Showing posts with label terrorism. Show all posts
Showing posts with label terrorism. Show all posts

Tuesday, December 2, 2014

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-

Friday, November 28, 2014

Closed Circuit (2013)

The successful conspiracy flick rests on the audience unsure of who to trust or how deep the conspirators –- be they Big Brother or Big Corp. -– lay buried. Endings are key. From “Conversation” to “Most Wanted Man,” if I’m not shaken paranoid, then what’s the point? There’s none in “Closed Circuit,” a meek flick about London spies putting two attorneys (Eric Bana and Rebecca Hall) through hell as they represent the Muslim suspect of a shop bombing. Upfront: The villains are ploddingly obvious, with Jim Broadbent all ham as a John Mitchell type with an ugly beard, and another Famous Name as a mentor who -– of course -– turns traitor. Zero suspense. And that’s surprising as Stephen Knight (“Dirty Pretty Things”) wrote the screenplay. I wanted a dark tale that left me breathless, but when our heroes meet in secret at a football match, surrounded by cameras, I was laughing. More so, the heroes are dumb. Who doesn’t question the sudden suicide of a pal working on a top secret case? No one here has seen a movie. And that’s the problem, the likely studio-mandated fix-it ender is so happy, it feels like every movie we’ve seen. C-

Friday, October 3, 2014

The Crying Game (1992)

I’m shocked how the numerous reveals of “The Crying Game” still build on me, that I find hints never noticed before: Side characters, motivations, phrases with new meanings. Stephen Rea is IRA “volunteer” Fargus, who takes part in the kidnapping of a British soldier (Forrest Whitaker) and as he guards the prisoner, foolishly befriends the man. The soldier knows Fargus’ motives are crumbling and pleads, “Go to England, find my girl, and tell her I love her.” Fargus goes and finds Dil (Jaye Davidson) and follows her, attracted and intrigued by her world, stage presence, and an aura that leaves him curious. Soon, though, our hero’s IRA accomplices (Adrian Dunbar and Miranda Richardson) return and are intent on putting our man though a suicide mission. If he fails, Dil dies. That’s only a portion of Neil Jordan’s film, which also is about an entirely different matter altogether, including how Fargus will not fight for his own life, but will kill a man for insulting his lover. Rea is fantastic, complicated, confused, then sure, and Davidson constantly turns the tables on what Fargus expects and wants, and what we expect and want. A

Tuesday, August 19, 2014

A Most Wanted Man (2014)

One cannot watch Anton Corbijn’s ultra-tense “A Most Wanted Man” without mourning Philip Seymour Hoffman’s shocking death. “Most” is Hoffman’s final lead role, a notion that undeniably hovers over every dark frame. This story is rooted in futility and a man facing certain doom, likely eternal loneliness. Hoffman is chain-smoker German spy chief Gunther Bachmann, suffocating under the pressure of his job: Tracking suspected Middle Eastern terrorists in Germany post-9/11. The trick: Bachmann wants his suspects walking free to lead him to larger, more dangerous targets. His latest mark is a maybe innocent son (Grigoriy Dobrygin) of a war criminal who may want to truly dissolve his father’s ill-gotten future. The man brings into his circle a banker (Willem Dafoe) and a lawyer (Rachel McAdams) who quickly realize there are no bystanders in terrorism. More so, Bachmann is being hounded by bureaucrats to make arrests now, forget logistics. Who’s right? Who’s innocent? Nothing matters, and from the John Le Carre book from which this comes, that mindset can only lead to another dark day. The finale is a pulverizing gut punch. Hoffman truly marvels as a tired man crumbling before us. See it nonetheless. A

Wednesday, November 27, 2013

White House Down (2013)

It’s a tough year for 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. Obama is tanking badly, and movie wise, North Korean terrorists attacked the White House in “Olympus Has Fallen,” and comic book flicks “Iron Man 3” and “G.I. Joe: Retaliation” both put the Executive Mansion under threat. So does “White House Down,” with the D.C. landmark falling (again) to terrorists. Hollywood sure likes a theme. This version concerns right-wing military fanatics going ape shit with a World War III plot that screams 1985, but with a Tea Party bent that somehow feels exactly like what Sarah Palin and her ilk must dream of at night. Who wants peace when war is so profitable? Self-righteous pricks. Channing Tatum has the heroic John McClane role, down to the tank top, while Jamie Foxx is the Prez. Foxx’s casting is key as he channels BO down to the Nicorette, while director Roland Emmerich (“Independence Day”) seems to be openly daring/baiting Obama, “Stand up and lead!” These veiled jabs of satire and several fourth-wall busting asides (“This is so stupid” our hero mutters to himself) make this dead-horse plot of White House distress fall smooth. B

Monday, October 28, 2013

Captain Phillips (2013)

Great directors re-tell history through image. Paul Greengrass puts viewers inside history, as if the drama is happening in real time. His 9/11 tragedy “United 93” buckled me. “Captain Phillips” reaches higher -- despite clunky family babble talk at the opening -- at every moment and then after the action ends, our director lets the stench of violence smother as our hero (Tom Hanks) openly sobs in shell shock. You know the story: In 2009, four Somali bandit pirates took command of a U.S. cargo ship off the horn of Africa, and when their shit hijack plan went south, they jumped in a lifeboat with New Englander and freighter captain Richard Phillips (Hanks). Assured as death, the men invite the full force of the U.S Navy. Don’t fuck with America. Greengrass shows the pirates as desperate men out for mere money, clueless to the animal they unleashed, and Americans as trapped in first-world glory. Intense and highly claustrophobic, Greengrass captures the terrible, unknowable toll of crime -– terrorism, whatever you call it -– on body and soul. As the pirate leader, American immigrant and film newcomer Barkhad Abdi equals Hanks’ astonishing performance. His character may be outgunned. Not the actor. A

Tuesday, September 17, 2013

G.I. Joe: Retaliation (2013)

“G.I. Joe: Retaliation” outpaces the first installment of the toy-inspired franchise about an elite force of American soldiers dedicated to fighting uber-terrorist group Cobra, the latter obsessed with snake puns and world domination. Mind you, “G.I. Joe:Rise of Cobra” was an awful take on the 1980s comics/cartoon, mangling characters, adding ugly Iron Man suits, and putting (shudder) lips on the mask of a black-clad ninja. Here, director Jon Chu (“Step-Up”) ups the action -– dig the mountain-side battle of sword-playing ninjas -– and ditches much of the “Rise” low marks, reworking characters to give fan boys their due. The plot kicks off as Cobra has created an imposter U.S. Prez (Jonathan Pryce) and plans to take the world via nuclear disarmament. Satirical politics? No. This is child’s play. Speaking of, in action figure trading glory, most of the “Rise” cast has fled, but we get Dwayne Johnson as heavy-gunner Roadblock and Bruce Willis as the original Joe named Joe. (Channing Tatum briefly returns as Joe leader Duke.) Johnson carries all, while Willis yawns and the rest of the newcomers, including Adrianne Palicki in a painfully sexist “hottie soldier” role, strike poses more plastic than human. B-

Saturday, August 17, 2013

Olympus Has Fallen (2013)

“Olympus Has Fallen” is a ridiculous “Die Hard” knock-off that pits a lone hero (Gerard Butler of “300”) against a pack of terrorists at the White House, but -- ironically, maybe – is far better than the POS “Die Hard 6” ever hoped to be. That’s a lukewarm compliment. This is the kind of flick one watches in silent awe because of the riotous onscreen tug-of-war between “blow ’em up” fist-pump carnage and “can you believe this?” brain-killer stupidity. Case in point: After North Korean terrorists attack the White House, killing hundreds of people, taking hostage the president (Aaron Eckhart), and grabbing control of all U.S. nukes, the speaker of the house (Morgan Freeman) appears on TV and dumbly declares, “Our government is 100 percent functional.” Seriously! Not even Mr. Freeman can sell that crap. He tries. I laughed. Director Antoine Fugu (“Training Day”) has built a beat-for-beat rip-off of the 1988 classic, down to the Army helicopter crash, minus the Twinkie. At least “Olympus" never pretends to be anything but a B-grade shadow of a knock-off, and that goes a long way for slack. Butler is no Bruce Willis, though, and his wisecrack attempts ring hollow. How’s “White House Down”? C+

Saturday, February 2, 2013

Zero Dark Thirty (2012)

Director Kathryn Bigelow and screenwriter Mark Boal scored Oscars but little box office traction with 2009’s Iraq-set “Hurt Locker.” In Zero Dark Thirty, they go bigger and bolder by following the CIA and then SEAL Team Six as they hunt and eventually kill Osama bin Laden. 

This is an openly controversial film. It invites scorn and bravado, as does any good piece of journalism. And this is a hard-hitting news piece a la spy/war film. A fantastic, bewildering, white-knuckle thriller, hard to easily grasp on a first viewing, but mesmerizing. In short, one of the year's best, most complex films. A must see.

After we hear 911 calls from that terrible Tuesday over a black screen, we delve for 40-some minutes into the capture and torture or an apparent terrorist at the hands of CIA operatives, as well as the back office paperwork and myriad details of the largest manhunt in U.S. history. The torture scenes hit hard. Our government denies torture ever took place. Nothing happened. I tend to trust the film. Torture happened. The detainee -- one of scores of captured men seen put through various acts of distress -- cracks a peep about a courier for bin Laden. From there a tiny, illusive thread is tracked for a decade by Mia (Jessica Chastain), a CIA field agent who has no other mission in life but to find the Al Qaeda leader. 

Leads dead-end, attacks rock London and elsewhere, colleagues are killed, and Mia is targeted by would-be assassins. It makes her more determined. Mia is an enigma, her inner character only partially revealed via child-made drawings on a wall and a daring taunt tossed at Leon Panetta (James Gandolfini), where she declares herself the “mother fucker” who found the mastermind of 3,000 deaths. She also makes a crack at him over lunch, and constantly hounds her supervisors. She is one rocking red head. Angry.

The backlash against this film is insanely grotesque. Many liberals want a neon sign damning torture as bad. Poor dears. Conservatives just hate the idea bin Laden went down on Obama’s watch. Jack asses. Both are off-base, lost between ignorance and delusion, and not a little denial. 

The last hour, where bin Laden -– barely seen -- meets his end, is flat-out riveting in its stark matter-of-fact rawness. Like the great book “No Easy Day” by SEAL Team Six member Mark Owen, “Zero” somberly lays out the cards of today’s reality. Here, flatly stated, no holds barred, it says we torture to get intel, and then we act on it. To save the day, or so we hope. Sure Bush, Cheney, and our current government call it, what, “enhanced interrogation techniques? A quick note: As with any film, dramatic license is taken, most especially during this climatic raid of the bin Laden compound -- see, Bigelow and Boal have their SEALS talk -- talk! -- inside the chopper as they approach their target, and then on the ground -- shouting and what not -- and that stuff never happens. Silence, always. Any one remotely familiar with Army tactics knows that. Paint ball war enthusiasts know that. You shout, talk, yell, you might as well draw a hand flare to bring on enemy fire. It is a small, but significant deviation.

“Hurt Locker” and every film ever made, including “Lincoln” take dramatic license, add a flare, a chase, a drink, a conversation. It is drama. That does not take away from the case of the film, the depths America goes, and likely has gone in the past, but never debated. Damn sure in World War II, enemy combatants I am sure were ... interrogated to the fullest extent. 

And how does that stack against the terrorists? Have we sunk to their level? Recall the days when Saddam in Iraq caught our airmen, he was beaten and tortured. The U.S. balked. Now we do that, and call it patriotic duty to God. I know people in the Army who have looked me square in the face and say they witnessed it, and it works. Do they not lie, I ask. To get out of the pain? Sure, they say. But you compare the different lies to find the truth. Morality, mercy has no bearing. This is the way it is for them, no questions.

If Iran or Syria did these acts to our troops, bombs would fall. Rage would flame across America. Fact. Hell, yes, it's disturbing to see here, the shit and piss, the man stuffed in a box like laundry. The food games. The dog walk scene. They ought to make any sane viewer cringe, to hate the action on screen. Boal and Bigelow do not allow us to flinch, and we are forced to watch, and see it eat up the perpetrators, and they allow us to maybe, just maybe, see -- most disturbingly -- into the mindset that it is worth the price. 

They do not judge, or comment, or place in mock-shocked characters. They want the anger, the debate. The critics be damned, let them foam. And what happens? They get investigated. They. Get. Investigated. By our Congress. To squash any talk on torture. It is a sick ironic twist of our new American values.

As with “Lincoln,” this is a vital film that transcends Hollywood entertainment. It’s a mirror of our grim reality. And Mia -– based on a real CIA agent, but also fictionalized and combined with the actions of others like her -– is our best hope of a good future. Chastain carries the film on her back, her final scene tearing the lid open on her greatness as the leading actress of her generation. yes, she is an agent, but she is no super spy. She does not pop a gun, kick butt, or go James Bond. Her weapons is her brain, her determination, he eye for detail and language, and a laptop. The new weapon of our day, the laptop.

Bigelow is making the best war films of our time. She is tackling the effects of violence on our warriors and nation, not mindless gun porn. Wonderfully ironic as our military finally allows women into combat, and conservatives blanch hard about old-time values: A

Friday, December 14, 2012

Argo (2012)

Ben Affleck’s directing career has hit orbit. “Agro” is the crazy/ genius/brilliant/true tale of CIA agent and the Iranian Hostage crisis of 1979. I was five. “Star Wars” defined me. Thousands of miles away, Iran burned under a sick and violent Islamist dictatorship. Our embassy was rushed by zealots out for blood. Hostages were taken. The world panicked. War considered. A ray of hope unbeknownst to us: Six Americans escaped and hid inside the home of the Canadian ambassador, blind from Iranian grip. (Chris Terrio’s crackling script takes liberties here, as the six were split up. But never mind that.) How to extract the six? Enter CIA agent Chris Mendez (Affleck) and a bold plan: Ferret the group through the main airport as a “Star Wars” rip-off film crew, all under the Iranian Armys watch. Pumped with tense drama, and dark political and Hollywood humor, “Argo” may be 2012s best film, gripping and ingenuously played from the start. Affleck as a Hispanic-American is bullocks, but 10 minutes my qualms fell silent.The kicker: Our 2012 is no different, outside of shaggy hair and five channels. “Star Wars” still defines me, our embassies fall to madness, and Iran burns. I love this film.  A

Monday, July 30, 2012

The Dark Knight Rises (2012)

“The Dark Knight Rises” is the third and clear final installment of Christopher Nolan’s definitive, genre-defining trilogy of Batman films. It is pure topsy-turvy genius Nolan, an epic urban-war film and rule-bending comic book movie that wraps around and fits like snug fingers into “Batman Begins” and “The Dark Knight” so exactly, it feels as if we have just witnessed the ultimate story arc of a super hero’s life, unlike ever before. No fat. No lose ends. Near perfect. The balance, themes, visuals, and characters expertly played. 

In the first film, a doomed father asks his son, “Why do we learn to fall down?” And the boy, now the Batman, is still answering that question, that we are even still pondering that question is worthy of story-writing accolades. Nolan and his co-writer brother Jonathan have again raised the bar, not just on the super hero film genre, but the entire idea of the summer movie tent pole. I’m looking at you, every Michael Bay film ever made, or even the stellar, popcorn fun (but, in hindsight, flat as a flapjack) “Avengers.” 

Case in point, name another summer flick that tips its hat and quotes from “A Tale of Two Cities.” This does, liberally. Average film fan: Clueless. Nolan: All the happier devil.

The amazing kicker of this finale: Nolan’s best hat-trick of the ultra-dark film franchise, a “Prestige,” if you will, is to introduce a new hero rising from tragedy, pain, and lost trust in leadership. Not evil mass death of the Joker, nor the vigilante violence that haunted Bruce Wayne as Batman. But honest, cautious goodness. Let the fan fiction begin. The final image, before Nolan’s trademark “black screen” sign off, is a literal “Dark Knight Rises.” I saw it coming, months back, sort of. But Nolan defies the script I wrote in my head.

If you have not seen this film, then stop, SPOLIERS abound. And, really, 10 days?

“Rises” opens eight years after the events that closed out “Dark Knight,” with Harvey “Two-Face” Dent (Aaron Eckhart) killed after a deadly rampage that also almost killed the son of Commissioner James Gordon (Gary Oldman). Batman (Christian Bale) remains hated and hunted, taking the millstone of Dent’s sins onto himself. Tones of Christ, anyone?

The Dark Knight’s thinking: Give Gotham (New York, naturally) the hero he thinks it “deserves,” whatever that means, the Boy Scout White Knight that Dent was before he crossed paths with the Joker. As for the Clown Prince, he receives no mention here, with Heath Ledger’s death already hanging over the franchise like a heavy fog. Nolan didn’t want to bring up more scar tissue, so to speak. In the end, it is a smart move.

Back to this drama: Gotham is enjoying an unprecedented drop in crime thanks to a hardcore, no appeal law for criminals handed down in the name of Dent, and the Batman remains vanished. Bruce Wayne also is in hiding, rumored to be crazy or disfigured, similar to Howard Hughes -– an in-joke as Nolan once tried to make a biopic of Hughes before Martin Scorsese beat him to the punch. (Anyone still want to see that movie? I do.)

This is just the start of “Dark Knight,” and we have much to go. A hulking, massive brute of a terrorist named Bane (Tom Hardy) is living in the underground of Gotham’s water system, planning an all-out war on the city, with a purpose that strikes close to Occupy Wall Street: Take down the rich establishment, share it all, and destroy the infrastructure. 

(Yes, the film cuts deep into the left, but know that the city’s corrupt law-and-order-at-all-costs tactics, and blatant lying about peace and stripping of Civil Rights mirrors the right-wing’s mantra, including the great lie that this nation was founded on some Christian value. Never generations of racism or the murder of countless Native Americans.) 

Yet, Bane has more in plan, fully indifferent to politics. It all goes back to the first film. Nolan has followed Peter Jackson with his  “LOTR”  Trilogy, and Lucas with his own trilogy. You know the name. It is all that rock solid. (Let me say it here, this film meets our impossible expectations of the trilogy's closing, not excel, but meets. That alone is worthy of endless praise.) Consider the opposite: “The Matrix” trilogy. 

I digress. Mr. Wayne, still heartbroken over the death of Rachel Dawes, injured more in mind than body, is flummoxed by a new woman. She is Selina Kyle (Ann Hathaway), a jewel thief who breaks into Wayne’s personal safe when the manor is full of guests. She discombobulates the man, leaving him first flat on his face, then as the film progress, unable to finish sentences and struck silent. (The film is immensely dark, but also quite funny.) Kyle intrigues Wayne, and is the catalyst to bring him, both of him, out into the light. Indeed, Wayne dons the Batman suit again, but only for short chunks of time. 

This trilogy always has been about Bruce Wayne –- the rich playboy -- as the disguise, after all. The rubber suit, by now, is irrelevant. A tool. The suit, though, must come out because after a stunning set of scenes -- the film is 2 hours 45 minutes, but flies by -- has Bain and his henchmen leading a hands-on assault on Wall Street, and later ups the ante with a full-on attack of the city, centered on a football stadium, but spanning outward to include bridges and various infrastructure. Batman, sure as hell, is needed again.

The finale takes place on the streets and air of Gotham, and again has echoes of “Begins” and “Dark Knight” in certain punches, crashes, and other beats of action cinema. It’s a pulverizing film that had me thinking of 1970s Cold War paranoia films, “The Siege,” or a classic Tom Clancy novel, more than anything found in the libraries of D.C. Comics, and also of 9/11, and terrorism in our day and time. Nolan is going big here, not looking back.

Again, Nolan takes Batman out of the film for well more than half its running time. I’ll hold off on why. If you have seen it, you know why, if you have read the comic books, you know why. It’s a daring step that would make the folks behind “Avengers” or “Iron Man” quake: A superhero with an MIA superhero. Here, it perfectly fits in with what we were told in “Begins,” this is all Bruce, Batman can be anyone, the man behind the mask is irrelevant. The move also takes Batman down several pegs, a fallen boy in an old well.

Back to Gotham where a lone, hotheaded policeman (Joseph Gordon-Levitt of the Nolan-directed “Inception,” which also had Hardy in it) becomes not just the right-hand-man of a sidelined Gordon, but a stand-in for the Dark Knight. Nolan shifts his film to this man, John Blake, also an orphan, as if it were an Olympic relay race. He is the man, the Dark Knight, who Rises in the end, wary of violence, iron-strong structures and also anarchy, and we presume will take on the mask. That his story plays out much like a police thriller (as did “Dark Knight”) is another way Nolan defies expectations. Gordon-Levitt rocks the role.

As with “Prometheus,” the other surprisingly great, against-the-grain summer film, there are errors along the way, mostly the Wall Street attack and its immediate aftermath, which seems to go from day to dusk to darkest night in far too short a frame period, and a questionable gap in how long the Batman remains sidelined, is it the full three months, or five? I’m still uncertain at this point. All are forgiven, easily. One more crack follows.

What is certain: This film, is a huge, bloody marvel (I know, D.C.), but it does not have the drive of Ledger’s Joker sending electric shocks out into the audience. How could it ever have equaled? Ledger’s performance remains legendary, and could never be topped. The scarily muscular Hardy –- a great actor, catch him in “Bronson” -– is playing such a different sort of evil menace, that comparisons are unfair, and irrelevant. (Had Ledger lived, had the Joker returned, would the story be repetitive? Would Bane be here?) 

Bane wears a “Mad Max”-type gas mask that obscures most of his face, and the effect is purposefully off-putting, almost fully repugnant. So we must watch his eyes, blazing with anger and power, and study his body language, how when he lays his hand gently on a man’s shoulder and brings him –- powerful as he is –- down in a second, by sheer intimidation. 

Hardy's chosen voice will remain controversial forever, tones of Darth Vader, mixed with that of an early James Bond villain, many words inaudible. It’s all crazily over-the-top theatrical, but as Liam Neeson’s Ra’s al Ghul taught Wayne in the first installment, that’s how you intimidate. Nolan is playing by the rules off screen that he lays out on screen. (Amazing how many people miss that. And, yes, Neeson appears here, but not how I expected. ) 

The film has a legion of detractors, those who hate how Nolan has mangled and morphed the Batman history and legend, to his own will, and his (undeniable) epic arc, but, again, as with “Inception,” people cannot stop talking about this movie. That’s power, for Nolan, as Ra’s al Ghul would indicate. (And that is art, too.)  

Let’s not forget just how good Bale is here, how permanently hurt and old he appears. As in the first film, Nolan and company are not afraid to show a hero making mistakes and truly getting in over his head. Case in point, despite his mantra to “fight harder,” look at the shock on Bale as Batman’s face, when he first fights Bane. It’s one for the books. Not a heroic rebel yell, but a look of sheer, absolute, “Oh, shit,” fear. Somehow fans hate that. Why? It is real.

Now, that penultimate scene, with Alfred in the Italian café, looking up, to see his life’s hope. I wish it were the very final image, not the Rising scene, and I wish Nolan didn’t show what Alfred sees, instead leaving us hanging and spinning like Cobb’s top. Cain staring out from the screen. Cut to black. Seeing those faces confirmed, it kills the drama before it. At the last moment, an over-reach that drives me mad. Debate onward...

I already have burned through too many words here, and I still have yet addressed the women of this trilogy, and the way Hathaway as “Catwoman” (the name is never mentioned, thank the film gods) turns not just Batman’s brain upside down. Nor have I touched on Wally Pfister’s endlessly fascinating cinematography, never better than the scenes where Batman fights Bain in the low, dark sewers. Hans Zimmer’s score thunders as if he were scoring a deadly serious take on “Clash of Titans,” or another story of gods at war. Every technical mark is just struck dead-on target, besting all before it. (O.K., wait, nothing beats Ledger’s  tractor trailer crash in downtown Chicago.)

“Rises” has that much going on. That many plates. Nolan barely drops a fork. I’m writing this and thinking of a third trip back to the Batcave. To discover more that I missed, re-watch the finale. That’s what movies are all about, are they not? If only that one tiny scene had been cut short, leaving us wide open, rising, in mystery, shock, wonder, and in applause. That's what I wanted. It is the sole reason -- OK< no, I still hate that time jump Wall Street attach to pieces, bad move all around -- this doesn't get a solid “A score. A-

Monday, February 13, 2012

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-

Sunday, May 29, 2011

Restrepo and Wasteland (both 2010)

Documentaries are fast becoming the sole way to open the eyes of filmgoers to the world not just around us, but on the other side of the planet.

“Restrepo” perfectly fits the bill. Directed with journalistic just-the-facts terseness by Sebastian Junger and Tim Hetherington, it follows a U.S. Army combat unit in Afghanistan’s infamous Korengal Valley. With boots fresh on the ground, the unit’s most popular member is killed: Juan Restrepo, a Columbian native who made the United States his home. The surviving men dedicate themselves afterward to his honor.

Filmed on location with follow-up interviews later, the viewer is shown every aspect of these men’s existence: Days of boredom, and then sudden, constant attacks by snipers. The stress is immense: Who can you trust? What happens when you frack an enemy hideout and kill a child? This is riveting, heart-breaking and heroic material, about American men putting their lives on the line, half a world away. The interviews pack devastating emotional punch. A late-in-the-film gun battle is nearly too much to bear, and thankfully, nothing too graphic is shown. This is a must-watch for any and all adult Americans, no matter the political stripe, and lands high on my favorites films of 2010. It’s simply just unshakable. Shockingly, Hetherington was killed in combat in 2011, filming in Libya. A

There is no violence in “Wasteland,” unless you count the economic destitution that can suck the breath out of a viewer. This documentary follows modern artist Vik Muniz – he does wild stuff with a camera – as he spearheads a project involving dozens of people who (barely) make a living by scavenging recyclable material from mountains of fetid garbage at a massive landfill in Rio de Janeiro. Muniz’s idea: Form large, intricate images with found trash, and photograph the image as art. The subjects are the scavengers themselves: A young mother, an elderly man and a young father attempting to form a union for his fellow scavengers, to protect their rights and lives. The scavengers suffer from diseases and fungi, and have seen dead bodies thrown in the trash, but they are glad for any employment. (Heartbreaking.)

Muniz, a Brazilian, knows he is walking a fine line: Exploiting the workers, or lifting them up. A couple scenes (Muniz and his wife argue) feel a bit stilted (reenacted?) for the camera, and the subtitles fly by too fast, but these are small complaints against a story that, like the best of art., should be shared with all. A-

Thursday, January 20, 2011

Incendiary (2008)

“Incendiary” is the most insulting, exploitive film I’ve seen to tackle Islamic terrorism and mass death. It’s an awkward, miserable watch barely saved by Michelle Williams’ performance, which itself sinks to hysterical wailing. Williams plays a London mom, devoted to her child, but unhappily married to a bomb squad technician. At a bar one night, she meets a rich (!) investigative reporter (Ewan McGregor) who takes her home. They screw. When he comes to her place days later, they do it again. During, she watches the telly as her boy and hubby die in a stadium bombing. The silly title is partial literal as mom starts a diary – get it? – as if it were written to Bin Laden. “Incendiary” sinks into its own asshole with hubby’s boss announcing his love to the destroyed woman, McGregor stalking her with notepads, government conspiracies, and all sorts of nonsense too ridiculous to repeat. Every other minute, the film becomes more sensationalistic and sickly insipid. The most grievous sin: A happy ending that made me sneer. D

Thursday, August 19, 2010

Body of Lies (2008)

“Body of Lies” is a horrible title. But it sure beats “Generic, Unconvincing Middle Easy Spy Movie.” The name it deserves.

Ridley Scott’s thriller starts off with a bang – a busted group of Islamic Jihadists blow themselves up inside a block of English row houses without so much as a shrug. The scene shocks. Then we jump to hot, dangerous Iraq where super CIA spy Roger Ferris (Leonardo DiCaprio) is digging and running to nail a second cell of Jihadists. The mission goes to hell, and Roger is wounded. That’s the first half hour. I liked it.

Then the show falls apart. Roger is sent to Jordan by his boss (Russell Crowe) to bust another cell. The job goes to shit and injured again, Roger starts digging on a local nurse. Because that’s what white-as-rice American spies do in the hostile Middle East, date Muslim women in public and play grab hands, as to not get noticed. Everyone notices. Dogs even perk their ears. DiCaprio, sporting a beard that looks like arm pit hair, can’t push this slop to credibility. He’s too eager to please, and why is a war-scarred spy all gaga over a woman? And why does she believe his flimsy cover story? Because the script demands that the hero be compromised. No other reason.

Roger isn’t even actually a character, a person to root for. He’s an ideal – the young, pragmatic, justice-seeking American who wants to vanquish evil, but with utmost care for the innocent. Crowe also plays a symbol – the fat, pretentions, know-it-all American who doesn’t care if he’s right or wrong, and can’t tell the difference because he’s busy driving the minivan. Crowe is good, but his character is white noise. Debates about war far flat: Good guys want the war to end, but the bad guys don’t. Deep.

Scott’s best playing card is the might of tech-savvy U.S. surveillance, and the way terrorists stay out of sight by staying off the grid, all hand-written messages, bicycles and 1,000-B.C. hideouts. This is perfect entertainment for 2000. An unlikely dud from Scott. Bag this “Body.” C

Monday, August 24, 2009

The Kingdom (2007)

“The Kingdom” is a helluva hybrid film -- thinking person’s political brain cruncher of all things Middle East/United States and a damn good action film. The very last of this 2007 thriller with Jamie Foxx, Jason Bateman, Jennifer Garner and the awesome Chris Cooper may be way too Hollywood, but it’s preceded by bare-knuckle big-screen entertainment. And nasty, true politics. Director Peter Berg and his writers provide a shot of whiskey that won’t be found in any other Hollywood film that would go for “can’t we all get along” easiness. This film dares suggest maybe we can’t get along. But that’s only part of the film. On the action side, an explosive highway chase delivers shocking thrills, and leads up to a shoot-out that is eye-popping, if not a bit silly. Hell, I’ll give it away: All our American heroes walk out alive from a vicious battle with dozens of bomb-throwing, machine-gun-totting terrorists. A big Bruce Willis-like slump for a film that opens with a shocking attack on Americans playing the most American sport of baseball. B+

Saturday, August 1, 2009

Traitor and Vantage Point (2008)

"Traitor" should have been at least good. It spins political wars with ease and stars the under-used Guy Pearce ("Memento") and the always great Don Cheadle ("Hotel Rwanda"). But it doesn't work.

Sudan born and American raised ex-soldier turned arms dealer Samir Horn (Cheadle) is busted in a raid by FBI agent Roy Clayton (Pearce) and Max Archer (Neal McDonough) in the Middle East. Bounced to prison, Samir meets up with Islamic terrorists (including Said Taghmaoui) and eventually escapes with the evil zealots and begins the work of a religious-bent bomber. Archer and Clayton work to stop him.

"Traitor" wants to have a tricky plot, and presents one, but to no avail. Why? Because not for a second did I believe that Cheadle's wise, heroic eyes can hold evil. And Pearce, God bless him he's nearly always wonderful, fails to faithfully portray an American-born Southern Baptist.

Another hitch: the contrived ending is too neat, and makes even the happy conclusion of "Eagle Eye" seem realistic. I truly like the points that writer /director Jeffrey Nachmanoff tries to push forward: That not all Muslims are terrorists nor Arab, and that not all Arabs are Muslims. But the film just fumbles everything else.

Through sheer talent and charisma, Cheadle is terrific as a tortured soul. A scene of Samir praying and weeping in a hotel bathroom is fantastic. Jeff Daniels also has a good, brief role as a CIA chief willing to cross the same lines as a terrorist to reach his self-perceived goals of righteousness. The film's only surprise -- Comedian Steve Martin has story credit. C+

Said Taghmaoui also pops up in "Vantage Point" as a terrorist of non-religious persuasion hell bent on taking out the president of the United States (William Hurt) who is in Spain for a peace conference. There's not much peace, though, as gun fire, explosions, car chases, mass hysteria and girls losing ice cream cones smash upon each other. I'm serious on that last point by the way -- a lost ice cream cone is a major plot point.

Dennis Quaid, hugely under-appreciated as an actor, is heroic Secret Service agent Thomas Barnes, a guy who once took multiple bullets for his boss (Hurt) before and gladly will do so again. Told in the style of the Japanese classic "Rashomon," this thriller shows how Barnes re-acts to an attack on the POTUS in eight or so viewpoints, before settling off to a supposed slam-bang climax. We follow the POTUS, Barnes, a TV producer (Sigourney Weaver), an American tourist (Forest Whitaker) another SS agent (Matthew Fox of "Lost"), a shady maybe/maybe not Spanish policeman (Eduardo Noriega) and others.

Each vantage point is meant to show us different pieces of a complex conspiracy-laden puzzle and it works quite well for 30 minutes of excitement. But, dang, if I didn't spot the surprise bad guy right away. And that slam-bang climax is pure junk as Barnes turns from wounded soul to unbeatable unbelievable Superman, too many coincidences pile up and the never-explained ruthless, nasty terrorists suddenly form a conscious and cause a real pile up.

Let me say this: A better director/writer such as Guillermo del Toro would have let a certain character be mowed down in the street, and shocked the audience into a stupor. But not in this standard Hollywood vehicle directed by Pete Travis and written by Barry Levy. Quaid's character is a stiff, and his talent barely saves the film. Hurt looks bored, while Fox and Whitaker are just not believable in their roles. A great set up followed by a huge body splat on the pavement. C-