The new thriller “Stoker” has nothing to do with Bram Stoker or his most famous creation, Dracula, but something tells me Stoker himself might have enjoyed the strange sense of dread incubating deep within the story.
The first English language film from Korean master Chan-Wook Park, “Stoker” revolves around the Stoker family, or, more correctly, the remaining members of the clan. Father Richard (Dermot Mulroney) was tragically killed in a car accident on his daughter India’s (Mia Wasikowska) eighteenth birthday. Mom Evie (Nicole Kidman) is upset, but eager to move on once handsome Uncle Charlie (Matthew Goode) shows up after a long absence.
In fact, creepy Charlie is just a little too mysterious—he’s been away for too long—to be a benign figure in India or Evie’s life.
“Stoker” is a sexual-psychological drama with overtones of incest, mental illness and infidelity. In other words it’s the kind of film that could keep psychoanalysts busy for years. Question is, will it keep audiences entertained for two hours?
It’ll be up to each and every viewer to decide whether the film’s unusual feel will be for them. Here’s what you need to know: India is an artistic girl who passes the time reading science books and staring off into space. She doesn’t like to be touched and, since the death of her father, seems to have disconnected from everyone around her. She’s so sullen she makes Bella Swan seem lighthearted by comparison.
The movie strives to emulate India’s sense of withdrawal by creating a sense of disquiet in the viewer, akin to India’s unease. Long silences punctuate sentences, as the ethereally pale protagonist slowly seems to be losing her mind. Or is she? The line between reality and fantasy is deliberately blurred as India is forced to grow up rather quickly.
The stuff of mystery is very much in evidence. Charlie’s past is shrouded in secret, there’s odd letters found in an old desk, skeletons in the cupboard and mysterious glances galore, but this isn’t Agatha Christie. It’s a slow burn leading up to an unconventional climax.
It’s beautiful to look at—one transition from scene to scene sees Kidman’s flame hair turn into swamp reeds—but the deliberate aloofness of the characters and the story may be off putting for many.
The classic “Jack and the Beanstock” is given an epic twist by director Bryan “X-Men” Singer. Synopsis: The action in this epic retelling of Jack and the Beanstalk begins when the king’s advisor Roderick (Stanley Tucci) hatches a plot to steal an enchanted crown and the six magic beans that hold to key to opening a gateway between earth and Gantua, the land of the giants. Enter poor farmer Jack (Nicholas Hoult) who becomes involved when he unwittingly sows a seed that sprouts a giant beanstalk, literally shooting the princess Isabelle (Eleanor Tomlinson) skyward into the humungous hands of the giants. Determined to rescue her Jack battles the goliaths, wins the respect of the king and the love of a princess.
“Snitch” boils down America’s War on Drugs™ to a family drama, focusing on one muscle-bound man’s determination to wrestle a deal from a hard-nosed US Attorney and free his son from jail.
The Rock… er… Dwayne Johnson is John Matthews, owner of a successful construction company and estranged father to Jason (Rafi Gavron). Jason falls into a Kafka-esque legal loophole when his drug-dealing best friend implicates him as a trafficker in return for a break on jail time. Under America’s strict War on Drugs™ laws Jason is facing a mandatory ten-year sentence unless he gives up the name of a co-conspirator but because he’s innocent he has no one to snitch on. Enter John who gets the action underway when he asks the US Attorney (Susan Sarandon), “What if I do it for him? What if I help you make arrests?” Cue the cage match between The Rock and assorted drug dealers (including “The Wire’s” Omar, Michael Kenneth Williams).
Snitch isn’t a bad movie, but it is a miscast one. As charismatic as Johnson is, his physicality gets in the way here. The character is a determined regular Joe; a father willing to go to any lengths to help his son, but how much more effective would this story have been if he didn’t resemble a cop who could crash the drug dealers he’s working with between his muscular thumb and forefinger?
Imagine the part played by an actor who doesn’t look like a superhero. As someone whose fatherly instincts kick in when his son is at risk and you’d have a believable core to the story. While John’s concern for his son seems genuine enough, with his shaved head, goatee and bulging muscles Johnson is a bit too much of a mountain of a man to pull off the meek act he tries with the drug dealers. Looking like The Rock works against him here.
“Snitch” is a hybrid of message film and thriller. The message is a bit muddled, but the idea seems to be that the War on Drugs™ needs to find a new plan of attack. Maybe if there’s a sequel Johnson could play a General in the War on Drugs™. Dress him up like a soldier and send him off to hunt down cartel kingpins. Now that’s a part I could see him playing.
Steven Soderbergh, the Oscar winning director of “Traffic” and nominee for “Erin Brockovich” is one of the most versatile filmmakers working today. From the art house pleasures of “Che: Parts 1 & 2” to the blockbuster business he did with “Ocean’s 11, 12 & 13” to the introspection of “The Girlfriend Experience,” he’s a master of all genres.
Add to that list “Side Effects,” a new pharmaceutical thriller starring Rooney Mara and Jude Law, which brings the immaculate filmmaking of the above mentioned titles to a potboiler plot that feels like its been sitting on Soderbergh’s to-do list since 1985.
When we first meet Emily Taylor (Rooney Mara) it’s just days before her husband (Channing Tatum) is to be released from a four-year-prison stint for insider trading. Their life is about to go back to normal, but it soon becomes clear that Emily is troubled. A suicide attempt brings her to the attention of psychiatrist Dr. Jonathan Banks (Jude Law). She tells him of her lifelong struggle with depression—“a poisonous fog bank that rolls over her mind”—and he prescribes a new drug to help her find equilibrium.
“It doesn’t make you anything you aren’t,” he tells her. “It just makes it easier to be yourself.”
The side effects of the drug, however, include nausea and vomiting, allergic reactions, drowsiness, sleepwalking and criminal behavior. Emily’s erratic conduct while on the drug not only turns her life upside down, but Dr. Banks’s as well.
Saying any more than that would take some of the pleasure away from letting the plot unfold. Besides, detailing the ins-and-outs of the twisty-turny script by Scott Z. Burns would take up the rest of the space I have allotted for this review. You can’t accuse Soderbergh of scrimping on dramatic plot developments, but is it too much?
It all feels very much like the thrillers that used to pack ‘em in at the local bijou in the mid-eighties. Movies like “Jagged Edge” that featured unpredictable plots and elaborate confession montages.
So while it is true that Soderbergh can’t be faulted for not including enough texture in the story, it must also be noted that layers for the sake of layers isn’t always a good thing. The story, which could have been an interesting comment on a broken medical system, or professional misconduct, instead becomes unnecessarily cluttered.
The performances, howevre, are uniformly great. Quick! Somebody buy Mara some Gatorade because she sheds a river of tears—no, make that an ocean—in a performance that is understated but chillingly effective.
Law is terrific as a man whose life is almost torn apart. Luckily he’s left the horrible fake teeth of “Contagion,” his last outing with Soderbergh, at home, replacing them with serious chops playing a man racked with paranoia and anger.
“Side Effects” is a confounding movie because it is beautifully made. Soderbergh strings us along so well in the first hour only to allow the melodrama to win out in the last reel.
A movie called “Stand Up Guys” that contains the line, “They’re the kind of guys who take your kidneys and don’t even try to sell them,” sounds like maybe it’s about gangster comedians. Or witty wise-guys. Or hilarious hit men. Instead it’s an occasionally funny, but mostly heartfelt look at friendship disguised as a buddy movie starring Al Pacino and Christopher Walken.
Pacino is Val, a career criminal and “stand up guy” who did a twenty-eight year stretch in prison rather than implicate his partners in crime. He soon discovers, however, that his first day of freedom may become his last day on earth. His old boss Claphand (Mark Margolis) has hired Val’s best friend Doc (Walken) to kill him in revenge for the death of his son almost three decades ago.
Doc is conflicted about the job, even though Val seems to understand the twisted logic of the underworld vendetta. With just ten hours until the deadline (literally, Val must be dead by 10 am) the old friends go on a spree, breaking their friend Hirsch (Alan Arkin) out of his retirement home and going on a last caper or two.
“Stand Up Guys” is just slightly less than the sum of its parts. The leads—Pacino, Walken and Arkin—combined bring with them a century or two of screen work, and it shows. It’s a pleasure to see these three old pros cut through this material like a pizza cutter through tender dough.
It’s too bad then, that the material contains Viagara jokes that would seem more appropriate in a “Grumpy Old Men” movie. That and the long shadow of Tarantino that blankets almost every scene leaves the film feeling less than original despite the engaging performances.
It is, however, almost worth the price of admission to listen to Christopher Walken talk about watching television, or “cable teeVEE” as he pronounces it.
Bradley Cooper’s continued push to distance himself form his most famous character, the slime-ball Phil of “The Hangover” fame, continues with “Silver Linings Playbook,” a David O. Russell film that pioneers the genre of mental illness rom com.
Cooper is Pat Solitano a separated substitute teacher, jailed for beating his wife’s boyfriend half to death. Now his wedding song, “My Cherie Amour,” sends him into rages and he has severe control issues. After eight months being institutionalized he’s released into the reluctant care of his parents (Robert De Niro and Jacki Weaver). His recovery is slowed by a fixation on his ex-wife, but helped along by a kindred spirit, Tiffany (Jennifer Lawrence) a troubled widow who needs Pat’s help to win a dance competition.
Cooper stretches here, displaying his well-honed comedic skills but tempering the jokes with some serious dramatic chops. He desperate to rebuild his life and Cooper shows us how he slowly gets the building blocks in order to achieve his goal. It’s nice work that turns on a dime from manic to awkward to disheartened, often in the same scene.
Director David O Russell (“The Fighter,” “Three Kings”) visually echoes Pat’s various states, using the camera and zooms and fast cuts to give us an idea of the mental state of the main character.
Vying for attention are Lawrence and De Niro. Lawrence brings considerable charm and chops to Tiffany. Her understanding, but slightly icy stare as Pat meets her for the first time with the greeting, “You look nice. How’d Tom die?” is skilled, subtle and effective.
Ditto De Niro, except for the subtle part. He hands in a broad performance as a father who couldn’t ever relate to his son. Their relationship is based on a mutual love for the Eagles football team and dad’s belief that Pat provides some sort of mojo for the team during the playoffs.
So, good performances all round, but the last half is marred by too much repetitious dialogue—arguments that go nowhere—and football superstition that leads the story far afield from where it began.
Mental illness is a complicated subject that the film doesn’t exactly treat lightly. Instead “Silver Linings Playbook” uses it as a plot device
Just when it seems like everything that could possibly be written about James Bond and the 23 official movies chronicling his super spy exploits, along comes “Skyfall,” a movie that pays homage to the past, while redefining the future of the franchise.
After a mission in Turkey goes awry, James Bond (Craig) is presumed lost. His boss and mentor M (Judy Dench), declares him deceased, but when a terrorist hacker leads a deadly cyber attack on MI6 headquarters 007 returns to his post, tired, haggard and injured but eager to get back into the spy business.
Retrained—ie: various shots of Craig doing push and chin ups plus a word association game where Bond associates “murder” with “employment”—Bond is sent back into the field to track down the villain behind the attack. His investigation leads him to Raoul Silva (Javier Bardem), a psychotic criminal mastermind in the best Ian Fleming tradition. Except that Silva isn’t interested in a ransom of “one mee-lee-on dollars” or aiding Soviet missile development. No, he wants something more personal and deadly—revenge.
The movie’s tone is established in the opening moments of “Skyfall’s” stylized opening sequence. It’s a psychedelic montage in traditional Bond style, set to a new Adele song that evokes the Bond themes of old—before they started hiring Duran Duran and a-ha to warble the opening numbers—but despite the nod to the history of the series, it feels fresh. A blend of old and new, it shapes the understanding of Bond as an old dog in new times, who, by the end of the film will literally and figuratively blow up the past to ensure the future.
It is the most thematically mature Bond movie yet—even the action sequences are a comment on old versus new, pitting Bond’s street smarts and savvy against Silva’s high-tech machines of destruction. A new Q (Ben Whishaw) spends more time behind a computer keyboard than devising gadgets.
Of course, most of us don’t go to Bond movies looking for subtext. We want a Bond girl, a fight scene or three, at last one cool gadget and a cackling villain.
“Skyfall” delivers on most of that. Bérénice Marlohe and Naomie Harris split Bond girl duties, while Craig battles bad guys, feeding one to a hungry reptile. As for gadgets, director Sam Mendes seems to understand that less is more. “Exploding pens?,” Q says at one point. “We don’t really go in for that anymore.”
As for the villain, Javier Bardem, who doesn’t show up for over an hour, makes a quiet but spectacular entrance, with a speech worthy of the best Bond villain. With wild blonde hair, and an uncharacteristically (for a baddie at least) understated demeanor he oozes Oedipal menace. He is a Bond bad guy for a new generation, and his presence is one of the great pleasures of the movie.
The connection between Bond and M lies at the heart of the film. For the first time their relationship is explored, revealing a deeper connection than has been hinted at in the past. Dench’s performance adds dimension to a relationship that has been taken for granted in previous entries.
A near perfect blend of old and new, “Skyfall” is a heady mix of action and intellect that will leave you shaken and stirred.
In “Smashed” Mary Elizabeth Winstead and “Breaking Bad’s” Aaron Paul play, Kate and Charlie, a couple on a slow, steady climb to the bottom, watching their lives stagger by through the bottom of a pint glass. He calls her “his drunk angel,” and she goes along with it, until the day she realizes she’ll never be “a wine with dinner” person.
The realization comes soon after she hits bottom following a wild night of drinking and smoking crack with a stranger. Grasping that her life and behavior have gone from from embarrassing to scary, she decides to get sober. With the help of a co-worker (Nick Offerman), a sponsor (Octavia Spencer) and a twelve step program, but none from her husband, she does just that, only to find that life outside the bottle is more challenging than she ever imagined.
“Smashed” is a clear-headed look at drunkenness. The stylized drinking of “Days of Wine and Roses” and the self-destructive “Leaving Las Vegas” boozing are absent. Instead we’re given a brutally honest depiction of people who don’t realize they have a problem until it is too late. By then their world is crumbling, and it is heartbreaking to watch two people in love separated by the pull of a vodka bottle.
The tone of the movie shifts when Kate gets sober. The devil-may-care drinking beer at noon is gone, and suddenly the constant “I’m sorry’s” from Charlie seem louder and less sincere than before. But as Kate takes the smashed pieces of her life and start putting them back together she has some tough decisions to make, and makes them despite a lack of support from Charlie and even her mother (a terrific Mary Kay Place) who responds to Kate refusing a drink with the words, “no means yes where I come from.”
Former horror movie “scream-queen” Winstead anchors the movie with a strong performance that brings both vulnerability and strength to Kate. It’s a tricky balance but she finds it, both in her battle with the bottle and her struggle to understand how to navigate her relationship.
Paul isn’t given as much to do, but proves there is more to him than the lost soul we see on “Breaking Bad” every week.
“Smashed” is a compelling and sobering portrait of a person in crisis, but it also sheds a light on how people treat alcoholism as a personal failing rather than a disease.
“The Sessions” should be the downer movie of the year. But the story of a severely disabled man who wants to explore his sexuality, before, as he says, his “use by” date, is funny, passionate and bawdy.
Based on the life of poet Mark O’Brien (played in the movie by John Hawkes) “The Sessions” sees a man who can’t move have a sexual awakening with some unlikely advice from his priest (William H. Macy) and the help of a sex surrogate (Helen Hunt).
“The Sessions” doesn’t reinvent the narrative wheel, things progress pretty much as you imagine they might, but as obvious as some elements of the story may be, the frank treatment of its subject and performances elevate the story.
Director Ben Lewin (who also wrote the script) expertly handles the delicate subject of sex and the disabled, never once allowing the characters to fall into the trap of pious condescension or pity. It’s a no nonsense look at life and love from a disabled point of view, and Lewis handles it simply and effectively.
The real credit for the story’s humanity, humor and passion, however, belongs to the actors. Helen Hunt bares all, emotionally and physically in a tender performance that would make her best-known character, “Mad About You’s” Jamie Buchman turn beet red, but it is John Hawkes who walks away with the picture, figuratively, not literally.
Playing a man who sleeps in an iron lung, who lost the ability to move below the neck at an early age, he is extraordinary. Using only his eyes, mouth and voice to express himself he creates a complete portrait of a man struggling past his emotional baggage to break through to another phase in his life. It’s a subtle performance that relies on minute changes in vocal quality and facial expressions to portray complication emotions. It’s also a far cry from his most famous role, the violent hillbilly drug dealer he played in “Winter’s Bone” and one that will garner attention at awards time.
“The Sessions” is a simple film about a difficult subject that eschews sentimentality for heartfelt feelings, and does so with a dose of unexpected humor.
You can tell a great deal about a movie by the trailers that run before the opening credits. It’s a way of marketing upcoming movies to an audience already in the mood for, say, a comedy, or in the case of “Sinister,” a horror flick.
The promos before this Ethan Hawke chiller include “Texas Chainsaw 3D” and the “Silent Hill” sequel, which is set in a “town hell calls home.” By the time the opening credits of the main feature have played–a home movie of a family being hung in slow motion–you are well prepared for the creepy tale that follows.
Ethan Hawke is a true crime author whose last big hit was ten years previous. Convinced he has stumbled on a new real life mystery with the makings of a best seller he moves his family to a small town and a new house. What he doesn’t tell his wife or kids is that the house is actually the scene of the crime he’s investigating. In the attic he discovers a box of home movies that unlock some sinister secrets.
“Sinister” is a good old-fashioned spooky movie where it is misty at night, things go bump in the night, and very door in the house needs to be oiled. It mostly makes do without any special effects, which helps add some authentic atmosphere. AS we see here you don’t need CGI to make a horror movie, just some stylish camera work, an anxiety inducing soundtrack and weird looking kids with lots of dark eye make-up.
In some ways “Sinister” is sort like “The Shining’s” little brother. That’s not a spoiler, Ethan Hawke doesn’t chop his way through a door, but he does play a writer, driven to extremes by circumstance and the supernatural, who moves his family to a new and strange place only to have his work have unintended repercussions on everyone in the household.
Ethan Hawke, as a desperate author convinced he’s on to the story that could revitalize his career, is in just about every frame of the film and carries it. He slowly lets the darkness of his investigation get to him as he tries to put himself in the crime victim’s head space.
Also interesting are James Ransone as the jokingly named Deputy So-and-So, who adds some unexpected comedic flair when the going gets grim, and Vincent D’Onofrio as the occult specialist—there’s always an occult specialist in these movies. How else to explain the unexplainable?
“Sinister” mostly shies away from getting really down and dirty—most of the grim stuff is left to our imaginations or filtered through Hawke’s shocked reactions—but it builds tension really well and will leave you unsettled.
