Apparently none of the characters in “The Ritual,” a new survival flick from director David Bruckner, have ever seen a cabin in the woods horror movie. If so they might have spared themselves a lot of trouble.
Luke (Rafe Spall), Phil (Arsher Ali), Robert (Paul Reid), Dom (Sam Troughton) and Hutch (Robert James-Collier) are best friends on a bender. After a night of drinks they drunkenly decide to take a lad’s vacation.
“Berlin?” “Nein.” “Belgium?” “No one has ever gone to Belgium by choice.”
After some back and forth they decide on The King’s Trail, a hiking trail in northern Sweden. “It’s like the Appalachian Trail but with more history and fewer hillbillies,” they joke.
At the tail end of the night Luke and Rob, not ready to head home, go to a store to buy more booze but walk into a robbery in progress. Rob is killed as Luke hides. Cut to six months later. The remaining friends travel to Sweden to pay homage to their late pal.
After the brief ceremony Dom stumbles, twisting his knee. Unable to navigate the harsh conditions of the King’s Trail the boys decide to go off trail and take a short cut through the forest.
Come nightfall things take a mysterious turn. They find gutted animals hanging in trees, strange symbols carved into the bark and an abandoned cabin in the woods. Anyone who had ever seen a horror movie would know to keep on walking but these guys decide to break in and wait until daylight. “This is clearly the house we get murdered in,” someone jokes.
They survive the night but in the morning everything is different. Luke has a strange, bloody paw print on his chest, Dom and Hutch are traumatized by realistic nightmares and Phil is found, naked, upstairs kneeling before a pagan artefact.
What has happened and what does it have to do with the strange Wicker Man statue in the attic? One by one the friends will find out.
“The Ritual” is a ritualistic horror movie with little to no special effects. It’s just tension, atmosphere and four guys you kind of hope survive. It’s the kind of movie where the characters say things like, “Something is not right here.” Well, duh. There’s gutted animals hanging in trees probably put there by shadowy things that go chomp in the night.
[MILD SPOILERS AHEAD] The obvious stuff aside, “The Ritual” does have an element of psychological horror—the men are troubled by their pal’s violent death—which works better than the actual horror elements. The monstrous creature at the root of all the bloody goings-on is rarely seen so these guys spend a great deal of time running, terrified, from rustling trees. From an audience point of view it’s a little less than horrifying. Things pick up in the last half hour when the movie turns a corner and becomes a Nordic “Deliverance.” There are creepy woodland people and while there’s not quite enough creature to qualify this as a creature feature at least the trees have stopped swishing.
“The Ritual” has some great elements but despite an anxiety-inducing droning soundtrack and a building sense of dread, it is not eerie enough to justify its overlong 95 minutes running time.
Depending on your point of view, Fifty Shades of Grey either made you want to gag or want to wear a gag. A softcore look at hardcore BDSM (bondage, discipline, sadism and masochism), it spanked the competition in its opening weekend in 2015.
A second film, Fifty Shades Darker, came along two years later. With Fifty Shades Freed entering theatres this weekend, the question is will audiences still care about Christian Grey’s proclivities and Anastasia Steele’s misgivings or will it be time to use our collective safe word?
Dakota Johnson and Jamie Dornan return as stars of the literary adaptations of E. L. James’ wildly popular erotic novels. If you haven’t seen the first two, here’s what you need to know before handing over your cash for part three.
There are sex scenes, there is nudity and, yes, Virginia, there are whips and chains but don’t expect the smutty stuff from the books. These big-budget films have whipped the material into mainstream theatre shape, shaving the rough edges off the novel’s explicit kinky sex scenes.
The randy pair spend more time talking about their sexual liaisons than actually getting horizontal … or suspended … or anything else. They blabber and negotiate, yammering on about submission, domination and safe words till even the Marquis de Sade would nod off from boredom. The first two are not exactly comedies, but the dialogue is so bad you could call them domination comedies or dom-coms.
Then there is Grey’s version of sweet talk — “If you were mine you wouldn’t be able to sit down for a week.” — and predatory behaviour that, if not for his billions, would land him in jail for stalking or worse. The psychological introspection on display here makes Dr. Phil seem like Friedrich Nietzsche.
Of the two leads, Dakota Johnson seems ripped from the pages of the book. Her gamine innocence and girlish giggle convey the emotional rawness necessary for the character to work. She is naked, emotionally and physically — unlike her co-star who, for all we know, is as anatomically correct as a Ken doll — with a propensity for drunk dialling and a permanently dewy look about her that betrays the confusion and attraction Ana feels toward Grey.
Dornan has the thankless role. His grim-faced Christian Grey is an unemotional cipher, a bubbling cauldron of unexplored trauma and Dornan plays him straight faced which must have been tough while delivering unintentionally hilarious lines like “Roll your eyes at me again and I will take you across my knee.” His delivery is just as sexy as that time your cranky old grandfather said it to you when you were 10. Dornan’s burning passion is conveyed by his intense gaze, which often looks clinical, as if he’s examining her naked body for irregular moles.
Together the pair share so little chemistry they wouldn’t smoulder if you lit their underwear on fire. To be fair, they are cut adrift in a sea of kinky sex, mommy porn, dime store psychology and bad dialogue, most of which only serves to move the films along from one spanking montage to the next. Stymied by plotting that makes most Harlequins look like Dostoyevsky, the actors frequently shed their clothes, most likely in an attempt to distract from the truly awful things that happen when they are clothed.
On Aug. 21, 2015, three American men — the Air Force’s Spencer Stone, student Anthony Sadler and Alek Skarlatos of the National Guard — were on holiday. As their Paris-bound train hurtled across the border from Belgium into France, another man, 25-year-old Ayoub El Khazzani, armed with an AKM assault rifle, a pistol and a bottle of gas, opened fire in a passenger cabin in an apparent terrorist attack.
The three men, all in their early 20s, leapt into action and with the help of two other travellers subdued El Khazzani, ending the siege and saving the life of a passenger who had been shot in the neck.
Their heroics saw them inducted into the French Legion of Honour as knights and feted by then U.S. president Barack Obama. An autobiography, The 15:17 to Paris: The True Story of a Terrorist, a Train, and Three American Soldiers, was a bestseller and is now a movie directed by Clint Eastwood.
“We met (Eastwood) at the Spike TV Guys Choice Awards,” says Stone. “He was giving us the Hero Award. We knew that making real-life stories into movies was right up his alley as a director so we thought, ‘We have to mention something to him, even if it is as a joke or whatever.’ We said, ‘We’re writing a book right now! You should turn it into a movie. Ha. Ha!’ He said, ‘Send me the book. I’ll tell you what I think.’”
Three months later a call came. Eastwood even put on hold a project he was working on at the time so he could begin their film.
“We thought that would be enough,” says Sadler. “Clint Eastwood is picking up the picture. We made it! This is it! Three weeks before shooting he calls us into a meeting and we think we’re going to meet the actors who are going to play us. He says, ‘You guys mind re-enacting things for us?’ He kept talking, hinting for us to be in the film. We’re like, ‘No way he’s saying that,’ so we stopped and said, ‘Mr. Eastwood are you asking us to be in the film?’ He said, ‘Yeah, why not?’ Minds blown at that point.”
None of the three have any previous acting experience but say that Eastwood, who insisted they not take acting classes, brought out the best in them.
“We were all anxious to do our first scenes,” says Stone, “but honestly after our first one with him, we relaxed. He’s such a chill guy and the atmosphere on set is so chill. He and the crew make things easy for you. Once we got a few scenes under our belt it became pretty fun.”
Skarlatos, the quietest of the trio, chimes in: “Honestly, it was a lot of fun. It was not a traumatic experience for us because nobody died, first of all, and for us, only good things have come out of it. Doing it again was therapeutic. Going over all the details was very helpful because I was able to kind of close that chapter. Doing it with Clint Eastwood was the coolest experience.”
As for the veracity of the film, Skarlatos says the movie captures “who we are as people, how we interact with each other and how the events transpired on the train.”
The “Fifty Shades” franchise once lived at the very center of popular culture as a publishing phenomenon then as a blockbuster movie. Interest in the shenanigans of slap ‘n tickle enthusiasts Anastasia Steele and Christian Grey waned for the second film instalment. Now we’re at the third and final movie, “Fifty Shades Freed,” and it feels like breaking up with someone you know you’ll never see again. You feel relief that it is over mixed with regret that you wasted all that time in the first place.
Things get underway when Christian (Jamie Dornan) and Ana (Dakota Johnson) tie the knot; on an altar this time, not in the bedroom. Their glamorous French honeymoon is disturbed when Ana wants to go topless on the beach while Christian, that blushing flower, wants her covered up, for his eyes only. “Do you want to be ogled by every guy on the beach?” he whines.
That speed bump aside, things are mostly status quo for the newlyweds. I said mostly. This is a “Fifty Shades” movie, so it’s not all happily ever after. Bedroom bondage soon leads to a pregnancy that leaves Christian upset. (The least I think he’s upset. It’s hard to tell with Dornan.) “You’re going to take her from me aren’t you?” he whispers to her pregnant belly. Looks like he’s not ready to turn the Red Room of Pain into a nursery just yet.
Sparks fly as she tries to assert herself.
Meanwhile Ana’s former-boss-turned-stalker Jack Hyde (Eric Johnson) ups his game as Christian discovers a dark secret from his past.
There’s more, but nobody really goes to the “Fifty Shades” movies for the plot so let’s move on.
The sexiest thing about “Fifty Shades Freed” is the way Ana handles the Audi in a high-ish speed chase through the streets of Seattle. Sure clothes are doffed and handcuffed snapped shut but there is so little fusion between these two allegedly steamy lovers it’s as though they have never met in real life and are acting to green screen versions of each other.
The hour-and-forty-five-minute running time is padded out with music montages—including one interlude where Christian plays piano and sings “Maybe I’m Amazed” to less than amazing effect—and time wasters like a flirty architect subplot. It’s part erotic adventure, part revenge story and part “Lifestyles of the Rich and Kinky.” It’s all of those things and yet, somehow, less than the sum of its well toned parts.
The occasional moment of camp fun—“We don’t have any restraints,” says a security guard while manhandling a suspect. “We do,” offers Anna.—are buffered by elegantly shot but empty moments that fill the time between sex scenes.
“Fifty Shades Freed” comes at an interesting time. The story of a rich, powerful man who tries to control every situation with only minor pushback from the woman in his life seems like yesterday’s tale in the post-Harvey Weinstein era. The movies, I think, are meant to be sexy romps, a bit of fun, but at the end of the series have proven themselves to be ten pounds of sex toys in a five pound bag.
Recently CNN reported on a study that claimed cuckolding can be positive for some couples. Their reporting of it was roundly mocked on line, with one twitter user dubbing CNN the “Cuckolding News Network” while another called it, “a brilliant idea for strengthening your relationship in time for Valentine’s Day!” Validity of the study aside, “Permission,” a new movie starring Rebecca Hall, explores the same territory.
Will (Dan Stevens) and Anna (Hall) have been sweethearts since high school. Now, on the cusp of her thirtieth birthday he’s about to pop the question. First though she drunkenly proposes they sleep around a bit. Not break up, but get some life experience before they settle down. At first they encourage one another in a bit of harmless fun but as their polyamorous relationships start to deepen uncomfortable realities are revealed.
Director-writer Brian Crano takes a thoughtful and mature approach to the material but his delivery of it feels scattershot. The first hour has an effervescence to it that disappears as the various story threads wrap up. In the beginning it feels sexy and dangerous but as Anna’s relationship with musician Dane (Francois Arnaud) and Will’s fling with divorcée Lydia (Gina Gershon) heat up questions arise. How far can you stray even with permission?
The final third contains the film’s most essential truths. In a dramatic shift in tone from the first hour, the harsh realisms of this arrangement appear. Also effective is a subplot about Anna’s brother Hale (David Joseph Craig), his boyfriend Reece (Morgan Spector) and their desire (or not) to have a baby. It is heartfelt and could definitely been given more screen time.
“Permission” is easily more interesting than CNN’s treatment of the same material. Although uneven it is an interesting look at the responsibilities that come with adult relationships.
“Entanglement” stars “Silicon Valley’s” Thomas Middleditch as a man who almost finds fulfillment with a woman who was almost his sister.
When we first meet Benjamin Layten he is at his lowest point. Recently divorced from a woman he still loves he attempts suicide, only to be rescued by a courier and his neighbour Tabby (Diana Bang). Dour and darkly funny—“Do you like yourself?” he’s asked. “As a friend?” he replies. “Or as a friend with benefits?”—he is adrift, unhappy and looking for answers.
To get to the bottom of his gloomy mood he maps out all the bad things that have happened to him—i.e. “Dropped on my head at mom’s pool party.”—in an elaborate attempt to see pinpoint where he went wrong in life. It’s not until he discovers his parents adopted a baby girl and then gave her back that he sees some light in the darkness. “We’re going to find out who this girl is,” he tells Tabby, “and see if she can fix my life.”
Thinking that having a sister would have made him feel less awkward—“She’d would have taught me how to talk to girls and how to dance.”—he begins his quest and almost immediately tracks her down. Hannah (Jess Weixler) is an adrenaline junkie who shoplifts, can pick any lock on any door and lives just a few blocks away. They meet, they hit it off and soon become romantically involved. (SPOILER ALERT!!!) But is she the girl of his dreams or a girl in his dreams?
“Entanglement” is a neurotic rom com that starts off promisingly as a dark comedy but then falls too in love with its premise. Striking visuals and nice performances from Middleditch and Weixler—he’s a sad sack, she’s a sparkplug—can’t cover up a script that leans to heavily on the idea of Quantum Entanglement—particles that are apart yet connected (romantic, right?)—and not enough on allowing the characters to behave like real people. The quirk factor is dialled up rather high as though this was an unproduced script left over from the Manic Pixie Dream Girl heyday of the late 1990s.
The moments of “Entanglement” that work, really work, teasing the promise of a better movie. As it is the scant 85-minute running time is padded with too many musical montages that leaves us simultaneously wanting more and less.
“Fake Blood,” a new film from Vancouver director Rob Grant, blurs the line between fact and fiction.
Grant and his filmmaking partner Mike Kovac play themselves as, well, Rob and Mike, two guys who have made a number of low-budget horror films. Their movies “Yesterday” and “Mon Ami” are gruesome little slices of splatter that found success and a few fans on the festival circuit. When one of those “fans” sends them a disturbing video that re-enacts one of the scenes in “Mon Ami”—the grainy video details the real-life tools they would need to dispose of a body—they decide to examine their relationship with the violence they portray on screen. They discuss the difference between shooting guns in real life vs. on film and how a fistfight generally lasts only about eight seconds in reality. As they document their findings they decide to up the game and contact someone who has a history of violence. Their journey takes a perilous turn when they push too hard, go too deep and actually find their lives in danger.
Down ‘n dirty, “Fake Blood” gradually morphs from social commentary documentary—albeit a mock doc—to thriller. It is not always 100% convincing—some of the performances are slightly stilted—but there is an undeniable sense of tension that grows as the film nears the final credits. It’s a twisted b-movie that makes a smart u-turn, turning the story inside out as the movie flips from asking questions to basking in danger.
In 1978 the movie “Midnight Express” was a big hit. The true story of Billy Hayes and his escape from a Turkish prison packed audiences, won a screenwriting Oscar for Oliver Stone and made Hayes a media star. It also enraged the Turkish people and led to a major decline in tourism to that country. A new documentary is part true-life crime story, part making-of doc and part mea culpa.
Written and directed by Sally Sussman “Midnight Return” gathers all the original players—Hayes, Stone, director Alan Parker and more—to tell the tale of Hayes’s arrest in Istanbul, at age 23, for smuggling hashish. The year was 1970 and Hayes was sentenced to four years and two months in a Turkish prison. After serving the bulk of the time he was resentenced to life behind bars. He escaped in 1975, making his way to Greece and then into the waiting arms of his parents in the United States.
Upon his stateside arrival he was a cause celeb. His book, “Midnight Express,” detailed his ordeal in gruesome detail. The film, starring Brad Davis, drew praise from critics but was criticized for its portrayal of Turkish people. Director Parker even admits the Turkish actors aren’t even speaking Turkish in the film and hat no effort was made to be culturally authentic. Despite accolades at home Hayes was vilified in Turkey, seen as an agent of propaganda and universally hated.
This entertaining doc details Hayes’s life and efforts to rehabilitate his reputation in the country that once held him prisoner. Chock full of anecdotes about the making of the film—Stone and Parker did NOT get along— and insights to Hayes’s life both before and after his arrest, “Midnight Return” makes the most of its talking head presentation.
Of all the characters Hayes stands out. He’s a showboater but despite his extroverted ways it is apparent his time away had a profound impact on him. The film’s final third, his trip back to Istanbul, reveals the deep level of hurt that lies beneath his bravura exterior. Those revelations, mostly captured on home grade video, deepen the impact of the movie, elevating “Midnight Return” from talking head doc to character study.
“The Insult,” Lebanon’s first-ever Academy Award nomination for best foreign-language film, centers around a small slight that escalates until the eyes of a nation are turned toward it.
The problems begin with a leaky illegal drainpipe on Lebanese Christian auto mechanic named Tony’s (Adel Karam) Beirut balcony. When it drips water unto a construction crew working below, Palestinian Muslim refugee Yasser (Kamel El Basha) patches it. Enraged a stranger has tampered with his property Tony undoes the work and demands an apology. “He thinks he’s a hotshot but he’s not.” Tony rants. “He better apologise for insulting me.” When the men meet Tony, who is revealed as a fan of anti-Palestinian Christian leader Bachir Gemayel, blurts out “I wish Ariel Sharon had wiped you all out.” A physical confrontation leads to a court trial which becomes a media sensation.
Writer-director Ziad Doueiri, who worked as a camera assistant under Quentin Tarantino on “Pulp Fiction” and “Jackie Brown,” uses the small story of two men and a disagreement to shine a light on an old and continuing deadlock in the Middle East. Buoyed by terrific performances—El Basha won the Best Actor prize at the Venice Film Festival—the film comments on the Lebanese civil war in microcosm. Boiling the country’s history of unrest between Sunni Muslims and Christians down to a personal story puts a human face on a huge problem. Doueiri humanizes the conflict metaphorically, showing the effects of dehumanizing rhetoric and hate.
“The Insult” is a serious, powerful film that offers not only emotion but also empathy.
