The Munki's Tree

Life Imitates Art: Robberies At Cannes Film Festival

2013-05-17T19:36:00.001-04:00

Purportedly $1.4 million dollars (that's this many -- $1,400,000) in Chopard jewels was stolen last night out of a hotel room at the Novotel Hotel in Cannes, France during the prestigious Cannes Film Festival. Coincidentally, the film opening the Un Certain Regard (A certain glance) category at Cannes Film Festival hours before the robbery: Sofia Coppola's The Bling Ring, a film about ritzy robberies in celebrities homes.

How did the thief/thieves extract these jewels?
They ripped the damn safe from the wall, and walked the fuck out.

Gangsta style. "Fuck yo safe."

The robbery was most likely executed some time between 7 pm Thursday and 3 am Friday, while the hotel guest from Chopard was out of their room. Most likely at the opulent Chopard Gala across town at the 5-star Hotel Martinez.

2013 Palme d'Or Trophy

Chopard, a swiss-based watch and fine jewelry maker, is an official sponsor and manufactures the Cannes' gold and crystal Palme d'Or trophy. Starting in 1979, the Un Certain Regard section of the Cannes Film Festival was initiated to bring about new genres and showcase innovation in storytelling and film-making in the festival.

It runs parallel to the In Competition selection of the festival which screens the main crop of films and hopefuls looking to gain world-wide recognition and win the highest honor there: the coveted Palme d'Or trophy.

Model Carla Delevinge

Julianne Moore and Carla Delevinge and Cindy Crawford are among some of the names sporting wear from the Chopard collection. The jewels from the safe had nothing to do with celebrity outfitting or the trophy for the Un Certain Regard winner. Those are "safe" say Chopard.

"The jewels stolen are not part of the collection of jewels that are worn by actresses during the Cannes film festival," Chopard spokeswoman Raffaella Rossiello told reporters in a brief statement Friday.

Every year at the festival, dresses and jewelry are given out on loan by high-line and prominent international clothing lines and jeweler.

"Caroline Scheufele, co-vice-president of Chopard, told the Evening Standard earlier this week that the firm prepares for Cannes by taking requests from actors and their stylists: "The Americans are so organised. They know what dress they're wearing months before and they tell us how their hair will be."

The purpose is to tout the name of the elite jeweler and display the fine wear and add to the women's fashion and elegance and blah, blah, barf. But for every pose on the carpet in festivals throughout the years, in a somewhat related note, you get this at Venice in 2011. Oooff. . .

Police and officials have been scouring the city's traffic and store front security cameras as well as the hotel's to see if they can put (if any) leads together at all. Cmdr. Bernard Mascarelli, a judicial police spokesman in the nearby city of Nice, said he didn't know the exact type of jewelry taken, or its exact value. "Numbers have been put forward that we're still trying to verify, but the figure of $1 million ... we're in that range," he said. Jean-Michel Caillau, a state prosecutor in nearby Grasse who is leading the investigation, said early estimates were that the loot could have been worth as much as $1.4 million.

"It seems pretty unlikely to us that it was just one person," Mascarelli said. "Apparently this (hotel guest) was someone who was targeted because it wasn't someone who had been seeking attention. ... There must have been either inside complicity, or people who were in contact with this person and knew that the person had jewels," he said.

Some officials have already begun to suspect inside jobs in either Chopard itself or possibly the hotel, but no details have been released. Jean-Michel Caillau, a state prosecutor in nearby Grasse who is leading the investigation, said the theft appeared to have taken place early on Friday morning - around the same time as Chopard's gala was running late at the 5-star Hotel Martinez across town.

And according to The Guardian, this is certainly not the first robbery in Cannes of a hefty dollar amount.

"It's not the first major robbery in Cannes. During last year's film festival the international Senegalese footballers, Souleymane Diawara and Mamadou Niang, had four luxury watches worth around £340,000 stolen from their villa on the outskirts of Cannes. In February this year, thieves in broad daylight robbed a shop on the Croisette and made off with 150 luxury watches estimated to be worth about £800,0000. In 2009, an armed gang stole several million pounds worth of jewels from a Cartier shop on the Croisette.

Chopard itself recorded around £6m worth of jewels stolen from its flagship Paris store in 2009 by a man in his 50s who casually walked in wearing a suit and Borsalino-style hat, passing himself off as a customer before pulling out a handgun. He was suspected to be part of an international gang known as the Pink Panthers. The stolen jewellery has never been recovered."

Jeezus. How many films can we get out of this article?

And now, as the title suggested, here's the full-circle part. A most exquisitely shot sequence from Brian De Palma's 2002 Femme Fatale. I'll let the frames speak for themselves. And yes, not only did this robbery-in-film below occur at Cannes, the items stolen were also a Chopard set of jewels as well.

Coincidence? Yes. But as I said: Life imitates art.

(EDIT: This clip of the robbery sequence (that can be found in the beginning of the film, I URGE you to find it, damn it is well shot.) has a copywrite strike against it. Therefor, I can no longer keep it active on my Youtube account. I have no fucking clue how so many millions of others host entire films free of red-tape on their channels without penalty, but I shall look further into this issue.

My apologies,
M

A Review: Pain & Gain

2013-05-06T17:53:00.000-04:00

"I've watched a lot of movies Paul. I know what I'm doing."
--Daniel Lugo

There are exactly two ways one could view this film:

1. Staring with Steve Jablonsky, his score hits new notes for his career and resume, you can (dare I say?) label it beautiful at times even. A very well suited orchestration, and not my first sound choice given the script (which makes it all the sweeter).

Bay juggles the awkward nature of drama, biopic and comedy well enough to present a very succinct story about the idiots who pulled off a brutal crime spree in the mid-nineties to a most pleasurable degree. Not since his bow into Hollywood with his '95 debut hit, Bad Boys have I seen him so in tune with his dramedy-action-storytelling powers. Bay supplies us a terrible building nature of nervous energy and dreadful anxiety until the thrills kick in high gear. One terrible move after another, we feel as they do, the mounting tension in the air and the heat coming for them. I was truly in the moment and sick to my stomach almost.

And the performing is Dramedy top-notch and everything you'd need to tell this script the way it deserves. Johnson in particular hitting new high notes, reaching deeper into a bag of tricks we didn't know he had and making me proud to label him: a living, breathing actor. I sincerely enjoyed him letting his (ehm) hair down and getting into a quirky, slightly complex character. Wahlberg is of course his best when aloud to stretch his comedy legs.

OR!

2. You can argue that because this film exists on the shoulders of (purportedly) a true story (it tells us once and reminds us later "This is still a true story"), which it then in turn skews to the favor of grandstanding an attempt at a sleeper blockbuster hit. One may say it succeeds (or not) manipulating the details and events surrounding the untimely deaths of various individuals and heinous crimes in favor of tipping the sympathy scale towards the muscular-leads and destroying the memory of the people who died and the family members who lost them is completely horseshit and deem this film a travesty and boycott it. People are begin to sing this song, so I might as well cal a little attention to it as legitimate way to view the film.

I'm not here to choose one or the other. I'm here as a film-lover and film analyst. I'll say though, that unfortunately we live in a world where terrible things happen. And sometimes those terrible thing are turned into stories. Stories that we all can watch, and listen and ultimately learn from. But, stories are what they are for a reason are they not? They are here to entertain us and take us away from everydayland. And however they choose to do so is the story's right.

Look, Fargo this isn't. And the material could warrant any kind of tone, atmosphere and take. Bay chose the juiced-up, thrill ride with laughs-a-plenty and a rising tension that doesn't quit.

So, in this particular story, you either found yourself whisked away from your troubles for an instant, and finding thrills and laughs and enjoyment, or, you didn't and the filmmakers failed.

You decide.

And we'll leave the answers private shall we?

???? Munki out

A Review: 42

2013-05-05T20:27:00.002-04:00

"Gentleman. . . I have a plan."
--Branch Rickey

Sports is not my strong suit, so I unfortunately cannot wager how well the film worked, in the context of the times, the flow of the game's content in relation to era and so on and so forth. But, I will also argue in a moment how that actually strengthens my view of the film, side-stepping a critic's point-of-view as a Baseball fan and clouding their judgement of the film.

From what I understand, as usual, there are elements and story points in this that quite simply did not happen, and some, skewed and manipulated to suit the director's vision. So, as a man of film, and not a Baseball enthusiast, did I notice anything I found unsound, or clunky enough to throw the film off as the credits began to roll?

No. It's a very sound, very satisfying, very tightly rolled and film about Baseball, the men who played it, the ones in charge, and the public embracing the first black player to rise from the ranks of Negro-league player, to minor league player, to major league rookie of the year.

The story takes us from 1945 to the end of the Dodger's '47 season as Branch Rickey (played gloriously by Ford) and Jackie Robinson (embodied just swell by Boseman) work together to bring segregation to an end in Baseball.

What I liked most about the film is that it focused on the politics of the game, and doesn't hammer home the insulting glory-story of race this and race that and white vs. black this and Disney-themes that. You can argue there is certainly plenty of that to go around. And there is. And I admit that not as a hypocrite, but as film-goer who watched as an seemingly organic set of events unfolded before him. Nothing seemed contrived or drippy or down-right fake (note what I wrote in two paragraphs above this one).

Rickey takes Robinson step by step from the Negro leagues, the Minor leagues with the Montreal Royals, then eventually elevating him to the Brooklyn Dodgers as a second baseman. And he does this with a mix of a calculating businessman and owner and man with a devil-may-care, "It's bleu cheese with wings or go fuck your mother." attitude. Rickey forces the press, public and other players and teams alike to deal with his decisions. He handles all the pressure well. And in one speech about God and Baseball, Ford's Branch Rickey shows a fellow owner how capable he is in the likes of being able to outsmart any situation he finds himself in.

Boseman gives us the quite reserve of a man tested, day after day, minute to minute. And to his credit, he gives us a ball player that needs to show strength and "guts" supplying himself newly replenished will "not to fight back." And I bought him. I bought the attitude, the skills on the field, the haircut, the dialogue. All of it. Chadwick Boseman has all the talent necessary to bring this character to life, and not to make him into a black hero that repeats one liners for trailers and Disney-esque selling-point quotes. Boseman just makes him a man, a man that turns the tides and creates greatness out of thin air using only himself as the tool. And speaking of character building? Let's talk about Harrison Ford's transformation from Leading Hero to quirky, calm old dragon with a kind heart but a tough tongue.

I went this, a fan of Harrison Ford, impressed and excited by his choice to forego the usual fair he's in. And how did he do this? He took a step into his actual age bracket. Shedding his leading man skin and embracing a pleasant/curmudgeon type, with a low, growly sort of voice coming from a mouth with a cigar stuffed into it half the time. His world weary, but hopeful eyes staring through a pair a glasses under his freshly combed hair.

Ford's gut can be seen busting through his shirts, and the bow-tie he sports around his shirt collar always present. His lips curl in slightly, like an old man's do, and they shake sometimes before he talks as he wiggles slightly in the middle of yelling something at someone from time to time. Rickey forever holds a cigar in his hand, or chomps down on one as he dolls out his craggy-voiced dialogue. Ford hobbles as Rickey in one scene after another in only a way I can see that he's thoroughly enjoying the role. He takes the chance to remind people that he holds acting-reserves and can call upon them as he so chooses. Swinging for the fences here as Branch Rickey, he deserves nothing less than glorious Oscar press next January/February.

We can see Branch Rickey is not a cool-guy, he's a Baseball club owner and businessman. From some deep darker part of his past and experiences, Rickey feels it is his duty and destiny to take Robinson under his wings, protect him dearly and guide him heroically to the man he became. This culminates to a heart-warming/breaking degree in particular with a scene in a Hallway after what I can only describe as maybe the most racist and emotionally testing scene of white vs. black I've scene in recent times. And no, I'm not discounting Django Unchained either.

So, maybe I'll take it back, and say that at the end of the day, Ford's Hero persona was not shed after all.

Well done Mr. Ford. I was just as pleased as the first trailer got me excited and told me I would be.

Helgeland has a considerable resume under his belt to date, so it only makes sense that this Baseball flick is added to his already impressive background in Hollywood. This movie didn't have an agenda, or a message to purport deeply on the wings of angelic fair. No, it just told a story about good old fashioned Baseball, and how it got it's first black player.

It's the relationship between Rickey and Robinson that powers the film forward, and 42's trials and tribulations along the way, fighting players, press and coaches and owners as he dares to show them all the dollars, ball fields are both green, who gives a shit about skin when I can play this good?

People eventually got that message, from I can see today.

Munki out.

Scenes That Are Dope: The Gameshow

2013-04-19T19:33:00.000-04:00

Late last night, in a tipsy-buzzed-drunkish little bout of curiosity, euphoria and nostalgia, this little Munki went a-browsin' through his digital folders and stumbled across an oldie (not a goodie). The oldie beheld for him a simply fantastic scene, in an out of context the thing is badass.

So I cut this thing up and now we get to explore it together! Munki and human alike!

Enjoy (asssholes)!

Only God Forgives: A Preview

2013-04-16T00:40:00.002-04:00

"I thought it would be interesting to make a western in Asia. . ."
--Nicolas Winding Refn

With so many fair out week after week, keeping the dull, stupid and boring (redundant?) around as applicable adjectives for American film, Nicolas Winding Refn is the champion on the horizon, part of a budding new breed of film makers on the rise who are here to inject us with the old loving feeling: intriguing excitement.

Described as a "Western Set in Thailand" we have Nicholas Winding Refn's upcoming Only God forgives begging to course it's way through the cinematic veins of the world and show some light on our souls in just that special way Refn knows how.

Stealing from the Wiki page instead of the official synopsis (for purposes of keeping things a little more in the dark), the rudimentary plot is as follows:

"The film follows Julian, who runs a Thai boxing club as a front organization for his family's drug smuggling operation, as he is forced by his mother Jenna to find and kill the individual responsible for his brother's recent death."

Written as an original story by Refn, he flew to Thailand, got his location scouts together and started making preparations to shoot in chronological order, not a very common trait for most filmmakers due to logistics, scheduling and budgetary reasons. Coupling that with the fact that he does not shoot on Steadicam if he can help it, I guess it'd be safe to say the world of film stops for Refn, and the swiftly bows over for him towards his feet?

Perfectly a-o-k with me.

Refn shows how he values his camera laid on the tracks, ready for the slow push-in and "steady" shots. If there's one thing Refn like executing in his set-ups, it's a butter-smooth, range-of-motion and very precise lock on the frame, his surroundings, and of course his actors. I could go on and on about his cinematography, which leads me to his choice in color pallets and cinematographer.

Now, colorization and pallets, uhm, that's usually an issue (if I'm correct, I don't mean to pretend I know fuckin' everything) between (mostly) the director, DP, costume designer, production designer a few choice others.

Larry Smith was brought back into the fold as Director of Photography here, with 2 1/2 projects on the 2013 debut, I'm guessing Newton Thomas Sigel from the beautiful shot Drive was simply not available. As you can see here, and more in the pictures I have and from the trailer below, he was most adequately replaced in Bronson DP Larry Smith.

But, with all these starks of dark, light and little in between, one begins to wonder, is Refn partial to this? Of course he is, but is also aided by a most wonderful blessing in disguise: he's color blind to the middle spectrum of colors. I have a dear friend who's also related similarly in color-blindness, hence his stark color-contrast in his (beautiful) paintings.

I'm going to note that Smith's cinematographer tutelage days go back to some of the most important films in the "2nd Coming" (i.e. 1967 and on); specifically because of the cinematographic techniques employed (as well as script, direction and acting, blah blah blah, lol) : Barry Lyndon and The Shinning. This dude was at ground-zero for some of the most revered films from a lensing stand-point. And these images, and the trailer suggest he was taught very well, and also knows when how to collaborate with his director's vision.

Now, enough talk--let's see this thing huh?

Refn was supposedly escorted to certain parts of the city of Thailand by the local mafia and other affiliates, which can certain only add to the level of credibility that he invested personally into the film. As a writer myself, I could only imagine how fascinating, exciting, and simply (for lack of a better string of words) cool-as-fuck that must be. "Wow, I'm getting escorted by Thai mafia around town to help me shoot my movie?! Word!"

Gosling has personally stated that the similarities to Drive are, almost on purpose. He went on to say in an interview:

"It's very extreme. . . It's part of the same dream as Drive, but it's more of a nightmare than a dream but it's more extreme."

After seeing Gosling and Refn's last outing, I'm hard pressed to see something more extreme, and does more extreme mean less lovely? Less beautiful? No it could certainly pertains to that as well. There is evidence here in the trailer to support my inference that Golsing's "more extreme" comment was about everything in general, and not just the violence. Which could Yaya Yang's participation as well.

Vithaya Pansringarm stars as ex-cop "The Angel of Vengeance"

Gosling stepped in for Luke Evans, for he had scheduling conflicts with The Hobbit, guess she learned his lesson. Gosling underwent a massive overhaul of exercise, going from simply gym-tan-laundry to Muy Thai (literally the country's own home-style). Dropping the weights he took up nearly 2-3 hours of daily practice with pros and 6 year olds, all of native Thai. Refn himself on occasion well. Refn has grown a close bond with his star, and nearly got a remake of Logan's Run green-lit with him on top of this as well.

Last I heard, that project has plenty of mud under it's tires though, considering the massive budget that would be (suspected to be) needed to film it. That doesn't necessarily mean it requires that much, but, we all know how the suits feel don't we.

How many Vanessa Redgrave's, Meryl Streep's, Charlize Theron's (and more) are out there where they build a career on the opposite, only to step-in later as a villain and get us all antzy in out pantzy? How wonderful it is too see Scott Thomas billed as this from the official synopsis "the merciless and terrifying mafia godmother Jenna." And how much does she support that claim here? With a few bits given away, it would appear their relationship is, tenuous at best, Julian's and Jenna's. She's built up a very respectable career overseas in France as a native speaker in their films. And as an avid fan of the country's cinematic fair, I'll say you can't tell a difference. So sharpening her acting knives on European audiences (who tend to appreciate more of the smaller, personal stories which only means more work for an actor) I'm very pleased to see her stretching he legs back into American film--and as a villain. . . ooh boy, what a damn plus.

This has a release date for July 19th. See you there.

Munki out

Elysium Trailer Drops

2013-04-09T21:16:00.000-04:00

At long last, after a Comic Con footage display, a poster and a special screening yesterday, we finally have the first look at Neil Blomkamp's Elysium. I can't help feeling like I'm part of the population living on earth, drowning in wait and agony while the film-affiliated live above on Elysium get the spoils and specials of this earlier than us.

If you read my stuff, climb this tree, or just know me in general, you'll know how much I championed his District 9. So you can only imagine as a fan of this burgeoning filmmaker how excited I'm finding myself about this one. With Damon staring as Max, a lowly earth-dweller who finds himself in dire need of medical treatment that can only be found on the sky-parked station, Elysium.

As of this morning, as I was waiting for this trailer to arrive to gen. pop., I was wondering if people even gave a shit, or, had lost out hope, with a summer packed to the brim, will other's be so willing to scoot over and give this a seat at the blockbuster table? Iron Man 3, The Wolverine, Star Trek: Into The Darkness, Fast and the Furious 6, The Hangover Part III, World War Z, Monsters University, Man of Steel, Lone Ranger, Despicable Me 2, Pain And Gain(?), Kick-Ass 2 and more, much more. Including a couple sleeper indies that could sneak up and steal some dollars and then some of the usual smaller fair with big names attached only, and not much else steam that could also surprise.

That of course went flying out into space (shit pun intended) after I witnessed this glorious trailer. Filmed in real locations with CG-inserted into the foreground, background, the ground, you can feel this is a real world these characters inhabit. Using Mexico City, and the beautiful Vancouver just to name some of the major location shooting done on this.

Borrowing Syd Mead, production designer of Blade Runner fame, you can definitely sense that oober-large scale-world that captured so much attention in '82. And judging from the reaction to the footage screened last summer, that's exactly what this film has--a real inhabitable world, with locations, dialogue, characters, vehicles, food, streets, landmarks, all big and small taking up space in the frames to make everything feel so authentic. Much like Chris Nolan's Dark Knight Trilogy, for example.

See what I mean in 1080p below.

The synopsis is as follows:

"In the year 2159, two classes of people exist: the very wealthy, who live on a pristine man-made space station that is disguised as a massive floating city called Elysium, and the rest, who live on an overpopulated, ruined Earth. The people of Earth are desperate to escape the planet’s crime and poverty, and they critically need the state-of-the-art medical care available on Elysium – but some in Elysium will stop at nothing to enforce anti-immigration laws and preserve their citizens’ luxurious lifestyle. The only man with the chance to bring equality to these worlds is Max Coburn (Matt Damon), a 29 year-old ordinary guy in desperate need to get to Elysium. With his life hanging in the balance, he reluctantly takes on a dangerous mission – one that pits him against Elysium’s mayor, Secretary Jessica Delacourt (Jodie Foster) and her hard-line forces – but if he succeeds, he could save not only his own life, but millions of people on Earth as well."

I'm sold. And as of this trailer, I'm picking this as my summer slam-dance-hoorah-joint. Followed closely by The Wolverine and Iron Man 3. Indies and smaller fair not in the list.

This comes at you, attacking all the senses August 9th. See you there Midnight.

Munki out.

My Friend, Roger Ebert

2013-04-05T17:51:00.002-04:00

This one is difficult--I've never had to write an obituary before.

(Takes deep breath) Okay. . .

Pulitzer Prize winning film writer Roger Ebert has died as of yesterday, April 4th 2013. At 70 years old. One day after his 46th anniversary of writing for film at the Chicago Sun-times was celebrated. He is survived by his wife, Chaz, and his extended body of work through film literature. On the 2nd, he posted on his personal blog, he was "taking a leave of presence" due to his hip fracture that was revealed as cancerous. Two days later, yesterday, on the 4th of April, he was getting ready to leave the hospital for Hospice care. According to his Wife Chaz, he looked to her, smiled warmly, and then passed. His final written words to world were on his website, his blog:

"So on this day of reflection I say again, thank you for going on this journey with me. I'll see you at the movies."

Did he know what was in store for him, did he feel it inside his bones, his veins, his heart? Was he singing a knowing swan song to us?

One of my favorites right here.

Oprah, Robert Redford, Steven Spielberg the entire city of Chicago and even President Obama have come out in support for the legacy he has created. He was appreciated by the industry as a champion of film loving. Film loving, not criticism. Actors, directors, writers, he can be seen in many photographs with them as they seem genuinely happy to shake his hand and say hello again.

They all understand the way he put this craft on the map, even taking it to TV and thumbs and into people's hearts. And giving me as well the gift of light towards path he has shown me.

I was never attracted to film criticism. And I'm still not. I call myself a Film Analyst. Aficionado, if you will. To criticize, slander, lambaste, textually chastise, to slain a film. It's a disgusting trait so many (even influential and renown) critics indulge in. It's not okay. Even their title, Film Critic, is unfortunate.
But I won't hypocricize myself (not a word, but it's my blog so fuck you). Ebert was maybe even the master of shitting on films and movies he hates. I tell people, that some of the secretly funniest stuff in Hollywood is when I film gets shit on by Roger Ebert. Free comedy.

Hell, take this one from Rob Reiner's North:

"I hated this movie. Hated hated hated hated hated this movie. Hated it. Hated every simpering stupid vacant audience-insulting moment of it. Hated the sensibility that thought anyone would like it. Hated the implied insult to the audience by its belief that anyone would be entertained by it."

Of course, he then went on to say this in the very next paragraph:

"I hold it as an item of faith that Rob Reiner is a gifted filmmaker; among his credits are "This is Spinal Tap," "The Sure Thing," "The Princess Bride," "Stand by Me," "When Harry Met Sally" and "Misery." I list those titles as an incantation against this one."

So as we have it, he can still be fair, respectful (uh. . .) and give filmmakers their due and credit.

So, as I grew into my own as an actor, writer and film aficionado, I decided that writing about the films I saw, would help my understand of film, and ultimately, my craft as an actor as well. Why did I agree with that director's choice for that scene? Why didn't I like what that performer did in the third act of the film? That line delivery, that camera swing, the music cue. It's a notion I responded to well with a growing passion.

It wasn't until later, after my first couple, that I discovered Ebert's reviews, were eerily similar in reflection to my own. We agree with each other a lot. And if you're a reader of this site, then you'd know that by now. More then half the time, we had the same outlook and whether or not we that particular film or movie agreed with us or not, some times down to the stars (or, in my case, Bananas).

So what's with that? I'm not here to say, and some times I'd check his site after publishing a review and find that I'm completely at odds with his words. There were even times where (I dare say) he either missed the point completely, or, simply did not care and went against the film for personal reasons. There were times where I'd even get a little upset with how old-manish and "those young kids out there can't see this) blah blah blah.

But nonetheless, I've never read a critic who gave more love to this world, and did their best to understand what the film maker was trying to do, and to then grade and critique on those rules alone.

I once read (and for the life of me I can't find the review he said this in, so I'll paraphrase with my best remembrance) "I rate a film on what I believe it intends to do, not on what it has done." He regarded his outlook on film reviews as relative, and not absolute.

I have learned to do what I do on this site, from my long years in the audience, my studying of my craft, my natural instincts crafted from an early age of focus and immense joy from this world, and of course from him.

And I mean that. I've never read a reviewer more than him. Never seen some one so open to all the world of film, and even some television. Always so excited to see how he'd react to a recent screening of something, and sometimes surprising me with his words. And then in turn, educating me as well. exposing me to a knew set of ideas, and causing my mind to expand.

Letting me know years ago, he instructed Roper (the luckiest working film writer today) that ratings and thumbs mean nothing if your mind is not deeply set into the film. Here he shows us that.

As I wrote He said earlier, he recently wrote that he was taking a "leave of presence." How wrong he is.

His presence is ubiquitous.

Omnipresent.

His presence will never leave. In the world of film, he is all around us, apart of us, surrounding us giving us peace, and strength and knowledge. Using his insightful knowledge, almost, Yoda-like understanding of the spirit of film, he inspired us all, and gave me a reason to laugh, and love, to live and read in wonder and awe, opening my eyes to the intricate nature of film analysis, and so much more. Instructing me, molding me.

He is my teacher. He is my mentor. And forever I am thankful for him and his spirit.

Long live him. His words are here for us all. And with them, life breathes back into the world.

He wrote last year that he is not afraid of death, and went on to say:

" In my plans for life after death, I say, again with Whitman:

I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love,

If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles."

I know a park that holds inside it the perfect spot to find him. Maybe I'll go there soon to visit my friend.

And now I present him with my highest honor in regards to a life lived in servitude from '67 to '13 in this industry. Survived in this world we as writers immerse ourselves in know and love (and some times hate). Longer than anyone else writing about film today to my knowledge. To a shining beacon, a white knight of film analysis, the most famous one of them all.

To Roger Ebert, I give four Bananas. See you at the movies Rog, I'll save a seat for ya.

Munki out.

When Your Britches Are Too Big For You: Will Smith

2013-04-02T21:32:00.000-04:00

Let's take this from the top, shall we?

When I was a young boy, I was an avid fan of The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. Easily attracted to the star power, comedic timing, and (no pun intended) fresh and interesting approach television was taking in letting Will Smith just be himself on a television show. Unfettered and full of comedic life, hip-hip soul and television energy that proved itself to me.

That quickly brought him staring roles in films that helped shape my interest and mold some of my earliest instincts as an actor. Independence Day, Men In Black, Bad Boys; all great movies of the 90's, really stand-out productions that cast a shadow over others, letting people in Tinseltown know just where things were heading. And with that shadow cast, a light was also forged in those movies as they began to shed light on the possibilities of what was possible with the actors.

The material was evolving, taking shape and reflected in the emerging culture of the 90's and the champions of that era. (I could write a whole piece about the former sentence and it's contained sentiment on just Bad Boys alone--believe me.)

You can ask my parents (especially my father), my sister, and my friends of the times: Will Smith was one of a select few I was mentally engorged with. Period. I (seriously did this for a while) even went trampsing around with a plastic badge and two brown leather belts tied together around my shoulders, back and under arms to try to simulate shoulder holsters--just like Smith in Bad Boys.

This is a man who won the first Grammy ever introduced for Best Rap Performance. 1 of 4 Grammy's he's accumulated (4 for 4 wins with those noms). Here's the one who encapsulated Muhammad Ali and nearly won the Oscar for it. Which was before he received his second Best Leading Actor nomination for playing the homeless father Chris Gardner along side his real-life son Jaden in the true story tale In The Pursuit of Happiness. Here's the actor with some of the biggest hits of the 90's and 2000's.

2012 Shot of the successful family

He can even do this, and still be loved and adored by all.

Including his son's successful transition into movies, his wife Jada-Pinkett has a longtime history with the craft and his daughter also dabbled in them as well as her musical career. With the only exception in his son Trey, f rom his first marriage to Sheree Zampino, who has opted for a more secluded lifestyle.

The Smith's are a Hollywood dynasty solidified in concreet and celluloid forever.

So, when I say that my respect and love for him is there in droves--you will agree. It's been amazing to watch him age, grow, learn, impress and expand as an actor in this universe of ours. And I did as well. Expanding from acting, writing, directing and coaching into film literature, I have commanded a new respect and understand in myself for film, the process, the actors, the filmmakers (down the p.a.'s and all) and put all that understanding into the movies and films I watch today.

So, that being said: he's a cunt.

An extremely watchable and sensational cunt I'm still going to patronize the films of until the end, but, a cunt nonetheless. Period.

You don't get to pass on a Tarantino film. Who the fuck do you think you are? (A Hollywood legend and megastar or something?) I remember reading his passing on it in the beginning before production began, coated in scheduling conflict labeling (which is the Hollywood secrecy/truth masking equivalent to divorcing with Irreconcilable Differences) and even then I wasn't surprised. It just doesn't fit his mold.

He's greedy, and he needs the whole screen, he takes up too much room. So does Dicaprio, but look what he did? Took the backseat, the juicy role of the supporting, fucked-in-the-head villain and got robbed for a Best Supporting Actor nomination. But just the same he just might have given, to date, the performance of his career (pared with 2005's The Aviator).

Smith himself as of a few days ago went on to recently confess (spoiler ahead, not that he cared to guard against that):

"Django wasn’t the lead, so it was like, I need to be the lead. The other character was the lead! I was like, ‘No, Quentin, please, I need to kill the bad guy!’ "

Really? You mean to tell me that the poster with the character in the middle, the film with the character's name in it, the entire reason for the film's existence, what it is in general--is just not enough for you? Because you're not technically the lead role? Even though you can argue that he was indeed the lead alongside what many consider Waltz's Dr. King Shutlz a lead in it's own right. The film starts and ends with Django's character on the screen, bookending itself in his travels across the land. I don't know what more you'd want.

How selfish a person can or cannot be is always brought to the surface in Hollywood and politics, and half the time, it's their undoing, often very publicly or rarely privately and quite. At least he had the chutzpah to come right out and say it. So, will I now make an attempt at hypocrisy and agree what's wrong with wanting what you want at his point in his career? Taking a stand and making no exceptions?

No. I most certainly will not.

Because when Quentin Tarantino comes to you with an offer--you fuckin' take it and say "Thank you sir."

End of story.

But, we all know about the troubled casting along the way, mostly due to (actual and documented scheduling conflicts). Joseph-Gordon Levitt, Anthony Lapaglia, Sacha Baron Cohen, Kevin Costner, Johan Hill (who eventually found the time to get back in for a moment). Kurt Russell was the only one who simply just dropped the project altogether. Good thing he's not in dire need of a hit or anything. . . Okay. Which then gave way to the role entirely. And so on and so forth.

It's too bad he decided that the role was 'big enough' for him. The difference is so marginal, there almost is no margin. But, I get what he's saying there, Dr. Shultz had more dialogue, more gusto in the script, and more commanding presence, stealing the focus of the movie onto him, and moving the character of Django behind him. The way the story works, the Shultz character is contrived that way, and is trapped that way, if you will.

You can argue that the power Shultz has is all due to actor Christoph Waltz, and you'd be right. Tarantino allegedly wrote it specifically with him in mind. So there ya go.

I especially like this little warning from a user online the day the story broke:

Be careful Will, don't be like Icarus. If you get too close to the sun your wings will melt.

Now I'll be the first to say I do not think that will ever happen. Ever. But, loosing out on roles of a lifetime like this one has got to sting. When prolific guys like Quentin come a'knockin at your door, and you turn them away like the witch in Beauty And The Beast, what the fuck does that say about you? I won't presume to understand Smith's mindset other than his grreedy desire to solely star in a Quentin Tarantino film. But I'll say that if Pacino, De Niro, Nicholson, Newman, Caine, Streep, Blanchette, Winslet (Even) Cruise and Pitt (and more) have taught us they can hop into supporting territory and make career roles out of the niche than so can fuckin' he.

This is the guy who, well, do I even have to start listing off his resume? No, of course not. That's the beauty of this article: Tarantino offered an actor a role, free and clear, a damned good one (both the role and the actor) and the actor turned it down. Point blank.

Think about that anger he channeled and brought to the surface to play Ali, and mixing that with just anything else he's done in the past twenty years, combined with Tarantino's words. . . Who wouldn't go flock to the theaters in droves to see Will Smith staring in Django? Smith has always had a way with words, muscles, his body used as an instrument. Give me the hardness of Ali, mixed with the survival focus/nervous/weirdness of I Am Legend and we might really get somewhere cool. Real cool.

The Actual Screenplay itself by Tarantino.

Let's think about Tarantino's mindset on why Smith would have been the choice he made first for Django. Smith, the family friendly (for the most part), cultural icon, box office juggernaut, Hollywood legend. Uh, he's also a two-time Oscar nominee who happens to be black?

Any questions?

That description just slightly eschew to what Tarantino uses in his films (starting with Pitt, and just short of one-time use De Niro and every-picture-Jackson ). Can you imagine the press, the unexpectedness, the intrigue, the wet-appetites for an actor of the supreme caliber as Smith behind the wheel of the "staring" role in a Quentin Tarantino film? How awesome, how excited people and fans alike would be? The anticipation built on top of the usual fair of his films stacked by another, what? Fifty percent? Does that percentage even matter? Or add up? Who gives-a-shit.

Like I said, I remember when the offer went out, and when he passed as well. Too bad. I was (evidently briefly) looking forward to it.

I dunno, maybe I'm being too hard on the guy. But how can you call yourself an actor, a dedicated professional, and not have worked with all the best components of the industry that you can before the credits role?

(No 'Nanas for him) Munki disappointingly out.

A Present From The Easter Bunny

2013-03-31T15:36:00.000-04:00

Since I wore the damn costume yesterday at work, entertained some kids, made some parents happy, impressed my bosses and genuinely enjoyed myself (fuck it, I love kids dude) I figured I'd continue the spirit of things today, and drop a present down onto you fools.

And yes, I made it maself, son.

Click for larger image

A Review: Robot & Frank

2013-03-17T05:31:00.000-04:00

*This review is riddled with hyperlinks (highlighted in blue) that give support and insight into the ever-speedily-moving, mindbogglingly and purely utterly fascinating world of advanced robotics. Please do not hesitate to click them and watch the videos I have located to enhance your understanding that the future of robotics has already arrived.

--Munki

"Some things take time Frank."
--Robot

Here we have a pleasantly brilliant film. And please mark those words as they are the correct labeling through and through. Both pleasant to the highest heights of the word, and, brilliant in the execution.

First time director Jake Schreier and screenwriter Christopher D. Ford have crafted a simple tale about a retired thief who gets a robot butler and the ensuing adventures that follow. The kicker being his dementia is slowly eroding his mental facilities.

Nothing in the film is exactly what it seems, and I'll say it now, there's even a "Bruce Willis is really dead?!" moment in here that makes a lot of sense when you think about the minor ticks and occurrences where that point in the plot is hinted to. Which is an ode to the power of the filmmakers and that one element that they used to enhance that point. Here we have a splendid and curious little series of events that unfold for us.

Frank, in his seventies now, lives alone and sleeps, eats and does things in a sloppier manner than we feel he'd like to be. He has dementia, and day by day, it chips away at what is left of his very sharp mind. His kids are worried but he doesn't seem to mind. He walks the streets of his upstate New York home. They are paved with a forest to make the hallways as cars (or pancaked versions of the Smart Car) whiz by him. He wanders his woods road into town to exchange his recently re-read books and then in turn also see his favorite librarian, Jennifer. The other is a rolling box with arms and a voice speaker, he is the chief librarian named Mr. Darcy. Jennifer is played affably and as accurately as the role requires by the always performance-reliable and ever-kindly Susan Sarandon.

Blush: A Beauty bar is not Harry's Diner how Frank remembers. But yet he goes there anyway and even rips off the merch. A bar of soap molded into the shape of a dog. And evidently it was not his first time. But the shop owner (Ana Gasteyer) seems to understand his deteriorating facilities so she cuts him slack on the petty thefts, thievery? Nah. Er, uhm--theftery. Theftery? Yeah. I'm going with that one.

As he walks in the middle of the road one day, his son Hunter (James Marsden continuing to impress me lately) spots him on his weekly trip up to see him and presents him with a gift. A robot. Frank refuses to it so it's defunct handle is of course only Robot. He's worried about his father up there all alone, thinking Harry's is still a restaurant and eating only cereal, falling asleep in front of the television. It's a problem. And the ten hour round trip every weekend is starting to take it's tole on Hunter and his family. So, naturally, Robot is his solution.

Robot can cook spaghetti and meatballs with a vanilla cake for dessert and clean the entire house with an auto-politeness and programmed willingness to serve it's master. An advancement of this model. And then it will clean the dishes, take out the trash, grab the groceries from town (taking a slightly safer route through a path in the woods) and even wakes Frank up in the morning with his daily activities at the ready. You get the idea, he's not as cool as Alfred but can do everything he does just as well.

It doesn't take long for Frank to give out a comical set of curses and then eat a cookie for breakfast instead of a grapefruit. It's offensive for Frank to garden with and talk to an appliance.

It eventually is foretold to Frank by Robot that if he were to "die eating cheeseburgers" Robot will have failed his mission and be sent back to the factory for a mind-wiping. Frank takes that piece of information with a "garlic-thin-slice" of actual emotional registration. But before long he tells his daughter (played exactly like you'd assume Liv Tyler would play her) on the phone that Robot is 'crampin' my style.' He then leans over to Robot, holds away the phone for a moment and gives me a laugh with (said as softly and stern as Langella can): "She doesn't like you. . . I don't like you either."

One day while in Blush, he attempts another "robbery" but the shop owner asks him what's in his pocket and he slyly puts back the animal-shaped soap. On the walk home, Robot tells him he took the soap for him and put it in his bag. Robot tells Frank he is not programmed to care about the morality of theft, or breaking the law in general. So naturally, after that, it's open sesame on Frank's body and spirit. He's quickly renewed with a vigor he's long forgotten and even stopped chasing.

After telling Robot specifically not to incorporate state and federal laws into his programming, he starts teaching him the art of being, "a second story guy." How to break in and enter where no one else can, how to steal goods and jewelry, what kind, how much, how to pick locks, the art of casing, and shares all sorts of old adventures with him about the glory days of being a high-line thief.

The first robbery is done strictly for Jennifer's sake. And we now see the old tired horse commin' 'round with his budding heart. I won't tell you what it is, but it was a sweet gesture none the less.

And speaking of Jennifer, what is it about Susan Sarandon's sheer inability to age? At 66 years of age I'd chop her down to 50 in certain frames. And at that, she pulled this role off (with meat on the bones of the script only an actress of her degree can see) in such a way that I could most definitely see a twenty-something coming through her. There is something about her in the way that she possesses that cuteness of a youthful quality, such a girl's innocence in her swagger. It's a power that a lot of actresses her age simply do not still have in them that naturally comes out to play on screen.

What happens after the first boosting is Frank's assimilation into his old self, and a new job proving more difficult to accomplish then Robot is willing to accept. He asks Frank to be very thorough in his preparation for he is "a very strict judge." Frank nods and smiles with the anticipation knowing what's in store for him.

I'm really giving it to Peter Sarsgaard and his evocation of the animatronic caretaker. He supposedly read all his lines straight through in less than an hour one afternoon in the recording booth. Sarsgaard comes across with his soft, delicate and precise voice exactly the way we want Robot to sound. Reminding him, "I'm not human Frank." How many films have I seen him in being delicate, soft and inviting. It now seems only logical to me that he would of course one day take on something like this to add to his already impressive repertoire. He even manages to squeeze in an actual certifiably funny enema joke, including more humor supplied by Sarsgaard/Robot. And truly smile-worthy back-n'-forth with Frank about Gout and it's potential unbalancing through the imbibing of alcohol.

Speaking of Langella himself, some have claimed he knocked it out cold, turning in what a respected viewer called, "A master-class in acting." I'm inclined to agree.

I myself was of course reminded of another inhuman, humane I should say, robo-servant. The one in Kevin Spacey's GERTY from Duncan Jone's wonderful Sam Rockwell vehicle Moon. Both come across with love and affection that is not exactly programmed, but, expected of their artificial politeness. The result is more than the robot's realize they are giving their human companions: legitimate friendship.

Frank's is virgin because it's not good for his blood-pressure.

Robot's design was mostly inspired by the caretaker prototype robots of Japan, I thought particularly of the Honda ASIMO. (Which, as it turns out, it actually was.) That in hand paired with some of the more wonderful things that are being done today to treat dementia and Alzheimer's. PARO developed by AIST a leading Japanese industrial automation engineering company.

PARO is a 6 pound 2 foot long white animatronic baby seal. It's leading use in today's world is to form a type of companionship with the elderly, particularly the one's in nursing homes that suffer from any form of dementia and Alzheimer's. It's goal it to strengthen and (if possible) enhance the cognitive functions that are inherent in the brain connected to friendship, care-giving, socialization and motivation. Hell, there's even video of President Obama using one. I'm not kidding.

People, are rudimentary creatures of love and desired to be loved, they possess a need to provide for one another. And they tend to feel better, and live longer to do so.

Or, in Frank's situation, you could also say that about a job as well. Some of the retired tend to drop in motivation and start developing a slight lack of discipline after long. With grown children, and no 9-5 with consequences or better yet, exciting results, well. . . What else do you do?

In Frank's case you crawl back out of retirement and start ripping off the entire town with your super-advanced robot. And what a joy that was to watch. I especially loved the way Robot wore a black cloak to match Frank's black attire during their heists.

Robot and Mr. Darcy are "Functioning normally."

There a is genuinely cute moment where Mr. Darcy and Robot are instructed to have a conversation with one another. What follows is pure innocence and a rare feat accomplished in the world of CGI and robotic fueled frenzies of the movies of today. Due to the fact that there is no CGI in the film, and if there is then the tiger from Life of Pi just got decrowned for the new master-feat of special effects. Robot is played with precise movements and focus by Rachael Ma. And Mr. Darcy is obviously swapped out of IBM's old storage closet.

It's eerily reminiscent of this video. Again, of the wonders of Japanese robotics are on display.

This time, we get PLEO rb, a robotic baby dinosaur modeled after the Camarasaurus. This little one possess even more articulation with smells, eye-camera based vision functions, individually modeled behavior and intelligence that develops through the nature and nurturing of it's surroundings over time. It has height sensors so it doesn't fall, beat detection so it can dance, sound location so it can turn to it's master when called. It even comes with a learning stone (brown leaf you feed it) that you can use to teach it new commands. And much, much more.

Things like this are the way of the future, and like it or not it's happen all around us. Which was the goal of the movie said Schreier. It's a fascinating thing concept to grasp, and one that is a little jarring as well. Which is why we identify with Frank's journey learning to adapt to this thing after 70 years of nearly zero interaction with something like it.

What I saw here that I started to really enjoy is the fact that Frank's dementia starts become offset by Robot's daily interactions with him. Interesting meals, scheduled walks, breaking and entering, robbery, possession of stolen goods, good back-n-forth conversations, etc. He still has obstacles to overcome, or maybe he'd never really overcome them no matter what the outcome was. There are flashes of Frank's dementia that seem to be begging to over take his mind, and slip over him like a glove.

And witnessing Frank's battle (when he remembers to, literally) with his rotting facilities, I took notice to the wide, or the master shot that is strikingly established at times, then we go close. Something about Schreier's framing of it, there's a lot contained because he chooses to stay back far enough to get a good scope of Frank and his surroundings. Cinematographer Matthew J. Lloyd and him together created something in that I found very attractive. Or sometimes, the master was enough, and they held that with no blinks and let Sarsgaard, Ma, and Langella do their stuff. Terrific.

I was very satisfied where this material didn't go. I heard and read some minor disappointments with this film, saying it took the easy route with the story instead of really challenging the audience with deeper complexity. What the hell do you want? "Minority Report meets The Zany Adventures of Bruce Wayne & Alfred?" Is that what you want? Fuckin' Michael Bay + Woody Allen + Phillip K. Dick?

No you don't. Think about that. . .

Stop it silly-goose. No. This story is exactly fine the way it is. Why can't we get a simple tale of an old man who finds friendship in a robot companion, faces his own frailty and learns new lessons with genuine emotion and some quirky humor along the way? Sprinkle some cracked black pepper, sea salt and legitimate (albeit minor) thrills and unsure-of-the-ending-what's-gonna-happen-next and there you have it.

More than half of everything that Hollywood gets into a theater now consists of being either as raunchy and adult as possible, dark and serious as possible, sexy or romantic as possible, or (the most common even in fucking comedies now) as loud, explosive and expensive as possible.

So, what's wrong with 20 shooting days in the summer with a 2.5 million dollar budget and some older screen legends just hammering out a feel-good picture. What's wrong with an old-fashioned feel-good with no hammy cliche's, forced emotional-responses and no strings or counterfeit obligatory actions clothes-liners and mental-mind-Olympics attached?

Nothing. That's what.

And this film is proof of that.

Munki out.

A Review: Double Indemnity

2013-03-13T10:54:00.001-04:00

"It's straight down the line for the both of us. . . Remember?"
--Phyllis Dietrichson

Here is a film about a rotten person who does rotten things that behold for them rotten consequences. One, a textbook sociopath, another fool-heartedly in love, another just doing there job. These three never saw the ending coming the way it does, who could have? For when the smoke clears and the blood starts to run into the fabric of the characters, all we're left with is confessions and remorse.

Leave it to Billy Wilder to grab a hold of us no matter what the material is, the genre, the actors. With a particular potent talent for manipulating the best of any actress he wields in front of his lens. For the love a women, maybe the sex in-itself a muse all it's own for him. Some say this is one of the most important Film Noirs around. Having a secure amount of knowledge and expertise in the genre: I wholeheartedly agree.

We watch as Macmurray sells to Stanwyck's Phyllis and then it turn, as she sells right back to him. Clear and cut like a crystal the decadent actions that have taken place. But then, slowly, we see the fog roll over ore eyes as the motivations of the those action become less and less clear. And now, Macmurray doesn't know who or where to turn. Or who he can trust. Which brilliantly leads us ultimately back to his Dictaphone confession that book-ends Wilder's fascinating film.

One night, bruised, bleeding and emotionally broken, Macmurray's Walter Neff stumbles into an office at the Pacific All Risk building and yanks out a Dictaphone. After a moment he begins a terrible series of confessions through a wild tale to his boss, Edward G. Robinson's Barton Keyes played to a heartfelt success that only a man of his stature and acting deftness could provide us. And so the story goes through flashback. . .

After a routine follow-up to renew a policy on auto insurance, Macmurray's debonair Neff meets the enticing and magnetic Phyllis Dietrichson. Turns out that missing the husband at home was an opportunity in disguise. Sniffing out the scheme himself, and understanding her true intentions. Neff leaves, deciding to return again at a more convenient time for her husband. And wanting no part in the planning of his murder. Eventually after she tracks him down to his apartment, she convinces him with more than he was planning on, and concedes to her proposition.

After it becomes clear that there is much more between them, they hatch a terrible scheme to take out the husband. And I won't say whether or not it goes off without a hitch. But I'll divulge that what happens afterwords is more frightening then the murder itself.

Wilder's Women, how can you not enjoy them? You have to. You're senses and emotions and feelings give over to them. You have no choice, it's a natural human feeling Wilder taps into to invoke in us. Mine did. I did here to Stanwyck. My exterior fell before her like wheat before the scythe. I bought her hook-line-sinker-pan-fried-eaten.

It's as if he hires the men he needs to pay no attention to, like Nolan, he lets those details work themselves out, trusts them to do their jobs the exquisite way their supposed to. And then he minds the women, he pushes the camera into them, and lets them weep, or coo, love, or hate, panic or wonder around in their minds with flights of fancy and daydreams and love.

Edward G. Robinson a godsend of massive proportions. With a grip on his words and a knack for going the distance and tow the line between lovable boss and stern asshole.

Pure of heart Lola is held in the light. Walter is not.

Always dappling in and out of the shadows, in the darkness nearly afraid to face the light. For this is where people like Stanwyck and Macmurray live, in the dark. The dark of their hearts and minds. For where else would they go? Into the light? Not them. The world wouldn't accept them there, among the good and decent people. The kind and loving wives and the honest salesman.

Through the slits of the venetian blinds, the light begs to break through, creating the jail-cell bars, holding them both in imprisonment. It contrasts the bright lights of a grocery store or the outside world. Houses, apartments and the offices to a degree are now a tainted and dark place for some. As The Prince's castle from Beauty and The Beast is betrothed in darkness once his decadence is outed and confirmed, so is Walter and Phyllis' surroundings as well. Legendary cinematographer John. F. Steiz is at full power blasting through the cinema-galaxy here. You won't catch him. His hyderdrive is working perfectly.

Knowing it's sterling reputation and based on a trust-worthy friend's recommendation, I decided it was time to view this. And I'll tell you, please heed the caveat I gave at the beginning of this. This story has despicable people inside it, capable of even more.

And there is something be said about Jean Heather's swan song performance as Lola Dietrichson. With all the charm and infallibility of a young dove, she most certainly gets a raw deal. We can see where, had the role been a pint larger, Saoirse Ronan would be playing the part. Lola's torture through the years and her willingness to break free of her life, and make a happiness all her own. is the ultimate downfall of Neff, and what he puts himself through for what he thought was a boatload of cash and the love of his life to spend it with. Too bad for him it just wasn't that easy. But alas, how could it have been?

With one building turn to another twist, the last 20 of this will leave your head spinning and hands sweating, with Stanwyck's final scene something to truly behold. Swinging for the fences she shows the true terror of how diabolical her Phyllis can be; and just how lovely and romantic she's dying to unleash onto someone worth it. Which, in turn, breaks our hearts.

With the exception of Keyes, the ever intelligent claims adjuster, once the ball got itself rolling--that the trail it left wouldn't be bright, but visible enough to the trained eye, and able to be followed as well. Keyes. Only Robinson could have done this. At first, not exactly thrilled about signing on to a film as the third lead, he went back on those thoughts after his $100,000 paycheck (equal to Stanwyck's and Macmurray's for less shooting days even) and the chance to play characters, the screen stealing supporting roles. Juicy things that Hoffman and Giamatti have made careers from.

And how glorious does he sail through his lines. Spitting out the facts, figures and statistics of his trade with all the sharpness of a man in his heyday. But talking about this does him no justice. Take this scene for example where he tells the boss of bosses the double Indemnity clause holds water and they're paying no matter what.

(By the way, the tuxedo line is a callback to earlier where Norton made a quip about Keyes' minor unkempt dress.)

See what I mean? He's the boss. End of story.

Again, like so many other films he has (Sabrina comes to mind), we see Wilder's touch (in another segment but it's aroma is almost catch-able here) for creating the more brilliant moments where the father-figure and the son-figure have some back-n-'forth into the more delightful, stage-comedy-esque dialogue where undoubtedly some sort of inanimate object will most likely be incorporated into their words somehow.

Wilder is known for his snappy dialogue and his actor's steely delivery. Only a master-craftsman (I use it often, but what can I say? I watch awesome shit, son) could deliver this to their audiences time after time. Take this first time meeting between Stanwyck and Macmurray. Even this alone was enough for me to perform my famous "I'm sold!" hand clap.

Walter: "Phyllis huh? I think I like that."

Phyllis: "But you're not sure?"

Walter: "Well I'd have to drive it around the block a couple of times."

What starts as a slow-tap builds into a furious slap-n-serve round of intense verbal tennis between them.

How often do we get that rousing dialogue these days? Three in maybe fifty screenwriters in all the films of the year comes real close. Less maybe, in more films.

This will tingle your senses in just the way that Wilder knows how to craft. Perfectly. The way he's gifted. Charm. Grace. Humor. Intrigue. Thrills. And dramatic honesty both expected and unexpected as well.

For lest we forget, the pact these two make is to the end. To see it all through.

As Phyllis herself tells, or, reminds, Walter:

"It's straight down the line for both of us. . . Remember?"

Munki out.

A Review: Anna Karenina

2013-02-22T22:34:00.000-05:00

"But sin has a price. You may be sure of that."
--Alexi Karenin

At merely four minutes and ten seconds into the film, I smacked the right arm rest of my expensive black leather office chair and proclaimed aloud, "I'm sold! That's it: sold!"

I loved, loved, loved this wonderful ballet of a film. A lovely, graceful choreography so full of form, color and rich, dripping life.

Like a living, breathing thing, Anna Karenina floats on flights of fancy, dancing like a dervish spiriting through the air as a delectable delight. Like organs we have and the blood and veins that we possess, as one thing is closing, another is opening. As one curtain is moving another set is changing. All the while with the punctuality of a surgeon, the sets and backdrops switch and swivel as the actor's produce themselves into the frame directly on cue to appear perfectly at their mark. They then squander not a moment upon arrival delivering to us perfectly uncanny portrayals of the characters from Tolstoy's timeless classic.

At the blow of a whistle, the work day is concluded and a tuba and accordion player sound off and walk about. Whistling is the choice of the workers' swan song of their long day at work as they leave. A yawn literally adds to the song-and-dance-esque form of the scene. Stage make-up is worn and visible as an artistic choice. Penny Farthings are rode 'round. The camera catches all this as it slowly spins, and swivels and follows the matte paintings, backdrops and scene changes on the stage. Literally the stage.

This shot goes on for one minute and five seconds with no blink. There have been much longer "long takes" in history. But, with all the variables going on in that tiny minute, trust me when I say that only with the power of a master craftsman behind the lens could this have been accomplished.

Or another one that comes to mind. Where in the "theater" the only sound we have of the crowd watching the horse race is of Anna's fan at first, which beautifully transitions into the thunderous sounds of horses trumpeting, their powerful hooves pounding the ground inside the race. The sound then meets the "swish!" of every spectator raising their opera glasses to view the race closer. Then Wright switches back and forth between Anna being watched by Alexi while he is watching her watch Alexi race. The beats and two-n-fro execution is potently Scorsese-esque with a specific kind of tension. The kind that begins to stink and waft out into the open, where, fearfully, others might notice it's there.

We see the backboards and support beams of the backdrops. We walk through the atrium of the theater where the lower dwellers of society crawl. The up innards of the theater house as we see the ropes taunt and at the ready. Or hanging and pulling things onto the stage below. From the nest above we watch as the play ensues below us. Calling direct attention to itself: this is a film, in the style of a play, about a book, inside a film. Brilliant. Few and far between have choices as bold as this been made. And few and far between have choices as bold as this worked to such utter perfection.

Fantastically staged, blocked, shot and executed--Karenina is a sight to behold and sound to hear as the wonderfully operatic score by Mario Marianelli moves us forward. As Louie CK said in reference to his show, in the case of it being either funny, or dramatic, sad, or weird and surreal: "It's always very something."

Taking everything she knows and everything she has in the grasp of her idle hands, she throws it all the winds and snows of Russia to be in the arms and bask in the company of love. Her honor, husband, son, society, surroundings.

"Love. . ."
"Yes love."

I heard and read that many people found the unconventionality of this picture to be, uhm, rather unnerving and disagreeable. Too bad for them I say. For what is progress in culture if it's not evident at the picture show? Here's a peak a one person's view point via a prominent media outlet:

"About halfway through Leo Tolstoy's Anna Karenina, the narrator becomes so omniscient he enters the mind of a dog, as her master orders her down the wrong hunting path. "'Well, if that's what he wants, I'll do it, but I can't answer for myself now,' she thought. She scented nothing now; she could only see and hear, without understanding anything."

It's the most extreme example of how much the near 1,000-page epic internalizes--most of the novel is spent winding through the inner recesses of one character after another's thoughts, and second thoughts. The dog's experience here--a fruitless exercise that favors the eyes and ears over the mind--is not unlike watching Joe Wright's film adaptation of Anna Karenina. Rather than try to engage with its characters' complexities, it busies itself with visual distractions that splinter off in every direction, save one that leads to a point."

Too bad. What if passion and power and desire missed and failed and attained and wanted were the Goddamned point of the film itself? For some want for it and never attain it. Some need it to survive and clutch to it with tightly wound fingers. Some see it slipping out of their grasps. "...a fruitless exercise that favors the eyes and ears over the mind" is exactly what this is. Make no mistake. We get inside Anna's, Vronksy's and Karenin's eyes and between their ears. All the information we need is there before us. This film is all feeling, all spectacle, all emotion and blind faith in the willy-nilliness of love and lifestyle, of dreariness and despair. And so is the book.

Hell, I'm even going for broke and giving you a cryptic review of the material in this review. Choosing only the potency of wonder this film invokes and the ensuing descriptions of it. Foregoing the details of the characters, the actors playing them, their backgrounds and connections and the filmmakers themselves.

The film, unfortunately does eventually slow down in the pacing of the one-two, one-two punching system of the highly stylized way it has with it's play-of-the-film-of-a-book-inside-a-film. But just when I thought it had nearly abandoned it, Wright ushers it back just when we were missing it the most--during the fall of Anna's grasp on. . . Anything. Everything.

Just in time I'd say. Swift like a scythe.
Swifter.

Munki out.

A Review: The Bourne Legacy

2012-08-27T09:00:00.001-04:00

"Who the hell is he?!"

Yes. Just who in the hell is Aaron Cross? Why is he a white man, with medium build, short brown hair and hard stare? Because this is America, we're assholes and these are our heroes? An international agency with global operatives and this is the best we can come up with to separate ourselves from Jason Bourne? And why is he towing around a white brunette who looks scared and needs saving again? (Sans Euro-accent, points for that) Why, did the man who crafted the scripts for first three films, feel the need to keep the two new leads so close to the formula of the original trilogy?

Why not Idris Elba and Penelope Cruiz? Or Adrien Brody and Kerry Washington? Joseph Gordan-Levitt and Kate Mara or a Christina Hendricks type? (Reaching, maybe, but it's not entirely stupid) Just, totally new and fresh faces, anyone else but these two--as great a pair of performers as they are with film legacies and history behind them set. And that's not the point of these opening paragraphs either. Their fine, but not for material that needs distance from it's predecessor literally in need of a face-lift.

Lord knows after Clayton, Gilory has his pick of actors. How do you think he got Edward Norton and Rachel Weisz in this picture?

But, with that being said, were you thinking that I was about to make a case against the film? Because, I'm willing to sound like a boarder-trekking hypocrite to give you my quite-the-opposite thoughts on this film. And guess fuckin' what? It was as good as I was hoping it would be. I enjoyed very much seeing Tony Gilroy to taking the reins after taking the shit through the franchise between Greengrass and Liman, screwing with all the work he put into the stories as the writer behind them.

To tell you now, Aaron Cross, was as I understood--an idiot. A simpleton grunt in the Army. No better than the boots he put on overseas. But for reasons unknown, or maybe the obvious ones of what the drugs could really do--he was selected for the Outcome Program. A shared intelligence and clandestine operation coupled together secretly with Treadstone and Blackbriar.

I get the sense this accurately reflects how fast our very own government in reality makes changes, tweaks, upgrades and sidegrades. And also, how fast both fictional and factual governments can burn something down and cover their tracks. It was almost scary to a certain degree watching Gilroy conduct his own version of how swiftly and grand American intelligence can act when it wants to.

The drugs I just referred to quite simply enhance--to 1.5%--the physicality of person, mitochondrial proteins and targeting to be more precise. The other part of the dual dosage is that it enhances one's own mental processes and neural capabilities, higher brain functions, processing power, pain-suppression, sensory function and adaptations.

So, you essentially go from a V.6 to a V.10 and Dual-Core to a I-7 Generation 3 processor. Nice.

After Bourne and Pamala Landy expose Blackbriar and Treadstone from Ultimatum (events that are still on-going in this film), government higher-ups scramble to get things in order. So naturally, they start shredding all the evidence and plan on resetting the Outcome Program for a later date. Which means, all those agents will be terminated. 1 by 1 all the members meet their demises. Eric Byer heads that up, making the decision to pack away Outcome for now and loose the agents for it.

Getting a lucky break, Cross survives the first attempt and makes damn sure the second one fails, involving a wolf in the most interesting and daring manner I might have seen. He eventually gets involved with Dr. Marta Shearing the nurse that treated him, giving the operatives the treatments and physicals, delivering doses and conducts tests and check-ups. Together, they run from the G-man, to stay alive and not end up, dead, I dunno, Not get fucking dead. Not much different from last time.

As you can see here ladies and gentleman my patience wears a little thin with that. Too bad real inspiration went out the window. Does this have to a be a summer blockbuster? Couldn't they have gone a little smaller, a little slower, cat n mouse it up? Borrow from Grismon and Baldacci's better fiction. Not even Sandford? No? Same old? Okay. Just checking.

I've seen and read Gilroy talk about how this is "fresh" and has "a fire inside." Welp, dunno about that dear old Tony. But, forgetting the fact that a white man and woman are on the run from the American government and need to stay alive, I think I had a damn good time. Gilroy has an ear for interesting phraseology and back n forth dialogue. Building a tension and a spreading it out over the movie was another piece I enjoyed. Never slows to a crawl, never speeds to a rocket. Almost, both ways, which I liked.

Like the opening. Bearded, clothed and dropped into the middle of bumfuck Alaska. Aaron Cross went rogue for 4 days and then gets, punished, he says. After trekking through mountains, jumping, treading and fighting wolves, he meets with a contact in a cabin. This doesn't happen in two minutes either, it takes it's time. Showing what Aaron is capable of out there.

There we see Aaron is no Jason, and even likes to smile and chit-chat to pass the time. His contact was played by Oscar Isaac, I wanted more of his story, pitched out into the wilderness because he fell in love, and that's a risk-game in their business. That's a story in itself that could have mixed well with Cross', and Isaac has the chops to show us. Too bad. But we saw the easy-going guy Aaron can be when it's not necessary to run like the dickens. And easy-going charm is some of the best traits Renner as an actor, and does it well. I got the sense he was some regular old Joe in his former life. It's almost a story in it's own how came to be Aaron Cross from Kenneth Kitsom, and the missions he was sent on before this film.

As Eric Byer, Norton commands the rooms, teams and underlings he has at his disposal just the way a man with his pay-grade should. His shiny and well pressed shirts reflect this, as does his grayed hair. A dye job, or the real thing? You tell me. He takes nothing, form no one and knows his way around the room, and how to clean up properly. I was half expecting him to whip out yellow rubber gloves and scream, "Like this you idiots!" And start mopping the floor. And certainly not for nothing, Keach as "Important Government Dude" and the one working closely with Byer, had some one of the best little speeches in the film.

Weisz's character had very little else to do or say that was interesting, side-stepping any chance for a layer of Dr. Marta Shearing that wasn't either freaking out, explaining science with slight panic, getting scared, or looking worried. So, with a world class actress your disposal, Weisz makes us believe all three of those things with no problems. Great Rach. Thanks Tone.

I won't be saying whether or not they kiss, bang, or get romantic at all. But I'll tell you that given the material, and the path Gilroy set the two of them on, I bought their chemistry and believed them easier then last time around with the other two. Thank God they didn't play Moby at the end again. Oh wait, fuck, they did. . . Damn, looks like it's the running trope now, huh?

Welp, be that as it may, I still thoroughly enjoyed this, albeit all my shit aside. I'm a sucker for well-crafted and executed spy-game, trade-craft cinema. So, how do you feel about seeing this, now that you've read, excitement and praise mixed with stark disappointment?

Munki out.

A Review: Total Recall

2012-08-27T03:23:00.001-04:00

"Look at you. . . You're still fighting and you don't even know who you are!"

In this future, at the ass-end of the 21st century, robotic police officers that resemble Slim-Fast versions of Storm Troopers mixed with legitimate human cops patrol the streets. Cars can sorta fly. Almost everything electronic is now glass touch screen. Young adults are still punks. Cell phones can be secretly implanted (and painfully extracted) in your hand.

And an elevator (with small scientific theory and history behind it) cuts through the earth, zips around the core to the other side. It heads to either (you guessed it) Great Britain, 1 of 2 remaining habitable parts of earth along with the other: Australia a.k.a The Colony.

The Colony resembles a slum of Asian-likeness. I found out later that was little bit on purpose and not me simply drawing semi-racist juxtapositions in my so-called-mind. Living space is shrinking in the two land masses. Things are getting tight, literally and figuratively for people. The colony is a crapland of slum and "United Federation of Britain" is a great place to live and work. But not for the blue collars and foreigners apparently. Okay.

Honestly (I'm prepared for the onslaught), makes more sense the the good ol US of A is not still standing after a third world war. How many movies in a row are we the last country left? Was glad to see a switch up. And it makes even more sense Britain still retains it's sense of stereotypical elitist nature even more. Has it ever conceded that?

Oh yes, and one more little tid-bit I liked about the future: Barack Obama's face is on $50 bills. No, you read that right. Len Wiseman thought (along with his father on another domination) it'd be "perfect." Ironic Obama's face is literally connected to money in the future, since his legacy will undoubtedly go down as the President who did dick for the worst American economy in history.

Colin Farrell steps into the big Austrian shoes of Schwarzenegger as Doug Quaid, robot technician for an assembly line of the cops I talked about. He goes a "shit bar, drinks shit beer" and leads, as we come to understand, an uneventful life. Looks like Kate Beckinstale as a wife isn't enough. Gotcha. He has the same nightmare of himself running from the robos and cops, but not alone. Jessica Biel's Melina is with him and together they almost escape, he helps her do so before being caught and waking each time from the nightmare.

It makes no sense to him, or us for that matter. And only fuels the guessing game later in the movie.

Eventually, after being told by his buddy (Woodbine) to stay away from recall, and get his mind right naturally, he cracks and goes anyway. After sitting down in the chair, before the needle can feed him the chemicals required to induce Rekall, his brain-scan denotes hidden memories and we get police SWAT busting through the door.

Turns out he's a secret agent with serious ties to the United Federation of Britain. After Doug instinctively through muscle memory takes the police holding him at gun-point in a "how am I doing this sequence" (that was frankly more convincing in the first Bourne with the park bench), he flees. And then the movie's on it's own with Farrell in the driver's seat.

Once home, he attempts to explain this to his American wife, Lori (Beckinsale), she doesn't take kindly to the news, goes British and attempts taking him out. "What can I say? I give good wife." I liked that. She gave it a good ring of charisma and moxie. And please make no mistake, Beckinsale is usually a hero, but this movie turns her into Bitch #1 (a career first she claimed to really enjoy). I ended up hating her Goddamn guts by her last scene. She was a bad penny, turning up just when you thought you were rid of her. She makes the most of her one-note Lori with devilish relish. She was good at being bad (Cliche'?) and a fucking pain in the ass in best way for a villain.

Quaid reluctantly teams up with Melina, recognizing her from his dreams and finding out he might be a resistance fighter. I'll leave the plot there. I'll say this though, if this movie is where $125 million dollars gets us, than I'd like to see where the budget went besides the (only at times) seamless CGI and the amazing set designs. Oh is that it? Is that what gets our attention for interesting sci-fi? Of course it does. I had a blast zipping through the streets on hardlined cars that hover on tracks and robot-cops that seem to never stop coming (I won't say it). And won't compare it unfavorably to Minority Report either. It didn't quite get around to the interesting character territories and wonderment we got from that Philip K. Dick adaptation.

But then again, I'm not comparing Wiseman to Spielberg, well, I sorta just did I suppose. Wiseman had me hook-line-sinker with his installment of Die Hard, and i was glad to see him attached to this one. He's a competent action director in the 21st century who delivers solid, thrills-a-minute scenes. Hitting the ground running and stopping for nothing.

That was a small problem I had. We never really get in the mind (shitty self-referencing pun intended) of any of the characters. But alas, Wiseman isn't known for directing anything with copious amounts of expositional dialogue and huge character development. And that's fine here, because he focuses all his time and energy on a cohesive story that eventually had me guessing what was real, dream, fake, memory.

Right up until literally the last shots before the credits. I never knew when and if we would "wake-up." If ever. In the whirlwind of where to turn, who to trust, what's real, fake, fucked and flimsy in The Colony and UFB, Doug is surely on the trip of his life every frame of the film. Wiseman crafts the plot of it well and doesn't break and gives us short-comings.

Munki out.

A Review: First Knight

2012-08-26T19:22:00.001-04:00

Movies like this are ungodly annoying because they throw the word of "Love" around like bread crumbs at the birds. All, willy, and yes, nilly, too. Which is offensive to the word and anyone who's had intimate relations with it. Movie or not, this material takes itself very seriously. So I will, in turn, do the same.

There is no foundation, weight, or responsibility to the meanings, or the tutelage and right of passage to get the heart in meaning of the word. The movie only gives us a nebulous definition and I don't feel anyone feels it's true meaning. Only that it means a great deal. And having known this word myself, and been to the ends of the earth and beyond in it, I can say First Knight knows no true love. But only the idea of it.

I speak of that first, because foremost, it is the thing the movie revolves around. The love of Arthur and Lancelot by Guinevere. Love of Camelot, of brotherhood and one's people. And the latter aspects were convincing, but the from a woman to a man in this. No sir.

When you invest so much of the story to depend on the sell of this as legitimate, and I see it as fraudulent, I become upset, and even a little offended. So turn back now, this isn't going to be pretty. Slightly bitchy versus professional film insight and analyses, or criticism. An in which I hate associating myself with because it's easy to call something out, and much harder to pick apart why and how you liked it and why it worked so well to you deep inside. But maybe this one of the rare occasions I actually become a critic.

Here goes nothin'. . .

Julia Ormond's Guinevere lives in Leonesse, her father having died she is now the ruler of her land. And she loves her people and uses her heart to guide her choices and her brain to due what is necessary. More on that later. But Malagant (I nick-named malignant) an ex-knight of the round table is on the rage to conquer land much to Arthur's (Connery) chagrin. Lancelot (Gere), a traveling swordsman who lives and breaths by his own will. Selling his sword and performing town spectacles with his skills. Before long, all three of these characters converge on the same path due to Malagant's incessant (or malignant) killing and inability to die. Looking as if he'll kill all before suffering the same fate. His wanting to be king of the world is a conquest he doesn't seem to be loosing. Which ultimately forces Arthur's hand.

When we first meet King Arthur, it's under the moon with his knights lined up like Marines with their rifles and white gloves And then as he walked down his hallway of soldiers, I spotted Connery's belly pushing down his belt-line as he moved carefully as a king should. Watching him through the movie, using his age, presence and trusting nature as a confidant man who knows no lies and speaks form his gut and heart, I bought him as King Arthur. Connery as King Arthur? Of course. And even battle commander Arthur. But not, lover Arthur, or in-pain-over-love, Arthur. (Watch the church scream, and then get back to me) And Lover/Love Pain Arthur is stressed very much in the movie's poorly conceived script. Now on to his "lover." (And the bitching continues)

Without saying she isn't worth it, because I believe she truly is, I suppose there is an unfortunate reason we don't see much of Julia Ormond these days. Short of some sparse bits here and there on her name alone with no career defining role(s). And this movie is all the proof I need to see why. Coupled with the backlash from Sabrina being remade (Harrison Ford or not) and her taking the historical role made whole and real by Audrey "I Do No Wrong" Hepburn.

Whether or not Sean Connery believes Arthur loves Guinevere, and he sold it to me he does adding authenticity to a poorly constructed script about love, Julia Ormond's Guinevere did not love him, or Lancelot for that matter. The only thing she had me convinced of was that the idea of loving either man, made her extremely uncomfortable the entire film, and she'd rather be kicking that damn ball we see her with in the beginning.

There are a few lovely moments she shares with Gere in a forest during a rainshower and one in her home of Leonesse, and one gentle embrace with Connery where I almost bought it. But then the next scenes of her hard/soft /love/confused "I'm an obvious over-actor" character portrayal took me right out of it.

I bought it with Gere sincerely as Lancelot. A dashing, grinning, long-haired and ultimately loving and altruistic man. I guess that's not a hard sell alone, and seeing as the script packed the most care into making it's Lancelot, I believed it. Gere, who's savvy in just about anything he does, shows us a playful Lancelot who knows no fear and cares for nothing. He eventually forgoes that skin in light of his respect for Camelot, Arthur as a brother-in-arms, and of course for Guinevere. Guinevere, who gives him very little reasons to fall in love with her, beyond her beauty. Which is a starting point he states. So maybe back then that was enough? Gere has the playful weight of, well, himself actually. And injects that well into his Lancelot.

Gere and Connery (to a lesser degree dealing with his script sometimes) seemed to be genuine with his feelings, motivations and the faces we saw in character. I believed and rather enjoyed watching him impress me as a dashing swordsman with high skill and zero fear of death. Who woulda thought Gere could gives us Dashing Swordsman and Honorable Knight and do it well?

He tells Arthur he has nothing to live for, so what's he really risking. He adds the authenticity of a man who knows his body and soul, and takes the trust from it to show us what he's really feeling. Honesty is not something I got with Ormond. More like, she had a kidney stone, or diarrhea that would flare up at the sight and thought of love with either Arthur or Lancelot. It was an unnerving choice for an actress to display in deed. But the again, between the source material she was handed and director Jerry Zucker (Ghost), who knows what she was really guided to do.

The script gave us almost zero real attempts to build from the ground up with characters who have time to fall in love, instead of just skipping all of it, and saying they are. That was my problem, there was a beginning with the word, skipping the middle, and just getting to the end, "I love him." "I love her." "I love you." "Kiss me I am asking." Blah blah fuck! Not to mention a good back n forth between Malagant and Arthur over the politics of their battles and heartfelt church scene in Leonesse.

I don't want to keep repeating myself, but, I think you get the point. Guinevere goes from seeing Arthur as a reason for protecting her kingdom and a sound husband on paper and still feeling uncomfortable about it, to loving him implicitly at the drop of a hat. Literally within the same scene. Even when he gives her an excuse to get out of the engagement. Telling her Leonesse will always be protected by Camelot. Then we see the only seemingly legit feelings she ever experiences flash across her face, as if her brain is telling herself, "You win! Now run bitch run!" And then the script takes a nasty turn and forces her character to say, no, I really do love you, let's do this. her face and eyes betray her words though. Pity.

It's as if the triangle of Guinevere "loving" Lancelot and Arthur was written by Stephanie Meyer on her day off.

There are some great set pieces and wonderful costumes made to show off the Medieval period of history. With rolling hills, mountains and deep forests, and white horses, shinning armor, thrones, town squares and English accents.

As a technical display of making a sound Medieval picture with knights and swords, honor, pretty dresses, and one or two badly staged battles, here ya go. But if you want the real thing, there's always Braveheart or Game of Thrones.

I'm giving this 2 outa 4 on the Banana scale. But, I dunno. . .

Whatever.

Munki out.

A Review: Monsters

2012-08-25T18:35:00.001-04:00

"I guess that's what they mean by 'Infected Zone'."

I've said before that it takes a lot to scare me, and more so than that, most horror movies will bring me a giggle quicker than a startle.

With that being said, I wouldn't presume to call Monsters a film that intends to scare, or provoke fear. I'll say the provocation of sense of wonder, awe, and misunderstanding in the film about said monsters is more prominent than anything else. Including the images Edwards gives us (doubling as cinematographer).

The Mexican landscapes almost like tapestries before our eyes.

Six years ago, while traveling back from Europa (a moon orbiting around Jupiter) a space probe breaks up reentering Earth's atmosphere over Mexico. Didn't quite make it to Cape Canaveral. Good, I'm about three hours away. Not before long, creatures of massive proportions with tentacles and lights under the skin start arising. Ergo, in possibly the most realistic event of the film, the Untied States scrambles, launches troops and quarantines off half the country of Mexico, declaring it the "Infected Zone."
We later learn a possible explanation for why they chose to label it "Infected."

We meet Andrew Kaulder, He's a photographer in Mexico working for an American publication. Before long, he get's ordered to bring the daughter of higher-up in the company back from Mexico and through to the United States. He's no escort, but when daddy calls, you coma-runnin'. Samantha Wynden is pretty, blond, full of shy grins and coated in anxiety towards the states. Do to the fact she's (trapped we feel) in an impending marriage.

Soon after traveling with him, she asks Kaulder how he feels about waiting around for something bad to happen so he can profit from it, he asks, "You mean like doctors?" I wouldn't say either or is correct. But they have differing views on the American journalism in Mexico covering the Infected Zone, and the american military battling the creatures there and around it.

The movie isn't so much about the two characters, a sappy romance that could possibly build between, or their own personal problems. Edwards most definitely put the dramatic character arcs and silly over-the-top monologues in the backseat. If we see them eventually come 'round, they understated, altruistic and real. Coming from real people. Not actors in a monster movie. This is about the things that are happening around them as we watch that the monsters, are just maybe beings that have befell a fate here on earth, the absolute worst place in the Galaxy to be an alien. Even if those aliens are other humans.

Starting with the fact that the script was more of a guideline all of 12 pages, with blocking and achievements to be made, no dialogue written, and black for emotion and blue for action is one thing. Then moving that to a 3week shoot traveling in a van and using locals throughout 5 different countries as extras and supporting cast members. All gives us a credit to the filmmakers, all whopping 7 of them. 4 crew, 1 director and 2 stars.

So, that gave Edwards (with time constraints) about 8 months with 1 home computer and store bought software. He personally condensed over 100 hours of footage down to about 94 minutes and 250 visual effects shots in just over 13 months. Yes, 13 months I'll say. Like a baby. Edwards' baby, he made this with care, consideration, and knowledge.

All those stats equaling this movie is stunning, and shows the work a natural filmmaker who understand his goals, and adapts to survive the process, coming out on top with his vision intact.

And what a vision we get. While attempting to conceal certain details, the "monsters" prove to act more like fish, then aliens. A kind of Bioluminescence that we see underwater or insects on dry land. Even the mushrooms they spore onto the trees, mimic ours in a way. Full of multicolored lights they'd look good in a downtown night spot, or, at night in the jungles of Mexico. Greens and reds and pinks, blues and oranges. The whole spectrum. Flashing and responding to flash lights or camera flashes, searching for likenesses and other's like them. Jon Hopkins' ambient and touching score powers charges the scenes with subtle force.

I understood why they were mostly a nocturnal species. Watching the dance of sugar-plum-aliens in the final moments of the film was certainly something I can say, I've never quite seen before. And was filled with all the glorious wonder of a child staring the tree in Rockefeller Center. A light show Pink Floyd would be proud of. Couldn't help but wonder if James Cameron is impressed or getting his lawyers ready.

It's as great as it sounds, and though these, things, can be dangerous, one can't help but wonder what Mexico's jungles will look like in a few more years time. There's another sequel in itself.

Together with District 9 coming just a year before this, we're now seeing the trend in over-the-pond directors of one kind or another take a peanuts budget and give us something truly special. In the age of $250 million plus dollars to get us summer blockbusters, I took a breath of fresh air at what truly dedicated people can do. (Albeit this being no blockbuster, but solid film making just the same)

Seeing this makes complete sense Edwards is geared up for the American remake of Godzilla. A thought that makes me very excited for different reasons altogether. The least being it's getting made again, and the most having had a connection with the great monster since the earliest days of my life. Toho (the original rights holders) and Legendary Pictures (The Dark Knight Trilogy, Man of Steel, 300) came together to to finance and produce this film. Edwards said to the fans, "I made a movie called Monsters, yes I wanna do this the way it should be done." So do we Mr. Edwards. Cheers.

Munki out.

A Review: The Fugitive Kind

2012-08-24T01:21:00.001-04:00

"There's another kind."
"What kind?"
"It's a kind that don't belong to no place at all."

Tennessee Williams is a guarantee for the much more dramatic, enlightening and heightening sort of fair. In The Fugitive Kind we're given a film that is not about happy, bright people. Optimism is not a daily practice for most of the characters we meet, but not all of them. And maybe they don't even want to be happy. Their stuck. They have deep-seated issues of shame, guilt, loneliness, infidelity, bleak self-direction and unfair lives considering what they've paid into life so far. Some, not so much of a pension considering their life credits.

The film opens with Val Xavier cleaning his ears and standing inside a small cell, the jailer lets him out and escorts him to the judge (heard off screen only). He tells the judge of how he came to get himself locked up and the story about his life's companion away in hawk--his guitar in a pawn shop. The scene lasts for 5 or so minutes and we don't see a single blink. Lumet lets Brando breath easy and take his time, showing us Val the "peculiar talker" and how he conducts himself. He is calm, an easy lake, glass topped. This mold that Brando sets for Val goes virtually unbroken for the remainder of the film.

He finds himself in Two Rivers County in a small town full of damned and damaged souls. Trapped and bullied by their own circumstances, or by others. Taken in by the town sheriff's wife in rainstorm, she tells him of a job after they talk about their respective arts, guitar and singing, and painting. So the next day he finds himself at the town's version of Walmart, the locale Five-And-Dime. After a run in with some of the locales he meets Carol, a wildly free-spirited drunk, with no sense of direction and desperate in hopes for love and spiritual binding with another. She later tells him after he rescues her from a slap-happy male townie:

"Now you're being kind. I suspect that's your true nature."

He can sleep on a concrete floor and go 48 hours without even feeling sleepy. He can hold his breath for three minutes to win a ten dollar bet and burn a woman down (romantically/emotionally. He's not tired anymore, he's fed up. He does all this toting around his life's companion, a guitar, and wearing a snakeskin jacket.

After a nicely shot sequence at a bar with Woodward pouring sloppy words to her character's creed on nightlife, they drive back to town in her impeccably dirty convertible. He asks her:

"Why do you make such a crazy show of yourself?"
"'Cuz I'm an exhibitionist."

She's something of a, freedom fighter, for racial equality in the south. In that time-period? That part of the south? Helluva girl. She claims she's just a lewd vagrant. But's not much of that either. She's not very alive, even thought try-as-she-might she does to present just the opposite, and desperately too. She's a show, a flim-flam, and walks through (or stumbles through) town dead, wishing for happiness, waiting for real inspiration, and not just booze.

The meat of the film comes when he works for the store, and meets Lady Torrance played magnificently by Anna Magnani, a real Italian firestorm. She misses her father, and the times she shared in his wine garden that has since burned down. She is married to the store own, Jabe Torrance. They have an apartment above the store and sleep in separate bedrooms. Her conversations with Brando turn into confessionals between the two of them. Maybe even for the first time in their lives, Lady and Val they speak honest clear.

Jabe Torrance is angry, old, southern, and coated in "death sweat." I wasn't sure where Lumet was going to take him, but as it turns out, it was not to a territory of sweetness and father-figure tropes for Val. His character is about as nasty and mean spirited as the entirety of any dirty southern reputation of the times. And by the end of the film I understood this as much. Lumet and Williams supplied me with plenty of evidence. It's a wonder he suckered into marriage at all, but then again, that's most likely exactly how he did it.

While attempting to convince her to give him a job, Val tells her a romantic fanciful tale of a bird. It's little, and blue and "no bigger than your little finger" that doesn't have legs, so it must sleep in the air. And live in the air. And it's wings, are so thin it can hide in the sun from predators just from spreading them.

Boris Kauffman, who's lit Brando before in his Oscar winning turn in On The Waterfront and garnered seven films and ten years together with Lumet, throws his cinematography powers into full effect for this monologue. He starts bright and as Lumet pushes slowly into Brando as he muses about the fanciful bird, Kauffman takes that light away, leaving only but small amount to hold Brando's face in light inside the vast darkness.

A chunk of glowing moonlight threatening to creep in from all other sides. This is another one of Lumet's lengthy takes, and between Brando, himself and Kauffman all working using the peaks of their powers, it makes for one Goddamn hell of a moment.

Eventually, Val and Lady get to bonding, and the need for each other as support, or hope, or a solid connect creeps up on them, and the script starts kicking into high gear. I'll say where their two characters go are not where I was expecting, maybe I'm foolish, or maybe not. But either way, I bought it and enjoyed the two pull closer, slowly, and then even more closely, a little faster. Brando show us his Val with convincing heat and deep eyes.

Another one of these scenes in where Carole swings around silly and wild inside a bar, telling the patrons of how to properly "go jukin'." Lumet understands his actors need room to "dance" and he gives them plenty in their scenes.

Magnani as Lady throws herself into the role with wild abandon and turns into a European firecracker in the view of Lumet's lens. Is she that bird? Maybe the bird Val talks of? Is that why she's so. . . worn out? Possessing no legs and unable to touch the ground. Her mind sleeps in the sky and she wishes to feel the warmth of the earth. Of humanity. Of the sun as she bask in another kind of wine garden. A garden of Eden. Of love. Where life cam be had. A good life. Maybe one with Val. And maybe, just maybe, Val is the key to the salvation she didn't know she's been looking for. Magnani shows us the sweet pain of her passion and we feel the prick of the needle on our skin. Oh, do we feel it.

That builds, and compounds between her, Val, Carole and Jabe in the third act. Which a nifty tension-fest during a confession from Jabe.

In Two Rivers, some people want and pine for their happiness, some people have found it and strive to keep it. But every one of us has a dirty past; either if we'd witnessed or done terrible things. In this life, all we can ask for is wings that let us never touch the ground. Floating on happiness, invisible to predators, hiding in the sun to keep us warm with the moon to tuck us in.

Munki out.

A Review: Signs

2012-08-23T05:51:00.000-04:00

"I think God did it. . ."

Every year for the past six, on the 23rd of August I watch this film. I chose this particular day because it is the day of birth for a very dear old friend of mine. She and I no longer speak, but that has only been a recent thing. Secretly, to honor her and our friendship, years ago I began watching this in a commemorative fashion of her, first time meeting each other, first hug, first laugh, everything since then, all the great years spent. Silly to you maybe, but call me a nostalgic old soul.

The years have gone by and still I dive into this film. Enjoying the saturation in the thrill, the wonder, the drama, and the dread each and every time.

This film stars four, and has one supporting. A family, and one knowing and motherly town cop. But, you could argue that it has two more supporting cast members. One in James Newton Howard's bone-chilling, full of ominous dread at times, and hope at others score. And, well, the other in the wind. The wind itself carrying the power to tell us, show us, warn us and to scare us. To provide us with signs.

Mel Gibson is Graham Hess, a retired Reverend and farmer who now spends his days with his children, while his brother Merrill (Phoenix) stays in the adjacent small guest house. An efficiency above the garage. Graham has a vast field of crops, a very classic and oldies feel farm house that looks as if it was stolen from a painting, and two wonderful children, Morgan and Bo, who are portrayed by powerfully intuitive actors (Culkin and Breslin). Two actors who understand material like this, should not be acted.

Even from the first shot, we see the daily stresses and fear he's gotten beaten into him from an earlier tragedy. From when and how he lost his faith. "Please stop calling me 'Father.'" It's just Graham now.

Hanging in the air and lurking around the bends of the house, wispy and haunting through the fields and into our minds, our hearts. It holds them dearly in it's grasp as the beats pump cold blood into our stream. This is maybe this is what called the children outside to see the circles. But the film starts with them. He tells the local police officer that they can't be bent by hand, "It's too perfect." In between this, we're getting something else with the children. Much of the circumstances surround us in the film because of them. And nothing happens that should, and sometimes that we never counted on either.

What is it about the darkness of the night, enshrouding a cornfield that scares us? The fact that it's a thick sea that holds. . . Well--we're not sure. And not sure where it is inside the crops either. And that's the why we're so scared. This literally goes bump in the night, and as we cannot see what's causing much of the noise, the moon's glow shines over the farm and wolf's howl breeze keeps on. The family of four has some obvious chemistry together as actors, which makes their slight disfunctionality all the more pleasing (or painful) to watch.

The breakout stars are Breslin and even more so, Rory Culkin steals the screen from everyone. Commanding his presence with patience, adult formed comic timing and confidence, here is an actor ladies and gentleman.

And I'll say, Gibson's performance was something I really treasured after this was over. I can't think of a more thoughtful and subdued character he's played. Soft, patient, dutiful as the limping father. His daughter Bo (the most adorable thing this side of Shirley Temple or Dakota Fanning in I Am Sam) asks him "why do you talk to mom when your alone?" "Makes me feel better." "Does she ever answer back?" After a beat he tells her the truth. "No." Than Bo confesses, "She never answers me either." There we go Mr. Shyamalan.

The conversations with the family are aptly written, stark contrasts between characters, and the actors making them their own. This is a bit of the dynamics of the Hess brothers and why the characters are so appealing to me to watch on screen:

Merrill: "It's time for an ass-whoopin'."
Graham: "This is not an intelligent way to approach this."

That continues the entire film. It's damned great. Sometimes it's funny, sometimes sad, or compelling. In a truly great feat of acting restraint and intelligence of a craft veteran, Gibson's Graham comforts his slightly younger brother Merrill about the two groups of people in the world. He tells him about faith, luck, coincidence and touches on who is really up stairs, if anyone. Gibson brings to his words and Phoenix gives us the sense his brother is impacting him greatly as Shyamalan holds still and the TV illuminates his face in the darkness of the room.

Using not pounding, dazzling and whirling aesthetics and visuals, we get intelligent people and, not much else. No car chases, no Alien fights with lasers and the military, not the President grandstanding. We get aluminum hats for secret-though protection, endless glasses of half drank water, a daughter who might be more than we see at first hand, knives for mirrors, confessions, forgiveness, hate, love, sneaking, creeping, running, screaming, inhalers and baseball bats. In a few flashes of a seamless screenplay, we see just little details I like. We understand why Graham ops to call the doctor for a dog problem, instead of the vet. What his wife did. Merrill's guilty habit now that he's not a ball-player anymore (and a funny story behind why he's not a major-leaguer too).

I liked the connection we get from history with Cherry Jones' officer Paski and her feelings of kind servitude towards Graham and his family. How Merrill maybe learns what exactly the Aliens are doing and what explains their behavior. I liked the pharmacy scene and epilogue afterwards at the pizza shop. And especially how, in little flashes up until the end, we bite off more and more of the backstory of Graham's wife.

And that's the point, little by little, is the angle of approach here. The Aliens serve us nothing, the fear, is what they'll do if they get us. The fear, is that we haven't been caught yet, and whether we will be from whatever is lurking out there. Out there hiding in the winds. While avoiding the temptation to deliver thrills in creature effects and make-up, Night forgoes that in favor of character development and big loud noises, paired with soft creeping noises.

One of the scariest moments for me was watching a newscaster give an update. He rocks for a second, trying to get settled, squeezes his pen, takes another beat after that, and then ultimately pushes through. His eyes are red, maybe even teary, and the man is bravely reporting the events even though he is obviously confused and dripping with anxiety and fear. The last words we then hear from the outside world is him praying aloud to the camera: ". . .God be with us all."

Calling back Morgan's (Culkin) first words to us are, "I think God did it. . ." He's staring into the family's newly designed crops. Let's think for a second--what if he did? And that's what attracted the aliens, and not them doing it themselves as maps to mark the planet with. What if God did to gather the people of the world, and bring pressure on them to survive. To ban together. To Live. To Love. To Cherish. To think. To react. Who's to say really? Not any of us. Maybe not even Graham.

This is a film about family and strength.
This is a film about faith.
This a film about fear.
This a film about aliens.
This is a film about guidance.
This a film about God.
This a production of masterful craftsmanship.

Like an opera, it goes up, and down, high and low, hard and soft. Ultimately building and building to the massive emotional climax of the production. And when we get there, for all that we have not seen, we have see so much more.

I look forward to next August 23rd and know what awaits me. Happy Birthday Penguin. I miss you everyday.

Munki Out.

A Review: Sabrina

2012-08-22T03:38:00.000-04:00

"It's all in the family."

--Linus Larrabee

With the stars out, she sits at her desk draped in a silk robe and writing a letter to her father about her two years spent in France. Her hair is short and cropped freshly. The night sky's wind carries La Vie En Rose from a French accordion player through her patio double-doors (or french doors) left wide open. Her back to the picturesque view. She has a smile on her face of quaint peace, and she feels at home with herself. She's excited about the world.

Meet Sabrina Fairchild.

Billy Wilder opens his film with a voice over from Sabrina (Hepburn) and she is telling us in her calm, and explanatory voice of the considerable Larrabee estate and it's Long Island property's specifics. We see the shots of what she mentions, and the life of which she's been a witness of. After two minutes, we understand "This is as close as one could get to Heaven on Long Island." As she is merely the chauffeur's daughter, brought over from England.

At the outset of the annual Six Meter Yacht Race, the Larrabee's are throwing their annual party to celebrate it. Her lovely voice takes us through the family as they pose for a photo inside the mansion and then we meet the brothers. Linus (Bogart) and David (Holden) Larrabee. Linus is obviously not pleased he has to sit for a family photo, and we understand that David is reveling in the chance for a prestigious picture. His smile is wide and practiced--but not authentic. In his own right he is a major star; smiling is simply part of his repertoire.

We watch as he dances with a lovely and giggly blonde on the terrace of the backyard, and then, we watch as Sabrina watches David dance. He eventually persuades her away, and walks through the garden to get to where she went, the indoor tennis courts. Sabrina makes her presence known and David says, "Hello Sabrina, thought I heard someone."

"No," She says, "It was no one." And now we see her pain. Later, as she watches (or spies, pick one) David dance with his blond, this goes deeper, and we get the sense she's a bit of a masochist for watching. Upstairs, in her duplex she shares with her father above the 8 car garage, she flutters around her small space. Unsure of herself, and then she just sits. She rocks back and forth and in the chair and after a moment of relaxing, comes to a realization. She's ending her life. After a tussle in the garage with all 8 cars running and the doors closed, Linus comes in, pulls her out, buys her story of checking spark-plugs and puts her to bed. She has a big morning, she's moving to Paris for a world-renown cooking academy.

The movie's notions for Sabrina's "undying" love for David she's cultivated over time come hard, Wilder needs us to see the strength of her heart, and the whimsical qualities of her . The entire house staff understands her deep-seated feelings for David, most root for her, and father is of course always worried. We get a more refined version of fresh from Paris, and we see Sabrina's overhaul of confidence and image given to her by The Baron, a fellow chef from her Parisian cooking school. Turns out he's a well respected Frenchman with a lengthy history, stature, and the means to transform a chauffeur's daughter into a Long Island Socialite. Almost. For the playful charms inherent in Sabrina's veins are what make her adorable, and we love her for it. No Frenchman, or any other man for that matter can switch that off. And more to the point, who in the hell would want to?

When she pops back up from her 2 year stint, the plot kicks in full gear. David has been forced into a marriage with the owner of a sugar cane holder in Puerto Rico, and through his lovely blond daughter's hand is the key to a merger with Larrabee for Linus' new plastics division. After that scene and it's wonderful dialogue and exchange with Holden and Bogart using all their powers of swagger, David has no interest in marriage after 3 failed attempts. But of course he begrudgingly accepts after a great speech about economic boosting from all the jobs the merger will create. The only problem is that David wants Sabrina once she makes it onto his radar as a sultry, smiley lovely little thing; which could seriously upset Linus' plans. So he comes up with a new one.

Bogart executes his lines not with the playfully snark bite we're used to, but with Wilder softening those blows a tad, Bogart gives us one of his most touching and lovable performances, arguably the most.With light charm to the tough humor we get in his other pictures he applies this to his scenes I was intrigued by seeing him do this. And also so very proud of his legendary adaptability to anything he took on in front of the camera. The script is dazzled with many-a-superb bits of dialogue and deliveries from nearly the entire cast, nearly the entire time they are using their mouths. Linus in particular. His warning to his brother about the dangers of breaking off his marriage to the plastic princess is one of the those lines. About Sabrina's "Aren't they something" legs he tells him:

"The last pair of legs that were 'something' cost the family $25,000."

He is a calculating businessman, and has no time for women, for gallivanting or tomfoolery. He runs--in addition to his cigar smoking and martini sucking father--the family business. A giant mega-corporation full of different branches and sects all over the city and the country. We later learn that long ago he nearly took a plunge off the ledge of his 22nd floor office. For that, he only alludes to, well, not a woman. Not exactly, but we sense a bottleneck of pressure. A world-weary businessman who holds utter power in the palm of his considerable hand must have a lot of martinis and frozen daiquiris to take the daily edge off.

And yet, he doesn't, he rolls through the punches, only to roll through more again the next day. Sober, ish, and scrutinizing. Not for the power, or the money it gets him, but simply for the love of business. of commerce. Of industry and corporate excitement. A real corporate-idealist, if that exists.

This is a man who can speak of millions like juggling oranges, "Just a small knack" is what he calls his buying, selling and international million-dollar business affairs: "Well suppose I did loose it? What's at the end of a million? Zero. Zero. Zero. Nothing. A circle with a hole in it." He tells Sabrina with a grin. Calling back a conversation with his brother, he tells him if was to ever get married, "I'd have to take a Dictaphone, two secretaries and four corporation counselors alone on the honeymoon." We understand Linus' commitment to the family corporation. That in itself is his marriage. And he's a very committed husband in deed.

David is juiced-in as a junior partner inside Larrabee Industries. One of many cogs of the entire corporate structure. This position inside the company his family owns might as well be invisible, because so is David from the building most of the time. Linus tells Sabrina his office is actually larger then his is, "Instead of a desk he has a putting green." His father, the patriarch of the family stipends him a fat allowance and he uses this to his advantage. To afford himself a classic playboy lifestyle. And when we see him try and shed that image, we buy it completely. Holden and Hepburn give Wilder much to work with, I'll be eternally grateful for it.

As Sabrina enters the party from her first day back, we see how she looks, in her dress, in her eyes, and the way it's like a Heavenly dream, calling back her words form the opening. And as David is drawn to her like the Falcon to the Deathstar, he wraps himself around her for the first time, and they dance. Hepburn shows us just what that means to Sabrina. And she shows us well. They speak of what could have been, what cold be, and they share a feeling of togetherness the likes of which neither of them understood before. Sabrina slays David right there on the dance floor, and us as well.

Wilder's shots are large and they fill the frame with picturesque images nearly every time. He holds them long and pans, tips and swerves to shows us the nature of his blocking, his sublime executions and how the actors deal with lengthy exposure, almost like the stage. There is no cutting. Not always. Time and time again he keeps finding ways to set us up to see only but two or three of his brilliantly written characters fill the frame, and then move inside it as he lets the celluloid roll.Wilder pushes in, holds, the actor lives, breathes, pans their vision, and then Wilder pulls out, and swings, following them around the frame.

The script from Wilder and Ernest Lehman adapted and constructed from Samuel A. taylor's own play (with his help), was done with timing perfection and executed it even better. How writer/directors achieve this is simple, the synergy between the conception of the idea and ability to administer it. Almost every line is quotable. One bit of back n forth I can think of is between Linus and his father:

Oliver: "Alright then, we'll write her a very nice little check. Tell her to forget about David."
Linus: "She doesn't want money. She wants love."
Oliver: "I thought they discontinued that model."
Linus: "The last of the romantics. L'amour toujours l'amour."

We later realize, or I did at least, that Sabrina is not in love with David when she comes back, but merely in love with the idea of David. She is only truly intrigued and enamored in Linus' company, after her keeps whisking her away from David, so as not to upset the merger.

There quite simply isn't a scene in here that isn't perfect, a line of dialogue that doesn't belong, or isn't delivered with perfect timing and just the way it needs to be, a lighting from cinematographer Charles Lang that isn't divine, or a shot that isn't necessary or taken advantage correctly by Wilder and editor Arthur P. Schmidt. He has crafted a master's work of romantic-dramedy gold; and turned out one of Hepburn's and Bogart finest performances, period. There is no argument for it. The Academy nods for Best Director, lead actress, cinematographer, art direction, a costume win (a piece I could write in itself of how well deserved) and screenplay all make complete sense.

We watch as Sabrina leaves Long Island a girl with hope and sorrow, not a shred of style or a mind of the world. She returns with intellect, charm and a lovely and sophisticated nature that radiates from inside her and infects everyone around her. Yes, Ms. Hepburn, we're very happy to bask in the company of your Sabrina in deed.

It takes her 10 seconds to get down that hallway. Emerging from cinematographer Charles Lang's darkness into Wilder's beautiful frame she rounds the corner and walks off screen. But the lens hangs on Bogart down the other end for a few more potent extra moments.
He is now alone.
Then the shot fades to darkness.

She loves the rain, and the smell it brings. She loves Paris, and the feelings in brings out in her, a slow moving soul awoken after years as servant girl. She sings La Vie En Rose and speaks French with a silly grin. I know a girl like that. She's really something. And so is Sabrina. They both see the world through rose-colored glasses. Sabrina understands dancing, and the way to look just the way she needs to into a gentleman's eyes. And she earnestly has a good and kind heart, and often speaks her mind, before cutting herself off in fear of revealing too much. Which involves a downward look and grabbing her hands, with the smallest of knowing smiles.

And whenever the camera gets close on Sabrina, we feel, we see, a fog? A steam? There is very so often a cloudiness in the lens, is there not? Accident? Technological hazards of the times? Was it Wilder? Was is cinematographer Charles Lang?

I'm thinking it was more Sabrina than anything else.

Munki out.

A Review: Eden Lake

2012-08-21T00:41:00.000-04:00

"How now brown cow?!"

I suppose the new trend of horror, or, the old trend, or, the smarter tend (does it matter?) is that the movie ends in ways you didn't expect. Or, it does so in ways that don't serve the purpose of triumph for certain characters. I won't say if this one does or does not, but I've been noticing as of late, the trend has set itself none the less.

Eden Lake is one of a few films that have crawled over the pond and onto my screen, showcasing the growing concern in England of a very real problem with the country's decline in morality and populous well-to-do. I can't comment personally on whether or not that is true, but a few things over the years in the news have point that sign to "yes." I won't say this Harry Brown and we get something that solid or visceral. But one of the little baddies from that one is in this, albeit a little younger so, I liked to think of it as a spiritual prequel to that. And when I think about, boy does that musing make sense.

"Hoodies" "Broken Brit" "Chav" and others are names I've read and heard about over the years are things we see in this one. And at first, I was a little surprised that this was where it really went. Having not seen a single trailer, or frame of this, I had not a clue where the "horror" would come from. And now, having seen said movie, I wouldn't classify it as such, but I'm not here to nit-pick. Hack n' slash, running for life entertainment. (I can see the quote now on the DVD cover). And it is true that this contains horrific images and harrowing statements, but maybe not what your thinking I'm thinking. Is that what your thinking?

Steve (Fassbender) and Jenny (Reilly) set off for Eden Lake for a romantic getaway, what happens is more than they planned on. Cliched out yet? Steve is planning to ask her hand in marriage and it looks like this weekend is all part of his plan. Arriving, we quickly understand the village outside of Eden Lake is, well, full of cunts, to put it in the local slang of the country. And more to the point, young cunts. Which is where the movie puts a lot of it's eggs. If the movie was a basket. Let's say it's a basket. Okay.

Swimming and camping out on the beach, we meet Brett (O' Connell), and his gang of hooligans and his large rottweiler. Brett, we find out later, was doomed from birth and has not single bone in his body that contains even a millimeter of compassion, or the ability to consider the consequences, of his actions for that matter. Before long, a popped tire and some foul language turn into much more than simple troublesome kids at the beach. And it was such a lovely day outside. And Steve and Kelly end up fighting for their lives in the scary tale of, "When Kids Attack." No. that's not a joke. This is about kids with knives and cell phones and gasoline.

Horror, not quite. Intense, disgusting and traumatic? Yesir. James Watkins directs this with care for the relationship get in the beginning, as any standard "horror" should, it's how we give a damn if one of them gets bumped off, right?

The great Michael Fassbender, who seems well-equipped in every role I've spotted him in since I first saw him break onto the screen in 300, never does wrong, and makes good use a of short written and empty character. But Reilly only started singing high notes in the third act, was not as MacGyver-ish with her script's direction. So much of the movie's fear is dependent on O'Connell's performance, and luckily, he pulls through with considerable angst and power. Well played sir.

I said earlier, the movie is horrific, I did not tell a lie. Things that come to mind are the kid's overall demeanor as "hoods," Brett especially who knows no limits. A scene involving a helluva-lot of knife play, a trash dumpster and the last few minutes of the third act explaining a few things for us. So, I'd say this is solid, I won't say entertainment, but a long exercise in running, night shots, extensive make-up, jumping, being scared, getting dirty, and dealing with meddling kids and their dog. I'm glad I'm far from the that park and it's town.

Now all we need is a minivan and a girl in an orange turtleneck.

Munki out.

A Review: Wrecked

2012-08-20T20:52:00.002-04:00

"Fuck! I'm. . . FUCK!"

We almost think the name of the movie should be called "Goddamnit." It's accurate in regards for his bad luck and situation. Wouldn't be far off from what the title is ultimately suggesting.

The first thing we can see clearly is Adrien Brody's eyelid as it opens to reveal a weathered ball behind the skin. Then the camera shifts to a broken windshield and the dense green foliage beyond it. Eventually he comes fully to and gazes around. Beat to hammered shit would just about some up his appearance. Stuck in the front passenger seat of a car, he's wrecked it in the bottom of a ravine in the woods, some how. And yet he looks as if he doesn't have the slightest how he's there.

The man in the back seat is either unconscious, or, dead. Later, we find out he is not playing possum, and Brody is all alone. The driver is missing, we don't know about anyone else from the backseat. And that's just the beginning of his problems.

Brody's leg is pinned down by the dashboard and tugging it just won't do, it causes yelping, and all sorts of painful noises. Eventually, days go by, and he's not found the strength to extricate himself form the vehicle. He yanks things from his pockets, a mint, a receipt, no ID. He tries the man in the backseat he does not recognize, nor does he recognize his name from his driver's license either. It's clear now, Brody has amnesia.

What's worse is that a large mountain lion is stalking out the crash site, and chews on a fallen comrade yards away from the car. Good thing he found that .38 special under the driver's seat, and only he has four bullets left. Eventually, on day three or four, he gets the frustration he's needed and breaks free of the car. We then find out that leg his is in deed as bad as he's making it sound, or, maybe even worse. He ties a tourniquet on it, uses some wood as a splint and tries to secure himself. He's got a long journey.

He hears on the car's radio a deadly bank robbery was committed, and matches up a credit card he finds in the car as one of the perpetrators spoken by the newscaster. Is he Raymond Plazzy? That's what he tells himself, and starts receiving flashes of him pointing guns and robbing bank tellers. Ding, ding ding Johnny! The money in trunk is another great sign he's involved. Too bad Ray.

It's an ode to Brody's seemingly divine honesty as an actor to show us just about how harrowing you think this would actually be for someone. And he powers through the frames, or, crawls. He's no good with that bum leg, and spends the rest of the film crawling attempting to find safety, and ultimately a way out of the woods.

He doesn't look unlike a wounded animal, prime prey, low hanging fruit. And realizes this much at times, on the ready with his gun, and sometimes on watch for cracking wood, rustling leaves, the signs of a hunter. And then a new element arises. He finds a dog pal to mosey along with. Wouldn't ya know it?

I loved that damn dog, and maybe that was the point. Utrusting at first, but always curious about the crawly man and where he was headed. Eventually, they bond over some found beef jerky, and the dog becomes inseparable from him. Almost as a 'Wilson" to Brody's to "Chuck," they even play with a stick by a sightly and serene river. We almost forget how bad it is for him. Was it sent from above? Is it a guardian angel sent to lead him to salvation, or to death from exposure or the cougar, so Satin can add another to his stock?

Man verses nature. As old as time and always on the reinvent I suppose, some flashes of Cast Away come to mind, and not just the dog. We also see some of the dreariness of Aron Ralston/James Franco via 127 Hours. I won't tell you that it reaches the heights of why those films were so captivating, or how inventive they got with keeping you interested. Or that goes into more interesting territory with an escaped buddy from the car, and the film goes the way of The Hunted. Because, it simply doesn't. And eventually after much crawling, Brody makes us feel as if we're down there in the dirt with him and it's nearly as bad as you'd think. My elbows maybe even started to hurt after a while. I'm not sure.

I could have simply told you, and if you were in front of me I would have: "He crawls around grunting and cursing for a fuck-load of the movie, and then it's eventually over." And saved myself the trouble of writing 1,000-and-something words about this. But alas, then why bother writing at all? I love film, that's why.

Wrecked is one of three movies recently I can remember where 1 man is trapped, sealed impossibly and it's up to him to survive his ordeal. Buried with Ryan Reynolds who's always reliable in just about anything he does. The other is Brake with Stephen Dorff. Both involved terrorists from the middle east. Hmm, okay. Apparently Dorff didn't like the other much either from what he says. Thought that he could do it better. I'm not here to dispute that, I haven't seen it yet, so how fair would any argument be? And I won't say that Stephen Dorff isn't good at what he does either, because it is the quite the opposite in fact.

I like watching Adrien Brody, in fact, I love watching him. And I never skip the film he's in. Some past Oscar winners don't do much for the honor, some, trash it completely with the decisions they make afterwards. Thankfully, whenever see Brody, it's always in something we feel he's chosen for the right reasons, and certainly not the wrong ones. Say what you want about Adrien Brody, but he's always finding new, fresh ways to keep himself occupied in front of the camera.

And for that, I am always thankful.

Munki out.

A Review: The Descent

2012-08-20T14:29:00.002-04:00

"I'm an English teacher not fucking Tomb Raider."

There is a darkness to this movie combined with it's perfect, expansive and finely detailed set construction that adds a certain level of authenticity it deserves. I was happy to feel, at times, like I was in that damn 2-miles deep down cave system with the girls. Director Neil Marshell achieved his desired effect of claustrophobia, insidious pressure and atmospheric strain in his Brit-Horror flick to a good effect.

Sarah, Juno and Beth are whitewater rafting in Scotland, then, boom, Sarah's life comes to a halt. A year later, we see her in North Carolina with Beth and their driving through the Appalachian Mountains for a spelunking trip. Unfortunately there not about to find the Batcave. No, something else lurks down there.

They are heading down by Juno, cave diving and cleavage expert. Because apparently, when you dive, you still need to show off your attributes, a lady never knows when she'll meet a gentleman. Marshell evidently worked hard with the girls to give them all a good familiarity with the diving attribute, we almost feel like they know what their doing. And before long, we're scratching, crouching, jumping, stopping for apple-lunch breaks and swinging over deep abysses two miles down.

After a while, it's known to the girls that Juno, has decided not to take them to the planned site, and their now exploring an unmapped cave. She has no idea how to get out any tells the girls the only way up and out is down through. They are less then thrilled to hear that. Before long, the headstrong Irish diver and self-proclaimed "sport fuck only" earnestly gets to ahead of her and gets herself injured. Welp, that's what happens. And it doesn't take long, schlepping her about, until Sarah feels there is something else down there. Or, is it the lights they have? And the darkness and must and moisture playing tricks on her? The angry and tension is laid down well by Marshell.

Once the second act starts to take over, and the things that go bump in the cave emerge with angry hungry and growling, gloppy mouths, I guess that's our pay off? I'll admit things really get bad for the girls as panic sets in they might never get out. Well, we all have Captain Cleavage to thank for that, she was hoping they could name it after Sarah, she says. Cave Sarah? Okay, sure. I'll let that one slide.

The sets used, all 21 caves settings, were filmed in the famed Pinewood Studios in England, and were constructed with great care by Brit production designer Simon Bowles. We feel the weight of the cave crushing in on the girls. We almost feel as if we're down there with them, in the never snake's way of mazery, darkness upon flares, upon headlamps, upon cloddish girls and their search eventually for an exit. The steam, the heat, the dripping water that never ceases and the moisture in the air reminding the girls there is atmosphere, but not the kind they want.

The twists, turns, tight holes and large gaps inside leaves us thinking what's ahead, and what's behind. Paired with David Julyan's (The Prestige) while timed and suited score and we've got some real good elements on our hands.

In contrast to my words, I am a horror fan, not a loyal one, but a fan. And maybe, holding this up to the light against a master craft of bizarre suspense and stomach squeeze terror with Kill List, reviewed just yesterday, it's like switching from motorcycle to a dirt bike? But this one has elements that are well placed, thoughtful and inspired by Marshell who worked hard to make this American, fast-paced and dumb. Marshell show signs of that thought-process in Dog Soldiers, and here we get that more refined in a slow build that ratchets up the suspense and tension only little by little, The Descent understand that before you unleash the fear, you must set it deep within us. Even if the fear is a large group of vampire lookalike cave dwellers who fest on raw meat. Which I only got so far with.

This has bits and pieces in the third act that try and keep it together as far as fear goes, but that fear forgoes to the consequences of the story, which, as it turns out, was well penned and executed by Marshell.

Forgetting this is a British horror and that's where they all come from, I probably wouldn't recognize any of these actress, knowing a lot have stayed over there, so as not to say their all not worth it either, or poor actresses, I suppose. So many I should cram it up my ass? But I'll un-cram this sentiment.

But, usually, an insightful director can take a bad performer (or character from the script) and make them a brilliant one if they have the skill set, motivation and if they are so inclined. Too bad for the girls here, some of whom have flashes of something well bred in their craft, director Neil Marshell was not so inclined.

Chemistry--the girls together as friends and dialogue exchangers--have none. They hobble through the script's initial playfulness between them in the first few scenes like Acting 1 student plucked from a community college, forcing friendly nature and girl talks before they set sail and make their "descent." I understand the film's goals weren't for the likes of The Babysitters Club; and so I'll give the first twenty or so minutes a pass. But, it was still annoying to sit through none the less.

For all the girls out there, I'm still wondering what we have with Sarah, who turns out to brave, fearsome and headstrong. Is this the scenario that is supposed to jolt her back into her former, or new, self? Do we care about what happened in the beginning, and the revelation we get in the third act I saw coming from the beginning?

Others might have thought it added character weight and depth, but that cheap ploy means diddly to me. I'm not and never will be the sort of film analyst who will tell you not to go and see something. A film, bad or great should be watched and judged by the individual, and this has merit as horror. So go enjoy. The greens of the gel lights and reds of the flares, the oranges of the headlamps, and seeing the dirty faces of the pretty girls in the extraordinary cave system alone is worth it. Cinematography was pulled off nicely by Sam McCurdy.

I was glad to see a cave that had real personality to it, and made me think twice about going through one, guide and group-a-girls or not. Maybe I'll zip down my top just a tad, and see what kind of local attention I'll receive if I get lost. Worked for Juno.

Munki out.

A Review: Kill List

2012-08-20T00:43:00.000-04:00

"It's complicated."

Please understand, and do not be confused: this film is horrific. It's true what they say, the genre while arguably a family drama, with flights of crime/suspense ultimately falls under horror. I'll agree with that and say it conceals itself in the former two categories well. Do not be fooled by the first two acts, which go by very curiously and enlarge our interest in where exactly it's heading.

My favorite part was getting through the last thirty or so minutes having not a single clue where it was going. Then arriving at our destination seemingly pulled the from the deep innards of the Bermuda triangle. Boy, was that fun.

Inside the film, there is a regular occurrence of a reverse bell toll and slow, sloshing music in a dark, unyielding tone. It doesn't exactly stop, almost, but when it's not sounding, we feel it's presence has done it's job to give us feelings of dread. Things--as well as you'd think they'd go with two contract professionals--don't exactly go that way. What did you expect? A movie where the hit list is quietly executed and then it's Bob your uncle?

We open the film with wild a screaming match, oh, no, that's just a daily force-of-habit by husband and wife Jay and Shel.

Shel pulls this angry and thrusts it at her husband seemingly out of thin air at various times throughout the film. Shel as a fiery as any wife can be. She is this way, not out of hatred, but love. So take comfort in it. She is played by Swedish born Myanna Buring with a pitch perfect London-proper accent and is very, extremely beautiful. We hear her middle America in The Descent and even in this, she's spouting sad and quick Swedish into the phone to her relatives. Buring brings a good sense of interpretation and has a good handle on herself as any everyday woman, who can love, fight, kiss and get scared too, with authenticity, and not just being the hot, blond mom/wife in a movie.

Jay, who admittedly is a but lazy, is the kind of everyman we'd get form American sit-coms, even though the film itself is set in England. He pisses off his wife, all the while knowing she still loves him dearly, constantly has his lovely son doting on him who heroically cherishes him, buys bottles of wine instead of groceries and cooks rabbit for lunch just to gross out his misses.

Two men, "best mates" Gal (Simpson) and Jay (Maskell) are ex-military who now serve the way of the gun, and do it for hire. The best part about it is: their just regular ol' chaps. They drink beer out of cans, curse and smile and makes sex and guy jokes, and are even a bit sloppy on the job. They are not polished American assholes in some big budget movie where they are supreme martial artists and always get the upper hand. Jeezus that would be fucking boring.

After some nasty undisclosed business they did in Kiev, Jay is shaken and uneasy about the next assignment Gal is asking him about. It's a list, three men, local job, open and shut, and good money. It's been eight months and no work for Jay (so we angrily hear from his wife), and the money's simply running out. Gal, his best mate, tells him it's okay, don't worry. Yeah, sure. Whatever Gal says. By job number two, it's clear that strings are being pulled, and these targets are simply not what they seem. And rather then go forward with the plot. I'm abruptly stopping here, I might have already said to much.

I don't think I've ever seen art-house horror before, and I am hard-pressed to think of something even similar, if We Need To Talk About Kevin took a slightly more dangerous and nasty turn, I trust the mood and atmosphere this one invokes would be the shoes it wears. And it does it very well, creating a tense, wavy atmosphere of a uncozy feeling, giving us rain, green wet leaves, dreary skies, a nice rainbow, ect. But none of these things ever come off with beauty or in the spirit of prettiness (a word I promise). They carry the baggage of a foreboding wave of, anxiety? Or maybe it was just plain old fashion hebby-jebbies. Let's go with that. Set on slow-boil, the water is sure to spill out of the pot. or at least, it damn well feels like it might.

Our two leads, the credits tell us that additional dialogue was done by the cast, which is a way of the filmmakers kindly giving credit where it's due. The script written tactfully by Ben Wheatley and Amy Jump, was obviously put off in favor of improv and in-the-moment feelings coming through the mouth. We get the sense that these are well rounded people with legitimate things to say, not dripping their feelings but simply being honest, and at times, darkly funny. We're grateful in deed. Because so much of the power of the film comes from the candid portrayals that Buring, Smiley and Maskell give us.

Mostly on Jay and Gal, who seem, nearly sloppy in some of the decisions they make. They most certainly do not like look like their profession, but then again, isn't that the point? And even more, who really does besides anyone from the Matrix I suppose? They have good old fashioned levity together, and we get the sense their legitimate friends outside the film. A few scenes of shouting, wrestling and a great one involving Super-Christians at dinner with a guitar come to mind. And they fit well inside the world that Wheatley has shaped for us.

His set-ups are organic in the way they are sometimes not for the screen, but the mood, or the mind. Sometimes we get a face, randomly staring off into nothing, or the way a curtain flaps in the fan. Slow-motion family dynamics with unkind music to accompany it. How the walls of a house or the light from a fire close in on the two men's faces. Nothing in this film is exactly what it seems, and some of those more dubious elements completely fall apart over time. Rotting away to reveal a new layer of something never expected.

If I close my eyes, I can almost piece the sparse details and clues given to us together and make sense of the finality of the story. I'm very tempted to tell you what I feel is the true motivations of certain characters and ultimately even the story as a whole--but I wouldn't dare ruin it for you. And even without that pondering, the ends of this almost make complete sense, in their way, and if they don't, am I angry?

Should I care the end was certainly bemusing?

Wouldn't it be nice to be banging my head against the wall at such an unsettling and truly jarring climax for once? To go and puzzle over an ominous, fearful and definitely bizarre ending?

When it's done this well, I'd like to think so.

Munki out.

A Review: Bel Ami

2012-08-19T18:23:00.002-04:00

"The most important people in Paris are not the men. The most important people in Paris are their wives."

I remember hearing about this project's inception, and the thing that sparked my interested most certainly went in a different direction then all 6 studios who share credit intended. T'was not Twilight star Pattinson, Robert that had my knees weak. But Uma Thurman, Kristin Scott Thomas and Christina Ricci all inside one film, a period-setting, a French aristocratic love drama. There we go. . .

Accomplishing such a unlikely containment of talent is a feat in itself, the likes of which could only be attained through a box office top-billed star the like of which has the crowd draw of Edward Cullen.The sheer spectacle of those three actresses with long standing ties to film was enough for me to watch the trailer in anticipation for the celluloid and then sit through this.

And as it turns out, my instincts lead me to watching a real gem of a film about three wives in Paris, played with delicious fancy by three skilled performers.

Pattinson stars as George Du Roy, a poor, ex-military from Algeria who now acts as a simple clerk in Paris, he has shabby, but nearly presentable clothes and beats bugs to death in his crumby apartment. One night while grabbing a beer and eye-fucking a whore in a lively joint, he runs into an old military chap that quite literally throws his beer away, buys him champagne, gives him gold coins and tells him to buy evening wear, he's coming over for dinner the next night. He just so happens to be powerful at the newspaper. Enter George's new job.

The following evening, he arrives and meets the three most influential women in Paris, and from then on, he decides, this is the life for him. Thr rungs of his French power ladder are Clotilde (Ricci), Madaliene Forestier (Thurman) and Virginie (Scott-Thomas). Through their legs, comes the spoils. Initially writing articles of his military exploits in the form of diaries with help from Madaliene he eventually makes his ascent into Parisian aristocracy and dabbles in politics through his writing and his company. Along the way, manages to make a few enemies, and think with his lower half quite a bit. But alas, the curse and men, is it not?

I do realize the pedigree of this novel, and it's rich history in the French literary world. But, do I dare say it's a little too convenient that where every George goes, people are trying to help him, almost as if the Parisian universe will take care of him and hold him well? Or, maybe, is it that he is so obviously in need of help? Can we see this on George's face, the earnest desperation coated very well in a friendly soul and (initially) well-to-do nature?
I believe so, and since this is my review, you have to take it or fuck off.

But I'll say that altruism only last him so long before he tastes the simply pleasures of life that were all too recently beyond his grasp, and he finds himself in a slow-boil of addiction to it, jumping from one lily-pad to the next as water rushes wilder and wilder. His short-comings as a writer begins to show and without Madaliene's help, he nearly looses all. But alas, it's back to the face, the charm, and those vampire teeth that shine through his smile. And he's back in the paper as Gossip Columnist. I did begin to wonder if the cosmos would continue to light his path or if the ground really was shrinking beneath his feet.

I can't speak to the novel's attempts at George and making his motivations harder to turn into realities, but this movie certainly makes short work of him having to do much of anything to get what he wants. A movie about a 20-something who bangs down French cougars and makes money? It tries for more though.

There are people who aren't giving Pattinson his due here, and please allow me to argue in his defense, he seems very rightly suited for a hungry aristocratic wanna-be who slithers like an asshole past people's defense, all the while smiling like a shit in the face of his enemies. He sneers, and snickers, and with angry joy conquers his way through the movie. I bought it hook-line-sinker and was filleted while watching this. There is a even a scene in which he goes to visit the dying husband of a socialite, a friend of his. This man rolls, coughs, and the spits up blood onto George's shirt sleeve and as the wife panics he seems offended at the thought of blood on his nice new clothing. Just pause that shot and take a look at that face. Pattinson displays disgust here at whores, men, women and just about anyone who offends his ever-enhancing sensibilities.

It makes it all the sweet when the little shit gets hurt, or, truthfully annoyed. Which then arises a problem. Why are we to watch young George (nicknamed Bel Ami) get upset at the things he does with his, women? It's always very clear he's in love with the idea, and the image it provides, rather than them people themselves. Coming off cruel and at times nearly compassionless instead of the Casanova who always means well. Would this be different if Heath Ledger had done it? I'd like to think so. Maybe he wouldn't have took it so seriously (bad pun intended for the right of my point). But no, I don't think here is character we're supposed to root for, or maybe we are. The end serves the means of his journey, and I'll say I bought it as much.

Maybe it's because she stole my heart in Casper when my mother took me to see it in theaters, seeing her the New England setting making me home sick and the large screen. Or maybe it's because she also has something to offer in the way of playful charm that always seems legitimate, naturally part of her being that really never fails unless her director is a shithead and gets too specific with their desires of her characters. I love watching Ricci do just about anything. Even if it's being Speed Racer's girlfriend or a dirty thing chained up in Samuel L. Jackson's living room. This why I believe I see George truly happy in her company only. Yes, that seems just about right.

Uma Thurman brings a slight sense of Mia Wallace into her powerful and persuasive Parisian wife of Madaliene Forestier. What is is about her that only seems to better her with age, endow her with wisdom? Thurman is a fine wine that we should all taste. Get the crystal please.

Kristin Scott Thomas, who I've seen do many divine things with her excellent handle of the French language is sadly restrained to her English tongue. What is it about the London English accent that calls as a substitute for French, German, Russian? I never buy into it, and thank my lucky stars (I have many, don't you?) that Tarantino had the good sense to use natural languages and the native actors to use them in Inglorious Basterds.

The lovely leading ladies of the movie do what they can with contrived script and they do more for it then it deserves. But then again, that's the excellent by-product of hiring skilled performers who understand the depths and have the gear and airtanks to dive. Too much metaphor?

I have a feeling that the source material itself had more to offer in the ways of the angry Democratic newspaper and the views of French society raging with the changing of the times. One of many stories written around the era. Such rich history. As if all 6 studios ordered script pages to have spliced bits of France possibly taking Morocco, and how the newspaper does in deed effect officials and their duties, the movie never sells us on it's more political gains, and we don't buy it either, or really don't care. When's the next scene with the vamp kid and his slightly hairy not-as-pale chest?

I say we take George, put him in Forks, Washington and set him loose on the school's eligible women, student body and teachers alike. Now there's a vampire.

Munki out.

A Review: Mother

2012-08-18T23:24:00.001-04:00

This film is a delectable delight of an adorable fancy and almost, whimsically dramedic--if I may merge two words--at times.
Balancing flights of mustily dark comedy, police procedural and (at times suspenseful) family drama, Mother is certainly more than the title suggests.

Even the open sequence alone is enough to rope us in tightly with it's capricious nature, and, avant-garde approach almost, dancing along in front of our eyes. We need to find out more about this woman, her story and this film.

Only the director of the painfully lovely The Host could have made a film from the exact script I saw played out before my eyes. Maybe even South Korea in general could produce something like this, although you could argue that with some others I'm thinking of now. But still, you can't replace the swag that South Korean film has developed and can bring to the camera. Their customs, energy, fresh approaches, locales and over atmosphere. Another film which, well, pretty much fits exactly the description in the above paragraph, with another label I'll reserve for it's best kept a secret as much as it can be.

Coming off the good steam of that, and being able to repeat himself in a similar genre, Joon-ho has moved himself to another, more familiar one, calling on his Memories of Murder instincts. Another great one for him about cops, killers, questions and whodunit's.

I'll say this, I watched Won Bin play the total opposite of a helpless idiot in The Man From Nowhere to great effect. So seeing him as Do-Joon for the first time, playing with a dog and making it stand on it's hind legs and dance for his mother across the street, you get the sense the Won Bin, is well suited to play a man of low and very questionable intelligence. I'm not exactly sure that's a compliment, but his conviction at collecting golf balls as romantic trinkets for girls had me cold believing him. Not quite the Dicaprio standard, but it worked just fine. This is two in a row now, where a main character is played to be, of questionable intelligence, along with the The Host as we get here.

His mother, played by Korean Acting vet Kim Hye-ja loves her son to the millionth degree. Every stare and every glace she give to him is packed with ferocious feelings of adulation. We get the sense he's a twenty-something, not doing much with his days, and at night, he even crawls into her bed at times. She sells herbs, roots and holistic medicine by day, and secretly on the side gives out acupuncture, her employer does not like it, but the money is needed, and she believes in what she does.

Mother, is quite simply about the titular character and her search for the real killer of a local girl, while her son is held on a sentence based on circumstantial evidence alone. And her son, Do-Joon, doesn't help himself much, being the town simpleton, he barely understands, or even cares that he's locked up and pretty much serving 15 hard years in prison. The police he see this as open and shut (after a neat trick with an apple) by a fingerprint at the crime scene alone, and they manage to grab a swift confession out of him. In a quick scene, mother says to son:

"Did you kill her?"
"Are you crazy, of course not."
"Then why did you sign it idiot!"
"Don't call your son an idiot!"

Well, at least you're right side of that ol' DMZ border huh Do-Joon?

After that we get scenes of her quite literally scowering the town in order to prove her son's innocence. She questions and detains and pays and cries and panics. Ever vigilant and never tiring, Mother powers through placated police, dumb lawyers and unruly townsfolk on the search for truth.

It comes across our mind that there is a chance the real killer, who simply murdered the girl and has skipped out of the small town, might never be caught, and Do-Joon is set for his sentence to serve it out in full. But surely that can't be it? Is that the end game of the film? He rots and the mother cries and grows old(er) alone? Will I say? "Are you crazy? Of course not." I won't say, the end is too precious to spoil.

I'll say this, when we get to the end, we don't expect that kind of result, but we simply cannot argue with it's logic either. And there is something to be said about the sheer honesty of sticking to the congruent and harmonious outcome of a story, versus a mere payoff that the director heroically ditched. Which I of course loved. And I'll say that: I just plum loved this film. Loved it. And much is owed to the unyielding, relentlessness and going-for-broke performance from Kim Hye-ja. And the last scene for her character in the film isn't where we'd find think we'd find her either. Or more to the point, do we really think at that point in the film anything is going to happen that's anywhere near traditional? Of course not.

This is film most certainly not a comedy, but it has its moments that are more obvious. When Kim lights up a cigarette, or almost any conversation between her and Do-Joon, or when Do-Joon does just about anything, the way the townies look at her bumbling around trying to help her dumb son, or the way he's never called "retard" in itself, he's always a "dumb" one, or a "stupid" one. We later find out his mother instructed him years ago to defend in only one specific manner to this name calling.

I wonder, though how this would play as an American remake? I won't say it'd be worse, but I'll say there is simply something charming and naturally delightful for my experiences watching South Korean film. They certainly know how to pump out country-pleasers with little creative compromise. As an audience member, I'm always thankful for that.

Generalizing the film, think about the pitch to watch the film for a night in with popcorn, "Oh dude, it's South Korean and subtitled. It's about this old lady who walks around town trying to free her innocent son on a murder charge. It's mostly her just asking a lot of questions and searching."

Would you be interested?
Would you watch?
Would you pass and hit the bars?

Munki Out.