Originally Reviewed – 4/30/2011

8:30 PM, April 29th, the 11th evening of the 2011 Tribeca Film Festival. Upon getting to the theater, the crowd was buzzing about the world premiere of the latest film from director Tony Kaye. Mostly known for his brilliant American History X, slightly known for the polarizing abortion documentary Lake Of Fire and widely known for being a wild eccentric, nobody can deny Kaye’s skill behind the camera. However, when one of the festival employees walked up to the audience before the screening, pulled out a microphone and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, Tony Kaye is with us tonight and would like to say a few words”, nobody was prepared. Sporting a 13th century beard, an acoustic guitar and a sense of boundless enthusiasm, he walked up to the screen, said literally three words about the color red and sat back down. A strange introduction to the film to be sure but, in the end, completely appropriate. Detachment, a film about a substitute teacher dealing with the issues in both his own life and in the school of troubled kids he works in, is easily the best movie Kaye has ever made. A film of undeniable beauty and an unwavering understanding of the human condition, Detachment is an experience best taken in without any introduction at all.

Staring Adrian Brody, in what’s easily his finest performance since his Oscar winning turn in the Pianist, Detachment starts off as raw as you would expect a Tony Kaye film to be. Brody is wonderful in the role, both in the classroom standing up to some of the most intensely troubled kids you’ll see in a film and in his private life. Brody plays both the tough yet pragmatic school teacher and the tortured soul at home, each with a skill that’s amazing to watch. While Brody reminded me of Ryan Gosling’s character in the excellent Half Nelson, Brody’s issues are more deeply rooted and better explained than the pain of Gossling. Also, while Gossling deals with his demons by shooting up in a girl’s locker room, Brody is much more stoic, purging his demons in spurts of frustration in an overall sea of numbness. The rest of the cast is damn near pitch perfect, including Marcia Gay Harden as the school’s principal, James Cann as the callous yet hilarious veteran teacher and Kaye’s own daughter, Betty as a troubled yet talented teen looking for direction. The cast is well utilized and nary is a frame wasted in telling the stories of people stretched to their absolute limits.

On the storytelling front, Kaye has never been one to shy away from the more intense side of film-making, and he doesn’t start here. In documenting the scholastic hell Brody and company find themselves in, Kaye pull no punches providing some of the grittiest scenes I’ve ever seen in a film about emotionally disturbed kids. The crazy thing is, despite the extreme nature of the students, I can’t help but think these children exist. Ignored by failing schools, pandered to by teachers who have checked out and seeing no support from blame shifting parents, it is obvious screenwriter Carl Lund experienced these outcast students first hand. No matter how extreme it may be, everything in the movie feels genuine and rooted in reality. The pain of both supporting and being in this fringe society is hammered home, almost to the point of melodrama. However, Kaye balances this film out beautifully, not only providing dark humor, mostly in the work of Cann, but giving the audience a glimpse of light at the end of the emotional tunnel. Kaye understands that there’s always a glowing ember in even the darkest of stories and by helping his actors make positive decisions, even when dealing with some heavy emotional baggage, the film allows the audience to push through the heart-rending drama. The film is also marvelously shot in Kaye’s signature style, all leading up to a final set of scenes that defines the word jaw-dropping.

Despite his technical brilliance, Tony Kaye is far from a Hollywood darling. During the making of American History X, he fought with his actors, made New Line Cinema delirious with demands, took out full page ads in trade papers condemning the film and begged the Directors Guild to remove his name from the credits. Even at the premiere, he looked off with his ragamuffin bread, jangly walk and difficult speech impediment. To be fair, if you saw him on the street, you’d probably think he was homeless. However, after experiencing Detachment and seeing that there is indeed a genius behind the hoopla, I can only say that I hope it doesn’t take another thirteen years before his next dramatic film. Hell, if he needs some cash to help it get going, I’ll pony up a couple of bucks. The wild haired, guitar toting director that had made me think, “Oooh, he’s a little crazy” at the outset, had created a work of art that shocked me into silence. Simply put, the world needs more directors with a singular, soulful vision and the will to put it on screen for the world to see. A movie that cements Kaye as a filmmaker of skill, daring and insight, Detachment is a must see for anybody who’s felt at some point that the world was full of insurmountable pain yet still found the strength to push on anyway.

Note: While I try to do the most bare bones synopsis possible when writing my reviews (let’s be honest, you can read what a flick is about on this very site), I purposefully left out as much as possible about the plot of Detachment. Suffice to say, I wouldn’t want to lessen the impact of the movie by giving away any of the story points. Seriously, when it reaches theaters, just see it. You won’t be disappointed. Also, when the credit finished rolling, Kaye was kind enough to do a brief question and answer session. Usually, when this happens, the movie elite like to barrage the filmmakers with questions: what was your motivation, how was working with Brody, etc. Even I had thought up a question about who was the teacher that influenced him as a kid and if he ever was one of these cast off students. This time though, nobody uttered a sound. If a film can get connect with a room full of film geeks enough to stun them into complete silence, you know it’s something special.

Score – 100%

Originally Reviewed – 4/25/2011

As I’ve said in a number of different reviews, New York is a city comprised of characters. From the bag lady on the 6 train to the Upper West Side sophisticate, from the Brooklyn based hipster to the androgynous fella who jogs in tights, a fishnet top and a crack hugging thong, the City That Never Sleeps is also the City That Never Ceases To Surprise. While some of these characters are often there to shock, appall or simply annoy, there are a few standouts that show the true color of the city whilst melding into the background. Seldom seen but uniquely New York, these characters buzz around the ether, making little moments of magic wherever they happen to go. The titular subject of a brand new documentary by first time director Richard Press, Bill Cunningham is one of those outliers, a camera wielding, picture snapping man of joy whose story is inspirational, poignant and uplifting all at the same time.

For those of you don’t know, Bill Cunningham is an 85 year old fashion photographer who spends his days perched on the street corners of New York City’s more fashionable areas, snapping pictures of random people whose fashion sense catches his meticulous eye. Just don’t expect to get a pic in his column if you’re rocking an H&M sweater and a pair of Levi’s jeans. The more expressive the better and whatever Bill happens to capture on a given day ends up in his weekly column in the New York Times. While this may seem a mundane subject for a documentary, Mr. Cunningham is anything but. Despite being one of the most influential photographers in all of fashion, Bill lives an austere life; he lives in a tiny studio, rides his ancient Schwinn bicycle and spends almost no money on himself. The man’s sole purpose is the documenting of the fashion created by everyday people and that single minded focus is what makes him brilliant. The man is also a downright sweetheart, constantly smiling, laughing and finding pleasure in the very act of living, even when a potential subject tells him to “f himself”.

The film reflects the quiet joy of its subject, firstly following Bill through his daily activities and standard routines. The doc does a sublime job of giving the Bill room to breathe, in turn giving the audience an unobstructed view of the artist at work. The film follows him from the sidewalk to the runway, fashion events and even to the streets of Paris, where he gives an acceptance speech for the esteemed Order of Arts and Letters. Up to this point, Bill comes off as a kooky yet earnest genius: he jokes with the filmmakers, obsesses over layouts and goes about this day with his signature smile intact. Here, however, is where you first see the emotion behind the magic and the moment of his acceptance speech is easily one of the most emotionally cutting moments I’ve seen in a doc this year. The filmmakers also deserve high praise for the respect given to their subject. At several points in the film, you can tell they back off from the cutting questions, understanding that it’s not that he doesn’t have the answers but has the right to withhold if need be. The result is an even keeled and positive film that never becomes too invasive or mean spirited.

As you go through the film, you realize it’s aptly named. Bill Cunningham is more than just an old guy on a bike snapping photos of weirdos; he’s a boro onto himself, an island of single sighted purpose finding joy in his photos and fulfillment in his work despite the sacrifices inherent in the life he chose to live. One of those film you can’t frown at eve if you tried, Bill Cunningham, New York examines a visionary talent with an empathy and grace uncommon with a subject so wonderfully odd. Lesser filmmakers could have made a mockery of the man but you can tell this is a labor of love, a documentary made to inspire, not smear. As the film finishes, you find out just how many people Bill Cunningham has inadvertently touched and realize he’s touched you too. A remarkable documentary about a remarkable New York character, Bill Cunningham, New York not only tells the story, but conveys the spirit, a rare feat in documentary filmmaking.

Score – 90%

Originally Reviewed – 4/20/2011

I am not, what most people would call, a religious person.

Growing up in working class New Jersey, I had a Roman Catholic upbringing, complete with a Christening, a Confirmation, several weekends spent at CCD and more than a few confessions made at the local church. My family wasn’t terribly into it and my spiritual training consisted mostly of, “do it, because you’re supposed to”. My family consisted of true “CE” Catholics, meaning they only saw the inside of Saint Anthony’s on Christmas and Easter. Any other time, heading to the chapel was more of a chore than a spiritual journey, much like vacuuming the living room or cutting the grass. As an adult, that apathy towards modern religion has stuck around. While I feel more in tune with the spiritual side of things as I’ve grown older, I’ve never felt the need to head to a church to have a spiritual moment. That is, until I saw the latest film by director Xavier Beauvois, Of Gods and Men. Not only is this film a piece of quiet beauty, it speaks to the audience on a level deeper than simple dialogue and scenes, creating a spiritual experience that sticks with you months after the final frame flickers on screen.

Discussing a film of such depth and meaning in any traditional sense is difficult at best. The true story of eight Trappist monks on a mission in Algeria and their collective decision to either flee the erupting civil violence or stay as a symbol to the people they’ve sworn to help is just the surface dressing for a more emotional experience. At the outset, the monks go about their daily business quietly and peacefully: they garden, visit the town leaders, settle some petty disputes, all while maintaining a sense of quiet serenity. This peace is echoed in the filmmaking which could be brashly described as “slow” but I much prefer patient. The film moves at a glacial pace but the tempo only serves to heighten the connection between the audience and the action on screen. This is especially true when the camera settles on the monks at prayer. These scenes, usually framed in a single wide shot or in a slow track, show the eight brothers praying in harmony, singing, connecting and being one with God. A disconnected viewing will make the scene seem indulgent and boring but if you allow yourself to meld with the moment, the effect is quietly powerful.

As the film movies from the day to day work to the drama of the burgeoning civil war that threatens the sanctity of the monk’s community, the drama escalates accordingly, all while keeping the sense of peace and serenity established in the fist half hour. While you’ll have a hard time differentiating who’s who at the beginning, once the tension ramps up, you start to see the color of each character: some want to stay, some want to flee and they all have their own motivations as to why. The cast is unilaterally great in their respective roles, all leading up to the “wine at dinner” scene which is so brilliantly played by the actors and beautifully directed, I challenge you to not smile while still having a tear in your eye. While the scene does border on melodrama, given the gravity of the situation they find themselves in, it’s completely understandable.

Of Gods And Men is the first film of 2011 that I can honestly label as brilliant. From the opening scene to the final snow blanketed frame, the movie not only tells a compelling story, it shakes you to the core, challenging you to re-examine your own ideas of faith, all told in an unforced and beautiful way. When the credits roll on a film, I usually leave right away. Trains to catch, things to do, reviews to write, etc. The time though, I felt compelled to sit there with what I had watched, letting the thoughts and emotions roll through me. Disquieting yet necessary, the film had not only taken me on a journey with eight men of peace, eight men who, in the spirit of true religious charity showed exactly what it was to live for an ideal, it took me on a journey within myself. The chilly walk home that evening was surprisingly quiet for nine o’clock on the Upper West Side, a perfect ending to a remarkable film going experience. Alone with my thoughts, I had a small epiphany about this film and the message it was trying to preach, something that’s stuck with me to this day.

Maybe you won’t have the same experience. Maybe you’ll read this review, thrown it on the Netflix list, sit down with it in six months and say, “Ehhhh…man this flick is slow. What’s on A&E”? If so, I don’t mind. Movies like this speak to different people in different ways and it really isn’t the type of thing meant for mass consumption. My only advice is that if you do choose to see it, see it properly. Turn off the phone, dim the lights to black and just sit with it. Get wrapped up in it. Let the patient pacing, lovely acting and wondrous direction fill you with a solemn type of serenity that’s unlike anything I’ve experience while watching a film. Like or hate it, your perception of what a film can aspire to will be irrevocably changed.

Score – 100%

Originally Reviewed – 4/8/2011

Way back when, in the year 1987, a Japanese game designer named Hironobu Sakaguchi, in a last ditch attempt to break into the video game industry, created a little RPG known as Final Fantasy. This simple tale of the Warriors of Light and their quest to regain the power of four mystical crystals spawned a series of sequels that would forever redefine gaming. Fast forward exactly ten years and Square, finally seeing mainstream success with the classic Final Fantasy VI (known as Final Fantasy 3 in the US), released their latest game, Final Fantasy VII on the brand new Sony Playstation. The first game in the series to feature 3D graphics, some minor adult language and a sweeping story of a world in environmental turmoil quickly rocketed to the top of gaming charts everywhere, a place it still holds today. The epic story of Cloud, Aries and the Shinra Corporation ushered a new era in gaming, much like the original did ten years earlier. Fast forward another eight years and, in an attempt to further the story for fans of the game while using the technology of the previous yet poorly received Spirits Within, Final Fantasy VII Advent Children was released. The result was a feature length computer animated film that took the characters everyone knew from the classic game and put them in a brand new adventure. The result?

Eeeehhh….

To be fair, I didn’t experience FF VII when it first came out on the original Playstation. While my friends were freaking out, 1997 was right at the tail end of the “Bit Wars” and I was a Nintendo fan through and through. Truth be told, my first foray into the game was last year, when I decided that I couldn’t call myself a Final Fantasy fan without playing through the game most critics hailed as the finest in the series. The game, in short, is brilliant and while the visuals may not hold up, the story, surprises and action certainly do. But this isn’t a review of the game; this is a review of the cinematic sequel and while the film is rife with nostalgia and high flying action, it all hinges on how much you loved the original experience. If you’ve never played the original, it’s a big, beautiful mess.

The movie picks up right where the game ends with Red XIII running towards a future Midgar, the place where much of the events of FF VII take place. It’s two years after the events of FF VII and while mankind has reverted to a more basic way of living, a new disease known as Geostigma is plaguing the citizens of the once technologically advanced city. Cloud, the hero of the original game, is summoned by the president of Shinra to help stop a group of three mysterious people who are trying to bring back Genova and could be the cause of the disease. If all that flew past you in a hailstorm of “whaaaatt?”, congrats! This is one film you do NOT need to see! This, in a nutshell, is the fatal flaw of Advent Children. Fans will love it, non fans will be completely baffled.

And if you know my reviews, you know I have a theory why. The first Final Fantasy film, The Spirits Within, was dazzlingly animated but panned by critics and audiences alike. While the film was visually stunning, it lacked an interesting story and more importantly, relatable characters. To solve this problem, the filmmakers decided to not only mine familiar material for their follow up, use the characters and setting of the most popular role playing game ever made. As a result, fanboys flipped the f out, despite the film really only centers on Cloud, Tifa and the Turks from FF VII. The rest of the cast drops in, pretty much randomly during one of the epic battles, to serve only as fan service. It warmed my heart as a fan, but made me cringe more than a few times as a critic.

As for all the other things that make a quality film, Advent Children just doesn’t work. The story is decent follow up to the game but the dialogue is laughable, the humor never works and the action is only grounded if you cared about the characters thirteen years ago. While the battles and fight sequences are, for the most part, visceral and fun, I knew this was only the case because those characters had taken root in me from my previous experience. In the end, Advent Children succeeds only on the nostalgia of the viewer and as much as I enjoyed seeing Cloud and the crew together for one more battle in the Lifestream against the evil Sephiroth, I can’t honestly recommend this movie unless you know what the hell a Sephiroth is in the first place.

NOTE: I saw the “Complete” version of this flick, which evidently added twenty minutes of originally cut footage. While, from what I hear, this Complete version helps contexualize the story for those who aren’t familiar with the game, the tale is still only decent.

Score – 50%

Originally Reviewed – 4/5/2010

Right before I moved from New Jersey to the Upper East Side of Manhattan, I heard my fair share of warnings and platitudes from friends and family. “Don’t take the subway after 10”, “HOW much are you paying for your apartment?” and “New York is a cold, heartless place” were some of the more common comments. The most interesting one, however, was a saying my younger brother had picked up somewhere and passed on to me. He said, “Live in NY for a bit but leave before it makes you too hard, live in LA for a bit but leave before it makes you too soft”. The opening twenty minutes of the latest film from writer/director Nicole Holofcener made me immediately think of that mantra. Brimming with a cast of unsympathetic characters, I first thought, “Great, another snarky, too cool for the room, Manhattanite comedy”. “Do we really need another flick about rich yet depressed New Yorkers?”, I thought to myself. Luckily, the answer is yes as the film rises above the cliquey pretense of its privileged Central Park West setting providing arc, depth and even redemption in its characters. The end result is a relatable, wryly outrageous and often very funny dark comedy about complex people dealing with a range of issues, all with a real emotional center.

Just be aware that it takes a bit of time before these characters become tolerable. The principals of the film is a couple, played by Catherine Keener and Oliver Platt, who make a very fine living purchasing antique furniture from the estate sales of the recently deceased and reselling the pieces at a crazy mark-up. When their next door neighbor starts knocking on Heaven’s Door, they salivate at the thought of buying up the place, giving them a chance to expand their own domicile. Charming! Add in the old lady’s granddaughters, one a sweet yet painfully bland radiologist, the other a cold, emotionally vapid skin specialist as well as the couple’s whining, angst ridden daughter and you have the makings of a pretty rough edged cast, especially given the frankness of their disconnection. The only redeemable character at the beginning is the grandmother herself, played brilliantly by Ann Morgan Guilbert. Everybody else is so wrapped up in their world of materialism, codependency and soullessness, you really feel as though these characters are doomed, New York caricatures, worthy of only our dislike as they meander through the indie blasé of the first twenty minutes.

Luckily, this all changes as the film trucks on thanks to some really fine development and direction by Holofcener. Not to give anything away, but we slowly learn about each of the characters fears, insecurities and past pain, opening them up as real human beings. While there isn’t much a plot in Please Give, as the five main characters mix and intermingle, you learn there is much more to this film than snarky quips and cold behavior. Each character is wonderfully drawn and realized, providing a center for the sometimes shocking humor, which almost always works and had me laughing out loud more than a couple of times. By the time the film ends, you not only understand each and every character in the film a bit better, you find things in your own life you can relate to and connect with. Add to that a couple of truly touching scenes, especially the scene where Keener visits a hospice for handicapped children and you have a film that works on both an emotional and comedic level.

Despite a very thin plot, Please Give is a touching and often hilarious character study of people searching for more than what they have, despite them having just enough. While the characters, at first, seem to have no redeeming qualities, the audience quickly learns that there’s pain behind the wall these people put up, walls that we all can find at least some connection to. Thinking back on this film and the comment my brother made almost eighteen months ago, I can see the kernel of truth in that statement reflected in the film. Those hard shelled characters certainly live on this island, strap hanging the subway, pushing past you at the supermarket, muttering grumpily as they speed past on the sidewalk. What that quote doesn’t take into account, however, is how they got there and what’s really inside these unique characters when you brush aside the bristles. Please Give does exactly that, providing a funny, charming and oft outrageous character study of six New York characters, all searching for their own special something, just like everybody else in this great city.

Score – 80%

Originally Reviewed – 4/2/2011

Call me lucky, picky or even snobbish, but I rarely see bad movies. Being I spend entirely too much time on websites like this one, I’m usually aware of what the critics say and I typically go with their recommendations when it comes to what I watch, especially if I’m forking over cash to do so. However, once in a while, I’ll succumb to my baser temptations and in the defiance of critical approval, I’ll see something I know is going to stink. Last year it was The Expendables, a completely terrible film yet one I had a blast watching, if only to laugh at its ineptitude. So, when a friend and I missed a screening of Tim Burton’s Beetlejuice this past weekend and was stuck needing something to see, a combination of a convenient starting time, an IMAX presentation and the promise of things blowing up urged us to see the latest film by Zach Snyder, Sucker Punch. Our expectations were low: sure it was going to be bad, but maybe deliciously so, much like that horrible Stallone effort from the previous year. Sadly, the flick didn’t even reach that low strung expectation as it not only fails as a cinematic experience, it fails to even raise the heart rate of comic book audience it was intended for. Sucker Punch, in short, is a soulless bore.

Doomed from the beginning, Sucker Punch jumps out of the gate covered in lame sauce, presenting the audience with an uncomfortable opening sequence involving some fat guy attacking our lead heroine for some reason or another. According to Wikipedia, which I seriously need to refer to in order provide any sort of synopsis, during this sequence our hero, dubbed Baby Doll, mistakenly kills her sister in an attempt to save her from her abusive father. As a result, she is sent to a mental hospital by her father and is scheduled to be lobotomized in five days. During that time she delves into her imagination to keep herself sane while she awaits her demise. Again, I had to go to Wiki-freaking-pedia to get that because if that’s what the film was trying to say, it sure as snot didn’t do a good job of it. Instead, we get jangly rock music, a bunch of slow motion scenes with Baby Doll staring doe faced into the camera and bullet casings hitting the floor. In slow motion, no less! What a visual treat!

And what a segue into the only thing people are really seeing this for, the visuals. Now, Snyder has made a career of pushing the envelope when it comes to computer generated spectacle, with films such as 300 and to a lesser extent, Watchmen. Sucker Punch provides much of the same visual bombast only times a thousand. In short, it’s too much for anybody to absorb, never mind take seriously. In any one scene you have bullets flying, robots getting destroyed, places crashing, stuff exploding and buildings crumbling. Sounds great, right? So, why did these action scenes not only bore me but put the crowd of opening weekend fanboys I saw it with to sleep as well? Because all that noise becomes sleep inducing without a competent story to give it context and meaning. Sucker Punch makes the grand mistake of thinking it has something important to say when the tale is as shallow as teenage fan fiction. The action scenes only highlight the weakness of the material because the female characters are just as hollow as the mindless thugs and robots they slaughter by the thousands. Snyder may know how to program a special effects computer but he has not an inkling of insight into human motivations or what elicits emotion from an audience and frankly, I don’t think he cares. Sucker Punch would have made for a fine ten minute tech demo but that’s about it.

As for the action in Sucker Punch being described as “videogamey” by some critics, that moniker is nothing but an insult to video games. Even the most intense gaming experiences provide some sort of character development and since the person playing them is personally involved in the events of the story, they naturally connect to the game. Sadly, we don’t play movies, we passively watch them, which is why there’s more to filmmaking than fancy visuals and visceral thrills. Sitting through the action scenes of Sucker Punch is like watching a friend play Call of Duty for two plus hours; it grabs your attention for the first ten minutes but after awhile, either you want to grab the controller yourself or do something you can actually care about. Films need story and character development to keep our attention, two things that Sucker Punch not only fails miserably at, never makes an honest attempt at providing.

In fact, it’s that very subject that brings the most bile to my throat when discussing this waste of time. The biggest crime committed by Sucker Punch is way it treats its characters, its story and ultimately its audience. Staged like levels in a 1990’s video game, the film flips between scenes of emotionally ravaged hookers either cowering to their alpha-male superiors or using their sexuality to get the best of them and the aforementioned fantasy fight scenes. Framing his female characters like Charles Manson likely would, Snyder presents them as quivering weaklings only able to muster strength when they delve into their imaginations. This 1850’s way of thinking of women is at the core of the storyline and the film just bleeds this disdain out from its pores. Creating a band of femme fatales can be a ton of sexy, edgy fun but that fun derives from the strength of character in the women involved. Sucker Punch sets up the action as solely existing in the imaginations of our broken down protagonists and as a result, gives us actions that nobody could possibly care about. The fact that Snyder would assume that we as an audience would care about these paper cut out characters without any sort of proper development is downright insulting.

Needless to say, I could go on and on. Much like the Star Wars prequels, one could write a Masters thesis on Sucker Punch with the topic being, “How Not To Make An Action Movie”. Filmed and written as if Hollywood gave $82 million to a horny 15 year old and said, “Go make a movie, sonny”, Sucker Punch treats its characters and story with such a misogynistic and mean-hearted slant, I actually question the soul of the director responsible. Not to turn this into a personal attack, but if Zach Snyder actually thinks this noisy, mean and borderline sadistic piece of white noise should actually be considered entertainment, I have to wonder about the maturity of this so called artist. Full of plot holes, contrivances and an ending that screams hack at the top its computer generated lungs, Sucker Punch is schlock that swears it’s Shakespeare and what’s worse, assumes you the viewer doesn’t know the difference. One of the few movies I’ve paid to see that I felt compelled to walk out on an hour in, Sucker Punch is exactly as advertised: a punch in the gut to anybody who feels they deserve more from a film than two hours of ear splitting din.

Score – 10%

Originally Reviewed – 3/6/2011

Jason Statham is one bad ass mo’ fo’. Seriously, the keister this guy kicks knows no bounds. From building jumping in The Transporter to hanging from helicopters in Crank to trying not to laugh at Sly Stalone’s lines in The Expendables, Statham has defined himself as this generation’s Van Dame, an action hero for the iPod generation. Trouble is, if you saw his starring debut in Snatch, you knew he could do so much more than bash bad guys and look good with his shirt off. Statham has a likable personality and a quick wit that separates him from his contemporaries, a kind of over-muscled bar keep who can spin a good yarn while at the same time fling you out a window for getting too rowdy. Despite this panache, nobody aside from Guy Ritchie has ever been able to utilize his charm and Statham has been largely regulated to loud, testosterone filled action flicks for the last decade. Does The Mechanic solve this problem and let its star fill the screen with charm instead of bulk?

Nope.

But in fairness to the filmmakers, they really didn’t let any of the films characters live beyond the written word and to be honest, I doubt that was their intention. The Mechanic is a by the numbers action flick that while providing some decent thrills and some inventive ways of dispatching enemies, the film is rife with clichéd situations, poorly drawn characters and missed opportunities. Sure it’s not meant to be more than a brisk ninety minutes beat ’em up, but with a little effort it could have been exceeded that expectation.

Set in modern day New Orleans, The Mechanic stars Statham as hired gun, tasked by men of power to slay other men of power in sneaky, untraditional ways. However, when sent to kill his mentor, played by Donald Sutherland, Statham inexplicitly takes his mentor’s wild child son under his wing (Ben Foster) and trains him to be the very killing machine that slayed his father. The film immediately starts on the wrong foot, doing nothing to establish any of the characters involved. We get a quick scene between Statham and Sutherland, Sutherland hands Statham some cash for a job well done and just when we start to see an inkling of a relationship, it’s BOOM, right back into another action scene. Using the characters a device to get from one action scene to another, we never feel for the participants in the action and, as a result, cease to care.

The characters themselves, however, do a very decent job with the slop their given. Statham, as mentioned before, is fun to watch and Sutherland, for the brief time he’s on screen, also looks to be giving it his all. Foster, however, is the brightest star in this bunch, giving a slightly disconnected but grounded performance. The kid can act, as evidenced in The Messenger and 3:10 To Yuma, and he does his best to find something in the paper thin character presented to him. Still, the efforts of the very decent cast is all for naught as the film degenerates into bloodshed, baseless violence. Perhaps the biggest affront is how the character of New Orleans is treated. Despite being filmed almost entirely in the Big Easy, you never get a real feel for the character of the city, something that I label as a huge missed opportunity.

All in all, The Mechanic is exactly as advertised: a white knuckle thrill ride that never elevates itself above the standard early year action flick archetypes it aspires to. Featuring a dismissible storyline, a cliché ridden script and an ending that makes almost no sense, The Mechanic survives, albeit barely, by the likeability of its cast. Without Statham and company, this film probably wouldn’t have seen a release never alone been viewable. To be fair, there is a place in cinema for pure escapist filmmaking and when it’s done right, it can be damn enjoyable. In the case of The Mechanic, however, the visceral thrills of the action can’t hold up to the pure weakness of the characters involved. Statham and company deserve better than this one noted piece of mid February action flick filler. Here’s hoping, at least in the case of Statham, that they actually get it.

Score – 50%

Originally Reviewed – 2/23/2011

The evening I watched City of God was preceded by a horrid day. One of those days you wish would just fly by so you didn’t have to experience it, it was riddled with bad weather, annoying e-mails and a headache so bad, a lobotomy couldn’t have cured it. Even when sitting down to watch the movie, my Blu-Ray player decided to take the evening off, forcing me to watch it on my old as butt PS2. Such indignities! However, the horrors of my day served as a fine backdrop for a viewing of the insightful and frightening City of God. Why? Because this film, unlike the banalities of my day to day problems, is rooted in something real, something dangerous. City of God is an eye opening looking into the day to day lives of people surrounded by real problems and real danger.

Taking place in the slums of Rio de Janerio, one of the most dangerous areas in all of Brazil, City of God tracks the life of young Rocket, an aspiring photographer who has family ties to one of the more notorious gangs in Rio. Through the course of the film, Rocket sees friends and family succumb to the trails and temptations of gang life and, through the lens of his camera, does what he can to rise above it. Modeled after real gangs, filmed in real locations and using actors who actually live in the slums the story takes place in, City of God has an authenticity and realism that makes the on screen action feel more like a documentary than a fictional tale.

While this film garnered four Oscar nominations, impressive for a foreign language film, the most deserving nod was for Best Cinematography. Frantically yet beautifully shot, cinematographer Cesar Charlone captures the hard boiled streets of Rio in stunning, unflinching detail. The direction is also noteworthy as the story of Rocket and the gangs around him is told with harsh realism and palpable emotion. On the acting front, only one of the actors on screen had ever been in a film before, many of whom made their home in the very ghetto being depicted, but everyone does a convincing job in their respective roles. My only complaint would be the part of Little Zie, the most ruthless of the gang leaders. While most of the violence in the film was contextualized, Zie’s character comes off almost too over the top with few references made to why he’s so maniacal.

That, however, is a minor quibble when stacked against fine directing, cinematography that puts you right in the midst of gang warfare and a story of personal triumph that warms the heart as much as it scares the bejesus out of you. City of God is obviously a personal story as much as it’s a work of fiction and that personal touch comes through in every frame, creating a thrilling and emotional experience that’s a pleasure to watch. A crappy day at work becomes much less important after a viewing of this wonderfully done movie. Highly recommended!

Score – 90%

Originally Reviewed – 1/17/2011

I love me some Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups.

Seriously. Like ’em, love ’em, can’t get enough of ’em. The perfect combination of two already wonderful food stuffs, RPBC’s are a classic treat. So, imagine my delight when they started appearing in almost everything. First it was ice cream, next in breakfast cereals until finally, a couple of days ago, I discovered them in a bag of Chips Ahoy cookies at my mom’s house. At that moment I thought, “Damn, I love Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups and all, but this is getting ridiculous. What’s next, peanut butter cup infused bananas”? But what did I do? Grabbed myself a couple, chomped down and enjoyed the heck out of them. In the end, even though I keep seeing that flavor over and over again, it doesn’t take away from the fact that it’s damn delicious. This is exactly how I feel about the boxing movie genre, and specifically its latest entry, The Fighter.

Much like the sweet confections mentioned above, the genre of boxing films all share a very similar plot and story arc. Tough guy comes from nothing, goes through a few trials and ends up on top where a) he then falls back down a precarious slope or b) the movie ends. While The Fighter follows the same predictable path of its predecessors, the film is helped by some well placed humor, a focus on family and some very fine acting.

The cast runs the gambit of acceptable to near brilliant. Mark Wahlberg plays Micky Ward, an up and coming boxer from the slums of Lowell, Massachusetts who’s looking for his next big break. Much has been reported of Wahlberg’s near four year preparation for the role and the hard work pays off as he certainly has the look and feel of a seasoned boxer. While his acting style is very by the numbers, Wahlberg does a fine if not unremarkable job in the title role. Also playing against type is Amy Adams, portraying a tough talking local bartender and Micky’s inevitable love interest. Adams also does a fine job in the part as it’s a relief to see her break away from the nice girl roles we’re used to seeing her in. High marks also have to be given to Melissa Leo as Micky’s mother and business manager. Winner of the Golden Globe for Best Supporting Actress this year, Leo tows the line between loving mother and tough manager effortlessly, giving the movie a much needed shot of freshness and originality.

Stealing the show, however, is the work of Christian Bale as Dicky Eklund, Mickey’s brother, trainer and closest confidant. Bale’s part is easily the most difficult of the cast as he not only has to connect with Wahlberg on a brotherly level but has to be unassumingly self destructive at the same time. Bale plays the part wonderfully, bringing a real honesty and empathy to the role. Dicky has the distinction of being the “King of Lowell” for his boxing career but has since fallen in the depths of a drug addiction that threatens to take down his whole family and the budding career of his brother. Dicky is easily the catalyst of the story and in hands of a lesser actor could have turned into a parody but Bale is pitch perfect in his portrayal. Bale actually just got himself a Golden Globe for his work and he is sure to a get an Oscar nomination in the next couple of weeks.

The story, however, runs very familiar ground. While I enjoyed the local flavor of Lowell and the connection between Bale and Wahlberg, the rest of the plot is standard boxing flick fare. Luckily, the screenplay is peppered with a surprising amount of humor that almost always works well, especially when Bale is on screen. Director David O. Russell directs his cast with startling insight into the working class toughness of this boxing family yet does so at the sacrifice of visual flair. This is a blandly shot film to be sure, but when you have a cast this good, that is more than forgivable.

All in all, The Fighter doesn’t break any new ground for the boxing genre but, much like those yummy peanut butter cups, it’s still a good time that pushes all the right buttons. There’s just something charming about the classic “everyman fighting against all odds” tale and that charm never gets old, no matter how many times you see it. In the case of The Fighter, this world weary tale is told with style, humor and excellent acting, giving the audience just enough nuance to elevate it beyond its clichés. While Rocky will always be the quintessential telling of this story, The Fighter has a few new tricks up its sleeve, mostly embodied in the work of Bale and Leo. Everyone else simply has to play to type supporting their great performances. To bookend this review with my candy reference, The Fighter is just like a pack of Dark Chocolate Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups: while an attempt was made to slightly change the classic flavor, the end result is the same old candy we grew up loving, a taste that still stands the test of time.

Score – 80%

Originally Reviewed – 1/11/2011

Way back when in the late 1940’s, James Cagney’s star had fallen a bit. Fresh from his second departure from Warner brothers, Cagney spent most of the decade trying to reshape his tough guy image by making movies his way. After starting an independent production company in 1943, Cagney Productions went on to produce a number of decent films including the well received 13 Rue Madeline. Despite the success of that movie, the company had seen some commercial failures as well, topping off with the historic flop, The Time of Your Life. Audiences rejected the notion that Cagney could be something more than a tough guy and the movie almost bankrupted the fledgling company. Then, in 1949, Cagney Productions, feeling financial and legal pressure from a number of fronts, begrudgingly merged with their old studio. Their first movie together? A little gangster flick masterpiece called White Heat.

Cagney plays gangster Cody Jarret, a train robbing, trigger happy mama’s boy who after going on the lamb for a train robbery, concocts a number of clever schemes to get away clean. While it’s ironic that right after his biggest flop Cagney went back to the role he knew best, it turned out to be the right move. One of the finest performances of his career, Cagney tows the line between trust, devotion to his mother and complete madness with absolute perfection. The real beauty of his performance is how Cagney plays the part completely unsympathetically, yet we all find ourselves secretly rooting for him to get away with the caper. The “mess hall” scene is particularly wonderful. While it’s easy to dismiss watching it with twenty-first century eyes, Cagney’s reactions and explosiveness holds up over sixty years later.

The rest of the cast is downright perfect, featuring John Archer as the treasury man after Cagney, Edmond O’Brien as an undercover cop and the lovely Virginia Mayo as Cagney’s love interest and accomplice. However, the scene stealer of the film has to be the fantastic Margaret Wycherly as Cagney’s doting mother. Every actress who has ever played either an over protective matriarch or an elderly head of a crime family owes a tribute to Wycherly’s performance. Cold, calculating and quietly manipulating, Wycherly shows that while Cagney is the boss of the gang, she’s the soul. The film is also wonderfully directed, well shot and cleverly written, making it a masterpiece of the film noir genre. One of the forgotten classics of American cinema, especially with modern filmgoers, White Heat stands the test of time as a landmark film. Cagney may not have been at his height when filming began but when all was said and done, this movie put him “on top of the world” once again.

Score – 100%