Author: BO

Lynn Shelton is such an inviting moviemaker with an interest in the
purity of human reaction that’s gifted her filmography (including
“Humpday” and “Your Sister’s Sister”) a charming sense of spontaneity
and feeling. “Touchy Feely” is almost up to the level of her previous
work, but there’s an odd unfinished quality to the picture that’s
distracting, almost unprofessional. The screenplay invests in a
fascinating sense of sensorial immersion and deprivation, with
characters worth following for the duration of the feature. Sadly,
“Touchy Feely” doesn’t see its themes through to the end, leaving the
effort dangling in the wind, unsatisfying and needlessly drained of depth.
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It’s rare to witness a movie completely wipe out. Usually there’s a lull
or a noticeable decline in quality preceding a crash landing, but
“Afternoon Delight,” after a solid hour of commendable creative credits,
plummets to Earth in a shockingly abrupt manner. There are severe tonal
adjustments and then there’s this feature, which explodes at the
60-minute mark, sending emotional and thespian shrapnel everywhere.
There hasn’t been a film this self-destructive in some time, making
“Afternoon Delight” undeniably fascinating, but quite tedious once it
swallows a grenade in its final act, making it difficult to trust
anything writer/director Jill Soloway has to share on the state of the
modern American marriage.
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Thomas Lennon and Robert Ben Garant are funny guys who’ve never
successfully translated their sense of humor to the screen. Co-writing
iffy projects such as “Night at the Museum,” “Balls of Fury,” and “Let’s
Go to Prison,” the pair has enjoyed several opportunities to prove
themselves, yet nothing’s connected creatively. “Hell Baby” is their
directorial debut, with the pair now taking charge of their own
material, and they’ve selected quite a project to kick off this new
career path, constructing a satire of demon squatting and exorcism
films, though one with a fondness for non sequiturs and incessant
tomfoolery, keeping in line with their usual taste in laughs.
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“Adore” has a peculiar way of making unhealthy behaviors seem perfectly
organic. It’s a sensual approach to toxic interests from director Anne
Fontaine (“Coco Before Chanel”) that manages to preserve the essentials
in emotional exposure and untenable desire, making the picture feel
comfortable as it details some skin-crawlingly troubling interpersonal
developments. Although it breezes through time perhaps too quickly,
“Adore” is smartly assembled and honest when it comes to the longing of
its characters, approaching a potentially disquieting situation of
attraction with a certain sense of maturity where other filmmaker would
be more than thrilled to linger on the salacious particulars.
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“Therese” marks the final film from celebrated director Claude Miller,
who passed away last year at the age of 70. The helmer of “Class Trip”
and several other highly lauded pictures, Miller concludes his cinematic
tour on a slightly deflating note. Although buoyed by an encouraging
mean streak to snap the movie out of its fixation on technical
achievements, “Therese” doesn’t live up to the potential of its premise.
Fine work from star Audrey Tautou keeps the effort irritable, with an
interesting depiction of mounting resentment, but Miller seems
distracted to a point of being uninterested, consumed with making a
lovely feature about sinister interests, and it doesn’t have the impact
it should.
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While perhaps not a common pastime, I’m sure most children have
experienced the fantasy of playing make-believe war. With the rules of
engagement clearly identified, the event largely consists of combatants
using the honor code to successfully pull off the imagery and intensity
of combat, all in good fun. “I Declare War” advances this dark
imagination, evoking real-world aggression with average suburban kids,
mirroring the pains of the battlefield with a cast of pre-teens, turning
their afternoon adventure into a bitter battle of repressed emotions
and advanced stratagem. It’s a film about children but not for children,
making it one of the more fascinating pictures of the year.
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“Getaway” is a film fueled entirely on stupidity. And not the amusing
kind of dumb that generates delightful junk food cinema, but the
oppressive, lurching level of idiocy that takes roughly five minutes to
sink into the system. Cruelly, there’s another 90 minutes of screen
activity to digest in “Getaway,” and it doesn’t go down smoothly. Chock
full of logic leaps, tuneless performances, and mind-numbingly
repetitive car crashes, the feature is a complete waste of time, openly
expressing contempt for audience intelligence. The engine roars, the
edits flicker like a strobe light, and Hawke Holler is in full effect,
but there’s no movie here to follow, just a series of ludicrous
encounters meant to pass as some type of suspenseful endeavor.
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Based on the novel by Shannon Hale, “Austenland” arrives with a premise
ripe with potential. With opportunities for satire and romance, while
giving period film tropes a thorough pantsing, the material appears
ideal for screen exploration, yet in the hands of first-time director
Jerusha Hess, “Austenland” is unsteady and unsure of itself. While Jane
Austen fanatics will likely delight in the unabashed fandom of all
things Mr. Darcy, the feature just isn’t up to snuff, often caught
floundering with easy lay-up jokes while playing into Austen formula
instead of dissecting its intoxicating quality. The picture has charm
and a bright lead performance from Keri Russell, but it doesn’t come
together as cohesively as it should.
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I suppose it’s difficult to review the American cut of “The
Grandmaster,” which is 22 minutes shorter than the Chinese version of
the movie, with scenes fussed with and hand-holding voiceover employed
to guide English-speaking audiences out of the fog of exposition and
atmosphere that’s commonplace to the work of director Wong Kar-wai. The
feature’s been simplified but hardly neutered, preserving lush
cinematography and skilled editing to the effort’s many sequences of
fighting, allowing great appreciation for the technical aspects of “The
Grandmaster” to remain. However, what was once an emotional ride of
human connection and the soulful lift of kung fu is now a streamlined
examination of conflicted man who would go on to train Bruce Lee in the
ways of Wing Chun.
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In the future, someone will unearth a copy of “The Lifeguard” and know
exactly what the state of indie film was in 2013. Slavish to cliché and
trends, the picture sums up the best and worst aspects of the HD
moviemaking scene, making for an unsteady viewing experience, positively
exasperating at times. The lone bright spot is Kristen Bell, who’s
allowed to holster her lackluster attempts to conquer the screen as a
comedienne, trying on a dark drama for size. The fit’s a little loose,
but the actress reveals impressive range with this challenging role,
helping to snap writer/director Liz W. Garcia out of the fog of
absurdity she seems determine to remain in.
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“The Frozen Ground” is exploitation disguised as a funeral. The
production claims the material is based on a true story concerning evil
acts committed by serial killer Robert Hansen throughout the 1970s, but
how much authenticity there is to the picture remains questionable, with
writer/director Scott Walker inching away from creating a tight
procedural to slurp up the salacious events of the story. Capable work
from stars Nicolas Cage and John Cusack are enough to keep tension
somewhat in play, while a supporting turn from Vanessa Hudgens reveals
previously unexplored depth. Despite positive attention from the cast,
“The Frozen Ground” is familiar, semi-eventful, and hampered by a weird
fixation on the ugly details.
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The career of director Renny Harlin has been a corkscrew ride of
quality, from wickedly entertaining actioners (“Die Hard 2,” “The Long
Kiss Goodnight”) to abysmal Z-grade schlock (“12 Rounds,” “The
Covenant”). He’s a helmer who’s never been shy about chasing trends,
leading him to the creation of “Devil’s Pass,” a found-footage horror
picture that’s about three years too late to truly cash in on the
moviegoing interests of young audiences. Harlin’s a capable genre
craftsman, but his predilection for tone-deaf performances and hokey
scare sequences steamrolls “Devil’s Pass” early and often. It’s not a
disaster, but just tedious enough to numb its positive attributes as the
feature drags to an overly ambitious conclusion.
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“Closed Circuit” doesn’t know what type of film it wants to be, and it
bears the marks of editorial indecision, where the original direction of
the story was whittled down to make the picture more palatable to a
wider audience. There are satisfactory elements contained within, with a
gifted ensemble working intently to make their performances stand out
in an increasingly absurd thriller. However, whatever promises of
quality and taste are made in the first half of the feature are
unfulfilled in the second half, where a passably intriguing legal drama
with some procedural heft is turned into a junky network television
pilot, complete with logic leaps and uninspired chases.
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Director Dito Montiel is a major fan of New York City. It’s been the
setting for all his pictures, and the helmer loves to infuse his work
with urban juices of bravado and street honor. For all his labor and
knowledge of the area, Montiel has yet to tell a story with any type of
encouraging success. With “A Guide to Recognizing Your Saints,”
“Fighting,” and “The Son of No One,” the filmmaker has summoned
tremendous passion and grit, but there’s always been a lack of
substance. “Empire State” adds to the nagging emptiness surrounding
Montiel’s screen efforts, only this tale of a heist gone wrong is more
streamlined, calculated to appeal to fans of the subgenre, and it still
shows no signs of life.
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