As sharp and perfectly executed as they come. 4/4.

Tom DiCillo’s Living in Oblivion is a labor love about a labor love.  Making a film, especially an independent film, isn’t easy.  With all the various problems that collide with one another on set, it’s a miracle anything ever gets finished.  It’s no wonder that everyone in the film industry is borderline, if not certifiably insane.

Living in Oblivion focuses on a small, independent film crew shooting three scenes in a single day.  In an interesting twist, two of these scenes turn out to be dreams from two different crew members, and although the use of dreams may seem like a pretentious or frivolous plot device, it works, as both dreams are very realistic.  The “real” scene, oddly enough, involves the shooting of a dream sequence that is bizarre in a typical cinematic way.

The first sequence is dreamt by director Nick Reve (Steve Buscemi), who tries to shoot a simple, intimate mother/daughter conversation.  Unfortunately, everything, from an intrusive boom mic to bad milk, gets in the way of finishing the scene.  The scene (within the scene) is shot in color, while all the action behind the scenes is shot in a gritty black white, cleverly toying with the perception of real and cinematic reality.  The symbolism is obvious, but appropriate to the rags-to-rags misfit spirit of indie filmmaking.  Buscemi is perfect as the grungy, average-guy director understandably frustrated and agitated at the difficulties of capturing a single scene, and his meltdown at the end of the sequence is earnest, and even heartbreaking.

The second dream is dreamt by actress Nicole (Catherine Keener), who is known only for a “shower scene in that Richard Gere movie.”  This time the sequence is in color, while the scene, a romantic reveal, is shot on set is in black and white.  Again, a scene simple enough to shoot goes awry, this time by egotistical actor Chad Palomino (James LeGros), who stops every scene with a new idea of his own.  Keener is good as a desperate actress climbing her way to the top of the Hollywood food chain, but LeGros steals the show.  He’s a spoof of the movie star gaining street cred via twisted, small-budget films, most involving him as a rapist whose victims fall in love with him.  His fake, big-shot persona amidst the modest set is hilarious, and his tense back-and-forth with cinematographer Wolf (Dermot Mulroney) involving an eye-patch is a highlight.

Breaking away from the tried and true dream formula, the final sequence takes place in “reality”, yet is almost kookier than any of the previous scenes.  Shooting a dream sequence very reminiscent of Twin Peaks (red room and a dwarf), the scene is interrupted by Nicole’s flat performance, Reve’s Alzheimer-ridden mother showing up unexpectedly, and the resistance of the scene’s token dwarf Tito (Peter Dinklage).  Dinklage is perfect as an actor who is, clearly, tired of getting cast in roles that cater only to his size, and calls out the horse-beaten-to-death cliché of dwarves being thrown into dreams to make it zany.  One can’t help but think that this scene is directed towards David Lynch, who frequently uses dwarf actor Michael J. Anderson in several of his movies to give it that extra bit of surrealism.

Focusing on filmmaking itself, Living in Oblivion places the spotlight on the crew, and the use of an ensemble cast of little-known actors is a well-orchestrated one.  Each crew member has their own quirks and one-liners that remind you that many people are behind a film, and each makes their own contribution to it, whether or not its seen in the final cut.  The collage of personalities fill in the gaps between the focal points of the film, adds to the chaos surrounding a movie set in the most entertaining of fashions, and pays homage to those who receive no recognition for their efforts on a film.

In many ways, Living in Oblivion is an independent film made by, about and for independent filmmakers.  Making a film is no easy task.  Scratch that, its painfully difficult; taking into account the colliding egos, differences of vision, hunger for control and the sheer number of autonomous people, it’s a miracle films are made at all.  Oblivion revels in how even the smallest things, from bad milk to a digital watch, can ruin an entire day’s worth of work.

Like the best of indie films, Living in Oblivion is personal, and like the best of films, it’s got a great cast, talented direction and a tight script.  For the life of me, I cannot find one thing wrong with this film.  If there is one thing wrong with Living in Oblivion, it’s that it ends on a screwball coincidence that seems to be possible only in a dream, yet given the film’s affinity for dreams, it’s oddly appropriate.  Plus, if the little things aren’t as responsible for success as they are derailments, many films may never have been made.

Midnight Run is not an obscure movie, but its starting to get old enough that most audiences may not have heard of it.  And yet, there’s beginning to be some interest in a sequel to the film in the past few months.  Because I enjoy Charles Grodin in everything I’ve seen him in (you may know him from Beethoven, Dave, or So I Married an Axe Murderer), and it’s hard to miss with DeNiro, I decided to check it out.  The plot is very simple, it’s a road buddy movie in which DeNiro plays Jack Walsh, a bounty hunter hired to track down Charles Grodin’s white collar criminal and bring him across the country.  Shennanigans ensue.  Not only is the setup elegantly simple, but the film does a fantastic job of creating big stakes and lots of conflict.  After acquiring Grodin, DeNiro’s character has not one, not two, not three, but four different groups trying to track him down and get Grodin for their own very different desires and needs.  Complex character motivations from both DeNiro and Grodin’s characters really push them against each other nicely and create interesting dynamics alongside the different groups who are after them.

But the real charm of this film is the chemistry between the two leads.  The dynamic between the hard-ass Robert DeNiro and the overly well balanced and put-together Charles Grodin is just, to put it simply, entertaining.  Robert DeNiro does his job comedically but I think it’s Charles Grodin that really makes this pairing shine.  He usually is relegated to more supportive roles, but here he has a whole movie with which to pester his straight man.  And which really is the straight man?  Charles Grodin normally takes that role but here he has all the good lines.  There’s something about his ability with facial expressions that can get laughs on that alone, they’re not silly or over the top, but they manage to express a world of disapproval with just his eyes and a few wrinkles in his face.  A scene in which he imitates a government official is a particular highlight as he brings his stern sense of comedy forth.

This is a chase movie in every sense of the word and they find a lot to do.  At 130 minutes I was worried that the jig would wear out its welcome a little early, but, aside from the usual bits of ADD on my part (it seems to be getting bad of late) I had no problem sitting down and taking in the full duration of the film.  There’s plenty of twists and turns (not shocking, but logical and dynamic) to keep the plot going and it comes to a relatively climactic conclusion that keeps the focus on the characters.  It should be said that this is more than just a comedy, it’s also a well executed thriller as well.  Props also go to the supporting players, particularly Joe Pantoliano, who I always enjoy seeing, and Dennis Farina, who curses funnier than, well, anyone.

Those just looking for a fun entertaining night of movie watching tend to go straight for the new release wall, thinking that watching older films can be a chore.  That’s not the case even remotely with this film, I had a really good time watching it and anyone who appreciates a good comedy with some great acting and good character chemistry will too.  Check it out if you can find it.

A bit disjointed now and then, but absolutely fascinating and well done. 3/4

“Writing,” William Lee (Peter Weller) says, “is a dangerous thing.”  I imagine he says this because writing is an act of introspection, and if you’re anything like Lee, what lies beneath is a surrealistic, Beat nightmare that is as fascinating as it is insatiably weird.

Naked Lunch isn’t so much a literal adaptation of William S. Burroughs’ novel as it is an interpretation of how he wrote it.  Often said to be an unfilmable novel, writer/director David Cronenberg decided that the best approach for filming a collection of disjointed, surreal vignettes was to focus on the man behind them, blending real events from Burroughs’ life with the nightmarish dreamscape depicted in many of his works.

Working as an exterminator in post-WWII New York, William Lee, the alter ego-of-sorts of Burroughs, spends most of his time getting high off of bug repellant with his wife (Judy Davis), and his friends Hank and Martin (Nicholas Campbell and Michael Zelniker), both of which are cleverly modeled after Jack Keruoac and Allen Ginsberg.

When a William Tell re-enactment results in Lee shooting his wife in the head, Lee begins to experience bizarre hallucinations of talking beetles who tell him to go to the Interzone (which resembles Tanjeer) to investigate the distribution of drugs harvested from various insects.  His reports while abroad, which turn out to be the novel, have little to do with his mission, which is an appropriate concept concerning Burroughs’ novel and Cronenberg’s film; both narratives have nothing and everything to do with whatever’s going on.

For this reason, Naked Lunch does and doesn’t work.  On the one hand, it can be difficult to get an idea of what’s going on, and the film’s surreal storyline tends to steer the plot into a few dead ends.  There are several instances where the narrative abruptly changes in an attempt to represent Lee’s descent into madness.  Although Naked Lunch is disjointed in nature, some of the transitions between reality and fantasy are so jarring that the audience may spend more time figuring out what they missed, and less time on the film at hand.

On the other hand, Cronenberg’s vision of the inner workings of Burroughs’ mind is fascinating.  Achieving success as the master of body horror, Cronenberg manages to experiment a bit with Naked Lunch by weaving his old tricks involving grotesque manifestations of the sub-concsious into a near-autobiographical account of an important part of the Beat movement.  Amidst creatures resembling sex organs, talking roach/typewriter hybrids and horrifying human transformations, there is also a prominent Fifties aesthetic, a great bebop score by Howard Shore, and subtle Beat sesnsibilities that compliment the film’s surrealism.              

The film also offers a number of strong performances, particularly from Peter Weller, who remains stone faced and aloof amidst the raging madness off his own powder-infested mind.  His descent into madness is a subtle one, yet quite noticeable; his performances of two passages from Burroughs’ novel are perfectly delivered in a haunting monotone.  This dichotomy between Lee’s stoic personality and his twisted sub-conciousness grounds the film, and Weller holds his own as the ego to Cronenberg’s id.

Several character actors revolve around Weller’s sleeping awake protagonist, embodying a few creepy quirks that give Cronenberg’s setting a little more depth.  Ian Holm and Julian Sands, in particular, play two residents of the Interzone and both exhibit a civilized exterior with an eerie aura that becomes more and more realized as the film progresses.  Roy Scheider makes one hell of an impression (despite only showing up at the beginning and end of the film) as the good Doctor Benway, who uses his practice as a front for peddling the ultra dangerous “black meat” powder.  Scheider’s appearance at the end of the film is appropriately out there and fantastic, and his natural charm brings a maniacal bonhomie to the character.

Naked Lunch is not for everyone; as the Kerouac-inspired character says of Lee, “He has a grip on a unique reality principle.”  The same can be said, for better or worse, about the film.  Some may find the film to disorienting to make any sense out of, and Beat purists may take offense to Cronenberg’s creative liberties.  Yet, that same affinity to chaos over order is what defines Burroughs, if not the whole of the Beat movement.  If anything, Naked Lunch may not be so much an adaptation of Burroughs’ novel as it is his mind.

For those unaware, The Descent is the 2005 horror film out of England written and directed by Neil Marshall.  It features what is essentially an all-female, all-British cast of adrenaline junkies who go spelunking in an uncharted set of caverns who find, to cop a cliché, more than they bargained for.  It’s a simple set-up and the plot stays simple throughout.  The leanness of the script is part of what makes it work so well.  It uses classic horror expediency to introduce its characters, using just a few lines of dialogue to really tell you exactly what each character is about before any of the action begins.  Instead of complex plotting it relies more on our central fears to execute its scenes of horror.  The scariest scenes rely on claustrophobia, fear of heights, or fear of the dark.  And one of the most effective screenwriting tactics, putting the characters in a place from the very beginning where they are truly trapped and there’s no way out.

These may seem like obvious tactics for a horror film, but the execution here is so excellent.  While certainly there’s a lot of geographical ground to cover, the script does not feel unlike the very common “entire episode trapped in an elevator, phone booth, apartment” type plot.  The movie takes place almost entirely in a cave.  And even though it’s a complex cave, that’s still all it is.  And yet, the screenwriters find plenty for the characters to do, and for them to be afraid of.  As with all isolating horror films (such as The Thing and The Mist), more horror is derived from the way humans can turn against each other or fail to cooperate properly than from the outside forces.  This is what can make horror truly interesting, a focus on the characters and their interactions, or lack thereof.  Splitting up the characters in the story has some interesting effects all its own.

The setting provides some really intriguing cinematographic opportunities.  Because there’s no sunlight in the caves, all the lights have to be motivated practically, either from flashlights or headlights or lanterns.  This allows the cinematographer to really paint the frame with light in a way that’s always intriguing and well composed.  The film also has a really interesting cast of almost a monochrome red, which is a welcome relief from the constant monochrome blue or the slightly less popular but simultaneously more irritating monochrome yellow.  The color scheme gives the film energy and frankly a violent feel that it might otherwise lack from the enclosed space.  Creative blocking of scenes as well as the use of various liquids also helps give it a really great atmosphere.

The Descent is a simple, well executed horror film that simply does its job and provides some great action.  It does complex things with its screenwriting and with its themes that many other horror films don’t manage, and it doesn’t shy away from much of anything.  Basically it’s a really good thrill ride for anyone with the strength of heart to endure it.  I highly recommend it if you like this style of film.

Pixar does it AGAIN. 4/4

Just when I think I’ve outgrown Pixar films, they go and release a film like Toy Story 3.

The best cartoons are the ones that are made for kids, yet have something for the adults to enjoy, whether it’s a few well-disguised jokes that go past the kids’ heads, fascinating animation, or just good old-fashioned nostalgia.  It’s in this way that Pixar is the sneakiest of film companies: they don’t make cartoons, they make real films.  They just happen to be animated.

Kids love Pixar movies.  The animation is state-of-the-art, there are a few good lines that they enjoy, and stories are laid out easy enough where children can follow along with ease.  However, Pixar films tend to contain a lot that their apparent demographic will miss entirely.

Toy Story 3 opens with a great train robbery in the midst of being foiled by heroic sheriff Woody (Tom Hanks) that quickly descends into anachronistic delight.  Following the playtime fantasy, we are quickly re-introduced to the old gang, including recent high school graduate Andy, who has outgrown his beloved toys and is preparing to go off to college.  Fearing the threat of being thrown out, the gang deals with issues of age and abandonment, and decide to get themselves “adopted” by a nearby daycare facility, run by old plushy bear Uncle Lotso (Ned Beatty).

Having yet to deal with age and change, kids will recognize the conflict in the plot, but fail to recognize its depth; adults will not have that luxury.  Toy Story 3 perfectly captures everything about the pains of watching your children growing up.

Parents in the audience will no doubt feel an uncomfortable foreshadowing concerning their own children’s entrance into college and adulthood, and the toys stand in for those who feel neglected of abandoned by their own children.  Most of us never really abandon our parents in the most grave of definitions, but our children, like us before them, never stay “Daddy’s Little Girl,” or “Mommy’s Baby Boy” forever.  In fact, once we hit our teens, it’s the first title we’re glad to leave behind us.  Not to mention that there is nothing more heart wrenching for a parent than the thought of their child suddenly running off to college to become whoever they’re meant to be.  But, there is little else for a parent to do, other than remain behind on standby for whatever reason brings one’s child back to the nest, a sentiment embodied by the ever loyal Woody.  Always the patriarch of the group, it is appropriate that Woody plays the stand-in for parents: old and underappreciated, but dedicated to always be there.

The changes people (and toys) go through while growing up is at the heart of virtually every scene in Toy Story 3.  Buzz (Tim Allen), Jessie (Joan Cusack), and the rest of the gang are faced with the question, “Well, where do we go from here?” a question that haunts those of us who suddenly realize that our childhood is now something behind us.  As Andy prepares to leave his home behind for an unwritten tomorrow, the toys also leave their home for a place rife with uncertainty.  In a way, we’ve all felt that kind of fear against new horizons, always hounded by that question, “Where do I go?  Am I in the right place?”  Pixar, of course, displays this sentiment perfectly.

More so than the previous Toy Story films, Toy Story 3 indulges in the dark side of age and abandonment.  With some coming to grips with some very real fears and others being entirely changed by them, the film refuses to sugarcoat the effects of being left behind by loved ones.  If any other film had dealt with the anger and depression of loss by telling the story of a toy left behind, I can’t imagine taking it too seriously, let alone be effected by it, yet Toy Story 3 conveys some pretty tangible emotions with an impressive amount of honesty and thought behind it.

Deeper themes aside, Pixar shows that it has its eye on the changing times and trends of today’s youth.  The Apple invasion and presence of iEverything cleverly makes itself into several parts of the film, which makes for a clever gimmick, but also shows us just how much time has gone between now and the other Toy Story films.  The realization that iPods, let alone their expected place in our culture, are barely a decade old makes you feel your age.

The storytelling in the film is nothing less than perfect.  The film’s plot flows effortlessly, and the filmmakers know just when to make what reference in the story.  The second half of the film delights in showing of the resourcefulness of the toys’ interaction in the real world, and invokes the memory of some of our favorite prison escape films, from The Great Escape to Escape from Alcatraz.  The cast of new characters are highly enjoyable as well, particularly the inclusion of Barbie (Jodi Benson), who’s just as you’d expect, and a scene stealing Ken (Michael Keaton, always a pleasure), who’s obsession with clothes will have adults in stitches.

Toy Story 3 secures itself firmly as one of Pixar’s finest films, which is especially impressive given it’s the third of a series.  Never stale or recycled for a moment, it captures that universal spark that touched the imagination of every child and adult alike.  It is nothing short of amazing that an animated film about walking and talking toys can so profoundly make us laugh, make us cry, make us reflect, and leave us feeling young and vulnerable again.

The plot here is pretty simple, as it should be.  There’s an important MaGuffin that needs to be brought from point A to point B by Jake Gyllenhaal’s Dastan, who after being adopted by the local king became a “prince of Persia.”  Oddly enough, after a brief prologue, the plot gets going with a premature invasion of another civilization because they are wrongly suspected of possessing weapons.  Sound familiar?  Throw in the Middle Eastern setting and the allegory becomes none-too-subtle.  Dastan carries guilt over not stopping the invasion when he knew better, just as many of the audience members might carry a similar guilt as Americans who willingly or unwillingly participated in an unjust war.  The message is that the truly noble would speak their mind, and those in charge should listen to advise but follow their heart.  Is it good that this summer blockbuster has something to say, even if it is a bit simplistic?  I suppose so, but the characters seem to get swept away by the political leanings of the film, instead of dictating the plot for their own reasons.

Speaking of plot, the script for this film is not structured as well as it could be.  There are some interesting ideas, but they’re put forth in a manner that is far too episodic for my tastes.  While this is common for “Road Movies,” which this film is structurally, the movie does aspire to have a grander narrative thread.  Because of this it would be far more fitting if the many different plot threads were introduced quicker so that they could be woven together more naturally.  Instead we have these plotlines, such as the entrepreneurial camel racers, that are designed to open up action set pieces and then fade away completely.  On the other hand, the Hassansins, who become one of the primary threats in the last act, aren’t introduced until late in act two.  This makes them feel like they come out of nowhere, doesn’t give them proper time to be set up as the dangerous entities that they should be, and perhaps more importantly, leaves Prince Dastan and his love interest without a proper villain to run from.  I was glad to see that Alfred Molina’s appearance as the sleazy camel racer was not a cameo, but there’s a way to make the plotlines build to something rather than take them on one at a time and then move to the next one.  I’ll give the script this, though, once it entered its final act I was finally able to move my mind outside of the architecture of the film and just become involved in the story that was going on.  It had finally built to a place where I was invested in the action, and could enjoy the movie for what it was.

Many have complained about the casting of the film, primarily due to the fact that it does not feature actors of Middle Eastern descent.  I would’ve loved to see a genuine Middle Eastern cast, but with a movie of this budget, you do need people who can put asses in seats.  So let’s put that complaint aside for a moment.  I thought that if you just look at the actors for their performances, they weren’t bad.  I actually really liked Gyllenhaal as Dastan, he was charming, a bit roguish, and I though he fit in with epic nature of a summer blockbuster much more than I would’ve expected.  His British accent wasn’t bad either, if you’re willing to accept that Persians sound like Brits.  A quick note on this common aspect of movie making: I do believe that if characters aren’t going to speak the actual language, what’s important is that they sound foreign or exotic in a natural way, and this can be better than using another accent that is technically a mishandling of English pronunciation.  I give similar props to Gemma Arterton.  While she’s a bit fair skinned to play a character like this, I actually liked the feistiness she gave to her performance, and enjoyed what she did overall.  Ben Kingsley is always good, and with his goatee, he seemed to fit in with the classic concept of the Middle Eastern advisor, be that a stereotype or not.  I did hope that the role would be more of a departure for him than it turned out to be, but had no problems with his execution.  Alfred Molina is the one actor who feels instantly natural in his character, and is a highlight of the film, but I don’t think he’s alone in giving a good performance.  I think the actors that played Gyllenhaal’s brothers were the weak point.  Not only did they look out of place, but they played their characters weak when they should be strong, and mostly walked around looking confused as to what to do or where they were.  The characters here are all archetypes or modeled after familiar cinematic figures, primarily from the Lucas/Spielberg brand of moviemaking, but let’s face it, these characters work.

From a technical standpoint, editing is what ruined the movie for me.  This occurred on the micro and macro level, and everything in between.  The excitement of the action scenes was often destroyed by quick cutting.  This is something that should give a grand sense of space and location within its action scenes, but was constantly ruined by too many close ups and cutting through pieces of choreography.  The parkour-like movements weren’t even completed in one flow, and really seeing them executed entirely is what makes them impressive.  This goes for scenes of dialogue as well, as an unnatural amount of close-ups somehow kept me as a viewer off my game in understanding how the characters were interacting with each other.  The flow from shot to shot was terrible, as if they had not at all been designed to go together, and didn’t know exactly what frame to transition on.  The pacing from scene to scene, and of the plot in general always felt very off as well, almost as if nobody on set understood how the movie was going to be put together.  It’s too bad because the sets and cinematography are actually quite beautiful to look at, and I remember several occasions where I wanted a chance to take in a gorgeous shot and had it stolen away from me before its time.

One final quibble, and for this one I have Avatar to blame.  When the first posters came out for this film, I marveled at their modern minimalistic typography (Helvetica I assume, but haven’t examined too closely).  I liked that they seemed to be admitting to the glossiness of what they were doing, and chose the fonts to match.  So it was to my horror when the location superscripts appeared in the Papyrus font, (much as Avatar’s subtitles did).  This font looks cheap, is unclear, and ugly.  It feigns culture where there is none.  When you’re putting words on a movie screen you need them primarily to be legible, and secondarily to set tone.  Papyrus unclear and it’s tone—to me—is elementary school class project.  For a movie of this budget I believe they could’ve done something much better, the movies titles certainly didn’t look bad.  This is a trend I hope stops as quickly as possible.

Let’s break this down as simply as possible.  Should you see Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time in theaters?  No, I barely felt I got my money’s worth at the matinee price, and at full price would’ve been severely disappointed.  Could it be a fun rental?  If you have a bunch of friends and want a movie that won’t hurt to talk over, I think there’s some fun moments and some enjoyable aspects, including an awesome knife-throwing fight.  For the most part, if you don’t watch the sheer quantity of movies that I do, I think there are likely better movies that you can spend your time on.

Haunting and Intimate: 3.5/4

You would expect a film titled sex, lies and videotape to be obscene, if not flat out pornographic.  And while there is virtually no sex and no nudity to speak of, the characters strip themselves bare through the art of intimate conversation.

Made in 1989 by then-newcomer Steven Soderbergh, sex, lies and videotape was amongst the first to bring independent cinema to the mainstream, and put Miramax and the Sundance Film Festival on the map.  In an era of high concept plots, star power and multi-million dollar budgets, sex, lies and videotape was made for just over a million dollars.  Furthermore, the film is driven by dialogue and character development rather than action, or even sex for that matter.  Despite there being no “mainstream appeal”, the film manages to get under your skin in a big way.

sex, lies and videotape opens with plain Jane housewife Ann (Andie MacDowell) talking to her therapist about mundane, trivial preoccupations.  When she hints at sexual frustration, her therapist brings up masturbation, which makes the sweet lil’ homemaker blush and giggle like a young girl.

This prudish sentiment is shattered when Ann’s husband John (Peter Gallagher) invites Graham (James Spader), an old law school friend, to stay at their house for a few days.  Unlike the overly confident yuppie John, Graham lives out of his car, wanders from city to city, and possesses a soft-spoken honesty foreign to the business-minded sharks of the Eighties.  While John enjoys a steamy affair with his wife’s more aggressive sister Cynthia (Laura San Giacomo), Ann forms a platonic relationship with Graham, who reveals to have a fetish for videotaping woman discussing their experiences and thoughts regarding sex.

Spader is no stranger to playing hypnotic characters who come on like sexually fascinated serpents, slithering their way towards an all-too-interested prey.  The character of Graham, an aloof, sensitive bohemian a la Kerouac is one that has popped up in several films after sex, lies, yet Spader manages to keep a firm grasp on his character’s introverted, seductive persona without giving way to parody.

Unlike some of his later erotically charged roles (Secretary comes to mind), Spader is not a menace, nor is he really a deviant.  His videos aren’t sex tapes per se, but frank interviews in which women bare their souls rather than their bodies, though in some cases that happens as well.

Interviews may not sound particularly provocative, yet one must take into consideration the world we live in.  Although we are told that people mean what they say, and sex is an act of intimacy, sex, lies and videotape shows us the unflattering truth, in which people are seldom honest, and sex tends to be more like any other day to day activity.  As a result, the allure of explorative and exploitative conversation is intoxicating and intimately revealing.  Even the likes of John and Cynthia, with all their promiscuity and experience, are profoundly affected with this new concept of nakedness.

But the most profound transformation comes in the form of Ann, who acts as the film’s center.  No one is as much a victim of the gilded façade that is the family values-approved, upper-middle class.  Inhibited and passively prudish as they come, Ann tends to ponder about garbage (“where does it all go?” she asks) and starving children in the third world rather than question her marital happiness or her husband’s fidelity.  Yet her interactions and subsequent interview with Graham leave her a changed person, and MacDowell embodies this transformation with an impressive amount of subtlety and skill.

Ann is just as instrumental to the film as Graham, as an interviewer is only as successful as their interviewee.  Though no stranger to therapy, Ann often goes through her sessions without saying anything of worth.  Then again, she isn’t asked anything of worth by her therapist either.  Graham’s gentle, intrusive questions inspire a strength and demand for truth within Ann, and in the end she proves to be Graham’s greatest subject by turning the tables, or camera, on him, thus becoming his equal.

Like its quiet seducer, sex, lies and videotape comes across a world where conversations are as casual as the sex had by its inhabitants and shakes it up.  The film takes a thorough look into its characters darkly, and as a result, a new understanding to the ins and outs of intimacy are revealed to its audience.  It is difficult to picture a conversation, in a film or otherwise, that is so personal that it manages to be provocative and intrusive without being obscene.  sex, lies and videotape does so beautifully, and calls into question all the boundaries we place between us and those around us.  In a world where being open and honest is still something habitually said and never done, the film’s message still resonates today, twenty-odd years later.

Letters to Boo-liet. 1/4

Hoping to latch onto fans of Twilight and Nicholas Sparks, Letters to Juliet isn’t hopelessly romantic so much as it is just plain hopeless.  What’s more frightening is girls from the ages of 14 to young women in their mid to late twenties (or tweenties maybe?) will be coming in droves to see this saccharine disaster.

The film introduces us to Sophie (Amanda Seyfried), our doll-faced heroine who works at a New York newspaper as a “fact checker”, a delightfully vague occupation that suits the film and it’s plucky protagonist.  Sophie is a sweet, hopeless romantic from the start, yet is engaged to up-and-coming chef Victor (Gael Garcia Bernal, who must have really needed the money), who seems to love food far more than his blushing bride-to-be.

When the two head off to Italy for a “pre-honeymoon”, Sophie stumbles upon Juliet’s Wall in Verona, in which women write their romance woes to Juliet (yes, Shakespeare’s Juliet) and stick them between the cracks of the wall.  When Sophie responds to a fifty-year-old letter about a love lost, Clair (Vanessa Redgrave), the writer of the letter, returns to Italy with the hopes of being reunited with her true love from fifty years ago.

For as silly as this all sounds, Juliet’s Wall is actually a real place.  The wall is depicted here as a sanctuary for the lost and broken-hearted, populated by weeping woman who, instead of dealing with their problems head on, decide to write to a fictional character to clean their messes up for them.  It should be noted that Juliet Capulet, the fictional character from William Shakespeare’s play, was a thirteen-year-old girl who killed herself for a teenage boy she knew for about a week.

For a film about the quest for true love in one of the most beautiful places on the planet, it’s incredibly lazy.  Seyfried walks about as if she’s sleepwalking through the film, and Redgrave appears to be in some stage of dementia; the film thus follows by example.  The two somnambulists, with Claire’s cynical grandson Charlie (Christopher Egan) in tow, essentially knock on some doors hoping Clair’s long lost lover will answer, and sit in fancy cafes; that’s about it.  Even the unlikely romance between Seyfried and Egan just floats in and out like a narcoleptic Cupid.

The only thing holding the film together (relatively) is the intended desperation for a love less ordinary (or real) encapsulated by “Romeo and Juliet,” which the film references numerous times in the most heavy-handed of ways.  Although this kind of needy desire for a man is what drives films of this genre, Letters, as well as many films like it nowadays, indulges in flimsy sensationalism that inversely paints a rather demeaning portrait of it’s target demographic.

Letters displays it’s two lead female characters as victims, not by chance or fate, but of their own doing.  Sophie and Clair both live in a bubble created by their own flimsy sensibilities and flit around obstacles that lack any real conflict.  Both are shown to live for a half-realized ideal, only to abandon it for something convenient, then procede to fail upwards through an ill-conceived heroine’s journey of their own design.  It’s self-indulgent, self-absorbed, and audiences deserves better.

On the other hand, cynics will probably have a hearty laugh as they pull out their own hair, since the film could easily serve as a parody of itself with ease.  For those more inclined to find humor in the face of the ridiculous, Charlie initially acts as the sole voice of condescending reason and openly mocks Sophie and Clair’s search, as well as their fickle grasp on true love.  Unfortunately, Charlie falls victim to Sophie’s big green eyes, and is welcomed into the big dumb machine that is this film.

A suspension of disbelief has always been required for these kinds of sappy romance films.  They are designed to let people throw caution to the wind and become immersed in dramatic fantasy; they’re guilty pleasures.  That being said, Letters to Juliet is guilty for more than just sensitive sensibility; it panders to the lowest common denominator.  Whereas films like Love Story, the godmother of lovey-dovey pictures, are over-the-top in every way, Letters is a blank slate; its boring, vacant, and perfect for sad-faced victims of adolescent ego to project their own issues onto.  It doesn’t provide a place to suspend reality and reason, it requires it, demands it in order to work.  And for that, it doesn’t.

Ran is inspired by Shakespeare’s King Lear, but it transplants the story to Kurosawa’s favorite setting, feudal Japan, and rearranges the story quite a bit in order to fit and expand upon the new approach.  It’s not a literal adaptation, so you won’t see any Shakespearean verse in your subtitles, nor is there any commitment even to the characters.  While I did study King Lear, I’m not prepared to do a point by point comparison of the two works, but I can tell you that those who have seen the play will notice immediately that Ran changes Lear’s three daughters to three sons, likely to fit in better with the laws of the time.  This has intriguing side effects though, as the wives in the film become interesting pawns in the chess board that is the plot and one even becomes quite the player of her own, displaying a she-devil like prowess for power.  Ran contains some incredibly realized battle scenes that I doubt would ever be present in quite this form on stage as King Lear.  They’re incredible to look at, and bring the excitement up a notch or two.

The first thing I noticed upon starting the film was the presence of color.  This might not sound unusual, especially for a film made in 1985, but to someone who’s only seen Kurosawa’s work in black and white, it was quite a shock.  Boy is it brilliant color, too.  Kurosawa went the complete opposite end of the spectrum, with beautiful greens in the grassy hills, and reds, blues, and yellows as representations of each of the three sons.  Kurosawa sticks with his shots for a while, particularly in the first third of the movie when the pieces are being set in place for the chaos that occurs later, so those with visual ADD may find the look of the film a little trudging.  But those keeping a close eye on the shots will find many of them to be perfectly composed.

Let’s not kid ourselves here, the plot does spread thin over two hours and forty minutes.  You will feel the length.  But this is one of the best dramatic stories ever written, and I think it manages to pull it off despite its length.  There’s a poetic beauty to the way it’s told in this setting too, and the more it builds to the climactic moments the more you appreciate seeing the tragedies occur.

The acting here is all pretty good, if stylized in the traditional Kurosawa fashion.  The strong men tend to yell quite forcefully, the weaker men tend to be particularly effeminate, and the women particularly stoic.  It gets certainly gets the emotion across, and it feels right in the way that Humphrey Bogart’s dialogue had a ring to it even if it wasn’t always realistic.

With or without a knowledge of Shakespeare, this is a story for the ages.  While it speaks of big ideas this is truly a story about family, and in that way, it struck a big cord for me.  I was emotionally moved, and I think that anyone willing to commit this much time to it will feel similarly.  Seven Samurai is the more obvious choice if you’re just getting started with Kurosawa’s work, and Rashoman is great for writing geeks, but Ran may be the most mature and relatable of any of the director’s works.  Highly recommended on all accounts.

Harry Brown will most likely be described as “British Death Wish with Michael Caine”, and to an extent, it is.  However, Michael Caine’s performance as the titular elderly avenger and the film’s political tone turns the film into something greater than your run-of-the-mill revenge shoot ‘em up.

Harry Brown begins with grainy, cell phone footage of the inclusion of a new gang membe, then cuts to a woman with a stroller getting shot by said gang members.  Right off the bat, the film establishes its intent of brutal realism; you can practically feel the kick of the gun as it shoots down the single mother for the sake of fun and games.

Cut to Harry Brown (Michael Caine), a recently widowed elderly man who lives a life of near-deafening silence in a dumpy neighborhood in South London.  Harry’s only remaining friend Leonard (David Bradley) is terrified by the neighborhood gangs, whereas Harry does what most tend to do: ignore the problem and count on the police to handle it.  When Leonard is found murdered outside his apartment and the police prove themselves useless, Harry decides to investigate on his own.

The revenge film has been a popular genre for years.  Since Death Wish, many have aspired to reach the level of success and legend as Charles Bronson and his brand of street justice.  The formula is often been the same: man (or woman) loses family to gangs, kills gang members, cue the end credits.  Harry Brown avoids the cliché by redefining the genre, and casting an actor who can effortlessly master the role.

The opening credits state, “Michael Caine is Harry Brown,” announcing the film’s intent on where, or in this case, who the film will focus on.  The revenge film formula is a straightforward one; everyone knows what to expect it.  Harry Browndoesn’t try to change the formula, but it focuses on the man rather than on the mission.

Harry’s age is the backbone of the movie.  The loneliness, loss, and lack of purpose that comes with old age motivates Harryto avenge his fallen friend.  It transforms him from a quiet senior citizen to avenging grandfather, angry at what has become the world.  There is something proud and nostalgic about seeing an old timer take up arms to fix the problems of the world he helped build in his youth, and Michael Caine does a perfect job embodying this transformation from start to finish.

Harry Brown’s transformation is best seen when he tracks down a pair of vagabonds to buy a firearm.  The place where the transaction takes place encapsulates all the filth and horrors that have run rampant on the outside world, and coming face to face with it visibly shakes Harry’s constitution.  Yet his disgust at seeing a woman in a heroin-induced coma being used solely for sex makes him take control of the situation, and he takes an unsettling amount of pleasure in doing so.  Beginning to end, it is nothing short of a perfect scene.

Just as Brown settles into his second-wind, the film unfortunately starts to spend too much time with Deputy Inspector Alice Frampton (Emily Mortimer), who is more compassionate than her peers, but just as anemic.  The film paints the police as bureaucratic figureheads who do little to prevent crime from running rampant in the streets.  On the occasion that they actually do something, they end up making things even worse for the law-abiding public.  Mortimer doesn’t do a bad job, but the character is set up as a foil for Harry, and frankly, he doesn’t need one.  As a result, the film sacrifices time with our hero in order to instill the audience with a message that is made abundantly clear in the first fifteen minutes.

Whereas most revenge films are about the action, Harry Brown is surprisingly political, and dives head first into England’s own escalating problems with youth gangs and the government’s inability to handle it.  Those of a more liberal persuasion may find themselves horrified by the conservative lens in which the filmmakers present their solution, but the film states its case clearly, and with passion.  After seeing what these young thugs are capable of, not to mention how much they enjoy doing it, it would be difficult for anyone to not want to see them repaid for their crimes in full.

Harry Brown is not a reckless shoot ‘em up.   Rather than concern itself with shootout after shootout, the violence in the film acts as an exclamation point to some serious social themes.  Furthermore, Michael Caine’s spot on performance gives the film a humanity seldom seen in films of this nature, and as a result, the film is sure to resonate with the young and old alike.