Friday, December 5, 2014

The Theory of Everything (2014)

Stephen Hawking’s life defies bullshit terms such as inspirational. Fifty years he has lived with motor neuron disease, his body crumbling even as he stuns us with his thoughts on how we came to exist. What comes next. “The Theory of Everything” is not about theories, but Hawking’s marriage to Jane Wilde. That’s enough story. It does not require delusions and conspiracies as was done to genius John Nash in the overdone “A Beautiful Mind.” For this love -– as you know –- succumbs. The life and mind and demand of Hawking’s needs are too much to bear, and that is the hook of this story. Directed by James March (“Man on Wire”), “Theory” knows fantastical love cannot overcome reality. And Hawking is about reality. He believes God is a myth; Wilde holds that God is among us. Their marriage cannot survive, not when she falls for a kindly man of God, and he for a pragmatic nurse. “Theory” bypasses many of Hawking’s history-resetting thoughts, but the filming of such, would be impossible. No? As Hawking, Eddie Redmayne breaks out as a major young actor of our time, while as Jane, Felicity Jones plays at war with the soul. B+

The Skeleton Twins (2014)

“The Skeleton Twins” has Sundance Winner embedded in its DNA: Dissatisfied white people moan, weep, break, and then manage to pull themselves together whilst living in a stunning home set among more stunning locales, here rural New York. It bleeds White People Problems. Yet it works. Hat tip to the leads. Former “SNL” cast mates Kristen Wiig and Bill Hader play estranged twins reunited through attempted suicide. In LA, Hader’s heartbroken gay Milo slits his wrists. He is found before dying, and the hospital call to sister Maggie (Wiig) stops her from gobbling pills. Sister brings brother home, where they attempt to patch their shattered relationship, and here’s where “Skeleton” soars: Hader and Wiig vibe shockingly true sibling love, inside jokes, bitterness, and parent-inflicted pain. It echoes in every smirk, lip-synch romp, and cruel taunt. I was awed how good these actors bounce off each other. And I know twins, my brothers are identical. Sadly estranged. That vibe is impossible to duplicate. Wiig and Hader got me. Whatever screenplay director/co-writer Craig Johnson started with, and it’s smart despite the whole WPP slant that can be tiring, it fires crisply by its words being spoken by these actors. B+

Wednesday, December 3, 2014

The Hunger Games: Mockingjay, Part 1 and Gone Girl (both 2014)

Blockbuster films “The Hunger Games: Mockingjay, Part 1” and “Gone Girl” share little in common other than book source female authors, respectively, Suzanne Collins and Gillian Flynn. 

But, damn, these movies do show the difference of a bloated, ill-advised screen adaptation (that “Part 1” is a millstone) and another adaptation that takes the meat and bones of its source, cut the fat, and creates a raging animal that leaves one spooked, rattled, and –- most importantly –- wanting more. 

(Collins helped adapt her story, with others, Flynn takes sole credit.) 

If you’re smart enough to be on the Web, you know the basics of each film. “Mockingjay” comes from the third and final book in a wildly popular series about teen Katniss (Jennifer Lawrence) as she struggles against a fascist future America where lives of the poor are held as sport to the rich. War is brewing. 

“Girl” follows a He Said, She Said format as a once good marriage has turned toxic and maybe deadly. The wife has gone missing, and the husband has “killer” inscribed on his scumbag forehead. 

The novel “Mockingjay” clocks in under 400 pages, and as with all of Collins’ books, reads fast. No stops or fluff. Fewer pages means less work to cut from page to screen. But success breeds greed. 

After the great sequel “CatchingFire” –- with its devastating emotional punches, great action and characters, and a cliffhanger ending –- became a smash hit even over its predecessor, watching this new film is a surprisingly dull overlong drudge. 

It’s half a real movie with dozens of outtakes crammed in. It makes the mistake of sidelining Katniss for nearly two hours of weeping and thumb-twiddling as she lets the boys take over. Ouch. 

The “Games” books and films have excelled IMHO over the awful, inept, feminism-hating “Twilight” series because Katniss has no time for romance or weeping, because she is too busy being the protector of her family. Very little of her is here. The studio now just sees dollars, and a dark, thrilling dystopian tale of and for youth is stretched too thin. 

We get scenes repeated -– Katniss stands over war rubble and charred bodies no less than five time, and two of those in the same exact location, where she ransacks, twice now, her ruined home for supplies. 

As the focus was nearly entirely on or about Katniss in previous films, we know grow our side-character roster, and God bless Philip Seymour Hoffman -– I miss him dearly –- most of his scenes are unneeded, with no need to watch him talking to Katniss’ PR handler (Elizabeth Perkins). 

Near the end, Katniss stands in a control room watching from afar as men go into battle, and she watches and watches, and spends what might be 10 minutes repeating, “Are you there?,” to the evil dictator who also is watching the rescue from afar, President Snow (Donald Sutherland). Much more happens and I won’t spoil a drop for those unfamiliar with the book, but just sitting there knowing we have another two hours of film to watch in what should have been a tight, relentless, three-hour film exhausts me. 

“Part 1” wants to sell itself as drums of war, but that pounding is all cash registers clinking, a move the wealth-crazed, Ayn-Rand-loving villains of this tale might ironically approve. The heroes? Katniss, and the haunted veteran played by Woody Harrelson? They would mutter, “I don’t have time for this.” 

“Gone Girl” –- even at two and half hours –- knows the best always leave you wanting more, be it book, film, or food. Flynn’s book was a helluva read, bouncing back for 400-plus pages between man and wife as they delve into their disintegrating marriage, he speaking in the present day after the wife goes missing and police and media come calling and ravaging; her from the past, in diary entries, sliding from happiness to despair. 

That’s three quarters of the film, until Flynn and director David Fincher don’t just turn the car around, they crash it wheels up in icy muck, and watch it -– and us -– sink and freeze. Part of the genius in “Girl” is the casting, with American sweetheart Ben Affleck as the husband and relative unknown actress Rosamund Pike (“Jack Reacher”) as the wife. 

Affleck’s Nick Dunne is a former NYC journalist turned bar owner, back in his Missouri sticks childhood home with a dead mom, a senile father, and a twin sister, and many dark secrets. His shirt always untucked, blue jeans under a gut, and a blank face, he is cold and aloof, so much to the point that the police starting wrinkling their eyebrows. Hard. Especially after the diary of the wife, Amy, is uncovered. Its most recent pages purging tales of abuse. 

Amy was raised a New Yorker and the child of parents who mined their daughter’s youth for books, children’s book that always seemed one step ahead of their own girl, one punch above perfect. “Amazing Amy” the book series was called. How can anyone stand to strive to be amazing, to live up to fiction? I will stop there. 

Fincher again has made a cold, daring film that cuts right to the dark pit of the soul, that little black ball rolled up deep inside, found in “The Game” and “Fight Club.” 

Flynn adapted her own book, gutting sections, condensing others, and adding new ribbons of dark blood toward the end. Spoilers? Harsh drama and part sick satire, “Gone” is a nasty trip through marriage and media, and personality, how people –- all of us -- perform in public, for one’s spouse or family, and even to ourselves, striving to meet expectation or get that life –- that perfect life -– we know we saw on TV, or dream about, or read about once. 

Like that book series. It’s toxic. (How harmful was a show like “Leave It to Beaver” to read, struggling American families?) There are great moments of crushing satire and criticism of the media that bounce the film along and ring true in our age where white wealthy women disappearing is national news, but not so for anyone of color, or low income. 

Tyler Perry plays the part of a sleaze lawyer who comes to Nick’s “rescue,” and he brings a dynamic, comedic charge to the film that saves it from going too dark, and he’s in a magical feat, our way into the film. 

This is a film to watch and talk about over booze and food, not read about. See it for no other reason than Affleck -- a successful director and new Batman -- crushing his role as an ugly man impossible to hate. He is a marvel to behold, as is the amazing Pike.

Yes, “Mockingjay” will make tons more money and get more press, but “Gone” is the film that stays the course. Unwavering.

Mockingjay: B- Gone: A-

The Game (1997)

David Fincher’s red-herring thriller “The Game” failed with most mainstream critics. I loved it. I just saw a different movie. “Game” is a deceitful movie about the deceit of movie-making, the Hollywood button-pushing that we know is fiction, but that we get sucked up into: Drama, action, comedy. The edits, camera angles, lights, sound effects: We know it’s fake, but we buy in bulk. We get involved. The plot: Michael Douglas is soul-dead San Fran multimillionaire Nicholas Van Orton who accepts a “gift” from his baby brother (Sean Penn), a vacation that comes to him at home and office, a personalized attack that crushes and removes every instinct Nic has built, bought, and forged, starting with a TV with its own mind and running past a crashed cab in deep water. The plot is preposterous, of course, but it’s on purposefully so, this beautiful nasty meta-film of a film stars a man who has bought into his own Hollywood thriller by choice, we the audience running with him. By choice. Douglas -– the symbol of amoral America during the 1980s –– is perfectly cast as a vastly unlikable man who we root for quickly. We are him. A

Tuesday, December 2, 2014

Birdman (2014)

When we first see Michael Keaton as a has-been Hollywood actor at the opening of tar-black fable “Birdman,” he is floating in midair as the intimidating voice of his once big-screen superhero alter ego -– see the title -– talks aloud inside his own head. That’s the start of this wondrously warped story. Yes, Keaton, who played comic book hero Batman, plays an actor who played comic book hero Birdman. Meta comedy is promised and delivered. Plot: Keaton’s Riggan Thomas is determined to reset his relevance by staging a Broadway play. The impossible task consumes Riggan: His lead actor is a prickish actor played by infamously prickish actor Edward Norton, and Riggan’s daughter (Emma Stone) teeters on drug relapse. Stone, of course, plays Spider-Man’s girlfriend. Spider-Man appears as a mocking taunt. Brilliant. Questions pop: Mainly, Will Riggan escape Birdman? Director Alejandro G. Inarritu serves a must-rewatch film about a man more scared of obscurity than death and a damning of the Marvel Movie Universe ruling cinemas and then flames his own film as Marvel-like action plays out. More than the art-house deep-thoughts comedy, this strange film is pure wicked fun to watch unspool. A

Enemy of the State (1998)

When I saw “Enemy of the State” in 1998 I loved it as a shockingly smart, electric child to the 1974 classic thriller “The Conversation.” Will Smith here plays a D.C. lawyer trapped in an impossible conspiracy involving the National Security Agency, portrayed as a power-mad and secret-crazed demon of data collection, snooping, and illegal spying, with anyone in its way, hunted for  life or left for dead. “There’s no such thing as privacy,” one character says. Director Tony Scott (RIP) and his writers must have seen the future. This is our reality. Our now. The NSA owns us. We willingly gave ourselves over. Now, the great cinematic trick: When Smith’s lawyer – arrogant, a cheater, way too assured of himself – falls hard, his only savior is an ex-snoop played by Gene Hackman, who played an expert snooper in “Conversation.” The casting is genius. Smart. Instant built-in background. The character names may be different, but the faces match. Fast paced with crackling dialogue and action, I once got a giddy charge out of nerds at computers handed the power of America. Now I see it as evil truth. Name one other film more precognisant. A

Life Itself (2014) and Dead Poets Society (1989)

Watching “Dead Poets Society” –- the Peter Weir-directed classic with Robin Williams as a liberal teacher at a strict conservative boy’s school -- and “Life Itself” – a documentary about Roger Ebert’s impact on film and family -- back to back is crushing, and ironic. 

These films are oddly, wildly, surprisingly linked. Both men were and remain major film-world touchstones in my life, Williams as performer and Ebert as critic and writer. They died far too soon, Williams from suicide after a life of depression, addiction, and finally disease, and Ebert after a long, public and astoundingly courageous battle cancer. 

Also note this: Ebert hated “Dead Poets,” and I had no idea until I Googled his review after “Dead” was watched, before “Life” was viewed. 

I wondered what made a guy tick who would hate that film, and then learned just that as “Life” –- directed by Steve James –- lays out not just Ebert’s bio details, but his way of thinking, what he wanted from a film, or life, or finally love at age 50 when he married. And, damn it, to hear Ebert’s words spoken aloud, and his one film, “Beyond the Valley of the Dolls,” detailed to the extreme, the man was a poet, genius, demanding, argumentative, and cold, too.

Especially to fellow critic and TV partner, Gene Siskel, another man taken too soon. I digress because I still wrap my head around these two films seen so close together. (Pure timing, but what timing.) “Society” – in my book -- is a classic not from my youth when it came out, but even now. 

(I know current college students who are fans, teary eyed as they talk about it.) 

Williams is John Keaton, a 40-ish English teacher who arrives at his New England alma mater prep high school, taking over for one of the ancient teachers who has died. All of the teachers are ancient, guardians of the white master class that was once American capitalism. This is the 1950s. Keating insists his students destroy the intro of their poetry textbooks, and not to learn poetry, but to experience it, live it. 

Keating further proclaims the glory of Carpe Diem -– Seize the Day -– to his charges. His energy of course rattles the boys -– among them Ethan Hawke, Robert Sean Leonard, and Josh Charles –- and they take that energy to every waking decision, bucking their strict unloving parents obsessed with tradition, money, and name. 

None of these boys had ever *thought* to question their elders. Now they are. One to a tragic end. But is that Keating’s fault? Weir certainly stacks the deck: Keating is a saint, yes, a flat angelic saint, even if we as the audience love him and boo the cruel, unsparing fathers (Kurtwood Smith among them). 

So, yes, “Poets” may be simple -– Ebert hated its simple approach –- but need every coming of age story be complicated? It’s a simply tale, beautifully told. I love the students sneaking out in winter and the finale that once left the viewer bursting with pride, but now carries a devastating coda: Out inspirations, our captains, all die, some of them because life’s hardships can even overwhelm them. How do we carry on? 

As with Keating’s roar to seize the day and break free, Ebert went by his own instinct and his own drum and could never be pinned down. This is the man who famously trashed Lynch’s “Blue Velvet” in the face of universal praise. Respect had to be paid. Debate was out. Ebert was a master of argument. “Life” is based on the short-story memoir by Ebert. 

Here’s the thing about “Life Itself” – it’s no lightweight love letter about a film critic served up to please like-minded film critics and fanatics. Geeks such as myself. 

Early on Ebert -– in a hospital bed and clearly weeks away from succumbing –- acknowledges he is dying to the camera, alone, and then later before his wife, Chazz, who refuses to believe this “scene” played out live in a hospital room, cameras on. She insists Roger can fight on. He knows he cannot. 

That’s one of the beautiful, shocking emotionally scalding punches in this movie, Ebert upfront says this is *his* film and though he won’t live to see it, he will tell it as he sees fit. He shuts James down. James complies. 

The hospital scenes are grueling, Ebert’s brief return home a clash of wills as he refuses to attempt stairs, and his last typed public words –- “I can’t” –- are heartbreaking. Those are words he seemed never to utter before, a fat kid from suburban Illinois who was no arm chair critic, but a man who loved film, and got into the business, and helped champion the likes of Scorsese, and as the “Raging Bull” director tells, once dissuaded him from suicide with a phone call. 

More so, “Life” is about Ebert’s finding of familial love, marrying into a large family of children and grandchildren, and seeing Roger out of the theater and walking a grade schooler around London, wow, that’s life. Perfect.

Dead: A- Life: A

The Boxtrolls and Mr. Peabody & Sherman (both 2014)

What an odd time for animation. Even if we watch a film where the plot only ever hums and characters never pop, we can still marvel at the onscreen techno wonder. Everything looks amazing! “The Boxtrolls” and “Mr. Peabody & Sherman” – the former stop motion mixed with CGI, the latter all CGI – are prime examples. Hum. No pop. “Boxtrolls” comes from studio Laika, who made “Coraline,” an edgy horror tale for cool kids. But “Trolls” misfires with title characters -- tiny ogres live under a Victorian-era city and dress in discarded cardboard -- that fail to spark or overcome their human counterparts, including a status-hungry villain (Ben Kingsley) with a penchant for cabaret. Bummer. Only a fourth-wall-crashing Monty Pythonesque riff on “free will” fired my brain, during the end credits. A remake of the old cartoon shorts about a time-traveling dog and his not-so-bright human boy, “Peabody” is full of a breezy slapstick, bad puns, and warped histories of the Trojan War, Mona Lisa, and more. It relies on poop jokes and greatly underserves a female companion, but it gets in a Mel Brooks cameo as Einstein, and I love Mel Brooks. Boxtrolls: C+ Peabody: B

Nightcrawler (2014)

Imagine a dead serious “Network” written in the darkest pit of humanity, all humor strangled by an utter lack of empathy, with the journalism game run by any dick with a camera. That’s “Nightcrawler.” Jake Gyllenhaal plays Louis Bloom, a petty thief who one night finds his calling: Filming accidents, murders, house fires, and drive-bys, the fresher the gore the better for a top TV news slot. His “employer” is LA’s lowest-rated station, a bottom feeder with the mantra of fear sells. His “boss” is the vampire-hour editor (Renee Russo) who knows her middle age means job death. Bloom speaks in Internet PR babble, product comments, and tweets, using a deflated voice and spouting his love of accounting. He vibes Leo Bloom from “The Producers,” if Bloom had no soul. (Not Joyce Bloom.) Looking starved with bulging eyes, Gyllenhaal is a monster of success as he places civilians and police in harm’s way for a sell. Director/writer Dan Gilroy never judges, he shows us a mirror of journalism endlessly sinking in its race to hit ratings and print money, where cameras are as dangerous as guns. This is the world “Network” warned us about. A-

The Patriot (2000)

“Braveheart” goes Tea Party in “The Patriot,” a three-hour drama/revenge flick starring Mel Gibson as a Very Angry Man that only pretends it’s aghast at the terrible effects of war on one man’s soul and family, but really it’s jerk-off gun worship as every battle and death ups our blood and demand for Gibson to kill and maim. Gibson’s Benjamin Martin is a veteran turned Southern plantation owner – the blacks on his field are (cough) free, not slave – who gets sucked into the Revolutionary War after Brits kill his middle child. Director Rolland Emmerich needs his movie Red Coats -- led by Jason Issacs as a sniveling colonel – to be as evil as possible and commit atrocities that would make Nazis shudder to justify Martin’s blood lust. I get it, it’s a movie and we moviegoers love our Mel in seething Mad Max mode, but the flag-waving propaganda crosses into perversion. More aching is the depiction of slaves. The scene where a black man is conscripted by his cruel master, only to be followed by a comedic ginger 6-year-old boy asking to sign up for battle? Who the fuck thought that was a good idea? Patriotism with no insight. C-

Non-Stop (2014)

“Non-Stop” is not a comedy. I laughed my ass off. Not a good sign for a thriller that stars Liam Neeson in Angry Action Figure Mode and plays on 9/11 fears of hijackings and police state surveillance. Neeson is Bill Marks, suicidal fuck-up air cop with a booze problem and a tragic life who should never hold a gun, much less be issued one by Uncle Sam for work at 30,000 feet. But here Bill is anyway, sweating buckets as he texts back and forth with a psycho who threatens to down the plane unless $1.5M is delivered to a Swiss bank account. One in Bill’s name. Cue drama! Cue the scenes where Neeson’s hero types. And types. And types. And calls his boss. Bill also kills a man, beats random passengers, screams, and waves and fires his gun like a madman. Why? This is “Taken” in the air. A cell phone and a gun, if those are in a script does Neeson just sign on? As stewardesses, Michelle Dockery of “Downton Abbey” and Lupito Nyong’o of “12 Years a Slave” do just about nothing. I’d watch a movie with them as the heroes. C-

Calvary (2014)

Brendan Gleeson plays an Irish village priest who receives a death threat in the confessional box at the start of “Calvary.” “I was 7 when I first tasted semen,” the instigator says, proclaiming that he wants to slay a good priest in the name of revenge as the abuser priest has died. Refusing police help, James seeks out the man in secret among the locals, including a bartender, a butcher, the mayor, the mayor’s gay trick, a pathologist, an American writer, and a wealthy, lonely Londoner. Near all angry at life for its cruelty, or the Church, longtime protector of child rapists. James’ soul is righteous, he having lived as husband and father, his wife now dead, his grown daughter (Kelly Reilly) troubled and haunted. Writer/director John Michael McDonagh’s drama focuses on the trouble and glory of faith, even lost. James’ spirit bends as his week turns to violence, from the same man, others? Rarely is religion treated with such somberness. Alas McDonagh serves up blatant, ugly stereotypes. The trick is a Fox News cartoon. That said, the end broke me as James insists on grace over damnation. That, not the stereotypes, is a notion to live by. B

Trance (2013)

Gotchya films that spin on corkscrew narratives –- “Manchurian Candidate” is my favorite -– succeed only if we care about the characters and only if we dig the deep pit the screenwriters have tossed them into. Danny Boyle’s “Trance” is all crazy turns, pulled rugs, blown loyalties, and bad guys still gabbing after their skull has been shot off. The shocks and surprises hit so often and so outlandishly OTT, it passes suspense and becomes a comedic parade of drunken one-uppers. Numbness sets in. James McAvoy works at an auction house that falls prey to a heist just as a Renoir goes to sale. The work is seemingly lost and our hero is cracked on the skull, leading to memory loss. The heist master (Seymor Cassell) won’t have that and when torture fails, he hires a hypnotist (Rosario Dawson) to peer inside McAvoy’s brain. So to speak. The headachy flash edits are frantic and too hip. The flat characters don’t help. I really could have lived without ever hearing surround sound of vaginal hair being shaved. Boyle, it appears, could not. And if you can get past the firestorm finale without laughing to excess, I salute you. C

Broken City (2013)

An ex-cop PI with a dirty past gets marooned in a FUBAR infidelity case among city elites that results in murder and corrupted land deals. Forget it, Jake, this isn’t sharp dagger classic “Chinatown.” It’s dull spoon thriller “Broken City” with Mark Wahlberg as the dick working for a NYC mayor (Russell Crowe) who’s up for reelection. Mayor’s demand: “Find my wife’s lover,” but he has more in play. Money. The plot is threadbare. Jake Gittes worked for his info. Suffered. Wahlberg’s hero *finds* the bad guy’s plans printed on giant poster board with bold font at a Dumpster. Good actors have saved worse, right? Not this. Crowe plays the mayor in a cartoon mashup of 1970s’ Lex Luther and Donald Trump, with spray-on can orange skin and a dippy toupee. Wahlberg? Autopilot. Director Albert Hughes smart, too a tone for Wahlberg, too brave for the sorry studio? C