Dir. Wilson Yip, 106 min., on Netflix Instant
Ip Man tells the story of a Chinese martial arts master, and not the inventor of the Internet Protocol as I was let to believe.
Wow, rereading that first sentence, I sound like a Groupon ad copy writer. All stupidness aside, the film is about a martial artist before and during the Japanese occupation of China during World War II. Ip Man is a master of the fighting style known as Wing Chung (must fight Groupon style joke...argh...can't hold back...as opposed to WANG CHUNG, GET IT, HAW HAW HAW HAW).
At first Ip Man (Donnie Yen) just enjoys the occasional bout with locals, but he eventually starts beating on a traveling group of renegade martial artists that roll into town and defeat every other skilled fighter. That whole sequence is essentially the first half of the film.
Once the Japanese show up, they start pitting soldiers (I assume they're soldiers--it's never fully explained) against former martial arts masters in town to prove once and for all that Japanese fighting styles are superior. There's some buildup over the course of an hour or so, and a subplot that briefly reintroduces some pre-occupation characters, but most of it is window dressing for the final fight between Ip Man and the Japanese general.
In general, the martial arts in the film come off slightly fantastical. I like fighting films, but they are by no means my favorite type of film, so I can't speak with too much authority on historical conventions. I know that samurai films typically have a fantastical element that has something to do with Japanese folklore, but in my experience, fighting films that focus on one particular style tend to be grounded in reality (the very notable exception I can recall is Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon (2000)). This film doesn't so much break the laws of physics as bend them in inexplicable ways: no one is flying from rooftop to rooftop, but there are several Matrix moments in the fight sequences.
The film is semi-biographical, which is a polite euphemism for lightly fictionalized, and what I like to call partially stuffed full of crap that attempts to make it more interesting and condense a person's life history into a contiguous chain of events. Categorizations like that are always worthless anyway, as the film could have been 100% fictional and still worked just as well for anyone who didn't know anything about this man's life, a set of persons of which I am a part. If the film really was semi-biographical, the director might have eliminated one subplot which does practically nothing in terms of character development and spends 20 or so minutes as a setup for the film's conclusion (if you watch or have watched the film, I am talking about the factory subplot).
Weak pacing really sabotages what would otherwise be a perfectly enjoyable film. This film reminded me a great deal of Fearless (2006), which was supposedly Jet Li's final martial arts film, unless you count the seven he has made since then. The pacing in Fearless was superior in that the story had a superstructure that enabled the viewer to anticipate the redemptive arc. It's backdrop as a semi-biographical also worked better in my opinion; this may have had to do with superior character development for the non titular character (which paradoxically leads to better development of the film's subject).
In closing, the real test as I see it for a biopic is did I feel like I learned who the man or woman was by the end. In this case, I don't feel like I understand any more about Ip Man than I could have gleaned from a quick scan of his Wikipedia page.
5/10
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Saturday, January 29, 2011
The Rite (2011)
Dir. Mikael Håfström, 112 min., in theaters now
After missing out on a week or more of watching new films, I'm back to review a film I had little interest in seeing, The Rite. One would have expected a film dealing with demonic possession and exorcism to have a myriad of potently disturbing visual imagery sufficient to fill at least two hours, but director Mikael Håfström comes up with practically nothing. One of his prior films, 1408 (2007) captured the phantasmagorical spectrum of eternal damnation in a hotel room that is a convergence of malevolent spirits--or as Samuel L. Jackson's character puts it, "an evil f&^%ing room."
The Rite, on the other hand, reads more like a watered down version of The Exorcist (1973), and I would recommend you watch that film instead. Anthony Hopkins gives the film's best performance, but that isn't totally surprising given that the other characters in the film are not given very much to do.
When priest in training Michael Kovac (Colin O'Donoghue) goes to Rome to take part in a course that teaches him how to conduct a proper exorcism (and by extension, extinguish his religious skepticism) he meets with Hopkins' exorcist priest. There's some religious themed debate between the principle characters on whether exorcism is nothing but an antiquated custom that harms mentally ill persons by preventing intervention by the psychiatric community; but like a bad Law and Order episode, the discussions are just factoid-esque talking points from a USA Today infographic that are wadded up and forced into actors mouths to be regurgitated at regular intervals. Chances are, you've already had a more meaningful discussion on the topic in your head while waiting in line for tickets.
In terms of bringing the scary, apart from the occasional jump scene (including the ubiquitous cat-jumping-out-and-snarling) there is not much to speak of, except for a red-eyed demon mule. Keith Phipps, in his review downplays the role of the demon mule too much. If you're watching this film for nothing else, the demon mule is pretty badass. However, you might be disappointed when the mule just stands there and does nothing, especially after the little boy who it has been terrorizing builds the demon mule up with a story about how it's kicking and biting him in his dreams.
The exorcism scenes themselves are spaced much too far apart, meaning we have plenty in the way of boring exposition which bloats the run time well past where it needed to be. Rome, with it's old buildings and narrow streets, could not have looked less scary. The cinematography in this film is a flop, with shots that should be unnerving or strange falling flat on their collective face. The most laughable sequence is in a futuristic situation room where a Vatican priest is operating a high-tech touch screen interface. It was like DiVinci Code meets Transformers.
In my entry on The Fighter I talked about how boxing films are inevitably compared to Rocky, and I would argue that no exorcism film can be discussed without thinking about The Exorcist. There is one cast off line by Hopkins' character which answers the obvious question "How can the characters exist in this world and believably pretend not to know about this film?", but this film doesn't really do anything new for the exorcism subgenre of horror.
By far the most shocking part of this film is that in the course of writing this review, I've discovered that this film has the lowest rating (17%) on RT of any film I have ever written about on this blog. Seeing as I have reviewed gems like The Condemned and Pet Sematary II, I am genuinely stunned. While The Rite is certainly not worth all of the critical badmouthing it received, it's not really worth sitting through either.
5/10
After missing out on a week or more of watching new films, I'm back to review a film I had little interest in seeing, The Rite. One would have expected a film dealing with demonic possession and exorcism to have a myriad of potently disturbing visual imagery sufficient to fill at least two hours, but director Mikael Håfström comes up with practically nothing. One of his prior films, 1408 (2007) captured the phantasmagorical spectrum of eternal damnation in a hotel room that is a convergence of malevolent spirits--or as Samuel L. Jackson's character puts it, "an evil f&^%ing room."
The Rite, on the other hand, reads more like a watered down version of The Exorcist (1973), and I would recommend you watch that film instead. Anthony Hopkins gives the film's best performance, but that isn't totally surprising given that the other characters in the film are not given very much to do.
When priest in training Michael Kovac (Colin O'Donoghue) goes to Rome to take part in a course that teaches him how to conduct a proper exorcism (and by extension, extinguish his religious skepticism) he meets with Hopkins' exorcist priest. There's some religious themed debate between the principle characters on whether exorcism is nothing but an antiquated custom that harms mentally ill persons by preventing intervention by the psychiatric community; but like a bad Law and Order episode, the discussions are just factoid-esque talking points from a USA Today infographic that are wadded up and forced into actors mouths to be regurgitated at regular intervals. Chances are, you've already had a more meaningful discussion on the topic in your head while waiting in line for tickets.
In terms of bringing the scary, apart from the occasional jump scene (including the ubiquitous cat-jumping-out-and-snarling) there is not much to speak of, except for a red-eyed demon mule. Keith Phipps, in his review downplays the role of the demon mule too much. If you're watching this film for nothing else, the demon mule is pretty badass. However, you might be disappointed when the mule just stands there and does nothing, especially after the little boy who it has been terrorizing builds the demon mule up with a story about how it's kicking and biting him in his dreams.
The exorcism scenes themselves are spaced much too far apart, meaning we have plenty in the way of boring exposition which bloats the run time well past where it needed to be. Rome, with it's old buildings and narrow streets, could not have looked less scary. The cinematography in this film is a flop, with shots that should be unnerving or strange falling flat on their collective face. The most laughable sequence is in a futuristic situation room where a Vatican priest is operating a high-tech touch screen interface. It was like DiVinci Code meets Transformers.
In my entry on The Fighter I talked about how boxing films are inevitably compared to Rocky, and I would argue that no exorcism film can be discussed without thinking about The Exorcist. There is one cast off line by Hopkins' character which answers the obvious question "How can the characters exist in this world and believably pretend not to know about this film?", but this film doesn't really do anything new for the exorcism subgenre of horror.
By far the most shocking part of this film is that in the course of writing this review, I've discovered that this film has the lowest rating (17%) on RT of any film I have ever written about on this blog. Seeing as I have reviewed gems like The Condemned and Pet Sematary II, I am genuinely stunned. While The Rite is certainly not worth all of the critical badmouthing it received, it's not really worth sitting through either.
5/10
Saturday, January 15, 2011
What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? (1962)
Dir. Robert Aldrich, 134 min., black and white, on Netflix Instant Watch
I suppose when I think of the 1940's, 50's, and early 60's in cinema, I am usually weary of being bored to death. I know that is really stupid, but that's just the way I feel. Allow me to bore you by elaborating.
As a child, we did not really have television as you might know it today. We had a TV in our family room (a massive cathode ray tube Zenith that had channel buttons reminscient of the buttons you would find on an early touch-tone phone) and a TV in our finished basement (a VHF/UHF television with separate dials for the channels 1-13 and 14-74, or however high the UHF band went). Since we lived in between Chicago and Milwaukee we were able to pick up both city's broadcast channels, but most of the channels that came in clearly were from Chicago. Also, we had a large antenna mounted to our roof that rotated 360 degrees by manipulating a control dial in our living room (it actually looked something like this). We called it an "aerial."
To watch one station or another, the aerial had to be pointed in a very specific direction, which seemed to change based on channel, time of day, and phase of the moon. What all of this meant is that watching a different channel on each TV was relatively pointless since the aerial had to be adjusted for the channel to come in, and my parents were the masters of the aerial control box.
To wit, I mostly watched what my parents watched. Our local public television affiliate, WTTW, used to show a myriad of films from the golden era of Hollywood, but for whatever reason the films that they showed were mostly not what you would call "classics" (maybe they were really short on funds back in the day??).
When we got cable when I was 14 years old, my television life was revolutionized. I used (or perhaps squandered) my new found freedom to watch MTV and endless amounts of hockey games on ESPN2. There was a channel, however, which plagued my existence on family vacations where only one television was available. A channel whose mission must be to inhabit the cultural space that exists as an antithesis to everything hip and cool in the world of a teenager. That channel is Turner Classic Movies.
As a young lad, TCM was the embodiment of everything boring in cinema. When you consider the channel's mission, however, it doesn't and shouldn't bode well for capturing a young audience. They show only gilded era films, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Given the amount of garbage that exists in almost every era of film making (even those prepended with the word "gilded"), you are almost never likely to watch a film that you had the remotest interest in seeing. Also, there is a 99% chance you will start watching in the middle of the film: remember, there were no DVR's in 1994.
However, as I progressed out of my 14 year old "I think everything old is stupid" phase, I started to really appreciate some films from that era. I could name check a few black and white classics that opened my eyes to early era cinema, but I'll save it for later.
If you are weary of entering the black and white era, What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? could be a possible gateway (term admittedly stolen from AV Club's gateways to geekery). The story begins with two children: Baby Jane, a child star (Bettie Davis) and Blanche (Joan Crawford), a successful adult actress. While Blanche has a stellar career as an adult actress, her sister Baby Jane is unable to parley her darling child act into a successful career. After many years of bitterness and jealousy, Baby Jane is responsible for an accident that costs Blanche the use of her legs. As adults, Blanche is a prisoner in her own house and subject to the bitterness and abuse of the emotionally regressive and alcoholic Jane. The film follows their relationship as the tensions between them escalate to violent and dangerous levels.
What really stood out to me in this film was the casting. According to my go to sources (IMDB and Wikipedia) Crawford and Davis didn't much care for each other, and both were actresses whose heyday was well behind them at the time of filming. In an real-life parallel that seems too close to be accidental, Baby Jane takes an ad out in the paper looking for a piano player to revive her act; Davis took an apparently famous work wanted ad out one year prior to the release of this film. The animosity between the two is palpable in nearly every sequence, and Davis' mocking impression of Crawford's line delivery is either scarily good, or, if a voice over was used, an impressive technical trick that elevates what would be an ordinary moment in the film into truly disturbing sequence. The emotionally disturbing appearance of Davis resonates and reminds me of a similar performance by Ellen Burstyn in Requiem for a Dream (2000). Especially disturbing is the soundtrack, which plays off variations of a hauntingly sweet song entitled "I've Written a Letter to Daddy" written for the film. The mix of delusion, frenzy, and hopelessness that Davis brings to her performance of that song as a broken down and embittered late-life failure provides a moment in the film that leaves the view with a singular sense of pity.
The film has quite a few Hitchcockian moments (Rear Window comes immediately to mind as the wheelchair bound Blanche desperately tries to attract the attention of a neighbor). There is also some heavy commentary on the nature of the film industry itself. This film might not pack the same amount of suspense into two hours as some of it's better contemporaries, but it is still relevant and gripping today. If you share my apprehensions about classic film this would be a good place to start working your way into the black and white era.
8/10
I suppose when I think of the 1940's, 50's, and early 60's in cinema, I am usually weary of being bored to death. I know that is really stupid, but that's just the way I feel. Allow me to bore you by elaborating.
As a child, we did not really have television as you might know it today. We had a TV in our family room (a massive cathode ray tube Zenith that had channel buttons reminscient of the buttons you would find on an early touch-tone phone) and a TV in our finished basement (a VHF/UHF television with separate dials for the channels 1-13 and 14-74, or however high the UHF band went). Since we lived in between Chicago and Milwaukee we were able to pick up both city's broadcast channels, but most of the channels that came in clearly were from Chicago. Also, we had a large antenna mounted to our roof that rotated 360 degrees by manipulating a control dial in our living room (it actually looked something like this). We called it an "aerial."
To watch one station or another, the aerial had to be pointed in a very specific direction, which seemed to change based on channel, time of day, and phase of the moon. What all of this meant is that watching a different channel on each TV was relatively pointless since the aerial had to be adjusted for the channel to come in, and my parents were the masters of the aerial control box.
To wit, I mostly watched what my parents watched. Our local public television affiliate, WTTW, used to show a myriad of films from the golden era of Hollywood, but for whatever reason the films that they showed were mostly not what you would call "classics" (maybe they were really short on funds back in the day??).
When we got cable when I was 14 years old, my television life was revolutionized. I used (or perhaps squandered) my new found freedom to watch MTV and endless amounts of hockey games on ESPN2. There was a channel, however, which plagued my existence on family vacations where only one television was available. A channel whose mission must be to inhabit the cultural space that exists as an antithesis to everything hip and cool in the world of a teenager. That channel is Turner Classic Movies.
As a young lad, TCM was the embodiment of everything boring in cinema. When you consider the channel's mission, however, it doesn't and shouldn't bode well for capturing a young audience. They show only gilded era films, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Given the amount of garbage that exists in almost every era of film making (even those prepended with the word "gilded"), you are almost never likely to watch a film that you had the remotest interest in seeing. Also, there is a 99% chance you will start watching in the middle of the film: remember, there were no DVR's in 1994.
However, as I progressed out of my 14 year old "I think everything old is stupid" phase, I started to really appreciate some films from that era. I could name check a few black and white classics that opened my eyes to early era cinema, but I'll save it for later.
If you are weary of entering the black and white era, What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? could be a possible gateway (term admittedly stolen from AV Club's gateways to geekery). The story begins with two children: Baby Jane, a child star (Bettie Davis) and Blanche (Joan Crawford), a successful adult actress. While Blanche has a stellar career as an adult actress, her sister Baby Jane is unable to parley her darling child act into a successful career. After many years of bitterness and jealousy, Baby Jane is responsible for an accident that costs Blanche the use of her legs. As adults, Blanche is a prisoner in her own house and subject to the bitterness and abuse of the emotionally regressive and alcoholic Jane. The film follows their relationship as the tensions between them escalate to violent and dangerous levels.
What really stood out to me in this film was the casting. According to my go to sources (IMDB and Wikipedia) Crawford and Davis didn't much care for each other, and both were actresses whose heyday was well behind them at the time of filming. In an real-life parallel that seems too close to be accidental, Baby Jane takes an ad out in the paper looking for a piano player to revive her act; Davis took an apparently famous work wanted ad out one year prior to the release of this film. The animosity between the two is palpable in nearly every sequence, and Davis' mocking impression of Crawford's line delivery is either scarily good, or, if a voice over was used, an impressive technical trick that elevates what would be an ordinary moment in the film into truly disturbing sequence. The emotionally disturbing appearance of Davis resonates and reminds me of a similar performance by Ellen Burstyn in Requiem for a Dream (2000). Especially disturbing is the soundtrack, which plays off variations of a hauntingly sweet song entitled "I've Written a Letter to Daddy" written for the film. The mix of delusion, frenzy, and hopelessness that Davis brings to her performance of that song as a broken down and embittered late-life failure provides a moment in the film that leaves the view with a singular sense of pity.
The film has quite a few Hitchcockian moments (Rear Window comes immediately to mind as the wheelchair bound Blanche desperately tries to attract the attention of a neighbor). There is also some heavy commentary on the nature of the film industry itself. This film might not pack the same amount of suspense into two hours as some of it's better contemporaries, but it is still relevant and gripping today. If you share my apprehensions about classic film this would be a good place to start working your way into the black and white era.
8/10
Monday, January 3, 2011
To Hell with the critics: I Know What You Did Last Summer (1997)
Dir. Jim Gillespie, 100 min., on Netflix Instant Watch
Right off the bat, I already F-ed up by not watching Scream. Strike one. I planned on watching it on New Year's Eve, but I fell asleep after about thirty minutes since we started it at 1 a.m. or so. But it got me thinking about two things in particular:
1. I watched a lot of movies in the 90's that I only barely remember;
2. I tend to re-watch so called "bad" films, and I usually find them not nearly as bad as I remember.
In any case, I'm starting a feature called To Hell with the critics, where I'll do my best to convince you that the films that critics (and possibly you) hated are much better than you remember. To qualify, a film must score lower than 50 on either RT or Metacritic (or both).
I picked a dandy to start with, 1997's I Know What You Did Last Summer starring Jennifer Love Hewitt, Freddy Prinze Jr., Sarah Michelle Gellar, and Ryan Phillippe. Watching this film, it's hard to believe how much it blatantly rips off of Scream (1996) and how much Urban Legend (1998) rips off from I Know What You Did Last Summer. They are all spinning off the same skein, drinking from the same well, etc.
The plot itself, if you've never seen the film, involves the accidental killing of a man by the four principle actors, and the events leading up to the anniversary of that killing. I remembered the plot being extremely simplistic, but there were actually quite a few nuances that I had missed when I saw the film in theaters 13 years ago.
For all of the exposition we get in most films nowadays, this film is surprisingly light on explanatory material. In fact, if the film has a real flaw (apart from the dreadful line delivery by the principles), it's that the exposition is so poorly handled that when the big reveal comes at the end, it's almost impossible to figure out what is going on unless you were paying very careful attention to the few bits of material that develop the backstory.
In terms of action/suspense sequences, it's no Hitchcock, but the film delivers repeatedly. Take this sequence, which I would rank at least in the top 20 of horror film chase sequences. Underscored by Hoverphonic's eerie "2 Wicky" muted in the background, this scene was one of the few that I remembered from my original viewing.
The sense of foreboding that accompanies the eventual reckoning for the characters is enhanced by the ominous score and lingering, contemplative shots. That being said, the score is somewhat obtuse, punctuated with heart-clenching jump points; likewise, the camera doesn't linger nearly long enough. A film that takes a similar fatalistic approach is Eli Roth's Cabin Fever (2002) which represents a much better vision for horror films that plays to the both the campiness and eerieness that horror film watchers expect without making it so obvious. In a particularly forced move, the hook-handeded lunatic urban legend is shoehorned in at a couple points.
Although a lot of the conventions seem dated and trite, the film was decidedly made for the masses and it was a wild success (at a budget of $17m, it grossed over $70m). A large part of that has to be attributed to the films four principle actors, who inhabit almost their own world. Part of that must have been due to the expense of casting: JLH was a successful TV star from Party of Five (remember when that was big?) and SMG was Buffy the Vampire Slayer; the two male leads were relative unknowns at the time (this film made them 90's icons), though RF did have several bit parts going in.
The consensus amongst critics seemed to focus on the numerous slasher cliches, and coming off of the heals of Scream just one year prior, it would be easy to see why critics would trash this film (a lousy 39% on RT, a slightly better 52 on Metacritic). I would argue that the film does not take itself nearly so seriously as to deserve the vitriolic rants that it garnered at the time of it's release. The killer is a crazy fisherman with an ice hook dressed in a rain slicker. C'mon, are you seriously going to sit at your desk and blast the film for failing to cross a few T's?
This film gives the female (and to a lesser extent, male) leads a space to dress scantily and brood. The fact that there are numerous creepy details added in and a fabulous cameo by Anne Heche as a slightly imbalanced rustic are what make the film re-watchable; the performances from the fab four of the 90's are relatively forgettable.
Clearly the director had an eye for details, regardless of the hack horror setups.
In part, films with an ominous deadline just seem to play better in that regard, in that the pacing is (or should be) relatively straightforward, leaving more time to work in details (e.g. the handwritten notes, the tired looking floats and parade from the beginning of the film, etc.). This film gives you a sense that things are building to a climax, while retaining the sense of danger that the characters (are supposed to) feel.
What happened to the actors (and director for that matter)? Not much. Much like the brat pack, they have seen little in the way of post-twenties success. From the action Gillespie has seen in the subsequent years, you would think that this film was a commercial disaster; he's hardly directed anything of note. In terms of cultural ephemera, the film mostly misses the mark (other than the soundtrack which is somewhat dated), which is both disappointing and strangely affirming of my defense. I would argue that the film has aged well, in fact, divorced from the hype of it's release. You'll have to grit your teeth to get through some of the dialogue, but if you can let that go, the film is well worth the short running time.
7/10
Right off the bat, I already F-ed up by not watching Scream. Strike one. I planned on watching it on New Year's Eve, but I fell asleep after about thirty minutes since we started it at 1 a.m. or so. But it got me thinking about two things in particular:
1. I watched a lot of movies in the 90's that I only barely remember;
2. I tend to re-watch so called "bad" films, and I usually find them not nearly as bad as I remember.
In any case, I'm starting a feature called To Hell with the critics, where I'll do my best to convince you that the films that critics (and possibly you) hated are much better than you remember. To qualify, a film must score lower than 50 on either RT or Metacritic (or both).
I picked a dandy to start with, 1997's I Know What You Did Last Summer starring Jennifer Love Hewitt, Freddy Prinze Jr., Sarah Michelle Gellar, and Ryan Phillippe. Watching this film, it's hard to believe how much it blatantly rips off of Scream (1996) and how much Urban Legend (1998) rips off from I Know What You Did Last Summer. They are all spinning off the same skein, drinking from the same well, etc.
The plot itself, if you've never seen the film, involves the accidental killing of a man by the four principle actors, and the events leading up to the anniversary of that killing. I remembered the plot being extremely simplistic, but there were actually quite a few nuances that I had missed when I saw the film in theaters 13 years ago.
For all of the exposition we get in most films nowadays, this film is surprisingly light on explanatory material. In fact, if the film has a real flaw (apart from the dreadful line delivery by the principles), it's that the exposition is so poorly handled that when the big reveal comes at the end, it's almost impossible to figure out what is going on unless you were paying very careful attention to the few bits of material that develop the backstory.
In terms of action/suspense sequences, it's no Hitchcock, but the film delivers repeatedly. Take this sequence, which I would rank at least in the top 20 of horror film chase sequences. Underscored by Hoverphonic's eerie "2 Wicky" muted in the background, this scene was one of the few that I remembered from my original viewing.
The sense of foreboding that accompanies the eventual reckoning for the characters is enhanced by the ominous score and lingering, contemplative shots. That being said, the score is somewhat obtuse, punctuated with heart-clenching jump points; likewise, the camera doesn't linger nearly long enough. A film that takes a similar fatalistic approach is Eli Roth's Cabin Fever (2002) which represents a much better vision for horror films that plays to the both the campiness and eerieness that horror film watchers expect without making it so obvious. In a particularly forced move, the hook-handeded lunatic urban legend is shoehorned in at a couple points.
Although a lot of the conventions seem dated and trite, the film was decidedly made for the masses and it was a wild success (at a budget of $17m, it grossed over $70m). A large part of that has to be attributed to the films four principle actors, who inhabit almost their own world. Part of that must have been due to the expense of casting: JLH was a successful TV star from Party of Five (remember when that was big?) and SMG was Buffy the Vampire Slayer; the two male leads were relative unknowns at the time (this film made them 90's icons), though RF did have several bit parts going in.
The consensus amongst critics seemed to focus on the numerous slasher cliches, and coming off of the heals of Scream just one year prior, it would be easy to see why critics would trash this film (a lousy 39% on RT, a slightly better 52 on Metacritic). I would argue that the film does not take itself nearly so seriously as to deserve the vitriolic rants that it garnered at the time of it's release. The killer is a crazy fisherman with an ice hook dressed in a rain slicker. C'mon, are you seriously going to sit at your desk and blast the film for failing to cross a few T's?
This film gives the female (and to a lesser extent, male) leads a space to dress scantily and brood. The fact that there are numerous creepy details added in and a fabulous cameo by Anne Heche as a slightly imbalanced rustic are what make the film re-watchable; the performances from the fab four of the 90's are relatively forgettable.
Clearly the director had an eye for details, regardless of the hack horror setups.
In part, films with an ominous deadline just seem to play better in that regard, in that the pacing is (or should be) relatively straightforward, leaving more time to work in details (e.g. the handwritten notes, the tired looking floats and parade from the beginning of the film, etc.). This film gives you a sense that things are building to a climax, while retaining the sense of danger that the characters (are supposed to) feel.
What happened to the actors (and director for that matter)? Not much. Much like the brat pack, they have seen little in the way of post-twenties success. From the action Gillespie has seen in the subsequent years, you would think that this film was a commercial disaster; he's hardly directed anything of note. In terms of cultural ephemera, the film mostly misses the mark (other than the soundtrack which is somewhat dated), which is both disappointing and strangely affirming of my defense. I would argue that the film has aged well, in fact, divorced from the hype of it's release. You'll have to grit your teeth to get through some of the dialogue, but if you can let that go, the film is well worth the short running time.
7/10
Friday, December 31, 2010
New year, new look, new blog / The Fighter (2010)
If you've had a chance to read my blog, you know that I said in my very first post that I would generate 100 reviews of film and writing that I enjoyed during the summer. As with most endeavors, I wildly overestimated the amount I would be able to accomplish in the time that I had.
However, my boundless enthusiasm prevails in the new year, and with some encouragement and the sense of enjoyment I get from thinking about and writing about films and entertainment, I will endeavor to restart my blog and give myself an excuse to avoid more serious work, and maybe, just maybe, help you waste five to ten minutes a week of your employer's time this year.
As a side note, while this blog will remain hosted on blogger, I plan on eventually moving the business end over to my website (andrewroback[dot]com) where I will eventually start another blog related more to my research. Without further delay, my first review of the new year.
When I went to see the visually beautiful Black Swan (2010)* I saw the trailer for The Fighter and leaned over to say to my wife "I think I've seen this film before. Wasn't it called Rocky?"
Boxing films in general seem to typify the underdog storyline trajectory that we crave so very much when we go to the theaters. This type of plot line is embedded in almost every film that we pay to see, especially in films about sports, and most especially in films about boxing. As most film watchers will agree (I think?): you go to a film to see that film, but you take with you every film that you can remember watching (amongst other things).
I am a huge sucker for most sports films, so I don't need a great deal of convincing to watch one, but I have to say that boxing films don't quite do as much for me since they seem to be so heavily interested in the build up to the final fight sequence that the rest of the movie becomes window dressing. The Fighter spices things up with two exciting fight sequences, while introducing concurrent plot lines of family drama and a love interest story.
Most of the drama centers on the tension between our boxer, Micky Ward (Mark Wahlberg) and his dysfunctional family, including mother/manager Alice Ward (Melissa Leo) and brother/trainer Dicky Eklund (Christian Bale) who rides the laurels of a questionable knockdown he scored in a bout with Sugar Ray Leonard that most of the world outside of Lowell, MA has long forgotten. Wahlberg gives us his typical ineffectual line delivery and flat facial expressions, which actually fit the role well since he is a passive punching bag (pardon the pun) of a character both in the ring and out. Amy Adams plays his love interest (Charlene Flemming) who causes the (relative) change in Wahlberg's character, causing him to finally start working towards what he wants rather than being used as a payday for his white trash, lecherous family.
The camera in the film leers on Adams, stressing the her objectification as a character and woman by her surroundings. Bale's movements are jerky and erratic, and his line delivery is insufferable (which I suppose was the point). Despite the tawdry attempts at engendering pathos for his character later in the film using his infant son (who really only appears to tug at the heart strings), perhaps the saddest scene is watching him reenact the fight with Sugar Ray that made him the "pride of Lowell" with a fellow junkie in a seedy crack house. The film evolves from a fighting story to a tripartite redemption story, with Adams', Bale's, and Wahlberg's characters all seeking a better existence through his slim chance at success in the ring.
It's hard not to think of Rocky when watching this film, but after some consideration, this film doesn't necessarily rely on all of the same tropes (though there is at least one training montage). The fight scenes themselves alternate between typical film and the type of grainy image you might see on a cathode ray tube television in the 90's, with angles that look like what you might have seen on HBO. However, while that was a nice gimmick, it didn't do much for me as a viewer. I expect no realism from a filmed boxing sequence. I'm not the biggest boxing fan, but fights I have watched involve about ten exciting seconds when punches are actually landing; I've yet to see a fight where the pugilists stand toe to toe in the center of the ring and trade punches in the face like drunken pub brawlers.
Performance-wise, most critics are talking about Bale. He seems to have two gears to his body: gaunt and unbelievably ripped. With most of his gaunt roles, it's difficult to separate his physical appearance from his performance since he looks like a human skeleton (I'm thinking of The Machinist (2004) in particular). In terms of ethos, the role is nailed; I'm not sure if the clip at the end of the film was intended to confirm his ability to capture the real-life character of Dicky Eklund or not, but that certainly is what it accomplishes. Without spoiling the plot, I would say that I didn't feel for his character in the level that I thought the film was going for, but his performance was still impressive if only for his ability to make the role so memorable.
8/10
*I would have loved to review Black Swan, but I saw it so long ago (opening night) that I doubt I could do a full review justice. If you liked other Aronofsky films (Pi, Requiem for a Dream, The Fountain) then it is well worth a viewing.
Well, it's good to be back. I plan on tossing in more classic reviews this go around since I can't see myself making it to the theater as often as I would like this year due to my insanely busy schedule. My goal is going to be at least one review per week, maybe more if time allows.
Next up: A classic review of Wes Craven's surprisingly postmodern Scream (1996)
However, my boundless enthusiasm prevails in the new year, and with some encouragement and the sense of enjoyment I get from thinking about and writing about films and entertainment, I will endeavor to restart my blog and give myself an excuse to avoid more serious work, and maybe, just maybe, help you waste five to ten minutes a week of your employer's time this year.
As a side note, while this blog will remain hosted on blogger, I plan on eventually moving the business end over to my website (andrewroback[dot]com) where I will eventually start another blog related more to my research. Without further delay, my first review of the new year.
The Fighter (2010)
Dir. David O. Russel, 112 min., in Chicago theatersWhen I went to see the visually beautiful Black Swan (2010)* I saw the trailer for The Fighter and leaned over to say to my wife "I think I've seen this film before. Wasn't it called Rocky?"
Boxing films in general seem to typify the underdog storyline trajectory that we crave so very much when we go to the theaters. This type of plot line is embedded in almost every film that we pay to see, especially in films about sports, and most especially in films about boxing. As most film watchers will agree (I think?): you go to a film to see that film, but you take with you every film that you can remember watching (amongst other things).
I am a huge sucker for most sports films, so I don't need a great deal of convincing to watch one, but I have to say that boxing films don't quite do as much for me since they seem to be so heavily interested in the build up to the final fight sequence that the rest of the movie becomes window dressing. The Fighter spices things up with two exciting fight sequences, while introducing concurrent plot lines of family drama and a love interest story.
Most of the drama centers on the tension between our boxer, Micky Ward (Mark Wahlberg) and his dysfunctional family, including mother/manager Alice Ward (Melissa Leo) and brother/trainer Dicky Eklund (Christian Bale) who rides the laurels of a questionable knockdown he scored in a bout with Sugar Ray Leonard that most of the world outside of Lowell, MA has long forgotten. Wahlberg gives us his typical ineffectual line delivery and flat facial expressions, which actually fit the role well since he is a passive punching bag (pardon the pun) of a character both in the ring and out. Amy Adams plays his love interest (Charlene Flemming) who causes the (relative) change in Wahlberg's character, causing him to finally start working towards what he wants rather than being used as a payday for his white trash, lecherous family.
The camera in the film leers on Adams, stressing the her objectification as a character and woman by her surroundings. Bale's movements are jerky and erratic, and his line delivery is insufferable (which I suppose was the point). Despite the tawdry attempts at engendering pathos for his character later in the film using his infant son (who really only appears to tug at the heart strings), perhaps the saddest scene is watching him reenact the fight with Sugar Ray that made him the "pride of Lowell" with a fellow junkie in a seedy crack house. The film evolves from a fighting story to a tripartite redemption story, with Adams', Bale's, and Wahlberg's characters all seeking a better existence through his slim chance at success in the ring.
It's hard not to think of Rocky when watching this film, but after some consideration, this film doesn't necessarily rely on all of the same tropes (though there is at least one training montage). The fight scenes themselves alternate between typical film and the type of grainy image you might see on a cathode ray tube television in the 90's, with angles that look like what you might have seen on HBO. However, while that was a nice gimmick, it didn't do much for me as a viewer. I expect no realism from a filmed boxing sequence. I'm not the biggest boxing fan, but fights I have watched involve about ten exciting seconds when punches are actually landing; I've yet to see a fight where the pugilists stand toe to toe in the center of the ring and trade punches in the face like drunken pub brawlers.
Performance-wise, most critics are talking about Bale. He seems to have two gears to his body: gaunt and unbelievably ripped. With most of his gaunt roles, it's difficult to separate his physical appearance from his performance since he looks like a human skeleton (I'm thinking of The Machinist (2004) in particular). In terms of ethos, the role is nailed; I'm not sure if the clip at the end of the film was intended to confirm his ability to capture the real-life character of Dicky Eklund or not, but that certainly is what it accomplishes. Without spoiling the plot, I would say that I didn't feel for his character in the level that I thought the film was going for, but his performance was still impressive if only for his ability to make the role so memorable.
8/10
*I would have loved to review Black Swan, but I saw it so long ago (opening night) that I doubt I could do a full review justice. If you liked other Aronofsky films (Pi, Requiem for a Dream, The Fountain) then it is well worth a viewing.
Well, it's good to be back. I plan on tossing in more classic reviews this go around since I can't see myself making it to the theater as often as I would like this year due to my insanely busy schedule. My goal is going to be at least one review per week, maybe more if time allows.
Next up: A classic review of Wes Craven's surprisingly postmodern Scream (1996)
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Romeo and Juliet at the CST
William Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, dir. Gale Edwards, 11/9/10 at Chicago Shakespeare Theater
Ms. Edwards, in her discussion of her collaboration with set designer Brian Sidney Bembridge, describes her stage as a once beautiful place inhabited by “wealthy, feuding dynasties” where “the modern world has been imposed on top of the elegant world of the past, now violated and perched on destruction.”
It is clear from Friar Lawrence’s laboratory (a truly beautiful and intricate set piece) that despite the protestations of Ms. Edwards that “the world” of the theater “is described by the characters through poetry and imagination,” a great deal of attention was paid to the physical stage. Her attempt to liken this to a bare bones production is laughable. Brawls are physical and real, with six or more characters hurling barricades at one another during the play’s opening; the sound effect accompanying the Nurse knocking on Friar Lawrence’s door is akin to Thor striking at the forge in Valhalla, and Prince Escalus’ drone of doom has digital echoes to remind us that we are in a tomb, lest the altar fail to do so.
The cuckoo clock machinations of chandeliers swinging up and down, beds and biers spouting from the floor, and stage hands shuffling about the bellows makes for short changes, but places you in the belly of the motorized beast which is this rushed production. Somehow making two and a half hours look flabby, this lean-Shakespeare-machine churns out the production in short order, dispensing with the final scene in a matter of minutes.
The acting was generally adequate, though dangerous overtones of Baz Lurhrman’s Romeo creep into the DiCaprio-esqe reading by Mr. Lillico. Mercutio is done passably well by Mr. Shafir; his Queen Mab monologue is “by the book” but satisfying nonetheless. The worst performance was Mr. Musselman as the Apothecary who did all but twirl his mustache in his few lines. Perhaps avenging his being passed over for a larger part, he comically barrels out from behind one of the silly garage doors on the set like Lon Chaney’s Wolfman leaping from a stand of trees.
A nod to Mr. Haggard as Benvolio, who owned his performance and exceeded the limitations of the character. Similar in quality are Mr. Lively’s Friar Lawrence and Ms. Jones’ Nurse. What they lacked in intensity was perhaps due to Ms. Edward’s reading of these characters as abortive surrogate parents to the star-crossed lovers who must display some measure of detachment in order to fulfil the directorial reading.
Questionable choices included the deletion of the opening sonnet (perhaps Shakespeare’s most famous opening) and the ill suited “music from a motion picture” interludes that swell when the director bossily tells us how we should feel.
Finally, much was made of the lack of spark between Mr. Lillico and Ms. Farmer-Clary as Romeo and Juliet, but that portion of the play seemed an afterthought of the director. Much like the bed that literally descends into the bowels of the stage and returns as Juliet’s bier, the love story seemed to flicker then vanish into nothingness, leaving the audience as “unsatisfied” as Romeo in the orchard. The direction of Romeo’s scene in Juliet’s bed prior to his flight comes off as sleazy rather than sensual, like the actors from a Tennessee Williams play accidentally wandered onto the wrong stage. In fact, much of the energy of this production seems misplaced, perhaps a byproduct of the need to “spice up” a play that has seen overly abundant production.
Ms. Edwards, in her discussion of her collaboration with set designer Brian Sidney Bembridge, describes her stage as a once beautiful place inhabited by “wealthy, feuding dynasties” where “the modern world has been imposed on top of the elegant world of the past, now violated and perched on destruction.”
It is clear from Friar Lawrence’s laboratory (a truly beautiful and intricate set piece) that despite the protestations of Ms. Edwards that “the world” of the theater “is described by the characters through poetry and imagination,” a great deal of attention was paid to the physical stage. Her attempt to liken this to a bare bones production is laughable. Brawls are physical and real, with six or more characters hurling barricades at one another during the play’s opening; the sound effect accompanying the Nurse knocking on Friar Lawrence’s door is akin to Thor striking at the forge in Valhalla, and Prince Escalus’ drone of doom has digital echoes to remind us that we are in a tomb, lest the altar fail to do so.
The cuckoo clock machinations of chandeliers swinging up and down, beds and biers spouting from the floor, and stage hands shuffling about the bellows makes for short changes, but places you in the belly of the motorized beast which is this rushed production. Somehow making two and a half hours look flabby, this lean-Shakespeare-machine churns out the production in short order, dispensing with the final scene in a matter of minutes.
The acting was generally adequate, though dangerous overtones of Baz Lurhrman’s Romeo creep into the DiCaprio-esqe reading by Mr. Lillico. Mercutio is done passably well by Mr. Shafir; his Queen Mab monologue is “by the book” but satisfying nonetheless. The worst performance was Mr. Musselman as the Apothecary who did all but twirl his mustache in his few lines. Perhaps avenging his being passed over for a larger part, he comically barrels out from behind one of the silly garage doors on the set like Lon Chaney’s Wolfman leaping from a stand of trees.
A nod to Mr. Haggard as Benvolio, who owned his performance and exceeded the limitations of the character. Similar in quality are Mr. Lively’s Friar Lawrence and Ms. Jones’ Nurse. What they lacked in intensity was perhaps due to Ms. Edward’s reading of these characters as abortive surrogate parents to the star-crossed lovers who must display some measure of detachment in order to fulfil the directorial reading.
Questionable choices included the deletion of the opening sonnet (perhaps Shakespeare’s most famous opening) and the ill suited “music from a motion picture” interludes that swell when the director bossily tells us how we should feel.
Finally, much was made of the lack of spark between Mr. Lillico and Ms. Farmer-Clary as Romeo and Juliet, but that portion of the play seemed an afterthought of the director. Much like the bed that literally descends into the bowels of the stage and returns as Juliet’s bier, the love story seemed to flicker then vanish into nothingness, leaving the audience as “unsatisfied” as Romeo in the orchard. The direction of Romeo’s scene in Juliet’s bed prior to his flight comes off as sleazy rather than sensual, like the actors from a Tennessee Williams play accidentally wandered onto the wrong stage. In fact, much of the energy of this production seems misplaced, perhaps a byproduct of the need to “spice up” a play that has seen overly abundant production.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Salt (2010)
This is probably the last entry I will be able to write for a while since I really don't have any more time to review films before the summer ends. I had fun writing some reviews up and I hope whoever was reading enjoyed them as well. I'm thinking about starting a review blog this fall/winter that will review not just films and entertainment, but also food, music, and other stuff as well. If you're interested in writing about these things (for free) email me at andrew dot roback at gmail dot com and we can talk details. Hope you had a great summer! Oh and, officially, this will be my 35th review or something like that. Even though I failed miserably to generate the amount of content I wanted to, well, there's no excuse, I just failed. Happy rest of the summer :).
Columbia Pictures, 100 min., Dir. Phillip Noyce
(Sort of) heralded as a (pretty decent) action/spy film that will (kind of) take you on a (semi-)non-stop thrill ride, I had expectations for Salt that were (a little) inflated by hype.
However, despite such glowing reviews as "it's not as bad as I thought it would be," I was hopeful that I would at least not dislike the film. From the man who directed Patriot Games (1992) and Clear and Present Danger (1994), I was expecting a smart spy film where there were lots of crazy plot developments and a really interesting cold war plot resurrection. Wrong. In other words, this film played more like Mission Impossible III than Mission Impossible.
A lot of reviews I read/heard praised the action element, but there was nothing outstanding. Action movies of this sort eventually devolve into how many different ways can the protagonist dispose of the baddies. Apart from one interesting scene involving a fire-extinguisher propelled homemade explosive, the action was mostly just Angelina Jolie hitting and shooting random guards.
The plot twists are not that interesting, and often don't reconcile with the supposed plot in some cases. There's not a whole lot of emotional investment in the characters, and the whole cold-war nuclear tension could not be more underplayed. I was expecting it to improve drastically as the film went on, but it just never did. The ending, which I won't spoil for those who wish to see it, belongs in a James Bond film where it may be taken with a level of seriousness appropriate to its mustache twisting obviousness.
The fight scenes are completely vanilla (Angelina Jolie is aging and probably shouldn't have played this role for obvious reasons), and the plot drops out to the most asinine developments possible with ancillary deux ex machina characters tossed in to finish the third act. Much like I was pissed at Iron Man II for overplaying cold war fears, I will reiterate for the rest of us who were born near the tail end: the Cold War is a piece of curious history and not a vivid memory.
The most interesting part of the movie was the idea of a Soviet spymaster creating a group of sleeper agents. Nerd that I am, I would have loved to see more of the training techniques, basically an unpacking of that whole montage. It would have replaced, perhaps, four to six scenes of Ms. Jolie breaking arms and kicking necks, but could have provided some much needed bolstering of the back story that would have made two-dimensional spy cliches into characters.
I don't see much of a future for this series, even though there is a clear setup for a sequel. The film was trying very hard to be The Bourne Identity, but an aging actress in the lead coupled with poor acting and a bad storyline sabotaged this film right from the start.
5/10: Watch Breach (2007) for a much more entertaining spy film
Columbia Pictures, 100 min., Dir. Phillip Noyce
(Sort of) heralded as a (pretty decent) action/spy film that will (kind of) take you on a (semi-)non-stop thrill ride, I had expectations for Salt that were (a little) inflated by hype.
However, despite such glowing reviews as "it's not as bad as I thought it would be," I was hopeful that I would at least not dislike the film. From the man who directed Patriot Games (1992) and Clear and Present Danger (1994), I was expecting a smart spy film where there were lots of crazy plot developments and a really interesting cold war plot resurrection. Wrong. In other words, this film played more like Mission Impossible III than Mission Impossible.
A lot of reviews I read/heard praised the action element, but there was nothing outstanding. Action movies of this sort eventually devolve into how many different ways can the protagonist dispose of the baddies. Apart from one interesting scene involving a fire-extinguisher propelled homemade explosive, the action was mostly just Angelina Jolie hitting and shooting random guards.
The plot twists are not that interesting, and often don't reconcile with the supposed plot in some cases. There's not a whole lot of emotional investment in the characters, and the whole cold-war nuclear tension could not be more underplayed. I was expecting it to improve drastically as the film went on, but it just never did. The ending, which I won't spoil for those who wish to see it, belongs in a James Bond film where it may be taken with a level of seriousness appropriate to its mustache twisting obviousness.
The fight scenes are completely vanilla (Angelina Jolie is aging and probably shouldn't have played this role for obvious reasons), and the plot drops out to the most asinine developments possible with ancillary deux ex machina characters tossed in to finish the third act. Much like I was pissed at Iron Man II for overplaying cold war fears, I will reiterate for the rest of us who were born near the tail end: the Cold War is a piece of curious history and not a vivid memory.
The most interesting part of the movie was the idea of a Soviet spymaster creating a group of sleeper agents. Nerd that I am, I would have loved to see more of the training techniques, basically an unpacking of that whole montage. It would have replaced, perhaps, four to six scenes of Ms. Jolie breaking arms and kicking necks, but could have provided some much needed bolstering of the back story that would have made two-dimensional spy cliches into characters.
I don't see much of a future for this series, even though there is a clear setup for a sequel. The film was trying very hard to be The Bourne Identity, but an aging actress in the lead coupled with poor acting and a bad storyline sabotaged this film right from the start.
5/10: Watch Breach (2007) for a much more entertaining spy film
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