Friday, September 30, 2011

Why Melissa McCarthy?

There's so much talk these days (especially this side of her Emmy win) of Melissa McCarthy, the hefty sister-of-the-groom from "Bridesmaids," possibly getting in on the Best Supporting Actress race this awards season and I'm at a loss to really understand why.
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I really quite like the film (its an irresistibly funny Apataw-brand comedy), but not only does Kristen Wiig give the most complete, subtly amusing and empathetic performance in the film, but the best supporting turn is given by Rose Byrne.
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In "Bridesmaids," McCarthy plays Megan, essential a grotesque who burps and farts and waddles, hitting her gross-out high-point when she takes a dump in a sink at about the halfway mark. Sure, she gets the obligatory "Apataw" scene in the third-act (i.e. the pep talk), but when she's essentially delivering the same monologue that Russell Brand has, I don't think it should count - I'm truly baffled by the praise, make it stop!

"Detective Dee" Is A Silly, Splendid Chinese Epic

I ventured over to the local arthouse for what is sure to be an abbreviated run of Tsui Hark's mouthful of a film, "Detective Dee and the Mystery of the Phantom Flame". A Chinese-Hong Kong co-production, the film is a bit of pickle to categorize, although wire-fu action-mystery seems the most appropriate and (if you can believe it) economical. 
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Tony Lau stars as the title character, who is summoned by Empress Wu Zetian in AD 690 to investigate the mysterious deaths of several key senior officials. A strange brew, the film plays like everything from an historical action film to a Sherlock Holmes whodunit to an Indiana Jones-like adventure, occasionally all at once. 
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In addition to its perplexing, indeterminate genre elements, the film's neat, acrobatic fight scenes find are equally as cagey, juggling traditional martial arts with black magic wizardry. So you know what you're in for, the film has a talking deer, metamorphic royal court members and poisonous fire turtles that causes you to combust internally in the sun.  
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If at times "Detective Dee" feels either too familiar or too weird, I found that, with a thoroughly grand action-climax, that this peculiar genre-processor eventually took me in. It's become banal to even utter the phrase, but honestly, there's more craft and invention here than in too many films I saw this summer. [B]

Thursday, September 29, 2011

Renewed Interest in "Paranormal Activity"?

I was a fan of Oren Peli's overnight sensation "Paranormal Activity," but I thought the follow-up last year was not only muted in its unbearable tension and creaking-door spookiness, but lazy and imitative. 
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So naturally I had no expectations for the third installment, which hits theaters on October 21st, until I realized that it was directed by Henry Joost and Ariel Schulman, the co-directors of the Facebook pseudo-doc  "Catfish".
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Apparently, I missed this news when it was announced all the way back in May, but if you're asking me, this is an inspired move by Paramount. Schulman and Joost have no experience helming a tentpole horror film, but with "Catfish," the film's  speculated blend of fact and fiction will likely translate well to this found-footage franchise, while perhaps injecting a sense of humor back into this series which sorely missed it in the sequel. 

Thoughts on "Killer Elite"

Marketed as an airy, snazzy, whiz-bang assassin showdown, it turns out that "Killer Elite" is nothing but a dour, ugly true-story agency thriller - dull when bullets are flying and just about bereft of life when they aren't. 
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Based on Sir Ranulph Fiennes' 1991 novel The Feather Men, the film quite awkwardly shapes a traditional Jason Statham template inside of a mid-80's Oman oil crisis which extends up to the SAS in England and all manner of convoluted government acronyms all bent on killing, well, Jason Statham. 
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"Killer Elite," which quite strangely cost over $60 million, frequently has the look and feel of a direct-to-DVD release, with only Clive Owen and the fleeting presence of Robert De Niro giving the film any real deserved theatrical release. 
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It's the kind of film which, through its concluding type explaining to us the present whereabouts of our characters, has to remind the audience that it's based on true story. It's so barely comprehensible that we naturally chalk it up to bad screenwriting, the fact that it's true gives it no excuses. [C-]

Sunday, September 25, 2011

Review: "Moneyball" (2011)

The majority of Bennett Miller's agreeable, articulate backroom baseball drama ironically, rarely takes place on a baseball field. In fact, most of the ballparks in "Moneyball" are completely empty, just the way the Oakland Athletics' mercurial, enigmatic GM Billy Beane (Brad Pitt) prefers it. 
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Instead, this engrossing-but-not-exhilarating, warm-but-not-sizzling underdog story (based on Michael Lewis' inescapable 2003 bestseller) comes to life in the bowels of the Oakland Coliseum, in white-walled, grey-carpeted film rooms, square offices and board meetings, reveling in awkward player-manager dynamics and colloquial cross-country telephone conversations. 
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It's in these smaller, more sporadic moments that "Moneyball" finds its swagger (an unorthodox trade deadline deal, a hilariously awkward dismissal of a player), feeding off of the unbridled charisma and eccentricities of its bewildering subject  (given glorious life by Pitt) who has no problem wringing solemnity from stagnation or fidgety aspiration from snarky dialogue, yet ultimately the film amounts to something less than the sum of its parts. 
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Of course "Moneyball" isn't the first based-on-a-bestseller true story about real-life figures who are bold, quirky, ardent anti-businessmen. David Fincher's "The Social Network" bares a resemblance even before it begins, yet sadly, the former lacks the sharpness, the ceaseless wit and the steel-eyed focus of Fincher's gently moving depiction of self-alienation. Both films are about the genesis of an idea, the excitement of discovery and specifically the man behind it.
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Billy Beane, as written here and as portrayed by Pitt, is a fascinating subject, a man filled with failure, nonconformity and impassioned ambition, fighting irregularly for what so many crave: the pursuit of greatness, of immortality. Whether or not he accomplished this during his time at Oakland is left to the viewer to decide. Whether or not the film accomplishes this is sadly evident - it comes up just a bit short. [B-]

Saturday, September 24, 2011

"They're All Gonna Laugh At You"

In honor of seeing Brian De Palma's "Carrie" in 35mm last night at The Texas Theatre, my mock poster, done by hand simply with red acrylic and white illustration board. 
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Thursday, September 22, 2011

Thoughts on "Straw Dogs" (2011)

Against my better judgement, I went to see Rod Lurie's "Straw Dogs" this Monday and didn't find much to like about it. Peckinpah's misogynistic, fascist 1971 original has been transformed into a marginally loftier version of "The Last House on the Left"
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I say loftier because, although "Straw Dogs" definitely gets its rocks off on some final-act, we-must-protect-this-house, castle-siege violence, it's not nearly as misguided as that dreadfully amoral 2009 remake. 
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But it is highly problematic, mostly because the whole thing is so obvious and over-defined, every action unmistakable, every word pat and predictable, that the film's like watching the inner mechanization's of a wristwatch. 
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Marsden's David Sumner is writing a film about Stalingrad, so naturally he rambles about fortitude and bravery against insurmountable odds. The town "idiot" gets into so many altercations that his "Of Mice and Men" arc is inevitable and a rusty bear-trap is brought up so many times that it's practically winking at us. 
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So unfortunately, although "Straw Dogs" is inspiring in its casting and its backwoods Bayou locale, it ultimately provides no justification for its existence and instead feels like a middling new-age horror exercise - it's more fierce than it is frightening. [C-]

"Drive" Director Refn on Violence

Nicolas Winding Refn doesn't shy away from violence, making waves and igniting debate as recently as last week with a bevy of second-half bloodletting. I've argued all along that I felt the film's violence was shocking, yet organic, and almost essential to the film's deadly quiet protagonist as his preferred method of expression, even foreplay. 
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Well would you believe it that Refn agrees? During an interview Monday with BBC One, Refn accidentally dropped the F-bomb when addressing the subject of violence in his films. 
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"Violence is very much like sexual build-up. It's all about what you put into it, because violence in itself in a movie is like an illusion."
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I think the much-talked-about, spectacularly eruptive elevator scene from "Drive" pretty much backs up this ideal. Driver (Gosling) kisses Irene (Mulligan) for an immeasurably long while, just before he bashes in the skull of a hitman trying to get the jump on he and his neighbor-widow whom he quite fancies. 
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I always felt while watching the film that Driver, with his long passages of soft-spoken vulnerability and daily ennui, uses violence (and speed) as a measure of self-expression and an almost romanticized view of killing. 

Hiding "Dream House"

With news today dropping that Universal is going to hide Jim Sheridan's "Dream House" from critics before its release next Friday on the 30th, we can pretty much chalk it up as a dud. 
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The trailer makes its clear that this horror-thriller, with its obvious "Shutter Island" aspirations, centers around Daniel Craig's character and whether he is either living in a haunted new home with his family or a just-released mental patient who, in fact, famously slaughtered his wife and kids.
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Its one of those highly revealing trailers that doesn't leave much to the imagination, but with this cast and a film of this pedigree, it's very unusual to see it given the stowaway treatment. It's a definite red flag, for sure and possibly another black-eye to Craig's non-Bond career.

Sunday, September 18, 2011

Michael Mann Director's Chair: "The Last of the Mohicans" (1992)

Although "The Last of the Mohicans," Michael Mann's passionate, picturesque frontier saga, may appear at first glance as one of the director's most unique and graceful works, (not to mention his most unabashedly romantic) the career-long ethos of mortality and the thin dividing line between men in conflict fits right in with his greatest works from "Heat" to "Public Enemies"
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In the case of the latter, Johnny Depp plays notorious outlaw and bank-robber John Dillinger, a man who, over the course of the film, becomes increasingly isolated in an ongoing war between the burgeoning federal law enforcement and crime rackets looking to dodge headlines rather than create them. 
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Once can draw easy comparisons to the similarly conflcited landscape of the French and Indian War in "The Last of the Mohicans," in which Hawkeye (Daniel Day-Lewis) finds himself secluded from (and in disagreement) with the French, the Sioux and the ignorant British allies. Both Mann's Dillinger and Hawkeye are men fighting for their survival - for their women - in a world which no longer needs them. 
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Of course, similarities ensue even further in regards to the pesky moral world of journalism in "The Insider" or the line between cops-and-robbers in "Heat," but to protract any additional big-picture, grandiose summations would take away from the splendor that is "The Last of the Mohicans". 
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Stunningly photographed in the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina, Mann's lush-yet-formidable landscapes set the stage for what is, in this viewer's eyes, one of the greatest historical romances ever put on the screen. 
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Yet just simply labeling the film an historical romance almost seems to undercut what a lean, nourishing piece of filmmaking it is - passionate but not soggy, rousing but not contrived. Even when Hawkeye shouts his love from beneath a rushing waterfall, ("I will find you, no matter how long it takes, no matter how far!") the scene comes off as earnest, not affected.
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Of course, with all of the sweeping 18th century vistas and equally undulating emotions, it's easy to overlook the film's cast, headlined by Day-Lewis at his most charming and Madeleine Stowe at her most alluring. (And one can't simply overlook the incomparable Wes Studi as the cold-blooded Magua, one of the most delightfully wicked villains of recent memory.)
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So many indelible compositions spring to mind, but I distinctly remember the nobility adjoining the formal surrender of the fort to the French army and the wide-angle shot tracking the puffs of gun-powder along the tree-line during a Sioux ambush. But above all, I remember, or rather can't possibly forget, the haggard pursuit of Uncas, Hawkeye and Chingachgook as they race through the Blue Ridge Mountains, each, quite interestingly, seeking their own aim. 
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It's during this final-reel climax that the film's unforgettable score (achieved by Randy Edelman and Trevor Jones) makes its most primal, forceful impact, forever emblazoning its melodies on the sides of those sweeping hills, dusted with fog to conceal what lies below.
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Over the years, I've had the pleasure of seeing "The Last of the Mohicans" in many different places and in many different forms. I've seen it as a child on a letterboxed VHS tape, I've seen it spontaneously on the television, seen an original print projected on the big-screen not even a year ago, I've watched it on DVD, on Blu-ray. Whatever the time, whatever the place or format, it is a film that, through its beauty, its passion and its grandeur, has simply never failed to overwhelm me. 

Saturday, September 17, 2011

The Music of "Drive"

If you've seen Nicolas Winding Refn's "Drive" this weekend, odds are you've at least considered purchasing the film's chic 80's soundtrack. The Chromatics "Tick of the Clock" opens the film with a nice electro-groove followed by the opening credits song, Kavinsky & Lovefoxxx's "Nightcall," featuring a growling, robotic vocal from the former. 
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I have a personal soft-spot for the sweet, tingly "Under Your Spell" by Desire and "A Real Hero" by College (feat. Electric Youth) is basically the film's theme song.
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Cliff Martinez (who gave us his wonderful work on "Contagion" earlier this month) supplies an original score here, as well, and although it's mostly just various hums and samples, I still hold in high regard, and it really works at key moments in the film. 

Not Really in a "Rush"

I really dig Joseph-Gordon Levitt, but David Koepp's bicycle-route thriller "Premium Rush" just doesn't look very good. I try to avoid trailers at all costs, but this one snuck up on me in front of "Drive" and I didn't think much of it. 
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I remember those photos of Levitt biking around New York City which surfaced around last summer sometime and thinking, "oh, how cute, he's filming some independent film where he plays a coy, James Franco-in-127 Hours exercise nut who falls in love, etc, etc." But this? It looks like a D.J. Caruso X-Games movie.

Friday, September 16, 2011

Review: "Drive" (2011)

Of its many attributes, ironically "Drive," Nicolas Winding Refn's striking, white-knuckle crime thriller, is not notable for its speed. Sure, tires squeal and engines grumble, but what stands out about this instantly robust film (besides its stripped-down, retro-cool paint job) is precisely what isn't said - long droughts of silence building up into concussive ruptures of carved necks, splattered skulls. 
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Most of the violence is dolled out by our nameless driver (Ryan Gosling) as he, a stuntman by day, a getaway driver by night, quickly finds himself deeper and deeper into the affairs of a crime boss named Bernie Rose (Albert Rose) after his cute, vulnerable neighbor Irene (Carey Mulligan) is indirectly threatened because of the debts owed by her convict husband. 
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Driver and Irene get to spend a good portion of the first half of the film staring into each other's souls and glancing awkwardly down their fourth-floor hallway, each hoping for the other to make their move. But this soon-to-be renegade stuntman is both cool and coy. 
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And when Irene is in danger, he's a madman - a regular Tony Montana - and the film's staggering, mounting outbursts of violence are glorious, gruesome, yet truly heartfelt outpourings of emotion from a man who is generally unemotive.
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Yet for all of the film's steely brutality there is elegance - elegance in the way Driver spins his car out of trouble, elegance in the way Refn's camera follows him around the moonlit haze of Los Angeles, elegance in his selfless vigilante quest. Perhaps that's what make "Drive" such an exhilarating piece of genre - its ability to be both hardened and pink-chic. [A]

"Meek's Cutoff" For All

I didn't realize that Kelly Reichardt's masterful "Meek's Cutoff" was released on DVD and Blu-ray this week, but it's worth noting because I'm sure this minimal feminist-western didn't venture too far outside of the big markets when it dallied in theaters around March/April or so. Surely the film will find my Top 10 list when all is said and done.
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Scientists Like "Contagion"

You may know by now that I'm a big fan of Steven Soderbergh's chilly, frightening virus-procedural "Contagion," mostly because of its rhythmic pacing and rigid personality, but also because it's simply downright scary. 
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Well even members of the CDC had to give it up to Soderbergh and the film, describing it as "very plausible" and "accurate" in a screening given specifically to employees in Atlanta last week, as described in Mike Stobbe's Associated Press article posted yesterday morning. 
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Obviously, being a work of fiction, the real-life Kate Winslets and Lawrence Fishburnes found holes in the film's detailed step-by-step account of what happens during the discovery and containment of a deadly disease, the severity of which key CDC employees findly highly unlikely to exist. 
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Anyway, it's a very interesting read, and whether you disliked the film or loved it, it's fascinating to read these kinds of could-it-or-couldn't-it analyses in regards to films that pretend to be telling the truth. 

Thursday, September 15, 2011

Giallo Horror Week


I'm very excited about this feature (I always enjoy doing theme-driven viewing marathons to share with everyone) and this special Giallo Horror Marathon, which is only just a part of the stuff I'm doing in October, will be no different.
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I truly haven't really seen anything from the genre so not only is this a fun way to cover films, it's also a great way for me to extend my vocabulary, and so I picked a pretty substantial list of films that cover the prime timeline for the Giallo movement. They are:
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"The Girl Who Knew Too Much" (1963) d: Mario Bava
"Blood and Black Lace" (1964) d: Mario Bava
"The Forbidden Photos of a Lady Above Suspicion" (1970) d: Luciano Ercoli
"The Bird with the Crystal Plumage" (1970) d: Dario Argento
"Flour Flies on Grey Velvet" (1971) d: Dario Argento
"A Lizard in a Woman's Skin" (1971) d: Lucio Fulci
"The Cat O'Nine Tails" (1971) d: Dario Argento
"The Black Belly of the Tarantula" (1971) d: Paolo Cavara
"All the Colors of the Dark" (1972) d: Sergio Martino
"Deep Red" (1975) d: Dario Argento
"The House with the Laughing Windows" (1976) d: Pupi Avati
"The Black Cat" (1982) d: Lucio Fulci
"Tenebre" (1982) d: Dario Argento
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Things kick-off on October 11th. 

Tuesday, September 13, 2011

Review: "Bellflower" (2011)

Evan Glodell, who stars in, writes and directs here in "Bellflower," his incendiary, deceivingly micro-budget debut, plays a twenty-something slacker named Woodrow who sits around all day with his best friend Aiden (Tyler Dawson) in blistering Southern California, dreaming of the impending apocalypse, assembling flamethrowers in its wake. 
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But before the two can bask in their "Mad Max" fantasies, Woodrow falls for the brash, invigorating Milly (Jessie Wiseman) at a spontaneous cricket-eating contest of all places and for their first date, the two take a road trip to Texas without so much as a change of clothes. 
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But nearly as quickly as they hit it off, the couple soon become an estranged, volatile pair, lighting a match in this propane tank of a film, which could perhaps best be described as the first misogynist revenge-fantasy of the mumblecore movement. 
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Much has been made of the film's brazen, violent misogyny, but is-it-or-isn't-it debates are pretty much moot, because "Bellflower," through all of its shifts and starts, flamethrowers and guns, bacon and beer, is a film about the cruelty, aggression and unyielding anguish of rejection - the ecstasy and then the agony of the opposite sex. In short, the answer is yes.
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Like a meatheaded, rage-induced version of "(500) Days of Summer", the film examines the misery of the break-up, though with less cartoon birds and far more blood. And so as if watching a fuse slowly dissipate, the film burns to its fever-pitch eruption of male empowerment, climaxing into a berserk volley of sexual power plays and a declaration of one of the characters to live like 'Lord Humongous', the masked, domineering villain of the oft-referenced "The Road Warrior." 
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Shooting locally in the Ventura valley with a scrap-heap of personal finances (about $17,000), the film represents startling use of ingenuity and veracity either reserved for financially-backed veterans or a gang of impudent twenty-something adrenaline-junkies, as Glodell and his crew of personal friends apparently are.  
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Utilizing their highly modified cameras and shooting in blinding high-exposure and shallow-focus, the film feels very much as if that impending doomsday isn't merely around the corner, but currently ongoing. 
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If the full-blooded brutality and rage of "Bellflower" proves hard to swallow, (not to mention the uneven performances) if nothing else, the film, ever-interesting and wildly adventurous, is a frightening, pulls-no-punches, deeply personal manifestation that, veracious or deplorable (depending on your mood, relationship status, gender) is an audacious, virulent and inexpungeable work. [B-]

Saturday, September 10, 2011

Review: "Contagian" (2011)

Meticulous and frightening, the virus-thriller "Contagian" unravels with a steely, matter-of-fact resolve as it boldly, scrupulously lays out the pieces to its seemingly cautionary trappings, though truthfully director Steven Soderbergh appears more interested in the wildfire intensity of the disease, the mechanics of the containment. 
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Essentially a strict procedural, the film is gorilla-glued together by Stephen Mirrione's crisp, propulsive editing and Cliff Martinez's disquieting, driving electronic score, applying "Contagian" with a cohesive sense of forward motion, continuity, even when the exhaustive script by Scott Z. Burns (which rather uniquely reduces the film to a build-up of ultra-brief snippets) seems as elusive as the disease itself. 
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Covering all of its bases, the film follows Mitch Emhoff (Matt Damon) in his Minneapolis home after the nearly immediate death of his wife (Gwyneth Paltrow) in the opening moments. Once her death hits the frequencies, the scope widens to various worldwide acronyms who write on white-boards, sit around meeting rooms discussing plans of action and dodge radical bloggers (Jude Law) who theorize that the government is concealing treatments in favor of profiteering. 
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In many ways, the film retains a documentary-like sense of realism, approaching the prospect of an epidemic from all angles (the recently inflated H1N1 scare crops up in conversation from time-to-time) and containing (for the most part) relatively few movie moments, amounting to something resembling the antithesis of the buttered, exaggerated, yet perfectly enjoyable "Outbreak".
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Truth be told, the film is never more cunning or immaculate than it is in its first hour or so (a real filmmaking feat of tidy, whip-smart precision), but when that composure, that cold, calculated rhythm gives way, "Contagian" suffers with its strange lapses in time and rough patches of rushed, sputtering conclusions.
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Regardless, Soderbergh's thriller is one of the few examples so far this year of intelligent, thoughtful filmmaking within the realm of big-budget, big-studio productions. It's also likely the first film of the year to give you a sore throat by the halfway mark. [B+]

Seeing "Double"

I spotted this while planning my 80's Horror Blowout (De Palma pun not intended.) That is all.
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"The Thing" Again

I'm incredibly distressed by this confusing prequel, which nevertheless takes on the same name as John Carpenter's horror-relic, "The Thing".
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So this new version will apparently follow the Norwegian expedition who the Americans (Kurt Russell) stumbled upon at the beginning of the '82 version, the ones who couldn't aim trying to shoot that dog from a helicopter.
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My problems are really two-fold. One, Carpenter's film is in no way in need of a fresh coat of paint. It has aged like a fine wine, it's a horror classic, perfect the way it is. Two, if this is indeed a prequel and not a remake, why does it look like the exact same film? Okay, Mary Elizabeth Winstead is now in the Kurt Russell role, but other than that, what's to differentiate this version from Carpenters? CGI? 
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I'm protesting. 

"Anonymous" Surprises at Toronto

The biggest surprise of the festival season so far has got to be that Roland Emmerich's "Anonymous," his Shakespeare-was-a-hoax historical thriller, is getting good remarks out of Toronto. 
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InContention's Kris Tapley was the first to chime in with his endearing thoughts, but the twitter-verse soon followed suit, one surprised viewer after another.
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While "Anonymous" certainly doesn't perfectly fit into the Emmerich template (for one, the Earth isn't in peril), it does represent another case of the director's penchant for skeptical theorizing ("2012" , "The Day After Tomorrow") and historical reenactment ("The Patriot", "10,000 B.C.").
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Nevertheless, a Shakespearean thriller, if done right, does sound like an intriguing prospect. "Anonymous" opens October 28th.

Friday, September 9, 2011

Fox Searchlight Nabs "Shame"

Fox Searchlight picking up Steve McQueen's festival hit "Shame," (which could easily take the Golden Lion at the Venice Film Festival awards, handed out this weekend) is hardly a surprise given that we knew the independent distributor always picks up films around this time ("Black Swan") and they were known to have been circling the wagons for a few days now. 
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There have been doubts recently about the awards-season prospects for "Shame," but clearly Searchlight believes there are, because a film about a sex addict doesn't appear primed to storm the domestic box office. 
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Personally, I just hope this doesn't dwarf the potential for "Martha Marcy May Marlene," a truly magnificent, unsettling debut from Sean Durkin. Attention for Elizabeth Olsen is pretty much assured, but this isn't simply a performance-showcase film, it's pretty much one of the best things you'll see this year when it releases in October. 

DVD Catch-Up: "Your Highness" (2011), "Hall Pass" (2011)

"YOUR HIGHNESS" (2011)
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After the nearly impeccable, misunderstood stoner action-comedy "Pineapple Express," David Gordon Green stays in his guilty-slack mode with the sword-and-sorcery spoof "Your Highness," a grotesque misfire if there ever was one. 
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The film's conceit is admirable enough, a tongue-in-cheek callback briefly conjuring the nostalgic fire-and-armor glimpses of "Dragonslayer" or "Krull", yet the film's base, lascivious sense of humor fits crudely, awkwardly into this genre spoof, turning this otherwise talented team into a laggard, leisurely pack of twelve-year-olds. [C-]
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"HALL PASS" (2011)
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The Farrelly Brothers bring their suddenly trite and insipid declarations to "Hall Pass," a nasty-yet-spineless comedy about more middle-aged, libidinous men stressing about marriage, sex and the lack of action in regards to the latter. 
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Their wives (poor Jenna Fischer and Cristina Applegate) grant them a one-week leave from marriage, though it's they who, in fact, come closer to taking advantage of it than the boys. Its conclusion is a meek, obedient I-love-my-wife snoozefest, but you'll have to sit through gags of an increasingly vulgar variety just to get to it. I will grant it a slight reprieve for its final line, though. [D]

Thursday, September 8, 2011

Well Past "Midnight"

For some reason I skipped over Woody Allen's "Midnight in Paris" this summer, perhaps feeling fatigued from all of the Cannes conversations and analysis and feeling in the mood for something far bigger and costlier.
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Whatever the reason, I finally caught up with it yesterday and I'm really glad I did. Obviously Allen has been on a decades-long run of astonishing productivity and somewhat middling (if not severely disappointing) results. 
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Yet with "Midnight in Paris," he's made something more akin to, or rather in reference of, his great works - the big-city romanticism of "Manhattan" combined with the fantastical, time-traveling escapism of "The Purple Rose of Cairo."
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So while admittedly the film is rather more of Allen repeating himself, the result is something that's nevertheless frothy and unremittingly delectable. (Insert French pastry simile here.) 
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Owen Wilson's hack writer character is the ultimate conduit for Allen's mumblings - a frustrated, insecure romantic with a heart for starry-eyed nostalgia, Cole Porter and the desire to live in the past to escape his present. 
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Needless to say, the film finds reason for Gil's (Wilson's) eventual stay in the present, with his sweet, pat life lessons from the past, ultimately finding no new ground in the scheme of Allen's career thematically. 
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But I'll personally grant the 75 year-old writer-director some time to repeat himself when the result is something so positively luminous, agreeable and sweet, especially when viewed in context with the romantic comedy genre as a whole. Personally, I forgot what it was like - thank you, Woody, for reminding me. 

Review: "The Guard" (2011)


Beginning with a careless, youth-angst car wreck along the winding, wind-swept roads of Ireland's soggy Connemara region, where this edgy, quaint little buddy-cop comedy cozily take its place, a bulbous, burly officer lazily advances onto the scene, checks the now-ejected driver for a pulse (there is none) and subsequently rummages through his pockets, taking out a rolled-up plastic bag, removing its particles and placing a drop on his tongue as a yellow smiley-face flickers on the screen, followed by bold, as-large-as-the-screen type, announcing firmly, that this certainly is no affectionate, feeble piece of work. 
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The officer in question is Sergeant Gerry Boyle (Brendan Gleeson), a cheeky, aloof and belligerent veteran of the force who fumbles through crime scenes, hasn't met a pub he didn't drink at and isn't timid about his misanthropy or perceived racism when an African-American Federal agent (Don Cheadle) comes to town on the trail of a murderous drug-trafficking ring. 
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So sets the stage for John Michael McDonagh's pitch-black helping of dry Irish wit served up with a good dose of familiar "Lethal Weapon" plotting that nevertheless feels like the first cold-front of the year, a chilly, intoxicating breath of fresh air.
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Like his brother's "In Bruges," McDonagh gives "The Guard" a hearty, subversive sense of humor wrapped around significant, weighty subjects and has no problem swerving in-and-out of the two nearly simultaneously, thanks in large part to the expert comedic chops of Gleeson, who really gets to have fun with this impudent, crass, yet endearing role. 
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As he and his FBI tag-a-long start sniffing aimlessly around the edges of the drug-lords led by Mark Strong's Clive Cornell (hey is Audioslave still together?), other officers of the guard become either dispensed with or merely bribed, so as to avoid any complications with an incoming/outgoing shipment in town. That is, all officers with the exception of Sergeant Boyle. 
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Ah yes, the foul-mouthed, indifferent, seemingly incompetent officer of the guard gets his chance to play hero in a world in which the only thing he seems to be good at is throwing back pints of Guinness. But even in its more predictable state, "The Guard" never really loses site of what it is, one finger on the pulse and another on the trigger. [B]

Tuesday, September 6, 2011

Review: "The Last Circus" (2011)

Beginning with company credits synchronized to the outbursts of children's laughter, the first few minutes are the last you'll hear of it during the course of the enraged, coercive "The Last Circus," a title fit for this deliriously-pitched, intermittently sly big top bloodbath. 
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An oafish, rotund clown named Javier (Carlos Areces) is new to the circus, led by an alcoholic sadomasochist clown named Sergio (Antonio de la Torre), and seemingly overnight, the two become pitted in a lustful battle for the affections of a beautiful aerialist named Natalia (the gorgeous, distractingly buxom Carolina Bang.)
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But this is no "Trapeze" or "The Greatest Show on Earth" (though I think director Alex de la Iglesia could make a case for the latter), this is a twisted, brutal tragicomic romantic triangle about two disturbingly unbalanced men and their quizzically ironic professions. "If I wasn't a clown, I'd be a murderer," Sergio plainly admits to Javier during his interview, "me too," he replies. 
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And so the madness ensues not too shortly thereafter, with all manner of self-mutilations, underlying political unrest and full-costume gun-toting clown-on-clown theatrics, right down to its gloriously high-altitude climax. For too long, de la Iglesia allows the film to wallow in a fit of lunacy, but his final shot is so bitterly poignant that all is nearly forgotten. [B]

DVD Catch-Up: "Season of the Witch" (2011), "Rango" (2011)

"SEASON OF THE WITCH"
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Mundane, dreadfully 'straight' medieval quest film, "Season of the Witch" is not only hopelessly lifeless, but frightfully ugly (there are shades of amber and ice-mint blue and nothing in-between.)
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Two crusaders (Nicolas Cage and Ron Perlman) return home to find plague and witchcraft the topics of the day, and are soon requested by the Church to escort an accused witch to her questionably fair trial. 
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The quest is highlighted by a rickety bridge-crossing and a midnight wolf attack (how exciting!) but hinges on the "is-she-or-isn't-she?" hooplah when the real question is, quite truthfully, "when is this thing over?" [D]
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"RANGO"
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A real delight, this odd, quirky, all-ages animated film is one of the true finds of the year. A critter-western, Johnny Depp voices the title character, a crooked-necked chameleon who stumbles upon the town of Dirt, a classic one-strip town with a water shortage and power-hungry mayor. 
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Rango bluffs his way to sheriff, but the town's problems outweigh his false reputation and he soon finds himself in a bit of a pickle. There are fart jokes, but mostly "Rango" is a compelling, sweetly-flavored and conceptually unique piece of animation, further proof than artistic success is not exclusive to the boys at Pixar. [B]

Arnold's "Wuthering Heights" takes over Venice

It's good to hear that Andrea Arnold's "Wuthering Heights" is being described as an "extreme, forbidding" film. InContention's Guy Lodge supplies that enticing description in his brief, 140-character-less B+ instant reaction from the Venice Film Festival, where the film bowed today to (it would seem) across-the-board raves. 
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The twitter world is certainly buzzing after the "Fish Tank" director unveiled her literary adaptation, which is said to have more teeth and less sop than you would expect, but such is the norm this side of Cary Fukunaga's dark, misty "Jane Eyre"
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Here are few of the tweets making the rounds after the film dropped in the morning:
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"Stunning. A visceral, revelatory reinvention, and my favourite of the festival so far." - Oliver Lyttelton, The Playlist
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"Finally something challenging for us formalist critics - Andrea Arnold's Wuthering Heights adaptation is a masterfully composed film." - Patrick Wellinski
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"Andrea Arnold's Wuthering Heights is a towering masterpiece only tarnished by the use of a song in the final minutes. Amazing." - John Barrenechea, Splendor Cinema

Monday, September 5, 2011

"Wuthering Heights" to bow tomorrow at Venice

I've had to restrain myself from talking up the concurrent Venice and Telluride Film Festivals (the latter of which wrapped up today, I believe), because I'm sure everyone has been keeping up with it on their own terms. 
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In short, David Cronenberg's "A Dangerous Method" has champions, detractors, skeptics in equal measure, it would seem. Steve McQueen's "Shame" sounds like a real glum, expertly-made art film with a huge performance from Michael Fassbender. Tomas Alfredson's "Tinker, Tailor Soldier Spy" is a first-rate espionage-thriller with a superb ensemble. Alexander Payne's "The Descendants" is faultless, it seems, and so on and so forth. 
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Tomorrow though, comes real intrigue for me with Andrea Arnold's adaptation of "Wuthering Heights". Arnold, of course, directed that very spunky, very kitchen-sink British coming-of-age drama "Fish Tank," which I was quietly very impressed with last year, and she's chosen to follow it up with the renowned, well-known Bronte novel. 
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We saw earlier this year with Cary Fukunaga's "Jane Eyre" that there's still life to these stories, and Arnold's "Wuthering Heights," shot once again in the Academy 1.33 aspect ratio, will likely rejuvenate 

Sunday, September 4, 2011

DVD Catch-Up: "The Green Hornet" (2011), "Drive Angry" (2011)

"THE GREEN HORNET"
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What would a traditional superhero film look and sound like written by two dispassionate stoners? Well, we get our answer with "The Green Hornet," a listless adaptation of the comic-book character that originated in the 30's and reached TV fame in the 60's.
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Seth Rogen stars and co-writes with Evan Goldberg, yet mostly the film has a familiar, mechanical feel to it, all the more surprising given that Michel Gondry ("Eternal Sunshine of the Spotles Mind", "The Science of Sleep") directs. A canny, witty conclusion only underlines the slack indifference of the previous two hours. [C]
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"DRIVE ANGRY"
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Like a schlubby, supernatural version of "Death Proof," the witless "Drive Angry" couldn't  summon enough guilty low-rent thrills to fill five minutes, much less a feature-length running-time. 
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Nicolas Cage plays a demon escaped, back on Earth to avenge his daughter's death, yet conceptually, the film renders its lead character as an immortal, deliberate bore, leaving the quips to William Fitchner, another demon whose role in the matter seems inconclusive. In the end, "Drive Angry" is a film that thinks it's a lot more fun than it actually is. [D]

"Carlos" on Blu-ray

I saw Olivier Assayas' 339-minute "Carlos" in fragmented segments on the Sundance Channel when it aired sometime last February, and I'm guessing that watching it at home on the small screen, in some way, was cause to blame for my underwhelming reaction to it. 
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I remember thinking that I was mightily fatigued by the end and that the revolutionary epic, be it of an urban or jungle variety, was wearing me down. (To this day, I would still prefer Stephen Soderbergh's "Che" or Uli Edel's "The Baader Meinhof Complex".)
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However, I'm still willing to give "Carlos" another shot on the new Criterion Blu-ray one of these days because too many people I trust reacted strongly to it last year, and I continue to be at a loss as to why. 

"The Debt" Beats Down Opening Competition

It's nice to see that John Madden's "The Debt," a relatively smart, tidy adult thriller will likely out-gross "Apollo 18" and "Shark Night 3D" to take 2nd for the weekend. 
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As I said (in far greater words) in my review, "The Debt" pretty much works in spite of the fact that its decades-spanning narrative never fully takes off on an emotional level and that its characters, portrayed by two different actors, never really feel like one. 

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Nevertheless, quality entertainment aimed at older audiences that performs decently (especially delayed, troublesome films like "The Debt") deserves some recognition - it's too rare a sight. 

"Apollo 18" Pulls a 'D' from Audiences

It seems to me that I saw the first teasers for Trevor Cawood's "Apollo 18," the latest found-footage horror film in a recent trend that took this suddenly popular sub-genre to the moon, and thinking that it looked pretty interesting, if nothing else. I'm saying that I legitimately wanted to see it. 
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Then the thing just disappeared, it seemed. (Ironic, given its lost-and-found conceit.) I didn't hear anything of it, no longer saw any trailers, lobby ads, posters, etc. Well it finally came out this past Friday (delayed a full six months from its original March 4th release) to abominable results. 
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Don't get me wrong, I'm not surprised that it's a critical failure (or even a box-office failure), but the level at which it's being vehemently disposed of is quite shocking. A 'D' rating on Cinemascore? An $11 million 4-day weekend? Rottentomatoes and Metacritic scores under 25? Random twitter outbursts of vitrol-spewing condemnation? Yeah, people hate it. Sadly, this has me more curious than if it had simply been shruged off.  

Saturday, September 3, 2011

Review: "The Devil's Double" (2011)

With its outward bursts of incendiary violence, agog female sexuality and a brave, nutty, obstreperous dual-central performance, Lee Tamahori's schlocky, gleefully ignoble thriller "The Devil's Double," is the kind of moderately pleasurable piece of exploitation that's more enticing for its girls-and-guns masculinity than its astuteness.
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But it's a moderate, if not bantam amount of slick to go with its slack, and even when this pseudo -action film appears primed for liftoff, it shrivels into a disappointing true-story shell that fails to find weight in this historical quasi-revenge saga. 
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Dominic Cooper applies his talents to dual lead roles here (a daring feat regardless of quality, but his fever-pitch energy is admirable all the way) as both Uday Hussein, Saddam's reckless, homicidal son and his appointed body double, the earnest, resistant Latif Yahia. 
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Latif initially refuses to offer up his services, citing family and conflicting ideologies, yet after being tortured and imprisoned in an attempt to sway his decision, he is given no other choice but to undergo a few minor operations and embrace his (quite hilarious) physical resemblance.
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But even so, Latif isn't content, especially not after he witnesses the sadistic, savage Uday first-hand as he ravages through women (some unwilling, some barely pre-teen), all the while watching his mistress Sarrab (a sexy-yet-dull Ludivine Sagnier) who overtly eyes Latif beginning with a retro-cool seduction set to Dead or Alive's "You Spin Me Round (Like a Record)".
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Yet even as Latif's decision becomes closer to the inevitable, "The Devil's Double" still can't extract any pleasure from its brainless aspirations with its feeble, indistinct direction and strangely muted climax. Sadly, this is one sexed-up, gaudy disappointment. [C]

Siegel on "Charade"

Robert Siegel's The Silver Screen series on Blu-ray.com is always an interesting read, or even just a scroll through. 
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He talks up Stanley Donen's "Charade" in this week's article (which should probably be recognized as the greatest Alfred Hitchcock film he never made) and as per usual, there are a ton of great publicity stills, posters, art and behind-the-scenes info. 
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I've always loved Henry Mancini's scores from this era, but sadly, his work on Blake Edwards' "Experiment in Terror" and Donen's own, lesser "Arabesque" are much more distinguishable. 

Just "In Time"

I'm intrigued by Andrew Niccol's upcoming science-fiction thriller "In Time," but only because of its wide-ranging, very interesting young ensemble. For me, it has the vague, middling trappings of the fickle "Repo Men" or the rote "Surrogates", yet that cast, with supporting roles from promising TV actors Vincent Kartheiser ("Mad Men"), Matthew Bomer ("White Collar") and dependable veterans like Cillian Murphy, has me curious. 
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Plus, these are somewhat untested waters for Justin Timberlake in the action genre, in addition to his co-star Amanda Seyfried, who can ill-afford her second massive flop of the year, but with a less-than-stellar title and working from the even more dubious confines of the sci-fi genre, I wonder. 

Friday, September 2, 2011

Classic Rewind: Love on the Run (1936)

Hot on the heels of the Oscar-winning "It Happened One Night," MGM's 1936 getaway screwball comedy, the plainly titled "Love on the Run," had no false aspirations and made no mistake of its intentions, recycling Clark Gable as a reporter on-the-run with a fleeing young bride. (The other half of Frank Capra's indelible 1934 comedy, Claudette Colbert, would play her part again in the familiar "It's a Wonderful World" just two years later.)
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Joan Crawford gets the nod here, playing alongside Gable in the duos seventh on-screen pairing, one of considerable mirth and buffoonery, granting the then 31 year-old actress a delightful, replenishing reprieve from her soggy love triangles and social class dramas. 
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The backdrop of a European spy-ring sets the table for this foolishly delectable screwballer which takes not only our two feisty lovebirds over the English Channel and through the French countryside, but also on-the-run from a rival newsman (played by Franchot Tone) and the devious Baron Otto Spandermann, played by Reginald Owen. (William DeMarest, before his terrific work for Preston Sturges, has a small role as a newspaper editor.)
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Needless to say, insanity and inanity rule the day, though not without some kooky detours like an overnight stay at the apparently empty Palace of Fontainbleau where Gable and Crawford role-play as King Louie and Maria Theresa. "Who is it?" Crawford pokes after a few knocks on the door to her palace chamber, "King Louis," Gable responds. "Which one?" "Pick a number between one and fourteen," he cracks in one of the films many jaunty, quick-witted jabs. [B+]