My Oscar Takes

As of this writing, the Oscars are over. The winner chosen. Here are my takes on the final nine, some quite worthy of a nomination, but others ... Not. Why the Academy went beyond five, I find just lame ...

The Artist
Director/writer Michel Hazanavicius’ much-celebrated “silent” black-and-white comedy-drama “The Artist” is a high-wire act of cinematic love that pays homage to and plays with the earliest movies. The plot: Boisterous star of 1920s action films George Valentin (Jean Dujardin) falls hard from celebrity as “Talkies” become Hollywood’s mantra, ironically sweeping the starlet (Bérénice Bejo) he discovered to fame. Hazanavicius trumps expectations throughout, putting Valentin in a nightmare world of “sound” where glasses clink and dogs bark, but our hero has no voice. Sly jokes abound, too: A grammatical error in a dialogue card nudges a scene into hilarity. The lack of vocals forces us to focus on the faces and gestures of the actors, the artists on screen and appreciate their craft: Dujardin, Bejo, James Cromwell, and John Goodman. Dujardin and Bejo’s onscreen chemistry is priceless, and their final scene packs two surprises: The long-lost glory of dance in movies, and the real fear why Valentin feels he has no voice in America. Rare is the moment when “Artist” is truly silent, for it packs a stellar score using music new and old to serve as a substitute for voices, a narration of orchestra and ’20s jazz. Also, best dog ever. A

The Descendants
Alexander Payne’s awesome “The Descendants” pulls the rug out from our under feet in a quick minute as we open on a beautiful woman water skiing. Cut to black. A narrator tells us the woman – his wife -- lies in a coma following a boat crash. This story should be happy. We are in Hawaii, paradise to us in the mainland U.S. But Matt King won’t have it. “Paradise can go fuck itself,” he says in a voice over. George Clooney is Matt. Perfect performance. Bitter and angry, full of new-found reality. Every scene is perfectly written and plays between genres. Payne and his co-screenwriters, Nat Faxon and Jim Rash, follow it with a brutal scene as Matt rips into the friend with full-on rage and fear – “Did she love him?” There are three dozen such perfect scenes, quiet, wordless scenes, too. Clooney may well win the Oscar as a heartbroken, newly awakened man who must forgive, but cannot save, his wife. He deserves it. A

Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close
“Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close” is a feel-good 9/11 movie. It opens with a body falling pretty-like from the World Trade Center, and ends with a similar motif, intercut with a boy on a swing. It’s made with Oscar in mind with Stephen Daldry (“The Reader”) behind the camera, and Tom Hanks, Sandra Bullock and Viola Davis on screen. The boy is Oskar Schell, a boy with Asperger’s Syndrome (he claims the tests were inconclusive) grieving the death of his beloved father (Hanks). One day Oskar finds a key in his father’s closet and sees it as a last gift from dad, who used scavenger hunts to bring the boy out of his shell. Schell. Get it? So the boy hunts, seeking an answer as to why dad died that Worst Day. The story is intriguing, but halfway I near bolted. Oskar clearly is in desperate need of psychological care – he fears everything and self-tortures his own body -- but the movie treats his illness as a quirky plot device, worsened by clueless, impossible-to-exist adults. As Oskar, newcomer Thomas Horn shines with majestic soul, but that doesn’t make anything here OK. A feel-good 9/11 movie is not quirky, it’s insulting. The grade is for the boy. C-

The Help
“The Help” is impossible to hate or dismiss. If you have a sense of justice. But make no mistake about it, this is a Disneyfied dramatization of the long civil rights struggle by African Americans, and yet – a Hollywood tradition in “Glory” and “Mississippi Burning” and dozens upon dozens of other films – it chooses to focus on wealthy white characters. The people who should be our total and absolute focus are secondary. Worse, for every heartbreaking scene of racism, evil decorated in twisted Southern American Christian pride, the filmmakers serve up a comedic aside or comeuppance to let us know, we will leave the theater feeling good. No, “Help” is not great. But by the sheer strength of Viola Davis’ acting as a maid and the scary notion that an entire block of American voters (conservative Santorum-loving assholes) consider this era to be America’s finest, it must be seen. Flaws and all. But, really, Emma Stone as the lead?1?B-

Hugo
Leave it to Martin Scorsese to not just set a new high bar for children’s films, but all 3D movies. “Hugo” is a – superlative! -- masterpiece, a tale of an orphan boy (Asa Butterfield) in love with machines, cinema and stories, living in a Parisian train station as a clock master. The film itself glows with a boundless joy of movies and books beloved by Scorsese, making his best film in years, and his brightest, most wide-eyed adventure in ... forever. Hugo – this will upset Fox viewers – is poor, and steals food and drink to survive. (Call Newt!) That thievery puts him at odds with a short-fused toy shop owner named Georges Melies, who you well know if you know cinema. The plot kicks into glorious gear when Georges (Ben Kingsley) confiscates a notepad from Hugo, not knowing it once belonged to the boy’s dead father (Jude Law). I will say nothing more of the plot, watch and enjoy. Everything in “Hugo” – from the scenery and special effects to the actors and words -- is for proudly childish dreamers of all ages, all the ones who ever held a film camera or took pen to paper and thought, “What world can I create today?” Amazing from start to finish. A

Midnight in Paris
“Midnight in Paris” is a delight. A reminder that Woody Allen is one of the best movie writers/directors out there no matter how creepy he is off camera. This is a comedy about a struggling American novelist (Owen Wilson) who becomes lost – figuratively and literally – in Paris’ nighttime streets, the lights and spirits of deceased artists, musicians and writers lulling him in utopia. Then he gets lost – in time – when a 1920s taxi, every night at midnight, whisks him away to the days of F. Scott Fitzgerald, Pablo Picasso, Cole Porter and Ernest Hemingway, what Owen’s Gil considers the greatest era for artisans in history. This just isn’t a new classic Allen comedy, it’s a tweak at nostalgia fever by both Tea Party Americans who long for the founding days of America, and daydreaming liberals who think art was somehow more pure 100 years ago. Both are wrong. “Midnight” is near perfect. A

Moneyball
It's 2001 and Oakland Athletics’ GM Billy Beane (Brad Pitt) is coming off a post-season crushing by the Yankees. Co-written by Aaron Sorkin and Steve Zallian, “Moneyball” is about any passion or business – pizza-making, movie-making, banking or professional sport – steam-rolled by Big Money, all the joy and unknowns crushed under consumer surveys and greed. The baseball scenes are almost beside the point as Beane never watches the games. That said, the tumults of an imploded 11-0 lead make for damn fine filmmaking by director Bennet Miller, who made “Capote.” Yeah, the ending goes long in the bottom of the ninth, but it is painless. I cannot say enough how much I dug Pitt’s performance, and Jonah Hill is brilliant as a numbers geek, who knew? A-

Tree of Life
On my first viewing of “Tree of Life,” Terrence Malick’s epic drama of God’s creation of the universe, one Texas family during the 1950s, and such small potatoes as life and death, it took me more than a week to even form words to describe a reaction. This is my pick for the Best Movie of 2011, i cannot say more, if you wish to know more, search this blog. No more words can be made. Sorry. Seriously, one of the all-time great works of art. A+

War Horse
Steven Spielberg's “War Horse” is an unabashedly, unapologetic and amazing big-screen World War I drama about a boy-turned-man and his horse that recalls a 1950s Techicolor epic long gone from cinemas, but with an important distinction, there is no glorification of war here. The horse of the title is conscripted to serve in battle, and Spielberg is grandiose and sentimental about it, and John Williams’ old-fashioned score pulls out the full orchestra, and whips and pulls for every emotion, but when Joey -- the War Horse -- is running shell-shocked and horrified through a godless battlefield, ripping through barbed wire, cut to pieces, the guy who made “E.T.” reduced me once again to blubber. Awesome, no other words. A

The Artist (2011)

Director/writer Michel Hazanavicius’ much-celebrated “silent” black-and-white comedy-drama “The Artist” is a high-wire act of cinematic love that pays homage to and plays with the earliest movies. The plot: Boisterous star of 1920s action films George Valentin (Jean Dujardin) falls hard from celebrity as “Talkies” become Hollywood’s mantra, ironically sweeping the starlet (Bérénice Bejo) he discovered to fame. Hazanavicius trumps expectations throughout, putting Valentin in a nightmare world of “sound” where glasses clink and dogs bark, but our hero has no voice. Sly jokes abound, too: A grammatical error in a dialogue card nudges a scene into hilarity. The lack of vocals makes us focus on the faces and gestures of the actors, the artists, on screen and fully appreciate their craft: Dujardin, Bejo, James Cromwell, and John Goodman. Dujardin and Bejo’s onscreen chemistry is priceless, and their final scene packs two surprises: The long-lost glory of dance in movies, and the real fear why Valentin feels he has no voice in America. Rare is the moment when “Artist” is truly silent, for it packs a stellar score using music new and old to serve as a substitute for voices, a narration of orchestra and ’20s jazz. Also, best dog ever. A

Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy (2011) – A Second Look

I reviewed Thomas Alfredson’s “Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy” in January, calling it a good film, moody, with an overly complicated plot. Not worthy of a Top 10 for 2011. I just saw it again, and fell spellbound by how Alfredson frames his characters within windows, library stacks, doorways, and gates, every character boxed in, objects cut off, by the life they lead: Serving queen and country as spies. It’s the smartest, most intense spy film I’ve seen in years, taking away every thrill we expect in a spy flick. It’s a marvelous move from Alfredson, who has taken the classic novel – I’m re-reading it right now – and reworked into a drama about men not just battling the enemy, but each other for “treasure.” Absolutely perfect is Benedict Cumberbatch’s soul-crushed homosexual, dispatching his live-in boyfriend for career and country. That wasn’t in the book. Gary Oldman, as the fired spy tasked with finding a mole, marveled me all over, as a man who has spent so long repressing his own life and wife, he is left horrified at his loneliness. Give the man an Oscar. Absolutely one of 2011’s best. A

Death Becomes Her (1992)

Before he got lost in stop-motion animated films, Robert Zemeckis made live-action movies that used jaw-dropper special effects to tell wildly fun stories. On the darker side was “Death Becomes Her,” a “Twilight Zone”-like satire about a beauty-obsessed actress (Meryl Streep), her former high-school rival (Goldie Hawn) and the sad-sack plastic surgeon (Bruce Willis) who comes between them. A creepily beautiful Isabella Rossellini plays a sorceress who gets between everyone, with a potion that promises eternal youth, with all its hiccups (take care of your body, she warns). I will say no more for those who have not seen this wicked tale, except to say Zemeckis has a ball showing how many times a person who cannot die can die. The script is barely skin deep, but the three leads are in top comedic form. Willis lampoons his “Die Hard” persona, sporting ugly sweaters and nerd glasses, and Hawn is gloriously Hawn, with a streak of evil. Steep opens the film with a hilariously bad musical number. B+

The Recruit (2003)

When a brilliant hotshot (Colin Farrell) is recruited to join the CIA and his trainer/boss/mentor looks and sounds and does that whole wiggy Al Pacino thing, and is, in fact, Al Pacino, something must be wrong. “I got a bad feeling about this” wrong. And, that’s “The Recruit,” a spy thriller from Roger Donaldson, who made the terrific 1980s mind-screw “No Way Out.” You know the way out here, though, because … did I mention Al Pacino? In a literal spotlight at one point? Sporting a goatee? This is by-the-numbers with every twist underlined by a loud music cue, but it’s not a terrible affair. Pacino overacts with zeal, having fun showing the whipper snappers on set (Farrell, Bridget Moynahan) how you spook the guys behind the cameras and holding the boom mikes. Drinking while watching? Take a shot every time Farrell loses the American accent. And, yes, I skipped a plot summary. (Al Pacino.) C+

The Punisher (2004)

“The Punisher” is a punishment to watch. Tone deaf, overlong, filmed in a seemingly deserted Tampa Bay (subbing for New York!) and overacted to the point of hilarity, we suffer more than anyone on screen. The plot to this Marvel comic book vigilante flick: Ex-FBI agent Frank Castle (Thomas Jane) watches his entire family be killed before he himself is left for dead by gangsters (led by John Travolta, all “Weeee! I’m a bad guy!”). Naturally, Castle returns to slay all who wronged him. The comics I recall, Castle was a bad-ass loner feared by villains and super heroes. Here, he babbles nonstop, befriends a trio of special-needs cases imported from an insipid comedy, and, at one point, tortures a half-naked guy by sliding a frozen Popsicle along the man’s back. Um, erotic? No. Punishment. Jane mumbles his lines like an ESL Eastwood and insists his actions are not revenge. Huh? Odd fact: Marvel had made this film three times. Masochistic? D-

The Woman in Black (2012)

Voldermort would shit his robe. In “The Woman in Black,” Harry Potter himself Daniel Radcliffe is an early 1900s widowed father/ greenish solicitor sent on a miserable errand: Close out the estate of an old woman who left behind a decrepit English mansion and “Hoarders”-worthy piles of papers. How very Jonathan Harker. Eel Marsh House (!) is built on high land regularly made an island during high-tide, set apart from a town where our hero learns much quickly: He is not welcomed, every parent has lost a child, and the manor is full of vile noises and visions. This is an old–school haunted-house yarn, based not on a book written by Poe, but one certainly written with the old master in mind. Radcliffe does well playing a young man raised to believe in God, but not ghosts, and stricken to see much of the latter, but never the former. Director James Watkins has washed out almost all color and light, so any bright signs must not be trusted. The house moans, shadows creep, and ghostly faces appear out of thin air, making the audience jump and scream, and then laugh. A-

The Descendants (2011)

I will ramble on ... Alexander Payne’s awesome “The Descendants” pulls the rug out from our under feet in a quick minute as we open on a beautiful woman water skiing. Cut to black. A narrator tells us the woman – his wife -- lies in a coma following a boat crash. This story should be happy. We are in Hawaii, paradise to us in the mainland U.S.

But Matt King won’t have it. “Paradise can go fuck itself,” he says in a voice over. Bitter and angry, full of new-found reality.

Matt is an attorney whose plate runneth over: His wife is dying; he’s the title holder of a family trust worth millions of dollars, and his cousins want to cash in; he is now the sole parent of two daughters, but has never been much of a father. A final bomb: His teenage daughter reveals a shocker: “Mom has been cheating on you.”

In the hands of most film directors, this book-to-film story would be a downer, but Payne is a master of stories about men trying to cope with out-of-control lives (see “Sideways”) perfectly balanced on a wire of harsh drama and sharp comedy. This is his best film yet, and the hero is George Clooney, playing a man whose life is in shambles.

Every scene is perfectly written and plays between genres. After Matt is told of the infidelity, he takes off running in beach shoes to confront his wife’s best friend. The gag is hilarious. Yet Payne and his co-screenwriters, Nat Faxon and Jim Rash, follow it with a brutal scene as Matt tears into the friend with full-on rage and fear – “Did she love him?” There are three dozen such perfect scenes, quiet, wordless scenes, too.

Robert Forester plays Matt’s father-in-law, seemingly the stereotypical asshole always decrying the man his daughter married. But Payne is smarter than such a one-note joke. He shows an old man drowning in turmoil, too weakened to even cry, over his daughter, and his Alzheimer’s stricken wife. This attention to detail is set on every character, especially the daughters, played by Amara Miller a child not fully aware of her mother’s demise, and Shailene Woodley as a troubled teen who must now become a “mother” to her sister.

I’m way past my 200-word count, but it’s so rare to see a Hollywood film this mature, a product of make-believe and paradise that tells us such notions are mirages. There are no good answers, only temporary balms such as ice cream and Morgan Freeman’s soothing voice. A

House (1986)

“House” is a cheap horror movie with its tongue firmly planted in cheek, sure to scare a child but keep an adult laughing. William Katt, he of “The Greatest American Hero,” is a Stephen King-like novelist hell bent on writing his Vietnam memoirs. For some solitude, he chooses the house of his late aunt’s, also the home where he grew up, and years later saw his own young child disappear. Nothing will go well, and I just don’t mean the seemingly unemployed neighbor played by George Wendt, he of “Cheers.” Goblins and a massive grasshopper thingy with sharp teeth appear, the medicine cabinet isn’t a medicine cabinet, and Richard Moll – he of “Night Court” – is a dead and angry war pal returned. “House” is a dumb guilty pleasure, a nostalgic trip for those of us raised on 1980s TV and pre-CGI flicks where we jumped at the first sign of a guy in a rubber suit with claws. B

Trainspotting (1996)

Danny Boyle’s “Trainspotting” is an adrenaline shot of cinematic greatness about heroin addicts that dares show the quick pleasure of shooting up. Bob Dole balked. Idiot. No “ABC School Special” has ever shown an addict hand-fishing for a dropped stash in a shit-filled toilet, or a guy waking up slathered in diarrhea after losing his bowels, or an infant dying from neglect. This tale of poor Scots who see their parents struggling to earn a pound and figure why not shoot up, is the real deal writ large and depraved. It’s sickly fascinating to watch, a stoned mad-hatter film akin to “Clockwork Orange” or “Romper Stomper,” but to live it? No. Ewan McGregor is a guy who wants heroin over the big house, bigger TV, fancy car, and a job, and Boyle, writer John Hodge (taking on Irvine Welsh’s book) charge those commodities as no better than a shot of white liquid. Only an idiot, or a conservative, would see the finale as happy when a druggie says life will be OK with a wad of money. In a film full of sick jokes, it’s the most repugnant laugh of all. That said, this pales next to 2000’s stellar “Requiem for a Dream.” A

The Double (2011)

Richard Gere is the sole reason to watch “The Double,” a spy thriller that moves the Cold War to modern day, and slings out plot twists with the excitement of mail delivery. Gere plays Paul Shepherdson, a retired CIA agent (drum roll) called back into action after a senator is slain with the exact M.O. of a Soviet assassin that Shepherdson swears he killed. So the hunt is on, with Shepherdson in the lead, and a rookie desk-jockey FBI agent (Topher Grace) in tow. Director/writer Michael Brendt and co-writer Derek Haas (they wrote the recent “3:10 to Yuma”) seem to think they are making a conspiracy film akin to “Parallax View.” They are mistaken. That film vibrated with mind-screwing paranoia. From silly character reveals to foot chases through empty rail yards, and car chases at empty ports, “Double” cannot even compete with a slow episode of “24.” Gere half asleep, is far too good for this. Grace is laughable. The ending too ludicrous for words. C-

Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close (2011)

“Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close” is a feel-good 9/11 movie. It opens with a body falling pretty-like from the World Trade Center, and ends with a similar motif, intercut with a boy on a swing. It’s made with Oscar in mind with Stephen Daldry (“The Reader”) behind the camera, and Tom Hanks, Sandra Bullock and Viola Davis on screen. The boy is Oskar Schell, a boy with Asperger’s Syndrome (he claims the tests were inconclusive) grieving the death of his beloved father (Hanks). One day Oskar finds a key in his father’s closet and sees it as a last gift from dad, who used scavenger hunts to bring the boy out of his shell. Schell. Get it? So the boy hunts, seeking an answer as to why dad died that Worst Day. The story is intriguing, but halfway I near bolted. Oskar clearly is in desperate need of psychological care – he fears everything and self-tortures his own body -- but the movie treats his illness as a quirky plot device, worsened by clueless, impossible-to-exist adults. As Oskar, newcomer Thomas Horn shines with majestic soul, but that doesn’t make anything here OK. A feel-good 9/11 movie is not quirky, it’s insulting. The grade is for the boy. C-

Anonymous (2011)

“Anonymous” plays on the theory that Shakespeare wrote no play, poem, sonnet, or even a letter to mom. Here, he is portrayed as an alcoholic half-literate naïf actor. The real author of “Romeo and Juliet,” et al – according to this Roland Emmerich-directed flick -- was Edward de Verve, a Brit royal who dare not put his name to literature, then marked as heretical by the Protestant Church. The film is densely plotted as we start in present day, jump to the 1500s, following Edward’s shuffled deck tragic life, and back again. The edit jumps and myriad of characters are too numerous, and the script shreds many facts to oblivion, especially concerning Christopher Marlowe, and Edward’s alleged anonymity, which actually isn’t true. Another grind: The film smacks of elitism, arguing that middle-class Shakespeare could never have the talent of a rich royal. Really? But it’s a juicy, well-staged conspiracy drama that scores when showing how then-audiences cheered, booed, and stormed the stage in rage at the plays we know well, and its portrayal of the Church as a power-mad entity unsurpassed in corruption. Rhys Ivans plays Edward with a striking sadness, a man eternally haunted by hunchbacked men of God. B-

The Perfect Host (2011)

“The Perfect Host” is a home-invasion flick – I have seen several recently, why I don’t know - - that flips the genre rules with pitch-black comedy galore, before a third-act switcheroo stumbles hard and fast. We open on a guy (Clayne Crawford) who’s just used a silly Hunter S. Thompson disguise to rob a L.A. bank, only to get robbed by a young woman at a drug store. The flummoxed guy then decides to crash a nearby house, taking a hostage. He choices an artsy-fartsy home owned by a waif of a man (David Hyde Pierce of “Frasier”) who starts out prissy weak and then evolves ape shit crazy. Oops. I won’t say more, except to repeat that the ending tanks with a character reveal that thuds like a bad game of telephone. Pearce lets loose with a twisted grin, purposefully playing off the Niles we all love. If writer/ director Nick Tomnay’s Sundance hit ended 20 minutes sooner, it could have been perfectly fun. B-

The Devil’s Double (2011)

“The Devil’s Double” is the tale of an Iraqi Army officer named Latif Yahia who was coerced – under threat of death – to serve as the body double of Uday Hussein, a heinous psychopath who saw his status as Saddam’s son as a blank check to torture, murder, and rape. True story? Not likely. Fascinating? Endlessly. Uday’s life is portrayed as a depraved reality version of “Scarface,” the American dream made into a demonic nightmare of debauchery and excess. It’s a twisted analogy, but not crazy: Uday coveted American products, and likes his sports cars. Director Lee Tamahori (“Once Were Warriors” and then much Hollywood crap) mixes grisly horror, war, sex, action, drama and satire, and shows the fearful anxiety that ruled Iraq for decades. It’s not a deep film, but it’s strong and disturbs. Assisted by special effects, body doubles (heh), and fast editing, Dominic Cooper – a supporting player in “Captain America” -- burns hardcore as Uday and Latif, one a monster unleashed, and the other an everyday man scared that he may lose his soul to the beast. One wonders if Uday had come to power, how many millions he would have killed with sick glee. B+

Mars Needs Moms (2011)

Walt Disney picked up the 3D motion-cap CGI animated pic “Mars Needs Moms” from Robert Zemeckis’ own studio, and released it with much fanfare. It became one of the biggest box office bombs ever. The stunner: It’s not a bad film. It’s an hour-long story stretched to 90-plus minutes, so sight gags are repeated 10 times rather than three times, and many a badly sketched character need not exist. The story: A bratty boy must rescue his mother from aliens who have taken her to Mars, intent on sucking her good motherly instincts from her body. A wicked way to spook a child. Critics derided that, as if “Bambi” never existed. “Mars” is in line with other Zemeckis fare “Polar Express” and “Christmas Carol,” but bouncier and better animated. But, shorter is better. B-

Senna (2011)

I am ignorant of racing, especially Formula One. But “Senna,” an ESPN-produced documentary of the famed Brazilian race car driver Aryton Senna is a whooper, a heartbreaking, nail-biting tale of a man who committed and gave up his life to a sport he loved. It’s also a damnation of the vampire-like capitalists that run the sports as a business, putting profit, ticket sales and media attention above the safety of its athletes. Using home movies, TV clips, and interviews with family, friends, former rivals, and journalists, director Asif Kapadia and his crew of editors re-create the life of man who was kindly, arrogant, deeply religious, a playboy, deeply vindictive, funny, and blunt. More so, this is about a son of Brazil lifting the hopes of a desperately divided nation with every turn of the wheel. And when Senna makes his final turn in racing, and in life, the scene gut-punches with the dreadful knowledge that life can end in an instant. A-

Trespass (2011)

“Trespass” is a clichéd home-invasion thriller ransacked by such bad acting, inane dialogue and crap pacing that made me wish the invading thugs out to steal diamonds and cash would just pop the miserable husband and wife played by Nicolas Cage and Nicole Kidman. The film – dumped in theaters and put on DVD within a single month -- vibes wrong from the start as Cage, wearing a ridiculous suit and sporting a ridiculous car, pulls into a driveway of a mansion so ridiculously ugly-ass-retro, it can mean only one thing: Joel Schumacher is directing. And he is. When the four villains arrive, we get a potluck of dysfunctional hilarity: Mommy issues, sibling rivalry, a crush on the Mrs., missed meds, steroidal rage, and a meth addict with a ball gown fetish. Cage and Kidman are so lacking in chemistry, they can’t even fake a miserable marriage. It’s not shocking to see Cage starring in junk, but one wonders if all the onscreen crying by Kidman – in a weak role -- isn’t really her mourning a wayward career. D+

The Debt (2011)

A smart thriller of morals, ethics, and revenge among a trio of Mossad agents played out during the 1960s with Sam Worthington, Jessica Chastain and Marton Csokas, and then in the 1990s with Ciarán Hinds, Helen Mirren, and Tom Wilkinson. The 1960s mission: Capture an ex-Nazi hiding in East Berlin as a gynecologist, and bring him to trial. The 1990s mission: Ensure the tale of what really happened never sees light. When “Debt” focuses on the mission, Jewish anger, and guilt, it is damn exciting. See, Chastain’s agent must kidnap the decrepit Nazi during a pelvic exam, half naked and her feet in stirrups. It’s a riveting scene from director John Madden, who made “Shakespeare in Love.” Yet, the past and present tug-and-pull hardly holds, Worthington becomes Hinds, and Csokas becomes Wilkinson, and the paired men look so vastly different, I kept getting hopelessly lost. To worsen matters, Worthington’s Israeli accent vibes to distraction with the actor’s native Australia cadence. Add in a Hollywood OTT ending, and this remake of a 1990s Israeli film (which I have not seen) suffers. B

The Hangover Part II (2011)

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