There are moments in “The Kings of Summer” that conjure a feeling of
pressurized adolescence, where innocence is depleting and parental
quarrels turn into all-out war. And there are sequences presented here
that resemble an audition tape for the Groundlings. It’s an unevenness
that holds the picture low to the ground, despite its effort to come off
as a document of juvenile concerns. Actually, there’s little about “The
Kings of Summer” that’s consistent, rendering the film irksome in its
randomness, finding a few profound windows to the soul before it lurches
back into shtick coma mode, trying to come across silly when a more
refined dramatic approach would support the intended emotional and
nostalgic response.
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“The History of Future Folk” is a perfectly pleasant picture. It’s not
remarkable work, but a surprisingly gentle entry into the comedic
musical duo sweepstakes once populated by the likes of Tenacious D and
Flight of the Conchords, though the paring of Nils d’Aulaire and Jay
Klaitz doesn’t aspire to any sort of comedic anarchy. Instead, directors
John Mitchell and Jeremy Kipp Walker play it comfortable with this
oddball sci-fi musical, trusting in their own scripted reality to a
degree that such passion rubs off on the audience, disarmed by the
feature’s generous spirit and set-list of toe-tapping tunes.
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“Midnight’s Children” is a sprawling motion picture that rarely pauses
to allow its audience a moment to grasp the numerous leaps in time and
enormous collection of characters. It’s based on the 1981 book by Salman
Rushdie, who co-scripts and narrates this bizarre story of childhood
trauma, magical powers, and crushing political changes, attempting to
work its way to a grand summation of a life lived in full. Director
Deepa Mehta fashions a lively movie for its first half, teeming with
personality and digestible flights of fancy, only to be crushed by the
overall narrative responsibility, unable to juggle faces and places to
satisfaction.
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I suppose if one must see a movie about a rampaging, mutant version of a
popular lumberjack from the depths of American folklore, “Axe Giant:
The Wrath of Paul Bunyan” is the best bet. A no-budget take on woodsy
horror and semi-comedic survival, the picture only manages to raise a
slight commotion with graphic violence and bizarre happenings, failing
to reach full hysteria even with its bizarre premise and dedication to
outrageous displays of gore. It’s an entertaining slice of schlock, good
for a few giggles and some handsome creature feature craftsmanship.
However, considering the possibility of a murderous Paul Bunyan prowling
Minnesota northland on the hunt for blood, “Axe Giant” isn’t the
runaway mine cart viewing experience the title promises.
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“Now You See Me” is a movie about the world of magic that doesn’t
contain a single frame of the real thing. It purports to understand the
techniques and attitude of the profession, yet it does a great injustice
to the skill of misdirection by turning elaborate deception into blunt
blockbuster filmmaking, perverting sleight of hand beauty into moronic
CGI-drenched escapades where anything goes. “Now You See Me” is a lousy
picture, anchored by lazy screenwriting and dismal performances, but
that it ignores the challenge of bringing authentic magic to the screen
to support its caper interests is practically unforgivable, keeping the
effort thoroughly plasticized and often tedious.
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With “American Mary,” the Soska Sisters, identical twins Jen and Sylvia,
become a force to be reckoned with in the horror community. While their
screenwriting ultimately fumbles the climax, the picture remains a
fascinatingly brutal, charmingly perverse creation that always maintains
its composure, despite an open invitation to dwell on extreme
personalities in a most untidy manner. Funky without feeling oppressive,
“American Mary” is sharply made and well acted, keeping it ahead of
routine genre offerings with its unique interest in the body
modification subculture, approaching disturbing behavior with a palpable
comfort level that’s not encountered often enough.
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Although it’s nearly impossible to distinguish from the marketing push,
“After Earth” is actually co-scripted and directed by M. Night
Shyamalan, the once mighty filmmaking force whose name used to be the
guiding light for any promotional campaign. Now he’s barely mentioned,
yet “After Earth” retains the atmosphere and odd accentuation of a
traditional Shyamalan effort, down to awkward pauses and frosty
performances. The big guns here are star Will Smith and son Jaden Smith,
and while the actors have difficulty raising the pulse rate of such a
lethargic project, it’s really the helmer’s iffy creative decisions that
keep “After Earth” more of a wince-inducing drag than the
heart-squeezing, mind-blowing sci-fi adventure it desires to be.
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From the outside looking in, it seems rather insistent of director Sarah
Polley to present a documentary with her own family as the subject,
suggesting an insufferably narcissistic viewing experience where the
artist purges her demons for the world to see. However, “Stories We
Tell” isn’t that shameless, embarking on a riveting odyssey of emotion,
revelation, and storytelling perspective as it examines a most unusual
situation of bifurcated love, resulting in a mystery of sorts involving a
question of paternity and the very essence of family as Polley collects
the jigsaw puzzle pieces of her life. While I can understand any
reluctance to view the personal business of others, Polley moves beyond
the routine of therapy to shape an expressive and beautifully
considerate documentary.
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As repeatedly reported in pre-release press, “Behind the Candelabra”
represents the last feature film Steven Soderbergh plans to direct
before entering a period of retirement nobody believes will last for
long. On the off chance he actually follows through on this threat,
“Behind the Candelabra” is an apt farewell for the frustrated
moviemaker, who tackles a controversial script teeming with sordid
details and cruel behavior, out to strangle the legacy of gaudy showman
Liberace, viewed here a monster-in-the-making. Although a glacial pace
ultimately undermines the passions of the characters, the picture does
supply tangy performances from stars Michael Douglas and Matt Damon, who
sink their teeth into the unsavory business of love gone wrong,
captured by Soderbergh in a distracted manner that hints more at auteur
fatigue rather than industry frustration.
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Exploitation cinema is rarely guided by women, making “Black Rock”
something special in the often distasteful genre, which always seems to
hold a remarkable amount of aggression toward female characters.
However, don’t let director Katie Aselton fool you, as she’s crafted a
roughhouse effort that serves up frenzied acts of intimidation and
extreme violence. Unfortunately, she’s funneled such raw intensity into
an unforgivably permissive picture, with hyperactive performances and
thinly sketched screenwriting unraveling whatever highlights of terror
manage to survive the viewing experience. The feminine approach is
refreshing, but the novelty wears off quickly once a few of these actors
decide to turn on the ham, making it difficult to buy much of what
“Black Rock” is selling.
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“Syrup” takes on the cutthroat world of marketing, a battleground where
anything goes in terms of content, as long as it sells. The same
disposability applies to the employees as well, who often engage in pure
ruthlessness to secure work and reputation, handing the picture fanged
potential that’s aching for a smart directorial approach to lend the
material momentum and a biting sense of humor. “Syrup” doesn’t head in
that direction, instead self-consciously watering down its acid splashes
to appease sensitive moviegoers, introducing a dead weight romantic
subplot to soften the blow. It’s a spunky film, but only in frustrating
fits, with the majority of the feature overly concerned with its
appearance, generating a sliver of irony to go with all the mediocrity.
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With its last outing, 2011’s “Fast Five,” the “Fast and the Furious”
franchise reached a previously unimaginable creative high. Against all
odds, it was a vastly entertaining picture that readjusted tonal goals
for the series, dropping most the dead weight car race tangents to run
full steam ahead as a caper, using the limited but colorful cast to
generate an event film atmosphere populated with familiar faces and some
exciting new ones. Rewarded with enormous box office returns, the
producers have decided to maintain the pace, keeping “Fast & Furious
6” (titled “Furious 6” on the print) focused on a Bondian baddie,
wrecking ball-style chases, and pro-wrestling fisticuffs. What’s missing
here is a decent script, at least something approaching digestibility
when it comes to the misadventures of this knuckle-dragging crew. The
production insists the characters should verbalize their every thought.
The production has made a horrible mistake.
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It appears Todd Phillips received the memo. After the successful sequel,
“The Hangover: Part II,” was released in 2011, there was a great swell
of disappointment, watching co-writer/director Phillips basically remake
his original 2009 feature, merely switching locales and stakes but
retaining the same crude sense of humor and trust in comedic madness.
Perhaps aware of the apathetic response to “Part II,” “The Hangover:
Part III” heads in a fresh direction, with a new plot and a different
focus on certain characters. It’s not exactly an apology, but the
production’s once mighty devotion to hard R-rated chaos has been dialed
down considerably, coming off affectionate toward the Wolf Pack as they
embark on their final disaster.
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In this line of work, one sees plenty of animated movies, and while
there are natural variances in quality, most fall into a familiar
structure, guaranteeing a certain box office response. The French
production “The Painting” generally refuses the temptations of formula,
displaying remarkable invention as it builds a unique world of art
appreciation and adventure, using smarts instead of sameness to provide a
richly detailed viewing experience that will satisfy the whole family.
It’s sophisticated and stunning, amusing and harrowing, and quite
possibly one of the most interesting pictures of the year, raising the
bar for CG-animated pursuits.
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The Cartoon-o-Tron 9000 sparks to life and cranks out “Epic,” a feature
filled with so many derivative ideas and formulaic events, it’s
difficult to assess what’s actually novel about the picture. From the
production team that brought the world the “Ice Age” series and
“Robots,” “Epic” has its eye on a blockbuster plan of engagement, hoping
to wow its audience with an expansive fantasy world populated with
miniature heroes and villains. What’s missing here is a personality of
its own, with director Chris Wedge more attentive to marketing needs and
CG-animated minutiae than supporting an engaging story. It’s a
mechanical, halfhearted effort, and while it’s lovely to look at,
there’s little to the movie that lives up to its lofty title.
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Writer/director Noah Baumbach has spent the last chunk of his career
working on his anger issues, funneling his insecurities into pictures
such as “Margot at the Wedding” and “Greenberg.” “Frances Ha” comes off
as a calculated attempt by Baumbach to remind his audience that he’s not
such a creep, working intimately with star/co-writer Greta Gerwig on a
tale of delayed adolescence hitting a rough patch of reality. It’s a
comedy, though often a painful one, displaying bouncy pop songs and a
chipper attitude despite its investment in depicting the natural
progression of stale friendships, counting on Gerwig’s sludgy delivery
and credible embodiment of woman-child impulses to sprinkle sugar on the
behavioral poison.
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