Showing posts with label Hong Kong. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Hong Kong. Show all posts

Monday, July 7, 2014

Transformers: Age of Extinction (2014)

Michael Bay’s “Transformers: Age of Extinction” is a 170-minute endurance test thud thud thuding loud as slick CGI and slo-mo explosions litter the screen with buildings, trains, and cars crashing and people running about, always at magic hour. In Bay’s world, every day has five sunsets. The original cast is out, replaced by Mark Wahlberg as a Texas inventor/redneck/father with a Boston accent who happens upon wounded alien robot hero Optimus Prime -– stoic Autobot leader -– and ends up chased by Uncle Sam thugs led by Kelsey Grammer. Our heroes bolt to Utah then Chicago and then Hong Kong, because in China everyone knows kung fu. And Asia means box office coin. Thousands of people die as robots fight and Wahlbeg’s dad saves his pretty teen girl (Nicola Peltz) whose ass Bay glares at, endlessly. The script talks the death of original cinema early on, but “T4” unironically regurgitates films 1-3 and stacks bewildering logic lapses one upon the other. Greatest jaw-dropper: Beijing and Hong Kong within a short drive. Even by the greatest allowance for “dumb” fun and the occasional jolt of a cool image (all those sunsets), Bay’s films are cinema’s death. Soulless, brainless empty robots. D

Friday, February 1, 2013

Dark City (1998) and The Matrix (1999)

Funny how some movies seem separated at birth, perfect soul mates for a perfect double bill. Especially two sci-fi films that deal with a loner hero realizing his existence within a false reality and hunted by men dressed in black. That’s the basic plots behind “Dark City,” and “The Matrix,” the latter of which was filmed on the same sets as the former and released a year apart. Some die-hard conspiracy buffs insist “Matrix” ripped off “Dark City.” No. I see them as two pieces of inspired, similar art that we’re lucky to have.

“City” is from director/writer Alex Proyas, who was following the charcoal-colored theme of his tragic actioner “Crow.” Here, a man (Rufus Sewell) wakes up in a hotel bathtub with no idea where he is or – more vital – who he is. A ribbon-sliced body of a woman lies nearby, but he saves a dying goldfish before fleeing the room. This is a wondrously strange tale exactly modeled after 1950s film noirs with the burg of the title stylized after some ’30s hyper-drugged-out German architectural nightmare. There’s a dame (Jennifer Connelly), a weary detective (William Hurt), and a group of pale men and one boy dressed in black coats with strange powers. These creeps are called “Strangers,” and exist below the city. Did I mention the disfigured mad scientist? He’s here. German indeed. Not to say this is that kind of film. Not Nazis. Further out. Crazy wonderful sinister fun, it's a must watch for artistic candy, sharp story, heavily stylized acting, and the way it gooses with one’s own memory. As the scientist, a creepy Kiefer Sutherland recalls Peter Lorre, whose countless monsters/killers belong to this world. A

“Matrix” is the box office smash that launched a sci-fi subgenre. You know the story: Thomas Anderson, cubicle drone by day and computer hacker by night, is recruited by a Zen-guru resistance leader (Laurence Fishburne) who says the world around them is a mirage, that Anderson lives inside a stream of 1s and 0s. The real world is barren, most of humanity slave power pods to AI robotic overlords. Directed and written by Andy and Larry (now Lana) Wachowski, “Matrix” is a generational hallmark film, the “Star Wars” of our then-dawning 21st century, with an anti-authority alien tone lit green that is cliché now, but mind-shattering then. Bullet time, people. The fights as Thomas -– now Neo, a Jesus-Christ-by-way-of-William-Gibson-by-way-of-John-Woo savior -- takes on a cop/anti-virus named Smith (Hugo Weaving, hammering the Queen’s English into servitude) still rock. As Neo, Keanu Reeves finally has the perfect arena for his seemingly human blankness, playing the canvas for which all hope will be painted. He’s never been better, more exactly right. The sequels were ponderous, but this remains a thrill of cinema reimagined by two visionaries. Incredible. A+