Imagine “Inception.” Now imagine “Inception” with a C-list cast, obscure locations, and a visual effects effort similar to a PBS production from the 1980s. “The Speed of Thought” is yet another indie film too ambitious for its own good, constructing a psychological thriller without a proper budget, rendering the feature awkward and downright silly at times, despite an intriguing concept.
Writer/director Shana Feste aims to pattern her latest film, “Country Strong,” after the tragic love songs of the enduring musical genre. What she comes up with is far more clunky and unimaginative, scripting an intolerable Lifetime Movie-style excursion into the gloomy recesses of fame, making a complete fool out of a confident actress. “Country Strong” is excruciating to watch at times; a wholly embarrassing enterprise that renders country music insufferable, keeps Gwyneth Paltrow in an irritating state of teary distress, and makes one long for the same numbing cell of bottle-clutching isolation that alcoholism gifts to the lead character.
In a day and age when so many filmmakers lean on camp to pay tribute to the monster movies of old, “Monster Beach Party A-Go-Go” plays surprisingly straight. A valentine to the creature features of the 1960s, the film has an unexpectedly low-key presence, content to tinker with a few traditions and tug at some goofy genre habits, but refuses to squeal, accepting the challenge of recreating beach party horror with refreshing semi-seriousness.
“Heartless” exists purely in visual terms. It’s an art project not meant to be understood or interpreted, but merely gawked at, with the filmmaker in question, Philip Ridley, creating a swirling, vicious depiction of grief and madness, heading in abstract directions that are easily appreciated but rarely satisfying. It’s a wicked film with convincing nightmarish imagery, but there’s no story here to cling to, making this abyss of torment rather easy to disregard.
In 2003, Sofia Coppola wrote and directed the indie smash, “Lost in Translation.” An ode to pains of attraction and the loneliness of fame, the picture hit commanding emotional and stylistic chords as it established an enchanting sense of fading melancholy. “Somewhere” is an aesthetic cousin, again traveling through the glittery void with famous people sinking deeper than they realize, finding salvation in companionship and unspoken affections. As to be expected with a director essentially repeating herself, the results are considerably less poignant, with Coppola forgoing the challenge of developing emotional bonds to wallow in a tedious world of Hollywood superficiality.
One has to accept “The Resident” as it is, otherwise there’s just no fun to be had. A mindless horror/chiller that preys upon numerous single lady fears, the picture is generally well crafted and supplies a few satisfying jolts. Logic and editing aren’t the movie’s best friends, but accepted as a modest creep-out with a few semi-salacious touches and “The Resident” delivers the icks and scares, permitting star Hilary Swank a chance to relax her intense method approach and explore her lung power.
“I Love You Phillip Morris” is a tricky film to decipher. Garnering unnecessary attention for its homosexual content, the picture is actually more of a fleet-footed con artist valentine, paying reverence to a master of deception, Steven Jay Russell. A comedic excursion into the limits of personal freedom and the miracle of love, the picture is a skilled effort of constant surprise, led wonderfully by Jim Carrey, who gives a blessedly respectful performance that mingles pleasingly with laughs and shock.
“Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows” is at least 1/2 of a proper conclusion. The seventh book in author J.K. Rowling’s wizard phantasmagoria, “Deathly Hallows” has been chopped into two feature films to capture the full lung capacity of the material, and perhaps yank some additional revenue along the way. But that’s cynicism, and there’s nothing cynical about this gorgeously crafted, perilous journey with three heroes who’ve grown up before our eyes over the last decade, iconically repelling evil with the support of a miraculous, focused production team. The first half of this final battle is a tonally unstoppable creature, blessed with a startling sense of stamina and grandeur to support the epic tale of a boy wizard facing a dire journey towards manhood.
Most modern Thai films that have successfully navigated their way to American shores are either relentless Muay Thai bruisers or sensitive cultural dramas. “Vanquisher” is just a run-of-the-mill actioner, pieced together with very little money and starring “Explosive Martial Arts Star” Sophita Sriban — though your friend and mine, the internet, dredges up very little information about this woman. Perhaps this is for the best.
“Dogtooth” recalls the wondrous heyday of the Dogme 95 film movement, once spearheaded by Lars von Trier. Though enjoying some degree of polish, “Dogtooth” nevertheless approaches the concept of dehumanization with a gritty, free-flowing tone, permitting the film a genuine sense of surprise. It’s a grotesque illustration of inhumanity and feral instinct, but “Dogtooth” is an absolutely hypnotic motion picture, attaining a nauseating sense of self-destruction in a thrillingly art-house manner that’s been absent from the screen for far too long.
There’s a bit of medical anal play tucked snugly into the first five minutes of the sequel, “Little Fockers.” No greetings and salutations, just boom, right into the butt to give the fanbase exactly what they want. Skillful writing, sharp comedic performance, and endearing domestic reflection are tossed aside here, permitting the picture a wide berth to engage the autopilot function and make these millionaires even richer. Who needs a challenge at this point? Just comedically snake a tube up a stranger’s ass, and watch the box office light up with willing customers.
Michael McGowan’s “One Week” is an inspirational tearjerker that confronts a primal force of life, often triggered when staring into the abyss of the death. A philosophical road move with a serious hard-on for all things Canada, the feature is a patchy but satisfying ride to self-actualization, drinking in marvelous locations and sharing universal fears while setting a musical mood that feels genuinely human until the vein-popping strain of the final act.
“The Scenesters” is a satire of life in East L.A. To fully appreciate its sharpness and sense of history, one needs to be intimately familiar with the inner workings of East L.A., leaving roughly 1% of the potential viewing audience open to the film’s sense of humor and rich environments. For everyone else, the feature is likely to be rejected as a labored, smug, and ultimately inert neo-noir crime comedy, a movie far too wrapped in its own cleverness to engage the viewer with anything above rampaging self-awareness.
The CG-animated “Tangled” is perhaps Disney’s most calculated effort since 1997’s “Hercules,” often caught begging for love from every demographic. It’s a gorgeously mounted motion picture with impeccable artistic flair, but there’s something rattling around the engine of this film that doesn’t sit right, a desperation that grows more insistent as the movie motors along. Disney magic gives the feature a satisfying lift, but the ride is rocky, caught between the lights of Broadway and the battering ram comedy tempo of a Looney Tunes production.
Richard O’Barry worked for the Miami Seaquarium in the 1960s, capturing and training dolphins to perform tricks for tourists. O’Barry was also the man who trained “Kathy,” the dolphin that became a sensation on the popular television series, “Flipper.” Lining his pockets while Kathy went about her stunts for the cameras, it soon dawned on O’Barry that something wasn’t right. When Kathy died in his arms after years of rigorous instruction, O’Barry was rocked to his core, refusing the lucrative comfort of future dolphin exploitation to become an activist, preaching a message of freedom for these highly intelligent mammals often cooped up in aquatic cages or worse, as found in an astonishing corner of rural Japan.
2005’s “Waiting” was a lowbrow plunge into the endless ocean of raunchy comedy, finding some merit within its lived-in perspective on the cruel business of being a chain restaurant server. The movie ended up a cult hit, perhaps in great part to its vocational candor. Now the dubious DTV barrel vomits up the sequel, “Still Waiting,” and it’s crushing to observe the follow-up assume a Cro-Magnon comedic vision over an effort to build on the universal eatery frustrations of the original picture.
“How Do You Know” is a James L. Brooks film that plays like a parody of a James L. Brooks film. It’s an overly mannered, emotionally void romantic comedy, ideal for viewers who aren’t on the hunt for common sense when it comes to the oily mechanics of love on the silver screen. Straining to coast on charm, the picture instead belly flops immediately, massively overestimating the appeal of the cast and the tender overtones of the script. Heck, even the camerawork is bungled in this insufferable motion picture. I can’t believe Brooks signed off on it.
I would best describe “Meskada” as an admirable failure. Writer/director Josh Sternfeld aims for a gritty tale of small town dysfunction and criminal paranoia, but his efforts are muddled and the story incomplete, making the feature limp along, in search of something substantial and focused to lean against. While initially moody and raw, the film quickly falls apart.
I wouldn’t classify “Yogi Bear” as a particularly superior movie, but considering the potential for disaster a property like this holds in today’s matinee marketplace, the finished film is far more palatable than expected. In fact, it’s actually pretty darn funny in small portions, tiny enough to fit inside the average pic-a-nic basket.
BRIAN ORNDORF 