Tusk

Posted on September 24, 2014 by Tom

Release: Friday, September 19, 2014

[Theater]

Written by: Kevin Smith

Directed: Kevin Smith

No walruses were harmed during the making of this film, though you better believe the human component didn’t fair so well. Particularly those in the audience.

Kevin Smith I find a gamble even at the best of times. His scripts, though often clever, intelligent — laced with profanity, sure, but that’s not part of it — and fairly accurate reflections of small-time American life, frequently tread the line as to whether there’s enough material to justify a full-length feature.

If ever one was curious about life at the convenience store Smith used to work at when he was young, there’s always Clerks, a genius bit of social commentary. Then there was one in color too, as if to prove he wasn’t just being pretentious. Zack & Miri, though one of his lesser-knowns, offered an interesting take on the things people would do for one another in a time of need. It was packed full of real flesh-and-blood characters, even if categorically perverted the lot of them.

Jay & Silent Bob (how could I forget?) was yet another intimate little story involving two stoners feeling insulted for being excluded from a movie adaptation based on their life. We’re actually trending away from reality a little more here but that’s quite convenient actually, because I’m about to drop the bomb on everyone.

Now this is terrifying. . .

In 2014 we’re presented with Tusk. And don’t I feel like a fool now, thinking almost every one of his productions thus far have come at the cost of his own sobriety. Surely he had to have been tripping on some kind of amazing hallucinogenic when conjuring up some of these outings. No, I stand corrected. We have finally found that which exists as purely one drug addict at a party’s proposition to another, laid prostrate on the ground, foaming at the fucking mouth:

“Hey, I know what’ll make for a good movie: let’s shove a pair of walrus tusks up someone’s face as part of an homage to the weird-looking mammal, one in which the victim is a complete douche and deserves virtually everything that happens to him. Here’s the kicker: we won’t tell Tom Six about how much we really enjoyed his experiment!” (Six was the director of that horrible thing some might affectionately refer to as The Human Centipede.)

What you’ll find here is hardly a rip-off of that production. Tusk is superior in its construction, and possibly even in its conception. One major difference is Smith’s decision to fuse comedic elements together with its horrifying content. Unfortunately another is that Smith half-assedly presents his case. There’s too much talk-talk and not enough warrooo-warrooo (that’s the sound a human-turned-walrus makes), and the build-up shows footprints after being trampled on in order to deliver a gimmick that can’t in any way, shape or form be taken seriously. Make no mistake: the walrus, visually, is a huge disappointment.

What now, bitch?

Wallace Bryton (Justin Long. . .in the tooth) and his buddy Teddy (The Sixth Sense‘s very own Haley Joel Osment) run a semi-successful podcast based out of Los Angeles. They call their show the Not-See Party. See what they did there? When a story idea presents itself to Wallace, he takes off for the land of funny-talking Americans (boy does Kevin Smith hate Canada) in search of his next opportunity to blow off his extremely attractive girlfriend who is with him for some unexplained reason. That these two are together is, when compared, the kind of cinematic injustice one can get over in a hurry. He fails to return, however, after stumbling upon a much more interesting lead.

A note in a bathroom beckons the tragically curious to an isolated mansion located on the outskirts of civilization (a.k.a. Manitoba). Wallace comes, he sees, but does he conquer? Tusk no. Neither does the polarizing Kevin Smith, whose life work may be best summarized as some of the most inspiring and ambitious slacker cinema. Tusk succeeds in grossing out the audience but only for a very brief period of time. The shock value is quickly ousted by bouts of hilarity, but we’re never sure if we’re laughing with the director or at him. And the ending is bound to leave the average audience in a most befuddled state.

Tusk is best summed up as wire-to-wire disappointment. Unable to truly capitalize on horror until too late, one thing it does have going for it is a delightfully sinister performance from Michael Parks, who plays some deranged Canadian version of Jigsaw, bent on establishing a relationship with the only thing he can seemingly identify with. Also, see this for another virtually unrecognizable Johnny Depp. But I have the distinct feeling these things aren’t the primary reason audiences are lining up to see this ‘truly transformative tale.’

Sigh.

Recommendation: Smith’s latest is as bizarre as — if not more so than — advertised. But it fails perhaps more than anyone might have imagined. Put it this way, when Fleetwood Mac’s “Tusk” hits, and you find yourself actually getting into the film, it’s a testament to how long we’ve been awaiting a distraction. Or, how much we really dislike the lead character. A recognizable song trumps any of the events on screen. I started tapping my legs. . .the legs that I still have. I started fidgeting in my seat. I had forgotten how good that song is. I highly encourage a rental rather than shelling out money to the theater for this one. It hardly beckons to be experienced on a big screen.

Rated: R

Running Time: 102 mins.

Quoted: “I don’t wanna die in Canada!”

All content originally published and the reproduction elsewhere without the expressed written consent of the blog owner is prohibited.

Photo credits: http://www.impawards.com; http://www.imdb.com

A Walk Among the Tombstones

Posted on September 22, 2014 by Tom

Release: Friday, September 19, 2014

[Theater]

Mr. Neeson’s very particular set of skills, while not applied quite as liberally this time around, still make themselves available during creative bursts of energy in this brand new crime thriller from Scott Frank.

There’s a chill in the air and an eerie quiet about the New York City imagined in A Walk Among the Tombstones, a surprisingly more meditative experience whose title conjures up visions of a modern twist on the western. (Really, it’s an adaptation of Lawrence Block’s 1992 novel of the same name.) Such an impression is further solidified by the lack of pedestrian (really, any) traffic in these parts; spurts of grisly violence; a character that comes across more righteous protector than a blunt instrument who can wield an iPhone like nobody’s business.

Yeah, okay — he’s no John Wayne, but clad in the long coat with high-rise collar concealing nape of neck he begs a comparison to a number of badass outlaw archetypes. In 2014 Neeson may be deep in his trajectory to becoming one of the coolest action stars of the 21st Century, but he’s also mindful that his dramatic chops always have room for improvement. Given the number of avenues that are taken to subvert the lead’s aggressive persona Tombstones proves to be the ideal platform for him to work on that.

Matthew Scudder is an unlicensed private investigator and a former member of the NYPD hired on the spot by a desperate heroin dealer (Dan Stevens) to find who kidnapped and brutally murdered his wife. In the process he comes in contact with a homeless youth named TJ (Brian “Astro” Bradley) whose attitude belies a warm yet vulnerable and perpetually crumbling core. Betrayed by both parents at an early age, he’s no original creation but he is a slight revelation as a humorous partner-in-crime who convinces us of his humanity. That’s a directorial decision that extends all the way to Neeson, who disposes with the over-the-top dramatics in favor of one of his most stalwart performances since Oskar Schindler.

Granted the circumstances are nowhere near as historically relevant. They’re not really relevant at all. A drug dealer’s home life falling apart in gut-wrenching fashion is not the same kind of gut-wrenching as the stipulations made by the developments within Schindler’s List. An alcoholic learning to overcome his personal issues is not the same as a humanitarian working diligently to save lives in the height of one of the worst crimes against humanity ever recorded. Then again, this is kind of an unfair comparison.

Relying on the strength of its source material and a pair of wonderfully sinister performances from David Harbour and Adam David Thompson as the sadistic kidnappers, actors more than willing to take on the challenge of matching the subtle intensity of Liam Neeson, this grave walk delivers a slow-burning, dread-inducing tale of good versus evil, which may sound on paper as rather unoriginal. In execution, however, Tombstones takes some fascinating back alleys that will have you riveted and possibly more infatuated with the gruff Neeson than ever.

And for those curious, yes indeed, the film does come complete with an electrifying phone conversation that will have you readjusting your jockeys. A Walk Among the Tombstones is not classic Liam Neeson, but rather a reinvention of the concept.

Recommendation: Going in expecting another Taken would be the mistake! Enjoy a solid and restrained performance from Neeson who more than capably holds the screen in yet another convincingly tense crime thriller. The title may be a chore to utter time and again, but the experience — though notably lacking in pulse-pounding action — is worth repeating to friends who you think may be interested, those who may consider themselves the more dedicated Liam Neeson fan.

Rated: R

Running Time: 113 mins.

Quoted: “Once they’re in the van they’re just body parts. . .”

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Photo credits: http://www.impawards.com; http://www.imdb.com

Calvary

Posted on September 20, 2014 by Tom

Release: Friday, August 1, 2014 (limited)

[Theater]

Behold, The Passion of the Brendan Gleeson.

In John Michael McDonagh’s second collaboration with the lovable Dubliner, we get to watch a good Catholic priest endure a brutal psychological and emotional beating for virtually no reason whatsoever. To the tune of Mel Gibson’s graphic portrayal of the final 12 hours in the life of Jesus of Nazereth, McDonagh takes a wholesome lead and breaks his spirit slowly and painfully.

It’s disheartening to watch because this is Brendan Gleeson and despite how good he is as Father James, there’s simply nothing funny about his character, his circumstances or the things he says, will say, or be forced to say or do. Any amusement brought about by Gleeson’s jovial rotundness remains frustratingly out of reach, sealed off by walls of misery and suffering. And if all of this is indeed meant to amuse (it’s billed as comedy/drama), we’ve stumbled upon the Guinness of black comedies here, folks — this is some dark, heavy stuff.

A mysterious parishioner makes a threat against Father James’ life one sunny afternoon, and tells him — a soul obscured by the privacy of the confession booth — that he has seven days to get his affairs in order. Asked why, the voice tries to reason thus: if you kill a corrupt leader the world fails to notice. Everyone ultimately views the act as justified on the level that that individual deserved what was coming. When harm befalls someone free of blame, the shock of the injustice would surely, ideally ignite the spark of rage within the community at large.

At the risk of sounding redundant, I’ll reemphasize the cynicism displayed by McDonagh’s filming sensibilities. Specific to this considerably bleak affair, he’s a strong advocate of the notion that misery loves company. His cameras force us to trudge through a town filled to the brim with unsavory characters whose collective depravity stems from a combination of miserable luck and self-made misery. The gang’s all here: perverts, angry drunks, doctors who are also atheists. The daughter of a priest becomes suicidal after the father’s failure to establish strong ties with family after the death of the mother. Yawn. The trigger for her own personal calvary is woeful and quite honestly annoying.

Enter Chris O’Dowd, and — I’m hesitant to admit this in fear of interrupting this free flowing vitriol — at least he contributes to the picture its most complex character. As the town butcher, he doesn’t seem to mind who is sleeping with his wife. It’s only a piece of meat after all. There’s a lonely millionaire who favors luxury over happiness (this character is nothing more than a stereotype); a wife-beater; a washed-up American writer (M. Emmet Walsh) hanging on for dear life, in a pretty literal sense; and then we have the lead actor’s own son, Domnhall in an admittedly effective and borderline cameo appearance as a completely depraved, emotionless prisoner, guilty of some crime you’re probably better off not knowing about.

A ~~stoic~~ foolish Father James (seriously man, just get out of town) makes the rounds to all of these wounded souls and more, all while the knowledge of his possible impending death hangs over his head. One shouldn’t call it a dereliction of duties if one’s life has been personally threatened in church. You’d be forgiven for taking a sabbatical in the face of an apparent act of terrorism — technically speaking, the threat is being made against this church as well as the priest. I suppose then, there’s the ultimate conflict of not having a story to film. That’s a pretty thin veil though, considering all that this intimate window into life in Northern Ireland happens to capture.

Calvary is a visually gorgeous film, one laced with scenic vistas and rich greens and blacks (beautifully emphasized in the above movie poster). It is also far too well-acted to completely dismiss. Despite the annoyance of Reilly’s character, this is not her fault and she handles a nuanced and fragile individual convincingly. She also happens to be one of the least offensive characters on display, a relative compliment. Little needs to be said about Gleeson, who happens to extend his streak of compelling protagonists with this peculiar nonpareil.

At the end of the day, despite deep convictions and some fine performances, the final product cannot be described as an enjoyable or even worthwhile experiment. You may as well add that to the list of things it shares with Mel Gibson’s relentless bloodletting farce.

Recommendation: I really can’t say that I recommend seeing Calvary unless you possess a masochistic streak in you. It’s next-to-no fun for most of the duration as the characters, while on some level identifiable, are not ones you’d ever want to share a room with, much less intimate confessions. Kudos goes to Gleeson and O’Dowd, however, for a pair of stellar performances that go beyond acting. I at times felt these people really were this far gone. That doesn’t exactly make me feel any better about the fact that sometimes the world is just evil; that there are priests out there touching kids. A fact this film all but rails against like a child in a grocery store unable to buy his candy bar.

Rated: R

Running Time: 100 mins.

Quoted: “I think there’s too much talk about sins and and not enough about virtues.”

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Photo credits: http://www.impawards.com; http://www.imdb.com

TBT: The Thomas Crown Affair (1999)

Posted on September 18, 2014 by Tom

After throwing out my back last Thursday, I return from some much-needed time off here on TBT. And you know, even after only one week gone here I feel kinda rusty and couldn’t think of something for the longest time to write about. After filtering through several great suggestions on Facebook I’m here to announce those are going to surface VERY soon because the responses I got were numerous (and I haven’t seen any of them, which is a bonus). In the meantime, I’m sure some are going to be surprised to find out what I’ve chosen for

Today’s food for thought: The Thomas Crown Affair.

Getting off on ripping off museums since: August 6, 1999

[DVD]

Undoubtedly, some are going to be surprised to see a lack of a certain Steve McQueen here. I know, and while we are on the subject, I may as well get this off my chest right now rather than let it loom over this review at large. I have not seen the original.

Okay, please stop throwing fruit at me.

Thank you.

Sooner rather than later, this issue is going to be resolved. I’m fairly sure I’ll fall in love with the original cast as much as I have this modern one: I mean, come on — a young Faye Dunaway, who happened to appear in this modern touch-up from John McTiernan as well. She assumed the role of Thomas Crown’s psychologist, seen at the beginning trying to assess the current emotional state of a billionaire playboy finding his interest in being able to purchase (or do) anything he so desires on the wane. And of course, then there was Steve McQueen, doing Pierce’s work in 1968. The mischief, back then, was inherent in the name alone.

I can only assume Pierce had to work for it a little bit more here, though he hardly had to break a sweat. As Thomas Crown, he cranked up the sophistication to 11 and kicked up his feet, relaxing into one of the more casual roles of his career. In the midst of his James Bond fame, Brosnan had to have relished getting to chew scenery in a lighthearted crime-caper/romance flick.

Rene Russo reprised Dunaway’s role as a sumptuous insurance investigator who had become involved in the recovery of a precious Monet painting that was lifted in a seemingly random heist at the New York Metropolitan Museum. (There arose another key difference: rather than a museum heist, the old version hinged on a situation involving a Boston bank.) Her insertion into the scene proved simultaneously an amusing foil for the authorities currently working the case — mostly for Denis Leary as a abrasive but ultimately lonely detective heading up the investigation — as well as a worthy adversary of sorts for the brilliantly evasive Thomas Crown.

Director John McTiernan’s jigsaw puzzle may not be as iconic or even half as witty as what might be accomplished in a match-up between the mighty McQueen and the gorgeous Stun-away; however there’s undeniable charm between Brosnan and Russo who tumble headlong into a passionate romance bound for an uncertain, unsafe future together. Or not?

This place is pretty much spoiler-free, so I won’t put too fine a point on that.

But here’s one I can’t avoid mentioning: The Thomas Crown Affair was a great deal of fun. Still is. Between the exotic locales, damn near tantric-levels of heavy-petting, and an unrelenting sense of freedom cultivated through the performances and fluid direction, this film had all the hallmarks of a guilty pleasure. The only knick in this production is once you’ve experienced it the first time, the magic in the trick slightly dissipates. Still, being able to predict what happens next is merely a byproduct of a film that can be watched over time and again. This deviation, this joyride, is certainly worth its weight in gold.

Recommendation: The Thomas Crown Affair is a great escape for the crime-thriller lover who is not opposed to a little sappy romance here and there. It features solid performances from Brosnan and Russo, whom this reviewer would personally feel more comfortable with being insured by; as well as a sufficiently engaging mystery/adventure plot to justify an hour and forty minutes’ worth of material. This is a film that entices on more than one level. I highly recommend it to anyone a fan of either actor, though it’s just a little odd the director of things like Die Hard and Predator would say yes to something like this.

Rated: R

Running Time: 113 mins.

TBTrivia: The idea of unusual heat in the museum rendering thermal cameras useless came from McTiernan’s Predator. In that movie, McTiernan’s actual thermal cameras began to fail when the jungle temperature broke 90 degrees Fahrenheit.

All content originally published and the reproduction elsewhere without the expressed written consent of the blog owner is prohibited.

Photo credits: http://www.fanpop.com; http://www.movieweb.com

Frank Miller’s Sin City: A Dame to Kill For

Posted on September 16, 2014 by Tom

Release: Friday, August 22, 2014

[Theater]

Okay so there apparently is a major self-destructive streak in me, for I went to see the purportedly ill-advised Sin City sequel and walked out a happy customer. Perhaps more so than I rightfully should have been, too.

Has it really been ten years since the last time we wallowed in the streets of Frank Miller’s sick and twisted imagination? (Actually, it’s been nine but who’s counting?) Point being, its enough time for a follow-up film to be rolled out to the sound of crickets chirping. Moderate fans of the first have all but forgotten that there ever were plans on revisiting this place. Diehards likely even struggled to maintain a reasonable level of optimism. Everyone else simply went about their lives.

See, these aren’t the kinds of films that really move the viewer. And A Dame to Kill For had no intention of changing that, but in a twist of irony it kind of did. It moved people to the point of total disinterest. I had five people in my screening on opening night. Five, myself included. And I didn’t go to the crappy theater at the mall this time, either. Grossing a measly $6.4 million over the weekend (approximately $22 million less than its predecessor), one of its competitors that was already three weeks into its own theatrical run, Guardians of the Galaxy, perhaps snatched that up within a couple of showings over that weekend alone.

I suppose me going on to say that Hartigan (Bruce Willis) is back but only for a paycheck won’t help anyone still on the fence about seeing this. Sure, Bruce’s here, but he’s literally in the background. Instead we get a new group of desperados born and bred in the filth of two of Miller’s graphic novels. He, along with returning director Robert Rodriguez, merges the titular novel with one called Just Another Saturday Night, along with two new stories created solely for the film. We first stumble upon a returning hard-man in Mickey Rourke’s battered and bruised Marv, who is seen picking himself up in the wake of a car crash. He starts recounting the last things he remembers and what brought him to this new low point. This part represents the second of two graphic novels used for the story.

Then, some new blood. Joseph Gordon-Levitt appears out of the blue (okay, the black-and-white) as a cocky but composed card player whose good fortune seems to know no bounds. Unfortunately, neither does his ego as he pits himself against one of the most ruthless scoundrels in all of Basin City — the one and only Senator Roarke (Powers Boothe). The Senator is back and more ruthless than ever, making it his personal mission to track down Johnny and reclaiming the money he “stole” at the game. Yeah, it doesn’t end well for Johnny.

And finally we come to the third main thread in Josh Brolin’s Dwight (played by Clive Owen in 2005), a man with a horrific past now doing his best to stay sober. That is, until the titular Dame comes into the picture, tempting Dwight back into a life he thought he had successfully gotten out of. Eva Green in this film doesn’t fit the description of ‘femme fatale;’ she doesn’t even epitomize it. She’s something else entirely, and it’s terrifying. (Well, I say ‘terrifying;’ others might have another word for it.) ~~Macro-psychotic?~~ ~~Sexy?~~ What?

Let’s actually talk about that for a second. How does A Dame to Kill For compare in its thematic presentation? If you recall, the day Sin City was released wasn’t exactly a red letter day for actresses the world over. Violent, sloppy and misogynistic to a fault, the movie indulged in sequences that had Jessica Alba’s hips gyrating, Rosario Dawson cleavage-ing, Devon Aoki compensating for her looks by just being a raging lunatic. But back then the over-the-top toplessness was. . .and forgive me for saying this. . .unique to the production design. The sheer lack of boundaries in terms of violence and sexuality contributed to the experience that was a solid graphic novel adaptation. Fast-forward nine years and the fact that Eva Green spends 90% of her scenes naked just comes across as sleazy and lazy.

Fortunately Nancy Carrigan’s story has an ever-so-slight silver lining to her dark cloud. Slipping into despair, the concubine chops her hair, mars her face with shards of glass (if women aren’t going to be sexy, they may as well destroy those useless good-looks, right?) and ultimately abandons her post dancing at the bar. Thank goodness. She makes moves to overcome her own personal hell, following Hartigan’s selfish act of suicide. Nancy then decides to partner up with Marv, who similarly has seen enough of this dirty old town.

Audiences clearly have already reached that threshold. But in the same way I find Rodriguez’ and Miller’s need to overcompensate for truly original storytelling with even more sexually explicit imagery and brutal violence an act of desperation (watch for an amusing cameo from All-State insurance guy Dennis Haysbert as Manute. . .and what happens to his poor eyeball), I view the mass amount of negativity heaped upon this release similarly desperate.

No, this is not Frank Miller’s Sin City, but it’s the next logical step and it is still a Frank Miller creation. It’s just too bad those who cared enough had to wait this long. There’s something to be said for the amount of power this trio of stories has likely lost after nearly a decade laying in wait.

Recommendation: An all-around consistent film in terms of appealing to its uniquely deranged fan base, A Dame to Kill For steps up the intensity of its thematic elements in an attempt to draw in fringes of a general interest audience. It may have failed in that regard, but for returning customers there’s enough to like here to warrant a ticket purchase, if not then definitely a rental at some point. On the other hand, if there was anything that put you off in Sin City, you probably could avoid this.

Rated: R

Running Time: 102 mins.

Quoted: “Never lose control, never let the monster out.”

All content originally published and the reproduction elsewhere without the expressed written consent of the blog owner is prohibited.

Photo credits: http://www.impawards.com; http://www.imdb.com

The Drop

Posted on September 15, 2014 by Tom

Release: Friday, September 12, 2014 (limited)

[Theater]

Fairly unsurprisingly, The Drop is a compelling modern entry into the gangster/crime genre.

Tom Hardy. James Gandolfini. There’s something foregone-conclusion-y about pairing those names together and sticking them in a mobster flick. It’s likely to be damn good. Of course you’d be forgiven for not being taken with the relatively bland title. But for dismissing lonely old Bob Saginowski (Hardy) who carries around a pit bull pup for most of the movie? Totally inexcusable.

That’s a side of Bane you won’t see too often. Even less from Charles Bronson. And doubtful there were many times in Tommy Conlon’s life where he felt so sensitive.

As striking a visual as Hardy nursing an abused and abandoned puppy can be there’s something more poignant in the reincarnation of Tony Soprano as “Cousin Marv.” The duo are indeed cousins who run a dive bar in Brooklyn, with the latter having proudly owned the operations for decades now and the former merely tending bar. If only life were actually that simple, though. Targeted as a ‘drop’ location by a dangerous Chechen criminal syndicate, this particularly dingy cave suddenly magnetizes all sorts of dirty money flowing in from various unsavory individuals.

When two dim-witted thugs hold the bar up one evening, Saginowski and his cousin find themselves in hot water with Chovka (Michael Aronov), a mob leader not even Tony Soprano would want to cross on a good day. The pair are left scrounging for the missing $5,000 before they too find themselves disappearing in a windowless conversion van parked in the shadows of some nondescript alleyway.

Hardy — if you can believe it — puts on a stellar performance as a sheltered, fumbling everyman whose social ineptitude symbolizes that part of the iceberg we can see peeking above the surface. Sooner or later we’ll get to know how deep it goes into the water. Before we do, there are several layers to Cousin Marv we need to peel away before coming into the frightening realization of how truly shady this whole operation is. This place is rotten from the inside out, and the last thing we are ultimately concerned with are the drops themselves.

The Drop blends sharp social commentary with an indomitable devotion to creating atmospheric tension. An unnerving turn from Matthias Shoenaerts as Eric Deeds, a renegade criminal with a keen interest in the dog Bob discovered in a neighbor, the broken but beautiful Nadia (Noomi Rapace)’s trash can one night on his way home from the bar, adds to that greatly. Seemingly channelling his inner Joker in his unrepentant disregard for logic or reason, Shoenaerts casts a shadow that puts the dreaded Chechen gang in perspective. Clearly there are degrees of evil here that we ought to be aware of. Therein lies the genius in having the omniscient perspective: we eventually learn no one is clean but as the story develops our willingness to take the lesser of two evils is directly proportional to how much we’re shocked by the developments.

Rapace isn’t the focus of attention here but her fragile state’s still worthy of mention as she offers up a vulnerability not found in the male characters. And her performance proves yet again how kaleidoscopic the Swedish actress’ image truly is. For Bob Saginowski Nadia represents a chance to outgrow his circumstances and become something more, all while still wrestling with a dark past of her own.

Perhaps owed to the effectiveness of the transfer of book to film at the hands of writer Dennis Lehane (responsible for both versions), you will likely not come across a more atmospheric and capably-acted crime drama this fall.

Or, maybe you will.

But it won’t have James Gandolfini in it, who in this case doesn’t even need to raise his voice to remind us of the ease with which he could command the screen. Additional credit must be given to the strong direction of Michaël R. Roskam, who’s only had one previous film released (and to similar critical success, as a matter of fact), for never allowing the sobering reality of Gandolfini’s absence hang too heavy over the proceedings. Marv is chameleonic, blending seamlessly with the decay of his surrounds. As the big man once again does with his favorite material.

Recommendation: Reiterating, the appeal is pretty clear here. The box office draw comes twofold in a dreamlike pairing of Hardy and Gandolfini in a thoroughly well-written and well-crafted reflection of a much harder life in America. Despite there being a substantial amount of commentary on the subject already, The Drop offers a clear-eyed view of some very, very, very gray areas indeed. Aside from a few limited moments of bloodshed, the lack of substantial gore might be one immediate way you can distinguish this effective thriller. It relies on studying and assessing character motives and relationships, and if that’s your sort of thing, you should be buying yourself a ticket right now rather than reading this blog. (But seriously, thank you for reading this blog.)

Rated: R

Running Time: 106 mins.

Quoted: “Are you doing something desperate? Something we can’t clean up this time?”

All content originally published and the reproduction elsewhere without the expressed written consent of the blog owner is prohibited.

Photo credits: http://www.impawards.com; http://www.imdb.com

Land Ho!

Posted on September 12, 2014 by Tom

Release: Friday, July 11, 2014 (limited)

[Theater]

As much a gorgeous postcard from the Icelandic coast, Land Ho! also serves as a warm, sentimental comedy about taking advantage of time we can almost measure out in handfuls. In a perpetual disappearing act, it is a hell of a precious thing.

Fittingly, this neat and trim 90-minute package is mindful of that fact. Land Ho!, the cumulative effort of co-writer/directors Aaron Katz and Martha Stephens, neither taxes viewers’ patience nor does it overwhelm the senses unnecessarily. Conversely, you would also have to be knocked-out cold to not appreciate the pragmatism on display — there are no frills here. Growing old may be the natural way of things, but it sure ain’t easy, as this geriatric odd-couple will attest.

Meet loud and audacious Mitch (Earl Lynn Nelson) and meek and mild-mannered Colin (Paul Eenhoorn), formerly brothers-in-law but recently removed after Mitch’s sister divorces Colin, an occurrence that happens before the film starts rolling. We first see the two convening at Mitch’s humble abode where the two catch up after whiling away many an hour on their lonesome. To get Colin’s mind off of things — not only has he recently been divorced, his wife prior to that passed away much too soon — Mitch has a trip to Iceland planned where they will get away from everything.

The goal is complete detachment from their former selves, to openly embrace whatever comes next. In a sense, this is a send-up of a desire to live fast, die young and worry about the boring stuff we missed later. The irony’s captured in all aspects of this adventure, especially with a 60-something-year-old Mitch whose number one priority seemingly is getting laid. But really though, shouldn’t it be these older gents who earn the right to openly embrace “YOLO” as an actual fact of being?

Earl Lynn Nelson, in his break-out performance is an infectious spirit that perpetuates Land Ho!‘s energy and boundless optimism. He is positively compelling as the geriatric go-getter, even if his commentary at times can fall on the side of sleazy when it comes to talking about women. On offer as well are breathtaking vistas and an absolutely sublime soundtrack, but the chemistry between the pair of “elderly” men reigns supreme. (Although, it’ll be difficult to exit the theater without humming some of the tunes that also happen to strengthen this picture via being laid over several richly visual interludes. Likewise you’ll be forgiven for immediately Googling Iceland when you return home from seeing this one.)

Beginning at the capital port city of Reykjavík our map sprawls outward, encapsulating some classic tourist destinations like the black sand beaches, towering geysers and of course, the hot springs as made famous (and slightly dramatized by) this particular movie poster. Our protagonists make friends with a few locals: a couple who are honeymooning in the quaint bed-and-breakfast Colin and Mitch are inhabiting inadvertently become the direct recipient of Mitch’s advice on successful long-term marriages. Meanwhile, Colin strikes the iron hot with a Canadian photographer while taking a dip in the hot spring-fed rivers nearby Landmannalaugar.

While conversation strictly adheres to matters of practicality and even fatalism — the duo’s rumination on loneliness and wondering where this path ultimately takes them very much mirrors our own — atmosphere and musical selection will distract just enough to never allow the moment to settle too heavily. At times Land Ho! possesses an air of fantasy, as its almost too difficult to believe the turns of fate these two share.

Yet the laughs spill forth freely and come at times at the expense of these good people. Sight gags are in abundance, as are those of an intellectual, buy-into-the-rapport variety. We experience a range of emotion in good old Colin who eventually learns to embrace his surroundings. Watching him cave and take a hit off a joint the size of something Bob Marley would roll isn’t exactly revelatory but it’s the kick in the pants this character needs. There’s also somewhat of a comfort in knowing this would happen sooner or later. Yes, extensive character development is something you will not find but the changes that occur are sufficient enough.

In the end, you must embrace this film in the same way Mitch is embracing a new life as a retired doctor; as Colin, a wounded soul still reaching out for something to make him strong. Dispense with the over-thinking and just go with the flow. I’m not exactly sure how that applies to your viewing habits or how you approach this film but the less you think about Land Ho! and its constant retread of the tracks laid down by road trip movies that have come before, the better you will be for it.

Recommendation: If searching for truly unspoiled territory, the quiet musings of Land Ho! will not be the trip you need to take. Avoiding it on that basis is a choice that will dismiss this film entirely too prematurely, however. You should see this film for a stellar first lead performance from Nelson and the absolutely killer scenery he treads across with his bestest buddy. Its thematic presentation is perhaps a tad overwhelmed by said gorgeous visuals, but I find that one of the most acceptable issues to have in a film.

Rated: R

Running Time: 95 mins.

Quoted: “You know that a lighthouse looks just like a hard cock but with no balls. . . ?”

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Photo credits: http://www.impawards.com; http://www.imdb.com

The Franco Files – #8

Posted on September 10, 2014 by Tom

Welcome to September, and the eighth edition of The Franco Files! Still going strong here, folks. . .even despite my apparent inability to really get going on diving deeper into his filmography beyond the recent things that I have seen him in. Some fan, eh? I know, I know.

Here’s me reaching. Today’s entry is not Franco’s most substantial contribution to film, at least in terms of total screen time. But what he does here is still worthy of mention. Dramatic chops? Check. Actual chops? Yeah, he’s involved in some sort of scuffle here. Mutton chops? Well, you can debate his hairstyle all you want. I’m kind of getting away from my point. . . . Where I was going with this bit was, it’s interesting having seen Franco in all of these significant roles, taking the lead even in some instances, and then switching to watching him dutifully fulfill what’s required of a pretty minor supporting character. I’m sure many out there would prefer him to take on these sorts of roles more often. Me? Eh, I’m not one of ’em. I am, however, willing to take whatever I can get.

Francophile #8: Marty Freeman, The Iceman

Role Type: Supporting

Genre: Drama/Crime

Character Profile: Originally written for the part of a Softee ice cream truck creepazoid named Mr. Pronge (shudder), which was subsequently changed to a Mr. Freezy truck driver — same name — played by an incredibly effective Chris Evans . . . Franco’s role ultimately becomes that of an even less major supporting role as a meddling middle-man whose relationship with infamously brutal mob boss Roy DeMeo isn’t particularly clear but a connection exists nonetheless. Franco turns up the smarmy factor to effect a seedy character without having to do too much. (Although I wish he had a little more than this.)

If you lose Franco, the film loses (MAJOR SPOILERS): one of Richard Kuklinski’s most offensive moral backtrackings. The murder of relatively innocent Marty Freeman paints the contract killer in the most cold-blooded light possible, as Kuklinski first intimidates the hell out of and then demands a cowering Marty to pray to God before he pulls the trigger. Granted the scene is written fantastically but it still comes down to Franco’s ability to convince us of the terror associated with being on the wrong end of a gun, particularly in a moment as desperate as this.

Out of Character: [Michael Shannon, who plays the lead Richard Kuklinski, on meeting Franco for the first time:] “You know, James is very into poetry. I like James. I met him in Boston at a train station. I was just standing there one day waiting for a train back to New York and this guy walked up with a baseball cap and sunglasses and a big bushy beard and a trench coat. I kind of thought he might be—he wasn’t dirty—but he looked kind of like he might be homeless.”

Rate the Performance (relative to his other work):

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Photo credits: http://www.imdb.com

The November Man

Posted on September 7, 2014 by Tom

Release: Wednesday, August 27, 2014

[Theater]

Careful with that trigger finger, Devereux.

The old adage ‘the more things change the more they stay the same’ is likely to surface in several forms here in my explanation as to why I think Pierce Brosnan doesn’t really owe us an explanation for the mess that is The November Man.

After nearly a decade removed from the spy game, the unapologetically good-looking Irishman may have added some gray whisks to his quaff of brown hair, but at the end of the day he’s still getting a job done that needs getting done. Duly aware that time is getting on, Pierce, also operating in a producer capacity, has turned up the intensity and bid adieu to romance in this considerably more aggressive role as Peter Devereux, a ruthless CIA agent who knows how to deliver physical punishment as well as a compelling reason to watch for his next move, even if everything else surrounding him doesn’t.

His latest escapade, based upon the novel There Are No Spies — the seventh book in a series titled The November Man — opens chaotically, as a botched mission in Montenegro leads to his brief retirement after his partner and agent-in-training, David Mason (Luke Bracey) disobeys direct orders and winds up killing an innocent bystander on the streets in a confrontation unnecessarily made public. Such unprofessionalism draws a divide in the ideals between the old-school agent and wide-eyed trainee eager to prove his skill set.

Following the debacle Devereux swears he’s done and takes off for Switzerland to enjoy a quiet life running a coffee shop. Sorry, but pristine Alpine peaks without any of the parleying is a pipe dream for you, pal.

Don’t forget, old habits die hard, especially when you’re this good at being typecast. Even better, when you know you are this good at being typecast. And Brosnan does. When former boss Peter Hanley (Bill Smitrovich) comes knocking, he hardly balks at the task of finding and protecting a fellow CIA operative whose safety becomes jeopardized after exposing secrets about Russian presidential candidate and former Army General Arkady Federov. When she loses her life in an ensuing sequence of conflicting orders that have Hanley ordering Devereux to protect her and CIA Station Chief Perry Weinstein (Will Patton) dispatching David to take her out, a stark idealogical divide forms between both trigger fingers.

Neither expecting the other at opposite ends of the barrel in the aftermath of this second botched op, they flee in opposite directions and the actual narrative, as it were, finally has a chance to get underway. Devereux’s ultimate assignment is to protect a third innocent from destruction at the hands of another vile man. This will be in the form of an Alice Fornier (Olga Kurylenko).

If, by chance, you have reached this point and find your head spinning, you’re likely not alone. There lies a complex web of characters and relationships to explain and not even the film’s up to the task. It can’t prioritize which relationship is more important. Ultimately, few of them are interesting on their own merits. They are helped by a relatively compelling and violent CIA agent coming into contact with them.

We dip in and out of sun-tinged locales often in exciting bursts of action. Roger Donaldson demonstrates his understanding of shooting chase sequences and tension occasionally rises to nearly unbearable levels owed to some interesting camera angles and quick, anxious cutaways. The film teases palm-sweating good fun but never outright offers it as it spends too much time setting up too many characters when it could have limited its periphery easily. A Russian assassin whose personal mission is to wipe out Alice is only one example. (No, you’re not getting another.)

Somewhere along the way Kurylenko becomes entangled in this convoluted scuffle between American and Russian government agencies via a thankless role as the aforementioned Alice, whose history renders her a very important character but whose personality suggests otherwise. The lovely Kurylenko does the best with what she’s given but the end result of seeing her in The November Man inspires only vague recollections of her involvement with Quantum of Solace.

So I’ll say it again: the more things change, the more Pierce stays the same. Despite his character sporting an attitude more befitting of an anti-hero on more than one occasion, at the core there’s still a palpable sense of the actor relishing what he does for a living. I won’t deny the power of his tougher outfit but I just wish there was a way to explain why the script could not be better here. And no, Devereux doesn’t need to offer up anything.

Recommendation: Not the best outing for my boy Brosnan by any means, but this doesn’t rank amongst his worst either. He is undoubtedly why this movie’s going to get rented out (if my screening was any indication, there certainly weren’t many keen on checking it out in theatrical form), and perhaps some may recognize the actor-director pairing from Dante’s Peak. That might be worth something as well, but suffice it to say if you’re expecting the script to improve or likewise the characters from that one to this, you’ll be left more shaken than stirred.

Rated: R

Running Time: 108 mins.

Quoted: “Peter Devereux. You are one bleak motherfucker, you know that? You know what we used to call you? The November Man. Because after you passed through, nothing lived.”

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Photo credits: http://www.impawards.com; http://www.imdb.com

TBT: Hiking in the Cascades (2009)

Posted on September 4, 2014 by Tom

The first Thursday in September is here at our doorsteps and here I am with my hands in my pockets in terms of coming up with a new concept for TBT. Well, actually, I’m feeling a little itch to do something different. I’ve been toying with the notion of promoting this video that I made for a long time now and I feel like the timing’s right now. It’s been approximately five years since I was first taken out to Seattle, Washington with my dad (who now lives there) and shown an entirely new world of outdoors adventures I couldn’t have pictured in my head if I had tried. My trip was in August of 2009. . .so, this is a bit past the month-date itself but I feel it should still count. 🙂 There’s a second impetus for my posting this today. I unfortunately got wind of the passing of one of my English professors from the University of Tennessee today. Even more sadly the event had actually happened some time ago and I had not known until today. I consider Steve Sparks one of my mentors from the university, as well as incredible inspiration for me to keep up my pursuit of writing. He was also a gentle soul and widely-respected by his peers at the university. He was one of the first to give me feedback on this blog so I’d like to honor him by posting

Today’s food for thought: Hiking in the Cascades.

The edit below features some footage I collected from the Seattle area from the five days I spent there with my dad. I had a very basic idea of just documenting the whole thing and waiting until getting back to Knoxville later to sort through what I had and see if there was anything worth doing, but I became too excited and threw something together while I was still there. (Please be kind, this is edited together with the experience of someone using iMovie and Garage Band. haha!)

We spent most of our time in the Cascade Mountain Range hiking and tiring ourselves out on some massive elevation gain, and when weather didn’t cooperate at times we sought to do other things. Like explore waterfalls that were in town. Because waterfalls indeed just pop up all over towns in the northern Seattle area (those who are familiar with Bothell at all know what’s up).

I also happened to be in the right place at the right time for a Sounders game, and that was just an absolutely crazy experience. You want to hear a passionate fan base? You don’t need to go to Europe. Fly to Seattle and cheer on their boys from the MLS, holy crap. I didn’t get too much media around that event as it was just nice to sip on some beers with dad and then force our way back into the mass exodus flooding the streets in neon greens and blues, all bound for one purpose, one place: Century Link Field.

On another rest day away from the jaggedness of the Cascades we ventured into the city and we checked out the incredible Paul Allen-funded Experience Music Project (EMP) Museum downtown. An overwhelming amount of music and film collections were to be discovered inside, and honestly there was just too much stuff to take in so my photo sessions had to be brief. They were also kinda blurry and dark, so I apologize but here are some of the things that stood out to me:

The infamous Guitar Tower. Two stories tall.

Probably one of the worst photos of Alien you’ll see. . . I was too afraid to get near it.

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Photo credits: Tom Little

Thomas J

My Journey Through Film

Monthly Archives: September 2014

Tusk

A Walk Among the Tombstones

Calvary

TBT: The Thomas Crown Affair (1999)

Frank Miller’s Sin City: A Dame to Kill For

The Drop

Land Ho!

The Franco Files – #8

The November Man

TBT: Hiking in the Cascades (2009)