Entrapment

A young 5 year old boy named Jack (Jacob Tremblay) has grown up solely in a small 10 by 10 foot garden shed room with just a ceiling window above to provide anything hinting at an outside world.  Jack is accompanied by his young but nurturing mother Joy (Brie Larson) who cares for him and keeps him occupied throughout the day with fun games and stories that sharpen his mind.  At night Jack sleeps in a closet as Joy receives visits from his father Old Nick (Sean Bridgers) who rapes her before leaving food and occasional supplies for her and Jack.  Then a new days begins and the routine continues.  And this routine has been going on for years.  That this material is based on the true Fritzl case which inspired the 2010 novel of the same name makes this story all the more unsettling.  But “Room” is both unsettling and emotionally rewarding as only the most compelling character driven dramas can be.  

Adapted for the screen by Irish playwright Emma Donoghue, directed by Lenny Abrahamson ("Frank"), and starring Brie Larson (“Short Term 12”) in a truly mesmerizing performance as Joy, “Room” captures the powerful bond that is forged between mother and son during such times of incredible duress.  We are introduced to the daily routines of Joy and Jack, mostly through Jack’s point of view, which include stretching, reading books and creating the likes of jewelry with egg shells.  Joy makes the limited environment a bit of a warm and engaging playground and only gradually do we learn of the dire circumstances of her kidnapping.   As the bigger (darker) picture is gradually unveiled the film does gain an incredible amount of suspense when Joy takes it upon herself to aid Jack in an escape attempt to the outside.  Needless to say the attempt works and Jack does escape and make his way back to his mom, with the aid of the police, yet their problems are far from over.

Joy’s parents (expertly rendered by Joan Allen and William H Macy) take her and Jack home and do what they can to reintroduce them both to the outside world that Joy now struggles to connect with and one in which Jack is just being introduced.   The dynamics shift between the two to where Joy has reverted into the role of a petulant child who is losing her purpose of being a mom and Jack’s roving curiosity of the exciting world around him is bringing him more out of his shell.  Tremblay avoids the precocious trappings of most child actors and plays his scenes with a sense of wonder that feels genuine and deeply felt.  This also goes a long way during the room scenes especially which could have otherwise come off as glaringly stagy due to the constricted environment. 

Though Tremblay’s performance remains very good throughout this is Larson’s movie.  She looks malnourished and slumps quite a bit in the room scenes but watch her as she slightly adjusts her posture or her eyes suddenly brighten when Jack says or does something clever or sweet.  Larson creates a mother who needs her son as much as he needs her to survive and this is never more the case than when they’re back in the outside world attempting to adjust together.  Her most telling scene comes around this time during an interview being held about the abduction and what she and Jack did to get out alive.  At one point the reporter asks Joy if she should have found ways to get Jack away from the room sooner and if getting outside help could have made a difference in his overall maturation.  Joy simply says “he didn’t need anyone else…..he had me” in a way that’s defiant, fearful and heroic all at once.  It’s a compelling moment of power tinged with fragility that lingers long afterwards.  And it beautifully encapsulates the insecurity and decency of any good parent who just wants the best for their child.  If there is any justice in the world Larson will walk away with the best actress Oscar for her work here. 

“Room” is by no means an easy film to watch but it’s a strong reminder of the endurance of love between parent and child and the joy of living that they can create for each other under any circumstance.  More importantly it’s the best drama of 2015 and a movie not to be missed.

   

The Paper

Excellent journalism films are a rare breed and almost nonexistent in this day and age with the internet/social media trumping the immediate need for newspapers and the likes of the dogged investigative reporters employed by them.  “All the Presidents Men,” “The Insider” and “Zodiac” are signature examples of the genre in that they worked both as cannily structured exposes as well as exciting thrillers in spite of the facts being known beforehand.  They also made heroes out of reporters which seems so quaint in our current digital age.  But it’s no small feat to create a compelling film that exists mostly within the confines of mundane office buildings and libraries.  When a true story is very much at the forefront of the piece the effects can make for gripping cinema.  I’m happy to report that Todd McCarthy’s (“The Visitor”) terrifically nuanced and impressively understated “Spotlight” is such a piece.

The film is set in 2001 just as The Boston Globe is receiving a new editor in chief, Marty Baron (Liev Schreiber, “Ray Donovan”) from Miami, to find ways to gain back and hopefully increase the progressively less than interested local subscriber base.  Marty recruits The Spotlight investigative team lead by player-coach Robbie Robinson (Michael Keaton) to probe details concerning a sex scandal within the confines of the Catholic Church that came and went with little to no fanfare.  Robinson and his team, which includes the likes of Mike Rezendes (Mark Ruffalo “Foxcatcher”), Sacha Pfieffer (Rachel McAdams, “Aloha”) and Matt Carroll (Brian d’Arcy James, “Smash”), start digging around in old case files to discover piece by piece that a number of child molestations by priests have been hiding in plain sight for years.  Robinson, who was initially skeptical of finding much of anything substantial now finds his team has to probe further with the investigations that uncover The Catholic Church’s attempts to conceal the ever evolving larger scandal involving numerous victims (potentially up to 90 in Boston alone).  The movie fascinates with just how each reporter is personally affected by their unrelenting pursuit of getting the story to the public in spite of encountering various public officials attempting to shut down their efforts.

With incredibly intriguing fact based material at his disposal Boston native McCarthy (along with co-screenwriter Josh Singer, “The Fifth Estate”) shrewdly crafts a procedural that hums along like a thriller.  The importance of finding the truth with one piece of evidence at a time and how various public officials are conditioned to react against the community being informed of it is what raises the stakes from the outset.  And the screenplay here is taut enough to hook the viewer without the likes of any flashy film trickery.  The scenes where the investigators are meeting with the victims in particular are so matter of fact and slow burning that they seem as if they were taken from a documentary.  It also puts a human face on the larger scandal being uncovered and the alarming reactions conveyed by each reporter are never histrionic which aids considerably to “Spotlight’s” lingering impact.  This is also, as I’m sure McCarthy had intended, very much a Boston movie getting the atmosphere just right with the working class milieu contrasting nicely with sinister dealings in the upper echelon of the city where Keaton’s Robinson in particular has some increasingly heated confrontations. 

Speaking of Michael Keaton, it’s great to see him in topical films again revitalized post “Birdman” and providing the stalwart Robinson with a keen intelligence that goes on high alert when faced with threats masked by civility.  Ruffalo brings a jumpy intensity to Rezendes in contrast that reveals the restless spirit of the cause driving the team.  He gets the closest the film comes to an awards bait monologue towards the end but by that point it fits organically within the story and is delivered by this ever magnetic actor with an unassuming poignancy.  But truth be told everyone in this cast delivers.  Outside of the journalists there is deputy manager of the globe Ben Bradlee Jr. (John Slattery, “Mad Men”), victims’ attorney Mitchell Garabedian (Stanley Tucci, “The Imposters”) and slick and serpentine opposing attorney Eric Macleish (Billy Crudup, “Almost Famous”) who all find ways to create vivid moments that illuminate the unfolding story rather than detract from it.  If I was pressed to pick my favorite though I would have to go with the cool and calculating Schreiber, long regarded as one of the best American stage actors, who doesn’t get film parts this good often enough.  He brings a quiet integrity to the proceedings that never attempts to garner attention unto itself but is integral to Baron whose sole reason for being is assembling facts and telling people the truth (no matter the personal cost). 

The last scenes in “Spotlight” are sublime and in a way a celebration of the time when journalists could still be seen as heroes.  The story has now broken to the public and the scrappy reporters at the Globe are picking up phone calls left and right of people willing to tell their part of a story that most continue now onto a bigger stage.  And here’s to a film that’s brave enough to show us what these reporters did to get the public their story first.

                           

The Bond Ultimatum

It seems not that long ago Daniel Craig first took over the mantle of playing 007 in Martin Campbell’s 2006 film adventure “Casino Royale.”  Before that film came out the blond haired, flinty and stone faced British theatre regular best known for his character work in art-house films seemed like such a left field and unlikely choice.  While Craig was certainly a proper actor, along the lines of then rumored favorite Clive Owen, one could argue he didn’t have the matinee idol looks, style or charm needed for the likes of a Bond.  But within a few minutes of watching a sinewy and spry Craig tussle violently with an enemy agent in a brutal, stripped down black and white opening fight sequence in “Casino” it became very clear he was already on the way to redefining Ian Fleming’s suave super spy for a new generation.

Craig’s Bond debuted a more rugged, fallible and dare I say human James Bond.  He was muscular and dangerous and seemingly less refined than those that came before.  More importantly, his Bond made mistakes, got hurt, and was even capable of falling in love.  He was more flesh and blood man than romantic cold war concept and became the ideal post 9/11 007 we deserved.  Craig’s fresh take on the character along with a smart origin story and worthy love interest in Eva Green’s Vesper Lynd helped “Casino Royale” become what is now arguably the best Bond film ever made.  Needless to say expectations for future installments had risen to a whole new exciting level.

Craig’s following outing (and first direct Bond sequel) with “Quantum of Solace” lacked the emotional depth and finesse of “Casino”, due possibly to the writers strike at the time.  But then, director Sam Mendes of “American Beauty” fame came along and was clever enough to plumb deeper into Bond’s mythology while also reintroducing him through the lens of an all knowing and consuming digital age.  Judi Dench as M was used as the ultimate Bond girl while Javier Bardem brought a silky menace to nominal baddie Raoul Silva that ended up bagging him SAG and BAFTA acting nods (award worthy acting acclaim is normally unheard of for a Bond film).  Not only that but “Skyfall” ended up becoming the most lucrative Bond film of all time as well.  Expectations were now at an all time high for a worthy followup.

And now Mendes and Craig are back with “Spectre”, which is reportedly the longest and most expensive Bond experience yet.  And while this film does contain inspired moments of action and espionage it will ultimately go down as a disappointment when compared to the other recent Bonds.  It’s merely good but far from great.  Fun but not necessarily memorable.  Better than “Quantum” but certainly no “Skyfall.”

And yet it started off with such promise.  The opening sees Bond making his way through a crowd during a massive Day of the Dead celebration in Mexico City that’s absolutely gripping.  But instead of enjoying the parade 007 has work to do and do he does.  He's able to kiss a girl, blow up a building, fly a helicopter and retrieve a cryptic ring within 10 minutes of absurd but beautiful spectacle shot by cinematographer Hoyt Van Hoytema (“Interstellar”).  This initial jam packed action is so stylishly shot, also paying homage to Orson Welles “A Touch of Evil”, that the florid bombast on display becomes the best set piece in the film.  It even recalls a bit of a classic Bond feel from the 60s in terms of tone.  

In wake of the Mexico City mayhem Bond finds himself in hot water over at MI6 and goes rogue (how many times is this now?) when ordered to take a leave of absence from M (Ralph Fiennes).  Following a lead from former M (Judi Dench via email) Bond begins an investigation that takes him to Rome in which he finds himself amidst a supreme criminal organization lead by someone from his past he knows all too well.  Meanwhile back in London, MI6 is now overseen and being hounded by smarmy bureaucrat Agent C (Andrew Scott of BBCs “Sherlock”) to terminate it’s 00 program thus replacing human agents with tech surveillance and drones.

An abundance of globe trotting is on order here with Bond going from Rome to Austria to the Tunisian desert and back to London.  Mendes uses his gift for conjuring bold imagery to maximum effect in a few other standout scenes (a SPECTRE meeting in Rome with silhouettes speaking in the shadows is eerily magnetic and an abrupt fight scene between Bond and behemoth henchman Mr. Hinx is incredibly tense recalling the classic fight between Connery and Robert Shaw in “From Russia with Love”).   

While incorporating some classic elements into the film works to a degree the sillier aspects of the story start to work more against Craig’s grounded take on the character.  Mendes relies more on established formula here than before which gets in the way of what could have been a leaner more emotionally involving Bond film like “Casino”.  By the time James ends up facing off against head of SPECTRE Ernst Stavro Blofeld (Christoph Waltz) toward films end the movie has devolved into a parody of former Bonds that would be more at home in an Austin Powers flick.  The subplot in which Blofeld’s family took Bond in after his parents died in their climbing accident is even more ludicrous sketching an unlikely connection between our hero and all knowing vengeance seeking villain that’s simply not needed.  Waltz is a terrific actor but he’s ambushed by a cloying role here and fails to seep into the truly unsettling villain he’s meant to be.  Spouting off perfunctory lines like “I’m the author of all your pain” certainly doesn’t help him.  In contrast, Blofeld’s silent but deadly henchman Mr. Hinx played by formidable David Bautista (“Guardians of the Galaxy”) is at least a physically imposing presence that adds a welcome steeliness to his scenes.   

Craig instills his ever edgy charisma into 007 yet again and it’s fun to see him play off of the newly established MI6 including Fiennes M, Naomie Harris’s flirty but dutiful Money Penny, and the ever delightful Ben Wishaw as the most nebbishy Q of the series.  Much has been made of sultry Monica Belluci’s “older” Bond girl role, she’s 51 to Craig’s 47, but she leaves the proceedings as quickly as she arrives.  This leaves room for a 30 year old, significantly younger Lea Seydoux’s (“Blue is the Warmest Color”) Dr. Madeline Swann as contact turned romantic interest who knows a thing or two about loving an assassin.  Seydoux is a considerable talent but much like Waltz she's given a thinly sketched role that fails to leave much of an impression.  It’s a shame when you have to go back to Eva Green 10 years ago to find the last complex Bond love interest but alas it’s still the case (which the filmmakers seem to know as well considering we are subtly reminded of Vesper throughout the film.  Subtly as a hammer to the skull.)

All in all there is enough spectacle and money being thrown at the screen to consider “Spectre” as a fun night out but I have grown to crave more nuance when seeing Bond nowadays.  “Casino Royale” and “Skyfall” went further beneath the surface and deepened the spectrum.  As a result Craig’s Bond came closer to what Fleming had in mind from the start.  James Bond is dangerous, smart, resourceful and loyal.  In those better films he’s also been human.  Here’s to hoping his next adventure will bring that novel idea right on back. 

         

Take Shelter

The economic crisis of 2008 serves as the nasty underbelly of this compelling beast of a dramatic thriller directed by Iranian-American filmmaker, and Winston-Salem native, Ramin Bahrani (“Man Push Cart”). His latest morality tale stars Andrew Garfield (“The Social Network”) as Dennis Nash, a Florida construction worker and single father whose home falls under foreclosure. Nash and his family, consisting of his son Connor (Noah Lomax) and mother Lynn (Laura Dern), are thrown out of their home almost immediately after his court date by steely real-estate broker Rick Carver (Michael Shannon of HBOs “Boardwalk Empire”) and his gaggle of police escorts.

It’s at this point that “99 Homes” slips it’s potent hook into the viewer with a visceral immediacy as Carver and the police invade the Nash home watching Dennis scramble to gather what belongings he can within a few minutes notice. Shot mostly in one take the sequence builds incredible tension and places the viewer squarely in Nash’s shoes as a man literally pulled out of a home with little to no means of finance. He moves his family into a nearby motel for the time being and makes a number of calls to gain construction jobs which have slowed. Ironically enough, Nash is soon recruited by Carver on a construction job which leads to another and then Carver decides to take Nash under his wing as more of a realtoring personal assistant which becomes lucrative rather quickly.

Although seemingly a bit “Wall Street” within the confines of the mentor/protege arrangement that develops between Nash and Carver the film does succeed in making both characters identifiable people and neither complete hero or villain. Nash is very much a decent working-class everyman with no other agenda than to get money in the bank to provide for family while Carver is made out to be an aggressive opportunist who has found a way to game the financial system that once gamed him. And it doesn’t hurt that both Garfield and Shannon provide considerable shades of humanity in their respective roles.

The former Spiderman actor seems to relish the opportunity to play a more nuanced and mundane earthbound spirit who is hit with various ethical dilemmas at every turn. He imbues the scrappy Nash with a quiet integrity that becomes more and more at odds with the relationship he’s built with Carver to gain the money he needs to get his home back. And Garfield also brings a sharp emotional immediacy to the scenes where he’s sent to evict tenants himself (some of which seem to be non actors that only add to the films almost documentary style tone and dramatic rawness).

Yet as good as Garfield is as Nash, it’s Shannon’s performance that stings more and ultimately has the most impact. After playing the likes of hitman Richard “Iceman” Kuklinski and General Zod it’s no longer a surprise that Michael Shannon can play menacing in his sleep but it’s the way his character has become so accustomed to his entitlement that becomes most dynamic. Sporting various cream colored Tommy Bahama style suits and vaping away on E-Cigs, Carver has become a cultivated wolf in sheeps clothing. His no-nonsense business demeanor seduces Nash along with the trappings of a lavish lifestyle earned by tireless strategy. And Carver’s lack of compassion for people is boldly played by Shannon with striking moments of wry humor at others expense. One scene in particular stands out when Carver reveals a rare moment of his personal history as Nash asks for his house back. Flickers of backstory culminate into a fierce monologue shedding light onto how this shameless monster could have once been a decent man whose survivalist instincts eventually trumped his moral compass. The sheer power and honesty of the scene and how Shannon plays it consists of the best screen acting I’ve seen in a film this year.

As engrossing as “99 Homes” is during the first two thirds it does become problematic towards the end coming to an almost abrupt halt that seems a bit too convenient for a film that revels in such gritty authenticity. Needless to say conscience and business collide and good subdues evil, if only for a time. But Shannon’s compelling fire and the eviction scenes of various American citizens of varied creed and gender will continue to seep into the memory long after the tale comes to a convenient close. It’s a movie whose power lingers and for Bahrani and company that’s the point.

Galaxy Quest

Ridley Scott hasn’t exactly been crushing it lately.  The once masterful helmer of the groundbreaking sci-fi classics “Alien” and “Blade Runner” has underwhelmed recently with curious but emotionally vacant films like “The Counselor” and “Exodus: Gods and Kings.”  So it’s a relief and even a grand cause for celebration that “The Martian” doesn’t just feel like a great technical return to form for Scott but it’s quite possibly his most fun and relaxed film to date.

The film begins on Mars as a manned mission of scientists gets caught up in a great wind storm where they are forced to evacuate leaving behind astronaut/botanist Mark Whatney (Matt Damon).  Whatney having been hit by a satellite dish during the storm and losing communication with his crew is presumed dead and wakes up alone some time later to the realization that he’s been completely abandoned.  All alone and with few supplies at his disposal Whatney must use his wits and perseverance to keep himself alive.  And on Mars keeping oneself alive just over the course of a few days can be a great challenge which Whatney learns all too well.

Based on the Andy Weir novel of the same name, “The Martian” takes a familiar premise and spins it in fresh directions with surprisingly nimble execution shying away from dire circumstance and inviting some great humor into the proceedings.  As Whatney problem solves various situations whether it be finding ways to conjure water in order to grow potatoes in his tent or troubleshooting a 90s era satellite dish to signal earth, the film plays more as situational comedy.  Far removed from say the morose tone of Robert Zemickis’s “Cast Away” which employed a similar premise, “The Martian” succeeds in illuminating Whatney’s character through the details of his experiments and vlog musings (which becomes a clever way of  transferring Whatney’s interior dialogues from the book to cinematic audience clarity).   

The narrative structure assembled is sound but Scott’s real ace in the hole is the casting of Damon who infuses his own brainy everyman charisma into the part of Whatney most assuredly.  Damon’s star appeal has always been his relatability which works great in the vlog segments where Whatney’s wry commentary on the inhabitability of Mars, incompetence of NASA, and his severe distaste in the abundance of disco music left behind by his team captain scores numerous punchlines.  Damon also handles the urgency of dramatic beats well and is backed by a formidable supporting cast including Chiwetel Ejiofor as Dr Vince Kapoor heading Mars Missions, Jeff Daniels as head of NASA Teddy Sanders, and Jessica Chastain as Whatney’s captain Melissa Lewis whose own steely resolve to go back and get him becomes more pressing towards the denouement.

Ridley Scott films, no matter the quality or subject matter, always look great and “The Martian” is certainly no exception.  The red sandy vistas of Mars were actually shot in a red desert in Jordan which look beautifully eery as Whatney’s backdrop of isolation.  The striking space suits and props, along with everything as mundane as Whatney’s potato garden, were actually constructed for the film forgoing much use for CGI which feels appropriate for the grass roots story and subject matter.  And a number of visual inklings and homages of Kubrick’s “2001: A Space Odyssey” are also on display which are a nice treat for the cinephiles amongst us.

As superb as the scenes are with Whatney on Mars the film can’t quite maintain the same level of interest with the earthbound NASA scenes.  Most of them are consisting of droves of scientists and technicians trying to get him help and then orchestrating an attempted mission to save him.  Meetings are held and management disagree about whether it’s more important to get Lewis and crew saved as opposed to sending them back to rescue Whatney.  Whatney’s predicament as presented is enough for one film but it seems like some of the NASA scenes where people are scrambling to get something done, although well acted and staged, are perfunctory.  In relation to the overall piece most of these scenes could have simply been trimmed to keep everything at a great brisk running time.  A minor quibble though within a film that gets most everything right.   

In the end “The Martian” serves as that rare combination of successful star-director-crew collaboration that is able to function within the confines of a major studio film without losing artistic integrity in the process.  More importantly this film touches upon a great concept that is also becoming rare in our recent times.  And that is the brilliant resolve of the human spirit.

             

     

Mean Streets

Gangster and mob movies have provided some of the most indelible moments in all of cinema ranging from “White Heat” to “Goodfellas.” It seems almost impossible to add anything new to the gangster film at this point though and it’s important to note that director Scott Cooper’s “Black Mass” is inevitably familiar to a number of better ones that came before. This film is handsomely mounted and provides Johnny Depp, as career criminal James “Whitey” Bulger, with his best performance in quite some time, but it doesn’t break new ground within the genre. “Black Mass” is ultimately entertaining in sections if not incredibly enthralling overall despite the considerable efforts of a first rate cast.

The film starts with one of Bulger’s former crew Kevin Weeks (Jesse Plemons of “Breaking Bad”) testifying against him at a police station. Bulger’s transition from small- time South Boston hood to a most powerful (and dangerous) kingpin is chronicled here as well as the alliance that is forged between Bulger and former childhood friend and now FBI agent John Connolly (Joel Edgerton of “Animal Kingdom”). This alliance brought Bulger within the confines of FBI protection in exchange for crucial information on his various Italian criminal adversaries. Said arrangement ends up being more of an assist for Bulger than the FBI when all is said and done leading up to a number of murders and betrayals instigated by Bulger as he steadily becomes Boston’s number one underworld enforcer. The material here can’t help but be interesting especially since it is based on real events adapted from the book “Black Mass: The True Story of an Unholy Alliance between the FBI and the Irish Mob” written by Dick Lehr and Gerard O’Neill.

Director Scott Cooper (“Crazy Heart” and “Out of the Furnace”) deserves credit for assembling such a skilled cast but he’s not an accomplished technical director which becomes problematic in regards to the pacing. “Black Mass” clocks in at a little over 2 hours but it lacks the visual kinetic charge and sophisticated editing of say “Goodfellas” and “The Departed” or even Depp’s own 90s gangster classic “Donnie Brasco.” A number of scenes drag after the initial character introductions and we never get to know the people that fitfully die off as the story moves along. A number of characters inserted are mere outlines in which the audience can’t emotionally invest themselves within so when certain people do die it has less of an impact than it should. Cooper’s camera becomes a stagnant bystander rather than a roving wonderer in the style of a Scorsese better suited for such material. The framing of simple shots is underwhelming leading to a lack of intimacy within the production overall. It’s an attractive and familiar movie in need of a pulse.

On the plus side though, Cooper finds a bit of an occasional jolt with the casting of Johnny Depp as Bulger whose performance looms large. Mr. Depp is jarring in appearance initially with his bald cap, simulated receding hairline, steely blue contacts and abundance of pale makeup. Sporting a gutteral southie accent and tainted teeth that appear through a sly preening grin he’s James Cagney meets Gollum and I was afraid his monstrous visage would offset the somber film that surrounded him. But this vampirish appearance surprisingly brings out a subtlety in Depp that’s been absent for years. Prone to broader and more whimsical characters as of late like Jack Sparrow, Willy Wonka or Mordecai, it’s easy to forget the earlier and bolder performances Depp gave at a regular clip during the 90s in which he portrayed characters based on real people in films like “Ed Wood” and “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.” His take on Whitey Bulger lacks the current superficial tics of his recent work which have been replaced here by a coiled stillness that creates a great tension. This effective amount of underlying menace fuels the performance and occasionally kicks the movie into wilder and unpredictable terrain. Bulger was known to transition from charming to malicious towards those he intended to threaten within a nanosecond and Depp milks these mood manipulations for all they are worth through simple deliberate movement or a mere shifting of the eyes. His magnetic thug turn is truly unsettling without the actor ever having to resort to bombastic scenery chewing. If not quite a career best, which comes down to the confines of the role itself presenting more Bulger the cool legend rather than the actual man, it’s still the best acting Depp has done within the last decade.

And he’s ably supported by a terrific ensemble including sly Benedict Cumberbatch as his stately senator brother Billy, Rory Cochrane as his trusted simmering right-hand Steve, and the reliably brilliant Peter Saarsgard in a small but jumpy scene grabbing part as pathetic cocaine afflicted patsy Brian Halloran. NY theatre actress Julianne Nicholson is also excellent as Connolly’s concerned and troubled wife who finds herself threatened by Bulger outside of her bedroom during a dinner party in one of the films creepiest moments. And Joel Edgerton’s alternately strutting and bumbling performance as John Connolly, while not as towering as Depp’s, also contains a number of inspired quirky flashes. He plays his ambitious FBI agent with varied notes of cocky delusion mixed with exasperation when his colleages question Bulger’s motives to his chagrin. He’s a loyal friend to a conniving gangster that hates him and Edgerton shines in scenes where he’s trying to desperately muster words together all at once to convince everyone else of his informative arrangement with Bulger as he himself becomes wary of it.

In the end though nothing can capture the emotional investment Cooper was going for due to the familiar tropes and lazy staging of a well worn genre. This movie will by no means go down as a gangster classic but more a nifty reminder of the great actor that was once and hopefully still can be Johnny Depp. In that regard Cagney would be proud.

Close Encounters of the 4th Kind

It’s important to note that the Fantastic 4 superhero team created by writer-editor Stan Lee and artist Jack Kirby in the early 1960s helped Marvel Comics transition from the small time publishing shop it once was to the incredibly lucrative conglomerate that it currently is. Lee likened his four heroes to a misfit family that bickers and argues until it’s time to band together and save the world from the various evil forces that attempt to destroy it. And the Fantastic 4 were supposed to be fearless and flawed and dare I say....human. If a team out of a comic book was ever intended to be both fun and nuanced within the confines of cinema, then surely it should have been this one. And yet the latest attempt at a live-action Fantastic 4 film as already been met with horrendous reviews along with heated stories of director Josh Trank (“Chronicle”) and Fox Studio heads at odds with one another over the final bruised and battered product.

I would like to say that the new “Fantastic 4” is by no means the abomination many are claiming it to be. It’s almost a good movie in fact and that is perhaps why it’s so frustrating at times to watch. Like old episodes of the Twilight Zone, where character trumped effects, the film starts with promise. Reed Richards (Miles Teller “Whiplash”) is a boy genius and social pariah who assembles a teleporting machine where items and potentially people can transfer from one realm of the universe into another. Richard’s tweaked demonstration of this technology years later at a high school science fair lands him a scholarship position at a top secret government lab run by Dr Franklin Storm ( Reg E Cathey of “House of Cards”). There he meets lab colleagues Sue and Johnny Storm (Kate Mara “House of Cards” and Michael B. Jordan “Fruitvale Station”) as well as misanthropic Victor Von Doom (Toby Kebbell “RocknRolla”). Together this brainy group of misfits constructs a space shuttle that can venture into different dimensions of space and time. And the game group of more indie oriented actors at work here keeps these initial proceedings afloat even when the pace drags. Teller and Mara have a nice easy chemistry; flirting amidst keyboards and tech jargon. Jordan has a sparky delinquent charm as the authority adverse Johnny and Kebbell brings an appropriate passive aggressive intensity to Doom. It’s also welcome to see Jamie Bell (“Billy Elliot”) sporadically pop up as Reed’s flinty childhood running buddy Ben Grimm, although sadly he isn’t given much to do.

And after an unsanctioned space voyage takes our leads into another realm and onto “Planet Zero” and they encounter their powers for the first time afterwards the film takes on an especially unusual Cronenbergian edge. Seeing Teller’s Richards with arms and legs outstretched to the max on a surgical table overseen by shady government scientists is more akin to a horror film than a superhero flick. He feels more like a lab rat being toyed with and his reactions range from befuddlement to rage as he’s being observed through a looking glass by a conflicted Dr Storm. It’s an inspired moment of dark majesty in a film that could have used more as it progressed. But then the wonder starts to fade and what logic the film did have goes out the window completely.

Cut to a year later and Richards is an escaped fugitive moping about in Central America as Sue and Johnny, developing their invisibility and body flaming/flying powers respectively, are confined as military assets under program supervisor Dr Allen (Tim Blake Nelson “O Brother Where Art Thou”) as is Bell’s enemy tank throwing The Thing. Similar to say the raptors in “Jurassic World” this supernatural ensemble is intended to be weaponized and not soon after Dr Allen announces said shameless plot device broody Dr Doom emerges from a trip back to earth to take down the entire planet. Because you know....he doesn’t like people very much.

What is also problematic is that the big action finale pitting the reunited 4 against Doom all takes place on “Planet Zero” instead of earth where the stakes would have been much higher. It culminates into a shoddy effects driven sequence that feels more tacked on than necessary and at that point it’s no more than freaks against freak doing battle with little to no consequence. Siding with the 4 here should be a no brainer because they like each other and can now function as a team. Or at least that’s the intention. In the end though, “Fantastic 4” is too thoughtful in part to be completely written off yet too disjointed a film to wholly recommend. Maybe if Fox had interfered less and Trank directed more this movie would have been completely fantastic.

The Great White Hope

There is something inherently melodramatic about boxing.  Two fighters in a ring duking it out with one man standing as the victor after a good 15 rounds all bloody and bruised is both entertaining and cathartic to an audience.  Champions are forged out of such bloody victory and it’s never a stretch for a filmgoer to align his or her own personal struggles with that of a pugilist taking punches in a ring.  Boxing movies have their own specific allure because of this and we’ve had a plethora of them over recent years.

“Southpaw” can now be added to the bunch and it should be said from the start that, while far from a pulpy visceral masterpiece like Scorsese’s “Raging Bull,” this film is not without some fine acting moments and lingering power of its own.  An impressively lean and mean Jake Gyllenhaal stars as rough and tumble boxer Billy “The Great” Hope who we first see getting pummeled severely by a younger up and coming fighter attempting to claim Billy’s light-heavyweight championship title.  This opening bout is introducing us to Billy’s fighting style (or lack thereof) in which he has to get hit harder and harder until he snaps and unleashes a flurry of punches that finally flatten his opponent into submission.  It works and Billy has won again but he’s an aging past his prime fighter at this point and such a reckless offensive style is taking a toll on his body and face much to the chagrin of his wife Maureen (a fine and feisty Rachel McAdams).

Maureen is urging Billy to take time away from fighting just as his manager (Curtis “50 Cent” Jackson) is now offering up an incredibly lucrative 3 fight deal to Billy that could set him, his wife, and his loving daughter Leila (Oona Lawrence) for life.  Billy is no sooner pondering as to what to do when a sudden tragedy unfolds at a Charity function which ends in Maureen being shot and killed.  Not long after he starts losing everything including custody of his daughter.  Now broke and alone he seeks the council of trainer Tick Wills (an excellent Forest Whitaker) who ultimately takes Billy on so he can get his life and daughter back.

Suffice it to say that the script written by Kurt Sutter  (“Sons of Anarchy”) is far from subtle and accompanied by sometimes heavy handed direction by Antoine Fuqua (“Training Day”). This film occasionally annoys and frustrates due to the ridiculousness of the situations being presented especially when Billy is lashing out with suicidal tendencies in wake of his wife’s death.  Being gritty has never been an issue for Fuqua but there are times when the grimness of his films can ambush the efforts of the considerable actors he’s often able to obtain with “Southpaw” being no exception.  

And credit should be given to these actors who make do with what they’ve been given starting with Gyllenhaal as the doomed force at the film’s centre.  His mumbling palooka is another startling physical transformation for the actor especially considering his last portrayal was as freakishly rail thin camera man Lou Bloom in last year’s “Nightcrawler”.  Gyllenhaal bulked up here considerably and has the ripped look and leering gait of a boxer. He’s also credible inside the ring as well after an intensive 5 months of boxing prep which supposedly included 2 a day work-outs at least 6 days a week.  His muscular and tattoo laden appearance will get attention for sure, as well as his sporadic fits of anger, but the internal work he does here is even more surprising.  Billy Hope is very much a street kid who used boxing ferocity as a way out of poverty but he’s still in the mindset of a teenager who hasn’t allowed himself to grow up until now when he’s being forced to do so.  Gyllenhaal plays these scenes with a growing sense of awareness and modesty and his transition from stunted manchild to wary adult provides “Southpaw” with an unexpected poignancy.  Other members of the cast also shine.  McAdams has great chemistry with Gyllenhaal and their scenes together allude to a long history of surmounting the fight game together.  Lawrence imbues Leila with a fiery intelligence and maturity that her father initially struggles to understand which goes against the more familiar whiny and helpless kid routine.  And Whitaker is tremendous as the fight trainer Wills, layering his portrayal with flinty humor and dignity as well as flickers of self doubt not commonly associated with such a stock part.

As the last big fight approaches it’s still not hard to get engaged in all the genre trimmings complete with a training montage and thumping Eminem soundtrack even though we’ve seen it all before ranging from the likes of “Rocky” to “The Fighter.”  Billy Hope is now entering the fight of his life and from the looks of it so was Gyllenhaal.  His bolder acting choices occasionally kick Fuqua’s formulaic film into unexpected territory for the genre.  And I at least have hope for whatever this increasingly fascinating film actor decides to do next. 

   

      

A Freak and A Geek

Judd Apatow has always had a knack for merging the raucous and rowdy with the heartfelt in both tv and film. His better efforts like “Freaks and Geeks”, “Knocked Up”, and “The 40 Year Old Virgin” are astute examples of this kind of fine tune balancing but as of late he had seemed to lose his touch a bit as anyone who saw the mostly sentimental and unfunny “This is 40” can attest. I’m happy to report that “Trainwreck” starring and written by the brazen and fearless it girl comedienne of the moment Amy Schumer is a fine return to form (possibly because Apatow was just directing and not writing this time). It may also become, in my humble opinion, the most emotionally satisfying comedy of 2015.

The film begins in flashback as Amy and her young sister are getting tough love advice from their philandering father Gordon, wonderfully played by former SNL alum Colin Quinn, as well as the news of their parents divorce. It’s instilled in Amy at a young age that monogamy is by no means the answer to eternal happiness and when we now meet Amy (as in Schumer) twenty odd something years later as she’s plowing through guy after guy in great succession like a lusty female Alfie counterpart. These scenes are more engaging than expected due not only to Schumar’s own irreverent humor infused throughout but also because she’s such an unassuming down to earth everywoman screen presence (as opposed to some unapproachable club hopping waif).

And not only is Amy’s active sex life seemingly unending but she also has an enviable job as a writer/columnist at S’Nuff magazine in Manhattan where she’s been assigned the job of profiling a famous sports doctor by the name of Aaron Connors (Bill Hader of

SNL and “The Skeleton Twins”). Amy and Aaron meet awkwardly at his office due to her lack of interest in sports but a few followup sessions later they spark a gentle friendship. The friendship soon turns romantic after dinner and a few drinks out on the town one night and Amy makes Aaron yet another conquest and notch on her belt. But now the good doctor is pursuing the relationship further post consummation much to Amy’s chagrin since she isn’t so intent on settling down (which would force her to change her current bed hopping ways and grow up).

And man children, or in this case lady children, who are forced to come to terms with their lives and really mature as adults for the first time is familiar Apatow territory for sure. But in this case the familiar becomes refreshing with the aid of Schumar’s spiky humor permeating throughout her unpredictable performance. She convincingly portrays her character’s conflict of whether to hold on to her philandering tendencies or give commitment a valid shot as well as hitting some dramatic moments along the way (her speech at a funeral at one point in particular lends itself to some surprising dramatic depths). It also doesn’t hurt that Hader’s Aaron makes for such a likable romantic lead and occasional comedic sparring partner for Amy. Hader, similar to Schumer, lacks conventional matinee idol looks but has a quick wit and inherent decency which is not too dissimilar to the likes of a young Henry Fonda or even Jack Lemmon. And Hader’s amusing scenes with favored star client and concerned buddy LeBron James, playing himself, are a surprisingly welcome treat in part due to LeBron’s own formidable comic timing (and self-awareness).

But there are no slackers in this supporting cast which gives the film considerable mileage over the story beats. Quinn is, by turns, tender and crass as Amy’s ailing dad. The lovely Brie Larson (“Short Term 12”) has some touching moments as her more responsible and family oriented younger sister. And a shockingly glammed up Tilda Swinton (“Michael Clayton”) steals every scene she’s in as Amy’s icy and disenchanted editor boss. At one point Swinton abruptly stops Schumar mid an excuse explanation and quips “Is this your one woman show...cause if so I haven’t got a ticket.” And WWE superstar John Cena is also deft as a deluded muscle bound boy toy of Amy’s earlier in the film (his passive aggressive tirade at some audience members on a date attempting to watch a movie is a hysterical and ribald highlight).

One could argue that beneath the uniformly fine ensemble acting and rampant pop culture references there lies a rather old fashioned love story at play here. And that’s not untrue nor is there need for a couple of unnecessary subplots towards the film’s somewhat dragging denouement (one involving Amy and a young intern could have been taken out of the film altogether such a shameless plot device it is).

But “Trainwreck” is so confidently executed and performed such minor quibbles can be forgiven. And I do look forward to seeing what route Apatow and Schumer’s battered train decides to take next. 

Prehysteria

If nothing else the recent atrocity of an attempt at a blockbuster that is “Jurassic World” will remind some viewers of how effective and thrilling Steven Spielberg’s original dinosaur chomping classic from 1993 actually was. Spielberg conjured choice cinema out of a singular concept of man versus beast ideology gone awry and proved such a formula could serve as, at best, intelligent summer movie fodder with enough thrills along the way to appeal to a large demographic. But Spielberg has been able to successfully merge aspects of thrillers with nuanced character and good storytelling for years ever since he himself created what we now know as the summer blockbuster movie season with the original “Jaws” back in 1975.

If goes without saying that director Colin Trevorrow is a much less experienced (and capable) director going into the somewhat daunting directing venture of the third sequel of this franchise. But what disappointed me most about this film wasn’t the lack of originality at hand but more the unavoidable fact that it was unnecessary to make.

Twenty two years after the events of the first Jurassic Park transpired it appears the newly restored venue is a zoo/amusement park hybrid with chemically engineered (man-made) dinosaurs which are bigger and meaner than the DNA comprised ones of the previous films. These vicious beasts are to serve no other purpose than to entertain droves of tourists paying money hand over fist to see them in action devouring either sharks or cattle as aggressively as possible. But as with the previous films....they will only be contained in the park for so long, and thus the plot thickens. They naturally escape due to the incompetence of some pesky humans who run the park, including Recreation Manager Claire (Bryce Dallas Howard) who was once confident that these newly formed and highly dangerous dinosaurs could never somehow break free and wreak havoc. Not to mention Claire’s nephews, Zack (Nick Robinson) and Gray (Ty Simpkins) respectively, are touring the parks various locations right as the dinosaurs become free to dine on any humans close by which sends man of vest sporting action and dinosaur behavior expert Owen Grady (Chris Pratt) to their rescue.

With CGI having come a ways since the early 90s there are the occasional moments of impact involving these new and improved dinosaurs, including one called Indominus Rex towards the end, but most of the dinosaur scenes are drained of impact since the people being attacked are so lacking in dimension. I would have to blame this primarily on the screenwriters whom seem more interested in devising interesting ways of dinosaurs killing off people as opposed to creating something resembling interesting human characterizations. Robinson and Simpkins are nothing more than plot devices as the stranded nephews. Their being sent to the park by their mom (Judy Greer), as a distraction from their parents impending divorce, is barely touched upon, although Greer is engaging and witty in the few scenes she’s given. Even newly minted leading man Chris Pratt as Grady, so funny and charming in last summer’s “Guardians of the Galaxy”, can’t quite overcome such a cloying script (although he occasionally tosses off some effectively witty one-liners which could have been the result of improv). Howard also seems stranded in such a muddled film which gives her nothing to do outside of looking distraught while running lengths at a time in fear; and high heels no less. There were moments when I wished Greer had gotten to play Howard’s part instead...at least then it might have been somewhat funny and self-aware. And least believable of all is that the normally reliable character actor Vincent D’Onofrio (“Full Metal Jacket,” “Daredevil” Netflix series) resorts to shameless mustache twirling as a crazed ex- military colleague of Grady’s who is determined to exploit the parks Velociraptors for military means as things continue to go south (cause releasing a bunch of raptors into the wild is the solution to any problem...right guys?).

“Jurassic World” thus essentially becomes a series of dinosaur attacking human set pieces that transition into moments of shameless corporate sponsorship (though one involving Jimmy Buffett running from Pterodactyls while grabbing up margaritas was amusing in spite of itself). So needless to say, I’m discouraged this movie is currently breaking box office records as I submit this review in an attempt to find closure to having spent two hours watching such a dreadful wannabe disaster piece. A film that, like “Jurassic Park’s” dinosaur brethren, needed to stay extinct.

It Doesn't Stop

Horror films nowadays rely way too much on what can be shown rather than what can’t be. We as an audience too often see the monstrous force or killer and his/ her motivations all too clearly which more often than not takes away from suspense rather than building upon it. Which is reason enough “It Follows” is such a refreshing and stirring surprise from the outset. There is very little blood and gore here and this is the rare low-budget horror film that is able to do more with less and still mount considerable suspense in the process.

The moody tone is set with the opening sequence (all shot in one glorious wide- screen take by cinematographer to watch for Michael Gioulakis) in which a terrified teenage girl running from something unknown in her house in the Michigan suburbs takes her parents vehicle and drives off towards to the coast in a panicked frenzy. What’s she driving from and more importantly why is she scared beyond all wits end? The girl’s body is then shown on the shores of the beach the following morning torn apart by....well...who knows. This mounting sense of dread grabs attention and seeps into the initial scenes of the film’s 19 year old heroine, Jay, a sweet slim blonde (played with great emotional immediacy by newcomer Maika Monroe) as she goes on a movie date with Hugh (Jake Weary), a somewhat rugged looking suitor who’s nice enough to her but not at all what he seems.

After some post-movie loving in Hugh’s car he drugs Jay and ties her to a wheelchair in a vacant factory where he explains that she will soon be followed by a supernatural spirit that only she and those possessed with it like her can see. Based on Hugh’s vague explanation, said spirit is like a parasite that takes on human form with an intent to kill anything else similar to it within the confines of another human. Now that Hugh has passed his spirit to Jay he advises her to go have sex with someone else (hence the passing it on) so that she too can be rid of this life taking curse.

Not soon after Hugh’s exposition Jay begins to see the spirit come at her in various forms including older women and men, sometimes naked and always menacing with an intent to kill. Jay’s sister (Lili Sepe), platonic geek friend (Keir Gilchrist) and the cute and scruffy mysterious boy next door (Daniel Zovotto) all come to her aid to keep her safe from these endlessly protruding spirits. They also take a trip attempting to find the source of the spirit Jay harbors (if there is such a source).

Director David Robert Mitchell takes a simple but subversively clever concept and allows for the film’s atmosphere (darkly lit tracking shots of vacant Detroit city streets, high school hallways, a swimming pool) to be as much of a threat to Jay as any spirit that shockingly pops up from them in an attempt to snatch her life away. Mitchell is not so subtly channeling early John Carpenter (Halloween, The Thing) with his eery retro style which does feel appropriate for this film’s tone (although the 80s era synth- laden score by Rich Vreeland was a bit too distracting at times).

What grounds the proceedings from start to finish though is the persuasive lead performance of Monroe as Jay. She taps into the wary (and awkward) nature of a girl transitioning into womanhood and reacts to the moments of impending doom with considerable urgency. The supporting actors are decent enough, but Monroe gets major props for making what could have easily been just another thankless victim role and turning it into something truly engaging and even credible.

It should also be said that “It Follows” has a slow burn feel to it....the first half takes its time introducing us to the main characters and Jay’s plight which did try my attention a bit. However, when the shocking moments come after 20 minutes into the film they feel organic, well earned and have a great impact. It’s never explained what exactly the spirit parasite is or where it originated but the lack of knowing does help the viewer relate to Jay’s state of worry (and since some of the spirit bodies after her are both naked and look battered it alludes to them having been rape victims before possession which adds another layer to the uneasy enough context). And knowing that “It” may never completely go away is what lends this film a shrewd melancholy touch that will follow you long after it’s ended. Now that makes for a scary movie indeed. 

All That Jazz

At once both a wonderfully subversive character study and showcase for two of the best American film actors currently working, “Whiplash” packs more darkly kinetic energy than any other film of 2014.   Andrew Neyman (Miles Teller) is a young and talented jazz drummer attending an elite music conservatory in NY while aspiring to be one of the great musicians similar to the likes of a Charley Parker or Buddy Rich. He’s delighted to get the attention of head instructor Terence Fletcher (JK Simmons) who picks Andrew out of a rehearsal to come join his band of players. But only then does Andrew realize that such a blessing could be a curse once Fletcher begins to abuse his pupil, both emotionally and physically, in order to mold him into the formidable talent he knows he can be. Or does Fletcher rather want to destroy this young man brimming with not only vast musical talent, but bravado to match.

It’s a testament to Simmons incredible mood manipulating performance that we never really know. Sporting a bald head, bulging eyes and imposing muscular frame this ever reliable character actor has never been handed a role so ferocious and he tears into it like a rabid beast. Fletcher is prone to spewing out clever, quote-worthy barrages of profanity and insults to rival R. Lee Ermey’s drill sergeant in Kubrick’s “Full Metal Jacket” to break his students down and it’s here where Simmons really shines.   “Why would you hand your folder to Neyman...that’s like handing a retard a calculator....you know he’ll just try and turn on a tv with it” being a choice favorite of mine.

And Teller, the indie darling who impressed in dramatic showcases including “Rabbit Hole” and “The Spectacular Now”, meets him head on with a less showy but just as committed lead performance. Andrew’s passion for drumming shifts into an unhealthy obsession under Fletcher’s coaching and we’re aware of the toll that’s being taken in Teller’s every haunted glance and gesture. It’s a vibrant, lived-in bit of acting made all the more convincing by the actual drumming segments.  Teller did most of it due to his own drummers background accompanied by months of diligent prep.

Director, Damien Chazelle, who adapted his feature film from the short he wrote, keeps the camera close to every drop of blood, sweat and tears that fall onto the drum sets pulling the audience into the frenzied urgency that surrounds the battle of wills between our two leads. Jazz is the way of life for both Fletcher and Andrew and whenever Simmons and Teller lock horns “Whiplash” boils over with an intensity that defies convention.

It reminds us that we have control of our pursuit of greatness. And that the ultimate control in jazz is knowing when to let go of it.

What's Up Doc?!

With “Boogie Nights” Paul Thomas Anderson almost overnight became a major American film director that was at the age of 27 already being compared to the likes of  other major Hollywood auteurs ranging from Robert Altman to Martin Scorsese. He had assembled an enviable cast of acting talent; then on the rise (Julianne Moore, Mark Wahlberg, Don Cheadle, and Philip Seymour Hoffman to name a few) and used the San Fernando Valley porn industry as a backdrop to what was essentially “A Star is Born” charting the meteoric rise and cocaine-addled fall of John Holmes inspired adult film actor Dirk Diggler. Although the story itself had been told before the narrative became nowhere near as vital as the kinetic technical charge Anderson brought to the material. His keen eye to atmospheric detail with those swooping tracking shots following our ensemble of characters through dance clubs, pool parties and film sets enabled his camera lens to become a character all its own (along with numerous hit songs from the decade).

A little over 15 years later Anderson has decided to dip his newer and less roving lens into the slinky sordid 70s milieu once again. Yet “Vice” is instantly more meditative and less flashy resembling in tone and atmosphere other 70’s LA detective/mystery films such as Altman’s “The Long Goodbye” and Arthur Penn’s “Night Moves.” Mutton chopped stoner hippie private investigator Larry “Doc” Sportello (Joaquin Phoenix) is confronted at his beach house by his ex-girlfriend (lovely Katherine Waterston) who invites him to take on a missing person’s case involving her former lover and real estate mogul Mickey Wolfmann (Eric Roberts).

Doc, played with unforeseen slapstick gusto by Joaquin Phoenix, takes the case, but more often engages than just observes the self-destructive, drug-fueled world of his surroundings.  And along his meandering quest to find Wolfmann our pot smoking detective stumbles upon the likes of also missing jazz saxophonist Cory Harlington (wry Owen Wilson), libidinous coke snorting dentist Rudy Blatnoyd (a wonderfully sleazy but all too brief Martin Short) and most notably brusque flat-topped macho cop and sometime SAG extra Christian “Bigfoot” Bjornsen (a sublime Josh Brolin) who has a great disdain for hippies. Brolin in particular gets major props for adding pathos as well as laughs to such a seemingly broad right-wing comic creation (he has an affinity for slurping chocolate covered banana popsicles) and neatly fits the face of the Establishment that Doc constantly seems to run afoul of in his own loopy pursuit of Wolfmann.

What separates “Boogie Nights” from “Inherent Vice” most notably here though is the lack of technical virtuosity on display that defined Anderson’s earlier work. He’s always been an actor's director, even as far back as his first feature “Hard Eight” with Philip Baker Hall, but never before has he allowed a film to just be quite like he does here. The camera is more often than not completely still allowing this mostly engaging ensemble numerous attempts to energize the compositions via numerous wide shots and close-ups. As good as the cast is though the lack of cohesive narrative and abundance of endless scenes towards the film’s second half begins to become problematic for the mystery at hand. Doc finds clues and forgets them just as fast and some characters depart as quickly as they’re introduced.  Most all the characters involved are missing in their own way, regretting not having taken a chance on a relationship, or another means of living, or on finding something meaningful enough to keep pursuing. The lack of urgency becomes a lack of stakes in the game and the audience can’t help but peer around rather than into well acted and composed scenes through a looking glass. Such an adept technician like Anderson shouldn’t have to film this story like a stodgy theatre adaptation but rather engage in the vivid imagination of his ardent conjuring.

Anderson made his name constructing films like “Boogie Nights” and “Magnolia” that engaged the audience to care about his dreamers but this is the first time he’s directed a fever dream of a movie that has yet to wake up.

Always Bet On Black

The best gambling film I’ve ever seen was the Philip Seymour Hoffman starring “Owning Mahoney” which succeeded in exploring the disease of addiction and how the toxic rush of winning big is less of a thrill than losing bigger. There is an early scene in “The Gambler” that seems to vividly capture that idea. The camera tracks associate literature professor Jim Bennett (Mark Wahlberg) entering an exclusive and illegal Los Angeles gambling den and darting towards a blackjack table with thousands of dollars to bet at his disposal. His initial stare at the dealer is by turns both cocksure and blank, but with one winning hand after another in rapid succession Bennett becomes giddy and exhilarated by such a surge of reckless abandon. He has tapped into the gambler’s high.....a streak of winning that gets the attention of the dealer, den owner Mr Lee (Alvin Ing) and the gangster Neville (played by the wry and dangerously charming Michael K Williams (Omar from “The Wire.”) He then walks away from the table with considerable winnings and makes a choice at the roulette table that causes him to lose everything he just won within seconds. The moment is devastating yet Bennett takes the hit in stride, which is surprising since he now owes $240,000 to Mr. Lee. 

He soon approaches Neville, his mother ( Jessica Lange at her most fierce) and a seething loan shark Frank (a bald, funny and frequently topless John Goodman) to front him money to pay off his debts which ultimately leads him to put up his own life as collateral.  Matters are complicated further when Bennett becomes entangled in a romantic relationship with his student (the ever-excellent but underused Brie Larson) whose life Neville threatens to harm if Bennett doesn’t collect his considerable winnings in due time. 

How Bennett became such a risk taker in the first place is never fully explored but this Rupert Wyatt directed remake of the 1974 James Caan vehicle seems more interested in asking questions than answering them. Why is such an intelligent professor (and writer) so preoccupied with gambling and placing himself in dire straits with dangerous loan sharks and gangsters?  Why does he include his emotionally distraught mother in funding such a crippling addiction and/or con? And why does this man seem so comfortable in the face of life-threatening danger at every turn? 

Mark Wahlberg, who reportedly lost 60 pounds for the part, with his slightly gaunt frame and Dirk Diggler length hair wouldn’t have been my first choice to play a white collar narcissist and academic but he gets kudos for attacking his scenes with an articulate gusto rarely before seen. Unfortunately, Wahlberg’s inherent street tough swagger becomes increasingly problematic as the film progresses. As Bennett pits Neville, Lee and Frank against each other I never really felt like this cool a customer was in any real immediate danger which took away from the

films mounting tension. Bennett gives as good as he gets and then some and even when he gets beaten up by gangsters he never breaks down or loses it. I would have appreciated at least some flickers of doubt behind the bravado, but Bennett seems firmly in control of his fate from beginning to end much to the dismay of the people around him. 

Jessica Lange, Michael K Williams and John Goodman bite into screenwriter William Monahan’s (“The Departed”) crackling gallows humor filled dialogue like filet mignon and are each so convincing that there were times when I wanted the film to revolve around one of them. And the numerous tracking shots (by cinematographer Greig Fraser) and pulpy soundtrack also adds to the film’s LA sleek atmosphere providing the scenes with an appropriate and seedy after-hours sheen. 

In spite of the visually arresting surroundings and sterling supporting turns the character of Jim Bennett is more one-dimensional idea than flesh and blood character. As a result, this problematic lead keeps a relatively enjoyable gambling film from becoming a truly devastating character study that goes for broke.