Though it lacks some hard-hitting, Bronson-approved violence, it is oddly thought provoking. 3 out of 4

Charles Bronson and director Michael Winner are most famous for their work on the Death Wish series, which set the tone for shoot ‘em up revenge movies for years to come.  The Mechanic, in which Bronson plays a hit man for a criminal organization, may carry similar bang-bang expectations, but many will be surprised that the film is a bit slower and more clever than anything the two did in Death Wish.

Arthur Bishop (Bronson) is a hit man who designs his hits to look like commonplace accidents, much like a contract-killing MacGyver.  After an old family friend is killed, the man’s son Steve (Jon-Michael Vincent) asks Bishop to take him under his wing.

Most of the “training” we see in the film involves lectures on planning, organization, and personal philosophy instead of extreme target practice, which appropriately fits the tone of the film.  Much of what Bishop does is research, observation and careful planning, which makes for a pretty lame action movie.  Then again, The Mechanic is not an action movie; at least, not the kind we’re used to.  Films in the Seventies tended to be character driven while the action filled in the gaps, not the other way around.

For example, there is virtually no dialogue for the first fifteen minutes of The Mechanic; we just watch Bishop go through his routine of watching a mark, setting up the mark’s apartment with a simple, DIY explosive, and waiting for the right time to set it off.  Much like Jean-Pierre Melville’s La Samourai, The Mechanic tells you everything you need to know about the film without saying a word.  In a way, The Mechanic is asking us to do what Bishop does: observe, interpret and leave when it is over.

There is something oddly philosophical about the film, and the film touches on some pretty deep ideas that seem at odds with the “Charles Bronson-is-a-hit man” setup preceding the film.  A man of few words, Bishop mostly looks at his “reports” in his well furbished home, listens to classical music and looks at art pieces scattered around his home.  There is a scene in which Bishop looks through a shop window containing elegant furniture with a faint smile on his lips, then as he walks away, the camera focuses on the outside world: dirty, dark and dreary, with a couple of kids fighting on the streets.  There is a real “outsider looking in” element to story, and Bronson always looks distant and out of place no matter his setting or attire.

The same can be said about Steve, who recognizes a similar mindset within Bishop.  Steve is something of a rich, spoiled brat, yet he throws big, rambunctious parties seemingly out of habit rather than real interest, and mostly watches the Seventies-style hedonism from afar.  “I live in my mind,” he says to Bishop,” and so do you.”  Just as the two men seem a fitting pair in their mutual detachment from mainstream society, the job seems equally fitting for the same reasons.

Oddly enough, or maybe appropriately enough, this hip existentialism is best exhibited in scenes in which nothing is said.  The ever-laconic Bronson successfully manages to say everything about himself with a look or a stance, and when he does speak, he does so with sincerity and quiet conviction.  Vincent does the most talking between the two, and is, as a rich kid in his early twenties, is a little too cocky for his own good.  A typical, and entirely reasonable archetype, but there are times when Vincent is a bit too stiff.  When acting alongside a man who can do everything by seemingly doing nothing, his acting hiccups becomes very noticeable.

For the die-hard Bronson fans, or for good old-fashioned action film fans, there is no reason not to see the film; it is not all talk and watching stuff.  Like its patient protagonist, the film is all about the build up, but when it comes time for action, the film delivers some impressive chase sequences.  The film’s big climax features a very thrilling car chase around a narrow, winding road in which Bishop exhibits some of his quick thinking and creativity, with explosive results.

The term, “mechanic,” describes the film and its characters quite well, really.  A mechanic observes a complex mechanism from a (relative) distance, singles out a flaw, fixes it, and ultimately knows how each and every little part works with the others to fulfill its greater function.  The Mechanic is far more meditative than some may like, but that is the film’s strongest attribute, and the film’s preoccupation on social despondency over ass kicking is impressive, intriguing, and better executed than on would expect.

Dark, infectious, and one hell of a ride. One of the year's best. Deal with it. 4/4

Darren Aronofsky’s Black Swan is something of a hallucinogenic fairy tale about madness, transformation, and the ballet.  Being an Aronofsky film, however, the film is less sweet and fluffy, and more akin to the Brothers Grimm style: dark, creepy, and grotesque.

On the surface, Black Swan looks like a return to form for Aronofsky; the film features the reckless camera work of Pi, the expressionistic anxiety of Requiem for a Dream, and the ambiguous reality of The Fountain.  Yet the film also features the psychological trials and tribulations, albeit in a very different direction, of an athlete/performer similar to The Wrestler.  In this sense, Black Swan is not so much a return to anything for Aronofsky, but a culmination of the director’s work up to this point.

Black Swan follows ballerina Nina Sayers (Natalie Portman), who is chosen to play the Swan Princess in Swan Lake.  However, the ballets’ director (Vincent Cassel) decides that he wants Nina to not only portray the pristine White Swan, but also the role of the Black Swan, the formers more seductive, swan fatale look alike.

Although Nina is a phenomenal dancer with impeccable technique, she is as pure as the driven snow, and the role of the Black Swan requires a raw sensuality our virginal ballerina lacks.  Naturally, Nina needs to release her inner vamp, and in doing so, taps into a primal darkness that has been cooped up for far too long which triggers a number of disturbing transformations, both mental and physical.

Black Swan is no doubt Aronofsky’s most expressionistic film to date. Aronofsky trades in objectivity with a hyper-awareness for paranoia, anxiety and reckless self-discovery, which isn’t to say Aronofsky abandons reality entirely.  Much of the tension of Black Swan is enveloped by its portrayal of the ballet world, and Aronofsky goes to great measures to truly bring that world to life.

The film often looks more like a documentary than a slick Hollywood film; the grainy film and handheld camera techniques make the viewing experience more tangible and engaging.  There are several scenes that take place during dance rehearsals, but instead of sitting back and watching the dancers practice, the camera dances with the characters with enough vigor to make filmgoers feel little dizzy and out of breathe.  Clint Mansell’s score, which contains arrangements of Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake, permeates virtually every scene, and makes it almost impossible not to be obsessed with the upcoming performance.  Thus, we, not unlike the dancers, are waiting anxiously for opening.

Of course, it is the physical transformations in the film that are the most wild examples of expressionism, not to mention the thing that generated the most buzz prior to the film’s release.  These transformations, however, are not to be taken literally, for they only represent Nina’s inner metamorphosis, but whether or not these transformations are “real” is beside the point; they are frightening to watch, and effectively warp the film’s sense of realism without disrupting the ultimate narrative.    

The credit for these nightmarish changes does not lie entirely with the director; Natalie Portman gives one of the most involving, fearless performances of her career.  Portman surrenders herself entirely to the role physically, emotionally, and even sexually.  The world of Black Swan presented to us belongs to Nina, and Portman manages to, both, carry the film while surrender herself as its victim at the same time.  Furthermore, Portman portrays her character’s inner transformation with such great subtlety that the external changes serve the internal ones, and not the other way around.

Just as Black Swan relies on Nina’s own internal troubles, there are several external forces that appear in the film as supporting archetypical characters.  Although these characters have predetermined functions, it would be foolish to dismiss them as flat or uninteresting.  Mila Kunis plays a rival dancer who embodies the very raw, uninhibited sexuality that Nina lacks and needs to discover, and Kunis shows us yet again that she is far more than “the spoiled teen from “That Seventies Show.””

Vincent Cassel plays the proverbial sleazy mentor, which manifests itself here as Nina’s director.  This is the kind of role we’ve seen several times before, and Cassel seems to be the go-to “sleazy European” character in other films, yet he exhibits such a powerful presence that he goes above and beyond serving a function.

The most disturbing, shudder-inducing role in the film belongs to Barbara Hershey, who plays Nina’s overbearing, never-was ex-ballerina of a mother.  Although this isn’t the first time we have seen a horrid stage mother, Hershey plays her with a subtlety that nearly rivals Portman.  Every action and abuse her character exhibits is passive, yet it is the kind of passive that masks a greater kind of crazy and desperate interdependence.

As of late, Black Swan has become one of the most debated films since Inception; people either love it or are extremely annoyed by the film and its success.  Several people have brushed the film off as a campy B-movie; I read something that referred to it as “Showgirls for people who read The New Yorker.”  A clever, pithy zinger, yes (one that belongs in The New Yorker), but Showgirls, it ain’t.

The B-movie moniker makes sense, although the film hardly possesses the tongue-in-cheek humor inherent to camp.  Black Swan, however, is something of a genre film that features archetypical characters, clichés, and expected plot points; one could even label it a “horror-farce” if they wanted to sound vaguely condescending. The film is also unmistakably exploitative in its aesthetic style, in its emotional range, its shock value, and its treatment of the lead character.

So maybe Black Swan is a B-movie, but my question is this: does it make any difference?  Are A-pictures superior in quality to Bs?  Not particularly.  And why is it the Internet film geeks that are crying foul, citing its B-movie tendencies?  These are usually the same people that criticize the mainstream for ignoring the legitimacy of such films in the first place. Its only crime as a ‘B’, I suppose, is that it has received well-deserved critical acclaim in its own time, which ruins the fun of liking a film for the sake of being hip and ironic, rather than for the sake of film itself.

Be it a ‘B’, an ‘A’, or something in between, Black Swan is a phenomenal film.  There is something so vivid and mesmeric about the film, and these sensations linger on in the psyche long after the lights flicker back on in the auditorium.  A film so resonate is not the result of anything ironic or superficial; its damn fine filmmaking.

Well, it is a new year, and with it a new slew of highly-anticipated Hollywood blockbusters, not to mention more regular content from the site.  No doubt many of you have kept up with the rumor mill of Hollywood; oodles and boodles of remakes, reboots and superhero sagas are being planned for the big screen.

Which ones are you eagerly awaiting?  Which ones are you eagerly awaiting to hate on?  Following the jump are some of the films we’re most excited for, and some that we’re complaining about already.

Reboots/Remakes

Most Excited:  Robocop    

Robocop is an amazing picture; it looks great, it’s violent, bleak, funny, engaging, and just plain well made across the board.  Director Paul Verhoven has always had a way with making a picture sleek, yet unrelentlessly gritty at the same time, and in that sense, Robocop is his American masterpiece.

So obviously, a reboot of Robocop would be cinematic sacrilege then, right?  Right, unless the man pushing for the reboot is Darren Aronofsky.  Although MGM’s bankruptcy has halted the project, Aronofsky is still intent on making the film, so there is hope yet.

I’ve said it time and time again: reboots or remakes aren’t inherently a bad thing depending on who is involved.  Aronofsky is a fantastic filmmaker; he is visceral and intense in style, and he knows how to tell a story of transformation in a very bold, unrelentless fashion.  Bottom line: I want to see Aronofsky’s Robocop.

Least Excited: Highlander  

Like Robocop, Highlander is one of the great Eighties masterpieces; it’s flashy, ridiculous (an “Egyptian” Sean Connery), and featured a powerhouse score from Queen.  However, several sequels have proven that Highlander should have adhered to its own mantra: “There can be only one.”  Each sequel has been exponentially worse than the one that came before, and that digression of quality is not likely to change just because someone has decided to label the next film a “reboot” instead of a “sequel.”

Yet, is it not hypocritical to give the thumbs up for Robocop and not Highlander?  It would be, if a filmmaker of Aronofsky’s caliber were helming the project.  Unfortunately, Justin Lin, director of Fast and Furious: Tokyo Drift will be behind the camera for the reboot.  For the record, Lin has said that he is thinking about using the music of Queen for the film.  Any Highlander fan knows that there are three things absolutely necessary for a Highlander film: swords, quickenings, and Queen.  Anyone who needs to think about using any of these is not equipped to handle a Highlander film.

And one more thing: Clancy Brown IS the Kurgan.  No substitutes.

Sequel/Prequel

Most Excited: Ghostbusters 3

It’s about time.

Even though Sylvester Stallone has had the corner market on the “out of retirement” franchise films for the last few years now, I think it is safe to say that, while we have been watching all the Eighties action icons return to the big screen, we were all waiting for Egon, Ray, Winston and Venkman to mop the floor with them with parapsychological wit.

I will be the first to admit, some of Dan Aykroyd’s ideas are worrisome, particularly his obsession with featuring a new tam of young, sexier Ghostbusters (Eliza Dushku and Anna Faris’ names have been dropped).  However, the opportunity to see these guys dust off their old proton packs and smart-ass their way to the edge of the hereafter has a lot of potential.  And who doesn’t want to see Bill Murray in top form again anyway?

Why God, Why?!?!

Least Excited: Big Mama’s House 3

This is another installment of that one movie where Martin Lawrence dresses up as a fat lady and tries to not get discovered.  Hijinks (or should I say “lowjinks?” ZING!) ensue.

Fat suits and drag: does Eddie Murphy know Lawrence is stealing his thing?

Superhero Film

Most Excited:   Thor  

Thor has always looked promising: a virtually no-name actor to play Thor (Chris Hemsworth), a well-respected director who isn’t on Hollywood’s speed dial (Kenneth Branagh) helming the film, and making a movie about one of Marvel’s more unconventional superheroes.

For one, the Thor trailer doesn’t have the “action scene, one liner, shirtless star, smarmy quip” setup that panders to the lowest common denominator (see: The Green Lantern).  Given his repertoire of Shakespeare film adaptations, Branagh is an interesting choice who may steer this big-budgeted superhero flick into a different direction.  And if Hemsworth can deliver anything like his surprisingly intense, ten-minute performance in Star Trek, he might give us the most compelling superhero since Iron Man.

Least Excited:  Captain America: The First Avenger  

Granted, no trailer and a handful of production stills offer nothing to go on, but I have little faith in this movie.

In the Marvel universe, Captain America is the quintessential leader of men; and yet, they gave this role to Chris “poor man’s Ryan Reynolds” Evans.  In most of his films, Evans’ dialogue is comprised of quips, and the few serious films he has been in, save for Sunshine, have been clunkers.

Jim Johnston is directing the film, and although he isn’t terrible, he’s not stellar either; Honey, I Shrunk the Kids is a classic, The Wolfman was awful, and The Rocketeer exemplified his gift for gee-whiz wonderment, and his ineptitude for depth.  If anything, Johnston is not reliable enough to fully trust with something as big as Captain America.

Furthermore, the whole Avengers thing has become more of an obligatory cinematic franchise than anything else.  Adding the “First Avenger” title onto the film suggests that it will be, simply, a piece of an eventual whole.  Although Thor has the same potential conflict, something tells me Captain America will be a self- conscious opening act to The Avengers, rather than a solid stand-alone film about Captain America.

One of the most natural and engaging documentaries I've seen. 3.5 out of 4

It is interesting that Catfish be released soon after The Social Network, as both films present some insightful portrayals of the Facebook generation.  While Social Network traced Facebook’s less-than humble beginnings, Catfish captures a real piece of the culture that followed soon after.

Given the film’s subject matter, it’s appropriate that Catfish is a documentary; Facebook, Google and YouTube are so prevalent in today’s culture that, when making a film about the internet and society, real life can speak for itself without the aid of a script.

When New York photographer Nev Schulman receives a painting of one of his published photographs from Abby, a young artist from Michigan, Nev begins a Facebook friendship with her and her family.  Nev’s brother Ariel, along with their friend Henry, decide to film Nev’s interactions with this family to see just how close two groups of people can get without physically seeing them.

Things go better than expected as Nev firmly establishes himself as new member of the family; he even starts a longdistance relationship with Meagan, Abby’s half-sister, that begins to get pretty serious.  However, it later becomes apparent that Megan, Abby and the rest of the family are not what they seem.

Catfish’s marketing campaign revolves around its final act, suggesting that something particularly shocking or grisly will be revealed.  Given that Catfish is a documentary and was not in the news prior to its release, I think its safe to assume that most people won’t expect what they would probably like to see: axe wielding murderers, family-oriented cannibalism and gimp-butlers run amuck in the Michigan country.  Without giving too much away, the ending isn’t so much a shocking change in direction, but a fitting conclusion that expands the nature of the film in a way that is plausible, but still unbelievable.

What lies at the center of Catfish doesn’t depend on a twist ending or a Bluetooth-endowed serial killer, but a real study of social connections within social networks.  How close can people really get at such distances?  Granted, Facebook displays the details of an individual’s likes and dislikes, favorite this and that’s, political and religious views, and, of course, the almighty relationship status.  Although social networking sites promote the more superficial elements of one’s identity, most people seem to forget that it’s the way in which these things converge, the context of such identifying pleasantries that makes a person.  Without that, it’s quite impossible to truly get to know someone, assuming that what they’ve put down is even true in the first place.

The direction by Ariel Schulman and Henry Joost never looses focus on the influence of the Internet, and often incorporates it in the film as if it were another character or setting.  The camera often watches the computer and lets Facebook pages tell their own story, and we often feel as though we are at are own desks, checking our profiles, chatting with friends and Googling whatever comes to mind.  Few films have used the face of the Internet in such a manner, and it seems so appropriate that a film about the Internet relies on the Internet to tell some of it’s own story.

One of the real delights of Catfish is how the documentary was started on a whim; none of the men behind the camera, nor the one in front of it knew where this story was going to go.  The directors have no real agenda or no specific narrative; it’s all up to Nev and his digitally surrogate family.  Not only does the story unfold naturally, but the relationship between Ariel, Henry and Nev does not follow the traditional or professional etiquette between filmmaker and subject.  Rather, the film simply portrays three friends fascinated by a peculiar event, all of whom are curious to see where it will go; two of them just thought to get it on tape for the fun of it.  The chemistry between the three young men grants the film a natural realism that is particularly inviting, and keeps a film revolving around Facebook firmly rooted in the real world with real people.

As far as we can tell, we are at the apex of the Facebook & Co. culture, and it’s about time someone starts questioning what the culture is and what it means.  A tad pretentious and philosophical, yes, but that is where Catfish succeeds so well.  Instead of preaching from a soapbox made of tarnished modems, Catfish follows an ordinary, everyday individual who lies, like so many of us, in the heart of that culture, and effortlessly juxtaposes the nature and meaning of social connections on both sides of a screen.