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.