SYNOPSIS: The trouble in “Ouija” begins when Debbie (Shelley Hennig) breaks the first rule of witchboarding: Never play alone. She pays a heavy price for her spiritual disobedience and soon her group of good-looking friends is gathered at her funeral. “She said she’d see us the next day,” says BFF Laine (Olivia Cooke). “Why would she say that?” We’ll never know… unless Laine pulls out the Ouija Board! Using Debbie’s board Laine and pals try and contact their dearly departed’s spirit, but instead unleash a demonic terror that threatens all of their lives.
STAR RATINGS:
Richard: 1 Star
Mark: 1 Star
Richard: Mark, Ouija is scary, but not scary like Dracula, Edgar Allen Poe or hungry zombies. No, I thought Ouija was scary because as I watched it I could feel my life slipping away, second-by-second, for ninety excruciating minutes. As scary as you would imagine a horror film inspired by a board game to be, it’s a mishmash of demonology, Japanese horror and so many slasher movie tropes the producers owe John Carpenter and Wes Craven a writing credit. The blonde girl dies first, there’s spooky stuff in the attic and the plucky heroine outlives almost everyone. At least there’s very little found footage. Which way does you planchette point on this movie? Yes or no?
Mark: My planchette points straight down on this one, Richard. The ouija board itself is a dumb device, as laughable as tea leaves or numerology. Then the rest of the movie makes up its own rules as it goes along, with little regard for storytelling or even visual style. The movie, which seems to be pitched at teenage girls who would text photos of jeans while watching it, feels like an after school special viewed on a fourth rerun. But it did make me think. I thought about tax planning, tort reform, Japanese vintage eyewear, and what I ate for lunch on May 7, 1978. Then, blissfully, the movie ended, and I was free.
RC: The movie is 5% jump scares, those unexpected loud noises that make you twitch in your seat, 67% set-up and 28% strange glances. As Laine, Debbie’s intrepid best friend, Olivia Cooke does most of the heavy lifting. She keeps the action (such that it is) moving forward all the while displaying her mastery of the concerned look. With a furrowed brow and a determined attitude she tracks down the mystery behind her friend’s death, but mostly she just looks concerned.
MB: About her career, after this turkey. The acting is so bland in this film that you’re quite happy when they meet their gruesome fates. The pretty, watchable blonde is dispatched in the first few minutes, and you breathe a short sigh of relief when the great character actor Lin Shaye shows up for a few scenes before cashing her paycheque.
RC: Most annoying is the movie’s habit of telling the audience the most obvious of details. “She played it alone,” whispers Laine in amazement over a shot of, you guessed it, Debbie going solo on the Ouija board. Instead of telling us something useful, or interesting, the film makes sure that no detail, no matter how small, is commented on.
In the upcoming film Kingsman: The Secret Service, Colin Firth plays a veteran of an independent international intelligence agency.
“The Kingsmen agents,” he says, “are the new knights.” He recruits a rookie (Taron Egerton) into the agency’s training program — “the most dangerous job interview in the world” — just as twisted madman Valentine (Samuel L. Jackson), launches a plan to bring down the Kingsmen and cause world chaos.
Echoes of James Bond hang heavy over the story. There are suave spies, a warped villain in the vein of Dr. Julius No or Ernst Blofeld, an evil henchman, or in this case henchlady, named Gazelle (Sofia Boutella) who has knives where other people have feet. Above all, it has gadgets. Firth and his fellow agents — Michael Caine and Mark Strong — have umbrellas that deflect bullets and Zippo lighter hand grenades among other thingamajigs that no spy should leave home without.
Ever since 007 was kitted out with an attaché briefcase equipped with a folding sniper rifle, ammunition, a knife and 50 gold sovereigns in From Russia With Love, gadgets have become de rigueur in spy stories.
From jetpacks to a mobile phone with a stun gun and fingerprint scanner, Bond always had the coolest contraptions. His most famous gadget, the Aston Martin DB5, was introduced 22 minutes into Goldfinger. Bond’s big rig came fortified with machine guns, ejector seats, a back shield, oil slick, rotating licence plates and tire slicers.
The car has appeared in six movies with later models featuring upgrades like a rear facing water canon, a jetpack stowed in the trunk and a cloaking shield.
Bond’s awesome auto has inspired many other souped-up spy-mobiles, including the Pontiac GTO from xXx. Xander Cage’s (Vin Diesel) car came with stinger missiles, parachutes, a flame-thrower and exploding hubcaps.007 and xXx have sweet rides, but the Our Man Flint spy parody had the wildest stuff. Derek Flint’s (James Coburn) watch not only told time but doubled as a microscope and his lighter had “82 different functions,” he said, “83 if you want to light a cigar.”
When someone says, “I haven’t been completely honest with you,” it’s usually followed by something like, “I’m not really 39 years old,” or “Red is not my natural colour.” When David (“Downton Abbey’s” Dan Stevens), a mysterious soldier who shows up on the Peterson family’s doorstep claiming to be a friend of their late son, says it, it means all hell is about to break loose.
When the Peterson’s first meet David he seems like a good guy. He calls Spencer (Leland Orser) and Laura (Sheila Kelley) Peterson sir and ma’am, and is very protective of sister Anna (Maika Monroe) and troubled son Luke (Brendan Meyer). Perhaps too protective. When people in town start dying Anna becomes suspicious and starts asking questions whose answers come with a heavy price.
The gap between the genteel environs of “Downton Abbey” to the dusty underbelly of the heartland of America is a wide one but Stevens makes the leap. As David he is completely at ease with the unease of his character. His wicked smile (which usually precedes a flurry of fists or bullets) and his unfailing good manners make him the most unsettling of villains, the guy who smiles while people die around him.
He’s the beating heart of the story. If the character of David didn’t work, then neither would the movie. There are some cool set pieces—the climax takes place in a homemade fun house maze, complete with dry ice, mirrors and mazes—and enough action to keep things rocketing along, but it is the character and his complex relationship with the world that makes “The Guest” compelling.
Richard’s “Canada AM” reviews for “Fury,” (or “Everything You Ever Wanted to Know About Tanks But Where Afraid to Ask!”) “Book of Life” and “St. Vincent.”
What is it with Mexicans and death?” asks a youngster in the new kid flick from producer Guillermo Del Toro.
It’s a legit question in light of the content of a film that takes place in and around the Day of the Dead, a national bank holiday in Mexico. “Is that National Zombie Day?” asks the same kid.
No it isn’t. Instead its refreshingly dark but delightful story based on folklore with sumptuous visuals and good messages about family, fate and gender dynamics.
The story begins with a bet between spirits La Muerte (Kate del Castillo) and Xibalba (Ron Perlman) on who will win the heart of the beautiful Maria (Zoe Saldana), warrior Joaquin (Channing Tatum) or bullfighting musician Manolo (Diego Luna). The stakes are high. If she marries Joaquin the devious Xibalba will rule in the Land of the Remembered, while La Muerte will be banished to the Land of the Forgotten. As part of a double cross Manolo is plunged into the underworld, only to have to fight his way back to his hometown and the woman he loves.
“Finding Nemo” and “Bambi” aside, mortality is not a big topic in children’s movies. “Book of Life,” however, embraces it; weaving an entrancing story that toggles back-and-forth between the land of the living and dead. It celebrates the vibrancy of the Day of the Dead celebrations, complete with skeletons in dazzlingly costumes and a character with a disembodied head. “The Walking Dead” this ain’t.
For some children the demonic bulls and Xibalba’s grandly goth appearance might be the stuff of nightmares, but the fanciful creations are for the most part kid friendly in a “Nightmare Before Christmas” kind of way.
For parents the scariest thing about the movie may be the appropriation of songs by Mumford & Sons and Radiohead for a kid’s movie.
Director Jorge R. Gutierrez updates traditional mythology with modern storytelling, making sure that the movie moves along at the speed of light. It occasionally feels a bit too jam-packed, with a noisy finale that isn’t nearly as interesting or inventive as the unconventional stuff that came before it, but the pandering to predictability in the final moments doesn’t diminish “Book of Life’s” impact as a beautifully crafted fantasy.
“Fury” is a brutal war film with exciting and well-executed battle sequences, but its most vicious scene takes place over a meal, at a table set with a lace tablecloth.
Set in April 1945, the movie sees hard-bitten commander “Wardaddy” Collier (Brad Pitt) lead a U.S. 2nd armored division tank nicknamed Fury through Germany in the final days of World War II. His crew, “Bible” Swan (Shia LaBeouf, once again acting opposite giant machines), Gordo (Michael Peña) and redneck Grady (Jon Bernthal), have fought together since the beginning of the war. When Norman Ellison (Logan Lerman), a new gunner recruit with no battle experience, signs on, he must fit in or endanger the entire crew. “You are no use to me if you can’t kill krauts,” says Wardaddy.
Body parts fly, tanks try to out maneuver one another and the cost of the fake body parts that litter the battlefield must have rivaled Pitt’s salary but the scene that keeps “Fury” from becoming Das Boot on land happens midway in the film after the crew has captured a German town. Once the bullets stop flying two local women prepare a meal for Wardaddy and Norman. The long scene begins with tension as the German ladies try and figure out if the Nazi hunters mean them harm but when the core group crowds around the table it becomes something akin to a surreal family dinner where real humanity, or lack thereof, is laid bare. It could have stopped the movie dead in its tracks, but instead is a welcome interlude that showcases the effects of battle on a tightly knit but disparate group of men.
It’s a stunner of a scene that breaks up the relentless grimness of the action. The gruesome sights of war—bodies on the battlefield and even a close-up of part of a man’s face in the tank cab—are on ample display but I was fascinated by the tank interiors. A sense of claustrophobia, tension and fear percolates inside the tiny spaces and literally bleeds off the screen. It helps that the performances are very strong, but it’s the primal feeling of being trapped inside the small cab that gives the movie much of it oomph.
As the leader of the crew Pitt does a good job of leading the cast. He could easily have done a rehash of his Nazi hunting character from Inglourious Basterds, but there are subtle differences. That character was over-the-top, and so is this one; much of his dialogue sounds like it was written by Quentin Tarantino, but the character is deeper, not so much in what he says, but in his quiet scenes when everything you need to know about him is written on his face.
Lerman brings a conflicted sensitivity to a role of a young man thrust into a situation beyond his control and understanding, and Bernthal takes another step towards becoming a go-to character actor, but the actors must constantly compete with the tanks to get noticed.
On the battlefield “Fury” is tank porn. The action scenes are certainly exciting, but it is the quieter moments where the movie makes the point that War is Hell no matter what side you are on.
What kind of goodwill does Bill Murray bring to “St. Vincent”? In the opening scene of the dramatic comedy from director Theodore Melfi, he tells the world’s worst joke—punchline, “That’s not a porch, it’s a BMW”—and still gets a giggle out of the audience.
Murray plays Vincent, a Sheep’s Head, New York guy whose life is in as bad a shape as his jokes. He’s usually drunk or trying to get drunk. His house is second mortgaged to the hilt, his bank account in overdraft and his only friends are a Himalayan cat and the pregnant working girl he pays for company. His new neighbors, single mom Maggie (Melissa McCarthy) and ten year old Oliver (Jaeden Lieberher) are a nuisance to him, until he discovers he can make a few extra bucks babysitting the boy. “Is that our new neighbor,” says Oliver when he first spies Vincent. “It’s going to be a long life.” The pair, however, form a bond. Vinnie passes along valuable life experience, like how to fight, bet on horses and order a drink in a bar, but when Oliver’s dad sues for co-custody it turns out Vinnie’s life lessons may have been ill advised.
There is a scene early on in “St. Vincent” showing Vinnie, head awash in booze, dancing, blissed out to “White Rabbit” on the jukebox in the back room of a seedy bar. It’s a great Murray-esque character study. With just a few drunken gyrations we figure out that Vincent does as he pleases. He always danced like no one was watching.
That’s the essence of the character, and those moments elevate “St. Vincent” from wacky-old-man movie to interesting character study. Murray is always watchable, interesting and reaching for the unexpected even in a movie as by-the-book as this. The story hits all the inspirational notes you’d expect from a movie about building an unconventional family and occasionally falters on the side of sentimentality but overrides the syrupy tone of the old man genre with a series of stand put performances.
Noami Watts is almost unrecognizable as Daka, a plainspoken, pregnant hooker with an impenetrable accent and, if not exactly a heart of gold, an affection for things made of gold. It’s a rare comedic role for her and she nails it, physically and emotionally.
As Maggie McCarthy takes a refreshing step away from her well established comedic persona to deliver a supporting role that has laughs but shows more of her range than we’re used to.
The film’s secret weapon, however, is the pairing of Jaeden Lieberher and Murray. Like Mutt and Jeff–although it’s not clear who is Mutt and who is Jeff, who is the child and who is the adult–they are a matched and balanced pair, with chemistry to burn. Their scenes together are the heart of the film and when they are separated the movie loses some of its appeal.
“St. Vincent” is more predictable than you might want from a Bill Murray movie. He usually makes left-of-centre choices, or at least puts a spin on the regular. The latter is true here, but Murray’s blissed-out dancing reverie and bad jokes are still worth the price of admission.
Synopsis: Set in April 1945, the movie sees hard-bitten commander “Wardaddy” Collier (Brad Pitt) lead a U.S. 2nd armored division tank nicknamed Fury through Germany in the final days of World War II. His crew, “Bible” Swan (Shia LaBeouf, once again acting opposite giant machines), Gordo (Michael Peña) and redneck Grady (Jon Bernthal), have fought together since the beginning of the war. When Norman Ellison (Logan Lerman), a new gunner recruit with no battle experience, signs on, he must fit in or endanger the entire crew. “You are no use to me if you can’t kill krauts,” says Wardaddy.
Star Ratings:
Richard: 4 Stars
Mark: 4 Stars
Richard: Mark, Fury is a brutal war film with exciting and well-executed battle sequences, but its most vicious scene takes place over a meal, at a table set with a lace tablecloth. It happens midway in the film after the crew has captured a German town. Once the bullets stop flying two local women prepare a meal for Wardaddy and Norman. The long scene begins with tension as the German ladies try and figure out if the Nazi hunters mean them harm but when the core group crowds around the table it becomes something akin to a surreal family dinner where real humanity, or lack thereof, is laid bare. It could have stopped the movie dead in its tracks, but instead is a welcome interlude that showcases the effects of battle on a tightly knit but disparate group of men.
Mark: Yes, Richard, it’s an excruciating scene, and I mean that in the best way. What I liked about it was the way it disposed of the “greatest generation” mythology and showed American soldiers as borderline rapists and sadists. Not Pitt, of course, who is just and fair, but some of the soldiers who saved us from the Nazis were swine themselves. It is a depressing irony in a film that’s too tough for irony. I admired the general toughness of the movie; war is not glamourized, it’s shown to be a cesspool of degradation, a literal mud bath. I can’t even imagine what the mud budget was for the picture.
RC: The mud budget and the cost of the fake body parts that litter the battlefield must have rivalled Pitt’s salary. Those are the details, however, that give the movie so much of its grit. The dinner scene helps open the movie up and keep it from becoming Das Boot on land, but I was fascinated by the tank interiors. A sense of claustrophobia, tension and fear percolates inside the tank cab and literally bleeds off the screen. It helps that the performances are very strong, but it’s the primal feeling of being trapped inside the small space that gives the movie much of it oomph.
MB: Yes, I couldn’t get into the elevator after I saw the film. The performances are strong, as you say, and I was most impressed by Shia LaBoeuf, who we can now all forgive for all those Transformers movies. Michael Pena is great, but he’s always great. A real surprise is Jon Bernthal, a relative newcomer, who nails his southern-fried redneck character as a man you equally hate and pity. And what did you think of Pitt, Richard?
RC: Pitt really pulls this off. At first I was concerned he was going to hand in a rehash of his Nazi hunting character from Inglourious Basterds. That character was over-the-top, and so is this one in his own way. Much of his dialogue sounds like it was written by Quentin Tarantino, but the character is deeper, not so much in what he says, but in his quiet scenes when everything you need to know about him is written on his face.
MB: The sadness is even in his haircut, which has its own gravitational pull.
By Richard Crouse & Mark Breslin – Metro Reel Guys
