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

The Book of Life (2014)

Trailers for “The Book of Life” promised a gloriously animated supernatural vibe from King of the Weird and producer/writer Guillermo del Toro. The film delivers. Maybe not to the heights of “Pan’s Labyrinth” or animated siblings “Up” or “Coraline,” but enough that I left the cinema awed. Heavy on the wood and stone art of Mayan and Spanish cultures, “Book” has a literal bookend story of ragtag school kids visiting a museum and through a hip tour guide (Christina Applegate) learn of the feisty Mexican beauty Maria (Zoe Saldana) who becomes a coin in a bet between gods Xibalba and La Muerte, the after-life rulers of the Land of the Forgotten and the Land of the Remembered. Maria, see, is chased after two men, a reluctant bullfighter (Diego Luna) and a seemingly invincible soldier (Channing Tatum). The story is deep and wondrously dark and riffs on Radiohead’s “Creep.” Huge sticking points: Our gal still is made to choose her hubs to be. Ice Cube as God is so very Special Appearance By Ice Cube, the film’s magic bear breaks. B+

Art of the Steal (2013)

“Art of the Steal.” That’s the title of a great 2010 documentary about a raw deal between an art museum in rural Pennsylvania and the City of (Big) Brotherly Love, the Philadelphia Museum of Art. It crackled with betrayal, and was all talking heads. Art geeks, even. Now, it’s the title of an “Oceans 11”-type caper with Kurt Russell playing ex-con Crunch Calhoun, out to steal a Gutenberg-printed book that could undo the story of Jesus. On Crash’s crew: His half-brother (Matt Dillon) who previously put our hero in prison for 5 years, and Jay Baruchel as a young crook who acts like Jay Baruchel and blurts out ad-libbed one-liners that scream ad-libbed one-liner. Kurt Russell is a great actor. So, I hate to say this, but “Art” is an ugly-dull bore. Director/writer Jonathan Sobol tosses in endless editing tricks to make his flick soar, but it’s dead at launch, topped by a woeful laughably predictable ending. One highlight: A brief, strange bit where we break from the regular plot to watch Russell play a man who steals the Mona Lisa 100 years ago. Russell’s eyes sparkle. He smiles. He scowls. Boom. Russell deserves a major comeback. C-

Only Lovers Left Alive (2014)

Art House Golden Rule: One must love Jim Jarmusch, he of “Night on Earth.” But his latest film is “Only Lovers Left Alive,” a vampire flick that itself seems eternal, a dark slog made for Gen Xers who covered their dorm walls with Trent Reznor posters, and still have only one weekly load of laundry: Black and very, very dark gray. I squirmed as 120+ minutes ticked by. Oh, Jarmusch spins amazing ideas on death of innovation -– music, poetry, the American car –- in a world of YouTube fame. Mass consumerism is the true mark of the undead. But, damn, how many slo-mo shots do we get of Tilda Swinton stalking down Tangiers alleyways as fat guys leer? She and Tom Hiddleston (Loki from “Thor”) are husband and wife, her living in North Africa with books, he in Detroit with his music, bemoaning the death of the once-thriving metropolis that gave us Chevys. I tried to bite and drink, but the Jack White as a vampire joke? Wooden stake. “Only” only comes alive when luminous Mia Wasikowski appears as a bloodsucker with no self-control. She’s sent packing too soon. C+

The Monuments Men (2014)

The Allied movement to save masterpiece artworks from Nazi theft or torch in the closing days of World War II already inspired 1964 classic “The Train.” That superb movie churned on tense action, ditched talk to the curb, and let the audience decide if a man’s life –- or that of an entire village -– was worth the price of a Renoir. Paint on canvas, or culture? George Clooney’s “The Monuments Men” takes the American view of the same mission with a deep love of square WWII dramas, and gives us a definitive answer that, yes, art is worth dying for. It’s spoken. Aloud. Repeatedly. Clooney directs and stars along with Matt Damon, Bill Murray, and Cate Blanchett, among others, and all are solid. Watch war-weary Murray listen to a home-made record from his daughter and try not to get goose bumps. But, man, we don’t much of a look at the art that these men and women are spending their lives on. The why. If you want to see the art at the dramatic center, hit the Web, Clooney’s camera is shy. My love of “Train” may be biased. Marvelous ending with Clooney’s real pop. B

The Thomas Crown Affair (1999)

This is rare: A remake smarter and cooler than the original. John McTiernan’s takes on 1968’s “The Thomas Crown Affair” starred Steve McQueen and Faye Dunanway and spun on a bank-robber billionaire. Here, Pierce Brosnan and Rene Russo -- at the height of their stardom -– are in the spotlight with an art museum theft as the central plot device. Great change up. Brosnan is a Wall Street master who has grown bored with acquisitions and the back-slapping hoopla of taking other people’s money. But he loves oil and canvas, and a thrill. So he takes a Monet from New York’s Met. In broad daylight. During a giddy fun sideshow to a full-on robbery he orchestrated. Russo is the insurance investigator who care shit about art, but only the chase. She knows Crown did the theft, and he knows that she knows. Is the art the thing here? No. It's two bored powerful people who finally found the one who makes them tick. “Crown” is smart, damn sexy, and funny, with an insider streak that plays on the stars’ wattage, New York ego, and the prior film with Dunaway playing a wink-wink role. Brosnan and Russo are perfectly matched. B+

The Train (1964)

John Frankenheimer’s World War II “The Train” is a classic beyond compare. Maybe the grimy, sweaty black and white photography gets in the way? No idea. This film is perfect. Burt Lancaster plays French railway manager Labiche, a control freak who reluctantly and then obsessively plays out a suicide mission to stop a Nazi colonel (Paul Scofield) from looting France of its most treasured historic art -- irreplaceable Monets and Picassos, etc. The genius plot trick: Labiche and his fellow saboteurs don’t care a whit about the paintings. This is personal pride, and screwing the Nazis. At the end in eerie imagery, our star and director sternly ask if even one life violently sacrificed to save paintings or any other treasure, land, or national pride, is worth the toll. War is fruitless. Another reason to endlessly love this film: The destruction of a massive rail yard and a three-way way crash between three engines are shot in-camera, single takes. These scenes astound. You can near smell the ash and smoke. Lancaster does his own stunts, sliding down ladders and jumping trains, with Scofield’s villain as one for the ages. Quite possibly my favorite film ever. This is epic film-making. A+

Holy Motors (2012)

Well into 2013, and I finally found my gem of 2012, the mind-fuck cinematic glory I cannot shake. “Holy Motors” cannot be broken down or glossed over. My attempt will fail. It’s about acting and role-playing not just of movies, but in life, the roles we carry happily or reluctantly -– familial, professional, artistic, or criminal. The film centers on a man known as Oscar (Denis Lavant) who rides in the back of a limousine where he takes on a slew of successive personas: A beggar woman, a deformed lunatic, a dejected father, and so on, as the film leaps film genres and lives, all in Paris, all in one day. The man even kills himself -– his others -- twice. What is French writer/ director Leos Carax going for? I have no idea, nor any idea who “Oscar” really is. This is a trek as crazily impenetrable the second go-round as the first. That’s what I want in a film, to get lost in the unknown. The purposefully bizzaro finale is a blatant scoff at any who dare try and crack the mystery. And, yes, there is a better 2012 male lead performance over Daniel Day-Lewis in “Lincoln.” Mr. Lavant. A

Pina (2011)

Ignorance truly is bliss. I knew nothing of the documentary film “Pina,” or Pina Bausch, the avant-garde choreographer and subject of this brilliant movie/eulogy, when I entered the theater. What a wonderful education. Bausch was a German-born contemporary dance performer/ instructor/artist/feminist/chain-smoker who died weeks after agreeing to let director Wim Wenders (you know him, right?) make a 3D documentary of her work. She died and then the film died, but her dancers/followers/disciples resurrected the latter to honor the former. An Easter miracle. This is one of the films of 2011, documentary category and overall, shot in glorious big-screen 3D, which I sadly missed out on. 

Wenders starts his film on stages and dance studios within literal film frames, and then takes us out onto the streets, industrial parks, public swimming pools, EL trains, parks, and mountains of Pina’s home country, her dancers, young and old, performing works that touch on love, nature, water, and violence, the movement onscreen and the music so new and thrilling to these naïve eyes and ears, so energetic and beautiful, I was spell bound. He skips the boring this-than-that-happened of most bio-docs and lets Pina’s art speak for her as we watch men and women contort their bodies in unspeakable ways, out of tribute, love and joy. 

The best/most disturbing sequence has a pack of men picking/ jabbing/clutching a woman, it’s harrowing to behold, but amazing: Pina showing how sexist, condescending men openly treat women as a meat product or a car, an object to be bought. No heart. And yet Pina’s heart still beats damn strong. A must watch and listen. A