Compelling deconstructions of how our society functions can be found in the unlikeliest of places. Insurgent, the adaptation of the second novel in the Divergent series is a surprisingly excellent example. The Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences would likely never recognize a movie like this, though a dystopian future sci-fi franchise aimed at a young adult audience can be more interesting in terms of gender equality than many of today’s “serious” films.
The first five minutes of the vampire comedy What We Do in the Shadows let me know I was in good hands. In those opening minutes, the filmmakers pay homage to both the classic silent film Nosferatu and Francis Ford Coppola’s stab at the most famous fanged tale, Bram Stoker’s Dracula.
Shadows is the brainchild of Jemaine Clement, one half of the comedy rock duo Flight of the Concords, and Taika Waititi, who wrote and directed several episodes of the Concords’ TV show. Clement and Waititi also collaborated on the 2007 comedy Eagle vs. Shark, and have made a very literate comedy in Shadows. They use the conventions of horror movies in general, and vampire movies specifically, to inform their film. Not incidentally, they have also made a very funny movie.
In terms of music, I’m a 70s guy. Pink Floyd, Grateful Dead, The Allman Brothers Band. I have an affinity for those groups comprised of musicians who find each other, form a band, and write and play all their own songs. I enjoy the majority of groups that were popular in the late 50s and 60s less so. Those bands tended to be assembled by producers, and most did not play their own instruments on the records they cut, nor did they write any of the songs. Enter the 20-30 studio musicians -- no one can quite agree on an exact number -- known as The Wrecking Crew.
In Maps to the Stars, body horror auteur David Cronenberg’s latest film, the backdrop to this lurid tale of sex and violence is that most people in Hollywood are screwed up and emotionally broken... News flash, David, this is not a new idea. Hell, most people outside of Hollywood are screwed up and emotionally broken. The only difference is that insane amounts of money allow successful people in the entertainment industry to indulge in every crazy whim.
Birdman is an assault on the senses. In the absolute. Best. Way.
Director Alejandro Gonzalez Iñárritu weaves around the characters with the camera, setting a frenetic pace that only rarely slowed to let me catch my breath. This is matched beat for beat by Antonio Sanchez’s powerful, jazzy drum score.
Andy and Lana Wachowski know how to do epic, spectacular filmmaking. I adore their humans-as-batteries head trip The Matrix. Despite the bad press it received upon its release, I also loved Cloud Atlas, their filmed version of the supposedly un-filmable novel of the same name. So, when Warner Bros. pushed Jupiter Ascending’s release date back more than six months from the prime blockbuster territory of midsummer to the dreaded dumping ground of February, I wasn’t worried. When the film then garnered intense criticism, and even some walkouts, during its premiere at the Sundance Film Festival, I still wasn’t worried. Okay, maybe I was a little worried. Turns out, I had good reason to be.
Life is such a fragile thing. While we know that fact, at least philosophically, many of us are thankfully spared from having to confront it on a day-to-day basis. Based on the bestselling novel of the same name by Lisa Genova, Still Alice is the deeply moving character study of what happens to a person who loses her very identity to the ravages of early-onset Alzheimer’s disease. Julianne Moore’s performance as Alice – a highly intelligent, respected linguistics professor – devastated and humbled me.
Within the first five minutes of Selma, I knew that it was going to be an uncompromising film. In those first five minutes, there is a tender scene between Martin Luther King, Jr. and his wife, Coretta, as Dr. King prepares to accept the Nobel Peace Prize. The couple has a conversation about the importance of the event, and about how far they have come, but also how far there is left to go. This is followed immediately by a church bombing that rocked me in my seat. Those first two scenes set the tone for the entire film.
Do a quick Google search of “Michael Moore American Sniper Tweets” and you’ll instantly understand the dread I felt when sitting down to write this review.
Moore can be a compelling filmmaker at times, but he can also be the worst example of an internet troll. He chose the latter route when he tweeted that he was “taught that snipers are cowards.” Defending his remarks against a storm of criticism both online and off, Moore claims innocence by saying he was referring to the sniper that ended his uncle’s life in WWII, and because he never mentioned American Sniper by name. If you believe the offending tweet being sent out on the film’s opening weekend was just a crazy coincidence, you need to get your cynicism settings checked. He made the comments to enrage people, nothing more.
There’s a scene, consisting of two shots, near the beginning of Whiplash that cuts to the heart of the entire story. Andrew (Miles Teller) sits on the floor, listening to a jazz drummer he idolizes, Buddy Rich. Cut to Andrew’s point of view with a shot of his own drum kit. The kit sits there, looming over Andrew as the album plays. Cut back to Andrew, staring at his drums. The look on Andrew’s face is immediately recognizable to anyone who has ever undertaken a creative endeavor: frozen by intimidation. The intimidation of wanting to be great at something, but fearing you just don’t have what it takes.
It’s hard to logically argue an almost completely visceral and emotional reaction to a film. Then again, aren’t emotional appeals the main point of making art? Sure, many creative endeavors seek to educate or to enlighten on a particular subject, or make an academic statement using intellectual appeals. But I would argue that the overwhelming majority of artists seek to hit the audience in the collective gut, wishing to elicit the strongest possible emotional response to their work.
That’s exactly what happened to me as I watched Wild.
“Of course if you’re a flag-waving fan of writer-director Paul Thomas Anderson…you will be required to recognize it as a work of genius…” - Tom Long, The Detroit News
I’m a flag-waving fan of Mr. Anderson, and not only is Inherent Vice not a work of genius, it is the low point of his career thus far, and a near total disappointment.
I’ve often struggled with how to describe what works in a movie and what doesn’t. Breaking through the standard “it was good”/“it was bad” dichotomy can be difficult, especially because my personal philosophy on what makes a movie “good” or “bad” tends toward the ineffable. But reaching an emotional connection to what’s happening onscreen is, unquestionably, a big part of it. Unfortunately, the biggest problem with Angelina Jolie’s biggest budget directorial effort to date is that the emotional connection never comes.
I’ve had trouble writing about director Ridley Scott’s latest attempt at epic period film-making, Exodus: Gods and Kings, since first seeing it. I think I finally know why. After finding huge critical and popular success with his Oscar-winning swords-and-sandals epic Gladiator in 2001, Scott has returned to the period piece action-adventure well several times with limited success – as seen in both Kingdom of Heaven and the recent Robin Hood. The big problem with Exodus, a retelling of the biblical story of Moses freeing the Jews from Egyptian slavery, is that it doesn’t feel like a story Ridley Scott needed to tell.
The possibility for disaster was high when Richard Linklater embarked on his experiment of filming Boyhood in 2002. The film was shot over the course of twelve years using the same actor to tell the story of Mason, who we see progress from age six to eighteen, and the people who come in and out of his life during that time period.
My respect and admiration for Linklater’s commitment to a project of such enormous scope is hard to overstate. When he chose child actor Ellar Coltrane to carry what would become a three hour study of a child coming of age in America, he had no idea what he would get as the years passed, and Coltrane’s talents could either grow or stagnate. This risk was compounded when Linklater cast his own young daughter in the pivotal role of Mason’s older sister, Samantha.
The most common critique of Stanley Kubrick’s science fiction masterpiece 2001: A Space Odyssey is that it is cold, detached. Clinical. Kubrick had no emotional investment in his characters in that movie, and they only served as catalysts for the plot. Interstellar is director Christopher Nolan’s epic, sweeping counterpoint to Kubrick’s coldness. It seems clear to me that Nolan was not only inspired by, but was possibly obsessed with Kubrick’s film while he crafted his own.
True Stories is a quiet film. Despite all the great music and the zaniness of the characters, the natural tide it creates is meant to sweep the audience gently along with it. While watching it, I couldn’t help but sit with a bemused grin on my face from start to finish.
