Coming Soon to a Theatre Near You - March 2012

Let's take a look at what March has to offer...

March 2nd

The Lorax: Now with 100% more Danny DeVito!

The month gets off to a rather underwhelming start with the one-two punch of The Lorax and Project X. The former looks like a painful reworking of the beloved Dr. Seuss book, transforming the title character into a lovable crank and adding new characters for the purposes of getting Zac Efron and Taylor Swift into the mix. Meanwhile, the latter appears to be a fairly unbearable use of the found footage format, offering a feature-length version of the sort of party I would do my best to avoid in real life. Still, to each their own. I've never been able to warm up to the fratboy antics of Todd Phillips, but others seem to get quite a kick out of his stuff.

March 9th

"What? You thought I was in the middle of a comeback?"

Truthfully, the more footage I see from John Carter, the more excited I am about it. It could be a massive flop, but I've got to take a chance on a new movie from the guy who gave us Finding Nemo and Wall-e. Perpetually uninteresting director Lasse Hallstrom returns with a new movie called Salmon Fishing in the Yemen, which sounds like a Simpsons joke, but is somehow a real thing. Ewan McGregor is in it, continuing his role as the patron saint of films which exist somewhere between the mainstream and obscurity. I don't know too much about the comedy Friends with Kids, but it certainly has a gifted cast: Kristen Wiig, Maya Rudolph, Jon Hamm, Chris O'Dowd... wait, is this Bridesmaids 2? Anyway, early buzz seems positive. Right about now, Eddie Murphy ought to be coasting on the high of the box-office smash Tower Heist and a successful Oscar-hosting gig. Alas, Tower Heist tanked and he skipped the Oscars. To make matters worse, now he has to witness the release of the long-delayed A Thousand Words, his latest collaboration with the director of Norbit and Meet Dave. Eeesh. I'm somewhat intrigued by the horror thriller Silent House, as it offers another role to Martha Marcy May Marlene star Elizabeth Olsen and has taken the unusual approach of presenting the entire film in one lengthy take (though odds are they've taken the Rope approach and snuck a few subtle cuts in there).

March 16th

Que?

The big-screen update of 21 Jump Street looks pretty limp, but it is directed by the guys who gave us the surprisingly entertaining animated flick Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs. Perhaps they'll deliver another unlikely success here? The month's biggest oddity is the comedy Casa de mi Padre, which looks like a typically unhinged Will Ferrell comedy save for the fact that the whole thing is in Spanish. Props to the man for trying something new, I suppose. The trailer is one of those experiences which gives you a strong indication of the film's flavor without really telling you whether or not it's going to be a waste of time.

March 23rd

"Try opening your movie on the 23rd. Make my day."

The Hunger Games, hungry for attention, consumes the multiplex. That's it in terms of wide releases, so one can only hope that it's a worthwhile endeavor. The cast is strong and the premise is compelling, but director Gary Ross didn't really bring anything special to his two previous respectable-but-somewhat-overrated turns behind the camera (Seabiscuit and Pleasantville). Still, I'm there, as I've been assured by many that the source material is solid.

March 30th

"You will watch my antics and you will enjoy them." 

For some reason, we're getting Wrath of the Titans. The trailer makes it look a little more interesting than its bland predecessor, but it's made by the director who gave us Darkness Falls, Battle: Los Angeles and Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Beginning. Blah. It also looks like they're still pretending Liam Neeson's Zeus is Ingrid Bergman circa 1940 with all of those glowing, soft-focus close-ups. Still, the movie looks better than Mirror, Mirror, which appears to represent the talented Tarsem Singh officially hitting rock bottom. I'm not much of a Sean William Scott fan, so I'm not exactly excited about the hockey comedy Goon, but early buzz is mostly positive. Likewise, I've heard pretty good things about the Clive Owen-starring horror film Intruders. It's directed by Juan Carlos Fresnadillo, whose previous film was the excellent 28 Weeks Later (which I've kind of grown to like better than Danny Boyle's more well-regarded 28 Days Later).

Picks of the month:

3. Intruders

Father and daughter, watching The Eagles perform on PBS. 

2. The Hunger Games

Severus Snape's hippie brother. 

1. John Carter

McNulty: Now with 100% more furry armor. 

Another fairly unexciting month, honestly. What are you looking forward to?

Back at ya later

Some Thoughts on the Oscars

I really enjoyed watching the Academy Awards last night, but as always, that was largely because I was with a crowd of people I enjoy hanging out with. The actual ceremony was... well, it was an improvement on last year. That isn't saying much, but the show was rarely embarrassingly bad this time around. No, it was safe, with a typically pleasant and inoffensive Billy Crystal cranking out wheezy old jokes (he started by calling himself a war horse and claiming that "extremely loud and incredibly close" is how his relatives watch the Oscars). Everything about the Oscars felt a little old: the jokes, the host, the nominees (Best Supporting Actor winner Christopher Plummer is now officially the world's oldest Oscar winner) and, uh, the movies highlighted.

Strangely, there was little emphasis on the movies 2011 had to offer, as we were given numerous sequences which highlighted movies of yesteryear. An opening montage paid homage to flicks like Ghost, Jaws, Forrest Gump, Titanic, Raiders of the Lost Ark, etc. A series of Errol Morris-directed montages featured a host of celebrities waxing eloquent about the older movies they love. A clever short film by Christopher Guest recreated a focus group discussion following a screening of The Wizard of Oz. A bizarre Cirque du Soleil performance took place in front of a screen offering clips of older movies. However, there were surprisingly few moments highlighting the actual nominees.

Perhaps that's appropriate, given that 2011's nominees were also ruminating on the past. Woody Allen's Midnight in Paris may be a lesson about how we need to appreciate the present, but it still luxuriates in the glory of days gone by before it gets there. Hugo is in love with older movies. The same can be said of The Artist and Rango. Moneyball and Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close look back at momentous events in the recent past, while Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, The Help, War Horse and The Tree of Life look back increasingly further.

Most of the wins were predictable. Hugo racked up a large number of technical wins, including Best Cinematography, Best Sound Mixing, Best Sound Editing, Best Art Direction and Best Visual Effects. It was good in all of these areas, but wasn't the best in any of them. Meanwhile, The Artist took home five larger prizes, including Best Picture, Best Director, Best Actor, Best Original Score and Best Costume Design. It was expected that one of these two would take Best Editing, but instead that went to The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (a movie which wasn't nominated in any other category). I really like both Hugo and The Artist, so I don't exactly begrudge them their success, but a good deal of superior work was overlooked in most categories in order for these two charming flicks to earn their pile of Oscars. Screenplay awards went to The Descendants and Midnight in Paris, because the Academy wanted to recognize both of those movies in some way without giving them the biggest prizes: the former because it was so good, and the latter because it was Woody Allen's most popular film to date. As usual, Allen didn't attend the ceremony, as he was undoubtedly busy playing jazz or working on yet another screenplay.

I was happy to see Rango win Best Animated Film. It's a deserving winner, even if the overall category was a disaster this year. Similarly, I was happy to see Bret McKenzie's "Man or Muppet" win best song, as it was possibly the best movie song of the year despite landing in a category which was handled horribly this year (the only other nominee was the middling "Real in Rio" from Rio). Octavia Spencer was given an Oscar for her colorful supporting turn in The Help, though Viola Davis gave that film's finest performance (alas, Ms. Davis was robbed by Meryl Streep, who acknowledged that most of America was probably groaning in dismay as they watched her accept yet another award). Christopher Plummer gave the evening's loveliest speech, and examined his Oscar with affection: "You're only two years older than me. Where have you been all my life?"

Overall, it was a rather unmemorable evening. There were no significant upsets aside from Streep, few truly inspiring victories, few painfully bad moments (save for Cirque du Soleil and whatever that was Gwyneth Paltrow and Robert Downey Jr. did) and fewer moments of legitimate hilarity (save for the aforementioned Christopher Guest short and Chris Rock's pointed, entertaining routine on racial typecasting in animation and the challenges of doing voice work). 2011 offered a lot of great stuff, but this year's Oscars offered very few indications of that. For a show all about celebrating the greatness of Hollywood, it seemed awfully hesitant to boast about its latest achievements.

Back at ya later

The Best Films of 2011: Part Two

And now, the top ten...

10. A Dangerous Method



Most of director David Cronenberg's films have been centered around moments in which characters begin pushing boundaries and soon themselves facing severe moral dilemmas. Consider Jeff Goldblum's experimental scientist in The Fly, Jennifer Jason Leigh's computer programmer in Existenz, numerous characters in Crash, James Woods' television programmer in Videodrome, Viggo Mortenson's ordinary family man in A History of Violence... the list goes on. Because of its lack of extreme violence or bizarre imagery, many have suggested that Cronenberg's A Dangerous Method just doesn't feel remotely "Cronenbergian" (er, "Cronenbergundian"). Nonsense. The director's comparatively low-key chamber drama is yet another fascinating exploration of his pet themes, as he examines a clash of ideas between two men still regarded as titans in the strange field of psychiatry. The intellectual battles fought between Michael Fassbender's Carl Jung and Viggo Mortenson's Sigmund Freud are fascinating moments fueled by sterling performances and impressively nuanced dialogue, but there are many moments of surprising contrast between the drama which plays out in medical journals and the drama which plays out in real life. The personal lives of Freud and Jung alternately contradict, inform and complicate their official positions on psychiatric subjects; a notion Cronenberg illuminates in subtle, compelling fashion. The heart of the film is formed in the relationship between Jung and his tormented yet intelligent patient Sabina Spielreim (Keira Knightley, who has rarely been better); a relationship which shifts uneasily from professional to personal while turning sticky, sweet and strained at various points along the way.  Cronenberg's film has a great many things to say (and it's a vastly more effective biopic of the three central individuals it features than a more conventional narrative would have been), but the one that really lingers is this: most truly inspired discoveries are ones which lead the discoverer to understand just how far they are from actually understanding anything.  A Dangerous Method is a dialogue-driven movie, but it's the look in Jung's eyes at the film's conclusion which says it all.

9. Drive



To a certain extent, Nicolas Winding Refn's Drive plays like a Michael Bay movie for hardcore cinephiles.  It's landed on the top of quite a few critic's list this year, and it's easy to understand why: Drive feels like a movie made by a person who read every significant critical complaint about glossy Hollywood thrillers and responded accordingly.  General audiences largely responded with displeasure to the film, shaking their heads at its unexpectedly meditative tendencies in much the same way that they shook their heads during Anton Corbijn's The American. For movie buffs, it played like a dream come true; a magnificent exercise in style which fused B-movie pulp, classic noir and European arthouse flicks into a sumptuous cinematic potpourri.  Refn directs like Ryan Gosling's character drives: with consummate skill, precision and timing. The much-lauded car chase sequence which opens the film serves as guide to the film's style: it knows when to charge ahead at full speed, when to take left turns and when to simply stop, look, listen and wait.  The basic story follows a fairly simple noir thriller template, but it's the elegance of Refn's direction which makes it so engaging (I'm still marveling at how the potentially standard-issue climax was transformed into something so strangely beautiful).  It sounds like the sort of thing which might keep its characters at a distance, but another considerable part of Drive's effect is its almost uncomfortable intimacy. The romantic developments, the professional schemes and even (especially?) the killings don't feel like plot developments so much as intense moments of personal revelation. The performances are enjoyable diverse but uniformly excellent: Ryan Gosling's "Man With No Name" poker face, Albert Brooks' passive aggression which occasionally transforms into aggressive aggression, Bryan Cranston's well-intentioned haplessness, Cary Mulligan's slightly frightened curiosity, Oscar Isaac's unexpected sincerity, Ron Perlman's profane crocodile grin... these are such striking, compelling people. This is such a striking, compelling movie.

8. Hugo



Some may raise an eyebrow at the notion of director Martin Scorsese setting aside gangster movies and turbulent period dramas to helm a warm, innocent family film, but Hugo (based on a lovely book by Brian Selznick) is an immensely satisfying change-of-pace for the esteemed director. The story takes place in a Paris train station during the 1930s, and centers on an orphan named Hugo Cabret (Asa Butterfield) who has secretly made a life for himself there. The first half of the film is primarily focused on Hugo's assorted misadventures (in which he makes a new friend played by Chloe Moretz, irritates an elderly shopkeeper played by Ben Kingsley and escapes the grasp of a bumbling station inspector played by Sacha Baron Cohen), but the film quietly, beautifully segues into a tribute to one of the pioneers of early cinema during its profoundly moving second half. I wouldn't dream of spoiling the surprises Hugo has in store, but suffice it to say that the story aligns nicely with some of Scorsese's own personal passions. It's no surprise to discover that while the small character moments are touching, the moments which really resonate are those in which Scorsese gets to demonstrate his deep, unyielding love for the movies. It's positively magical stuff, and Scorsese demonstrates that he can whip up an enchanting all-ages experience worthy of Steven Spielberg. It's also one of the few films I've seen which at least partially justified its employment of 3-D, as the director makes atypically strong use of the format and effectively immerses us in his distinctive cinematic world. The movie illuminates a happy fact which is often overlooked: whether he's placing the spotlight on his childhood home, great musicians, lost cultures, pulpy thrillers of the 1950s, religious icons or pioneers of early cinema, Scorsese is one of the world's finest writers of cinematic love letters.

7. I Saw the Devil



The premise is simple: a man's wife is killed by a serial murderer. Aching with grief and hungry for revenge, the man sets out to find the psychopath who killed his wife. However, his plan is far more complex than simply hunting down the bad guy and killing him: he wants to make the killer's life an endless nightmare. I Saw the Devil is a Korean film which plays as a sharp rebuke to western revenge flicks; a movie which gives audiences their cathartic vengeance and then makes them choke on it. As a thriller, it's nearly as polished and carefully-constructed as No Country for Old Men; it moves forward with both merciless logic and dark humor (a scene involving a screwdriver managed to make me cringe and laugh simultaneously). The word "haunting" is overused in criticism of all sorts, but I Saw the Devil is precisely that.  Striking moments, stricken faces and the melancholy howls of the soundtrack linger with me vividly. I can't shake its raw power. South Korea has transformed into a force to be reckoned with in recent years, and this film is one of the most striking recent examples of the kind of great work that country is producing. It's more violent than almost any American film released in 2011, and yet uses violence more effectively and more responsibly than many American films.

6. Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy



Though Tomas Alfredson's Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy won a great deal of acclaim, there's one common complaint that I'd like to address: the notion that the movie is too confusing. Alfredson's adaptation of John le Carre's great spy novel is an intentionally disorienting experience that flings viewers into cold water and then orders them to stay afloat. Part of the thrill of the movie (and many le Carre novels) is the exhilarating sense of discovery: that moment when a little piece of information finally clicks and all of the pieces start falling into place. Many thrillers attempt to build excitement by allowing the audience to watch as the characters slowly discover information we found about out about long ago.  This one builds excitement by allowing us to slowly catch up with the characters; it's a movie which requires the viewer to lean forward and engage with what's happening. Fortunately, the film rewards our attention with precise, unwaveringly well-organized direction which allows us to feel that we're in good hands. The movie also benefits from a host of fine British actors populating even the smallest of roles, with Gary Oldman leading the charge as the weary, unflappable George Smiley. There's a great moment midway through the film in which we hear a line of dialogue which has been uttered in countless movies over the years: "We're not so different, you and I." It's a line which is usually delivered from the villain to the hero, but it's the protagonist Smiley who utters those words in Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy. In Alfredson and le Carre's icy Cold War world of deceit and impersonal treachery, it can be difficult to distinguish the heroes and villains amidst all the shades of gray. The film's sharp left hook of a climax simultaneously reveals the full extent of the film's chilliness and the surprising depth of its empathy; leaving us as disoriented emotionally as the film's opening scenes left us disoriented narratively.

5. The Descendants



"You'll laugh, you'll cry," is the oldest critical blurb in the book, but it just might be true in this case. The Descendants is a movie which finds enormous humor in its bleakest moments, and one which reveals enormous sadness during its funniest moments. Part of the reason it's so moving is that director Alexander Payne resists easy sentiment; The Descendants elicits its tears by recreating warm and painful familiarities rather than simply offering crass manipulation. The complicated emotions the movie generates are reflected by the complicated premise: a husband and father (George Clooney) is told that his wife (who is in a coma after a boating accident) will die soon. Shortly after, he learns that he wife was cheating on him. The combination of anger, confusion and grief combined with the responsibility of raising his two daughters on his own makes his existence nearly unbearable. The film might have been, too, but Payne and Clooney find so many bracingly irreverent laughs without ever cheapening the depth of the film's emotional undercurrent. The latter's performance may not seem like a dramatic change-of-pace at a glance, but look closer: Clooney strikes some new notes and allows himself to be more emotionally exposed than ever before. The Descendants is one of the year's most impressive and challenging tonal balancing acts, and by the time it concludes you feel you know its rich characters personally.

4. The Artist



Here's why this movie is ranked so high on this list: it made me really happy. It might be easy to take a quick glance at the movie's promotional materials and guess that I'm honoring this movie because it employs the double-gimmick of being both silent and black-and-white while paying homage to a long-forgotten cinematic era. No. The Artist is a marvelous romantic comedy which uses its position as a silent movie as a springboard for tremendous humor, invention and joy. It's liberated rather than constrained by the lack of audible dialogue. To be sure, it pays affectionate homage to the old hams of the silver screen (this movie's version of silent movies runs closer to Douglas Fairbanks than F.W. Murnau), but the movie is in love with the limitless potential of the medium - silent or not - to bring happiness to viewers. The humor is frisky and frequent, the moments of drama have legitimate weight, the romance is persuasive and the actors seem incredibly pleased to be a part of the whole affair.  There are fine supporting turns from well-known pros like John Goodman (very blustery), James Cromwell (very noble) and Penelope Ann Miller (very rigid), but the movie belongs to French stars Jean Dujardin and Berenice Bejo. As established silent star George Valentin, Dujardin offers a smile so radiant that the screen can barely contain it: when he grins, he seems so overcome with delight that you can't help but grin along with him. Meanwhile, Bejo offers an exuberance not entirely dissimilar to Paulette Goddard in Modern Times; a fresh-faced energy and warmth that allows one to instantly understand why Valentin falls for her as quickly as he does.  The machinations of the plot require these two to spend a good deal of time apart, but that's only because it knows how badly we'd like to see these immensely likable people get together.  The only thing wrong with The Artist is its title, which effectively disguises what an accessible, appealing crowd-pleaser it really is.

3. Melancholia



There is a part of me which would like to place this film much lower on this list.  Not because it's lacking in craftsmanship (director Lars von Trier delivers exhilarating contrast by selectively dropping artful, elegant, jaw-droppingly gorgeous sequences into a movie largely built on effective shaky-cam naturalism) or great performances (Kirsten Dunst does the best work of her career, and is backed by a uniformly impressive supporting cast) or thematic depth (von Trier incorporates potent symbolism much more persuasively than he did in this film's companion piece, Antichrist), but because my relationship with it is so fractured and contentious. Melancholia is the most effective portrait of depression I've ever seen, made by a director who has famously used filmmaking as a way of dealing with his own depression.  While Antichrist was an impressive, disturbing movie about depression, Melancholia seems to take things a step further: the film itself is depressed, and depressing (perhaps the most potent rebuttal to Roger Ebert's claim that no great movie is truly depressing). Melancholia is also a blatantly nihilistic movie. That's nothing special in and of itself, but leave it to Von Trier to find liberation and exhilaration in nihilism. Melancholia is nearly as persuasive in its anguished, disgusted, despairing view of the world as The Tree of Life is in its serene, uplifting perspective.  Melancholia is a film of dangerous beauty; crushingly sad yet bizarrely enthralling and cathartic.  It's almost certainly von Trier's most accessible and immediately engaging film, which only adds to its potency. Lars von Trier can be maddening, exciting and unsettling, but he should not be ignored. By all means proceed, but proceed with caution. An easily-seduced deep thinker like Michael Fassbender's Carl Jung wouldn't stand a chance against the death-affirming arguments of Melancholia.

2. Take Shelter



I spent a great deal of time debating which film to put at the top of my list for 2011.  It pains me to put Take Shelter in second place, as it's genuinely one of the finest films I've seen since I began reviewing movies (in fact, it sat on top of the list for a lengthy period of time before I changed my mind yet again - I came so close to caving in and just calling it a tie). Nothing could have prepared me for this emotional wrecking ball of a movie. Sure, it's a brilliant film on many levels. On a basic surface level, it works superbly as a Twilight Zone-style thriller (even though that description makes me wince a little, as it makes the film seem vastly more gimmicky than it really is). On a deeper level, it provides a pitch-perfect snapshot of life in present-day America; subtly nudging us with painfully familiar little reminders of the countless political, social and economic storm clouds which have been quietly building in recent years. On yet another level, the film functions as a showcase for actor Michael Shannon, who delivers one of the strongest, most searingly authentic performances I've seen by anyone, ever (Shannon makes some of this year's highly-touted awards-bait performances look remarkably shallow in contrast - the fact that he wasn't even nominated for an Oscar is shameful).  However, beyond all of that (though incorporating much of that), the movie creates an emotional vortex which quickly sneaks up on you and then consumes you. Take Shelter is relentless once it has you in its grip; leaving you spent and in a daze by the time it finishes dragging you through an increasingly affecting, impossibly tense series of developments. It's common for some reviewers to employ aggressive hyperbole when describing certain movies: "It grabs you by the throat and won't let go!" they'll say of something like the latest Luc Besson action flick. However, such hyperbole is merited in the case of Take Shelter. Once it hits you, it leaves a mark.

1. The Tree of Life



It's entirely possible that Terrence Malick's latest film is the most ambitious, audacious piece of cinema since Stanley Kubrick's 2001: A Space Odyssey. The structural similarities between the films are striking: they begin with two shorter opening chapters, move into a lengthy third chapter which forms the central storyline and the bulk of the film and then conclude with an enigmatic trip into the future. Both offer beautifully-told tales of specific people in a specific place (Kubrick offers the saga of the relationship between two astronauts and a devious computer, while Malick offers the coming-of-age story of a young man living in 1950s Texas), but both are about so much more than what they're about. Of course, Kubrick and Malick are dramatically different filmmakers on some levels, as Kubrick's movies are as chilly and sterile as Malick's are teeming with untamed organic life. Even so, it's increasingly hard to shake the feeling that the two are very much in the same class. How many other filmmakers share the remarkable combination of raw talent and endless ambition which Kubrick and Malick have demonstrated?  There are too few filmmakers willing to dream big, and even fewer capable of actually realizing those dreams. 2001 and The Tree of Life are truly great movies, but much of their greatness is found in what the viewer brings to the table beforehand. The wonder of The Tree of Life is the manner in which it manages to tap into so many basic-yet-profound elements of human existence, inspiring us to recall our own childhoods, belief systems, spiritual journeys and family relationships as we reflect on the enormous questions Malick poses. In the hands of a lesser filmmaker, it all might have come across as eyeroll-inducing new age hokum. Then again, a lesser filmmaker probably wouldn't have even attempted it. Many films have left an impact on me in assorted ways, but few have stirred my soul in the way The Tree of Life does. My emotions were all over the place when I left the theatre after seeing it for the first time, but the overwhelming one was gratefulness. I was so grateful that I had been given the opportunity to witness such an awe-inspiring work of art. The Tree of Life is the best film of this year and quite a few others.

An addendum: Last year, I placed Shutter Island at the top of my list because it was the ultimately the film which had the largest emotional impact on me (some might judge this as a suspect way to pick the year's best film, but I would contend that cinema is fundamentally an emotionally-driven medium). It's no mistake that the three films which top this year's list are movies which had a similarly overwhelming impact. At the end of Melancholia; I was convinced that it was simultaneously one of the most genuinely depressing yet strangely exhilarating movies I had seen. At the end of The Tree of Life; I was convinced that it was one of the most legitimately profound and transcendentally beautiful movies I had seen. At the end of Take Shelter; I had to take a deep breath and remind myself that I had only been watching a movie. What a remarkable year 2011 was.

I'd love to hear your thoughts/picks/etc., so hit me up with your feedback.

Sometime soon, I'll offer some honorable mentions and useless awards.

Back at ya later

The Best Films of 2011: Part One

I started reviewing movies back in mid-2004. The first film I reviewed was the Bernie Mac vehicle Mr. 3000. Since that time, I've been making weekly pilgrimages to the theater to observe the latest in the world of cinema. Some years have been better than others - 2005 was a rather rewarding first full year of reviewing, and 2007 also offered an exceptionally generous dose of greatness. However, I must confess that 2011 is the greatest movie year I've experienced since I started doing this. There were so many tremendous efforts released last year that I seriously contemplated putting together a top 30... or 40, or 50. However, I've traditionally limited my list to twenty titles, so that's how things will remain. A lot of very fine films didn't make the cut, and some of the films I've left out might actually be better efforts than some of the efforts I've included. You'll inevitably disagree with some of the choices I've made, and you'll certainly think that certain movies have been placed in the wrong order. That's the way it works with any "best of" list. Still, I hope you'll enjoy reading a few thoughts on each of these flicks and perhaps find yourself inspired to check out some of the titles you might have missed. Today, I'll start with number 20 and work my way down to number 11.

20. Everything Must Go



I was surprised by just how much Dan Rush's directorial debut moved me. The trailers made the film look like a middling series of indie-movie quirks; a slightly lower-key platform for Will Ferrell's antics. However, the film itself turned out to be something considerably deeper and sadder. Everything Must Go strikes a memorable tone which lingers with you: a spare matter-of-factness laced with weary humor. The film beautifully captures Raymond Carver's writing style; it's even stronger in this area than Robert Altman's masterful Short Cuts, which was a great movie but far more Altman than Carver. It's also one of the most effective portraits of alcoholism I've seen. Gone are the Oscar-bait histrionics of The Lost Weekend, Days of Wine and Roses and Leaving Las Vegas. Ferrell's alcoholism doesn't turn him into a raging tragedy, but rather quietly debilitates him. He's just drunk enough to prevent himself from doing anything well. Ferrell's performance is one of his best, and the relationships he develops with a neighbor (Rebecca Hall), a local kid (Christopher Jordan Wallace) and an old high school classmate (Laura Dern) feel atypically authentic. The movie has its share of flaws (some ill-advised gags, a couple of uncomfortable tonal shifts and a score which feels slightly off), yet its accomplishments have really lingered with me. Like A Single Man, it's one of those movies which is so much better than it really is.


19. The Adventures of Tintin



Among its many other accomplishments, Steven Spielberg's The Adventures of Tintin serves as a sharp reminder that our present-day golden age of animation has only begun to tap into the medium's potential.  There are breathtaking shots and scene transitions in Tintin which gleefully inform the audience, "since it's animated, we can pretty much do anything we want."  The movie is an adaptation of the popular comics by the beloved French artist Herge, whose sense of whimsy hasn't been diluted by Spielberg's delightfully frantic, idiosyncratic picture.  Like Spielberg's Indiana Jones movies, the film is largely a callback to adventures of yesteryear (the comical manner in which it treats alcoholism is definitely a charming relic of the past) which transcends its inspirations with the aid of cutting-edge modern technology.  It's just about as much fun as an Indy adventure too, though it's quite possibly the most weightless film Spielberg has directed to date (even 1941 had more heft that Tintin).  That's not an insult, just a basic description: Tintin is designed to be an easily digested popcorn flick brimming over with grand jokes, colorful supporting characters and sweeping action set pieces.  Sure, the title character is disappointingly thin: Jamie Bell's Tintin is a generic leading man (good-looking, well-mannered, resourceful and energetic) who is generally shoved off the screen by any supporting players he encounters (particularly Andy Serkis' endlessly delightful Captain Haddock, who eventually claims the movie as his own).  Still, the film is so effortlessly good at so many things that it's alarmingly easy to overlook its countless virtues. The Adventures of Tintin is another of Spielberg's consummate entertainments.

18. Rango



One of the things I liked most about Gore Verbinski's work on the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise is that as the series progressed, the director began to use the vast resources the franchise granted him as an opportunity to explore the whims of his considerable imagination (the sequels were almost, I dare say, Gilliam-esque at times).  In 2011, hired gun Rob Marshall took over the Pirates series and revealed that Verbinski perhaps played an even larger role than Johnny Depp in making that series entertaining and watchable.  Meanwhile, Verbinski moved to the realm of animation and tackled Rango, one of the most joyfully liberated animated movies of recent years.  Employing a distinctive animation style which fuses cartoonish character design with eye-popping detail and getting exceptional performances out of his actors with imaginatively-staged recording sessions, Verbinski gives us what feels like his purest work to date (though The Weather Man remains his best).  Many animated flicks have paid tribute to other movies with visual gags and verbal riffs, but Rango builds the history of cinema into its DNA.  The end result is a movie which feels like the strangely wonderful dream one might experience after a drug-enhanced movie marathon consisting of Chinatown, The Good, The Bad and the Ugly and A Bug's Life.  Beyond all of that, it's just of lot of fun, delivering a supremely satisfying fish-out-of-water (er, lizard-out-of-terrarium) tale loaded with witty dialogue, clever sight gags and tremendous action sequences (particularly a soaring canyon chase which distinctly recalls Star Wars and Apocalypse Now).  As in 2010, many of 2011's finest movies were largely built on an affection for older movies.  Even so, Rango is the first one I've encountered which quite literally worships older movies. Its enthusiasm and invention are infectious.

17. Margin Call



2011 gave us numerous impressive directorial debuts (the aforementioned Everything Must Go, Sean Durkin's Marcy Martha May Marlene, John Michael McDonagh's The Guard, James Bobin's The Muppets and Joe Cornish's Attack the Block are among them), but the strongest was writer/director J.C. Chandor's Margin Call. Focusing on a handful of key figures over the course of 24 stressful hours at an investment bank, the film offers a insightful and surprisingly moving account of what went wrong and why. It works tremendously as a number-crunching thriller, but also takes detours into noir both visually and philosophically. Chandor reveals himself as a less self-consciously stylized David Mamet, offering his characters extended monologues which are by turns biting, profound, profane and sobering. The quality of the script must have been evident to nearly everyone who read it, because Chandor managed to get a huge supply of talented actors to chip in (Zachary Quinto, Jeremy Irons, Kevin Spacey, Paul Bettany, Simon Baker, Demi Moore, Stanley Tucci, Mary McDonnell), all of whom bring their A-game to the material. It's an angry movie, but one made more effective by its unwavering level-headedness and its empathy for the devil.

16. 13 Assassins



Takashi Miike has the distinction of being one of the world's most prolific (his IMDb resume makes Clint Eastwood and Woody Allen look lazy) and notoriously controversial filmmakers (his Audition contained some images which still unnerve me, and I don't think I can stomach the idea of sitting through Ichi the Killer ever again).  Imagine my surprise when he unleashed 13 Assassins, a film so conventionally polished and classically constructed that it might have been directed by Kurosawa.  To be sure, we've seen many films imitate/pay homage to Kurosawa's legendary Seven Samurai, but Miike's is the first I've seen which both respects and debates its inspiration.  While a classic samurai thriller in construction, 13 Assassins upends a number of cinematic traditions and questions the notion of unwavering allegiance to the esteemed samurai code - particularly when that code clashes with more basic principles of morality. Beyond of all that, 13 Assassins is a terrific piece of entertainment, boasting well-drawn characters, impressive slow-burn pacing which eventually erupts into a relentless frenzy, a climax which draws a great deal from Leone (who drew a great deal from Kurosawa, making the initially off-kilter homage seem as strangely appropriate as a samurai breaking his sacred code to do the right thing) and a just a pinch of the supernatural.  It's yet another recent movie which draws on the history of movies for its power, but it does so in a manner so understated that the casual viewer might not even notice. Miike insists that this represents the start of a new chapter for him as a filmmaker. One can only hope.

15. Jane Eyre



Charlotte Bronte's esteemed classic has been adapted for the big and small screen many times, but Cary Fukanaga's take on Jane Eyre is the most rich and rewarding to date. As with Joe Wright's Pride & Prejudice, the film impresses by infusing a familiar story which is often given the stuffy wax museum treatment with a real sense of passion and atmosphere. The film's use of natural light makes it one of the year's most breathtakingly beautiful visual experiences, and the sublime performances of Mia Wasikowska and Michael Fassbender sell us on an unlikely and potentially creepy romance. Fukanaga quietly highlights the story's tawdry underpinnings without betraying the novel's sense of restraint, makes large cuts without damaging the core of the tale and is willing to allow audiences to pick up on certain things for themselves rather than spoon-feeding it to them via awkward exposition. Best of all, it's a period movie which feels very present (something which can't be said about so many adaptations of classic literature). Jane Eyre is a movie capable of stirring even the hearts of those who might ordinarily dismiss this sort of thing.

14. The Ides of March



There's a complaint I kept hearing about The Ides of March which bothered me a great deal: "It doesn't tell us anything we don't already know."  Critics (even many who liked it) complained that the movie was delivering old news, but they completely failed to recognize that The Ides of March isn't supposed to be a wake-up call.  It's a movie about the sad necessity of cynicism in today's political arena; a modern fable which puts many of our political system's most exasperating problems in dynamic, well-presented context.  George Clooney's movie isn't intended as an informative experience so much as an empathetic one.  The actor's liberal political inclinations are well-known, but his direction is unwaveringly classy and even-handed.  This is a movie which avoids needless cheap shots for the sake of keeping the focus where it needs to be.  The crisp direction, no-nonsense bustle and emphasis on character gives The Ides of March the air of being a present-day All the President's Men; though in this case the villain is simply too large and deep-rooted to be destroyed by something as laughably disposable as truth.  It plays like a wake for idealism.

13. Mission: Impossible: Ghost Protocol



The first three Mission: Impossible films are strangely disconnected experiences; fairly self-contained exercises in style which contain little continuity outside the fact that the main character is played by Tom Cruise in all three outings (and even that's a little suspect, as Ethan Hunt seems to change dramatically from installment to installment). As such, it's a surprise to discover that Brad Bird's Mission: Impossible: Ghost Protocol is the first film in the series which actually seems to have an awareness of the movies which preceded it. Bird actually brings a sense of playful history to the table, and creates a movie which fuses the strongest elements of the earlier installments into an exhilarating piece of action-movie machinery. Bird's Mission: Impossible is a relentlessly exciting flick, hurtling from one massive set piece to the next with gleefully nimble wit and invention. After so many recent blockbusters which simply attempt to beat us into submission with noise and expensive-looking explosions, Ghost Protocol responds in thrilling fashion by actually constructing a great action movie rather than merely buying one. Though he had proven himself as one of the giants in the field of animation, Bird makes a surprisingly seamless transition to live-action filmmaking as he deftly juggles savory bits of humor, heart-pounding suspense, involving character development, rich locations and entertaining plot turns. From the Dean Martin-enhanced prison break to the unexpectedly resonant finale, Mission: Impossible: Ghost Protocol keeps us hooked. The series has always been entertaining, but Bird takes it to a new level of exhilaration.  There were many rewarding movies in 2011, but my viewing of Ghost Protocol was the most fun I had in a theatre all year.

12. War Horse



Throughout War Horse, there were moments in which I began to grit my teeth and prepare myself for the worst.  "Okay," I would think to myself, "This upcoming scene has been telegraphed to death, and I know exactly how it's going to play out and what sort of emotions it will attempt to inspire."  Then, the movie would proceed to play out more or less as I had envisioned, and I couldn't stop the tears from rolling down my face.  There's no question that War Horse is a film which wears its heart on its sleeve, but Steven Spielberg's achingly sincere direction once again elevates material which might have seemed cheap in lesser hands.  As with Schindler's List and The Color Purple, we aren't brought to tears by horrific tragedy but rather by moments of goodness and humanity in the midst of that tragedy.  War Horse uses its title character as a vehicle through which we witness the worst and best of humanity; the presence of the innocent beast inspires small-scale dramas which make human conflict of all sorts seem petty (whether it's one country going to war against another or a poor farmer locked in a struggle with his landlord).  Time after time, the director goes for broke and succeeds against all odds (particularly in a concluding series of shots which distinctively recall the warm, dusky, sprawling vistas of John Ford - in fact, Ford's influence can be felt all over the place), delivering a humanist fable which once again reminds us that Spielberg is unparalleled when it comes to finding truthful, resonant hope in the midst of horror.

11. Moneyball



Even if football has officially taken hold as America's obsession, baseball will always be America's pastime. Though we live in an age of steroids, frenzied trading and high-profile salary disputes, there's something undeniably romantic about the game.  One of the most affecting elements of Bennett Miller's Moneyball - a movie largely devoted to taking us behind the curtain and giving us a look at the hard, cold, finance-driven world of baseball's upper management - is that it just can't bring itself to completely deny or suppress baseball's raw beauty.  Billy Beane (played in persuasive, understated fashion by the increasingly mature Brad Pitt) is a General Manager who's been so thoroughly burned by baseball that he can't even bring himself to actually watch the games in person.  Perhaps it's that distance which enables him to accept the idea of dispensing with conventional thinking, hiring a young number cruncher (Jonah Hill) fresh out of Yale to replace seasoned scouts and attempting to figure out how to build a capable team on one of the smallest budgets in the major leagues.  Moneyball is alternately smart, inspirational and melancholy, though it's consistently subtle no matter which shade it employs.  You smile even as your heart sinks; you sigh with admiration at baseball's elegant beauty even as you objectively observe what a cruel mistress the game can be.  Though it's been suggested that Moneyball focuses on business rather than baseball to such a degree that it might not even be a sports movie, it most assuredly captures something truthful about the game in the midst of all the surprisingly engaging mathematical drama.

Any thoughts? Stay tuned for the top ten.

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A Visit to the Optometrist

I've had a cyst in my right eye for about three months now. Slowly but surely, it's grown larger and more troublesome. I did a little research shortly after it appeared, and was informed that it is best to just wait for a while and see if the cyst goes away on its own. It didn't. So, I went to the optometrist today to get it looked at.

"What's the problem?" the optometrist said.

"Well, I've had this cyst in my eye for about three months now," I said.

"How do you know it's a cyst?" he said.

"Um... well... I mean, I assumed... that's what it looked like. Is it a cyst?"

"Yes. You would make a good eye doctor."

I laughed. He didn't. There was a long, uncomfortable silence.

"So, ah, what should I do about this?" I asked.

"Well, there are two options," he said. "We can try to deal with it naturally, or we can do some surgery. You definitely don't want the surgery if you can avoid it. It's not fun."

"By all means, let's try the natural approach," I said. "What do I need to do?"

"Apply a hot compress to your eye for about ten minutes, then massage the cyst gently afterwards. Do this about four times a day. Hopefully, it'll start to break apart after a while."

"Okay," I said. "That sounds easy enough."

"Yeah, it's pretty simple," he smiled.

"So, out of curiosity, what's the success rate for people treating cysts naturally?" I asked.

"Oh, in most cases, there's a pretty high success rate," he said. "But in cases like yours, well... honestly, I'd say you maybe have a 25% chance of success. That cyst is awfully big. I kind of doubt the hot compress will work, but it's worth a shot. You'll probably need the surgery, though."

"I see," I sighed. "So, should I have come sooner? I heard I was supposed to wait for a while before seeing a doctor."

"Yeah, it's usually good to wait a while. I mean, we know now that you should have come in a couple of months ago, but a couple of months ago I probably would have told you to keep waiting."

"Oh."

"Hey, let me check a few more things."

The optometrist proceeds to give me a traditional eye exam. He has me read charts, shines lights into my eyes and has me look through a series of increasingly blurry lenses.

"Well, that's interesting," he says.

"What?"

"There are two reasons you have glasses: you're near-sighted, and you have an astigmatism. Now, an astigmatism is basically when your eye is a little warped instead of perfectly round, but it can be warped in any direction. However, the direction in which it's warped almost never changes. But your astigmatism... well, it seems to have shifted."

"Shifted?"

"Yeah. About thirteen degrees. So that's why your vision is worse in your right eye. I think the cyst is the cause of the problem. It's putting weight on your eye, and causing it to move. That's crazy. Very interesting."

"Yeah, um, I guess that is interesting. So, what do I need to do?"

"That's a good question," he says, rubbing his chin. "Nothing for now, I guess. Just... well, let's see how this plays out and we'll figure it out from there. I'm quite eager to see what happens."

Back at ya later

Shifting the Goalposts

The words "troubling" and "politics" go together like chocolate and diabetes, so I expect the revelation that I've noticed something troubling in the political arena in recent times will inspire little more than weary yawns. I have to confess that I've grown alarmingly cynical in this area in recent years, to the point where I'm often simply too exhausted to make my bewilderment known whenever some foolish political figure says or does something beyond comprehension. Dishonesty is rampant, news coverage is cartoonishly shallow and posturing consistently trumps practical solutions. We all know this. And yet, there's something beyond all of this which I can't yet bring myself to dismiss.

Even in midst of endless political bickering, it seemed for many years that individuals on both sides of the aisle were able to agree on the general definitions (if not the specific ones) of "conservative" and "liberal." Just to be fair, let's go with the dictionary definitions:

Conservative: "Holding to traditional attitudes and values and cautious about change or innovation, typically in politics or religion."

Liberal: "Open to new behavior or opinions and willing to discard traditional values."

These broad definitions have been generally accepted for quite a long time. However, I've noticed these same generally-accepted definitions being recklessly discarded during the latest political season. A large portion of our nation is taking a sharp right turn, but rather than acknowledging that fact, many are insisting that what was once the center is now the far left, and what was once the far left is now Socialist Communist Muslim Nazism. This year's crop of Republican candidates have been required to engage in a game of, "Who's the real conservative?" in the hopes of winning the nomination. For a candidate to come forward and say, "I'm a right-leaning moderate who's willing to examine both sides of an issue and carefully weigh them before making a decision" would be fatal. Instead, they must essentially say, "I am a diehard conservative who is willing to go so far to the right that it will make your head spin, and my opponents are nothing more than shifty liberals."

Right now, there are four Republican candidates left in the race: Mitt Romney, Newt Gingrich, Rick Santorum and Ron Paul.  According to the non-partisan website ontheissues.org, the four candidates are classified as follows.

- Ron Paul is a Conservative-Leaning Libertarian
- Newt Gingrich is a Hard-Core Conservative
- Mitt Romney is a Populist-Leaning Conservative
- Rick Santorum is a Hard-Core Conservative

You may notice that Ron Paul is officially labeled a Libertarian rather than a conservative, though that certainly doesn't exclude him from holding conservative views. In fact, back in 2004, the American Journal of Political Science named Paul the single most conservative congressperson since 1937 (out of over 3000 individuals examined). Meanwhile, Romney is a conservative who leans towards populism, which is an explicitly different thing than leaning towards moderation.  Former candidates Rick Perry, Michelle Bachmann and Herman Cain are all labeled Hard-Core Conservatives. In fact, the only Republican candidate ontheissues.org officially labeled a "centrist" is Jon Huntsman (he's against abortion and gun control, but in favor of civil unions, protecting the environment and helping illegal immigrants earn citizenship), who was consistently in last place among the major candidates before wearily dropping out of the race.

So, what we have left are four very conservative candidates. And yet, to hear both conservative analysts and the Republican candidates talk about each other, you would think that the Republicans are little more than hardcore liberals wearing conservative Halloween masks. 

"The only way to stop the Massachusetts liberal is to vote for Newt Gingrich." - Newt Gingrich on Mitt Romney

"He's the most liberal, radical left-wing person to run for President in the last fifty years." - Conservative Fox News Commentator Dick Morris on Ron Paul

"He's very liberal." - Ron Paul on Rick Santorum

"[Considering] his past criticism of fiscal conservatives, it's no wonder his campaign hasn't left the launch pad." - Mitt Romney on Newt Gingrich

Look, politicians distort the truth. It's what they do. However, both the media and the general public are permitting the definitions of "conservative" and "liberal" to shift by simply refusing to push back against these people. No, the news networks are not separate-but-equal brands of evil, but all of them are consistently terrible about mistaking indifferent silence for objectivity. It is entirely common to see two opposing pundits invited onto a news panel to debate an issue. The debate will often go something like this:

Pundit #1: "President Obama was born in Kenya, is a secret Muslim, hates white people and wants to kill your grandmother."

Pundit #2: "None of those things are true."

Program Host: "Two opposing viewpoints. You decide which one is true. Let's take a look at a poll examining your thoughts, and then read some letters getting your point-of-view of the matter. Up next, adorable puppies!"

At a glance, this may seem like a reasonable way to conduct a program. After all, both sides got to make their case, right? Ah, but that's the thing: one side is telling blatant lies, and the other is not. As such, it's the responsibility of the news media to call them on it and then refuse to grant the lying party a podium to spew their preposterous beliefs in the future. Sadly, the fact of the matter is that Pundit #1 makes for better television than Pundit #2, and the sadder fact is that many members of the public are entirely willing to gobble up the sensationalism of Pundit #1 because it fits more comfortably with their own preconceived notions than the fact-based perspective of Pundit #2. So Pundit #1 is invited onto more panels where his opinions are shared with more people, giving him an ever-increasing air of legitimacy. After all, he wouldn't be on the news if he was just making all of this up, right?

Today's political figures are quickly catching onto this trend and capitalizing on it with a vengeance. The claims are getting bolder and wilder, erroneous statements are offered with increasing confidence and the level of fervor among the public is reaching an unnerving fever pitch. Seemingly decent, reasonable people are transformed into belligerent acolytes of the candidate they have chosen, fueled on by the rabid war cries of attention-hungry pundits willing to back the public's prejudices regardless of the cost. News coverage of candidates is playing like a higher-stakes version of Entertainment Tonight. Just as the actual films made by movie stars are ignored in favor of the gossip and behind-the-scenes drama, the actual policies of the politicians are ignored in favor of the useless name-calling, sensationalist hype and spectacle. We're being dragged into an ultraconservative fantasy world in which the timid, moderate, clunky, compromised health care legislation which was passed somehow passes for dangerous socialism and a suggestion that maybe we should require someone to learn how to use a gun before they're allowed to purchase one is dismissed as radical extremism. Progressive politics have been given an ugly stigma, and in most parts of the country it's impossible for a politician to declare their liberalism with half as much pride as a politician can declare their conservatism (Yes, yes, I can hear you now: "That's because liberals have nothing to be proud of!"). If that's the world people want to live in, so be it. But don't stand on the far right side of the room and try to convince me that it's the center.

Did you see the Chrysler ad featuring Clint Eastwood (one of Hollywood's most notable Republicans) which aired during the Superbowl? It's hardly the Gettysburg address, but I was kind of moved by it, because it was a simple, direct, non-partisan plea for all of us to band together and act like grown-ups. Here's what Clint gently growled:

"It's halftime. Both teams are in the locker room discussing what they can do to win this game in the second half. It's halftime in America, too. People are out of work and they're hurting. And they're wondering what they're going to do to make a comeback. And we're all scared, because this isn't a game. The people of Detroit know a little something about this. They almost lost everything. But we all pulled together; now Motor City is fighting again. I've seen a lot of tough eras, a lot of downturns in my life. And, times when it seemed like we didn't understand each other. It seems like we've lost our heart at times. When the fog of division, discord and blame made it hard to see what lies ahead. But after all those trials, we rallied around what was right, and acted as one. Because that's what we do. We find a way through tough times, and if we can't find a way through, then we'll make one. All that matters now is what's ahead. How do we come from behind? How do we come together? And, how do we win? Detroit's showing us it can be done. And, what's true about them is true about all of us. This country can't be knocked out with one punch. We get right back up again and when we do the world is going to hear the roar of our engines. Yeah, it's halftime America. And our second half is about to begin."

Again, it's just a car commercial. But it was a welcome reminder of some important things, and its weight seemed amplified by the lack of substance in the programming which surrounded it.

The next day, Karl Rove went on Fox News to comment on the ad: "The leadership of auto companies feel they need to do something to repay their political patronage. It is a sign of what happens when you have Chicago-style politics, and the President of the United States and his political minions are using tax dollars to buy corporate advertising."

Now back to your regularly scheduled programming.

Back at ya later

Capsule Reviews: The Grey, Chronicle, The Woman in Black and Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close

Some thoughts on a handful of movies I've seen recently...

Review: The Grey

Over the past few months, "The Grey" featured one of the most consistently-mocked ad campaigns this side of "Battleship". Liam Neeson punching wolves in the face? Surely the once-gentle actor's newfound machismo had gone too far.  However, it's Neeson and director Joe Carnahan who get the last laugh, delivering a film considerably more meditative and searing than anyone expected. The set-up is simple: Neeson and a handful of other hardened blue-collar workers survive a plane crash and find themselves stranded in the icy Alaskan wilderness. Surviving the nasty weather without much food is challenging enough, but that problem pales in contrast to the pack of hungry wolves which begins stalking the men. "The Grey" begins as a grim, merciless survival thriller; think of it as "Alien" in the wilderness. As it proceeds it reveals additional virtues: characters who prove to have greater depths than we suspect, a level of craftsmanship which surpasses anything else Carnahan has done previously and a surprising philosophical streak which owes more to Werner Herzog than Neeson's recent string of action flicks (there's even a fleeting homage to Herzog early in the proceedings, indicating that the philosophical similarities aren't accidental). Some of the film's more poetic flights of fancy might have come across as pretentious, but Neeson's achingly grounded performance gives the film's spiritual angst an effectively simple relatability. Come for the wolf-punching, stay for the haunting examination of nature's unwavering pitilessness.

Rating: ***1/2 (out of four)

Review: Chronicle



I have to admit, I've grown quite weary of both found-footage movies and superhero origin stories, but "Chronicle" pulls off the noteworthy feat of fusing both into a fascinating motion picture. The set-up is simple: three teenagers wander off to look at something strange in the woods. Shortly after their encounter with the Strange Thing, they realize that they've begun to develop superpowers. That's all I care to say about the plot for now, because part of the fun is the thrill of discovery the film offers. The first hour or so is a surprisingly joyous experience at times, as the teens react in touchingly giddy fashion to their ever-evolving abilities. Suddenly, things which have long felt like weary clichés feel charmingly fresh again; one scene played for me like the first scene of Superman flying must have played for audiences in 1978. Things take a darker turn in the final act, and it's vastly more gripping than usual because you've finally realized that this flick isn't beholden to the rules of big-budget superhero flicks starring immortal characters. I won't spoil the creative manner in which the film employs its found footage, but suffice it to say that this is the first instance in which it's felt like an inspired artistic choice rather than a gimmick. The film's goals are modest, and yet it runs circles around so many of the films which have inspired it. What a marvelous surprise. Don't read anything else about the movie, just go see it.
Rating: ***1/2 (out of four)


Review: The Woman in Black



"The Woman in Black" is an old-fashioned horror tale which delivers precisely what it promises and not one ounce more. "Harry Potter" star Daniel Radcliffe plays an attorney who has been tasked with visiting a creaky old estate in a quiet, gloomy, late 19th Century English village. Most of the locals treat him with hostility, though he does find warm hospitality in the home of a wealthy married couple played by Ciaran Hinds and Janet McTeer. It seems the locals believe that the estate Radcliffe must visit is haunted, but Hinds is the town's lone skeptic. It only takes a few creepy visions for Radcliffe to become convinced that the estate is indeed under the influence of something rather ominous, and soon he finds himself attempting to learn how to deal with the seemingly supernatural threat. The performances are stellar, the atmosphere is effective, the set design is impressive, the creepy moments appear frequently enough and the ending is satisfying. And yet, somehow the movie is a disappointment, as the plot is remarkably thin and the film rarely takes a risk of any kind. It's a competent motion picture which provides all the things you might expect, yet none of the things you don't. Daniel Radcliffe is effective in the lead role, but the film never requires him to do anything more than look terribly concerned. The movie will inspire its share of goosebumps, but precious few nightmares or long-term memories.
Rating: **1/2 (out of four)


Review: Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close



Many movies require a certain suspension of disbelief. I've just seen a movie which required me to believe in ghosts, and another which required me to believe that teenagers could develop superpowers. I accepted these ideas, and the respective movies rewarded my faith by having the characters act as real humans might in worlds containing ghosts and superpowers. However, I simply can't buy "Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close", because almost everything the film offers is some form of remarkable contrivance. I might have bought the flashback sequences which tell the story of a recently-deceased, supposedly caring father (Tom Hanks) who likes to send his high-functioning autistic son (Thomas Horn) on unsupervised adventures through New York City. I might have bought the manner in which the film treats the son's condition as a cutesy plot device, and I might have bought the way it uses an old man's muteness as a cutesy plot device. I might have bought the plot's endless coincidences, or the use of whimsical pop-up books and even more whimsical number-crunching (such as the manner in which the young protagonist counts the lies he tells over the course of the film). Alas, when all of these gimmicks (and so many others) are compiled into a single film, the effect is unbearable. The moments of genuine truth and recognizable human behavior are so fleeting (mostly found in the performances of Viola Davis, Jeffrey Wright and Max Von Sydow) that they only serve to illuminate the artifice offered by the rest of the film. As a story of a young boy's attempt to cling to memories of his late father, the film is merely irritatingly precious. However, as a cinematic exploration of 9/11, it's unforgivable. The film uses painful 9/11 imagery of all sorts, but never actually has anything of substance to say about that tragic day. Instead, it simply uses this iconic imagery as a cheap way to exploit the emotions of the audience ("If you weren't sad about the kid's father dying, you will be when you see him falling from the smoking World Trade Center!"). The film was directed by Stephen Daldry, and he certainly hasn't lost his touch on a technical level. It's a slick, polished film which accomplishes its goals with aplomb. It's a shame that those goals are so nauseatingly shameless. This is the worst best picture nominee I've had the misfortune of seeing, and easily the worst film of 2011.
Rating: Zero stars (out of four)

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Songs About Talking About Me

In the past couple of months, I've heard two similarly-titled, narcissistic old-school rap songs performed by middle-aged white men. The first is "Let's Talk About Me", performed by Chris Cooper. 

The second is "I Wanna Talk About Me", performed by Toby Keith.

My question to you: which of the two is sillier?

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