“The Artist,” a new film about old Hollywood, is a silent movie about talking pictures. When we first see star George Valentin (Jean Dujardin) in the movie’s film-within-a-film, a title card reads, “I won’t talk! I won’t say a word!” and so it is for the next ninety minutes.
Beginning in Hollywood before the advent of sound, when we first meet Valentin he is a big star, a screen idol who headlines action-adventure movies with melodramatic titles like “The Thief of Her Heart.” A chance encounter with a pretty girl named Peppy Miller (Bérénice Bejo) sets her on the path of movie stardom in the talkies, just as Valentin’s star fades, ruined by his pride and inability to change with the times. Soon the story takes on “Hollywood Babylon” overtones as Valentin becomes a Hollywood castoff. Will the former superstar end up like Karl Dane and Marie Prevost, real life silent stars, now forgotten? Or will he find the humility to reenter the movies?
“The Artist” could have simply been a glossy tribute to the silent age. The details are all there, the luscious black and white photography, classic soundtrack and the old school 4:3 aspect ratio, but the film is much more than that. Director Michel Hazanavicius has made a joyous movie that shows the tricks of modern day cinema aren’t necessary when you have interesting performances, a good story and chemistry.
Shot on Hollywood sound stages and on locations like the Bradbury Building, “The Artist” has an authentic look and feel, but it is the actors that clench the deal. Dujardin shimmers with charisma as he brings echoes of John Gilbert to the screen and Bejo finds the kind of balance of innocence and vamp that elevated the likes of Clara Bow from starlet to It Girl. To paraphrase Norma Desmond, they don’t need dialogue; they have faces! Luckily Hazanavicius allows their faces to do the talking, figuratively, not literally.
Ditto the other members of the star studded cast—John Goodman, James Cromwell, Penelope Ann Miller and Uggy, who hands in the pluckiest on-screen dog performance since Rin Rin Tin was the canine king of Hollywood.
“The Artist” is a treat, a film that forces the viewer to reexamine how we watch movies. Unlike so many of today’s films that do all the work for you, it allows imagination to become part of the experience. Every time you expect dialogue the movie remains silent which prompts the viewer to connect with the characters and the story in a much different way than we are accustomed to. In doing so it becomes one of the most engaging movies of the year.
I could have been a lawyer. Or a doctor. Or a truck driver, aerobics instructor or even a pastry chef. But instead I ticked off the film critic box on career day and began a journey that brought me to a screening of “Alvin and the Chipmunks: Chip-Wrecked,” a movie that chipped away at my will to live.
Once again Jason Lee returns as Dave, the owner, manager and father figure to Alvin, Theodor and Simon, chipmunk singing superstars and their sister group, the Chipettes. On cruise before heading off to the International Music Awards the critters raise havoc before becoming castaways on a remote island inhabited by a stranded UPS worker who has been searching for the island’s hidden treasure for ten years. It plays like a rodent “Gilligan’s Island,” with bits of “Survivor” and “Treasure Island” thrown in for good measure.
“Alvin and the Chipmunks: Chip-Wrecked” isn’t a movie, it’s marketing, an excuse to sell plush toys and soundtracks filled with chirpy–chippy?–versions of pop hits like “Vacation” and “Bad Romance.” (Parents be warned! Buy the soundtrack and spend the holiday season listening to Lady Gaga songs cutified to the point where they make Miley Cyrus sound like Megadeth.)
For all the film’s family friendly messages about family and responsibly and the occasional adult joke–“I can see Russia from here!”–I can’t help but see these Chipmunk movies as more an excuse to sell products than entertain young minds. I know not all kid’s flicks have to have a redeeming social message or an educational angle, but I do think they should aspire to something more than consumer culture.
The film’s two main human stars–Lee and David Cross–both started their careers doing much more alternative kinds of work. Lee as a skateboarder and Kevin Smith protégé, Cross as the evil genius behind TV’s “Mr. Show with Bob,” so it must come as a surprise to them how much time they now spend acting opposite furry co-stars whose idea of a great joke is initiating a dance-off with a group of “Jersey Shore” castoffs.
Cross, at least, seems to be in on the joke. He’s taking the paycheck and every now and again gets a good line like, “Hate, anger and resentment aren’t just the names of a girl group I once signed,” but Jason Lee, what is he thinking?
He’s a usually charming, edgy and funny performer force fit into the role beloved family entertainer. He fits the part well enough, although, frankly it could be anyone playing the role, but every minute spent working opposite wisecracking chipmunks makes it harder to remember when he made cool movies like Chasing Amy.
As commercials for kids toys go “Alvin and the Chipmunks: Chip-Wrecked” is state-of-the-art. As a movie it’s ninety minutes of product placement.
With the release of “A Dangerous Mind,” the tautly told story of two psychoanalysts you’ve heard of, Dr. Carl Jung (Michael Fassbender) and Sigmund Freud (Viggo Mortensen), plus one you’ve probably never heard of, Sabina Spielrein (Keira Knightley), director David Cronenberg is still exploring uncharted territory in his films.
On the surface the story seems simple enough. Two pioneering figures of psychoanalysis have a falling out over an intelligent, beautiful but troubled patient. In the hands of Cronenberg and writer Christopher “Dangerous Liaisons” Hampton however, the movie becomes an enticing stew of psycho-sexuality and repression that challenges commonly held beliefs about what is normal and what is not.
Cronenberg, always known for his crisp filmmaking, has rarely ever been this simply elegant. Shot compositions and camerawork are kept simple so as not to distract from the star of the show—the dialogue. As you can imagine, in a drama about three therapists (Spielrein became a doctor after her treatment with Jung), there is a great deal of talk. Separately and together they talk about their dreams, their pasts and, in the case of Jung and Spielrein, their future. It may be the most inward looking movie of the year, but in its introspection—and buried in the film’s subtext—is a restrained but fascinating glimpse into the lives and minds of these characters.
Keira Knightley delivers a brave, strange and Oscar worthy performance as Spielrein, while Fassbender expertly plays the repression that plagued Jung. Cronenberg muse Viggo Mortensen may seem an odd choice to play Freud, but he leaves behind the physical performances that have marked his best work to create a convincing portrait of Freud.
“A Dangerous Method” won’t be for everyone. The combo of love story and birth of modern analysis is an odd mix. The almost total lack of physical action—Cronenberg’s fireworks here are in the small moments and the ideas expressed in the script—means the focus is on the words, but where some will see a film rich with dialogue, others will see it as verbose. But that’s just the kind of duality the movie explores.
The title character of “Albert Nobbs” is described as “the strangest an I ever met,” which makes sense because he’s actually a woman. Glenn Close, in an Academy Award nominated role, plays a woman who escaped a life of poverty by dressing as a man and taking a job at Morrison’s Hotel in 19th century Dublin.
When Albert meets the house painter Hubert Page (Janet McTeer), another woman living in drag and married to a woman, he is encouraged to escape the shackles of conservative Ireland and live a happy life. Her fatal attraction is Helen () a young maid who has eyes for the handsome new handy-man Joe Macken (Aaron Johnson).
Close played the part of the fastidious butler Nobbs on stage thirty years ago and one can only imagine that the intervening years have deepened the performance. She embodies not only the physicality of the man, but the spirit as well. It’s a stunner of a performance, equally ingrained with repression, gentleness and secrecy.
Unfortunately the towering performances from Close and McTeer are blunted somewhat by a script that isn’t as interesting as the character study that is at the center of it.
It stumbles when it tries to address the larger issue of female poverty in a male dominated society and simply takes too long to make any point at all.
“Albert Nobbs” is a noble failure, a movie with great performances that wants to be important, but is done in by a shallow script.
Any movie made with the cooperation of the US army and six real-life Navy SEALS is bound to have a certain moral slant to it. But “Act of Valor” completely throws nuance out the window in favour of good and evil stereotypes unseen since John Wayne waved the flag on the big screen.
Inspired by true events, the real life Navy SEALS of Bandito Platoon rescue a kidnapped CIA agent and uncover a terrorist plot to kill thousands of Americans in coordinated attacks.
The chasm between the good and bad guys is wide and deep, almost as gaping as the ideological stance of the main players. The heroes are good-looking warriors who hold “honour, justice, freedom and family” as sacred. One of the good characters, a kidnapped CIA agent, even appears to have stigmata at one point. The bad guys, on the other hand, are bug-eyed
This movie isn’t subtle. It’s an advertisement for the war on terror that could be mistaken for a 1940s vintage propaganda film, were it not for the colour film and inclusion of suicide bombers.
As propaganda films go, this is a pretty good one. It’s clear the Navy SEALS didn’t go to drama school. But aside from some stilted scenes of camaraderie and family life, they deliver where it counts on the battlefield. The action scenes work because of the ease of execution these men bring to the movie. These well-trained soldiers portray something that can’t be taught in drama class — the immediacy of battle. Those scenes crackle with excitement and tension and are worth the price admission.
The rest of the movie doesn’t have the same excitement and is too heavy-handed — these guys are so tough one actually survives a rocket blast to the chest. Even so, “Act of Valor” does have a visceral authenticity often missing from war films.
“A Thousand Words” is billed as a comedy but I see it as something else entirely. I see it as a tragedy—a tragic waste of Eddie Murphy’s talent. He’s in virtually every scene but his wide eyed mugging for the camera—there hasn’t been this on-screen mugging since the first “Death Wish” movie (only movie geeks will get that joke)—isn’t funny, it’s annoying.
Reteaming with “Norbet” director Brian Robins, Eddie Murphy plays Jack McCall, a fast talking literary agent who doesn’t read and who double-crosses new age guru Dr. Sinja (Cliff Curtis) on a book deal. Soon after, a magical Bodhi tree erupts through the ground in Jack’s backyard. The tree will shed one leaf for every word McCall says, and after one thousand leaves have fallen, the true nature of the tree’s curse will be revealed.
“A Thousand Words” is such an unpleasant movie going experience that the loud fire alarm that rang intermittently in the theatre during the film was a welcome relief to what was happening on screen. At least the fire alarm had some element of urgency to it, unlike the film, which seemed to think that allowing Murphy to pull faces at the camera for ninety minutes was enough to flesh out the story.
When the best joke in the movie is “I’m going to the ashram and ram this up his a**,” you begin to understand why this movie has been sitting on a shelf for four years awaiting a release date.
I can sum up my thoughts on “A Thousand Words” in far less than a thousand words: Don’t go. Save your money.
In the latest installment of the “American Pie” franchise it’s the thirteenth high school reunion for some very recognizable characters—Jim, Oz, Kevin, Stifler, Finch, Vicky (Tara Reid) and Michelle. The question is, Will their 13th anniversary be bad luck for them, the movie’s viewers, or both?
Since graduation in 1999 the old gang has gone their separate ways. Jim (Jason Biggs) and Michelle (Alyson Hannigan) are married with a son. Oz (Chris Klein) is an LA based sportscaster who once appeared on a a reality dance show, Kevin (Thomas Ian Nicholas) is a stay-at-home dad, Stifler (Seann William Scott) is an office temp and Finch (Eddie Kaye Thomas) is a man of mystery.
Their weekend back in East Great Falls, Michigan brings back old memories, creates some new ones and uncovers some long held secrets.
As you may have guessed from my synopsis, plot is not one of “’s” strong points. I expected something more from “Harold and Kumar” helmers Jon Hurwitz and Hayden Schlossberg, who also wrote and directed “Reunion.” None of the surreal feel of their best-known comedy seeped into this movie.
Instead we get a by-the-numbers high school reunion flick with enough “we’re not as young as we used to be” shtick to fill a textbook on how not to write a high school reunion comedy.
Luckily Eugene Levy is along for the ride. He rescues every scene he’s in, adding in some touches of real humor. Ditto Seann William Scott as Stifler. He’s a classic moron character, but there is something about the commitment Scott shows to Stifler’s idiocy that makes the shameless mugging and language one of the movie’s pleasures.
Aside from that only one set piece really works—an extended sequence with a drunken girl young enough to call the Spice Girls “classic rock.”
As for the cast, everyone is in full-blown “American Pie” mode, à la 1999. No surprises there, although the movie could easily have been subtitled, “What Ever Happened to Tara Reid?” She has a small supporting role that plays more like a cautionary tale of faded success than a comeback role in a Hollywood movie.
At almost two hours it feels longer than my old history teacher Mr. Parker’s lectures, but may appeal to fans of the series who have a built in connection with the characters and Eugene Levy aficionados. Otherwise, this is a direct to DVD level movie with not enough laughs to qualify for theatrical release.
“The Avengers,” the new all-superhero-all-the-time Marvel movie, was going to go one of two ways. Either it would be a Frankenstein of the movie; a stitched together monstrosity that cannibalized the remains of the successful movies that came before.
Or it could have been a state-of-the-art geek fest that wove together the separate backstories of its lead characters—Iron Man (Robert Downey, Jr.), Captain America (Chris Evans), The Hulk (Mark Ruffalo), Thor (Chris Hemsworth), Black Widow (Scarlett Johansson) and Hawkeye (Jeremy Renner)—into one seamless super-cool spectacle.
Luckily it’s the former. Director and co-writer Joss Whedon was up to the unenviable task of mixing and matching mythologies, combining them into one epic film that sets a new benchmark for superhero movies (at least until “The Dark knight Rises” comes out).
At stake is nothing less than the freedom of every man, woman and child on earth. The trouble starts when Thor’s brother, exiled god Loki (Tom Hiddleston), steps through a portal into the super secret S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters. Confronted by Nick Fury (Samuel L. Jackson) Loki explains his intention steal S.H.I.E.L.D.’s most coveted possession, the Tesseract, a glowing cube that holds the key to unlimited sustainable energy. Of course Loki isn’t interested in creating green energy, he wants to rule the world. Fury knows that he is “hopelessly and hilariously out-gunned,” but if there is a chance to save the planet it lies in the skills of a disparate group of superheroes– Iron Man, Captain America, The Hulk, Thor–and their helpers–Black Widow and Hawkeye.
“The Avengers” has everything you expect from a superhero—or should that be superheri?—movie and more. All the usual clichés are in place—the earth is in peril, there’s giant action set pieces, a super villain with super powers and special effects galore, including the now-standard-for-every-superhero-movie lightening beam from earth to sky—but the best special effect is Joss Whedon’s expert juggling of the major characters.
Each if the lead heroes are stars in their own right, and each has already had their own movie. Whedon’s job was to bring them together, allow each time to shine, but also work together as an ensemble. He succeeds. As the nominal lead Downey Jr. smarms his way through his now trademarked “Iron Man” one liners, Evans emerges as a thoughtful symbol of patriotism, and Hemsworth flexes his muscles in a most impressive way. This olio of heroism gives us what we want from the characters but also freshens the formula.
It’s Ruffalo, however, who really impresses.
The Hulk has had a tough time on the big screen. Ang Lee’s version flopped. The Ed Norton adaptation didn’t really work, but Ruffalo and Whedon have finally figured out how to balance the Hulk’s humanity with his fury. You’ll like him when he gets angry.
“The Avengers” embraces the high-octane tradition of superhero movie—although this movie is by no means wall-to-wall action—but tempers it with sparkling dialogue, geek wit and the silly pleasure of seeing grown men in costumes spouting one-liners as they try and save the planet.
“Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter” throws a crimson stain on American history, but for a movie about vampires “Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter” has very little bite. You have to expect a movie about a president offing vampires to be silly, and this movie is, but you also hope it will have some scares, and those are as rare as beard trimmer in Lincoln’s travel kit.
The story of Abraham Lincoln’s bloodsucker battles begins in 1818 when his mother is killed by a vengeful vampire. His hatred of his mother’s killer grows for years, but when he finally has the chance to even the score, he is bitten by the urge to hunt vampires. Teaming up with a Van Helsing-esque warrior named Henry Sturgess (Dominic Cooper), he uses a silver tipped axe to make sure America remains “a nation of men and not monsters.”
There are a couple of big action set pieces and bloodsuckers get killed by the dozen, but the over reliance on computer generated effects reduces the vampire battles–and that’s what we’re paying to see!– to a bloody synthetic spray of binary code, and little more.
This isn’t a history lesson, it’s a movie about killing vampires in slow motion and on that level it only works in the film’s OTT action sequences. Give me more of Honest Abe jumping from horse to horse during a stampede, and less of everything else. Although, having said that, I have to have a soft spot for a movie that wraps up (MILD SPOILER) with Mary Todd Lincoln (Mary Elizabeth Winstead) saying, “Abraham! Hurry, we’re late for the theatre!”
The vampires do have cool shark fangs, there’s an unexpected horse-drawn-carriage rescue and the head vamp is 5000 years old, but there’s no real atmosphere to go along with the flowery language and petticoats. It’s neither historical or horror. It’s not fish, but it is occasionally foul. The acting ranges from good–Benjamin Walker beards-up nicely as the elder Abe–to the bland–Anthony Mackie as Will, Abe’s forgettable friend–to the bad–Rufus Sewell as the “first vampire” Adam is not nearly megalomaniacal enough–and everyone seems to be struggling to find the right tone to tell the story.
“Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter” director Timur Bekmambetov knows his way around an action scene but despite the gallons of gore on display has made a bloodless vampire movie. Abe would hate it, honestly.
