). The film's plot is ludicrous in the extreme (although nobody hacks the alien mothership with a macbook this time), and it certainly does suffer from the lack of a leading presence like Will Smith. But if ever there was a film aware of its own failings and willing to work to paper them over, it was this one, a movie that tries so earnestly to distract us from its flaws for the run-time before shrugging its shoulders and patting us on the back and hoping that we enjoyed ourselves. I did, and given that I did, I can't really muster outrage at the planetary-grade plot holes or the stupidity associated with some of the story beats. I was too busy watching the daughter of the President from the first movie make strafing runs against the giant alien queen battlesuit chasing our heroes across the deserts of Nevada.

ID4: Resurgence is not great cinema, and it is not the equal to its predecessor, not by a country mile. But it is, fundamentally, a fun, exciting, and very funny movie. And given how most of these modern remakes of a late 20th-century classic turn out, that's good enough for me.

Final Score: 7/10

[hr]

The Lobster

Alternate Title: Artifice and Pogo Dancing

One sentence synopsis: A newly-divorced man goes to a singles hotel where he must find a mate in 45 days or be transformed into an animal of his choice.


The Verdict: I am so sick of movies like The Lobster. I'm sorry if that spoils the review upfront, but half the reason I'm doing these catchups is to get to the point, and the point here is that I am tired of these arthouse dreck-fests that think confusing the audience means the film is highbrow and daring. Some directors can get away with this sort of thing, Fellini, Bergman, Truffaut, but not Yorgos Lanthimos, who wrote, produced, and directed The Lobster with an eye towards making the tranche of critics that think anything the little people don't like must be amazing fawn all over him. He succeeded, winning BFAs and Cannes Jury Prizes and all the other awards that are fast becoming synonymous with "waste of time" in my book. Coming right after I got through praising a Rolland Emmerich movie of all things, I'm sure many art film fans will wash their hands of me as a plebeian bore who can't accept anything more intellectual than an explosion-fest laden with one-liners, but that argument is not only bullshit, but is the reason that crap like Under the Skin and Leviathan get made. These movies are not artistic, they are not clever, they are not interesting. They are boring intentionally-obfuscated garbage, and no amount of soliloquizing on the fact that people didn't "get it" changes that.

*Sigh*

The Lobster is a movie starring Colin Farrell, normally a turn-off for me, but who is honestly fine in this one. He plays David, a middle-aged sad-sack of a man whose wife has abandoned him and who, by the laws of his society, now has to find a new mate in 45 days or be turned into an animal. Over the course of his stay he meets various people, hooks up with them, leaves them, runs off to join a group of single rebels living solitary lives in the forest, etc. Yes, I know that this is all allegory, and yes, I even know what this is an allegory for. What I do not know is why the film has to be so intentionally stilted to make its point. Every actor, good (John C. Reilly, Rachel Weisz, Olivia Coleman), and bad (Farrell, Léa Seydoux) uses the same emotionless affect throughout the film, because society has deadened us to our true feelings or some damn thing, even when they are subjected to physical violence, atrocity, and the loss of loved ones. The rules of the dystopian society seem not merely arbitrary (which I could forgive), but mutable, particularly once the rebel group enters the scene, who have their own arbitrary rules which are violated periodically. The absurdist nature of the film does provide a few moments of hilarity, such as the deadpan line "We enforce solitary behavior, which is why we only play electronic music", or the man who attempts to attract a soulmate by periodically smashing his head against the wall, but the behavior of the characters is so alien across the board that we have no idea how anyone is going to react to anything, which de-anchors us entirely from the flow of the film. And while I understand what is being symbolized here (the arbitrary nature of social rules, and the ferocity with which we punish those who transgress them), did the film really have to bore us all for two and a half goddamn hours to make the point that social mores aren't always logical? Is this so revolutionary a concept that it could not be explained by actors acting like actual people? This is like putting together a discordant film consisting of three hours of interpretive mime dance over atonal music because if you do not, then how will the audience ever come to understand your revolutionary thesis that "love is a good thing"?!

The Lobster is nowhere as bad as some of the indie dreck I've reviewed on this project, but it is almost perfectly emblematic of what's wrong with a great deal of it. And I'd gladly take a Rolland Emmerich movie that's entertaining over one by a highbrow director who thinks I'm too dumb to be watching his movie.

Final Score: 4/10

[hr]

Swiss Army Man

Alternate Title: Harry Potter and The Posthumously Delusional Psychotic

One sentence synopsis: A shipwrecked man finds a washed-up corpse with various fantastical abilities that becomes his best friend.


The Verdict: I know I just got through bashing an Indie movie, but the fact is that the reason I stick to my one-a-week schedule is to force myself to see the films I normally wouldn't, and that generally includes a lot of quirky indie fare, especially as we get later into Blockbuster season and the weeks between said blockbusters begin to stretch out. And so it was that I went to see a movie that my sister described as "The Farting Corpse Movie"

She wasn't wrong.

Even by the standards of weird indie movies, Swiss Army Man is a weird indie movie, about a man named Hank (Paul Dano) who is marooned on an island in the Pacific somewhere, and is on the verge of suicide when he finds a washed-up corpse (Daniel Radcliffe) who begins displaying fantastic powers of flatulence, water retention, and muscle spasming, as well as the ability to talk and think (though not move). This is a concept that gets gross, though not as gross as it certainly could have (we do not get a medical treatise on decomposition, thank god), and the film more or less consists of Hank using Manny (the corpse) to help him escape the situations he is in, while re-introducing Manny to what it is to be alive. I'd explain more of what's going on here, but frankly, this movie is weird in a way that even Indie films typically are not, to the point where I have trouble even categorizing what the film is, be it coming of age, mediation on philosophy, broad slapstick comedy, gross-out humor, or (more likely) some depraved combination of the above. It's a movie that seems to expect you will take what you get from it, as many indie movies do, including quite a few terrible ones.

And yet... I gotta be honest folks, I loved Swiss Army Man, primarily because it is inventive where most indie dreck is formulaic, innovative where most are artificial, and intriguing where most are just boring. The film is weird enough to defy coherent description, but never feels random or incoherent, just a movie that takes its own premise seriously and derives weird rapport from it. Both performances from Dano and Radcliffe help, of course, as they are, the both of them, far better here than they have been in a lot of films I've seen, but the real stars of this one are the Directors (and writers) of the movie, unknowns Daniel Scheinert and Daniel Kwan, who exhibit great mastery in pacing, shot selection, dialogue and scripting. They are also buttressed by a superb soundtrack, by Indie Rock band Manchester Orchestra, all of which comes together to produce a movie that may not make a whole lot of objective sense, but feels wholesome and coherent while watching it, and which holds together in my memory astonishingly well. It's not really a movie "about" anything in particular, and the twists that the plot ties itself into are left quite understated, but that's not because of some intentional effort to confuse the audience or appeal to critics, but because the movie isn't about its plot. It's about the ways in which these characters, real or fictitious, can generate meaning from one another, and how the artificiality of modern life can be a strength as well as a weakness. Maybe I'm reaching for meaning that isn't there, as this isn't the most coherent film I've ever seen, but it's one where the experience of watching it is far more enjoyable, in an almost whimsical sense, than one could rightly expect from a movie wherein Daniel Radcliffe plays a dead guy who farts a lot.

Whatever it was meant to be, the fact is that Swiss Army Man is a wonderful movie in both the literal and figurative sense, an uncatagorizable mess that was somehow polished into art. If it serves to prove to some of my detractors that I do more than just praise brainless crap on this blog, then all the better, but the best resolution of all would be for those of you who have an appreciation for the weirder side of cinema to go see this one. I can't promise you what you'll get out of it, only that I got something very close to magic.

Final Score: 8/10
Gaze upon my works, ye mighty, and despair...

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General Havoc
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#702 Re: At the Movies with General Havoc

Post by General Havoc »

Star Trek Beyond

Alternate Title: Where Everyone has Gone Before

One sentence synopsis: The crew of the Enterprise confront a mysterious assailant who seeks a doomsday weapon with which to destroy the Federation.


Things Havoc liked: As is inevitable with anything related to Star Trek, the 2009 and 2013 JJ Abrams-helmed reboots of Star Trek were... well let's say contentious. I know people who burned their Star Trek collections because of the "betrayals" inflicted upon them by Abrams and his gang of slick iPod-aesthetes. As for me, I'm an old-time Trekkie, Next Generation, Original Series, Deep Space Nine, the works. And as a credentialed member of one of Nerd-dom's most storied fan clubs, I thought the reboots were... actually really good. Not the same, certainly, and not flawless either (especially the second film), but then what of that? It's not like the original continuity shows and movies didn't have stinkers (every odd-numbered film, anyone?). What the reboots did have was casting and writing, with a host of younger actors who did almost uniformly fantastic jobs with the old characters, particularly the trio of Kirk (Chris Pine), Spock (Zachary Quinto), and Bones (Karl Urban). The revised movies were fun and campy (just like the original series), written with tongue firmly placed in-cheek, with plots that did not take themselves overly seriously (especially the first movie), and character interplay that just worked. Yes, the plot of both films was unnecessarily convoluted. Yes, both movies had villains that needed more time in the oven. Yes, there were questionable decisions throughout, but you know what, the absence of perfection, even in a holy canon like Star Trek's, is not a slap in the face to the fanbase. As someone who has seen slaps in the face to fanbases, and recently, I appreciate the difference.

So this time, Abrams has taken a back seat, and the director's chair has been yielded to Justin Lin, a strange choice on the face of things, as he's a man who made one great indie film (Better Luck Tomorrow), before going over wholly to the really stupid side of Hollywood action (Fast and Furious). And yet, when you think about it, Lin is a fine choice for a series like this, one that has always looked to bring back some of the madcap energy and action of the original series, which for all its deification as one of the great cultural works of our times, was also a television show that featured a barfight in every third episode. If Lin knows anything, after all, it's how to direct action, and given that this movie has a lot of it, it's work remarking that the action in Star Trek Beyond is generally (though not tremendously) better than that of its predecessors. Scenes are less frenetic (though still somewhat), with a broader scope and (somewhat) better eye for actually framing an action shot, something important when we're dealing with disintegrating spaceships with wonky gravity, or tesseract-folded cities that taurus-wrap around themselves. I won't call Lin one of my favorite directors or anything, but he's competent at the least, and given the flirtations that the previous movies (especially the first one) had with dreaded Shaky-Cam, it's worth noting the absence thereof.

The cast is back, as I mentioned, and just as good as they ever were, whatever the quality of the material (we'll get to that). Highlights this time are Urban's McCoy, who gets some of the meatier scenes, along with John Cho's Sulu, who actually gets to command things this time, and Simon Pegg's Scotty, who has taken the screenwriter's priviledge of giving himself most of the best lines in the movie. Iranian actress Shohreh Aghdashloo (of Mass Effect), continues the new series' tradition of having excellent Admiralty actors (joining Bruce Greenwood and Peter Weller). But the standout of the film is actually a newcomer, Algerian-French actress Sofia Boutella, whom you may remember last trying to cut Taron Egerton to pieces as the Blade-running henchwoman from Kingsman. Unrecognizable here beneath layers of typically-Star Trekian makeup, her character, a scavenger named Jaylah, doesn't actually get a lot to do beyond play the "token tough self-reliant girl", but Boutella elevates the character beyond the thin material, and also gets probably the best action sequence in the movie, as befits someone of her pedigree.\



Things Havoc disliked: Those of you familiar with this movie and its cast, may notice the lack, in the previous section, of an actor whose presence, even in bad movies, can be generally counted upon to drive me into paroxysms of rapturous delight. I am referring, of course, to the villain of the film, played by none other than Idris Freaking Elba, and yet his absence above is no oversight, for it is my duty to inform you that contrary to all the laws of filmmaking, decency, and frankly, physics, this film managed to make Idris Elba suck.

It's not Elba's fault. Of course it's not Elba's fault, how could it be? This is the same man who was literally the only thing worth watching in 2013's otherwise execrable Pacific Rim, he knows how to salvage his dignity in an otherwise bad movie. Instead, this is the fault of Lin and Pegg, who decided to repeat the same mistake that X-Men Apocalypse made earlier this year, specifically take the fantastic actor they had gotten to play their leading villain, and immure him within layers of fake laytex costuming and makeup that not only renders him unrecognizable, but robs him of the ability to actually, you know, act. And just like Brian Singer did with the third installment of his reboot X-men series, Lin and Pegg compound the issue here by giving him nothing whatsoever to work with. His character, a warlord named Krall, has no motivation beyond wanting to destroy the Federation because... because sharing and kindness are marks of weakness or something equally stupid. Yes, there's ultimately more to it than that, a lot more actually, but the "revelations" as to what Krall is actually doing are delivered so late in the film, and in such a ham-fisted exposition-heavy manner (I'm reminded of the resurrection-blood introduction from Into Darkness), and leave such gargantuan character holes in their wake, that the result isn't surprise or delight at the cleverness of the filmmakers, as it is confusion and disgust from an audience who presumably came here to watch a story about characters with believable motives and actions. I don't know if this is an editing problem, wherein the arrangement of the material available was simply botched, or if Lin couldn't be bothered to actually devote attention to the plot of his own movie, but the result is to torpedo any possible levels of interest, or god help us, social commentary (this is fucking Star Trek, people), that might have gone into the movie.

And it's not like the rest of the film really picks up the slack in this regard. Indeed, the movie that this film reminds me of the most is Star Trek Insurrection, the Johnathan Frakes-directed 1998 disappointment, whose failings were primarily that the entire movie felt like an extended episode of the Next Generation TV series. Beyond isn't as bad as Insurrection was, certainly, but it has the same feel. There are no real stakes for the characters, despite desperate attempts by the plot to inject some, and the character subplots are firmly in autopilot from where they were before. You know an ensemble film has no real ideas as to what to do with a character when they have not one, but two separate "maybe I should resign from Starfleet" subplots at the same time. Characters like Uhura (Zoe Saldana) and Chekov (the late Anton Yelchin) are given nothing to do beyond exist and service the plot, interpersonal relationships, even between Spock and Kirk, are sort of left to sit, unaddressed, as though the filmmakers had no interest in them. As such, the movie is left with a script that would probably make a serviceable episode of a rebooted Original Series TV show, if one were to exist. Tune in next week to get some actual characterization, but meanwhile, here's Kirk riding a dirt bike and shooting at aliens as we play the Beastie Boys!


Final Thoughts: Star Trek Beyond is not a bad movie, but it is certainly a mediocre one, and a big step down for the franchise as a whole. While the series has seen far, far worse than this, it does lend itself to questions about just how viable the ideas of the filmmakers are, moving forward. I have my own opinions as to what makes good Star Trek, as does anyone who has ever called themselves a Trekkie, but this... this is not it. This is a mildly-entertaining filler episode that you get through without remembering much of while you're binge-watching the third season on your way to the actual good stuff.

A lot of people hated the first two films of this re-imagined series, and most of them, to my surprise, actually thought that Star Trek Beyond was a big step up for the series as a whole. I can't pretend that I understand why, unless what these people think of as "good" Star Trek, is space silliness with no actual content (maybe they were Voyager fans?). As always, I don't concern myself overmuch with the opinions of other critics, mired in the swamps of bad taste and poor judgment as they are. All I will say, as a result, is that if this is the direction that the majority of Trekkies actually want this new series to go in, then by all means, they can have it.

Final Score: 5/10
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#703 Re: At the Movies with General Havoc

Post by frigidmagi »

I actually prefer this movie to Into Darkness because if nothing else I didn't walk away pissed off at the writer. Although finding out it was Pegg, I may have to rethink that.

Into Darkness was wasted potential and to much time wasted reminding me of Wraith of Khan. The only thing I would consider offense was the waste of Elba's talent and the nonsensical motivation of the villain (seriously Hollywood, stop doing the old soldiers are war mongers who hate peace story. It doesn't fix reality and you're bad at it).
"it takes two sides to end a war but only one to start one. And those who do not have swords may still die upon them." Tolken
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#704 Re: At the Movies with General Havoc

Post by Lys »

To be fair, some old soldiers are war mongers who hate peace, or at least find it boring. Most of them start out joining a regular military force, and then when the war ends leave to become mercenaries so they can keep fighting. An example is Neal Ellis, a crazy motherfucker who, after washing out of the Rhodesian Army, made improvised gunships out of utility helicopters in order to provide mercenary fire support in various wars in Africa. Eventually he even got his hands on a real gunship, an Mi-24 Hind, which he used in Sierra Leone. He's in his 60s now and by all accounts he's still flying helicopters in warzones, even though it's been decades since he had enough experience to get a nice quiet civilian pilot job.

There's also Mad Mike Hoare, a WWII veteran who apparently found himself dissatisfied with the whole peace thing and went to Africa because that's where the fighting was, ending his career after leading a failed coup in the Seychelles of all places. Or what about Bob Denard, a guy who started fighting in the French Algerian war, and didn't stop fighting until nearly 50 years later when the authorities and Alzheimer's finally caught up with him.

That said yes, it is perhaps something of an overused trope. There should be more old soldiers who are like General Sherman, "I confess, without shame, that I am sick and tired of fighting — its glory is all moonshine; even success the most brilliant is over dead and mangled bodies, with the anguish and lamentations of distant families, appealing to me for sons, husbands, and fathers. It is only those who have never heard a shot, never heard the shriek and groans of the wounded and lacerated that cry aloud for more blood, more vengeance, more desolation. I declare before God, as a man and a soldier, I will not strike a foe who stands unarmed and submissive before me, but would rather say—‘Go, and sin no more.’ "
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#705 Re: At the Movies with General Havoc

Post by frigidmagi »

Here's the thing, all those guys didn't shut themselves away on some island and try to get a nuclear weapon to end peace. They simply moved on chasing the next war. I'm pretty sure the Major could have found another war if he wanted, space is a big place.

Additionally, for a lot of them it's because they've just become that alienated from people that they cannot interact meaningfully outside of a military context. I used to know a few guys like that who simply up stakes and went out to find more fighting. Or because they've become obsessed with an ideology and need to violently defend or export it.
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#706 Re: At the Movies with General Havoc

Post by General Havoc »

Suicide Squad

Alternate Title: A Tale of Two Studios

One sentence synopsis: An elite task force comprised of assorted supervillains is set loose to stop an ancient evil from destroying the world.


Things Havoc liked: ...

...

...

... Er... Things Havoc Disliked?

...

...

...

... ?

...

...

...

... so... let's talk about Batman v Superman for a moment.

Batman v. Superman sucked. There's really no other way to put it. It was a terrible goddamn film, a useless waste of two, hell three of DC's most important and popular superheros, a maudlin, ugly, disaster of a film which I hated with every fiber of my being. It had a stupid, needlessly-byzantine plot that made no sense once strung together and was cored around a jar of urine, a directing style that echewed everything fun from the first movie in favor of a bitter polemical rant against anyone who enjoys superheroes, movies, or life, and a central premise which ultimately pitted a depressed headcase against a roid-raging dudebro for eight freaking minutes before resolving its primary conflict with one of the stupidest contrivances I have ever seen in all my years of moviegoing. I hated Batman v. Superman, and I vented my hate for it in these very pages, denouncing it with all of the biblical savagery that I could muster before announcing that I was rejecting the entire DC cinematic universe wholesale, and that whatever they wanted to do next, I would leave to others to see.

So, obviously, that didn't happen, because here we are. But the reason that didn't happen is more complex than my being a sucker for buzz or a slick trailer (though it definitely does involve those things). The reason that I, in defiance of my previous ban, went to see Suicide Squad, was because it looked... well different I suppose. The rumors that came out of its production that things were not working properly and that DC had decided to re-cut the film to be more like Deadpool were certainly concerning, but it's not like the notion that DC has been having problems making their movies work was a new one, and frankly, I liked Deadpool. With Batman v. Superman, DC's filmmaking seemed to have entered a tailspin, and perhaps ripping off the closest Marvel film in reach (even if it's not an MCU one) was not the worst way to try and pull out of it. Though haters and trolls may say otherwise, I am not against DC in their efforts to replicate Marvel's success. If I was, I would not have stuck with them after such disasters as Green Lantern or Batman v Superman. And so that, combined with the oddball nature of the trailers, the rumors of re-writes, the pedigree of the filmmakers involved, and the fact that several of my stalwart viewing companions expressed some interest in seeing this one, all combined to get me to reneg on the vow I had made not a couple of months before, and go see DC's attempt to get something right this time.

You learn things, seeing a movie a week. Things you might not otherwise have ever known. You learn which actors grate on you like nails on a chalkboard, and which ones are good enough that you'll go see anything if they're in it. You learn how to read between the lines of a teaser or a full length trailer to anticipate what movies have real potential and which ones are just the marketing department desperately trying to cover a flop. You learn that highly-praised indie movies can suck, and that the difference between a good, stupid brainless action movie and a bad one is that the good one isn't as stupid or as brainless as it initially appears to be. Lessons hard bought, the lot of them, some from the collective gestalt of a hundred movies seen, and some from a single moment's revelation after only one. But in all the years and all the reviews that I've done, one of the greatest surprises I've ever had came to me last Tuesday, as I watched this movie, and I learned that Batman v. Superman, a movie I hated with every fiber of my being and condemned in language appropriate for a war crime, was actually the best movie that DC would make in the Year of Our Lord, Two Thousand and Sixteen.

Batman v. Superman was bad, believe me, you all heard me rant about its decrepitude and ugliness, but Suicide Squad is, contrary to all reason, logic, and the laws of physics, not only worse, but much worse a movie so bad as to defy description, one of the worst films that has ever been made by anyone for any purpose. Not only worse than its predecessor, but worse than every touchstone of failure that this genre has ever experienced, worse than Catwoman, worse than Barb Wire, worse than Electra and Amazing Spiderman, Batman & Robin and Superman IV, worse than every Fantastic Four movie ever made, the worst superhero film ever committed to celluloid or digital media, and quite possibly the worst movie I have ever seen as a part of this project. A bad movie may bore or annoy you, a terrible film may fill you with frothing rage, but Suicide Squad is so bad as to be numbing, a shell-shock-inducing calamity of a film that left me struggling to form complete sentences. Not bad like Green Lantern, not a sneering idiocy like Batman v. Superman, Suicide Squad is a systematic, comprehensive failure of basic storytelling, film-making, and human endeavor from start to finish, a movie which, if the Gods are just, will live on in the annals of man as one of the handful of films synonymous with anti-quality, standing in company with giants like Battlefield Earth, Heaven's Gate, and Manos: The Hands of Fate. And yet to scream and rend garments over this biblical cataclysm of a movie is not sufficient to come to grips with its decrepitude. Instead we must look at what happened and attempt, as might an arson investigator, to determine where it all went wrong.

Movies fail for many reasons, from bad direction to bad acting, but the one that seems to kill the majority of them, and the one that sits like a naked singularity at the heart of the issues afflicting Suicide Squad is the writing, writing so unremittingly ham-handed, so overwrought, so clunky and shapeless that no movie and no director could possibly survive its advent. Lines that could not ever have been a good idea, not even in the vacuum of a table-read, are littered throughout the film like land mines, waiting for a hapless actor to tread upon them. Moments where the cast is asked to exposit actions that the audience has just seen take place, or to tearfully recite some kind of supposedly heartwarming "bonding" dialogue, despite having no setup whatsoever for that statement, could not have been performed satisfactorily by anyone, let alone the flywheels that occupy the majority of this film. And yet to simply call this the result of a bad script or a hack writer is, once again, not sufficient, because this script was written by none-other than writer-director David Ayer, one of the very best filmmakers working, a man who also wrote and directed such films as Fury, Training Day, and End of Watch, a man who knows how to both create and realize not just good but excellent movies. So how could this script have gotten so far away from him as to produce something this bad?

Simple. Ayer wanted to make Suicide Squad. DC wanted to make Guardians of the Galaxy.

You see, for all the rumors about this film being re-cut to take advantage of Deadpool's success, the end result is about as far from Deadpool as it is from Citizen Kane, if only because it has no, and I repeat no humor in it, not even a semi-decent one-liner. What it does have is a desperate attempt to replicate Marvel's "bad people form a surrogate family" dynamic from Guardians of the Galaxy, an attempt so brazen that multiple characters describe the rest of their team as "family" despite having never once evidenced behavior that would support that. While I can understand DC trying to do something, anything to capture even a small piece of the magic Marvel has been using to craft their cinematic universe, the result is nothing but further evidence of just how difficult a line Marvel walked when it came to Guardians of the Galaxy. Guardians had, among other things, a cast that was both razor-sharp and incredibly strongly defined, even with one member a mute (essentially), one a cartoon, and another purposely written around the fact that the actor playing him could not act. And yet even with those things, Guardians only managed to make their movie work by armoring it with a thick layer of snark and self-awareness, bending over backwards to gain the audience's permission to be cheesy and schmaltzy when it counted. Suicide Squad, like the DC universe it comes from, does none of those things, attempting to drop a "found family" dynamic directly on top of a collection of gaping-mouthed douche-hats without a single redeeming feature between them, all in the middle of a universe that has quite clearly evidenced its bilious contempt for such notions as human warmth or joy. To say that the result is a tonal clash is like saying that the Titanic was a boating accident.

The actors caught in this suck-vortex suffer different fates, mostly in line with their abilities. Better actors like Will Smith (playing team-lead Deadshot) or Viola Davis (playing arch-strategist Amanda Waller), manage to survive by more or less retreating into their established personas, strong enough in Smith's case that he can simply turn his role into "another Will Smith outing" and get away with it, while Davis switches her emotions off and forces her way through the material as though none of it matters to her in the slightest (this is the correct move, lest I sound critical). Basically everyone else goes down with the ship, either because they are bad actors, because they are stuck in a bad role, or both. Margot Robbie, trapped within the role of Harley Quinn, is one such tragic victim, as her character is simultaneously drill-bit-annoying and Westboro-Baptist-stupid, to the point where she sits and pouts over events that both she and everyone else within a million light years knows have not actually taken place. Joel Kinnaman and Jai Courtney, the Tweedle-Dipshit twins of bad action movies, have no chance at all, and consequently fail just as miserably as they always do, as does newcomer Karen Fukuhara, whom the filmmakers task with playing Katana without evidencing the common decency required to give her a character, a backstory, or even a viable reason to be present at all. The same is true of the other eighteen or so members of the Suicide Squad, each of whom get a generous nine seconds to establish themselves in, nicely conveying the fact that the movie has too many goddamn characters to try and pull off an ensemble piece, particularly since we have never seen any of these characters before now, and rapidly don't want to see them ever again.

And then there's the Joker, oh god is there ever the Joker. Not that we get to see him a lot, for contrary to what the trailers told us, Jared Leto gets all of ten minutes of screentime, is not the main villain of the movie, and in fact, has nothing whatsoever to do with the plot, the actual villain, or any goddamn thing. And yet those ten minutes of facetime that Leto gets are more than enough to tell me everything I need to know about this new and updated version of the Joker, namely that he is catpiss-annoying on the level that Jessie Eisenberg's Urine-obsessed Lex Luthor was. The character looks and acts like what would happen if the entire marketing department at Hot Topic were fused together in a bizarre transporter accident, a disaffected hipster affecting pathologies because the alternative would be "conformist". I've long suspected that Jared Leto is an insufferable human being, but he plays this character like he's trying to confirm all of the worst rumors ever spread about him, and the camera lingers on his gold teeth and carefully-selected "gang" tattoos as though the cameraman was bribed by a cabal of his sworn enemies. Insofar as one should hate the villain of a movie (even though Joker is, I repeat, not the villain here), his character is something of a success. Insofar as one should also wish to continue watching the villain, much less so.

All of this seems to take place in a world devoid of anything but grunting shitheels packing heavy weapons and claiming membership in various elite military formations who would, in reality, piss themselves laughing at the prospect of inducting any one of them as a member before kicking their asses just for the fun of it. The film has the customary DC trait of causing major cities to be destroyed without consequence or even concern by the cast as a whole (I speak here of the US government, not the Suicide Squad), only this time, instead of making said destruction at least interesting to see, the movie is so uninterested in the prospect of showing us something interesting that it cuts away from it after a few desultory montage shots. The plot holes are many and cavernous, of course, including a main villain who can apparently defeat half the US army and shrug off direct hits from cruise missiles, but is taken out by a bomb so puny that people standing twenty feet away with no cover are not even knocked over. But the plot holes, as well as the knots that it ties itself into (to the point where I couldn't tell you what the actual plan was for using the Suicide Squad), seem less like carelessness or even stupidity this time than they do the result of complete indifference. The plot of Suicide Squad makes no sense because, on a fundamental level, nobody gave a shit about it, certainly nobody involved in its actual creation. Whether this was always the case, or whether it's simply a matter of the dramatic and brutal editing done to the film in desperation by a frightened studio, the result is a movie where characters find convenient binders labelled "Top Secret Information", whose contents they apparently absorb in fifteen seconds, all while major MacGuffins like a set of sub-dermal explosives injected into the Squad Members to keep them in line, cease to and resume working at what appears to be arbitrary moments, and characters that have been established as being immune to gunfire and rocket strikes not minutes before are suddenly felled by a baseball bat.


Final Thoughts: David Ayer, I wish to remind you all, is a man of talent. Zack Snyder, despite what many people believe, is a man of talent. A good many of the other people involved in this movie, from cinematographer Roman Vasyanov (End of Watch, Fury), to composer Steven Price (Gravity, Fury) are men of talent, as are members of the cast, both of this film and of its predecessor. And yet all that these men of talent managed to do in this case was to produce one of the most staggering misfires of modern times, a movie so bad that I struggle to find a single point to recommend it with. Had I not expended the bulk of my rage at DC with Batman v Superman, this review might have consisted of nothing but incoherent screaming, but as it stands, for all the efforts I've made to diagnose what happened here, I still feel rather like the explorer surveying the blasted ruins of a lost civilization and attempting to guess at what unfathomable catastrophe overtook it.

It should be no surprise that after watching Batman v Superman, swearing off DC forever, relenting, and being presented with this movie, that I intend to see the error of my ways and return to my policy of bothering only with superhero films attached to the MCU. But to write off Suicide Squad as nothing more than a bad entry in a series does not do justice to the transcendent majesty of its failing. This is a film that, by sheer awfulness of writing and acting and plotting, manages to be physically uncomfortable to watch, not because its subject matter is objectionable nor because its cinematography is frenetic, but because one is embarrassed to be watching tripe of this grade, both for yourself and for those forced to participate in it. This is a film destined to be remembered, by me at least, and likely by everyone else forced to see it, a film that will be recalled in hushed whispers around quiet corners of bars, as men grasp glasses of stiff whisky with white knuckles and speak tremblingly of a film they once saw whose gaping void of quality could extinguish the very stars.

Final Score: 1/10
Gaze upon my works, ye mighty, and despair...

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#707 Re: At the Movies with General Havoc

Post by Steve »

It just makes you appreciate Marvel magic that much more, doesn't it?
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#708 Re: At the Movies with General Havoc

Post by frigidmagi »

I felt Fantastic Four was worse because they managed to not even get the basics right (Stop trying to make Avengers, look at the Incredibles instead), on the flip side I am very turned off by how they portrayed Harley Quinn (look! She's Crazzzzyyy! Isn't that hot?) and Katana (who doesn't even get to tell her own back story!).
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#709 Re: At the Movies with General Havoc

Post by General Havoc »

The Infiltrator

Alternate Title: Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

One sentence synopsis: A US Customs Agent executes an undercover sting designed to bring down Pablo Escobar's drug cartel.


Things Havoc liked: I do like the format I customarily use for movie reviews, the "Things I liked" and "Things I Disliked" and so on, but I will admit that recently it's begun to feel a bit more constraining...


Things Havoc disliked: ... especially for movies like this one.

I'll be quick here, guys, The Infiltrator is a bad movie. Not an awful movie, not a disaster of a movie, not a movie that deserves to be written about in breathless horror, or savage, Churchillian rhetoric, just your run-of-the-mill, everyday, mediocre-to-bad movie, the sort that studios push out by the dozens every year. Its greatest sin is being boring and derivative, and taking few to no chances. It did not cause me to doubt the existence of a loving God, nor to consider the pros and cons of arson. It just made me want to be elsewhere.

But what is this movie, about which I assume none of you have heard anything? Well, it's a drug cartel drama about a man named Robert Mazur, an agent with the US Customs Service who, in the early-mid 80s, went undercover within the drug cartels operated by Pablo Escobar. Robert Mazur was a real guy, who wrote a real book on which this movie is based, and for the purposes of playing him and his associates in this movie, the filmmakers have acquired the services of Brian Cranston, who in a daring departure from his previous roles, is here playing a guy mixed up in drugs while trying to maintain his normal, middle-class life. He is joined by John Leguizamo, once one of the most annoying human beings on Earth, and Diane Kruger, as fellow undercover agents, and must go up against Benjamin Bratt, playing the head of Escobar's operations in Miami.

Honestly though, all of the above people are fine. Yes, Cranston is slumming it here (he was doing the same in 2014's Godzilla, but the fact that he can play this stuff in his sleep doesn't change the fact that he can play it. Leguizamo has long-since earned his way back into my good graces now that he's too old to play The Pest anymore, and while Krueger's not my favorite actress, she doesn't have enough of a role to make much of a difference here. Even Bratt, who is about as intimidating as a stuffed animal, is not the problem.

No, the problem here is Brad Furman, director of this film and largely nothing else with the exception of the McConaughey (and Cranston) vehicle The Lincoln Lawyer back in 2011. That movie was decent, but it was decent because of its cast, not its direction, which was lackluster and overshot. The Infiltrator is moreso, even, to the point where its cast cannot save it, and it is not helped by the fact that the film's script, written by Furman's mother Ellen, is a boring affair with no actual energy to it. Crime dramas are inherently dramatic, but they require more than simple A -> B -> C plotting like these, wherein every scene is measured out to give just enough family tension as the strains of undercover work take their toll, just enough veiled threats delivered by a charming bad guy who is doing quotidian things that could be interpretted as nasty, just enough scenes where the main hero must resist the seduction of the life of crime, etc etc. The film trots out the occasionally half-interesting supporting character, like Cranston's mob-connected Aunt, played by the wonderful Olivia Dukakis, but beyond establishing that she exists, does nothing whatsoever with her, and forgets about her halfway through the movie. Each scene, stolen from better movies, feels like it was copied from a "Crime Drama Writing for Dummies" book, all the way through until the movie reaches the end it was fated to reach from the beginning. Roll credits.



Final Thoughts: Apologies for those looking for more thunderous fury from me, but the fact is that The Infiltrator doesn't merit even as much effort as I've put into it already. It is a completely forgettable movie which only manages to stand out by virtue of just how boring it actually is. I was reading articles on my phone at the back of my mostly-empty theater more than an hour before the end, glancing up every so often just to ensure that, yep, the movie was still running.

Movies can be bad for many reasons, dear readers, but the sad fact is that some bad movies are bad simply because they haven't the wit, skill, or guts to be terrible.

Final Score: 4/10
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#710 Re: At the Movies with General Havoc

Post by General Havoc »

Sausage Party

Alternate Title: Foodfight II: Electric Barbecue

One sentence synopsis: A hot dog and his girlfriend the bun dream of being selected by shoppers at their supermarket home before discovering the awful truth about what happens to food once purchased.


Things Havoc liked: Seth Rogan has been one of the more reliable features at the movies in the last couple of years, and ever since I was dragged to This is the End against my will (thank you, Steve), I've made a point of checking out what I can of his work. Last year's The Night Before was pretty good, as was the unreleased Interview, but this year Rogan decided to take on an animated feature about food that comes to life, all with an R-Rating. You don't see a lot of R-rated animated features around, so this was one I decided was worth considering, especially given its pedigree. There were worse options available.

Rogan, like a lot of filmmakers, has a stable of actors he likes to work with, most of whom make voice appearances in this film. While Rogan himself voices Frank, the lead sausage of a pack of hot dogs who, initially at least, wishes simply to make it to "The Great Beyond" in the company of his girlfriend Brenda Bun (Kristen Wiig), his reliable co-conspirators Jonah Hill and Michael Cera voice Barry and Carl, two other sausages from the same package who actually make it out of their supermarket home and discover what becomes of food in the aftermath of being purchased. Following a series of disasters, our heroes are all separated, and must make their way through the store and the world at large, all while encountering a panoply of other characters voiced by Rogan regulars. David Krumholz and Edward Norton take on comic relief characters of a Lavash and a Bagel who (predictably) hate each other, while Craig Robinson and Bill Hader take on the role of the wise old elder foods (non-perishables) who know the mysterious secrets of the universe. Everyone is fine in the movie, and in fact as the cast elongates, there's a number of legitimately funny, if predictable, jokes to be found in just the concepts people are asked to play. James Franco, for instance, plays a drug addict who discovers he can talk to food after shooting up with bath salts, while Selma Hayak is a lesbian taco shell who gets to be a thin pastiche of every Selma Hayak role ever invented. Assorted smaller roles go to everything from a piece of used chewing gum/Stephen Hawking (just go with it), a potato who is possibly the most Irish thing since Darby O'Gill and the Little People, and a recurring joke about how the Sauerkraut jars are all Nazis who drove the bagels from their original aisles and into the middle eastern foods section. But the best one goes to Nick Kroll, a veteran of many recent comedies (and, weirdly, Terrence Mallick's experimental art film Knight of Cups from last year), who plays the primary antagonist of the film, a douche, both literal and figurative.

As I'm sure you can tell by now, the parallels to Toy Story are many and obvious, and to the movie's credit, it plays the concept reasonably straight. The cosmology of the universe posits that the humans who purchase the food are "Gods", and that the Great Beyond is some form of Heaven, and the attempts on the part of the disillusioned sausages to convince their fellows what actually awaits them results in abject rejection from those who prefer to believe that something good awaits them. This could easily turn insufferable, but instead becomes a weird kind of semi-parody of both religious movies and message movies. Along the way, the film is filled with spoof moments that feel like a cross between The Lego Movie, and something Kevin Smith might have come up with back when he was still making good films. An early scene spoofs the opening to Saving Private Ryan in one of the funniest ways imaginable, while the climax comprises an orgiastic battle with an actual, full-blown orgy. Let it never be said that the movies can't still find a way to show me something new...


Things Havoc disliked: For all that though, Sausage Party is a movie that has about forty-five minutes of good ideas stretched to near the breaking point by the need to come up with a feature-length film. Even at a slim 88 minutes, there are entire sequences in the film that feel like enormous padding, including most everything that happens for the first ten minutes, which, for those who aren't up on your narrative theory, is not the section of the film you want to bore people with. This tendency persists throughout the film, particularly in the middle sections, which involve a series of odyssies on the part of our heroes, who must traverse one aisle after another for no reason other than a couple of jokes at the expense of the foods in question. The main character, Frank, spends nearly ten minutes speaking to a wise council of elder foods, only to go on a quest to find a secret trove of knowledge, which reveals to him... pretty much exactly what the wise council of elders already told him in explicit detail. Meanwhile his girlfriend meets one character after another who have no real reason to be there at all, be it Hayek's taco (who's at least good for a little self-referential humor), or Danny McBride's suicidal Mustard Jar, who exists apparently so that Danny McBride could be in another Seth Rogan movie.

The other major issue with Sausage Party is that... well... it's just not that funny. I mean, don't get me wrong, it is funny, occasionally very funny, especially in the climax, but a lot of the humor falls into that Seth MacFarline zone, wherein things are funny because they are weird, not because the weirdness is itself amusing. The aforementioned orgy comes to mind, which once you get past the fact that food is having an orgy (which admittedly takes a moment), is just shock humor without any real cleverness to it. It's not that the movie isn't clever at all, it's that it's spotty, with moments of inspired sight gags and visual puns, alternating with long stretches of fairly stale, obvious humor derived from the premise more than anything else. It doesn't make the movie bad, but it does make it somewhat less than one might expect from this team and this concept.


Final Thoughts: Sausage Party is an amusing enough little film, but taking the weirdness of the concept out of things, it's also a movie that probably belongs somewhere around the level of The Interview or Neighbors when it comes to the Seth Rogan oevre. It's a film that needed either to be made as a short film (to cut out the padding) or made by someone with an edgier sense of humor (which Rogan is not and has never been). Still, all in all, if the strangeness of the premise or the appeal of the cast and crew are enough to interest you in a movie about a sex-crazed hot dog who murders a tweaker with an axe, then this one's probably worth a look. And after all, who hasn't wanted to see something like that on occasion?

Final Score: 5.5/10
Gaze upon my works, ye mighty, and despair...

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#711 Re: At the Movies with General Havoc

Post by General Havoc »

Hell or High Water

Alternate Title: Peak Texas

One sentence synopsis: Two Texas brothers execute a plan to rob banks to save their ranch, while being pursued by an old Texas Ranger nearing retirement.


Things Havoc liked: It's about goddamn time.

For those who don't follow the movie calendar the way that I do, we're now in a period colloquially called the "September Slump", which is exactly what it sounds like. It's the blank space in the calendar between the blockbusters of summer and the award bait of the late fall, a period which often has lots of movies that superficially appear to be worth seeing, and prove ultimately to be pieces of crap unable to compete with the films actually coming out of Oscar season. The Judge and Gone Girl both come to mind. As such, while the options around September generally dictate that I go see them anyway, I've become rather gun-shy about movies that might appear at first glance to be the first blossoms of the fall flowering, as these films typically devolve into cheese, schmaltz, and general crap.

But not always.

Hell or High Water is an excellent film, bordering on a great one, a movie made with consummate skill and sure-handed direction by one of the best up-and-coming directors that I have yet to encounter over the course of this project, Scottish filmmaker David Mackenzie, whose previous credits include Young Adam, Starred Up, and the extremely underrated indie sci-fi drama Perfect Sense. I've not run into MacKenzie so far doing this because the majority of his movies are strange indie flicks about odd people that don't get a lot of play over here, but as his star has risen, so has the reach of his movies, and here we are at last, with a film that bears all his hallmarks, save with a bigger cast and a homegrown setting.

West Texas, an area of the country all its own, where the men are men and the women are armed. Brothers Toby and Tanner Howard, poor Texas folk whose mother's ranch is now being repossessed by the bank she had her reverse mortgage with, have decided upon a scheme of bank robbery and casino-based money laundering to pay off the debt and re-acquire the ranch for Toby's children, not that the ranch seems all that useful an asset, at least at first. Bank robbery is not a career move one makes if one has either brains or options, but the Howard boys have a plan, one that bypasses the dye packs and traceable bills and security systems that most banks are equipped with nowadays. As the brothers strike and strike again, an old nearly-retired Texas Ranger, and his half-Mexican, half-Commanche partner, is pulled off his desk in Ft. Worth to hunt down those responsible for the armed robberies, trying to divine who they are and what they are attempting to do so as to head them all off.

The setup may all sound familiar, but it's the execution here that pays the bills. The Howard brothers are played respectively by Chris Pine, whose range as an actor has never been properly appreciated, and Ben Foster, who I may have to revise my opinion on after this turn. Both brothers are fantastic, world-weary poor Texas folk, the former more or less law-abiding, the latter a hardened criminal, but both entirely believable, with characters that eschew stereotype and sound perfectly authentic. I've always liked Pine, but Foster, whose most memorable credit to-date was in X-Men 3, is a goddamn revelation here. His character seems to be set up for the Joe Pesci role of the hothead who blows everything by being stupid, only for the screenplay to turn on its head, revealing that hotheadedness and criminality are not necessarily vices when it comes to the business of robbing banks. It's a star-making performance from an actor I previously had no use for, and yet even it pales by comparison to Jeff Bridges (in his finest Rooster Cogburn style) and Gil Birmingham, who play the aforementioned Texas Rangers with a ribald ribbing that is among the truest partnerships ever committed to film. The old standby of the mismatched buddy cops is a tough one to see afresh, but the script holds up, as these two ornery old men rip one another's age, heritage, and intelligence in an exceptionally believable way. Bridges is always great, of course (as is Birmingham when he's not stuck in a Twilight movie), but rarely this good, and as the hunters relentlessly track down the hunted, the characterization only gets stronger along the way.

People have been predicting the death of American film for as long as it has been around, but it is true that the last decade has seen more and more foreign directors trying their hands at the Great American Classic Film, be it Alfonso Cuaron with The Revenant or Steve McQueen with 12 Years a Slave. Hell or High Water is a movie firmly in this genre, and Mackenzie, like the best of the foreign directors who have attempted this, brings his unique eye to the proceedings while still respecting the subject's conventions. The cinematrography is grand and sweeping, with desolate plains and empty tracklands, boarded-up stores and artificially-cheery diners or casino lobbies. Decay and dislocation are everywhere, for sale and payday loan signs choke the streets and highways, graffiti complains of poverty and economic misery. Yet the movie does not turn into some maudlin lament on the starvation of labor or some damn thing. The rough vernacular color of West Texas pervades the entire enterprise, with even bit characters given blunt, plainspoken dialogue, such as the bank clerk who tells the brothers to leave, "because so far, all you're guilty of is being stupid." The movie also delves a bit into just how hard it must be to commit armed robbery in a place where literally everyone is armed all of the time, and prepared to form a posse at a moment's notice. The sheer sense of place that Hell or High Water produces is rare in film, indie or mainstream, and it is a credit to Mackenzie and to screenwriter Taylor Sheridan (of Sicario), that they've managed to produce a film this richly appointed.


Things Havoc disliked: And it's a good damn thing that Sheridan and Mackenzie do such a good job with the dialogue and localizing, because the movie would quite probably fall apart if they did not. Nowhere is it indicated, for instance, just where these two brothers, who are, after all, doing all of this because they have no money, are getting the many and varied cars, automatic weapons, and earthmoving equipment that appear to be integral to their plans. Neither does the film bother to explain away certain fantastic coincidences, or convenient turns of mind that overtake certain characters in the run up to the climax of the film. I understand that this movie isn't about its plot, and I further understand that even if it was, we are not here to get a seminar on the mechanics of rural bank robbery in the American Southwest. But the film does ask us to swallow quite a lot of contrivance in order to make its point, something that I'm usually willing to do, but only if the movie proves itself deserving.


Final Thoughts: This one, however, does, and so there's really nothing to complain about.

Hell or High Water is an exceptional film, a high point in a year that has thus far been notably bereft of them, an excellent film that is both loyal to the oldest conventions of American cinema (the evil bank trying to take the land of the poor ranchers), and entirely defiant of all conventionality. It is a movie that boasts excellent acting, superb writing, and brilliant styling, all in the service of a thoroughly enjoyable movie, one of the very few whole-hearted recommendations I have been able to make this year. Insofar as I write these reviews so as to tell people whether they should or should not go and see a given movie, which is certainly one of the goals that this little project of mine serves, let me be clear. Go and seek this movie out. For once, this summer, you will not be disappointed.

Final Score: 8/10
Gaze upon my works, ye mighty, and despair...

Havoc: "So basically if you side against him, he summons Cthulu."
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#712 Re: At the Movies with General Havoc

Post by General Havoc »

Kubo and the Two Strings

Alternate Title: The Cold Facts

One sentence synopsis: A young boy with powerful origami magic sets out to retrieve the magical artifacts that will enable him to defeat his grandfather, the Moon King.


Things Havoc liked: Laika Studios is an interesting anachronism in Hollywood today, a stop motion animated film studio founded by Nike chairman Phil Knight, whose specialty is the sorts of childrens' movies that have never really existed beyond early 70s Christmas specials and big budget epics from the mid-1930s. Beginning with Coraline in 2009, Laika has carved quite a nice little niche for itself in the realm of studio animation dominated by giants like Pixar-Disney, and Dreamworks. The last film of theirs that I saw was 2012's Paranorman, a very good movie that showed a lot of promise, and following one or two short or lesser-reviewed films, they have returned four years later with a movie that got so much hype, I was frankly worried.

Set in mythological Japan, Kubo and the two strings is a fairly standard hero's journey tale with a style that is entirely non-standard, a stop-motion and practical-effect-laden aesthetic that is simply gobsmacking in its richness and style. Animation can do wonders, this we would all know even if we weren't smack in the middle of the Third Golden Age of Disney, but Laika's greatest strength has always been the way that their laborious, hand-crafted art style and stop motion design produces a truly unique effect on-screen, and Kubo may be their magnum opus insofar as such things are concerned. Every frame of the film is drenched in art, from the earthy sequences of Kubo's local village, to the truly fantastical designs of his aunts, or of the strange and horrible creatures that inhabit the world. How Laika contrived to produce all of this, I have no earthly idea, only that the labor must have been immense,and the result is apparent to all. Whatever faults it may have, Kubo is a gorgeous film, and those who go simply to drink in its richness will not be wasting their time.

It's always hard to criticize a movie that tells a simple tale, as this one does, because the sheer familiarity of a story is not a flaw, especially not in a children's movie, whose target audience will not be as jaded by a hundred thousand retellings of Joseph Campbell. In this case Kubo, a boy with the power to animate origami paper and produce living, moving figurines, lives with his mother by the sea and works as a storyteller in the local village, before the hero's journey inevitably whisks him away. This is the kind of simple story that is used as an excuse to provide other delights, such as visuals or memorable setpieces, one where the stakes and the direction are fairly obvious, and yet that's no slur. Pursued by a group of evil spirits, tasked with retrieving the magical artifacts once wielded by his warrior-father, protected by a group of magical creatures including a Japanese macaque with a distinctly martial bent, and a larger-than-man-sized beetle, it is a story of adventure and danger and family and lessons learned. Kubo himself, voiced by Art Parkinson (Game of Thrones' Rickon Stark), is a perfectly compelling protagonist, brave and kind and sly in his own way, and the movie's recurring theme of metafiction, drawn out through Kubo's own profession telling stories with inanimate objects brought to life, complements the main plot perfectly. The rest of the voice cast is provided by other stalwarts, including Charlize Theron, whose role as a swordfighting monkey is actually fairly badass for a G-rated kids movie, while the ever-reliable Ralph Fiennes gets to play an evil god (again). Cary Hiroyuki-Tagawa , Rooney Mara, and George Takei also lend their voices to more minor roles, all doing a fine job. For those interested in nothing more than a quality children's film, Kubo has everything you are looking for.


Things Havoc disliked: I really hate to do this.

People accuse me on occasion of being contrary, of hating movies simply because they are popular, and while I won't deny that there is definitely a correlation between a movie receiving universal critical acclaim, and said movie being a piece of crap, I do not go out of my way to bash movies that are popular just to be different. I want movies to be good, that's why I do this in the first place, and when a movie comes out with a 96% score on Rotten Tomatoes, I still expect, despite the Leviathans and Under the Skins and Beasts of the Southern Wild, that I'm going to get something special from seeing it. And if I don't, then I am not going to sit here and blow smoke at everyone just to pretend that I have some kind of non-existent credibility. And so it is in the interests of honesty for my readers and myself that I report that there are two major problems with Kubo and the Two Strings. One of these problems is survivable. One of them is not.

The first problem is Matthew McConaughey. Anyone who's spent any time reading my reviews knows how big a fan I am of McConaughey ever since he stopped playing vapid action leads, but here he's a voice actor, and voice acting is not the same thing as regular acting and never will be. It's not that McConaughey is awful, it's that his voice, his cadence, his vocal presence is so strong that it knocks you right out of the movie you're watching. Some actors, no matter how good they are, have such a strong persona as actors that it's entirely impossible to picture them as anyone else once you hear their voice. Asking McConaughey to play a Samurai warrior (who is also a giant beetle), while giving him the sorts of snarky lines that he would get in a traditional McConaughey movie, and then expecting the audience to see anything but Matthew McConaughey wandering onto the set of a Japanese children's show, is like asking people to hear Nicholas Cage or Joe Pesci or Tommy Lee Jones and not instantly think of the iconography around Nicholas Cage, Joe Pesci, or Tommy Lee Jones. McConaughey is flat-out distracting, there's no other way to put it, and while that's certainly something that probably afflicts adults more than children, even absent the baggage, the introduction of McConaughey as McConaughey is totally anachronistic to the fantastical magical world that the filmmakers have laboriously created. The effect is rather like Robin Williams' performance in Fern Gully, a performance that, irrespective of the quality of the voice work or the pedigree of the actor, simply takes you out of the film every time you encounter it.

But distracting as McConaughey is, he's not a lethal blow to the film. Recasting him would have solved everything, after all. The biggest problem with Kubo and the Two Strings, and the one that cannot so easily be resolved isn't McConaughey. It's Laika.

Kubo and the Two Strings is a movie that wants to be a rousing adventure, a trip through mythological Japan complete with monsters, magic, swordfights, action, and all the good things that fun animated kids movies have nowadays. But it also wants to do all of those things purely with practical effects, miniatures and stop motion and the like, and unfortunately what Laika has discovered and inadvertently revealed to all of us is that these two goals are antithetical, because Laika just can't do it. You cannot make a full-speed action-adventure feature film using nothing but stop motion, not without taking sixteen years and $200,000,000 to do it, neither of which Laika can feasibly take. When one must re-arrange every frame of a 100+ minute film by hand, it means that every frame of animation takes longer to produce than it would being drawn on cell paper, let alone rendered on a computer. And because of this, with a limited budget of money and time, Laika has been forced to cut corners, in the time-honored method of budget-crunched animators everywhere. Action sequences are stilted and slow, lacking the explosive movement that we've come to expect from animated films nowadays. Scenes designed to generate energy grind to a halt so that minutes can be taken up with pace-shattering filler material, throwing off the balance of the entire movie and rendering several long sections flat boring to watch. To save frames, the animators even resort to the old anime trick of moving the background while the characters stay motionless, a staple of Saturday morning anime, unworthy of the feature film that it is used within. Even the plot is harnessed to push the required frame count down, tieing itself into knots to avoid having to show any more action than is absolutely necessary, and leading unavoidably to the conclusion that despite the gorgeous look and style of the film, this is a movie that should have been made by Disney or Pixar or Dreamworks. Laika is simply not up to the task of realizing it.


Final Thoughts: Kubo and the Two Strings has a universally-sterling reputation, and I do see why, but the film is not the masterpiece that it is being made out to be. I would never begrudge someone from enjoying themselves insofar as a movie is concerned, of course, nor do I wish to pretend that literally everyone else is obviously wrong and I am clearly right. But pacing is not an afterthought when one is crafting a story, and it is equally not a place one should cut corners just to make the movie come together. Laika's insistence that their methodology was the right one to bring this story to life is commendable, certainly, but also completely wrong-headed, as a brief credit sequence done with traditional animation proves more lively than the entire movie it follows. And while I hate to denigrate the tremendous work that a great many skilled professionals put into the movie, I cannot pretend that the result was the untrammeled success that I was promised. After all, if I did, then what praise would I have left for the next time Laika does pull it off?

Final Score: 5.5/10
Gaze upon my works, ye mighty, and despair...

Havoc: "So basically if you side against him, he summons Cthulu."
Hotfoot: "Yes, which is reasonable."
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#713 Re: At the Movies with General Havoc

Post by General Havoc »

Don't Think Twice

Alternate Title: The Delusion of Spontaneity

One sentence synopsis: Six underground improv comedians find their troupe turned upside down when one of them is picked to join the cast of an SNL-style network sketch show.


Things Havoc liked: "Dying is easy," said Edmund Gwenn (Santa, from the 1947 Miracle on 34th St). "Comedy is Hard." Or maybe he didn't say it, and Jack Lemmon or Gregory Peck or Milton Berle made it up. Nobody's really sure. But whoever said it was absolutely right, because comedy is fraught with peril. A bad drama, for instance, or a horror film that fails to horrify, can at least take solace in being unintentionally hillarious, and thereby become a staple of midnight screenings and cult followings forever (consider Plan 9 From Outer Space, or The Room). Such infamies are not what one sets out to make, generally speaking, but they can still provide entertainment and joy to their audience. A bad comedy however, leaves one with nowhere to go, because it fundamentally isn't funny. There is no safety net, no backup plan for comedy. It fails or succeeds entirely of its own merits, as what it was intended to be. The prospect must be terrifying. And yet people keep throwing themselves into comedy, including several that I have now seen repeatedly in these little weekly excursions of mine to the theater.

One such person is Keegan-Michael Key, the taller half of the comedy duo Key & Peale, who graced us earlier this year with their first foray into filmmaking, Keanu. Keanu was a fun little movie, and so I decided that it was a good idea to see what he and a number of other talented comedians had to offer, among them Kate Micucci, of half a dozen TV shows that even I know about, and Tami Sagher, a comedy writer for 30 Rock, MadTV, and Inside Amy Schumer. Top everything off with a 99% Rotten Tomatoes rating (I'm not kidding), and it seemed like a good time.


Things Havoc disliked: So... you know how I was talking about bad comedy a minute ago? Yeah...

Don't Think Twice is a bad comedy, but more than a bad comedy it's a continuation of a trend that has become a full blown epidemic this year, of movies that every critic on Earth rates highly turning out to be pieces of crap. Sometimes they're just mediocre, sometimes they're unwatchably awful, but always they're the sorts of movies that the critics like to fawn over because it makes them seem superior to the unwashed masses. Normally I just remark on this when it happens. Taste is subjective, after all, and critics can simply be wrong sometimes. I'm the guy who praised Suckerpunch, remember? But subjectivity ceases to be a defense when literally everybody praises the movie in immodest tones, like it's the second coming of the medium of film, and all those who fail to see it are dooming themselves to lives of deprivation and despair. Kubo got this kind of reaction, and High Rise, and The Lobster, and Hail Caesar, and I am getting very, very tired of it. I try to see movies because they appeal to me, because they look interesting or daring, and not to be influenced by the critical opinion on a movie, but it's hard to ignore sometimes, particularly when every other critic in the world is lauding something to the skies and pronouncing it the finest film to ever grace the screen. And for the same critics to then turn around and declare that the aforementioned films are better than things like Deadpool or Triple 9 because the subject matter of the latter is not as artistic or intellectual is flat out dishonesty. One bad film I can forgive. Three I can understand. But a dozen movies in a row starts to look like either incompetence or gross bias on the part of those who get paid for this sort of thing.

*Sigh* So, the movie...

Don't Think Twice is an improv comedy, about a troupe of players in New York who are distinctly small-time, but have the passion (maaaan). And because many of the comedians involved are good comedians (I haven't mentioned Gillian Jacobs or Chris Gethard yet), you'd expect some decent improv at least. Well no such luck here, because the improv on display from these starving artist players is shit. Boring, unfunny, uninteresting shit. And I don't wanna hear about how hard improv comedy is, because I've seen much much better stuff from local troupes around here in San Francisco, to say nothing of things like Second City or Whose Line is it Anyway. Hell, the comedians here had it easy! They could have either scripted the stuff, or if that was too artificial, done what a lot of troupes do and done a lot of improv, so as to cherry pick the best bits to be shown in the film. Instead, we get "comedy" that would be booed off the stage at a third rate amateur club. There is one, I repeat one funny bit in the movie (a routine involving the appearance of imaginary friends to a twice-divorced man in his fifties). All the rest of the comedy is barely chuckle-worthy, the kind of stuff you laugh politely at if you are related to the people involved, and otherwise check your watch a lot. And yet, we are expected to believe that this awful material of theirs is good enough that the players involved (but only some of them) are invited to audition for "Weekend Live", an SNL-knockoff looking for new talent. Admittedly, this conceit does allow for Seth Barrish, a veteran film and stage actor, to do an absolutely dead-on sendup to SNL's Lorne Michaels. But mostly, it's used for, of all things, melodrama.

Oh. My. God. Is there melodrama in this movie. You see, only one of the six players in the troupe (Key) can join SNL, and once they do so, what happens but terrible rifts and falling out. You see, it's not good enough for the other comedians to get jealous of the success of their friend, they have to have BIG DRAMATIC SPEECHES about how their friend has changed, how success has gone to their heads, how they have forgotten their roots (maaaan), and are now soulless and lost. Yes, these speeches are intended to showcase the insecurities of the other troupe members more than reflect the reality of the film, but they are so far over the top that they destroy the entire dynamic of "plucky group of friends trying to succeed at comedy" that the film has been desperately trying to build. Nobody capable of literally punching their friend in the face for having failed to secure them a guaranteed audition could possibly have been stable enough to have been a member of a troupe like this in the first place, and I don't care how "quirky" the film wants to make all comedians look. This is a movie about assholes acting over-dramatically and occasionally pausing so that you can laugh. Sound fun?

And whose fault is all of this? Well I can't know for sure, but my guess would be Mike Birbiglia, a claim I make based on the fact that he produced, wrote, directed, and stars in this movie. We met Birbiglia way back when in Sleepwalk with Me, a movie whose biggest flaw was simply being too awkward. Well Birbiglia has graduated now from being uncomfortably awkward to painfully awkward, with a good heaping scoop of narcissism piled on. Not content with mining the vein of betrayal, Birbiglia has to give everyone a series of melodrama staples to pout and stare sadly out windows about, from the cast member whose father is dying, to the cast member who is living off her parents, to the cast member who is a slacker and depressed, to the cast member struggling to grow up. In a film that was toned bittersweet, where the comedy was an intentional juxtaposition with the misery of the characters' lives, in short in an actual drama, this might have worked. But Don't Think Twice is pitched, paced, written, and shot like a slapstick comedy without the slapstick, and consequently falls flat on its face. Only this time, there's nobody to laugh.


Final Thoughts: I am probably angrier at this movie than I should be, because the base fact is that Don't Think Twice isn't an awful film, just one so painfully mediocre as to render one exhausted with the entire thing. But what annoys me about this movie isn't simply that it failed, it's that it represents arrogance at every level, arrogance necessary to stuff a comedy full of melodrama in the belief that one's life (or facsimile thereof) is so fascinating that everyone will immediately hold tremendous sympathy for all of your travails. This particular type of arrogance has bitten Birbiglia before, and this time it proves so insurmountable that the entire film is wrecked upon it. And as to those who called this movie "Laugh-out-Loud funny" or "genuinely moving", all I can suggest that you stick to your "counterprogramming" and railing incessantly against how dumbed down Hollywood has become, go see your quirky indie movies made by the right directors and praised by the right publications, and leave me to watch actually good movies in peace, if ever there are any to be found in this miserable year.

Final Score: 4/10
Gaze upon my works, ye mighty, and despair...

Havoc: "So basically if you side against him, he summons Cthulu."
Hotfoot: "Yes, which is reasonable."
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#714 Re: At the Movies with General Havoc

Post by General Havoc »

Florence Foster Jenkins

Alternate Title: First World Problems

One sentence synopsis: A wealthy philanthropist with no skill at singing attempts to fulfill a lifelong dream of singing at Carnegie Hall.


Things Havoc liked: I'm on record as being willing to see anything that Meryl Streep does. I've done so on more than one occasion for this project, including quite a few films (Into the Woods) that I would not otherwise have given the time of day to. Still, one must be consistent in one's cinematic dealings, even if those dealings lead us down paths terrifying to tread. Paths like ones that lead to Hugh Grant.

I don't know about the rest of you, but I haven't seen hair nor hide of Hugh Grant, once the crown prince of awkward befuddlement (Grant was once so ubiquitously milquetoast that there are still rumors he allowed himself to be arrested for soliciting prostitutes just so that he could credibly get an "edge" to his image), since his turn as about fifteen different things in the extremely strange (and extremely good) film Cloud Atlas. And before that? Nothing since Love Actually, all the way back in 2003. So given my blessed interval away from Hugh Grant, why am I talking about him and not about the Greatest Actor in the World? Because Hugh Grant is awesome in the movie and you all need to hear about it.

Grant plays St. Clair Bayfield, the most British man alive, a swinger of the 1940s with little money but a great deal of old English charm, married to the wealthy widower Florence Foster Jenkins and secret lover to what appears to be a number of swinging, hip women reveling in the freedom of the war years. There was a time when the prospect of Hugh Grant playing a character like this would have driven me screaming out of the theater, but there's no denying that an older, more mature, and more experienced Grant is goddamn perfect in this role, using his trademark understated humor to tremendous effect, and more than willing to inject ridiculous slapstick into the proceedings if he thinks it will get a laugh. Lest Grant's character sound like a playboy (which he is) and nothing else, the movie goes to enormous length to show just how devoted Bayfield is to Jenkins, whom he dotes upon to the point of lunacy, constantly keeping dozens of schemes spinning to avoid upsetting her in any way, and encouraging her whims and fancies of artistry, no matter how ridiculous they may seem. The film, and Grant himself, make it very clear that these are not just the actions of a kept man trying to keep his lifestyle going, but a besotted worshipper, who refuses to see anything but joyful foibles in his beloved's flaws, and indulges her delusions of adequacy when it comes to her singing career.

And they are indeed delusions, of the highest degree, for while Streep doesn't steal the show in this film the way she typically might, she does manage to play a dotty old woman whose belief in her own skill hovers between the narcissistic (though utterly without malice), and the simply demented. Meryl Streep can sing, very well in fact. She's proven that in everything from Mamma Mia to Death Becomes Her to Prairie Home Companion to a dozen other films. It consequently must be difficult for her to sing so badly, for so long, with such consistent lack of talent, grace, or self-awareness, as she contrives to as the titular Florence Foster Jenkins. It's not merely that she's terrible, but that she contrives to maintain no awareness whatsoever of her terribleness, not even as audiences laugh at her and critics boil over in rage, both because of her own delusions and the helping hand of her husband, who whisks away any bad news into a form more palatable to his beloved. One is reminded of Good Bye, Lenin!, the 2003 Wolfgang Becker film about a son desperate trying to conceal the fall of the Berlin wall from his Communist mother, particularly in sequences wherein Grant has to explain away the aftermath of a debauched party, or scramble to hide mocking reviews from his wife, who may not survive the shock.


Things Havoc disliked: Would that the rest of the cast were as good as Hugh Grant (there's a statement I thought I'd never make), or Meryl Streep, but they are not, and Florence Foster Jenkins loses a lot of its magic as a result. Simon Helberg, of The Big Bang Theory and little else, plays pianist Cosmé McMoon, hired to accompany Florence in her performances, and is simply not up to acting alongside either of his co-stars. Though his character is supposed to be something of a blank cypher, whose role is to bear witness to the madness that surrounds him, Helberg isn't even up to that much, and plays the character like a low-functioning idiot grinning his way through the movie in the hopes that it will end and he can go back to television. I got visions of Mark Wahlberg's performance in The Happening from him, and brother, that is not something you want to hear me say. The rest of the cast is forgettable, but particular honors must go to stage actress Nina Arianda, who brings a stage-size mentality to her role, which is to say that she overacts like a lunatic, with big, sweeping, melodramatic gestures that are totally at odds with the restrained farce that the rest of the film seems to inhabit. All of this means that the movie plays very broad with subject matter that isn't really up to the task of that, as though somebody dropped the Marx Brothers into the Bob Newhart show.

Now how about that for a reference that nobody will get?


Final Thoughts: Florence Foster Jenkins is an all right movie, not a great one, but a decent film worth considering if you're hard up for something to see, and given this year, who isn't? Meryl is incapable of delivering a bad performance, as usual, and Hugh Grant re-inventing himself as a character with refined comic timing is a very welcome addition to the small ranks of actors who can do that. The subsidiary performances are bad enough to drag the movie back down to earth, but then again, I hardly expected this movie, of all movies, to become some kind of classic masterpiece for the ages. Sometimes you just want something worth seeing, especially when there's so little out there that fits the term.

Final Score: 6/10
Gaze upon my works, ye mighty, and despair...

Havoc: "So basically if you side against him, he summons Cthulu."
Hotfoot: "Yes, which is reasonable."
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#715 Re: At the Movies with General Havoc

Post by General Havoc »

And now, another note from The General

Hello again, ladies and gentlemen. Following a long break in which I had to re-charge my batteries and participate in other, non-cinematic activities, I have finally returned to the fold to do a little bit of catching up. The movies below were ones that I saw whilst taking my little break, and as I would not dream of forgoing the chance to tell you all what I think about them, I have provided my customary little summaries below. Here's to Oscar season at last, and a final race to the end of 2016!
The General's Post Fall Roundup
[hr]

The Lovers and the Despot

Alternate Title: This is Still a True Story

One sentence synopsis: A South Korean Actress and her ex-husband, a famous Director, are abducted by North Korean Kidnappers and forced to make films for Kim Jong Il.


The Verdict: As you may recall from my completely honest and entirely reasonable review of Sony's hacked film The Interview, North Korea and I have a tempestuous relationship when it comes to movies (something I'm sure they share with nobody else). Yet despite all my attempts at hyperbole and outrage at some new gyration of the hermit-kingdom's antics, North Korea is a stranger place than any of us can possibly imagine, with a whole host of strange and inexplicable behaviors that exceed those of rogue states and enter those of Bond villains. This is a country that once nearly started a war over who was allowed to cut a tree down in the Korean DMZ, who spent a month and a half breathlessly reporting on the progress of their invincible armies' conquest of the United States, and who blew up part of the South Korean cabinet for reasons I don't think anyone has ever figured out. But like a lot of strange cult-of-personality regimes, North Korea does have a slight bit of method to their madness, particularly their obsession with art and the political implications and international prestige purposes thereof. And so it was that we come to the story of a kidnapping.

The Lovers and the Despot is the story of South Korean actress Choi Eun-hee, once one of the greatest box office draws in all of South Korea, and her philandering, artistically-obsessed, outspoken director-husband, Shin Sang-ok, once touted (briefly) as Korea's answer to Japan's Akira Kurosawa. In the late 70s, amidst political turmoil in South Korea and dwindling fame as an actress, Choi was lured to Hong Kong under the guise of a film project, and kidnapped by North Korean agents under what appears to be the personal order of Kim Jong-il himself, who set her up as a kept guest and asked her to make films for North Korea, whose film output was so stagnant and poor quality that even Kim himself regarded their movies as nothing but tripe. Initially reluctant, she was eventually convinced to participate in this mad scheme after the arrival of her ex-husband Shin, who was either kidnapped himself, or made his way there voluntarily (reports vary). Together, they were compelled to re-marry, and became the leading couple of North Korean cinema, working there for eight years, attending film festivals and making a great many movies, before finally making their escape to the American embassy in Vienna.

Too weird to be true? This is North Korea, who once sent special forces commandos to beaches in Japan to kidnap teenagers and force them to teach Japanese to their army units. But what's compelling about this documentary isn't how strange it is, to be honest, but how... normal it is. Choi and Shin got it into their heads to record their conversations with Kim Jong-il (the first such recordings ever to be made), and what we consequently have is a candid, unscripted look at one of the most secretive and strangest figures in the late 20th century, the most awkward dictator in history, who comes across like a drooling fanboy intimidated by the artistic talents around him (Hitler is supposed to have acted similarly among stars of stage and screen). One might expect that the films Kim demanded would be nothing but propaganda, but no. Kim wanted prestige, particularly international prestige, and seems to have given his pet filmmakers carte blanche to do whatever they wanted, ignoring the dictates of his own propaganda ministry, including the first love story ever filmed in North Korea, lush medieval epics, and even a Godzilla movie (yes, there is a North Korean Godzilla movie in existence. I must have it.) Though the film never softpedals the horrors that North Korea was and remains capable of, they also make clear what sort of exhilaration can come from being the favorite of an absolute God-Emperor like Kim, particularly for filmmakers whose stars were already in decline back home.

The Lovers and the Despot his not a perfect documentary, as the story it tells winds up being just about what you think it's going to be, save in details, and because frustrating gaps still remain in it, such as the question everyone seems to be tiptoeing around as to whether Shin was or was not kidnapped. But it is still a look at a subject it is rather hard to get a good look at, and yet another tale from the hermit-kingdom of North Korea to make one marvel at just how strange the world can be at times.

Final Score: 7/10

[hr]

The Magnificent Seven

Alternate Title: The Mediocre Several

One sentence synopsis: Seven disparate fighters in the Old West team up to stop a mining baron from destroying and slaughtering a small town of pioneers.


The Verdict: Speaking of Akira Kurosawa, we have before us a remake of a remake of his greatest work. Goody.

Seven Samurai was a tremendous movie in every sense, and like most tremendous movies in every sense, has been copied a thousand times by every filmmaker who comes along looking to kick-start their career. John Sturges, of Ice Station Zebra, Gunfight at the O.K. Corral (a musical version of the Wyatt Earp story), and The Great Escape, did so in 1960 with the original Magnificent Seven, a movie that starred Yul Brynner, Eli Wallach, Steven McQueen, and Charles Bronson, and should really have been more awesome given the cast I just cited. But that was the early sixties, and here we are in the Year of our Lord, 2016, with an Antoine Fuqua-directed remake. Given that the original Kurosawa film all the way back at the beginning of this chain was one of the best movies ever made, is there a chance that the man behind Training Day could produce magic out of this?

No. No there was not. You see, Antoine Fuqua is just not a good director, Training Day notwithstanding. With the exception of his one great masterpiece, a movie that coincidentally (or not) also starred Ethan Hawke and Denzel Washington, all he's ever made is a slew of crap such as The Replacement Killers, King Arthur, Olympus has Fallen, or The Equalizer. His version of the Magnificent Seven is par for the course in every way, a big, stupid action fest in which characters do dumb things for no reason other than the notion that they might look good on screen. I usually call this "xXx-syndrome", save that unlike xXx, this movie doesn't actually get the stunts correct, letting signature moments and scenes either run on way too long (such as a sequence wherein eighty-six bad guys to not shoot Chris Pratt for no reason at all, thus getting themselves killed), or not long enough (such as a culmination fight between Martin Sensmeier's Commanche warrior and a rival evil Indian, which ends in about five tenths of a second). How Fuqua, who has a twenty-year history with directing action movies, hasn't figured out certain basic truths yet is beyond me, but you cannot produce tension by having a hero effortlessly slaughter thirty mooks without breaking a sweat, nor are audiences so innocent in these days that they can't figure out that a hero who smiles and says goodbye to his love interest before mounting his horse and riding towards the villains to the accompaniment of stirring orchestral music has finally lost his character-shield and may now reach a sticky end.

Yes, the cast is pretty decent, at least as a theoretical cast, and not as an actual one. Denzel Washington and Ethan Hawke are about as good as they ever are, even in an Antoine Fuqua movie, which as we've established, is nothing new for them. The former plays the leader of the titular seven, and survives the film, as is customary for Washington, by downplaying everything and acting like the only adult in the room, while Hawke plays a Louisiana gunfighter of some repute (but no accent), who actually does a decent job alongside companion and life coach Lee Byung-hun, who gets the James Coburn role from the original as the quiet, knife-wielding assassin. Chris Pratt on the other hand, whom I love dearly in all manner of movies, is just not very good in this one, which makes no sense to me, given that the role of a cocky hotshot cowboy should have been right up his alley. I blame the direction, frankly, as Pratt's character is way too over-saturated in the film, with everything he does buttressed by shot selections, and especially a score (the late, great, James Horner, of Titanic, Braveheart, and, The Land Before Time, and The Wrath of Khan) which seems designed to make absolutely certain nobody in the audience can mistake him for anything but the designated charming rogue. Everyone else in the movie is completely forgettable, including Peter Sarsgaard as a typically slimy villain, save only for Vincent D'Onofrio, a man I generally have little good to say about, but who here plays a mountain man who has plainly gone crazy in the wilderness, and who, in a movie filled with over-choreographed stuntwork, stumbles blindly about like a drunken bull, screaming incoherent gibberish and murdering people with an axe. It's something.

Enough said, really. The Magnificent Seven is a boring movie that rises just enough off the strength of its cast to barely hit the mediocre bar. It's a film that will, I expect, be completely forgotten until it comes time to make yet another remake of Seven Samurai, which judging from the state of Hollywood, should take about ten minutes.


Final Score: 4.5/10

[hr]

Queen of Katwe

Alternate Title: Zugzwang

One sentence synopsis: An impoverished girl in the slums of Uganda is taught to play chess by her youth worker and becomes an international prodigy.


The Verdict: When the trailers fail me, and they so often do, I find myself having to go see movies "on spec", by which I mean basing my decisions around who's in the movies, who made them, and what they're about. So if you want to know why I went to see a Disney movie about chess prodigies, look no further than the cast, which includes David Oyelowo and Lupita Nyong'o (the former of a bunch of recent films including Selma, the latter of 12 Years a Slave), and the director, Indian-American filmmaker Mira Nair, of Salaam, Bombay! and Monsoon Wedding. FIlming on location in the Katwe slums of Kampala, Uganda, Nair used all local actors (save of course for the above-mentioned marquis ones) to produce a film about poverty and escape provided by chess. I felt I had to try it.

And... no. No it didn't work. And I feel bad about reporting that it didn't work, because like all movie critics, I like the concept of the story and want to give the film a pass for it, but this is not charity and I am not trying to praise movies because of their social content. The base fact is that when you hire non-actors for your movie, you're liable to get all sorts of things, but unlikely in the extreme for any of those things to be "acting". Nobody in this movie, save for Nyong'o and Oyelowo, can act. Nobody. Not the lead actress, a young Ugandan named Madina Nalwanga, not the many other children involved in the film, who have no idea what they are doing in front of a camera and have not been instructed, not even the other adults in the movie, who seem to have been told to overact as much as possible so as to make sure that the audience knows what they're saying. The script, meanwhile, is the most basic Disney-sports-movie fare you can imagine, following the exact same trajectory as Cool Runnings (for instance) save without the local color and humor that made that movie so watchable. Most of the film, indeed, seems to be filler material, as characters narrate each others' actions to one another in slow, laborious scenes that lack any punch or interest. If it weren't for the pedigree of the filmmakers here, I frankly would have called this a first-time effort from an amateur director. Maybe there were budgetary restrictions, maybe the biographical nature of the film got in the way, or maybe nobody was willing to take any risks with a "heartwarming, feelgood movie," but the overall effect is surprisingly poor, and leads to long stretches of the film rendered boring as paste by the simple fact that nothing is allowed to happen.

I don't want to pile it onto a basic movie like this one too thick, as the film is hardly some kind of crime against sense and cinema, but spec only gets you so far. If you want praise from me, you need to actually make a good film. And Queen of Katwe is not one.

Final Score: 4/10

[hr]

The Accountant

Alternate Title: Number Crunching

One sentence synopsis: A math savant with high-functioning Autism uncovers a conspiracy to defraud a major robotics company and murder the only witness.


The Verdict: In 2003, Ben Affleck, then in the middle of the tailspin portion of his career, appeared in a superhero movie by the name of Daredevil. It sucked, miserably, and contributed to such a nexus of failure that year that Affleck abandoned superhero movies entirely in favor of more challenging work in more interesting movies such as Hollywoodland, Gone Girl, The Town, and Argo, the latter two of which he directed, and the last of which earned him an Oscar. In defiance of expectations from the last decade, Affleck is now a successful, respected, actor and director, a powerful man in Hollywood, capable and apparently willing to chose his own scripts. And yet the superhero bug never really seems to have left him. Hollywoodland involved him playing Superman after all (sort of), and this year, Affleck engaged in the double-whammy of playing not one but two superheros, first as Batman in DC's flagship Batman v. Superman, and second as an autistic killing machine in the movie we have before us here. The former, I need not tell you, was a disaster on the level of the Hindenburg explosion. How was the latter you ask?

Actually... pretty good.

Yeah, this one surprises me too, guys, but The Accountant, a movie in which Ben Affleck plays an autistic savant who happens to have been trained by his special-forces father to be a unstoppable killing machine as well as a mathematical prodigy, is a damn fine little movie, not because it makes a whole lot of sense, but because it involves good actors doing what they do best while good cinematographers capture them doing it, and that's a formula that will take you far with me. Ben Affleck is one such good actor, playing a role that could easily have been either silly or offensive, and in fact which ten years ago probably would have been both. His character's concept is manifestly ridiculous, but Affleck plays it sermon-straight, as a high-functioning autist who has developed a lengthy and complex series of coping mechanisms to deal with the nature of his condition, from sensory-overload chambers to repetitive tics. I would not call the movie the most er... realistic take on Autism and its many varieties, but the filmmakers clearly knew that they were treading on thin ice with this one and took active steps to make the movie into something like what Arnold Schwarzenegger would make if you told him to create an Autism Speaks commercial.

The rest of the cast is just as good, from the always-enjoyable J. K. Simmons, playing a treasury department director who has been chasing the mysterious "accountant" for decades, to John Lithgow, playing the head of the robotics company that all of this winds up landing upon, and Anna Kendrick, as a young in-house accountant who serves as a sort of "sidekick" (I hesitate to say love interest, given the workings of the film). But the real meat of the movie is the action, which I am satisfied to report is some of the best I've seen all year. There's been a trend over the last eighteen months or so of action directors finally starting to eschew the whole Jason Bourne-style shaky-cam style of cinematic combat for a cleaner, more focused style that I choose to call the "John Wick". The Accountant follows this trend, shooting the combat in glorious stable vision, allowing the characters to slice, shoot, stab, and smash each other with crisp, perfectly cinematic execution. The concept may be demonstrably goofy, but the film seems to know that, using the ridiculous contrivances that are the bread and butter of movies like this with something of a wink and a nod, as though the filmmaker were patting the audience on the back and asking them to bear with him so that he can tell his ridiculous story.

The Accountant is hardly a perfect movie, everyone seems to spend the entire run-time expositing the plot, and the ending makes even less sense than the absurdity of the setup would have you believe, but thanks to the strength of its cast and its style, it holds together surprisingly well. In a year that has already given me some of the worst action/superhero movies that I have ever seen, sometimes a mere "good" film is all that you can ask for.

Final Score: 7/10
Gaze upon my works, ye mighty, and despair...

Havoc: "So basically if you side against him, he summons Cthulu."
Hotfoot: "Yes, which is reasonable."
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#716 Re: At the Movies with General Havoc

Post by General Havoc »

Doctor Strange

Alternate Title: Mage: The Inception

One sentence synopsis: A talented, arrogant neurosurgeon suffers a terrible accident, which robs him of his skills, and leads him to seek a mystical cult in the hopes of being healed.


Things Havoc liked: So here we are, fourteen movies into the Marvel Cinematic Universe, and we're still waiting for the bad one to hit.

Seriously think about it for a moment. There are fourteen of these movies. More than Star Trek. More than Harry Potter. More than X-Men, and Friday the 13th, and National Lampoon. More than freaking Godzilla! Somewhere between six and nine more are still in the pipe, and more to be announced, I have every faith. Fourteen movies over eight years, and we are still waiting for "the bad one" to come along, despite the fact that several (Hulk, Iron Man 2) already did! Every time one of these damned movies comes out I go creeping to the theater, unsure if the magic will finally collapse this time, if this is finally the one where it will all fall apart, and have described this sort of nervousness in my reviews for movies as varied as Guardians of the Galaxy, Avengers, and Winter Soldier. So yes, I went to see Doctor Strange. And yes, I thought it might suck. And yes, I'm an idiot, because of course it's amazing.

Doctor Strange, in fact, is an amazing movie in the literal sense of the word, and if anybody wasn't expecting that, at this point, then they haven't been paying any attention. Based on one of Marvel's trippiest properties, it is a stirringly-weird, rapid-fire case study in the power of modern special effects and vocal coaching. One of the few films to warrant the 3D treatment, it is eye-watering in its inventive complexity, but as always with Marvel, it's not about the showcase, but the characters, and who better to portray the central figure of this most-American tale, than the most British man in the world?

Hell, it worked for Christian Bale.

Benedict Cumberbatch, he of the name that launched a thousand polite stares, plays Doctor Steven Strange, a brilliant/arrogant neurosurgeon (are there any other sorts?) who loses his ability to practice his craft in a split-second's bad decision. Washed up and desperate, he seeks out a mystical cult (relocated to Nepal from the original comic's Tibet to avoid offending the Chinese censors), and receives training in arcane and mystic arts. This is the kind of story that would be completely insufferable if the main character was played by a lesser actor, but Cumberbatch is not a lesser actor, and is absolutely perfect here (as is his mid-Atlantic accent, frankly). The movie rides the line carefully between a character arrogant enough to warrant comeuppance and a character arrogant enough to make the audience want him dead. At moments, Cumberbatch seems to be channeling Sherlock, but just traces of him. keeping the character grounded enough that he doesn't become annoying, even as the movie punishes and purges his arrogance with revelation after mind-bending revelation. Even with my usual hesitations, I knew that Cumberbatch would be absolutely perfect for this role, the way I knew that Robert Downey Jr. Was the only man who could possibly play Tony Stark, and it's nice, once in a while, to be proven right.

But then Cumberbatch is only one element of a larger group here. The rest of the cast includes luminaries such as Chiwetel Ejiofor, playing Karl Mordo, a villain from the comics who is taken in a completely different direction here, the calm, conservative superego to Strange's impulsive arrogant id. I adore Ejiofor and always have, and he excels in a role that feeds him a couple of the best lines, and allows him to do what he does best, which is slightly detached calm amidst chaos and absurdity. Of course, Ejiofor's casting prompted the usual barking of stupid people who were angry about a black man playing a character who was white in the comics, but then I have the same response to that as I do to those angry about Idris Elba's Heimdall, one far too scatological to include here. Additional roles go to the ever-villainous Mads Mikkelsen, whose Kaecilius (that's not how you spell Caecilius, dammit!) is a twisted, evil dark-mage (the best representation of a Nephandi I have ever seen on screen), and who was seemingly born able to play roles like this one. The reliable Benedict Wong (of The Martian) takes on... well... Wong, a character re-written away from racist caricature and into something of a magic drill sergeant (this is an improvement), while Rachel McAdams takes on the love interest role of Strange's surgical colleague, plunged into the middle of a mystical world she doesn't understand. I'm not wild about characters like this, but fortunately McAdams is a better actress than most who are thrown at this material, and sells it well. The best supporter however is Tilda Swinton, who portrays the nameless "Ancient One", head of the magical order endeavoring to protect the Earth against all threats. I jump at any chance to see Tilda Swinton, and while I'm not unaware of the firestorm that erupted surrounding her casting (the original character was asian), I understand the dilemna that the filmmakers found themselves in. Best then to leave it at the fact that Swinton, in the typical old-mentor role, is just perfect, her own natural oddness lending the character a timelessness that it requires.

Steve DItko, the legendary comic artist that created Doctor Strange with Stan Lee back in 1963, infused the comics in question with a surrealist art style inspired by the paintings of Salvador Dali and Theosophic philosophy (and probably a whole lot of drugs). There's a limit to just how trippy that a conventional movie can typically get (especially if it wants a PG-13 rating), but Dr. Strange pushes against that limit with extremely trippy imagery. The movie's director, Scott Derrickson has a rather skimpy pedigree, having mostly made undistinguished horror and middling sci-fi movies before this one (he was the guy behind the re-make of Day the Earth Stood Still), but it's cinematographer, Ben Davis, is one of the best working, a twenty-year veteran of action, sci-fi, and fantasy movies (among other things), who also served this role for Guardians of the Galaxy and Age of Ultron, which as you all remember, were terrible films without any redeeming visuals :). The magic in Doctor Strange is a hodgepodge of a thousand different ideas, kabbalistic sephirot, Inception-style folding space, traditional sparks and fireballs, mandalas, everything you can imagine, and comes complete with a Lovecraftian nightmare for everyone to match themselves against. It's no Tarsem film, but it does carry a lot more mind-bending alienness than most of the Marvel works, which have always fallen over themselves to keep everything as grounded as the subject matter allows. The better to differentiate, I assume.


Things Havoc disliked: I enjoyed Doctor Strange quite a bit, for those who haven't caught on, but of course there are things I would have changed. The film's pacing is incredibly fast, to the point of being rushed. Marvel may have the origin-story-movie format down to an art form, but there are better and worse examples of the art, and this one, particularly given the visuals on display, leaves our heads spinning as we pinwheel from one obligatory sequence to the next. Moments of character-building feel a bit underdeveloped, particularly ones that afflict McAdams' character, who seems to wind up forgiving Strange his trespasses less because he has earned it, and more because that is what this character does at this point in these stories. At 115 minutes, Doctor Strange is not a long movie, and could perhaps have used ten more minutes of screentime to flesh everything out.

There's also way too much action in the movie. I know, it's a Superhero movie, which in turn is a derivation of the classic Action film, but the better Superhero movies recently have thought outside the box where that is concerned. Guardians of the Galaxy and Ant-man still had plenty of action but were clearly part of a different genre (Space Opera and Heist films, respectively), and if Strange had been allowed to be something more like a travelogue or a character study, without the need to push quite so many fight scenes into the already-squeezed runtime, then I think we could have had something truly special. Don't get me wrong, such action as we get is excellent, varied, interesting, and (reasonably) coherent, and the final five minutes are among the more inventive things that Marvel has ever put together when it comes to final confrontations. But one gets the sense watching it that Derrickson and Davis never really got the chance to make a great movie with the material on-hand, hamstrung by the requirements to make a good one instead.


Final Thoughts: But, that said, they went ahead and made a good movie, in fact a very good movie, all things considered, so who am I to really complain. Doctor Strange is not the best that Marvel has ever done, but it is certainly a worthy addition to the universe at large, and a fine means of keeping the lights on as we gear up for the massive Infinity War explosion due to happen the year after next. Cumberbatch, Ejiofor, and all the rest will no doubt be returning in subsequent films, and I, personally, am looking forward to seeing what they can do once they are no longer stuck in the necessary structure of an origin story.

And in the meanwhile, those of my players asking what a Mage game looked like? Yeah...

Final Score: 7.5/10
Gaze upon my works, ye mighty, and despair...

Havoc: "So basically if you side against him, he summons Cthulu."
Hotfoot: "Yes, which is reasonable."
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#717 Re: At the Movies with General Havoc

Post by General Havoc »

Image

The Eagle Huntress

Alternate Title: Eagle Dressage

One sentence synopsis: A young Mongolian girl from the steppes attempts to become the first female master eagle-hunter in living memory.



Things Havoc liked: Among the many things that are to be found in this wide world of ours, the Eagle-hunters of Mongolia are among the most awesome. They are men who use wild-captured golden eagles, the largest true eagles in the world, to hunt game, either for meat or for fur, across the steppes and mountains of Central Asia. I discovered that these guys existed some time ago, and ever since then have gone about my life in the sure and certain knowledge that the title of "baddest motherfuckers" in the world was very much taken, and if you disagree, I defy you to find an occupation more awesome than that of riding horses at full gallop across the steppes while commanding a fifteen-pound bird to slay your enemies. As if that weren't enough, every year, the master Eagle hunters of Mongolia and Khazakhstan (the borders between the two countries are pretty much imaginary) gather together in Western Mongolia for the annual eagle festival, in which they compete to see whose eagle is most awesome, and who among them is most awesome by extension. A documentary about these men and their golden eagles would be interesting enough, but this film, by legendary documentarian (and asshole) Morgan Spurlock, and Star Wars actress Daisy Ridley, is about a thirteen year-old girl who, in defiance of a thousand-year-old patriarchal tradition, has decided to join them.

Honestly, what else do I need to say here? This movie sold me from the premise alone, a documentary look at an insanely badass girl doing insanely badass things in the hopes of becoming accepted among insane badasses. The girl in question, Aisholpan, thirteen when the movie was made, is the eldest daughter of a former champion eagle hunter, who expressed interest at a young age in becoming one herself, and... well... proceeded to do just that. The movie chronicles a roughly six-month span in Aisholpan's life as she attends school, lives with her family in a yurt on the steppe, and practices and trains to become a master eagle hunter, a process that begins with her rappelling down a cliff to capture a juvenile golden eagle from its nest, and ends with her hunting foxes through the Kara Khitai mountains at a full gallop. Along the way, we get to know her family and schoolmates, get to see the life of modern mongolian steppe-hunters and herdsmen, and watch the famous eagle festival itself, which includes soon-to-be-Olympic events such as Eagle Dressage (I dare you to call it something else), Eagle Diving Speed contests, and long-range tracking contests judged by elder Eagle Hunters with talent-show placards to show the scores. You cannot make any of this up.

Morgan Spurlock and I have not always seen eye to eye, to say the least, but his turn towards the strange and exotic (as opposed to the revolutionary notion that eating too much makes you fat) has seen me soften my stance on him... at least a bit. This time he and co-director Otto Bell wisely get out of the damn way, simply following Aisholpan and her father around as they capture Aisholpan's bird (who strangely never gets a name), train it, take it hunting and to the annual contest, confident that this sort of material will sell itself. As such, we get a lot of great details, on the details of the family's life, either in a yurt or a broken-down ruin which serves as a winter camp, on the sheer ruggedness of the central Asian terrain, which looks like it should have Conan running across it at any given moment, or my favorite bit, bloopers from when the various eagle-centric events at the competition don't go as planned (one bird gets so confused it starts trying to drag its handler down a mountain, to the uproarious laughter of all concerned). Overall though, the movie is brisk and fascinating, even without the badassery on display, a glimpse into the lives of people that one has little context for and no understanding of, seen in their own terms and in their own time. As such, the casual relationship between girl and bird is what really got to me, the ease with which she and her father handle these enormous (up to 17 pound) birds, hurling them into the air from a full gallop and catching them in mid-dive on a prepared arm. If any of you had any doubts about my earlier claim that these are the baddest people around, half an hour's viewing of this movie will cure you of them.


Things Havoc disliked: A fair amount is made, throughout the film, of the fact that Aisholpan is the first girl to attempt to become an Eagle Huntress in living memory, and that this is in violation of thousands of years of tradition. And indeed, the few times that the movie cuts away from Aisholpan and her family is for the purposes of interview clips with assorted stern, elderly Mongolian men (all wearing spectacular coats and hats) who frown in disapproval and speak about how girls should not participate in the sport of eagle hunting, for all sorts of the usual bullshit reasons. And yet, when it comes to Aisholpan's actual efforts thereto, absolutely nobody seems to have the slightest problem with it.

Please don't get me wrong, I am not complaining that there was not more sexism in the movie. I am complaining that the movie seems to be trying to generate some for the purposes of drama. Aisholpan catches her eagle, trains with it, and enters the premier competition in the world to showcase her art, unannounced. And yet rather than twirl mustaches or argue, the Mongolians running the contest and participating in it seem to regard her as a curiosity more than anything else. She is allowed to participate without seemingly a single objection raised, is judged more than fairly (given the results), and cheered on for her efforts, ultimately successful, at trying to join this most awesome of groups. All credit to the eagle hunters involved, but the movie plays heavily through narration and editing on this notion that the dark forces of patriarchy are arranged against her, when none of them are actually in evidence. Perhaps there was a lot more pushback behind the scenes that we didn't get to see, and certainly the fact that Aisholpan's father is a two-time champion eagle hunter probably did not hurt her acceptance, but the way the movie is shot and thrown together, it feels an awful lot like a bunch of Western filmmakers trying to generate the sort of parochial drama that they assume a traditional culture must be inculcated with, when the culture in question may simply not give a shit. It's not like the Mongols (or for that matter, most nomadic groups) have no history with women taking on traditionally-male roles in war or hunting, but then I'm no anthropologist. What I do know is that a narrator insisting over and over to me that Aisholpan will face tremendous adversity due to being a girl, coupled with us seeing absolutely no signs of this adversity beyond a handful of staged interviews with people somewhere else, does not speak well of the objectivity of the filmmakers.

But it's not like Morgan Spurlock would ever distort the truth to fit his pet theory, now would he?


Final Thoughts: Ultimately though, I'm here to review a movie, not whine about Morgan Spurlock, and The Eagle Huntress is an excellent documentary, with an instantly-captivating subject and plenty of stunning shots of Mongolian landscape, majestic eagles, and the nerveless handlers thereof. For the shots alone, this movie would be worth seeing, to say nothing of everything else we are privileged to bear witness to throughout it. The story, at its base, is fairly simple, despite the efforts of the filmmakers to gussy it up for primetime, but a simple story is no vice, especially not in a documentary. As such, if you can find The Eagle Huntress anywhere, I recommend it highly. After all, if you have aspirations of becoming the baddest dude on Earth, it's only a good idea to see what your competition is capable of.

Final Score: 7.5/10
Gaze upon my works, ye mighty, and despair...

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#718 Re: At the Movies with General Havoc

Post by frigidmagi »

I'm gonna have to try to see that.
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#719 Re: At the Movies with General Havoc

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Arrival

Alternate Title: The Thin Eldritch Line

One sentence synopsis: A brilliant linguist is asked to help establish communication with a race of extraterrestrial visitors before a communication misunderstanding can end the world.


Things Havoc liked: Every so often, someone gets it into their heads to make a realistic alien encounter movie, one that isn't just explosions, monsters, and American flags (not that I don't enjoy those), but one that tries to speculate on what the reaction actually would be if a large group of alien visitors were to appear over the Earth. Steven Spielberg did this in 1977 with Close Encounters of the Third Kind, a movie he opened against the original Star Wars and pulled off anyway. Twenty years later, Robert Zemeckis tried the same thing with Contact, an adaptation of a Carl Sagan book from the decade before, that purported to discuss everything from transcendental mathematics to the role of religion in a space age (Sagan was big on that stuff). It is now nearly twenty years since Contact came out, so perhaps it isn't that surprising that Dennis Villeneuve, a French-Canadian director whose background includes high drama thrillers like Prisoners and Incendies should decide to take another crack at it, this time from the basis of cognitive theory and linguistics.

... ho boy.

Arrival is a movie that is intended to be "about" something, which is always a scary proposition, specifically in this case about language and communication and the assumptions one makes simply via the context of one's life. These themes are examined, quite literally, through the arrival of a group of seven-limbed alien squids in mile-high spaceships who appear one day all around the Earth and then seem to wait for humanity to contact them. Unable to determine how to communicate with beings this... well... alien, the US army commissions Louise Banks (Amy Adams), a skilled linguist, to study the aliens' speech and writing preparatory to asking them the Big Questions that must inevitably come from such a meeting.

If Contact was a love letter to astronomers, then Arrival is one for Linguists, as the focus is not on finding the aliens (who have, of course, already arrived), but on finding a way to communicate with them, a prospect which is shown to be fantastically difficult, and which demands painstaking work over the course of months to do. I have always been fascinated by movies, stories, or even reality TV shows about skilled people practicing their craft at the highest possible level, and arrival is chock full of enough material to make an amateur lingual-philosopher's day. A standout sequence early in the movie has the commander of the army unit on-scene (Forest Whitaker) order Banks to ask the aliens what their purpose is on Earth, only for her to turn around and dissect all the various assumptions, confusions, and steps that must be taken in order to ensure that the aliens can understand the question, or any question, or the concept of questions at all. Unable to make much progress replicating the aliens' speech, the scientists quickly turn to their writing, carefully uncovering a basic vocabulary in conjunction with other scientists all across the world, each making fractional steps towards the goal of understanding what is going on. It's a fascinating conceit, no interstellar wars to fight, no immediate time pressure (at least at first), just months of labor to try and solve a problem unique in human history.

I mentioned that Amy Adams is the star of this movie, and while Adams is not always particularly good in the various movies I find her in, she's quite good in this one, a confident, professional scholar, plagued by dark dreams and overwork, but without becoming a pastiche of the "mad intellectual" that one sees periodically in movies like these. As the situation begins spiraling out of control, she serves as the voice of reason, always an easy sell for me, alongside Jeremy Renner, in an uncharacteristically normal role as an astrophysicist who serves as the second in command of the effort to understand the aliens. Renner doesn't actually get all that much to do, frankly, but he's a normalizing presence in a film that risks getting very cerebral at times, an intelligent man who is not a linguist, through which the audience can try and make sense of what's going on. Whitaker has a similar role, trying to keep some control of a situation in which everyone is scared, tired, and overworked, while character actor Michael Stuhlbarg (of A Serious Man, Boardwalk Empire, and last week's Doctor Strange), serves as the inevitable foil in the manner he is best accustomed to doing. All in all, we have the makings here of a fine little cerebral movie, about questions and subjects one does not often see on screen.


Things Havoc disliked: Unfortunately that's not what we got.

People get on my case, on occasion, for nitpicking films, particularly historical films, and I admit there's some truth to that. I probably have a better chance of noticing things "wrong" with a film that is purporting to get them "right" than most, and it is easy to miss the forest for the trees when one is evaluating movies on that level. But there's another way to look at someone who spends a movie cataloguing the various things that the film didn't do right, and that's to recognize that the film itself has failed to distract the viewer in question from the niggling doubts that circulate at the back of his mind. And boy oh boy did Arrival fail to do that.

It is not good enough, you see, for Arrival to not be Independence Day. Not good enough for it to rest on its own laurels and tell the careful, procedural story that it wants to tell. No, this movie has to be a space encounter film by way of the Terrence Malick school of filmmaking, wherein every shot has to be broken up by nineteen other shots flashing forward or backwards in time, showcasing light shining through a window, or a child's hair, or wheat. It has to be a movie where people say things other than what they mean so that pregnant pauses can inform the audience of the subtextual meanings behind the unspoken words that the characters say or do not say. It doesn't quite get to the point where random voiceovers start spouting poetry about the birds, but I presume that's included with the director's cut. So much time is wasted with just... nonsensical guesswork, the product of a director who seems to be either showing off or uninterested in the material, that it impedes our ability to actually watch what we came here to watch.

But none of that is as bad as the real problem with this movie, which is that outside our two main characters, everyone in the film has an idiot ball the size of Epcot in their pocket, and refuses to put it down. I don't mind if the response to alien ships landing is panic. Some of that is unavoidable. I mind when the response becomes so hysterical that it clearly isn't there to represent what might happen if aliens landed, but to give the movie an artificial sense of tension. You see, despite arriving peacefully, and sitting motionless and without obvious intent in their various locations around the world for months on end, the panic that surrounds the aliens' arrival only seems to increase as time goes on, until the Chinese government starts to threaten nuclear war if the aliens don't stop... not doing anything? Worse yet, we eventually get a set of soldiers who not only are willing to start an interstellar war, not only willing to shoot their own comrades, but they actually attempt to destroy a mile-long alien vessel with a bomb barely large enough to take out a car. And why do they do all of this? Because Breitbart told them to, and because everyone in this movie is incapable of rational thought, unless they are our poor, benighted heroes, who alone in the universe, believe in the power of love.


Final Thoughts: I said before that I get criticized a lot for nitpicking movies, but the only reason I do so is because some movies don't give me much choice. When I have nothing to think about except a stupid plot contrivance designed to make the director or writer look smart, then that is what I will be fixating upon, and if the writers don't want me to do that, I suggest they give me something else to pay attention to.

Ultimately, Arrival is a disappointing film, not a bad one, but a movie that takes a great premise and great performances and squanders them on a formulaic plot with stupid decisions and self-indulgent directing. Though I would hesitate to call it a failure, its flaws are those common to Oscar Season in general, the sorts of things that happen when a filmmaker knows he wishes to win awards but does not know how to go about doing so. Others may disagree, of course, but for me, I prefer a movie that is about characters I can relate to in circumstances I can understand. And Arrival, for all its high-minded intentions, is nothing of the sort.

Final Score: 5/10
Gaze upon my works, ye mighty, and despair...

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#720 Re: At the Movies with General Havoc

Post by General Havoc »

And now, one last note from The General

2016 has been a brutal year for my schedule, hence all these roundup posts that you have been seeing instead of more in-depth reviews as per usual. The reasons for this are many and varied, but the base fact is that, at this stage, I've been behind on my reviews for something like ten months. It's time to finally put a close to all of that by catching up once and for all. Here we go.
The General's Post Winter Roundup
[hr]

Moana

Alternate Title: Insert Rock Pun Here

One sentence synopsis: The daughter of a Polynesian chief sets out to find the legendary demigod Maui, and to stop the evil force that is sucking the life from her island home.


The Verdict: Let's talk about Disney.

It's no secret that Disney's been on a tear recently, what with animated movies like Frozen, Big Hero 6, and Zootopia (to say nothing of the work of their subsidiary studios Pixar, Lucas, or Marvel). It's consequently also no secret that I've started looking forward to a new Disney film with more than average anticipation, particularly given the general quality of films this year. Add in The Rock, whom I'm always happy to see, and this one looked like a film not to be missed.

Based around a polyglot version of Polynesian mythology, Moana is the story of a Disney Princess, in this case the titular Moana, daughter of an island chief who dreams (as most Disney princesses do) of the the typical "more", in this case of becoming a legendary "wayfinder", a navigator who seeks for new islands across the breadth of the South Pacific. Propelled into leaving her home-island in search of a remedy for a terrible curse that has settled over it, she meets with demigod Maui, (a figure revered all across Polynesia as a sort of semi-divine culture hero), who very reluctantly joins her quest to destroy the evil forces that have brought scarcity and dearth to her island. Along the way, there are ludicrous, over the top villains, thrilling action scenes, gorgeous animation, a bunch of rousing songs, and an animal sidekick thrown in for comic relief.

So yeah, pretty much par for the course for a standard Disney film. But Moana pulls most of this off well, particularly the visuals, which are staggeringly gorgeous, with a rich, deep color palate and the latest and greatest computer-animated effects for water, storms, and sand. Though Disney's animation style is fully intact, with crisp visuals and well-drawn characters, certain elements branch out into a (fittingly) more polynesian art style, particularly the animated tattoos that adorn Maui's body describing his exploits. The voice acting, from The Rock, from Flight of the Conchords Jemaine Clement, and from newcomer Auli'i Cravalho, is excellent across the board, with particular honors going to Clement, who plays a gigantic jewel-obsessed crab in the best tradition of Tim Curry in Fern Gully. Action, and there is plenty of it, is high-speed and clearly shot, incorporating everything from Eroll-Flynn-style swashbucking scenes to Hakka war dances performed by warriors confronting evil volcano gods. All told, the movie has everything you would expect to see from a concept like "Disney does the South Pacific", including Alan Tudyk as the world's stupidest chicken, and messages about following your dreams.

So is Moana a triumph on the level of Frozen or The Lion King? Not really. For one thing, the songs themselves, an important element in any kind of Disney film are pretty undistinguished. We've got the grand sweeping "I Want Moooooooore" style ballad, the fun "I'm a Whimsical Character who is Kooky and Weird" pop number, all the standard stuff, and while all of the songs are perfectly workable, there's nothing here to compete with the great Disney animated songs of yesteryear, from Let it Go to Tale as Old as Time to Be Prepared. And speaking of Be Prepared, the one major song archetype the film lacks is a good Villain Song, that time-honored Disney tradition that has given us their best work. Part of the reason for that is that the villain in Moana is a complete cypher, a roaring volcano-god of raw destruction with no personality beyond looking scary and wanting to kill, and while there are plot reasons for this lack of sophistication, it still hurts both the narrative and the song-selection, as we get no opportunity for a great Villain piece along the lines of Hellfire or Poor Unfortunate Souls. Granted, it's not exactly fair to criticize Moana for not being just like another movie, but Disney is a formula studio, and in everything but this, they adhere quite closely to the standard Disney formula. It's good, don't get me wrong, but lacks that key moment that would push the film over the top, either through innovation, or through perfect execution. The pacing is generally undistinguished, with too much downtime between moments of excitement, and there's a certain lack of ambition involved in a film that spends most of its time on a small boat in the middle of the ocean making (admittedly pretty funny) references to Mad Max movies as opposed to giving us a more cohesive world, the way some of the best Disney films have.

Moana is a good film, well-executed and with a trembling eye towards the masses of people who were waiting to accuse Disney of cultural appropriation if they slipped up (some of whom did so anyway, because they are stupid). But it is not a masterpiece in the vein of Disney's last three or four attempts. Unoffensive and entertaining enough, it's a fine movie to go see for a weekend trip to the multiplex, but I do not expect to find people humming its songs to themselves while walking down the street six months from now. Then again, a good film is no slur to anyone's reputation, not even modern-day Disney. And if this is the worst film Disney put out this year (and it is), then that's a hell of an achievement by itself.


Final Score: 7/10

[hr]

Allied

Alternate Title: Pittfalls

One sentence synopsis: A Canadian SOE operative and a French Resistance fighter fall in love and marry, only for her to be accused of being a Nazi spy.


The Verdict: Brad Pitt is a gorgeous man, somehow more handsome at the age of 53 than he was twenty-five years ago (I stand by this), but he's not a very good actor and has never been one. Oh there's been plenty of movies in which he elevated himself, 2014's Fury for one, but overall he's usually just a pretty face with a narrow range of emotions who is there to look good and eat food on camera. More than one film has been salvaged by casting Pitt opposite someone who COULD act, be it Tom Cruise in Interview with the Vampire, David Thewlis and B.D. Wong in Seven Years in Tibet, or everyone the Coen Brothers ever met in Burn After Reading. This time, in Allied, a period war drama about resistance fighters, spies, and double-crossings, the filmmakers thoughtfully gave us French actress Marion Cotillard to play the part of the real actor in the movie, a part she is indisputably qualified for. She plays Marianne, a French Resistance fighter who has escaped to Casablanca and who meets up with Pitt's Max Valan to assassinate a German General and escape back to London. Cotillard was born to make movies like this, rich period pieces in the style of Casablanca itself, showcasing the danger, excitement, and glamorous locations of the more espionage-laden sides of WWII. She's so good in the movie, that she almost excuses the fact that Pitt is not, as his typical stone-faced approach re-asserts itself, leading us as the audience to, almost impossibly, wonder what someone would see in one of the most gorgeous men alive. Such is Cotillard's performance that we almost buy the absurd twists that the plot deploys against her, and she almost singlehandedly makes the film work.

Almost.

Allied, frankly, is not a very good movie, and the reason it's not a very good movie is because it sticks way too close to formula. Director Robert Zemeckis is, of course, an excellent filmmaker, but his strengths have always been movies that stretch the imagination a bit, whose stories are weird and quirky and offbeat, such as in Back to the Future or Death Becomes Her or last year's The Walk. When he tries to make a formula picture, especially one he hasn't written, the result looks an awful lot like this, mediocre films like Cast Away or What Lies Beneath, movies that are serviceable entries in their genres, but not destined to be remembered as anything special. The movie boasts stellar cinematography, but the war-scenes are almost pro-forma exercises in obligatory violence which happen and are then over, the better to advance a plot that, while decently original, is rendered entirely uninteresting by Brad Pitt's inability to emote anything beyond self-satisfaction and blank-faced stoicism. For all the criticism I've heaped upon him in this review, Pitt can act when he wants to, I've seen it happen, but he chooses this film to morph back into his cypher from Tree of Life, which is the death knell to sweeping romantic dramas like this one. The pace is agonizingly slow, even with massive time-jumps to bring us periodically through the war, and the lack of anything interesting happening allowed my historian's mind to wander through the absurd contrivances that the film employs for its historical veracity, such as having British citizens wandering outside during a Blitz raid, setting undercover spy missions in cities months after they were historically liberated from the Nazis, and employing an ending that left me baffled as to just what the plans of all those concerned were. I know that people get tired of me complaining about historical details in every movie set before 2010, but with acting this wooden from one of our leads and a plot that lends itself to soap-opera "twists", there was little else for me to do for large chunks of its runtime.

I've certainly seen worse films than Allied, even ones starring Brad Pitt, but for all the pretensions Allied makes of being an Old-Hollywood-style epic romance, it lands with an audible 'thud', doomed by a bad performance, overdirection, and a lack of crispness to any elements of plot or story. Those with souls more romantic than mine may well find a way to let Allied sweep them away into a realm of danger and romance, but for me, the fundamental lack of anything interesting going on dooms the film to the ranks of those I shall likely not be remembering at all.


Final Score: 5/10

[hr]

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them

Alternate Title: Make Magical America Great Again

One sentence synopsis: A magical wildlife researcher whose specimens break loose in 1920s New York becomes embroiled in a conspiracy involving murder and monsters in the American Magical establishment


The Verdict: I was always kind of ambivalent on the Harry Potter films, a series based on books that I loved, but whose film adaptations... varied, shall we say, in quality. There was nothing globally wrong with them or their casts, but my interest waned after a while, and I skipped the last couple altogether, split as they were into two films for mercenary reasons. With the prospect of a reboot (sort of), however, one starring actors I admire and un-anchored to any textual source, I actually re-discovered a bit of excitement for the Potterverse, and found that I was interested in seeing what they had to show me. And so, now having seen Fantastic Beasts and processed it thoroughly, a single thought occurs to me.

These movies are fucking dark.

There's always been a strong anti-authoritarian streak to Harry Potter, no doubt the product of its author, what with children (or other marginal figures) being revealed as possessing simple wisdom, while almost all authority figures are revealed as being shallow-minded, bureaucratic incompetents at best, and outright genocidal bigots at worst, with the former often being transformed into the latter once you get to know more about them. Fantastic Beasts continues that trend to such a degree that I would be tempted to complain about an Anti-American bias if it weren't for the fact that the series has always been just as merciless with everyone else. The Magical Government of the United States may look glittering and inclusive, with Art Deco-styled magical buildings, fedora-and-longcoat-wearing Aurors, and a black, female President whose stylings look like those of a flapper crossed with Cleopatra, but beneath the surface it is a brutal, anti-miscegenation (forget 'mudblood' prejudice, American Wizards are forbidden under pain of death to marry or have children with mundanes), gang of blinkered reactionaries, arrogant, contemptuous, and stupid, who primarily exist to throw obstacles, lethal or otherwise, in the way of our plucky heroes trying desperately to save the day. This is a film where anyone competent is evil, and anyone incompetent is merely antagonistic, and while that's fine, generally speaking, it does result in a rather unavoidable tonal clash when the rest of the film is trying to be an enchanted adventure of whimsy and wonder.

Another thought that occurred to me as I watched this film was that it appears to be a good year for autistic heroes, as first The Accountant and now this film have showcased leading characters that are... shall we say... neuroatypical? Our lead here is Newt Scamander, previously a background character in the wider Harry Potter universe, portrayed here by Eddie Redmayne as either a high-functioning autist or simply the most awkward British introvert alive (it's difficult to distinguish the two). Honestly, Redmayne is excellent in the role, a committed magical-zoologist with little interest or time in anything else, who has no idea how to interface with most people beyond a veneer of official British charm, and no particular interest in learning. I suspect most British actors are born with the ability to exhibit charming befuddledness on command, but Redmayne nevertheless goes above and beyond, delivering a performance that's surprisingly nuanced and warm, despite the requirements of the role, even when the Oscar-winning actor is called upon to perform an elaborate mating dance for a creature that appears to be a cross between a rhinocerous and a stag beetle. Behold, the dignity of acting.

Would that the rest of the movie were as good as Redmayne is, but sadly it is not. Comedian Dan Fogler and Alison Sudol turn in serviceable roles, the former as a Nomaj (No-Magic, or Muggle in Brit-speak) cannery worker who gets caught up in the magical madness against his will, the latter as an airheaded Legilimens (mind-reader) with a big heart. Newcomer Katherine Waterston, playing leading lady Tina Goldstein, an ex-auror trying to solve the case, does not. Her character is supposed to be a no-nonsense gumshoe battling for what's right despite the orders from on-high, but she plays the character like a wide-eyed innocent, constantly bursting in on important meetings of the magical congress (called MACUSA for short, in a nice bit of acronym) before forgetting what she was going to say. The character never gels properly, which unfortunately makes her look rather stupid, a quality I do not admire among my plucky protagonists. Colin Farrel, meanwhile, takes the villainous role of Percival Graves, and he's fine... at least by comparison to your typical Colin Farrel role. His character, ultimately, is nothing more than a teaser for other movies to come, though how this is accomplished is obviously something I shall not be describing here. The rest of the plot, which involves among other things a group of neo-Salemite witch-burners, child abuse, a newspaper magnate played by Jon Voight, and his son, a Senator in the actual Congress, is confusing and belabored, with Deus Ex Machinas liberally strewn throughout for whenever the writers get themselves in trouble and have no idea how to resolve things. It's nothing horrific, and it doesn't rob the film of all of its charm, but it takes a big enough bite out to be noticeable.

Ultimately, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them is a decent enough film, one that has enough imagination, whimsy, and hammer-handed political allegory to satisfy any die-hard Harry Potter fan. But I doubt seriously it's going to convert too many fence-riders to jump one way or the other, especially not given some of the promises it makes regarding the sequels to come...

... but then that would be telling ;)


Final Score: 6/10

[hr]

Manchester by the Sea

Alternate Title: Broken People and Marginal Lives

One sentence synopsis: A janitor moves home to the New England town he grew up in after his brother dies, and finds he must take care of his now-teenage nephew.


The Verdict: Oh goody, another movie with universal critical acclaim! Surely this won't turn out to be an epochal disaster like Leviathan, Under the Skin, The Railway Man, White God, or Elysium!

One of the (few) bright spots at the movies this year was February's underrated crime flick Triple 9, a movie that aspired to be a modern-day version of the classic 1995 Michael Mann thriller Heat, and came closer than I, for one, thought it had any chance of. Triple 9 had a bunch of very good actors in it, including Chiwetel Ejiofor, Kate Winslet, Anthony Mackie, Michael K. Williams, and the reason we're here today, a fine actor whom I've been following for several years now, Casey Affleck, younger brother of Ben. Far from being a hanger-on riding the coattails of his more famous brother, Casey has spent the last decade or two proving that, if anything, he is the more talented of the two (at least when it comes to acting), in a host of recent movies including Out of the Furnace, Gone Baby Gone, and The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford. Affleck's signature has long been playing quiet men on the edge of a psychotic break, and thus we come to his character here, a janitor.

Somewhere in the less scenic parts of New England, Lee Chandler (Affleck) works as a custodian for an apartment complex, living alone with his beer and guilt following horrific events which destroyed his life, marriage, and family. Summoned back to his old hometown of Manchester-by-the-Sea (Title call!) by the death of his brother (King Kong and Argo's Kyle Chandler), he discovers that he's been named the custodian of his sixteen-year-old nephew Patrick (Lucas Hedges), and must now uproot his life to deal with the thousand-and-one things that must happen when a loved one dies, arranging a funeral, reading the will, settling probate, etc, while also somehow figuring out how to take care of a sixteen year old whose father is dead and whose mother is a recovering drug addict uninvolved in her son's life.

And that's... really all there is to Manchester by the Sea, a quiet movie about damaged people living out their lives that is almost militantly non-histrionic. Apart from the occasional snap of bar-and-beer-induced violence, nothing really "happens" in the film, no formulas, no character arcs, no dramatic speeches or fights in crashing thunderstorms (I'm looking at you, The Judge). Affleck plays the movie very close to the chest, walking through the film as though in a daze, a man whose fires for life burned out a long time ago and will not be rekindled by any Disney-esque magic of last-second reconciliation or forgiveness. Hedges, meanwhile, plays a very adult sort of teenager, who deals with his father's death by not dealing with it, by and large, continuing his life with his friends, multiple girlfriends, sports and school while only occasionally giving into the emotions that the sudden loss of his father are generating. The movie goes so far out of its way to avoid histrionics or any form of formula that it quite perversely begins to feel incredibly depressing and dour, as if the filmmakers thought Biutiful was a good movie, but needed more charmlessness and depression. It's a skilled production, drawing emotional resonance from minimalist performances and eschewing all of the conventional story beats we might expect with a film like this, but goddamn is it a downer. Not that I have anything against non-saccharine movies, but the relentless mundanity of these broken people's lives as they manage to cobble themselves together and continue on with their empty existences is not an experience I recommend for those looking to be taken away from their problems for a couple of hours at the movies.

Manchester by the Sea is one of those films whose quality is entirely divorced from my enjoyment of it, a well made film that I have absolutely no need to see again. Darling of the critical circuit as it has quickly become, it may well generate the palme d'or's and golden globes and other such awards it was obviously created to generate, but it has little to offer anyone who isn't an admirer of the technical qualities of filmmaking. And though I do indeed admire both it and Affleck for their evident skills in piecing a defiantly non-traditional movie like this one together at all, the film experience is simply not one I'm in any hurry to repeat.


Final Score: 6.5/10

[hr]

Rogue One: A Star Wars Story

Alternate Title: Sound and Fury

One sentence synopsis: The daughter of the designer of the Death Star joins a high-risk rebel operation to locate him and stop the Empire from bringing the station online.


The Verdict: *Sigh*

...

...

...

...

No, I'm sorry guys, I can't do it.

I love Star Wars. Everyone loves Star Wars for god's sake, and I love it right along side them. I love the originals, I love the games, the RPGs, the new Disney series and the fun that is to be had therewith. Forty years on and with countless imitators in its wake, and it's still the only science-fantasy franchise that's worth a damn, one that covers every style and every genre of storytelling from noir to high fantasy to space opera to classical tragedy across the board. I can even say some good things about the Prequels if you force me to. So of course, I went to see Rogue One, with high expectations. And of course in some regards those expectations were met. But... no, I just can't geek out over this one the way I really want to because the base fact is that the movie isn't very good.

Look, I see why everyone loves it. I'm not stupid. It has wonderful spectacle to it, something Star Wars even at its nadir has usually done quite well. The film takes place on half a dozen different wlldly-different planets, each with its own lush and rich cinematographic possibilities to offer, from a stony-desert world that looked chiselled out of Monument Valley, to a rainy riot of buttresses and adamantine cliffs, to a tropical paradise-world-turned military installation whose shot inspirations seem drawn from WWII's Pacific Front (and which was apparently filmed in the Maldive Islands). Certain shots come straight out of an epic war or fantasy movie, such as that of AT-AT walkers laboriously advancing through the dust and smoke of a battlefield, toppling palm trees as they crash through their cover. In a world where everything is shot either in the stark Bruckheimer/Bay contrasts of Blue-and-Orange, or in washed out, dust-impregnated brown, this film gives us vibrant colors and gorgeous setpieces to go with the lived-in feel that Star Wars has always excelled in. Battles, and there are several, are spectacular affairs, combined-arms showcases of space and air and land all rolled into one, to say nothing of a truly epic rendition of just what happens when a Death Star is used... sparingly. Die-hard aficionados of the originals will find piles of easter eggs, references, in-jokes, and subtle (and less subtle) callbacks to the original series, enough to keep the internet spinning for years, and all of this wrapped up in a story that is much more adult in feel than the movies of yesteryear, filled with rebels who not only shoot first but actively feel like the terrorists that they must be, in actuality, all without sacrificing the essential good-vs-evil dynamic that the Star Wars films are cored around.

So what's missing? character.

Rogue One is a movie with an enormous, almost labyrinthine plot, involving multiple rebel groups and cells, political maneuvering on several levels, reunions, betrayals, battle plans and lengthy engagements, and to its credit it handles all of those things quite well, even when it has to spend the first ten minutes of the film establishing about half a dozen different planets that we will eventually be visiting. The problem isn't the plot, it's that it has to do all of those things while also establishing nine different major characters, none of whom we know anything about going in (save for those who have been watching the cartoon series), all in a runtime of less than two-and-a-quarter hours. It's not that the movie fails in its attempts to characterize these people, it's that characterizing that many people and that much plot in that short a run-time is impossible. As such, we get the briefest introduction to each character before plunging them into another battle or plot point, with the predictable effect that almost all of them are complete cyphers, robbing the film of the emotional core that the best Star Wars movies have. As always, a lack of characterization throws the job of generating interest onto the actors themselves, who accomplish their impossible task to varying degrees of effectiveness. Veteran character actor Ben Mendelsohn, of whom I have always been a great fan, pulls it off, playing Death Star project director Orson Krennic as a driven man who's life's work is finally approaching fruition and who is stymied on all sides by incompetence, political underhandedness, and the rebels (in that order), who does not understand why things can never go smoothly, and why the disasters that befall his pet project must continuously happen to him. Nightcrawler-alum Riz Ahmed pulls it off as well, playing a defecting Imperial pilot caught up in the larger chaos of the war between Empire and Rebellion, a man trying to do the right thing unable to understand what is happening around him. Mads Mikkelsen, Diego Luna, and Chinese director Jiang Wen all also manage to pull at least something out of their characters, respectively a broken man struggling to redeem a lifetime of failure and deception, a committed rebel terrorist attempting to ensure that the horrors he has perpetrated have meaning, and a stoic badass with a gigantic machinegun (this is Star Wars), as does Alan Tudyk, as the voice of the comic-relief droid, a world-weary cynic who does what he must. But unfortunately, one who does not pull it off is Felicity Jones, star of the movie, whose character of Jyn Erso has no character whatsoever, a plot device at best who goes along with the flow of the movie until it's time for the script-demanded "big rousing speech" that the movie has entirely failed to earn. Forest Whitaker, meanwhile, tries to escape into weirdness, playing a gasping, throaty lunatic of a rebel fighter. One is reminded, with this character, of Episode III's General Grevious, a villain that popped up out of nowhere to command a central role that had not been established, due to the character having been first created in one of the TV shows. Leaving aside the question of this sort of practice, the character is a complete non-entity, who plays no role but exposition before being summarily dumped in favor of more plot.

Rogue One is not a terrible movie, nor a bad one, but in defiance of all those saying otherwise, it is my solemn duty to report that it is a fairly mediocre one, certainly not a disaster on the scale of the Prequels, but nowhere near the equal of the originals, nor of last year's Episode VII. It is, to me at least, proof positive that Star Wars' strengths, particularly in the modern day, do not rely solely on Empty Spectacle, as some overly-serious critics might imply. Here, after all, is a movie that is largely nothing except Empty Spectacle, and it does not equal the warmth and glory of the predecessors, not even with a bevy of decent-to-good actors at its service.

But then, surely the Prequels already told us that much.


Final Score: 5.5/10

[hr]

La La Land

Alternate Title: Streetlight People

One sentence synopsis: An aspiring actress and a frustrated jazz piano player find love and follow their dreams in Los Angeles.


The Verdict: I feel like I've done you guys a disservice this year. I'm not talking about the irregular schedule I've had, for that was unavoidable given my other commitments. I'm talking instead about my selection of movies for 2016. All year I've been beating the drum of the fact that 2016's movies have been godawful, on average and in summation, and it's true that if you look over the reviews I've laid down this year, that's certainly reflected in the score. However, it wasn't until a number of other critics started releasing their year-end best lists (mine are coming, don't worry), that I began to realize that what was wrong with this year might not have been the movies, but my taste in them. Most of the films people were citing as the best of the year, movies like The Handmaiden, The Nice Guys, or Neon Demons, were movies that I had, for one reason or another, decided to skip in favor of more mainstream fare, which turned out, generally speaking, to be utter crap. I pick the movies I'm going to see based on purely arbitrary readings of trailers and my own mood, but it's true that after the disaster that was 2015's Indie cinema (Leviathan, anyone?), I turned back to Hollywood's mainstream offerings, in the hope that I would not be subjected to a movie as bad as any of those I saw in 2015.

Well that didn't quite work the way I had anticipated, as the rest of my reviews from this year can tell you. But as a final parting gift from 2016, I decided to do something about this unpleasant trend from the year now fondly departed. And so, bypassing more mainstream movies like Passengers and Collateral Beauty (the vibes of which were becoming quite toxic), I decided to go see a classic-style musical starring a sexy, sexy man.

Which sexy man? Why, Ryan Gosling, of course, who stars in La La Land as a jazz pianist struggling to follow his dream of opening a classic jazz nightclub somewhere in Los Angeles, while dating the equally adorable Emma Stone, who is that most common of all Los Angelenos, an aspiring actress. I could tell you more about their particular characters, but honestly, they're not really playing characters as much as they're playing the ur-representations of Ryan Gosling and Emma Stone, two movie stars caught up in a glorious musical ode to love and life and dreams and the quest for all three, and god damn are they good at it. Granted, Gosling is not much of a singer, but in all other respects the two of them are just radiant, playing modern day incarnations of the featherweight characters that used to be portrayed by people like Gene Kelly and Judy Garland and Fred Astaire. Stone even tries her hand at tap dancing. And given that this is Ryan Gosling, who as I mentioned before is a sexy, sexy man, and Emma Stone, one of the most effortlessly charming actresses working today (and who is also possessed of some of the most gorgeous eyes I've ever seen), the result is a wonderful little movie, thin on plot (though perhaps not quite thin enough) and long on song and dance and heartwarming, occasionally bittersweet, modern fantasy. The musical numbers range from old-style dance escapades that would not be out of place in a Ginger Rogers movie, to more modern ensemble pieces, including a wonderful opening sequence set, of all places, in the middle of rush hour traffic on a highway. It rambles from big band ensembles to jazz numbers to marching-band-and-samba pieces with cameos by John Legend and J.K. Simmons. It's a wonderful movie, in the sense of being full of wonderous things. I enjoyed it more than I have most anything else this year.

La La Land isn't perfect of course, the middle section drags fairly heavily, due to the baffling decision to drop the music for a while and focus on a fairly formulaic plot, but it scarcely matters when dealing with a movie like this. La La Land is a charming movie in every sense, one that is the perfect way to see out the calendar year of 2016, and usher in a year full of, hopefully, better things.


Final Score: 7.5/10
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#721 Re: At the Movies with General Havoc

Post by General Havoc »

Lion

Alternate Title: Tremble Little Lion Man

One sentence synopsis: An Indian boy adopted by Australians after being hopelessly lost from his family, searches for a way to find his original home as a young man.


Things Havoc liked: In 1986, a five-year-old boy named Saroo Khan left his home in the Khandwa region of central India to accompany his older brother to a work site nearby. Through a series of unfortunate circumstances, he wound up accidentally boarding a train which took him to the Bengali city of Calcutta, over a thousand miles away. Lost, and too young to remember the proper name of his village or mother, he wound up living on the street as a beggar before being picked up by an adoption agency and ultimately getting adopted by a couple from Tasmania. Decades later, the now-adult Saroo embarked on a quest to find his original family, conducting a grueling search using online resources and the scattered, fragmented memories of his home to eventually find the village he was from, re-united with his birth mother and family after twenty-five years' absence. This astounding story is the one that we are considering this week, thanks to Australian director Garth Davies, a veteran of commercials and television shows, who decided to produce a film adaptation of the above tale for his cinematic debut, one that would star Dev Patel, Rooney Mara, Nicole Kidman, and David Wenham.

But we're not going to talk about any of those people right now. We're going to talk instead about a little boy named Sunny Pawar, who plays Saroo as a young child, who was six years old at the time this film was made, and who is, unquestionably, the best thing in the entire movie. I've long held that kids are natural actors, which accounts for the high quality of the majority of child-actors one encounters at the movies, but Pawar is well and truly a prodigy, spending the majority of the first half of the film anchoring it by himself, as he turns up lost on the streets of Calcutta, scrounging food where he can, sleeping in train stations and underground tunnels, and dodging gangs of kidnappers, child traffickers, and sex slave operations (in case you had not guessed, this movie paints India as a wonderful and heartwarming place). It's a tall order for any actor, let alone one who is six, but Pawar does an immaculate job of portraying the innocence of his age combined with a child's intuitive ability to sense when there is something drastically wrong with a situation, even if he does not know what it is.

And it's not like the rest of the actors are letting the film down. Dev Patel, whom I have liked, albeit with reservations, ever since I saw Slumdog Millionaire nearly a decade ago, takes on the role of the adult Saroo, and plays a far more "adult" character than the wide-eyed idealists he's taken on in movies like the aforementioned Slumdog Millionaire, The Man Who Knew Infinity, or The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel (the brevity of this film's title comes as a welcome sequence-break for him). The moments where we get to simply see him as a young man in Australia, though rather brief (more on that later), are convincing and compelling, showcasing more range than Patel has previously evidenced. Better still is Nicole Kidman, whom I've never had that much use for, as her career before this has involved films like The Invasion, Australia, Moulin Rouge, The Golden Compass, and Batman Forever, none of which were particularly good. She is, however, unreservedly excellent here as Saroo's adoptive mother, either when first meeting the young Saroo at the airport in Tasmania (where she sports one of the most magnificent examples of '80s hair' ever filmed), or decades later, trying to keep her family together in the face of mounting obstacles. Kidman has long been regarded as a fantastic actor, but this is the first time I've ever really seen it, as the cloying stupidies of previous years give way to a nuanced and heart-wrenching performance of a woman who desperately wants to keep her family together in the form she has managed to compile it, all without giving way to mawkish cliches that typically surround adoptive parents in films like this. Her reaction to Saroo's obsession with finding his original family, or to his adoptive brother's escalating drug use, centers the better parts of the film's second half.


Things Havoc disliked: Oh I'm sorry, did I forget to mention Saroo's adopted brother? Who is not only a drug addict but autistic to boot? Well don't worry, because the movie forgot to mention him too.

Well that's not really fair I suppose, for after all they did mention him enough for me to include him in this review. And it's not like the character, Mantosh (Divian Ladwa) is badly acted, as such archetypes (the autist, the drug addict) so often can be. Indeed, Mantosh and Saroo share an effective frustrated-but-fraternal chemistry when they're on-screen together. But given that this only happens for about twelve seconds across the entire film, it is rather hard to form a definitive opinion. Similarly Rooney Mara, so radiantly good in The GIrl with the Dragon Tattoo, and so radiantly absent from my films ever since (save for a cameo role in Her). Her role in this one is Saroo's American love interest, but that implies that she has something to do in the film, which she does not, save for the occasional worried look as Saroo fails to speak with her about what the hell he is doing, something he does with great frequency with most of the cast, ignoring everything as he obsesses over Google Earth and searches ceaselessly for his real mother.

And why is he so obsessed? Well you'd think that question would be reasonably easy to answer given the circumstances, and yet the movie never really gives us any indication of what that answer is. Part of that is the fact that we never really get to know Saroo as an adult, he sort of springs fully-formed onto the screen as an obsessive young man neglecting girlfriends, jobs, and family in favor of this all-consuming quest. All well and good, but are we to assume that he has been this obsessed and closed off for his entire life? His well-adjusted circle of friends, his girlfriend, his loving family, all of whom react with worry and concern at his recent behavior, would all seem to indicate otherwise, and yet from what we have to go for on the screen, that's really the only explanation we've got, unless he spontaneously decided one day to become a haunted recluse crouched over a computer clicking on maps of northern India.

And that's really what kills the second half of this movie. Not the acting, nor the story, nor the characters, but the myopic focus on Saroo's search, a process that involves us watching him stare at Google Earth and click, and click, and click, and click. There's no sense of progression, of how he's trying to organize his search, of what methods he's using to try and find his original home. I'm not looking for a forensic geography lesson here (though that would have been pretty cool), but we need something to keep us occupied as the main character spends an hour staring at screens, in an admittedly perhaps inevitable violation of the common screenwriting rule that you never film other screens if you can possibly avoid it. Indeed, so badly-paced is this movie throughout its second half that when Saroo finally does find his home in blurry satellite pictures, a moment that should be infused with genuine emotion falls flat on its face due to the fact that, as far as we can tell, he stumbled into it completely by chance, having done nothing for the last few years but randomly drag his cursor over his computer.


Final Thoughts: It should be mentioned that the movie does end on a strong note, as Saroo returns to India (spoilers are irrelevant with a true story, I should think) to find his original family at long last, but the baffling choices made by filmmaker Garth Davis (an Australian commercial director for whom this is his feature debut) robs the movie of the potential to be something truly great. That said, for its strong first half, its superb performance by one of the youngest children I've ever seen act appreciably, and for the generally compelling nature of its remarkable story, Lion retains enough for a conditional recommendation on my part. Given that we're now in January, a time in which the film calendar has nothing but terrible horror movies, worse Christian movies, and the leftovers of last year's Oscar season, there are far greater sins than a bit of bad pacing.

Though I am still waiting for Dev Patel to make "that movie" that I know him to be capable of. If Ryan Reynolds can do it after all this time, surely he can too.

Final Score: 6/10
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#722 Re: At the Movies with General Havoc

Post by Lys »

Hey i remember reading an article about that guy! It is indeed very unfortunate they didn't include the method to his madness. When he first attempted his search he did indeed more or less resort to random clicking up and down the train lines leading out of Calcutta. It was only after he met his girlfriend Lisa, and was able to take advantage of her fast internet connection, that he really started being more methodical about his search. The article goes into it if you're curious, it's rather more interesting than him just clicking through Google Maps hoping to get lucky. Indeed, i seriously doubt he would have ever found his birth town without being methodical about it.
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#723 Re: At the Movies with General Havoc

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Fences

Alternate Title: Death of a Garbageman

One sentence synopsis: A retired baseball player, retired and working as a Pittsburgh garbageman, struggles with his wife and sons as he tries to justify his life.


Things Havoc liked: In 1983, Mixed-race American playwright August Wilson wrote Fences, the third element of what would become his ten-part "Pittsburgh Cycle", exploring black identity, racial politics, and urban life throughout the 20th century. The play debuted on Broadway four years later, winning multiple Tony awards and a Pulizer prize, and starred legendary stage and screen actors James Earl Jones and Mary Alice. Ever since then, attempts had been made to bring Fences to the screen, stymied, according to reports, by Wilson's insistence that the project could only be undertaken by a black director (which, given the subject matter, is only reasonable. For this and other reasons, the project languished, even after Wilson's death in 2010. It finally took Denzel Washington, who won a Tony award himself in the stage revival of Fences, stepping in to both star in and direct the film to get it off the ground, and it now stands as the final film of the 2016 season that we have before us.

Though he has certainly been in his share of shitty movies, Denzel is a superb actor, as anyone who's been near a movie theater in the last three decades could tell you. And if this role is inside his comfort zone of "loquacious, outgoing asshole who badgers people", then so be it. He plays Troy Maxson, a middle-aged garbageman and ex-baseball player (and felon), who played in the Negro leagues in the 30s and 40s, and resents bitterly the fact that he was kept from the Major leagues because of his color (though others in the play suggest there were other factors involved). Now a man bedeviled by failure, trying to justify a life of poor decisions to himself and others, Denzel plays the character the way he has so many others in the past, from Trip in Glory to Alonzo Harris in Training Day, a man bedeviled by rage and narcissism who masks it all under a cloak of affability and amiable charm. It's not a terribly large departure for Denzel, to say nothing of the fact that he's played the role on Broadway for years, but it's one he's tremendously good at, and his performance here is just as nuanced, just as expertly-phrased, as any of his finer works throughout the years.

That said, however good Denzel may be, he's not the best one in the film. That honor belongs to Viola Davis, who we ran into earlier in the execrable Suicide Squad, and who here seems to be working overtime to make up for that disaster. Davis plays Rose Lee Maxson, Troy's long-suffering wife, who tolerates each blow life deals her with an iron core of outraged propriety and with the support of her local church, and while there's isn't much to that description, Davis herself, playing a character she too portrayed on stage during the 2010 revival, is on an entirely other level here, turning in a deep, painful, nuanced performance of breathtaking stature, an Oscar-grade role if ever I have seen one, blowing everyone else, including her illustrious co-star, completely off the screen. It's not that the film is full of sturm-und-drang (save for a couple of standout scenes), but that Davis inhabits the character with an effortless ease, imbuing it with all of the well-worn life-touches that one might expect to see from a drama aiming at award accolades. For Davis' performance alone, to say nothing of Washington's, Fences is a movie that deserves to be seen, and I expect that snippets of it will be making appearances on various award shows all throughout this coming spring.


Things Havoc disliked: And it's a good thing too, that Davis and Washington are so damn good here, because there's really nothing else to recommend this film at all.

I admit, this is not the sort of movie I lean towards, not because it's centered around black people, but because it's a quotidian, Tennessee-Williams-style family drama, and those sorts of films are typically not my cup of tea, whatever the ethnicity of their participants. 2013's August: Osage County did not get much praise from me for the same reason, despite the services of several of the finest actors in the world (and also of Julia Roberts). And while Fences is anchored around a pair of performances that truly shine, even in Oscar season, its direction and staging are indisputably clunky, partly because of Denzel Washington's rather uninspired direction (Denzel is a great actor, but his previous two directorial attempts, Antwone Fisher and The Great Debaters are not exactly highlights), and partly because the film is unable to escape the fact that it began life as a play, and as a classic-American-style play at that. Characters repeat themselves constantly in that typically-theatrical style (the one that always makes the film sound like a David Mamet production), something required in a play, wherein one may not be certain that the audience has heard you correctly, but that in a film, with audio balancing and sound editors, just makes your movie stilted and awkward. All of the action takes place around the same two locations, save for a handful of scenes clearly shoehorned into the movie just to break up the monotony, despite the fact that the dialogue does not permit the characters to acknowledge their new surroundings in any way. Maybe hardcore fans of the theater will mind this sort of thing less than I did, I don't know, but the social contract prevalent on the stage is different than that working in film, and filmmakers forget that at their peril.

There's also the question of all the other characters in the movie, who range from passable to... not... passable. The former category includes veteran stage actor Stephen McKinley Henderson, playing Troy's best friend Jim, and who does a perfectly fine job despite his dialogue consisting of 90% exposition sequences and repetition. Mykelti Williamson, a character actor I'm a great fan of thanks to his roles in Forest Gump (Bubba), Heat, and Con Air, has a much more thankless job, playing Troy's brain damaged older brother, whose role is to burst onto the scene periodically and recite dialogue that is oh-so-innocently full of portents or commentary on the prevailing scene. He manages all right, which is about the best you can expect with a role like this. Neither Russell Hornsby nor newcomer Jovan Adepo so-manages, in their respective roles as Troy's older and younger sons. Adepo in particular looks downright wooden through most of his scenes, though that may be a facet of acting opposite Davis and Washington, a task that resembles, in a way, trying to appear to be a skilled swimmer while sharing a pool with Michael Phelps.


Final Thoughts: Fences is a hard movie to review, as its good qualities are so good and its bad ones so forgettable, that one struggles to find a score point for it, but ultimately, any film that contains a pair of performances as great as the ones contained in Fences cannot be a bad one, whatever they happen to be surrounded by. I fully expect that Fences will score a number of Oscar nods this March, and in the case of Washington and especially Davis, I wish them the best of luck in gathering them. After the lily-white Oscar ceremony of 2015, it would come as all the more timely.

As to the film itself, those interested in checking the it out are encouraged to do so, but they should be aware that they are not going to see a movie, so much as they are going to see two superb performances which have been halfhazardly dressed up in the typical garnishes of a mediocre movie. But then again, such is often the nature of Oscar Season.

Final Score: 7/10
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#724 Re: At the Movies with General Havoc

Post by General Havoc »

The Best Films of 2016

We made it, everyone. We made it through 2016.

It was a year of highs and lows insofar as the movies go, and like always, the dedicated staff of the General's Post was here to make sure you had as much support as possible in choosing your films for the year. And so, as always, we are gathered once more to review the best that this year had to offer.

2016 was an interesting year for many reasons, but in the context of film, it was not a particularly good one. Not a catastrophic one the way that 2003 was or anything, but a year that, like several before it, did not reach the stratospheric highs that we saw in 2015, a year when two different movies were accounted masterpieces, and several more came close enough to touch. 2016's best films, on the other hand, lacked that perfect quality that truly great works of art possess, but that is not to say that they lacked all quality, nor that they should not be celebrated. Indeed, this year it is all the more important to celebrate the great movies that found their way to us, the better to appreciate the diamonds that were granted to us among so much rough.

As with last year, my fellow silver-screen-warrior Corvidae saw many of the best (and worst) films that the year had to offer, and so we have both gathered to present our thoughts on the films that were. The worst movies of the year will come in due time, but for now, hopefully you will all enjoy our little tribute to the best that 2016's cinema had to offer us, for despite their flaws, every one of these films are ones that we shall celebrate for a long time to come.

So sit back and relax, everyone, as the General's Post Presents:

The Best Films of 2016!!!


(Click the mushroom cloud below...)
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Gaze upon my works, ye mighty, and despair...

Havoc: "So basically if you side against him, he summons Cthulu."
Hotfoot: "Yes, which is reasonable."
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General Havoc
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#725 Re: At the Movies with General Havoc

Post by General Havoc »

The Worst Films of 2016

2016 was not a good year for movies. Not the worst year ever seen, mind you, that still belongs to some forgotten hellscape in the cultural wasteland that was the turn of the millennium (1999 comes to mind), but a bad year all the same. Like 2013 before it, it was a year where the best movies were merely "very good", and the worst movies were absolutely terrible.

As before, myself and my stalwart companion in movies great and awful, Corvidae, have settled down to discuss the worst that this year had to offer us. Some of the films we will be discussing were boring. Some were mediocre. And some were simply too far up their own asses. But the worst films of this year were disasters of such staggering scale as to rend one's mind to shattered ruin. Beware, all who enter within, for here we discuss films that should not be named, or heard, or seen.

Ladies and Gentlemen, the General's Post presents:

The Worst Films of 2016!!!


(Click the mushroom cloud below...)
Image
Gaze upon my works, ye mighty, and despair...

Havoc: "So basically if you side against him, he summons Cthulu."
Hotfoot: "Yes, which is reasonable."
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