The Munki's Tree

"Godzilla" Trailer 2: The King of King's Has Returned

2014-02-25T21:51:00.001-05:00

"The arrogance of man is thinking that nature is in our control--and not the other way around. . ."
--Daisuke Serizawa

He looks weathered. He is not sleek and clean and forest green. No, this is no longer the lizard of yesteryear. He looks like a veteran, a war-torn and hardened solider. Exposed and vitriolic towards the world. He looks of a demon. A tragedy. An abomination.

A harbinger of Death itself.

Since I was a very small boy, this most tyrant of all things has commanded my attention in the glorious wonder of mayhem of the ballet of violence, adventure, drama and sadness.

There were times over the course of the career of the creature that it seemed as if all the pain of mankind was summed up into the mistake that was forged and thrust upon this planet--Him. And he was always there to remind us of his tumultuous existence and the dangerous game mother nature has chosen to play with us.

So it was with a great passion I bathed myself in when the news of this feature film being made in the true spirit of the legend's history. I have waited, with mental provisions in various forms until time came forth with the final product. And now it would seem those days are in the final stretches of delivering us the film.

Below is a little soliloquy I've written in response to my initial feelings after viewing the trailer that has newly debuted this morning. And suffice it to say, this is how you make a good old fashioned Hollywood Blockbuster. And yet, we see something so much more in this--a thinking man's film. With brush strokes of horror.

Director Gareth Edwards has said his goal with this was to present Godzilla as a "terrifying force of nature. A wrath of nature." And made an effort to treat Godzilla as a real-life disaster. All those elements and more are here in this bloodcurdling presentation of what's in store for us come May.

Kid tested. Munki approved.

"He stood in fearful amazement as his hands slowly rose to his mouth, his jaw was agape.

Thunderous footsteps approached and his muscles were being commanded to move his body, particularly his legs--but they were being insubordinate. They wouldn't, or couldn't, follow the orders of his brain. Others were rushing by in awe and delirium of the presence of the dark royalty among them now.

Alone on the street he stood and watched as the King of Kings, the God of Death marched forward laying claim to his new found kingdom. A kingdom he took willingly with no politeness. Lands he conquered with no courtesy.

For it was always his.

He is Godzilla. Hear him roar."

Where will you be May 16th at Midnight?

Munki out :-)

By The Scent of The Sea

2013-09-08T19:33:00.000-04:00

8 o' clock in the evening on Edgewater Drive in Dunedin, Florida is simply a great place to find oneself. Plain and simple. He new this. He new it well. It is of course where he even found himself tonight. Like he often did. Amongst the purity of Florida atmosphere.

It was only a short walk along the grassy pathway, the sidewalk that ran itself alongside the sea. And on the other side of him, was the vast body of water that made up so much of why his town was so attractive in the first place. And on the other side, in turn, of that body of water, was Clearwater. The beaches. The Buildings. That lifestyle celebrated and known a nation over.

Bike riders and dog walkers and various denizens of the town were also their with him. They were there to share and bask in the wonderful experience the waterside was there to offer them. He eventually made his way down the path to the benches across from Edgewater Drive and Beltrees Avenue. That was his spot. His place. The feeling of serenity and energy that he couldn't exactly explain to anyone that. . . That called to him.

It beckoned to him with a tantalizing and mysterious nature.

So he happily obliged that spot where two black benches sat in between lush green grass, giant bush and foliage and wonderfully tall, skinny palm trees. It was there that the night began to be born yet again. Minute after minute after second--it became more and more visible in the sky. But maybe it had help tonight. Maybe the small, light scent of the rain storm was goading it along, tempting it to change faster. To be born quicker tonight.

For it was the scent of the sea that drew him their, but now, he understood, the smell of the storm was what kept him tonight.

And then the lightning came.

It presented itself as an operatic show of light and sound and spirit. It danced and tapped and spun. Singing it's deep and bass-filled songs of power and vitality. It was a most beautiful sight to behold in deed.

He found his feet after a few moments of the show taking him closer. . . Closer to the water. Closer to the flashes of white electric. He found himself on the rocks down by the water. It was there by the sea and waves and rocks that he felt at ease. Finally. . . at peace. There was no one. There was nothing. No hurt could grab hold of him and hold him dearly. No pain could grasp his soul and dig it's way inside, burrowing in deeply.

The salt coming off the blue and white caps held in him in it's protection. The wind rolling off the water bound him in a spell of sanctity. He was taken care of. There, he was taken care of. And he was grateful for it. For it was the land and water and the palms and green, green grass and the atmosphere people killed for. Died for. Lived for. A gentleman walking past on the sidewalk must have noticed him standing on the rocks, brooding and thinking and feeling. He called out and asked, 'Beautiful isn't it?"

He answered to the water, "You ain't kiddin'. . ."

As the wind blew over the cool blue waves and reached his skin he watched as the day shift clocked out, and the stars began to wake up. The lightning had subsided and the storm looked as though it had concluded it's dancing and singing over the city on the other side. Things were calm now on the water. Life was at peace there by the sea. He grinned a bit running his fingers through his hair. And the grin was supplied by not only satisfaction, but also from gratefulness. Grateful and appreciative for being in such a place of rich beauty and effervescent oceanic bliss. This was a prime spot. A choice location.

Minutes later, back at the bench, he was putting his jacket back on. He got one arm in and then watched across the vast body of water as Clearwater was struck by yet again, massive lightning.

Two. Enormous. Bolts.

In that moment the dark blues and emerging purples of the night were all cast aside for the brilliant white aura of light. The massive energy strikes threw and pushed themselves throughout the sky. A showcase of the two mutli-striking bolts of electric magnificence.

The storm had decided to step in time yet again. It still had some moves left. Some dancing to be done. So of course, he smiled.

He dropped down his jacket and decided to hold it on the way back.

Then he left the seaside behind, and leisurely walked back to his car.

'The Counselor' Teaser Trailer Drops

2013-06-30T21:51:00.002-04:00

"You may think they are things that these people are simply, incapable of. . . There are not."
--Westray

It's here. It's finally here. The first footage from Cormac McCarthy's first screenplay, "The Counselor." This is the man responsible for No Country For Old Men, the best selling novel that the Coen Brothers turned into a 4-Oscar win, Best Supporting (for Javier Bardem who plays in this), Best Adapted Screenplay, Best Director and ultimately Best Picture.

Got your attention now do I?

Last January I remember reading that Cormac McCarthy was shopping around his first completed screenplay, written solely on speculation, a spec-script. The Road producers Nick Wechsler, Paula Mae Schwartz, and Steve Schwartz snapped up the rights to it, and began shopping it around for the rest of the chess pieces.

2 weeks later, after going back and forth decided on his next project, while wrapping up Prometheus Ridley Scott confirmed he was in deed directing the project. Coming off the old news he was prepping Blood Meridian, only to eventually walk do to various key issues, this only made sense a hole in his schedule and this material

After I wiped, shower-badayed and then changed my boxer-briefs, I got back to reading the news of this holy arrival of film magic.

Producer Steve Schwartz told Deadline's Mike Fleming Jr.

"Since McCarthy himself wrote the script, we get his own muscular prose directly, with its sexual obsessions. It’s a masculine world into which, unusually, two women intrude to play leading roles. McCarthy’s wit and humor in the dialogue make the nightmare even scarier. This may be one of McCarthy’s most disturbing and powerful works."

Two weeks later, Michael Fassbender was confirmed for the lead, staring as:

"A respected lawyer who thinks he can dip a toe in to the drug business without getting sucked down. It is a bad decision and he tries his best to survive it and get out of a desperate situation."

I'm game son.

Then the rest fell into place: Brad Pitt and Javier Bardem took the baddies and antagonists, playing Westray and Reiner respectively, booting out Jeremy Renner who was up for a spot. Cameron Diaz and Penelope Cruiz took the women, who evidently, emerge as leading players in the story as time continues through it. Angelina Jolie was circling the role of Malkina, Diaz's role, while Natalie Portman was in early negotiations to take Cruiz's role of Laura, the lawyer's fiance.

Rounding out the rest of the cast is Dean Norris, Rosie Perez,John Leguizamo, Natalie Dormer and Goran Visnjic. Rosie Perez? One can only wonder. . .

I will now spare you, and present to you the first footage from my pick of the year: The Counselor.

As you can see in the trailer, Scott has really stepped back and taken a look at the atmosphere he wants to invoke here. With such a top-choice-cut, why not change things up. I notice a polished gloss, a sleek streamlined finish on the frames here. A Victoria Secret commercial feel is in full force, which only says he's using a delicate and intimate approach to invite us into this world.

I see a lot of held-held and steady-cam work as well as his usual cranes and jibs. This man knows and understand what kind of material he has, and is molding and changing to acclimate to a new environment for himself.

There is a cotton soft, dryer-sheet touch to the cinematography that I found myself immediately enjoying.

All I see here, is the cast having a Goddamn ball in their roles. Fassbender as David 8 in Prometheus was surely given the most love and excitement from the filmmakers, and you can see the budding friendship and trust coming through in the movie between Scott and Fassbender. So it makes perfect sense he's been brought back here. Are we about to see the next form of Russell Crowe for Scott? Why the hell not. Bardem cutting loose here, riding the good steam and fun he had in Silva, I'm tryin' to see where he takes his Reiner character.

Diaz I see, is looking like she's really sinking her teeth into something I'm sure she's more than grateful to have. I'm really interested to see where she's going to go in this. Maybe some Any Given Sunday as the foundation with a little bit of Vanilla Sky and Gangs of New York sprinkled on top?

I'm sure those are all just starting points, I'm excited to see what she does here, after a near decade of slumps and dumps at the box office (No, Shrek does not count). Bad Teacher could have a lot more than it was, but it got her 100 million at the domestic box office in here the states. So let's see. . .

There too many reasons to go and see this and not a single one not to go. Listen son, take it from me, when Cormac mother-fuckin' McCarthy writes something that becomes a film, from his pen directly to the screen with ZERO INTERFERENCE--then you drop whatever it is that you happen to be doing and go see it.

You can thank me later.

I'll be there October 24th at midnight.

Munki out.

A Review: World War Z

2013-06-24T00:51:00.003-04:00

"If you can fight. Fight. Help each other. Be prepared for anything."
--Gerry Lane

There is a brilliantly executed scene where Gerry (Pitt), on the run, picks up his daughter's plush toy in the streets of Philly. (Not the Springsteen song)

The toy also speaks with an adorable and haunting voice. And as Gerry and his family run to safety, the toy begins--in unison and by coincidence--to count up from the number one aloud as a pedestrian recently bitten begins to transform. Gerry watches from a safe distance as the man bitten changes from human to undead in twelve seconds flat. He mentally logs the time-stamp and can't shake the horror of watching the man rise hungry, charged with menace and, yes, not exactly dead or alive.

But sadly, this film is a shadowy reflection of it's former self. With grander aspirations of what it set out to do. Having followed the production since the scripting and greenlight stages, this is the not the same product, and the ingredients have changed. A ghost of it's former self.

There is brilliance here to be had, in some tight flashes and flicks and even in one tiny wave. But none like the original concept the original script by achieved J. Michael Straczynski and heavily praised by Max Brooks, the author) or, much like the book itself. Things like, "Jason Bourne meets All The Presidents Men" were tossed around. Really? I heard things back then like, "Leaked script read, is this the zombie film that makes it into the Best Picture category?" Woe. . . And these were from sources of credibility.

This has fallen from that grace. But not completely hit the rock bottom. Settling somewhere in the between world of an ending that not exactly satisfies but makes enough sense I bought it for the purposes of the story.

Evidently the $75 million or so dollars used to expand from $125 to $200 million dollars in film expenditure on the rewrote and reshot third was well spent--the third act was saved from mindless violence and action beats. Scrapping the 17 day Budapest shoot for something, smaller. Good.

I was damned excited for this, and when I recall certain, "Zombie Dark Thirty" scenes inside this, I still am. Almost rolling off like a video of the new age, "Call of Duty Z: Modern Warfare Zombies"

First you run from the Zoms in the streets.
Then you level up with a rifle you find inside an RV.
Then you must sneak through the dark, creepy building and run from Zoms to get to the choppa.
The military then gives you missions you must carry out, stopping along the way for the dumps of information they substitute for character development, much like melodramatics modern best selling games try and do when they attempt to emotionalize things. Cut it out ya silly geese.

There was lot of speaking in this, but only a few flights of fancy in what some one is actually thinking. Most of the time, the words the characters speak are just forwarding the movie and it's solid plot, all action phrases, or, how-do-we-solve-this dialogue.

The above was a compliment by the way. Damn was it exciting and so fuckin' fun to watch play out! The book talks systematically about how the world's governments struggle to survive, to maintain, order, and then at last: merely safe zones. This country bombs that one, this one attempts to might be intact and whole, this deploys the navy, that one went dark. New thriving economies spark and bigger cities ten America could dream of emerge.

It's so rich in it's textures and patterns and new revolutions it weaves. The whole world limps on after the pandemic, until pieces of it start to grow teeth and muscles again, reforming stronger, livelier and more liberal and free then ever before. It's the sweeping of the nations, it's real legitimate feeling that this is World War Z, and then fallout afterwards.

It's been shrunken down to 'Merica! 'Merica! save the day please. The bulk of the navy is now operating out of the Atlantic ocean and sending survivors to refugee camps across the globe. This is where Gerry's mission starts: track the (seriously this happened) zombie email sent from US Army Garrison base Camp Humphreys from South Korea and investigate the origin and happenings. From there his journey leads him across other countries as he attempts to find the source of patient zero and all that has occurred.

Along the way, he hears new snippets of the world's eyes and what they saw, how the rest of the nations are doing, coping, not coping. We also get one interesting performance from Elyes Gabel who plays the world's leading virologist. On the plane, Dr. Fassbach, all of 26 years old, explains to Gerry his theory. He does this with a passion and excitement we'd only get from a truly dedicated professional of his caliber. He has respect for the virus. Gerry's face, I saw, quickly formed a tiny twist of disgust at Fassbach's admiration.

No, Pitt does not tap into his Achilles bloodline and go H.A.M with guns and ammo. Actually, to the filmmaker's credit (and Paramount's suits) they scrapped the Moscow's Red Square chaos ending. His background as a former, world-class U.N. investigator is the reason he and his family were scooped up and brought to safety. His skills are required to help track the breadcrumbs of patient zero and attempt to synthesize a vaccine for the rest of humanity. But I'll say this about act three, quoting Oliver Lyttelton from the Playlist:

"Even when things take a breather in the third act -- which becomes an enclosed, clearly budget-cut chamber piece that's closer to an episode of "The Walking Dead" than the giant scope we've seen before."

Mirielle Enos plays the dutiful wife and mother of Gerry Lane and his two daughters. She serves as one of three women with speaking parts (that one paid extra doesn't, doesn't count) across the entire globe. As Karin lane, Enos is more than adequate and goes farther then her pages have available to her. Of course, as the movie played on I saw that this is Marc Forster afterall, the man who brought an Oscar to Halley Berry in a groundbreaking, earth-shattering performance that she's never even come close to since. So I was pleased to see him remember that and pull some of that out of Enos in her sparse time on screen.

I haven't seen AMC's The Killing, but I haven't heard anything to keep me away from it either. I know it also survived the rare feat of cancellation only to return to syndication once again. Season three has been running since June.

James Badge Dale plays Captain Speke, a U.S. Army Ranger. Here he reels in all his devil-may-give-a-fuck-in-hat and comes off as any elite American military member whose seen some shit probably would. I bought it with pleasure. They're just people, dudes who are allowed to grow beards and drink beer when they get the chance and make jokes laced with heavy sarcasm. Not Act of Valor assholes or Chuck Norris.

I like everything he did with his scenes. They're "Zeeks" in his eyes. Not Zombies.

Daniella Kertesz plays another member of the military, Israeli Defense Forces. She tells Gerry her name is Segen, and only Segen, which in Hebrew means Lieutenant. She guides him as an escort through Jerusalem and then some. But Lertesz earns her weight here more than she should have. Thanks Forster. Shame on you script.

I went in excited and left satisfied, satisfied to the point of knowing that late at night with beer and some good food, I'll be watching this for many years to come. That much is for sure. But that doesn't mean I'm giving it points for falling short of what it could have been, for kicking the chess pieces off the board that were originally there, and cheating to win for a sequel and box office it shouldn't have cared about in the first place.

Munki out.

Man of Steel Proves Itself Worthy of It's Name

2013-06-18T01:53:00.000-04:00

"You can save them. You can save all of them."
--Jor-El

As of tonight, the estimated total for Man of Steel is $116 million, taking into consideration the midnight screenings, we get to $128 million. The last time a Superman film bowed at the box office was 2006's Superman Returns. Guess how much that one did in it's first weekend? $54 million. In three days. In 2006. Not 1978, 2006! That's number 2 for best opening for a non-sequel in the history of everything and anything and even your mom. #1 of course being, The Hunger Games.

"They finally got the Superman formula right," said Paul Dergarabedian, an analyst for box-office tracker Hollywood.com. "Superhero movies really are the bread and butter of the summer box office. The fact that 'Iron Man 3' has the biggest opening of the year so far and 'Man of Steel' has the second biggest opening of the year just proves that."

Right-o. Maybe, this, is not what people wanted. They evidently wanted this instead. I'd also like to add at this time, that I'm one of the few champions of Superman Returns. Me and one brother of mine are some of the select few that are totally A-Okay with the film. It is Bryan Singer after, right? Okay, just checking.

Here here! To David Goyer, Christopher Nolan and Warner Bros. for furthering and revitalizing the Superman series on film. I was 100% satisfied with the film, and am looking forward to the future of the newly established DC/WB universe.

Munki out.

A Review: Man of Steel

2013-06-14T20:39:00.000-04:00

"One day you're gonna have to make a choice:
Whether to stand proud in front of the human race--or not."
--Jonathan Kent

You can't think through this one you have to feel it. . .

Those are a summation of my precise feelings on the film itself. And the reward in doing that is sweet enough to drink deep with satisfying results.

I went into the film last with my analyst goggles on. With my eyes and ears perked and tuned to most susceptible frequency available for a film my internal system commands. I've read the reviews, I've heard the critics critical chatter, witnessed and logged-in to my memory banks the scores online from "professional" film critics and journalists.

I'm here to tell you--they are wrong. Most are wrong. In this most elated and celebratory review of Earth's greatest superhero, I will detail for you the reasons why.

We open the film with view of Kypton like we've never seen before. A world, it's a real habitable world with beasts and bugs and metal sand that represents 3D computer touch screen technology the likes of which the iPhone will never reach. We see Laura Lor-Van, Kal-El's mother and Jor-El's wife. She is giving birth to the first natural born child in centuries. Everyone else is grown in an underwater field very similar to The Matrix and given one purpose to fulfill in life. A cook, artist, military, mason, politics, asshole, ect. Jor-El was given the grand duty of becoming Krypton's scientist.

His purpose is to think outside the box and study all the possibilities and wonders the universe has to offer. Which is what makes him so much more enlightened, and valuable then most on his home planet.

He chooses to have a natural son, we learn, to give him the choice to become great in whichever way he chooses. Hopefully, becoming a force for good that inspires others around to break free, to unconform and ban together in unison to be a loving, healthy bunch that work together to better their surroundings.

Taken through the destruction of Krypton and the eventual demise of nearly all of the Kryptonians, we then cut to a lost Clark Kent, 33 and working a boat sporting a slicker and looking for fish. He is bearded, broken and in search of something. Maybe searching for nothing. Which of course is a never ending search.

It calls up a quote from another Nolan film:

"Whatever your original intentions, you have become truly lost. . ."

The more upheaval and distress Kal-El encounters, the more cunning and focused he becomes. Determination leaks out of his every pore and through the fibers of his being. To that I say, Bravo Cavill. Hiding himself from the world, he hops one job to the next, saving others and coming to people's rescue time and again. Making it hard for him to keep a low profile. He eventually stumbles upon a lead to an alien craft and finds himself inside an old scout ship, 18,000 years old. Using the command key given to him he cracks open the secrets of the ship, we then meet Russell Crowe's heavenly and wise Jor-El again and Clark learns of himself, even more.

From there we get General Zod, played deliciously terrible (in the best sort of way for a villain) by Michael Shannon. He invades Earth and lets them all know how important it is to surrender Kal-El to him. All the while Clark Kent is mixed up with his widowed mother (given heart, soul and love to an infallible degree by Diane Lane) and a damned good journalist hot on his trail for saving her life and intriguing her beyond her wildest dreams (Adams showing us why she's worth every penny).

This point is where the entire film picks up real steam and the train starts powering down the tracks until the last damn second. Of course, there are points where we break quickly for heartfelt insight in real-time or flashbacks of his upbringing, history and notions of the soul.

They fit perfectly and add insight to the backstory like so many drops of breadcrumbs. Like scrumptious morsels deposited along the way and every so often, they contain a gooey center of emotion, drama, and information that explodes on the taste-buds. Which makes this outing all the more sweeter for Supes. I completely agreed with these choices and felt the love and honor and intelligence in them down to my bones. Such a terrific choice.

Synder has taken all the very best elements of himself I've championed since March 2007 and has now hit the ball over the crowd and out of the Goddamn park.

Cavill, Crowe, Shannon, Lane, Costner, Traue, Meloni, fuck it--the entire cast brings weight, depth and reality to the otherwise, (e-hem, pun not intended) up-in-the-air and flighty portrayals of the characters in the long running franchise. Lane herself as Martha Kent carries so much weight and responsibility of Clark's upbringing with Costner swinging through with a grounded and pitch-perfect Jonathan "Pa" Kent, worried out of deep love for his son, and the fate of his life should he out himself.

No one overdoes it here, accept Shannon's bedeviled and megalomaniacal General Zod, and we love him for it. He understands Zod's hatred, passion and fury are all over-exposed character traits. He's constantly on the surface if he's not just talking, or matter-of-factly dolling out orders to his loyal troops. This all goes through the frames and motion with a beautiful, deep, and weighty, thumping powerful score by the legendary Hans Zimmer. I mean, who else is better suited to this task? Yeah, you take a minute. . .

The flight sequences, fight scenes and pretty much anything effects heavy come across with the world-class artistry in the only way Weta Digital knows how to do: top notch. Bet you didn't even realize that General Zod's suit was 100% CGI, didja? I especially liked the touch-up they did with the powers, his learning how to hone them over the years and the explanation through the sun's radiation, earth's gravity field both applying an accidental amplification of his body's abilities through photosynthesis. In most times, he just has them, end of story. Much like Lucius Fox, the sun and atmosphere are his armorer.

All the destruction, mishegoss and general attempted genocide of the human species by Zod and his fellow cohorts comes across with general thrills. Faora, played chilling by Antje Traue, certainly proves why she is his commander and Girl-Friday. Call me swept up in the excitement, but I'd swear these Kryptonians were really doing these things before our eyes. Not thinking, only feeling, from one scene to the next, I had no idea on when or where the film would arrive at it's final destination--nor did I care. Vested in this I was, an ending I was not concerned with.

As as the last words are spoken,m and the film's credits roll, we notice a bookend: this glorious film opens with a birthing and ends with an entirely new one. We watch as baby Kal-El is born into the world, a natural born child son. He is not predestined to become something selected by society, but free to make his own way in the universe, and become a man on his own terms. And the film takes us through his journey from baby Kal, to grown Clark Kent, who ultimately embraces his own foreign abilities and powers and becomes Superman.

The cycle of life is put on display here in one form to the next from the very beginning until we get to the last reels of the film, and we see how he understands now.

We watch the birth of a hybrid, Kal-El/Clark Kent/Superman all wrapped up into one new form.

A new being.

A balanced being who understands his place not only on Earth, but in the universe as well. From the teachings and words of his fathers and the world around him, he knows his only devotion is to others, selflessly giving himself over to the force of good, to become the man his fathers wanted him to be.

To be a super man.

To be a hero.
Not to be a God.
To be kind and compassionate.
Willing and dedicated.
Strong and determined.

To be a Man of Steel.

Munki out

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 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 then 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, opting for the slow push-in and precise, methodical camera work and shots. If there's one thing Refn likes executing in his set-ups, it's a butter-smooth range-of-motion and very precise lock on the frame, on his surroundings, and 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) : 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 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 pertain 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 certainly include 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 ranging from pros to 6 year olds, all of native Thai. Refn himself on occasion as 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 it 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, with Scott Thomas 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 her 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, their 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.