Category: Film Review

It’s strange that the producers of “Blood” have decided to use a
six-part miniseries as the inspiration for this endeavor. Remakes are
difficult enough to pull off gracefully, but reducing multiple episodes
of narrative breadth and character arcs to a single 90 minute feature
feels like dramatic suicide, forced to compact nuanced relationships and
burn through conflict in a full sprint. Thankfully, there are powerful
performances to cling to, watching the actors conjure full-blooded
depictions of guilt to patch holes left behind in the script. There’s
powerful work here to savor while the story searches for ways to define
its direction, keeping “Blood” convincing when it should rightfully fall
apart.
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“We’re the Millers” feels oddly retro with its bawdy sense of humor,
resembling a long lost Farrelly Brother film from 1999. It’s an
audience-pleaser with its mind in the gutter, playing up its R-rating
with gusto, offering oodles of sex jokes, foul language, and a moment of
graphic nudity, unwilling to break any new ground in the genre.
Thankfully, the movie is also funny, though rarely hilarious, holding to
a steady rhythm of absurdity and slapstick antics that manage to
please, with a few highlights hinting at a more interestingly devilish
picture than the McDonald’s meal director Rawson Marshall Thurber
ultimately slaps together here.
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It’s actually surprising to be confronted with a sequel to the 2010
release, “Percy Jackson & the Olympians: The Lightning Thief.” While
a modest success, the picture didn’t inspire the type of pop culture
ubiquity that normally shadows blockbuster franchises, but the producers
aren’t giving up just yet, submitting the more compactly titled “Percy
Jackson: Sea of Monsters” to the moviegoing public, hoping to build on a
foundation poured by director Chris Columbus. There is noticeable
improvement here, with a general muting of slapstick tendencies to shape
the material into a straightforward adventure/visual effects orgy,
finding helmer Thor Freudenthal conjuring the forces of Spielberg and
Rowling to craft a fantasy romp that, much like its predecessor, is far
too tense with exposition to really let ‘er rip.
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Filmmaker Brian De Palma has always been an acquired taste, often seen
storming through seedy material that plays to his strengths of
seduction, suspense, and stylized cinematography. He’s fallen on hard
times in recent years, with his last picture, 2007’s Iraq War lament
“Redacted,” arguably the worst movie of his career. “Passion” won’t win
over any new fans, but it’s an acceptable cleaning of the creative
gutters for De Palma, who orchestrates his traditional serving of sin
with aplomb, even if the material is somewhat lacking in cohesion and
venom. At its finest when whipped into a frenzy of implausibility,
“Passion” is a bubble gum thriller with plenty of snap, returning the
helmer to a place of excitement that’s been missing from his work for
far too long.
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The miracle of “Shaun of the Dead” has cast a long shadow on the British
filmmaking scene, especially any production that dares to touch the
balance of horror and comedy concerning the plague of the undead. That
“Cockneys vs. Zombies” is a blood-splattered delight isn’t a shock, but
how the picture manages to find a personality of its own while treading
on the same battleground of genre highlights as “Shaun” turns out to be a
major surprise. Silly, gory, and always on the go, “Cockneys vs.
Zombies” is an entertaining romp with nitwits and monsters, keeping to
the essentials of makeshift warfare while preserving all the necessary
funny business. All that’s missing from the effort is a translator for
American audiences.
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Perhaps “Drift” would be more appealing with the mute button engaged.
Without dialogue in the way, the feature is left with its picturesque
Australian locations and impressive surfing footage, creating a cool
summer view of beach life in the 1970s, with its rolling waves and
heavenly sunshine. Unfortunately, “Drift” is no travelogue, but a
melodrama concerning the rise of modern surfing, and it employs a host
of clichés to develop a tale of two brothers working to make their mark
on the industry. Certainly atmospheric but depressingly predictable,
“Drift” is more stimulating visually than dramatically, unable to
provide a gritty look at careworn lives looking for a path to
fulfillment. Instead, it’s a soap opera, but one infused with tremendous
cinematographic presence.
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There’s almost too much plot swirling around “2 Guns,” though it’s not a
particularly deep film. Striving to give the buddy cop picture a
criminal spin, the material offers plenty of double-crosses and
squinty-eyed showdowns, striving to puff itself up to appear significant
when it’s really just another tale of corrupt people making bad
decisions. Credit star Mark Wahlberg and Denzel Washington, who provide a
strong core of charisma that carries the feature through numerous rough
patches. It’s violent and brimming with nonsense, but there’s a pulpy
quality to the work that keeps it compelling, even while it tries to
script itself into unnecessary situations.
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There are expectations with “Europa Report” that are thankfully never
met. From the outside, the picture appears to be another
stranded-in-space saga, inspecting tensions between astronauts while an
unidentified life form creeps menacingly into view. However, director
Sebastian Cordero and screenwriter Philip Gelatt aren’t interested in
chasing cheap genre highs, preferring to play “Europa Report” as science
fact, contributing one of the most realistic depictions of a space
mission the screen has seen in ages. The effort is wonderfully
suspenseful and exhaustively mysterious, but the true grip of tension is
founded in procedural behaviors, gifting the film a striking realism
that makes it superior to the average B-movie.
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“The Canyons” opens with a main title sequence spotlighting abandoned,
decaying movie theaters. Presumably, this is a comment on the dwindling
appeal of the theatrical experience, with “The Canyons” potentially
greeting most of its viewers through Video on Demand services, an
industry distribution system currently being hailed as the savior for
independent cinema. It’s a disturbing showcase of lost cinematic
elegance, but if this picture is meant to represent the future of film,
these theaters are better off in complete ruin. Insufferable and
eternal, “The Canyons” has spent the greater part of its production life
dodging bad press, only to deserve every single journalistic lash.
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“Blackfish” is an incomplete documentary with its heart in the right
place. Outraged by the “facts” that were passed around after the death
of SeaWorld orca trainer Dawn Brancheau in 2010, director Gabriela
Cowperthwaite decided to strike out on her own, surveying the history of
Tilikum, the killer whale responsible for the horrific incident. Her
cinematic summation of animal abuse and destructive business practices
when it comes to the welfare of SeaWorld’s creatures is expectedly
upsetting and often riveting, exploring the insanity of orca
domestication and the devastating price of such tight confinement.
However, as enlightening and passionate as the picture is, Cowperthwaite
fails to summon the type of comprehensive journalism this type of story
deserves.
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In 2011’s “The Smurfs,” we learned that Smurfs are capable of breaking
wind. In “The Smurfs 2,” it’s established that Smurfs have testicles.
I’m not entirely certain why the moviemakers are so consumed with the
bodily functions of these little blue creatures, but the humor remains
fixed at that level for much of the picture. Picking up where the last
endeavor left off, “The Smurfs 2” shows some badly needed progression in
the emotional resonance department, but the rest of the sequel is mired
by an oddly joyless atmosphere of evildoing, while the promise of a
fresh location is abandoned to pursue some of the lamest attempts at
humor viewed in a family film this year.
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While greeted with robust box office, 2009’s “X-Men Origins: Wolverine”
was met with fan apathy, with most complaints stemming from the studio’s
attempt to make a colorful, cartoony mutant nation movie out of a solo
effort (wedging will.i.am into an acting role didn’t exactly help the
cause either), crowding out the central appeal of the picture. With “The
Wolverine,” the boat now rocks in the opposite direction, stripping
away the theme park vibe of the previous film to craft a more pained
take on the clawed superhero’s ongoing tango with mortality, eschewing
big action for furrowed brows and Japanese melodrama. The change in
scenery is attractive, yet “The Wolverine” is missing fire in its belly,
feeling mummified by its intentional downshift into a mood piece.
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“The To Do List” represents a change of perspective for the average sex
comedy, taking a female POV in a genre typically dominated by the drooly
interests of knuckle-dragging males. However, the refreshing view only
lasts so long in Maggie Carey’s feature-length directorial debut,
eventually blocked out by a few needless detours into gross-out comedy
and a wooden lead performance from star Aubrey Plaza. “The To Do List”
is out to shock, but it’s also interested in sympathy, making it one of
the more disappointing pictures of this deflating summer, wasting a
perfectly wonderful supporting cast and knowing attitude on impatient
screenwriting and haphazard editing.
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“The Hunt” tells the harrowing story of an impulsive accusation that
develops into a wildfire of emotions and revulsion. It’s drama that’s
out to rile up audiences with scenes of injustice and judgment, yet the
explosive qualities of the work are skillfully managed by director
Thomas Vinterberg and co-screenwriter screenwriter Tobias Lindholm, who
ignore the temptation to lurch into hysterics, playing the spread of
rumor and disease with striking minimalism, thus encouraging a more
profound reaction to the work. “The Hunt” will have you balling up a
fist and shedding a few tears as the tale unfolds, providing an
exquisitely unpleasant conflict that’s simply riveting to study.
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There is an irresistible sense of joy to the music documentary “A Band
Called Death.” It’s mournful work in many ways, but also carries itself
with an air of triumph as it winds through an extraordinary story of
dormancy and frustration. Similar in scope to the 2008 triumph “Anvil!
The Story of Anvil,” “A Band Called Death” tracks the same emotional
journey of delayed gratification, only here the players are atypical to
the world of punk music, with directors Mark Christopher Covino and Jeff
Howlett using the sheer oddity of the subjects and their strange road
to a record release to fashion an exceptional look at artistic
integrity, musical innovation, and the power of family ties.
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The supercop genre isn’t distinctly American in design, but we certainly
lead the pack when it comes to the stylized activity of police in the
line of duty, questioning perps and blasting holes in baddies. Perhaps
this is why the bluntly titled “Drug War” is so compelling, taking the
clenched-fist fight against crime to China, where matters of public
protection are more reservedly severe. Twisting genre elements into a
fresh pass at dirty business, the latest from acclaimed and prolific
director Johnnie To manages to seize atypical nuances when it comes to
the battle between good and evil, deploying ace tech credits to
mastermind a sleek, scary look at the collateral damage of a seemingly
futile conflict.
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“Crystal Fairy” (actually titled “Crystal Fairy & the Magical Cactus
and 2012” before somebody wised up during the marketing process) is an
odd picture made for a specialized moviegoing mood. It’s rambling and
spaced-out, with an absurdly severe conclusion that mucks with the
strange tonality of the work, yet writer/director/co-star Sebastian
Silva finds a breezy rhythm that’s worth a look. There’s also a question
of star Michael Cera, who finds a place of mild comedy and wickedly
passive-aggressive behavior that suits his limited dramatic range,
making his performance something special in a film that’s not especially
convincing with its quirk and qualities of observation.
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“Fruitvale Station” isn’t interested in presenting cold, hard facts.
Although it opens with actual video footage of Oscar Grant being shot by
a BART officer, the rest of the movie is devoted to a broad
representation of the young man’s life, mixing recreation with outright
fiction. For some, the overwhelming sympathy shown to Grant will provide
an exhaustively emotional experience, helping to mourn a senseless
death. However, “Fruitvale Station” doesn’t do itself any favors by
ignoring the mysterious workings of the incident, and while the picture
is penetratingly performed, it leaves numerous questions behind in
regards to the killing and Grant’s distressed demeanor, rendering the
feature too calculated for comfort.
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It’s interesting to find Warner Brothers attempting to
sequelize/spin-off the film “House Party” 23 years after it opened in
theaters. That there’s still value in the brand name is extraordinary,
especially when the latest installment, “House Party: Tonight’s the
Night,” is aimed directly at young “Step Up” fans that can’t get enough
of the hat-askew, back-flipping stuff. I’m just going to assume that
most viewers taking the time to watch “Tonight’s the Night” have never
even heard of “House Party,” otherwise, they’d be watching the original
“House Party” and not this decidedly unfunny, sophomoric creation that
plays like an R-rated Disney Channel movie.
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Horror films set in space are often a difficult proposition. Horror
films set in space that have no budget to work with have more of a
creative uphill climb. “Stranded” is a lunar adventure that takes place
on a single set, with limited visual variance to help sell the sci-fi
aspects of the story, while the script largely avoids anything that
might require any type of specialized activity outside of actors
stomping around looking frightened. It’s the latest from “Battlefield
Earth” helmer Roger Christian, which should be enough of a review right
there for most readers. Cheap, dull, and starring Christian Slater,
“Stranded” is a generic effort that doesn’t set out to achieve much over
85 tedious minutes of screen time.
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