“Apocalypse Now,” offers up some life advice in the form of one salient quote about crossing lines and the point of no return. To paraphrase. “Never get out of the boat. Absolutely goshdarn right. Unless you’re going all the way.” In the case of “Adrift,” a new film starring Shailene Woodley, it might have been a good idea to never have gotten on the boat in the first place.
Based on the true story of Tami Oldham (Woodley) and Richard Sharp (Sam Claflin), two sailors who meet disaster on a journey across the Pacific from Tahiti to San Diego, “Adrift” is an adventure tale in search of dramatic tension.
When we first meet her Oldham is a twenty-four-year old on hiatus from real life. Struck with a case of wanderlust, she is metaphorically adrift, jumping from place to place with the goal of making enough money to get to the next port. When she meets experienced seadog Sharp she finds someone who can provide companionship on her travels.
“I’ve never met anyone like you,“ he says. “You’re like a bloke.“ “I’ve never met anyone like you,” she replies. “You’re like a woman.“ Cue the kisses.
The newly minted couple take a job to sail a luxury yacht across the ocean they immediately set off on their nautical adventure. All is well until they sail into a class four tropical storm that goes all “Poseidon Adventure” on the yacht. During the storm that Sharp is banged up, left with a broken leg and ribs. His survival is in her hands. The couple drift for forty-one days, exhausted, dehydrated, delirious and hallucinating but not dead. ‘If this hadn’t happened,” she says, “I wouldn’t have us to remember. I wouldn’t trade this for anything.”
Flashing them backwards and forwards from their courtship, to the trip and the disaster, “Adrift” is choppier than the waves kicked up by the storm. The broken timeline shatters any kind of forward momentum. Just as a scene starts to build some heat director Baltasar Kormákur jumps around, skipping through time like a flat stone skimming along the water.
In his interpretation of the material director Kormákur seems intent on creating a new genre, the Young Adult Disaster Romance. The film leads up to the storm, an exciting-ish climax in a movie where nothing interesting happens until the final moments. The romance segments have a light feel, brightly coloured, set to bouncy music. They are cut, in sharp contrast, against the stark scenes of survival. Throughout Woodley and Claflin speak to one another in lines seemingly ripped from a Harlequin Romance Jr. “I sailed around the road to find you,” Richard coos. “I’m not letting you go.” “I just want to go everywhere with you,” she replies. How juvenile is it? It takes them 18 days at sea to discover the booze below deck. Any mature disaster artist would have found it in hours.
”Adrift” is meant to be a voyage of self-discovery but is a little more than a trip to the Young Adult section of the library. With little to no insight on the characters and uneven storytelling, for most of the running time “Adrift” is just that… adrift.
“First Reformed,” the meditative new film from writer-director Paul Schrader is a movie about hope, specifically, the search for it.
Ethan Hawke is a Father Toller, a former military chaplain at the under attended First Reformed Church. New to the church and still stinging from a troubled past he’s akin to another of Schrader’s creations, “Taxi Driver’s” Travis Bickle. He’s one of God’s lonely men, racked with despair, plagued by stomach problems brought on by drinking and thoughts of ecological failure. “I think we are supposed to look with the eyes of Jesus into everything,” he says. While overseeing the heritage church he creates his own “form of prayer,” a daily journal where he documents his crisis of faith.
His personal issues are amplified when Mary (Amanda Seyfried), a pregnant parishioner, seeks Toller’s council. Her husband Michael (Philip Ettinger), an extreme eco activist, is having second thoughts about bringing a baby into a world he is convinced is dying. His apocalyptic view of the world unsettles Toller, feeding his inner spiritual struggle.
Schrader is most famous for writing “Taxi Driver,” “Raging Bull” and “The Last Temptation of Christ,” all deeply spiritual in their own ways. Here he tackles faith head on in his best film as a director since 2002’s “Auto Focus.”
Questions are asked; answers are left in the ether. It’s a portrait of a man in progress, trying to figure out his place in the world, if there will be a world to be part of. Hawke is subdued, handing in an internal performance that creates tension as Toller waits for God to tell him what to do. It is powerful work complimented by strong performances from Seyfried and Cedric the Entertainer as the condescending mega-church preacher Pastor Jeffers.
Schrader makes some bold choices here—the film is unrelentingly sombre—but most notably with the sudden and ambiguous ending. Toller looks to be finally taking control of his life, although the form of his redemption is left open to interpretation. This is Schrader’s ode to Andrei Tarkovsky and Ingmar Bergman, contemplative filmmakers of the past who essayed questions of theology and spiritual growth without judging their characters. Uncluttered and edited with laser like attention to detail, “First Reformed” is a thought-provoking movie that bears repeated viewing.
Cory Bowles, writer and director of “Black Cop,” is best known for his work as an actor on “Trailer Park Boys.” He is also a choreographer, a musician and theatre director. He mixes and matches all those disciplines, cherry picking the best of his experience for his vision of “Black Cop,” a film about racial profiling that is one part social comment and two parts performance piece.
Ronnie Rowe Jr. is the title character, a police officer whose life changes after he is racially profiled by another cop. Taking justice into his own hands Black Cop becomes involved in a series of escalating situations while on duty. He draws his gun on a man picking up his bike at school. A young couple are left handcuffed by their car after a traffic stop. A doctor out on a jog is brutally beaten. In each case the perpetrators are white and disobey direct orders from Black Cop. It’s a striking reversal of the kind of footage we’ve become accustomed to seeing on the nightly news, and makes a timely and powerful statement on the interaction of law enforcement and members of marginalized communities.
Interspersed between the patrol scenes are monologues on the nature of subjugation and subservience. Layered on top is a propulsive jazz and hip hop soundtrack that underscores and compliments the narrative.
“Black Cop’s” story doesn’t end so much as it stops, suggesting the ills it portrays—racial profiling, police brutality—haven’t ended either. It’s a nervy finish to a movie that entertainingly tackles serious subjects head on. In a terrific performance Rowe, who appears in almost every frame of the film, earns both revulsion and empathy as he explores the emotions of the character.
By the time the end credits roll though it is Bowles who emerges as the star. His bold criss-crossing of disciplines and use of satire makes for a thought provoking examination of a hot button topic.
Adapted by Ian McEwan from his novel of the same name, “On Chesil Beach,” spends some up-close-and-personal time with an awkward young couple on their wedding night.
It’s the summer of 1962 and Saoirse Ronan is Florence Ponting, a straight-laced,
upper class musician with dreams of playing with an orchestra. University College of London history student Edward Mayhew (Billy Howle) is working class, but despite their different stations in life, woos her and soon the pair is married.
We meet them on their honeymoon in a hotel on Chesil Beach, Dorset. Their obvious affection for one another aside, they are inexperienced and anxious. Edward is eager but Florence is torn between her distaste of personal intimacy and her fear of disappointing her new husband. “You’re always advancing and I am always backing away,” she says, “and we can never talk about it.”
Through flashbacks from their lives, both separately and together, we learn of Edward’s difficult home life with a mentally ill mother (Anne-Marie Duff) and what makes them both tick.
“On Chesil Beach” is essentially a chamber piece, built around the two lead performances. Director Dominic Cooke takes full advantage of them, luxuriating over their faces, letting their eyes, rather than the dialogue tell the story. Once again, Ronan is remarkable, authentic in every way. Howle contrasts Florence’s calm presence with a more volatile presence. From flashbacks to happier times and their their eventful honeymoon to a flashforward, we see a couple slowly crushed by the emotional weight of their circumstances.
Despite the emotional heaviness the film is light on its feet, only becoming bogged down in an overly sentimental—and tacked on feeling—coda.
A science experiment with real world repercussions is at the heart of “Birthmarked,” a new comedy starring Toni Collette and Matthew Goode.
The action in the film begins with a simple, timeless question, “Could we have been anyone other than who we are?” Married scientists Ben (Goode) and Catherine (Collette) attempt to answer the question by staging a social experiment that they hope will once and for all determine what is more important in shaping young lives, nature or nurture.
In a remote cabin under very controlled circumstances Ben and Catherine, with the help of sex-starved Russian assistant Samsonov (Andreas Apergis), condition their kids to defy expectations. Their son Luke (Jordan Poole), their biological child is be raised as an artist. Two adopted children, daughter Maya (Megan O’Kelly), from a “long line of dimwitted people,” is trained as an intellectual while son Maurice (Anton Gillis-Adelman), adopted from a family with angry, aggressive ancestors, is taught the ways of peace and love. The artist. The brain. The pacifist. “No one is a prisoner of their genetic heritage,” says Ben, who “teaches” his kids unorthodox classes like Stimulated Self Expression.
Their carefully documented experiment takes a turn when their patron (Michael Smiley) demands results. “Remember our deal,” he says. “If this fails you owe me every cent I put into this.”
“Birthmarked” has the kind of low-key quirk that Wes Anderson has mastered. Unfortunately it eludes Emanuel Hoss-Desmarais. Example: “The use of a narrator is weak dramaturgy,” Ben says by way of criticism of his son’s play, in a movie with loads of narration.
You can imagine “Birthmarked” being given a freshening up by someone who looks past the character’s idiosyncrasies instead of embracing them. A little less cleverness might have left room for whatever humanity these characters possess. As it is the film never lifts off because Ben, Catherine and Company don’t feel like real people. They feel like characters thrown into an odd situation and not like people living in, and dealing with, a strange state of affairs.
He’s one of the most famous names in fashion and yet he’s not a designer or couturier. He’s André Leon Talley, former “Vogue” editor and contributor and fixture in the front row of every important fashion show worldwide.
The intellectually and physically imposing Talley—he’s an endlessly quotable six-and-a-half-foot man—is the subject of “The Gospel According To Andre,” a new documentary from Kate Novack that goes beneath the trademarked capes and bling to reveal the man, not the public figure.
Born and raised in the segregated Jim Crow South Talley grew up far from the runways of Paris. His introduction to fashion came in the form of the elaborate hats his grandmother’s friends wore to church. As a young, self-conscious man he spent hours at the library reading “Vogue” before attending Brown University and ultimately moving to New York City to chase his dream of working in the fashion industry. Jobs working for style maven Diana Vreeland and at Andy Warhol’s “Interview” magazine placed him at the centre of hip NYC Studio 54 culture. By 1983 he was working at “Vogue,” the job that cemented his legacy as a fashion icon. Helping to tell the tale are Anna Wintour, Marc Jacobs, Tom Ford, Bethann Hardison, Valentino, and Manolo Blahnik.
Although “Gospel” veers into hagiography—will.i.am. even goes so far as to call Talley “the Nelson Mandela of couture.”—it also provides an intimate look at the painful racism and body shaming the heavy set gay man was subjected to. In one tearful moment he describes being called “Queen Kong” by colleagues. It is in these moments the film is elevated from a timeline of an interesting man’s life to a portrait of a pioneer who blazed a trail for him and those who followed. Talley’s influence on fashion culture as an editor and commentator is inestimable and “Gospel,” while not terribly stylishly made, is a fitting tribute to a man who says, “I don’t live for fashion, I live for beauty and style.”
In actor’s circles it’s not uncommon to hear, “I will kill for that role,” but would they really? That’s the fertile ground explored in “Nobody Famous,” a new dark comedy from director Sarah Rotella.
Set at a Northern Ontario cottage, the film sees aspiring actors, opportunist Dani (Justine Nelson), overeager Valerie (Gráinne O’Flynn), dim bulb Ricky R. (Evan Giovanni), closeted macho man Stefano (Justin Gerhard) and over-preparer Grace (Winny Clarke) get away for a weekend. All up-and-comers, they bring scripts, work on audition pieces, compare twitter followers and constantly check their phones for messages from their agents.
When Dani receives the call they’ve all been waiting for, the offer of a lead role in a science fiction film, the mood of the weekend changes. Petty disputes take over as jealousy becomes the word of the day.
Their respective acting talents will be put to the ultimate audition when one of them winds up dead, the victim of bruised egos and indifference. Can they convince everyone of their innocence when most of them can’t even land an acting gig?
“Nobody Famous” finds humour in the self-obsessed world of superficial, thin-skinned people. These characters claim to be friends and yet they trade veiled (and not so veiled) insults aimed at undermining confidence, take delight in their pal’s failures and sleep around.
Director Rotella and screenwriter Adrianna DiLonardo have fun with the stereotypes of these people, so desperate for attention, but take pains to show us the flip side. Inserts of audition tapes give a glimpse of the cutting remarks that erode away the self-confidence of all of the actors. Each have their cross to bear and each shroud that cross in bravado. It’s an interesting way to get under the skin of these people but “Nobody Famous” is ultimately more concerned with having fun with them, not understanding them. To that end it succeeds. It takes a bit too long to get to the juicy stuff—the death and the aftermath—but provides many laughs before diving into the sinister side of ambition.
“’Deadpool 2” is a family film,” says the main character, breaking the fourth wall, “and every family film begins with a murder. ‘Bambi.’ ‘Lion King.’ ‘Saw 7.” With the highest body count ever for a self-proclaimed family movie, it must be pointed out that it’s not for the family; it’s about family.
20th Century Fox has taken pains to keep the plot of the latest “Deadpool” under wraps. Their official synopsis mentions “a near fatal bovine attack,” the “dream of becoming Mayberry’s hottest bartender” and coping with “his lost sense of taste.” The only part of that which is true is the lost sense of taste. “Deadpool 2” is loud and proud, raunchy and profane and certainly lost any sense of taste (or decorum) in the planning stages.
There will be no spoilers here. I will tell you that between the fast n’ furious pop culture references is a story about a personal tragedy that leads Wade a.k.a. Deadpool a.k.a. the Merc with a Mouth (Ryan Reynolds) to try and off himself in spectacular fashion with a “cat nap on 1200 gallons of high-octane fuel.” Soon afterward, a troubled young mutant named Russell a.k.a. Firefist (Julian Dennison) enters his life. Unfortunately so does Cable (Josh Brolin), a time travelling cybernetic mutant soldier who refers to Deadpool as “an annoying clown dressed up as a sex toy.” He’s a handful determined to kill Russell. “You’re so dark,” Deadpool says to Cable, “are you sure you’re not from the DC universe?”
All this sets the stage for Deadpool’s great reckoning. With the help of a handful of X-Men, including Colossus (Stefan Kapičić) and Negasonic Teenage Warhead (Brianna Hildebrand), and his own team X-Force, he comes to understand the importance of family. “Family,” he says, “is not an f-word.”
Irreverence thy name is Deadpool. The Ryan Reynolds’ franchise is related to the Marvel and X-Men Universes but feels like he’s from a planet all his own. He talks directly to the audience, compares his box office to other movies and even comments on the action around him. “There’s a big CGI fight coming up,” he says, saving me the trouble of mentioning my least favourite aspect of the superhero genre. The jokes may not feel quite as fresh as they did the first time around but Reynolds, face covered under a mask 95% of the time, delivers the lines with pitch perfect delivery. Mixing one-liners with pop culture references—everything from “Yentl” to 007 to “Frozen”—he provides a running commentary that would be exhausting if not so gleefully delivered. Not all the jokes land and the Jared Kushner gag may age badly but Reynolds gets an A for effort.
“Deadpool 2” has all the elements of a summer superhero blockbuster. There’s action—directed by David Leitch, “one of the guys who killed the dog in John Wick.”—a conflicted villain—a territory Josh Brolin seems to be cornering—and some heavy franchise building. It also has something new, at least for the “Deadpool” movies and that’s humanity. It is the opposite of genteel but it gives the loudmouth lead an opportunity to grow as a character. It’s tough to follow up a movie as audacious as “Deadpool.” Fans have expectations and for the most part they are met. The jokes and the set pieces are bigger and badder but it’s the mushy stuff that prevents “Deadpool 2” from slipping solely into freak show mode. Add to that a credit scene (midway, not post credits) worth the price of admission and you’re left with a movie that works both as a superhero flick and as a twisted family drama.
For the Johnson family “Fifty Shades of Grey” is the gift that keeps on giving. First Dakota Johnson became a star playing the book’s lead character in the film adaptation. Now her father, Don Johnson, appears in “Book Club,” a tale of four women inspired by the erotic novel to spice up their sex lives.
Diane Keaton, Jane Fonda, Candice Bergen and Mary Steenburgen star as life long friends at different places in their lives. Diane (Keaton) is a recent widow, federal judge Sharon (Bergen) obsesses about her decades old divorce while sensualist Vivian (Fonda) plays the field and Carol (Steenburgen), a chef who wonders if her marriage is headed for the rocks.
The pals have been getting together for book club for forty years—starting with “Fear of Flying,” Erica Jong’s controversial 1973 portrayal of female sexuality. Their lives are shaken up when Vivian brings a new book over. “Ladies I’m not going to let us become those people who stop living before they stop living,” she says. “I would like to introduce you to Christian Grey.” “Fifty Shades of Grey,” the soft core look at hard core BDSM (bondage, discipline, sadism and masochism), becomes the hit of their chardonnay soaked book club—“It says for ‘mature audiences.’” “That certainly sounds like us.”—stirring up some long forgotten desires.
Like the classic rock on the soundtrack “Book Club” is not ashamed of what it is. Predictable in the extreme, it’s a movie that understands its audience and never over reaches. Like I well-worn joke it sets up the premise, delivers a punchline and waits for the laugh. It’s comfort food, a lightly raunchy sitcom about finding love later in life. Ripe with double entendres, it’s a genial boomer sex comedy about the pleasures of listening to vinyl, connecting and reconnecting, about a generation gap and living life to the fullest.
“We’re sure not spring flowers,” says Carol. “More like potpourri,” replies Vivian. They are women of a certain age but in an industry that often ignores older women it is fun to see this quartet front and centre. Bergen wields her wit and delivery like a sabre. Steenburgen’s journey is more about her husband Bruce (Craig T. Nelson) but she brings much charm to the role. Fonda is the vulnerable sexpot, never allowing anyone to get too close (“I don’t need anyone,” she says. “That’s the secret of my success.”) while Keaton’s trademarked fluster and flap is on full display. Together they evoke “Sex and the City” for a different generation.
The men of “Book Club” are fine—Andy Garcia, Don Johnson, Richard Dreyfuss and Nelson—but it is the women, their connection and their groove that makes this movie so enjoyable.
